The stains of red on her ledger from her time spent with them spanned back further to a dim time she preferred to forget. The mission had struck her interest instantly and Ra’s knew it without a firm acknowledgement from her. It had all been leading up to this, a thought in the back of her mind each day. To right the wrong and confirm the true agenda behind her family’s murder. Vengeance was a key motivator and a cruel killer of the innocence within the child from before. She knew to hold this sword would be the last part of her trauma reviving to live another day and extinguish the girl that was once there all those years ago.
Bruce’s knowledge of the League was scarce, a slight encounter with a few assassins and whispers of the Demons’ Head around Gotham’s elite criminals. And so, unveiling all that was a part of her would ruin everything they’d built together since the moment they saved each other from a far greater destruction at their own hands.
Whispers of the pained cries and yells reverberated in her head. The orders and strike of a blade, ripping her skin for lost attention, something she would pay far greater focus to avoid in the upcoming training. Each day, working to be the better version of yourself; all to attain the revere of the teacher. To hold the title of the skilled and disciplined meant achieving the status of a shadow, including completing initiation. The first kill is-was always the most difficult. The hesitation and the voice telling you not to raise the blade. But you came this far, why stop now? You did everything in the name of your family. They were not offered the same mercy, nor were their innocence or good deeds regarded. Each time, each mission, she stared into the face of corruption and greed with the mindset of something far greater in mind; the people she was saving by preventing the anguish unleashed by these criminals.
In the veil of her thoughts that rushed through her mind, she managed to open the front door before collapsing against the hard wood and sliding to the floor. A dread washed over her body, a melancholy echo that wrecked her as she hushed cries beneath a shaky palm. Sobs wracked Y/N’s body while she breathed in and out, the image of Bruce’s disappointment fresh in her mind. Regret for having trusted someone when the facts pointed toward contradiction.
***
A pang struck Bruce’s chest, watching the close of the elevator receding to the top floor. The remnants of hushed whispers hinged a stillness within the air that his mind rewound to navigate. He flickered from the place where she stood with shaky eyes, clutching the drive tightly as it disappeared in his hand.
His body moved of its own accord, travelling to the computer and logging the familiar details as he plugged the drive into the port. And it began.
The images flashed in his eyes, one after the other with each click. A flourish of files and photographs; assignment details, locations, collection data. From whom, Bruce wasn’t too sure. Save for blackened lines, the facts important to him was an image he stopped on. His heart dropped, bracing over the realisation coming to fruition.
The reflection illuminated in his eyes as he ran over the features once more. A branch of the past, a more youthful version of the woman he knew, but this one held a much greater contempt in her eye. A distrust of the world holding her guard up and close by to void off the hurtful grasp of the world around her. And with it, she held her weapon in haste, a forward act in for vengeance in this cruel world. Through all of it, Bruce halted, his hand moving from the screen as his head drew to the desk. The pieces of her left behind in the jumper she borrowed form him thrown over the work desk, or the sticky notes she left behind to remind him to eat and sleep, to do all of the things he often forgot.
The creaking of the elevator reached his ears and soon Alfred calling his name before Bruce recognised the man standing over his shoulder. Alfred’s voice grew hushed as he looked back at the screen. The masked figure, the bottom of their face covered with the eyes clear for them to see. The files rushed away, a hand pulling the drive out with a click as Bruce’s glazed eyes defaulted to his hands clutching the drive. Alfred had just left from the office after witnessing the fallen tears streaking her face as she halted in her step, a guilty look tearing her face before she stepped away and shut the front door behind her.
“Bruce…”
The man’s mouth shut in response, unsure of where to go with his mind torn between the truth and the image he had of her in his mind. What lies therein in the truth of what you know and have learned versus the supposed truth handed to you. How did one discern perception from facts when emotions were involved. Such strong feelings as these tied the strings around Bruce’s hands and heart as it constricted with an overwhelming pull toward the depths of uncertainty. Not knowing was something Bruce was familiar with, but always dismissed its choking hold and turning to uncover the truth.
“I don’t know what to do.” he confessed.
Alfred blinked, glancing down at the distraught on Bruce’s face. The glint in his eyes every moment they spent together, something he had become unfamiliar after his parents passing. The glossiness to Bruce’s eyes as he clutched the drive with a determination to hold the answer and yet it faulted with each tragic second.
“I think you do.” Alfred murmured, “I think you know better than anyone. All of our actions are not what define us. Our past isn’t a clear track into our future. I think you know exactly how you feel about her, Bruce. You need to decide for yourself.”
A beat passed as Bruce exhaled and Alfred’s response arrived, a murmur in the quiet.
“Do you want to know what I see in that photograph?”
“I see a cruel world. A girl trying to survive with the cards that she’s been dealt. If you care for her, you’ll talk to her. About why she is here.”
***
A stillness resided over the house, just as it had a few days prior. No word from Bruce solidified the answer in her mind to the latter of her presumptions on his impression. She had been afraid of this result all along, and yet, it was still better than the depths of her nightmares where the darkest realms of guilt and horror existed.
Tears dropped down her cheeks, a huff escaping Y/N while she looked through the window into grim day sweeping the street. It was a brutal cold that bit at anything it could reach, sweeping the barren streets in a mist that nipped at your fingers and consumed your lungs. Although, the knock at her front door was more so a stilting event, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Y/N’s sight wavered as she caught the gaze of the person upon opening the door.
A shaky breath escaped her, echoing his name as she stared at him, unsure of what exactly to expect. She closed her agape mouth and read his expression, gulping down her anxieties as she held the door open for him. He was in his right to answers, if that was what he came there for. She stared down at the coffee table between them, Bruce stood opposite, not moving to take a seat on the couch.
“Aren’t you going to ask if I…” he breathed, unsure if he was truly going to say it until she visibly recoiled.
“I don’t think I need to.” she gulped, “Whatever your reasons are for being here, I can’t-” she clenched her eyes shut. “I can’t fault for you wanting to know the truth. Whether you read it or not. I-I understand-”
“The betrayal? Guilt?”
His words struck her as Y/N whipped her head up, witnessing the masked calm in Bruce’s eye replaced with an intensity she couldn’t quite discern. She fell quiet, waiting for him to continue while he studied her closely. “You lied to me, and you never once said anything about it.” he wore an inquisitive look as he stood tall in his dark coat. “If there’s anything I know well, its loss.”
She remained quiet, watching him with this unsure look that he hadn’t witnessed before. He wasn’t sure if she would blink with how she trained her focus on him, almost unassured if he would disappear at any moment and leave.
His throat grew tight while he restrained a shiver from the memories, “Alfred could tell you better, all of the summers I spent looking for something-somewhere to belong.”
Bruce looked over at her figure leaned against the bench, arms held to her chest, not protectively, but certainly guarding something rather close to herself. The unsettling silence between them was obvious with the shivers running along his arms. Discerning where they stood was just another uncomfortable conversation left unspoken.
“I’ve been looking for something to give me purpose. The Batman was one part of it, but it was the people of this city that showed me who I needed to be.” he exhaled, “I needed something to run toward.”
He closed his eyes, squinting behind the burning sensation as the sight of her unshed tears moved him. “I don’t care about your past. Whether you tell me or you keep those parts to yourself…Your future is my privilege.”
She whispered his name, confusion filling her until he retrieved something from his pocket, revealing the tarnished remains of the drive in many pieces. Wide eyed, she flickered from his palm to his eyes, an almost dream-like state gazing upon the source of every tarnished memory.
“Why-you had every right to read it and to know.” her face twisted.
“I know the kind of person you are from here and now. I don’t need to know everything about your past to understand where you stand now.”
She finally felt the pressure release from her chest, tears falling free before she felt Bruce’s arms pull her into his chest. Her fingers clenched around his coat, scrunching the fabric as she inhaled the familiar and comforting cologne.
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear those words.”
Bruce rested his chin on her head, sighing in relief “I couldn’t bear to lose you. I thought it over enough and through everything…you never hesitated. I am sorry I didn’t do the same.”
She shook her head, returning to catch his gaze “I wouldn’t have expected any different. You deserve to know.”
“And that is entirely up to you. I-I want you to do this on your terms. Not because of someone’s agenda.” his fingers wiped her cheeks, causing Y/N to gently shut her eyes and her breath hitched.
She nodded her head encouragingly, truthfully walking into a path of acceptance and entrusting him with every part of her, “I’m ready.”
“Bruce,” she spoke up, following closely behind his step toward the computer. The entire ride back to the Tower had been silent, the echoes of Talon’s voice reverberating in her mind and surely Bruce’s with the unsettling feeling between them. He shrugged the cowl off, the sound of her repeating his name and yet he remained in his own head.
“The sins…of the father.” he whispered, cutting into her thoughts as she stared at him with bated breaths leaving her mouth. “This is what my family’s legacy has come to.” He whispered, “More lies than I can keep track of, it seems.”
A choked sound built in his throat while Y/N watched, hesitance behind her actions as he unravelled before her.
“Alfred always talks of how great the Wayne legacy is…beginning to think it’s another thing they created.”
Her hand reached out to him, falling on his shoulder with his name falling from her lips. His head shot up, darting back to her at the sensation of her touch.
“What did he mean?” his lips set into a frown, an unsettling feeling sinking into her stomach. “He knew about your life outside of Gotham. More than I do-more than you’ve shared.”
She tilted her head, her shaky gaze flickering between his eyes. He lifted something into her sight, bringing forth the Riddler’s card, the one addressed to her.
“Anything else I should know?” he mused, allowing the card to fall onto the desk.
“Let me explain,.” desperation was clear in the tremble of her voice.
He huffed, leaning his gloved hands against the desk, “I thought we trusted each other. What aren’t you telling me?” his voice low.
“Bruce-” she stepped forward, freezing at the fury building in his eyes.
He exhaled deeply, “You want me to be honest with you? I expect the same in return."
"I never expect you to understand my entire story, but there are parts of my life that I don’t share. That I can’t.” she gasped, holding herself up.
A hurt look crossed his face, “I-haven’t I been clear? After everything we’ve been through together and you come back to this?”
“You don’t understand.” she repeated, helplessly searching for reprieve as he seemingly exploded.
“I don’t! You’ve always seemed closed off, but-”
“-This coming from Gotham’s recluse.” she finally bit back.
“At least I am honest about what I mean.“
Her eyes shook, “I have never lied to you in the time that I’ve known you, Bruce.”
“Omittance is still a lie.” he replied, swallowing his words.
She shook her head, “Why can’t you understand-”
“Because, frankly I don’t think I know you all that well.”
“You know me.” she nodded frantically, “You do.”
“I apparently don’t even know myself. How is that for starters?” he replied, a bitter taste residing on his tongue.
“Bruce,” she pleaded, voice dropping to a whisper as he shook his head.
“I don’t know what I was thinking about this.”
“What do you-what do you mean?”
“How can I trust you? I clearly don’t have yours." he shook his head.
"That isn’t true-” she pleaded with him, urging to grasp his hand when he pulled back once more.
“-Then what are you hiding from me? What-what are you holding so close to your heart?”
She stared at him, gaze unwavering as a silence took over the room. The unnerving lack of sound now that he paused jolted her as her heart thundered in her ears.
"I never told you because I knew you would realise I was never who you thought I was.”
A beat passed between them as he looked down at her and the guilt laced in her expression, “How could you know that?”
"Because I’ve seen first hand what happens-” her voice strained, “Is it so crazy that I don’t want to be alone? I am afraid of losing you.” She dipped her head, gulping down the tension in her throat, “I have never intentionally lied to you, Bruce. Not out of spite…or hate, or anything of that kind.”
“Just…tell me the truth.” his gaze fell on her unsettled figure, waiting on an answer.
Inhaling deeply, she wrenched the last parts of her resolve, “Please, understand I did this because I care about you, Bruce. I care about what you think of me.” She pulls something out of her pocket, reluctantly allowing it to drop onto the desk. His eyes flickered from her to the USB drive.
“You can read it all on there,” she exhaled shakily, “but I don’t care to see the look on your face when you’re finished.” gasping out the final words as she retreated from him to the elevator, averting her gaze to hide the tears wrenched from her eyes.
As the World Caves In (10/?) - Bruce Wayne x Reader
Summary: A lead takes a stark turn with the unexpected unravelling of secrets upon them.
Author’s Note: new chapter update from series. Will probably end at 16 parts. Comment to be tagged. Follows Court of Owls plotline.
Pairing:Bruce Wayne x fem! reader
Warning:canon-level violence, slight angst
Masterlist
The rain settled over the choking harvest of the evening as the city rested and the felons came out. It was an unsettling resonance that trembled along the street’s alleys, a shudder running up the spine at an echo around the corner. Rain pummelled against the windows of a towering hospice, the shadows darkening further upon a closer look between the rigid windows caving inward.
A window cracked from above, an opening to the outside as the rain dribbled through and a body dropped down. The figure slowly lowered their body from the line, waiting a moment before their accomplice followed. The room was empty, bare the furniture and table to the side. Looking at the Bat, she silently moved to the door, not wanting to alarm any person to their presence. Her hand slowly grasped the handle, opening it to allow a peek outside. The hallway was dark, an unsettling silence resting over the barren level. The pair glanced at each other, unassured and followed through as they cautiously stepped toward the room in question.
A palpating noise thundered in her ears in front of the door, a hand ghosting over the blade on her back. Not a moment sooner, did his hand cover her’s and he looked down at her, sensing her hesitation and twisted the handle. The door fell open and her heart shuddered at the true darkness enveloping the room. A waft reached them, the choking smell of rot causing her eyes to water as Bats shone a light to the dark.
Confusion fills her room, a shiver ran down her back at the sight of the people surrounding the grand table. The chilling silence blanketed by the vacant look in some of their eyes, others resting their heads blankly on the table. Her feet wandered, crossing to the nearest person. Bruce studied them, slowly moved around the table to capture every detail and more closely to the head of the table. Her hand ghosted a woman’s neck, a lack of warmth from the bodies.
“All dead.” she remarked, “Poison?”
Bruce’s eyes drew to the bowls and cups placed in front of them, “Something like that.”
“The question is, who?” she glanced around the room, focused on the masks.
“It doesn’t make sense.” he paused.
She murmured in response, watching as he tilted his head and studied the layout. Something was missing from this setup, aside from the rest.
“They were a ghost not so long ago and now they’re all dead.” she turned to look at him pointedly. “What does that tell you?”
“In death, we take away your clarity.” he murmured, catching her gaze.
***
Bruce steadied her as they reached the roof before he looked over her shoulder at a moving shadow in his plane of sight, the eyes watching him from the rooftop opposite. Following his gaze, Y/N locked onto the beady eyes and her resolve hardened before they both moved in tandem to slink toward the departing figure. The Talon moved quickly, but the Batman was adept at tracking closely as he grappled them onto the rooftop.
Flipping onto her front, Y/N pushed off into a sprint on foot, Bruce on her heels. The Talon is close as he flipped and somersaulted to stay ahead. She stayed right up there until she flipped, throwing a dagger to catch him off guard. His wince gave Bruce the right opening to grapple and wrench the assassin back.
Wiping the blood from her mouth, she watched as Bruce and the Talon wrestle. The latter lands a blow that causes her to wince at the crack reaching her ears, a groan escaping Bruce before she moved forward and swiped her katana at his side. He dropped Bruce and turned toward her, releasing his own weapon to draw against it. He pushed forward and Y/N’s feet followed suit, losing her grip on the katana as he swiped at her hand with a claw.
A gasp hitched her breath as she darted out of the way of a strike, rolling onto her feet. Wide eyed, Y/N somersaulted into a stance and reached out for her fallen katana as Talon’s fingers brushed the handle. The weight in her hand pulled it back to her as she held it firmly, staring down her opponent. The eyes studied her for a glimpse before leaping off again. Bruce’s fist hit him, throwing him off before Y/N’s foot struck his chest. The two worked in time to meet each blow with a powerful response, throwing even her katana between them.
The final remark came with Bruce pummelled his fist into Talon’s windpipe, his back crashing against the ground with a final blow to the chest from Y/N. It’s not long before he’s restrained and the trickle of the rain becomes apparent along with the pounding of her heart.
The beady eyes stare back, a formidable wall that remains still and unmoving as Bruce’s hushed voice intercepts.
“You killed them. Why?”
A beat passed and no response was received before Y/N wrenched the mask off. Beneath it was a fairly handsome man with brown hair and a few scars littering his face. His expression was blank as he stared up at her and scanned before moving to Batman.
“What was your goal?” Y/N murmured, drawing the Talon’s attention with a twitch of the neck in her direction.
“I’m merely here to play to win. What are you doing?” he hinted.
“Not exactly a fair playing field when you pre-emptively murder your opponents.” Y/N chided.
“The Court of Owls doesn’t regard you as the threat you present yourself as.” drawing its gaze up. “You’re merely a speck in the line of millions that have come before. A cancerous cell to be cut out.”
“And the people in there? Where are the rest?” Bruce pressed, Y/N watching him in the corner of her eye.
A chuckle caught in his throat, the Talon resting on his knees “Always asking the wrong questions. Wouldn’t you rather know about your family, Bruce?”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed as his heart shuddered in his chest, glancing at Y/N in his periphery. The Talon turned to her, murmuring her name to watch her freeze.
“Their true part?” he paused, watching as the pair froze and a silence settled over the rooftop. “Both of your families have a history of philanthropy in Gotham. Surprise to no one, their hands are a little bit less than clean.”
“What are you talking about?” Bruce grunted.
Her grip was tight on the katana at her side, eyes shaking as the Talon tilted his head.
A laugh left him, “History. It’s all fabricated and whatever isn’t well, how could you tell the difference? In time, you’ll come to know that going against the Court, your end is imminent, as is the lifeline of the city’s fellow victors. Your own family had a large part in favouring the Court of Owls’ long work. Generations have seen it through. We Talons have been the ones handing out their favour.”
“You mean taking away their free will.” her gaze fell to Bruce’s clenched fists, “Murder.”
“You talk as if they deserve any better.” he chuckled darkly, “What you don’t know about Gotham is the people, no matter where they’re from, they are all if not easily corruptible. Even the likes of you-a little incentive, and it all comes down.”
The Talon turned, his eyes lingering over her “What a surprise you were. After all that your family staked in this city.”
The murmur of her name on his lips was unsettling, “Your return was nothing if not a reckoning.” striking a pang of nerves in Bruce’s chest at his words. Her eyes shook, refuting the claims with a clench of her jaw. “All of the names on your ledger,” he tutted, “The things I’ve heard…I’m frankly confused at the company you keep.” he smirked, “I thought we would suit each other far more-”
The next thing on his lips would refute everything she had built before she snapped, “I’ve heard enough-” she replied, stepping forward as a snap sounded and he lunged.
Striking her katana aside, he pulled her against his chest. Her hands pulled at the sharp claws to hold them back as the grip on her neck tightened and she gasped out a choking sound. Bruce’s furious expression stared at Talon as he held her close to his face, raising a fury as he reached for his weapon.
“While I’d love to stay and go over all of this, including all of your little secrets, I’d better be going.” whispering the last bit in her ear as she seethed, pressing away. He watched Batman narrow his eyes before he pressed her closer to his chest and took a step back. As Bruce reached for his utility belt, the Talon leapt off the roof and into the darkness.
Bruce overlooked the roof, his arms supporting her as she caught her breath. She assured him, brushing the gloved hand over her arm with the unsettling remnants of the conversation residing. It was when he refused to meet her gaze that sent a pang rushing through her chest. A silence cut through the thundering in his chest as he turned away. She reached her hand out, his name a desperate whisper on her lips, with the sway of his cape against her fingers, the lasting impression of his departure.
Summary: Bruce Wayne in his element as opposed to the Bat is a refreshing outlook.
Author’s Note: comment to be tagged!
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem! reader
Warning:none
Bruce leaned over at his desk, running over the last thing he had to sign off before he could officially leave the office that day. Back and forth comms between himself and Mayor Real had been the most of his business interactions, aside from the investigating he had been going over with Alfred and Y/N at all waking hours. Y/N had taken more time at the Tower to assist in the research, but there was something Bruce couldn’t pick out. He put it up to concerns over his last mission which evidently took a turn for the worst outcome, but they were on better terms. The uncertainty of trust between them was slowly edging away as Bruce found himself opening up to her more.
The beep of the intercom for his office drew Bruce out of his thoughts, “Yes?”
“Mr Wayne, Ms Y/L/N to see you?” his assistant’s voice rang through the intercom.
He pressed the button, “Yes, thank you. Send her up.”
“Right away, sir.”
A minute later Y/N walked in, catching Bruce’s eye as he looked up from the papers, “Hey,”
“Hi,” he replied, “I thought you went home already.”
“Not yet. I wanted to see you first.” she smiled warmly, ducking her head.
“Quite the view from up here.” She glanced at the view of the city and the bridge adjoining the different districts.
“You get used to it after a while.” Bruce murmured, drawing her back to him as she walked over and sat at the desk. His arm pressed against her leg as he looked up at her, curious about her sudden appearance.
“Of course, we’re not all privileged with this view though. I’d like to appreciate it for a bit.” she drawled.
“Is that the only reason you’re inclined to stay?” he mused, a glint in his eye. She looked down at him, pursing her lips as if considering the question.
“Not the only reason. No.” she shook her head, placing her hands on the collar of his blazer and flattening it down. He was wearing that suit she liked, the dark grey and black combo with his hair neatly combed back. Bruce looked good irrespective of his clothes or hairstyle and yet, she always found herself dumbfounded each and every time.
“I got a message from Hel. She did find something. It’s not much, but it’s more than just a whisper.”
He focused entirely on her words, allowing her to explain the entire thing. Helena had caught word from an informant, whispers of people going missing in the night. People turning up dead, vicious murders and no leads; just like their case and point.
“I’m more concerned about all of the cases we don’t know of. We know these people have been around for centuries, influencing Gotham. How many people have they silenced?” she stared down at him, eyes shaky. “What if my…”
Bruce interrupted her, grabbing her hand “Don’t think about the possibilities. Focus on now. What we do know.”
She exhaled a breath and nodded, “So if pretty much everyone works for them, who do we trust?”
“We can only trust each other. They have eyes and ears watching and listening around the city. No telling who is working for them.”
She clenched his hand, “Better to assume everyone is.”
Her eyes flickered down to the papers for the new Trust Fund, “Even the Mayor?”
“We have to carry on with appearances, that includes the company. And my interactions in the public eye.” he assured.
“Everyone is looking at you.” she noted, “Especially now with your involvement in the company.”
Bruce shrugged, averting his gaze “Better to keep their attention on me.”
“-than what?” she mused, leaning forward.
“People have always been watching me. I’m no stranger to all of the opinions and assumptions.”
“Yes,” she trailed off, urging him to continue.
He hesitated, “If the media catch wind of us together, there’ll be more attention on you…” he shook his head, “I know that it’s not something you asked for-”
“Bruce, what are you trying to say exactly?”
He paused, looking up at her “Being associated with me, I don’t know if it will make things worse.”
A sigh escaped her mouth, her hands finding placement on his shoulders “Bruce, nothing could draw me away from you, okay? I’m used to the media attention, remember? I can deal with journalists.”
He squinted his eyes, unassured “It’s not the journalists, moreso the unwanted attention from other sorts. It’s not hard to follow up or find your address.”
She gently grasped his face, “Bruce, I will be fine. I can protect myself and I will never be too far.”
The comment evidently had a quick effect, soothing his anxieties as he sighed.
“Besides, maybe getting out there will finally detract all the attention of all those admirers of yours.”
“What admirers?” his face twisted in confusion.
Her eyebrows perked up, a breathy laugh from Y/N as she clasped her hands around his neck, “I can’t tell if you actually have no idea or not, but, your name is not the only reason people stare at you.”
A glimpse of a smirk pulled at his mouth, ducking his head before he looked back at her. His eyes met Y/N’s, urging her to tell him more.
“The suit is a nice touch.”
“You like it?” Bruce murmured, his hands drawing to her waist as a content smile grew on her face.
“Considering everything that’s happened, I’m glad to be here.”
A note from Lucy:Oops, my hand slipped. Bruce is now in therapy. And you should be too. Yes I wrote this instead of revising for that all important psychology paper two tomorrow. Yes, that was the aim. Also, I KNOW, it’s not a healthy therapist/client relationship…but this is fiction, people, GODDAMN IT! IT IS WHAT I WANT IT TO BE! I also know that this is shitty…i’ll get round to editing it properly later (maybe?). But that’s not the point- the point is…Follow the batboys lead, get some help (and let me know if you want a part two). Now shut up, Lucy, go to sleep, its 2:40 am here and you have exams-
“We spoke last week about coping mechanisms; More specifically, living with this anger you described.” You were flipping through your notes from the last session you two had and what seemed the most pressing at the moment to Bruce. Bruce nodded from his seat in the chair opposite you. He was sort of slumped into it, his head lowered into his chest as he avoided eye contact. Or maybe it was just to avoid the mere sight of you. “You said you get frustrated often.” That same glassy look occupied his face, very brooding and serious. And then his brow creased. He shook his head in another curt nod. “What with?”
For the first time in twenty minutes he looked at you. Which was impressive considering it was an hour long session today. Something dangerous flashed behind those blue eyes. Bruce was hiding something. You could tell from the way he shifted in his seat, the way he closed himself off from you, the person he had come to in order to ‘open up’.
“People.” You raised your eyebrow, aiming for an elaboration. But Bruce seemed entrapped by something hidden in his mind.
The feeling of his fist colliding with skin shot hot thrills through his spine. The bruising peppered over his knuckles would have been a sign to reign it in but he just couldn’t. Not when the feeling of the thugs bone cracked under his own clenched, balled hand was screaming to be felt again. It was electrifying.
Not all people crave physical contact in the same way. Some people seek it out in violence.
“Their disrespect.” You have gotten used to these one or two word answers. Mr Wayne was certainly a silent man. But you had a feeling it was loud in his own head. A person’s head is his own space for him to voice his thoughts. Not everyone feels the need to let their opinions be shown in the stentorian daylight colours. It was such a specific hue that not everything looked as pretty as it was once earlier perceived. Lighting can be everything.
“For what?”
This man had been following a woman for the past few blocks and Batman had been following him. It was all about timing with this duty. He never went into something without taking the correct precautions. That’s why he waited until now to drag the man’s flailing body into a dark alleyway to be dealt with.
His hand clamped down like a vice over his mouth, the attacker’s hands flying to his own aid as he clawed at Batman’s arm. His nails were nowhere near enough to even scratch at the armour the Batman had on. It was at the dead end of the alley that the man was flung at the wall, his hood falling off to reveal a skinhead beneath.
The figure of vengeance and darkness itself didn’t say a single word as the man uttered out pleas to be let go and that he ‘would never do it again’. And he didn’t say anything when pummeling him into the grubby concrete, a steady stream of blood dribbling from his chin now, swirling with saliva, the mixture lacing his gums and teeth that looked darker in these specific shadows.
“For you?” He looked almost disgusted that you would ask such a question, anger heating slightly in the pit of his stomach, yet not to a boil. That frustration you spoke of soon entered the equation again. You knew from the way his fists clenched, almost gouging at the armrests to the chair opposite you. His knuckles, usually purple, drew white from the tension held so stubbornly within them. The sharp bone of his knuckles kept his skin tight, cracking them slightly as he ignored the new sting as his old cuts opened up.
“You think I have a superiority complex?” You shook your head with a small chuckle. Superior complex? No. Saviour complex? Maybe…you didn’t know enough yet.
“You haven’t answered my question yet. You answer mine, I answer yours. That’s how a conversation works, Mr Wayne.” He had grown accustomed to your slight humour in the past few and a bit months. He would be lying if he didn’t find it attractive in some way.
“For other people.” You noted this down on the page of your notebook. Bruce let out a drawn out breath, looking just out of your eyeline. Back to square one. As per usual.
“And that’s what-“ you paused, trying to think of a way to put this, “makes you angry.” There was a pregnant pause between your question and his answer, setting you on edge slightly.
“It confuses me more than anything.” You sighed in relief internally.
“How so?”
“I have a voice in my head. People’s blatant disrespect sets it off.” You furrowed your brow when Bruce hid back into himself, his hands meeting in his lap now to fiddle with his already blunt nails. Bruce felt his stomach twist and his throat tighten. Never before had he spoken about him with you. He was too terrified of letting something slip.
Rain poured into his eyes, running down the sharp slope of his nose, down the cowl that sealed his identity from Gotham’s vicious headlines, and tabloids, and criminal population. His teeth gritted- his hands tightening around the throat of a man he cared not about. Part of him felt a rush from having his life quite literally in the palm of his hands.
Their eyes soon tinted red, face burning up red, then purple, his lips becoming blue. The sight must have grounded him, prying this murderous thought from his blackened mind, for his gip loosened.
The man slipped away, scurrying off…and the Batman stared down at his gloved hands in disgust. He didn’t want to be a killer.
“What’s so bad about this voice?”
“It’s violent,” he said, not missing a beat. Something flagged in your mind. He answered too quickly for him to not have thought about this before. The man’s chest rose with an inhale, but did not fall with an exhale. You continued slowly, noticing how his shoulders drew up and he tensed.
“Why do you think that is?”
“There is violence in everything.”
“Could you think of an example?” He studied you for a second, striking blue eyes darting around your face. Studied you the way you study ice to see if it’s safe to walk on.
“Stars. We watch them burn to relax. That’s not beautiful. That’s destructive.”
“And you see people as the same.” He nodded. “The voice contributes to that, I’m guessing.”
“Sometimes I find it hard to separate it from the rest of my thoughts. It’s there to be what I feel I can’t be as Bruce Wayne.”
“It’s too often that our own worst enemy is the version of ourselves we create in our own head. And it’s difficult because it’s a part of you and therefore knows what gets you the most. We have to remember that this voice would be nothing without Bruce Wayne. But Bruce Wayne is still everything without it.” You purse your lips, thinking of what to do next. Bruce Wayne was too much of a puzzle to know right off the bat. “Have you tried journaling?”
It always took Bruce a while to shed the skin of The Batman. Every night he would take off the cowl, the suit, the boots, the gloves. But it was never enough. He was still left with those thoughts that he had to remember. Pushing himself. Finding a limit. And pushing it some more.
Bruce’s thoughts tangled into the Batman’s and he struggled with which identity was who. Bruce got angry, The Batman cowered in shadows. Sometimes he would go out, a mix of him and this monster he made. A drifter. Dark circles from sleepless, troubled and haunted nights hid under black paint pasted over Bruce’s eyes. Or maybe it was Batman’s eyes? The eyes of vengeance personified. He had no idea who they belonged to anymore. When he saw violence it was the Batmans. Any other time they were Bruce’s. He loathed it,
The Batman could not quail…or this whole idea was for nothing. He needed a way to separate the two. Or maybe merge them together completely?
He shook his head, “No.”
“You could try it. A few of my other clients use it to ‘thought track’ as it were. When they feel scared, or confused,” you said, gesturing to him, ‘they write it down. They say it helps to see the words on paper before they have a chance to…run away and hide, per say.” He was silent. Bone chillingly so. It was hard to see through the shadows the higher planes of his face created, but he grimaced.
Offering a small smile to him, you closed your notebook. This whole conversation- hell, whole session- couldn’t help but get you thinking as you paused, noticing how he shifted again in his seat. “This is off record, I won’t write it down…but-” You tried not to stare him down and give the worried-shrink-look. “Do you, as just Bruce, feel threatened by this voice and the expectations it places upon you?”
‘Shit’, he thought.
Maybe you had found out? He went to shake his head ‘no’, but paused halfway through. He couldn’t bring his eyes to meet yours, you were looking so intently at him that it almost burned up his neck. An army of goosebumps arose on the back of his neck.
“Sometimes.” The man croaked. It was hardly a whisper out of his lungs and more an exhale. Your pupils traced along the sharp contours of his face, his jaw, the slope of his nose, still in that contorted, painful position. His jaw was set on edge as if he was clenching his teeth together so hard they would crack. He felt he might crack. He couldn’t crack. His head swayed from left to right. You tilted yours, your tongue drawing your bottom lip into the confines of your teeth. “It takes a lot to ignore.”
“Do you ignore it because of this pressure?”
“I think…It’s hard to tell. I don’t know if I want that to be Bruce Wayne. I don’t know what else to do to stop it interfering with my life.”
You found it interesting how as soon as you had closed your book he had started to say more. Not limiting himself to a few words each time you asked a question.
“There are many things to help deal with intrusive thoughts, Bruce.” You crossed your legs, the position you were once in growing uncomfortable as you leaned forward in your seat slightly. “Exercise, diet…sleep.”
“I exercise.”
“Regularly?”
“Daily.” You didn’t know why it was such a shock. It’s not like he wasn’t a conventionally attractive man to look at. But he seemed to hide beneath the layers of loose and dark clothing. Today’s choice being a pair of deep blue jeans and a black long sleeved t-shirt. Nondescript. Under the radar. That was Bruce Wayne in a nutshell.
“What-” But Bruce had pre-empted your question before the words had the chance to escape your lips.
“Boxing. Martial arts.” The bruises on his knuckles made more sense now. How they never seemed to fade. It was something you made a note of in your very first session. “I don’t want to cause harm to people that don’t deserve it.”
Bruce’s keen blue eyes flicked over to the clock above your head and then the window to where it had started to grow dark under the thick blanket of Gotham’s smog. He had done this a total of five times so far this session. It added a hint of reason behind his skittish nature. The bounce of his leg and the way he seemed…elsewhere. “I have to go.” He stood up much faster than you did…or could have even anticipated. Something didn’t add up to you. He was definitely hiding something from you.
“Goodbye.”
“Uh-” He was gone. Out the door. Just after slinging his jacket over his shoulders. You moved to the window, eager to see him go. Maybe the reason for his abrupt departure lay outside on the grimy street below. He jogged down the steps to the building, glancing up at the sky before continuing with his hood drawn up down the pavement, the only trace of him being his breaths made visible from the biting cold air. You leaned forward, cheek almost pressing up to the cold glass pane, trying to get a glance at the sky. It was out, the bat symbol. He was out.
“Goodbye, Mr Wayne.” You muttered, moving to your desk and taking a seat there, opening up your notebook to translate rough notes into his file.
Hasn’t tried journaling yet…ask about it next session → maybe to see it.
Something certainly didn’t make sense here as the mystery of Bruce Wayne seemed much deeper than meets the eye. No. There was definitely more. Something darker. It smelled of mystery, made your head hurt to think about and caused a prickling of curiosity to ignite at your fingertips. Taking your pen, it took a moment for it to reach the paper, but when it did you scribbled out anything and everything he had said the moment you had closed your notebook.
“Feel threatened by this voice”…“the expectations it places upon you”…
“I don’t know if I want that to be Bruce Wayne”
His knuckles, usually purple, drew white from the tension held so stubbornly within them. They never seemed to fade.As soon as you had closed your book he had started to say more. Under the radar. Bruce’s keen blue eyes flicked over to the clock above your head and then the window. It was out, the bat symbol. He was out.
A gasp ripped from your lungs as your pen tumbled from your hands, clattering to the lino floor. In the rush of your thoughts you had drawn a mindmap to try and organise the chaos and it has worked. It all made sense now. Each branch linking together and each bubble providing another piece of evidence for your hypothesis. And in the centre; a name. His name; Bruce Wayne.
Synopsis :In whichBatmom (you), is HYPING Bruce up A LOT. Because like, have you seen the man ?? He IS handsome and smart and beautiful and brave and *insert more ramble here about how much of a simp we all are for Bruce Wayne*.
I realized something yesterday : I wrote HUNDREDS of stories of Bruce (or the kids) hyping Batmom up, but I don’t think I ever wrote a story where she’s the one hyping him up ?? I shall correct that fatal mistake in this story. Hope you’ll like it, as usual comments/reblogs are welcomed :) :
He hated himself for not being able to save his parents.
He hated himself for the way he treated Alfred after they died, and for the way he abandoned him to go train far away.
He hated himself for not being able to save everyone.
He hated himself because he knew he had issues, he knew he wasn’t well…yet he continued on the dark and lonely path of being “The Batman”. Vengeance itself.
He hated himself for not being able to save Dick’s parents.
He hated himself for not being able to convey his feelings properly, and to show how much he cared for that little boy. To show his love, the fatherly love he quickly felt towards him.
He hated himself because he wanted so much for Dick not to be like him, but could he ever achieve that ? Yes, the boy was happier and brighter, but if he stayed with him…Could Dick really have a good future ?
He hated himself because he knew he was violent and his ways weren’t always good. But at least…At least Dick was a good kid. It was good, that he went off by himself with the Titans, to cool down. And Bruce hated himself for missing him so much. Wasn’t this what he wanted ? To make sure Dick could move on, unlike him, who couldn’t forget his past ?
His hatred for himself went through the roof with Jason. He hated himself for not being able to protect him. He wanted to die, when he realized his son was still alive, hating him maybe even more than he hated himself (which was a feat). He wanted to die, and not feel anything ever again, when he lost his son, and when he realized what Jason became…He couldn’t save him…he couldn’t save him…
He couldn’t save Damian either. Nor could he be there when Tim needed him the most. And Cassandra ? Did he ever do anything good for her ? Ah, he couldn’t save Duke’s parents, if only he had killed the Joker…
Yes. Bruce hated himself so much, sometimes, it was unbearable. And so he hid his feelings, he pretended to be cold, to not care, even.
It was easier, to push everyone away. To keep them at bay, and act as if he didn’t feel anything. But the truth was…
The truth was that he felt everything.
He had always been an overly sensitive child, “hypersensitive”, they even said. And he had to beat this side of him down, to pretend he lost all feelings…It was vital, in a way.
He couldn’t survive otherwise, he couldn’t keep going if he always let his emotions out. He would not have survived his parents’ death. He would not have survived his son(s) death. He-
It was just easier. To hide the fact he hated himself so much. To hide all feelings. To pretend. His facade was so well polished, and perfected over the years !
But then-
Then you came along.
Yes. Bruce hated himself. Past tense.
There were still moments Bruce had a hard time to live with himself, and went back to old habits. But…
But ever since you entered his life, things changed.
Because you loved him. Wholly and unconditionally. And if someone loved him so much, someone he loved to death too, someone he found to be the most amazing person he ever met. If that someone loved him so damn much, then maybe…Maybe, he wasn’t so bad ?
Even when he was a jerk to you. Even in his darkest time.
You found him. Took none of his crap. Told him off, and brought him back on a way full of life.
No matter how hard things got, and oh, they sometimes became so hard you felt like you were not going to be able to keep going, you stayed.
And you told him. You told him how much you loved him, how important he was, how-
You made him believe it.
There were still moments he hated himself, and felt like he would fall back into old habits of punishing himself by pushing everyone away, and becoming “Vengeance” once again. But now…
Now he had you. And you never shied away from telling him how great he was.
Bruce hated himself, but you love him.
It’s funny, how someone can think another person is their savior.
Before you met Bruce, you were destined to have a certain life you knew you would’ve hated. And then you met him.
Your light.
You knew Bruce thought that you were the one who saved him, that you were the one who kept him together. Your husband always had a tendency to put you on a pedestal, and think you were the greatest human who ever lived.
The truth was, you desperately needed him. You were a highly flawed individual, and you were very aware of your flaws…except when he was with you.
He always knew what to say, how to make you feel safe and loved, how to make you feel like you were the most important person on the planet.
And it killed you to know how he could be so hard on himself sometimes.
You had made it your mission, long ago, to erase all those feelings inside him. You knew it was going to be a long journey. You knew there were times he wouldn’t believe you. Because you were the same.
You were the same.
Sometimes, you didn’t believe him when he told you you were the most beautiful woman he ever met, the one he loved the most, the only one he had eyed for (oh but if anyone could’ve told you : when you were in the room, he really did have only eyes for you, not noticing any other women nor men because you occupied all his thoughts).
You knew he didn’t always believe you…But you were never going to stop telling him how great he was.
You were NEVER going to stop hyping the love of your life up.
Before you even met him
“Have you heard of that guy, um, the rich one who just came back? Because (Y/N), he’s hot.”
“What ?”
It was too early in the morning for your best friend’s shenanigans. What, it wasn’t even 7 am, you were about to go buy coffee before going to school (it was exam week at your high school, you needed the caffeine), and here he was, talking to you about some random rich man who “came back”. Came back from where anyway ? Ugh, this SO didn’t interest you.
You were about to take an important maths test, you really didn’t care about some random handsome billionaire who was going to flaunt his wealth all around Gotham, pretending to care about the city while not doing anything to help it.
“Bruce Wayne, it’s Bruce Wayne ! You know, from THE Wayne family !”
“Ugh, yeah, I kind of got that from the fact his last name is “Wayne”…”
Your friend ignored your snarky comment, staring at the cover of the magazine you still didn’t even look at, where, you assume, was probably a picture of that “Bruce Wayne”.
You had faint memories of him. Years ago, he suddenly disappear from Gotham and like um, his butler ? His adoptive father ? You couldn’t even remember the guy’s name, but he told the press his “Master Wayne” (cringe) went to school abroad or something.
Again. You didn’t care. You had your head full of equations. You would’ve done anything for your best friend to STOP talking about that dude.
“Just look at him (Y/N), he’s so your type ! Come oooon !”
“Ugh, I don’t have a type, and you-”
He shoved the cover in front of your face, definitely forcing you to look at it and…Wow.
Oh.
Oh no.
Hewashot.
No. Fuck. No. Wait. Noooo, but your maaaaaths ! Damn your brain for going : “hot man + handsome face = you’re not going to remember Pythagoras’ theorem”.
“Shit.” You say, and your friend just looks at you with an expression that clearly means : “RIGHT ?! Told ya.”. You take the magazine, automatically reading the title of it.
“The prodigal son returns : after years away, Bruce Wayne is finally back in town. And he has a plan !”
You weren’t going to lie, you didn’t even care about the plan, kinda obnubilated by how hot he looked. Nooo, you thought you passed the age of having instant crush on random men !
“He looks like a douche.”
You say, trying to hide the fact that, annoyingly, your friend was right when he said that man was your type. Ugh, couldn’t he not look so ridiculously good smiling at the paparazzis like that ?!
“Well, he’s already hot as fuck, he can’t get all the qualities right ? That’d be unfair. He looks like such a himbo.”
You nod, and add : “a doumbo”. Your friend look at you curiously, and you say :
“Ya know, the combination of a himbo and a douche. Like, himbos aren’t always douche bags, but look at him, and his dumb sexy smirk. He must be a douche.”
“A doumbo. A himche ?”
“Some would say, a Douchbo.”
“A Himbouche, even.”
“Haha, himbouche. Sounds French and fancy.”
And that was all you needed to burst out into laughter. A well needed fit of laugh, before arriving in front of your maths test and realizing that…You can’t remember anything of your lessons, as the face of that “Himbouche” kept coming back into your head. Physical appearance didn’t even mean that much ! Personality was your jam ! Ah but with handsome men like that, how could you even pretend not to be interested ?
Ugh. It’s not like you’d ever had a chance to even meet him !
But you met him.
You could mock that cover all you wanted, the fact remained that you kept that magazine for a long time, too long to divulge it because it’s really embarrassing when you think about it.
Thanks the gods you managed to hid it from Bruce. He never even knew you owned that magazine, and like, good. He would’ve never let you hear the end of it.
You first met him at a gala, in which you felt very uncomfortable.
A charity, to open more libraries in Gotham. Your charity. You send him an invitation on the off chance he would come and…Here he was.
You noticed him instantly, but he was busy and you were definitely not going to introduce yourself first.
Somehow, you ended up speaking to a bunch of women you didn’t know the name of, but you often saw them in pictures participating in galas and such. They were probably rich. You had most likely Bruce Wayne to thank for them coming, because your charity ? Clearly not their crowd.
“So tell me, um…?”
“(Y/N).”
“Ah yes, (Y/N), what an adorable name.”
Could someone sound even faker ? Probably not. You could feel your eye twitch a little, but you promised yourself not to snap back at any possible donator. It was hard.
“So, tell me (Y/N), how did you manage to get Bruce Wayne to come here ? He usually only comes to um, important events. Not that your little thing isn’t, it’s just- you know.”
You did know. But you weren’t going to let this people intimidate you so you said :
“Actually, I don’t. Would you care to explain what you really mean ?”
That put them in an awkward position of course, because as much as these people were good at insinuating things and being snarky, they never seemed to outright speak their mind. Which often worked to your advantage.
The woman cleared her throat, and you said (regretting it immediately) :
“Bruce Wayne actually comes to a lot of the smaller events, and always donate gracefully to good cause. He’s clearly not the snobby man you think he is, just last week he was at a small neighborhood place which was trying to get money to open a basketball court in the Narrows. He’s amazing.”
All those years ago, when you called him a “himbouche” with your friend, you couldn’t be more wrong. His action spoke for themselves, he really turned the city around. Plus, he financed the Batman, which is something you couldn’t ignore. How great was that ?!
You might’ve spoken a little too vehemently, because the woman facing you smirked. One of those almost evil smirk which meant she was about to try to humiliate you. And indeed, she said, loud enough for everyone to hear :
“What, you have a crush on Bruce Wayne or something ? That’s cute.”
Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Murder was not on your list tonight. You smiled, of that same fake smile she harbored, and said :
“Please, who doesn’t ?”
You decided that it was easier to not even lie, to not pretend you don’t have a crush on the man. Because, well, you knew you were definitely not the only one. And there wasn’t any shame in having a little crush on someone.
Plus, the way that person said “that’s cute” really irked you. You were not about to let someone mock you like that. Even if you knew there were no chance that he’d be interested in you, the way they said it, “oh that’s cute” as if it was a given he’d never notice you, really made you mad.
“A crush on me, you say ?”
What ? No. Fuck. Ah. He was right behind you right ? Bruce Wayne ? Yeah. You were never going to turn around ever again. Ignoring him seemed like the rational thing to do.
Your flawless plan of not turning around was, however…Flawed. He literally just had to move in front of you. Which he did.
“Bruuuucie, how nice it is to see you !”
The woman instantly latched on him, but he downright ignored her, turning to you and saying :
“I’m Bruce Wayne, very nice to meet you (Y/N). Love your books..”
The rest was history. From that night, it seems, you two never quite managed to truly say “good bye” to each other.
************
“Did you mean it ?”
He asked, later that night. You two escaped on an isolated balcony, where no one could find you. It’s strange, how it seemed like you both had the same idea at the same time.
“What ?”
“What you said about me.”
“The…Crush ?”
“That too, but not only. The other thing, about me making Gotham a better place.”
“Ah, of course I meant it. It’s plain to see you really do. Surely, you’ve heard that before ?”
He lets out a little self-deprecating chuckle, and turns his face towards the sky.
“Well, I guess a lot of people do say that. But I don’t think many of them truly mean it. So, thank you.”
He turns to you, and he smiles. A pure, almost child like smile. A real smile. Not the one you saw on his face countless times in magazines, or on TV.
Wow.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
Your heart beat so loud, you were sure he could hear it.
What a smile. The most beautiful you’ve ever seen. Without exaggeration, you were sure that smile could brighten an entire room easily.
“I don’t think many of them truly mean it”, those words sounded so lonely. Like you caught a glimpse of his true self, right before he hid behind his mask again. How come a man like this didn’t think people really meant it, when they said he was amazing ?
That blew your mind.
You promised yourself that night, that if you ever were to meet him again, you’d make sure to always give him the compliments he deserved.
In Private
It’s early in the morning.
A moment you both loved and dreaded.
Loved, because the first thing you saw as you woke up was your beloved husband. Dreaded, because it usually meant you wouldn’t see each other the entire day, as you both were very busy. And then, there was that all Batman gig…
But for now, for now, you’re both waking up, and you’re in each other’s arms.
He rolls on top of you, hands on each side of your shoulders, and smile.
Ah, that pure smile you love so much.
“What a handsome man…” you say, as you put your hands on his cheeks.
He lays his face in the crook of your neck, and you know it’s because he’s trying to hide his reaction.
“You getting shy on me big man ?” the amusement is evident in your words, and he grumbles but you feel his lips quirk up on your skin. And that’s enough to make you feel content. And to make him feel butterflies in his stomach. Even after all this years, you still make him so happy with the simplest compliment.
************
“I love it when you smile…”
It took a long time, before you got to see his real smile. Not the one he arbored at gala, not the “Brucie Wayne” one, no. His real smile.
The one he had when looking at you, eyes full of fondness. A smile of utter contentment, he had only when with you, or his children.
Your comment makes him smile, and he’s about to say he loves yours too but you don’t even give him a chance :
“I love being with so much, I wish time could stand still when we’re together.”
“I feel the same..” he whispers, as you two instantly fall into each other’s arms.
“Bruce, I mean it.”
“I know. I do too.”
“No but, I truly mean it. I’m so happy I fell in love with you. When I hold you in my arms, I feel so lucky.”
Sometimes, he feels chocked up. It’s rare, and it always takes him by surprise. To be honest, most of the time, he’s the one to render you speechless with his beautiful words. He always had a knack with finding the perfect things to say to make you feel good about himself.
You did too, of course. Just, he was always better at controlling his emotions. Didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate your compliments of course.
But yes. Sometimes, sometimes it felt almost too good to be true. He was so sure, after his parents’ death, he would never know again what happiness was. And here he was.
In those moments, he’d hide his face in the crook of your neck. You knew what it meant, when he did that. Your words meant too much to him. So much, that he lacked the words to truly express it, and the only thing he could do was embrace you.
Oh. Oh you wished more people could see him like that. During moments he couldn’t hide his emotions, he couldn’t hide at all. During moments he showed his true self : a caring, loving, empathetic and emotional man.
It made you made, sometimes, that people thought of him as only a “machine”. Someone who could endure anything and everything. Someone who, anyway, didn’t feel anything.
As you often said : he feels everything.
Everything.
It’s not easy, to be the Batman. To endure. To keep it all inside.
So many people were wrong about him. So many people didn’t truly knew him.
Not the Vengeance. But the man who, even as he was utterly broken, kept fighting for what he believed in. Driven by love. Ah.
But in a way, you liked the fact you were one of the only person privy to his real feelings. And so, when he hid his face in the crook of your neck, you could feel nothing else but happiness.
************
“It’s so unfair.”
You say, breaking the silence reigning in the batcave. He’s been focused on the screen of his computer for a while now, and you caught yourself just staring at him. He acknowledge you though, as always, and he says, turning his head towards you :
“Mm ?”
“You are so handsome. Like, all the time.”
He smiles softly, but shakes his head. Of course, Bruce had always been aware he was a good looking man. He used that to his advantage many times. But when you said it, even after he heard you say it hundreds of times, he just felt all warm inside. Butterflies. Flustered. Like a damn teenage boy.
He turns back to the computer, not even realizing the smile has not left his lips yet.
************
Bruce kept it all in a special place in his heart. All your beautiful words, that made him feel like he wasn’t worthless. Like maybe, there was no reason to hate himself so much. He kept it all inside his heart, so that in tough moments, like fighting an intergalactic menace far from you and his family, he could plunge back in that part of himself and remember how loved he is.
This part of him kept everything, everything you told him over the years :
“You have my heart. I’m so glad you chose me.”
“The sound of your laugh is music to my ears.”
"I’m in awe of what a wonderful person you are.”
“You inspire me to be a better woman”.
“When I’m with you, I feel like I found what I was looking for.”
"I feel so safe with your arms around me.”
“Your presence brings the best out of me. I can’t wait to make more memories with you.”
“You make me so happy just by being yourself.”, you were probably one of the only person who loved him for who he truly was. For him.
"Being with you feels so right. Thank you for loving me.”
"I never get tired of looking at you. Of talking to you. Of being with you.”
“Hearing your voice brings me so much joy.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You always acknowledge the thing he did for you, too :
"Thank you for supporting me.”
"Thank you for looking after me.”
“Thank you for always being there for me.”
"Thank you for listening.”
You just always had a knack to hype him up ! :
"There is no one else like you. You are the best.”
"You always have the best ideas.”
"Adventures with you are my favorite. You always manage to make things interesting, even the dullest ones.”
"You make the world so much more beautiful. You know you’re the best, right ?”
“I’ll fight anyone who say anything bad about you.”
And if he ever said something along the line of : “You don’t have to.” You’d respond with : “Oh no but, I do.”
Alfred had always been supportive of him. And along his life, Bruce met countless people who praised him for whatever reason.
But nobody, nobody ever quite had your talent to hype him up. To make him feel like he was genuinely great.
Clark would say that your praise of him sometimes did him a disservice. Because, yes, your husband knew he was intelligent. And he could therefor be so damn arrogant. But his arrogance often hid, as most arrogant feelings do, a great sense of insecurity. As if him being smart was his only use in the world…
You made him feel like it wasn’t. You made him feel like being Batman wasn’t the only thing he had going on. So what if sometimes he was insufferable, he thought he was always right etc…You never once saw Bruce act as if he was superior to anyone.
You never understood this weird image following him. Sure as Brucie Wayne he played on being insolent and arrogant and all. But as Batman ? When did he ever truly make someone feel less than ? Never. That’s when.
On the contrary. Bruce often hyped others up, even if they didn’t notice (were there really a biggest Superman fan than him ? He just was subtil in his compliments).
Nobody ever said your husband was flawless. But his qualities vastly outweighed his flaws. You could bear with his “dark moments”, and him sometimes being a jerk, because you knew how great he truly was.
Hoping people can be perfect at all time is so unrealistic. And quite toxic, really.
Everybody makes mistakes.
Not everybody can try to better themselves though, like Bruce does. It drove you crazy that some people seemed to never notice how much progress he did. Ah, but you knew.
Bruce wasn’t selfish as some people said, he was selfless.
You knew.
You never wanted him to be perfect anyway, you loved him just as he was.
In Public
From the day he became your boyfriend, to when he turned into your fiancé, and now as your husband, you never shied away of being very vocal about how much you admired him. How amazing you thought he was.
************
“He’s amazing, isn’t he ?” you’re often caught gushing at the journalists, and oh you have so many reasons to be proud of your husband. Whether he just started an amazing charity, or just because he exists really.
Many people tried to fluster you, or anger you (drama always sold more) by making inappropriate comments about your husband, like how hot he was and such. How many people were after him. Without missing a bit, you always answered things like :
“He’s gorgeous in his new suit, right ?”
“Honestly can’t blame anyone who have the hots for him. I mean, have you seen him ?!”
“I know, his butt looks GREAT in those pants !”
“I had to go buy a new dress shirt for him, he flexed his arms and pecs earlier and tore it apart. Can you believe it ? He’s so strong. And fff, what a snack. A buffet, even.”
Sometimes, some people tried the other tactic, trying to denigrate Bruce in any way :
“What did you just say ?! My husband is the kindest, smartest, most incredible person on this planet. I will tolerate no slander.”
And you were ready to fight. You would NEVER stand for any bad talk about your husband. People could say whatever they wanted, but anyone pretending he was a bad person were just liars. You’d never, NEVER let them defame him !
************
Whenever you spotted a paparazzi, you reveled in showing your husband off. Pointing out his chiseled jaw line, or his biceps. Forming the word “thicc” on camera as you pointed your finger to his thighs.
It became a running joke in Gotham, and a source of endless memes. Nobody could deny that Bruce Wayne was an attractive man anyway…
If anyone asked you a passing question about him, while you were going somewhere or they caught you buying coffee, you would often ramble about how great Bruce was.
“He’s so smart. And humble. And kind. And brave. And bold. And compassionate. And so pretty. And interesting. And (insert an infinite influx of compliment).”
To be fair, people learned not to ask you much about your husband, because you could never shut up, and hype him up in front of everyone. And vice versa, “that’s my wife” Bruce would say, proud of you at any small occasions.
“Bruce Wayne and (Y/N) Wayne are our modern Gomèz and Morticia Addams” was an official instagram account. A very popular one. You always wondered who was the creator of it (I’ll let you guess).
************
“Bruce, Bruce listen.”
“Mm ?”
“I crave you more than pizza.”
He chuckles at that, and you-
“Ew. Please. Mom. Can’t you wait for us not to be around to say things like that ?”
“Right ?! I agree with Tim, please. This is our family night, you and father, stop being gross.”
You turn to your children, snickering. Oh how you loved to gross them out by openly complimenting you husband. And you knew he loved it too, and that he was most likely about to make a comment that would annoy your kids, while making you feel all warm and nice.
“I’ll never look at pizza the same way…”
Jason says dejectedly, looking at his piece of pizza. And you can’t help but burst out into laughter. Drama queens, all of them.
Aaah, it’s not because your children were there that you were going to not tell Bruce how much you loved him. How much he meant to you. How amazing he truly was.
At the League’s headquarters
“Your intelligence always astounds me, my heart.” You say without thinking, forgetting that well…You’re surrounded by all your superheroes friends. And they’re all looking at you and Bruce.
Superman, your great friend Clark, has a faint smile on his lips (what ? The man was a sucker for good romance ! Following yours and Bruce’s love story was quite the ride, and he was always there in the tough moments…he secretly was the person, along with Alfred, who rooted for you two the most).
Wonder Woman smirked (she thought it was funny when you managed to fluster Bruce).
Flash was going to catch flies with his mouth open like that, in utter shock.
Green Lantern seemed almost grossed out (his expression not unlike the one your children harbored when you two kissed in front of them).
Green Arrow’s eyes immediately went to Black Canary’s, their relationship more alike to yours than any of you will ever know…Y
ou made a mental list of all your friends in your head, looking at you two. Ff, the League was getting big now, with new arrivals pretty regularly. Maybe you should try to control your “simp surge” (that’s how Tim called those moments during which you gushed over your husband).
But then, how could you, when he truly was intelligent ? The best detective out there. Once, you heard one of them (you could honestly not remember who) imply that Bruce wasn’t an important member of the league because he didn’t have any powers. And oh Gods.
“Please.” you said, annoyed that anyone would think just because he doesn’t have any power he’s not the most important part of the team (no, you never exaggerated ! hehe)
“When A piece of rock is your nemesis, or when the color yellow is your weakness, you don’t really get to brag too much ok ? Plus, let’s think about how many times Bruce got you all out of bad situations, mm ? Who always has a plan B, all the way to Z here, mm ? Dare to say you wouldn’t panic if Bruce one day say : “I don’t know”, mmmmm ?”
To be fair, it was kind of true. Nobody could quite deny the fact that, if one day, the Batman himself ran out of ideas to “win”, it’d be quite frightening. Not that he was the only intelligent person around. Oh no, there was Barry too of course, and J’onn, and many others ! But over the years, everyone came to rely on his mastermind to find solutions to their biggest problems.
Ah yes. There wasn’t a moment in the League headquarters where you didn’t express your admiration for your husband (in relevant situations of course).
To friends
You had the same friends he did, for the most part. Except for your childhood friend, and his. You shared the same friend group.
To be fair, the League was in big part your friends. But it was different, when you were officially on League missions, and only just all together casually, outside of “work”.
You hyped Bruce up, but not in the same way you hyped Batman up.
************
Clark is the only one used to it.
Everyone else always gets taken aback, when you gush over Bruce and he sometimes let a smile slip up. Usually, he keeps his face cold and unfeeling (he has a reputation to uphold). But sometimes…
Only when he doesn’t have the cowl on, does they sometimes catch him smiling at you. Unable to stop himself. And that’s when they all realized that “The Batman” was before all else, just a man.
And an impressive one at that, as you constantly reminded them.
************
One day, you were sitting on the Kent farm’s porch, a cup of coffee in hand, waiting for your husband and Clark to come out (they were currently doing the dishes, and helping Martha out with some things, Martha was adamant that the men must help, and you two had to chill à préciser que les two c’est elle et Lois) when Lois joined you.
Lois had a true “journalist” reflex. As soon as she learned Batman’s real identity, she wanted to ask him so many questions. And when she met you ? Oh boy.
Like today. It was the first time you came over at Martha’s for a Sunday lunch. The first time of many. Clark and Lois didn’t have children yet, and Dick was with you since just a few months (he was currently helping to bake a pie…that boy LOVED to cook).
“Ok I have to ask. How is he, really ? With you ?”
“Mm?”
“Well, I knew Bruce before, but I always felt he wasn’t showing his true self to me. Like there were always a barrier between us two. Probably why we didn’t last long. So I was wondering…”
You don’t have to think much about it :
“He’s kind, nice, sweet, always pays attention to me and tries to make me confortable in every situation. He-”
Fifteen minutes. For fifteen minutes, you hyped your man up. Fifteen minutes of you gushing over him, and Lois couldn’t help but smile.
She was happy, that Bruce found the right one. And that you found him. You were clearly meant for each others.
That day, she also realized the same things your other friends will see over the years : “The Batman” was human. He loved like everyone else, he hurt, too. He wasn’t that heartless machine they thought he was, or that stupid and arrogant playboy. No. He-
He was just a man, trying to do his best.
Your constant admiration of him made them realize that. Gave him a humanity they thought wasn’t there. Made them realize, they never truly knew him before then.
And it made them a little jealous, too. Because it was clear your love for each others knew no bound, and you’d always be each others biggest fan.
With your kids
They don’t mind it, most of the time, when you compliment their dad.
Sometimes, it can get a little gross, like why does it always lead to kisses ?!
But sometimes, it’s really cute, and inspire them to find someone who loves them as much as you love Bruce (and vice versa).
Maybe that’s why none of them would ever settle for anyone toxic ? Because they had their parents example, and certain “couple goals”.
************
You and Damian constantly boast about Bruce (when he’s not there). Damian would never admit it openly like you did, but he thought his dad was amazing. And only with you, did he feel safe enough to truly speak his mind about the matter. “Did you know father could bench press 1000 pounds ??”, “I did ! And he always does that at the end of his training, the man is a machine, a beast.” Damian constantly bragged about his dad (and you, and his siblings) at school. And nobody could ever really tell him that THE Bruce Wayne wasn’t as cool as he sounded…because everyone knew he was (except maybe Bruce himself).
You and Dick LOVED to fluster Bruce. Exaggerating your admiration for him (which was already huge) was your jam. Dick was a great actor, he’d often take his most angelic face before saying how much he loved his dad. It was even worst when he became an adult, because he kept that angelic face and nobody could resist that expression. You and him could never get enough of seeing Bruce blush as you both complimented his every action.
Jason, before his death, never shied away from backing you up when you said Bruce was a great father. “My dad is the best !” He’d exclaim proudly, making sure journalists caught that on tape.
After his death, those words never really came out of his mouth ever again. Which made Bruce feel miserable. Until one day : someone dared speak ill of him. Jason lost his cool, and let’s say that this person will never dare again say something bad about Bruce Wayne. This was proof Jason still cared so much, still thought he was the best…And that only him, could criticize his father.
You and Tim used to have a secret “Batfam Fandom” website, that Bruce found out about years after its creation. You and little Tim had forums, and fan pages dedicated to the Bat (and by extension, to Bruce, albeit you were the only ones knowing the truth). When Bruce finally discovered that page, he was too touched to even admit he found out about it. You still didn’t know he knew…But he definitely went to check that site from time to time, when he didn’t feel good and needed a “pick me up”, knowing he’d found your account (NumberOneBatmanSimp) and your son’s (BatmanStan) gushing over how great he was.
Cass was THE daddy’s girl. Of course she’d always join in on you complimenting him. “You. Great.” she’d tell him whenever he felt badly about himself. She would never hesitate to scold him, too. “You taught me how to love myself. Love yourself, too. Or else…”, the threat in her words often meaning that if he didn’t, she would hug him up until he felt better. Just like you, she would never let anyone speak badly about her father, including himself.
Duke was already a fan of Bruce before he met him. And when he finally did, reality went beyond his expectations. Bruce was everything he imagined, and more (the more being : newsflash, he was also the Batman !). How could he not find him amazing and cool and all ?
Yes. Bruce often found himself stuck in a “hype sandwich”, where you and one of the kids (sometimes even more than one), would remind him of how great he truly was. And how much you loved him.
Hyping the kids up
"Have you met my oldest son, Dick ? No ? You have to, he’ll honestly make your life better by just existing.”
“Yes, Jason, my son, he’s fantastic isn’t he ? When he laughs, it brightens the entire room and he never did anything wrong, ever.”
“Have you ever met someone more intelligent than my Tim ? The answer is no, because nobody is. Objectively speaking, he’s the greatest.”
“Cassandra is beautiful, smart, amazing, flawless…I pity anyone who can’t see that.”
“Damian ? Another one of my son who never did anything wrong, ever. I’ll fight you on that. Damian is the sweetest little boy ever, he overcame so much, and constantly works on bettering himself. Not a lot of people will achieve even half of his will to become a better man. He will change the world, mark my world. And for the better.”
“Duke didn’t let his power change him, do you know how strong you have to be for that to happen ? How much of a good person you have to be, to not turn pretentious because you’re powerful ? Such a powerful kid, in every sense of the term”.
Being your child meant never feeling worthless. Never feeling less than. Of course, you weren’t always perfect and you lost your cool with them more than once…But we established nobody was perfect.
Well. Except your children.
They were perfect in your eyes. Their “flaws” only made them better, stronger. They always impressed you so much by how tough they truly were. They went through so much, yet always pulled through. How impressive was that ?
You never missed an occasion to tell them how amazing they were.
Ok, hope you liked it ! I wrote it “fast” in a burst of inspiration, but I hope it’s suitable for y’all :) comments and reblogs = always loved, welcomed, and motivating ^^.
Anyway. I wanted to write this because like, I think an aspect of Bruce that is often overlooked is : “why did he decide to become the Batman, and shut away his feelings a lot of times ?” ya know ? Anyway, here’s my way of seeing things. I always felt like Bruce hates himself so much, which is why his facade is so polished…We know that deep down, he actually feels everything to the max (he even says so himself TT.TT). Hypersensitive Bruce trying to protect himself…My jam <3.
Anyway.At least now it’s clear I’m a huge Bruce Wayne simphaha.
Synopsis : Bruce arrives just in time to save you from a situation that is a little too close from home for him…
That scene, in The Batman, where he looks at the mayor’s son and just stares for a bit for obvious reason…It stuck with me. And I got the idea of writing this, Bruce making sure what happened to him never happens again. Also, maybe I wanted to write Battinson interacting with a toddler…Hope you’ll like it. Comments and other reblogs always super welcomed and appreciated <3 :
In retrospect, you think it might be fate, who brought you together that night.
What were the chances that he’d be there, at that exact moment ?
He often said it himself, he couldn’t be everywhere. And yet…
He found you that night. Both of you.
How could you not believe in some kind of destiny, after all these years and what you went through ?
Yes. It’s been years since that night, and it’s an evidence to you.
It’s fate, that took Bruce’s steps towards you. Fate that guided him, that made it so he would make it just in time to save you and your son…
Ah. It’s funny, now. “Your son”. His, too. Who would’ve thought, all those years ago, that your “little buddy” would become the most amazing older brother that ever existed ? Certainly not you. You were so sure, at that time, that you would only ever have one child.
And look at you now. Surrounded by family on that clear evening, eating dinner all together. All because once upon a time, on a terrible night, your path crossed the Batman’s…
Oh. How very different it would’ve been, if fate had decided to never do its little tricks.
************
Ten years ago
There’s some days, you just have no idea how you made it this far.
Some days, you’re not sure you can keep going.
Some days you feel like it’d be oh too easy to just let it all go.
But you can’t give up. If you were alone, maybe. But you’re not. You have your little buddy to take care of. And you could never forgive yourself if you let him down. You didn’t care what happened to you, as long as he was fine.
Nonetheless, it was tough, to be a single mother in Gotham. To be honest, it was tough to be a single mother everywhere in the world. But Gotham ? Gotham had its way of making everything worst.
You could live with the constant judgement everyone was throwing your way. People judging you without knowing your story wasn’t anything new. But you had to admit, sometimes, it got old.
It’s almost funny, how a life can take a radical turn in but a few moment…
One day, you’re painting the nursery of your future child, happy, in love, ready to welcome this little life in the world.
The next, someone calls you to say : “There’s been an accident”, and all your dreams chatter.
Your fiancé was working for a building company, and lately had been on a worksite at “The Ice Lounge”. You didn’t like the idea of him working there. Everyone knew what this place really was full of…But the money was good. And with a baby on the way ? Yeah, of course he’d take the job.
“Work accident” they said, giving you a modest compensation thanks to the “Renewal plan” (was this really what the money was supposed to be used on ?). And just like that, in a few seconds, your fiancé was forever gone. It took you a while to even process what was being said to you through the phone.
Couldn’t someone at least come tell you the news in person ?
Apparently not.
You were given no other infos. You did receive a condolences card from the owner of the place, a certain “Oswald Cobblepot”. Although you’re not really sure he even signed it. You heard the rumors about the man…
You didn’t believe one bit he died because of a “work accident”, but in Gotham ? Nobody cared about the truth. Police were in those people’s pocket, as if they were going to search for foul play.
At the end of the day, the result was the same. If anyone was guilty of his death, they wouldn’t have gone behind bars anyway. Everyone knew how the mafia worked, around Gotham. It was a well known “secret”, for those living in those streets. They would’ve found a scapegoat, and you knew your fiancé would’ve hated that. You would too, an innocent person in prison…No.
It didn’t mean that it was easy to accept. But living in Gotham meant you had to live with certain things. And to be honest, once you ended up all alone with a baby on the way, you had to take your responsibilities quickly.
You unfortunately didn’t have time to chase after the truth. But you would, one day, you would.
For now, you had to work two jobs to stay afloat, and that’s how you ended up here. Late at night. Going home with your baby in your arms.
Well. Baby. He wasn’t really a baby anymore, he would turn three in just a few months. Damn. Three years old already ? Wow. How time flies. Especially when your days are a succession of long working hours and trying to survive.
But you didn’t have a choice. As a single mother, you were near the bottom of the food chain in Gotham, and you had to fight. For him.
Because he deserved better. He deserved the world. You would do anything to give him a decent childhood. Unfortunately, it meant that sometimes, you had to take tough decisions.
Like tonight.
************
You knew bringing your two year old son to work that night, was a bad idea. But what could you do ? You couldn’t miss work, you needed the money. And you were certainly not going to leave your son alone because no one was available.
So you brought him with you.
He fell asleep in the back room, in a little makeshift bed your coworkers made for him…They absolutely adored your boy. And you understood them. Maybe it’s because he felt how hard you had it, but (Son’s name) had always been a calm child. He didn’t cry often, he quickly slept through nights…A blessing, really, given how hectic your life was.
Your night job was in a bar. Your shift ran from 7pm to 3 am. Fortunately, the bar you were working in was a “nice one”. One of those “local street” bar with only people from the neighborhood. Hell, you even served coffee…Ah, but there were many insomniacs, down in Gotham City (you were sure it was fate too, which, years later, made it so that this place you used to work at became your son Tim’s favorite place to get late night coffees during his vigilante shifts).
It was late. It was raining. And you were finally going home, with your little sleeping buddy in your arms. The weather was good, when you left for work, so you did not have an umbrella. You were pretty much soaked. Which didn’t matter, as long as your baby was dry and warm, and safe. Wrapped in your coat against your chest, only his little face was peeking out. He was fast asleep, and the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.
And you’ve never felt so scared of going home late at night than now.
When you were alone, it was ok. You knew Gotham. You knew the streets to take to get home quick, and to avoid trouble. Sure, you were mugged a few times, but it was never ever really bad because honestly, you didn’t have much to give. And most thugs being out that late were just that, street thugs who didn’t really look for huge trouble.
But right now, with your son in your arms ? You had a bad feeling.
A feeling creeping from your toes to your head. As if you were followed. As if something was lurking out there.
And…you were right. As you turned down a back alley where there usually were nobody, someone got in front of you. By instinct, you took a step back.
Damn. Now, he was going to know you were afraid.
************
The man came out of nowhere.
And instantly, all your sense were on high alert.
A group of thugs was less dangerous than a man lone, in Gotham.
Because someone deciding to attack on his own ? It was someone who didn’t have much to loose. Someone who wouldn’t be too happy with the barely twenty bucks in your wallet…
He stood right in your way, blocking it.
“Your wallet, lady. And that ring, too.”
No. Not the ring. It was the only thing you had left of your fiancé…And you did such a good job hiding it too. You had taken it off of your fingers a while ago, putting it around your neck keeping it safe against your heart.
But it seemed as if your son, as he fell asleep, took hold of it and was holding onto the necklace…
You did not want to give that man your ring. But with your baby in your arm, you weren’t about to risk it. The story of one of the most famous and powerful couple in town came back to your head, in that moment…If Thomas and Martha Wayne could get shot in the streets, just like that, then a nobody like you definitely could too.
“Ok. Just give me a second, ok ?”
This wasn’t good. The man looked nervous, looking all around. You knew what he was looking for. Or rather, who. His looks up and towards the darkest areas of the streets told you everything. And oh man, if only The Batman was around right now…
“Buddy, hey, you have to wake up.”
You didn’t want him to see this. You didn’t want him to live this. What, not even three years old and already his first time getting mugged ? This wasn’t right.
This wasn’t the life you wanted for him. He should’ve never been there. If only you had enough money to pay for a sitter…
He wakes up, and as usual, he’s an adorable little bundle right after sleep. He rarely cried, when you woke him up for whatever reason. Deep down, you think it’s because he’s already aware of the struggles you’re going through. You know it’s ridiculous, he’s just two. Yet it feels so many times he makes your life better…
“Mama.”
“Yes, yes don’t worry buddy. I’ll put you on the ground for a second, ok ?”
He nods and yawns sleepily. He didn’t notice the man in front of you, yet. Everything is alright. Everything is good. You’re handling this. You put him on the ground gently, as you need both your hands to reach for your wallet, which is hidden in an inner pocket of your jacket (can’t be too safe in Gotham).
He’s still wrapped in your coat, coat which drags on the floor as your son’s legs are just too short…
“Mama.”
Worry in his voice. Of course, he would notice the scary man in front of him. He hid behind your leg, holding your pant tightly, your coat slips off of him, and by instinct you try to put it back on him when-
“HURRY UP LADY !”
A gun. Was it there since the start ? You don’t know, but it’s there now. In his hand. Pointed at you.
This was bad. The man was too nervous, he could snap any seconds. You knew this, you’ve lived in those streets long enough to recognize desperate people. You raise your hands, and say :
“Ok here, here just take everything.”
You quickly take your wallet, and your ring from around your neck, and hand it to him.
“Empty your pocket, you must have more !”
“Sir, I’m sorry but I don’t, I-”
“DON’T LIE TO ME BITCH ! WHAT YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW YOU’RE HIDING SOMETHING ?”
He grabs you by the shirt, you hear your son scream, you don’t mean to but…you fight back. It’s a visceral reaction. You’re so scared for your son, as that gun faces downward towards him, that you fight back. You grab his arm and-
BANG.
That was a shot, right ? You looked down at your son, thanks god, he wasn’t touched. But he was looking at you with wide eyes. And you felt like you were slowly falling downward.
Oh. Oh you felt, a little light headed.
“Mama ?”
Why couldn’t you feel his hands anymore ? And why everything was so wet ? It takes you a few seconds to realize you fell on the floor.
“MAMA !!”
No. No. You can’t speak. You wish you could scream. You can’t leave him all alone against that man, you can’t let him get hurt. You try to move, but you can’t. Your can hear (Son’s name) crying now, and the man panicking and then-
SWOOSH.
Swoosh ? That was a weird sound.
You turn your head, and- oh. That’s him.
At least, your son will be safe. And that’s all that matters.
Honestly. What were the odds of him being around here, right now ? It’s almost as if fate brought him there, to save you. You feel your son’s little hands holding your jeans tight, crying, and you really want to stand up, take him in your arms and run, but your strengths are leaving you…
************
FUCK !! Will he ever be on time ?? First his parents, then Alfred, and now-
He did not know you. But he knew this situation all too well. This was probably the most triggered he’ve ever been.
Never again. He promised himself. Never again.
Your son’s cry almost gives him a panic attack. He almost freezes on the spot, seeing the scene unfolds in front of him. In just a few seconds everything goes to Hell, there’s a shot…
It wakes him up. It wakes Bruce up.
He has to act. This is why he became the Batman. This is why he became the Batman ! He jumps from the balcony he was standing on, and drops on the man heavily.
He sees you fall, and the little child (he’s not sure if it’s a boy or a girl, wrapped in that coat like that) shaking you.
And he sees red.
He barely stops himself before he kills that man with his violent punches. Never before has he felt so angry, and close to killing. It’s just-
He’ve seen all this before.
He had been that little boy, on his knees, shaking his parents for them to wake up.
“ ’ake up mama ! ‘Ake up !”
The man is taken care of quickly. His gun is utterly destroyed by Bruce, who makes sure it will never be able to shoot another bullet. And then he runs to you. Your eyes flutter, but do not open. It seems like you feel his presence because you whisper :
“My son…”
You were hurt. Badly. Yet your first thoughts were for your son.
A painful reminder to Bruce. He knew his parents’ last thoughts were for him, for his safety. He didn’t have a child, and to be honest, didn’t think he would ever have children (oh the irony) with the kind of life he was living. Yet he felt what you were feeling.
He remembered his mom’s terrified eyes as she took her last breath. His dad trying to say “Bruce” and “Martha”. The fact they were in this alley because of him…
It’s a love so deep you can’t seem to fully understand it up until you lose it.
And right now, Bruce wasn’t ready to let another child live through this. Especially not as young as that little one seemed to be.
The boy couldn’t stop crying, clinging to his mom and screaming in distress. The kind of cry where you can’t even breathe properly. He coughed, and started to hyperventilate, unable to process all those strong emotions…
He couldn’t be more than three years old. No kid should ever witness something like that.
Bruce was still holding your hand. Tightly. But he had to act. Fast.
Because right now, he knew your life was on the line. He could still feel your heartbeat. He would save you. He would ! Never again will he let a child witness their parents be murdered in front of him. At least, not in Gotham.
************
He had to take you out of this alley. Without thinking much about it, he took you in his arms…And your son hit him.
“Leave mama !”
Bruce realized that he probably didn’t even see him fight the man who shot his mom, and, ah, what a brave little boy. He was soaked to the bones, shivering in the cold night, and his mom just got hurt, and yet here he was, kicking probably the scariest man he ever saw.
There were very few instances, in which Bruce regretted he chose such an intimidating costume. But right now, faced with that little boy who was head bent on protecting his mother, he wished he chose something a little more colorful. He noticed the Spider-Man backpack the little one had…
“I’m going to help your mama, ok ? Help ?”
Your son was young, but not stupid. He didn’t seem to believe Bruce at first, which was understandable. But then Bruce took a lollipop from his utility belt (even now, years later, he still had candies in said utility belt…not many people knew Bruce had a sweet tooth, and then of course with the kids, it became a habit, oh how many times they emptied his “candy pocket” in one evening), and gave it to him.
Your kid was like most kids. If someone gave them candies ? It meant they were nice…He was still too young to understand this was actually something to be weary of. Fortunately, in this instance, it wasn’t.
Bruce took you in his arm, and got your son to jump on his back.
“Hold on.”
“Mm.” the little one nodded, and Bruce took off running. The Batmobile wasn’t far, and he had to hurry.
************
The people at the hospital weren’t shocked to have someone come in with a gunshot wound. To see the Batman though, with a kid holding onto his back ? That was new.
The police was called, and you were sent to the an emergency surgery. Your son whined a little, when you were taken away, calling you. But somehow, Bruce managed to calm him down.
Your son wasn’t “wild”. He trusted people easily. Too easily, in your opinion. You often worried about it. But right now ? It was a blessing, as he seemed to understand that the doctors where going to take care of his “mama”, and just sat there in silence, on The Batman’s lap.
That was quite an odd image.
************
The sun was rising, and Bruce wasn’t sure what to do.
He couldn’t leave him here, all alone. And the police still hadn’t shown up. And so he just sat there, in his Batman costume, in the hospital, with everyone staring at him.
He heard them whisper, and none of them even hid the fact they were talking about him and the child. It was uncomfortable. He hated when people looked at him. Even under the protection of his costume.
Ever since his parents passed away, he had a hard time standing people’s gaze on him. When they died, everyone kept looking at him. They whispered wherever he went. And they stared, stared and stared again.
He hated, when people looked at him like that.
Finally, Jim Gordon showed up, apologizing. Apparently, it been quite a night out there. Bruce knew. Before saving you, he already took care of quite a lot of affairs.
He didn’t even realized, but he didn’t feel any guilt about missing a few hours of the night patrolling. His entire mind was focused on that little boy in his lap, and his mother still in surgery.
His entire mind was plagued by a question : “what if you didn’t make it ?”. He didn’t think he could handle it. So, what if he skipped three hours of patrol ? This was important.
He told what happened to Gordon, and the detective nodded saying they found the man responsible for the shooting. He was also in this hospital, The Batman did not held his punches…
Jim then turned to the little boy in his arms. Your son didn’t fall back asleep (maybe it was the sugar in the candies Bruce kept giving him ?), and was looking at Gordon suspiciously.
He screamed his lung out when the detective tried to take him from Bruce’s arms, writhing and kicking and crying and yelling “no no no”, clinging to Bruce as if his life depended on it, and the Batman didn’t have the heart to let the little one go. He was reminisced of himself, years ago, refusing to let go of Alfred for hours on end after he came back from the police station and the butler came to fetch him…How could he let go ?
He couldn’t. And so he stayed, and held onto that young child who wasn’t an orphan yet, but could very well be at any instant, if you didn’t make it…
************
His clothes were soaked, poor little thing. And he was shaking a little bit. Naturally, Bruce just wrapped him in his cape. Glad he put some “thermopads” in them (thanks to Alfred really, who was starting to be tired of treating his cold when he spend nights out and it was cold. He just had to wrap himself in his cape and…done).
Gordon was looking at the two of them, probably wondering how the Hell did the Batman got himself in that situation. They had lived a lot of things together, over the past two years, but never this.
“What’s your name ?” the detective asked, and the boy just hid in Batman’s cape, peeking out of it sometimes to see if he was still looking at him, and then hiding again.
“You’re scaring him.” Bruce says.
The irony of the matter didn’t escape any of them. What, Jim Gordon, probably one of the only honest policeman in Gotham, scared that little boy, and a man wearing a bat costume and being purposefully intimidating didn’t ?
There was comedy, in this.
Bruce pulled his cape a little, looked at the boy and asked :
“What’s your name?”
The little boy looked at him for a few seconds, and Bruce wondered if he understood. How old was that kid ? Two or three ? Didn’t children speak already at that time ? Man he wished he could call Alfred right now.
Finally, your son, after pondering whether that weird man wearing a bat costume was trustworthy (because yes; he did understand the question), said :
“(Son’s name)"
Bruce’s first thought was that that name fit him. And his second thought was that his voice was adorable. When was the last time he thought this kind of thing ? He realized, never. Interaction with kids weren’t really his forte. They either quivered in fear, or asked too many question.
But here he was.
That little kid, just looking at him curiously, calm and…collected ? At least for a child that young, who was in a stranger’s arm, and who’s mom was nowhere to be seen. Bruce wondered if that little one understood what was going on…
No. No your son wasn’t really sure of what was happening. But there was one thing he knew, and that Bruce couldn’t know.
Bruce couldn’t know what was going on in that little head of his. Your son was only two, almost three. But he understood that Bruce did a good thing for him and you. He understood that this man saved his mama. Kids in Gotham grew up faster than anywhere else, because of the violence they always witnessed. So someone fighting "the bad guys” ? Instant trust.
“Your name ?”
He asked, and Bruce answered :
“V-Batman.”
Your son smiled widely, making everyone’s heart melt, and repeated :
“Man-Man !”
“No no. Bat-man.”
Unable to hear where he pronounced it wrong, the boy repeated :
“…Man-Man !”
“Bat, repeat after me. Baaat.”
“Baaat.”
“Man.”
“Man !”
“Batman.”
“Man-Man !”
Bruce heard himself chuckle. Wh-What ? When was the last time he laughed ?
He couldn’t even remember.
************
Time went by so slowly. And there was still no news about your condition.
Bruce was still waiting, still in his Batman costume. (Son’s name) was finally fast asleep, clutching one of his finger tight. It was…adorable. Bruce couldn’t describe the feeling he felt, holding this child, wrapped in his cape, holding his finger.
It was an odd feeling.
Finally, news arrived. Good news.
You were in an artificial coma right now, but they said you were out of danger. You just needed a lot of rest, and to stay in the hospital for a while.
The “problem” of your son came quickly. The hospital said that the little boy would be able to stay with you, but only in a few days, once you’d leave intensive care. Someone to take care of him had to be found.
“What is going to happen to him ?”
He asked to Jim Gordon, as your son was still asleep in his arms.
“Well, social services will probably-”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no ?”
“He’s going to be scared. I know how social services work, they tried to take me away from-”
Wow. Two years of making sure Bruce Wayne couldn’t be assimilated to Batman, and he almost said : “they tried to take me away from Alfred once”. Wow. He knew his emotions were in shambles. This case really was too close from home.
If Jim Gordon noticed anything, he didn’t say it. He just continued :
“It’s our only option. Unless someone is willing to take him in. I would gladly do so, but it’d unfortunately be a conflict of interest as I’m assigned to his case. And there’s procedures, the person would have to prove they’re fit to take care of him.”
“Anyone could take better care of him than social services…”
“Maybe, but it’s the only option we have right now. You’re going to have to leave him.”
Leave him ? No…
Bruce didn’t dare to even speak to the mayor’s son when he had the occasion to. So now…It felt personal.
This all thing.
It felt like he had to act.
Batman left, leaving the sleeping boy in the care of Jim Gordon. But Bruce Wayne ?
************
Alfred was still in the hospital, and it ended up being a blessing. Another thing that makes you strongly believe all of that happened for a reason, that it was destiny that brought you all together.
Because Alfred still being bedridden in that same hospital Bruce took you to ? It meant that Bruce Wayne had a reason to be there.
And that’s how he made an appearance as his “real” self, and oh, what a coincidence, encountered the social workers who were currently taking care of (son’s name).
The poor little fella seemed greatly distressed. The only person he gave his trust to, the Batman, left while he was sleeping, and he woke up surrounded by people who asked him too many questions.
The social workers didn’t ask Bruce many questions. They knew who he was. They were surprisingly easy to convince (the truth was, they wanted to end this as quickly as possible, and move on, and honesty, who would blame them to give responsibilities to a literal billionaire ? He could always just hire people to take care of him).
In just a few minutes, (son’s name) was in Bruce Wayne’s custody for the next few days. Oddly enough, the little boy didn’t fuss when Bruce took him in his arms, and Bruce had a suspicion that the kid recognized him.
But it wasn’t possible, right ? He was only two, how could he recognize him when he was masked, changed his voice etc ?
Your son didn’t recognize him. But he felt oddly at ease, in his arms. Reminded of another person’s arm, the man who saved you…So he went with it. He’ve always been a sweet and calm child.
************
“Alfred.”
“Yes my boy ?”
“Where are um-…Where are my kid’s clothes ?”
“Your what now ?”
“You know, the clothes I used to wear as a kid. I know you didn’t throw them away. Where did you put them ?”
There was a silence. Before Alfred finally said :
“Why on Earth would you need children’s clothes ?”
There was worries in the butler’s voice, and for reasons. What was his young master’s latest fad now ??
“There’s this boy. Um. His mother. She got shot.”
Oh. Oooh. Oooooh. Wait, what ?
“A…boy ?”
“Yes. I said I would take care of him for a few days.”
Another silence. If Alfred wasn’t still badly injured, he would’ve stand up and shake his master.
“I’m sorry, are you out of your mind ?? You ? With a child ? All alone ??”
As far as he could remember, Bruce hadn’t seen Alfred freak out as much as right now.
“I couldn’t leave him Alfred. I couldn’t.”
Pinching his nose (a gesture that Bruce will mimic a lot in the future, whenever his children would do something that genuinely would give him headaches), Alfred sighed and said :
“Where is he ?”
“Waiting with the nurses.”
“Well bring him in.”
Bruce went to fetch (son’s name). As if it was the most natural thing in the world, the little boy climbed on Alfred’s bed (with a little help from Bruce) and sat there, calmly.
He exchanged a look with Alfred, and something in the butler’s face made him smile and say :
“Hewwoooo.”
“Well hello there young man.”
“You have booboo ?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Mama do too.”
“Your mama is hurt ?”
The boy nods, and then say : “But ish okay.”
“It is ?”
He nods again, and adds : “Man-Man save her.”
Alfred turns to Bruce, who shrugs and aaah. Of course. “Man-Man”. Everything made sense, now. Why did his master want to take care of this child.
Of course.
************
The least that we can say, is that things definitely got out of hand a lot of time. Bruce had never taken care of a child (crazy that people thought, just because he was extremely rich, he was fit to take care of him). He called Alfred one too many time.
The poor butler, stuck in his hospital bed, was literally pulling his hair because of the worry (an explanation to his premature baldness ?).
“What do you mean you gave him ice cream for dinner ?? That is not appropriate Master Bruce !”
“He’s two years old, of course he has to go to bed before midnight !”
“*sighs* Can you repeat please ? You let him do what with our highly priced and precious collection of Fabergé eggs ?”
“Master Bruce, please, by real food and stop giving him candy. This is why he doesn’t want to take a nap, he’s high on sugar.”
“He does need to wear pants, yes.”
“Master Bruce, with all due respect, that “wallpaper” was a five hundred years old tapisserie from England, and yes I’m a little mad you let him paint on it. It was a relic from the Queen herself that she gifted to your grandfather !”
“NO A CHILD DOES NOT NEED A MILLION DOLLAR WHAT WOULD HE DO WITH IT ANYWAY ??”
Bruce had people babysit him at night, pretending he had “things to do” and honestly ? Nobody questioned it. Everyone knew Bruce Wayne was a little odd. He even heard one of the caretaker whispering something about him being the master of a “sex dungeon”…Good, people were miles away from suspecting he was the Batman.
Having that many people home though made him uncomfortable. It was a painful reminder of when his house was full of help, during his parents’ time, and how so many of them tried to sell pictures of a crying Bruce right after their death…Alfred fired all of them.
But he couldn’t leave (son’s name) alone at night. However, one evening, as it was time for (son’s name) to go to bed, Bruce heard him whimper. It wasn’t a full on cry, just a sob, barely noticeable.
“Mama…”
He was calling for you. And Bruce didn’t have the heart to leave him alone. For the first time in two years, he took a night off. The Batsignal wasn’t shining anyway. And he stayed with that lost little boy, who was calling for his mom and who reminded him of himself…He was such a brave child.
Bruce never thought he would one day console a crying kid. Hold him in his arm until he was asleep. Stay to make sure he was ok. He felt…Was this how Alfred feel when he stayed entire nights in Bruce’s room to wake him up if he had a nightmare ?
*************
(Son’s name) only stayed with Bruce for three days, but it meant something for him. Never before had an experience change him so much…Well, if you don’t talk about his parents dying right in front of his eyes of course (yes, I think I’m funny).
The boy was curious, eager to learn, sweet, a little stubborn, and he did have one massive tantrum (over the silliest of things : he really didn’t want to wear pants and only hang out in his PJ) but just like any kid, really ?
Bruce was really impressed by how your son handled this entire situation. Being thrown into a stranger’s house, surrounded by strange things…Of course, being so young, your son didn’t always realize what was going on. And thanks god children don’t really have any notion of time, because he always would be satisfy with “tomorrow” as an answer to him asking “when will I see mama ?”.
************
You woke up in a panic. But were quickly reassured that your son was alright, and taken care of. By instinct, you went for the ring around your neck, forgetting that you had given it to the ma- No. It was there.
Who put it back around your neck ? The Batman ?
It didn’t sound like something he’d do, right ? Yet…The ring was back around your neck. And someone put it there. Nobody else but the Batman and your son were in the alley that night. So…
You had to remember to thank that Batman one day, if you ever saw him again.
************
Four days later, you were able to receive visitations. And of course, the first person was your son. And…Bruce Wayne ??
Nobody even told you HE was the one taking care of your child. What the fuck. This was..unexpected. How did that even happen ?? You would only truly understand that years later, when you’ll find out he’s The Batman. For now, it was really strange, and nobody seemed to really know how and why Bruce Wayne was here.
To be fair, everyone assumed it was all a coincidence. That Bruce came to see Alfred, and heard the story of that little boy, that reminded him of his own story and…it made sense for everyone. And it was partly the truth. Yes; the entire thing was close from home for him.
And it did make sense he would decide to help a boy going through the same kind of experience he did (except, thanks the gods, you survived).
First thing first, you hugged your boy. Tightly. And then… :
“What the hell are you wearing ?” you said, as you looked him up and down. Was that a..SUIT ?!
“Um, sorry. I didn’t have much clothes left from where I was a child. Only…tuxedos and polos, apparently.”
You were feeling much better now, after a few days of rest. Turned out, the shot you received went right through you, and didn’t touch any important organs. How lucky.
And here your son was. With Bruce Wayne. Wearing a “tuxedo for children”. This was all too much. Too strange. You burst out in laughter, unable to stop yourself even though each laugh hurt.
Your son quickly followed, with his cute little laugh. Him too, was unable to stop.
And before he realized it, Bruce too, was laughing. Like he hadn’t in years. The nurses even had to come in and tell you to keep it down because all three of you couldn’t stop laughing…which only enhanced your laughter.
It took you ages to finally stop.
************
Fate. Fate reunited the three of you together. You were sure of it. How else could you explain what happened next ?
************
After Bruce left the hospital, saying his “good byes” to (son’s name) (who cried, and it was heart wrenching), Bruce felt oddly empty. Like he was making a mistake, leaving you two behind without another word. It’s as if destiny was telling him to go back. To ask for your number. To come back later to ask for news. But to not just turn the page on this chapter.
He should move on. He saved you. Made sure your son still had his mom. His mission was over, his goal to never let happen what happened to him again was over. Yet he felt like he had to go see you again. Like if he didn’t, he would forever regret it…
Why couldn’t he take you out of his mind ? And (son’s name) ? Why ?
And you ? Why couldn’t you stop thinking about this Bruce Wayne guy ? You didn’t even know him, yet it felt like you did. Things clicked between you, you felt it. And even better, things clicked between him and your son. Clearly, those two were meant to get along.
************
It took a long time, before you and Bruce started to date.
You still had some healing to do. Both physical and mental. And he still had a lot of issues to resolve. Ah, that could be a story in its own, really, how you came to finally be together (A/N : yes you guessed it, I’mma write it…this one was just getting too long to put it here haha).
Funny enough, it’s your son, who opened his heart to Bruce first. You don’t know what happened between the two, but obviously, the few days they spend together had straighten a bond that will never break.
Bruce already felt, deep in his heart, that (Son’s name) changed him, that now, nothing could ever be the same. And he kept coming to check in on you, and on (son’s name).
As Batman, he reopened the case of your fiancé’s death, finding out the truth (spoiler alert : it was not an accident). Working with Jim Gordon, he discovered that many people who worked on the “Below 44″, such as your fiancé, mysteriously died of “work accident” during the years of its building, and they uncovered a large conspiracy. But more importantly, they gave justice to your fiancé, at long last. And by doing that, finally gave you closure.
Closure that allowed you to truly move forward.
Forward…To him. With him.
************
The rest was history.
Bruce wooed you (and it was the most awkward thing you’ve ever seen, you couldn’t believe that later on, before your relationship would go public, he had the guts to take a “playboy” persona given how bad at flirting he truly was).
It took some times, but he managed to finally have what he truly wanted, for the first time in years. You. And by extension, your son.
His son.
************
It’s crazy, to think about. Years passed, but the feelings were still as strong. You loved that man. You loved your children, of course.
Ah. Children.
(Son’s name), of course. Who grew up to be such a good man, and oh how different his life would’ve been if Bruce hadn’t been there that night ? The man he quickly started to call “dad” definitely saved him too, that fateful evening. Your early years of dating, when he was still a toddler, were quite something.
Dick came in quickly after Bruce and you officially got together. Barely a few years older than (Son’s name), he fit right in. He had always wanted to be a big brother, and (Son’s name) ? All he knew was that now, he had a partner in crime. And that was great. They bond was instantly strong.
Then Jason followed. Lost little street kid who reminded you of yourself at his age. So eager to please, and to have a family. He would never admit it, but he still loved it when you and (son’s name) especially treated him like the baby of the family, even if he technically wasn’t.
Tim. Too smart for his own good. Made (Son’s name) loudly say : “What the fuck ? Alfreeeeed !”. You all instantly felt very protective over that little boy who was definitely way too clever. And what a surprise to him, to finally be at the center of everyone’s attention. To find his place in a family…
Cassandra. Your only daughter. Adored by her brothers, by her dad, and of course, by you. Suffered so much, and yet the kindest young woman you’ve ever met.
Damian. What a shock, when he came in your life and you all learned of his existence. He was conceived before you met Bruce, and raised by the League for ten years…It was difficult, at first. But none of you would give up on him. Never. Ah, the change in his behavior could be a story of its own (wink wink).
And finally, recently, Duke joined your family. It was now time to make sure him too, would feel at home.
Yes. One can wonder what would’ve happened if Bruce didn’t came across your path, and saved you.
Well I hope you liked this ! I think I might write other fics there and there about how Bruce wooed reader specifically, and just use more of that little toddler in other stories about this alternative Batfamily (AU from my own timeline at least). Comments and reblogs are always welcomed of course :) And motivating and all, ya know the drill. Thank you <3.
Synopsis : Tonight is the night. Tonight, you’re finally too tired to continue, it’s enough. Your decision is made. This is the end. Finally. Except, your path crosses The Batman’s, and he’s not about to give up on you. He won’t ever give up again. Can he really save you, though ?
TW : Suicidal thoughts. Spoilers for the movie (about Bruce’s character development, but no major plot points or events).
************
Bruce, atop one of his favorite building (Old Wayne Tower had always fascinated him, even as a child), was perusing Gotham city.
His city.
And, he realized, he did not feel the usual rage inside him, that overwhelmed him whenever he looked at those streets.
Those streets which took his parents away from him.
How novel, to not feel this resentment.
To look at what he once only saw as grim, and a way to avenge his parents mindless murder, in a new light.
To look at those streets…
Those streets which took too many parents away from their children. Too many children from their parents. Too many brothers, sisters, lovers, friends…
Yet. Yet here he was. Looking down there, with a new sense of purpose. Without this need for vengeance. This pure hatred and grief turned into violence, that was all too familiar…was gone.
It was both odd and amazing. It was both exhilarating and a little scary. Because, being “Vengeance” was easy. He could just pounce on villains, and use his brain to foil their plans. Destroy. Hurt. Ravage. Easy.
But being a sigil of hope ? It colored everything in a new way. It meant he had to be more careful, to be the one who will give Gotham City’s inhabitants a new ray of sunshine. Difficult, when you were a night vigilante.
Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. To think he realized, after two years “on the job”, what he really stood for, was still a little strange.
Yet it happened. Finally, some might say (some being mainly a certain Alfred Pennyworth). And although the pain inside his heart would never truly go away entirely, it wasn’t a source of vengeance anymore, but of hope. And love.
Because in the end, what drove him to become the Batman ? Was it the need to avenge, or the love for his parents which turned into pure hatred for crime ? A love so strong that once it was torn apart by their death, it was also distorted into something dark and unbearable.
Yes. It was love which drove his every decisions. Love for his mother and father, for Alfred, for his city and its inhabitants. (And maybe a little love for punching those who deserved in in the face, without fear of repercussion).
Another chuckle. What would the Bruce from two years ago think ? And the one from over a decade ago ? Ah, but those Bruces were ones that were still stuck in the “anger” phase of grief. And the Bruce from now ?
Acceptance.
Acceptance to be more than his pain. Acceptance to be a beacon of hope. To be more than that kid who witnessed his parents’ murder. Acceptance to be truly and fully, The Batman, the one that city deserved and needed.
The pain of his loss would never truly go away, but now…Now there was a silver lining amongst the clouds.
And he felt -no- he knew there was a future, after all. One not constantly dimmed by an endless amount of hurt.
Maybe it was fate, that just as he truly processed all of that, as he realized there was always hope even amongst endless nights, that he met you.
Someone who looked utterly lost, and all alone in the world.
Someone who had the same inkling of pain and despair in their eyes, the one Bruce could recognize anywhere because he saw it every day for the past fifteen years every time he looked at himself in the mirror.
Someone standing way too close from that building’s edge…
************
Climbing on the little wall “securing” the rooftop was easier than you thought.
What if it was too high ? What if you couldn’t lift yourself up ?
You told yourself that if it was the case, then it was a sign that you shouldn’t do it. That you shouldn’t jump. It was always like that right ? If everything wasn’t perfectly aligned, then you wouldn’t do it.
This wasn’t the first time your suicidal thoughts overtook your entire being.
The first time it felt like nothing mattered anymore, not even you. The first time you felt like a burden pulling everyone down with you, and honestly, wouldn’t they be better without you ?
This wasn’t the first time that you felt dead inside, like you’re just a ghost living in a body you don’t recognize. When look in the mirror, you see a stranger. A pale, tired, miserable stranger that kind of looks like you.
This wasn’t the first time.
What once made you happy is now tedious, and what once made you just a little bummed out makes you want to die.
You scrolled through your phone contacts that night, as this moment of deepest need started to rise. But you were sure that there wasn’t a single person who would help you without resenting you. Have you been lying to yourself all along about how much you matter ? Yes. Yes you have, haven’t you ?
Everything was so dark and hopeless. And you get that all too familiar tunnel vision surrounded by pain and the only way out is to end it all. The numbness is so deep and excruciating it overwhelms and drains everything out of you. Words can’t even describe how lonely and terrifying this is.
You’re tired.
This isn’t the first time. And you’re so tired.
When will this end ?
It’s as if you don’t even exist. You feel useless, worthless, unworthy and like you’re a burden. It’s like an elephant is sitting on you, holding you down and keeping you from living (but also keeping you from dying ?). It’s as if you watch, lifeless and numb, as everyone carries around unaware you even exist, unaware of your constant fight inside, unaware…
You did try to talk about it.
A few times.
To friends. Or, at least, people you thought were friends. Because when you started to finally talk about your never-ending suicidal ideas, they shrugged it off as you being too stress. Or said things like : “you need to seek professional help” and HOW ?!
Your health insurance wasn’t covering therapy sessions. You barely scraped by, like many in Gotham City…how could you afford professional help ? You knew they were right. You did need to see a therapist. But you also all knew that their suggestion was unfortunately impossible.
Because you didn’t have the money. Because this was “the American dream”, and you didn’t even have time to do any self-care. When you weren’t working, you were sleeping. And vice-versa. Or quite literally, you would end up not even being able to pay to survive (and was it so bad ?).
And so here you are. All alone again. And you feel like you’re drowning in the middle of the ocean, and Death is a floating raft. All you can do is to keep wading until you completely exhaust yourself, or finally climb aboard it…
Nobody could help. Nobody would help anyway.
You were sure of it.
Because you already tried to talk, and the answers were all the same. Friends ended up drifting away from you. Couldn’t blame them. After all, who would want to be around someone who could sometimes just be a total buzzkill, and rant too much about how they felt everything was wrong ?
When you so often felt suicidal, rejection from others was normal, you thought.
Others too, had to take care of their own mental health. Being around you was a curse. That’s how it felt. Talking to you drained people. And your countless call for help ended up isolating you even more.
Why ? Did they not understand ? Was it too much for them ? Was helping someone like you…just impossible ? An unbearable burden ?
Yes. Yes. That was it.
And this was it.
The wall was easy to climb. You didn’t meet anybody on your way up to the rooftop, and there was not a soul around to even try to stop you. Everything was aligned, that night.
And here you were, on the edge of the building.
And strangely, you weren’t scared. There was even a sense of peace. Because it was all going to be over soon. This endless pain. It was going to be gone. You just needed to take one small step forward.
And you did. Closing your eyes, and feeling both relieved this was going to end soon, and scared of what was going to happen afterward.
It was too late to think about it. Because you took that step. And you started falling. And-
Stopped.
Right in your tracks.
A hand took hold of your arm, just as you were falling. You turn around and…
************
That, you didn’t expect.
You were ready. Everything was aligned. And then-
A hand. A strong one at that. Pulling you away back on the edge.
And then arms wrapping around you, to make sure you’re not going to resist and try to jump again.
You’re too surprised to resist. You turn your head, and…
Batman ?
THE Batman ?
What the fuck.
************
“Um. Can you let go ?”
“Can I ?”
“I’m not going to jump.”
“Promise ?”
“What the- Are you a child ?”
“I’m sorry. I cannot let you go if you do not promise.”
“What even makes you think I will keep my promise ?”
“A feeling.”
A feeling that is right. You hate people who break their promises. Maybe because too many people broke theirs to you ?
You nod. When he doesn’t make a move to let you go, you groan and say out loud :
“Yeah yeah. I promise.”
“Alright.”
He releases you, and doesn’t take you away from the edge. Why ? You’re not sure. Maybe because he knows he can just stop you again if he has to ? You can see a grappling hook, on that belt.
Not like you were going to jump anyway. You promised. You weren’t going to. At least, not right now.
There’s an awkward silence. What is going to happen now ? You’re not sure how long this goes on, this weird staring at each other.
You look at him, he looks at you. Neither moving. Neither speaking.
Too awkward. You have to say something. And so you do :
“Um, are you just going to stand there ?”
“Until I’m sure you’re safe, yes.”
“Don’t you have people who actually wants to be saved to, you know, save ?”
“I cannot leave until I’m sure you’re safe.”
A dry chuckle escapes you. One full of sarcasm, which he clearly understands. You’re sure he’ll eventually leave. Once that bat signal turns on, he’ll leave.
Everyone leaves eventually.
And then everything will be aligned again, for you to do what you came here to do. Because what if he stopped you ? He couldn’t change what was in your heart. Nobody could. And you just wanted the pain to stop.
Death was the only hope.
Ah. Funny. “Hope”. Because what was going to happen next, revolved entirely around hope, right ?
************
He stayed. What else could he do ?
Early in the morning, he had a few meetings at Wayne Enterprises (he only just recently decided to fully commit to his job there). And now, there was maybe other people to help. But he couldn’t leave you.
What could he do, but stay ?
He knew that force wouldn’t work. That if he, let’s say, put you in a cell for the night so that you had no mean to kill yourself, it would make things worst. Once upon a time, to be fair, he probably would’ve done that. Put you somewhere he was sure you couldn’t harm yourself, maybe tie you up or something, and leave to go beat up criminals who needed a beating.
But that was him before. And he couldn’t leave. The bat signal wasn’t on anyway. No emergencies. Except for this one, right in front of him.
Except for you, eyes devoid of hope and looking lost.
A kind of “lost” he understood oh too well.
When he was younger, he had felt so desperate that he wanted to die. Just for the pain to stop. And if Alfred hadn’t been there, he’s pretty sure he would’ve tried to end it all at one point.
But during that time, Alfred was annoyingly (but fortunately) always there. He never let his dear “Master Bruce” out of his sight for too long, because he knew how the boy felt.
At the time, Bruce didn’t believe him. But Alfred knew. Bruce just didn’t care enough yet to ask about the majordomo’s past life, before he became the faithful Wayne family’s butler…But that was another story.
Long story short, Alfred understood. And so he made sure to be the boy’s shadow for years (and even Bruce never realized how much that was true). Up until Bruce’s despair turned into the need for vengeance, and he left to train, coming back years later with this “Batman” idea…
Although he didn’t have those thoughts anymore, Bruce knew how it felt. Knew how it was, to be overwhelmed by this sense of isolation. Like nobody understands, and you don’t want to bother them anyway.
He felt this before. When the pain inside you has so far exceeded your threshold, that your only option left is to give up, or give into it (which he did, as he turned to violence for an ounce of relief). It’s like you keep trying to swim back ashore, but isn’t getting anywhere closer, and you’re just slowly wearing out as if caught in a riptide, drifting further and further. Screaming at people on the shore, but they can’t hear you. After a while, you feel like the world and everyone in it will be better off without you.
Bruce told Alfred, once. When he was ten. He told him that he probably would feel better without him. That he was a burden and stopped him from living his life properly. Alfred, in that moment, did something he still regrets up until now, but that shook Bruce to the core.
He slapped him. He slapped him and said : “never say that again, a world without you in it, Master Bruce, would not be worth living for.”
Did the Alfred think like him, then ? Without his parents, it didn’t feel like he should go on. Only ten, too smart for his own good already, and matured too fast. It stuck with him though. This slap. And Alfred’s words.
A lot of time, he genuinely thinks it’s because he kept thinking of the man who became his father figure, that he didn’t end it all. And because he turned his grief and despair into hate, which wasn’t the solution either.
Yes. Bruce knows. He knows what it is to be at the end of the line.
So he stays. Right there. Next to you.
There’s a silence. A long one. And he just stays.
He doesn’t guilt trip you for your thoughts and behavior, he doesn’t try to argue with you about the morality (or immorality ?) of suicide. He doesn’t do what so many people did before him.
You don’t feel ashamed, somehow.
So many people belittled you, although not on purpose, for feeling the way you felt. And he doesn’t. Even as you thought this was exactly the kind of man to do that.
He doesn’t. And he’s here. He stays.
Naturally, you both sit down on that dangerous edge. You don’t think about jumping though, too taken aback by this man sitting next to you.
“Do you want to talk ? It’s ok if you don’t.”
For so long, ever since you were rejected by a few friends when you talked about it, you found yourself unable to tell anyone your true feelings. You were unsure how to speak about it. Concerned they wouldn’t understand. Fearful of being judged and shunned. Worried you’d upset them.
But here is that man, dressed as a bat, who’s pastime you knew was to beat up criminals…sitting there. Asking you if you wanted to talk to him. And telling you it was ok if you didn’t.
And you found yourself beginning to talk.
About how you were born in Gotham’s slums, and you knew nothing else. How you thought it was normal, to constantly be abused because that was the only life you knew. How you first broke down, and nobody was there to help.
You tell him about things he already knows. He’s aware how tough life in Gotham can be, and how it affects people’s mental health. Gotham had one of the highest suicide rate in the country…
He tells you you’re not weaker than some people. He tells you resilience isn’t always a quality. That everyone breaks, at some point. And that reaching for help is ok. That it’s hard, even. That it took him a long time to understand that.
And your suspicions are confirmed. He also went through what you’re going through.
And you continue. You talk. And talk. And talk. And he listens. Truly listens.
“This city took everything from me.” You say. And he answers :
“I know.”
That’s when the tears start. And don’t stop for a long time. You barely notice an arm around your shoulder, making you feel oddly safe.
And you cry. God. You needed that.
He doesn’t tell you your feelings are wrong. He doesn’t tell you “you don’t have good enough reasons to feel depressed, and lost, and alone, and pain”. He doesn’t tell you you have to change. He doesn’t judge you.
It’s not your fault you have those thoughts. It’s not. And by not making you feel small because you hurt (sometimes without knowing the reason why), he already helps. It’s ok. It’s ok. Your feelings are valid.
They are valid.
The sun comes up. And he’s still here.
“You’re really not going ?”
“I’m really not going.”
“Won’t people be suspicious if you’re not around today ? In your real life, I mean ?”
“I doubt that. So, I’ll stay. Just for a little longer. Okay ?”
Silence again. Up until you turn your head to look at the horizon, and answer :
“Okay.”
************
All it took was someone reaching out. All it took was finally truly saying “yes” to this help.
“I was blinded by my emotions. I couldn’t see past those hopeless feelings. Now, things are clearer to me. Suicidal thoughts aren’t permanent, things do improve. You can find your motivation to live again. Please, reach for help.”
Bruce was so proud. You went such a long way, since he met you that fateful night. Things weren’t always easy. Hell no, quite the contrary.
There were times he was sure he was going to lose you, if he only closed his eyes for once second. That you were going to make that jump…
He never left though. No matter how hard things were. Because he promised himself he would never again let despair overtake him, and because you were too good a soul for him to not try everything possible to keep you away from that dark pit.
After that day and night, when he stayed with you up until you promised you would stay safe, he kept on checking on you.
Every single day. No matter how little time he had. He came by, even if for just a few minutes. And he was the first step to you recovering from your suicidal thoughts.
“Build your support network”, was one of the first advice your therapist gave you (therapist you were able to see thanks to an “anonymous benefactor”, not suspicious at all…As if you didn’t immediately guess it was him). A precious advice. Because it truly was primordial. Up until then, you realized you just weren’t around people who were good for you. The toxic environment didn’t help your thoughts, and it wasn’t normal that some people made you feel worthless and as if it was your fault you weren’t feeling well.
Surrounding yourself with positive influences and people who made you feel good about yourself was the key. And who else but him, made you feel the best ? You would’ve never thought that The Batman was so funny, and witty. You always had that image of him being super scary (which is the feeling he wanted to instill), but he wasn’t. He could even be really sweet (he did came by EVERY SINGLE DAY).
The more you invested yourself in other people, in your community, the more you realized you had to lose. Which helped you ground yourself in reality. Because yes, now, you did have things and people to lose. And it helped you stay positive and onto recovery.
Because he was around so much, it became easy for you to guess who he really was. You could see “Bruce Wayne” getting more and more invested in bettering Gotham…how could you not recognize that jawline ?
You waited for him to tell you first though. Which he did. And that was another thing : trust.
Trust in others. Recovered. Thanks to him (and to him, thanks to you).
He did tell you. One day when he wasn’t feeling well, and needed your support. This is why you work so well together. When one falls, the other one is always there to catch them.
You helped each other to identify your “triggers”, and other situations that lead to feelings of despair. The anniversary of his parents’ loss, your first mental breakdown, sounds that were too loud, drugs…You made a list. And made sure you would be careful, not getting upset at others if they triggered you. Because how could they know ? You were responsible for your triggers.
But you two ? You knew the other one’s weaknesses. You knew what could send them over the edge. So when a situation arose, you were always saving each other.
You also developed “self-care days”, or moments, if you didn’t have much time. Ate right, never skipped a meal (Alfred made sure of that), and got enough sleep (not “plenty” unfortunately…but enough). Exercised a lot too, which released the right amount of endorphins…Not like Bruce didn’t exercise before. Maybe doing it with you now, did help ?
Somewhere along the way, your relationship naturally bloomed into love. A kind of love you never felt before. A kind of love worth living for.
“Life is worth it, and I’ll prove it” he once told you, near the beginning of it all. You were skeptical, and told him “sure”, rolling your eyes. But he did.
He did prove it to you. Every single day. Even before you fell for him, and he for you. He showed you the things worth living for.
Helping others, making the suffering of people smaller, a simple smile could brighten someone’s day. As The Batman, he often encountered situations that were desperate, and he couldn’t always save everyone…
But hope never died. That’s something he showed you. Every day.
One, two, three…one hundred, two hundred, three hundred…The number of days he kept trying increased. Love slowly build itself.
A love worth living for.
And there were so much more, worth living for.
You developed new interests. Being with Bruce gave you the opportunity to volunteer a lot, and your life took a new sense of meaning and purpose when you were finally able to build foundation for others. Such as the one you created now, to help those in need who struggle with mental illnesses. And hey, when you’re doing something fulfilling, you always feel better about yourself.
Yes. You both help one another tremendously. Although you will always felt he helped you more, and he was the reason you slowly found a new taste for life. All it took, was the impulse he gave you.
His endless pain turned into endless hope. Given to you.
“I know the fear of loss because of you” you once told him, and this was a good thing, although it sounded like it wasn’t. Because being afraid of losing what you loved, or thinking of him once again losing someone he loved…
“Life is worth it, I’ll show you.”
He did. He did show you.
You couldn’t help but think there was a little “luck” factor, that you saw as destiny. Fate. You met the right person, at the right moment. Every rejection you went through, every toxic relationship, lead you there.
On that rooftop, on that night.
You met the right person, at the right moment.
You both did.
You, because you were saved (although this didn’t came with a snap of the fingers, you actually WORKED hard on yourself to finally feel a little better…The support did help).
Him, because it was right at a moment he needed to know there really was hope. And convincing you to not jump, that day, was just that.
Pure hope.
Which fructified.
Because look where you both were, now.
You, talking about the important issue of mental illnesses, and opening your first very own organizations to help those who need help but cannot afford it.
And him, still being The Batman, but one who achieved and found his purpose.
Both of you, becoming beacons of hope in a city that desperately needed it, and that was slowly rediscovering the sunshine.
_________________________________________________
This story is very personal and close to my heart. I poured all my feelings into it. This is a therapeutic story, to close a really bad chapter in my life. I’m doing great now so please don’t worry, but felt like I needed to write this. I hope you liked it. And a few more words :
If you feel suicidal, please call your countries’ lifeline (it does help). Or talk. To anyone. Do not stay alone. The hardest step is to reach out, and I know it’s hard, especially since there WILL be people who reject you for how you feel. My DMs are always open, if you need to talk. And unlike many, I really mean it. I went through this, and am one who luckily survived. Writing this story was like purging myself from the “experience” (my English is lacking to find the right word), and I know how it feels to be fully consumed by those thoughts. Reach out. Please. This is your sign to not give up just yet.
Synopsis : “(Y/N) Wayne, Gotham’s biggest drug lord ? What will her husband, who works closely with Batman, think ?” said the headline in today’s paper. And you’re not sure if you should be fuming, or bursting out laughing. Oh, oh mother of all misunderstanding. It definitely doesn’t help, that your children think this situation hilarious.
As usual comments and reblog are very welcomed, and I hope you like this little story ! :) :
You could see him, there, out the corner of your eye, that infamous smug look on his face. And you were currently trying to ignore him, drinking your coffee and pretending to read a book.
Infuriating. The boy was infuriating.
And he knew it.
Dick smirked, knowing indeed full well that you weren’t able to completely ignore him and how he kept staring at you, clearly waiting for you to ask him what was going on.
But you refused. Stubborn.
You were not going to play this game. Not today. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, had a tough day at work waiting ahead of you, and getting annoyed at your son that early in the morning was not on your schedule.
As if he cared. Little sh*t.
He knew what he was doing. He’d done this kind of thing a million times ever since he first came into your life, barely eight years old and already too smart for his own good.
Finally, realizing you weren’t going to react at him obnoxiously looking at you, he says, a hint of mischievousness in his voice :
“Moooooom” and you know he’s about to tell you something just to mess with you. You hear it in his intonation. This is a “Mooooom” that means : “I’m about to say something that is going to piss you off, and I’m gonna have fun doing it.”
And so he continues :
“Are you aware there’s rumors spreading fast that you’re apparently one of Gotham’s most prominent drug lord ?”
There’s a short silence. You know, the time for you to process what he just said. And then you slowly put your book down. Turn to him, trying to stay as calm as possible (because WTF IS THAT RUMOR ??), and say, the tension in your voice palpable :
“Excuse me ?!”
He nods, taking a fake grave expression, showing you the headline of one of Gotham’s most famous newspaper, and answers :
“Oh yeah. There’s pictures of you going in dark alleys with packages and all. Very sus mom.”
He knows he successfully just got on your nerve. His condescending tone, his expression that seemed to say : “really mom ? I expected better from you”, and the fact he most definitely was telling that to you JUST to irritate you.
Yes. Mission : success, as you exclaim :
“Wh-OH HEY ! You know why I do that !!”
************
Yes. Of course he knows. Is that going to stop him from getting a rise out of you though ? Hell no. He always thought it was amusing, when you’d get annoyed at him. He LOVED to push all your buttons, and he was probably, amongst your children, the best at it.
Although, they all had quite a talent to get on your nerves when they wanted to.
Contrary to popular belief, you were far from being a perfect mother. Sometimes, whether on purpose or not, your kids annoyed you. You didn’t have an endless amount of patience. Not every day was rainbows and sunshine, sometimes you weren’t in the mood.
And your kids ? Well, if only they didn’t have the joyous hobby of purposefully seeking you out when you were in those moods, just to annoy you further (the point was to get you very mad, so you’d evacuate your bad mood, and then you’d feel better…and it worked every time, you’d get incredibly irritated, and then things would just diffuse by themselves).
Jason
Oh my God JASON. That little…
Jason was a MASTER at annoying you on purpose. He never did that when he was a kid, too afraid you’d send him away if he was too much of a nuisance (a thought that genuinely broke your heart).
But after he died and came back to life ? After all the hurt he went through, and the resentment that neither you nor Bruce killed the Joker ? Well, even as he slowly came to forgive you, he would sometime get small revenge by being a brat.
Leaving his dirty close RIGHT NEXT TO THE LAUNDRY BASKET. He’d never fully close drawers or cupboard doors. He’d always put back empty bottles in the fridge. He was the greatest at stealing every single phone charger in the house. He’d tell you that he needed something just after you just went grocery shopping. He’d leave the shower curtain just outside the bath, so that the entire bathroom was a goddamn swamp…Any petty thing you could think of ? He would do. Just to annoy you.
And it worked.
Whether he thought it was funny when you got mad, or because he just wanted to act out a little revenge.
It always worked.
Damian and Tim
Damian and Tim worked in a team, to manage to piss you off. They, in fact, perfected their technique so well that it was impossible for you not to get annoyed at them.
They did it when they were bored, to get a rise out of you, which they found very amusing (as long as you didn’t actually got angry, cause you were scary when angry…but annoyed ? Oh that, that was fun).
Yes. They were very proficient in the act of “squabbling”.
Getting into arguments with each others over the most trivial things ever. It had the great tendency to exasperate you. Just the other night, they were taking great pleasure into arguing with each other over who had the most french fries in their plate. They LOVED to argue over literally nothing, because they knew it greatly irked you, which they just found funny.
Cassandra
Your daughter was an angel, wasn’t she ? Always so nice, attentive to others, caring…Yeah. Yeah she was all that. But she also wasn’t perfect. And when she was bored, she’d often purposefully get on your nerve so you’d take care of her.
“Bored.” She’d say repeatedly, and then proceed to sigh every two seconds, right in your ear, up until you paid attention to her.
Oh, and she always ALWAYS stole your favorite clothes, never to be returned..
Duke
Duke was insidious in his way to annoy you. There was ONE thing he’d always do, because he thought it was funny to see you and Bruce panic and rush :
Every time there was an important school event, or somewhere you had to be for him, he’d remind you barely half an hour before said event and pretend like he told you about it ages ago, and you forgot. It was always nerve wracking, to suddenly have to find free time. And it was particularly frustrating, because he would enjoy himself way too much during those times.
Damn brats.
So,yes. You weren’t the perfect mother. And although you often felt a pang of guilt when you were annoyed at them, you also were aware this was normal and that you couldn’t always be at your best.
Especially when they were purposefullygetting on your nerves.
Like right now, as Dick thought it extremely funny that you were accused by the Gotham Sun (one of the city’s most infamous tabloid newspaper) of being a prominent drug lord !
************
Obviously, you were panicking over it. What if this sprout Gotham PD to put their nose in your business ? What if it lead to them discovering the truth about your family of vigilantes ?? Oh, and the fact your eldest son was finding it so amusing didn’t help.
“You out of all people know why I do that !”
“I do. But the people of Gotham don’t.”
His smirk is even wider now, and you’re fuming. How dare he make light of this very important situation ?! Especially since he knew the truth.
It became a habit, over the years, that during some nights, you would bring food to your family while they’re on duty…You certainly never expected the media to completely misunderstand your totally normal back and forth in dark alleyways late at night !
Taking food to them was the only sure way you knew they’d eat (of course, you wouldn’t go out when there was immediate danger in Gotham, just during normal “shifts”).
Dick was fine with everything. Ever since he was a little boy, he had a great appetite and it was sometimes a wonder to you how he never gained weight. Sure, he worked out a lot, but you also often saw him eat his entire meal, and then eat whatever his siblings didn’t finish…You all called him “the garbage can” when he was eating. He’d literally finish everyone’s plate, no matter what was in it. So bringing him food was easy, anything would do.
Jason had always been fond of burgers. You know what’s the good thing about burgers ? You can make declinations of it infinitely. Make different kind of patty (meat or veggie), change the kind of bread, the filling etc. That meant that although he always asked for burgers, he often had a diverse food option available to him whenever you’d do your little delivery service.
Tim was a picky eater, and was the toughest to cook for. Things had to be at a certain temperature or he wouldn’t eat it (he had sensory issues). He didn’t like change, and often ate the same meals, which had to be cooked by you or Alfred, or he just wouldn’t eat it.
Damian loved your veggie sandwiches, and anything from the falafel place on fifth avenue. He wasn’t a picky eater, as long as there were no meat, he was pretty much good. He always thought your cooking, even the most rudimentary of things, was delicious.
Cassandra was a huge fan of gyozas, and you would always bring her an assortment of it, whether homemade or not. Shrimps, chicken, pork, veggie…She loved it all, and it was quite impressive how much she could ingest, given her size.
Duke had fancy tastes. Ever since he came to live with you and Bruce, he’d discover a cuisine he never got to try before…And it stuck with him. What other kid would ask for caviar sandwiches, lobster rolls and other high end salmon for dinner ? It amused you greatly, and honestly, you were glad he found a new passion in food. He even followed gastronomy blogs now. So you’d bring whatever he wanted to him, often using your billionaire status to not rise suspicion in the fact that you’d ask fancy gastronomic restaurants to “take away” their meal. They just took it as another caprice.
Bruce ? Bruce would take anything you gave him, quite like Dick. However, unlike his son, his children often had to remind him to eat his food, as he had a tendency to get too entranced in his work. Your kids definitely snitched on him, and so, so he wouldn’t make you mad, he took a habit of eating the things you brought him automatically. How many times a thug was taken down by a Batman who had half a sandwich in his mouth ? Probably too many times.
Yes. You had a little “Batmom’s food delivery” thing going on, driving all around town as your kids and husband were often scattered all over the place, to give them their meals.
In retrospect, yeah. To anyone outside your family, this probably looked a little shady ! Who saw you ? Oooh this was dangerous.
If someone noticed you were going in dark alleyways late at night, with packages in your hand, and then would come out without them, it could be dramatic for your family. What if you were actually followed ? And people saw you give the food to your family ? They’d surely discover their identities in no time !
This was terrible. And oh you wished your son wasn’t cracking himself up right now, thinking about how people might believe now that his mom was a drug dealer !!
It true, that it was funny to think about. (Y/N) Wayne, prominent figure in Gotham’s charity scene, wife of the richest man in the city and one of the richest person in the country, often seen as an excellent mother and faithful wife…dealing drugs during her free time ?
You could see the irony in it all. How this “drug” thing was drastically going against the image you wanted to give the media (a false image of course, because you always appeared “perfect” in public, but in real life, you were often quite a mess. Or, in other words : human).
Bruce and you carefully crafted your public figure for years, for it to be completely shattered by this rumor…
It was even worst, that in the headline, they were involving Bruce and his possible reaction to discovering you were supposedly dealing drugs ! For sure he would have to make a public statement, and how to explain your late venture into Gotham’s dangerous streets ?
Damn the media, and their nosy journalists. Who even noticed you were doing this ?? Who noticed you, in casual close and not even using one of your many fancy cars, at 3 am, roaming the city ??
You were going mad, and while you were overthinking everything, your son kept imitating the media and inventing more and more outrageous possible rumors about you (”(Y/N) Wayne, definitely cheating on her husband with Batman”), driving you even madder.
************
It was infuriating how everyone but you seemed to take the news lightly.
You were now all around the breakfast table, and the news of that tabloid title quickly spread. Of course it did. Dick made sure the first thing every one saw when coming in the room, was that said newspaper.
“Mom, are you a drug dealer ?!” Tim exclaimed, fakely shocked, taking an over the top tone. Damian, who was right next to him, added :
“And you were my role model ! I’m so disappointed…If even you are bad, who can I trust ?!”
He had a knack for theatrics, and his siblings giggled as he splayed himself on the table, as if he had fallen into great despair.
“And you dare to lecture me…How ironic.”
Jason said, shaking his head in a way that was so obnoxious to you.
“And I thought you were a respectable woman. The disillusion is too grand for me to even fathom it.”
Duke and his high and mighty way of talking make his siblings burst out in laughter, while you’re boiling inside. How dare they make fun of you in such a serious situation ??
“Mom. No chill.”
Noooo, et tu, Cassandra ? She was clearly enjoying the events too. And if you weren’t so annoyed, you would be touched by how close your kids were. How they had such a great “partner in crime” dynamic, getting along so well. Ah, if only they weren’t ganging up against you right now !
“Am I going to have to arrest you ? I do recall you don’t mind handcuffs though…”
Bruce says, smirking (a kind of smile way too similar to Dick’s, that definitely got on your nerve). And you’re pretty sure you just reached a level of annoyance like never before.
“Ew dad, what the Hell ?! Can you not ? Breaking the mood a little here..”
If you weren’t so annoyed (and worried), you would’ve definitely taken the perch Bruce was extending to you, and play into it, acting all lovey dovey with him so your children’s want of messing with you would vanish, disgust taking its place instead (followed by them quickly leaving).
The fact you don’t react though, shows them you’re actually worried and worked up and…they drive the nail into the coffin even further.
You were their mom. They loved you. Deeply and dearly. But did that stop them from driving you absolutely crazy, and messing with you ? Absolutely not. They knew that this situation was actually nothing serious (rumors about your family were plenty, and they always died down quickly).
And hey, let’s be honest, you messed with them often too. So let them have their fun a little. Dick continues, taking a pensive voice :
“Mmm, this could be honestly a problem.”
And then, all “hell” break loose as they each give a little comment, infuriating you more and more :
“Yes, what if there is a police warrant to search the Manor ?”
“Frankly mom, I expected better of you.”
“Right ? I’m so disappointed. This could be the end of everything for us, all because you weren’t careful enough.”
“Honestly, we could’ve lived without your food’s delivery anyway.”
“Moooom, drugs ? Really ?”
“Are you a drug dealer mom ? ARE YOU ?”
“You know what we do to drug dealers right ?”
“ARE YOU A DRUG DEALER MOM ? TELL US THE TRUTH ? ARE YOU SELLING “OREGANO” IN THE STREETS ?!”
Oh. Oooh little sh*ts.
The hyperbolic way they dramatized everything, and how their tone was so condescending and over the top…This was it.
This was the moment that they got on your never so bad, that everything slowly diffused itself. You know, like how a kettle suddenly goes into hypertension, “screaming” loudly, and then stops when the water is fully boiled ?
This moment always came, when they purposefully tried to annoy you (which might be their ultimate unconscious goal ? To make you feel better ? Who knows, there was also the very real possibility that they just liked to drive you mad).
You’d get obviously upset, which amused them. They’d push your buttons to the max. You’d talk back to them, to their great enjoyment. And then, poof.
It was over.
They left, snickering, content that they managed to get the better of you.
You sighed, frustrated at yourself that they, once again, won.
And it was over.
“Every time, huh ?”
Bruce said, also pretty amused by the way your children could get you to your boiling point in no time (and to be fair, they also drove him crazy on purpose).
“Yeah. Every freaking time.”
Rumors of you being a drug lord was definitely going to be used by your children to get on your nerves. If only you’ve had had a head’s up ! You turn to your husband, your eyes narrowing at him :
“You knew, didn’t you ?”
He acts all innocent, and answers :
“Knew what, exactly ?”
“About that article ? No way you wouldn’t know before it was printed. You know everything.”
“Do I, now ?”
“Bruce…”
“What if I knew ? What are you going to do about it ?”
Oh. Oh your husband too, could be a little sh*t. He definitely knew about it. And didn’t tell you because he knew what your kids would do. He knew they’d notice before you, and use it to mess with you.
“You know, my heart, you better be careful. You won’t know when, nor where, but one day, I’ll take my revenge.”
“Mmm, weren’t you the one that told me revenge is a fool’s game ?”
“Was I ? Can’t recall.”
“You’re getting more suspicious every second, maybe you really are a drug lord, my love.”
You glare at him, as he wraps his arms around your waist and bring you closer :
“Just you wait mister Wayne, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Mmm, I’m awaiting with great expectations.”
One last smirk, one last sigh from you, and then you’re kissing. Deeply, and passionately. Because you have a lot of stress and frustration to release.
But oh, if he thinks a good kiss will make you forget…
************
You don’t know why you worried so much.
Or why you let your children get the better of you like that.
Of course Bruce would’ve had a contingency plan. Of course, he would keep an eye on the only newspaper he didn’t own in Gotham. They had a tendency to spread fake news about your family. And in a way, it did a great disservice to them, because nowadays, less and less people took them seriously.
Their bias against Bruce Wayne was showing too much. Like that ridiculous time their headline stated : “Bruce Wayne, is he Batman ?” which at the time everyone thought was SO ridiculous ! Nobody could fathom the famous “Brucie Wayne” being this hyper-violent vigilante Batman. Plus, at the time, both of them had been seen at the same place at the same time (thanks to Alfred). In a way, the fact this newspaper, which was owned by none other than Oswald Cobblepot, was always trying to defame your family, made it easier to discredit it.
It did came close very often to ruining everything though. Fortunately, Bruce always had a plan.
Like right now.
There was no point in pretending you guys hadn’t heard of the rumors. In fact, playing dumb right now would only confirm the Gotham Sun (Cobblepot’s newspaper) claim that you were guilty. So Bruce called a press conference, and in a very Bruce way, turned the situation around completely.
You were reminded, once again, why you loved that man so much. You knew he hated to speak publicly, but unfortunately often was forced to. When it came to you though ? He didn’t find it hard to speak. And he spoke very well. A little scary in a way, how manipulative he could be at times. How he could turn a situation to his advantage, just with his words.
The fact that the rumor of you being a drug lord came from Oswald Cobblepot’s newspaper made it easy to disband it.
First, because again, the bias against your family was well known and often made people suspicious of negative things posted about you all. But second, “The Penguin”s shady activities were a well known “secret”, and talking about his “alleged” ties to the narcotic industry in Gotham was enough.
Oswald Cobblepot was not a liked man. The Waynes though ? Everyone loved you. A little too much at times (it made making any kind of mistakes very scary, because you would risk disappointing a lot of people etc etc).
Bruce let you speak, and you explained that yes. You were the one going in alleyways with packages…for the homeless of Gotham ! You had no involvement in drugs ! It was actually a well known fact you hated drugs ! After what happened to your family…(everyone loved a good sob story).
It was true, that when you brought food for your family, you always left some for people in needs. And it was easy to believe, for the people of Gotham.
They knew your family. They knew how involved the Waynes were in bettering the city.
And so the story ended, the rumor vanished…Except in your home.
This thing about you being a “drug lord” just became another way for your children to mess with you, and annoy you to great length.
Damn brats.
_________________________________________________
I was thinking about what the Batfam eat when they spend long nights out, and how neither Alfred nor Batmom would actually let them skip a meal and…here we are. I hope you liked this ! Comments and reblogs are always beyond appreciated <3 !
Also, I was thinking about how sometimes, my brother and I purposefully annoy our mother (and it works each time) just because we think it’s funny when she gets mad over small things, and whether the Batkids would do it too haha. And I think the answer is : definitely. So I added, last second, a little part about it.
based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤
author’s note:hello. this took me 9-10hours and i still think the ending sucks BUT oh well. am i gonna rewrite it ??? no. i think you guys will like it, the chapter has a nice surprise over-all, hihi, and i’m too tired and running out of time to rewrite this chapter. ngl, i have some really good moments here in my writing, and i hope you guys will see them and appreciate them :) thank u sm on the feedback, as always, i love you all. happy reading!!1
warnings:LONGGG!!! hope it doesn’t bore anyone. also smut!! p in v sex, oral sex on f, fingers in mouth, emotional sex, praise, creampie, all the good stuff yk B)
gif credit goes to owner!
bruce knows he can’t follow her. physically it’s impossible, because he’s not like her, and he’d lose a lot of time getting down on the street and onto his bike. even though there is the urge to try out the new wings he recently made, but he hasn’t even tried them out in a safer environment before, so it would be foolish and lethal to try them out now to follow her.
but he also knows where she’ll be at the end of the night. it disappoints and upsets him that she’s chosen not to meet him at their usual rendez-vous and is, instead, apparently swinging around gotham and fighting for justice on her own. it eats away at him, and he’s rightfully upset as, again, he has no explanation from her about it. did she just play him for a fool? did she lie to him?
she didn’t exactly promise to meet him. that day at her work, or any later day. she said she doesn’t know if she can ever meet him again, and she didn’t say anything after he promised to be at their place every night. she didn’t say anything. so she didn’t lie, either.
alfred’s voice is in bruce’s head again, saying she just needs time. and that he’ll scare her away if he intrudes on that space, on that time with herself. but he can’t wait any longer. it’s been nearly a week since that day at her workplace. he saw her, right now, slinging across the train tracks and the street below them. bruce almost thinks she did it for show, having the knowledge that he’ll be on location, and will be seeing her from it.
it’s only a few minutes past eleven thirty, which means she will be done with her night shift soon. on the nights bruce couldn’t make it, she usually went out at nine or ten by herself. and even though bruce never told her that, he worried for each of those nights about her, and secretly didn’t want her to go. but she’s quicker than him, and has powers, and can’t stay away from saving citizens longer than a day. she’s been out nearly every night, and only on the occasions of particularly heavy work shifts has she passed on the opportunity.
bruce guesses she’s addicted to that. saving people, putting criminals to justice, giving them what they deserve—it gets her off. it’s not the adrenaline anymore, it’s her usual nightly routine. her alcohol, her drug, her cigarette.
judging by the time he has left, bruce gets moving off the train platform. he jogs down each little set of stairs, feeling a little stupid doing it, but does it nonetheless, until he’s finally on the street level and makes his way towards that alley he parked his bike in. what is she doing out there alone? has she gone out alone before, in these six days she hasn’t met up with him? does she not want to work with him again? does she not want anything to do with him, knowing that he’ll be waiting every night for her, anyway?
she’s become a bigger mystery to him again, and it’s safe to say that bruce is bubbling over with emotions as he trudges up the fire escape stairs and unlocks the window to her living room with a little metal hook. just a small thing he always keeps in his pocket, in case he needs to break in somewhere. yes, he is intruding, and he feels like he’s intruding, rightfully so, but it doesn’t feel the least bit wrong. he has to do this. he has to see her. he has to talk to her.
he closes the window and locks it from the inside so she wouldn’t suspect anything as she’ll come in later. he doesn’t want to spook her, much less give her a heart attack, he just wants her raw and true like she always is, without any prejudice about what might have happened to her window, or who has entered it.
bruce sits down on her sofa, the one she sat him down in all those nights ago, on their first real meeting, their first solid interaction. sitting in the exact spot he was then, bruce feels memories of that night flooding in, and they play like a little short movie before his eyes. how he watched her attend to his wounds, how he helped her clean hers up, it was on her thigh. how she sat next to him and touched his hair, asking questions and telling him random different things.
he remembers how soothed he was by her. she made him immediately feel at peace, and he trusted her almost immediately, as well. she was kind to him, didn’t know and didn’t care who he was. she just wanted to be equal with him—she took off her mask, and requested he do the same. no question about his name or anything, she just needed him to understand how trust for her works. even though that instinct of hers told her to trust him already.
tears gather in his eyes at those thoughts of her. the memories are too strong, too close to his heart, even closer than he’d like to admit. so much so that he nearly misses her coming home. he only hears her sigh of effort when she’s already jumped onto her living room floor, and at that noise, bruce snaps his head towards her. true enough, she’s still in her spider-woman suit, and she’s pulled off her mask. she doesn’t gasp in shock or surprise at the sight of him there, or at the quick turn of his head, her spidey-sense having kicked in again and she sensed another presence in the flat before she even came in. but she furrows her eyebrows, and focuses more on bruce, thinking, for just a moment, that she might be hallucinating and that he’s not really there. but he is. and though his eyes are dark, bright tears shine in the corners of them.
“what are you doing here?” y/n asks and strides over to him, her mask in hand before she leaves it on the coffee table. she turns around and draws her curtains, then, wanting privacy from anyone who might be watching from now on. bruce watches her all the while, his breaths beginning to grow heavier.
“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her finally, and y/n shakes her head at his voice. the brooding, intimidating growl of batman is in it. she turns back to face him. his eyes are looking right into hers, nearly boring holes into them, into her, as if wanted to do that.
y/n shakes her head again, “if you wanna talk, you’re gonna have to take off your mask.” she tells him quietly, fearing that it’s not her place to request something. that she’s undeserving even of such a little, but important thing. she doesn’t want to talk to batman, she wants to talk to bruce. with batman comes this great act, and so much more bravery than bruce has on the regular. she looks up at him from her hands. “it’s just you and me. and i don’t need batman now.”
infuriated and impatient, bruce pulls the cowl off so fast it makes a scratch in the side of his head, but he pays no attention to it, only making a small wince in reaction. y/n must say he looks like he usually does. and by usual, she means the black smear around his eyes that can’t hide the purplish bags under them, which are evidence of sleepless nights. no wonder. she didn’t see those on him while she was at the manor with him, because he slept through each night with her.
but the fury and threatening volcano eruption on his face takes her back a little. she hopes that anger isn’t towards her, but she knows that it probably is. she feels awkward, and embarrassed, and out of place. she sighs and walks over to her kitchen island, ten feet at best to bruce’s left. he watches her go and he unsnaps his cape, leaving it on the back of the sofa, and then he pushes his kevlar suit off himself one by one, trying to do it fast. y/n fixes herself something to drink from her fridge all the while, and she makes another full glass, in case bruce wants some, too.
if she doesn’t want batman now, that’s what he’ll give her. he walks over to her in the kitchen only after the batman parts of his suit are off, including the flattening jacket. he’s now dressed in a t-shirt, jeans and socks, feeling both out of place and exactly at home, dressed like that in her apartment. y/n watches him come up to her, that glass of a drink in her hand lifted up to her face, where the cold beverage is cooling her cheek. she looks at him with anxious, but tired eyes.
“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her after he situates himself across her, his back leaning into the kitchen island as hers is leaned against her counter. y/n sighs.
“i wasn’t fighting alone,” she tells him quietly, “i was just swinging around, clearing my head. nothing more.” she sighs and looks into her glass. “not that you should know what i’m up to,” y/n shakes her head. bruce’s nostrils flare.
“ishould know,” he argues.
“what, are you gonna ground me for fighting some low-lives on my own?” y/n’s upset towards bruce has quickly turned into anger. perhaps she’s pissed off by him, by all the things he chooses to be blind to when he’s not batman. bruce gives her eyes with such fire in them. but also defeat. he knows he can’t ground her, or tell her what to do and what not to do. it’s not his right, not his place, and not his choice to make, after all. she knows that, too, of course. “bruce, you can’t keep me away from the world.” she says, and has to admit that saying his name caused her heart a little pain.
he looks straight at her now, those fiery, defeated eyes now concentrated on something more precise. “is that what you thought i was doing?” he asks her. “is that why you left? you thought i was keeping you locked in with me?”
y/n shakes her head as her eyes close. he really is blind to the things she thought he was. she has always been right about him, but he – nearly never about her. “no, i didn’t think that,” y/n tells him. then what? “and that’s not why i left.”
“then why did you?” bruce asks, and the volume his voice reaches frightens y/n, so much so that she looks at him with widened eyes. bruce sees them, and wants to apologise immediately, wants to take that back. “why did you leave? why didn’t you say anything? why didn’t you come meet me all these nights? i waited for you.” his eyes fill with tears again, those previous ones having dried beforehand already. bruce’s lip trembles. “why didn’t you just… tell me? how you felt, what was wrong?”
y/n is too impatient with bruce, with herself, with his questions. “because it’s hard to!” she says. “even despite my instinct, despite everything that we’ve gone through together, i still don’t know if i can open up to you like that!” she looks into his eyes again. it saddens her that there’s no ounce of understanding in them, only confusion. “i told you that it’s nothing you can change, but maybe it is now… i don’t know.”
“y/n, just tell me, please,” bruce says and takes those two steps closer to her, so he can cradle her cheeks in his hands and be closer to her. he sticks to her like a magnet, and she has the urge to wrap her hands around his form, too, and pull him close as possible. but she fights it, not wanting to let this conversation go to waste, “i…” bruce gulps, “i want you… to be with me. whether we’re working, or—or reading together, or listening to music, or whatever else—i just want you here with me.” or whatever else. bruce shakes his head, his forehead gently bumping against hers. tears have filled y/n’s eyes now, too. she can hear in his voice how much she’s hurt him, and it breaks her heart. she didn’t mean to. she never did. “this isn’t easy for me, either, i’ve never…” he sighs shortly, his head making a gentle shake, “i’ve never had anyone like you before in my life. and i don’t want to lose you.”
did he really just say that to her? y/n can hardly believe her ears. does he mean those words? he wouldn’t be saying them if he didn’t, to be fair. y/n squeezes her eyes shut to avoid crying, but her tears spill all the same. bruce feels the ragged breath she takes, he feels how it makes her whole form tremble under him. y/n wipes at her tears with her hand and sobs, “i’m sorry,” she tells him, “i didn’t want to hurt you.” she says in wails. “i just… couldn’t take it anymore. we’re too different, bruce. your world is so much more different than mine.” y/n says and wipes her tears again. she hates that she can’t talk about this without crying.
bruce takes it as in the sense that she’s gotten to gotham from a different world physically, but again, it’s evidence that things like that fly over his head so easily. “what do you mean?” he asks her and leans back a little, unconsciously giving her space. he even pulls his hands away from her, leaving her completely untouched for now. for however long she needs.
y/n is quiet for a while as she gathers herself. every word that she had planned to tell him at some point now seems to bring more and more sobs, pain and tears from her. it’s hard talking that way. “i mean… look at how you’re living,” she says. the mansion, the wealth, the family legacy, “all i ever had was a small basement flat in queens,” she tells him, and her voice grows squeaky in a wail towards the end, “my mother had to work… terrible, absolutely inhuman jobs to pay the rent, get us food. with no one to help us.” y/n sobs and hides her face in her hands from bruce. he doesn’t touch her, being able to tell that she really doesn’t need that right now. “only after… she died did i find out that i have an aunt. they weren’t on good terms, but she took me in immediately. even though she had no idea how to raise a kid.” y/n sighs, and shakes her head. “i can see… by the way you behave, how and where you live, that you don’t know what that’s like. you haven’t worked a day in your life. everything that you have has come easy to you.” she looks up into his eyes.
bruce can’t deny he feels upset by those words. never had to work a day in his life… but he doesn’t get the type of work y/n means. building tools, devices, suits and vehicles in the abandoned station named after your parents with all the money you have from thin air is work to him, but it’s not work in reality, is it? that’s just money spending, the complete opposite of work.
“i haven’t had a day since my eighteenth birthday in which i haven’t had to work, or fight for what’s important to me.” y/n tells him. she won’t go into detail about her mother and how she died, or about her best friend, who met the same fate. he doesn’t need to know that. it doesn’t really have anything to do with this conversation. “that’s where you and me are different. i don’t expect you to understand, but…” she shakes her head, “you asked, since you… clearly can’t understand what you don’t know, so here it is. that’s why i left.” she looks into his eyes again. “that’s why i have a complicated relationship with money.”
bruce nods, his eyes faltering away from hers. now that she’s told him about her childhood, or at least some part of it—it seems there’s more to tell—he gets why she was so cold. why she was so adamant on knowing why he bought her those things, why she had a hard time accepting them. he doesn’t understand the things she’s went through, the life she’s had, but at least he knows about them, and understands hermore.
“and it’s none of your fault for how you grew up, for your father’s wealth,” y/n speaks up again, wanting bruce to be less confused about her feelings towards him in all this. bruce nods again, though biting back tears, “it’s just… i don’t think you and i have the same goals or—or beliefs.” she says and sniffles again. bruce furrows his eyebrows. “sure, we’re fighting all those guys at night, but during the day… you could be doing that and more. with everything you have.” she says in a fainter voice, cautious of his response. bruce wayne. prince of the city. gotham’s richest.
the suggestion in her words hits straight into his heart, as well as his pride. and his beliefs. bruce is silent as he thinks it all over, and y/n is afraid he’ll bolt out the door any second. he could do that, taking how he sometimes gets very unpredictable. but her instinct tells her otherwise, and so does bruce’s body language. gears are turning and pipes are hissing in his mind, it’s all so visible in his eyes.
she’s never had prospects like he has. she’s never had the money to change things in the world she sees as unjust. bruce can tell she’d do a lot if she had it, so maybe he should give her all the money he has? maybe follow up on that half-serious offer of hers and make her the head of wayne enterprises. she has much more spirit, much more will to act than he does. it hurts him that she’s seen it, but it doesn’t hurt that it’s the truth. perhaps he’s just been too afraid to acknowledge it.
so many questions are still begging to be asked, so many thoughts are running through his mind on repeat, one after the other. he leans off the island and comes closer to y/n again, slowly, cautiously, hoping to not intrude onto her space, scared she might swat him away, push him away. his hand caresses her hair as the other cups her cheek, she’s letting him. he looks into her eyes, which are blinking between his and those wandering, affectionate hands of his. “how did your mother die?” bruce asks so softly and quietly she could have missed it. y/n’s eyes showcase fear, and the urge to turn away, to get attention off herself, to escape his hold. then she blinks, hangs her head low and sighs softly.
“at work,” she tells him coldly, nearly paralysed in how exposed she currently is, “she was killed. because she wanted out.” y/n sniffles very strongly and looks down at her hands as she takes her gloves off. her lips press into a thin line. the loss of her mother still does numbers on her heart. bruce gulps. she’s saddening him more and more with every new thing she tells him.
“i’m sorry,” he tells her, the hand caressing her hair again, this time also moving in between her strands, cradling her head from behind. he only means well, and he only wants to be closer to her. y/n understands that, “were you there?” like i was when my mother and father got killed?
y/n shakes her head. “no,” she answers. she remembers that day very well, “i was at home. didn’t know until… cops showed up at the door.” y/n parker? we think we’ve found your mother. “nearly didn’t open it because mom told me not to open the door unless it’s her, and she had a certain way of knocking.” y/n’s lips make a very faint smile as she says this. bruce smiles a little, too, seeing that y/n remembers a fond memory of her mother. but she still doesn’t look at him, for whatever reason.
“is she the reason you do this?” he asks quietly again. y/n looks up at him at once, her eyes fearful of how well he’s turned out to know her. she appreciates it. that he may not be able to understand her, but he knows her. he knows her so well, he knows her by heart. bruce’s thumb flicks over cheek, where tears previously poured down. new ones gather in her eyes, and during her silence, they fall and coat the skin of her cheeks again, pouring beneath and onto bruce’s finger as well.
she’s overwhelmed. his hand on her cheek reminds her so much of their shenanigans in his car that day. and the hand on the back of her head reminds her of all those times they kissed, and she’s thinking of the manor again, she’s thinking of all that time they spent together. it reminds her of the care and affection that he’s shown her. and she can’t turn away from it. she’s done hurting him. she wants him, too. every day and every night. perhaps, after all, the crime-fighting isn’t her drug. but bruceis.
y/n gives him a nod as well as a shrug in response, because she is the reason y/n does this, but not the whole reason. there’s so many more. so for now, she gives him this kind of answer, though she’s sure he got the confirmation from her falling tears. bruce breathes a deep breath in and nods at her, too, saying that he gets it. he understands. part of every hero is that they’re avenging someone in everything that they do. whether it’s their parents, one of their parents, another close relative, maybe a friend or a lover. someone important to them who they lost. “did you get what you wanted?” y/n asks in a whisper, hoping that she has somewhat explained herself to bruce.
he searches her eyes for a few moments, confused. is this everything that she wanted to say? is she telling him that there’s nothing more to say or do anymore, and that they’re done? he hopes not. “i just wanted you,” he tells her in an assuring manner, his thumb flicking over her lip again, “i still do. always will.” bruce makes a gentle shake of his head. “please don’t make me leave,” bruce pleads quietly, thinking that could be the worst-case scenario.
y/n shuts her eyes as more tears pour from them and shakes her head. “i don’t want to do that,” she says, still shaking her head. she’s stripped herself down completely in front of him now, no going back.
“then don’t,” bruce says and now rests his forehead against hers, eyes closed. he sighs deeply as he feels himself closer and closer to her.
“but it will be difficult,” she tells him, still trying to push him away against all her best interests, “i’m scared, bruce.” she admits and sobs in desperation again, nearly gasping and grasping at him to not leave. her hands don’t know where to go, don’t know what to do to make him stay. will her small arms be enough for a man his size? enough to keep him in place? first of all, she can’t believe he’s here. he cares enough that he showed up at her flat. bruce opens his eyes.
“i’m scared, too,” he tells her. he has never had these feelings before, and he’s never had a relationship before. he doesn’t exactly know how they work, or what he has to do. he could hurt her, he could get her hurt again, and worse, he could be too demanding, he could not change himself for her… it all scares him. but, “because i love you.” bruce admits, and it makes y/n’s eyes open wide in an instant. “and i’m scared of what that means.”
“you love me?” y/n repeats in a hushed whisper, afraid to say those words out loud for maybe she accidentally dreamed him saying them. but bruce nods, extinguishing those doubts of hers. “are you sure?” she asks.
the question makes bruce utter a quiet chuckle, his lips stretching so beautifully into a smile. y/n finally reaches a hand out to his face, and caresses his cheek in return, making him look back at her. “i’m sure,” bruce assures her, “more sure than i’ve ever been of anything else.” he states. “i love you.” bruce says again, his fingers caressing her skin. “you mean everything to me.” he confesses in a whisper.
now y/n really can’t keep the dam closed anymore. her tears fall without a halt, without filter, they pour from her eyes, across her cheeks, down to her neck, into her mouth, and quiet sobs of relief rupture her lungs and chest. they’re happy tears, relief tears, even though they seem the completely different kind. bruce watches her, confused, and his movements on her skin in those two places halts. but y/n scoops herself up together and looks at him again. “don’t worry,” she says, “i’m only crying because i…” she hiccups in her confession, “because i love you, too.” y/n says and makes a smile on her face for show. and so that bruce would know that it’s real, what she’s telling him.
bruce’s heart stops at that confession, breath catching in his throat. all this time there were hints towards it being true, but he never wanted to assume she did. and, as his low self-esteem and self-worth usually told him, he thought she didn’t love him like that back. she couldn’t. but here she is, proving all that paranoia wrong. so he doesn’t waste a second more and kisses her lips. he hasn’t done that in so long, in nearly two weeks (not that he’s counted, of course), and it’s such blissful release that he can’t contain his own tears anymore.
y/n kisses him back, and so their lips battle in the will to show each other how much love they have for them. both of them want to win, but the process, the journey, is so much better than the victory. lips exchanging heated, wet, tearful kisses while hands grapple fabric and skin, wanting to be closer, closer, closer, until there’s no space and they succumb to each other, their skin and bones melting together.
bruce’s hands bravely venture down to her hips, where he caresses and grips them, pushing moans out of y/n here and there with his actions. she tugs on his hair when that happens, and that makes him groan in return. but that counter against her back is very uncomfortable. “this is not the place,” y/n whispers to bruce against his lips, and it halts his movements. she takes his hands in her own and pulls him away, out of the kitchen, and towards her bedroom, down the hall.
he can’t keep his hands or lips off her even while they walk, he’s kissing her neck, backing her against the nearest walls from time to time, just wanting to stay there. he doesn’t care where they are, as long as he can have her, he’ll be happy, and he’ll make her see stars to the best of his abilities, anyway. he’s scared, of course, for her to see this side of him, thinking maybe he’ll not be competent enough, he won’t do good enough for her. but she’s about to prove him wrong.
she laughs at bruce’s impatience and manages to stumble him over to her bedroom at last. she loves him kissing her neck and showing her that kind of affections, of course, she lets him know by the moans and whimpers she makes, but she doesn’t want to have her first time with him in her hallway. having it in her bedroom is important to her, even though she doesn’t really know why.
once they’ve stumbled into her bed, bruce finds the zipper in her suit and zips it open as quickly as he can, though he does it very messily. y/n is smiling, tears still in her eyes, and kissing his lips all the while, as he peels the suit off her, and she kicks it off with her legs at the very end just so that bruce wouldn’t have to disconnect from her. he smiles at that, knowing her intentions, and pulls his own shirt off his form, too. y/n has seen him bare before, but now she feels she’s got the full privilege and right to admire his chest fully. her hands reach out to run across it, bruce on his knees now before her, between her legs. her fingers trace over his muscles and she marvels at how there are no serious scars on his chest, unlike his back.
he just watches her eyes, and then they look up at his. a mischievous smile tugs at her lips, and she bites into her lower one. bruce shakes his head at her, though a grin adores his lips, as well, and he leans down to her again, smothering her whole face with kisses. “i love you,” he proclaims to her again, “you drive me crazy.” he says and y/n chuckles at that confession. bruce plays with the straps of her bra, and he gives her a look. “can i take this off?” he asks her, wanting to make sure she’s ready. so far, this is the barest he’s seen her. and he just wants her to be comfortable. if it’s better for her, she can leave the bra on.
y/n nods at him in response, and reaches under herself to unclasp the bra. bruce wanted to do that, but she sends him a knowing wink, knowing in the sense that she knows he wouldn’t be able to take it off on his own without a struggle. so since they’re both in a rush, and are naturally impatient people, she does half the job for him. and so bruce just hooks his fingers under each strap and lifts her bra off along her arms, and throws it to the side, not exactly caring where it lands.
his breath gets caught in his throat again, this time at the sight of her. her hair, her naked chest, her arms barely, shyly knitted together above her stomach, her shy smile and the tears still glistening in her eyes. she’s an angel. “you’re beautiful,” bruce tells her, “baby.” he adds, remembering that she seemed to have some sort of reaction to that nickname before, and he could try it out now again. this time y/n utters a whimper at that pet-name, her teeth biting into her lower lip again, and her thighs move around a little. bruce grins slightly and positions himself right above her body again, his chin resting just below her breasts. “do you like it when i call you baby?” he asks her, and kneads one of her breasts in his hand.
y/n sighs out as her eyes drop closed, and she sighs, already squirming beneath him. “yes,” she answers, and bruce feels her thighs pressing closer around his body, “does things to me.” she admits, and then feels bruce’s lips on her breast, just kissing for now. but then he lays a wetter kiss on the skin there, and he sucks lightly, too, and y/n feels like just melting into her mattress. the moan she makes goes straight to bruce’s firmly growing length in his pants, making him feel even more impatient. he increases his grip on her other breast, and makes a trail of kisses up to her face again, all the while hearing her sweet moans and whimpers for him.
“was that okay?” bruce asks her quietly, worried about his performance again, and to his soothing, y/n replies with a nod.
“i know you’re nervous, but you don’t need to be,” she tells him as her lustful eyes look into his and she caresses his cheek with her hand again, “it’s my first time, too.” she assures, her smile suddenly looking a little broken, along with her tears it makes for a sad facial expression. but those few words mean a lot to bruce. she’s just as inexperienced as him, and it puts him at some sort of peace at least. and how she was able to tell he’s that way also hits a close spot in his heart. now they’ll be doing something together for the first time, both of them, and it is ever so special.
“you tell me if i hurt you, alright?” bruce requests. y/n’s eyes fill with more tears at how considerate and affectionate bruce is. she still can’t believe it, after all this time, and yet here is the proof, staring her right in the eyes, touching her the way she likes, making sure that everything’s fine. but she shakes her head at his question.
“you could never hurt me,” she says in a scrappy voice that showcases her choked-back tears and sobs, and bruce only hopes it’s for a positive reason she’s almost crying again for. y/n pulls his face down to hers and kisses his lips. hungrily, lustfully, intimately, closing her eyes. bruce does the same, his hands coming lower to hold her waist, “can you touch me?” y/n quietly asks him, looking into his eyes, “please.”
you could never hurt me echoes in bruce’s mind, and he recalls that incident in the car, to which she undoubtedly is referring to without really referring to (but he can read her mind, can’t he?), and he nods surely. “i was going to, anyway.” bruce says with a wink sent her way, and that makes y/n giggle. bruce runs his hand from her breast down to the dip between her thigh and stomach, and he rounds the flesh of her thigh in his hand. y/n sighs out against his smiling lips, her thighs restlessly rubbing against his sides, yearning for friction, for some real touch. not that this isn’t great, she’s just growing more and more desperate and turned on by the second, by everything bruce does, by every move he makes across her skin.
bruce toys with her thigh, with the feel of her skin in his hold—it’s heavenly—pushing her thigh forwards, gripping the junction under her knee, caressing her upper thigh with his large, splayed hand. y/n’s breath catches in her throat—she can’t believe how gentle he is with her. of course, she adores it, and wants nothing more or less than these cautious touches, because she knows he will get to it when he will. she guesses she just always expected his batman persona to come out during these intimate settings—she once speculated that he’s quite the ladies’ man, and probably is in his vigilante mood when he gets down to it. this, she might say, is a pleasant surprise.
although she’s never been with anyone before, y/n knows what she wants in a partner, and she knows what she likes. and so far, bruce has checked a few boxes already, slowly checking the rest on his way now. and that again arises tears in her eyes. how careful, affectionate and attentive he is to her, to her needs, her level and zone of comfort. she’s never known love like this before, and it’s breaking her down. perhaps because it’s all she’s dreamed of those times when she’s wished for a partner. someone exactly like bruce. who knew she’d find them in an alternate universe where her home city doesn’t even exist?
she bends under his hands so easily bruce might have mistaken a doll for her, the way she completely melts against him in whatever he’s planned to do. how she willingly lets him push her thigh forwards more, how she cranes her neck when he leans down to kiss along it, how she shivers, but then bucks into his hand once he finally cups her pulsating cunt through her underwear. it makes her body do a whole reset almost—her eyelids fluttering closed and her thighs rubbing closer together, nearly capturing bruce’s arm between them. bruce grins at that and lays a kiss on y/n’s lips again, though they barely respond as she’s in a blissful state.
he can feel her wet warmth that has stained her very fitting underwear, and it drives him even crazier, even sort-of hungrier after her. bruce strokes his fingers up that patch of wetness and reaches nearly the same ecstasy as she is in. he can feel every inch of her pressing together under that fabric, in that wetness. “fuck,” he curses under his breath, resting his head in the crook of her neck, putty against her incredible might, “this all because of me?” he asks, and can hear her breaths growing heavier. he feels her chest moving more frequently, and harder against his. he’s gained confidence again, sureness of himself, because of her reactions. she’s doing wonders to him.
y/n can only nod, and it’s all the confirmation bruce needs to slip his hands into her panties and touch her without any confines or otherwise constricting factors. the real thing. he doesn’t know precisely what to do, he’s not seen a proper tutorial that would work for y/n exactly, but he can tell he’s doing the right things. both the louder and quieter noises that come from her lips, very much positive ones, tell him he’s doing a great job. y/n can’t manage to form coherent words, anyway, because bruce, bruce, bruce has taken over her mind completely.
bruce cards his fingers through her silky folds, gathering her wetness and spreading it across this most intimate area of her body, and he does so in slightly circular motions. y/n’s hands caress his body, one of them deep in his dark hair, the other on his back, digging her nails into the thick, scarred skin there. was she any more conscious of herself and bruce, she’d worry about scratching the scars open. but she can’t think further than the man’s fingers, further than his fingers on her cunt, she’s completely consumed by him.
bruce watches her face as best he can in the midst of his own arousal, and he just adores the look of her. eyes shut, fluttering open here and there, eyebrows scrunching up, lips parting, and little beads of sweat beginning to coat the skin closest to her hairline. not to mention the tears at the corners of her eyes, and the ones falling and already fallen down the side of her face. he knows they’re not ones of sadness, not anymore.
but, wanting to see what he’s doing, bruce moves slowly down her body while his fingers are still treading soft circled touches on her folds. he kisses every inch of her skin in his way, making her body spasm very gently here and there. she’s so reactive to every move he makes on her, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. one of her hands pulls away from his back as he moves lower, no longer that much accessible to her, and the other starts to pull away from his head of hair.
when bruce is down exactly where he wants to be (a/n: that would be down bad for y/n), his face inches away from the most intimate part of her body, he looks up at her. her hands, not knowing where exactly to be or what to do, figure around the sheets, in her own hair. her chest heaves in desperation, in that insufferable yearning for ecstasy, for release. for him. “give me your hands,” bruce gently asks of her, extending his one free hand, for now, towards her. y/n does as she’s told, a little lost on what he’s planning, but moves her hands down towards bruce.
with his able one hand, the busy one still circling her lips, he holds both her wrists between his fingers and pulls them towards his hair, where he so adores them being. he knows she loves touching his hair, too, she wouldn’t do it otherwise. or does she know he likes it and only does it because of that? that’s a question for later. her fingers land in his hair, nearly at the roots now, caressing the scalp, and they fit so well, as if a magnet was pulling her hands towards his raven locks. bruce grins and gets to work.
“keep them there,” he tells her softly, the command in his words not sounding like a command at all, but rather like a gentle request, “wanna see you.” bruce fingers the elastic of her panties, playing with it for just a second or two before he begins pulling her underwear down with both his hands. y/n whines at the loss of his fingers from her cunt, but something tells her this isn’t the last of those touches. once her underwear is down her legs and off, bruce looks at the sight exposed to him. my… this glistening beauty all for him. he nearly feels his stomach grumble at the sight, he feels hunger for her, one that he’s never felt before.
he playfully, in his quest to explore her, runs his middle and index finger down between her folds again, and feels her writhing underneath. her warmth, her wetness, her beauty are unmatched. and they’re all for him to witness, to feel, to experience, to taste. can he do that? bruce’s eyes flick up to y/n, even though he knows damn well she’s not able to look him in the eye. “y/n,” he calls to her quietly, gently, and she stirs, with her eyes closed, on the sheets, “look at me.” bruce requests. and even in her haze, she’s able to finally open her eyes and look straight at him, though her orbs are consumed by a layer of lust. “can i taste you?” bruce asks.
that question makes y/n want to kick against the mattress like a spoiled child. but she keeps her composure, and only her chest ruptures and her thighs tremble in response. she tries to keep her eyes on bruce’s, but it’s so hard. her thighs rub closer together again, desperate, desperate, desperate. those must be the most enticing words she’s heard him say ever. and she gives him a nod. of course, who is she to say no to him? he’s made her feel closer to heaven than any meal or feeling before, she won’t deny him or herself this pleasure.
bruce just needs to devour every inch of her, needs to feel her against every inch of himself, and he has the blessing from her to do so. so he gets to work. at first he gently breathes onto her exposed cunt, which already makes her sigh out sharply, and then lays just a kiss on the same spot. it makes her utter an even more helpless whimper, her chest heaving more frequently for those few moments. oh, she’s so not ready for his blissful assault on her.
he returns his hand to her folds and runs the two fingers through them, teasing at her entrance for just a second or two. and his mouth moves lower, towards where his fingers are, his tongue stroking between her labia lips. y/n gasps, “bruce,” she moans out his name. bruce makes a hum in response, eyeing her with eyes that ask is this good? am i good? but, of course, with her eyes closed again, she doesn’t see them. if she would, she’d only give him a positive answer as this is quite literally the best she’s ever been made to feel in her entire life.
bruce would be a liar if he said this doesn’t bring him any pleasure, either. he’s keeping himself from moaning and grunting as much as he wants to only because he’s so focused on making her feel good. with every lap at her cunt that he makes, he yearns for more. she tastes sweet, like sugar water, like his favourite alcohol. she also tastes like his dreams, like all his hopes and plans, like everything he’s ever wished for. with every inch of her that he tastes, licks, kisses, laps at, he realises he could spend forever there, between her legs, just pleasuring her, making her come over and over again.
his fingers press onto her clit while his tongue drags across it, and it makes y/n arch her back off the sheets all while moaning his name in a high pitch, hurting her throat just a bit as it’s an unusually high note she’s reached. but as she moans his name, it comes out distorted and broken up. much like herself. “gonna put my fingers inside you, okay?” bruce asks y/n, out of breath, and looking up at her. she doesn’t see him, only hears him, and she nods.
“yes, please,” she responds with a plea, as well, only firming the erection beneath bruce’s trousers. so he circles his middle finger around her tight hole, which grows just a little bigger at the request, and, to take away any possible discomfort that she might feel at the penetrating intrusion, bruce pushes his middle finger inside her entrance with his tongue. now that makes her actually scream out, and she’s not afraid to hide it.
the noise rises goose-bumps across bruce’s skin, and he hums in appreciation against her, his lips flush against her cunt. pushing further into her, seeing how far she takes him, bruce admires every crevice, every structured inch of her inside that he can feel on his pad, against his thin skin. she’s so tight that her walls are swallowing his finger up, and it feels indescribable. he forgets himself for a moment, his lips just resting against her labia lips for now as he wonders about how it would feel with his length inside her. if this feels this great, then how will that feel? will she even be able to take him?
perhaps he needs to stretch her out, so he does his best. “gonna put another into you, baby,” bruce tells her as he sort-of gets back to earth and kisses the inside of her thigh now, trying to put some ease into her—although knowing that he’s doing the exact opposite of it with anything that he does—, “can you take another one?” bruce looks up to her again, but it’s, again, a lost cause.
but y/n hears him. “yes. yes, i think so,” she says in a whiney voice, her eyes squeezed shut, forehead and chest sweating, hands raking unevenly across bruce’s scalp—she’s a complete mess, “just do it.” i don’t care if i can’t take it. “i just need you, please.” she nearly cries at that last bit, being so close to that edge all afternoon, it seems, and bruce understands. she’s so desperate for him, and he’s sure it’s gonna kill him eventually. if not now, if not tonight, then soon.
so he pushes his index finger into her, moving it inside along the middle one, feeling her walls swallowing them both up now. bruce shudders, moaning at how incredible that feels, and licks against her clit again. he’s sure nothing can feel better than this. and y/n has that same thought. her mind is racing, as well as her heart, and her chest is heaving like it never has before, not even on the times she’s had the most intense fights. bruce’s fingers are long, she’s known that, having known how large his hands are over-all, but oh my… she never expected them to hit that deep, and on the first entrance. god, is she hallucinating? is this happening? it’s too real, too good, too incredible, to be true.
“oh, my god,” y/n squeaks out among her gasps for air. her body writhes under bruce, around his fingers, her hips are bucking rhythmically, almost as fast as to bother bruce in his incredibly important work. he lays his other hand on her lower stomach and presses down gently.
“stay still, sweetheart,” he asks of her. and even those few words, especially that pet-name, make her whine. but when he strokes her walls with his long, aiming-to-please fingers, it reaches her in such a way that makes her actually cry out, and hot tears prick her eyes once more. only this time, much heavier, much harder to resist. so she doesn’t. she lets them fall, and lets sobs torture her lungs and her whole torso with their intensity. the heels of her feet dig into her bedsheets and she tightens the hold of her hands on bruce’s hair. she can’t take this, she can barely take it.
and he makes her torture all the more intense, with his lips and tongue on her folds, intruding between them, and his fingers raking across her walls, pulling the very pads of them against her meaty surface, curling them when he gets to the deepest point in her that he can reach. she’s crying, tears streaming down her face, sobs hurting her throat, as she has never been made to feel this good, and she has never been made to feel loved like this. she has never had someone to love her, care for her, attend to her this way. she can’t fathom or take everything that she’s feeling right now, it’s driving her over the edge. “oh, my god… bruce,” she cries his name as the feeling gets way too over-whelming.
she feels like she could burst open, physically, any second now. she’s blind about what’s about to quite literally come over her, and she has no choice but to feel it, let it take control, let it do what it has to. bruce’s tongue tight on her clit, his fingers nearly scratching at her walls, she feels that terribly foreign feeling—she’d rather call it entity—fully wash over her. finally. and she realises it’s what she was waiting, pleading, begging, yearning for. this exact feeling.
her legs go numb, and she feels an over-whelming wave in the pit of her stomach, where she’s felt herself yearn for bruce, for ecstasy, many times before. now she understands. now she knows what it’s like, but she has barely time to think on it now. she can’t think at all, her arms even go limp in bruce’s hair, only having pulled at it quite hard at the very beginning of this other-wordly feeling. her eyes screwed shut, lips parted and mouth open as she cries, screams and begs, all calling to bruce.
he only makes his actions gentler on her once he realises what she’s going through, what her body’s experiencing. and his heart pulses in his chest as he watches her reach that heavenly pleasure point. his length throbs in his trousers at how she looks as she’s going through it. god, absolutely divine. unlike anything he’s ever seen before. her face when she laughs, smiles or is working on something—his wounds, for example—is breath-taking, of course. but this… bruce is sure nothing compares to this. and he can’t believe he’s rightful to see it with his own two mortal eyes.
when y/n’s screams and cries of his name die down a little in volume and intensity, and now nothing but pants are leaving her lips, bruce pulls slightly away from her. to his pleasant surprise, he finds the breath-taking sight of her dripping a white nectar from her entrance. he needs no explanation for what that is, in that sense he’s knowledgeable enough, and he grows even harder at the sight, if that’s even possible at this point. he’s so hard right now that it’s painful for him.
bruce spreads her thighs a little, as they pressed slightly closer together after she came, and caresses his thumb over her dripping entrance. she whimpers helplessly at that caress, feeling more sensitive than ever. bruce only glances at her fleetingly, his eyes trained on that come dripping out of her. fuck. this is just incomprehensible for him. it looks just like sugar cream, and he knows it tastes similar, too. he can’t resist. bruce leans closer again and licks some of it up, as much as he can get from only very slightly entering his tongue in her. and this time, her whimper is even more desperate, more pleading. almost to say i can’t anymore, because she feels so sensitive, as if it was an open wound.
and she does taste like sugar cream, sweeter than before. bruce moans like a man having his eternal hunger fed, and licks her come up just one more time for his own pleasure before he pulls away and gives her a break from his very euphoric assaults on her. bruce licks his lips clean, wanting to savour every bit of her that he gathered, and he looks down at her. god, she’s so beautiful, he can’t believe it. and she looks absolutely heavenly after an event like this. he could make her come over and over again, if it means he’d see her this true, this beautiful, every time. and he’s sure he would.
her hands have fallen by her sides, and she’s only now returning to complete consciousness. she blinks her eyes open and finds bruce staring down at her. there’s a smile on his face that almost makes her laugh. he just made her have the first and, she thinks, hardest orgasm of her life, and he’s looking down at her, smiling like a happy idiot. the most she can do is make a smile herself at him, a very gentle and faint one, and bruce’s smile only stretches bigger at that.
he leans down to her, one of his hands wrapping around her wrist, pushing it into the mattress beside her head. he kisses her lips, plump and warm, and he can feel that she’s reacting to everything a little slower now, truly blown away by him, and the feelings he makes her have. he feels proud and confident of himself, and he smiles into their kiss. his other hand rests at the curve of her waist, just above her hip, and y/n’s arms weakly wrap around bruce’s torso. for support, for something to hold onto.
“can i, uh…” bruce begins a question he’s too shy to finish in a whisper, his smiling lips dragging across the tear-wetted skin of y/n’s face as he does so, and y/n closes her eyes as her grin grows wider. more tears fall. she already knows what he wants to ask, but she’ll let him finish that sentence. if he can, of course. come on, baby, where’s your confidence? “can you—i mean, do you want to—”
but, again, y/n is an impatient person at heart. she nods her head without letting bruce finish, because the answer is yes, will always be yes, “yes,” she tells him, and because… “now, because i’m not sure i’ll be alive later,” she tells him honestly, which makes bruce laugh. and, in return, it makes her laugh, too, through her tears. her laughter’s interrupted by her soft sobs. his rare, miraculous laugh is infectious, even during such intimate moments. but perhaps it’s best for those kind of times, because it’s a way to break the tension and the pressure between them. he rests his forehead against hers and his eyes grow serious for a moment.
“are you sure about this?” he asks her in an even quieter whisper, suddenly realising how much this could (does) mean to her. and y/n looks into his in-love, half-lidded eyes.
“i am,” she assures him as she nods. one of her hands circle up to his neck, fingers curling around the nape, towards the roots of his hair, “i love you. and i want this,” y/n tells bruce, looking into his eyes for more signs of understanding. he’s nervous, she knows that, and so is she. but somehow—perhaps from the literally mind-blowing orgasm he’s already given her—perhaps with his presence, his comforting, loving presence, she feels a little less nervous about doing this. and about what this could mean between them. though nothing more than their love and desire for one another.
bruce gives her a nod then. okay, then, this is it. here it goes, he tells himself. “i love you, too,” he whispers to her in response, his eyelids fluttering again. not because he’d be lying, but because he’s nervous and shaky and over-whelmed, and feeling quite emotional. he wants to remind her to tell him if he hurts her, but since she surely told him that he could never hurt her, and she should believe it, he doesn’t. and so, with a nervous hand, y/n slips his trousers and boxers downwards, which gives bruce the freedom to free his embarrassingly—to him—large, stiff erection from its confines.
y/n gasps quietly at the look of him, at the size of him, and bruce immediately looks to her, his eyes nervously asking what’s wrong. “nothing,” she assures, “just… i hope you’ll fit.” she tells him with a gentle chuckle, and bruce grins out of relief, his dark locks falling onto her face as he hangs his head low. “you’re so big, bruce,” y/n praises to him in a whisper, and the compliment makes him shudder against her. how he hoped that would be the truth. not that y/n has anything to compare bruce to—for her completely inexperienced mind and sense of measurements, bruce is big. certainly bigger than she anticipated.
“shut up,” he tells her in an airy chuckle, which makes y/n chuckle. she knows what praise does to him. makes him feel weird, undeserving, awkward, on the spot. weird for a man of his size to doubt himself, but he does it nonetheless. always insecure, always feeling that he’s not enough. but he is. and he’d always be enough for y/n, no matter any of his measurements.
she caresses his chest with one of her hands and spreads her legs a little again, so that it’d be more comfortable for him. bruce adores the sight. “come on,” she whispers to him, pulling his face closer to hers by the back of his neck, and bruce gets the message, leaning his forehead against hers again as he watches himself, to not make a mistake, slowly push into her half-inch by half-inch, always attentively listening to every sound she makes to know if something’s wrong.
that hand of his holding her wrist against the bed sheets slips upwards to link her fingers with his own, and he feels her tightly pressing her fingers into his hand as soon as he does that. bruce feels her tense up beneath him, sees her eyes squeezing shut, as well as her mouth, and he hears a little whimper from her. he instantly worries. “do we need to stop?” he asks her in a whisper, looking at her face of discomfort. she almost seems to be holding her breath. “baby,” bruce calls to her.
y/n shakes her head, and as soon as she opens her eyes, bruce sees new tears in them. “no, no,” she tells him, “i’m okay.” she assures and looks up into bruce’s beautiful, concerned orbs. “remember what i told you,” y/n reminds him, and her hand slips from his neck to his cheek, a comforting gesture of convincing, “you could never hurt me.” she assures, and her voice breaks a little. her lip trembles, but she nods at bruce, muscles around her eyes also trembling, threatening for another session of crying. bruce isn’t sure of what to do, because he’s not sure that y/n’s crying is entirely for the best reasons. but she wouldn’t lie to him, would she? “it’s alright, bruce,” y/n tries to convince him more. she knows it’s painful for girls during their first time, always, “you’re not hurting me anymore.” she searches his eyes. “it passed.” she sniffles. “keep going.”
he’s convinced, he decides, because she really wouldn’t lie to him. he knows that. especially about how she’s feeling. she’s always honest about it, always truthful and raw to him. he grips that hand of hers more and pushes himself further inside her, to the very hilt, for now. and what he gets in return is most rewarding. not only her sensitive, clenching walls around him, and their warmth, but also a moan from y/n that he recognises to be one of pleasure. and bruce exhales deeply, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he tries to adjust to everything. because god, he’s so painfully hard, and he’s finally inside her, and it’s enough to make him come on the spot.
it comes as a surprise to y/n how little it hurt, because now she just feels the good side of this. god, this is the closest she’s been with him. closest they’ve been with each other, and the moment she’s had daydreams and night-time dreams about has finally come. and it’s so much better than she imagined, so much more fulfilling and connecting. speaking from her subjective point of view in this moment, she can say that she couldn’t imagine having her first time with anyone else. she loves bruce, and she’s thankful that he lets her be with him when he’s this exposed, this vulnerable, this naked in every sense of the word.
speaking of bruce, he’s nearly fainted above her. she brings her thumb across his cheek, and that motion makes him turn to look at her. at least he’s conscious, she thinks. “what is it?” bruce asks her, clearly oblivious to her gestures. she smiles wide, and tears pour from the corners of her eyes.
“nothing,” she says in the quietest of whispers, “just thought you’d died there for a moment.” she jokes, and bruce grins at her amused mood.
“think i did,” he says and gets above her body again, feeling confidence and strength returning to him, “you want to keep going?” bruce asks in the most affectionate of ways, and then moves his head so that his hair would flip out of his view. it’s bothering his vision, he can’t see her properly. y/n nods at his question and caresses his chest again. she looks straight into his eyes and bruce takes that as a sign to begin moving.
it’s painfully pleasuring for the both of them that movement of bruce pulling out in a slow stroke, y/n whimpers and the grip on bruce with both her hands tightens incredulously. bruce sees his length coated in y/n’s white come from beforehand, and that makes him groan.
“god, you drive me insane,” he tells y/n and then looks back at her, wanting to see only her face as he pushes back in. this time, contrasting to the very first time, her throat makes a deep, guttural moan, and the feeling of him pushing back inside her has her throwing her head back, “you feel perfect around me.” bruce praises her and y/n smiles in her blissed-out state. her arm returns to wrapping around his back, his thick, wide, muscular back, and she pulls him down enough to be able to whisper into his ear.
“you can go faster,” she says, tending to what her body requests, “please.” she adds, knowing that always does something to him. and quick enough, once bruce is comfortable with himself and how fast he’s moving, it’s nearly a race of how fast he can go. a race with himself. his body rhythmically moving above hers, his girth feeling every inch of pulsating, inviting walls clenching around him, y/n holds onto him with the hand on his back, gripping onto it out of how good he makes her feel, nearly digging her nails into his skin.
and the hand that is intertwined with bruce’s just next to her head. an affectionate connection between them, gentler than the speed and care with which bruce thrusts into y/n. sweat is collecting in thick beads on her forehead again, and on bruce’s, too. this is someexercise, he discovers, an exercise that can move an entire bed and make it squeak against the floor. their panted breaths on each other mix with the sounds of their skins meeting harshly together at their hips, where the most intimate of their connections is unravelling at a quick pace. somehow, at this moment, y/n thanks every twist and turn in her life that led her to this moment. she loves him more than she can fathom. and she sheds tears again, but really ones of the best kind this time.
“right there,” y/n whines as she feels bruce just reaching the sweetest spot inside her. the anticipation of him reaching it—because she knows he can—is like a fever in her body. bruce grapples the back of her thigh with his flat, large palm once again, and pushes her knee forwards, slightly to the side, so he could reach that spot she’s begging him to. and he does, “fuck, yes! right there, baby,” she cries out and pulls bruce’s face once again down to hers, where she harshly swallows up his lower lip.
his pet-name for her being used on him by her does quite a number on him, and he’s sure he’ll really come any next second. and because he aims to please her, the confirmation that he’s succeeded does another number on him and his close-approaching orgasm. bruce deepens their kiss, running his tongue along hers and on the inside of her lip, which makes y/n whine for him in an even higher pitch. “i won’t last much longer,” bruce tells her, his lips grazing hers faintly as he speaks in close proximity to her still. he’s afraid his confession will disrupt this event, afraid she’ll find it weird.
but she puts his worries at rest by saying, “me neither,” and giving bruce a grin. he shakes his head at that expression, wearing the smile of an idiot in love on his own lips, “give me your hand.” she requests, and bruce immediately obeys. to do that means losing his support system that helps him not crush her body with his, but he does his best to still lean above it, now closer to it than before, so close that her breasts are pressed against his chest, and he continues with his almost unnaturally fast rhythm of thrusts inside her.
once y/n has bruce’s hand at her disposal, she moves it towards her face with her free hand, that was just now around bruce’s back. now it’s holding his wrist—and bruce watches the whole thing—and moving his sweat and come coated fingers up to her mouth, where she lets the pad of his thumb meet with her lower lip at first, just gently running it from one
based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤
author’s note: hello. it is so hard to not write for steven grant !!!!!! i’m holding onto dear life here, someone help. i have to finish this series and then i can move onto steven. but then st4 will come out…. god help. anywhos, hope you guys are enjoying the chapters!! this one is actually a personal favourite of mine, so please be nice :) i really love their dynamic in this one, it’s so explorable omg i could write pages and pages of this small interaction. so happy reading!! love you all and thank you for the feedback which is, as always, incredible and very appreciated :)
warnings: mentions of getting stabbed, nothing else
gif credit goes to owner!
bruce’s claws of hands rummage through every inch of his bed sheets, then of the curtains. in a mad cloud of frenzy that’s taken over his mind, he looks everywhere—under the bed, behind and under every piece of furniture in the room, he even rushes into the bathroom. but with his sense of surroundings, he can tell there isn’t a breath but his in the room. bruce huffs and runs to the wide windows of the room.
they’re closed, and he can tell they hadn’t been opened, either. his mind has gone completely blank. irrational, desperate, angry, confused, devastated. where is she? he stares blankly out of the window, at the long streets of gotham, at the horizon, beyond all of it. his eyes can’t even see properly. all that he sees in his fury and tornado of emotions is dark red, nearly black. he’s starting to run out of breath.
but he couldn’t care less about himself. he stalks out of this spare bedroom with heavy footsteps, booming like thunder, and pulls open the door. with the door he opens to get into the hall, honestly with every inch of floor he covers, he hopes for her face to pop up again, as if she was just hiding somewhere to cause him a surprise, or roaming this urban mansion on her own without waking him up. what a pleasant surprise that’d be.
“y/n?” bruce opens the door to his own room first, passing his parents’ room with the knowledge that not even alfred has the key to it. once he’s searched his own bedroom, every little inch of it, and doesn’t find her, bruce exits and heads towards alfred’s room. “y/n!” he doesn’t think of what she could have to do there, his mind doesn’t go as far as to search for reasons. he just needs to find her, and he needs to find her now. bruce knows alfred keeps his bedroom door open, so he doesn’t even bother knocking as he barges through.
but the room is empty, nor alfred nor y/n occupying it. bruce huffs again, and his eyes widen with cold, burning sweat in them. the tornado of emotions in his chest only grows bigger. it doesn’t scare him, for he’s felt fury and devastation like this before. what if y/n is in danger? and so, what if alfred is, too? where is alfred?
bruce practically flies out of alfred’s bedroom and heads for the stairs. he has the instinct to jump over the wooden railing to cut his way shorter, but he stops himself before he acts on it. he doesn’t have any gear on, and he is, after all, just a man made of meat and bones who would, in the best-case scenario, crash through the wooden stairs and, in the worst-case scenario, injure himself on them. they are tough. but as he realised before, he doesn’t care about himself that much right now. he needs to find her, and quick, and he will do whatever it takes to find her.
“alfred!” bruce calls as he marches down the steps as quickly as his big feet allow him to, he nearly stumbles down most of that journey. bruce’s frantic eyes scan the large, open area of the living and working quarters of the manor, and his ears finally pick up some audible proof of another living soul in the place. “alfred,” his voice comes out nearly as a bark in his discovery of alfred’s presence. no one else would play classical music in the house at this hour.
bruce hurries down the steps and towards their library where, undoubted, alfred stands by the desk. “bruce,” alfred greets him with concern all over his features and audible in his voice. he can see bruce being in a rush of movement and emotions, he can tell something’s wrong. bruce is even out of breath, “dear boy, what’s happened?”
bruce bites back a reply about not calling him a boy anymore because, frankly, his mind is somewhere else. his chest heaves with heavy breaths, and once his hands are on the table, down flat against the stone surface, is he able to look up at alfred again. “y/n,” bruce says, “she wasn’t—” in bed when i woke up? yeah, a great way to reveal them both to his godfather, “she’s not in the room.” bruce says, and then his eyes gain that desperation they did on the night he brought her here, when he begged alfred for his help and, unconsciously, support as well. “have you seen her? do you know where she is?”
alfred’s brow furrows more than usually. “sadly, i haven’t,” he answers, “did you check downstairs?” he asks bruce and begins making his way around the table, just to get closer to bruce. he’s a little nervous to, because bruce can get so unpredictable when he’s in such a mood, he can lash out. but he wouldn’t do that to alfred.
bruce shakes his head as it hangs low, and then has a deep breath in and out, it comes out in partial relief. relief in that maybe she is downstairs, down in his cave, doing whatever. bruce doesn’t care that she touches his stuff, reads his collected data, goes through his music records, or is watching television or trying out any of his created tools or devices. as long as she’s down there. “but she took all her clothes,” he voices what he noticed back in their room upstairs that struck him weird, “all her stuff…” bruce looks up at alfred again.
his godfather contemplates what that could mean. that sounds like someone fleeing the place they’re in. but why would she flee, why would she run? she looked perfectly pleased yesterday. maybe something happened between her and bruce. alfred looks to him. “let’s go see if she’s there,” he suggests, and bruce nods without hesitation. he’s the first one to walk towards the elevator, and he does so much quicker than alfred can. but bruce calculates that, and waits for him by the elevator door.
he notices right away that it isn’t on this floor, as it usually should be, the elevator box. with furrowed eyebrows, alfred’s footsteps and cane clicking through the manor echoing around him, bruce pushes the call button and then peers through the protective metal grid just to check if he can see where the elevator box is. he hears the noises of it coming up, but it’s quite far down. so maybe she really is down there, in the cave, if the elevator box was there last.
alfred doesn’t know what ground of teamwork, friendship or relationship, nonetheless, bruce and y/n are or were on, so he decides to ask just the few concrete questions needed for this situation now. “did anything happen yesterday, after lunch?” he asks bruce as they stand side by side now, waiting for the elevator box to come up. alfred sees bruce’s eyelids fluttering in just the slightest way before he can think of words to respond with, and it’s the first giveaway that the answer to his question is a positive one. “what happened, bruce?” alfred asks now in a quieter, softer voice.
bruce keeps his eyes disconnected from alfred’s, hating to be so directly looked upon when he’s this vulnerable. the elevator arrives and dings as it does so, and the two wayne men get inside, standing side by side in the box again. alfred closes both doors and presses the button for the very bottom floor of the manor, and relative silence falls between them as he waits for bruce to speak up. he knows it’s hard for him. bruce always suppresses everything, “she was acting… distant,” bruce finally says, and only says the very least of what happened, but enough for alfred to understand, “i asked what’s wrong, and she said…” bruce shakes his head, his eyes blank as they stare ahead at the elevator door, “she said it’s nothing i can change.” he looks at alfred again now, feeling sure enough of himself and not too exposed. even to the person that has known him the longest.
alfred nods, now in the somewhat clear of the situation. he tries to understand what it could be, though, taking everything that he knows about her. which is, granted, not that much. she grew up without a father, her mother was always working to pay rent and up-keep little y/n. she’s able to heal wounds faster than regular people, can climb walls and has that interesting instinct of hers that bruce told him about. feeling what’s coming.
perhaps she saw something coming from bruce. perhaps, if they’re treading on that ground, she’s not ready for a relationship. maybe meeting alfred freaked her out. maybe she’s not good with family things or situations, maybe she’s not used to being so close with people, whoever they are. it could be all, any and none of these things. men know so little of the female mind, after all. “do you think it’s something about me?” with everything that you have, especially with it, “she doesn’t want to see me anymore…” bruce’s brain isn’t even scratching the tip of that iceberg that is y/n, the mystery. he doesn’t understand.
“let’s just see if she’s here,” before we jump to any conclusions, alfred says as the elevator comes slowly to a stop at its final destination. the button dings, and that ding! echoes throughout the cave many times, sending off that loop noise of bat wings flapping in the dark. bruce opens the door and then the grid for him and alfred, and rushes out into the cave. he doesn’t hear a sound but for the bat wings, so he turns on the light—maybe she’s sleeping in here? in the car, maybe on one of the chairs?
alfred and bruce look around the cave and each take a side in wandering about it. bruce heads for the car first, opening the driver door first and foremost. but she’s not inside. his heart begins to drop lower and lower in his chest. he imagined her curled up in the passenger seat, or in the unfinished back of the car, her hoodie and bruce’s sweats warming her body. but instead of her, there’s just screwdrivers, wires and other maintenance garbage littering the back of the car, and nothing but the memory of her in the passenger seat now. his eyes burn with hot tears, and he bites on the inside of his lip to keep from crying out.
bruce shuts the car door and walks around the vehicle to where alfred stands by the row of many desks. bruce’s eyes are all the while looking at the far end of the old train tracks, into every corner, just hoping that she’s hiding there somewhere. he even cranes his neck to look upwards—perhaps she’s hanging on the ceiling and is planning to give bruce and alfred a good scare. but she’s nowhere in sight. no blue or red hanging from or slinging around the ceiling. no trace of her.
he walks up to alfred, and now stands with him. the suit he made for her still lays on the desk. well, partly now, because alfred’s examining the top part of it while holding it in his hands. “did you make this for her?” alfred asks bruce, turning his head to look at the younger man. an old boy, he usually refers to bruce in his mind. that’s what he is, a definition bruce fits best into. bruce nods with that devastated look on his face, and alfred raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. quite the engineer he’s turned into. something else on the desk, and not on the desk, catches bruce’s eye, and he walks over to alfred’s other side immediately to see closer what exactly it is.
in the spot where her old, torn suit was laying just yesterday, lays completely nothing except a small piece of paper. bruce gets stuck in his stupor. she’s left something for him. but where is the suit? did she take it? where is she? with trembling fingers, bruce touches the piece of paper, takes it in his hands and lifts it up. alfred leans closer to bruce to see, too, and bruce doesn’t mind.
don’t follow me.
a full stop at the end of that message. bruce’s nostrils flare. follow her where? so she did leave. did she go back to new york? did she find a way to go back there? did she go home? is she at work?
bruce has never seen her hand-writing before, and he discovers that it fits her very well. it’s not exactly relevant, but just a discovery he makes. he doesn’t know what to think of this message. if she asks him not to follow her, but he doesn’t even know where she’s gone, he should respect it. that is his first instinct.
but his confusion, devastation and the need to have his questions answered, as well as the care he has for her, overrides that first polite and taking-her-wishes-into-account instinct. she said she’d tell him what was wrong in the morning, she said they could talk in the morning. and now it’s nearly morning, and she’s gone, only memories and a note left behind her as evidence she was ever here.
bruce snuffles and throws the paper down onto the desk before leaving that spot. he walks around alfred again and reaches the last desk in the row, where his attire lays. with alfred reading the note, examining the paper, and trying to decipher what it means, while also trying to understand what bruce is doing, bruce starts putting on pieces of his suit one by one.
flattening jacket, jet leather pants, his boots and their heavy accessories. in the pocket of his flattening jacket, he finds the black pomade, and he smears it onto his eyes without looking in the mirror. he doesn’t need it, he doesn’t need for the pomade to be even or even neat, he’s in a hurry. he has to go get her right now, he has to see that she’s okay.
it may have well been a note from an abductor, and she could be in real danger. or she could be at home, or at work, like it’s any other day. whichever scenario it is, bruce needs answers. he needs this mystery to be solved. she can’t just leave him like this without telling him where she’s going, without telling him what’s wrong. she can talk to him, and she knows that. he’s told her, he’s shown her that multiple times already. he’s not ready to think or accept that maybe this is something she can’t talk about with him.
bruce pulls the kevlar pieces of his suit onto his body in place, and then snaps on the finishing touch—the cowl. with alfred looking after him, bruce struts over to where his bike is by the train tracks, and jumps down to its level. “bruce,” alfred calls, “she told you not to follow her.” he reminds him, fearing that the boy has gone completely off the rails now.
“you don’t get it, alfred,” bruce grumbles back. the words sting the older man’s heart quite a bit, but he tries not to take it personally. bruce is obviously on some weird wave of feelings, frustrated with the world, the woman and himself, and this short sentence doesn’t mean anything really, “i need to find her.” bruce says and revs the motorcycle up.
alfred sighs, shaking his head, and walks closer to the edge of the once-was train station. the growls of the motorcycle are loud enough to shut the bats out. “bruce!” alfred calls again, and bruce can hear that it’s important, so he turns to look at his godfather over his shoulder. “you will only scare her away. you need to respect her boundaries. respect what she asked of you.”
bruce turns his head back to look ahead, into the darkness before him. alfred’s right. bruce knows that. but his instinct to solve a mystery, answer questions, even in his personal life, is too strong to really take that into account. but how can he respect what y/n asked of him if she left him just like that—suddenly, no explanation, no warning. without having that conversation about her feelings. it’s not very fair. he doesn’t understand.
and she really could be in danger. worse, she could have gone home, to her real home in new york. and now he has no way of finding her. or maybe she just found a way to go home, and didn’t want to tell him, and is now working on getting back. it could be a million different things. but something tells bruce it’s all just a domestic, very personal emotional thing she’s going through.
and he’s promised to be there for her, whatever happens. maybe he hasn’t promised that to her directly, but he has to himself. and he will stand by that promise. he needs to know if she’s safe, he needs to know how she feels, what’s going on in her head. he has to know if there’s anything he can do to make her feel better, to erase those sour feelings that make her distant towards him. he will help her any way that he can. and if he can’t, then he’ll find a way. even if it’s seemingly impossible.
“you don’t get it.” is all that bruce says to alfred before speeding off into the dark, the sound of his quick motorbike nearly deafening alfred. the older man just shakes his head, looks at the message left by y/n, and then leaves it on the desk, where it was, while making his way back to the elevator. he can’t help bruce now. not anymore.
alfred’s words and y/n’s warning message, as well as words spoken by her last night, replay over and over again in bruce’s mind as he drives to where she lives. he knows alfred’s right, and that he really shouldn’t be doing what he is now. and he wants to respect y/n’s boundaries and her request. but he also wants to know why she left. why she cried. why she was so distant. there must be something wrong with bruce, and for her, he’s ready to change it at the soonest possibility.
bruce parks his motorbike across the street from her building, in one of the side alleys, and locks it in place. he looks up to where her top-floor flat is, and he sees a faint light in her bedroom window. the sky and air of gotham the typical colour blue of the twilight hour there always is before dawn, her window is one of the very few already or still lit. creates a great contrast against the blue sky, and it looks quite beautiful.
bruce sees the fire escape stairs, he braces himself for crossing the street, and takes the first steps to. but a car flies by before he can. and at that halt, he once again remembers what she told him last night, the message she left for him to read, and alfred’s advising words about the situation. bruce huffs and tries to cross the street again, but a bus drives by. those words in his mind again, stopping his every attempted movement.
perhaps he should take that as a sign. if his mind and, somehow, transport vehicles in his beloved city are stopping him, then maybe he really shouldn’t go across the street, up her fire escape, and knock on her window to confront her. perhaps it really isn’t the choice he should go with right now. bruce feels like an idiot standing there, on the street, not having decided what to do further, just standing like he’s stuck.
a few minutes of contemplation later, bruce gets on the roof of the building that is right opposite y/n’s. he doesn’t have his binoculars with him because he didn’t bring his backpack in this rush of leaving the cave, and his detective side is itching to go back and get them. so he can see what she’s doing, so he can be up to date with her. but the other, compassionate and caring side of him, forbids him to get the binoculars. if it’s anyone he shouldn’t be watching, it’s her. of all people.
his best friend, she has become over these months of working together. the best teammate anyone could wish for. a woman with wit, talent, skill and care written into her dna, coursing through her blood and constantly coming out to the surface. the most beautiful person he’s ever met, and could have the pleasure of knowing.
he should not be intruding onto her privacy, her feelings, her space that she so kindly has asked for. watching her, confronting her, that is all completely wrong and unnecessary. he hasn’t watched her without her consent before, so he has no right to do that now. he cares about her, but he shouldn’t let that take an unhealthy turn. he has to let her know that he cares in another way. that he has yet to figure out.
every sound that she made in her journey down the elevator and out of the manor through bruce’s cave hit a painful spot in her heart. she didn’t want to leave, and still hates that she did, she hates how her departure will make bruce feel when he discovers the absence of her presence. all throughout her journey out, she tried to keep her tears in. tried to keep her voice down, keep her sobs to herself. and she succeeded very well. until she got home.
as soon as she took off her mask, and was back in her loved, cosy apartment, the tears fell like heavy rain. maybe more like hail. stinging her eyes, creating visible white, salty tracks in her cheeks, spilling into her mouth, down to her neck. her chest lurched with sobs, her throat became sore after only the first few sobs, because they were so intense. so breath-consuming, as well. it seemed all the air in her chest had been sucked out, and her lungs had turned into small chestnut halves, not being able to take in any more than a single ounce of air. she made herself hurt both in her heart, and in her body.
she rid herself of her suit before stepping into the shower, and tried to wash everything off with the hot water. it was a relief of sorts, but she still cried. cried like she had only when she realised she couldn’t go back home to new york, and was stuck in gotham for who knows how long. there have been times before that, but honestly, her life that she had in new york, feels like a past one. like it doesn’t matter here. and so she doesn’t count those times.
she didn’t know she could feel pain like that again, and it’s not exactly her pain. well, maybe it is. perhaps she’s hurting all over again for how she was raised, how her mother had to live and work to make ends meet, how she died, about y/n had to spend her high school years and the rest of her life without a mother or father, how her aunt may didn’t exactly know how to raise her even though she did a good job, and how her best friend was always there for her, but then was in the same situation as her mother, and met the same end. which is partly y/n’s fault.
and now y/n is here, in a city still strange to her, without friends, family or any other kind of guidance, living paycheck to paycheck. aunt may doesn’t know where she is, why she’s missing, and when she’ll be back. and now y/n meets this man, who she does great work around gotham with, and who she undoubtedly feels attracted and drawn to. she hasn’t thought the fact yet, but she loves him.
and he’s from an entirely different world. grew up in a rich home with both parents, any and all kind of opportunities always available to him, he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants to. he’s lost his parents, just like y/n, but his world, his life and the perception of the world around him is so different from hers.
and maybe that’s what hurts the most. the fact that though he understands her in ways no one else could, he will never understand her to the fullest. it breaks her heart, because she thought he was just like her. a recluse. a nobody. a masked vigilante who saves the city and its inhabitants by night, a simple person by day. but he’s not simple. and he’s not nobody. he’s obviously famous around the city, as his father was. running for mayor… a child of that mayor can’t escape the public eye. it’s realistically not possible.
she doesn’t care that he didn’t tell her that he’s well-known, it doesn’t hurt her. on some level, she understands that. something that she hasn’t gone through, hasn’t felt and done herself. and that’s where they differ again. she can understand things and feelings she hasn’t experienced herself, but he can’t. he knows the world as he’s seen it, nothing more and nothing less. everything that is outside of his world isn’t his problem, isn’t real, sort-of, isn’t that big a deal. one more difference that makes the biggest crack between them.
you might call y/n weak for not saying this problem to bruce, for not talking it out with him, for not waking him up when she left. but she couldn’t have stood the look on his face as she’d tell him she’s leaving. as she’d tell him that she can’t live in this kind of world. she knows, or maybe can only guess, at how much he cares for her—he’s shown it over the last few days especially. and she appreciates that.
but she can’t live in a world that is blind to the sufferings and hardships of others. that’s what their night work is all about—not turning a blind eye to the horrors of gotham. and it seems that it’s been just a mask to him. because when that cowl and eye make-up is off, when he’s ridden of his kevlar suit, and is dressed formally, he’s a person with completely different values, a different ideology he lives by. and she can’t take it.
he could be helping people like her mother more, helping children like he himself and y/n was more, with all the resources, money and reputation that he has. fight crime and bring criminals to justice with his public face all over the papers. but no. he chooses to go out at night, be selective about his targeted enemies, and spend all his days in hibernation. no move left or right to fight real issues.
y/n thought they were fighting real issues. but masked vigilantes at night—what is that gonna do against the criminal half of this city, at least six million people, on a larger scale? spider-woman and batman are just a joke to them, really. and they’re just human, too, even with y/n’s super-healing and ability to climb walls. she’s still just a woman who can be hurt, embarrassed, shamed, exposed and… killed.
she can’t sleep after her shower, no matter how hard she tries to. so she leaves her light on and stares into the ceiling as the day creeps onto gotham with its sunshine and rainclouds, as always. can’t have one without the other, it seems. occasionally, tears fill her eyes again, and she lets herself cry. she finally can cry here, at home, without shame, without fear that someone will hear her—even her neighbours. it feels good to let it out, but she’s in disbelief about how much there is to cry, how much pain there is still left. in her chest, mostly. about everything.
bruce stays on that opposite building all those nights and days that she spends at home. they both know when her official, documented sick leave ends, and so he stays till that very day she has to return to work. y/n mostly spends her days moping about, and orders her meals in, not wanting to leave her place. partly because she really doesn’t feel like it. she doesn’t want to leave her house, doesn’t want anyone to see her, doesn’t have the energy to even put on normal clothes and do random errands.
and partly, though she’d never admit it out loud, she’s afraid that she’ll run into bruce. either he’ll catch up to her in a more empty part of town, or she’ll run into him as bruce, not batman. though that is very unlikely, because he never comes out of his cave. judging by how she left him, she can imagine him only sulking about, as she knows him well enough. but she’s still afraid of that confrontation of seeing him, bruce asking her questions, wanting to know what’s going on. so she doesn’t go anywhere.
but on her first day back at work, she gets to experience that fear quite starkly. thankfully, her co-workers are glad to have her back and aren’t mad at her for missing work. though that’s a silly thought to have—after she tells them that she was stabbed on her way home, she realises that. the looks on their faces, even tears in some of their eyes, tell her enough. in their eyes, it’s not her fault that she got stabbed. the truth is, different, of course. a masked vigilante attacking criminals has the consequences of their actions fully on their own shoulders to bare. but, also, at the end of the day, no one really asks to get stabbed. it’s only the fault of the attacker.
on the middle of her shift, which she shares with her colleague-turned-friend vanessa, an irregular costumer comes through the door. because she’s never seen him in this kind of attire before, y/n doesn’t take him for much more than the regular attorney or lawyer—those types wander into jeremiah’s more than occasionally. but as she begins to notice that he’s walking a certain way, a way she knows practically by heart, she instantly recognises him. and her heart drops to the pit of her stomach as her mind blanks, and she can only try to hold back tears and think of anything to say.
treat him like a regular costumer, a voice inside her head says. and then the heads of other costumers already sitting down start to turn, and y/n ducks her head down shyly. “is that bruce wayne?”
you should be confident, that voice says again, he’s just a customer. so she looks bravely up at him, her chin nearly up in the air, and she sees he’s standing right in front of her, his stomach nearly pressing into the counter. he looks so different. she hasn’t seen him in days, his hair is clearly washed, his face is clean, too, and he’s in a suit and coat a few too sizes bigger than the size that fits him tightly.
“welcome to jeremiah’s,” y/n starts to say in her best confident voice, but she discovers it’s quite husky and small. she clears her throat as bruce just looks at her, also taking in this sight of her. dressed in a dark red apron, her washed hair up in a ponytail, she’s wearing a button-up shirt underneath the apron. her face looks sad and tired, though her usual costumer-smile tends to convince him and others otherwise, “what can i get you?”
bruce does his own best attempt at a smile, but it comes out with a tone of disappointment. her heart aches at that expression on him. she sees that she’s hurt him, and that he only wants to know why, and perhaps wants to talk. “hi.” bruce finally says after getting his credit card out of his wallet. y/n’s eyes flick to it for just a moment, and she can only imagine the wealth that hides behind those twelve numbers and the name on the card, “a cappuccino, please,” bruce orders, and y/n absent-mindedly registers that in her screen. she nods, and takes in the way his voice sounds. just as small as hers, and quieter, as though he really is talking just to her, like he always is. none of that husk and broadness of batman is audible in his voice. she looks to him with raised eyebrows.
“anything else? a croissant or chocolatine?” she suggests, and her eyes still blink as they attempt to keep the tears at bay. she can’t believe he’s really here. should he be here? should she have told him where she works? well, he’d know, anyway, he has all that data on her. damn his brilliant mind to invent a thing like that.
bruce gives her an absent smile. “a bit of your time,” he says with that pretend-sweet smile still on his lips. it’s not a pretend smile towards her, more like pretend in general. because he isn’t a man who smiles a lot. and he isn’t feeling sweet now. it’s hard for him to mask his true emotions, he’s crumbling inside at the moment. he’s trying not to cry himself, and her usual, polite smile at the beginning of this exchange nearly drove him over the edge to start crying. but he can do this, he can stay strong, even though he wants to strip himself bare in all aspects in front of her whenever he’s with her, “and company for dessert.” bruce adds then.
he’s asking to talk with him. right now, it seems. y/n looks back at her friend vanessa, who’s standing close by, doing some small cleaning of the coffee machine. she gives her a glance back, and has a grin on her face. to vanessa, the situation is entirely different from the reality of it. she doesn’t know y/n knows bruce wayne, and she guesses that she can’t decide whether to say yes or no to this fine piece of a billionaire. vanessa gives y/n a nod and turns away, though her ears stay fixed on their conversation.
y/n shakes her head slightly as it hangs low, and she gives the café hall a scanning look. the customers’ eyes are still on bruce, and, sadly, her as well. she hates this attention, and she hates the amount of it. soon paparazzi and news will be at their doors, filming and photographing through the windows. bruce wayne going after simple city girl in café, all the headlines will say. she doesn’t want that.
“bruce, i can’t,” she tells him, finally, in a whisper, as she leans a little closer to him. to establish some privacy between them, even in this public of a place. bruce’s eyes grow disappointed, “i can’t leave work.” and i still need my space.
he shakes his head, sadness growing bigger and bigger in his eyes, “i’ll wait for you,” he tells her, “whenever you can.” he says, and somehow feels guilty. about whatever it is he’s done to upset her, make her leave.
“bruce, i don’t—i don’t know if i can,” she says with a shake of her head, eyes looking at his coat, at his suit and tie, at his hands gripping the counter. their faces just inches apart, she could kiss him right here and now. if it wasn’t for a lot of things. looking up at him again, she sees him already moving his lips to say something more, but she stops whatever it is, “ever.” she finishes her sentence and waits for the realisation in him to hit with a heavy heart.
it does. it does, and it makes him lean back, straighten his back, as he looks at her with those dark, sad eyes full of realisation. he blinks a couple times, and y/n can tell it’s to keep tears at bay. she knows him so well she can predict his every next move. yet she still wants to hear him say those words, express those feelings. sometimes he can get unpredictable, even for her, and say the most bizarre things. perhaps this is one of those times, too. “i’ll wait for you,” he says, “i’ll wait for you every night at… our place.” narrows. the train platform in the outskirts. y/n gulps, tears gathering in her own eyes now, too. she can’t keep them away. “i’ll wait however long it takes,” bruce promises her with a sure nod. there’s noises on the other side of these windows growing in volume, but y/n doesn’t dare look at them. she nods at bruce, “until then, just the cappuccino. no sugar.” bruce says and adds a little smile at the end, which y/n knows is a true one. of course he doesn’t take sugar in his coffee. a true, true smile from him.
y/n nods at him again and finalises the order in her computer screen, “that’ll be…” she waits a moment. she glances at the credit card in his hand, then back up at him. her eyes are glassy, and bruce can see that. it breaks his heart to see, but it also makes him realise that neither side of this situation is easy. not for him, not for her. and that’s, in some way, good. it’s not entirely his fault for whatever she felt was wrong. y/n deletes the order, “on the house.” she says and blinks her tears away, attempting herself a smile as she begins to make the cappuccino for him.
every passing second fills her eyes with more and more tears until they’re spilling over and onto her cheeks. one even lands in the milk foam she’s made for him, and it nearly drives her over the last edge. she could cry, and she could laugh at it. but she makes no noise, only pours the foam into the burgundy take-away cup, more tears spilling from her eyes, some also landing into the cappuccino—will he think it’s gross?—and some on the white cap she puts on the cup.
she doesn’t have the heart to wipe them away, because she wants this situation to be over as soon as possible. so she gives the cup to him on the counter, sliding it over to his side, and gives him a sad, tired smile. bruce sees her tear-stained cheeks, and he sees the droplets of tears on his cappuccino cap, and he immediately has the urge to wipe her tears away. with that instinct comes one to pull her close, kiss her until both their breaths run out, and not let her go until their issues have been resolved.
but, taking all these simple and complicated circumstances, bruce settles for a sad smile of his own and “thanks,” before he leaves. he makes sure to look over his shoulder after he closes the door after him, and he sees y/n staring after him longingly, sadly, before he turns his head in a different direction—doing so with an aching heart—and heads off. to where—not even he knows. some place he can get away from the crowd of people that gathered at the café windows.
y/n cleans the milk jug and the coffee horns, they call them, before she turns to vanessa, who looks more concerned than she did when y/n told her she was stabbed. she doesn’t have the heart, the ability to keep her tears in, or the energy to tell vanessa why exactly she’s crying, and what exactly just happened. so y/n takes a deep breath and tells her, “i’m gonna take a break,” quietly, “please, cover for me for a while?” she looks to vanessa, and her friend nods. she only gives y/n a quick hug before she leaves for their staff room, letting her know that she’s there for her.
bruce cherishes the cappuccino on his drive home, so much so that he keeps it on his desk, by all his computers, as a reminder. and every night, at eleven, he waits by the train platform in the outskirts of the narrows. he waits for her, for that good omen that she’s ready to be with him, work with him again. every night that he goes, he hopes she’ll already be there, waiting for him—as she’s always done—and that everything will be just like it was. he even hopes she’ll be late, which she never is, and he knows there’s no use in waiting more than an hour.
but he still waits. he waits through the night, night after night, he doesn’t know how many. but he’s there, every single night, waiting for her to arrive. and when he finally sees her again, it’s in an entirely different direction. she’s slinging across streets and buildings right before his eyes, going somewhere else. somewhere he knows.
based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤
author’s note: woohoooooooooo. have you guys seen moon knight??? I’m kinda only watching for steven, cause with the third episode the show lost its quality to me. but allthe episodes haven’t been released yet, so I’ll try and not to judge it as much until then. but! I do love steven. and it’s taking such a huge effort in me to not abandon this story and start writing for him. god, it’s so hard. but I love bruce. I should also finish visitation hours… and finally update your good will bcs st4 is coming out in more than a month but omg. I just can’t, I can’t tap into steve. christ. I hate my procrastination and not finishing stories. im sorry for it all. happy reading!
“so, y/n, what do you do? besides the vigilante night shifts.” alfred asks. ah, the usual question she was just waiting for. sat around the very table bruce said he and alfred have meals at usually in the beautiful hall, y/n feels welcome in the company of these two men. though she can’t escape the feeling that she’s having a very important, formal meal with them, and that this is a test of some sort.
the sun up right at its mid-day peak shines through the gothically-decorated windows of the hall, breaking through in yellow and orange rays, which tickle her skin and eyes. she scoots over to her left on the very fancy chair and clears her throat as she does so, not wanting to raise an alarm in either alfred or bruce. “i’m a barista,” she answers nonchalantly, a light smile on her face, “at, uh… saint jeremiah’s.”
alfred nods. suddenly y/n feels awkward about her workplace. she doesn’t know what bruce and alfred do as work that pays all their extremely expensive bills for living here, but it must be something that pays big time. they can’t just live in an urban mansion like this, make all these weapons, tools and vehicles, and suits for bruce and now her, too, without a well-paying job. and it’s hard to find those in america if you don’t get lucky.
but, as she found out from bruce, his father was a rich and well-known man here in gotham, and bruce inherited all the money and, she guesses, reputation from him. so perhaps it was just his luck to be this… wealthy. she can’t say she’s not a little envious of that. if her parents had been rich and she could have lived in a mansion like this, woah, her life would have been a lot easier. and she appreciates all that bruce has done for her so far, she sees now that he does it out of the good of his heart. he really cares for her.
but taking her background, her life, her family circumstances, she still feels weird about it. partly she feels like it’s all not serious enough, partly she feels that she doesn’t deserve it, and another part of her thinks bruce is doing too much, and perhaps he even wants something in return. but it doesn’t seem that way. after she told him the truth about how she’s wound up living in gotham, there’s no asking in his eyes anymore. there is curiosity, but not the kind egoistic and ill-meaning men have. best believe y/n knows that look well.
“ah, the one right by the courthouse, is it?” alfred asks, his voice full of genuineness, and y/n nods. “must be a pleasant crowd that comes there, then?”
“mostly yes,” y/n answers, “though, because this is gotham, mornings are much better than the evenings. not to say we’re all morning people, but there’s less of the dangerous types around in the early hours of the morning.” she explains. alfred nods again, and bruce feels like he’s entered the conversation once again. he’s been coming to and fro, slipping in and out of talking and listening. not that he does that on purpose, his thoughts are just racing all the time. and watching y/n converse with alfred is a sight he never knew he couldn’t get enough of. two of the most important people in his life, and it’s safe to say they’re getting on well. it makes his heart swell.
“there should be some security with the courthouse and everything, no?” bruce asks her, slightly worried.
y/n looks at him with her bright eyes, feeling his concern by the look on bruce’s face. “well, there is, but they’re mostly looking after the courthouse,” y/n tells him, “since there’s always demolishers and trouble-makers around, they’re pretty busy.” she sighs, her eyes now falling to her plate and the fork she keeps moving around it. “if i wanted the attention of the world on me, i’d just put my skills and abilities to use when those types come around, but since that’s the last thing i want, i don’t.” she admits.
alfred hums. “must be hard to keep that restraint,” he says and y/n nods along, “bruce tends to forget himself in that aspect, he especially did at the very beginning.” alfred looks to bruce, and he gives his godfather the look of annoyance and disbelief. y/n chuckles, but seriousness remains like a veil across her face.
“i can imagine,” y/n says and glances at bruce momentarily before continuing. she knows that alfred’s put him on the spot, sort-of, and he doesn’t enjoy being exposed like that. so she continues, “i used to have that when i first had my powers, it was in high school.” she feels comfortable enough sharing with alfred. she looks to the older man, finding the look in his eyes very comforting. “used to hate P.E. with all my body, and i still do. hated the entire concept of it, couldn’t do anything properly, hated myself for it, you know.” she leans with her back into the chair. bruce admires the look in her eyes while she talks. “but as soon as i got my powers, i could do anything. i suddenly had incredible reflexes, coordination, strength, speed, agility—everything,” she reminisces of that time, memories playing back in her eyes like a slideshow of pictures, “and suddenly i could get good grades in P.E., i could even excel and be top of the class, even go on competitions. but i couldn’t, couldn’t i? it would have been wrong.” y/n sighs and looks to her plate again. “so i stayed little ole, helpless, weak me. had to put on quite the performance for the last two and a half years of high school.” she sits up again.
bruce feels for her. it’s not like his skills in fighting came over night, it was alfred who taught him everything, but he knows what that’s like. he knows people probably assume two things—either they assume he is good with his fists and is sporting quite the figure underneath the suits he wears on those rare occasions out in public; or they assume that he’s just a weak man hiding behind his father’s power and money who couldn’t raise one fist to fight for injustice or himself. but he can’t exactly show those skills in combination with his public persona, can he? he and alfred would be exposed immediately once people connected the dots.
“i guess it’s different for you,” alfred says kindly, matter-of-factly, and y/n picks up immediately on how he means that. she nods, “high school’s a tough time, as i hear it.”
“you didn’t go?” y/n asks in wonder, thinking how that would be possible for a man of his character and knowledge. alfred chuckles.
“oh, i did,” he says, “just not a public high school.” he clarifies and sends y/n a wink. she chuckles at herself and bruce grins at that faintly.
“me and alfred went to the same one,” bruce butts into the conversation again, turning y/n’s attention to him. she raises her eyebrows in a tell-me-more manner, “blackheath high school in england.” oh? bruce keeps getting more and more interesting with each thing that he says. how interesting, y/n thinks.
“your father did, as well,” alfred adds, “that’s how our families got to know each other. me and your father were close as brothers then already,” he makes a smile at bruce. his godson nods at him, feeling a bit on the spot again, as he always does when his father is the topic of any conversation. even in light-hearted situations like this one. he always feels some sort of pressure or loom hanging over his head at the mention of him, “what about you, y/n? your father have any friends he still keeps close contact with?” alfred looks to the woman, but she looks away, her eyes widening for a few seconds as she thinks of the best way to handle this answer.
“oh, i wouldn’t know,” she says with a slight shake of her head. bruce’s ears prick up more at her words. she’s never talked about either of her parents before, and neither has he asked about them. the topic’s never really come up before, and now it has. her eyes have a glaze over them that bruce can’t exactly place, “never knew my father.” she shrugs.
alfred feels awkward. “my apologies. i didn’t mean to bring up anything you don’t want to talk about.” he tells her immediately. y/n shakes her head fiercer now, she doesn’t want the man to feel bad about his innocent question.
“it’s fine,” she assures him, “it’s not taboo or anything.” she clarifies. “a lot of kids have grown up without a father, and i’m just one of them. i only ever had my mother.” y/n sighs, and her posture changes again—bruce notices—she sinks into her chair as though to close off from the two men, from this conversation. it’s not exactly intentional. “up until a point, she was working a lot of… different jobs,” y/n continues, and bruce sees her eyes and face having a certain expression. he can’t place it, again. perhaps because it’s emotions he’s not had to encounter before, “to raise me, to pay rent. hasn’t always been easy.”
she’s not telling him everything, obviously, it is her intention, and he realises that. he respects it. but there’s something about her mother, something really integral that she’s not revealing to him yet. perhaps she never will, and perhaps it should stay like that. if it’s truly too troubling or painful for her, he won’t push it. but something—perhaps that sense he’s picked up from her—is telling him it’s important to the character.
and now he also realises why her attitude towards money is what it is. she feels awkward and imposing to accept his money, his kindness, his gifts to her. and no wonder. she did tell him “because of how i grew up, and some other things”, if he remembers correctly. that conversation happened just over an hour or two ago now. and their conversation last night, about the clothes and underwear, and even the ice cream. it’s hard for her to accept all of that for free. perhaps she feels undeserving of such kindness and gifts free of charge—bruce would disagree; in his eyes she deserves much more, what he’s given her already is the very least of what she deserves—perhaps something in her doesn’t let her enjoy things free of charge that come to her out of the good of someone’s heart.
to conclude, she’s just as fragile and embedded with sufferings and a tough life as he is. though he has always had the money to do whatever he wishes—that’s what makes them different. and perhaps bruce has had a better support system than y/n, but he doesn’t know that.
“she’s done quite the good job of raising you,” alfred tells y/n in an almost congratulatory tone of voice. she gives him a half-smile. the man didn’t really know what to say at first, because he’s never been in that kind of situation, so he does what he does best—offer her some comforting, encouraging words, “we’re not blind to those horrible things happening here, in gotham,” alfred says, “whatever we can, we do. but bruce is always busy with something else to look through and accept any real deals.” he points out.
bruce sighs. it’s true, what alfred says, and bruce wants to help the city and its very weaklings more every day. but his mind is always miles away. and he believes that batman does some, if not most, of that already. help those who cannot help themselves. y/n gives him a look, wondering what alfred means, wondering what reasons bruce has for that absence. “gotham doesn’t like to stand up to all the crime and injustice that goes on every day,” bruce finally says, and his voice has changed to that of his vigilante persona. y/n nearly sighs. it’s strange to see him in regular clothes, without the dark circles around his eyes, speaking in that voice, “i’ll get more involved, i promise, alfred.” he looks to his godfather, who nods.
“no need to justify yourself to me, dear boy,” alfred tells him, and y/n nearly melts. alfred’s fatherly affection to bruce comes out beautifully whenever it does. but it’s not alfred that bruce was justifying himself in front of, or for. it was y/n, who bruce’s eyes flick towards with meaning in them. y/n gives him a light smile and nod.
“maybe i can help,” y/n suggests half-seriously, “accept those deals instead of bruce and get things going.” she says, and shoots bruce a playful wink. he is amused, too, but not quite as much as she is. she’s sort of made him look a little incompetent in his role in wayne industries, but he doesn’t take it to heart.
alfred smiles wide, “you know, i like you enough to accept that,” he tells her, which gets them both laughing. bruce makes a grin in the midst of their laughter, “to the eyes of the public, you could be the visual for wayne enterprises, and bruce could take a long, long vacation.” alfred adds on.
“oh no, he’d be my assistant,” y/n corrects alfred and shoots bruce a wink again. he shakes his head, “my translator, business language to english.” she says and laughs again. alfred chuckles, and bruce eventually cracks up and utters a chuckle himself. he doesn’t know how seriously these two have taken y/n’s suggestion, but if it’s serious to the very brim, bruce wouldn’t know a better person besides y/n to take his place as the leader of wayne enterprises. only alfred, but he made it clear long ago that he has no desire or intention to be that public, be that important to the company. though he already is more important than bruce, with all the work he’s doing already.
after lunch, it’s safe to say y/n and alfred get along very well. just like bruce expected and wanted them to. while one of the kitchen boys was clearing the lunch table, alfred took y/n up to his study and the library—which bruce had already shown her, but that didn’t matter to either of them—and showed her around more. did a better job than bruce could have, because he’s not that informed with the placement of everything in the library, in the study, or in the vinyl collection.
the most beautiful moment of the day, perhaps, one of bruce’s favourite moments in his entire life is when alfred put on voices of spring waltz,op.410 by johann strauss, and asked y/n for a dance. bruce never knew she could dance—another topic that hadn’t come up in their countless conversations before—and he couldn’t stop watching them dance. how alfred kept playfully switching between the regular waltz and the vienna waltz, the faster one, every once in a while, keeping up with the rhythmic changes of the composed piece.
how she twirled, and how her hair swayed along with her. how she smiled and laughed at alfred and his movements and how he turned her here and there, sometimes unexpectedly. in contrast to the sadder conversation the three of them had held during lunch, about her parents and her childhood—quite a sobering conversation for bruce—she looked happier than ever. so contagiously happy that bruce could not keep away, and joined their waltz dancing. of course he knows that it’s a two-person dance, but with the men’s agile movements and y/n’s instincts and ability, they made a three-person waltz work. twirling and turning y/n here and there, making the dance steps side by side and in a circle instead of directly facing each other—it all worked and made the three of them laugh a lot.
bruce already reminisces of those beautiful moments now, hours later, as he lays with his head in y/n’s lap on their shared riddance bed, y/n reading a book in silence and bruce drawing or writing in his notebook. uncharacteristically so, y/n hasn’t said a word since they entered the room. well, apart from some necessary for companionship few words. but she hasn’t said anything about how the lunch was for her, what she thinks of alfred, how she feels—absolutely nothing about that matter. and it’s kind of worrying bruce.
what also worries him in her behaviour is how reluctant she is suddenly. no hands in bruce’s hair, neither of her hands are touching him at all. she hasn’t made a move to kiss him, hasn’t made a move to get closer to him. and it’s not only bruce’s touch-starved nature that raises worry about this in him. it’s also the aspect of how well he knows her in general. she likes to be touching him, more than he allows himself to touch her, regularly. bruce always feels awkward about initiating it, but maybe he should. perhaps that’s what she expects of him now, having gone into this weird behaviour of hers.
maybe she’s just too exhausted to socialise, even with him. even though she’s usually the sociable person out of the two of them. maybe, which bruce hopes to be untrue, she’s upset with him, or mad at him for some reason, for the time being, unknown to him. what could it be? he can’t recall anything that he said or did was wrong. and it’s so hard to read her. perhaps it’s because he’s gotten to know more of her, that the parts he still doesn’t know, are a complete mystery to him. it’s strange. bruce doesn’t exactly know what to do.
he doesn’t know that her brain and heart are nearly bubbling over the edge with all her thoughts and feelings. he can’t possibly feel or sense that, even with how well he knows her. but y/n’s been an active, rumbling volcano ever since that door of this room closed behind her and bruce. one question, one word put in the wrong place, could cause an entire eruption of that volcano. and neither of them need that. but she can’t help her rushing thoughts.
private high schools. a well-known philanthropist, surgeon father. a gothic mansion in the outskirts of gotham. more money than anyone else. tools, weapons, instruments, vehicles, devices for anything he might need. impenetrable suits that intimidate those without one. gifts without end. it’s an alien world to her. and she can’t quite place how she ended up here, inside it.
“are you… tired?” bruce interrupts their silence that grows more and more tense with each second. his voice in a guessing tone, as if he doesn’t know if that question is the exact right one to ask. bruce lays on her stomach with his chest now, looking up at her through her book, even though he can’t see her face. he’s sure he knows it well enough to know where her eyes are, though.
y/n doesn’t move her eyes off the book she’s reading as she answers, “a little.” she admits to him. short, colder than usual. something’s definitely off, and bruce’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach as he realises that. it’s definitely something to do with him. only what? and maybe asking her what exactly it is in him, or in anything he’s said or done that upsets her so much—because he’s willing to change; for her, if for anyone at all—will be worse than what he’s feeling between himself and her right now. how can he know without trying it out?
it’s killing him, this not knowing of what’s wrong, of what’s behind her stale mood. but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. he wants things to be better between them, and he can’t guess why they’ve grown so tense and unbearable now. he doesn’t know what to do. scared to take the first step, scared to leave things how they are because they might escalate, scared of the matter she’s upset about being unchangeable. he’s stuck.
bruce lays his cheek on her clothed chest now. “did i do something wrong?” he finally asks her, having gained enough courage and also having realised that she means more to him than having an argument, in the most fragile voice she’s ever heard him speak before. she can hear fear, anxiety and self-doubt in his voice, even in those very few words spoken.
y/n stares ahead in her book, taken aback by his question, and taken aback once again in how well he knows her already. he knows something’s up, and she appreciates that. but can she bring herself to tell him what’s up with her, and why she’s feeling the way she is? y/n sighs courtly, and keeps her book as a shield between her and bruce, realising that’s an easier way to talk to him about her feelings than if she would be looking right at him. why has she become so closed-off to him all of a sudden, though? she doesn’t know. “no,” she says with a gentle shake of his head, her voice quiet.
really? then why is she not talking to him at all? not telling him how she feels? “then what is it?” he asks her. bruce rests his chin on her stomach again, she feels its pointy character digging softly into her skin. she sighs. he’s relentless, and she knows that about him. perhaps this is the first time she really notices that because it’s expressed directly towards her. and he doesn’t ask these questions like he does when they’re both interrogating a criminal at night. this is different. because this issue is much more personal to him.
y/n closes her book and places it at her side, now greeted first and foremost with bruce’s anxious, caring face. not so far from her own, and she feels even closer to tears now. she hates feeling like this. bruce laying in her hold is bugging her, bothering her for the first time ever. his eyes on her are suddenly too much, and she doesn’t know why. everything was fine with him just a few hours ago. her attitude has changed so suddenly, it bothers her to no end. she doesn’t want to be upset, doesn’t feel entitled to be so, but she is. and perhaps, after all, she should be.
she tries to keep her tears at bay. she doesn’t need to cry now. “nothing that you can change,” she tells him in a shaky whisper, only meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. she turns away then, pulling her legs up and away from under his weight. but bruce places his palms on her thighs and stops her movements. she looks at him again, slightly frightened, “bruce.”
“tell me what’s wrong,” he tells her and hopes the words didn’t sound like a beg. his eyes are sure, they’re set on her as he is set on uncovering the secret behind her change in behaviour, “please. if there’s anything i can do or change, i w—”
y/n shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “there’s nothing you can do,” she says, slight fury in her voice, “already told you. even with… everything that you have, especially with it, you can’t change it.” she says. you can’t change, she thinks to herself. but even in her upset mood, she knows that would be said too much. she damns herself for even thinking those words and their meaning.
“then talk to me, please,” bruce doesn’t care anymore that he sounds like he’s begging, he doesn’t care how desperate his voice gets. this is important to him. she is important to him, “just talk to me.” his voice grows quiet, to the volume of a whisper, and he feels himself on the verge of tears suddenly. he gulps as he looks up at her still, just pleading for her to understand that he’s here to help, that he doesn’t mean her any harm.
y/n shakes her head, runs her hands over her face, all to keep herself from crying out, and just sighs. the tears are coming, but she won’t let them take over. she won’t. she can’t. “not now,” she tells him finally, her eyes looking away from his—anywhere, the ceiling, her hands, her book to the side—and he can hear her fragility in her voice. he feels for her, “tomorrow. i’m… too tired now.” she tells him finally.
bruce nods. he wants to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible, now would be the perfect time. but if she’s asking him for tomorrow morning, he will respect that, and he will wait. so he nods and lays a kiss on her hand out of pure affection. her eyes fill with tears suddenly at that gentle gesture, and her lip quivers as her emotions take over and want to unleash their full wrath on her. but she won’t let them. she mustn’t. bruce kisses her hand again, kisses all over it—her palms, her fingers, her knuckles—and it really brings y/n over the edge, her lip quivering further and further until tears spill out of her eyes, over her cheeks.
she loves him. it’s the first time she admits that to herself. she loves him, she knows she does. she doesn’t want to push him away, she doesn’t want to hurt him. she wants to be close to him as possible at all times, know him more and more, bare her entire self to him. and yet she can’t help but feel out of place. she can’t help but feel like a complete alien with him, in his world, in his home. so different from hers.
night begins to grow across gotham like a big, dark cape, the darkness creeping into every inch of bruce and y/n’s room—curtains, walls, the floor, the bed and its accessories—and so bruce turns off the bed-side lamp, puts the book on the nightstand, and crawls over y/n again. her form trembles as she makes quiet sobs in the dark now, hiding her face in her hands, and bruce doesn’t shush her now. he lets her let it all out, because he can tell she needs it.
he doesn’t intrude on her personal space anymore with questions or words at all. he just holds her, pulls the covers over them both, knowing that it’ll be too hot with both them underneath, but also knowing that when y/n cries, she tends to grow cold all over. the warmth will be good for her. he caresses her hair with his hand and just listens to her soft yet intense cries. on one hand, he hates to hear and see her cry—it breaks his heart. but then again, he can tell she needs that release. pent-up emotions, perhaps frustrations with herself and the world, need to be let out sometime. and so it’s soothing for him that she seemingly gets that relief now. at least he thinks she’s getting it. in reality, he doesn’t really know.
at some point in the darkness growing ever-present and unavoidable in the room, y/n cries fade to silence, and bruce discovers she’s fallen asleep. being tired himself, and being with her, bruce soon falls asleep, too, with her still in his arms. he’s glad about how peaceful she is in her sleep, even if the problem between them is unresolved, even if he doesn’t still yet know the reason she cried so hard, and why she cried at all.
y/n knows bruce is a heavy sleeper, and she adores it. she hates to be taking advantage of that now, in the night hours, when she slips out of his heavy hold and gets up from their bed. she bids herself not to cry any tears as she picks up her few stuff and wraps it up in a ball she can easily carry. she ignores the tears that fall as she opens and closes the bedroom door in the quietest way possible, and she hates causing that sharp pang in her heart that happens as the door quietly thuds closed behind her.
she doesn’t want to leave him, and least of all wants to hurt him with her leave. but this is so not her world. this is not her place. there’s too many differences between him and her. and she can’t bare it any longer.
based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤
author’s note: hello. sorry for the delay. there’s been so much to do and so much going lately that i can hardly concentrate on anything at all, including, unfortunately, writing. so sorry! doing my best :))))) hehehehehhhehe. anywhos, new chapter! who’s excited? me asf. batman also comes out in HD next week, so i’m pretty excited about that, too. i saw it 3x in the theatres, and it was suchhhh an experience, truly a unique one. so happy reading my babies !
warnings: a little nsfw (fingers in mouth, fingering but not really?); nothing else
gif credit goes to owner / creator!
with her hand in his, bruce leads y/n away from the desk where her suits are laid out, and he leads her around the row of desks to reach the covered vehicle he so wants to show her. alfred’s only seen a glimpse of it while bruce was working on it, and he solicited the part orders, but he hasn’t seen more. bruce also hasn’t let him, he makes sure alfred is really busy while he continues to work on his new project, so he wouldn’t show up and surprise bruce. it’s sort of something bruce wants to show alfred when it’s done. to see what he thinks.
bruce takes his hand out of y/n’s hold—but doesn’t do so without laying a kiss on her palm first—and leaves her by the vehicle’s side while he goes to uncover it. the project is in its finishing stages for now, bruce has yet to take it on a test ride, he somehow hopes for a special occasion to do that, only he doesn’t know what that would count as.
he takes the silky black cover by its corner and whooshes it off the vehicle in one go, he thankfully succeeds. y/n’s eyes don’t know exactly what to look at. the object confuses her at first, she can’t tell what is what, but then she starts to recognise bumps and edges, and the image becomes clearer. it’s some kind of car, only… jacked up on steroids. it is black in its entirety, and sleek, and very much intimidating because of its size.
she looks to bruce with bright eyes and a kind of awkward smile, and he gives her one in return as he waits for a further reaction. but y/n doesn’t really know what to say, she turns her stare back to the sort-of car. huge wheels, a low front, and a spacious interior, it seems. she walks over to it, runs a hand across the sleek material on the front hood and nearly shudders. it’s cold, but incredible to the touch. she takes her hand away and tucks both her palms into the sleeves of her hoodie, feeling a little cold all over now.
she crosses her arms over her chest as she walks beside the car, looking at its details, coming up to bruce step by step. “did you make this yourself?” she asks once she’s finally close to him again. bruce looks from her to the car and nods. y/n shakes her head. “one hell of a job.”
bruce grins as his hand skims over the door handle nearest to him. “taken me more than a year,” he says, “can’t risk having someone else to do anything on it for me, because, well…” bruce looks into her eyes again, “you know.” he gently moves his eyebrows in an emphasising way. y/n chuckles and nods. “wanna show you the interior, as well,” bruce says and opens the door. the door only makes a faint click that sounds as sleek as the car looks, and y/n is again impressed. she doesn’t hide it—her raised eyebrows and slight grin of amusement—as she gets into the car, and bruce’s lips stretch into a grin of their own at her adorable reaction. as soon as he shuts her door, he makes his way around the car to get in on the other side.
y/n glimpses at bruce while he does, but her attention is honestly more occupied by the car’s interior. two screens on the middle console, where usually a radio would be. some switch panel next to the screens, where the small stashing cabinet resides in a usual car. but as she traces her hand under the switch panel, she feels a rectangular form in a different material than the rest of the panel, and she presses it so it opens.
nails, wires, screwdrivers and multiple other little things alike pour of out of the hide-away, and the clutter they make startles y/n just as bruce gets in the car from his side. he furrows his eyebrows at the mishap when he sits down, and y/n sighs. “sorry,” she says and starts picking everything up to put it back in place, “i’m just curious.” she comes up with some sort of excuse. bruce nods and helps her pick up the pieces, since the console of the car is pretty close to him, and there’s a lot of room for legs on both sides. y/n thanks him quietly, and he just gives her a timid smile.
once the things are back in their hide-away, and y/n closes the cabinet, she turns half-way in her seat to check out the rest of the car. also to make herself busy with something as she now feels a little awkward at having spilled all that, and in front of bruce. this is his car, his property, his working ground, and she’s too much of a curious cat to keep her hands to herself. what a clutz, she thinks.
she notices how spacious the interior still looks from the inside, but how there’s nothing in the backseat quite yet. only tools and other car pieces she assumes are still left to be attached, put in place. she looks above her, sees the ceiling with quite the big window in the middle of it. big enough to fit bruce through when he’s in the batman attire, she realises. she looks back at him, and bruce can see the dots connecting in her eyes. she knows what it’s for, and he doesn’t even have to tell her.
y/n sits fully in her seat again, rests her side against the back support and bends one of her legs to cross it over the other. her hands in her lap as she looks to bruce. he’s sitting in his driver’s seat like a regular person, but his head and shoulders are turned to face her. their eyes connect again. the pleasant, positive tension between them is palpable. one word could make it thicker or make it dissipate. it’s up to them, but they feel the tension, too. like electricity in the air of the car.
“any plans for the backseat?” y/n asks. bruce grips the edge of the chair with his hand gently and peers over it to look at the unfinished part of his vehicle. he shrugs.
“i honestly don’t know if i’ll need it,” he says to her and returns to sitting normally. she notices how casual he’s become with her, she’s not noticed it until now though he’s probably shown that bare truth and casual behaviour a day or two prior already. he’s stripped himself of the brooding, mysterious image in front of her completely now. she can only be thankful that he’s done that. she doesn’t want a masked vigilante with her, she just wants him. the vigilante thing is a part of him, but it’s not the main part. now y/n shrugs.
“you could have casualties that you need to take to the hospital or the police station,” she points out, “you never know what situation you might end up in.” she grins very lightly at him. bruce loves the little gestures from her, he finds them quite adorable. he nods.
“that’s true,” he says, “might just put three or four chairs in there for that. maybe some emergency box or something…” bruce says, and it makes y/n chuckle. he’s wonderful when he’s thoughtful. quite the contrast to his usual behaviour.
she reaches a hand over to his side of the car, where she lays it atop his palm that rests on the console between them. bruce looks at the hand, then looks at her. her eyes are unreadable, and yet mischievous as a fox’s. “or you might need to take me home,” she suggests timidly, in a quieter, smaller voice, “maybe some place else.” she bats her eyes at bruce as she leans her head onto the headrest, her hand staying on top of his. he blinks a few times and tilts his head at her. bruce wonders what she means, perhaps she’s saying something more to him than these few words.
“where do you want me to take you?” he asks, and realises his voice has dropped lower in volume. y/n faintly smiles at his question, at the possible obliviousness it encompasses. she caresses the skin of his hand with her thumb as she keeps giving him languid eyes. he has no idea what she means, doesn’t he?
she lets their eye contact last just a little longer and then moves in for what’s hers for the taking—bruce. she carefully slips her leg over the console, only wincing a slight bit when her injury very quietly protests at the movement. bruce notices that change in her facial expression, and his hand immediately reaches out for the part of her body closest to him—y/n’s thigh. it makes her think he finally realised what she meant with her words, but he really is still oblivious to her ministrations, and that reaching out to her is for support.
but she’s not in pain. not really, not anymore, as she now brings her other leg over the console, too, and splays them across bruce’s lap, one leg on each of his sides. bruce just watches her silently, that supporting hand still treading carefully across her thigh, having an instinct of what to do but not knowing if he should do what it tells him to.
y/n feels a little out of her own depth now, but she won’t shy away anymore. not this time. when she’s so close to him, and he’s letting her be. it’s a sacred moment, a sacred opportunity. she won’t let it pass. there’s complete silence in the car as y/n leans her torso down closer to bruce’s, the quiet background noise of the bats squealing and flapping their wings on the cave’s ceiling is practically inaudible now. bruce must have installed some kind of sound-blocking mechanism into the vehicle’s doors and windows, and perhaps he did that on purpose.
bruce looks up at her—what a strange position he’s found himself in, and y/n could say the same – she never thought she could get on top of him and actually be on top of him, looking down at him, taking that he’s so much taller than her—with eyes that are both fearful and ready, eyes wanting something so much yet being afraid of it all the same. he can’t stand his own contradictory behaviour. but he really is up for anything y/n might be offering.
that feeling of readiness only grows in size when y/n kisses his lips, pulling him closer with her palms on both his cheeks. without filter—not that he needs one around her—bruce moans at the immediate and sensual contact with her that he so appreciates. his hands instantly grab onto her, that first one staying on her thigh, now, encouraged, moving to the back of it and spreading his fingers across her covered skin there.
to make a man of his size, of his greatness and power, moan in such a yearning and intimate way has truly got to be one of y/n’s proudest moments. she wouldn’t call it pride exactly, but something towards it. and it being bruce, someone she admires and appreciates so much, someone so close to her, makes that little thing all the more special. her fingers all but press into his skin, nearly creating a stretch there, and she moves her other hand down to his hair, trudging into the silk forest of it.
god, she loves his hair. raking her nails across his scalp, she earns the most raw and guttural sounds from bruce. and that only proves that he loves her hands in his hair, as well. he adores them there. scratching and pressing at his skin in the best ways imaginable. the movements of her hand in his hair only makes his own hands grapple onto her tighter, and as the kisses they share grow hotter and more lustful with each second, their pent-up frustrations towards themselves and each other pouring out into them all the while, neither of them can contain the moans and whines—more from bruce than y/n—that all of this coaxes out of them. they let their natural sounds out without any control or shame.
bruce doesn’t know how to be, who to be, how to behave, when she’s like this in his arms, just as needy as he is. he has instincts, and yet he doesn’t know what to do with his hands—what feels good for her? should he kiss her neck? should he grab her ass like in all those videos? no. that’s an immediate no in answer to the last question that pops into his mind, and he doesn’t even know why he feels so sure that she wouldn’t like that. he just somehow knows, and so he doesn’t move a muscle further to even initiate that kind of contact.
y/n feels how partly clueless he is, she feels how rigid and nervous his hands are, although they are squeezing her skin in a delightful way. she smiles faintly to herself, bruce feels that gesture against his lips, and she rests her hand around one of his wrists, the one that wraps around her waist. bruce looks into her eyes, pulling away from her lips, feeling that perhaps he’s done something wrong. something to upset her, crossed a line. but there’s no sign for such a thing in her beautiful, clouded eyes. “do you want to touch me?” she asks in the lowest of whispers. one of her hands is still resting against bruce’s cheek, and dare he say, it’s distracting him very much. her eyes are, as well, and he barely hears her question at all.
with a bit of a mental struggle, bruce comes to and his eyes blink a couple times in an almost clueless manner as he does so. he suspects her thumb moving across his cheek, near his lips, is on purpose. unable to form words in response, and also feeling too shy to speak, bruce just nods his head. y/n finds it typical to his behaviour, and she doesn’t mind at all. it’s always endearing to her that she does the most talking and he just listens, agrees and grumbles a word here and there. she guesses it doesn’t really fade in intimate moments like this. and she wouldn’t wish it to.
“i want you to touch me, too,” she says, taking her hand off his, and slowly, as not to make a sound that could ruin the moment, she unzips the gorgeous trousers that he got for her, also partly revealing the underwear that he also got for her. bruce gulps as his gaze slips downwards to where her hand lingers, and the partly-revealing sight nearly drives him insane. his impulses are strong and hungry, but he keeps them down. he doesn’t want to cross any lines with her.
without any questions asked or words spoken—she knows his body language well enough to tell he’s not uncomfortable, just nervous—y/n takes bruce’s hand away from her waist, slowly brings it back around her body to the front and middle of it. all the while, she keeps that other hand of hers still on his cheek, caressing his coarse, experienced skin with her thumb as a way to soothe him, if he needs it. he’s as much inexperienced as she is, she can sort-of tell, and so she knows this is a first for him, too. she knows what she likes, though, so she knows how to guide him.
here and there, she feels his hold on the back of her thigh tighten, squeezing her skin, and she lets out a little whimper every time he does because it’s just the right squeeze on her muscles. it makes the sacred place between her legs hotter and even wetter every time, and she guesses that she’s just found something new that her body likes. and her whimpers are doing all the work on bruce, as well. he doesn’t know how long his self-control will last. even around her.
y/n’s fingers around his wrist, she guides his hand past the borders of her pants, where the pads of his fingers come into contact with her clothed cunt. she’s so sensitive that this mere first contact makes her shudder and utter a faint whimper, and her eyes drop closed. she nearly collapses onto bruce, but her body draws the line at her head only resting on his shoulder. because of this response from her, bruce feels confident enough. he’s made her smile, he’s made her laugh, he’s made her cry and he’s made her feel this euphoric—is there anything he can’t do now?
he doesn’t need her guidance by hand anymore, bruce feels confident with his instincts, and he can always ask her to check in, to see what she likes and doesn’t. pressing his middle and ring finger into her underwear, he feels a sticky wetness on the fabric that now coats his fingers, as well. he breathes a heavy breath against her neck, and his eyes drop closed, too, just for a moment. she’s heavenly. there are many ways he has imagined her already—still ashamed to admit that even to himself—but this outdoes them all. “fuck,” bruce manages to utter, being at quite the loss for words because of how incredible she feels. he can’t get over her. so he treads on fragile ground by dipping his fingers deeper into her underwear, so that he could really feel the expanse of her—even when clothed—really on his fingers.
and my god, is that even more incredible. he’s pressed his fingers right in between her labial lips, he can feel all her gentle edges and folds on his pads, and it almost sends him into over-drive. forget oral and penetrative sex, he could spend the rest of forever just tracing over every inch of her most intimate parts, over and over, much like she does with the scars on his back. only when he does this, he body is oh-so-responsive. shuddering in his hold, grinding on his thighs closer to him, uttering whimpers and moans into the skin of his neck, gripping his shoulders every once in a while. he loves it all. he could spend forever in it. this moment, this feeling, with her in his hold.
bruce is discovering her, the feel of her, the different spots and buttons he can push in her. much like she’s discovering how it feels to be touched like this by someone else. she’s never had that before, and though he swipes across her clothed folds and flicks his fingers quite the right way, she can still tell that he’s nervous about it all. which means he’s never done this before, either. not even this with a woman. she wonders how that is true, she wonders how that makes him feel. but she’s also kind of appreciative that she’s the first one to get him like this, to get him to do all this. she’s the first one he’s experiencing this with, too. it’s something so special for the both of them.
he’s not even fully touching her, and yet with how wet her underwear is, it’s nearly the real thing, and she’s slowly coming undone for him. no words uttered, only moans and whimpers from both of them, bruce reaches his free hand that was grappling her thigh just now—much to y/n’s dismay, though, she whimpers at the loss of that touch—, up to her face, and he cradles the side of it in his large, supportive palm. it makes her look at him, precisely his goal in making that movement, and she does so with hooded eyes, barely supporting herself up before him. bruce presses his fingers closer to where her entrance resides beneath that drenched fabric of her panties, and it sends her into a spiral.
y/n’s face nearly melts into an erotic expression, her eyes closing shut, eyebrows drawing together, cheeks blushing redder and her lips hanging open. her lips. her whole face is breath-taking when she’s experiencing pleasure, and it means the world to bruce that he can coax this wonderful feeling out of her, plant into her wonderful feelings and experiences, and he discovers that he loves seeing her like this. completely true, just and raw. just for him.
but his thoughts get caught in her lips, and suddenly he’s so fascinated by them. his thumb skims across her cheek, and progressively gets closer to her lips until the pad of his thumb has reached the corner of them. in his hue of fascination, bruce watches as he ventures his thumb down the soft pillow of her lower lip, and he glances up into her eyes to see how she takes that. her eyes aren’t the main tale-tell for her reaction, as much as her hips and hands are. but her eyes do overgrow with a thicker cloud of lust after they open again, while her hips experimentally roll down onto his, and her fingers dig deeper into bruce’s shoulders. it’s nearly painful for him, but he likes it nonetheless.
“open up,” he requests her quietly, feeling that she already wants to do it, but perhaps, as she’s got lost in the feeling of it all, she forgot to give her lips that command. y/n listens to him immediately, proving bruce’s theory about that forgetting, as if she just remembered how to give her body orders, and bruce slips his thumb inside. he feels her wetness increasing heavily at that contact, and he allows himself a grin, “that’s it, baby, you like that?” he asks her, now feeling more confident than usual, and all because of her.
y/n can only nod and make a mewl in response as her mouth welcomes bruce’s thumb inside it. her mewl resonates from her throat, bruce can feel its vibrations even on her tongue as he presses down onto it. his middle finger penetrates her entrance in the slightest of ways, but it immediately has her thighs trembling, and affecting the rest of her body in wonderful ways. her back arches, making her breasts press against bruce’s chest, and he suddenly realises he’s never felt her this close to himself. chest to chest. god, he adores her.
her silky tongue beneath his thumb, lips sucking around the base of it. her soft skin in both palms of his hands, her wetness coating his fingers like a nectar, her breaths and hair in his face, tickling the skin there, her eyes only looking at him when they’re open, looking hungrily and lustfully, her thighs on his, her breasts against his chest… she’s a vixen at his complete mercy. a complete dream, and he’s not even entirely sure she’s real. that’s how heavenly she is.
bruce can’t wait to get to know every inch of her. feel the expanse of her on his length, taste that sweet nectar dripping from her on his tongue, explore her body and find out what venture gets which sound and body movement out of her, see what makes her fall apart, how long each thing he wants to try out takes with her. he wants to know her to the very depths, until there’s nothing left to know, and he can do it all over again, make it as good as the first time.
y/n has no idea how bruce knows how to touch her, how to feel her up, how to rile her up more and more. only thing she can think of is his intuition, perhaps something he’s borrowed from his great detective skills. he can just read her so well, she almost thinks he knows her better than she knows herself. his fingers at her entrance are pushing in and out teasingly and yet fully enough so that he’s coaxing her towards that wonderful release. and how did he know that a finger in her mouth would do the wonders it does? perhaps he didn’t, and just wanted to try it out. to be fair, she’s ready for anything he wants to try with her. she’s had so many firsts with him already that each new one is just another wonderful addition to the list.
but y/n sobers up from this blissful feeling of bruce immediately when she hears metal gears turning and chains being pulled. she stills so suddenly in his arms that bruce worries again that he’s done something wrong. it’s a far away sound for now, but y/n can tell it’s getting closer—it sounds like someone is using the elevator she and bruce used just a while ago to get here. how she didn’t hear the elevator going up when it was being called, she doesn’t know. but she looks through the matted window of the car’s back to see the elevator. the tube is not full with that cabin yet.
“what’s wrong?” bruce asks, glancing towards where she is momentarily. y/n gathers herself, realises he’s retracted both of his hands from her intimate parts, and is now just resting his palms on her thighs. she runs a hand through her hair.
“someone’s coming,” she tells him in a rush and zips her trousers closed. bruce furrows his eyebrows, and realises he probably needs a tissue for his hands. there has to be one somewhere here… y/n moves off him in a flurry of movement, plopping back down into her passenger seat, while bruce looks around all his little boxes and compartments for just a single tissue. who could be coming here at this—?
bruce shakes his head as he finally finds a tissue in one of the rogue clean-up boxes he barely remembered to leave in this car. “must be alfred,” he says with a grunt of effort as he bends back up from the car’s floor and wipes his fingers clean, as much as he doesn’t want to. he looks at y/n in her seat, facing away from him. she hopes her hair doesn’t give too much away, “why did you move over there?” he asks, though at how sharply she turns her head to look at him, he kind of regrets doing so. his face grows small in anxiety.
“i don’t want your godfather to see me like…” she shakes her head before she can finish that sentence, and turns away from him again. her fingers card through her hair again and again, she feels so nervous, “i don’t know, i’m nervous.” she’s speaking much faster than usually. bruce grows concerned. “i’m nervous, i want to make a good impression and—” she sighs in frustration, and then turns to look at bruce again, “he doesn’t know, does he?”
his eyebrows furrow. “about what?”
“us!” y/n hisses back, almost as if they were in high school and talking about some big secret. “you know, that we’ve… you know!” she’s so puritanical in talking about their shared kisses and what they’ve attempted to do, it’s nearly comical. she was much more blunt just some ten or fifteen minutes ago. bruce gulps.
“no,” he shakily says, “i haven’t told him. should i have told him?” he’s panicked, too, maybe because of her panicky attitude, and can suddenly hear the elevator coming down the long shaft, too. y/n raises her eyebrows and shrugs.
“i don’t know!” she tells him, “do you want to tell him?”
now it’s bruce’s turn to shrug, “i don’t know,” he says honestly, “do you want me to tell him?” he makes sure, really only caring about her through and through.
“yes!” y/n says, but then feels she’s coming off as too straight forward. to bruce, about their relationship, whatever it is. what would he tell alfred, anyway? i’ve kissed the girl whose life i saved in our vigilante team work mishap a couple times, we nearly went to second base. “no?” y/n then throws out in her panic. she shakes her head again and thinks she’s both confusing the man next to her, and making him think she wants to keep this a secret, which she most certainly does not want to do. she throws her hands in the air for a fleeting moment, feeling confused herself. “i don’t know! christ… i’m a mess.” she says finally, her head in her hands.
the opening pull of the elevator doors somewhere behind them startles them both, as they’re in quite the fragile state, and y/n nearly jumps in her seat. bruce can feel her nervousness in the air around her, and he’s scared to reach out to her, though he still does it, worried he might catch that same electricity as is running through her veins. “you’re fine,” he tells her, and finds the gesture weird. has he comforted her before? and yes, he realises he has. how did he forget? perhaps this is just a different setting, “i’ll get out first.” he informs her. “and hey,” he calls on for more of her attention, “look at me.” bruce’s voice is a whisper again. y/n anxiously turns to look at him. he offers her a smile. “you’re great, y/n,” he says, and if it’s not the first time he says her name, then it’s definitely one of the first, “there’s no reason for alfred not to like you. i promise. plus, he already likes you.”
“how do you know?” she asks him. bruce shrugs.
“he’s my godfather,” he simply states, that smile of his turning into a grin. bruce moves a rogue hair strand out of y/n’s face, tucking it behind her ear. she appreciates the gesture, and makes a small smile herself, “you have nothing to worry about, i promise you.” bruce assures her. “i really like you,” christ, he feels nervous and shy as a teenager as he says this, and he wishes the hormones weren’t so strong. but he wants to tell her these things, even if it’s hard to and gets him all flustered, “and you’re amazing. it’ll be fine.” bruce finalises.
y/n manages to make a smile at him in response and she nods her head. she believes him. bruce feels weird at handling such a domestic, everyday-thing like he handles more serious issues. but perhaps domestic things are just as important as vigilante things. and perhaps he needs to put more focus on domestic things. now that y/n is formally meeting alfred, has seen his home and his cave, and is getting closer to him in general. as he’s getting closer to her. he needs to be in touch with his domestic side more, he realises. and so he makes that his resolution for the near future. perhaps this vigilante thing has made him less grounded than he thinks.
“okay,” y/n says as she nods again, and bruce’s smile grows in size. he caresses her hair and leans closer to her just momentarily to give her forehead a kiss. y/n closes her eyes during that fleeting affectionate gesture, and bruce is gone in the next moment. her eyes closed, still in some astral way feeling his lips on her forehead, she hears him get out of the vehicle and close the door behind him. she feels like a little hedgehog that’s drawing into its form in this quite spacious passenger car seat, the reminisce of his kiss on her forehead as vivid as if it had colours. the undertone of what that kiss meant is what truly sticks to her heart, and she’ll appreciate that forever.
she hears quiet words spoken between bruce and alfred, and even a chuckle on alfred’s part, and she sighs. y/n doesn’t know why she’s suddenly so anxious around the man she’s met twice, being in quite exposing states both times already. now she’s dressed, and feeling much more like herself, and it seems her characteristic nervousness returns with that trueness of self, too. she doesn’t like it. it’s not that big of an event to have lunch with alfred. then why does she feel so nervous all of a sudden? she feels like a teenager all over again. of course, the memory, feelings and images of her and bruce’s shenanigans just a few minutes ago are much too vivid in her mind to forget or ignore. she hopes the presence of alfred especially will do erasure.
y/n sighs again and opens the car door, swinging her legs over the seat to get out. it’s not that she wants to forget or ignore what they began to do. it’s just quite bothering and informal to be thinking about those things while she’s with both bruce and alfred. she really does feel like a teenager, and it’s bothering her quite a bit. she’s an adult, and should be first and foremost, be able to control those thoughts and impulses and second, should not be feeling nervous about having them if they’re there. it’s so complicated…
with a small, shy smile on her face, y/n keeps the hair strands tucked behind her ear by bruce in place and walks around the vehicle of incredible size. their conversation drops in volume and slightly fades as she comes up, and she feels awkward that they do. y/n braces herself and raises her head up once she’s in close enough vicinity of them both. bruce gives her adoring eyes, while alfred has the usual look of warmth across his whole face, but especially visible in his eyes. he gives y/n a smile.
“hello,” y/n says in a quiet voice, feeling awkward still, even with the soothing presence of both these men. they’ve been nothing but kind and welcoming to her, yet she still feels out of place. could it be just their presence? could it be because y/n really likes bruce and wants to make a good impression on alfred? or could it be the financial difference between her and these two men? she can’t guess, and maybe it’s all three.
y/n fumbles with her fingers behind her back, so they wouldn’t see how nervous she is. but bruce sees her hands, nonetheless, he’s that taller than her to see even behind her. he feels for her, his eyes soften as he gives her a glance. “good day, miss y/n,” alfred tells her, nearly bowing before her in that formal movement he makes. she smiles back at him and nods, “finally i see you out and about! an occasion we should celebrate.” alfred says and looks to bruce for agreement, which he gives him with a smile and nod.
bruce wants so to reach out to y/n in this moment, just reassure her in a way that he can. a hand on her shoulder, on her waist, anywhere. but he fears that doing that in front of alfred will just heighten her nervousness, and he doesn’t want to put her on the spot like that. y/n nods at alfred’s words. “thank you,” she says, “never thought i’d get out of that bed, and i’m quite relieved now.” she admits with a chuckle.
“i hope you’re hungry, too, dear,” alfred says cheekily and sends her a wink, to which bruce playfully rolls his eyes and nudges alfred’s arm. the older man just chuckles more in response. y/n still feels out of place, even if out of her and bruce, she’s usually the comedic one. she seems to have suddenly lost that skill or characteristic of hers, and all out of nervousness. she also doesn’t want to admit she’s hungry, because she doesn’t want to be the one whose needs or wants need to be pleased right away. god, everything’s so weird, “you’re not nervous, are you, dear?” alfred suddenly asks, having noticed her silence. he even looks to bruce after y/n’s eyes change a little after that question.
bruce worries for her, since it’s half as hard for her to talk about her feelings as it is for him, and yet she’s always been the more open one. y/n’s lips part as she immediately wants to deny that assumption and lie about her current feelings. but she sees truth and genuineness in alfred’s eyes, and that convinces her to tell her own truth. she nods before saying, “yeah, a bit,” she admits, making a sad smile.
now bruce can’t stay away anymore, his urge to soothe her becomes much too great, and so he gently lays an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, his hand squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. either alfred doesn’t actually notice, or he pretends to not notice that movement and its meaning, so he just shakes his head. “no need to be nervous, dear,” he says, and y/n can say this is the first time a man over forty has called her dear multiple times and she hasn’t felt uncomfortable by it, “from what i hear from bruce, you’re practically family by now, and aren’t a guest anymore.” alfred tells her, and bruce only nods in agreement. that’s what he’d put it, too.
y/n smiles wide, and feels shy again, but she fights the urge to tuck herself into bruce’s side and hide away like a bashful child. she looks up at alfred and nods. “thank you so much,” she says, “that means a lot.”
“oh, you’re welcome,” alfred responds and turns on his heel, “now let’s get your bellies full before you both drop.” he says and begins clicking away towards the elevator with his cane. y/n looks up at bruce, and he looks down at her genuinely, adoringly, that same look still in his eyes. he adores her, and she adores him. there’s nothing quite like sensing that mutual feeling towards each other and knowing it’s true. truly one of the seven wonders of the world, she’s sure.
y/n leans up on her very tip-toes and lays a quiet, quick kiss on bruce’s cheek before they follow alfred across the cave to the elevator. bruce feels his cheeks heating up, and then he feels her hand on his chest, “thank you,” she quietly whispers to him as they begin walking. bruce’s lips stretch into a languid smile. he wants to smother her whole, and even more than that. yet it still wouldn’t be enough to express his adoration towards her.
based on:Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤
author’s note: hello. I’ve had a lot of work lately, on top of that I’ve had stress and pressure from my direct boss, which has caused me a three-day-long panic attack + today I had a breakdown. my hands won’t stop shaking, and I’m on the verge of crying while still stressed out of my mind still. seeing you guys’ feedback on this story has cheered my mood quite a lot these days, even if for a little while, so thank you to everyone who’s here andreading this :) I hope some of you read through this author’s not as well, haha. soooo I’ve cried my eyes out and am ready to get drunk and write. I’m terrified to go to work tomorrow. who knows what my boss might say to me, I can’t stop my heart and mind from racing. christ…. also omg - one of my favourite writers on here liked my post “where is your jealousy” soooo you could say IM SOFJHSBDFAJH happy about that. anywhos. happy reading!
song req: catwoman by michael giacchino (have y’all heard this??? it’sjhsufhsiudfsybfjh)
word count: 9.6k
warnings: none, i think :)
gif credit goes to owner / creator!
what a man lays beside her. such strength, courage and noble emotionality lies inside those muscles and that thick, scarred skin that adorn his back, his arms and waist… he’s quite the sight. she remembers how he couldn’t stop looking at her when he first saw her face, on the night of their first real encounter with each other. and how she told him to not stare, but he did it anyway. now she knows how that feels. even if he’d ask to not look at him, she couldn’t help herself.
so much of the past, so much pain and fear hides inside him, too, along with that courage, power and emotionality that can make him quite impulsive. there’s certain beauty in that controversy, beauty in him, because that’s what really makes him up. along with a very specific sense of humour, and the things that make him smile. the things he dislikes, and the ones he can’t help but have in his character. they all make up a beautiful, unique man. she’s really never met someone like him.
someone so wounded and impenetrable at the same time—she can’t really read his face most of the time to tell what he’s feeling. someone so rich in a way, and poor in some others at the same time. someone who doesn’t show his emotions, and yet whose actions show how much he cares. he’s so difficult, and so head-on, so emotional and easily-affected. that makes quite a beauty.
now that her side injury is doing better, y/n can lay on that wounded side more, and she uses that to her advantage—to get closer to him in the bed they share. the riddance bed, as they’ve deemed it. bruce also called it the aurora bed—the princess who can’t wake up, much less get up from the bed, you know. she smiles to herself gently, and reaches a hand out to her prince. she doesn’t want to wake him, but the hair on his head and the scar biography of enemies on his back are simply too irresistible to not touch.
she traces once again over those scars she’s already traced a couple times, and he doesn’t move a muscle in response. she’s not surprised—the movements on his skin there seemed to calm him when he was awake, and they nearly lulled him to sleep. so she’s not surprised he stays in his slumber as she traces these scars. the bumps and stretches of skin—both upper and the more sensitive tissue-kind—and the pigmentation due to penetrating or blunt-forced trauma are all so fascinating to her. they’re like sacred runes to her, and she could trace them over and over again forever, and try to read them all the while.
bruce doesn’t stir until she reaches his hair. her fingers softly skim over the raven locks of his silk hair, she feels how soft and natural, in a weird way, it is. it honestly looked dyed to her, but now she discovers it’s not. dyed hair always has that too-silky quality and feel to the hand, but bruce’s is naturally silky, and not too much so, so she knows that’s his real hair colour. how interesting… a boy born with black hair, but blue eyes. that doesn’t happen quite often. the black-haired ones usually have brown or green irises, y/n thinks.
her fingers just move to the back of his head of hair when he blinks his eyes open and looks straight at her, even while he’s still feeling quite sleepy. y/n smiles wide at seeing him awake, and seeing him look at her, and she digs her head into her pillow more, her cheeks heating up with a pink tint. bruce smiles at the sight of her. he loves for her to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. he wouldn’t mind seeing only her for the rest of his life, from morning till night, monday to sunday. he can look at her endlessly.
“morning,” she tells him quietly, and restrains herself from giving him a kiss on the lips. she’d love to give it, and a couple more (perhaps a hundred), but she knows neither of them would be able to control themselves after just a few kisses. it would never stop at that, maybe if one of them intervened. but being caught up in each other, that wouldn’t be possible. no one to stop them.
bruce’s lips tug more upwards in a faint smile, more a grin, and he blinks his eyes a couple times before rubbing his hands over his face and yawning. y/n smiles, finding those adorable movements very cute to his character, but also quite a contradiction to his desired image. that doesn’t matter to her, the image. to her, it’s just adorable that he doesn’t deny himself those kind of morning-routinic movements. “what were you doing?” he asks her in a hushed voice, now blinking his eyes again and looking at her, his face a little more sober. y/n tucks her hands under her cheek, squishing them between the pillow underneath, as she looks at him.
she shrugs. “just… admiring you, i guess,” she tells him in a whisper, especially the last part, “you’re very handsome to look at.” she tells him and even giggles at the end of her sentence. bruce can’t deny the blush that spreads across his cheeks and the smile that stretches his lips. he tries to hide them in his pillows, but y/n has already noticed, and she laughs very cutely at them, at the fact that she’s made the man have this reaction. that means the world to her. and she doesn’t know, perhaps she only suspects, that she’s the only one with that kind of privilege.
“well, don’t stop on my account now,” bruce tells her, then, all calmed down from his hormones—or is he?—and he’s able to look at her again. half his face squished against the pillow, he looks into her eyes, and for a moment, it’s just them staring at one another.
“how can i?” y/n asks in a bare whisper, shaking her head slightly. “someone promised me a whole tour of their home. i can’t possibly stay in bed for a moment longer, especially now that he’s awake.” she tells him. bruce chuckles once he connects the dots, and his laugh is wonderful to y/n’s ears. she has the excitement of a little kid, it’s visible in her eyes.
“never said when it’s gonna start,” he points out to her, a small attempt to keep them both in bed longer, to prolong the time she touches his skin.
“exactly,” y/n says mischievously, “and because i’m the guest, i should assume it’ll start whenever i want.” she says and does a little movement that usually very arrogant women do with their hair. bruce has a laugh at that, as well, since it’s so not like her character, but yet the humour is. she’s just… such a wonderful mix of everything. he can’t stop marvelling at her.
“and you were right to think that,” bruce tells her with a smile. he lifts himself above the mattress, pulling the sheets they share slightly upwards with his body all the while, and he moves even closer to her. once there, he lays a kiss on her forehead that stalls her, makes her eyes blink closed for a second or two, but it also makes her heart do a flip. she adores him, and he adores her. he wants to show her that every moment that he can without intruding upon her boundaries, and he’s succeeded so far. she’s felt held by him ever since she woke up in this riddance bed that one afternoon. she looks up at him as soon as he’s pulled slightly away, as soon as her mind is a bit clearer (but that doesn’t last long), “i’ll take a shower.”
y/n raises her eyebrows in a teasingly surprised manner at him as a response, and watches as the man chuckles and then moves off to the side of the bed, where he sits up. she bites her lip as her eyes skim over his back. she’s just spent the last half-hour or so looking at it, and yet it’s still a masterpiece and something so breath-taking to her. she can’t keep those enticing thoughts away, and she can’t stop pondering on what would happen if she joined him. that would be quite the event, wouldn’t it… maybe she should suggest the idea to him, as well?
“take a look at those clothes i got, would you?” bruce asks after he’s got up from the bed and is now walking towards the bathroom. y/n has been brought partly out of her stupor with that question of his, and she moves her head to look at him. he’s not facing her, “i hope they fit.” he says and gives her a sly smile, perhaps knowing exactly how he’s making her feel—flustered, hot and bothered, like an inexperienced school girl (that’s quite what she is, actually) —, before he closes the bathroom door behind him. but he doesn’t lock it.
his suggestion reminds her of the conversation they had last night, and the act of kindness—or spoiling, she hasn’t yet decided—he showed her that started that conversation. him spending money on her without her asking, without even technically not needing to. y/n sits up in bed, suddenly sobered up by that question of his. her eyebrows draw together, and then she hears the shower water starting in the bathroom. her eyes flick to the door momentarily, and she knows he didn’t lock it, but she looks at the bags on the table again. that’s right, they didn’t open all of them last night.
and now he’s suggested that she does. y/n sighs courtly, but gets out of bed slowly and makes her way over to the table. her injury hardly says a word to her, and she’s glad for that. she can walk across the room much faster, much more agile now, nearly back to her old ways. god, now that she thinks of it, she can’t wait to get back into action again. back in her suit, swinging around the city, protecting civilians—where is her suit, by the way? what happened to it? is it usable at all now?
she’ll ask bruce later.
when she reaches the table, y/n sits down in one of the chairs. the shower water running provides a nice background noise, almost makes an ambiance, and then y/n picks up classical music on some other… part of this property, too. beautiful piano and violin combination. and the notes they play… amazing. she puts her bets on alfred playing that music and gets to opening the first bag she knows they haven’t opened yet.
the bag is made of paper, and y/n thinks she recognises the logo of the store, but it’s not one she’s seen quite a lot of in the city. she doesn’t really go for brand shops, anyway, her choice is more second-hand shops and the fast-fashion ones she can actually afford, but mostly second-hand stores. she rips up the stickers holding the paper bag closed and reaches her hand inside. it touches upon a cotton fabric, she thinks—it feels like that to the touch—and she pulls it out. quite a large piece, she might say.
when she gets it out and unwraps it from the folding, she sees a jumpsuit. with long sleeves for legs and arms, it looks like a boiler suit; buttons down the front—oh my god! he remembers that. he remembers her talking about wanting to get one, but that it’s impossible to even find a boiler suit around here, or find an affordable one. it’s almost as if they’re some myth piece of clothing that she may even have dreamed about, and don’t actually exist.
but here is one. in dark red, a crimson red, resembling the colour of blood. buttons and pockets everywhere, looking exactly as the one she thought of in her head all this time while searching for it. y/n smiles to herself and closes her eyes as she presses the boiler suit to her chest, and she sighs. what a miracle. happiness boils inside her tummy and chest much like the nausea feeling would, but this is much more pleasant, of course. she can’t believe this. can’t believe him.
but she puts that mind haze to the side, resting the boiler suit in her lap, and moves to the other unopened bag. reaching inside it, she finds three pieces—each one much different from the other—and pulls them out. the jumble in her hands reveals a pair of trousers—black flare pants, exactly the type she wears at work (does he know that? and if he does—how?)—, a button-up blouse in, again, dark red, with long sleeves (must be why he bought her the sporty bra, as well. this man…) and a dark grey hoodie. similar to ones she’s seen bruce himself wear around her recently. but all hoodies are alike, what is she thinking…
she checks the sizes of the clothes to know if she’ll be able to wear them, and she is—they’re all perfectly her size. how could he have guessed all of these? or is that maybe given in the information about her, too, the one that shows up in those lenses of his? and he’s picked the colours very much from his own wardrobe. though she hasn’t seen him anything red. maybe not yet. “are they the right size?” bruce asks suddenly, out of nowhere, and y/n turns to see him in her startlement coming up to her from the bathroom and gently drying his hair with a smaller towel. he’s got a shirt on now, and if she saw herself and him from the side, she’d conclude that they’re dressed very similarly.
she makes an absent smile at him and turns back to look at the clothes in her hands again. she leans her back into the chair and does a little shake of her head, and bruce watches her in slight confusion. has he done something wrong? she looks up at him with that absent smile still on her face, but her eyes tell something else. her cheeks are heating up again with a pink tone, and she moves her hand to hide at least half of that reaction, but bruce has seen it all already and he smiles wide at her.
“yeah, they’re all precisely my size,” she tells him and shakes her head again, “how did you know them? and why…” she makes a nervous chuckle and disconnects their eyes for a second, “why do you spoil me like this?” y/n questions, giggling, and looks at him again, shyly this time. bruce’s smile cracks even wider. bruce shrugs and lays a kiss on her forehead again. he’s acting quite like they’re a couple, or a married one. but they haven’t even talked about their relationship, neither of them really know what to call it. y/n loves what she has with him right now, she’s just confused.
she’s glad he’s this open with her. out-right, expresses his feelings in the ways that he can. she realises now that spoiling her like this, with these things, is the way he knows best how to express his care and affection. no wonder, if he grew up with rich parents, he was spoiled quite the same and even much more every day. she knows how rich kids grew up. and no wonder his sense of how to handle things, on how to express feelings, is a little… bent.
of course, she likes the clothes, and she likes that he remembers things she likes and wants. but it’s the fact that he goes out of his way to buy them, spends money on them, all for her, and they’re not even in an established relationship… and she has no way to give anything back. it makes her feel strange, makes her feel alienated. and perhaps they shouldn’t establish the relationship—perhaps they should just let whatever happens happen, let their feelings and bodies act on their own, and see where that takes them.
she just feels confused.
she smiles at bruce after that small kiss he gives on her forehead, and he looks into her eyes with a cloud over his orbs. she smiles wider at that, and still expects an answer from him. but by the way he’s breathing, by the way he’s looking at her, and by the look of his lips, she can deduct that he won’t say a word. perhaps there isn’t anything to say. he doesn’t look like he’s hiding something. so to give him back something, at least, in the way that she can, she presses a kiss to his lips, having to pull him down by grabbing his shirt to do so.
y/n loves how, even after they’ve kissed a couple times already, bruce still quite physically melts against her when they kiss, no matter who initiated the exchange. and she smiles against his lips when she feels that again. she’d love to kiss him longer, but she can’t, knowing both of their impulses. so she lays a hand on his chest to gently, without offence, push him away. but bruce won’t be moved so easily. he nudges his nose into her hair, laying a kiss on her scalp there, and y/n instinctively cranes her neck up to him.
“i’ll go and get dressed in my room,” he tells her quietly, “be ready for the tour when i’m back, alright?” bruce now pulls apart from her to look into her eyes again. y/n nods and tries to hide her shy smile, but doesn’t succeed very much in doing so. usually, she’d quip back at him with a teasing or sarcastic remark, but she’s in quite the haze. so she just watches bruce walk across the room and exit it through the doors, once again shooting her a grin and a wink as well this time before he closes the doors.
y/n laughs to herself and shakes her head. he definitely does know what he’s doing to her. or does he? she can’t be sure of anything about him anymore. he’s a big mystery, leaving only clues behind him wherever he goes, whatever he does, not saying much. a mystery to her as much as she is to him. what a pair they make.
since she guesses her time is limited, y/n gets to showering and getting ready before bruce can barge in and have to wait on her. her first shower since she got out of bed, too, but it’s not as difficult as she expects. her wound yells out only when she reaches for the shower head—which has been placed impossibly high for her to reach without a struggle, but other than that, she’s fine. she doesn’t wash her hair, since she already did that last night, and it’s in perfect condition to go on a tour and meet bruce’s godfather.
what exactly is y/n to bruce? and what is bruce to her? boyfriend? partner? friend? acquaintance? she has no idea. and, perhaps, for the time being, she shouldn’t ask a question like that. perhaps questions would ruin it, what they have right now. why the need to clarify when the feelings igniting every now and then are the most wonderful feelings she’s ever experienced?
something explained would ruin the mystery, the chemistry, the intimate connection… she doesn’t want that. as soon as something’s established, there appear to be rules and boundaries either of the people involved can suddenly break and feel the consequences of that. resentment, disappointment, hidden feelings and thoughts… that’s so unnecessary. what they have now is good enough. she doesn’t need to question it or establish anything. she’s good here.
y/n decides to wear the trousers and the hoodie. they fit quite well together, a very modern mix of clothes she doesn’t think she’s ever worn before. sure, she has hoodies and an abundance of those kind of pants filling her wardrobe drawers to the brim, but she’s never really worn them together in an outfit. it’s a little unlike her style, because it’s two of her styles mixing. but she finds it a good mix nonetheless, and will wear it, because she feels it’s similar to bruce’s style, as well.
he has a very peculiar one, she’s noticed. he really dresses like a teenager, too—large shirts, sweaters and hoodies, sweatpants, bare feet. and that cherry on top—his sunglasses for indoors. it’s precisely what boys in y/n’s secondary and high school would wear, not all of them, but a good portion—around a half—of them did. she finds it quite endearing that he dresses like that, but then again, there’s something slightly concerning about it. being stuck in that younger age in a certain aspect.
when she steps out of the bathroom, she sees bruce leaning against the bed frame of the riddance bed, and he’s dressed quite differently. she suddenly feels wrong in her hoodie, thinking maybe she should have worn the blouse instead. because bruce is standing there in formal black trousers and a black button-up shirt, the few top buttons undone to expose a portion of his chest. her breath gets stuck in her throat, and when he looks at her, his head hanging a bit low, she feels all the more nervous.
y/n sighs. “i should have worn the blouse, i knew it,” she tells him and turns slightly away from him, though her eyes still stay on the man dressed so well in front of her. it’s surprised her in the best of ways. that shirt fits him very well, and he’s even more irresistible in her eyes now.
bruce shakes his head. “you don’t have to change,” he tells her assuringly, “it’s just me.” he shrugs. y/n has a laugh and then does a pose she saw in a movie against the door frame, arching her back and bending her knees just the right way, letting bruce see only one side of her. she moves her hand up her leg, she saw that in the movie, too.
“you like me like this, too?” y/n asks him, and she does the pose and voice quite theatrically, in a way that makes them both laugh. and her body falls out of that forced position. she walks over to bruce slowly, her sock-clad feet sliding across the stone floor. once she’s close to him, standing right in front of the man, they both lock eyes.
“i like you however,” he tells her honestly with a genuine tone of voice. those words make y/n’s heart flutter in her chest, feeling like it’s about to burst through it and take flight, “as long as you’re comfortable.” bruce says, and y/n nods. with that nod, bruce gets the message that she is comfortable. the nod and her eyes tell him that. he takes her hand between his own and shakes it up and down gently, like a child would with his parent’s hand just to play, just to see what happens. “shall we?” bruce asks her, flicking his eyes from her hand to her beautiful eyes and the look in them again.
y/n nods and off they go. with her hand in his, bruce leads her out of the room through the door, closing it afterwards, and she finds herself in a hall. one that has stairs in the middle of it. and oh, the gothic interior… y/n’s heart nearly stops, she squeezes bruce’s hand in her hold, and he looks at her. the hall is something she could only call an archway. there’s wooden railing to create a safe border between the path that goes around the hall and the thin air above the stairs, and it’s made very gothically, as well. y/n adores it. the wooden lace, she can call it, there’s no other name fitting enough for how they look.
bruce watches her marvel over the interior while he leads her around the hall, past the few doors on this floor. her eyes are going everywhere, trying to catch everything, and so he walks especially slowly with her to give her enough time. he could never have that same wonder that she has about this place, because he was born in it, and he’s lived in it ever since, every day. minus his years abroad, of course, but he’s looked at these walls and rooms for so long they’ve lost colour, form or any aspect of matter to him.
y/n, on the other hand, is wondering how it’s possible for them to be so high up in this kind of building. she doesn’t know what it looks like from the outside, she can only guess. a victorian, gothic building. she didn’t even know gotham had those kind of buildings. how old is this city? how old is this building? what does it look like from the outside? surely she must have noticed a gothic building in this year to year and a half that she’s been here. but she can’t recall one.
“this is alfred’s room,” bruce motions for the first door on their left, the first door since the one they came through. y/n nods, and she sees the handles on the doors are gold, and have the letter A engraved into them in a beautiful font. interesting. bruce’s father must have had that initiative, and alfred must have been close to the family for him to do that. she reckons he still is. bruce leads her further down the hall, and they reach another pair of doors. the last one before the stairs, the last one before a pair of much bigger doors, which are locked with a chain around the handles, y/n sees. “and this is my room.” bruce motions for the doors closest to them. these handles have the letter B engraved into them. y/n smiles, “but…” bruce squints and shrugs his shoulders, feeling nervous and not happy about the idea to visit the room now, “i don’t use it that much.”
y/n turns to him, eyebrows drawing closer together in confusion, “but it’s your room. where do you sleep?” she asks. “when you’re not with me.” she says quieter, and it makes bruce look at her. he’s slept with her in the riddance bed all these nights she’s spent here, and he usually stays with her in her apartment after fights until she falls asleep. mostly, he makes sure she’s fallen asleep fine, and leaves immediately after. she’s nearly always got work the next day. the times she doesn’t, they both stay up until sunrise, just talking. though y/n has always been more sleepier than him, and would always keep nodding off until bruce convinced her to get to bed.
“i don’t sleep that much, either,” bruce says, shrugging the topic off, and guiding y/n alongside him down the hall to round the corner. y/n would have wanted to look, or at least peek into his room, but she won’t force him if it’s that private. he’s quite the guarded man about his life, his past, his biography. she can only guess that the doors they’re now passing to walk down the stairs, without stopping by those doors, lead to his parents’ room. it doesn’t look like someone’s gone in there in some time.
“you sleep like a bear with me,” y/n points out, a slightly questioning tone in her voice. bruce gives her a momentary glance, but keeps looking ahead afterwards. he does, yeah, it’s true what she said. something hides behind that. he can’t sleep normally on his own, not without some drug, spirits or medication—he doesn’t use those, instead he welcomes the insomnia—but with her he sleeps fine. quite deeply, as well, much like a bear does. bruce grins, and y/n sees that. she also sees his hesitance to respond to her, but she decides to move past that, and turns away to look ahead of her. the sight before her steals all her thoughts and attention, and only then does bruce dare to look at her again.
there’s a huge landing they’re on, one that has stairs and hallways descending from it on all sides, in all directions… the farthest staircase leads downwards, and y/n has the urge to run down to it and stare ahead, but she keeps herself intact because there’s so many more directions to go, so many parts of this place to see. “to the right is my father’s study,” bruce motions to the side with their entwined hands, and so y/n looks there. two closed doors yet again, but no lock or chain this time, “none of us use it, so we just… keep some relics and what not in there.” y/n’s eyes linger on the door.
“what did your father do?” she asks him in a quiet voice yet again, nervous about bruce pushing her away, not answering her question.
the question does catch him off guard, mostly because he’s never been asked it before. everyone who he’s talked to already knows what his father did, or they knew him and his work while he was still alive. and so he’s never had to answer that question, either. “uh, philanthropy,” bruce answers with slightly furrowed eyebrows, “and he was an excellent surgeon. ran for mayor, as well.”
y/n’s eyes naturally widen in pleasant surprise. “wow, that’s quite the resume,” she says and her eyes land on the closed doors again, “was he well-known around here?” she asks. bruce nods.
“still kind of is,” he tells her, and she can hear that there’s something more for him to say. something about his father or something about himself. something about being well-known… and she squints at him for a second, before she turns away again. if he doesn’t want to tell her, he won’t, and she won’t press him to talk. instead, she lets bruce’s hand go and walks over to the doors, just to see their handles. no letter engraved on them, she sees, just pretty ornaments. she figures that work places don’t need to be assigned for this house.
looking to her left, she sees another pair of locked doors. she guesses they belong to that same restricted study, and she grows a bit disappointed that now there’s two less rooms for her to explore. y/n spins around on her heels and looks at bruce again, just standing there, in a waiting stance, in his all-black clothes. all-black look, because of his black hair, dark eyebrows and eyes. but the look on his face is warm and light as soon as he turns to her, as soon as their eyes connect. and he gives her a smile. one that makes her melt against the doors behind her back.
bruce chuckles now. “come on,” he nudges her to his left to continue their tour, and y/n peels herself off the wall quite hesitantly under his friendly command. she follows by his side as he strides across the wide landing to the open area of the place, “this is alfred’s study and… our library,” he says, motioning around with his hand. the library catches y/n’s eyes, and she’s sad to see it without its—usual, she assumes—inhabitant. but oh, my, the quantity of books… the size of the library make her gasp and cover her mouth with her hand, “this is where he plays his music, too. i think you’ve heard it already,” bruce smiles as he says that.
y/n wanders off from him to inspect the library shelves more closely, but she hears what he says. and only now she realises there’s no music playing anymore, as there was before. now she doesn’t know when it stopped playing, “yes, i did hear it,” she tells him as her fingers skim over the backs of the many books, “god… this must be your little library of alexandria, huh?” she asks him rhetorically. bruce only laughs as he adjusts the vinyl on the record player. its needle has been put to the side, but he wants to play some music again. it seems y/n likes classical music, too, just like alfred. and when he looks up from his hands to see her again, he gets stuck on watching her.
she’s skimming over all the books in the shelves, pulling some out to see their titles or authors, and then she’s climbing the step-ladder to look at higher shelves. y/n must love reading as much, too. what a person she is… verging on miracle. now she sits on the top of the step ladder, on its very top, square step and browses through a book, placed in her lap. bruce leans against the bookshelf’s side and keeps looking at her as he skilfully places the same vinyl on the record player, only now flipping it to the other side, without even looking. her eyes are deep into the book, she hardly feels his stare. only when she closes the book and puts it back in place, does she look back at him.
a warm, shy smile adorns her lips while she looks at him, but soon her eyes wander off behind him, above him, below her, where she can see the other set of stairs leading downwards, a bigger room at the bottom of them, and she can see all the interior details and pieces from above over-all. the arcs, the frames, the railings, the roses, as well as metal and glass lace decorations on the windows. everything vertical, much like it was during the gothic times, every detail so intricately made, with extreme precision… she adores this place. and she wonders who built it this way.
bruce puts the record player needle on the vinyl, adjusts it just right and then presses play. though alfred loves old-fashion things, and especially original relics made much, much earlier than now, he does appreciate a record player with a better sound and easier buttons to use. the piano music starts playing, and bruce looks to find y/n again. she’s began to climb down the step-ladder, he sees, and he immediately goes over to be there for her at the very bottom. he holds out a hand for her to take, because he knows that very bottom step of the ladder is high above the floor, too high for comfort, and so he offers his hand to her for support.
y/n smiles at him in response and takes his hand, too. his strong grip and the support she knows he’s ready to give her at any moment with his full body do help, and she jumps to the floor with ease. she sighs once she’s landed and looks around the library again. “this place is incredible,” she says quietly, and then her eyes wander up to bruce’s, where they share an earnest, intimate look. he’s still holding her hand, and now he pulls it towards himself, upwards, where he kisses the very top of her palm.
she tries not to show that it takes her breath away, such a simple act of affection, and gives him a wide, blushing smile instead. bruce wraps his fingers around that hand then, and rests it by his side, between them both. y/n smiles cutely as she turns her eyes away, but she nudges her shoulder against bruce’s. that makes his face light up with a smile of his own, and he takes that as a sign that they can move further. not in their relationship, but in the tour.
y/n’s eyes really drop out of her head when bruce has taken her to the bottom of the stairs and is letting her go around the huge hall at the very outer corner of wayne manor. he lets her hand go, knowing by now that she’ll like to marvel at everything on her own, and he just stays by the table alfred always make sure to put just off the very middle of the room’s stone floor. he leans against the table, resting a hand on the surface for support, and watches y/n’s every move.
she can’t believe what she’s seeing. this room… is the most beautiful one, she’s sure. well, she thought that about the library, too, but my god… this is a sight for sore eyes. how can something this beautiful still exist nowadays? all these wooden arcs, pillars, railings and even statues—some made of stone, too—just take her breath away, and they don’t seem real at all, and yet they are. when she touches them, when she knocks softly on them to find out, she really does deem them real. yet they’re still a miracle.
once she’s rounded the room, inspected every piece of furniture, every detail of interior decoration, every piece of décor in general, she slowly comes to the windows. they have gothic wooden frames, as well, stretching high up above her head. and from this window, she can see the city, too. cars and buses riding around, people going about their business, some causing trouble, some begging for money. and y/n is up here, watching it all. like alfred and bruce are every day, she assumes.
y/n sighs quietly, and hears footsteps coming up beside her. she glances at bruce, and then leans against the man with her head, laying it on his arm. their height difference is stark, but not too uncomfortable. she sighs longer now that he’s here. his presence makes quite a difference in her, she doesn’t know why. “can’t believe you live here,” she says, “to you, it’s just home, but to me, and i bet some visitors that must come here, it’s quite the place.” y/n assumes.
“don’t tell me the gothic one is your favourite art period,” bruce says with a light smile. y/n laughs at his small plea.
“it is,” she says, “it always has been. have you seen the churches in france? absolutely unbelievable.”
bruce recalls them, yes, from travels. both with his parents and without. “i have, yes,” he responds, “walking inside them felt like walking around home, in the weirdest way.”
y/n shakes her head. “it’s not weird,” she assures, “you’ve grown up in this place. no wonder a gothic church feels like home to you.” she says with a light shrug.
“i guess you’re right,” he says, “are you hungry or anything? we haven’t had breakfast yet.”
y/n shakes her head. “no, not yet,” she answers, “we hardly ever eat breakfast, anyway. why do you ask?” she looks up at him.
“wanna take you some place, and something tells me we’ll be down there quite a while,” he says with a slight grin. in what way does he mean they’ll be down there quite a while? y/n turns her face away from him to hide her slightly confused, slightly excited expression.
“i’ll be fine,” she says, “take me there.” y/n looks up at him again, that giddy smile on her face making her more and more endearing to bruce all over again. he nods, a smile on his features, too. he holds out his hand for her to take again, and she does, and he leads her across the room to the other set of stairs, hidden behind these ones, that will take them further into the building. y/n wonders how they haven’t come across another person yet here, since there are two more definitely living and working here.
“we usually have lunch and dinner here,” bruce tells her, and she can tell he means the room they just left. now they’re going down a dark, narrow hall, “me and alfred.”
“youalways have those meals with him?” she asks.
“well, not every day,” bruce answers. y/n grins.
“so scarcely, then?” she clarifies. bruce shakes his head with a grin, knowing what she’s getting at.
“you know me so well,” he congratulates her, to which y/n giggles. she can hardly take in the interior of the hall and room they go through, because bruce is tugging her with him in quite the hurry. he must be excited to take her to this place he mentioned, and she lets him be that excited. who is she to rob him of that? he must rarely have anyone to show all this to, or anyone at all. he hasn’t mentioned friends or partners before, and by his lifestyle, y/n can guess she’s the only person of that kind in his life.
after that narrow hall, and across that room with a stone floor, hardly any decorations and a low ceiling, they reach an elevator. an old one again, with the metal grid you have to pull closed after getting in—yes, that old. y/n adores it. the metal decorative pieces on the grid are very beautiful, and she can’t help but skim her fingers over them before bruce pulls the other door closed, too. he loves how much she adores everything here. he never expected she would, but then again, how much does he know about her and her tastes? not much. she’s never talked about art periods before, either.
bruce presses the button for his cave, and now they stand side by side in the metal elevator, holding hands still. as they descend lower and lower, y/n feels her ears getting lightly blocked here and there. “you’re gonna be glad you wore that hoodie now,” he tells her in a faint voice. y/n turns to him and raises her eyebrows for a brief moment.
“oh,” she says in response, “you’ll be sorry to be barefoot, then, huh?” she assumes teasingly. bruce chuckles.
“quite so,” he says, “but it doesn’t bother me.” bruce says, and suddenly feels those words were very unnecessary. why?perhaps because she knows his pain and discomfort tolerance, and his humbleness about it all. he can take about anything and everything without whining and groaning, without showing that it really affects him. that’s part of his idea of an ideal man, an ideal hero. but heroes bleed, too. they both know that. and y/n hopes bruce keeps that in mind.
towards the end of their elevator ride, y/n starts to feel a chill in the air. and the stench of wet stone that hasn’t been washed, as well as slight gasoline odour and… a lot of metal. have they arrived in a factory of some sort or something?
bruce opens the door once the elevator has landed in its place, with nowhere deeper to go, and steps out before y/n. he stands at the elevator’s side and holds his hand out for her again to take, and once she’s out, she does take his hand again. but her eyes are on their surroundings. christ… can this even be called a room? this looks like… a whole arena, only a horizontal one.
and there’s that constant, quiet noise from up above. she suddenly remembers it, because she has heard it before. that night… she heard the sound for the first time, and she couldn’t tell what it was. now she has the ability to look up, she’s not nearly paralysed or helpless, and so she moves her head and eyes up in curiosity as to what’s making that noise. above her, she finds a high ceiling, dark, and full of… bats?
an unexpected laugh bursts out of her, just out of sheer surprise, and bruce looks up, too, at the place and sight he knows practically by heart now, to see what’s amused her so badly. perhaps some bats have pulled a funny gimmick—they tend to do that sometimes. but no, they’re hanging out as they regularly do, and bruce just smiles. he looks at y/n, her head tilted backwards, nearly perpendicular to her neck, and she has the look of wonder and surprise on her face. “well, ladies and gents, the rumour is true,” she says jokingly, though her voice is laced with wonder and awe as she twists her head to see all of them, “you are batman.” she points at bruce and says the words theatrically. they make him grin, and he hides his blush by hanging his head low. but his initial reaction doesn’t escape her sight.
bruce slowly takes step after step towards his long desk, and y/n, still amazed and in awe of the quantity of animals in the ceiling, hesitantly follows along. she can hardly take her eyes off the ever-moving creatures, but when she does, she’s in awe again. only of nothing natural, but instead of what the rest of this… hall is filled with. a huge tv on the wall to her right, the screen black, with nothing playing on it. and to her left, a long row of desks, and on them – all types of devices, gadgets and many different computer screens. she thinks she sees a printer, too, that eye lense reader of his that he brings along on missions, especially when she’s heading somewhere without him—to keep an eye on her and help her any way he can. there’s keyboards, keys, buttons, all sorts of stuff…
and then there’s her suit. bruce is standing not very far from where it lays on one of his desks, he’s doing something in one of his monitors. y/n glances at him for a second before going over to her suit, just to see if he’s working on the suit precisely or if he’ll protest her looking at it or touching it. but he makes no move, doesn’t say a word, keeps his attention on the monitor. so she takes the suit into her hands.
y/n realises she’s missed the feeling of that fabric against her skin now that they’ve finally connected again, and she can’t wait to have it on, no matter how much it makes her sweat, no matter how exposing and sticky it sometimes is, too. perhaps she doesn’t miss the suit as much as she misses the associations with it. her mission, her night work, the lives saved, criminals put in their rightful place… she guesses that must be it.
she lifts it up and folds it out—bruce, she assumes, had neatly folded and laid it there, on the desk—to see if the knife penetration did a lot of damage to the spandex. god, it did. there’s still blood around that area. as well as a hole there. not one she could see without really stretching the fabric out like it would stretch when she’d have the suit on. y/n rests her chin in her hand, having rested her elbow on the desk, and is now wondering how to save it. she can’t have a hole in her suit. could stitching up do it any good? no. it’s a hole, not a straight-cut line. well, she’ll probably have to make a new one now. it will be some few nights until she can go out on the streets again.
“your suit’s pretty damaged,” bruce tells her, having noticed her attention on it. he knew she’d look at it, it’s her suit, obviously it concerns her. y/n nods once bruce turns his head to her, “i’ve… made some options.” he says to her quietly, shyly, and then turns his computer screen to her, so she could see. she squints her eyes, but then sees colour variations of suits that look nearly identical to her own. she skims over them with her eyes, taking in every detail she can. “told you about impregnating the fibers, so i tried it.” bruce bends over himself, nearly crawling under the desk, to reach a certain box. y/n just keeps getting more and more surprised, but she decides to endure it, and see what the man has to offer.
bruce lifts a piece of cloth up in his hands, a shimmery dark blue and red, with silver and black details, and lays it out across the desk. of course, he has to push his keyboards and devices to the side to do that, but that only takes a few seconds of his time. y/n stands up straight on her feet to look at the suit properly. it looks just like her current ruined one, the colours are a little darker only, and there’s the black accents, as well as the old silver ones. it looks very… professional and expensive. she looks up at bruce, who she knows is just dying to tell her every little detail of the suit he’s probably made himself.
he takes her look as green light and breathes a short sigh as he begins to talk. “i impregnated the spandex fibers with adamantium for protection against weapons,” bruce begins to explain. adamantium? that stuff costs a fortune to get. y/n keeps finding this man’s devotion to her pretty questionable, “and partial wool fibers for warmth,” he says and gives y/n a slight grin. she nods, remembering that conversation of theirs, and she faintly smiles at the fact that he remembers that, too, “i’ve also made your eyes into my reading lenses, the whole eye—both of them, so you can get assessed information about anyone you see,” he adds, tapping that part of the suit, “your mask also has an earpiece that you activate by pressing it into your ear. and… that’s about it.” he finishes, and presses his hands into the desk out of nervousness.
“wow, that’s…” y/n stares at the suit in disbelief, “that’s very kind of you. thank you. you didn’t have to make it,” she then says to him with a seriousness in both her eyes and voice that scares him a little. bruce’s eyelids falter as disappointment appears in his orbs. y/n rushes to save that, “i really appreciate you doing this. it’s just…” she shakes her head, “i told you money matters to me.” y/n whispers. “i feel bad that you’re spending… god knows how much on me for no…” reason.
bruce shakes his head. “it’s not for no reason,” he tells her, now able to nearly read her mind. his eyes are strong when she looks into them, “it’s for your safety, your protection.”
y/n is relentless, she shakes her head in frustration. “that was just one time, bruce,” she tells him, “mistakes happen, but it’s not always your responsibility to take care of the consequences. it was me, it happened to me!”
“itis my responsibility!” bruce tells her in response, fury at her not understanding the obvious motives he acts on. how can she not see? “you’re my partner, y/n, i have to protect you! we… we look out for each other! i’m supposed to protect you, i…” bruce shakes his head, as he suddenly doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. y/n sighs, closing her eyes for a second, her fist resting on that fine piece-of-ass of a suit that’s caused this slight argument between them. she wouldn’t really call it an argument, and bruce wouldn’t either. but this is the first time he’s really said her name. a milestone in their relationship, another milestone.
she knows there’s something he wants to say, but he can’t figure out what it is. it happens with her often, too, and so she doesn’t wait any longer on him to say something. “you’re right,” she tells him eventually, “you’re right, bruce. but you have to understand that the way i live and how i look at money is very different from how you live, and how you look at it.” she looks into his eyes. “okay? it’s hard for me to accept everything that you give me, because… because of the way i am. because of how i grew up, and a lot of other things.” she shrugs, looking away, not saying everything that’s there. “you can’t give me… gifts like this and expect me to take them so easily.”
bruce realises his wrongs. it’s her words, and the trueness of her feelings in them that do the trick. she makes him understand that not everyone can be as easily spoiled as he, she makes him understand that money is a different aspect to different people, and maybe not even two people in the whole world look at money in one identical way. bruce sighs and shakes his head. he reaches his hand over to hers, and runs his fingers over her palm. it makes her look at him, though anxiously so. anxiously because she just wants him to understand, and she’s afraid he won’t. “i’m sorry,” he says, “i didn’t know.”
y/n nods. “no, it’s okay,” she says, “you’re blind to some horrors of the world, and exposed to others.” y/ shrugs and sniffles. nor she nor bruce noticed until now that this heated conversation between them has brought tears into her eyes and made her quite emotional. “just… take this into account for the future, okay?” she asks and wipes the few tears in her eyes out of them. “i don’t want to seem ungrateful, because i really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve given me, but… it’s hard to accept it all sometimes.” she says. “most times, if i’m being honest.” she adds, and bruce is glad to hear her chuckling at the end of that short remark. at least her humour is there. bruce smiles.
“i understand,” he tells her in a soft whisper, one that makes his voice sound like a kitten’s purring, “you’ve made me understand.” bruce admits in an even quieter whisper, and it makes y/n look up at him. has she really made him do that? she has that kind of… influence or effect? maybe even power… she hadn’t realised. bruce caresses her hand again, and waits a few more beats until his next proposition. “you wanna see something i’ve been working on?” he asks quietly.
looking into his eyes, y/n finds genuineness, excitement and a silent plea. a plea to forget his slightly damaging behaviour and attitude, maybe just put it away for a while, or maybe forget it forever, and to just let him show her another project of his. but that plea doesn’t have to be there. he doesn’t need to apologise for something that is a part of his behaviour because of how he was raised, or because of the trauma he’s been through. he should change it, of course, if he can, but he shouldn’t apologise for it. she doesn’t want him to apologise or feel sorry for what he’s said or how he’s acted simply because it’s such a sticky part of him. something he probably feels bad about already by himself, and so to make him feel worse about it would be even more damaging.
she understands him, because she also acts a certain way because of all that’s happened to her, what she’s been through, how she’s been treated. perhaps it’s not so much harmful to others as it is to herself, but still, some kind of disorder is there, when it shouldn’t be. but that’s not her fault. and it’s not bruce’s fault that his trauma has a certain way of living in him, of making him react to certain things in certain situations.
point is, neither of them are to blame for how they’ve turned out. but it’s a good thing to acknowledge that disturbance of behaviour, it’s a step forward. and if they can help each other with that, can help each other understand some things they’ve never experienced better, that’s all for the better. it’s progress, and though they’re dependant on each other in that aspect, neither of them are the worst choice to be dependent on.
so to answer bruce’s proposition, y/n nods. a faint smile plays on her lips as she does so, and stretches wider afterwards, but sadly her tears are still there. bruce hopes they will dry soon, and he hopes they will do so by his hand. he wants nothing more than to make her happy, to make her feel good, at peace. he never wants to cause her pain, make her doubt herself, or experience things equally as bad as that or even worse ones.
on one hand, he feels like a little boy asking a little girl if she wants to see something he made out of sand or maybe if she wants to see a cool toy he found. in some way, he really does still feel like a kid in many aspects, and he hopes that will fade soon. he doesn’t want to seem childish to her, doesn’t want to be too close for comfort to her, cross any boundaries and such.
so far, he hasn’t. and she doesn’t notice if he behaves childishly. y/n thinks we’ve all got an inner child to heal, especially if bruce lost his father when he was young—she doesn’t know when he died, but by his behaviour, she guesses it must have been quite early in bruce’s life. how horrible to lose someone you should always look for guidance to, someone who should always be there for you, especially while you’re growing up. she’s felt that same pain. and though years have passed, and it may not bother her now as much now as it did before, it still hurts. she’s still angry. she’s still not over it.
but when she gladly takes his hand, when she looks into his eyes, when she feels his presence and feelings towards her, when she’s with him, that wound seems to heal. even if just for a while—a short or long one—it works wonders. and bruce can only say the same about her.
a/n:I wanted to make this scene in his cave longer here, based on bruce’s proposition, but because I’m literally falling asleep and this chapter is already long enough, I’ll leave it for the next chapter. hope you find that agreeable :D thank you for reading. next chapter will be up somewhere around this weekend. I’m really dragging this series out aren’t I lol.
I have a headcanon that bruce’s love languages are physical touch and acts of service (receiving), but the funny part is that he absolutely Despises everything leading up to receiving said love
he doesn’t do touching for the sake of touching
he’s not one to actively seek it out, and if he’s making physical contact with someone, it’s usually in a fight or to restrain
when it comes to affectionate touching… well
you want to give him a hug? tough luck, this man is gonna duck and weave like he’s on the football field so good fucking luck trying to grab him
people coming up behind him without announcing their presence are going to get elbowed in the face point blank
the most he’ll comfortably allow is a handshake in the beginning stages and even then, he prefers a polite nod as a greeting
but when he’s soft enough to allow it, he really cherishes it
slowly approaching, asking him if a hug is alright, bruce will just awkwardly move his arms out of the way so you can wrap yourself around him
except when you actually are touching him he just. goes all in
Summary: While out on a date, you feel a set of familiar eyes watching you. Reader uses she/her pronouns.
Warnings: Jealous Bruce.
Word Count: 3259
A/N: I’m wrapping up with finals which means back to writing and who better to start with than my favourite bat boy ;)
“‘Many have their own theories behind Bruce Wayne’s reclusive nature, with some suspecting that the billionaire is harbouring a dark secret,’” you read aloud. You’re flipping through a trashy magazine you picked up when you saw Bruce’s name on the cover. Your words echo throughout the Batcave as you lean back in an office chair you claimed as your own. You liked that it reclined.
Beside you, Bruce Wayne is seated in front of his multi-screened monitor, silently watching videos he recorded as Batman. In the beginning you would watch with him but eventually you realized it was all very similar and you got bored.
It was a complete accident that you found out his secret. You had been Bruce’s friend for years, always trying to bring a bit of fun and joy into the man’s otherwise gloomy life. You had been on your way to do just that, ready with a batch of cookies that he always says he doesn’t want but you know he secretly does. You knocked at the door and Dory let you in. You went wondering around the house and stumbled upon a hushed conversation between Bruce and Alfred in the office. Feeling nosy, you listened in:
“I don’t want to go,” you heard Bruce say. Alfred sighed.
“I understand that Master Bruce, but I think it would be in your best interest to go,” Alfred responded.
“Why? To negotiate business deals?” Bruce scoffed.
“That and I think it’s important you keep up with public appearances. People are starting to get suspicious,” Alfred said which made you confused as to what he was talking about. Then he said: “After all, you wouldn’t want anyone to find out that Bruce Wayne doubles as a bat-themed vigilante at night.”
“Alfred no one’s gonna—” Bruce stopped himself as a gasp escaped your mouth. He slowly opened the door to find you standing there with your mouth wide open. Bruce and Alfred had both looked panicked, but Bruce tried to act as if nothing had happened. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s private conversations—”
“You’re Batman?!” you shouted. Bruce and Alfred both tried to explain themselves, but it was clear that the cat was out of the bag. Or rather, the bat.
At first you were a little mad at Bruce for not telling you, but you got over it. You understood the importance of the secret. After that you wouldn’t leave him alone about it. Eventually he brought you to the Batcave, which he would come to regret as you fell in love with the place and decided that it was your new hangout spot.
Which brings you to leaning back in your chair, trying to distract Bruce while he ignores you, which annoys you. You had hoped reading from this magazine would grab his attention. “‘Some theorists have claimed to have caught glimpses of the allusive man from his manor’s windows. One even claimed to have seen him shirtless, and described the image as unbelievably hot and—’”
“It does not say that,” Bruce says before reaching over and snatching the magazine from your hands. His scrunched-up face only makes you laugh harder when he throws the magazine onto the floor.
“Oh come on, that was funny!” you say through giggles. But Bruce just rolls his eyes and goes back to work. At least you got a reaction out of him, you thought. You were desperate for his attention for two reasons: 1) Along with being his best friend for years, you also harboured a little tiny crush on the man and loved every second you got to spend with him and 2) You were bored.
You sigh before reaching down to pick up the magazine and continue reading it in silence. A moment later, you hear the elevator door ding and look up to see Alfred emerge.
“Hey Alfred,” you say with a smile, happy for new company.
“Hello Miss Y/N,” he says as he approaches you and Bruce. But of course, Bruce doesn’t glance up from his monitors. “I was wondering if you would be joining us for dinner this evening?”
“I’d love to, but I have plans,” you say with a sigh.
“Plans?” you hear Bruce say as he joins the conversation. He’s still staring at his screens. You narrow your eyes before turning back to Alfred.
“Yeah, I have a date.”
“Adate?” Bruce says. He finally tears his eyes away to look at you with wide eyes. You feel suddenly on the spot. You didn’t really plan on bringing this up, not wanting an interrogation. Like this one.
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” you say, frustrated. Bruce blushes and directs his gaze to the floor. His jaw clenches. You give him an odd look he doesn’t see. Strange,you think, but decide to brush it off. “Yes, I have a date. Which I should go home and get ready for—”
“With who?” Bruce says just as you’re standing to leave. You hope this conversation will wrap up. You didn’t exactly want to talk to the guy you love about some date. But Bruce is looking at you again.
“A guy I met at work.” His name is James, and you hadn’t originally said yes. He had come by the café multiple times and each time asked you out. Not in an aggressive way, he backed down once you said no but he still asked every time he came, hoping for a different response. Yesterday when he asked you again, you actually thought about it. You hadn’t been on a date in a while thanks to a certain crush and it would hopefully take your mind off things. So you said yes, which took the man by surprise, but he eagerly arranged a date for tonight.
“So a complete stranger.” You huff, not understanding why Bruce is giving you such a hard time about this.
“Yes, that’s how dating works Bruce. You meet someone and get to know them and then—”
“I get it,” he says, looking away. You wonder what has gotten into him. Here you were, spending your whole afternoon with him while he barely said a word, and now suddenly he’s drilling you with 20 questions.
“Well, have fun,” Alfred says, and you’re grateful for his kind words breaking up your angry thoughts.
“Thank you, Alfred,” you stress, glaring over at Bruce. He’s still staring anywhere but at you yet hasn’t returned to his monitors. He seems angry and you don’t know why since you’re the one who’s angry. “I’ll see you later.” You smile at Alfred and quickly glance at Bruce who still isn’t looking your way. You roll your eyes before heading towards the elevator, already mentally preparing yourself for the night ahead.
†††
“Turns out, the photocopier was unplugged the whole time!” James says, laughing at his own story. You offer a polite laugh and drink back your wine. The two of you are seated in a fancy restaurant, James’ choice. With your budget, you would have been fine eating take-out. The walls are draped in red with intricate black designs swirling around the room. The lights are low and there’s a candle at every table (thankfully they’re fake). Jazz music emits from the speakers, low enough to have a conversation.
Frankly, you felt out of place. You had put on one of your nicer dresses and thank god you did. You hated that you had no idea where you were going before getting ready. Your tight red dress stops short just past your knees with a slit on the left side.
“So tell me,” James says as he leans on the table. “Do you work at the café full time?”
Normally you’re not too embarrassed by your job, but after he had described his super fancy office job, you start to feel nervous. “Yeah, it’s tough to find good work around here,” you say with a forced laugh. James laughs back.
“You’re telling me. Before this job, I worked at this small office and the cubicle space was ridiculous…” You nod along as he shows you how out of touch he is by comparing a small, cushy office space to working 12-hour shifts at a café. Your eyes move from him to the window beside your table. For some reason, you start to wonder what Bruce is up to right now before mentally kicking yourself for doing the opposite of getting over him. So you force yourself to keep up the conversation with James.
“So what’s your plan?” he asks you and you tilt your head in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I imagine you don’t want to be working at a café your whole life. So what’s your plan?” he asks. Though it’s true you want to find a better job, the way he asked that question was very condescending and you had to bite back a retort. What you want to say is “My plan is to ask my rich daddy to get me a job” but you don’t think he’ll appreciate the joke. Bruce would chuckle at my sarcastic remarks, if they weren’t aimed at him of course. God Y/N stop.
As you think of a way to answer the question and simultaneously keep your mind off of the billionaire, you look out the window once again. Sometimes Gotham can look really nice. Of course, you were in the nicer part of the city but it still gave you hope to see the nice skyline, quiet streets and…
Just as you’re about to turn back to James you spot something on the roof of the building across the street. You squint your eyes and you think you see two pointy ears against the sky. Just as soon as you see them, they’re gone. You’re too surprised to speak, your jaw dropping as you realize what you saw.
“What is it?” James asks, looking at where you’re staring. You quickly remember his presence and regain your composure.
“O-oh nothing, I thought I saw um…never mind,” you chuckle, as you fail to come up with a reasonable explanation. “Back to your question,” you say a bit loudly to pull his attention away from the window, which works. “My plan is to become a writer. I’ve applied to work at a few publishing agencies and soon I’ll be sending out some of my own work,” you say.
“That would be a hard job to find,” he chuckles, and again normally you would have laughed along but it seemed more like he was laughing at you than with you. “It might be time to start considering a real, more attainable job.”
You grip your silverware and wear a tight smile. “Yeah, you might be right,” you say, not wanting to cause a scene by stabbing him with your fork.
“I’d love to read your work sometime though,” he says with a smile. Not a chance, you think as you smile back. The dinner continues and you end up ordering the most expensive meal on the menu. You already know he’s going to insist he pays for the bill so you take advantage of that in compensation for his rude comments.
The whole time, you feel like you’re being watched. Of course, you know you’re being watched but every time you glance back at the roof there’s no sign of anyone. You’re now anxious to wrap the evening up to go investigate.
“Can we get the bill?” James asks.
“Of course,” the waiter says. “Would you like to split the bill?”
“No, dinner’s on me,” he sends a smile your way. You do the obligatory dance of offering to pay yourself and as expected, he reassures you it isn’t a big deal. You think he likes flashing his money.
The two of you walk outside the restaurant and over to where he’s parked his car. “Can I give you a ride home?” he asks.
“No thank you, I’d prefer to walk,” you say, already getting antsy to leave.
“Are you sure?” he gives you an incredulous look. “It’s not always safe walking the streets at night.”
“I can handle myself, trust me,” you say. And if I can’t, then I’m sure someone will swoop down to save me.
“Alright, I know when to give up,” he says. Then comes the part where you have to say goodbye and decide how to end the date. “I had a great time with you.”
“Yeah I did too,” you say. Other than his pretentious attitude, he was still one of your nicer dates. He had his kind and charming moments, and he is kind of cute. As your mind wanders over to the building across the way, an idea pops into your mind.
You take a step closer to James and notice his eyes flicker to your lips. “I-I’d really like to see you again,” he says, his confident nature faltering.
“I’ll think about it,” you say with a teasing smile. Then you step even closer to him and lean up. He meets you halfway and you kiss him. His hands grip your waist and yours rest on his shoulders, not wanting this to go too far. You pull away and he has a dumbstruck look on his face that almost causes you to laugh. He opens his eyes and looks at you in amazement.
“I-I’ll call you,” he says.
“Mmm. See you around,” you say with a smirk on your face, adding to the ambiguity of your response. You then turn around and start to walk away. You wait to hear his car start up and leave before your eyes seek the building.
You cross the street and find a fire escape on the side. You curse at your heels but still step onto the stairs. You climb them all the way to the top where you step onto the roof. It’s empty except for a chimney and an entrance onto the roof from inside.
You walk into the centre of the area. “I know you’re up here Batboy,” you call out. “The shadows can’t hide you forever.”
A moment passes before you see a figure emerge from behind the entrance, from a corner shaded in shadows. As expected, Batman comes into the light. You look at him with a scrutinizing gaze, waiting for him to say something.
You sigh before you say, “Aren’t you even going to try to explain what you’re doing?”
“I’m on a stakeout,” he responds in a register slightly lower than normal. Again, you wait on an elaboration and you receive none.
“And just what exactly are you staking out?” you ask, wanting him to say it.
You watch him realize there’s no getting out of this without the truth. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe,” he says, his eyes focused on the ground. You snort.
“Yeah right,” you say. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do other than scold and yell at him, which you’re about to do before he speaks up.
“Why did you kiss him?” he asks, looking at you directly. You stutter, not expecting that question.
“So you were spying on me huh?” you say, even if you already knew he was. “And I can kiss whoever I damn well please thank you.”
“Please, you don’t even like the guy,” he says with frustration in his voice.
“Oh and now you’re seriously telling me how I feel? What makes you think you know me so well?” The conversation is escalating as your voices raise.
“Because I do know you. That guy was rude and arrogant–”
“You were listening to us?!” you almost yell, trying to be discreet but your feelings are getting the better of you.
“NoI-I,” he struggles for an explanation before sighing. “I could read your lips.”
“I can’t believe this,” you say with your head in your hands. You look at him. “You’re actually spying on me.”
You see his hands clench. “I’m not spying—”
“This is the definition of spying Br-Batman!” you almost slip with his name, wanting to have a conversation with the man under the mask. You curse at this situation. “How the hell did you even know where I was going to be?”
He opens his mouth to respond before closing it again. A few moments pass before he quietly says, “I tracked you through your phone.”
You let the information settle in before you sigh heavily. “Bruce,” you hiss quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear. You turn around with a hand on your head, trying to get a grip on this situation without your anger getting the best of you.
“I’m sorry but I-I had to.”
“Oh yeah sure. And why’s that?” you ask, still turned away from him.
There’s a silence before he says, “I-I just had to. I…You said you were going on a date and I just, I couldn’t just sitthere. I mean, I—god.”
As you listen to Bruce struggle to express his feelings, a realization hits you. You almost don’t believe it but it adds up. You turn around to look at Batman physically struggling to get his words out.
“Wait, is this because you’re jealous?” He freezes his actions and looks at you with wide eyes. He opens his mouth and stutters but no words form. Though he’s wearing a mask, you can still tell he’s blushing.
“No no that’s not,” he laughs nervously. “That’s not what this is. I-I was just bored and I wanted to see—I missed—I just thought that you would be staying longer and I—”
During his ramblings, a smile blooms on your face. While he’s not looking at you, you approach him until you’re standing in front of him. You hear his breath hitch as his words tangle themselves up.
“Just shut up and kiss me.” His eyes are wide and it takes a moment for your words to process, but when they do he doesn’t hesitate. His lips crash down onto yours and you stumble back at the impact. You giggle into the kiss but don’t stop. You wrap your arms around his neck while his hands travel across your back.
Eventually the two of you separate, out of breath. You can’t stop smiling and it seems like neither can Bruce. “If you wanted me, you just had to ask,” you say teasingly. “Then we wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble.”
Up close, you notice his blush under his mask and bite your lip as your smile stretches at the sight. “So this was all a ploy to get my attention huh?” he asks, also teasingly.
“No, it was a real date. But I may have hoped to make you a little jealous,” you admit, a blush of your own forming.
“Hmm,” he says grinning. “I just have one question.” You look up. “Who’s the better kisser?” You scoff and smack his shoulder lightly before wrapping your arms around him again.
“I don’t know, I think I’ll need to reassess,” you tease before kissing him again, this time slower and more intimate.
Before you’re done, he pulls away to say, “Wait does this mean you’re going to kiss him ag—” You pull him back into the kiss to stop his talking and he chuckles before returning his attention to your lips. And Bruce is definitely the better kisser.
Summary: You haven’t seen Bruce for weeks now. He’s been so busy being Batman that he’s seemingly forgotten about you. You’ve accepted a job offer in another city and haven’t been able to tell him. Will he convince you to stay? Reader uses she/her pronouns.
Warnings: Angst with fluffy ending because I need happiness.
Word Count: 4038
A/N: I finally got around to writing my Battinson x Reader fanfic! I have more ideas, but I’m in the middle of finals which is why this took so long to get to. Hopefully in a few weeks I’ll have more time to dedicate to writing but for now, I hope you enjoy this!
No matter how many times you walk up the steps to Wayne Manor, it’s still intimidating. You and Bruce had been best friends since you were kids. Your first encounter was not one you’re particularly proud of.
You were born into poverty and grew up knowing that money was hard to come by. Though you were young, you wanted to help your mom financially—that is, before she abandoned you—so you became a pickpocket. It was easy since your height made you hard to notice.
You had only done it a few times when you made a mistake. You noticed the Wayne family out and about one day. They weren’t surrounded by security, so you saw your chance. Even as a kid you knew about the famous Waynes. You looked at them and then noticed a nice-looking watch on young Bruce’s arm. Apparently, you had picked the wrong target.
As soon as you touched the watch, Bruce turned around and looked at you. You froze, your instincts telling you to run but you were too scared to move. Bruce looked confused. He then looked at his watch and then back to you, figuring out what it was you were after. Your face felt hot and just as you turned to leave you saw Bruce taking off the watch.
“I never liked it anyway,” he said to you. Your confusion only grew when he extended his arm with the watch in his open palm. You were too scared and confused to move. But Bruce just pushed his arm out further.
“Take it,” he said. You hesitantly took the watch from the boy’s hand, not taking your eyes off him. Once you had it, Bruce looked around before saying, “Go.”
He didn’t need to tell you twice. With the watch secured, your legs became unstuck and you took off running. Your mom had been impressed with the expensive watch and laughed when you said you took it from the Waynes.
“Serves them right, rich bastards,” she said, her eyes still locked on the watch. For days after you had felt so guilty that you decided to make it up to the nice boy. With the money you hid from your mom, you went out and bought him a present.
The next time you saw Bruce Wayne without any security detail, you nervously approached the boy. You tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, recognizing you almost immediately.
“Look, I’m sorry, I don’t have anything more for you,” he said, thinking you had come back for more.
“Actually, I came here to give you this.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a bat stuffed animal. Your hands were sweating as you gave it to him. “I-I know it’s not that cute, b-but it was all I could afford–”
You stopped talking when you saw a smile spread across Bruce’s face. He looked at you and said, “I love it!”
You were so surprised and happy, you smiled back. After that you two got to talking and eventually became friends.
You smile at the memory. Bruce had been your first real friend, and to your knowledge, you were his. Somewhere along the line you developed a crush on him which blossomed into love, but you always kept quiet. It was never worth ruining the friendship. And besides, you knew it was only one-sided.
Now you’re standing in front of his front door, with a plan in mind. You knock on the door and a few moments later, Alfred opens the door. You smile at each other.
“Miss Y/N, please come in,” he says, opening the large door.
“Thank you, Alfred,” you say, stepping into the home.
You always admired the architecture of the home, though it often makes you feel out of place. You live in a small and crappy apartment, what are you doing amongst all this fancy shit? When you were a kid, you were in shock that someone actually lived here. It looked more like a museum or a castle.
The only thing that you didn’t like about the place was how quiet it was. It made what could be a home, so empty and cold.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Alfred asks from behind you. You turn around and smile at him. He always asks you that and you always say yes. I mean, who’s going to pass up a free drink?
“I would love that, thank you,” you say, and Alfred smiles back as he always does. You follow him to a seating area and he tells you to make yourself at home while he fetches the tea. You sit in the same chair you always do.
You think back to when you first met Alfred. You had asked him so many questions, you couldn’t believe that butlers were real! He was patient as he answered every question, even the silly ones. He always made you feel welcome and never treated you differently for being of a lower class, same as Bruce.
You remember one time when you were little you had snuck out to see Bruce, as you often did. It was sometime after his parents had passed away; your visits became more frequent after the incident. Your mother never cared where you went, or even if you came home really, so it wasn’t a problem.
Alfred had made you tea and you accidentally dropped the teacup, shattering it on the floor. You got on your knees and started crying while picking up the pieces. You thought he would get mad at you or hit you. Instead, the butler leaned down and gave you a warm smile while wiping your tears away.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Accidents happen. Bruce once made the same mistake, you know. Perhaps I should invest in some plastic tea cups.”
You smiled once you realized he wasn’t mad. He took your hand and led you to the kitchen while he poured another cup. You were very careful not to drop that one.
Now, Alfred returns with the tea set on a silver platter. He takes his seat across from you and you both silently take a sip. Then, you set down your cup and get to the matter at hand.
“Where’s Bruce?” you ask, causing Alfred to sigh.
“Busy, I’m afraid.” He gives you a sympathetic smile, the same one he’s been giving you for weeks.
Bruce Wayne was always busy these days. Or should you say, Batman was. You found out about his secret life as a vigilante fairly quickly when you noticed a change in Bruce, despite his attempts at hiding it from you. You understand that Batman is important to him, and it’s important to the city, but you haven’t seen your best friend in weeks.
Whenever you came, you would sometimes catch glimpses of him before he retreated to that damn bat cave and Alfred told you he was busy. You’re very frustrated, especially since there’s something you’ve been meaning to tell him.
Just as you are about to march over to that elevator, you hear it ding. You crane your neck to see Bruce emerging wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants. Not exactly the billionaire the public envisions, but it’s the one you know and love.
Before Alfred can interfere, you jump up from your seat and call out, “Bruce!”
He turns to see you and looks like a deer caught in headlights. He seems surprised that you’re here. He knows that if he runs now, you’ll just follow. He looks helplessly at Alfred but it’s too late for that. So instead, you watch him clear his throat and look you in the eyes for the first time in weeks.
“Hi Y/N,” he says. You wait for him to say something along the lines of “Hey, sorry I’ve been avoiding you, I’m so happy to see you!” But instead, he just stands there awkwardly. You know if you get angry with him that you’ll lose your chance so you ignore your rage for now.
“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out,” you ask.
“I can’t, I’m busy,” he says and starts to move away but you step in front of him again.
“But you’ve been busy for weeks,” you say. You see guilt cloud his eyes for a moment. You take a step closer. “I miss you.”
He looks at you and you see his jaws clench. Then he’s looking anywhere but you. “I’m sorry,” he says, before walking away. Your heart drops.
“Bruce wait I—” you try to say, but he’s gone before you can finish. You’re left looking lost. You really needed to tell him but it seems like he barely even cares. You can’t say you didn’t try, you tell yourself, but it still doesn’t feel right.
“I’m sorry about him, Miss Y/N,” Alfred says. You sigh and plaster on a thin smile.
“It’s not your fault, Alfred,” you say. “I understand, he’s doing more important things. I just really needed to talk to him about something.”
Alfred looks like he wants to argue about the “more important things” bit but he knows nothing he can say will change your mind. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he says.
You look up and realize you probably should tell Alfred. And since Bruce isn’t around…
“I’m leaving,” you tell him. You stand strong as you watch the butler’s face falter.
“Leaving where?”
“Metropolis. I’ve been offered a good job in the city and I’m moving there tomorrow,” you say like ripping off a band-aid. Still, your heart breaks a little watching sadness overcome the butler’s face.
“I see,” he says. Your eyes analyse his face, hoping he’d say more.
“I-I know it’s sudden, but the offer was only available for so long and I really need the money and of course I’ll miss you guys but—”
Hands on your shoulders cut you off. You look and see Alfred smile with glassy eyes. The sight causes your eyes to sting. “You don’t have to explain yourself, I understand,” he says. Tears fill your eyes at Alfred’s kindness and understanding, even now. You wrap your arms around his middle and after a moment, he hugs you back.
He’s been the father figure you never had through the years. He always treated you like family. “I really will miss you,” you say, as a tear slips down your face. You hadn’t realized how hard this would be.
“I’ll miss you too.” You tighten your grasp for a moment before you let go. He wipes away your tear and you laugh softly. He’s still taking care of you.
“Don’t forget me while I’m gone,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. You step back and prepare to leave.
“Never,” he says, causing your heart to ache. “Don’t forget to visit.”
“Never.” You both smile at each other. Then you walk towards the door before pausing when you remember something. Turning back to face him, you say, “Oh and don’t tell Bruce. At least not until I’ve left the city.”
Alfred frowns. “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
You look back towards the elevator doors that separate you from your Bruce. “I think I already did,” you whisper. You look back at Alfred one last time. “Goodbye Alfred.”
“Goodbye Miss Y/N.” You take one last look at Wayne Manor before you leave and close the doors behind you.
†††
This city really never sleeps, you think as the noise from outside floods your apartment. Your window is open because it gets too hot in your apartment and of course your landlord doesn’t add air conditioning units to this dump. That’s one thing you won’t miss. This shitty apartment, the broken-down building, the asshole landlord, and the crazy tenants that you run into every once and a while.
You’re packing away the last of your stuff for the morning. It isn’t much, but you still don’t want to leave any of it behind. You look around the place and think maybe you’ll miss it a bit. After all it was yours.
As you’re folding one of your shirts, a voice rings out, “You’re leaving?”
Your heartbeat picks up and you jump, ready to run when you see the Batman standing on the landing outside your window. His dark figure blocks out the lights from the city and if you didn’t know him, you would be scared.
“Jesus Christ Batman, you scared the shit out of me!” you yell. You almost let slip his real name but you recognized the window is still open and don’t want any risks.
“You’re leaving?” he repeats, as he steps into your apartment. You really didn’t expect this. After your heartbeat slows back down, you start to panic. He wasn’t supposed to know, not like this. Why—
“So, Alfred told you huh?” you scoff, slightly annoyed at the butler for not listening to you.
“Why did I have to find out from Alfred at all?” he says, his voice laced with anger. Though your room is dark, you can still see his eyes staring at you. “I mean why—why didn’t you tell me?”
“First of all, close the window, I don’t want the whole block to hear our conversation,” you say. He rolls his eyes but moves to shut the window. He also closes the curtains for good measure. You wonder what any bystander watching would think of Batman crawling into someone’s apartment and closing the curtains. You ignore the blush on your face as you start to prepare yourself for a conversation you thought would never come. “Secondly, I tried to tell you, remember? When I came by earlier?”
You watch him clench his jaw as he realizes. “I was busy.” You can’t stop the scoff that leaves your mouth. “Besides, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
You try to restrain yourself from snapping at him. But your anger’s starting to slip out after being pent up inside for so long. “When would that have been Bruce? You have been ignoring me for weeks now.” You see him tense up. “In fact, this is the longest conversation we’ve had in a month.”
Behind his mask, you imagine his face muscles clenching up like they do when he gets frustrated. You think you see his eyes look down, almost ashamed. “I’m sorry about that.”
You snort out a laugh that has his gaze quickly back on you. “Yeah right.”
“I—”
“And can you please take off that mask? I want to talk to Bruce Wayne, not Batman.” You want to properly look at the man you love, probably for the last time in a long while. You know Bruce doesn’t like to take off the cowl while he’s out, frankly you wonder why he takes it off at all. But he relents and lifts the mask off his face. His black makeup is smudged across his face and his hair is a mess but it’s your Bruce. “Thank you.”
“Why are you leaving?” he asks, and you notice a pain in his eyes that makes you sick with guilt. But you’ve been hurt for a while now, and that didn’t stop him.
“I got a job offer in Metropolis.” He scoffs. You know he hates that place. He thinks it’s too squeaky clean and pretentious. You just think it’s because he’s never been anywhere but Gotham and his attachment to this damn city clouds his judgment. “It’s at a newspaper company and the pay is really good.”
“What happened to your old job?”
Your jaws clench. “I lost it a couple of weeks ago. Cutbacks.” Which he would’ve known had he not been avoiding you.
“But I’m sure there’s another—”
“There isn’t,” you say. He looks at you and you sigh. “I’m going to be kicked out of the apartment by the end of the week. I…I haven’t been able to pay rent.”
“Well if that’s the problem, then I can just give you the money—”
“No Bruce.” You let your head drop into your hands and take a breath. “That isn’t a long-term solution and besides, I told you that I would never take money from you.” He’s dealt with a lot of people trying to get to him for his money and you made it clear early on that you weren’t going to be one of those people.
“But I’m giving it to you,” he says, sounding frustrated but also a little desperate. You just close your eyes.
“The answer is no.”
He stands still and looks at you, his eyes piercing, as he tries to come up with a solution. But you’ve already made your peace with this decision. This causes him more frustration. He growls. “There has to be another way. I mean, you can’t just leave.”
“Why not Bruce?” Your eyes start to fill with tears the longer this went on. Why did he have to make this so hard for you?
He seems caught off-guard by this question. “Because…you just can’t.” Your hopes die out and defeat settles in.
“The way I see it…there’s nothing left for me here,” you say as a tear falls down your cheek. His eyebrows furrow, not understanding why you’re thinking like this. “I’ve had to scrounge for money since I was born into this city until I finally earned enough to afford a place and I end up living in this shithole. I’ve never been able to get a job long enough to make any real money, I’ve been just getting by my whole life. And this job offers a chance to break free from all of that. Why shouldn’t I take it?”
He stares at you and it seems like he isn’t breathing. “But what about…I mean, what about…me? Am I not something?” he asks and the vulnerability tugs at your heartstrings. To have a moment like this with Bruce makes you falter in your decision, but you realize this won’t last.
“Bruce…you’re my best friend,” you say and he flinches. He shakes his head, as if he already knows what you’re going to say. “But it looks like our lives are going in different directions now—”
“I’m sorry that I ignored you, I am—” You make a bold move and put your finger against his lips. It causes your heart to race but you needed him to listen. You try not to focus on how soft his lips feel.
“Just listen to me,” you say. Bruce still looks surprised and panicked by your move, so you pull your hand away. For a moment, it looks like his face tries to chase it but you ignore that hopeless thought. “Obviously you’ve been busy lately dedicating your time to the Batman, and that’s awesome because you’re helping the city. But, it doesn’t leave a lot of room for me. For us.” He’s shaking his head but you have to keep going. “I just think we’re at a stage in life where we go our separate ways. That doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends—”
“No,” he says, his breathing seeming to quicken. It doesn’t seem like he has anything else to say. You can see him freaking out but you have to get through this. No matter how much it hurts.
Tears prick at your eyes and your voice cracks, “I’ll miss you—”
“Stop! This…this isn’t happening. You’re not leaving. You can’t leave,” his voice cracks as well. He’s staring right at you and you almost want to relent. You almost want to stay. “You can’t.”
You close your eyes and turn around so that you’re not facing him. You can’t watch the man you love fall apart because of you. You squeeze your fists in frustration. “God, Bruce, why are you making this so hard?” Your voice is raised as your emotions build up inside of you.
“Because you’re not leaving.”
“Why?” You turn around with tears clouding your vision. Your chin wobbles as your eyes move back and forth across his face. “Give me one good reason why I should stay.”
There’s a suffocating silence that fills the room. You close your eyes and let the tears fall. There’s your answer, you suppose. You turn to your suitcase and resume packing your clothes when you hear, “Me.”
You freeze with a shirt clutched in your hands. You drop it and slowly turn around. “What?” you ask, wanting to know if you heard right.
“Stay here for me,” he says and you’re so shocked by him opening up that you don’t know what to say. He takes a step towards you. “I don’t want you to leave.” He keeps walking until he’s standing right in front of you. You feel his hand hesitantly reach for yours and you let him hold it. He squeezes your hand and gives you a look of utter desperation. “Please stay.”
You try to ignore the tears you see forming in his dark eyes. “I don’t…I don’t want to get left behind again.”
“And you won’t.” His other gloved hand comes up to cup your face. You lean into it. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I just got so wrapped up in it all and…I’m sorry.” You nod but there’s nothing left for you to say. You wait as he continues. “Y/N I…” You watch him struggle to form the words but when he does, his eyes shine. “I love you.”
You lose your breath. Your eyes are blown open. “W-what?” you ask. But before you get your hopes up, you have to ask, “As a friend, right?”
“No.” He looks down and swallows deeply before looking back at you. “As more than that.” Your ears are suddenly ringing with the sounds of your beating heart. “I know I haven’t been the best at showing you lately, but I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids but I could never find the courage to tell you before now.” You wait with baited breath as you watch your dreams come true before you. “So please, stay here with me. Give me another chance, I promise I’ll do better. I don’t want to lose you, I can’t.”
A tear falls rolls down his face past the smudged makeup. Without another thought, you reach up and pull his face down to yours and smash your lips together. He takes a moment to respond before leaning into the kiss. He holds the back of your head with his hand while the other wraps around your waist. His lips are as soft as they felt.
Eventually the two of you pull apart for air. You try to catch your breath while you’re both smiling. “I love you too,” you tell him and his grin widens causing you to giggle out of pure joy.
“Does this mean that you’ll stay?” he asks, hope shining in his eyes.
You lick your lips and break your stare to look around your apartment. “Well, I’m still broke, out of a job and about to be homeless but—”
“Stay with me,” Bruce cuts in.
You huff out a laugh at his boldness. “What?”
“Stay with me. There’s plenty of space for you and you won’t have to worry about living in poor conditions or dealing with your asshole landlord.” You laugh. Bruce looks seriously into your eyes. “Come stay with me.”
“Are you sure?” you ask hesitantly. You only just said you loved one another, it’s a big jump to live together.
“Of course I’m sure.” You can’t stop looking at how truly happy he is. You haven’t seen him smiling this much since…well ever. And it would be nice to be able to see him every day no matter how busy he gets.
“Okay,” you say with a sheepish smile. “I still need a job.”
“I’ll help you look for one,” he says right away. “So…does this mean you’re staying?”
“Yeah,” you say with a smile. Suddenly you’re swept off your feet as Bruce hugs you and twirls you around. You’re both laughing and the happiness you feel now makes the last of your anger slip away.
I’ve officially been obsessed with The Batman for a week and a half now so I have decided to try to write a fanfic with Battinson x reader. I’m having trouble with ideas so if you have any ideas you want me to do, please feel free to send requests my way!
summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye. No spoilers for the Batman movie.
a/n: Is it weird that I get excited every time I post? Also, this post is scheduled because, at the time it posts, I’m out of town! So if you asked to be tagged and weren’t, it’s likely because I haven’t seen it. But I’ll get to everything some point soon! I thrive off reader feedback so please feel free to drop a comment, ask, or even yell in the tags if you reblog! Also let me know if you would like to be tagged in future updates. Also if you don’t see your tag and requested one, some won’t work for me!
summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye. No spoilers for the Batman movie.
a/n: Listen I’ve already written almost eleven chapters of this nonsense and having a blast. So I’m keeping the momentum going and posting another chapter! I’ve been seriously having so much fun writing this. Enjoy this nice, long chapter. I thrive off reader feedback so please feel free to drop a comment, ask, or even yell in the tags if you reblog! Also let me know if you would like to be tagged in future updates. Also if you don’t see your tag and requested one, some won’t work for me!
summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye.No spoilers for the Batman movie.
a/n: Hello! Thanks to everyone who is loving this story so far, because I’m loving it a lot myself. I’m riding the high of seeing the movie again and being inspired, so here’s another chapter, yay! I thrive off reader feedback so please feel free to drop a comment, ask, or even yell in the tags if you reblog! Also let me know if you would like to be tagged in future updates.
summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye. No spoilers for the Batman movie.
a/n: thanks everyone for loving this fic so much after just one chapter! This chapter is just filler/ foundational stuff. The next two chapters after this will be a lot more interesting I promise. I thrive off reader feedback so please feel free to drop a comment, ask, or even yell in the tags if you reblog! I’m also creating a taglist I’ll update with every chapter so let me know if you want to be added to that.
summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye
a/n: So I saw The Batman and now I have a new hyperfixation so…here’s a fic, I guess. There will be no spoilers for the movie. In fact I’m mostly ignoring the movie in favor of my own plot. It can be read as happening after or before the events of the movie. Mostly I’m using Robert Pattinson’s portrayal of Batman as a touchstone for the fic. This is also very loosely a reader insert–my main character has a past and personality etc, but loose physical descriptions and no name. Anyways hope you enjoy it! (Or don’t. Mostly this is for me.)
Summary: A terrifying savior comes to your aide one night but it isn’t the last you see of each other
Warnings:18+ ONLY, mentions of violence, mugging/assault, mentions of stitches/needles, smut: primal kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, biting/scratching, slight restraint play, light oral (male receiving), light mentions of pain play, manhandling, use of pet names - “bunny”, intense sex
Word Count: 6.5k
Note:Hoping the direction I took with this doesn’t feel too rushed, it’s all about getting completely caught up in someone. This is also based around this headcanon I wrote! Enjoy and please reblog and comment!
Panic was familiar to you, especially in this city. Gotham took no prisoners and didn’t afford room for recklessness at any turn.
