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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter fifteen

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: Will I remain posting regularly? That remains to be seen by everyone, myself included....Because every single time I say something, I end up accidentally not posting for weeks. Anyways, enjoy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.7k

Two nights later, all Bruce could think about was that Alfred had been right.

He should have told y/n the truth while he had the chance.

“Where are you going?”

A full day had passed since y/n found the picture in the elevator, and she half-expected Bruce’s voice to be a dream when she turned around. She hadn’t slept much, except for a brief few hours where her body literally had shut down and forced her into unconsciousness. Fear was her constant companion, but now, when she turned to see Bruce standing behind her with his arms crossed, anger cut through the fog of fear like a spear of flame.

She mirrored his stance and crossed her own arms. “I’m going to let it slide since we’re all stressed, but try to boss me around again and see what happens.”

Both of their jaws were clenched tightly shut.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. She could practically hear the words come out of his mouth, That’s not an answer.

“I asked Gordon to come up,” she finally said, caving, though the anger still simmered below the surface. The nerve that Bruce Wayne had to barely be home, to barely care about her, and still try to boss her around all the same. She was this close to punching him in the face or pushing him down the stairs. Or maybe she would pour ice cubes in his bed next time he was asleep. “And if you’re going to bother me every single time I’m next to the fucking elevator, think again.”

Bruce relaxed marginally, completely ignoring her barbed comment–which was probably for the best. She had no energy left to really fight, anyways.

Most of that energy had gone towards a preliminary article she had just submitted about the Gallo family. She hadn’t released any details about her involvement with them, merely reporting the fact that they were trying to make a move on Gotham.

She had debated doing the article at all. Was it better to pretend like nothing was happening? Was it better to keep her head down and wait for it to resolve itself, whether because of Gordon and the Batman or through the Gallos finally getting to her?

But then she realized that the people of Gotham deserved the truth, or at least as much of it she could get away with. She was already a target, but she didn’t need everyone else knowing that.

So she had simply decided to send an article to print that Gotham was on the brink of another mob takeover, just like all of the business with Falcone and Maroni and everyone else who had corrupted their city.

If only half of the city shared her views, y/n knew that they wouldn’t be happy with someone else trying to worm their way into their city. Gotham might be a shithole, but it was their shithole.

The moment she had hit send, it had hit her.

She didn’t want to be a sitting duck. She wanted to do something about it. She wanted those bastards gone. She wanted the work Bella Real and the Batman and cops like Gordon had done in the last year to stick–or at least have the chance of doing so.

She had called Gordon, told him she wanted to talk over some things, that she needed company anyways.

And now there she was, staring down the man who had broken her heart, waiting on Gordon to arrive on the elevator behind her.

“Gordon and I are going to have a private conversation,” she said pointedly as the elevator doors slid open behind her.

“Y/n,” Gordon said in greeting, but she still didn’t turn around. She and Bruce were still in the middle of their standoff. “Mr. Wayne. Good to see you again, at least under more…normal circumstances than last time.”

She raised an eyebrow at Bruce. She could tell he wanted to argue, wanted to stick around and stick his nose even further into her business. But after a long silence, he inclined his head and said, “Detective,” before turning and disappearing back the way he had come.

Once Bruce was safely out of earshot, she gave Gordon her full attention and said what had been on her mind the past couple of hours. Or, if she was being completely honest, the past several days.

“I want you to use me as bait, and I don’t want you to argue about it. I want you to help me actually figure out how to get rid of these motherfuckers.” She crossed her arms again for good measure.

Gordon sighed, long and loud. She expected an argument or a lecture or a combination of the two. But instead, all he said was, “We better bring our other friend into this discussion.”

–

“Absolutely not,” was the very first thing the Batman said when she laid out her plan.

“Yeah, well, as I like to point out to certain other people in my life, you’re not the boss of me. I’m going to do something stupid with or without your help, because I am fucking sick of this. Alright? I can’t live like this.” She shivered as a particularly brutal gust of wind cut through her.

They were on top of the signal tower. She and Gordon had decided together that it was easier to smuggle her out than it would be to smuggle Batman in. Besides, she didn’t want those two parts of her life mixing. God forbid Bruce find out what she was up to. She was arguing with him enough already.

Not to mention the fact that she didn’t want to disappoint Alfred, or cause him any more stress than she already had.

The smuggling had taken a willing female detective–a nice woman in her late thirties name Lori Ayers–trading places with y/n. They were relatively the same height and build luckily enough, and Detective Ayers was already assigned to the security on Wayne Tower. An outfit switch, a fake detective badge, and lots of praying later, and there they were. Y/n had asked Gordon and Ayers if she could have a gun, but both of them had practically shouted no in her face.

Gordon held up his hands, ever the peacekeeper. “Listen, man, I’m not saying we should put her in any unnecessary danger, but–”

“The whole idea is unnecessary danger!” The Batman cut in. His voice echoed in the darkness of the night around them.

Gordon continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “–but all I’m saying is that we aren’t any closer to catching these guys. None of us are. So if we can do something we know will draw them out…why not do it?” Gordon gave her a wry look. “And, like she said, it’s probably better to have us for backup before she does anything stupid on her own.”

Y/n gave Batman a triumphant look as if to say See? I’m right.

She studied him while he worked his jaw in annoyance. Was he sick of looking out for her? Because she was certainly sick of needing to be looked out for. She wanted to end it.

“Fine,” he said, the word a growl he spat out. She tried to resist pumping her fist in the air, she really did. He gave her a Look with a capital L that had her lowering it immediately. “But let me just–let me follow this last lead, alright? If it doesn’t pan out, we’ll make a plan. Give me tonight before you do anything stupid.”

She nodded eagerly. “Great, fine. I needed to get out of the house anyway.” Gordon was also giving her a Look. “What?” she said a bit defensively.

“You’re awfully upbeat for someone who wants to offer herself up for bait to the mob.” He raised one dark eyebrow above the frames of his glasses.

She shrugged. “Well, I have cabin fever, so this helped my mood immensely. Plus, the end is in sight. It’s about to be over, one way or another.”

Later, when she thought back to that moment, she would wonder if she had jinxed it. Or maybe she was simply jinxed all along, one thing leading to another, leading to its inevitable end. Leading to the only possible way it could play out. Her luck, ever since stepping foot back in Gotham–and even before then, ever since Alfred had knocked on her apartment door–had been nonexistent.

“One last lead,” Batman repeated, holding her gaze steadily for once. Something ran through her like an electric current at that look. Like he was trying to tell her something.

“One last lead,” she said, crossing her heart for good measure. “I promise I’ll be good.”

Gordon chuckled like he didn’t quite believe her. “Alright, let’s get back.”

“I’ll follow you,” Batman said, interrupting her thoughts of how she was going to get Gordon to sneak her past Bruce and Alfred both. She hadn’t told either of them she was leaving, and she didn’t want to think about what they would say to her if they found out. It would only make her life that much harder.

Her ride back with Gordon was mostly quiet.

“Where did you get this fake badge anyways?” she asked when Wayne Tower’s doors finally came into view. She toyed with it, noting all the ways it looked like the real deal. Maybe she could hold onto it…just in case.

“Confiscated it from a kid caught forging all kinds of stuff, including badges she used to get classified materials.”

She. Interesting. Sounded like somebody y/n would like to hang out with.

She didn’t say any of that out loud, however. All she did was hum and put the badge back on her belt.

“And no, I won’t give you her name,” Gordon said. Their eyes met and they both laughed in tandem.

“Fine, fine. I might be able to find it on my own anyway.” She winked.

They parked in an alley where Gordon or the other detectives on stakeout duty usually parked. As they stepped out into the cold air, Gordon’s phone rang.

“Just a second,” he said, stepping further towards the mouth of the alley. “I have to take this. Don’t move.” He pointed at threatening finger at her. She held up both hands in surrender.

He needn’t have worried–the sound of an approaching motorcycle reached her ears as Batman pulled into the alley behind them. The noise reverberated off of the building walls for a moment before abruptly shutting off. Gordon locked eyes with him, inclined his head, and then answered the phone while striding towards the street ahead.

“So,” she said casually to Batman as he stood broodily in the shadows. “Think I could have been a detective in another life?” She struck a little pose in her smart, borrowed business suit and trench coat, imagining the fake badge glinting in the low light.

Batman made a noise that could have been a scoff or a laugh. “Sure, except you would have been fired for repeatedly breaking the rules. And laws.”

She laughed delightedly. “You’re probably right.” She definitely had chosen the only profession that suited her nosiness and penchant for getting into trouble, something Bruce had pointed out years ago.

“I’m definitely right.”

They were closer together than she expected, the toes of their shoes almost touching. She wasn’t sure how that had happened. It was if they had both been drawn in by the other’s gravity, invisible and inevitable. He stared down at her for a moment before, of course, turning his face away.

“There you go again,” she murmured as she memorized the line of his jaw. “Scared to look me in the eyes.” She reached out and poked his stubbled cheek gently. He froze, but didn’t make a move to step away.

“I’m scared for you,” he said in an equally soft voice that sent shivers over her skin. “I don’t want you to have to offer yourself up. I don’t like thinking that I might not be able to keep you safe.”

Y/n felt each of his words sink into her like rocks in a deep lake, sinking down and down and down until they settled at the bottom, heavy in her stomach. She was staring up at him now, their breath mingling, and he was finally, finally looking back.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Instead, she did the next best thing.

She stretched up onto her toes and kissed him.

He went so still she immediately knew she had overstepped–and had overstepped badly. She quickly pulled away, face on fire, eyes straining to find anything to look at other than the rejection in his eyes. Stupid, that was so stupid. Just because he wanted her safe didn’t mean that he wanted her to kiss him.

But before she got too far, his gloved hand caught her arm and tugged her closer. And then he was kissing her.

She inhaled deeply, her stomach doing somersaults in a way it had never done before. She was flying above Wayne Tower yet still somehow firmly rooted to the ground. It was like she could finally breathe again and yet somehow she was gasping for breath. His lips were gentle. One of his hands cupped her elbow while the other splayed across her upper back. She wished he had his gloves off, like that moment in another alley on another night. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.

Then he was gone, a full step away.

She couldn’t help it–her fingers traced her lips in a daze.

They were staring at each other, both breathing slightly heavier than they had been before.

“Alright, let’s go,” Gordon called from behind her somewhere. She couldn’t bring it within herself to care if he had seen or not. Her and the Batman were still staring at each other, in their own world, a seismic shift between them.

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice low and raspy with want.

“Be safe,” was all the Batman said as he watched her go.

Gordon didn’t look at her like he had just seen them kissing, but she felt as if it were written all over her face.

“Crime never sleeps,” he said to her as they walked the short distance to the doors. His head was constantly swiveling, searching for danger, and she knew a certain vigilante was watching from the shadows as well.

Her entire body was electric, every nerve ending on fire, heat settling in her face and chest and lower, too.

For once, she wasn’t wondering about who the Batman was. Her mind had been rendered totally blank by one kiss. She wasn’t even thinking about how he wasn’t Bruce Wayne, like every other kiss of her life.

Instead it simply felt…right.

She blinked and they were somehow inside.

“Blake, can you escort Detective Ayers upstairs? I have to go to a crime scene.” Gordon gave Blake a long, searching look. Y/n knew that the moment the security guard looked up, he would recognize her.

Sure enough, he did. His face did something complicated before he realized what Gordon said and stammered out, “S-sure. This way, Detective, um, Ayers.” He hit something on the computer keyboard, scrambling, having to hit whatever button it was a second time.

“See you later,” Gordon said to her, the words full of meaning.

She turned towards him and nodded. “Goodnight.”

It felt stupid, pretending to be someone else in the lobby of her home, but they still didn’t know who had breached security two nights earlier. She knew it was better to be safe than sorry, but Blake knew who she was. What was to stop whoever worked for the Gallos from recognizing her as well? She imagined their pub, Maverick’s, covered in hundreds of stalkery photos of her.

Gordon waved over his shoulder as she and Blake stepped into the elevator. As soon as the doors slid closed, y/n relaxed a bit. Everything was almost over.

And she had kissed the Batman.

A smile grew on her face before she could stop it.

When she glanced up, Blake was watching her.

His upper lip and his hairline were beaded with sweat and he was much paler than normal.

“Are you okay?” she asked, wondering if maybe he was sick. Something in her gut shivered with warning.

“I’m so sorry–” he said, the words choked. “I’m so sorry. They have my sister.”

That’s when she saw the glint of a needle in his hand.

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harry-bowie-mercury · 29 days

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Vote Blue for women's rights.

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harry-bowie-mercury · 5 months

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No bc why does looking at fan art make me so self conscious… I always feel like I can never be a female main character because they’re all too gorgeous.

#fanart #acotar #tog #hobab #hofas #Sarah j Maas

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harry-bowie-mercury · 5 months

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Eek I’m so excited!!!

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter fourteen

a/n: I'm back to posting semi-regularly, yay! Not sure when the next chapter will be finished because of the holidays but hopefully it'll be within the next week or so! This one is a little on the shorter side, but the next several will be longer I think! (Since I haven't actually written them--but I have plans and they're lengthy.)

Series Masterlist

word count: 2k

“Oh man,” Martinez groaned as his eyes flicked from Alfred, to her, to the picture, and back again. He gulped audibly. Next to him, Blake the security guard was white as a sheet. “Gordon’s gonna kill me.”

“Gordon’s gonna kill me,” Martinez said for the twentieth time as y/n poured him a cup of coffee to replace the one that was currently still on the foyer floor. “I was supposed to be the one paying attention. I was the one he trusted.” Which, he informed her after maybe the fourth “Gordon’s gonna kill me,” that meant he was Gordon’s most trusted on her security team. He was one who was secretly supposed to make sure no one else was compromised.

“Martinez,” y/n said for the nineteenth time. “No he isn’t. You were doing your job. You already said you didn’t leave, or fall asleep, or take a call. In fact, you did your job so well you ignored my offer of coffee.” She held out the new mug.

Martinez was still nervously mangling the hat of his uniform. He was completely ignoring her reassurances. He went still after a second, then turned eyes that were twice as frightened to her. “Man, Mr. Wayne’s gonna be so mad too, isn’t he? This is his house.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “I’ll handle Bruce. And besides–Alfred’s more in charge than he is, and he already agreed it wasn’t your fault.” Alfred had met Gordon downstairs a few minutes earlier. The elevator and entire lobby had been turned into a crime scene. Martinez and y/n were waiting to give their statements.

Easing Martinez’s fears was much easier than facing her own. It was easy to focus on him and nothing else. Because in the short half hour since she’d first found the picture, each bit of new information was worse than the last. No one on the security detail had been harmed, bribed, or had even moved. The security cameras had been turned off for only ten minutes. Which all meant that someone had enough access to Wayne Tower and its security to get past everything extra that had been set up.

They wanted her to know that they could get to her.

And they were drawing it out. Instead of grabbing her, they were making her wait. Making her scared.

Y/n focused again on the nervous cop in front of her, who was still bemoaning the fact that everyone was going to be mad at him.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to be mad at you,” she snapped. There was a headache blooming between her eyes.

Martinez quieted, looking like a kicked puppy with a mustache. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, y/n. If I can make it up to you at all–”

“Just drink your coffee, okay? No one blames you.” Y/n took a sip of her coffee. Her hands were still shaking, and some of the liquid spilled over as she set the cup back down. Damn, she was wasting a lot of coffee in one night.

She startled when a warm hand landed atop hers. She looked up and met Martinez’s soft gaze. He didn’t say anything else, but his presence was enough to steady her.

“I’m so glad they didn’t shoot you,” she said after a moment.

They shared a grin. “Hell, me too.”

An awareness prickled along y/n’s spine.

She looked up, and there was Bruce.

His hair was stuck to his forehead and his shirt was on inside out. Her stomach swooped. There really only seemed to be one possibility from those two clues, plus the fact that he hadn’t been home.

Jealousy and shame spread like hot oil through her stomach.

Bruce looked…angry. His eyes were twin blue flames where they stayed locked on Martinez’s hand atop hers.

Martinez scrambled to his feet as if the king of fucking England had just walked in. More coffee spilled as he bumped the table. Y/n half expected him to bow for Bruce. She rolled her eyes.

“Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry, I swear I was paying attention, I–”

Bruce’s eyes went cold. “And you are?”

“Officer Martinez, we actually met back–”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. It was her turn to jump to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said to Bruce.

Martinez flinched. Bruce calmly glanced her way then went back to glaring at Martinez.

“When the security of my home has been compromised due to incompetence–” Bruce said, still calm despite the obvious fury in his eyes.

Y/n cut him off. “Oh shut up. Stop talking to him like that. It wasn’t his fault!”

Bruce’s eyes flashed. “Well, it was certainly someone’s.”

“Maybe it was yours, then.” The words rose within her on a tide of anger. God, her life had been threatened again, and he had the nerve to come home from fucking his girlfriend and act like a dick to her friend? “I mean, you’ve been letting the rest of the tower go to shit for years, makes sense that maybe security is a little lax. Especially if you don’t even give enough of a shit to ever be here.”

They were almost toe to toe now, both breathing heavily. From the corner of her eye, she saw Martinez freeze in place, mouth open in shock.

“I give too much of a shit, y/n. If your little boyfriend hadn’t been distracted–”

Oh, y/n thought. Bruce thought Martinez was her boyfriend. And okay, maybe it looked like that, but Martinez actually had a great girlfriend who was in a group chat with them where they all sent memes to each other. She and Martinez wanted to set up a double date with her cousin and y/n.

The realization made the anger ebb, but then she was pissed off all over again.

“What gives you the right to act like this?” she spat at Bruce. He was so much taller than her that her neck was starting to ache from glaring up at him. “After what you did, after what you said, you’re acting like you have any right to one, be involved in my personal life at all or two, be jealous!”

Bruce flinched. Just like the first time it had happened two days ago, it didn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

“Um,” Martinez said in the echoing silence. “We’re actually just friends and I–I’m going to go give my statement now?”

Y/n barely noticed him leaving.

She was so sick of being so afraid, so heartbroken, so…everything.

“You’re going to apologize to him whether he’s just my friend or not,” she said, poking Bruce in the chest. He winced and tried to mask it by looking away. “I already told you, Bruce. I lost you three years ago. Stop acting like that didn’t fucking happen, because it did.”

Bruce’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Now he wasn’t looking her in the eye at all. “I didn’t mean–”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, yes you did.” But the words were bereft of the anger that had been present only moments before. She took a deep breath and a step backwards. “I’m just–sick of pretending things are the same, okay? I know you want to go all protective-best-friend thinking Martinez is my boyfriend or that he put me in danger but–I can’t just–Things aren’t–” Suddenly words were failing her. “It’s just not the same, okay?”

She watched as Bruce softened, too. “Y/n, I’m sorry, I–”

“Why did Martinez just run out of here like a bomb went off?” Gordon’s voice cut across whatever Bruce had been about to say.

“Mommy and Daddy were fighting,” y/n said drily, her defense mechanism of humor kicking in. Bruce made a choking noise. “Find anything useful? Like maybe Frank Gallo?”

She could almost hear Gordon’s teeth grinding from across the room. “No.”

“Bruce,” Alfred said from behind Gordon. “We have some things to discuss.”

Bruce gave her one last glance before following Alfred out.

Alone with Gordon now, y/n sank into her chair with a long sigh. She stared at the little coffee spills as if they had personally offended her. “If I spill any more coffee tonight I might kill someone.”

“Now that would be a sight. Looked like you were about to do Mr. Wayne in already.” Gordon chuckled and took the seat across from her. He flipped open a small notebook.

“I’m still not opposed to smothering him in his sleep,” she muttered. “Arrest me if you have to.”

“How about I get your statement instead?”

It didn’t take long. She was basically a pro at giving statements to the police at this point. When she was done, she said, “I’m so…tired of giving statements to the police.”

Gordon regarded her with sharp eyes that didn’t miss anything. “We’re doing everything we can, y/n,” he said softly.

“I know, I know. It’s just–getting shot at was scary and all, but this is my home.” Her voice cracked. She ducked her head and fiddled with her coffee mug so Gordon wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “They’re telling me they can get to me here, too. Where I’m supposed to be safe.”

“I understand completely. We’ll get him. We’ll get them. I have a feeling he might show up on our doorstep sooner rather than later, with something bat-shaped pinned to him and a couple of black eyes and broken bones.” Gordon smirked. Y/n frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen Batman at all. Had he been downstairs? Maybe Bruce hadn’t wanted him to come upstairs. Her frown deepened. “Now, you’re going to have to help me convince Officer Martinez not to sleep in the elevator tonight. Or right outside your door. He’s pretty upset.”

“I’m surprised he still wants to hang around, considering how much of a dick Bruce was,” y/n said under her breath. “But I’ll do my best.”

Martinez took a lot of convincing, but eventually relented and went home to his girlfriend. He made y/n put a chair under her bedroom door handle first, though.

Bruce hadn’t reappeared by the time y/n went to bed.

She laid down, the words of their argument–or whatever the hell that had been–replaying on a loop. Being around him made her feelings go haywire. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so angry at him. The heartbreak of three years ago had taken over her life and she had to admit that the anger felt…almost good. Cathartic. But it also made her feel out of control. She didn’t feel like herself. Being mad at Bruce went against years of instincts. She was used to defending him, or him defending her, to being on the same team together.

She was still wide awake as dawn broke over the sky hours later.

Another thought kept turning over and over in her mind. Frank Gallo–or someone he had hired–had gotten into her home. Her very, very secure home.

She had been afraid before, but it was nothing like this. Her safe haven had been…sullied. They knew who she was, where she lived, and had basically said right to her face that not even Bruce Wayne’s money and power could keep her safe.

Added all together, y/n’s mind simply would not shut off in order for her to sleep.

It occurred to her again that she hadn’t seen Batman at all–had Gordon updated him on what happened? Because he had been in that photo, too. He had kept her alive, which she was certain had pissed off the Gallos. Was he a target? Maybe the picture of them together was a threat to both of them, but only given to her since they knew where she lived.

When she rolled over, her eyes caught on all of her research piled on the opposite side of the bed. Her eyes snagged on those three words: white knight syndrome.

She bet she had her answer about any possible feelings he might have. Even if he had shown up, he hadn’t tried to contact her, to see her, nothing. He was probably sick of having to keep her alive. He was probably leaving it up to Gordon and the police department now.

Despite everyone who was trying hard to keep her alive, y/n felt utterly alone.

taglist: IF YOUR USERNAME HAS CHANGED LET ME KNOW!!!!!!

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harry-bowie-mercury · 6 months

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damn ok lake superior

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harry-bowie-mercury · 6 months

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THE SANGUINE SORCERESS 🩸🔪 cover reveal!

The moment has come for me to unveil THE SANGUINE SORCERESS to you all illustrated by Rachel Bostick! She did a wonderful job making it look both creepy and elegant. And I can't wait to show you what she's done with the interior illustrations.

THE SANGUINE SORCERESS is available to pre-order now on Amazon! Paperbacks to come soon!

Release Date: 1 December 2023!

---

A blood-soaked tale of feminine rage following the journey of Serafina Stilia, as she attempts to claw agency for herself in a society where all the power is held fast in the grip of a male-run imperialistic regime.

After her reputation is left in tatters by the unwanted advances of a suitor, Serafina must carve a path to liberation from the fury of her honour-driven father, or die trying.

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harry-bowie-mercury · 6 months

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To Love and Be Loved in Return - Chapter Two

Roy Kent x Reader

Read chapter 1 here

Description: The awkwardness from yesterday still lingers between you and Roy. Jamie, Rebecca and Keeley all try to make you feel better in their own ways.

Word Count: ~1.4k

• • •

Chapter 2 - Pep Talk

Coming into work Friday morning is a monumental task in and of itself. You spent most of the night before overthinking every moment with Roy that day.

You had spiraled through every possible analysis of your conversation, but as of this morning you’ve stopped worrying as much about that interaction and more about how any interaction you have today will go. He was still acting awkward about it at the end of the day, so he probably won’t be much better today.

Either way, you have work to get done before your lunch “meeting” with Rebecca and Keeley at noon. This “meeting” had become somewhat of a weekly routine for the three of you. It didn’t take long after you were hired for you to become fast friends with Rebecca, and Keeley was pretty much fast friends with everyone she’s ever met.

You watch the time tick by as you finish up your reports and interview prep for Roy. You consider just emailing them to him to avoid any awkwardness, but you know that he always works better with hard copies to review and mark up as needed. As much as seeing him today has made you nervous, you couldn’t let your feelings for Roy get in the way of doing your job well.

With this new found resolve and the best poker face you are capable of, you head downstairs and through the mostly empty locker room. You find yourself stopped at the door to the office, skimming over the report in your hands, anxiously looking for any errors or really any excuse to run back upstairs and redo it all. Maybe you could push off seeing him again until Monday.

“He’s not that scary,” Jamie chimes in behind you.

You tilt your head to look at him and raise a brow in question. He continues “Roy, ya know, he’s all grumpy with the scary eyebrows” he tries to mimic Roy’s face “and well just his general vibe, I suppose.” He trails off at the end of the last sentence.

You look at him, dumbfounded. “Was that supposed to reassure me?”

“Oh, uh, no. What I was tryin’ to say was that he’s just grumpy but he’s not really that mean. He likes ya well enough, so just go in there. Stop worryin’ so much.”

If only mean was what worried you about Roy, but of course you couldn’t say that to Jamie. The moment that man figured out how you felt about a certain coach, the entire team would know within minutes.

“Thank you Jamie. I appreciate the pep talk,” and it was true. You did appreciate the pep talk even if it was terribly misguided. Though it may be for the best that your coworkers don't all know how you really feel about your boss, and if Jamie knew, he'd give it away before long.

With a deep breath you open the door to the office with a smile plastered across your face.

Coach Beard was the first to acknowledge you. He offered a friendly smile and polite nod which you returned with a small wave. Walking past him, you stood by Roy’s desk and held the papers out to him. “Overview is on top, followed by the analytical reports, then the raw data and the last page is talking points for any press interviews.”

“Oh, I didn’t need this until Monday. You didn’t have to get it done so fast.”

“I like to stay on top of things, coach.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite assistant?”

“I’m your only assistant.” Conversation is flowing naturally between you and much of the tension from yesterday seems to have dissipated.

“Makes it easy to rank then, but I really do appreciate you getting this done y/n”

“That’s what I’m here for.” There’s a moment of comfortable silence that you relish in before turning to leave.

“Wait,” you stop in your tracks, “Do you want to go grab lunch?” He stands up and gathers his things. “It’s about that time anyway.”

“Can’t today, I’m sorry. I’ve got lunch plans with Rebecca and Keeley today.”

“Fuck, right, I forgot all about that.” he waves you off “No worries, go have fun, do “girl talk” or whatever. Let me know how it goes.”

“Of course.” You pause before adding, “Maybe we can figure out lunch together on Monday?” He nods in response and your phone buzzes in your hand. “And that would be Rebecca, see you later!”

You rush out the door before he has a moment to respond.

You arrive at the restaurant with Rebecca first. Keeley texted that she’s running a few minutes late.

You had told Rebecca about your feelings for Roy a couple weeks back and you needed to get the past couple days off your chest as he had consumed most of your waking thoughts for the past 24 hours.

“So, Roy asked me to be his plus one for the gala next weekend.”

“Oh?” Rebecca looked hopeful albeit rather confused, “And why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”

“Well, when he slipped up and referred to me as his date, he panicked at the idea and made it beyond clear he isn’t into me. Of course I knew he didn’t like me, I mean he’s Roy fucking Kent, he dates gorgeous models, not regular office workers, but it still hurt that i didn’t get the chance to ask him out before getting brutally rejected.”

“That’s stupid.”

“What?”

“Roy would be fucking lucky to have you. Just because he’s too stupid to see it, doesn’t make you worth less just because you aren't some model.”

“It just sucks. I can’t stand being alone with him. I think I’m falling in love and he will never see me as more than just an assistant.”

“Who are we talking about?” Keeley walks up in time to hear your last remark. You were waiting to tell her until you were finally ready to deal with her teasing. She had moved on and you knew she would have no problem with you liking Roy, but she would be almost relentlessly supportive, which might just be worse.

At the same time you say “No one.” and Rebecca says “Roy”

“Ooh, falling for the boss?” Keeley adds as she sits next to you.

The waiter comes by and takes your food order. After he leaves your table Rebecca fills Keeley in on the situation. When she finishes you add, “So I’m falling for a guy who finds the idea of even a single date with me so repulsive he panicked at the suggestion.”

“I don’t think that’s it, babes. Roy is always a little panicked, he just usually gets mad about it instead. If he’s willing to show that he’s worried, then he’s dropping that facade a bit. I say you should ask him out.”

“And get turned down again?”

“I don’t know about that y/n. He seemed pretty nervous when he texted me about taking you out dress shopping.”

At that moment, the waiter brings your food, putting an end to that conversation before you got the chance to ask Keeley what she meant by that.

She asks the waiter to bring you a round of drinks. After the waiter leaves you lightly elbow Keeley. “I’ve got to go back to work after this. I can’t be drinking.”

Rebecca scoffs “Well, I’m your boss and I say you need a drink. I’m giving you the rest of the day off.”

Keeley adds, “It’s not like you’d get much done anyways. You’ll be too busy daydreaming about a certain coach.

“Fuck off” you laugh. You don’t really mean it and you all know it. You pull out your phone to text Roy.

Y/N: Hey, I won’t be back after lunch. Everything is caught up. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you on Monday!

You see the bubbles appear and disappear for a couple of minutes as you try to subtly keep an eye on your phone. Finally your torture ends as your phone vibrates in your hand.

ROY: Ok.

Those three characters should not be enough to stress you out. There’s hardly anything there to overanalyze, but that won't stop you. You take a long swig of your drink hoping that maybe the burning feeling as it slides down your throat will provide enough of a distraction.

• • •

Read Chapter 3

Series Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @taytaylala12 @siriuslyreads

Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you want to be added to the taglist for this series. 🖤

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harry-bowie-mercury · 6 months

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Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter Five

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader

Will try to update roughly every two weeks

Chapter Five: First Date

(2k words)

Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), discussion of sexual expectation

Summary: The long-awaited date night arrives, and you and Roy both consider the self-doubt that comes from having been alone and the hope of being alone no more.

Roy had waited four very long days for his date with Splits. He had restrained himself from texting too much with her, although he was still texting a few times a day, just to ask a few introductory-type questions, and to set the actual plan for the actual date. He hadn’t called, or shown up again at the fucking bowling alley, despite how much he’d wanted to, because he didn’t want to scare her off. And he didn’t think he’d let on how excited he was for the date in their short texted conversations. He had established himself as a proper dweeb by saying he’d meet her after work – like some idiot who worked in an office park or some shit – but Roy felt that was his only mistake so far.

He was so nervous to do things wright. He’d thought he had with Keeley – fuck, he’d thought she was the one – but he obviously hadn’t. Or worse, he had managed it, but he still hadn’t been enough. He wanted to be enough for someone, so fucking badly. He got to the restaurant almost an hour early and sat in his car listening to an old pump-up playlist; he was that intent on doing things right.

When it was fifteen minutes until the agreed-upon date time, Roy summoned his nerve, got out of the car, and stood by the door of the restaurant to wait for Splits. People looked at him as they walked past, double-taking at seeing the manager just standing there. At five minutes until date time, he started getting nervous. He should have offered to pick her up, but he hadn’t wanted to creep her out by asking for an address. Why hadn’t he offered? Why was he such an idiot??

But then, at three minutes until date time, she was there, walking around the corner. She had taken “casual” literally, thank fuck, and opted for a green jumper and plain tan pants with black boots, but she was a vision. No extravagant hair or makeup, no dress that he wouldn’t be able to touch without breaking. She was the first non-celebrity he’d ever asked out, but she looked better than any of them. She looked like a real person.

Roy knew, right then and there. He was in trouble.

Splits smiled and waved when she saw him, and Roy smiled back. She seemed genuinely happy to see him, he noted with satisfaction.

“Hi, Roy,” she greeted shyly as she walked closer.

He nodded, smiling nervously. How was a man supposed to act on a first date with a normal girl he actually liked? Why hadn’t he thought to look it up beforehand? Why did he even care? He just had to be natural. What thoughts were coming naturally?

“You look really fucking nice,” he said. His body was moving of its own accord; he only realized a split second before it happened that he was going in for a hug. She leaned into it, thankfully.

“Thank you. I didn’t know where we were going, so I didn’t want to overdress. Which restaurant are we going to?”

“It’s perfect. I really like it,” said Roy in reference to the sweater. Then he took a few steps, grabbed a door, and opened it for her. “I’m bringing you to my favorite fucking place. Do you like kebabs?”

“I love kebabs.”

“Good. Hus makes the best kebabs.”

Allowing her to go in first before following, Roy grinned a brief grin to himself. He then got his face back under control and led Splits to his usual booth and sat down. She took a moment removing her purse and then sat across, which confused him a little bit, until he realized she had done it to give him her full, uninterrupted eye contact.

She had fucking warm, kind eyes. Roy felt himself getting lost in those eyes through the course of the date, and was vaguely aware of how much he was smiling, even laughing.

Yep. He was very much in trouble.

Fuck.

Roy Kent wasn’t what you’d expected.

He went for the hug, for instance. You found yourself enveloped in the smell of his cologne and the embarrassed warmth of his embrace. He was nothing but respectful, and gave you his full attention as you got to know each other. You kept catching him blinking intensely, like he was forgetting to take his eyes away from you.

The man was funny, too. You kept finding yourself laughing as he talked. He was so blunt. And that laugh! You didn’t know if it was because he was trying not to laugh, or if it was just naturally like that, but he laughed like the Ernie character on Sesame Street. You told him so without meaning to, and got a smile out of him for it.

“That’s a great compliment,” he announced. “I fucking love the Muppets.”

You giggled. “That surprises me!”

“Why? The Muppets are the peak of humor. Nothing is as funny for kids and adults at the same time. Do you know how many shit children’s programs I had to watch when Phoebe was younger? Sesame Street and the Muppets were the only ones that didn’t make me want to claw my fucking eyes out.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” you teased. The shop owner came to the table with the bill before you could say more, and you automatically reached for your bag. It was a move made out of habit, but Roy saw it and held out a hand for the check while shooting you a glare.

“The fuck are you doing? What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for your food? You’re my fucking date, and I’m paying for you.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve just been on my own for a while.”

When you looked up at Roy, his jaw was clenched.

“Don’t apologize. That was a prick move, and I’m sorry. I just… I’m enjoying myself tonight, and I hope you are, too. I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting anything out of you.”

That was more encouraging than anything else he could have possibly said. You hadn’t gone out with someone in a long time, partly because of how much modern men seemed to expect out of women on first dates. Your last first date, nearly two years ago, had expected you to carry the conversation and allow all of his advances. He’d said he hadn’t wanted anything from you, but his conduct had said otherwise. When he’d tried to worm his way into your apartment for a hookup at the end of the night, you’d seen your way behind your locked door and blocked his number. Roy’s behavior up to now was backing up his claim that he didn’t expect anything out of you, and you felt very safe around him.

He was signing the check and putting his credit card away, looking anywhere but at you, and you realized you hadn’t responded to his incredibly sweet statement. You could see the muscles in his jaw working, his eyebrows creeping together.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “For?” It seemed he’d been stuck in his head, too.

Shrugging, you replied, “For dinner, and not expecting anything, and for being so kind. I’d sort of given up on dates because a lot of men aren’t. Kind, I mean.”

Roy grunted. “A lot of men are pricks. I should know, I coach a bunch of them. Shit, I used to be one. It’s taken me a long fucking time to start to change, and it’s sucked most of the way.”

“Well, thank you for doing that work on yourself,” you murmured. “I’ve had a great night.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, treating you to another small, close-lipped smile. Then he slid out of the booth and motioned for you to follow him. “But we’re not done yet, if you’re okay with that?”

You could hide your excitement at you jumped out to follow him out of the restaurant through the door he held for you. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing fancy. A walk in the park, maybe?”

“That sounds great. Is there a park nearby?”

“No, we’ll have to drive. Are there any by you?”

There was, about two blocks from your flat. You told Roy as he opened the passenger door of his G Wagon for you, and was familiar with the area. You laughed as he cursed out the poppy music that blasted out of the stereo when he turned the key, teasing him for creating a pump-up mix and listening to it before a date. He surprisingly didn’t rebut you and admitted it was dorky.

You were very quickly at the park, and did a few slow laps of it together. Roy kept a respectful distance from you and kept his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, although you did notice that he kept putting himself between you and anybody else in the park. He asked questions with the intention of listening and learning more about you, and made you feel like the center of attention. When you tried to do the same to hm, he somehow steered it back to you with minimal effort.

When it started getting dark, you navigated toward the park exit, back to his car. He was quiet once more, obviously thinking. You hoped it wasn’t about how bad the date had gone compared to one with, say, a supermodel. You were happy with how things had gone, but your benchmark was pretty low.

“It’s getting dark, Roy. We should probably think about wrapping up.”

He nodded with a grunt. “I suppose. You said you lived close?”

Pointing at an older block of flats in the distance, you replied, “That’s me over there.”

“Hmm. That’s fucking close. Walk you home?”

Your heart soared as he fell into step next to you. He wanted to walk you home! It was a quiet walk, but it was a nice one with this handsome man at your side. You reached your building all too soon.

“This is me,” you said, unsure of what to say further. “This was fun.”

“It was,” agreed Roy.

Smiling, you quickly went to fish your keys out of your purse. As you did, you had a brief argument with yourself. You like Roy. You really liked Roy. But you didn’t know how ready you were for him. The polite thing to do would be to invite him in, but was that too much too soon? You weren’t that kind of girl. But it would be rude not to. How would he react, either way?

Only one way to find out.

“Would you like to come up?”

To his very great credit, Roy looked surprised. Then he thought about it, bouncing his head back and forth for a second before shaking it.

“No,” he answered. “I’m fucking flattered, but I want to do this right.”

A small part of you was relieved. “Okay, then. Well, thank you for a lovely evening. I had a really, really nice time with you.”

Roy nodded. “I did, too.”

You went to unlock entrance to your building, when Roy Kent closed the distance between you. He had the softest expression on his face, his hands still in his pockets.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Breathless yourself, and unable to speak due to how heavily your heart was beating in your neck, you could only nod. Roy leaned down and tilted his head to place a chaste kiss on, surprisingly, your cheek. Then he straightened and took two steps backwards. He looked up at the sky, and you could see him flashing that dazzling smile once again, just for a second, before he looked back at you.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” you echoed.

With one last grin, he turned around and started the walk back to his car. You went upstairs to your humble little flat feeling as though you were flying.

Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh

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harry-bowie-mercury · 6 months

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People joining the pro life movement. Don't 🖤

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harry-bowie-mercury · 6 months

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harry-bowie-mercury · 7 months

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Has Caitlin Doughty said where on the East Coast she's moving her operation to? If it's in the Delmarva area I definitely want to be taken to her if I ever die

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harry-bowie-mercury · 7 months

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Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter One

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader

Will try to update roughly every two weeks

Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game

Words: 1.9K

Content: Kent-level language (you know what you're in for)

Cricket. Polo. The real football.

There were many popular sports in England, but the downfall of all of those was the fact that they were all at the mercy of the weather. That was why, in your humble opinion, the best sport in the world was bowling.

You were fully aware that the rest of the world definitely didn’t consider it a real sport, and that was fine. But to you, it was the best. No other sport could be enjoyed by 4 year olds and 94 year olds at the same time, all while having full access to a pitcher of beer and never being rained out. Nor did any other sport create friendships so instantly while in good natured competition. It certainly had for you.

You, the army brat, who had moved every year and always ended up being the new kid with the accent different from everyone else’s, had always found common ground in whatever bowling alley had been closest to base. Bowling was its own language, its own gateway into other people’s lives. When you’d finally stayed somewhere for more than two years when you were in high school, you’d made yourself a fixture at the lanes. You stayed in England for college – no, university – and worked your way through every beer league and youth camp you could. The bowling alley was your home, and you ended up staying even after your father retired from the army and returned to his hometown with your mother. Your place was here, behind the counter and coaching leagues.

It was a shallowly connected life. You had a few friends from your own league, as well as your coworkers, and some regulars that you absolutely loved, but mainly, you saw people for five minutes while they paid and figured out which size their rental shoes needed to be before they went to the lanes and you watched from a distance, telling yourself that it was fine.

One day, and especially lonely one, you were scheduled to work a children’s party. You were slightly hung over from the pitcher you’d shared at your league the night prior, and weren’t looking forward to all of the noise that children would inevitably cause. Taking a preemptive Excedrin, you pulled up your hair and braced for the worst.

The birthday child was a blonde girl who was all smiles, leading seven little friends and their adults behind them. You plastered on your best customer service smile and got through the chaos of check in, shoes, snack bar follow up, and lane assignments, then collapsed in your chair to stare into space for a while, until someone needed you.

The respite was brutally short.

You didn’t notice at first, but eventually you realized that you had somebody standing at the side of the counter. It was because of his shirt. Anywhere else, it would have stood out obnoxiously, but the red, orange, and yellow tie dye blended into the colorful walls. You turned quickly once you realized he was there.

“Sorry, I zoned out,” you blurted. “How can I help you, sir?”

The man – you recognized him from somewhere, you realized, but you couldn’t place where – startled at how quickly you acknowledged him. He had very expressive eyebrows, which shot up his forehead in surprise. He pointed at the lanes where the blonde girl’s group was bowling and grunted, “One of the little shits that my niece is friends with threw a ball right after another kid and hit the thing that pushes the pins out of the way, and now it won’t go back up. Can you fix it so their days won’t be ruined?”

You couldn’t tell if her was mad at the lane or at you; it seemed like he was angry in general, judging by the deep creases between his eyebrows. Best to take a cautious approach with him.

“I can’t fix it, but I can call the tech. Just a second.” You grabbed the intercom, but didn’t click it on. “It’s the gate on 15, yeah?”

“The what?”

“The black sweepy thing, on Lane 15?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Quickly, you called out, “Pete, I need a gate reset on Lane 15, please” over the speakers. Then you turned back to the tie dye man.

“Cheers,” he said. “Phoebe will be happy now.”

“That’s your niece? The blonde girl?”

He nodded. “Yep, that idiot.” He smiled and waved toward Phoebe, who was trying to get his attention. “She made me this shirt. I wouldn’t have picked it, but she made it, so I wear it to all her things.”

“It’s a good look. Matches the décor here,” you teased. “I almost didn’t see you, and you were right in front of me.”

A grunt was the only response you got. Fearing you’d been rude, you cleared your throat and continued. “Well. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, if you guys need anything else. You know where to find me.”

Another grunt, and eyebrow guy was gone, leaving you to put your head on the counter in embarrassment. That was so awkward!

You stewed in your awkwardness for another half an hour; nobody else came in to distract you. Distraction didn’t come until you got a call from the snack bar, signaling that they needed you to run the pizza to Phoebe’s group. Inwardly groaning, you picked up the tray and a stack of plates, and expertly balanced them as you walked to Lane 15. Phoebe and her friends were excited to see you, and their enthusiasm evaporated some of your self-pity. These seemed to be good kids.

“Okay,” you said, putting your hands on your hips and leaning down conspiratorially, “I only have two rules for you. Rule Number One: No pizza or drinks on the approach. Rule Number Two: I don’t want to see any pizza fingers in those balls, because someone will have to clean them.” You pointed at yourself as you said “someone,” which made all the kids laugh. “And Rule Number Three-”

“You said there were only two!” interrupted a young boy. Tie dye guy glared at him.

“Well, I lied,” you shrugged. That got a laugh from everybody. “Rule Number Three: Help Phoebe have a happy birthday!”

All of the kids cheered. Satisfied, you walked over to their grown-ups. “If you guys need anything, I’m Splits.” You tapped your nametag, bearing the kitschy bowling nickname that the manager had made you pick. “I’ll be at the counter.”

Your nickname drew a few chuckles and sympathetic smiles. One of the younger adults, who you also recognized in addition Phoebe's uncle, fixed you with a flirty look.

“Do they call yah that because you can do the splits, or…?”

“No, because I leave plenty on the lanes.”

He looked like he was trying to come up with another quip, but Phoebe’s uncle elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, Jamie. Not everyone loves you.”

Jamie, unperturbed, elbowed him back. “Whatever, Coach. It was worth trying. Sorry, Splits.”

You realized where you had seen him before. AFC Richmond was the local football club, and the young man was none other than Jamie Tartt. And now that you had figured out who he was, you had to ask, no matter how much it pained you…

“Can I get a quick photo? The owner likes us to whenever we have a celebrity guest.”

Jamie’s chest puffed out before he looked at tie dye man; you got the feeling his coach had lectured him before about showboating. “Sure, yeah, if that’s how it’s done here.” He checked his hair and grabbed a bowling ball. “Where do you want meh?”

“Uncle Roy should be in the picture, too!” piped Phoebe, shooting her uncle a pout. “He’s more famous that Jamie!”

The man you’d talked to at the counter, who you recognized but didn’t know where from, was named Roy? And Jamie had called him “coach?” Was he Roy Kent? How had you not realized?

It had to be the tie dye. Had to be.

“Fuck no, I’m not getting in a picture with that prick.”

“Please, Uncle Roy?” pleaded Phoebe. “It is my birthday.”

A grunt. You were beginning to think that they were his primary language, in combination with swearing. Roy Kent stood up, rolled his eyes, and got next to Jamie Tartt, glowering.

You reached into your back pocket and took out your phone to check how things looked. Bowling alley lighting was never great, but it was especially bad today. Jamie popped, because of course he did, but Roy melted into the wall, his obnoxious shirt effectively camouflaging him.

Thinking quickly, you went to the racks, grabbed a bright blue bowling ball, and brought it to Roy. He just stared at it.

“And what am I supposed to do with this? Throw a fucking strike on camera?”

“No, I just need you to hold it,” you huffed. “The camera can’t see you; your shirt blends in too much. Just take this, please, and this can be over.”

Without giving him a choice, you pushed the bowling ball against his arm. He took it awkwardly, his fingers brushing yours. You thought he shrank into his shoulders after that, but it could have just been him settling the weight of the ball, so you couldn’t be sure.

You took the picture and sent it to your manager, who started freaking out and texting a sentence at a time, but you retreated back to your counter after that. The rest of the afternoon went quietly. Phoebe’s party ended, and you watched as Roy and Jamie gathered all of the kids’ rental shoes and brought them up to you to return.

Sorry for flirting with yah earlier,” said Jamie, dumping an armful of footwear. “Old habits and all that.”

“It’s no problem,” you replied.

He gave you a wink and sauntered off. Then Roy deposited all of the shoes he was carrying.

“Thanks for being cool. Phoebe enjoyed it.”

“My pleasure. Sorry for the picture.”

“It happens. People are weird about fame.”

“Sorry all the same. Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward.”

Roy Kent wouldn’t look at you, and instead focused on a spot on the counter. Then he gave a last grunt and walked away, sticking out a hand to hold Phoebe’s. You watched them leave before grabbing a bottle of disinfectant to spray down the shoes. As you did, you mused that, for being a football manager and a player before that, Roy Kent was really awkward when it came to being recognized.

The sound of running feet tore your attention away from your thoughts. You looked up, ready to shout at some kids for horseplay, but it was Phoebe, running back to the lanes and grabbing a jumper that she had left. Then she jogged back to the desk, stopping on the way out.

“I had a really fun time,” she said.

“I’m glad,” you replied warmly. “I hope to see you come back.”

Phoebe smiled. “I think I will. I overheard Uncle Roy telling Jamie that he shouldn’t call strangers ‘fit,’ even if they are, and I think they were talking about you. Bye!”

She pranced off to rejoin her uncle where he was waiting for her at the exit, taking his hand once more. You could see them talking, and something she said made him look up abashedly at you. He held your gaze for just a moment, then threw Phoebe over his shoulder and stomped away. You had the rest of the night to ponder the fact that Jamie Tartt and maybe Roy Kent had considered you attractive. It made up for the awkwardness of the photo. Almost.

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harry-bowie-mercury · 8 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter twelve

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

a/n: I enjoy this chapter so much, that is all. I also enjoy the chapter I just wrote but you don't get that yet (hehe). This chapter is a little on the shorter side but that's because the next bit is a Bruce POV interlude! Thanks as usual for the comments etc, I love feedback and I love making y'all lose your minds with cliffhangers!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2k

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

A primal need to survive rose within y/n as hands dragged her into the smoke. She thrashed wildly, twisting every which way to try and escape the iron grip that held her. Her hands turned into claws and she swiped at whatever she could find. Her nails met flesh and she abruptly hit the asphalt as a man yelled.

Go, go, go, she shouted to herself, her breath coming in panicked pants. “Help!” she called, but she didn’t have enough air to shout. She was almost to the motorcycle, hands reaching for the key to turn it, when she was grabbed again.

“Bitch,” the man she had seen earlier snarled into her ear. The fourth murder suspect. Hell, he wasn’t even a suspect. She knew he had killed those two people. She had seen it.

Pain exploded across her face as his fist connected.

This time she did scream.

He laughed. “All this time searching, and you’re right here on our doorstep.”

She took a swipe at him with her nails again. He moved easily out of the way. She tried to run again but he simply caught her like a cat toying with its prey before killing it.

Because he was going to kill her. And he was going to do it before Batman or Gordon or anyone else could save her.

Behind her was the man who’d grabbed her, both of his hands bleeding where she had scratched him. She was between the two men, the motorcycle too far, Batman nowhere to be seen.

She went still. She looked around wildly for an escape, any escape, but saw none. There was still gunfire from the front of the pub. She could hear sirens now, but they were too distant. They would be too late.

She closed her eyes.

“There’s a good girl,” her murderer said. She shivered and almost gagged at the words. “No use fighting it. You saw something you weren’t supposed to, and it’s my job to take care of it, you see. You can’t hide forever, even with your little vigilante friend.” He snorted. “Some good he did you.”

When her eyes opened, they landed on the gun at his waist.

She had never shot a gun before, but if she could grab it…

She turned in a slow circle, a trapped animal, wild with panic, searching for a way out under a false calm.

When she again faced her killer, there was a soft sound behind her. He frowned.

The smoke was clearing now.

With another sudden gust of wind, it cleared enough for her to see the man she’d scratched , now unconscious on the ground.

She ran towards him and the shadow that stood over him.

The other man grabbed for her but she managed to shrug out of her jacket and get away.

She was almost to her savior when the shot rang out.

She gasped and stumbled to a halt. She waited for the pain, the agony, the sudden onslaught of darkness bringing her death.

When she opened her eyes, the Batman was in front of her.

The shot had hit him the chest. She could see the mark from it, the bullet perfectly pressed into the armor right over his heart.

The man pointing the gun stared at them with wide eyes.

Then he cursed and ran.

Batman stepped after him, but more shots rang out. He shoved her against the wall and covered her with his body as he took one, two, three more bullets to the chest like it was nothing. He growled and knocked the shooter unconscious as soon as the gun clicked, empty.

The alley lit up in red and blue as the shooter hit the ground with a thud.

“I’ve got you,” Batman said, his voice almost hoarse. He turned and caged her in with his arms, her own personal bulletproof shield. She stared up at him, still sucking in panicked breaths. Her face was wet with tears, her vision blurry with them.

“You–” she said but it came out a sob. “They shot you. Oh my god.” Her hands fumbled over his chest in a search for blood. No way he had taken four shots and come away completely unscathed.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. There was something dangerous in his voice.

“Are you hurt?” she asked then hiccuped on another sob.

He ripped off a glove and cupped her face with his bare hand.

Her entire body melted into the touch. She whimpered softly and closed her eyes. “I’m okay,” she said, because she was now. His skin was hot, almost burning where he caressed her cheek. He slipped the hand down her neck and angled her head towards the light.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“I’m okay,” she repeated. He let out a long breath. “He got away,” she said, because that seemed important.

“But you’re alive,” Batman said.

“Hey!” Gordon’s familiar voice shouted.

“I have his picture,” she said. She didn’t want Batman to stop touching her face. The touch was a comfort, an anchor, a safe haven in a storm. His hands were callused but gentle. “A clear picture.”

Batman let her go. His absence was an immediate ache in her chest.

“What the hell happened?” Gordon demanded in an almost-shout as police swarmed the alley. “You were supposed to take her to the store or something, not to a gunfight!”

She realized that Batman had stepped in front of her again. As if Gordon was going to shoot at her and he was ready to take the bullet. She leaned around him. The presence of Gordon calmed her further. For the moment, she was safe, and Batman was safe, and that was all that mattered. Everything else was a problem for later that she shoved into a locked box in her mind.

As Batman explained what happened to Gordon, y/n clung to his cape like a kid with a security blanket. She wanted his hand on her skin again, wanted the anchor of his touch, but he had already put his glove back on.

With a jolt, she quickly pulled up her recent pictures with her free hand.

“Here,” she said, holding it out between the two men, interrupting whatever argument they were having. “I got a picture of him. It’s him. I know it’s him. He admitted it to me and everything.”

Gordon took the camera. “I need to–”

“Keep it, yeah, I know. Just don’t delete anything.” She waved a hand and almost tipped over. Now that the adrenaline was fading, she thought she might pass out.

Gordon cursed and paced in a small circle. When he paused, he crossed his arms, then used one hand to point at her. “I’m putting a police detail on your house. And I’m taking you home and speaking with Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth both.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. Batman was watching her, a hand on her elbow, steadying her, his mouth turned down with concern.

She met his eyes.

He looked away, as usual.

“Stay right here,” Gordon said. “I’ll send someone over to get a statement, then I’m taking you straight home.”

“But won’t they know who I am as soon as they see the police there every day?” she asked. Her brain was finally starting to catch up with things.

“It’s only a matter of time before they figure it out,” Gordon said, his voice gentling. “I’d rather err on the side of caution. Now stay put, both of you.”

Gordon strode away, taking command of the scene, having her camera bagged as evidence as he went.

She didn’t move from Batman’s side. She didn’t want to. Men were being led away in cuffs or on stretchers and she let the movements hold her gaze until she landed on a familiar officer.

Martinez saw her at the same time and jogged over. “Hey, you okay?” he said, not even bothering to acknowledge the hulking figure that had once again moved to block her view. She thumped a fist into Batman’s armored back to try to get him to move. What, did he think Martinez was a threat?

“Fit as a fiddle,” she said. She moved to the side so she could see Martinez. “Except for whatever adrenaline and fear do to your brain.” She went to brush hair out of her face and touched the spot where the man had hit her. She winced. “Okay, and the tiny bump on the head.”

“God, what happened? I heard Gordon’s call come over and we got like, a million calls reporting gunshots and–” He reached out a hand, probably to make sure y/n really was okay, only to be blocked again by Batman. He looked up at him. “Good thing you were here, man.”

“Good thing,” Batman said in his low growl. She heard the threat in it even if Martinez didn’t. Her brows drew together. Martinez was about as menacing as a puppy.

“I gotta go,” Martinez said as someone called his name. “Text me later!”

He jogged away.

“Friend of yours?” Batman asked wryly. He glanced down at her and away.

“You always look away from me,” she said instead of answering the question. “It’s like you’re scared to look at me or something. Am I that hideous?” She meant it as a joke but it came out weird, strangled.

She saw him swallow even as he still refused to look at her. “Because I’m scared to get too close.” His voice was a low rasp. There it was again–that hint of familiarity, like a dream fading upon waking.

“Why?”

“Because you–terrify me.”

The words sent a crackle of electricity through her. She opened her mouth to ask why again, but Gordon was back.

“Let’s go, kid.” He grabbed her by the elbow but she dug in her heels.

“Wait,” she said, but she didn’t know what for. She pulled her arm away. She went to turn back to Batman, to make him answer her questions, to get him to say why she terrified him.

But he was gone.

–

Wayne Tower’s lobby was ablaze with light. The whole security team was there, in a standoff with several GCPD officers. Gordon spoke briefly with Blake and a uniformed officer before escorting her upstairs with Martinez.

She couldn’t stop thinking of Batman’s words. Because you terrify me. Her? Terrify him? But why? How? She remembered the warmth of his hand on her face, so gentle despite the violence he had just displayed towards their attackers.

She wondered, albeit briefly, if her mind was focusing on that instead of what had happened to her, like some form of shock.

As the elevator opened, all thoughts of Batman fled.

Because standing there, looking rumpled like he’d rolled out of bed, was Bruce Wayne.

He was lurking behind Alfred, eyes half closed in the bright foyer lights, his clothes baggy and ratty like he was homeless rather than a billionaire.

He had never looked better, or more far away.

Seeing him there–even knowing that it was Gordon that had requested he be there and not a concern for her safety–loosened something within her.

Alfred rushed towards her and gathered her in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright, dear girl,” he said into her hair. “Gordon called and explained.” Her eyes met Bruce’s over Alfred’s shoulder. She expected him to walk away like he so often did whenever they were in the same room lately.

Instead, he held her gaze steadily. She felt like he was trying to tell her something, but she didn’t know what.

The thought brought tears to her eyes as the night’s events caught up with her. Bruce was so far away from her and the distance had never been more apparent. She used to be able to read him with a single glance and vice versa. Now his gaze was a wall of blue ice, as distant from her as the Antarctic.

“I’m okay,” she said, but she wasn’t sure she was.

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harry-bowie-mercury · 8 months

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IM SORRY BUT I NEED A RICHARD MADDEN PRINCE CHARMING FANFIC LIKE RIGHT NOW IM STUCK AT HOME BC IM SICK AND IM GOING TO LOSE IT

#richard madden #prince charming #KIT

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harry-bowie-mercury · 8 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter nine

a/n: Nobody told me that chapter 8 was labeled chapter 7 again lmaooo (I fixed it). Anyways, thanks for reading and for the uptick in comments/ messages etc, I love it!!!! Slight NSFW themes at the very beginning of the chapter!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.6k

He said something she didn’t catch on her way out.

It sounded a lot like, “It’s always been my business to keep you safe.”

But she knew those words weren’t true.

There was warmth against y/n’s back. She hummed and arched into the decidedly male body. There was a delicious hardness against her ass. A hand traced her hip and splayed against her bare stomach under her shirt. A mouth brushed against her neck, hot and wet and teasing. Everywhere he touched trailed fire.

She pushed herself against him and gasped as the hand on her stomach dipped below her underwear.

She rolled over, hands greedily reaching for the hardness that had been pressed against her, and Bruce’s eyes met hers.

Y/n jerked awake. Her body was slick with sweat, her legs clenched tightly together to try and alleviate the ache between them.

She rolled onto her stomach and groaned into her pillow. “Fuck.”

It would be a lie to say she’d never had a sex dream starring Bruce Wayne. But it seemed like heartbreak had put a stop to it. Three years and her dreams about Bruce were usually more like nightmares, reliving the worst night of her life.

Until now.

She tried not to remember how it felt for him to look at her with desire, something that had never and would never happen in anything other than her dreams.

“Stupid Bruce Wayne walking around shirtless,” she muttered into her pillow. She rolled back over and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She could see the barest hint of daylight behind her dark curtains. Her heart still raced. She took several deep breaths to no avail. Her hands fisted in the sheets.

With nothing else to do, she got up to take a shower. It was already six in the morning, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. The dream was already haunting her, and closing her eyes again would only make it worse.

And haunt her it did. All day, the ghost of Bruce Wayne’s warmth followed her. Thankfully, she didn’t see him or Alfred and have to pretend to be normal. She was afraid, if she looked Bruce in the eyes, he’d be able to see straight through her.

But she couldn’t stop remembering the dream. Wishing it was real. Aching with want.

She had known staying in Wayne Tower was a mistake. There were too many memories. There was too much of Bruce’s presence, even when he wasn’t around.

The dream that was the final straw that pushed her into insanity.

Ten o’clock that night, and she had practically paced a hole in the floor of her bedroom, hallway, and library. Since she’d already spent a week straight deep in a research hole for the article, she really didn’t have much else to do. She couldn’t focus on reading or watching anything and she wanted to wait to hear from Gordon about the pub before digging into anything else.

Every time she turned a corner she preemptively jumped, half-expecting Bruce to be there and able to see her sex dream written on her face.

She glanced at the time on her phone. She had made the mistake of taking a nap earlier in the day and was wired all over again. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep and she had absolutely nothing else to do. And she didn’t want to wait around for Bruce to appear from thin air, which would only make matters worse. Besides, what if he was shirtless again?

If she didn’t get away from Wayne Tower, she really would lose it.

She called Gordon.

He answered with a sigh and, “I’m looking into it.”

She couldn’t help but smile. She stared at the study windows but was too afraid to go near them. Mobsters probably had snipers in their employ. “That’s not why I’m calling, but thank you. Do we just not say hello anymore?”

“Hello. What can I do for you?” His voice was teasing. Poor Gordon had gotten the brunt of her boredom the past week, especially when Martinez was working and couldn’t send her memes.

“If I don’t get out of Wayne Tower in the next five minutes I’m probably going to jump out of a window, or go outside with a neon sign inviting the Gallo family to tea.” She said it in one rushed breath.

“Cooped up too long, huh?” Gordon said, a noise like a car door shutting in the background. “Surprised it took you this long to lose it.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re a riot. I’m serious though. I really am losing it. I don’t care if you take me to the fucking corner store and back, I can’t be here another second.” Desperation bled into her voice. The walls felt like they were closing in on her like they had all day.

All because Bruce Wayne had forgotten his fucking shirt.

“I just got off a double shift with Martinez. Let me see if our other friend is nearby, alright? I’ll call you right back.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved that he was willing to send someone to get her out of there. Even if it was a guy who dressed like a bat. She probably would have preferred Martinez’s easy company, but at least if she met with the vigilante she could sate her unending curiosity.

Gordon was calling back in two minutes. Y/n already had her shoes on, camera around her neck, and her pepper spray in one hand.

“He’ll be there in five minutes. Do not go outside before he gets there. He’s going to text you when he arrives.”

“Text me? Wow, I must be special.” She felt giddy. A vigilante was about to text her and take her…she didn’t know. Out of Wayne Tower. That’s all that mattered. She wondered if he’d let her take photos of him for her article, then imagined her camera being chucked off the top of the tower with the bat signal.

“Only because we need you alive. And before you even try it, he uses different burner phones.” Gordon paused, then added, “You sure you’re alright?”

She almost laughed but bit her tongue. Because she had planned on looking up the phone number and seeing what she could find. How nice would it have been for the Batman to use his own personal cell phone?

“I literally just told you I was about to jump out of a window or invite mobsters to tea. I’m not great.” She shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. “I…the tower is just too full of memories.”

Gordon was silent for a long moment. “I get it. Just–don’t try to dig too much into who he is, okay? Respect that boundary. The city needs his anonymity.”

She bit her lip because that was exactly what she had planned on doing. “Okay,” she finally said.

“I mean it. I know the temptation for a reporter like you is going to be hard to resist, but he’s a good guy. There’s a reason I haven’t tried to find out who he is, even after three years.” Gordon was passionate about this, she realized. “Promise me.”

The fire in her gut banked slightly. She felt the oily slickness of guilt in her stomach. Because now she was imagining the guy underneath the mask–the one so desperate to do good in Gotham. A guy willing to risk his life, night after night. Gordon’s words had suddenly humanized him. She swallowed hard. “I promise.”

“Good. And don’t push his buttons too much.”

She snorted. “Now you sound like a dad again. I can’t make any promises about that. Can’t just turn off this amazing personality.”

Gordon chuckled. “Whatever you say. I’m going to bed. Don’t kill each other.”

They hung up and her phone buzzed almost immediately.

A text from an unknown number. Outside.

How do I know this isn’t a murderer? she sent back immediately. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.

She silently apologized to Gordon as she walked to the elevator. She just couldn’t help it. Something about a guy dressed up as a bat made her want to push his buttons.

First alley to the left.

She stuck her tongue out at the new text. Party pooper. It was no fun if she couldn’t get a rise out of him.

After checking in with the security guy–Alfred had told her his name was Blake–y/n stepped outside and turned left. Blake seemed loath to let her go. She wondered if Alfred had threatened him. But she wasn’t a prisoner, even as much as she felt like it.

The Batman materialized out of the shadows of the closest alley. She tried to hide her flinch.

“You’re kind of a creep,” she said instead of hello. He stayed where he was and let her get closer to him. She could see him eyeballing her camera.

“Where to?”

“Wow, great service.” She ran a hand through her hair and glanced around. “Um. I don’t care. What were you going to do? Could I do, like, a ride along?”

“A ride along?” he repeated skeptically. She thought that one of his eyebrows was probably raised, hidden behind the mask. “Don’t you need to…?” He seemed uncertain how to finish the question.

“I told Gordon my options were to get out of Wayne Tower or I was going to jump out of a window. Or, if neither of those panned out, get a neon sign and stand out here inviting the Gallos to tea.” She shrugged and glanced around again. It wasn’t too late that the city had gone to sleep, but no one seemed to notice them in the darkness of the alley. She was jittery, nervous. She wondered if Bruce or Alfred knew she’d left. But she didn’t owe them an explanation.

Batman frowned. “I was going to take a look at that pub. Maverick’s.”

She perked up immediately. “A stakeout?”

“That camera could help.” He nodded towards it. “But if there’s any hint of danger, I’m bringing you back immediately.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but a stakeout sounds way better than what I had planned.” She was giddy. Gordon had given her the best gift without even knowing it. He’d given her a night out of Wayne Tower and a way to be involved in the investigation.

Batman just grunted. “Come on,” he said in that low, low voice of his. She wondered if he was deepening it on purpose and had to bite down to keep the question from coming out. She made a promise to Gordon, after all.

He led her further down the alley to…a motorcycle.

“What if I refuse?” she asked, just to be difficult.

“Then I guess I can walk you to the corner and back.”

She sighed but had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. “Fine. Do you at least have an extra helmet?”

“Here.” He held one out.

She raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”

He lightly knocked a fist against his mask, which was also basically a helmet. “Bulletproof. Probably safer.”

Without waiting for her, he swung a leg over, the bike dipping under his weight, and turned a key in the ignition. It roared to life, the sound of it echoing down the alley and back.

She slid the helmet over her head and gingerly got on behind him.

“Alright?” he asked over his shoulder, his voice slightly muffled through the helmet.

She nodded and accidentally thunked her head against his back.

“Hang on,” he said, and that was all the warning she got.

Her arms tightened around his waist, the armored pieces digging painfully into her. His cape was squished between them, providing a little bit of padding, but her thighs ground into the armor on his legs.

He was like a cactus or something, she thought, then snorted to herself. Cold wind whipped through her clothes. She’d dressed warm on purpose but it was no match for the wind.

The movement on the bike came naturally to her even though it had been years.

Bruce had taught her how to ride and…when they were seventeen, they had ridden together, just like she was riding with Batman. They would sneak out, take the bike through Gotham’s streets or sometimes out into the suburbs.

Tears pricked her eyes at the memory of Gotham at night speeding past them. She had felt alive, free. Bruce had laughed, so loudly she could hear it through the helmet. His skinny waist had been warm in her arms and she’d pressed herself as tightly to him as she’d dared. She had pretended to be scared just so she could cling to him.

The tears fell and caught in the helmet padding.

She couldn’t escape Bruce Wayne no matter what she did.

When the bike slowed to a stop, she yanked the helmet off so she could breathe. She hastily wiped her eyes, but Batman noticed.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Again something in the journalist part of her brain gave a quiet nudge at his voice, but she pushed it away. She had promised Gordon not to try to figure out his identity but it was hard to switch off that part of her. “Too fast?”

She shook her head, then nodded. Better for him to think she was afraid than learn she was crying over a man she had never even dated.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Batman surprised her as he grabbed her waist and lifted one arm.

“Hold on,” he said, his voice in her ear. There was an odd noise like a muffled gunshot and a distant clank from above.

She shouted as their feet lifted off of the ground. She left her stomach somewhere down by the motorcycle.

Her feet touched solid ground seconds later. She stumbled away from the Batman and landed on her ass. They were on the roof of the building they’d just been standing under.

“You fucking bat bastard,” she gasped. She was close to the edge, too close. Her gaze snagged on the motorcycle several stories below them, tucked into a hidden dead end of the alley. She groaned and put her head between her knees. “I thought we were going to switch to a car and have a normal stakeout. Fucker.”

A low chuckle reached her ears. “Not a fan of heights?”

“Or unexpectedly flying!” she snapped. She knew to keep her voice low, but it was hard. Her heart or maybe her stomach was trying to come out of her mouth. She swallowed thickly. If she barfed in front of Batman she was never going to forgive herself. Or him.

“Sorry,” he said, but didn’t sound sorry at all.

“I’m only forgiving you because you’re doing me a huge favor,” she muttered and got unsteadily to her feet. She stumbled and bounced right into his chest.

“I won’t let you fall,” he murmured and the swoop of fear in her gut changed into something else entirely.

She looked up at him. But he turned his face and stepped away.

“Will you be able to take pictures?” he asked after a moment. “You’d have to be closer to the edge.”

She pushed away the strange feeling he had unexpectedly created in her.

“Yeah. I should be fine. Just–seriously, don’t let me fall.”

A ghost of a smile then he was facing away from her again.

Y/n cursed silently. She used every word she knew and made up a few.

Because, for a moment, she had thought about kissing Batman. And her brain hadn’t immediately tossed the thought away because he wasn’t Bruce.

For the first time, she wanted to kiss someone who wasn’t Bruce, and the thought didn’t make her ache.

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harry-bowie-mercury · 8 months

Text

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter seven

a/n: Fuck it, here's chapter 7 since the previous post was technically just an interlude! Once again I'm basically begging for comments/ messages/ any interaction other than just likes because I'm greedy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 3.5k

All she had was an eager cop, a detective, and the detective’s vigilante best friend.

She hoped it would be enough.

Y/n knew that boredom would be her worst enemy, so she downloaded a police scanner app and listened to it almost religiously while she worked. The constant stream of voices helped keep the grief at bay and helped her focus.

To her surprise, the cops seemed to want Batman around. There were a couple of calls those first couple of days–an armed robbery and a creep taking pictures through a window–where the officers mentioned him by name. He’d stopped the armed robbery before the cops got there and also caught the peeping Tom. One cop grumbled on the radio how all their work was being taken by some guy in a costume. The rest of them jumped to Batman's defense, saying there was more than enough crime to go around. “Besides,” one chuckled. “I wouldn't want to be the one to catch some creep with his dick out.”

Y/n was almost pleased to hear the good relationship the vigilante had with GCPD. She wondered how much Gordon had to do with that. She made a few notes of their comments for her article, because it was definitely interesting to see that a city wanted a guy who operated outside the law around.

It was a few nights before an interesting call came through.

A witness reported a woman being shot. A young woman. The details were sparse but it was enough to pique her interest.

Y/n couldn’t say what it was that had her dressing warmly and grabbing her camera and phone. Stupidity, definitely. But it was one of those moments where she felt in her gut that something was happening, something related to her case.

Pepper spray clutched in one hand and camera in the other, she left the safety of Wayne Tower. Every shadow made her jump. She called a cab to take her to the crime scene–or at least as close as she could get. It was practically on the other side of the city and she definitely didn’t want to chance walking alone at night in Gotham.

They were stopped two blocks from the scene, so she got out and peered around. It looked like the actual crime scene was on the other side of an apartment building to her right, but that alley was blocked off as was the street in front of her. So she walked a little further down to the next connecting alley to get to one street over.

“What are you doing here?”

“Shit!” She screamed. She whirled and swung her arm up to use the mace, but her wrist was quickly caught in an iron grip. She tried to scramble away and almost fell when the hand suddenly released her.

Her heart only slightly calmed when she saw who it was.

The Batman.

She pressed her knuckles to her chest. Her heart was jumping out of her chest. “Jesus fucking Christ. What are you doing here?”

He watched her passively, half in the shadows. He had stepped away as soon as he let her go. “I asked first.”

She closed her eyes for a beat and inhaled a steadying breath. “Probably the same thing you’re doing here.” She shrugged. Her pulse was still racing but she knew she was safe now. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. And besides, there were about a million cops just around the corner. If she screamed, they would come.

“It’s too dangerous,” he growled. He took a half-step forward, like he would grab her again.

She held up the pepper spray. “Not afraid to use this on you, buddy. Besides, you’re here now to keep me safe. And the other fifty cops out there.”

He stopped. His eyes narrowed. She wanted to get closer, see what color they were, help narrow down who might be underneath the mask.

“Fine, let’s go.” He started to walk past her, towards the blue and red lights at the end of the alley.

She blinked in surprise. “That was easy.”

He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Only because you’re going to do what you want to do. At least this way I can keep an eye out for you.”

She grinned and winked. “You’re learning already.”

They walked down the alley together, her shadowy protector moving to stay one step behind her like a bodyguard.

At the end of the alley, the world was leached of color in the whirling red and blue lights, the flashes timed almost perfectly to the beat of her heart. She snapped a quick wide picture. She could see the area cordoned off with bright yellow tape.

“Well, of all the officers in all of Gotham,” she said pleasantly when she spied Martinez keeping onlookers away from the crime scene tape.

Officer Martinez’s young face brightened when he saw her, then changed comically fast when he peered over her shoulder. She could feel the Batman’s presence at her back, looming over her.

“She’s with me,” the vigilante said. Martinez sighed but held up the tape to let them under. She sensed there was a story between them and itched to find out what it was.

“If either of you touch anything…” Martinez grumbled. “It’s my neck.”

Y/n flashed him her most winning smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the big guy in line.” Martinez grinned back.

“So Martinez doesn’t like you, huh?” she asked the vigilante.

He ignored her.

The air around them was humid, wet. It must have rained earlier, like most nights in Gotham. A few cop cars were leaving already. She wondered what had brought on the intense response. Her stomach tightened as they approached another alley. Gordon was talking to a young guy, late teens to early twenties, taking notes on a small notepad as the guy wiped at his face.

Y/n quickly fumbled for her phone and set it to record. She wasn’t making the same mistake twice. Except for, well, the whole leaving Wayne Tower late at night while a murderer might be after her mistake she’d already made. She snapped another sneaky picture of Gordon and the young man.

She caught Batman watching her and arched an eyebrow as if daring him to say anything.

He simply turned away and said, “Gordon.”

“Thank you,” Gordon said to who she assumed was a witness. “We’ll be in touch.”

The guy hurried off, shoulders hunched, his face almost green.

Gordon turned, saw her, and sighed. “I would ask, but…”

She winked. “You’re both learning so quickly. I’m proud.”

“What happened?” Batman asked, all business. Y/n glanced past Gordon and saw a body covered in a sheet. The medical examiner was unzipping a body bag, about to transport it.

The detective’s attention turned to the vigilante. “Single gunshot to the head at close range. Woman in her thirties walking home from work. Guy heard the gunshots and came running. Said he didn’t see the shooter but immediately called it in. Unfortunately, his dinner has…contaminated part of the scene.”

While they were talking, y/n quietly lifted her camera and started taking pictures.

The medical examiner lifted the sheet. She took another picture but paused.

She took a shaky step back and bumped into something. Gloved hands steadied her by her elbows.

“Oh,” Batman said softly. He put it together quicker than she had. Her brain was scrambling to keep up. The girl on the ground was a bloody mess, face down, legs sprawled like she’d tried to run. She was wearing a similar outfit to y/n–leggings, sweater, running shoes.

But that wasn’t where the similarities ended.

The height, the body shape, the hair color, even the shade of her skin…

The woman looked like y/n.

She didn’t realize she was shaking until Batman gently squeezed her elbows.

“Shit,” Gordon said. He must not have seen the body when he first arrived on the scene.

“Don’t look,” Batman said in her ear, pulling her away, his voice conjuring–of all people–Bruce Wayne. It was just her mind reaching for something familiar, comfortable, safe. She shook the thought away. The vigilante turned her around and held her close. “Don’t look,” he said again.

She closed her eyes against the wave of emotion. Her stomach swooped dangerously. She’d seen a dead body or two before but not–not like this.

“Guess we have confirmation, then,” Gordon said softly. She didn’t have to ask what confirmation they had. She knew already, her gut telling her what exactly had happened despite its churning.

Someone had killed that woman because it looked like her.

They knew what she looked like. They knew well enough to kill someone even with the chance it might not be her.

Which meant they were desperate and that it was only a matter of time before they found her.

“Come on, you need to get out of here,” Gordon said, and this time he had her by the arm. He pulled her along, the vigilante cutting a path through the crowd before them.

Her mind was blank. The shock of seeing a body, of imaging her own in its place, had wiped everything clean. She didn’t protest as Gordon bundled her into the passenger seat of his car. At least he didn’t put me in the back like a criminal, she thought almost deliriously.

Batman stood in the open door, staring down at her. She wasn’t sure when he’d gotten there but now he was filling her vision. Her eyes traced the planes of his armor, wondering what he looked like underneath, who he was. There were dings and scrapes in places, physical memories of past fights.

“I’m going to find who did this,” he said. His voice pitched impossibly lower. “And keep an eye out for you.”

This made her snap out of it. “You can’t be in two places at once.” He had black paint around his eyes. She hadn’t noticed before.

The barest smirk on his lips as he looked away. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were in the darkness of the night. “You don’t know that for sure.”

She snorted. “You’re right. Maybe you’re some sort of mutant freak. Besides dressing like a bat, you know.” Despite the joking, her hands shook. She tucked them between her thighs.

“Listen,” he said, serious again. There was a note of steel in the word. His voice was so low she could feel it as a vibration on her skin. “Stop sneaking out at night. It’s too dangerous.”

She nodded vaguely but didn’t actually make the promise. If they wanted her dead, Wayne Tower wasn’t going to stop them. Slow them down, maybe, but not stop them. She needed to put the puzzle pieces together, and fast. They were getting closer to figuring out who she was, but she and Gordon and even the Batman only vaguely knew who they were dealing with. They needed to even the score.

“Then give me your phone number so you can be my bodyguard,” she said. She was half teasing.

The Batman seemed to consider it. Her eyes went past him as the gurney passed with the body on it. She shuddered and he stepped to block her view.

“If you have to leave, let Gordon know and one of us will come. But only if you have to.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “You’re allergic to texting.” And probably don’t want a reporter having your phone number, she silently added.

Batman stepped back and then Gordon was there. He put one hand on the top of the car and leaned in, expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. “I’m taking you straight home and you’re going to stay there, alright?”

She waved a hand but nodded. Satisfied, he shut the passenger door. She could hear muffled voices as he said something to Batman. Probably berating him for bringing her to the crime scene in the first place. Or telling him something he didn’t want her to hear.

Within a couple of minutes, Gordon was sliding behind the wheel.

“How’d you even know where to go?” he asked as they drove.

“Police scanner app.”

He glanced over at her. “I hate those things,” he muttered. “What happened to quid pro quo? I would have called you.”

She bit her lip and shrugged. “I can’t just sit around waiting for someone to shoot me in the head.” She shivered at the image she now had of what, exactly, that looked like.

“So you’re going to take yourself right to their doorstep instead?”

“With the way my luck is going lately, it’s only a matter of time anyway. Might as well get as much done as I can first.” She hated to be so casual about it, but she had had really shit luck lately. There was no use hiding from it. If she didn’t leave Wayne Tower, they would probably find a way to break in. Or send a sniper after her. She thought about the times she’d leaned against the windows in the study and a chill went up her spine.

“All you’ve done is traumatize yourself and give me a headache,” he said around a sigh. He really did sound like a tired dad half the time, she mused. She leaned her head back and watched the dark streets of Gotham pass by. She was reminded of another night in Gotham, years ago, on the back of a motorcycle with Bruce.

She pushed the memory away and said, “I’ll pay for a bottle of ibuprofen.”

Gordon laughed softly. “Listen, I know you reporter types are always rushing into danger, but this is your life. Can’t write the story if you’re dead. Text me if you have to go anywhere, and either I’ll come or send someone I trust.”

“Okay,” she said. “But if it takes too long I might leave anyway.” She smiled so he would know she was at least partially kidding. “Have you learned anything new?”

Gordon was silent for so long she knew it was bad news. He parked right in front of Wayne Tower–illegally, she might add.

He turned to face her, his hands idly resting on his knees. “It’s definitely the Gallo family. And another of the suspects we caught is dead. Apparent suicide, but we aren’t so sure. The third one is under around the clock protection, but…”

“Shit,” she said. Now she was the one with a headache. “That is…bad.”

“Can you see why I want you to stay home now?” he asked pleadingly. “Like it or not, I’m responsible for keeping you alive. If we can catch the last guy and get him and the other to trial…you’re an important witness. The only witness.”

“Aw, and here I was thinking you were starting to like me.”

A tightening at the corners of his mouth told her he was trying not to smile. “Let me walk you upstairs.”

“Do you see all the security in there? I’ll be fine.” She gestured towards the lobby. It definitely looked more like a swanky prison these days, even at night when no employees were in the lower floors of the building.

“I wanted to see if I could talk to Bruce Wayne.”

Y/n did a double take. Just the sound of his name made her stomach tighten almost painfully. “Why? To tattle on me? Bruce Wayne is not my keeper. He’s not my anything.” She immediately bit her tongue. She’d said too much with that last sentence, let too much of her hurt and bitterness in.

“I want to talk to him about his security, see if we can bolster it with our officers somehow.” Gordon was already up and out of the car. She scrambled to keep up, briefly getting caught in her seatbelt before yanking it off and hopping out.

Gordon flashed his badge to the security. They all relaxed not at seeing it, but at seeing y/n.

“You better talk to Alfred then, if he’s awake. He’s more in charge of that stuff than Bruce. He’s with me, it’s fine.” She said the last part to the concerned security guard–the new one whose name she still hadn’t learned, the one who had called the police for her the night she’d witnessed the murders. He was in charge of the night shift security, apparently. She wondered if he resented being the only guy at the desk at night to having a whole team around. Or maybe it was less lonely.

Gordon followed her into the private residential elevator. “Be that as it may, I’d like to speak to Mr. Wayne too.”

She sighed but hit the button to take them up to the residential part of Wayne Tower. “You really sound like a dad,” she muttered under her breath.

Gordon cut his eyes at her then smiled.

The elevators opened, and there was Alfred, already dressed and waiting. Security must have called up, warning him the detective was coming. Had he even gone to bed? She was starting to think that Alfred might be nocturnal. Or maybe he didn’t sleep at all. That was new–she and Bruce had gotten in trouble many times when they were younger for interrupting his precious sleep. These days he always seemed to be dressed impeccably, even late at night.

“Detective,” Alfred said pleasantly. He briefly narrowed his eyes at her. “How can I help you?”

Y/n idly scuffed her foot against the floor, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. She had always been caught either sneaking out or sneaking back in. Alfred had a knack for it. Or maybe she wasn’t as good as Bruce had been, who had been caught only twice that she could remember.

Gordon nodded politely. “Is Mr. Wayne feeling better? I’d like to talk to the both of you.”

“I would like to add here that it’s not sneaking out if I’m a grown woman,” y/n said helpfully.

Alfred’s eyes narrowed again before he turned his focus back to Gordon. “Mr. Wayne is out.”

Now y/n was narrowing her eyes at Alfred. He caught her looking. She raised one eyebrow. Was he street racing again? She remembered the bruises on his knuckles. Or part of an illegal fight club? Neither would surprise her.

Another thought struck and stole her breath.

Maybe Bruce had a girlfriend.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Gordon asked. His tone was carefully neutral.

“Well, as I was just told, the rules are different for grown men–and women. He comes and goes as he pleases and rarely includes me in his plans.” Alfred was being too professional with it. His tone was too flat. Oh yeah, Bruce was definitely up to something, and Alfred definitely knew exactly what it was. Fuck, she thought desperately. She couldn’t breathe. Alfred would know if Bruce had a girlfriend and he knew her well enough to hide it from her.

Why did the thought of Bruce with another woman hurt so much, even three years later? I don’t love you and I never will, he had said that night.

Which meant he was perfectly capable of loving someone else.

Y/n bit her lip until the pain made the panic recede.

“Of course,” Gordon said in an equally flat, professional tone. “I wanted to chat about security measures. There was another murder tonight, and while I can’t give details of an ongoing investigation…it definitely seems like y/n is a target.”

She cringed, remembering how eerily similar the body had been to hers. Who had the woman been? She hadn’t gotten a name, an age. But she felt like she should know these things if the woman had died in her place. What if she was only the first? Would they kill every woman who looked close enough to y/n before they caught her?

Alfred blinked in surprise, the professional facade slipping. “I–of course, let’s go into my office.”

Y/n wanted to go with them but decided against it. It really would be smarter to listen to Gordon. If she needed to leave, she would get an escort, even if it was Alfred. He may walk with a cane but she knew he was secretly pretty spry. He’d been a spy or soldier or something in his younger years, before coming to work for the Waynes.

“Goodnight, Alfred,” she said, taking a half-step towards the hall that led to her room. “And thanks, Gordon.”

They both nodded and bid her goodnight before disappearing towards the study.

Y/n waited a second then darted to the elevator. The other elevator. Bruce’s.

She didn’t really have a plan other than to see with her own two eyes that Bruce was gone and not just hiding.

She hit the button for what was once the garage and again, nothing happened. She frowned at it and hit it several more times. Still nothing.

What if Bruce was down there with a woman, showing her his cars? Or–She shut the thought down and mashed the button one more time, knowing it was futile.

With a curse, she stepped back out.

Fine, she would go to bed and leave Bruce alone. It didn’t matter if he was wrecking illegally souped up cars or beating someone’s face in and following the first rule of fight club. It didn’t matter if he was with a woman he might love more than he ever loved her.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

Except, as much as she hated to admit it, he did.

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harry-bowie-mercury · 8 months

Text

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

interlude one

a/n: look I know I said I probably wasn't going to write Bruce's POV in this fic but I literally couldn't help it. But instead of splitting chapters with POV right now is to just throw in a few short interludes to give a peek inside Bruce's head!

Series Masterlist

word count: 1.4k

Bruce's POV

Bruce was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because, if there was one thing he’d learned in his life, it was that it was inevitable.

He’d been living in a constant state of fear ever since y/n had come home.

Serial killers, city floods, bombs, that kind of stuff was nowhere near as frightening as she was.

She’d always, always been able to see straight through him in a way no one else ever could. Even three years ago, when he had purposefully broken her heart, he thought she would see straight through to the truth of the matter–that he was lying for her own good.

And stupidly, there he’d been, interacting with her as the Batman, waiting for her to roll her eyes in that way of hers and say, “Take off the stupid fucking costume, Bruce.”

Every time he had opened his mouth, he thought he was done for. And okay, maybe he was deepening his voice to try to throw her off, but that was more out of habit than anything. Everything he said, everything he did, felt like the smoking gun that would make her go “Aha!” He’d even made a joke as if everything were normal, for god’s sake. And all it had done was make her scared of him.

That only made things worse.

Now, he stared at the security footage in front of him with an ache in his chest.

Y/n was asleep sitting up in his private elevator, the one that would lead her down to the abandoned subway station if she figured out how to put in the code.

He was freshly back from another patrol and had just changed when he caught sight of her on the screen. His heart ached for her, to hold her, to comfort her. He’d been a bastard the past few days even after she had lost her grandmother. He knew it was because he was grieving too, something she normally would have understood.

But not anymore. She had frozen him out as effectively as he had frozen her out. The chasm between them yawned wider and darker with every passing day, and he hated it. He hated every second of it, but he couldn’t stop, because it was better for her. When the other shoe inevitably dropped and the world found out who he really was, it was best if she was as distant from him as possible.

Even if he kept finding himself drawn inescapably back into her orbit.

“You’re walking a very precarious line,” Alfred murmured from where he poured over some sort of paperwork. The pair of them had started hiding in the Wayne Terminus station since y/n had gotten into town. It wasn’t on purpose, really. It was simply easier to discuss all things Batman related away from her.

“I know,” Bruce said. He leaned both palms against the table and stared at her. She looked so small on the screen, so…lonely and broken. His eyes stung just to look at her. And he knew it was his fault. The distance was killing him even though he was the one who had created it.

“I mean, really, Bruce–interacting with her as the Batman? What are you going to do when she inevitably figures it out?” Alfred set down his pen and took his glasses off. Bruce’s thoughts again turned to y/n. She would call Alfred’s tone his tired dad voice.

Bruce held in a sigh. They had gone over every iteration of this argument in the past three years, only now it was more relevant since y/n had actually met Batman. Before, it was simpler. She refused to come to Gotham, refused to see him, refused to even hear details about him according to Dory. Now she was entirely enmeshed in both of his lives and it was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

“Then she’ll know.” Bruce half-shrugged.

“But you won’t outright tell her.”

“I’m trying to–”

“Keep her safe, I know. But Bruce, surely you’ve noticed–”

That she was different now? That she was a shell of herself? That pushing her away had done irreparable damage that he couldn’t see the entire extent of? “Yes.”

You’ve done enough, she’d said that night. Because he had. He had hurt her, on purpose, over and over again. He was still hurting her. Though it was in her best interests–of that he was certain–it was hurting her.

“So you’ll just let her figure it out and let things fall as they may.” It wasn’t a question. “Even though it will come back to bite you. You know that, right?”

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I can’t just–”

“Tell the truth?” Alfred offered wryly. He twirled his pen then tapped it on a paper.

Bruce was tired of arguing with him. “No, Alfred, I can’t just tell the truth. Knowing puts her in danger. Knowing–knowing means things will never be the same.”

Alfred sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Things already aren’t the same and you know it.” He said it carefully, gently. But Bruce already knew.

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled, eyes straying back to the security feeds again.

“If she finds out, and you didn’t tell her…the longer this goes on, the worse it will be.” Again, Alfred’s voice was careful, almost gentle. It was born of his affection for y/n, Bruce knew. They both loved her in their own way. Alfred had helped raise her. Bruce’s decision had affected them all.

Seeing her sleeping there, so obviously weighed down by her grief, Bruce wanted her to know. Then maybe they could stop hurting and work towards making things…maybe not what they used to be, but close.

Fuck it, Bruce decided, and he heard the words in her voice.

No time like the present.

He strode over to the elevator and hit the button to call it down. Alfred stood and leaned on his cane. Bruce’s heart pounded loudly in the silence as the elevator slowly, slowly lowered. A million things went through his head at once. Would she be angry? Confused? Excited? She knew that he used the old station, but last time she had seen it it had been a slapped together garage.

He glanced around the space right before the elevator rattled to a stop.

No, it was obvious what it was used for now. The dummy that held his armor when it wasn’t in use or needed repairs was in full view of the doors opening.

Bruce glanced down, a surge of adrenaline almost making him black out.

But she was still asleep.

He frowned then looked over his shoulder at Alfred. Alfred shrugged.

She looked so peaceful, even in the cramped position she was in.

He said her name softly but she didn’t stir.

He guessed that was the universe’s way of telling him it was pointless.

Bruce stepped inside, careful to be quiet even though she’d slept through the rattling elevator descending several stories and its gates creaking open. He exchanged one last look with Alfred then hit the button to take them back upstairs.

Alfred’s expression mirrored the disappointment Bruce felt. Alfred was disappointed in Bruce though. He knew without the older man saying anything that Bruce should have woken her, should have finally had a conversation three years in the making.

Bruce was disappointed that she hadn’t woken and made the choice easier for him.

He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, his secret would finally be hers. That maybe he could explain.

But like most things in his life, it was too good to be true.

When the elevator stopped again, Bruce leaned down and carefully shifted her into his arms.

His eyes stung again at the familiar scent of her. It was a balm to his soul to be so close to her after so long, even though she was asleep. He inhaled shakily and held the scent in his lungs.

Her eyes fluttered open at the movement. He stared down at her, arms tightening instinctively, and waited for her to say something, anything. He expected her to shove away from him or maybe shout until he put her down.

But all she did was nuzzle into his neck and inhale deeply with a hum. He almost dropped her at the mixture of intense pain and relief that washed over him. His heart cracked again. God, he missed her.

“I miss you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his neck.

When he looked down at her again, smiling faintly, she was already asleep again.

He very gently laid her in her bed. She immediately curled on her side with a little sigh. He tucked her in and hovered there, aching to hold her, aching to wake her up, just aching.

“I miss you too,” he whispered around the lump in his throat.

She didn’t wake.

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