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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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sanguineterrain · 10 days

Note

Your writing is so damn good, you execute every request perfectly 😭

Could you maybe write something where Dick's insecure partner wants to break up with him because their self-image is getting worse cause they feel they can't catch up to the Golden Boy reputation, superheroes, billionaires and so on?

hi, thanks for the request! I hope I did it justice :) a brief interlude from jaytodd before we return to our regularly scheduled program lol

dick grayson x gn!reader. low self esteem, an almost breakup, reader feeling insecure, threatened, sad. happy ending! 2.1k words

****

You've been tugging at your outfit for ten minutes. At this rate, you'll have to concede that this is as good as it's going to get.

"My love, you almost ready?"

You sigh and watch your reflection fold its arms.

"Yeah," you say softly. "'M ready."

The door opens. Your heart swoops.

Dick is beautiful, as usual. Your boyfriend can do a lot, including fill a suit. Both your and his outfits were tailor-made because that's one of the perks of being the son of a billionaire.

Over and over, you'd insisted you could wear off-the-rack, and over and over, Dick had said that was silly, that Bruce wouldn't mind.

And it's true that what you're wearing flatters you better than anything from Macy's or Marshall's would've. But you know it won't help tonight. Not in a room full of Gotham's elite.

"Just as I suspected," Dick says, immediately draping his arms over your hips. "You're gonna steal the show tonight."

He's lying.

That voice in your head has gotten louder recently, and you don't know how to turn it off.

You kiss him instead of responding. Dick enthusiastically reciprocates, always delighted when you touch him. You used to think it would be enough.

But ever since you found out that not only are you dating a billionaire philanthropist with a face that makes angels weep, but that said guy is also arguably the most beloved hero in Gotham, maybe second only to the Batman (who's his freaking dad?!), you've begun to have doubts.

You pull back. Dick's tie perfectly sets off his eyes. They're bright as they look at you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

"Uh-huh," you say, trying to smile. "Just nervous."

“Hey, it's alright. I'll be by your side all night. I'll save you from any and all small talk, promise." He winks. "And we can duck out early, get hot chocolate from that place you like. They won't care."

Dick's always doing that. Always catering to you. You're just some nobody who happened to stumble into the best relationship you’ve ever had with a golden god.

Dick never reminds you of that. That he could do better. He doesn't have to—you know it all on your own.

You swallow. “Okay. If you're sure. I... I would like to leave early, Gray."

“‘Course, baby,” Dick says, attaching his cuff links. "Anything you want."

You turn back to the mirror, wondering if you can reinvent your personality before you go and remind everyone what a mistake Dick Grayson has made in choosing you.

****

The party is tasteful, though a little stuffy. You're only here because Dick is going to give a speech, and he asked you to come support him. And while you know it's better for him to go without you so you won't dull his shine, it seems Dick hasn't quite figured that out.

You hold onto Dick’s arm as he makes his usual rounds. Dick doesn't enjoy these events, you know that, but he's fluid in his interactions. There is no doubt he’s Bruce Wayne’s prodigy. With his suit, his hair, his easy posture, Dick is almost unrecognizable from when you woke up with him this morning.

He's in his element. All you can do is peer in and watch.

Dick leans in and slips a hand around your waist after the fourth interaction with a donor. A donor who, again, acted like Dick may as well have been dragging around a coat rack with how intently they ignored you. Not that you give a shit about what the one percent have to say about you, except sometimes they say a lot of mean things, things you're pretty sure they don't let Dick overhear, and sometimes you start wondering if Dick is the only person who can't see truth in what they say, and sometimes—

“Hey.” Dick leans in to talk in your ear. He's warm and solid. You wish that was a comfort. “You okay?”

You're exhausted.

“Uh-hmm.”

He is going to wake up one of these days and realize he can have it so much better.

Dick moves like he's about to say more, pull you closer and permeate your senses with his gold.

“Dickie!”

Sweet, tinkling laughter echoes across the room. The crowd parts for this new woman, an obvious socialite, dressed to the nines and gorgeous.

Her dress matches Dick's tie. You feel sick.

When she reaches you two, she wastes no time grabbing Dick and kissing his cheek. He extricates himself from her, like he's done a million times before with everyone else who thinks they're entitled to a piece of Dick Grayson. He shoots you an apologetic look. You look away.

“My God, it’s been what, ten years?” she says. Then she sees you. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Caroline Banesbury, Duchess of Middlesworth. I heard the Dickie Grayson was going to be here, and I had to come.”

“Been a while,” Dick says, smiling blandly. “How are you, Caroline?”

“Spectacular! Father just bought another castle. You should come and see it sometime.” She plucks a flute of champagne off of a passing tray and smiles behind the rim of the glass.

“Dick and I go way back,” she says, gaze roving over him. “I hear you're transforming Blüdhaven. Taking a page out of Bruce's book, hm? You always had a big heart, Dickie.”

She grabs his arm and links it with hers. You sigh and take a sip of your own drink. You half-wish Poison Ivy would come in and gas the room or something.

Dick clears his throat and maneuvers out of her grip once more, letting go of her with a light pat. He returns to you, snugly holding your shoulders.

"This is my partner," he says about you.

Caroline hums, looking over you. "I see. Pleasure."

You nod. She turns back to Dick.

“If I can be of any help to your project, you let me know,” she adds, glancing down at where her empty arm now hangs at her side. “Anything.”

“That's generous of you, Carrie.”

Dick and I go way back.

Oh. Right. You're stupid. They've dated.

“We should have dinner,” she continues. “Catch up. I'm dying to know what Gotham's darling has been up to.”

“I feel sick,” you announce.

Dick and Caroline turn to you. Caroline looks perplexed, like you've just said you like to chew concrete.

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” she says, hardly sparing you a glance. "Perhaps you ought to lie down."

You feel Dick's eyes on you. If you don't leave soon, he'll know you're lying. Possibly the worst part about dating Batman's protégé.

Suddenly, leaving this hall is the most important thing you've ever had to do. You feel like you'll die if you don't.

Your feet start moving.

"Baby—"

Anyway, this is Caroline's chance. She can swoop in with her trust fund and while you think Dick can do way better than her—he can always do better—anyone is better than you. For Dick Grayson, who has been a master acrobat since he was a child, son of Batman, leader of the Titans, indubitably intelligent, capable, beautiful, the best goddamn guy you'll ever know—

You've lost your way. You're out of the gala, away from duchesses and doom. And you meant to get your coat but this hall that Bruce rented is enormous. You've no idea where you are. But you're alone.

Bruce must've known too, how unfit you are for his son. And why wouldn't he tell Dick? Unless Dick ignored him, because Dick, for all his smarts, is stupidly in love with you, thinks you're where he should put his heart, is certain you won't fumble and drop it.

Warm, callused fingers catch your wrist and you remember, suddenly, Dick telling you once, after you'd nearly stumbled into the street, that he'd never let you fall.

You meet his eyes. Why does he look at you like that? Who gave him the right to look at you like-like you—as if you could ever deserve—

"Hey," he says, squeezes your hand. "Hey, hey. What's going on?"

Dick Grayson is not a trusting man but he trusts you and good God, you're about to break him.

"I need to break up with you," you blurt.

"What?" he breathes. "What—why would you say that?"

You wish he'd give you the slip he gave everyone in that room, gently separate your arm from his hand. You never learned how to evade Dick's touch.

"Because it's true. Dick, please understand—"

"No, I'm trying to understand. Because yesterday—no, tonight, you were fine—"

"No, Dick, I wasn't fine! I haven't been fine in months!"

You wrench your arm away. He looks like you slapped him.

"You know anybody I talk to in there means nothing, right? You know that, honey." He's pleading.

You curl your fist into your eye. "It's more than that, Gray."

"Then tell me what the problem is," he says desperately. "Tell me and we'll fix it. I promise we can fix it."

"You can't!" you say, voice cracking. "You can't fix me."

Dick shakes his head. "I don't—"

"Why can't you let me break up with you with a little bit of dignity?" you ask. "Do you have to be better at this too?"

"I don't want to break up," he says, tugging at a handful of his hair. "This doesn't make sense. We're happy. You're happy, aren't you? Don't I make you happy?"

"Of course," you choke out. "Of course you make me happy. But you don't see I'm bad for you. You're wonderful and perfect and golden, Dick. And I'm a stain. I need to be scrubbed away."

"Wh—that's not true!"

"Everywhere we go, people see me with you and are immediately confused. I'm not a superhero, I'm not royalty, I'm not a socialite, and yet somehow I've managed to snag Gotham's darling. This is a mistake. I'm trying to do you a favor and wake you up!"

Dick's face is hard with anger. How could you have thought this would be easy?

"I don't need to be woken up! What is it that makes you think I have no agency over the people I choose to spend time with? Everyone I meet thinks they're entitled to touch me, demand me. Everyone but you. You, the person I chose to love, who I love everyday. Do you think you pulled the wool over my eyes and you're snapping me out of it? Is that what you really think?"

And isn't this the most puzzling thing? That he's not sad or gently accepting; Dick is mad.

"I just—" He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't mean to yell, but really, I can't bear it if you see me as some god on a pedestal, unattainable and inhuman, like everyone else sees me. I love you on purpose."

"You're so accomplished, though," you say weakly. "You're..." You wave your hand over him. "You're fucking Nightwing, D. You were Robin, you have superheroes for friends, Batman for a parent, you're beloved by, like, all of Jersey—"

"My love, you know those are just parts of me. You see all of me. You know me. And that's not a one-way privilege, okay? I'm so damn lucky to know you, to love you, to be with you, to fight with you. To fight for you. Knowing you isn't something I take for granted."

"But I'm boring," you say, tears spilling over. "Jesus Christ, Dick, I'm plain and untalented, barely a dime to my name, so painfully ordinary that—"

"Listen to me," he says, taking your face in his hands. "Flying around or shooting lasers out of your eyes, sure, it's cool, and it's helpful for taking down an alien dictator. But I don't need you to do any of that, honey. I don't need nor want you to be anyone but you. I wasn't tricked or swindled into loving you. We caught each other halfway, just like we were meant to."

You let him pull you into his arms, let him press your tear stains to his silk pocket square, let his hair fall around you.

His embrace is solid, firm, but when he inhales, his shoulders shake.

"Do you—" He swallows, throat against yours. "Do you still want to break up?"

His heart beats against your cheek.

"I'm just afraid you'll get tired of me," you whisper. "Bored. Annoyed."

"I won't," he whispers. "You're the least boring person ever. It's never boring to be loved."

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dick's warmth encloses you.

"No, I don't want to break up. I'm sorry."

He holds you tighter, and you realize you never had to match Dick's tie. Not when you've got his heart.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #richard grayson x reader #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing x you #Nightwing fanfiction #dick Grayson fanfiction #dick Grayson imagine #Nightwing imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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msfantasy-comics · 7 months

Text

The Opposites Attract

Dick Grayson x Reader

Summary: A Head Cannon on which Dick Grayson and Y/n oppose each other yet remain wholly compatible.

Warning: Y/n is depicted as angsty and a little feral.

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Opposites attract they say.

Yet Dick and Y/n are such polar opposites surely their difference outweigh each other.

Despite it all, the two love birds gravitate each other due to their completing differences.

Extrovert vs. Introvert

Dick is insanely outgoing and is recharged by socialising. His perfect setting is in a crowded rowdy rooms where the conversation moves like wildfire. Wild and Abrupt.

Y/n on the other hand, prefers a quite space with one-on-one conversations.

In typical extraverted fashion. Dick adopts the introverted Y/n and encourages her to step outside her comfort zone and talk to others.

But it’s just not in her nature.

How the hell are you meant to jump into a conversation?

How are you meant to have a say on a topic when three other people are talking over each other to get their 2 cents in?

You gave up almost immediately and retreated back to your safe corner always from the shoulder bashing and elbow jabbing walk way.

Dick was initially disappointed to see you give up so quickly until he noticed that you were carrying on your socialising in your own way.

You sat silently as strangers poured their heart out to you.

Silently nodding and humming in agreement every now and then before the person sighed, thanked you for listening and walked off.

Dick really admires that about you.

Dick: “Need some company.”

Y/n: “Only if you bring me the good vibes.”

Optimist vs. Pessimist

Dick is a buzzing bundle of bountiful energy.

Dick is never short on absurdly positive outcomes despite all odds indicating otherwise.

Why live in a delusional state? You know the realities of life.

And the reality is that life can be shit and it doesn’t turn out well for everyone no matter how much they try or desperately scramble to achieve their hopes.

Hope is pointless.

There is just something obnoxiously wonderful about Dick.

How is it that your boy wonder lights a flame in you that fills you with certainty that all will be right as long as he is here?

You greatly admire how infectious Dicks positivity can be.

Y/n: “Why keep sending them to Arkham only to escape and ruin lives? Might as well just put an end to their burdensome presence.”

Dick: “Oh honey nooooo. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. Snuffing out the life of a person doesn’t solve the root of the issue.”

Y/n: “Who cares! Nothing matters in the end anyway, we will all die and become obsolete. Only to let the next generation bitch and moan about the inequality of it all.”

Dick: “Ah, my precious little sunshine can be such a downer, yes you can.”

*Condescendingly pinches cheeks*

Secretive vs. Open

Dick just wants the best of both worlds.

To be the figure head for heroism, hope, peace and safety, without an of the consequences of having your image publicly known.

Dick would never want to endanger the lives of those around him due to his passions in crime fighting.

Therefore, he must maintain the secrecy of the bat and the mask.

You, however, don’t understand how or why your boy wonder hides his true identity.

It’s not like Dick Grayson is an every day normal civilian.

He’s a fricken heir to Gotham wealthiest philanthropist.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any privacy on either alter egos.

But the Bats secret is not your own to share.

So instead you live freely by your own rules.

You admit your identities and aren’t afraid to show the public your true self.

You honestly couldn’t care less about public perception.

Dick, admires your unapologetic lifestyle.

Aggressive Random: “You shouldn’t -“

Y/n: “Piss Off- no one asked you.”

Dick: “Ah sweetie… maybe you should listen to what they have to say.”

Y/n: “I couldn’t give a rats!”

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allysunny · 4 months

Note

HI CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE BALE!BATMAN ONE SHOTS AND SCENARIOS AND DO THE ALPHABET THING!! TYSM ILY THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE🙏🙌🫡

Bale!Batman Scenarios and Fluff Alphabet

Words: 8k words

Warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mentions of suggestive and adult themes, mentions of panic attacks, hopefully not OOC Bruce (literally the second thing I've written for him). I wrote this with female pronouns in mind, but aside for the word "girlfriend" which appears twice, and the word "mother" which appears once, I think it can be gender neutral as well - I'm sorry, I don't know how to write for gender neutral yet!

A/N: Hey everyone! I've had this in my drafts for like two days, and I thought today was a nice day to post it hehehe! This is another one of my Bruce requests, I'm so happy about it! I didn't know what "alphabet thing" you wanted, so I went with the Fluff alphabet, which was what I thought you meant. I used both the coldest goodbye's and snk warriors templates because I loved them so much, so credit to them! I took a few entries from each because I couldn't simply stick to one.

This was supposed to be short and small and sweet but I think I'm unable to write short stuff, and that's how I ended up with a 8k "short drabble"... I actually forgot people usually pick A FEW letters from the alphabet and write for them... So I ended up writing for all of them... Oops... Sorry... But on the other hand, there's not nearly as much Bale!Bruce content out there, and I want to change that! So! 0 Regrets!!!

(You can also notice as the alphabet entries get shorter and shorter because it was getting super late and I refused to go to sleep... Oops!)

Anyway, I had a fun time writing this! I love this man so much oh my god... I hope you guys enjoy it!

It’s not rare when people tell you “You hit the jackpot” when it comes to Bruce. Whenever he’s nearby, he’ll quickly swoop in and correct whoever was talking to you. “Actually, I’m the lucky one,” he says in that ever so charismatic voice of his, making you blush.

Both statements are true. Yes, you landed Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne. Billionaire, ex-playboy, philanthropist, and lover of fine things in life Bruce Wayne. Bruce “I have a car for each day of the week” Wayne. Bruce “You fly coach? That’s funny, I have my own private jet” Wayne. Bruce “My vacations are on the West Wing of my manor because it’s so god damn big” Wayne.

But he’d landed you. Selfless, caring, funny, you. “I don’t need anyone’s protection” You. “I don’t care if you’re filthy rich, we’re staying at my place and eating noodles for dinner” you. “My feet are so sore, please carry me back to the mansion please?” you. “No – you’re going to stand up right now and learn how to do the dishes properly Bruce Wayne, this is unacceptable, how old even are you?” you. He was the lucky one. He managed to find someone who loved him for him. Not for the money, not for the fame, but him.

You preferred catching the train and walking over getting lifts in his fancy cars. “It attracts too much attention – I don’t need the whole entire world knowing I’m out with you.” You’d mumble, and that was the end of it. You enjoyed lazing around in his Manor, but in a “holy fuck this place is so comfortable I’m going to take a nap, I’ll see you in two hours” rather than a “I need to let everyone know I’m currently staying inside Wayne Manor, they will not believe it!” You treated it like home, splaying yourself on couches when tired, cleaning up after yourself and decorating bit by bit – Bruce loved that you were leaving your touch in his home. It meant that, somehow, it was also yours.

You’d change simple things really. Wayne Manor was beautiful as it was, and you had no need to replace it or turn it into something new – no. You got yourself some fluffy towels, replaced a bathroom rug that had seen better days, bought a shelf for the living room. It was his home, yes, and the home of his family before him, but he loved you and wanted you to feel comfortable and wanted you to leave your traces all around his home.

That’s not to say he won’t spoil the hell out of you. He loves your casual dates. Picnics in your living room or his, lazy Sundays spent looking at the clouds in his vast gardens, night spent in each other’s arms, the air cackling with silent promises and love confessions. But he’s Bruce Wayne. He has the means, and Gotham be damned if he wasn’t going to spend them on you.

You still weren’t very comfortable with going to charity galas with him, but Bruce still loved seeing you wear whatever dresses he got for you. So, he’d make reservations at fancy hotels, get a private table, and enjoy a quiet dinner with the love of his life. Away from prying eyes, you could finally be your usual self, cracking jokes and flirting with him.

“Anything interesting happen today at that dreadfully boring job of yours?” You asked him one night, toying with the fork on your hand. He finished drinking from his wine and gave you a comical look. “Not really. Just more of the same. Boring papers, boring meetings, boring people trying to steal my job and my company. The usual.” He said it so matter-of-factly, it almost seemed like nothing you should worry about. But you knew better. “I wonder when they’re going to stop trying. Should we be worried, Bruce?” “Not at all,” he drank again. “My father worked hard to build this company and get it where it is today. It’ll take more than a few angry petty businessmen to take it away from me.” You still eyed him curiously. “My love, I promise all is okay. Everything’s under control.”

You weren’t worried he was going to lose all his money and stop spoiling you. You’d be happy to live in a one apartment studio with no furniture and no money if it meant you could have him with you. But you knew how greedy people could be. You’d watched as some very sketchy men tried to take Bruce’s company away from him, over and over again, trying to destroy what Thomas Wayne had worked so hard to get, and it hurt.

“Fine. But if something ever happens, you just let me at them. I’d have a thing or two to say!” Bruce smiled at you, leaned over the table to caress your cheek, and continued eating.

On date nights in which you end up snuggled up in the couch watching a movie, you two already have assigned positions. Either he’s sitting with his legs spread on the couch, and you’re lying on top of his chest, or you’re sitting normally while he lays with his head on your lap. No one can tell, but Bruce is completely whipped by you. Sometimes, all he wants is to fall asleep on your lap as you gently massage his scalp. You two take so long picking movies, it’s insane. Sometimes, Alfred makes popcorn and you’ve both finished it before you’ve picked a movie, because you’re both stubborn as hell.

You know he is Batman. He told you, but you were able to figure it out a few weeks into your relationship. Not like it was that hard – he was often “busy” with work, although everyone had left the company and he was the only one there at around 4am, the bruises all over his chest and back (Bruce hated polo. He’d never pick it up), the tiredness he displayed in some of your dates and his fucked up sleeping schedule. One time he cancelled dinner on you, and a few hours later, the TV was covering a Batman chase.

You weren’t that dumb.

You were going to confront him, when found the Batcave by accident. You’d found this random ass room you could’ve sworn you’d never seen in your entire life with a piano. And just like every kid when they see a piano, you sat in front of it. If you do know how to play the piano, it wasn’t deliberate, but at the same time, it kind of was. You were playing some scales, warming up your fingers, and doing silly little exercises you’d been taught as a kid when you struck those three notes.

If you don’t play the piano, well, you were just hitting keys at random. You played a few high notes, a few low notes, and then, in true child fashion, just hit some random notes in the middle, pretending you were the next Mozart or Beethoven.

When the bookshelf in front of you opened, you nearly jumped. Why was a bookshelf opening. How was that possible? What sort of thing was Bruce hiding that was so, so secret, he had to keep it behind a secret passageway?

Instead of leaving the room, calling for Alfred or even Bruce, you decided to do what any great adventurer does, you stepped inside the passage and into the elevator. When you reached the bottom, all you could do was stare. Holy shit. Was this some sort of cave? You walked around a bit, curious but also far too scared to actually touch anything. You weren’t getting yourself killed today, nuh-uh.

What even was this place? Was it some kind of weird sex dungeon? Heat rushed to your cheeks at the thought – Bruce had never told you anything about it. Was this a torture room? Did he take all his victims here to kill them? And then eat them? Oh God. Were you his next victim?

“Honey?” you heard behind you, and your first instinct was to place a protective hand in front of you.

“Stay back!” you shouted, “I took three karate classes, I can knock you down unconscious!”

Bruce’s expression was one of confusion.

“I’m not going to hurt you, just –“

“Your charm doesn’t work on me Bruce; I will take you down! You can’t kill me and eat me!”

“What?!”

“I don’t care if this is your torture room, I will kick your ass!”

Bruce then proceeded to laugh. How dare he?!

“It’s not funny! Do you always laugh before murdering your victims?!”

“I don’t murder anyone. This isn’t a torture room.” He approached you slowly, hands coming up. “I’m not going to hurt you. Can you please leave that stance? You’re going to hurt yourself if you try to punch me like that. Your legs aren’t balanced, you’re going to trip and fall face first.”

You stuck your tongue out and returned to a normal standing position before he ran a hand through his head and sighed.

“So. You found it.” he mumbled.

“Found what, exactly?”

“My cave.”

“Oh my god. Is this the Batcave?!” You were so excited; you didn’t even realise the words that had left your mouth before it was too late.

Bruce’s eyes widened and he looked at you intently.

“What did you say?”

Shit.

Your next sentence started with,

“So. I know you’re the Batman –“

He had a lot of explaining to do.

He was surprised you figured it out so quickly, but of course, in true Bruce Wayne fashion, he did try to drive you away to keep you safe. He tried everything. Telling you he wanted to break up, ignoring your phone calls and messages, refusing to leave his Manor whenever you wanted to talk. Except, it never worked. You loved him far too much, suit and all. One time you’d visited him, and it started raining. Always worried about your health, Bruce rushed downstairs and opened the door, inviting you in. You told him you weren’t giving up on him. He said you should – he had to keep you safe. You said you wouldn’t. You’re in this together. He said you weren’t. You denied it.

It was a bit of a back and forth between Bruce realised what he had to do. Just before he could finish saying “I don’t love you,” you cut him off with a kiss. Instinctively, his hands snaked around your waist, and he brought you closer. “Never say that. Please. Don’t shut me out.” You whispered against his lips, hands cupping his jaw with such delicacy, Bruce was sure you believed to be holding the entire world in your hands – which to you, you were.

All he could do was nod against your lips and bring you inside. He didn’t push you away ever again.

Things were hard sometimes. There were times when Bruce had to postpone your plans. You’d spent a few nights on your own, blanket comfortably wrapped around your body as you watched a movie by yourself and lamented the absence of your boyfriend. Alfred had found you many times laying on your shared bed, clutching his pillow tightly, hoping his scent would bring you comfort. He quickly shared this news with his master, who, although heartbroken, couldn’t find a permanent solution. You needed him, but Gotham did too.

That’s not to say he didn’t try.

He really did.

Some patrol nights he’d end early, just to be able to get a few hours curled up against you in bed. He’d take days off from his job at Wayne Enterprises to take you on dates and just hang out with you and remind you of just how important you are.

But he’s not entirely perfect – we’re talking about Bruce Wayne in here. Bruce “I grew up with staff and butlers and maids around me, do you actually think I can cook an omelette or clean up after myself?” You had to teach this man how to clean (in general), had to give him some cooking lessons and make sure he didn’t get himself killed whenever you or Alfred weren’t home.

“No, Bruce, you need to stir the rice, otherwise it’s going to –“ You flipped the pot upside down and the burnt rice refused to fall, bending gravity to its will. “Burn. It’s going to burn.” Bruce looked at you with the eyes of a wounded puppy, and as much as you wanted to get mad at him, you just couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ll do better next time.” With a sigh, you started scraping the burnt mess into the trash. “You better. Otherwise, you’re eating it.”

He has a terrible habit of throwing some of his clothes on the ground. He’s so used to having people pick up after him, he can’t help it. Sometimes, when he’s in a rush, he’ll throw his clothes somewhere and rush to the batcave. You hate it that Alfred has to pick up his clothes as if he were a reckless teenager, so you’ve started making Bruce be more careful, place them on the dirty clothes hamper or do his own laundry.

“It’s what I pay Alfred to do –“ “It doesn’t mean you can’t help around just a bit. You wouldn’t be that cruel, would you?” He sighed. Bruce would never be able to say no to you.

You hate it when he leaves in the middle of chores to go put on a suit. Can’t villains and criminals wait until your movie is done? Until you’ve finished dinner? Until dinner is over? Sometimes he can’t be helped – hostage situations, fires, explosions – all normal things in Gotham. And you get it, you really do. But you hate it when he must leave because of other, more avoidable reasons. Like when he has to go to the office to go check some sort of new suit technology that Fox is working on. It sucks.

To make up for that, he always lets you tag along whenever he has to leave on business trips. It’s bad enough the two of you have to be apart because of Batman – he’s not about to have you two be apart because of Bruce Wayne. You love flying in the jet – often you joke that that is the only reason you’re dating him, because you get to fly in his private jet. (He’ll always refute you, but sometimes, you can see it in his eyes he is afraid you mean it. When that happens, you place a kiss on his lips and promise him you’re joking. His mood instantly changes.)

You especially like the privacy of the luxury. No, you weren’t with him for the money, but Bruce liked spoiling you and sometimes you liked to be spoiled. But being spoiled in public attracted too much attention, too many people peering and trying to get a glimpse of your personal life and his wealth. The jet made it easy for you to allow yourself to be spoiled, and for Bruce to dote on you all he wanted.

In these trips, Bruce always books the fanciest rooms at the best hotels, and you have a blast exploring them and just overall enjoying the experience. Bruce thinks it’s endearing. You’re used to his wealth by now, but it’s sweet to see how genuinely dazzled you still are by all of the luxury and extravagance. He especially likes how you make it your mission to try on and christen every single bathtub in the suites he books – and as established before, when has Bruce been able to refuse you?

Fluff Alphabet

A = Affection

How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?

Bruce wasn’t a very affectionate person at first. He wasn’t used to the gentleness of affection; all he knew was the roughness of combat and hate and revenge – but you came along and changed everything. At first, he was a bit wary. You’d touch him and he’d flinch, quick to get on a more alert stance. It was only after he saw who it was that he’d relax. It took a while, but he eventually got more into it. And he became very affectionate. I mean, look at him. This is one hell of a touch starved man.

He started out slowly, by gentle touches here and there. Maybe a caress in your arm, or a hand on your thigh while you two watched a movie. Perhaps he’d link his hand with yours while you walked, or he’d bring you close whenever you kissed him. Gesture after gesture, he became more comfortable around you. He likes always having his arms around you. Not only he gets to touch you and know you’re there, but he can also protect you. It’s an affectionate gesture as much as it is a way to keep you safe.

He likes to have you close to him when you’re in bed. Sleeps with an arm firmly around your waist, be it when you’re spooning, or when you’re facing his chest. That’s his way of saying “I’m going to protect you, I promise you”. He feels like it is his job to keep you safe and conveys that through touch and affection.

B = Beauty

What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He thinks you’re the most beautiful person to have ever graced this earth. He loves you. He laid his eyes on you and was starstruck.

He likes the way your eyes sparkle whenever you’re talking about something you like. He feels like every inch of your body just radiates warmth and excitement once you start ranting about your hobbies and loves how passionate you are. Loves staring into your eyes. His favourite colour has become the shade of your eyes, and he loves waking up to them. It’s his favourite part about you, probably. Mostly because they never regard him with hate or disgust. Even if you’re mad at him, he knows your eyes will never betray you or your heart. They’re the windows to the soul, and to his heart.

He loves whatever birth marks and freckles you might have on your body. If you feel insecure about them, he’ll just remind you of how special you are, and how unique they make you. “If you had one less freckle, it wouldn’t be you. And I love you. See this one right here? If it was gone, the person standing in front of me wouldn’t be you.” Needless to say, he makes you melt every time.

C = Comfort

How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He’s had to deal with quite a few of those as a child after his parents’ murder, so he knows to give you space whenever you have panic attacks. He’ll stay close by and give you all the time you need, as well as space to breathe. If you need him and call for him, he’ll be there next to you, helping you through it, speaking in a soothing voice and just making sure you know you’re not alone. If you need his touch to calm down, he’ll wrap his arms around you and slowly rock you in his lap, talking you through everything.

One thing about Bruce is, he is always there for you and gives you either the space or the attention you need. He is also very vocal, should you need some grounding. Talks to you about his day, lists the furniture around you, names countries the two of you have visited or he’d like to take you to. Just overall very considerate.

As for cheering you up, it takes a while before he knows what to do – he’s not the best with emotions after all. He tries not to say much and just show that he’s there for you through simple gestures. Asking Alfred to cook you your favourite dish, bringing you your favourite ice cream, bringing you to the living room to watch a movie you like. At first, he’s not good with his words, but he’s learning, and you appreciate that the most.

D = Dreams

How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He’d like to live out a long life by your side. That’s it. As lame as it sounds, that’s all he wants. For Gotham to become a safe place for you to grow old with him and be together forever.

There’s something inside of him that doesn’t want to let the cowl and the cape go. Batman is who he truly is, Bruce is merely a vessel. But there’s another one that wishes he can finally give it up. Giving it up would mean Gotham is safe, that the people are doing fine and there are no real danger and threats looming around the corner, just waiting to hurt him.

Whatever happens, cowl and cape hung up or not, he does see a future with you. He’s never been a big fan of dreaming about what’s to come; Bruce didn’t think he had a chance at that, to see what is to come. But ever since you came into his life, his views have changed. He sees the both of you strolling around the Manor hand in hand.

If you want children, he’ll be a bit apprehensive at first. He doesn’t want to drag any more people into his life, too afraid to hurt them, or have others hurt them. But if you do mention that you would like to have children (or adopt!), he would eventually come around to the idea. If you want to have children, he’d definitely like the idea of continuing his blood line, of seeing you carry his child and becoming the mother of his children. And would be absolutely whipped for you (more than he already is!). If you want to adopt, he would come to love the idea of providing guidance, love, and a safe home for a child – being an orphan, he knows how dark and gloomy things can get, and how hopeless everything might seem at first. He’d want to give back.

E = Equal

Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

This is a very hard question, because I can definitely see him being both.

I can see him being the big bad scary wolf who takes care of his partner, gets down on his knees to tie your high heels and kiss your ankle softly, who will carry you in his arms when you’re far too tired to walk, who will make you weak at the knees, who will tell the waiter you ordered your burger with no pickles and make you feel safe, protected and cared for.

But at the same time, he doesn’t mind being a bit passive. He likes seeing you make decisions for him. There’s so much on his mind already, with Wayne Enterprises and Batman, sometimes he just needs to sit back and relax, and let you take the wheel. Which you do wonderfully, taking a huge weight off his shoulders. So, it’s a bit 50/50 and honestly depends on the day and his mood.

F = Fight

Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He loves you far too much to stay angry at you for long. In fact, he’s usually the one in the wrong. But fuck it if he won’t fight for your forgiveness. He’ll go the whole nine yards and be as sappy as possible. Send you bouquets of flowers while you’re at work, showing up unannounced and giving you chocolates, whatever. When the fights are silly and over dumb matters, he’ll do those overly romantic things, knowing you’ll most likely find them funny and accept his apology. If he’s willing to embarrass himself like that for you, it means he loves you. Truly.

But if the fight is something more serious, he’ll stop with the jokes. He’ll nearly beg for your forgiveness. Most fights happen because of the elephant in the room: The Dark Knight. Batman. Gotham’s Vigilante. Sometimes you accuse him of loving the symbol of justice more than you and are afraid he’s succumbing to it. You storm out of the Manor, far too angry to look at his face. In those cases, he’ll have to win you over slowly. He’ll give you some time to cool off and then invite you over to talk – there’s no way he’s discussing something like this over the phone. He’s not dumb. You’re far too important to be a mere phone call or a few messages.

Overall, I think he would fight extremely hard for you, be it in general (in life) or after arguments, and that he’s somewhat forgiving. Unless you really really really screwed up – then he’ll be a bit harsher. But that is only if you truly fucked up. Took advantage of him for his health, hurt Alfred, exposed Batman, whatever.

G = Gratitude

How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He’s so grateful. He knows all you do for him and appreciates it very much. He knows you’re doing your best to take care of him, patch him up, make sure he’s fed and healthy and sane, and he loves you so much for it (and many other reasons).

He’s sure to let you know just how much he loves you, be it through words or actions. Maybe he tried to cook for you and prepare you a nice breakfast in bed. Maybe he bought that new perfume you’d been in love with for quite a few weeks. Maybe he took the day off and whispered sweet words into the crook of your neck in the mornings, sheets and limbs all tangled up.

He knows he struck gold, and he will always be grateful for it.

H = Honesty

Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

He is Batman.

Enough said.

No, seriously now, this man has more secrets than the White House.

And he doesn’t share them all.

You know he is Batman, and you know what he does, but there’s things he just can’t bring himself to tell you. The things he sees, people, women, children dying and being tortured, the things he sometimes has to do. It can get pretty overwhelming, and he finds these topics far too dreadful. He doesn’t want to worry you with matters like these, so he doesn’t. Of course, you get worried. You beg him to confide in you, to tell you what’s wrong, to trust you.

And he does – trust you. It’s just hard for him to share with you the roughest parts of his nights. When this happens, he’ll lay his head on your lap, as you run his fingers through his hair.

Rough night, he silently says.

I’m here, you silently reply.

I = Inspiration

Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

It’s no lie you’ve helped him become a better person.

He adores your goodness, your kindness and selflessness. He’s become a more genuine person himself thanks to you. He’s become more open, more caring. He’s become more trustful of those that truly care about him, and you’re to blame for it. You’re the reason he gets up in the morning and goes out dressed in black at night. You make him want to keep this godforsaken city safe and make you proud.

He’s changed you too, of course. Taught you there’s nothing bad with enjoying life and the finer things in it. Taught you that you do deserve to treat yourself occasionally. He’s taught you that being brave is not only putting on a suit and fighting crime, and that sometimes, but the smallest of steps can also be enough.

Safe to say, you’ve both changed each other, and for the best.

J = Jealousy

Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Oh, boy.

This is what everyone’s been waiting for, isn’t this?

Bruce Wayne is the son of wealthy philanthropist Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha Wayne. He is worth billions of dollars. He’s grown up with a massive silver spoon (or rather, gold) in his mouth. Long story short, Bruce Wayne does not know how to share.

Neither does he like to do it.

Especially when it comes to you. He can be extremely petty.

He’ll see someone flirting with you and immediately get possessive. Once, at a party, he saw a man trying to make you laugh, and succeeding. He was next to you within seconds, hand possessively wrapped around your waist and lips covertly touching the column of your neck.

“Who are you speaking to, my love?” asked Bruce, fingers softly tapping against your waist.

“Oh, this is Mr. Norton. He’s –“

“Mr. Norton, what a pleasure to meet you. And may I ask what your intentions with my girlfriend are?” Bruce took your hand in his, making it a point to showcase the silver band in your finger, a promise ring he’d given to you as a gift.

“Oh – Mr. Wayne, I wasn’t – I was simply – “ Poor Mr. Norton tried scrambling for words, but was clearly dumbfounded.

“Which is it? Were you, or weren’t you?” Bruce lifted his head from your neck and gave you a soft peck in the lips, before turning to the other man. “Mr. Norton, I am a very busy man, and you should imagine I don’t like repeating myself – “

“Yes, of course, Mr. Wayne, of course –“

“Stay away from my girlfriend. Are we clear?” He gave Mr. Norton one of his most charming Bruce Wayne smiles (full of “look at her again and I’ll break your legs” undertones) and led you away. Later, you would tease him about it, and how jealous he got.

But he can’t help it.

You’re his. You’re the love of his life, and he can’t just stand by and watch as other men and women throw themselves at your feet, begging them for an ounce of attention. He’s not afraid of causing scandals, of making scenes, if it means other people will leave you alone.

In fact, I can recall a very important party of his that ended up with you pressed against the door of a broom closet, and him all over you. Later, you’d return to said party and be confused as to why nearly ever women in the room looked at you in horror. A woman on good terms with you handed you her pocket mirror, and you watched in disbelief as the column of your neck was covered in reddish-purple bruises. You shot Bruce a look, and he only winked at you, mouthing “Sorry” with his mouth.

No other men approached you that night, far too scared of your boyfriend to approach you. They got the memo. You were his.

K = Kiss

Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Bruce has just enough experience with kissing that he’s not completely lost. I think he would be the type not to actually bed the women he went out with for show (before he met you, of course), but has sometimes kissed them, and ended up getting a bit of experience.

Your first kiss was a soft, shy thing. You’d revealed your feelings for him and were afraid he was going to reject you. He lifted your chin with his thumb and kissed you most delicately. It was a kiss full of hope and promises of what was to come, and you were dazzled ever since.

Now, you can’t get enough of his kisses, and when you’re feeling particularly needy, you spend hours kissing them, while watching a movie or just lazing about.

L = Love Confession

How would they confess to their s/o?

He told you he liked you back when you did it, right after kissing you.

But his love confession?

Oh, that’s a story for the ages.

He’d returned from a particularly bad patrol at night, was bruised battered and blue, and thought something in his body had broken. In the middle of the fight, he got scared. What if he couldn’t make it home to you? What if you were waiting up for him and he never made it? What if something happened to him and all you heard next were the news of his death?

He rushed up the elevator and to your shared bedroom, where you were still in bed, reading a book. You often did that; wait up for him. On one hand, he didn’t want you to give up your sleep for him. On the other, he was glad to have someone waiting for him when he got home.

Seeing you there was enough to break him. He limped next to you and fell on the bed, his whole body burning with unbearable pain. You took him in, suit, cowl, cape, all of him.

“Bruce?” Your breath hitched and you touched his head softly.

“I love you.” It had been the only thing in his mind during the ride home. He loved you. Loved everything about you. The way you clung to him after waking up, the way you washed his hair in the shower, the way you sang along to the radio while cooking. He needed you to know just how much he loved you.

You widened your eyes, starstruck. Here he was, Bruce Wayne, your boyfriend, bloodied and bruised, holding onto you for dear life, saying he loved you.

“I love you too, Bruce,” you whispered softly. You had known it for a while. You loved this mess of a man far too much to keep it hidden. You’d always dreamt of a big confession. Flowers and a sunny day with clear skies. Maybe some birds. But this? This was perfect.

Bruce smiled into your lap. He loved you. He was going to show it to you every day.

M = Marriage

Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

At first, he wasn’t very into the idea.

He’d tried so hard to keep his playboy persona, it was hard to accept the idea of marriage.

If you want to, he’ll do it. Absolutely, he will. Would plan the perfect evening, take you out to your favourite place (no matter what that might be), then would take you for a stroll around your favourite places in Gotham. He wanted it to be perfect, and while it might be a little bit cliché, Bruce is classy. He will make this the most wonderful and magical evening of your life, dropping down to one knee in the Gardens of the Manor, surrounded by all the greenery and the pretty flowers.

The wedding would be small and intimate. It was expected that Bruce Wayne invited hundreds, millions of people to watch him tie the knot, but for once in his life, he forewent all of that stupid rich boy persona shit he’d had to create. No one other than the people closest to him were allowed to participate in what would be one of the happiest days of his life.

And yes, he would shed a tear watching you walk down the aisle. Alfred would too, happy to see the child he raised as his own finally settle down.

If you don’t want to get married, then that’s okay. He won’t pressure you and is content to simply being with you for the rest of your lives, no papers included. After all, you’re all that matters.

N = Nicknames

What do they call their s/o?

He’s classy.

Let’s not forget this is Bruce “I was raised by proper gentleman Alfred Pennyworth” Wayne. He keeps it simple and classy.

“Sweetheart, could you come here for a second?”

“Darling, you’re looking rather beautiful tonight. All of this for me?”

“My dear, I don’t think Alfred will die from just a cold. There’s no need to take him to the hospital.”

“Honey, where is my super suit have you seen my brown jacket?”

“You know I’m always here for you. Don’t you, my love?”

There’s something timeless about these, and Bruce loves using them with you. (Also, just imagine Christian Bale saying these I…. I’m deceased….)

Aside from that, he also calls you Bunny quite often. After all, you were dating famous womaniser and playboy Bruce Wayne. And, well, this playboy needed a Bunny, didn’t he?

Although the origin of the name might not be the most… elegant, you still find it sweet whenever he calls you by this nickname.

“I told you, Bunny, I’m working late today, but I took tomorrow off. That alright with you?”

“Which one of those did you like, Bunny? I’ll buy it for you. No – no arguing. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”

Makes you swoon every time.

O = On Cloud Nine

What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Everyone knows Bruce is in love just by the way he looks at you. If his nearly heart shaped eyes aren’t enough, then maybe the way he holds you and talks to you will do the trick. It’s obvious you’ve got him wrapped around your finger (and he has you around his, of course).

He’s more himself when he’s around you. More playful, more cheerful. There’s no need to pretend he is someone he isn’t, so he can be his true self. He can laugh (although a rare sight, it does happen) and crack a few jokes and tickle you until you’re crying from laughing and begging him to stop.

As said before, although he might not be very good with words, he shows his love through actions. But that’s not to say he doesn’t outright tell you he loves you. He’s very eloquent and often makes you swoon with his words alone. The thing is, this man has a billion-dollar education, he’s studied at the best academies, learned with the best professors, and yet he can’t find the proper words to convey how he feels about you. Unbelievable, isn’t it?

P = PDA

Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Bruce is a private man, and he likes to keep his life and romance the same.

But that’s not to say he won’t show you off and brag about you in public. Most of the times he’ll keep to himself, content with having a hand or an arm around you somehow. You’re next to him, you’re his, everyone knows it. Other times, he likes to show you off, buy you the prettiest of dresses and brag about the wonderful girlfriend he has. You’re so beautiful, how can he not show you off?

That’s not to say you’re some accessory to be worn on his arm though – no. Never. He’s just so proud of you, that he wants the world to know that he’s taken, and by the loveliest of people: you.

He also likes the quick rush of sneaking in kisses here and there. At parties, galas, events, whatever. He likes kissing you when no one’s watching, making you blush when no one is paying attention – it’s like your little secret, and he loves it.

Q = Quirk

Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

This man is Batman.

He has the stamina of a god.

Let’s just say it can be very, very beneficial in your relationship. Especially when he’s been gone for long and you’ve both missed each other like crazy. You are far too familiar with the phrase “Just one more for me darling, will you? I know you can do it. You’re doing so well.” And many others of the sort.

If, however, you’re not into that sort of thing (if you are ace, don’t experience sexual attraction, or simply aren’t that much into sex), then that’s where his status comes in handy. Come on, this is Bruce Wayne! Do you know how many times you were able to get your free fries for free, simply because of who he was? How many times people have told you your favourite ice cream was “out of stock” but were quick to reconsider this once he walked up to you.

“Oh, I’m sorry miss, seems like we don’t have your number anymore.”

“Darling, did you find what you were looking for?”

“O – oh! I meant – we don’t have it here – my colleague will pick it up from the storage as soon as possible.”

Or,

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we can find a table for you.”

“That’s alright, we’ll go somewhere else. Won’t we, beautiful?”

“Mr. Wayne! Oh! What a surprise! I’m sure I can squeeze you in, yes, yes, please do come in!”

R = Romance

How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He can be creative when he tries to, yeah. And very romantic. Alfred has taught him a lot, of course, and he also knows you like the back of his hand, so he often just knows what to do. If you like flowers, he’ll have a new bouquet delivered every Monday, ensuring you start the week on a good note. If you’re more into sweets, he’ll bring macaroons every so often, to make sure your days are sweet.

He does little gestures here and there that remind you why you fell for this man. He’s very attentive, and if needed, will go all out. Fancy restaurant, dressed to impress, the whole nine yards. Not afraid to pull all the corny movie stuff, like dancing with you under the stars, or having a romantic picnic. For you, he’ll do just about anything.

S = Security

How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?

He’s very protective of you and will always make sure you’re safe. Doesn’t want you to get all tangled up with any of his Batman shenanigans, so will leave you in the dark when it comes to the nitty gritty details. He’s given you a little bottle of pepper spray and a small taser (a special taser of his own concoction) to keep yourself protected in the streets of Gotham, as well as taught you a few self-defence moves. If he’s not with you, he wants you to be able to take care of yourself.

But when he’s with you, you can absolutely bet he will be doing whatever he can to keep you safe and sound. He’s willing to fight off people, and has, in the past. Once, a petty thief threatened to stab you. Bruce beat him until he was unconscious. You didn’t like the sight of it and told him never to do something like that in front of you ever again. He complied, but was quick to tell you, “I won’t hold back if someone ever tries to hurt you”.

T = Try

How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

He tries. He tries so hard. We’ve already discussed how he often has to miss dates, dinners, important days because of either his job or Batman, so whenever he can, he will make up for it. Long days at the office? He’ll bring you flowers. Missed date? How about a weekend together, hidden away in some cozy cottage?

And he’ll always try his best to remind you just how much he loves you, just how important you are to him. He doesn’t want you thinking you’re not pretty enough, not classy enough, not whatever enough, because to him, you are, and every day he tries his hardest to remind you of that.

He is trying. Please cut this man some slack.

U = Understanding

How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He knows you like the back of his hand, and although he might not be empathetic to anyone else, he is towards you. He’s learned to sense when something is wrong and is quick to try and make you feel better if that is the case.

He’s very understanding as well – never belittles you for your choices or decisions, will always let you explain yourself and take you and your reasonings seriously. He loves you and wants you to feel safe. Even if you’re asking him what would be considered a stupid question, or if you make a mistake, he will never blame you for it. Hell, he knows he makes far too many mistakes, so he would never give you a hard time.

V - Value

How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

He values your relationship very much.

He knows he’s become a better man thanks to you and holds that in a high regard. Bruce hasn’t got much. Sure, he’s got his family’s fortune, a huge company, he dresses up as a bat and fights criminals, but still, he doesn’t have much. He doesn’t consider his true self to be Bruce Wayne, and no one knows him under his mask. It can get nerve-wracking sometimes, but he has you to keep him grounded.

There’s a reason he likes to keep you safe, after all. He won’t lose you.

You’re everything to him.

W = Whole

Would they feel incomplete without you?

As mentioned before, he would. He absolutely would. When you refuse to stay at the Manor because you two have had an argument, he is in shambles. He’ll mope around and play dead for a few seconds when Alfred tells him dinner is ready. He’s a big baby.

When you’re not at the Manor (maybe you’re at work, or went out with his friends), Bruce acts like he’s lost all purpose in life. He’ll ask Alfred if you called every five minutes, send you pictures that he found funny (Bruce Wayne does not understand memes), all to get you to talk to him.

He cannot function without you. Once again, you’re everything to him, and he just functions better when you’re around him, because you bring out the best in him.

X = Xtra

A random headcanon for them.

He often jokes about wanting to run you and Alfred over with the Tumbler (the first time he said this was because you’d called it “the Batmobile”. He hated that name.), but secretly loves the duo you’ve become. His witty humour and your quick quips make for a very funny combination, and he often finds himself thinking if other people are usually this funny, or if it’s just the two of you.

And let’s not forget, Alfred is his family. He is the closest thing Bruce has to a father and loves and cares for him deeply. So, to know the love of his life gets along so well with his father figure makes him smile. You two are quite literally the most important people to him. So he can joke all he wants about how “he’s going to throw you two in Arkham just so he won’t listen to your dreadful jokes anymore”, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Y = Yearning

How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He will try to keep a clear head, but ultimately can’t deny that he misses you like crazy. Will want to hear your voice, just to make sure everything is alright. He’ll call and check in on you and ask you how your day went. He doesn’t need to talk – all he wants is for you to keep talking. He loves the sound of your voice.

He has, well…. Relieved himself a few times in your absence. What can he say? He misses you. Misses the feel of your skin against him, of your laughter ringing in his ears, of your presence. He’s only human, after all.

Alfred makes fun of him all the time, which is an hilarious thing to witness.

Z = Zeal

Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He’s willing to go the distance.

He will do just about anything for you.

Except for killing.

I am a firm believer in the fact that he couldn’t be able to kill someone because of you. If you’d been hurt, he would find prison and a lifetime of solitude a much more fitting destiny.

If someone dared to hurt you, however tempted he might be, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Simply because he knows you wouldn’t want him to be that kind of person. He knows you wouldn’t want him to become like the people he fights against.

But he would do anything else if it meant putting a smile on your face. He will buy every hotel, every yacht, every store, every book, etc. He would fight anyone, endure every storm, climb every mountain, swim across every ocean if it meant you’d be safe and sound. Nothing is too expensive, nothing is too hard, nothing is too dangerous.

Because, as we have stated before,

Bruce Wayne loves you.

A/N: That's it! I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I wish everyone amazing holidays! Please stay safe, drink water, and have an amazing day ahead! <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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c-nstantine · 4 months

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Okay hear me out...what about Batsis and Roy chilling in her apartment and some of her siblings stop by unexpected (and they don’t know they’re together) so he has to hide in her closet or under her bed or smth😭

I love roy and batsis. there just so cute together! it's a bit scandalous at the beginning but otherwise pretty fluffy

Straddling her boyfriend's lap as the two of them made out was one of the few times that Y/N found true peace. His soft lips moved against hers as his hands squeezed her hips. Eventually, her hips would find a rhythm as she ground against the bulge in his pants. She lifted her shirt over her head to reveal the lace set she was wearing underneath her clothing. The burgundy set complimented her brown skin.

"Damn Y/N," Roy said as his fingers began to trace the outline of bra cups. He kissed the valley between her breasts and she gasped.

"I bought it just for you," She admitted a bit flustered. Roy was the only person who could break her of her confident demeanor. She could be vulnerable with him and he liked being that person for her. Unfortunately, the moment was ruined by a knock on the door.

"Were you expecting anyone?" He asked her while scrunching his eyebrows.

"No, they'll probably go away. Where were we?" Y/N said leaning in to kiss him again. Her hand was wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him closer to her. Roy's face had a slight pink flush as his tongue entered her mouth. He unhooked her bra from behind and his hands began to pinch and twinge her nipples.

"Y/N, it's Dick and Jason," The other side of her door shouted with a few more knocks. The couple froze, staring at each other. They had not told anyone about their relationship yet, especially her brothers who happened to be his best friend.

"Shit," She spoke looking for a top to put on. She grabbed what happened to be Roy's hoodie.

"Why is it both of them?" Roy asked standing up and gathering his boots. His attempt of trying to leave no evidence behind was going okay. He was also trying to ignore the raging boner in his pants.

"I don't know. Hide in the closet," Y/N practically pushed her boyfriend into the closet of her living room. She gave Roy a small peck before shutting the door. He stood as still as possible not to raise any alarm to her brothers just outside of her apartment.

"Hey, what're you guys doing here?" Y/N asked, trying to pretend that nothing was going on.

"Just visiting. Have I seen that hoodie before?" Jason wondered aloud. He couldn't quite place where he had seen that apartment before. He just knew it seemed a little too familiar.

"Yeah, 'cause it's mine," Y/N played it off as best she could. Roy almost snorted hearing this interaction. He was doing his best not to bring awareness to himself. He could only imagine how that would turn out.

"Are you gonna let us in?" Dick asked after noticing how they were still standing in her apartment's doorway.

"Still thinking about it," She muttered as she let her brothers in.

"I always forget you have the nicest apartment," Dick took notice of the view of her highrise apartment. Y/N's work as a model, actress, and philanthropist paid well.

"Maybe we should've been socialites instead of vigilantes," Jason joked as he looked at one of her paintings.

"Sucks to suck," Y/N tried to discreetly slide her bra under the couch. Luckily, her brothers were a bit dense. They were almost on their way out when they heard something from the closet. It resembled a sneeze.

"What was that?" Jason asked, pointing to the closet in question.

"What was what?" Y/N asked, standing in front of the closet. She wasn't sure if that move made it more or less suspicious.

"That," Jason lightly pushed his sister out of the way and opened the door. Roy stood shirtless in the closet waving at his two closest friends.

"Roy?" Both Jason and Dick exclaimed. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. Jason could finally remember where he had seen the hoodie. It was Roy's and he wore it frequently.

"Jason, Dick. Hey," Roy said stepping out of the closet carefully. He was nervous and there was a bit of sweat falling from his forehead.

"Are you- The two of y-" Dick stumbled over sentences as he looked between his sister and one of his best friends. He couldn't believe what was going on.

"Y'all are fucking?" Jason said with wide eyes.

"I wouldn't put it as crude as-" Y/N tried to come up with words and gestured with her hands but she was drawing blanks. The two of them were more than fucking and certainly were in a relationship.

"Roy, you have a five minute headstart before I call in the others," Jason threatened. Roy would never admit it but Damian scares him a lot more than he is comfortable with Y/N knowing.

"Love you, babe," He kissed her cheek before exiting the apartment. Considering that they were in Gotham, he had little chance of escaping before incurring the wrath of one of her siblings. Although, it was nice that he thought he had a chance.

"Love you too," She said even though he was not there anymore. She wished him luck, if not more.

"Wait, 'love'!" Dick yelled, finally able to put his words together.

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #black!batsis #jason todd #roy harper x reader #roy harper x batsis #roy harper x spoiled!batsis #roy harper x black!reader #x black!batsis

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akashababy · 5 months

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A Love Beyond the Cape: Clark Kent x Male Reader

This my first request😭😭

I wanted to take a moment to express my gratitude for your first request. Thank you for reaching out and allowing me to assist you. It's truly a pleasure to be of help, and I look forward to continuing our conversations. If you have any more questions or need further assistance, please don't hesitate to ask.

Thank you once again!

There formerly lived a well-mannered reporter named Clark Kent in the vibrant metropolis of Metropolis. In his day job at the Daily Planet, Clark was well-known for his modest demeanor and commitment to his work. To everyone's surprise, however, Clark had a life-threatening secret hidden behind his glasses and modest appearance.

A young man in the crowd caught Clark's attention one fateful day as he was researching a story at a nearby charity function. Clark felt pulled toward this man by his magnetic energy, which came from his endearing smile and gentle eyes. Clark was unaware that the man in question was M/N, a well-known novelist and philanthropist.

Throughout the entire event, Clark couldn't help but notice M/N, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was connected. Clark's heart raced at the way M/N carried himself; there was something that sparked a deep yearning in him. Clark couldn't get rid of the thought that maybe their paths were meant to cross.

Weeks passed, and Clark could not shake the memory of M/N. Numerous nights were spent by him meandering through Metropolis' streets as he considered whether or not to come out as the superhero Superman. Their lives would never be the same if he did, he knew. However, Clark found it impossible to resist the allure of love any longer.

Gathering all his bravery, Clark went looking for M/N and extended an invitation to go for a stroll beneath the starry Metropolis sky. Clark eventually came clean about his secret as they walked around the city, taking off the glasses that had been hiding his real identity for so long. M/N was taken aback and in awe as he saw the fabled Superman up close.

However, M/N grinned and showed compassion and understanding in his eyes rather than showing fear. It all made sense now—the extraordinary quality he had always sensed in Clark. Both men understood then that there was more to their relationship than met the eye. Beyond all boundaries and expectations, love had made its way into their hearts.

Clark and M/N set out on a journey of love, trust, and support that day onward. They came to enjoy each other's company and to share their lives, goals, and dreams. Superman, Clark's alter ego, came to represent hope for the two of them as they battled life's obstacles together.

Many were inspired by their love story, which served as a reminder that true acceptance and understanding can exist even in the face of secrets and hidden identities and that love knows no bounds. Whether or not love wears a cape, it is a force greater than all others. This is what Clark and M/N taught the world.

Because Clark Kent and M/N accepted their roles as lifelong partners and lovers, their love blossomed in Metropolis and shone as brightly as the sun.

#lgbtq #male reader #clark kent x male reader #dc universe #superman #man of steel #henry cavill #top male reader #dom male reader #henry cavill x male reader

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deimcs · 2 months

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AN OLD SCRAP FROM THE WATERDEEP GAZETTE, DATED 22 YEARS AGO.

They city mourns the sudden passing of known philanthropist couple Karim and Lorna Charys, both victims of the mysterious fire that burned down the Southern Gate library yesterday. The guards are currently still investigating the true nature of this terrible accident, when asked if he suspected foul play, the captain refused to elaborate further. In the meantime the Blackstaff Academy sent over an emissary to extend their formal condolences to the now de-facto heiress of the Charys family, twenty-years old divination prodigy Amara Charys and her two younger siblings, Dhalia and Tarek. Young Lady Charys is set to inherit the Waterdeep estate together with her parents' large network of business partners and growing charity projects for families of wizards in need.

#bg3edit #tavedit #gamingedit #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav bg3 #amara charys #edits #it was about time i giffed her again #yes i have 10+ ocs that never even appeared on here #but i'm in an amara mood lately #local woman in her forties bored to death after having successfully looked after her siblings until their respective marriages #and now just wants an excuse to escape the same old routine #enter an alien kidnapping

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horselessheadperson · 4 months

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I watched the hbomberguy video on plagiarism about a week ago and was like, okay, shocking that this guy got away with this much stealing, glad someone called him on it and took the time to build a solid case - as it were.

But I just watched most of the factchecking video by Todd in the shadows and... Now I'm just legitimately shocked that this person was ever taken seriously as an author, as an essayist, as an intellectual. Absolutely shocked.

So much of this is very obvious bullshit. No, the American GI's didn't grow cold towards the Soviet soldiers because they were depicted in thick, formless winter coats. Yes, queer activists in the nineties fought for things other than military and marriage equality. No, pirates weren't well known philanthropists and this was hidden from us by the British establisment. If all of these things were remotely true you would have already heard from it considering how antithetical they are to our historical understanding of the world.

I understand that no one has the energy to factcheck literally every claim in a youtube video they put on as background noise while sewing. But if all of these absolutely outlandish claims keep getting made by a guy in dim lighting on youtube without EVER claiming any sources as he goes along, something should ring a bell. I'm kind of shuddering at the thought of people repeating this stuff as fun facts at parties. Stuff this guy with the awful haircut in the badly lit video with the no sourcing throughout the runtime just... MADE UP.

Is media literacy this bad? Christ alive.

#james somerton #plagiarism #youtube

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suppose-i-was-worm · 1 year

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Iceberg Siren pt 3

**a little Sunday morning treat for you all! Hope you enjoy!**

Jason stood in the corner of the ballroom, holding a delicate flute of champagne and scowling at any socialite who tried to approach him. Damian was standing next to him, suit impeccable, scowling even harder than Jason.

Bruce had dragged the whole family here, as it was a charity gala for orphans that the Wayne Foundation had set up. Damian had spent the evening before arriving arguing that he ‘wasn’t an orphan’ and ‘shouldn’t be forced into this farce of an evening’. Jason was just bitter that he’d been pulled away from an evening of patrol.

With a sigh, he patted Damian on the shoulder and then made his way out into the throng, smiling politely at the old money that poisoned the city as he made his way towards Bruce, who was holding court on the other side of the ballroom.

Also approaching the philanthropist was the Penguin, with a sparkling date on his arm. Said date patted Cobblepot on his arm before separating from him, turning in Jason’s direction with a smile.

“Mind lending me a dance? Boss has business he wants to talk about, and I’m bored.”

Jason blinked, holding out his empty hand almost on autopilot as the young man in the glittering silver and green dress came towards him. A waiter appeared at his elbow to take his champagne flute, and Danny Nightingale, Iceberg’s Siren, smiled at him.

“Of course! You look- stunning.”

It was true- Danny’s dress, with thin straps and a deep cowl neck, clung to his figure attractively, fanning out into a mermaid skirt at his knees. It was a satiny silver, with tiny green crystals sewn in that caught the light and reflected back thousands of sparkling pinpricks. He wore a dripping necklace of greenish white crystals, and a his black hair was swept back to reveal matching earrings.

Jason found himself staring into Danny’s eyes a mite too long to be appropriate when Danny smirked at him.

“Thanks, Red. Shall we?”

With his mind racing, trying to remember half-finished dancing lessons from Alfred, Jason escorted Danny to the dance floor and took position with his other hand on Danny’s waist. The crystals shifting underneath his hand felt oddly cold, almost like ice, but Jason put it down to his own nerves acting up.

They waltzed for a few moments in silence, Jason focusing on not stepping on his partner’s dress, before Danny spoke up.

“I’m not fond of these things. Rich people showing off that they have money.”

“Me neither.’ Jason muttered in response, accidentally catching Tim’s wide stare from across the room. ‘Just out of curiosity, how did you know it was me?”

Danny laughed, a bright, tinkling noise that made Jason’s cheeks warm.

“You stand out in a crowd.”

“You’ve only seen me in a mask or helmet before.” Jason frowned a little, noticing Dick and Cass also watching from their respective clusters of sycophants.

It was another few moments of silence before Danny answered.

“You’ve died. That leaves pretty distinctive marks to those of us who know where to look.”

The song ended before Jason could think of an answer, and Danny swept away without another word, returning to Penguin’s side with a genuine-looking smile.

“Todd.”

Damian appeared at his side, staring very hard in the direction Danny had left in.

“What, brat.”

“Who was that and why were they cozying up to you?”

“A friend.”

“Looked like more than that, Little Wing.” Dick appeared from behind, a grin on his face that promised mischief. “Timmy’s already looking him up.”

He felt Batman’s eyes on him, and turned to see Bruce’s piercing stare over the heads of the crowd, and Cass up on tiptoe, whispering into his ear.

Jason slid into his safe house through the window, wincing as his suit caught in the wound on his side. Angrily, he unlatched his helmet and threw it across the room. Sloppy. He’d been sloppy, and he’d gotten hurt because of it. If he’d only listened to B- no. No, if only he’d been more careful in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.

Jason groaned, already planning the best way to get back at his ridiculous family.

~~~

Danny was being followed, and he knew it. The person following him didn’t seem hostile, but he was never sure in Gotham.

Honestly the city wasn’t that different from Amity Park, what with how vigilant he had to be on a regular basis.

With a sigh, he turned a corner and let invisibility wash over him, moving to the side so his follower would appear.

Soon enough, they did. It was a teenager with a hood pulled up over his head. When he looked around and couldn’t see Danny, he clicked his tongue and then held a hand up to his ear.

“Oracle, I lost the target near the divide between Robbinsville and The Bowery- do you have any cameras?”

By the way the young man reacted, whoever he was talking to had replied in a negative- Danny had chosen this alley because the only camera aimed toward it was broken.

“Curses. We will never find Todd’s paramour if this continues this way.”

It was all Danny could do to keep from laughing. This was about the gala a few weeks ago, where he had dragged one Jason Todd into a dance, dropped the ‘you died’ bomb, and then left the poor man hanging.

Was it unkind of him? Probably.

Did he really want to talk about such things while wearing a tight dress and heels? No.

The teen left the alley, and Danny popped back into visibility. It looked like it was time to find the half-formed halfa.

~~~

Gotham’s underworld had become bolder and bolder the longer the Joker was silent. He knew they weren’t aware the clown was dead, but their willingness to cause trouble in territories that weren’t theirs was starting to grate on his nerves.

He peeled off his domino mask, dropping it on the table carelessly, before shrugging out of his leather jacket. He flung that across the couch, and then made his way into the bedroom to change out of his other gear.

He’d finally gotten his kevlar off and started patching himself up in the bathroom when there was a knock at the door, and something told him he needed to answer it. He did so, shirtless because he didn’t particularly care if Dick saw his scars, and with a frown because he was in pain.

It wasn’t Dick.

Danny Nightingale stood there, shuffling nervously, one hand carding through his riot of black hair.

“Hi. I think we need to talk.”

~~~

Danielle “Dani” Phantom was bored. Frostbite had pronounced her sufficiently stabilized, and she hadn’t yet sussed out where her original had ended up.

He was a petty dingus for leaving her behind to have fun on his own. Well. Not really. He’d banned all ghosts from their home dimension for their safety, and then he told Dani to ‘rest and recuperate’ like she was some sort of invalid.

Melting was only a disability if she let it be one.

“Princess Danielle.”

She turned to see Clockwork floating behind her, swapping through ages like some demented PowerPoint.

“I have a place for you to go.”

“Is it where Danny is?”

Clockwork tilted his head to the side.

“It is a place you will find joy.”

Dani put her hands on her hips and glared at the unhelpful jerk.

“Don’t want joy, I want-”

Clockwork lifted a hand, and Dani felt herself falling through a portal.

She landed on her back on the concrete of a tall building, the bright sun almost blinding her after having spent so much time in the realms.

“-my brother.”

#dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #danny phantom #dead on main #dp x batman #jason todd #arctic siren au #dani fenton #dick grayson #damian wayne #clockwork

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mysticmellowlove · 4 months

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Yandere sub x female vigilante.

She is a world treasure, a world renowned philanthropist. She cares for humanity and all the creatures on earth. But in this life when someone is actually doing good things the people with fake titles hate you with their entire being. Well she hates them too and underneath her shimmering smile she has an underground corporation to eradicate evil celebrities, politics, people with power. Has an entire organization to wipe out evil. So basically her getting her hands on a super bad person like a human trafficker or something and torturing them when yan walks in and is kinda…. Flustered? Like she is beating the fuck out this demon and he is just like… “My Angel goddess mommy 🥹”

Idk if this is to extreme or not

note; stay safe lovies, also get you a man who already know's everything about you!

warnings; violence, fem reader, sadistic reader, sub yan, yan male, worship kink, triggering content mention (rape, human trafficking)

"I swear it's always people like you that fall into traps like this." She hissed as she looked down at the trafficker. Her hands were already crusted over with blood at this point, the sickly strong smell permeating her nose.

"Did you really think you'd be able to get away with it?" She asked as she knelt down and looked them in the eye, a sneer on her face.

"You're fucking sick." They spat at her, a glob of blood tainted spit landed on her cheek with an unsatisfying splat. Instantly her hand whipped out and slapped them across the face, their head whirling towards the side.

"And you are the worst of the worst, honestly someone was going to catch you eventually. Maybe you should be thankful it's me," She looked down at them as she stood. She had listened and waited enough.

"You think you're top shit don't you when in reality you're just a rich bitch with good parents." They snarled as they watched her go over to a small table off to the side, usually, she would have a little more fun but she had someone just as interesting upstairs waiting for her.

"My pals will find you and, they're going to get you and you know what, when they do you'll just be a mindless fucking useless doll." They spat at her again before she turned and shot them through the head cleanly. As soon as the shot rang out so did the familiar sound of glass breaking.

Her head turned quickly towards the stairs that she thought she had concealed, standing there was her one-night stand... though she doubted that he wanted to stay any longer. This is what happened when you forgot about the loose end in your basement, she had no one else but herself to blame. She stared at him as his lips quivered.

She'd have to kill him but before she was even able to raise the gun to him he came rushing over, his sleeve pulled down below his fingers as he used the coarse fabric to wipe her cheek of the now-deceased trafficker's spit.

"Are you alright?" His voice was surprisingly soft as he stood before her, his eyes trained on her body as he scanned her for more injuries. She stood there motionless for a moment. He wasn't running, or screaming or begging for his life... he was just there. Checking in on her. She knew that people loved her, she had made such a big name for herself in the humanitarian sphere but she could've never anticipated this.

The sheer reverence and worry in his eyes...

"I was getting worried. You were taking so long... I could hear it, the things they said to you." His mouth hardened as he seemed to bare his teeth like a rabid dog. He grasped her hand in between his.

"I promise, I'd never let anyone harm you. What you are to this world... you need to be protected, like an angel... no a goddess of true justice." At that moment, she finally began to slide the pieces together. How she had seen him on Tinder, how she talked to him and then coincidentally ran into him at her favourite cafe. She hadn't disclosed anything about her, not even her identity. She knew she wouldn't be able to have a normal relationship with her near celebrity-like status. She was resigned to phone sex and sexting yet here he was, in front of her... in her house that he seemed to know a little too well.

"You've been following me." She looked at him, her eyes stern as he shivered under her gaze. He nodded sheepishly before he slunk to his knees. He looked overwhelmed, his hands going out to brush against her legs before he pulled himself back.

"I just wanted to make sure you're safe." He whispered quietly as he looked up at her through his lashes. He was slightly teary but she had a feeling it was nothing but a facade. A hum left her mouth as she considered her options. She already had a network of depraved people working under her, people on the inside... perhaps he could find a place there. He'd probably excel at it if his servitude right now was any indicator.

Maybe there was use for him yet.

#love for anon #ask #sub male #dom reader #drabble #yandere male #sub yandere #fem reader

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justlemmeadoreyou · 8 months

Note

I saw requests were open and I have one☺️. How about one when you are like Brad Pitts daughter or anyone famous daughter and you just started dating and his team or Friends like make fun of you and hurt your feelings or just say he is using you.

hi hun!! thank you for sending the request!! i hope you like this!!!

Word Count: 2.4k

Pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

Warnings: cursing, kissing

masterlist!! | send requests!!

“He’s just using you because your dad is an A-lister”

Those were the words Y/n wished to never hear. But, she always did, in her every relationship.It was when her friends began to say that, that she knew the relationship was reaching its end.

Y/n. Y/n Pitt. The daughter of Brad.

She was almost as famous as her father, if not less. A successful model and actress, a philanthropist and currently, the girlfriend of Harry Styles.

Her fame and success didn’t come handy, despite her father being a prominent name in the industry. Her career got a big break when she won a prestigious beauty pageant, and she has never looked back ever since. She made her way by herself, from the bottom to where she is now.

Still, whenever she hears the phrase “he used you”, it hits like a dagger deep into her heart, and that makes her question if she would ever be loved by anyone for who she is.

Which takes her back to today, sitting in a cafe with her friends, which was supposed to be a hang out. But, soon it turned into a relationship discussion, full of petty gossips and hate. About her and Harry.

“Dude, you know that he is with you because of your dad, right? I mean, come on, Y/n! You can’t be this naive!”

“That’s totally true! I mean, like, think about it, next month is the opening of your family production house, which was announced 6 months ago. And, Harry started dating you just around that. That just can’be a fucking coincidence.”

She sighed, as she listened to the both of them trash talk Harry. She knew they weren’t true. They hadn’t met 6 months ago. They had met a year ago, and occasionally saw each other at awards and openings. They did some harmless flirting for so many months, but then, one day, they were drunk and hooked up. After that, they started to date. It was Harry’s idea, because he didn’t want her to feel like he did all that flirting to get in her pants one day. He genuinely liked her, and was hoping to ask her out. And that had felt like the perfect opportunity.

They had been happy ever since. Harry didn’t inquire too deeply about their family’s business. He wasn’t interested in her money and fame. He was interested in her. He liked her. Right?

“Y/n! Are you even listening?” she was broken from her trance of thoughts by her friend, and she immersed herself back into the conversation.

“You have got to do some background check on him. See what he does on meetings with his team. He just finished a tour, he wouldn’t be planning another one so soon. You know, snoop around, find out stuff.”

“I am not going to do that! That would mean I don’t trust him! And I do! I trust him. And what he does on meetings with his pr team is his Harry!!!business. I don’t want to put my nose in between.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Yeah. Say him hi from us if you see him soon. Or if you see him at all”

That hurt her.

True, they both hadn’t seen each other since a few days. Weeks, if you will. But, he told her that he was busy and had to visit his mum for a while. And how could she argue with that?

She decided to not answer them back, terminating any further arguments. They changed the topic soon after, talking about some other gossip.

. . .

Throwing her stuff on the floor, she slumped down on the bed. The workout was good, but sometimes, it drained the whole life out of her.

After catching her breath, she got up and pulled out her phone, pulling up Harry’s contact.

They had texted three days ago, and the messages made her smile,

Harry: Okay, so, do you like tea or not?

Y/n: I like tea. But not that much hat you will bring me a while shop of your “Special England tea”!!

Harry: It’s not even that much. Plus, I will drink it with you.

Y/n: But still???

Harry: Come on!!

Y/n: Alright, fine! But you will make tea for me. Every morning and evening.

Harry: Done! Always at your service, ma’am! 🫡 Plus, you know, tea has antioxidants. And it boosts immunity! I can make a cuppa for you everytime after we fuck.

Y/n: Harry!!!

Harry: What?? It really boosts energy. After one round, you feel so tired and—

Y/n: Alright, stop! You’re such a menace.

Harry: I’m your menace!! You took responsibility of this menace those months ago.

Y/n: Don’t make me regret that!

Harry: Aww :(( I’m sad now.

Y/n: Wanna facetime?

Harry: Yess! But I’m still sad :(( 🙁

Y/n: Yes, Harry. I will make it up to you! Now call before I change my mind.

Harry: Yes, ma’am 🫡

They used to text regularly, but called rarely. The last call had been about a week ago, when he was drunk and had butt-dialled her. They had talked, and she managed to safely halp him get to his room, drink water and go to sleep. And he slept without hanging up, and so did she. Harry woke up at midnight, and started sneezing, which woke her up. She wanted to check him for fever, but he promised he was okay, and was going back home soon after, so she didn’t have to worry afout him. She was a bit assured by that, but still, she couldn’t stopped worrying.

He hadn’t called ever since. Even the last one was a accident.

She wasn’t the clingy type, or someone who needed calling and texting every minute and every hour of the day. They both had professional careers that mattred to them profusely. But, she missed him. So, she decided to call.

He picked up, and was clearly in the middle of something.

“Y/n! How are you?” she didn’t hear them clearly, over all the talking in the background.

“Harry! Where are you?!”

“I’m in a meeting!”

“But-you were supposed to be at your mum’s!”

“Yeah! I came back early. I had a meeting her in LA. It’s about an upcoming film.”

“A film!?”

“Yeah. It’s in the talks. I haven’t signed it yet, though.”

“What is this about?!”

“I’ll tell you, I’m coming back sson. Then we can go on a dinner or something. And hey! I almost forgot! The production is done by your dad’s firm!! Isn’t that great!”

Shit.

“Oh! You-you didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, your dad asked me not to. But, it’s gonna be on the media soon, so I thought you hear it from me rather than the press.”

“Listen, I gotta go. I’ll talk later.”

“Sure, love! Bye!”

And she cut the call.

Were her friends right? Did he use her for all these months just for this?

Maybe they were. Maybe they weren’t.

She felt sad. Sure, the offer might’ve been by her dad, but, no one talked to her? No one even bothered to even tell her about it, till the last moment. Till the paparazzi were gonna know so that she won’t feel bad for herself by hearing it from them.

Maybe they were right. Maybe he did date her to get the advantage, and will soon breakup with her, as soon as his job from her is over.

As soon as he has finished using her.

. . .

He was coming back today. But, she wasn’t bothered. He could come, and go back to his own house. Not bother talking to her, or even seeing her face. She didn’t want that.

Despite that, she picked up his call.

“Y/n? You didn’t pick up my call yesterday. Was calling you before I got on the plane.”

“Yeah-I was kinda busy yesterday.”

“Oh. So? I’m back. I’m gonna get my baggage and then…maybe I can come over?” he smiled, she could tell.

“Uh-I don’t know, Harry. I’m tired. I had a shoot yesterday and I haven’t eaten much.”

“So? Let me take you to dinner.”

“I’d rather stay ion tonight”

“So I–”

“Alone.”

“Oh. Alright. Okay. Call me if you need me.”

I won’t. She thought to herself.

“Bye, Harry” not “Bye, lovie” or “Bye, H”

Maybe she was tired. Harry decided not to think about it too much, and instead, went to his house.

. . .

“Harry!! How’s my man?”

“Hey! I’m good! You know, same old-same old.”

“Yeah! Where’s Y/n? She isn’t here?”

“No, man. She actually wanted to rest today. She had a shoot yesterday”

“No, she didn’t. She was with us yesterday. We went shopping, and then drinks, even.”

“Oh…”

“Maybe she was tired? Or hungover?”

“Or maybe she didn’t want to be with me.”

“Hey! Don’t say that. She actually likes you. Talk to her.”

“Yeah. I will”

He didn’t talk to her.

. . .

Y/n was scrolling through her phone, when she heard the door knock.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Harry.”

She wanted to pretend she wasn’t here. But, it was too late for that.

“Coming!”

She opened the door, and was welcomed with white peonies. A lot of them.

“Good morning, love”

She couldn’t stop the smile that took over her face on seeing him in the morning. The glowy face, the handsome smile.

“Good morning! Come in”

He walked in, removing his shoes, and to the kitchen to put the flowers in water.

He came back, and she was sitting on the sofa.

“I put them in water. Hope you don’t mind”

“No! I don’t. Come on, sit.”

He sat, to hug her, and sling a hand over her shoulder.

But, she slid away.

So, he sat away too, both ending up on the opposite ends of the large sofa.

“So? How you’ve been?”

“I’m fine, thank you! How was your shoot that day?”

“It was alright.”

Lie. He didn’t bother asking her more, not wanting to hear more lies.

“You free today?”

“Yeah…I think so?”

“So, can we go out? A coffee or something?”

“Or, we can hang out here.”

She smiled. He caught it, and scooted closer, wanting to kiss her.

She didn’t protest, allowed his lips on hers. It was when he deepened it, and his hands went to her shirt buttons.

“Harry–Harry!”

He pulled back, confused.

“Yeah?”

I-I don’t really feel like– you know”

“Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. I just don’t feel too up for it”

“Sure.” they both looked down, an awkward silence engulfing the atmosphere.

“I should leave” he said after a few seconds, taking the hint that she clearly didn’t want him there.

“Oh. You don’t wanna stay?”

“Not really.”

Saying that, he saw his way out.

“She dosen’t like me anymore. Maybe found someone else.” he thought

“He got what he wanted. Why is he staying? He should leave already.” she thought.

Harry was sad. As he walked towards his car, he felt anger. She didn’t like him anymore. Could’ve just said to him at his face.

He couldn’t live like this. So, he decided to got back to confront her.

Before Y/n could close the door shut, Harry was back.

“Harry?”

“Yeah. Me.” he growled, so angry, his eyes were red, and fists clenched.

“What happened?” she asked, a bit scared.

“You tell me what happened. You don’t like me anymore?”

“That’s not–how can you say that?”

“You don’t talk to anymore, you don’t call me, or even text me. You don’t want to hang out with me, hell, you can’t even stand kissing me anymore.” he was hovering over her, and she was scared now. He realized that, and backed down, throwing himself on the couch.

“That’s not true! And you can’t talk like that to me!”

“I’m sorry. But you could just tell me. Instead of making me suffer like that. Or do you like that?”

She too was angry now.

“Maybe I do. Right now, I fucking do. And that is much better than what you did to me!”

“And what did I do?!”

“You used me. You fucking used me to get contacts with my family. You just wanted to get close to my dad so that you could use his money on your stupid new movie!!”

“What? Fuck! You think that low of me?!”

They both were yelling now.

“It’s not “thinking low” of you. It’s what’s true.. You didn’t even tell me anything. Hell, I didn’t even know you were doing another movie.”

“I was planning on telling you over dinner. After I came back.”

“But, you couldn’t. You feared that I would learn everything from the media, so you told me haphazardly over a fucking call!”

“Oh, so would you rather have heard it from them?”

“Could’ve been better. Better than hearing from a fucking liar. A fucking loser who just used me to get my father’s money.”

“Watch your tone, Y/n. I haven't gone that low. And you know that.”

“Maybe I don’t. Maybe you did, and once you got it, came back here to break up with me.”

“You’re so fucking childish!”

“Oh. Break up with me, then. Do it”

“Maybe I will” he mocked her. And walked out the door, slamming it shut.

He went back to his car, and made his way inside this time. Once the anger had subsided, he cried. And so did she.

. . .

“Harry styles rejected a movie produced by Y/n Pitt’s father. A coincidence or a desperate attempt?”

She slumped, when she read the article. and then about ten more, about how he had backed down in order to save his relationship. Some said that it was a publicity stunt.

She pulled up Harry’s contact, calling him.

"Why?"

"To get it off your mind that I did not use you."

"Fuck, Harry. What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you. I want you."

"Really?"

"Yes, y/n. really. I did not give up a million dollar project for just "really""

"You didn't have to, you know. And that wasn't a good bargain either. What did you get? Me? Should've taken the movie instead."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah"

"You want me to break up with you. And take the movie instead.?"

"Yes. if that's what you want."

"What I want is you. How do I say it so you believe me?"

"Take me on a date."

. . .

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