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violetflowerswrites · 2 years

Text

Five Minutes

Summary: Bruce Wayne reluctantly attends a fundraising gala with his lover, a former childhood friend who knows his life as the Batman. She puts up with his rich kid brattiness while he can’t wait to mark their reunion with a quickie in the library.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Female Reader

Disclaimer: spoiled, angsty, and bratty Bruce. Soft boi Bruce and possessive Bruce. Sassy and teasing reader. Lots of kissing and touching. Fingering (female receiving). Consensual p in v sex. Public sex. 18+ for explicit smut and language.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I still can’t stop thinking about Battison even though I watched it months ago. Here’s my take on what Bruce would be like with someone who understands him, especially when he doesn’t want to have to explain himself. The story is set in Gotham perhaps a year after the events of the movie. The smut is heavily inspired by the library scene from Atonement because it's hot AF. Enjoy Bruce in all his soft boi glory!

The quiet whirring of the elevator is the only sound that echoes through the underground caverns of the Batcave. You shove your hands deeper into the pockets of your coat, shivering in the cooler temperatures as you descend downwards, surrounded by black rock and concrete. Flickering lights blink a greeting to you as your heels click down the empty hallways towards the main foyer, where a medley of computer screens flash unflattering closeups and shaky videos of the Gotham public, and the occasional criminal. It’s dark and damp and uninviting, but even with the lights off in this maze of a secret lair, you can find your way around like it’s the back of your hand.

After all, you designed it.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice swallowed up by the vast space. “Bruce?”

Suddenly, a dark figure slams into you like a brick wall and you stumble backwards, narrowly falling on your backside before strong hands grip your back.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?” Bruce grumbles, his eyes practically glowing through the black of his mask.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” you huff. Bruce was never a man of many words. “Alfred said you were probably in the Batcave so I came looking for you.”

You notice a muscle tightening in the corner of Bruce’s mouth. He always hated the nickname you gave his underground hideaway. And that’s exactly why the name stuck.

“It’s been a month.” Bruce states matter-of-factly. He stands there, unmoving.

You almost burst out into laughter. For anyone who doesn’t know Bruce, they will probably think that he is just making an observation. But you know better. This is his version of throwing a bratty little tantrum, complaining that you’ve been away too long.

You close the distance between the two of you and wrap him in a big hug, your face pressing against the woven kevlar of his bulletproof costume.

“I know, big guy. It was a long and boring business trip. But I’m finally back home. Did you miss me?” You tease him.

Bruce says nothing, refusing to move. It’s like you’re hugging a tree. A spoiled, passive-aggressive, angsty, Bat-costume clad tree. You wait for Bruce to get over himself, and simply pull his body even closer to you, your fingertips barely able to lock behind his back.

Finally, he acknowledges you by tucking his chin down on top of your head in a wordless affirmation of yes. He did in fact miss you. A hell of a lot.

In a matter of seconds, Bruce scoops you up until your ass is comfortably resting at his waist, and your legs automatically link around his torso. Your arms cling to his neck, even though you know Bruce would never drop you.

“Am I too short for you?” You immediately grin at him.

“Need to see your face.” Bruce mumbles under his breath.

You gaze back at him, curiously looking over his mask and the black eyeshadow surrounding his eyes. It has the smallest flecks of glitter in it, and you wonder what brand he must be using. You’ll have to find one that’s more matte for him.

While you’re preoccupied with Bruce’s makeup choices, the man before you decides to finally show his affection by kissing your waiting lips.

You smile into the kiss, and return it passionately.

“You’re a big baby, you know that?” You chuckle at him. Bruce makes a non-verbal grunt. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You continue to pepper his exposed skin with kisses, pressing your soft lips to his jaw and cheek and neck.

Bruce frees up a hand to grip the side of your head, a gloved thumb rubbing your cheek tenderly.

“Did you miss me?” he asks quietly.

You bury your face in the side of his neck, an aroused flush spreading across your hot skin. “Of course. I wanted you. Every night.”

Your lover reaches his hand in between you now, tickling your collarbone, and brushing his hands across the front of your chest, just barely passing over your sensitive nipples. A shudder courses through your body at his touch.

Your lips press a hot and wanting kiss to his, your hands gripping his face. “B-Bruce, if you keep touching me…” you pant, your shallow breaths mingling with his steady ones.

“Not now.” Bruce abruptly lowers you to the ground, making sure your feet are steady before letting go of you. You brush your hair out of your face, clicking your tongue in annoyance. Bruce’s emotionless mouth tugs into the smallest of smirks. Bastard.

“I’m leaving.” He says, turning on his heel.

“The gala is in an hour, Bruce.” You remind him.

“I’ll be there. Bring my suit. Take a car.” Bruce punctuates each instruction with a steel-booted step, clanking across the concrete towards his motorcycle.

“A please would be nice!” You roll your eyes, but your comment is lost in the revving of his engine and he peels off into the night, cape flapping in the wind.

God, he’s a spoiled brat.

…

Exactly 60 minutes later, the Batman shows up out of nowhere, appearing in the headlights of your car like a silent shadow.

“Jesus Christ!” You yelp, Bruce’s large body taking up space in the tiny alley where you’re parked. “Do you have to do that every time?”

Another sneaky smirk tugs at his lips, even though the man says nothing.

With an exasperated sigh, you get to work making him gala-ready. The two of you tumble into the backseat of the luxury SUV, and you quickly flick on as many lights as you can.

“Shoes. Pants. Shirt.” You pass him each item of clothing as Bruce quickly peels off his mud-soaked costume.

“God, this is disgusting. Dump it in here.” You hold out a black plastic bag.

“It will wrinkle.” Bruce states as he looks at your outstretched hands with disdain.

“Hah! It’s covered in filth Bruce. Alfred will take care of it, and hurry up. We’re already late.” You laugh at his fussing.

Bruce stuffs his long limbs into the dress clothes, while you tie up the bag and toss it into the trunk. Then, you retrieve a box of what you dorkily call the “Batman to Bruce Transformation Box” or Triple B for short.

“Okay. Time for Triple B to do its magic.” You breathe out as you settle back into the backseat.

“A nickname. Again?” Bruce looks up at you from tying his shoes.

“Gotta find fun somewhere, right?” You grin at him, “Now give me your face.”

You grab a heavy duty makeup wipe and clean off all the eyeshadow. Then you put some product in his flattened hair and comb it back, away from his face. You tuck some loose strands behind his ears and spray it all down generously with hairspray.

Bruce sputters at the mist and you ignore him. You dab some cologne onto his neck and the man has the audacity to complain again.

“I smell like a wet dog.”

“The cologne is called “Woodland Musk” and it’s very expensive so you’re wearing it.” You tut back at him. “We gotta get you picture and people ready. This gala is a big deal Bruce.”

Bruce just looks at you with disappointment, and sighs. If you weren’t rushing to get him ready, you would have taken a picture of his pouty face. It’s a side he only shows to you. And maybe Alfred.

You take out a small velvet box and hand it to him while you brush off his suit jacket. Bruce opens it to find a shiny pair of silver cufflinks, engraved with cursive initials T.W.

“These are my father’s.” Bruce observes quietly.

“Alfred thought it would be nice. After all, you will be donating in his name tonight.” You glance back at Bruce, noticing that his eyes have turned down in sadness.

You gently take the cufflinks out of the box and fasten them to his sleeves. “I’m glad we can remember him in this way.” You pat his hand and look up at him, smiling reassuringly.

“Let’s go.”

…

Bruce’s eyes widen as he takes in the emerald green satin dress you’re wearing. You slip a $20 to the teenage boy who takes your coat, offering a small nod. He eagerly scoops up the tip and scurries away.

The material of the dress catches the light of a chandelier, making it ripple as you walk, like ocean waves gleaming in the sun.

“Bruce! Stop staring–we’re late!” You hiss at him, raising your eyebrows. Bruce snaps out of it and in two strides, catches up to you and offers you his arm. “You look good.” His compliment is almost lost in the quiet murmur of the crowd as you near the ballroom.

“I thought you said ‘not now’?” You turn to look up at him, eyes twinkling.

Bruce continues to face forward, his expression unreadable, but a little bit of pink colors the tips of his ears.

“We’ll see.”

The next few hours pass by in a flurry of small talk and a whole lot of ass-kissing. Your brain is whirling from trying to recall every big-name in Gotham and their wives and their children and of course, their net worth. You find a short reprieve at the bar, finally able to get a glass of wine to relieve your overworked mental state.

Bruce slides up next to you silently, his slightly furrowed brow the only indication of his discomfort at such a public event. You know he hates this kind of stuff with a passion.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne! And Ms. Y/L/N. You look lovely tonight, my dear.” A balding man with a large handlebar mustache and an equally large beer belly lifts his drink in greeting to you. You instantly recognize him as Luke “The Cowboy” Lawson, a ranch tycoon from Texas. Next to him was your real estate magnate of a father.

“Mr. Lawson! Thank you for making the trip all the way out here. How are you?” You greet him.

“Lawson was just telling me about the water problems he’s been having on the ranches. The drought is really putting his business under. Not to mention all the illegals that keep coming over.” Your father interrupts.

You wince internally at his comments. He was never one to shy away from his political stances, and you try to avoid him for as much of the year as possible.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do to help?” You reply sympathetically. You are quite fond of Lawson with his big laugh and cheerful demeanor. How he managed to stay friends with your father for all these years is a mystery to you.

“Lawson’s Ranches used to supply Gotham most of its beef and milk supply, but you haven’t been providing much for us in recent years. It’s because of the drought, isn’t it?” Bruce cuts in unexpectedly. You peer at him through the corner of your eye. His face is resolute, and determined. What is he thinking?

“Well, uh, yes that’s correct, Mr. Wayne.” Lawson carefully replies.

“Wayne Enterprises will sponsor Ms. Y/L/N’s engineering company to find an appropriate solution for your water crisis. In return, I would like you to allot a sizable portion of your supply to Gotham city, at a reduced price. As we are rebuilding, we have lost much, and food shortage is becoming a major issue. I’ll have my people draft up a contract by next week.” Bruce offers with an air of boredom, as if the solution is obvious.

“H-hold on, Bruce–” you try to interject, but Lawson and Bruce are already shaking hands.

“That sounds like a great plan. I look forward to working with you Mr. Wayne.” Lawson smiles warmly at the two of you. “You two make a great team. Excuse me, while I make some calls.”

Your jaw drops slack as you watch Lawson leave.

“Bruce! I can’t believe you just–” you whip your head around to reprimand him.

“Can you not do it?” Bruce finally looks down at you.

“What? No, of course I can. We’ve been handling drought projects for years and Lawson is a good family friend so of course I would want to help him out, but –” you calculate the implications quickly aloud.

“Then it’s done.” Bruce states with decisiveness.

You stare at him and shake your head in disbelief, but a soft chuckle makes the both of you turn to the man still before you.

“Hah! Lawson is right. You two make a great team. You always have, ever since you were children playing around in that great big mansion of yours, Bruce. I’m sorry, I find it hard to call you Mr. Wayne, that was your father.” Your father wipes invisible tears from his eyes, his laughter lacking actual happiness.

“Father, it has been a while. You look well.” You greet robotically, your manners ingrained in you since you grew up in the media spotlight. Perks of growing up rich you suppose.

“Yes, yes, I’m doing fine, Y/N.” Your father waves a hand dismissively. “But you didn’t tell me that you’ve been in touch with the Waynes. I haven’t seen Bruce out in public in years.”

“Father, I think you’re misunderstanding. We’re just–” you quickly intervene, knowing what your father is thinking in his calculating mind.

“We are together. I’ve been seeing your daughter, Mr. Y/L/N.” Bruce interrupts whatever explanation you were going to say with the actual truth.

“Ah! Excellent! Well, I wish the two of you well. Welcome to the family, Bruce. Call me anytime the two of you need anything.” Your father beams greedily, knowing that having a Wayne for a son-in-law would increase his fortune by the millions. Perhaps more.

He kisses you on the cheek and shakes Bruce’s hand. “Now, you must excuse me. I have more deals to secure.”

With that, your shrewd father disappears into the crowd. Your senses finally register the unmistakable clicks and flashes from cameras as the media captures every embarrassing moment of that interaction. You know you already caused a frenzy arriving with Bruce Wayne as your date, and then to see Bruce talking to your father? You could practically hear the wedding bells ringing.

You plaster a fake smile onto your face and lift up onto your toes to whisper into Bruce’s ear.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, big boy.”

…

“What the hell was that, Bruce?” You sputter in shock, hands on your hips. “First, you make a business deal without consulting me, that’s gonna cost millions for the both of us, and then you tell my father that we’re together? It’s like you want to be on the cover of tomorrow’s tabloids!”

Your infuriating boyfriend simply peruses the bookshelves of leatherbound covers, the warm browns of the library surrounding you in a comforting glow.

“You’re mine.” Bruce simply states. “They need to know.”

“W-what?” His admission catches you off-guard.

Bruce turns and walks towards you. You inadvertently step backwards until your bare back is pressed against the shelves.

“You’re mine.” Bruce repeats, his face inches from yours. He immediately kisses your lips, and you can feel your anger melting away.

You hear the rustle of his suit jacket falling to the floor and the distinct clink of his belt becoming undone.

“B-Bruce, wait–they’re gonna know we’re gone!” You whisper into his mouth, your protests sounding very feeble. Only Bruce could make you lose the battle against lust with just a kiss.

“Five minutes.” Bruce murmurs against your chest, his lips already traveling down your body.

“You only need five minutes?” You pant at him, with a teasing tone. Your lover simply looks up at you with a raised eyebrow. He’s made you cum in far less time.

“I’m not waiting anymore.” Bruce kisses the tops of your breasts, pulling down the tiny straps of your gown off of your shoulders. You suck in a breath and your head falls back against the books.

To be honest, you’ve been aroused ever since Bruce kissed you in the Batcave. You just didn’t think he would make his move at the gala, in public no less.

But, what the Batman wants, the Batman gets.

His hot mouth finds your hard nubs and suckles gently on them.

“Gah! That feels good, Bruce.” You voice out your pleasure in a loud moan.

“Shh…” Bruce chuckles as he continues to kiss your tingling skin while palming your breasts with his strong hands.

Without further ado, Bruce lifts up your bottom and perches you precariously on the edge of a shelf. He pushes the slinky material of your dress around your waist and dips a thick finger into your folds.

“No underwear?” Bruce questions.

“This dress shows everything, Bruce.” You moan appreciatively at his touch, your mind barely registering his words.

“Mmm. Tempting.” Bruce comments with a grunt. He pushes two fingers now into your pussy, his hand quickly becoming coated with your slick.

“Oh my god!” You yelp at the invasion, the pleasure overwhelming you already. It’s been a while since anything besides your own fingers have entered your core. And Bruce’s fingers are much larger than your own.

Bruce silences your noises with another tender kiss, his fingers thrusting in and out of your hot pussy in a regular rhythm. You squirm under him, your hands gripping the back of his neck and shoulders as you try not to fall off the shelf.

Wanting to make him feel good too, you reach down and find the waistband of his dress slacks. Bruce groans against your lips as your fingers gently grip his hard member and you stroke it slowly.

“You have two more minutes,” you tease Bruce, your eyes locking with his as he presses his lips to your tender ones over and over.

Bruce grabs your wrists and wraps them on the back of his neck. He takes out his engorged cock and lines it up with your waiting pussy. You stare down at his member, your body already throbbing with anticipation.

And in the next second, you’re in ecstasy.

“Ohhhh!” Your moan elongated with lust, “Bruce, I’ve missed you.”

“I know.” Bruce replies with a moan of his own, his hips thrusting up into you. He stretches you deliciously and in return, your pussy grips him as if it was made just for his cock. He speeds up, the force of his movements making books start to fall off the shelves.

The two of you pay the mess no mind, your focus occupied only on the high you are both chasing.

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in that expensive cologne that made him smell like a wet dog, but to you it was just the unmistakable scent of Bruce Wayne.

And the scent of sex.

For the next few moments, there are only the lewd sounds of wet skin slapping together and the panting moans of the two of you as you have desperate reunion sex. It’s as if the two of you have forgotten everything except each other.

Forgetting that your father and the media is gonna go crazy about your new relationship status. Forgetting that Gotham is still half destroyed from the flood. Forgetting that Bruce puts his life in danger every night as the Batman. Forgetting the sadness and the darkness that haunts every waking minute of this city.

For the moment, you have each other, and it’s enough.

“Shit!” You burst out, Bruce’s cock hits deeper than you thought possible, and it brings you the most incredible wave of bliss. “You’re gonna make me cum, Bruce!”

“Ten seconds.” Bruce grunts as he thrusts into you, speeding up. His hair has fallen out of place despite all the hairspray and you think to yourself how sexy he looks with just a bit of his bangs falling into his eyes.

Keeping his promise, you feel his warm seed spurt into your waiting pussy just as one final push tips you over the edge into body-shaking shivers of orgasm.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you press your lips to Bruce, your moan muffled by his hot mouth. If you don’t kiss him as you cum, you know that everyone is gonna hear your screams of pleasure outside in the halls.

Five minutes was definitely enough time.

Out of breath, you silently lower your body and hop down from the shelf on shaky legs. You quickly find the strappy heels that had fallen off in the midst of sex, picking up his suit jacket as well.

You place it on his shoulders as he tucks himself back into his pants. The two of you wordlessly replace the books scattered across the carpeted floor and before long, the library looks as if no one had been there in the first place.

Your hand grips the doorknob before you hear Bruce speak.

“I love you.”

You turn, brushing his bangs back behind his ears affectionately, as you gaze into the clear eyes of your lover. Your bratty, soft little Batman.

“I know.”

263 notes · View notes

navstuffs · 2 years

Note

I love your Rob fics so much, you’re a very good writer! Could I request a rob x f!reader, where they get into a fight over something, choose for yourself, and reader leaves and Rob thinks it’s all over but he finds her and it ends with them making up and fluff?

The Distance that tears us apart

Pairing: Robert Pattinson x Female!Reader

Summary: When (Y/N) and Robert's vacation time gets shortened, (Y/N) might just have reached her limit.

Warning: angst with a happy ending

Authors note: first of all, i'm very sorry for taking so long to write this! i had some mental health issues and wasn't in the mood to write so now im coming back slowly and i plan on finishing all my requests (not in the order they were sent, for which i DEEPLY apologize :/). making out scene on this fanfic isn't my best one to which i apologize. thank you so much for your nice words as well, thank you so MUCH for your patience! <3 i hope you enjoy this fanfic! gif credit to the owner

(Y/N) was upset. At the world, at Robert Pattinson, at herself. She knew dating a famous actor would be complicated, but Robert made sure she was feeling comfortable, happy, and safe.

She had been feeling even more lonely in their house for the last months due to Robert's busy schedule, except for some usual long video calls and texts, when he could. (Y/N) tried to busy herself with work, projects, and whatever she could until their next time together. They were going to pass two full weeks together, on a trip (Y/N) had planned. Robert had to put his foot down for that to happen. His team insisted on him taking one more project but he knew his girlfriend needed him. Robert missed her as much as she missed him. Or even more.

Then, on his first day back home, Robert gets a call: an incredible chance to work with some big-name director that he had wanted for so long. His initial reaction was not to accept it, but (Y/N) knew how much he had wanted to work with this director, so she told him to go. Robert asked a hundred times if she was sure to which she grabbed his face into her hands, making him stare right into her decided's eyes.

"I am sure."

"But, (Y/N)..."

"Since I started dating you Rob, you told me how lucky you would be to get to work with this man! And he finally did it! You have to go there and at least listen to what he has to say!"

Robert apologized a hundred times, promising he would make it up for the lost time, again. (Y/N) thought she was happy for him, she knew he wanted to go.

So their two weeks got cut short to exactly five days - that Robert had to fight really hard for the last and fifth day since his team wanted him to give only four ("You know how those directors are Robert, but he is willing to wait for you.")

Bye, ten amazing days in Amsterdam, full of activities, a trip (Y/N) planned for at least one year ago? Or maybe it was even more? It was just like when it came time to their Egypt travel and oh the Switzerland one. Robert still insisted on her going, to invite a friend, and have fun, distract herself, but for what reason? Her friends had jobs, no one could just simply just let everything go, and she had a job as well! (Y/N) had luckily gotten fourteen days off to spend with her boyfriend, a nicely deserved vacation that was now ruined.

It wasn't the first time something like this would happen and probably wouldn't be their last and (Y/N) knew. She knew what was at stake when she started dating a famous actor like Robert Pattinson. Her friends and family warned her.

All the other times Rob had left her for something else, she told herself it didn't bother her, she was happy for him, but she missed the quality time they had before. It seemed so distant now.

So they tried to do something exciting on those five days. Meals out (including tea time), a painting class, a pottery class. Riding bikes and hiking across London's parks. (Y/N) tried to ignore how fast the week was passing but it was hard to miss. And she knew because of that she wasn't enjoying any activity. Robert noticed but every time he would ask, she would murmur she was fine. They were fine. Everything was fine.

So by Saturday morning, (Y/N) frustration had reached its peak. She woke up annoyed and things didn't get better when she tried to make breakfast for them and ended up burning eggs two times. She threw the pan at the sink full of rage, making Robert rush to the kitchen.

"(Y/N)?"

"I was trying to make breakfast." (Y/N) stated low, her voice trembling with anger.

"It is okay, we can go out and-"

"Again? And do what, Robert? Pretend this isn't happening at all? You leave tomorrow and your girlfriend couldn't fix one single decent breakfast?" (Y/N) snarked.

"(Y/N), please..."

"Please what, Robert? Do you know how much I miss you? How that bed is large and cold without you?"

"You know I miss you, too! I miss you every day I am away! I asked if you wanted me to go and you said I could!" He argued back, nervously passing his hand through his hair.

"And what was I supposed to say? No Robert, don't go! Lose the opportunity of a lifetime, that you have wanted so long for a vacation I have planned for I don't know how long, like many others that got canceled before!" (Y/N) half-yelled her frustration, feeling her body shake.

"I would have done it for you!" Robert insisted, trying to get close to her. (Y/N) gave two steps away from him, shaking her head "My life isn't only about movies and glamorous red carpets, it involves you! My life with you is the most important thing I have!"

"Are you sure? Because for the last couple of years that we have dated, I barely see you! We barely spend time together!"

Robert seemed frozen on his spot, his heart beating fast again his chest, his palms itching to run his finger through his hair, again. He was hurt, hurt for (Y/N). He always tried to make sure to show how important (Y/N) was to him, but it clearly wasn't enough.

"(Y/N), I can call and cancel this meeting right now! We will go anywhere you want for as long as you want!" Robert started pleading, watching as (Y/N) shook her head even more furious.

"It is not about that! I am tired of being lonely, I am tired of not being enough time with my boyfriend! I knew it was going to be bad, but this is too much!" (Y/N) confessed, tears on the corner of her eyes now, breaking Robert's heart. His mind was racing to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

There was a moment of silence, where (Y/N) stared off at everywhere except him. It surprised her how much she was actually hurting now she finally let her feelings out. All the times she was left waiting, all the times they had to cancel something. Robert's eyes were focused on her and he ended up making the question before he could stop himself, his voice cracking.

"(Y/N), do you want to...break up?"

(Y/N) looked at Rob like he had slapped her. Her head gave a full spin, her mind going too fast for her to follow. She didn't want that, did she? (Y/N) loved Robert and Robert loved (Y/N). She was sure of that. But did her love support too much? Were they at the end?

"I-I...I don't know..." (Y/N) didn't form a sentence. She sprinted away towards the back door to their garden.

The garden always helped her think better anyway.

-x-

Robert didn't immediately follow her. He knew (Y/N) needed some time to cool off. He also needed that time, to clear his mind.

He sat at a chair in their kitchen, blood rushing in his ears. He shouldn't lose control of himself right now, he couldn't break down crying right now, not before listening and talking to (Y/N). Hearing her decision. It was a mistake to have not insisted more during those days, to make sure she was really okay. Robert was disappointed in himself: how much she had been suffering like this? How much he didn't know?

Rob gave (Y/N) at least twenty minutes before following her into the garden. It was her favorite part of the house and if she could stay out there the whole day, she would. Rob remembered one of the first things when they moved into the house was a romantic dinner out under the stars, taking the table outside and all the chairs. (Y/N) also loved watching the storm when it rained and sometimes Robert had to drag her back in so she didn't catch a cold.

Decided, Robert got up from his chair. If he was about to lose her, he would at least fight for (Y/N). He could only hope he had a chance.

-x-

Robert knew exactly where to look for (Y/N) in their garden. Her favorite spot was under a big tree, one that offered enough shade so she could sit down to read without getting too much sun on her eyes. He found (Y/N) laying down in the grass, not crying, simply staring at the clouds. Robert's first instinct was to want to hold her and they both could cuddle right there, as they did so many times before. Instead, he stayed standing at a safe distance from her, hands on his pockets from touching his hair even more. It probably looked a mess already.

"Can I join you?"

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes still focused on the sky. Robert gave a fast look at the sky: it was a beautiful day, with some clouds and a sunny sky. It didn't seem it was going to rain, which was a miracle. It wasn't too warm as well. Perfect weather. Robert sat down near (Y/N), her right hand just a few inches away from his. There was only silence for a few moments until Robert shared:

"(Y/N), I am sorry. I didn't know how much you were suffering. You should have told me. I didn't know you were feeling this bad, love."

(Y/N) sniffed, biting her lips, her eyes still directed at the sky. She would have told him if she knew; she didn't know she was feeling this bad. She tried to ignore most of her bad feelings to not make both of them upset. (Y/N) tried to demonstrate she was fine and she was strong, but she was just lying to herself.

"You should have also told me, (Y/N). I apologize for not noticing."

"I didn't know." (Y/N) confessed, looking at him, her voice low with sadness. That made Robert even more miserable and unhappy with himself. "I didn't know I was feeling that bad, Rob. I thought I was fine, I thought I was okay but it seems I wasn't really."

Robert sighed, passing his hands on his already messy hair, paying close attention to her. His body was tense, his hands closed but he was going to listen until the very end.

"About that question in the kitchen, (Y/N), I am sorry. I think I just panicked." He admitted, ashamed of himself.

"I know. I think we are both upset and said some stuff we meant it in a really bad way." (Y/N) rose to sit in front of Robert "I don't want to break up with you if that is what you wondering."

A huge weight was lifted from Robert's shoulders. He pulled (Y/N) gently into a hug, breathing deeply. She didn't want to break up with him. (Y/N) broke their embrace, cupping his face with both her hands.

"Things have to change, Robert. I know we have jobs and yours has some pretty crazy schedules, but we need to try."

"Yes." His voice broke and Robert cleaned the wetness on his eyes.

"We could try to spend more time together and our vacations together could be mandatory? No bugging from anyone, no one really, just you and me."

"I will talk with my team about this. If I need to lay down rules and take a year off, I will. I won't lose you, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) tried to smile, locking their foreheads against each other. They stayed in there for a few moments, listening to each other's breathing. Robert passed his arm over her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. They locked lips, a little more desperate from Robert's side. He wasn't losing her. She was all his. Robert's body was lowered down into the grass with (Y/N) on top of him, his hands rubbing her back. The kiss deepened, both of their bodies warming up with the love one fell from each other. (Y/N) broke the kiss, earning a protesting moan from Robert. She giggled teasing, hiding her face in his chest. Slowly, they both calmed down.

"I will do better for us. But you got to tell me when you aren't feeling well, love. Deal?"

"Deal, Rob."

Taglist: @uwiuwi

MASTERLIST | ROBERT PATTINSON MASTERLIST

If you want to be added to my taglist, send me a message about which character you want to be added to.

#robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x female reader #robert pattinson fanfics #robert pattinson fanfic #robert pattinson imagines #robert pattinson imagine #robert pattinson fic #robert pattinson #my first robert fanfic after months AND IM SO HAPPY #I AM DOING IT #I DID IT #I WILL FINISH MY REQUESTS

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hobisstar · 2 years

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His movies are starting to take a toll on me. THEY ARE SO CRAZY AND I PROMISE YOU HE DOES A GOOD JOB IN THEM. ANY WAYS!! FINALLY MY HORROR FIC IS OUT FOR ROBERT LIKE I PROMISED I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!!

#robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson fic

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billysgun · 4 months

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woven

edward cullen x fem!reader |edward sneaks into your bedroom like always. but this time, you ask him to hold you|

your body is tense as you curl around your woven sheets, the sudden cool air settling in the room as the corner of your mattress dips

you feel his heavy hand trace over your leg and you couldn't help the smile that was pulled from your lips

you turn over to see him and his golden eyes seem to soften as your arms open wide for him

"come and hold me, please"

he nods and you notice how his chest stops moving as he moves on top of the blanket, pulling your warm body to his cold one

you dig your nose into the sheets as his hands reaches over your body to hold yours, thumb brushing against your palm softly, putting you into a trance

the wind that drifts from the open window isn't nearly as cold as your boyfriend, but the goosebumps that lay upon your skin tingle with each stroke from him, igniting your insides from his love.

your body goes limp and your eyes roll back as sleep completely takes you, as relaxed as can be while he watches you fondly.

an: hehe trying something new. tell me if you guys like it! I'm still posting billy content don't worry!

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took-hold-of-nothing · 11 months

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ladyantiheroine · 9 months

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Okay this is very niche but I need to get it out of my system and Tumblr is the only place I can do it.

These two men:

…are on opposite ends of the goth-bimbo spectrum.

One is very competent with many skills, the other’s only job description is “beach.”

Both are obsessed with the badass ladies in their lives and frequently devote their brain cells to them.

One has the look and demeanor of a sad wet cat, the other is a happy golden retriever puppy in man-form.

Both are based on characters that exist in huge franchises consisting of animated movies and children’s toys.

One is the title character and protagonist, the other is defined by his role playing second fiddle to the main character.

Both are played by actors who turned in iconic performances despite many people objecting to their casting and gave chaotic vibes in their press tour interviews.

Early 2020s cinema is truly giving us the duality of man.

#shut up elizabeth #someone make fanart asap #might write me a fic #barbie #barbie 2023 #barbie movie #the batman 2022 #and ken #battinson #ryan gosling #robert pattinson

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rxtrovillans · 9 months

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ღDom!Bruce Wayne (Nsfw)

A/n: IM BACKKKK

Please reblog if you enjoyed <3

Summary: Some dom!bruce Wayne head canons :)

Bruce likes to keep your arms restrained,whether it’s him holding your arms down or have you tied down old fashioned — with some rope. He usually ties you up/holds you down while he eats you out.

When he wants to be a bit more romantic he’ll lace his fingers with yours as you devours your soaked cunt.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. BATMAN LOVES EATING PUSSY.

Bruce loves tightly holding your hips as he plows into from behind, most time he ends up leaving bruises. To which he kisses the next day when they’re more visible.

He loves having you close so that he can whisper filthy things in your ear:

“Look at you taking my cock so well”

“You like it when I fuck you like you’re nothing?”

“Fuck you feel so good”

“Don’t you fucking cum”

“Look at how I fit so fucking good”

“You want more?”

Bruce likes handling you rough, whether it’s him forcing you to look at him in whatever position he puts you in.

He loves spanking you while you ride him, he loves the way your hips buck and how your body jerks when he does it.

He loves any position where he can still see your face, even in doggy or reverse cow girl he’ll still find a way to get to see your face.

Bruce loves making you whimper and beg for him (he teases you about it):

“Awww you need me?”

“How bad do you need me right now?”

“Fuck you’re soaked”

“Can I taste you?”

He DEFINITELY grunts

There’s only been one time where he has made you cry during sex, by extreme overstimulation. And as soon as he saw the tears roll down he came instantly and the hardest he’s ever came.

He loves seeing his cum on you, from him either cumming on your face, of cumming on your stomach/back/or tits.

He loves holding your legs down while he fingers roughly, curling his fingers inside you while playing with your clit. Bruce loves watching your body shudder and break down trying to keep composure while he fucks you, he loves watching your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mouth silently gape open from pleasure.

Thank you for reading!!!

#batman #brucewayne #battinson fic #batman fanfiction #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dark #smut #headcannons #batman headcanon #robert pattinson bruce wayne #smut headcanons #battinson smut #battinson

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anitalenia · 9 months

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𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 ₊˚⊹♡

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆: how he acted 𓂃⊹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll stay for a little while.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒙: how it was 𓂃⊹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hated that he looked so good despite the grime.

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

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

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

He had missed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Why I was in love with you.”

You swore your heart stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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thewritermj · 6 months

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cameras flashes, that's how we crashed

battinson!bruce wayne X reader

part 1

summary: on a press conference, bruce finds a journalist who's up to his standards

warnings: usual gotham violence, quick discrimination of a serial killer, not actually smut in this, but in the future so NSFW MDNI

a/n: forgive any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language!!! Bruce lives in the manor instead of the Wayne Towers cuz I like the manor vibe more, also I kinda picture Jim Gordon from the Gotham Tv show, cuz I love that version but it doesn't really matters lol. (nothing said above is useful for this reading but I just thought you should know) also, this takes place one year after the movie

Bruce sat quietly on the car, the ride was awfully short. He wished he had more time to mentally prepare to his first press conference. He was a recluse for most part of his life, but after the scandal about The Gotham Renewal Program, people deserved to know the truth. And the idea of continuing his family legacy of charity and philanthropy wasn’t all bad and kept Alfred out of his nerves for a while.

And even tough Bruce Wayne could crack a fake smile to the cameras, throw charity galas and events, the true help came at night. The only possible salivation Gotham could have, the real way he could help the city was as Vengeance. The Batman. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, or a vigilante, more of a necessary evil; all the violence and anger, the rage and the darkness of his work, his project; people would be outraged if they found out they were the same man.

“We’re here, Mr. Wayne” The driver announced.

Alfred, who as sitting across from Bruce on the limo closed the papers he was reading and smiles softly.

“Ready, master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs.

“Not really”

The car parked inside the underground garage of the Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Alfred made their way to the elevator, not a word was said.

Bruce stole a glance at his reflection on the mirror. A black suit Alfred picked for him, a W embroidery on its lapel, his hair was short now, shorter than he liked, all slicked back by hair gel, but nothing could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lack of sun colour on his skin. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce wishes he didn’t have to wear normal clothes, to comb his hair, ties his bottoms; he wishes he could live inside the Batsuit. He felt like the suit was his own skin, her armour, him and Batman were on, there was no Bruce Wayne without Vengeance, they were bonded forever and could never be separated from each other. He wish they could, he wish he could be Batman alone; no press conferences, no reports, paparazzi, no “Bruce Wayne crowned prince of Gotham.”

The elevator stops and the door open. Alfred goes our first and greet some people outside, telling them where to go.

“You have 10 minutes, Bruce.” He warns, “I’ll get them stared and you wait here till I call you”

Bruce nods.

He sits down on a leather couch and waits, starring at the glass doors. All the reports and journalists waiting for him, men and women, from Gotham and other places of the world.

He’s nervous. Not nervous like he is before a fight, nervous he will be put on a corner, that he’ll be catch on a lie, nervous someone knows. It’s like someone in the next room it’s just waiting for him to appears, to stand up from their chair and ask ‘Are you the Batman?’

“Ladies and gentleman, Bruce Wayne” Alfred announces from the stage and glances at him.

Bruce works on his better smile he can put on and enters the stage; he’s received with thunderous applauses and blinding cameras flashes. He waves and sit on a chair, in a wooden desk in front of him is a glass of water and a microphone.

“Let’s get, started then” Alfred said, pointing to a woman in a grey dress standing with a microphone in her hand.

“Mr. Wayne, why did you decided to throw a press conference after years of reclusiveness?”

Bruce leans into her direction a bit.

“Well, I think all the events of the past year made me realize how much the Wayne Foundation means to Gotham and I’ve been a little reckless with that matter”

It was a good answer, he thought.

The following questions were easy too, “Mr. Wayne, how do you plan on taking care of the raised money? To prevent anything to happen again”, “What’s the difference between the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham Renewal Program?”, “What projects do you have in mind?”, and of course, some shallow questions, “What brand is your suit?”, “What car do you drive?”, question he almost laughed at. Did people actually wanted to know that?

Bruce was thinking how the conference was going well, easy, almost, not as he had pictured it before. Until…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

He flinched for half a second, he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Another woman asked something he didn’t quite hear with all that was going on inside his head, but the word Batman was also there. And then another, and another…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

The room turned into a complete circus. Grown adults talking over each other, fighting for a turn on the microphone.

You rolled your eyes. This happens every time, someone thinks about the name Batman and suddenly everyone has something to say. What does it matter Bruce Wayne’s thought of the Batman? There were so much important questions to be asked, so much more to discover about that man’s life and projects than a simple opinion.

You were begging to regret the moment you accepted the offer to come to this conference. You weren’t a regular journalist, you didn’t know how to write an article about the weather, fashion trends, social events, you wrote about thing most journalist didn’t want to, thing that most people were scare to read. People scared of the truth. You weren’t. You would dig and dig until the raw verity came to surface, it didn’t matter where or who you had to dig.

The man who had introduced Mr. Wayne appeared again and announced the press conference. No fucking way, no without the answers you wanted, you didn’t take this job to watch other people ruin it.

Slowly, you got up from your sit and walked towards the person who as holding the microphone and gently pull it away from his hands.

“Mr. Wayne…” but the voices around you were too loud.

You gave the head of the mic a flick, the loud keen sound made the room come silent.

“Sorry.” You apologized. “Mr. Wayne, why did you felt the urge to re-open the school project at the marginalized neighbourhoods of Gotham after your father failed attempted?”

The men was halfway leaving, but he turned around reluctant, staring right at you. Those piercing blue eyes roaming your face.

“Well, I believe the project needs a second chance. Children and teenagers should be given a chance to have a good education, it helps getting them out of the streets.” He answered, without the microphone his voice was low, but the silence of the room let you hear him loud and clear. “Who do you write for?”

“The Gotham Gazette” You answered proudly.

Mr. Wayne whispered something to the other man and sat back at the chair.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss…?”

You smile politely and told him your name.

“Would you say that the Wayne Foundation has an impact outside of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s lips. You shook the urge to smile back at him.

You could tell he was a bit nervous, but he had answered the questions with manners and the right words, maybe he didn’t notice, but he’s quite good at it.

“Yes. I think the work we do on the Foundation inspires people to do the same. If it works out, we can show the world that if there was hope for Gotham there’s hope for them too”

“Do you think there’s hope for Gotham?” You asked, out of spite, because you didn’t write it down before the press.

His lips contracted to a thin line and he thought of it for a few seconds before answering:

“Yes. As long as people like me and you care about what happens here, there’s still hope for the city”

You smiles.

“People like me?”

“You seem to know a lot about the charity work, and you care enough to show it to the world”

Your smile grew bigger and you felt a hint of warm rushing through your cheeks.

Mr. Wayne answered a few more of your questions before the press conference was over.

You were, oh, so proud of yourself. The information you gathered was perfect for what you had in mind and for sure, you could make it a good article. An admiring of the Wayne legacy, that’s what you called yourself. It has always called out to you what that wealth family did; they had no obligation to do it, to donate not just money, but time and resources to help those who couldn’t have what they did, to make Gotham something to be proud of. It’s a shame they never lived long enough to cure it, to heal it. However, you hoped that, maybe, Bruce did. At least he sound determined to.

You gathered your things and your purse, but as you made your way to the elevator, a woman dresses on formal clothes approached you with a clean, sharp smile that made her look like a dental paste commercial.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind, following me?”

You frowned.

“Ahn…What for?”

“Mr. Wayne wishes to speak to you” She explained and her smile somehow grew wider.

Standing there for a few seconds, all you could do was nod as you followed her through a long corridor. What was happening right now? He wants to speak to you? Bruce Wayne wishes to speak to a journalist in private? And more important, to you.

She opened a door to a breath-taking office.

Right in front of you was a full wall window, a panoramic view of Gotham in all its “glory”, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, the clock tower, the bridge of the river, the field behind the road, you could see everything from up there. There was a wooden desk in front of the window, quite empty, and a chair that looked more comforting than any other you had ever sat.

When the woman closed the door behind you, your attention changed to the man standing on your left. Bruce Wayne was staring at you dead in the eyes with a facial expression of someone who just saw a ghost.

This guy seriously need some sunbathing. You shook that thought out of your head.

“Mr. Wayne. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes” His raspy voice responded. “Sit, please”

You took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the chair and he sat opposite of you, behind the desk, diving completely into the velvet chair. He crosses his fingers and stares at you again. It made you a little uncomfortable, he did that a lot, like a hunter watching its prey.

“So…”

“I’ve searched your work. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, sir”

“You won a Pulitzer, am I right?”

“Yes, a few years ago”

When did he get the time to read all this information? It’s not like you’re super famous, even the Pulitzer wasn’t a very known prize if you didn’t know the industry.

“For a book about a serial killer in Detroit” He said, a voice that verged into an interrogation tone. “The Divine Move?”

You blinked a few times.

“I…Yes. Nathan Walters.”

He lifted his eyebrows just an inch, telling you to continue the story.

You cleared your throat.

“He uh, he used to be the altar boy of the neighbourhood church and he chose his victims based on the sins he supposed they’ve committed.” You’ve shorten it, you couldn’t understand why a billionaire was asking you about the modus operandi of a criminal who was thousands of miles away. “Why are you asking me this, if I may ask, Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re an investigative journalist. Why are you attending press conferences of a random billionaire?”

You supressed a laugh. Random.

“I grew up here, sir. I’ve always admired your family work, I took the opportunity when it was offered to me.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family history.”

“Like I said, I’m just an admiring. Although, I once thought of writing a book about the Wayne Legacy. Your legacy, sir.”

“Your legacy, sir”.

Bruce looked down at his cufflinks, the W prominent on a silvery material.

His legacy.

He once thought the Wayne Foundation was his legacy. But now he knew, his true legacy came in a bat shaped suit and sleepless nights; it came on purple coloured bruises and blood stained clothes.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well…it’s very hard to write about something when you only get superficial information.”

You were nervous, he could tell. You kept staring at the view behind him, or at your shoes, tanking a little too long to answer his questions. He wondered how could a journalist gets nervous, almost shy.

He gave you a puzzled look, not using any words to express his question. But you understood it.

“Using material that was wrote by someone else. All the records and stories about your parents have already been wrote by someone else before me, so I couldn’t say it was my work, could I?”

He hummed.

Bruce took a sigh. Maybe. Maybe this was a good idea, it could keep him in a good status with the press, plus, he’d be able to hide even further down his secret identity, having a journalist with him every day? No one would suspect his the Batman.

“There are stories and details that haven’t been told.”

You bit your lower lip.

He stared at you.

“What are you implying, sir?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

You almost passed out.

Would you?

Who could say they had a proposal like that? Dig into the secrets of the Wayne family?

“Yes”.

___________________

a/n2: aaaah this is actually so boring I'm so sorry, also I think I made bruce a little more talkative than I would've but anyways I may change it yet.

a special thank you to @preciouslandmermaid for inspiring me to finally write this!! <3

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remy45 · 18 days

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Okay, hear me out, stephanie brown as battinson side kick in the batman 2.

and before you say Im crazy, please listen:

At the start of the batman 2, Bruce fights the latest in a series of riddler copycat that appeared following the events of the first movie. This one calling themselves “cluemaster”. Batman tracks him to his home after receiving an anonymous tip and fights him. He knocks him out and handcuffs him for the cops, but before he can leave he discovers Stephanie in the home. Stephanie thanks Batman and tells him she knew he’d stop her father. Batman quickly realises that it was Stephanie who gave him the tip. Steph explains that her father became mentally unwell after her mothers death and became inspired by riddler. Fearing him she tipped batman off to his location. Batman thanks her and goes to leave but Steph asks him to stay, fearing her father waking up. He reluctantly agrees and they talk until Gordon arrives. Bruce later decides to take her in temporarily until the new orphanage he’s funding is completed. Steph is incredibly intelligent, has met batman and is in close proximity with Bruce. All this eventually leads her to discover that he is batman and she insists on helping him. Of course he says no but that’s not gonna stop her…

After this little ramble about how the story could go, here are my reasons on why I think stephanie would be amazing in battinson universe:

Hope - Steph is a character who deeply values hope—holding on to hope for herself, and also bringing hope to others. More than for any other Robin, Stephanie grew up idolizing Batman as a symbol of hope and resistance, not fear and vengeance.

Connection to the lower class and crime-vulnerable population of Gotham- Rather than allowing a child into the crimefighting world, Batman meets a kid who already lives there. Rather than just swooping in from above to save the masses down below, Batman empowers someone to save her own people.

Giving Steph the spotlight - Lately, DC has been cashing in on Stephanie representing a Girl Wonder (Robin 80th Anniversary Spectacular, Robins, Wayne Family Adventures, etc) among a herd of weirdly identical teen boys. While it's nice to see Steph getting recognized, her actual 10-week stint as Robin was basically a mean-spirited stunt instead of a proper run. It'd be nice for Steph to legitimately get a major spotlight as Robin.

Balance - Frankly, a girl could be a good next addition to Team Batman. A girl Robin could balance out Batman, Alfred, and Gordon being an all-male team.

If you got to this point, Thanks for reading!!

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imagine--if · 2 years

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🖤🦇 Battinson Masterlist 🦇🖤

(So I did this to add separately to my updated Batman 2022 masterlist to get rid of the 100 link limit 😂 enjoy reading!!)

Headcanons:

SFW/Fluff Alphabet

Yandere! Bruce Wayne

Sleepy! S/O

Hyper! S/O

Sick! Bruce Wayne

Sick! S/O

Obsessive! S/O

Imagines:

Safe And Sound

Live To Protect

Hold My Hand

Never Leaving

So Close

Pretty

Poly with Dano!Riddler:

Battinson & Riddler Headcanons:

Period comfort (separate)

Battinson & Riddler Imagines:

Overtime (Part One of Batman x Riddler x reader fic)

Poly with Keoghan!Joker:

Joker & Riddler Headcanons:

Coming Soon!!

Joker & Riddler Imagines:

Coming Soon!!

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hollandorks · 7 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

interlude two

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

a/n: Another brief look into Bruce's mind...there will definitely be a couple more of these. And Bruce will get his own full chapter at the climax at the story. No I will not tell you more than that. Anyways thanks for the comments and feedback, they make me write faster!

Series Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

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

Bruce's POV

For most of the night, all of Bruce’s thoughts were some variation of oh fuck.

First, it was because he was certain that at any moment, y/n would recognize him. That she would call him out on the mask, lying to her, everything. The more they talked, the more tightly wound he became.

But at the same time, he…enjoyed it. She was more open with Batman than she was Bruce. Talking to each other like strangers erased their complicated, hurt-filled past in a way that was addicting. Bruce knew that the longer things went on, the worse it would be when she figured it out.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell her.

Then, of course, the cursing in his mind changed the moment he realized she was in danger. That he had put her in danger by bringer her along. That panic was different, deeper, more crippling.

Bruce thought he had known true fear.

He thought he had conquered fear. He had turned into an incarnation of it.

But then, when Alfred was almost killed by the Riddler, all of that fear had come rushing back.

And still it didn’t hold a candle to what he had felt when that man’s gun had been trained on y/n. Even with the Riddler terrorizing the city, even with Alfred almost dying, at least y/n had been safe in Bludhaven.

Now that she was back in Gotham she was in danger. He had almost lost her. That fear was…unprecedented. It had nearly killed him, the sight of that gun pointed at her, the man’s intent to use it clear on his face. Like the world had stopped long enough to carve his lungs out of his chest. Long enough for him to imagine a world without her.

Bruce didn’t care that his suit was bulletproof in those moments–he would have stepped in front of her anyways.

The primal need to save her, to protect her, had been so strong he’d almost hit Gordon. And her new friend Martinez. He shot a glare to the man as he thought about the way he’d looked at y/n. Apparently, she texted him often.

Bruce shifted his attention to y/n as Alfred hugged her, willing her to see him. To see him. To connect him to the Batman. He wanted her to know, even though it terrified him. Even though he didn’t know what she’d think, he suddenly ached for her to connect the pieces. After tonight, he didn’t want anything left between them.

“I’m okay,” she said to Alfred, but he knew she wasn’t. He wished he could be the one to hold her. Batman might have been able to–she had seemed receptive enough to his touch in that alley. Leaned into it, even. But he knew it was because he hadn’t been himself.

“Is there somewhere we can all talk?” Gordon asked. Alfred led them all into the sitting room, y/n trailing behind like a zombie. Bruce hesitated, wanting to stay back with her, imagined taking her hand and cupping her face to get a better look at the cut on her head in the light.

Instead he sat as far away from her as he could, elbows on knees, hands clasped underneath his chin as he half-listened to ideas for security measures.

He’d had to rush home to beat them there, to be able to change and wash his face and make it look like he’d been asleep. He’d explained, breathlessly, what happened to Alfred as the elevator rose to the top floor. They had barely stepped out of it when the other elevator opened.

Alfred wanted to know, after asking if y/n was alright, if she had recognized him yet.

Of course the answer was still no.

Alfred had sighed. Bruce heard their entire past arguments in that one sound.

Two days before, when he’d gotten home, Alfred had been waiting.

“She didn’t recognize me,” was the first thing Bruce said. A worry that was on both of their minds when Gordon had called.

Alfred crossed his arms. He had left his cane leaning against a chair, too, likely to look more intimidating.

“I know she didn’t, because she told me she was out with the Batman tonight.” Alfred’s foot tapped. “And if she had recognized you, I’m certain she would have come in with guns blazing, maybe even breathing fire.”

Bruce paused. “...Right.” He wasn’t quite sure why Alfred was annoyed, then, if he knew y/n had been with him and hadn’t recognized him. Bruce started the ritual of shedding his armor while Alfred stewed.

“The more time you spend with her, the worse it will be,” Alfred said after a long silence. “You know that, right?”

Bruce shrugged but didn’t answer.

“Why haven’t you told her?”

“Because she hasn’t figured it out,” he said. He didn’t have any other good reason. Maybe because he liked spending time with her as two strangers. They had no past that way. Batman hadn’t broken her heart. Bruce had. She was easy with the vigilante, more open. More like herself than she was with Bruce. And Bruce missed her, the real her. Her humor, her smile, her laugh–things that only Batman got to see now.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to,” he continued, voice soft as he placed the armor in its spot on a dummy. “Maybe I fucked her up so bad she can’t see me behind the mask.”

Alfred’s silence was pointed.

“This is the point where you’re supposed to argue,” Bruce said drily.

“Nothing to argue with,” Alfred said, tone cold, and turned on his heel.

Now, Alfred was giving him a pointed look across the sitting room. Bruce realized it had gone silent. Y/n was the only one not looking at him expectantly. A flush crawled up his neck at the sudden attention.

“Sorry,” he said, but his voice was too low. Too close to Batman. He cleared his throat. “Not quite awake yet.”

Y/n flinched. It was subtle, but it was still a flinch. Bruce’s eyebrows drew together as he wondered why she had reacted to strongly to his words.

He had to tear his eyes away from her and refocus on the conversation about her security. Gordon said something about Bruce and Alfred being in danger, but the two of them exchanged a look, silently dismissing it out of hand.

Bruce would do whatever it took to keep y/n safe. He had already taken four bullets for her, his chest aching, and he would take a thousand more, armor or no armor.

She was safest in the tower with him, where he could keep her safe. Not that she knew it. Not that Gordon knew it either.

But he and Alfred were her best bets.

If only he could get her to stop running away from him.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet @spencerrxids @giulia2372 @katara-is-a-goddess-changemymind @janezat @incorrectmarvelquotesss

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

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navstuffs · 2 years

Note

hi love! can you do the robert pattinson that got caught cheating in front of you but turns out it was your bestfriend pls? i'm wanting for angst one, thanks before x

Betrayal

Pairing: Robert Pattinson x GN!Reader

Warnings: ANGST, cheating, robert is an asshole, your bff is an asshole, reader gets defensive (no violence happens)

Summary: You come back earlier from a work trip, excited to surprise your boyfriend. It doesn't end well.

Author's note: heey! first of all, i am very sorry for the delay in writing this. i have been struggling to write in those last couple of months but trying to return slowly. i hope i wrote this as angst and painful as you wanted. thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy it! gif credits to the owner

You are excited as you drive back earlier from your work trip. You haven't seen your boyfriend Robert for a while, barely spoke to him at all. After the project ended way earlier, your boss allowed the whole team to return three days earlier. Three well-deserved free days you could pass with your boyfriend. Which you two were needing it.

Robert felt distant during all the calls you had with him. For some reason, he also didn't want to do any video calls. He was feeling sick and didn't want you to see his gross face which only made you feel more guilty you couldn't be there to take care of him. You couldn't wait to surprise him and enjoy your time together.

You arrive at your house after dinner time. You are exhausted from the drive but content you finally arrived. You can't wait to shower and help Rob feel better.

Opening the door very silently, you tiptoe slowly to look for Robert. You glance towards the dining room and notice there are two plates and two candles? Odd. Robert didn't mention having anyone for dinner. Maybe a friend?

Deciding to go to the living room, there are wine bottles on top of the rug and two wine glasses turned over, semi-empty. Robert definitely had a friend over. You almost decide to call out his name when you hear his loud laugh coming from the bedroom.

With your heart beating up fast, you decide to not overreact. Just breathe. There must have a reasonable explanation for all of this. Do not overreact now, you beg to yourself, just wait and see.

You walk towards your bedroom, your hands starting to sweat, your heart beating even faster with each step. The door is semi-open so you peek from the side.

Robert is in the bed and there is someone else in bed with him. A woman with long hair you can't recognize. They are kissing deeply, his hands rubbing her back, down to her ass as she moans. They are naked. In your bed. Kissing.

In your bed.

Kissing.

Naked.

You feel tears coming down your eyes. You don't look away. You don't scream. You don't run. You are unable to look away, just wondering when was the last time you and Robert even kissed each other like that.

When was the last time he even desired you like that.

You must have made a noise because Robert lifts his head up, his eyes widening as he sees you. The woman notices his sudden change and turns to look over her shoulder. It is just your best friend since childhood, Ella.

The one that was with you during your struggles. The one that cleaned your tears, and eased your fears. The one that supported your relationship with Robert since the beginning.

Ella covers herself with the sheet, hiding her face on the pillow. She can't even look at you. Robert gets up from the bed, getting his boxer briefs and you just notice the clothes thrown around the bed. His shirt, a black fancy bra on top, a dress.

You want to puke.

Robert calls your name and you lift your head up, your noose flaring up. He slowly approaches you, his arms up as a sign of peace.

"This, this is not..."

Your knuckles are white holding the door frame. Find your voice, you think to yourself. Scream. Shout. Puke on his face.

"This is not..."

"What is this, then? What is it?" You don't know if you are asking Robert, Ella, or even yourself. Your voice carries all the disgust, pain, and anger that is bubbling inside of you.

Robert can't find his voice or courage to answer you. He looks down embarrassed and you let your glance go to Ella's form, still hiding in your bed.

"I hope you are comfortable in my bed, Ella. Have fun you two."

You decide to leave and you swear you can hear a sob from Ella. You don't know, maybe she is laughing even. Ella and Robert, both of them, kept insisting on you getting more projects, more travel, and more responsibilities. That was going to be good for your career. Of course, that would keep you away from them. You are probably more hurt over her betrayal than Robert. She was your best friend, your ride your die. Since when did this start? Not that mattered now.

Robert is following behind you, calling your name. He grabs you by your arm and you turn with your fists clenched, ready to throw a punch if he dares to touch you. Robert realizes you are serious and take two steps back.

"I swear, this wasn't..."

"Fuck you, Robert. Actually continue fucking her, have fun!"

"No wait, we can talk about this. She isn't, we aren't..."

You roll your eyes, turning away to leave, grabbing your stuff on the way out. Bastard. All those talks of forever love, getting married, having a family, creating a life together. All lies. And Ella kept insisting for you get married to him! That you were so lucky, so happy!

You hear Robert's steps follow behind you in the driveway and you hit your car door on his face. You turn the car on, holding the steering wheel for a second, the blood rushing in your veins. You know you got to make a decision.

"Wait, don't leave like this! I love you! I don't know what I was doing there, but it wasn't me! I-I..." Robert's face is against your car window and he sounds desperate.

"I will send someone to collect my things."

You give one good last look to Robert's face and turn the car driving away. He looks pathetic and miserable. Good.

You don't know exactly where you are going now. You will find yourself a hotel room, a friend, a family member, something. You beat yourself to not look at the rear mirror, controlling your sobs as you drive away.

You just lost your boyfriend and best friend, two of the most important people in your life. Although you are destroyed and you know you will take a long time to recover from this betrayal, a deep tiny little part of you is relieved. It knows you will be okay in the end. That tiny part also knows you will eventually sigh when you look back at all of this. You will guilt yourself for not realizing earlier, and you might feel the pain again, and oh you will cry. But you know, deep down, you will be relieved. Because you will be fine.

MASTERLIST | ROBERT PATTINSON MASTERLIST

Taglist: @uwiuwi

#robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x female reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson fanfics #robert pattinson fanfiction #robert pattinson imagines #robert pattinson fic #robert pattinson imagine #robert pattinson fanfic #robert pattinson #i suffered BUT good ending #right?#asks #ask #requests #request

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nekomancee · 1 month

Text

★ CAPAS FEITAS EM 29/03

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neutron-stars-collision · 9 months

Text

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Epilogue - Always You

Chapter 20; Masterlist Summary: One December evening, Vengeance climbs into your apartment through the window. That's regular occurrence by now. What isn't regular, is the conversation you share. Warnings: 18+ (sorry, the gremlin in my brain insisted I describe some of that), swearing. Author's Notes: So, this is the official farewell. This epilogue turned out to be kind of an 'evening in the life of', but I think I needed that. Even if only just to say goodbye to those two. It's 6k of headcanons and fluff, so I hope you enjoy 💕 Once again, thanks for sticking around ✨ A playlist will follow bc of course I have that too. Feel free to let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5

(gif credit: @1038276637)

No amount of thinking and consideration could have ever prepared you for the reality of being Bruce Wayne’s partner. Or girlfriend, a term you had sometimes relished teasing him with. If only to get that same deadpan look, complemented by a pink blush on his cheeks and one sentence reply.

Always the same: “You’re much more than that to me”. Every time the answer made you blush too, overwhelmed with love and hopefulness like never before. Because, as it quickly turned out, Bruce treated this seriously, daily putting in work to make sure whatever you had would survive.

And it did, at least until the rain showers had been replaced by snowfall, and the white coat covering most of Gotham almost made up for the plummeting temperatures. Long enough for you to get used to the idea that a solo night at your place did not mean loneliness. It did not even mean that you would be alone for that much longer, for, as it happened, Bruce’s patrol now sometimes led to your apartment instead of the Terminus. It was a substitute for the nights when you opted to stay at your place instead of perusing the Tower. All the heads-up he would give would be a quick text sent between the hours when you were likely still awake. But it was all you needed, instantly perking up at the idea.

That night was like that, as you were informed by a message on the burner phone: “I’ll come by after 2”. Easy fate to achieve - waiting for Bruce until 2 am. Although, the slow passage of time made you groan for the umpteenth time as you found it still to be only 1 am. An hour. A whole bloody hour. Your head dropped onto the table with a dull thud. The waiting for him was the worst part of it all, perhaps only next to the constant anxiety that filled your veins whenever Bruce was playing the part of Batman. Mostly because you never knew whether waiting up on him in the cave would be to get that desired kiss and help him with the amour or whether it would entail cleaning the wounds and bandaging the cuts. You already had a fair share of both. And there was no point guessing which you preferred.

Your favourite nights, by a large margin, were those when Bruce stayed home. Or at least stayed long enough to go to bed with you. Those were the nights of discoveries and enlightenment, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Always wanting more. Luckily now, you did not have to deny yourself what you had become addicted to. And the list was growing exponentially. Like the fact that after that first night when you had confessed your feelings for Bruce, the three words had only gained power. Enough so that when you whispered them at just the right time, with Bruce still buried deep inside you and inching towards his release - they were all the trigger he needed. All sense of control seemed to disappear as soon as you reminded him you loved him. And for that, the affection only grew.

You knew that was very much mutual.

The other discovery, which had led to many sleepless lonely nights, spent squirming under the covers, was that once Bruce had understood that he truly was the best you ever had, a new level of confidence was unlocked. Some might even call it smugness. But you could not possibly mind a bit of cockiness when it got you a man who would tease you with his fingers and mouth till you were a whimpering mess. And then, only then, he would lean in close, let his mouth brush your heated cheek and the shell of your ear, and whisper: “Come for me”. A request. A command even. You had no choice but to obey. Not that you didn’t want to. By now, the exact way he had spoken had become a go-to soundtrack to all your daydreams. A weak substitute for when you were apart.

It was still better than nothing.

Glancing at the watch to check the time, you were easily brought back from the pleasant recollections. It was almost 2 am. Not long now. You did not need a mirror to confirm your mouth stretched into a dumb smile. The reaction was involuntary at this point, transforming you into that type of lovesick individual you always scoffed at. The irony was infuriating. Feeling the tell-tale shiver of anticipation, you made one final lap of the flat. Smoothing out the bedsheets (even though neither of you cared about it), taking out the short-rimmed tumbler (in case he did want that whiskey you offered before Halloween) and dragging a hand through your hair to detangle any knots (even though he had seen you with bed-hair and mascara stains on your cheeks). Only then you could say you were ready.

And right on time, too, for before long, you heard the familiar light knock upon the window frame. A smile broke out on your face as you crossed the room to unlatch the window and stepped back. This part always made you laugh. You knew why Bruce deemed the window a better way of entering your apartment, but it was still a strange spectacle to witness. Using the grappling hook, he would lift himself to the level of your building and gracefully slip in. The only downside? The melting snow created puddles on your floor. This time you were prepared, a sweeping mop in hand.

The first glimpse you caught was a smile under the cowl. A look so strange for Mr Vengeance himself, yet something you had grown accustomed to. You returned the expression with ease, watching as he jumped in feet first through the window frame and landed on your floor with a quiet groan. That, too, was a sign – this night had been rough. Before you could process the realization, Bruce strengthened up and took off the cowl. As always, that first shared glance made you shiver. The smudged black makeup was smeared around his eyes, hair messy and unkempt, begging you to arrange it. There was no reason to wait.

“Hello, you” you closed the remaining gap and placed your hand on his shoulder.

The material felt cold and made you shiver as you rose on your toes to level with him. Bruce’s eyes traced your every move as he wound his arm around your waist, keeping you close and secure.

“Hey,” the whisper you got in return was the last thing you let him say before you crashed your mouth into his with a satisfied hum.

The coldness of his lips did nothing to stifle the spark of fire slowly building in your veins. As always. Carefully you let your tongue trace his bottom lip, prodding at the seam till Bruce opened his mouth, inviting you in. The familiarity of the feeling was enough to let you drop the remaining weight from your shoulders and sink into him, tasting and consuming all you could. All that he was willing to give you.

Bruce responded in kind to the tempo you had set, caressing your tongue with his and lightly nipping at your bottom lip. He felt like home. Even with the melting snow dripping onto your clothes and the hard edges of the armour digging between your ribs. The need to continue was stronger than anything else. Until neither of you could get deep enough breaths to continue.

You drew back with a quiet whine, frustration adding spikes to the warmth in your chest. The blue of Bruce’s eyes staring back at you smoothed the feeling, instantly making you notice the glimmer in his gaze. The love that was no longer a secret between you. It was impossible to escape the blush blooming on your cheeks and the pick-up in your heart rate. Ignoring the urge to hide from his perceptive stare, you returned to the task at hand.

One assessing look was enough as you raised your hand to cup his cheek and then up to comb through the hair falling into his eyes. You carefully brushed it away from his forehead, barely managing not to drown in the grateful look you got awarded. The only way of avoiding the shame of losing your mind and doing something utterly stupid like falling to your knees before Bruce, you grabbed the mop and pushed it onto his chest with a simple instruction:

“Now mop the floor” you eyed the growing puddle at your feet with a critical eye, adding, “You’ve made a mess” without waiting for a reply, you turned away towards the kitchen.

Just in time to hear the answer.

“Yes, ma’am” you did not need to see him to know he was smiling.

Approaching the counter, you opened the cupboard and eyed the contents. It was too late for a meal, but when Bruce visited, you would always share a drink before retiring to your bedroom. It was only a question of choice. What suited him better on this particular December night?

“What’s your poison tonight?” you asked and turned to face Bruce, finding him leaning the mop on the wall and the floors shiny and swept (naturally), “Coffee? Tea? Whiskey?” the first two had been staples on the menu, the last one was an inside joke.

An option you always gave him for the sake of it. And also, because you were yet to see Bruce Wayne relax with an alcoholic drink in his hand. Early on, he had told you he did not indulge in that too often, seldom, in fact, because alcohol did not exactly help the difficult thoughts springing in his mind at every possible chance. You knew the feeling too well, so you never pushed. But maybe-

“You know what?” Bruce’s question interjected your internal monologue as he eyed the tumbler you had taken out earlier, “Maybe it’s time. At last,” raising his head to meet your searching gaze, Bruce grinned.

Even now, when smiles no longer were rare, you still treasured each one. Mostly because they lit up Bruce’s beautiful face like nothing else, throwing everything into perspective. It was a point of personal pride you made him smile like that.

Without waiting for Bruce to change his mind, you took the bottle off the shelf and grabbed a second glass to fill. Two ice cubs per drink clinked in the tumblers as you poured the rich brown liquid and turned to hand it to him.

“Cheers,” raising yours to toast, you sent him another pleased smile.

You did not need to discuss the arrangement, wordlessly taking a sip from the glass and placing it back on the counter to free your hands for the next step in the routine. Bruce mirrored your moves, patiently waiting for you to start taking off the armour pieces. By now, the process was almost second nature. You did not need his directions, easily following the straps and buckles to undo them. Each plating would end up on one of your chairs, a dark heap covered with the cloak. Only once Bruce was left with the black thermals, you drifted to the sofa and fell against each other on the cushions. Multiple points of contact at every spot. Calves, knees, thighs, hips, and shoulders. At the least.

At first, you did not talk, quietly soaking in the calm. It quickly became evident that Bruce valued his peace, and each nightly escapade was enough to drain his battery. Both physically and mentally. That is why when he returned home or to your place the priority was letting him rest. Usually, you would put the tv on as background noise, but tonight as soon as you turned your head to look at Bruce, the remote control was frozen in your hand.

Suddenly it struck you. The strangeness of the moment in its entirety. It was nothing you could have foreseen, not in a million years. And yet, it made perfect sense.

You must have stared for too long because the next thing you registered was Bruce looking back at you with an incredulous glim in his eyes. He arched an eyebrow, his hand landing on your knee to gently stroke the skin beneath your pyjama pants. A question followed:

“What’s that look for?” the curiosity in his tone made you smile, barely resisting the urge to hide your face in the crook of his neck to avoid being stared at.

Especially by someone who could see through each wall you ever tried to raise. By now, you never even tried anymore, aware that it was pointless. Bruce (somehow) wanted all of you, so that is what he got. You could only hope he would never change his mind.

“It’s a lot to take in,” shrugging with one shoulder, the one not tucked against his side, you chose the safest answer.

All the while knowing Bruce would not let that be the end of that conversation. You only had to wait approximately 10 seconds for the follow-up question.

“What is?” you had to admit he was good at this.

Interrogation techniques that somehow fit right in the dynamic between you. And made it impossible for you to hide from him. While the thought had been terrifying once, it was almost easy to get used to. Almost being the keyword there.

“Oh, you know” feigning nonchalance, you chose to pace your answer, taking your time with the reveal, while watching him closely, “Having Vengeance in my living room” was the most obvious of hang-ups, something you did not think you could get accustomed to. Each time you saw tv coverage of Batman or had your work colleagues develop a piece on the vigilante, the thrill of realization felt like something new, something you had never experienced before. Now, you let your gaze stray to the half-empty tumbler in his hand, adding another layer to the confession, “Serving whiskey to Bruce Wayne” lifting your eyes to catch the growing smile on his face, you allowed the fondness seep into your tone. The feeling was almost drowning out the disbelief that still tinted your vowels. You never expected to get rid of that either, “Having that same Bruce Wayne as my boyfriend…” it was strange to let the term roll off your tongue this freely, but the strangeness could not contend with the happiness you could see in his eyes. It was enough to make you grin, the conclusion to the speech coming up effortlessly, “Never once saw that coming” no lies were to be found there, “I need to stare a little longer to make sure you won’t disappear on me now” the excuse was flimsy, but it had the intended effect.

Bruce smiled and pulled you closer again, your body falling against his chest like always. The warmth of the embrace kept the chill from settling in your bones. His arms tightened around your waist as he rested his chin on your head and let out a content sigh.

“I won’t” there was no need to question him, all sense of doubt disappearing like melting snow when he added, “I like you too much,”

It was both what he said and how he said it. Like it was no big deal. Like the admission did not cost him anything. Like the character evolution you had witnessed in Bruce was something he was proud of. Something he took joy in if only because it mattered to you.

That was a little difficult to get used to.

So much so that instead of facing the affectionate admissions head-on, you chose to go for a joke, using it as a protective veil:

“Damn, never imagined Bruce Wayne would be such a softie” you lightly swatted him across the chest, not expecting the delighted giggle that would erupt from your throat when he caught your hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’m not” it took one look at Bruce, registering the slight pout and the petulance in his eyes, to make you abandon the pretence.

You dove in for a kiss, pressing your mouth against his in a quick, firm peck balancing just on the right sight of not being too greedy. Or distracting for the conversation you were still hoping to have with Bruce.

“Sure, babe” you placed another kiss on the apple of his cheek, slightly tinted pink, and changed the topic, “So, how’s Gotham? Any hot goss I should know about?” you bated your eyelashes as a complimentary show of begging.

Not that Bruce would otherwise deny you the answers. He never did that, which quickly made you the second most informed individual in the city. After the Batman, of course.

Bruce shifted slightly - a sign you had come to associate with the conversation taking a more serious turn. Placing a comforting hand on his knee, you waited as he gathered his thoughts and replied:

“There’s some talk of the Penguin putting most of his resources into bringing back the drops business” you frowned, already knowing what a mess would result from such a move. Although, unfortunately, it sounded plausible, “I’ve got addresses to scout that might be their new labs” Bruce glanced at you, awaiting a comment.

And potentially wordlessly asking whether you wanted to accompany him during the recon. It was something you did together, from time to time. An unusual way of spending time and a first-hand opportunity to gather information for work. And if the pleasant side-effect were the heated kisses shared in the shadowed alleys, then it was nobody’s business but yours.

You already knew it was a yes if he asked.

“That’s probably something you should share with Gordon” instead of voicing that, you chose to offer him reasoning.

The close cooperation between them was still a surprising development. But it was getting stronger and sometimes made you wonder whether the GCPD lieutenant would not be the very next person to learn Vengeance’s identity. So far, Bruce denied it, but you knew better than to take his word for granted. After all, decisions changed.

“And I will. But once I’m sure there’s truth in what I’ve been told,” Bruce shrugged, a brief hint of petulance in his tone making you grin.

Bruce Wayne also did not seem to change. Not completely.

You could never let a chance like that pass you by. Shifting yet again to sit up on your knees and face him, you dropped your voice a notch, giving it an appropriately seductive timbre:

“Good boy” before Bruce could react, you patted his head and dragged your fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands.

That was another key phrase of your relationship. The magical two words, if used correctly, gave you complete control over Bruce. As it turned out, the Wayne heir was incredibly susceptible to praise. You could never have too much fun with that knowledge.

You watched with growing satisfaction at how he shuddered, the two words already having an impact. Bruce blushed, and his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. To anyone else, the reactions would have been difficult to discern from the poker face he had slipped back on. But it was much harder to fool you.

Bruce knew as much. He shrugged off your hand with unnecessary care and turned to glare at you. The twitching corner of his mouth was an easy giveaway.

“Careful there,” the warning in his voice was another trick taken straight from the toolbox.

You already knew what this was. The rules of the game were familiar by now. You did not have to fake the heat blooming in your face at the tone Bruce had implemented. All you had to do was give him your brightest smile and amp the innocent flicker in your eyes to fit the intent. That was always fun.

“Or what?” enjoying the way his eyes followed your every move, you placed your hand on his chest, pressing it flat against the fabric to feel the heartbeat, “You’re going to jump me?” as the question left your lips, your fingers begun tracing their path up the length of his thigh.

More often than not, that was how those precious nights between you began. With a ridiculous conversation and increasingly risky touch, getting rid of the remaining inhibitions. Not that there were many left.

You could see Bruce ponder the assumption, using the ball you had placed in his court. The decision was strictly up to him. You liked to remind him from time to time that you both could share the control equally. And that whatever he chose did not change anything for you. You were there for the long run.

“I’d love to” he reached out to brush the stray hair from your forehead, eyes showing hints of remorse that spoiled the answer before he gave it, “Not tonight though, sorry” it was impossible to miss the subtle wince on his face as Bruce shifted on the sofa.

That told you all you needed to know. Your hand stopped all its wandering, resting atop his thigh and tracing lazy circles over the black fabric. You knew that before you both went to bed, you would need to take out the ointments bought specifically for evenings like that and ask Bruce to take off his shirt. And it was alright. Fine, even. Because seeing Bruce Wayne shirtless was a perk of every kind of evening. Full stop.

Hoping the convey the feelings through the softness of your gaze, you allowed yourself one last joke. One final tease to satisfy the need and drag that shy smile out of its confines.

“You’ll pay for your crimes soon enough” Bruce let out a breathless laugh, and you felt like the luckiest being on the planet.

Yeah, you never saw this coming.

***

It was well past 4 am when you finally turned off the ceiling lights in your bedroom and joined Bruce on the bed. Sometimes that part, the brief conversations whispered with your heads resting against the headboard, felt almost like the domestic future you never expected to have. Like the word, which began with an m and ended with an e. You were still too scared to say it out loud or even in the quiet of your mind.

Ignoring the thought now, you quietly settled against the pillows and turned to stare at Bruce. He looked as if he belonged there, nestled underneath your woollen quilt with his damp, dark hair falling in strands over his forehead. Your heart throbbed in your chest. It was almost too good to be true. Fearing another wave of feelings you could not control, you broke the silence with whatever sentence you could think of:

“You know there’s this gala Réal is hosting before Christmas…” admittedly, it was something you had wanted to bring up to Bruce.

It has been on your mind since the mayor’s announcement via press release weeks back. After the election and everything else that followed, she had taken decisive steps to fix the city. One of them was inviting the elites and the journalists to the charity gala this December. Although you were sceptical about the effects, the intents alone were admirable.

You knew Bruce had received an invite. But if that were not common knowledge, the myriad of emotions passing through his face at the reminder would have been the giveaway. You could easily discern discomfort, uncertainty, and fear among them. Without thinking about it, you took hold of his hand resting on the covers and squeezed it. That was a common way of assuring Bruce that you were there, of offering him comfort when he would not ask for it first. After what felt like hours of silence, Bruce let out a tortured sigh and replied:

“Yes, of course. It’s only every other day that Alfred reminds me I should show up” from that dejected tone alone, you could recognize that it was a touchy subject.

And that Bruce had already made up his mind about doing everything he could not to go. Unfortunately for him, with this case and with many others you were on Alfred’s side. You made a quick mental note to mention it to the butler the next time you saw him.

“Well, you should” as soon as you spoke, Bruce sent you a glare and let out another pained groan. His penchant for dramatics was something you never expected but was incredibly happy to discover, always making you laugh, “I know, I know, but… I mean, I’ll be there” once the bit of information was out, you winced. It was a stupid thing to add. While it was true, the fact was entirely unnecessary. For obvious reasons, “Obviously we can’t go together… which I don’t mind, by the way,” nervous laughter broke through the surface as you unconsciously moved away from Bruce and fixed your gaze on the swirling patterns of the duvet “I knew what I was getting myself into with you, so…”

And you did know. You never expected to ramble around Gotham’s public events holding onto Bruce’s arm. It was not even something you actively yearned for, finding the desired happiness and peace in those quiet private moments instead. It was another case of your mouth having a mind of its own and an incontrollable want to fill the gaps between reasonable sentences with bullshit. It was far from the first time that had happened.

Maybe that was why what Bruce said next did not surprise you but only made the pricks of conscience worse.

“I’m sorry” the apology was filled with enough sincerity to make your heart ache.

You knew that he meant it. In his eyes, something as silly as keeping your relationship secret was another way of letting you down. Of not being enough for you. It was another thing to nag him in the quiet of his mind when there were no distractions. You knew what that was like all too well. Before Bruce could drown in the spiral of his own making, you leaned in to cup his face and spoke:

“No, Bruce, I… I love you” the admission was an easy thing to say these days, falling from your lips like the tears you had once shed over it, “Nothing changes that. Plus, there’s an exciting potential in taking some time away from the other guests by perusing the bathroom” you wiggled your eyebrows comically, delighted to see him smile “It’s just a suggestion,”

It felt like a relief when Bruce grinned and gave you a forehead kiss.

“I’ll think about it. I promise” giving his hand another squeeze, you accepted the truce and made sure to meet his gaze. The tone Bruce used told you that was only just the beginning, “You’re not the only one who didn’t see this coming” slightly changing the grip on your hand, Bruce caressed your knuckles in broad, repetitive strokes.

The shyness in his eyes was familiar by now. Although, still, his openness could surprise you. Like just now. With an admission that he had no obligation to make yet seemed eager to anyway. You tightened the hold on his hand and asked:

“Yeah?” wincing at the wavering voice, you could hardly conceal the surprise in your gaze.

Because that was a line of conversation, you never expected him to follow. At least not tonight. But it did not make you any less curious, always happy to get another glimpse into the workings of Bruce’s mind and heart. Those were utterly precious. It was pointless to even think about getting rid of the gaping mouth and the dazed eyes.

Judging by Bruce’s smile, there was no need to try either.

“Yep,” he nodded and raised his arm in an invitation, soon followed by words, “Come here” you did not hesitate in scooting closer and letting Bruce pull you to rest with your back against his chest. You could feel him nosing along the tendons in your neck, voice slightly muffled yet still audible “You’re absolutely terrifying” you could picture his gleeful smile with your eyes closed.

The joy in his tone felt infectious. It was easy to say he meant it. That being called terrifying was one of the highest honours Bruce could bestow on you. You leant into the lingering kiss he pressed to the nape of your neck and breathed out the reply:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it” stringing together the words and ignoring the fire torched in your lower stomach from something as simple as his lips on your neck were too difficult a feat to achieve.

It became apparent as soon as you became aware of your breathless voice and heard Bruce’s low chuckle resonating through your body. It was a sound you came to like, very much. It meant he was finding you amusing and decidedly good enough. It was something to shove in the face of struggling self-confidence that could always try a little more.

“You’re terrifying because, with you, I can’t hide behind the cowl and pretend I don’t exist” the sincerity of the statement was enough to make your heart trip over itself in your chest.

Without thinking, you raised your clasped hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckles. A few days old scrapes scratched the skin of your lips. It felt real.

“Is that a good thing?” you had to ask, even if only to prolong the fragile moment.

Because no matter how much you enjoyed the loudest of nights and the blatant confessions, poignancy was something else entirely. Something you would always chase after if it stepped into your sights. Like just now.

“Yes, because you make me braver” Bruce did not hesitate, his grip around your waist tightening just a little bit as he continued, “I’m pretty sure you know this, but you’re the only person that gets to see me. The real Bruce Wayne as he’s supposed to be” you did know that which did not make the knowledge feel any less groundbreaking “It’s just that I know I’m not enough. For you-” it was once he started saying utter bullshit, that you had to interject.

That was not acceptable. Not on your watch. Gently peeling Bruce’s arms from your waist, you turned in his lap to straddle his hips and placed your hands on his shoulders. He did not expect that. You could tell as much from the hitch in his breathing and the widening eyes. Bruce still took it in his stride, steadying you with his arm around your shoulders, the other hand tracing invisible pathways along your thigh. You knew he was struck into silence, unable to do anything but wait on your next call. Something about the power you possessed over him was intoxicating if you did as much as stop and think about it.

Most days, you simply did not.

“You’re really dumb, but that’s okay” without hesitation, you cupped his cheek and carded your fingers through his unruly hair, smiling like an idiot. Because in the end, it was quite simple, you were astonished Bruce did not know it just yet. You waited for his blue eyes to meet yours and whispered, “You’re everything to me,”

It was an easy synonym to the familiar I love you, and to the less apparent I don’t want to imagine my life without you. It was the only way you could tell him the extent of his importance. The only way you could try to without dissolving into tears or doing something stupid like asking him to marry you. You did not think that would be quite the right time for it.

Bruce’s answering smile, softened by the persisting edges of disbelief, told you that you made the right call. He understood. As always. Unlike your very first kiss, you moved simultaneously, colliding somewhere in between with strangled gasps. Your tongues met in an electrizing touch, igniting the fire in your veins and making you fall against him with a whimper. Bruce swallowed the sound, his fingers buried into your hair as his tongue traced the sharper edges of your canines. As if he did not have the inside of your mouth memorized by now.

You could only step into the dance, letting him set the pace. His warmth overwhelmed your body as you kissed his lips with the hunger and thirst of a dying woman. Because that was the next best thing you could think of to show him you meant it. Because the pressure of his mouth against yours and the taste of his tongue sometimes were the only things that felt real. Real enough to make you believe hope could persist. That it had a place within your reality. With each kiss, each confession, and each day that passed with Bruce, hope slowly replaced the longing that used to fill your heart. You could only trust that one day it would be eradicated.

Your kiss stretched until it was nearly impossible to breathe. Then, and only then, you nipped at Bruce’s lower lip and softened the bite with the swipe of your tongue before parting. His eyes looked beautiful when nearly swallowed by the gaping black of his blown-out pupils. And it was all your doing. You always took pleasure in the seconds just after the kiss, the few ticks of the clock when Bruce had to forcibly shake himself awake from the spell you had put him under. You could see it in the slight shake of his head, clearing the daze in his eyes and the deep breath he took before even trying to speak.

You rested your forehead against his, the pounding heart slowing down. Until everything that was left was a pleasant hum of the passion coursing in your veins. There was no need to act on it, so you let yourself exist and bask in the warmth of Bruce’s body against yours. When he finally spoke, you were almost composed:

“See? Terrifying” happiness shone in his blue eyes as Bruce raised his hand to let his fingers trace the edges of your features.

It was impossible not to lean into his touch, greedily taking every ounce of tenderness Bruce would offer. He always took that additional second to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, soothing the kiss-bruised skin. You could hardly stop the satisfied purr that rose in your throat.

Instead, you tried to focus on the sentiment. On how much it must have meant for Bruce to admit. Without needing to think about it too hard, you knew you understood the feeling. That the myriad of emotions swirling in your chest could be summarized with one response. One that Bruce would see through easily. One that would show him that you have this in common, too.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek and whispered the reply:

“Quite right, too,” the unspoken meaning shone through the gaps between the vowels, highlighted by the slight waver of your voice.

When Bruce tipped your chin and met your gaze, you knew you made the right choice. Another ounce of hope replaced the longing. Another heavy sigh became unanchored and took flight within the safety of his eyes.

As the snow covered the city outside, you became aware of two things. 1) It was good to be seen if the gaze that pierced through your soul was kind. 2) Bruce Wayne could be many things, but above all that, he was yours. And that was enough.

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