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devilfic · 2 years

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❝love languages❞

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: mentions of injuries, all sfw. words: 1.3k.

I have a headcanon that bruce’s love languages are physical touch and acts of service (receiving), but the funny part is that he absolutely Despises everything leading up to receiving said love

he doesn’t do touching for the sake of touching

he’s not one to actively seek it out, and if he’s making physical contact with someone, it’s usually in a fight or to restrain

when it comes to affectionate touching... well

you want to give him a hug? tough luck, this man is gonna duck and weave like he’s on the football field so good fucking luck trying to grab him

people coming up behind him without announcing their presence are going to get elbowed in the face point blank

the most he’ll comfortably allow is a handshake in the beginning stages and even then, he prefers a polite nod as a greeting

but when he’s soft enough to allow it, he really cherishes it

slowly approaching, asking him if a hug is alright, bruce will just awkwardly move his arms out of the way so you can wrap yourself around him

except when you actually are touching him he just. goes all in

I feel like he doesn’t wrap his arms around your waist unless you’re really close, often keeping them safely around your shoulders until your touch is more familiar to him, but he’ll always tuck his chin into the crook of your neck and hold it there for a little while

I feel like bruce is really sensitive to smell so when you hug, he can tell the faintest difference between the scent of your shampoo or the scent you’ve dabbed on your neck

smelling you is just. so calming in a hug. he still finds his mother’s perfume and his father’s cologne comforting, so best believe he’ll memorize your signature scent real fast

on the off chance he allows this, he surprisingly finds a lot of comfort in back hugs

you know, so long as you don’t sneak up on him

please, he’s very skittish and most people grabbing him from the back are trying to kill him. just tell him you’re gonna do it first

whether you’re shorter than him, the same height, or taller, he feels so vulnerable and cared for at the same time

as the batman, he’s constantly having to watch his back, so it’s nice to know you have it

especially if you’re laying in bed together. he secretly enjoys being a little spoon, and when he’s more comfortable with you, he’ll even initiate it himself

pulling your arms around him? snuggling against your chest? mans is out faster than when he got hit by the riddler’s bomb at don mitchell’s funeral

bonus points if you wrap your arms around him when he’s working down in the batcave at his computer or writing his daily journal entry. rest your head on his back and he’ll let you stay like that forever

he gets this same sensation from riding around on his bike with you holding onto him. sometimes he’ll even suggest going for a ride together just so that he has an excuse for you to hold him...

please hold him from behind

speaking of which. he also likes to Loom™️ from behind

something about standing behind you while you’re sitting makes him feel like he’s you’re protector. he’s your eyes and ears, watching over your shoulder for anything just out of your line of sight

I’m also not even gonna lie, selina called it: dude likes sneaking up on you from behind

this SICK and TWISTED individual GETS OFF to emerging from the dark and scaring you. this is where playing hide and seek too much as a child gets you. it’s a gateway drug

but it’s also just because being near you, even when you’re not physically touching, is just as comforting. being able to watch over you from the shadows and ensure your safety brings him a lot of peace (as creepy as that sounds)

little bits of physical touch are also appreciated

his hair is long and often gets in his way so brush it back or pin it out of his face for him and he’ll get literal sparkles in his eyes over it

they sell headbands at the beauty supply dude come on

they even come in black

little brushes of skin on skin contact have him tingling all over like a victorian duchess

also just. stand very close to him. he’s so hyperaware of his surroundings so his senses are on FIRE when anyone is close by

you could be talking to someone while you brush shoulders with him and he’ll be literally buzzing. it’s the perfect amount of intimacy without bruce having to prep himself for accepting anything bigger and out of his comfort zone. he also likes to notice the differences or lack thereof between your two bodies. do you tower over him? are you half his size? when you look over to give him a reassuring smile, do your eyes align?

now this one ties into both physical touch and acts of service, but bruce appreciates your help after patrol

bruce is no stranger to coming home from a long night of fighting and just passing out on his bed without changing or washing off

he usually cleans off when he’s really messy but there have been a few times where he’s just straight up covered in blood and rain and doesn’t even bother to make it to the bed, passing out on the couch downstairs

scared the bejeezus out of dory once. bruce isn’t allowed to do that any more skfhdksh

so, when he comes home and you’re still up (you always are, you’re always waiting for him), he very reluctantly asks you for help cleaning up

it ranges from wiping away the dark color around his eyes to washing down his back and icing his bruises

you never mind. it’s methodical, and you oddly feel better knowing where and how he’s hurt than hearing his usual, lackluster “I’m fine”

bruce worries that sometimes it’s too ugly. are his scars too bloody? is his mottled, purple skin nauseating to look at it? if he were normal, you wouldn’t have to deal with this

if he were just bruce wayne, he could take you on island vacations and shower you in diamonds

late nights would be for stumbling back home from parties, not nursing his scars

in truth, he wants to be the batman all the time: a bulletproof force for justice

but he’s still human. he needs help, and you’re willing to give it

it’s… hard for him to understand that

you have to remind him often, not with words, that you do this because you love him. if that’s kissing his wounds or holding him until the painkillers kick in, you’ll do it ten times over for him

on the more domestic side of things, it’s like he’s got two alfreds now

keys missing? you already put them by the front door

bruce got blood on his best suit? alfred’s already removing the stains

bruce hasn’t had breakfast yet? the two of you are flanking his side practically forcing him to eat something more than a goddamn protein smoothie jesus christ bruce you’re 31 eat an entire meal for once-

as difficult as bruce can be, though, he is ALWAYS trying to show his appreciation

it’s not because he feels like he’s in debt to you for it, though the thought often crosses his mind

he just... can’t believe you want him as much as he wants you

even when it’s ugly, you make every attempt to speak his language, to make sure he feels loved

he’s obsessed with you dawg skdjfksfj you’ve got him hook line and sinker

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne headcanons #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #batman headcanons #batman #battinson x reader #mjwrites

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letaliabane · 2 years

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hello!!! i really love your battinson please, i have been waiting since 2020 about batman 😭😭 and HERE IT IS!!! sadly i haven’t seen anyone write about battinson maybe soon enough, i know it will booming every writers…

can i request? could you please write battinson’s wife with him go to the funeral, the reader is close to the kid, when the car stroke the reader and the kids (the reader held him closely), battinson saved them both and hug… thank you xixi

by your side

bruce wayne x f!reader

genre: a bit of angsty, fluff, soft!brucewayne

a/n: I’m back after a bit of a disappearance! Another fun request!!

‘Bruce are you sure you want to do this?’ You asked, arms crossed over your chest.

When your husband had suggested you both attend the funeral for the mayor you knew that it was to do with his work as the Batman, not because he wanted to give his condolences as Bruce Wayne.

His obsession with his nightly crusade was definitely unhealthy, you knew that more than anyone else. But you also knew he wouldn’t lay off of a case until it was solved.

You were one of the very few people who had known Bruce since he was a little boy before the loss of his parents, and remained by his side even after those events. He was quiet with his affections, and thats what made you love him even more and eventually marry him.

‘I need to do this Y/N. It’ll help us find the Riddler,’ He muttered as he watched the screens filled with the news of the upcoming service, a large photo of the smiling Mayor plastered on the screen. ‘Men like him they like to watch the reaction to their crimes. Riddler may not be able to resist.’

You let your head fall with a heavy sigh, turning him to face you and taking his hands into your own. ‘I know all that Bruce. I mean are you okay to do this? Not the Batman.’

He knew what you were talking about.

This case had been somewhat triggering to him even though he heavily denied it. The loss of a parent to any child was harmful; seeing the Mayor’s son the night of his murder, finding out that he had been to find him dead, shook him to his core. Reminded him of why he was Batman, the responsibility he had to protect that little boy and others.

After years of opening up and being vulnerable with you and finding peace in your arms, Bruce now avoided the bedroom at all costs so he wouldn’t fall into horrible nightmares again, or worse accidentally hurt you.

It also reminded him of what he no longer had in his life. The pain and the guilt that ate away at his soul everyday. The legacy he continued to build every night he went into the city was a dark reminder of why he even did it.

Shaking his thoughts away Bruce’s eyes flickered to yours hastily, squeezing your hand. ‘I-I don’t know ...’

You softened, letting your hands come up to cradle his cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the warmth of your touch, head turning to kiss your palm. When he opened his eyes once more he found you smiling up at him.

‘I’ll be with you by your side.’

‘But if anything goes wrong Y/N-’

‘I’ll come straight back to the Tower like we’ve always discussed. I promised you I would, I’m not about to break it.’

He nodded silently, giving a tight smile. Leaning down. he let his head rest against yours, noses grazing one another as you both inhaled deeply, holding onto one another tightly.

The next morning you were at your vanity, combing your hair back and letting it hang loose. You had chosen to wear a simple black dress and gone light on the make up, not wanting to attract anymore unnecessary attention. Leaving your hairbrush to the side, you dug out a pair of simple pearl earrings that Bruce had given to you, a gift he’d presented after your wedding.

‘You look lovely.’

You glanced up in the mirror to see Bruce leaning in the door way. You couldn’t help but admire him, hands in deep in his pockets, a small smile on his lips. His suit was well fitted, shirt tight against his chest, trench coat draped beneath one arm. You gave him a smile.

‘Don’t look too bad yourself Bruce.’

He pushed himself away from the door, making his way across the bedroom until he was pressed against your back, leaning down to kiss your neck. Sighing, you reached for his hand that rested on your shoulder, squeezing it.

‘Are you ready for this my love?‘

Bruce’s smile fell briefly, head dipping to lean against your shoulder. When he looked up, you noticed the difference. His face held no emotion, eyes steeled and firm in its gaze. His grip momentarily tightened on your arm.

‘With you by my side, I will be.’

You gave Bruce a smile as he opened the car door for you, taking his outstretched hand and standing to your feet, the screams of the paparazzi even louder than before.

‘Is that Bruce Wayne?’

‘Holy shit-’

‘Oh shit is that Y/N Wayne too?!’

‘All it took was a murder to get them out and about?’

Giving them a small wave, Bruce took to your side, leading you with a hand at the small of your back up the stairs towards the large doorway.

Suddenly you slipped at the top of the wet staircase a small shriek leaving your lips, cursing yourself under your breath for not wearing flats instead of the heels. Bruce was quick to steady you, grabbing your arm; but not before you bumped into a man who reeled back angrily.

‘Hey watch it!’

‘Don’t touch her!’

Bruce was quick to shove the man aside, protectively bringing his arm around you and pulling you behind him.

‘Watch it fellas! You’re holding the city’s Prince there. As well as his little Princess.’

The gravelly voice of Carmine Falcone rose from the circle of men that had suddenly swarmed Bruce. He pushed through them, smirking towards the two of you.

‘Some event huh? Brought out the one guy more reclusive than me!’ Falcone grunted, glancing towards you, taking a quick sweep over you. ‘With a woman like that at your side I wouldn’t leave home either.’

The scowl deepened on Bruce’s face. However he was quick to quip back, never breaking eye contact with the man.

‘Thought I’d never see you leave the Shoreline, getting a little comfortable were you? Aren’t you afraid someone will take a shot at you?’

Falcone chuckled, turning to another man beside him, and you recognised him immediately from the footage Bruce had been collecting over the past few weeks. Bulging stomach, receding hairline and some ugly scars to boot; it was definitely Oswald Cobblepot.

‘Oz you know Bruce Wayne and his Missus?’

Oswald raised his eyebrow in interest. ‘Is that right huh?’

‘His father saved my life you see. Kid here saw the whole thing-‘

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, squeezing Bruce’s hand. The man had spewed the story over and over again to the press and anyone who would listen to him.

‘-Don’t you think that meant something?’

‘Means he took a hypocratic oath. Excuse us!’

And without waiting for a reply, Bruce pushed past the man and his bodyguards, leading you along behind him before he looped your arm with his pulling you in close to his side.

‘You okay?’ He muttered softly, once again squeezing your hand. You nodded with a small smile.

‘I am. I can’t stand that pig. Zoned out through half his story telling of how your father saved him for the millionth time.’

Bruce chuckled. ‘He does like to ramble doesn’t he ...’

His expression suddenly dropped, freezing mid-step. Even with the crowded hall, you spotted the Mayor’s son immediately in the front row. His head hung low, brown hair messily tousled, face swollen and pale.

It sent your mind reeling to memories of a similar boy, how a young Bruce had whispered for you not to leave his side, how he held back tears as the coffins of his mother and father disappeared into the earth. How you hugged him in front of their graves as the rain fell upon you both, his agonising cries of anguish a memory burned into your mind forever-

You gasped as a sudden pain enveloped your hand, looking down to see Bruce gripping your hand painfully tight, nails biting into the back of your hand. He immediately flinched at the sound that left you, looking between your intertwined hands and your face.

‘I’m sorry-I’m-I can’t-’

‘Bruce look at me,’ You said softly, resting a hand at the nape of his neck. You felt his fast heartbeat beneath your fingertips, recognised the lost look in his eyes. ‘I’m with you my love. I’m right here with you, I just need you to take a breath.’

Placing your other hand over his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, you breathed deeply, and thankfully he began to follow your actions, muscles slowly losing tension.

His eyes found yours once more, his trembling hand gripping your wrist gently. Glancing around at the people who looked towards you, specifically scrutinising your husband, you fiddled with his tie pretending to fix it.

‘I’ll go and give condolences to the family on our behalf. Do what you need to do and find the information you need.’

With a quick kiss to his cheek you slowly stepped away, unable to hold back a small smile when Bruce held your hand just a little longer before letting it drop from his grip.

Making your way to the front of the hall, you shook the grieving widow’s hand who barely gave you a glance, her eyes watery and far off in distant thoughts.

Her son, still with his head down, hands fiddling with the button on his coat, didn’t acknowledge you. Kneeling down, you pressed a gentle hand to the boy’s. His eyes glanced up towards yours.

‘Hello sweetheart. I know we haven’t met before, and i know things must be difficult right now. But I just wanted to remind you that you are not alone. You still have your mother and people who love and adore you and want the best for you. And more importantly you need to remember how strong you are. Do you recognise that gentleman over there?’

He turns to look over his shoulder to where you point to Bruce who is glancing around the hall. The boy nods.

‘Bruce Wayne is one of the bravest men I know. And I know that you can be just as strong and get through this. Your father would want you to, he’d want to see you happy.’

Tears filled his eyes, a small smile creeping at the edge of his lips, squeezing your hand firmly.

The distant eruption of screams caught your attention, glancing up towards the shaken crowd who began to get to their feet. Getting to your feet with the boy close at your side, it was then you saw the car streaking into the building, giving you only moments to instinctually wrap your arms around the child.

Suddenly you were slammed to the ground, a heavy weight on your back as the screeching of tires and the crunch of metal echoed through the entire cathedral. You barely lifted your head to see the smashed against a pillar, debris and glass scattered across the floor.

‘Y/N?! Are you okay?!’

You looked up at the sound of the unsteady voice of your husband, his hand hovering over your face almost as if afraid to touch you. It was then you realised it had been him that had collided with you, had slammed you into the ground away from harms way.

‘Yeah I’m okay Bruce, I promise I’m okay!’

It was only when you had reassured him quietly that he let his hands run through your head, the familiar touch of his forehead against yours calming the erratic beat of your heart against your chest. Looking down towards the boy in your arms, you brushed his hair away, wiping away the tears that shone beneath his eyes.

‘You okay sweetheart?’

The boy nodded, arms wrapping around you in a tight hug, quickly brought to his feet by his mother who immediately embraced him, pulling him further into the crowd.

‘Get out of the car!‘

Gordan’s voice echoed across the hall, making you flinch at the magnified sound, Bruce pulling you to your feet, arms wrapped around you protectively. ‘Get out of the car and show your hands!’

The door swung open, a pair of hands flailing before the body stumbled out of the car uneasily. You felt Bruce tense up just as you gasped in horror.

It was Gil Coulson, the district attorney. Covered in blood, mouth taped tightly shut, a phone duct taped his hand. And taped to his chest was an envelope written with the familiar scratch of ‘TO THE BATMAN.’

‘There’s a bomb around his neck!’

The woman’s scream sent the hall into immediate panic; people scrambling to their feet, many taking off running, pushing each other in a race to get to the door as more cops flooded in.

You couldn’t help but squeeze Bruce’s arm, his eyes frantically meeting yours as he turned to you. Looking around briefly at the unsettled crowd, he muttered softly.

‘I need you to go home. Take the car and go straight to Wayne Tower and stay there until I-’

‘I know! I know my love.’ You firmly gripped the collar of his trench coat, bringing him in close. His breath batted against your lips as you took a moment to look up at him.

‘Do what you have to do, but you come home to me Bruce Wayne.’

Without hesitation Bruce leant down, hands cupping your face as he kissed you firmly, lingering just a little longer than necessary. Unable to help himself, he pressed one last to peck to your lips before he pulled himself away, disappearing into the dispersing crowd.

masterlist - robert pattinson masterlist

________

tagged: @mischiefmanaged71 @xoxoloverb @wandas-wife @t-stark35 @laufeysonsbarnes @sillynillybilly @shannonxg @ceruleanrainblues @hawkchaos @a-bolanos @tsunchani

tags that aren’t working:

@blkwayne @techno54 @loverofminee @notgonnadothis @taetaeyeontae @abarelyexistentbeing @mybookslibrarieskpopbear

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lizziemack · 4 years

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I need a spoiler movie.

-Actual child actors for steph and tim please, don’t age them up

- Robert Battinson.

-opens on steph making her costume and sneaking out for the first time

-Robby Batts freaking the fuck out but internally because she’s an untrained child. He’s more mean to her than he realizes when he tells her to stop.

-she doesn’t listen. montage of her fighting crime semi successfully using nothing but plucky determination and daddy issues

-tim gets hit in the face with a brick

-Robby Batts broods. We should know he’s thinking about Jason, but he doesn’t /say/ anything about it.

-Tims like, well if he’s not gonna train her than I will

-cue cute buddy cop robin spoiler team up

-something tim says gives her an epiphany. She’s ready to ‘spoiler’ her dad once and for all

-Tim’s like oh shit, she needs back up. He goes to Bruce like hey remember that thing you said not to do, well I did it

-Bruce is about to jump in ready to save her, but seeing her go up against cluemaster, he realizes she’s got potential. She reminds him of why he does this in the first place, what it feels like to believe that good will triumph over evil.

- He still helps her take down clue master because she’s a literal child, but he doesn’t swoop in and take over. They use her plan for the most part, and he introduces her to Comissioner Gordon as his new associate Spoiler

-last scene is tim and steph playing roof top tag with Robby Batts looking on. When he thinks no one’s looking he smiles a tiny smile.

#spoiler #stephanie brown #robert battinson #robert pattinson #tim drake #batfam #bruce wayne

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deadpoolsoci3ty · 2 years

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bruce wayne (battinson) being the most socially inept batman to date is absolutely the best thing i’ve ever seen. god, please someone give him an orphaned circus child

#batman #bruce wayne #the batman #the batman 2022 #he’s the only one who could do it #imagine bale batman with a young dick grayson #see ??? you can’t #it’s impossible #robert pattinson #battinson #dick grayson #robin #robin and batman #nightwing #batfam #batdad

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devilfic · 2 years

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❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

II. best-kept memories.

parts: previously / next plot: too dangerous to go home on your own, alfred offers for you to spend the night at wayne tower. the “nocturnal animal” was not informed. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader cw: angst, with a sprinkling of fluff at the end, depictions of grief-related anger (no violence). words: 3.3k.

a/n: wow! I did not expect so much love on “go, go, loverboy”! thank you all for the genuinely lovely comments and requests for another part. I hadn’t really planned on writing one, but I got kind of carried away with this idea. I also decided to add a little lore for you, the reader. if anyone is interested in more parts, you might get to learn what all of it is ^^

“If I drive slow, I’ll be home in no time.”

Gotham City was no stranger to torrential rains, but tonight seemed especially severe. In addition to the already freezing weather, all residents of Gotham were being advised to stay off the roads if at all possible, and it seemed that Alfred had taken that advice to heart.

“Do you think competent employees grow on trees? I’d rather not take the chance.” Zeus on his side, a thunderous boom! shook the tower, effectively sending you a few inches off your seat. You didn’t even need to look at Alfred to know he was smug.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate Alfred’s hospitality—far from it: you couldn’t ask for a kinder employer—and you’d spent many a late night traversing the spellbinding penthouse that was Wayne Tower’s glory, but you’d never gone further than the first floor. You felt like Belle wandering into the forbidden west wing of Beast’s castle at the thought of staying the night here.

In comes Dory with a silver platter of piping hot tea. “The roads are all covered in ice, you’re better off staying!” Well, she’d clearly already picked a side in this. Taking a polished teacup and setting it before you, Dory fills it up halfway with what you recognized to be Earl Grey, her specialty.

“Really, guys, I don’t want to be a bother.” But even as you address the senior staff of Wayne Tower, you find that you’re really not talking to them at all. Of course, who you really meant to say that to wasn’t home right now.

Alfred takes the initiative to confiscate the paperwork you’d been slaving over since the early evening, setting it well out of your reach despite your protests. “It’s not like you’d be taking up much space. Besides, we don’t want you getting hurt,” your heart swells at Alfred’s proclamation, “and we won’t have anyone saying that we don’t take care of our own.”

Dory gives you a smile as if to say that you wouldn’t be winning this argument.

And, contrary to popular belief, you did know when to quit sometimes. “And you’re sure Bruce won’t mind?”

“Master Wayne won’t even notice you were here.”

“...And as you know, the Waynes donated their ancestral manor to the city many years ago. Why, when it was still standing, there was a grand ballroom Master Bruce loved to run around in. I appreciated the Waynes moving to somewhere more modest; having to find and apprehend that child with so much room to stretch his legs... I fear I’ll pay the price well into my old age.”

Dory had been kind enough to give you a tour of the penthouse before sending you off to bed, and even in your half-awake state, the grandeur of the home was not lost on you. While Dory insisted the penthouse was “more modest”, you still found yourself spinning in circles trying to recall which door lead to where.

“Oh, so Bruce has always been difficult,” You joke, pleased to draw a laugh out of the kindly housekeeper, “this place is really beautiful. Staying the night here for free feels illegal.”

Dory smacks your arm at that, “Nonsense. After you’ve done so much for Alfred and Bruce this past year, this is just as much your home as it is ours. And I mean that sincerely. If you ever need a safe haven, you are more than welcome to come here.”

The offer was... sweet. Since discovering the truth about the Batman, your pay had risen a hefty amount, but you’d still been saving for months just to get a better place than the one you had now. Gotham barely had a decent middle class with the way the city seemed divided into the haves and the have nots. You were either rich enough to own your own building or you were out on the street. Those living in mold-infested holes like your apartment were better off, but always one bad day away from the street. It didn’t help that you had someone to take care of, and the only thing worse than rent in Gotham was healthcare.

This job had truly changed your life, but you were more than well aware of how lucky you were. “That’s very generous, thank you. Though I imagine we’d have to run that by Bruce first.”

A melancholic look crosses Dory’s face, “I think it would do him good to be around someone his age. I’ve always wanted Bruce to have a friend.” God, if that didn’t tug at your heartstrings. “Anywho, that’s enough of a history lesson for you. I shouldn’t keep you any longer. Remember: Alfred and I’s rooms are on the first floor if you need us for anything, and Master Bruce’s is at the very end of the hall.”

The two of you stop right outside one of the guest rooms she’d shown you earlier, and while you still had a very vague layout of the place, you were sure you could manage to not get lost. You had plans to sleep like a log the minute she left you alone, after all. “Thank you, Dory. I really appreciate this.”

With a gentle smile and pat on your arm, the housekeeper makes her way back down to the first floor to retire for the night.

Once left to your own devices, you find yourself secretly grateful for Alfred’s insistence to stay. With the storm raging on outside and thanks to some necessary reorganizing of Wayne Enterprises, you, Alfred, and Bruce (when you could get a hold of him) had been working nonstop getting affairs in order. The constant stream of emails, phone calls, board meetings, and paperwork seemed to take more of a toll on your body than you’d been aware of.

You hadn’t even taken the time to admire the room as you might’ve done if you were more awake, instead finding the nearest bed-shaped object in the dark and sleepily crawling into it. It felt like heaven to your weary bones. Within minutes, you were out like a light.

Until the thunder started.

Your heart beat in terror as you shot up in bed, exhausted mind taking a few seconds to process where you were upon waking. With the storm raging on outside the window, Wayne Tower’s proximity to the sky only made you feel closer to the rolling thunder. Squinting at the screen of your phone, you discovered that it was only 3 in the morning. You’d barely been asleep for a few hours.

You depart your room in a sleepy daze, cursing the labyrinthine hallways in an effort to find the restroom. You couldn’t recall a time you’d felt more relieved to see a toilet in your life.

After relieving yourself, you made your way back toward the sleeping quarters and noted all the surrounding landmarks that would guide you back to your room: Bruce’s room at the very end of the hall, the window two rooms down from where Dory had left you (or was it three?), and the door left cracked open. Confidently, you push against the heavy door and begin to head toward where you remembered the bed to be.

You’re rather shocked when your foot bumps against a table instead. The bed had been on the right side of the room before, hadn’t it? Why was there a table here all of a sudden?

Lightning illuminates the room at once, highlighting only the silhouette of a darkly clad figure mere feet away from you.

In your fear-ridden, addled mind, throwing a punch at the intruder seemed like the best course of action.

They catch it easily within their leathery grip, and so your next best bet is to scream, but you don’t even get the chance to do more than whimper when the figure places their other hand firmly over your lips, pressing you backwards until you fall awkwardly into a chair. You have to give yourself credit for how deftly you struggle, especially when you hear a grunt of frustration leave the intruder looming above you.

Just as you begin to pry open your jaw wide enough to bite the intruder’s fingers, they gruffly interrogate you, “What are you doing here?”

The clouds didn’t allow for moonlight to pass through the windows, so you could only make out who the figure on top of you was through their familiar tone alone. The caped crusader is illuminated by lightning once more, affirming your (growing) mortification. Behind the leather of his glove, you retract the thought of biting your boss altogether, “B-Bruce?”

The hand on your mouth falls away. It’s still dark and hard to make him out, but if you had to guess, the quick exhales of breath on your face told you just enough about his mood. The silence that stretches between you implores you to explain yourself. “Alfred said it was too dangerous to drive home in the rain.”

“What are you doing here?”

You’d anticipated that Bruce would be uncomfortable with you staying in his family home, but this doesn’t sound like discomfort or even surprise. He sounds genuinely... angry. You’d never been on the receiving end of Bruce’s anger before; Alfred had suffered his fair share of outbursts given that they were close—and you imagined every thug in Gotham had suffered their fair share of the Batman’s wrath—but even at your most bothersome, he had never spoken to you this way.

He must realize that you aren’t sure what to say to that. Swiftly, he releases your wrist and stomps off somewhere nearby, leaving you completely helpless in the dark. Just as you consider feeling your way toward the door, the room fills with dull, yellow light. This is certainly not the room you’d gone to sleep in.

The room is massive, the size of your apartment at the very least. There’s a large four-poster across from where you’re seated that Bruce stands next to, still clad in his Batsuit. A fireplace takes up the longest wall with several photos and antiques lining the expansive mantelpiece, and you find yourself sat in one of a pair of armchairs beside it. There’s framed personal art here and there, but you come to a complete stop when you catch sight of the largest one hanging right behind you: it’s a traditional portrait depicting two figures standing side by side, both smiling with one hand each settled on a little boy’s shoulders. The painting was of Thomas, Martha, and a young Bruce Wayne.

You couldn’t imagine they kept a painting like this in just any room.

You just about leap out of the armchair, scrambling to the middle of the room with a renewed sense of panic. Had you been a little more lucid, you probably would have picked up on the stale scent your room pointedly did not have at the doorway. Hell, you probably wouldn’t have even stumbled into Thomas and Martha Wayne’s bedroom at all.

The lamp’s meager light does nothing to show you Bruce’s face clearly, but you don’t need to see him to feel the intensity of his glare. “Bruce, I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize what room I’d walked into when I... Please believe me when I say I would never-” Your apology feels lackluster as it spills from your mouth but you’re desperate to get it out, if only to salvage what little good opinion Bruce still had of you. After all, Bruce (and Alfred, and Dory) had been nothing but kind to you. Giving you this job, trusting you with his secret, letting you into his home that had previously been his tomb. You felt awful.

The more your eyes adjust, the more you’re able to make out the quick rise and fall of Bruce’s shoulders. You think for a moment that he’s holding himself back from unleashing a wave of fury on you and you start to consider leaving the tower altogether (and signing your resignation, and never coming back again). Perhaps it was too soon to call, but from the way that Bruce was reacting, you worried this moment would set your progress with him back this entire last year and more.

You do nothing but stand there, nervous and twiddling your thumbs.

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, as if the storm had settled only so you could hear Bruce’s slowing breathing. “I can leave... if you want. The roads are probably clear by now.”

Bruce says nothing. You almost want Alfred himself to sense the tension and come rescue the situation, drag you out by your elbow and send you on your way. Nothing could come of this standstill: you, too afraid to move. Bruce, too angry to speak.

You almost flinch when Bruce raises his hands to his head and pulls off his mask. The movement makes raindrops roll off his shoulders and cape in rivulets, and you realize that he must’ve only just gotten home when you’d entered his parents’ room.

It’d be comical under different circumstances how Bruce, as soon as the cowl is removed, can no longer look you in the eye. He holds it to his chest like a security blanket.

“No one comes in here but me,” he starts, shockingly weak-voiced now, "Not Dory, not even Alfred.”

That explained some things: the fine layer of dust over everything, the top to his mother’s perfume that was never put back on, the pair of oxfords tucked neatly by his father’s side of the bed as if they’d been set out to wear the next day. This room was a time capsule, his parents’ last tangible moment in time. And you...

Bruce steps forward, still avoiding eye contact with you. He stops at the mantelpiece just a few feet away from you, “I come in here when I can’t sleep. Or just to remember how they left it.”

Your heart shatters at his confession. You couldn’t possibly fathom what your presence here had done to him psychologically. You keep your voice as low as his, hoping to make yourself as small as possible, “I saw the door left open. Was that you?” Bruce hums. “I’m sorry. It hadn’t been when I’d gone looking for the restroom. I couldn’t find my- I mean, the guest room. I’d just assumed.”

Bruce looks up at you, blue eyes striking against the black. He assesses you with some hesitance. “I apologize for scaring you.”

Your shoulders sink with some surprise, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do.” He says with indignation, frustratedly drawing his brows together. “It’s not like I’m protecting any living thing.”

The way he says that breaks your heart even more. You don’t want to make him feel worse. You school your expression into one of compassion and hope that he doesn’t take it as pity, “These... things aren’t alive, no, but the memory is. That’s why you come here. That’s why no one else does.”

What you say must strike a chord with him because his mouth falls open at that and he doesn’t attempt to say anything further. In the past, you’d been very good at earning Bruce’s silence, but you’d never made him speechless before. You only hoped that it wasn’t for the wrong reasons.

Thunder strikes again. The storm hadn’t settled at all, it seemed.

You snap to attention when you remember that Bruce is currently soaking wet in front of you, suit still dripping all over the floor. “Jesus, Bruce. You must be freezing. Can I make you some tea?”

A freshly-showered Bruce whispers a “thank you” over the cup of tea you’d fashioned for him, sipping at the warmth. You weren’t half as talented as Dory at making tea, and you’d forgone the fancy china in case you got clumsy and broke something you definitely couldn’t afford to fix. You just hoped it did its job in warming him up. “How did tonight’s crimefighting go?”

“Even criminals hate bad weather.” He traces a finger around the rim of the cup, “Got all wet for nothing.”

You’d encouraged the sad, wet cat to go clean up before he inevitably caught a cold. The last thing you wanted to put on Alfred’s shoulders was a sick Bruce, the very likes of which you’d yet to see. He’d still insisted on coming down to the Batcave however, and you didn’t see how standing around in a cold, abandoned subway station with wet hair would end well for him. “I’m sure you looked super cool strutting around in the rain, though. Someone probably saw and thought ‘Wow, Batman’s so cool. He gets drenched like a badass’.”

Bruce snorts, then picks up a sugar cube and flicks it at you.

Narrowly dodging his assault (and almost dousing yourself in piping hot tea), you continue, “I just hope you didn’t get sick. Who knows what Gotham will do if Batman has to take a sick day?”

“Bats don’t get sick.” Bruce states in a matter-of-fact way, as if it at all applied to him.

“Bats, sure. Men? Very prone to sickness. Kinda been a thing for a while now.”

“I don’t get sick.”

“With all that money, you better not.”

You’re thankful that the tense air from before had since dissipated. The storm had settled too, which left you with a gentle rainfall quietly dripping within the terminal, lulling you into a state of peace. Your nocturnal boss remained as vigilant as ever, though. If anything, his shower had only invigorated him to get some much needed work done. You wondered how this came so easy to him. After working for him for a year, you couldn’t fathom having the dedication it took to continue to do what he did every night, most nights, without fail.

You supposed you’d never met someone who loved Gotham as much as he did.

“Bruce?” You call, and while he doesn’t look away from his notes, he makes a noise to let you know he’s listening, ”Why did you hire me?”

“Alfred hired you.”

“No, he didn’t.” But you’d always thought he did. It wasn’t until Alfred had admitted to the contrary one long work day that you’d discovered the truth.

Bruce pauses in his note-taking, thinking. After a few seconds, he resumes once more, “You looked smart. Someone who could keep up with Alfred.”

“Why did you tell me you were Batman?”

“It wasn’t really like I had a choice. You’d already had it all figured out.” Bruce could laugh about it now that it had been months since the attack on Wayne Tower and the floods that wiped away nearly half of Gotham City, but that night had been the most nerve-wracking of your life. On top of Alfred being hospitalized, you and Dory had been the only ones to see the aftermath of the Riddler’s scheme on Bruce. After all, your boss wouldn’t be caught dead at a public function if he could help it.

You take refuge on the couch near his desk, tucking your legs underneath you to conserve what little warmth you could down here. There were a host of reasons why you wanted to know, some probably more obvious to Bruce than others, but there was a glaring question you never felt he’d truly answered: Why me? Out of everyone else, why choose me? “Guess you’re right.”

Time passes just like that. Bruce works and you watch. When you get tired and fall asleep against the couch arm, Bruce finds a blanket to cover you with. And when morning comes and you find Bruce fast asleep on his desk, hunched over his notes, you return the favor.

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