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ninarobinson-author · 1 year

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Little Ashes: The Surreal Insanity of Dalí

Dalí the Dandy Villain - in the film little fascist, I mean "Little Ashes."

Warnings: nudity, fascism, homophobia, cursing, anarchy, politics, war, death (minor) +++Queer Fanfic at the end

Affiliations: revolutionary, change, taboo, disruption,

oppression, repression

art, poetry, politics

Odd, strange, bizarre, different, atypical, queer, avant garde

("Little Ashes:" Setting: Spain 1922)

Dali's World:

Dali doesn’t maintain a single and continual persona like most healthy people. Dali creates a new personality as he would create a new piece of art. It's too boring to stay the same. A person needs to switch things up every now and then to keep things interesting. Especially for creative geniuses. He is not humble; he knows that he is a genius. Dali is in fact, a self proclaimed monarch. He knows he is a king and will hold himself in high esteem. Dali is highly delusional and egocentric, but that is just how artists are, right? Dali lacks authentic emotion; he is detached from reality and chooses to live in only Dali’s world. His mannerism and gestures are like a baby in a rocking chair. He is both naive and dictatorial. Much of the time Dali seems to be staring off into space, mute, having no personality and then suddenly acting erratic.

In contrast to King Salvador, Federico Garcia Lorca is very polite, according to Luis. In Federico's poem (“The Soul of the West Wind") he writes about butterflies, thrills, and god. Luis thinks his writing is a bit too Andalusian. He thinks Federico is in danger of becoming bourgeois. He says his writing is “bloody good,” it's just the subject of his writing is lacking passion, or as they call it "duende." Duende here meaning, "a passion on the edge of life and death." Luis would prefer if he wrote something more political such as the decapitation of a "putrid priest in Zaragoza."

(Luis Buñuel and Federico García Lorca)

Luis: “What does Federico Garcia Lorca feel about all these bloody butterflies?” “What makes him angry?” “What turns him on?”

The most magical moment in the film is when Dali makes his first appearance. The audience sees a nervous Dali anxiously awaiting his first day at the art college.

(Salvador Dalí)

The spectators see an absurd creature stand before them. Lorca feels a fresh wind of change entering his life.

(Arrival at Art College in Madrid, Spain)

Dali is new and has not yet found out who he is as an artist. Whereas, Lorca is well known at the college and has made strides in his work. Having already been published and gained wider fame even beyond the college. Dali, having already been privy to Lorca’s work, looks up to Lorca and admires this writing.

(Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí)

(Federico García Lorca)

Salvador uses Federico as his muse to inspire better paintings. He sees Lorca as the pinnacle of artistic inspiration. Although in truth, Lorca may have lost his duende and seems to have hit a plateau in his creative work. That is where the fresh and intriguing Dali has come in to help. Federico is fascinated by Dali and inflamed, quite literally turned on by his presence. It seems as though Salvador is also lacking a reason to paint as he can’t put his brush to a canvas for the first thirty-eight minutes of the film. When he does have a brush in his hand he looks stressed and frustrated. Much of the time Salvador is shown to be sneaking voyeuristic glances at Federico. This is the spark that the two needed in order to produce work that is inspired and passionate. At first, the dynamic between the two is like a game of cat and mouse. This push and pull could signify the tension it takes to create, before finally giving in and creating a piece of art.

Salvador was like most any other college student, lost, unsure of himself and begging for attention. The only way to capture the attention of the famous Federico Garcia Lorca was to quietly draw him into his web. He was strategic in his methods. Making himself appear to be in the right place at the right time, not to come off as trying too hard. He wanted Lorca to view him as intellectual and artistic, just as he views Lorca. His methods were adolescent. He placed a canvas that he had already finished painting on the easel. He assumed the pose of an artist, leaving his door wide open as to be seen by anyone who happened to be passing by, and ‘accidentally’ dropping his paint brushes as Luis Bunuel was walking by. However, Luis was on to his game and commented on his “strategically placed copy of Freud.”

(Luis Buñuel)

Dali is like a spider in how he captures his prey. At first, he was unassuming, as a spider’s web is unassuming. It is only when the prey is caught in the web does it realize how insidious the web becomes when initially it seems inviting and delicately sprung. That is, until the spider encases its prey with the same means that drew it in, and devours it with pleasure.

(An unassuming Salvador Dalí)

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Dali joins a group of equally interesting and talented gentlemen and women. Dali is treated like a collected piece of art himself, as he is described as yet another acquisition of Luis Bunuel. The only ones brave enough to consider themselves genius are Dali and Lorca. The group appears to be a sort of rat pack. All sharing the same artistic airs of snobbery and frivolities. The woman called Magdalena claimed to have read eighty books over the holidays, when she had only read ten. This is just one example of the kind of performative intellectualism that goes on among these college students. This is normal behavior for this age group, as well as a common tendency of most artistically inclined people. They appear to believe that if they act as a great artist they may eventually turn into one.

Salvador, Federico, Luis, Magdalena and others

Since I am no history buff, I may not have a grasp on the details of the political nature in Spain in the nineteen-twenties. However, I can feel the spirit of revolution and necessary change that the anarchists propose. This is why I love Luis Bunuel’s commentary throughout the film. He is a no nonsense, honest type. Despite his unfortunate homophobic attitude, his commentary is bang on.

Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí

Bunuel is clearly into politics, and he holds what at that time, seems to be extreme beliefs. He wants the corruption purged from his country, by the most swift of means.

Luis Buñuel and Federico García Lorca

Lorca also shares this strong sense of liberation. Bunuel, being a part the Ultraism underground movement, takes Lorca and Dali to a low profile puppet show. The show highlights their political beliefs in a very humorous manner, but the message is clear. The pope is living in gross wealth by stealing from the people through taxation. While the people are living like peasants do, starving. They simply want freedom in their country. I can’t see why these democratic beliefs wouldn't have a wider appeal among the general populace. They have to go on about their political perspectives while hidden away in a hole in the wall.

We get another unforgettable scene in the film. At twenty-one minutes into the film, the tension is palpable. Lorca seems to have consciously discovered his admiration for Dali. In the scene, he is a little too obviously staring at Dali, yearning for him even. Then within a few micro expressions, he momentarily attempts to hide it, and finally he seems ashamed. Dali is unaware of Lorca’s staring, then he catches on, and is left equally embarrassed.

Little Ashes is perversely delightful. It inspires you to throw caution to the wind and do the things that most are afraid to do. Whether that be artistically, socially, politically, or sexually.

The funniest scene is the aftermath of this, with Federico’s realization of his desire for Salvador.

Federico García Lorca

Although both men are assumed to be straight, they experiment with their sexuality as they do their with their creative endeavors. This nineteen-twenties society doesn’t exactly welcome maricóns with open arms. Feddy is repenting for his “impure thoughts” of Salvador. He prays to be freed of this black widow spider. He continues to avoid him like the plague. There is a scene where Federico sees Salvador walking up the stairwell, and he reacts as though he has witnessed the devil incarnate himself.

This scene is not just about portraying Federico running from his homosexuality, this scene portrays the villainous energy of Salvador Dali and says a lot about Salvador as a character. Salvador stands for everything that is taboo and different. Dali is, by nature, a rare creature. He is artistic and strangely enchanting. Salvador Dali is the villain. His very existence threatens the established order. He is a disruption to society, the art world and to the people around him. He is capable of corrupting the status quo in the most interesting and unexpected of ways. Salvador Dali is a rare gem that Bunuel and Lorca were lucky enough to collect. Dali himself is like a fine painting worth billions. Ultimately, though, unlike a piece of art, he has the freedom to walk away anytime he likes. Dali cannot simply be owned like a painting.

Lorca despite his revolutionary aspirations, comes across as still rather old fashioned in some kind of way. Lorca is well mannered and morally righteous. He is the type to pray, respect his teachers and be diplomatic. Dali is alienated from any kind of normal demeanor and disregardful of the traditional niceties of society. He doesn’t care about keeping the peace and will be downright disrespectful and rowdy at times. Initially, it was this very chaotic behavior and strange persona that drew Lorca to him. In the end, the two grew apart and became too different to coexist with each other. Lorca grew tired of Dali’s games and found him to be displeasing. Perhaps it was Dali’s new admiration for fascism that put a bad taste in his mouth. After seeing so many of Dali’s childish antics, I personally can’t take anything he did seriously. For Lorca this stood against everything he was fighting for, and was unforgivable. Dali was a man of varied and extreme tastes.

Dali is certainly queer. Although it is a matter of semantics, I don’t think Dali was truly gay or at least not looking for a real relationship with Federico. Dali is so artistically inclined that he would be willing to try anything once and will quickly move on to the next thing that captures his attention. Federico just happened to be one of Dali’s many fixations. This is shown when Dali suddenly leaves Federico in Spain and goes to Paris with Bunuel to contribute to his play and advance his artistic predilections. In defense of Dali, I don’t believe that he was truly cold hearted. He merely had a higher vision and purpose to his life. Dali lives for art. Dali creates art but he also lives by the philosophy of art. Art cannot be understood logically but it has to be felt. Dali likes to feel energized and free. He is like a bird, he may leave Lorca today to fly to Paris, but by tomorrow he will be back to share his spoils. As a piece of art may be interpreted, you must interpret Dali’s actions.

Salvador Dalí

On the surface, Salvador Dali is a villain. Indeed he is the villain. But in the same thread, he is also the absurdist hero. Despite every dastardly action of Dali we root for him anyway. For the sake of the human spirit to be free! Dali is a rich well of multitudes of colors, like a rainbow. Perhaps Dali’s sexuality was as fluid as a rainbow and not so easily defined by human words. Each day he chooses a different color that will surprise and shock. Dali is disgustingly weak and fragile and in others he is brave and inventive. His transformation from the start of college to the beginning of his fame is like witnessing a train wreck come back from destruction.

Salvador Dalí

Interestingly enough, it does not appear that Federico was gay either. As he is always shown to be intertwined with Magdalena. Unless, you consider his relationship with Magdalena a performance. There is definitely a lot homophobic rhetoric and symbolism going on throughout the film, so it is likely that both Lorca and Dali felt internalized homophobia. Especially with the pressure from the larger conservative and violent society. Even their close friend, Luis Bunuel is shown as highly homophobic and threatens violence on the maricons.

Human relationships can be ambiguous so who can truly say. Queerness and artistic persuasions are similar, in that they creatively break the norms of society. It’s a good parallel to use to understand the revolutionary emotions of the film. Political freedom, artistic expression, and sexual liberty can all be frightening and exhilarating. I don’t think the focus of the film is only about sexuality. Salvador Dali is an artist that you cannot fully capture, there is something about him that you just can’t put your finger on. That is why Federico cannot understand Dali. He is not supposed to. The film is really great at doing just that. Dali is equally mystical and insane. I use insane pretty loosely here. I should really be using the word surreal when describing Dali.

Another way you can view their relationship, is that they admire each other’s creations so much that they wanted to make their art come alive in a more “raw” expression. As Bunuel said, both Dali and Lorca are “self-titled geniuses.” Love for oneself to an extent can become narcissism. Each became fascinated with the other due to seeing the reflection of their own genius in the other. Were they truly falling in love with one another or just falling in love with their own reflection? Ultimately, falling in love with the reflection of their own artistic sentiments. Much of the ambiguous nature of their relationship can be left to interpretation and is wonderfully captured in the film.

I do think Dali is absolutely savage in all of his expressions. With the way he behaves, it's any wonder how he can practically live in the real world outside of his artistic daydreams. Understanding Lorca’s success is easy because he has every positive affiliation under the sun. You feel that he has slowly and surely built a name for himself in the standard fashion. Dali is so disruptive that the surrealists literally “expelled him from the movement.” Creativity is by nature, a chaotic and destructive thing. That is why Dali detests the art college professors from critiquing him. Giving a commendable villainous speech on how he disapproves of the professors wasting his talent and showcasing how useless they are.

Salvador: “Gentlemen, I have returned from Paris with the conclusion that the entire amount of real, artistic knowledge contained within this panel of professors is not equal to one half of this. This, my fingernail. Not one half, gentlemen. And I’ve been insulting myself, by letting your shoddy practices, your pathetic outdated theories, and questionable character shit on my genius. I hope with all my heart that you’ll realize I am right and give up this foolishness and go back to the pigsties and the haystacks where you might be of some real use.”

Salvador Dalí roasting the art professors

Dali does not need the approval of anyone. He is willing to burn any bridge that stands in the way of his creativity. That is pretty savage. It is this quality that Magdalena admires in Salvador and the very reason she invites him to her aunt’s “legendarily dull dinner parties.” When someone says party, they instantly think of Dali. An actual quote from Salvador Dali comes to mind, “I don’t do drugs, I am a drug.” She even says that it is vital for her aunt to know people such as Salvador. He is a good representation of the revolutionary ideology that her conservative aunt is sheltered from. Merely being in Dali’s presence is enlightening. This isn’t to say that Salvador doesn’t get extremely drunk at the party. As you may have realized by now that Dali is truly a walking contradiction. Not only are there conservative people attending the party but literary censors from Madrid are present as well. This uptight and stuffy dinner party is the perfect scene to make Salvador Dali shine in all of his counter-cultural glory. At the very least, you will be entertained by his antics. Worst case scenario, you are chased out of the building by civil guards. Either way, it will be a night to remember.

Salvador Dalí at Magdalena's aunt's dinner party

Little Ashes: Defining quotes:

Luis Bunuel: “All the institutions that prop up this corrupt regime must be dismantled!”

Paco: “I just think it sounds a bit extreme.”

Luis Bunuel: “But it has to be extreme, Paco. It has to be complete revolution. All the churches, all the palaces.”

Salvador Dali: “You know, when I was small there was this ruined tower near our house in Cadaques. I would sit in this tower and I’d draw, and draw and draw. I never came down. Just imagine this little shrimp of a child, half-starved, covered in piss. And I wouldn’t come down in the winter, in the summer. In the freezing cold, I’d fill this iron tub with water and I’d sit in it for days. It’s like even then I realized that if I’m going to be anything more than average, if anyone is going to remember me, then I need to go further in everything. In art, in life. And everything that they think is real, morality, immorality, good, bad, I, we have to smash that to pieces. And we have to go beyond that. We have to be brave, Frederico.”

Federico Garcia Lorca: “No limit.”

Salvador Dali is excessive in his pleasures as well as his snobbery. He is self indulgent and selfish. To be fair, he needs to be selfish for the sake of his work. If Dali were not selfish, he would lose his artistic voice catering to the whims of others. It's this dastardly quality that makes Dali a villain, a villain you have to respect. Even though you hate him, you must admit that it is his unwillingness to compromise that makes him get what he wants. Dali is a fully concentrated, unfiltered can of artistic expression.

Dali can be considered a reckless trouble maker or a mischievous gremlin. Dali creates some sort of mayhem everywhere he goes. In one scene, Dali convinces Lorca to steal a couple of bicycles with him. Lorca gives in and follows Dali, throwing caution to the wind. This starts the beginning of a new chapter in their relationship. A dirty secret that no doubt draws Lorca only that much further into Dali’s web. Dali rides ahead at full speed, while Lorca can barely keep up. This is symbolic of their relationship, Dali moving forward and never looking back, while Lorca can only try to keep up with the new thing Dali is on to.

When I say Dali is a spider, I mean he has caught Lorca in his web of desire with no intention of a fulfilling relationship. I believe Lorca loved Dali more than he loved him back. You can always sense that Dali is somewhere else, that is just who he is. But you can sense the unevenness in their relationship by analyzing the scenes where they invite each other to their childhood homes. Salvador doesn’t invite Federico to his home, he says that he is coming, as if it is already a given. Federico overlooks his lack of consideration, and treats it as a forgivable child-like exuberance. Later in the film, when Federico politely asks Salvador to come to see his family, his home, and everything that he is, Salvador disregards his offer and tells him that he already sees who he is. That speaks volumes to me. It’s like Dali doesn’t care to know who Federico really is, outside of what he believes him to be, the famous and daring Federico Garcia Lorca. When Dali first arrived at college, his mind was preoccupied with art. His relationship with Lorca is purely business. Lorca serves as a muse and Dali is close to devouring him, physically and metaphysically. I think that is what is so selfish about Dali; he will use Lorca's heart if it will help improve him artistically. Dali is eccentric and almost inhuman. His artwork made him immortal in a sense. I think that is what he was going for. Dali assumed that they would live on in his paintings forever. Lorca believed that eventually they would be nothing but dust, or little ashes. There is a sensibility in Lorca. Dali always seemed to have eyes that were larger than his stomach, in terms of what he wanted to achieve. His visions were always fantastical and simply nonsensical. In art, this is an empowering notion. In real life, it is simply unrealistic.

So Federico goes to visit his family for the holiday break, alone. He writes this letter to Salvador:

“Salvador, I think of you and I’ve never thought more intensely in my life. Since our time together, everything I am has been split apart. I write in a way that I’ve never thought possible. My pen scratches the surface of things, the masks. And then it goes beyond them, right down to the bones. Down to the dark, cold jelly in the marrow.”

And he writes back.

“Federico, from the day you left, I’ve been in the studio day and night. I started to work on designs for your play. I’m doing them gypsy-style. Andalusian, like you. The unconscious mind, Federico, rises like a beast within me. I let it speak and it produces such wonders.”

Then once more from Federico,

“It’s true. I touch sea bottom in myself and my poems write themselves. I am, just as you said, raw, bloody, alive. And I, too, want to be alive.

Dali, once again, is a little thief and steals the key to Lorca’s room. He is working on the set designs for Lorca’s play. This is where the two share a kiss before they are interrupted by Luis. Before that though, Dali mentions a line from Lorca’s letter, “everything that you are being split apart.” This line in his letter also caught my attention. Federico said something similar to this when he invited Dali to his childhood home. He said “I want to show you everything that I am.” When Dali refused and he was left alone to visit, that was when he wrote “everything that I am being split apart.” Was this splitting apart triggered by the absence of Dali? It seems like a romantic notion, but it may be due to Dali’s all-encompassing influence on Federico. Dali seems to have changed Federico’s view of himself to fit the ideals of Dali. Living in Dali's world has corrupted Federico. Dali has completely disrupted his morality and his religious beliefs. For better or worse, is not the point. The point is, Dali has a hold on Lorca. Like a spider, Dali has fully wrapped Lorca in his web. Just in time for feasting on his face.

Luis asks Federico how the progress for his screenplay edit is going only to find out Federico has no idea what he is talking about. He is referring to the screenplay he asked him to write about. Federico’s excuse being that he hadn’t had much time. It’s because his world now revolves around the all-important Salvador Dali. Dali asks Feddy to “play the putrescent game,” to Luis’s confusion. Luis looks as though he is being left out of some inside joke. Dali explains that putrescent is his new word and that it means outdated, outmoded. As if to say that the friendship between Federico and Luis is outdated. The word that Dali owns seems to signify that Luis is living in Dali’s world now. The atmosphere changes as though Salvador has put a wall between Luis and that he has Federico all to himself. Luis tries to play along but it is clear that there is something special between the two of them that Luis is no longer involved in. It’s the Dali and Lorca show and Luis has become the third wheel. Federico attempts to hide the tense atmosphere by inviting the whole gang out. Dali asks Lorca what he should wear. Luis is sensing their homo relationship. Obviously, it appears like the homophobic Luis is becoming suspicious of the two. Beyond that, It once again highlights the level of narcissism in Dali and the control he has over Federico. Could what Lorca sees as a mutual relationship, really just be Dali indulging in his artistic frivolities? Dali could never have this much self-involvement in any friendship, so he uses the intimate relationship he has with Lorca to play his strange games and to self-indulge in his own egoism.

Salvador: “Federico is working on something now that will blow everything apart.”

Luis: “What’s it about? His family? Butterflies? God?”

Salvador: “Me.”

Salvador Dalí talking to Luis Buñuel

Somehow, Dali, this strange man has consumed Federico Garcia Lorca for everything that he is and has spit him back out. Lorca has turned his back on everything and everyone for Dali. Where once Dali was the fanboy of Lorca, now Lorca is a fan of Dali. Dali has truly used an Uno Reverse Card here. Does Dali share the same amount of admiration and loyalty? Not really. Dali leaves Federico behind for the opportunity of finding success in Paris. After listening to Luis talk about how dull Lorca’s work is and how he the people in Paris "wouldn’t give a fuck about his work." Dali doesn’t defend Lorca, he only talks about himself. The level of snobbery is unmatched. It only takes a little convincing on Luis’s part to convince Dali not only is Federico done for as an artist, but that life in Spain is over with.

After all of the accommodation Federico had done for Salvador, it is understandable why he would be upset that he left him. Salvador chose to work with Luis, the rageful homophobe of all people. Dali goes to Paris to pursue his art, to meet Picasso and the surrealists. Lorca quickly comes to understand that he is losing Salvador, that he doesn’t hold the same grip that Salvador has on him. Salvador was always flighty and unpredictable, but he was never this way towards him. It's as if their relationship was just another bright and sparkly object that momentarily caught Dali’s eye. If Federico was split apart before, now he is absolutely ripped apart and burned to little ashes.

In the first half of the film, we witness the transformation of Dali from a meek thing into a loud and daring man. With the inspiration of Federico Garcia Lorca, Dali was able to transform from a novice artist into a genius artist from the tales of some fantastical myth. By the second half of the film, Dali has once again reinvented himself, this time without the presence of Federico. When Federico sees Salvador for the first time since he’s arrived back in Spain, it is like he is meeting an entirely new person. Dali is ever changing, like the moon has many phases. Sadly, Federico was caught in a phase that couldn’t come true. Dali has left a mark on Lorca’s heart, though it doesn’t seem that Dali has been affected at all. Can he really brush off all that has happened and begin a new life just like that?

When Dali returns to share his exploits, including the naked photo of a woman called Gala. Lorca is not so happy with Dali’s cavalier attitude. He doesn’t want to be considered as just another one of Dali’s fascinations or thrilling conquests. He wants to matter, but not in the way Dali thinks he matters, as the famous Federico Garcia Lorca. Wasn’t their relationship more personal than that? Were the sentiments they shared merely just artistic thrills? Did any of that actually touch Dali’s heart? It definitely touched Lorca, “down to the very cold jelly in the marrow.”

Federico had grown tired of Dali’s games. He wants to know who Dali really is, not just who he pretends to be. Dali plans to start what he calls his “real life.” This makes Federico feel like nothing more than an old pair of tattered shoes. Salvador now made it sound like the time he spent with Federico was nothing but a dull and tortuous thing of the past he had to endure. Not only is Dali physically different, but the change in Dali’s character is totally unrecognizable to Federico. He feels alienated from the man he once felt so close to. After the time spent in Paris, it is clear that Luis has become Dali’s new compadre, as he begins to recite the same homophobic rhetoric back to Federico in the most hypocritical fashion.

Dali: “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

Dali: “You’re a selfish fucking maricon.”

Salvador Dalí with Federico García Lorca

Again, it is a shame the homophobic rhetoric will paint Salvador Dali's actions as purely evil. Instead, if we just look at the situation in terms of pursuing artistic endeavors, we will see that Dali's actions are quite necessary to the success of his artistic ambitions.

Speaking of Luis and Dali spending their time together in Paris. The film they were creating strongly references to Lorca, it is called “An Andalusian Dog.” It looks like it was Dali and Bunuel's intention to mock Lorca.

Federico García Lorca with Magdalena

That is some truly despicable backstabbing. What did Lorca ever do to you Dali? It seems like the only way Dali could come to terms with his own internalized homophobia was to blame Federico for his feelings. Spending time with Luis was not a positive influence on the highly influenced Dali. Being that his identity is so flexible. Federico may have brought out the best in Dali, both artistically and emotionally. Whereas Luis brought out the worst in him.

Dali stopped all communication and affiliation with Lorca. Not responding to the letters that Federico had written to him. Federico was completely pushed out of Salvador Dali’s life.

Federico: “It’s as if nothing ever happened. Sometimes I think we never even met.”

By the time Federico catches up with Dali for the final time, Dali has been fully transformed into a caricature of the man he once knew. He is sporting a ridiculous mustache, no matter how fashionable it may be. His speech is full of metaphors and he speaks in an odd accentuated manner. By some impossibility, his clothes and surroundings are somehow even more pretentious than they were before. Dali comments that Federico looks the same in contrast to Dali whose identity changes like a revolving door.

Salvador recites Wait Whitman: “All this time. The dark unfathomed retrospect. The teaming gulf. The sleepers and shadows.”

Salvador introduces his wife Gala to Federico and seems to be trying to create some sort of ménage à trois scenario.

Dali: “The only viable solution to surrealism is the world war. A cleansing. Cut through all this dead wood. Purge the weak elements. An era of enlightenment.”

Salvador Dalí with Federico García Lorca and Gala

Lorca: “Are you saying you actually support the fascist? You used to be an anarchist.”

Federico García Lorca with Salvador Dalí and Gala

Dali: “Oh Federico, you’ve become so liberal. What with your government schemes and your theatral little people.”

Lorca: “Listen, this country is on the brink of something terrible and here you are siding with the people who could destroy everything we stand for. I know you are not through but you must see there’s been no freedom of speech. Anyone who is different, who strays from the norm would just be wiped out.”

Dali: “Would that be a bad thing?”

Lorca: “You’re joking.”

Gala explains that Dali is not interested in politics. That doesn’t mean he should mock Federico and his beliefs. Salvador knows the severity of the situation but instead makes light of it and turns it into a joke.

Federico recites his poem of Dali and wants him to recite his ode, telling of his olive-colored voice. Once again highlighting Dali’s egocentrism. Lorca says Dali always has a plan for everything. Dali claims he can guess the actions of Lorca. This is because Dali is a spider and spins his plans like a spider would its web. Like a spider can sense the vibrations on the web when its prey moves, Dali always knows the next move of the people trapped in his web. Dali proposes that Federico pack his things and come with him to conquer America. Another attempt to pull Federico back into his web of control. After suggesting a ménage à trois situation, Federico is not into it and leaves pretty quickly after that. The sad thing is that Dali had deluded himself into thinking that Federico truly had nothing better to do than to wait around for the great King Dali.

Federico returns to his home town of Granada only to be targeted by the civil guard and abducted. Federico has made a name for himself after his political views became a threat to the established regime. The punishment for freedom of speech is death, apparently. After Federico Garcia Lorca is executed by the civil guard, Salvador Dali loses his mind. Salvador Dali's sanity was already questionable, but this time he’s really lost it for good. I’m sure Salvador was feeling latent regret.

Takeaway: Salvador used Federico as a muse and his personal fan. He had no real feelings. Salvador used him as training wheels before he outgrew him. Federico sees Salvador’s growth as a negative instead of a natural process and change of life. Let the bird fly and if it comes back to you it was meant to be. By the time Salvador came back, Federico had also grown and moved on. Both men pursued their creative work. Having had the beautiful experiences and inspiration from the other to move forward in their careers.

Bonus for the romantics:

If you care to view Dali the way I believe Lorca sees him, feel free to read the inner dialogue I wrote of Federico Garcia Lorca below. Warning: Federico is a total simp for Salvador.

Federico García Lorca staring at Salvador Dalí

Federico García Lorca STILL staring at Salvador Dalí

Someone who is interesting from head to toe. Strange hair style and an avant garde fashion sense. Everyone notices you when you enter the room. You take with you a universe of dreams. Your sturdy yet fragile ego. The nervous tremor in your hand is what makes you all the more fascinating. How can someone as strong as you be nervous in simple situations such as this? It’s humanizing, you who was untouchable might just be like me in a way. If I could be similar to you I would be flattered. The piece of hair tucked behind your ear. Although you look like a nervous mess and a bundle of nerves I sense that you hold a stronger power than you confess. The intensity emanating from the darkness in your light colored eyes. I see who you really are behind the mask.

Someone who is more interesting on the inside. Whose powers and abilities are seemingly endless. Wanting to look deeper into your soul but getting lost in an endless abyss. The odd remarks you make. Your delusional imagination of the past and future. You have a grandiose self image that carries you forward at an unstoppable rate. You are extraordinarily impressive when you do what you really want without approval from others. The way you disregard the standards set by our society. You yell, mock, vandalize and oppose the established order.

Although you look like a pathetic chicken standing on his only leg, you are absolutely dazzling. It’s almost entertaining to see what you’ll look like tomorrow. You are so dynamic I can't wait to see what happens next. Meeting you was like unfolding a story. You change your identity daily. You don’t care if you’re mad. You boldly lie about who you are. But I actually believe your lies. The lies you tell are still a part of who you are, inside. You can imagine things that others can’t, you imagine a different world, turned upside down on its ass. I’ve found myself wanting to trust in your lies over reality.

All I need is to follow you, no matter where it leads me. The world is just the world but the world changes when you’re in it. Even when you do things that I can not find myself to begin to forgive you for. You don’t sacrifice your dreams for anyone, not even me. I’m okay with that. I know that I am just another chapter in the grand story of you. I just want to stay in the plot for as long as I'm useful. You seem to always know where you’re going. You have a mission in life. Your life has a purpose unlike most. You are my messiah. Your brain thinks twice as fast as mine. Your imagination is endless. I’m on a ride and I don't want to get off. It’s exhilarating and I pity those whose lives are completely stationary going round and round on the same orbit.

This has been a creative review of "Little Ashes" 2008 Film, Starring: Robert Pattinson, Director: Paul Morrison, Screenplay: Paul Morrison, Philippa Goslett

youtube

I highly encourage you watch this film if you haven't already.

Article written by Nina Robinson, author of novel "Villainism", via villainism.com

#robert pattinson #salvador dali #little ashes #robert pattinson fanfic #little ashes fanfic #robert pattinson ff #queer stories #villainism #Youtube

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dreamtinblackandwhite · 2 months

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give & take

summary: bruce wayne x female!reader learning what their partner likes during sex

word count: 832

warnings: NSFW, SMUT, mentions of fingering, oral (both receiving), p in v sex, overstimulated, praise kink, degradation kink, face fucking, i think that's it?

an: let me know what you think of this one! it's not much but i wanted to get it out of my brain :)

bruce is such a giver.

he was so touch deprived when you first starting seeing each other that he just wants to shower you in appreciation for giving this back to him.

every night before he heads out to patrol, he’d burry his face between your thighs and greedily fingerfucks you until you’re seeing stars

every time the two of you are required to go to a public event, he’d make sure to find a secluded room where he would get on his knees for you after seeing you in that dress

if your response after he asks how your day was is anything less than ‘great, love, yours?’ he’d tug you off towards his bed and spend hours kissing every single inch of your body

praising you because he knows how much you love it:

‘such a good girl’, ‘you are so gorgeous squeezing around my fingers’, ‘you are doing so good, darling’, ‘you can cum again, I know you can.’, ‘be a good girl and moan my name while I tease this perfect clit, beautiful.’

this man would worship the ground you walk on and is utterly obsessed with every part of you

there were signs of him wanting more though. the way his eyes would widen and he'd blush so cutely after you told him it was okay to be rough with you. you'd tell him every night how you want to shower him with the same affection he gives you. but he’d ignore you to burry his face into your dripping cunt again whimpering and whining about how much he loves you.

you could see him fall into the blissful high of your warm folds wrapping around his cock so perfectly and he slowly would lose his composure. fucking you as if he didn't know you, plowing into you like his access to oxygen depended on it. his rough strokes against your sensitive core seemed to speak how much he loved using you - you just needed to drag that out of him.

you waited in the batcave for him on a stormy night that you couldn’t sleep. ‘what are you doing awake, darling?’ He’d ask as he slipped his cowl off with a concerned tone to his voice. you didn't need to say anything. just walk up to him and slowly peel layer by layer of his suit off, dragging your finger tips across each muscle, bruise, fresh cut, or healed scar as you exposed his skin.

‘you could have waited in bed if you wanted me,’ reaching for you, wanting to see more of your skin than what you were offering. you’d stop his hands before they could touch you, using them as anchorage as you floated to the floor on your knees. never breaking eye contact.

he’d already be hard, even innocent touches from you were enough to spark that reaction. but there was something about seeing how well you were swallowing him down, drooling and gagging around him with no care in the world...

there was no denying that bruce craved control. that’s part of the reason he goes out, he wants to control the crime of Gotham.

but this was different. you were strong, independent, you didn’t need bruce, you had all the control in your own life. but here you were, on your knees for him. His. His beautiful and perfect equal.

you saw the shift in his eyes when he accepted how much he loved this. his fingers tangling in your hair as a low groan rumbled from his chest. ‘good fucking girl,’ his eye bored into yours, drinking up the sight of you degrading yourself for him as tears formed in the corner of your eyes. ‘you’re prettiest when you’re messy like this for me.' he's never respect you more - you had so much power but you set it aside for him. this was his bliss.

and that’s when you both found the perfect blend of kinks. he felt the whimper he fucked into your throat and saw the familiar glint in your eye as you desperately rolled your hips forward. ‘you like this, don’t you? love being my secret little cocksucker, fully knowing you’ll turn around tomorrow and command respect.’ you’d nod your head, still working your mouth feverishly around his cock.

‘i love it too, baby,’ a moan would escape him that belonged in a porno as he twitched in your throat, fucking his hips into your face. his head would fall backwards at the disgustingly lewd sounds coming from your perfect lips only making his grip on your head tighten and his pace rougher. ‘take my cock like a good slut. y’ve such a good throat for me.’

after you swallowed his sticky load, he’d all but fall to his knees in front of you and hug you close, whispering little thank yous as he kissed your hair. ‘you were right,’ he’d finally say before kissing you hungrily and starting his favorite task of forcing you to cum until you’re overstimulated.

#battinson #robert pattinson #bruce wayne #robert pattinson x reader #battinson fanfiction #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #robert pattinson au #bruce wayne x y/n #robert pattinson x yn #bruce wayne smut #battinson smut #the batman #batman x reader #the batman 2022 #the batman fanfic

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billysgun · 3 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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multifictional · 2 years

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Hi!

I wanted to say thank you for all the interactions on my first imagine, the part one of distance sadness.

I was so afraid to post it, and I surely couldn’t imagine that people would like it - let alone reach more than one hundred notes!

I’m so thankful, I’m glad you liked it. It fulfils my heart of joy.

Hope to be able to post the next part soon :)

#fanfiction #imagines #robert pattinson #robert pattinson fanfic #robert pattinson fanfiction #robert pattinson fic #robert pattinson imagines #robert pattinson x reader #writing

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waynewifey · 9 months

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dear mr. wayne — b.w

part one: dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

summary: it’s not easy being a politician’s wife. it’s even harder to love a vigilante. months of negligence make you an easy target to his enemies.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: angst romance & dark action

warnings: swearing; smoking; kidnapping; violence; a bit of gore; “you” is she/her; bruce is the worst husband ever btw

word count: 2.8k

A/N: i wrote this back in january 2022 when the batman movie had just premiered, so kinda off the hype here. i hope you enjoy it anyway. already working on part 2, let me know if you guys would like it! also, this has taken a path way darker than i had in mind so i’m sorry if it’s too much. comments are appreciated!

gotham city, USA.

it's late.

you have no clock nearby, but you feel it in your bones. in your muscles too. it's too late and bruce should be home already. laying in the sofa, only half conscious, you regret telling alfred to go to bed. at least you wouldn't be alone. of course, being married to the batman you knew he would patrol at night often. you were okay with it. but lately bruce had been too focused on his other, and recent, goal: running for mayor. at first it seemed out of character, he was never good with the public or the press. but he stared at thomas wayne's painting in the hall in such painful façade, it made sense all off sudden. you were supportive of it. you showed up to every event just to stay by his side, to show the people the lovable man he was. the man you loved. the man who couldn't even be home for dinner.

the penthouse's elevator dings, opening its doors at the end of the hallway you see perfectly from your seat. your head doesn't lift instantly, like in the first week. instead, a long sigh escapes from your lips as bruce reaches the living room.

"hello, darling." he says, still in motion as he walks the stairway up to the room you shared. not a single kiss, or a hug. you follow him, because what else is there to do? you need to go to bed anyway. by the time you get there, slowly, his suit is already on the floor and he's taking a shower.

"how was the meeting?" you ask, knowing he usually did his Wayne Enterprising meetings — which consisted of hanging out long hours in bars with business men — at night. recently, he started a complicated relationship with a real estate company he wanted to invest in.

"the usual." he stopped fully answering these questions three weeks ago, making the only time you ever talked even shorter. the city has gotten more violent than ever since his batman duties were put on standby.

"any closer to sealing the deal?" you sit on the bed, watching the open bathroom door.

"probably." it's not like he's being rude. well, maybe a little bit. he just doesn't want to talk any more, it's clear on his tone. but it's 2am and you brain isn't working too well.

"when is this gonna end, bruce?" you finally say, as he puts his boxers on. "when are we ever having dinner again? or going on a date? when are you gonna stop treating me like i'm some sort of home decor?" you almost vomit out the words that have been stuck on your throat for days. surprisingly, the heartache doesn't softens. instead, it gets worse. it's like admitting your abandonment.

six months ago, you started trying to get pregnant. it hadn't always been a dream of yours, but the idea of having an heir to all you've spent your life building is charming. you realised you were in the right time to do so, you had just turned 28, bruce was 32, and both had stable careers. a month later, bruce announced his candidacy. and so soon you gave up. you told yourself once he won the election everything would be fine. you would try again. but, realistically, being a mayor was already a lot of work on itself. he wouldn't want a pregnant wife or a child to take care of. after the four years, who knows? he might as well have a new life project. and your family would always stand on the side.

"i don't know what you're talking about..." he doesn't look into your eyes. hell, he barely looks at you. that feeling, the negligence, is enough to trigger the tears. you take a deep breath, making an effort to look composed.

"don't you, though?" your voice is shaken. look at me. look at me. look at me. look at me. he doesn't. "bruce." you call, finally getting his attention. however, the boredom on his face knocks you off your feet, legs trembling in pain and anger. "i just want you to make an effort on us..."

"really? cause that's all i ever done." he's leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed in a way you would find attractive in other circumstances. but now he's yelling and you fight back the urge to shrink into the mattress. "do you think i wanna have a kid on this fucked up town? i'm tryna fix this. fix everything!" his faces turns red-ish. something inside of you makes you want to leave the room. you've always been an avoider, that is one of the reasons you hadn't really had couple fights. so, basically, this is very new. "i've got the weight of the fucking world on my back."

"let's leave then" you manage to say, replacing the you chose this. it was true, however, that he was the one to put himself in this position. bruce wayne could've gotten his entire life without working if he wanted to. but he always needed to save everyone, to suffer for other's happiness. he was a giver. sometimes you wondered if he needed to be saved instead.

"you know i can't do that." he mumbles, in a defeated tone. a sigh escapes from his lips, suddenly the tiredness takes over his face. it's almost enough to make you let it go, to internalise your distress again. he really can't, you know that. he feels that the city is his liability, because it was the only thing he had since he became an orphan. but he had you, too. he just didn't acknowledge that.

"and i can't stay like this." it sounds like an whisper, but it's a plead. choose me. please. he seems to read it in your eyes, face contorting in agony when he realises what you're asking for. me or gotham? it's stupid to think he would ever choose you. but you hoped, so desperately, because you would choose him. always.

"let's not do this tonight, okay? i have to be in the office by the morning." tears instantly fall as he turns off the lights and lays on the bed, turning his back to where you slept. for a moment, you're static. his words were final. were you ever in control of something in your life? why were all of these decisions being made for you? mechanically, you stand on both feet and walk to the door. you don't even notice your movement until you're on the elevator. your husband didn't intervene either. this neighbourhood is one of the safest in town, which honestly isn't much but you had to get out. anyway, nowhere is totally safe at 3am.

you walk two blocks, clinging to the fluffy sweater you wore. the depressing air of gotham slows your pace, to a point you start wondering if it was really necessary to be aware. you could feel the city devouring you, starting with your hope. the blue 24h sign lights up the street, in a way that isn't welcoming, but you know the place well enough to not be scared to get in. a bell sounds over the door and wakes up the male behind the counter. he's got long black hair and seems to haven't seen a good night of sleep in weeks. same,you think.

"hi. can i get the blue one?" you point at the camel's behind the man. he nods, quickly putting a pack on the wooden board. the prices pops up on the cashier's display. you pay and go outside. smoking was an bad habit from your college days, when pressure got too excruciating. every now and then you would treat yourself to some cigarettes, for the confidence it gave you. the sense of control to be the one, for once, ruining yourself. the smoke burns your throat on the first inhale and you hold back a cough. you're too entertained by the cigar to notice the black van approaching. it stops right in front of you, and everything happens too quickly for your brain to process. it's all dark.

he's in a meeting, the boring kind.

the kind that has him seated in silence while a representative talks to his employees, who never get to listen to their actual boss. there's a chart being shown on a large tv on the other side of the room. he's not listening, though. he's writing down ideas for a thanksgiving speech. a head pops into the conference room.

"mr. wayne." it's one of the new assistants, hired especially for the election season. he didn't care to memorise her name, because temps usually don't last long. if she hadn't called him, he might've not even looked up. but the room is silent, expecting eyes on him. the girl at the door looks terrified. "you're urgently required outside, please."

he sighs as he gets up from his leather chair. the second the door closed behind him, chatter is heard again. in the corridor, the woman conducts him to his office and they get in. there's a bit of a commotion, four men lounge around his table, all their faces tense.

"mr. wayne, i'm afraid we don't have good news." the head of the marketing team speaks, a man called robert vance. he's probably said the same phrase to bruce about seven times this month, so that doesn't do much. the assistant approaches with an ipad, unpausing a video. "we received this from an anonymous email about forty minutes ago. we weren't able to get the ip address just yet."

the video starts with a black screen, zooming out to show a woman with a bag over her head. she has her hands on her back and is kneeling on the ground. bruce's heart skips a beat noticing the hair falling down her shoulders.

"bruce wayne..." an eerie voice whispers from behind the camera, breathing heavily. "i've robbed an egg from your basket, and you haven't even noticed!" there's a disturbing chuckle and the video shakes a bit. bruce doesn't move, eyes stuck on the screen. no one in the room has done anything other than breathing. someone gulps. "it's been long hours, but we're having fun, aren't we, darling?" a gloved hand reaches for the bag, pulling it out. her face - your face - is dripping blood. you're biting on a fabric, still in your home clothes. bruce's jaw clenches. you're crying, face beaten, in this degrading situation. your eyes pierce the screen right into his. suddenly, a gun is tapped on your forehead and you close your eyes into a sob. your lips mouth please. "i'm running out of patience here, you're running out of time. let's do business, shall we?" he laughs, knocking the pistol on the side of your head, making you fall laying on the floor, unconscious. the spot bleeds. "here's my proposal: you come clean about your father's deal with carmine falcone and maybe i don't shoot little mrs. wayne... or i do both. it's your choice, really. the clock is ticking. tick tock, wayne."

the video stops, the sight of a gun pointed at your unresponsive body burns into his mind. bruce is panting, the adrenaline rushes into his brain. there's a million of plans being built, but none of them seem viable.

"don't let media get this." he managed to say. one of the men in suits says it's too late. the tv flicks on showing a news report on the video. he kicks the side of his table, the contents being thrown across the room. "FUCK! you bastards wait forty fucking minutes to show me this?" he screams, no one can look him in the eyes. a hand runs through his black hair. "meanwhile my wife is out there with a gun on her head! and what have you done? i swear to god, if i don't find her alive and well i'm killing everyone in this goddamned room with my bare hands."

he storms out of there, reaching to his phone to call alfred and noticing the multiple missed calls. fucking silent mode. the sun is setting.

"i got the address." the butler says, instead of hello. a 'ding' sounds in his ear.

there has been pain for so long. you try to remember before the pain. but all is pain. he has to make it stop.

the floor is cold cement and you feel so small in this huge warehouse. the man in the mask knows you can't run. not only you're tied up, but the will had left you long before getting dragged into that van. he sees it in your eyes. so he strolls around, always in that ridiculous dark green overall. then he beats you up for fun. no cameras. just you and the devil himself. you find yourself praying, after all these years. you don't pray to get out, no. you pray so that it ends soon. you pray that the stab wound in your abdomen will get you an infection. you pray that when you close your eyes, you never have to open them again. but the divine has left you in the cold cement.

there's an explosion. your eyes open. there's smoke and dust taking over one of the walls. you're seeing everything horizontally, cheek on the floor. the man in green is just as scared as you were.

bruce wayne busted that fucking wall down. he expected a full team of psychopaths and maybe some more security. there was just one coward in the warehouse. the thing stares at him coming out of the smoke, fingers fidgeting. the batman steps forward. the freak steps back. then turns around, runs to a half broken wardrobe and grabs a gun from it. bruce walks slowly. there's a struggle loading the gun. he takes the opportunity to run and throw the thing on the floor. he bangs his head on it. the vermin screams. he takes one punch. two. tries to reach for the fallen gun. bruce steps on his hand and the loud crack echoes in the room. he screams again. three punches. the mask is taken off. his nose is bleeding. more punches. he holds the neck. the head is turning purple. oh how he wants to kill this little shit. bruce wayne will kill him. it will just take a few more seconds...

"baby, no" at first he thinks he's imagining it. it's so soft, so weak. but he looks up and there she is. his hands loose. right on the corner, chains on her legs. her face is ruined from blood and dirt. her wrists bleed too. the motherfucker chained her. hell is too good for this thing.

bang. on his shoulder. he looks down and the blood is dripping on the freak's face. he’s pushed to the side, holding the wound. tiny white dots obstruct his vision. he grunts through the pain. the man gets up and runs towards you. bruce can’t move. he arches his back, trying to roll and lay on his chest. it feels like he can’t move his arm anymore, like his bones had detached. when he finally does so, the man is escaping through a window. his hand searches for the adrenaline-boost in his belt, grabs it and quickly injects on his leg. it takes a second to get his blood rushing again. he crawls up and jumps through the window, which leads him to a metal balcony.

you’re almost standing, but he holds your chains and a gun to your face. the shooting sound had scared you awake. you can’t believe how close to bruce you finally are, but the conditions couldn’t be worse. you can hear water running below your feet, you don’t need daylight to show you the violent river you’re standing above. this is not good.

bruce has his hands up in the air and is holding himself back to not do anything stupid. the man’s face is contorting into the creepiest smile. no.

everything happens so slowly, yet he’s not quick enough to grab you in time. you’re falling in the air and he jumped after you. for a moment, the world is air. you can’t hold out your hand. your hair is flying in your face, he does not want to die without seeing you one last time. his cape holds him back and the distance between you only increases. you’re gone. the impact comes.

part two

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indyanapolis898 · 4 months

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A Tale of Two Tombstones

bruce wayne x f!reader

Synopsis: Batman needs a break after endless nights of work. He decides to visit his parent's grave as Bruce Wayne, where he's able to open up to his parents and someone else.

The roaring of his motorcycle halted as it pulled into its intended parking spot. The rider slid off the bike, falling heavily onto the dusty ground of the cave in which his headquarters resided.

A few grunts escaped his lips as he lay idly in the dim lighting of the cavern. Batman moved his gloved hands to his face to remove his dirty cowl, bloodying his gloves in the process. His messy, damp hair covered his forehead; the sweat combined with the blood on his face and head.

He took a few unsteady breaths, trying to gain his composure. He'd finished another late night of work at the cost of his physical health. His body armor would need serious work and repatching. He blinked a few times, shutting his eyes to sleep for a few minutes.

***

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes, shifting his body, which resulted in a painful shout.

"Hey, easy there," said a concerned Alfred, rushing to the operating table in the surgery room- located in the south wing of Wayne Manor.

"Where- what-," Bruce breathily mumbled.

"I found you in the cave after the computer alerted me of your presence. You took a heavy beating. I stitched up most of your wounds, but you've earned some rest, Master Bruce."

"No. I-" Bruce cut himself off with ragged coughs. Alfred sat the bed up and raised an eyebrow with an I told you so, look.

"Fine," Bruce finally accepted his fate and lay back on the pillow to rest more.

***

Bruce garnered a total of eighteen hours in and out of sleep, healing very slowly from the brutal fight he'd gotten into in a gang-filled subway station. They had tech and brute weapons that Batman hadn't seen before. They were strong enough to plaster him and his suit. The gang was still on the loose. It was plaguing Bruce's weary mind, but he knew he was in no state to get back into crimefighting.

Sometimes, while laying in bed with his eyes open because his mind wouldn't stop running, Bruce wondered if his thoughts would ever quiet down. The only thing that could help was getting things off his chest. It was a temporary high; however, his ego and insecurity kept him from sharing with Alfred. That's why, with Alfred's permission, Bruce found himself limping to the mansion's garage in a simple gray sweater, black trench coat, and jeans. His hair was messy and unkempt, only kept out of his face with the pair of sunglasses that rested on his forehead.

Bruce entered one of his vehicles, a black SUV with tinted windows, and let his driver take him to the Gotham Graveyard.

***

After a morning of light showers, the sky had cleared up into a baby blue. Bruce struggled out of the car, leaving the driver to wait on the curb outside the cemetery. It was an empty scene. Rows and rows of headstones sat under a canopy of trees with no people to visit. The graveyard resided in a more rural area of the city, so the memorial area was quiet besides the occasional squawking of birds and the wind rustling the autumn-kissed leaves.

Bruce stepped onto the damp, all-too-familiar grassy path leading to the headstones of his late parents.

Their monuments were big and overly fancy. The cleaner Alfred hired twenty-six years ago still came every month to polish and clean the headstones. In honor of the Wayne's, a bench sat on the side of the stones, so Bruce sat there, idly taking in the silence.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Speaking in a tranquil but emotional voice, Bruce began to talk to the air, confessing how he missed them, his beloved mother and father.

"...and that's why I came. I just needed to talk. I needed to be in your presence again. I believe Alfred still cries over you, Father. He acts strong, as you taught, but deep down, he's like me: broken."

"I wish I could be fully capable of feeling, but all I think about is the injustice and monstrous side of the city. The city that took you two away."

Bruce stared at the ground, trying to focus on the words he was saying when a leaf crunching from behind alerted him to whip around.

A woman, maybe five foot, stood behind him, wide-eyed and embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you..." she caught her breath, most likely at the realization of who she was talking to, but regained her train of thought. "My mother... her grave is just behind them," she explained, gesturing to a headstone behind the Wayne's.

Heather Lycona.

Bruce resorted to nodding in reply. The woman approached closer to the headstone but stopped, clearly wanting to say something the way her mouth opened and closed. Bruce cocked a brow. He decided to attempt to be conversive. "How?" he nodded his head at her mother's gravestone.

"What?"

"How did she pass?" he tilted his head. She clutched the ends of the scarf she was wearing, a shade of black to contrast the white dress under her jet puffer coat.

"Oh, um, gang violence. Three months ago, Mom was out at night just trying to get groceries, and, she um..."

Bruce nodded in indication he understood. "Mine as well."

"I know- I mean, I know the story, of course," she awkwardly laughed as a buffer. She looked around and then back at Bruce sitting on the bench. "I'm sorry for intruding on your moment. I-I can come back later."

Bruce shook his head wordlessly. "No, that won't be necessary. I did what I came here to do," he answered raspily.

"May I sit?"

Bruce didn't expect the woman to want to be in his presence any longer, yet he wasn't against her sitting with him. Her eyes could tell a story, one that he wanted to hear. His eyes traveled to the open space beside him, barely nodding at it.

She sat down on the wooden bench, breathing in the mossy air. "There's something about the cemetery that's so peaceful. Everyone says it's scary because it's the resting place for hundreds of people, but I believe it's just a reminder of all the lives that came before us. Everyone is just asleep here, and we sit with them."

Usually, Bruce wouldn't be a fan of the conversation, yet he decided that she was intriguing, a type of thoughtfulness he appreciated.

He hummed at her words. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced even though she knew very well who he was, leaning back into the bench.

"Y/N Lycona."

"Why did you visit today?"

"Sometimes I just enjoy being around her. It's peaceful here."

"I understand."

"What about you? Why did you visit, Mr. Wayne?"

He glanced at her before looking back to the swaying tree branches. "Same as you," he breathed out. He wasn't sure why she was asking him. Not that Bruce believed he was too good to answer questions, but because he'd assume she wouldn't be interested in him. Usually, people were interested in his position.

"Do you ever feel they were the only people who understood you? I feel like that with Mom."

Bruce nodded, barely moved his gaze to her, then studied her with his signature deadpan expression. Bruce picked up once again on what he'd thought earlier. Y/N seemed warm, like in the right situation, she'd open up. She probably thought a lot. The woman stared off at the trees like he'd been earlier, looking deep in thought.

"Your mind... is it always running?"

She quietly sniffled in the chilled air. "Yes. I got approved for the investigative division of the GCPD. I want to help find and eliminate the gangs of Gotham. I don't know what my mother would've wanted me to do for her case, but I know she wanted me to help bring justice to the city. She got me through school for criminal justice. It's what I wanted to do from the start, but it was for the sake of others. Now, it's all for her- for her justice."

"You seem very driven, detective. I hope you do what you set out to do," Bruce stated.

"If I can contribute to bringing criminals and killers to prison, I'll do what I must. I can't just watch someone turn into the next Heather. Gotham needs change."

For the first time in a while, Bruce's lips slightly twisted up. "Then we are very alike."

The two sat in comfortable silence for ten minutes, occasionally making small comments.

Bruce decided he'd stayed his welcome, opting to stand up suddenly. He nodded down at Y/N. "I give you my best wishes on your assignment. I'll be using my resources to continue assisting the work," he said, his tone void of emotion, but they could both tell he meant it.

"Good to talk to you, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce is fine," he mumbled audibly, turning to leave.

"Thank you for understanding. You don't say much," Y/N chuckled, "but I could tell you understood me."

Bruce gave a close-mouthed smirk, walked out the gates, and got in his car.

"Thank you for your patience, Gerald."

The driver nodded and drove the pair back to the manor.

Bruce came out of his visit knowing two things:

First, he'd have to visit the cemetery more often.

And second, as soon as he could get back his vigilante work, he would thwart every gang he could get his hands on. If it would help fulfill Y/N's goal, he'd devote all his energy to it.

#battinson x reader #the batman 2022 #batman #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #robert pattinson #battinson #robert pattison #fanfic #dcu #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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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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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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yeollie-plz · 10 months

Text

☾Devils Roll The Dice, Angels Roll Their Eyes☆

A Robert Pattinson moodboard created by yeollie_plz

All pics found on Pinterest and all credits to owners!

Image Descriptions:

1. Black and white image or Robert Pattinson in a suit.

2. Black and white image of a stone hand holding flowers.

3. Black and white image of a girl (Zendaya) in a dark dress.

4. Black and white image of Robert Pattinson sitting at a table on a balcony.

5. Black and white image of a male angel and female kissing.

6. Black and white image of Robert Pattinson smoking.

7. Black and white image of the back of a girl in a dark dress against a wall.

8. Black and white image of a hand with a butterfly on the pointer finger.

9. Black and white image of Robert Pattinson running a hand through his hair

#robert pattinson #robert pattinson fanfiction #Robert Pattinson moodboard #Robert Pattinson mood board #Robert Pattinson pics #Robert Pattinson aesthetic #twilight #Cedric diggory #Edward Cullen #angel #devil #Taylor swift #moodboard #mood board #edward cullen fanfiction #fanfiction #Robert Pattinson fanfic

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dreamtinblackandwhite · 2 months

Text

The Blood in the Truth - Part One

Summary: Y/N is the niece of Alfred Pennyworth and childhood friend to Bruce Wayne. Feeling disappointed with her career, she goes out of her way to investigate the cases nobody else wants to.

Note: This is part one of an idea I have been toying with! It takes place prior to the events of The Batman (2022) but is inspired by Robert Pattinson's Batman. Y/N, her, she is reader - I kept the physical descriptions to minimum.

Warnings: physical assault, brief/implied sexual assault (nothing graphic), swearing.

Word count: 7412

Y/N Pennyworth is the niece to Alfred Pennyworth, who has worked for the Wayne’s for many years – she even considered Thomas and Martha Wayne to be an aunt and uncle with how they happily welcomed her own family when they moved to town. They were often invited to family gathering and public events simply for being family to their butler.

The manor was busy and chaotic by 11:00pm that cold night in 1999; it seemed like the entire police department had shown up to help investigate the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne. Bruce, who had been there when it happened, was escorted back to his home by the chief of police. Y/N, whose parents were away visiting family in Britain, had been sleeping on the sofa in the large living room when she was woken up by the panicked and worried voices of the staff.

Alfred rushed young Bruce, his dress clothes were stained with the bright red blood of his parents, into the living room. Y/N noted the puffy redness of her uncle’s eyes as he fought off his emotions so he could focus. “Stay here with Y/N, Bruce,” he commanded hurriedly, but kept a loving tone to his voice. “We need to take care of a few things before I can get you some new clothes.”

Bruce, looking detached and frozen, simply nodded and sat on the sofa. Y/N didn’t say anything, she’d heard enough of the conversations from the other room to understand what had happened. She sat next to her long-time friend and gently intertwined her fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently. He didn’t squeeze back, he just stared ahead as his mind attempted to accept what he had just lived through.

Eventually, the eight-year-old fell asleep, his head leaned against Y/N’s right shoulder. No one came to check on them; there was a specific protocol for each member of staff to follow in the event of the untimely deaths of their employer and it had sprung into action within minutes of the attack at the theatre. Y/N, though she certainly wasn’t a member of Wayne’s staff, allowed herself to think that her role was to comfort Bruce.

So that’s what she did, that night and the years following his parent’s death. She was right there, by Bruce’s side: she was the first one he talked to about what had happened; she stayed next him while he gave his statement to the police; she stayed next to him at the funerals; she stayed next to him at each public appearance his families name required.

Bruce was happy she was his friend through it all, he was happy she never pushed him or asked him more questions on it. She made him feel more alive slowly over the years, bringing back that small light that died with his parents. Even when Bruce went away to boarding school, when he returned home, it was like no time had passed.

Alfred, who was named Bruce’s legal guardian, had started Bruce on sparring lessons after he received a worrying letter from the Headmaster about Bruce’s attitude at school. It helped as Bruce learned to fight and put his anger into something new. Y/N watched most nights, memorized their movements, and practiced in the safety of her own home after she’d leave them. But it didn’t take long before she asked her uncle to teach her as well.

By the time Bruce settled into his secrete role as Batman, he and Y/N had fought together thousands of times. Alfred, not entirely happy with Bruce’s choice of vigilante lifestyle, supported him under the condition that he wouldn’t tell Y/N; he worried it would encourage her to follow a similar path. Bruce agreed, only because he knew after those first few months that he’d need someone to help stitch him up and who else could he trust other than the man who had stepped up to be his father.

Y/N went a different route with her life anyway. Her parents had moved their family out of Gotham before Y/N had even graduated high school, she attended university and got her degree in journalism before returning and joining the staff of ‘The Gotham Times’ as a photo journalist. She was early in her career which didn’t allow for many distractions. Bruce and her friendship suffered only slightly, it wasn’t uncomfortable between them but they didn’t know each other anymore, not like they used to.

Alfred had promised her parents to keep an eye on her in the busy city and forced Y/N to join him at the manor for a home cooked meal once a week. She agreed, mostly so she could see her long-lost friend again, who would sometimes join if he were feeling up to it. She never pushed, just as she never did when they were kids; she was happy to spend the time alone with her uncle.

Most of the dinner conversations each week focused on Y/N’s career: what stories she was working on, what stories she wants to write soon, what she will do to reach her goals, etc. Alfred was very proud of his niece, she seemed to love her position and was continuously getting praise from her bosses. But Y/N hid her own disappointment from him. She wasn’t doing the journalism that she wanted to do – she was fluff for the newspaper. They never gave her the big pieces, always putting her on assignments that called for her to interview people who found a chip that resembled the chief of police or their dog has the world record for the highest jump.

She went out of her way to collect her own stories, posting them anonymously when her boss would again skip over her for the job after assuming she didn’t have the guts to write it. That’s what she was doing now, working a story. She had gotten a job at the Iceberg Lounge under the pseudonym of ‘Lucy Porterfield’ in order to investigate a new drug that has hit the streets. She worked as a waitress and bartender, and even had proven herself enough to be a drug run for the Penguin himself. She always kept her ears open as she worked these shifts, taking mental note of the information she’d hear and then returning home to write all of her notes.

It was midweek, Wednesday, finally. Y/N worked on her articles from her work desk until 5pm; it was a simple day and nobody bothered her. She rushed about of the building by 5:02pm, she had to go to the store before heading to Wayne Manor for weekly dinner. Wednesday’s she always woke up and went to bed with butterflies in her stomach. She spent all week looking forward to the minor possibility of seeing Bruce, even if he just happened to walk through the kitchen as she cooked. The sight of him alone, alive and breathing, was enough to keep her going at her menial job for another week.

Today was no different, of course. She fidgeted anxiously with the paper grocery bags in her hands as she rode the subway towards the manor. She knew it was stupid, she knew he thought of her as his sister from his childhood, but she couldn’t erase the feelings she had developed over the years. She had thought after she moved away that maybe her school girl crush would fade. And when that didn’t work, she forced herself to go on handfuls of boring, soul draining dates just in hopes she’d meet someone who affected her the way Bruce did.

As she left the subway platform and started the short walk towards the manor, she mentally examined her outfit choices. She had decided on blue jeans that hugged her comfortably and a black turtle neck that would show an appropriate amount of her curves. She paired it with a dark brown woolen coat that stopped just above her ankle and black slip on boots that gave her just an inch of height.

It wasn’t much, and again she knew it was stupid to worry about what Bruce thought of her appearance. But she almost enjoyed the nervous pit she had every time she thought if he’d like the outfit or not. Y/N had her own codes to get through the main gate and into the service door that lead directly to the kitchen. This was the first thing Bruce ‘decided’ when Alfred decided he had reached the age to begin making decisions for the house. He’d wanted his best friend to be able to come and go as she pleased.

Y/N set the two grocery bags onto the counter and leaned against the door frame to remove her boots. Bruce, who had surprisingly woken up earlier than he normally would have after the night he had, was waiting to hear the door open in just the next room over. As soon as he knew Y/N was in the house, he made his way into the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, waiting to announce himself as he examined her.

So, yes, Bruce also had a crush on Y/N. He refused to admit it to anyone, wouldn’t even allow himself to imagine telling Y/N of his feelings or what sort of relationship they could have. He had convinced himself that after all the years and everything Y/N had seen him through, he surely already alienated himself for her. He was positive there was no way she’d ever learn to love him after she’d seen his grief and anger in such a first-hand point of view. That’s also what made it easier not telling her he was Batman, he already had practice with pushing her away.

He examined her, enjoying the way her hair fell in front of her face as she bent over to take her boots off, noting how her soft, small hands moved as she tugged off the shoe, before finally deciding to let her of his presence. “Hi, Y/N,” he breathed, his voice was still raspy with sleep and cracked from his long night before. She looked up at him with a surprised look on her face. After a beat of silence, a smile bloomed in replacement.

“Bruce!” Y/N greeted happily, setting her boots neatly onto the mat so she wouldn’t track rain water all over the kitchen. “How are you?” She stepped further into the kitchen as she examined him. He was comfortably dressed, wearing black joggers and a deep grey crewneck that barely managed to stretch around his thick biceps. She started to take her coat off, feeling her cheeks heat up as she looked at him – it would never not baffle her with how Bruce could make anything look attractive.

“Here, let me help,” Bruce quickly said as he approached and helped to tug the garment off her arms. “I am doing well, yourself?” He was happy he managed to catch these few moments with her before Alfred would monopolize the conversation, though he would enjoy that time as well.

He hung her jacket on one of the hooks just above her boots as she answered. “I am doing well, how is Wayne life? Busy recently?” She asked as she busied herself with taking the ingredients out of the grocery bags.

Bruce suppressed a sigh, he wasn’t as involved with the Wayne business as he implied to her when she returned to Gotham. “Oh, you know, always something,” he replied, he hoped she wouldn’t ask for details. He didn’t like to lie to her, unless as it was a lie of omission (like Batman), that was easier. He clocked an odd-looking bruise on her forearm as she stretched across the kitchen island to lay out her ingredients. “What happened here?” He asked as he stepped next to her and allowed his fingers to trace the shapes he could see, taking a secret joy in the feeling of her soft skin.

Y/N quickly tugged her sleeve down as she pulled her arm back. “You know me,” she smiled over at him, “I’m clumsy!” She quickly dodged his eyes as she folded the now empty bags in her hands. Bruce furrowed his brow together, from what he could tell that wasn’t a bruise that appeared from simply bumping into something. In truth, Y/N had received the bruise after one customer at the Iceberg Lounge had gripped her arm slightly too tight while attempting to flirt with her.

“See, the intention behind agreeing to teach you to fight was so you’d be more stable on your feet,” Alfred’s voice came from the door behind the two causing both of the to inhale sharply. “But you still seem to always come with new bruises.”

“Hi Alfie,” Y/N greeted, ignoring his jab about her poor coordination as she approached him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Hi, love,” he replied, grinning at her. “What’s for dinner this week?”

“I was thinking some chicken gnocchi soup! Dad’s recipe, of course,” Y/N replied as she rounded towards the sink to wash her hands. Bruce decided he’d need to find a time tonight to separate Y/N from Alfred so he could ask her about the bruises again, he knew she wouldn’t tell the truth with her protective uncle in the room.

“Would you happen to have enough for three tonight?” Bruce asked, smiling at Y/N as she dried her hands.

She smiled and nodded, “Bruce, there is always enough for you.” She gave him a look, hoping he’d understand that she always wanted him to join these meals. Bruce knew what her eyes were saying immediately, but he only allowed himself to do this once a month; maybe two times if he was having a particularly hard time. He couldn’t allow himself too much time with Y/N, it only made his feelings more difficult to ignore, even though she made the pain easier.

They all chatted as Y/N cooked their dinner; Alfred would help with prepping ingredients or grabbing spices she’d needed but Bruce, being that he has never cooked himself a meal, simply sat and watched the pair together. Once the cooking was done, and three bowls were filled to the brim with the soup, they all walked together to the dining area and sat down.

“Well, Y/N, I talked to your father a few days ago, he said you’re dating an army man now?” Alfred asked after eating some of the soup, eyeing his niece. Y/N had a skill for convincing her parents everything was perfect for her here in Gotham, but it was Alfred’s job to confirm the stories she told. Bruce tensed at this new information, he felt a wave of jealousy rush through him as his jaw set tightly.

Y/N rounded her shoulder’s uncomfortably with a sigh. “I told him I had a date with an army guy, not that I was dating him,” she grumbled as she shoveled more food into her mouth.

“Is there a difference?” Alfred questioned, an oblivious look on his face. Y/N rolled her eyes, Bruce stifled a laugh. Alfred was old, though he didn’t always act it; he hadn’t been on the dating scene in a minute.

“Yes, Alfie, there’s a difference,” she replied as she thought back on the date with a shiver. He was nice at first, but the way he awkwardly complimented her before talking about woman as if they were accessories and not partners was a major turn off. “And I certainly would not want to be dating that man, so you can report back to dad that he has nothing to worry about and I am still happily single.” Alfred looked into his soup with a light blush, he was embarrassed that Y/N could tell he was just collecting information on her and relaying it back to her parents.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, feeling more relaxed now that he knew Y/N was still single. He knew he’d someday need to accept that she would find someone who she loves and live a life without him, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He wanted to ask Y/N about the article he read of hers from last week when her phone rang from her pocket. She quickly pulled it out, Bruce watched her face light up slightly and ached to know who would have texted her.

“I, uh…” Y/N coughed slightly, pulling the phone into her chest and forcing a smile at the two men in front of her. “I need to leave, it’s work…” she trailed off as she quickly stood up. “This was a lot of fun, I will see you both next week!” She quickly rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed her personal items before heading outside so nobody could ask her questions. She had a contact at the morgue who would tell her of certain overdoses before they made it to the public record. There was a boy, a John Doe, who overdosed in the same way as 25 other victims who was found down by the pier. Y/N decided to make her way there to see if anything was left behind.

Bruce helped Alfred bring everything back to the kitchen before excusing himself to begin his own night-time job. It was easy for him to forget about Bruce Wayne when he put the body armor and cowl on, it was comfortable. He was happy to leave Bruce Wayne in this secret garage and comfortably allowed his more confident personality to shine through Batman.

Batman had a rotation of grids he used to patrol the city, tonight was Grid D which started him at the pier. He got onto his motorcycle and left the garage, and Bruce, behind. With the bike, the drive was only 15 minutes, though it could have gone faster if he hadn’t stopped to beat up and deliver a prick that was robbing a gas station to the police station. He hid the bike in an abandoned building before climbing to the top of it for a better vantage point of the scenes below.

There was a normal amount of illegalities surrounding the pier; drop heads getting high, gangs fighting amongst each other… But Batman was watching for something different. He chose carefully each night he went out, he needed to send a very specific message to a very specific group of criminals. He planned to stay and watch for another 10 minutes before moving towards his next grid. A taxi pulled up and dropped a woman off; this was the type of change he waited for. Batman crouched on the roof top slightly as he watched this newcomers’ movements.

Y/N had stopped at home and changed into more moveable clothes: black leggings and a black hoodie which she kept securely over her head for a sort of anonymity. She knew going to the pier at this time of night wasn’t smart, but she needed to see it before the authorities came through tomorrow to clean everything up. She kept an eye on her surroundings, some people already trying to follow her through the shadows, as she made her way to where the body was discovered.

She was next to the sea wall now, looking at the random mix of trash, bottles, and needles on the ground. She’d hoped there would be some sort of clue as to how the drug is ingested. She took a picture with her phone of the items that laid around where the body had been found. “Hey there, pretty,” a slurred voice came from behind her. She closed her eyes with a sigh as she turned around, a group of men surrounded her; she counted 7 of them. “What brings you out this late, gorgeous?”

She backed against the wall her heart starting to race in her chest. She could probably fight off these men, they all looked to be high or drunk meaning they’d be weaker. Batman watched the scene below, not moving yet, he wasn’t sure if this was an arranged meeting or a chance meeting. “Stay away from me,” Y/N warned, keeping her voice even. Some of the men laughed, another stepped closer to her.

“Why would we do that?” He smirked at her, grabbing her arm roughly. “You look real tasty.” Y/N rolled her eyes and punched him square in the nose, breaking it under her knuckles. The rest of the group lunged at her fast, they had been prepared for her to fight back. She held them off for longer than Batman had expected as he made his way towards the fight.

“Get the hell off me!” Y/N yelled as one of them men grabbed her from behind and another punched her gut. She quickly stomped on the foot behind her and twisted his arm back, dislocating his shoulder and sending him to the ground. The man who had punched her grabbed her throat roughly and held her against the wall.

Y/N, her hood now resting on her back so her face was exposed, clawed at the hand around her neck as he crushed her windpipe. He was stronger than her, and he wasn’t afraid to kill her like this if he needed to. As she struggled against him breathlessly, she watched something in his eyes flicker. He enjoyed this, he was getting off on it even. His free hand started to explore across her body as she choked out protests.

Batman ran faster towards the scene now seeing that this mysterious woman was restrained. As he got closer, he felt his heart drop and his brain struggled to comprehend what his eyes saw. Pinned against the wall, with a hand squeezing tightly around her neck, was Y/N. He worked fast to knock the men who had seen him coming unconscious but the man who was enjoying seeing Y/N’s face turn dangerously towards a blue color as he deprived her of oxygen, didn’t seem to care about the commotion behind him.

Batman ripped him off of her as soon as he was in reach, ignoring one of the other men who hit him in the back with a bat. Y/N collapsed, coughing and gasping, as her head spun from the lack of oxygen. Batman didn’t let himself waste time with the rest of the group, either knocking them out or injuring them enough to send them running away. Within a minute, he was kneeling in front of Y/N as panic surged through his veins.

“Are you alright?” His voice was deeper in the cowl out of habit, but now he forced it even lower; he couldn’t risk Y/N recognizing him as Bruce in the Batman suit. He swiftly pulled off his gauntlet and glove and pushed two of his fingers into the pulse at Y/N’s wrist to check her heart rate as she continued to sputter and gasp beneath him.

Y/N, ignoring the tears that had streaked down her face, finally looked up at the masked stranger that came to her aid. She was afraid to speak, but she needed to tell him she was okay. “Thank you,” she could barely get her voice above a whisper, and it cracked at the end of each word. She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut at the pain. Batman helped her stand up, keeping his hand on her elbow incase she wasn’t strong enough to be on her feet.

“Let me get you to the hospital,” he said, still nervously examining her pale face. She shook her head at him, finally taking her first full and clear breath. His mind raced, he didn’t understand why Y/N would be here, why would she put herself in this sort of position.

“No,” she croaked, “I’m okay.” She looked at him again, his eyes were ocean blue underneath his dark black mask and makeup. “I can get myself home,” she finished, her voice still strained. She pushed away from him slightly, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to keep herself steady.

Batman bit his tongue when he almost said her name, and grabbed her arm again. “You really should get yourself checked out,” he nearly growled. He knew Y/N hated being taken care of though; even when her appendix burst when they were 11 years old, he had to tell Alfred because she didn’t want to cause drama.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the vigilante, “I am fine.” She stared at him now, did everyone he save have conversations with him? He examined her eyes, he could already see them turning pink as blood pooled behind them. There were gun shots in the distance now, he sighed silently as he closed his eyes. Y/N is alive, he reminded himself. She is alive and you need to take care of other things right now.

“Get home safe,” he grunted at her before jogging away towards the commotion of a different group. Y/N watched as he left before quickly making her way towards the main drag, she didn’t want any more unwelcome company for the night. After she found a cab and told the driver where to take her, she looked at the photos with a disappointed feeling in her chest. Tonight, was a major disappointment with no obvious tell as to what the drug was handed off in.

Batman worked his grid through the night, anxiously thinking about Y/N as he did. Her apartment was towards the end of the grid though, he couldn’t let himself check on her yet; the city needed him. Finally, around 5am, he was in her area. He climbed the rooftops until he saw her living room window. Relaxing slightly seeing the hood she had been wearing tossed over the edge of her sofa. This wasn’t the first time he checked on her, but it was the most important after last night. It was slowly becoming an addiction to end each of his nights by seeing her off to work safely.

Today wasn’t different. He sat in a spot positioned across from her building and watched as Y/N left her bedroom at exactly 5:30am. She didn’t sleep easily last night, only ended up falling asleep because her body won over her mind. She couldn’t look in the mirror yet, she knew she’d have her work cut out for her with covering bruises from last night. She made herself a cup of coffee before getting ready for the day.

She’d spent an extra 15 minutes getting ready today. She didn’t have a choice but to wear a turtle neck again today; her neck was black and blue. She settled for a tan turtle neck paired with black skirt, tights, and boots. She kept her hair down again, hoping it would help to cover more bruises. Thankfully, she would be working in the lab on photo development today and nobody would see her bloodshot eyes.

Batman waited until he saw her leave the building to quickly get to his bike and follow behind the taxi she got in. He stayed in the shadows, taking side streets when he needed to, and only relaxed once she was walking into the Gotham Times building before deciding to turn back towards his garage. He quickly took his contacts out, letting the images from the night download into his computer and rushed to take his armor off. Normally, he’d take a moment to watch the images and journal through the night but he had an idea on his drive home to see Y/N again and make sure she was okay.

“I’m home!” Bruce yelled as he came up the elevator into the main part of the manor. Alfred walked into the main hall with a confused look on his face as he watched Bruce jog up the stairs and towards the shower. It was abnormal behavior, Bruce knew that. But he didn’t have the time to care about what Alfred thought. He quickly washed the night off: the grimy dirt, the dried blood, the makeup. He tossed on black slacks and a white button up that he didn’t bother to finish the top two buttons of, an appropriate outfit for a public appearance as a Wayne.

Alfred was in the kitchen, aimlessly filing away paperwork he would have Bruce examine later after he slept, and was equally confused and surprised to see Bruce join him. “Bruce?” He asked watching the man anxiously go to the fridge. “Has something happened that I am unaware of?”

Bruce considered, for one weak moment, if he should tell Alfred about Y/N’s night but he decided he needed to figure out why she was there before tossing her to the dogs – he didn’t want to feel like he was tattling. “Pretty sure you’re aware of everything,” Bruce smiled at his dear friend after pulling out the container of leftovers from last night. “I am just going to run some errands.” Alfred pursed his lips but didn’t push the subject as Bruce rushed towards his less secretive garage. He assumed the playboy was off to meet a fling, maybe one he cared about slightly more than the other girls.

Y/N was happy to be in the dark room, she had a migraine from being deprived of oxygen last night and the florescent lights would not have helped. She absent-mindedly rotated the developing photographers in the developer while reading over some of the notes she’d taken on the drug case. The intercom beeped, indicating someone needed her for something. She groaned slightly but walked over to the door and clicked to button.

“What’s up?” She asked into the microphone, hoping it wasn’t anything too important.

“You have a visitor here to see you,” the front receptionist said in a kind voice. Y/N noted a small giggle in her tone and wondered who this visitor could be.

“Would you tell them I will meet them on the deck just outside the offices?” Y/N asked, she’d need an excuse to wear sunglasses so she could hide her eyes. She ended the call and grabbed her long black coat and sunglasses before heading out of the development room and up the elevator to the 12th floor where the offices lived.

As she walked outside, she glanced around wondering who would be coming to her work until she found the eyes of Bruce who smiled and waved at her. Y/N smiled softly, no wonder the receptionist was giggly; the billionaire, whose reputation as a playboy stuck with him everywhere he went, Bruce Wayne, was standing right in front of her. Y/N tucked her hands into her jacket as she walked over to him, she didn’t need him seeing the bandages wrapped around her knuckles. “Bruce?” She asked, her voice was rough and coarse, it was obvious something was wrong.

Bruce frowned hearing her, “are you okay?” He noted the high turtle neck and sunglasses she wore and felt a strange relief. He didn’t know how he’d handle seeing her hurt in that way. He forced his eyes to stop from trailing down her body. He had already noted how attractive she looked when she stepped out onto the deck, and he couldn’t risk her seeing his desire this close.

“Yeah,” Y/N smiled, trying to brush him off with a laugh that got caught in her throat. “I woke up with just the worst sore throat today. Probably caught some bug that’s going around. What are you doing here?”

“Well, you left so fast last night you couldn’t grab your leftovers,” he spoke slowly, he was trying to figure out how to lead the conversation how he needed it to. He needed her to tell him what happened without him asking her.

“You didn’t need to come all the way here for that,” she replied with a smile as she took the container from him.

He brushed her off with a small wave, “I was running errands anyway. Now you have lunch.” Y/N nodded and awkwardly turned her body trying to single that she was ready for the conversation to end. Bruce wasn’t ready though: “What articles are you working on right now?” He asked, casually leaning himself on the railing next to him.

Y/N sighed as she looked at him, “I’m actually working on film development for this week’s release – nothing exciting.”

"Okay, then next week, any articles?” Bruce pushed. The obvious guess was that she was working on an article; it would be a big jump for what she has typically been putting out, plus she didn’t have her camera with her last night.

“Listen, Bruce, I really enjoy chatting with you,” Y/N said, more bitterness in her voice than she intended. “But all of my deadlines were pushed up, I have to get back to work.” Bruce furrowed his brow at her, she’d never been so dismissive with him before.

“Of course,” he said after a long beat of silence. “Can I walk you back to your desk?” He smiled at her and motioned a hand forward.

“No, I’m good,” Y/N replied before walking away. Bruce stared at her back as she left, he felt a small tinge in his chest. Her actions hurt, that’s for sure, but it was worry that overwhelmed him. He wasn’t sure if this reaction was work stress, or was it because of what happened last night? Were there other nights that he wasn’t there and she’d gotten hurt? His mind raced as he drove back to the manor, guilt filling every single one of his bones.

Two days later, Y/N was back at the Iceberg Lounge. Her bruises looked worse now, but it didn’t matter, the men there would see them an assume it meant she would let them do anything to her. She wore a tight black mini dress that would sparkle when the light caught it right, and a pair of black heels. She blew her hair out and did her makeup thick; she’d learned within the first month of working here that the sexier she looked, the looser lipped people became.

The Iceberg Lounge was a popular hangout spot for a lot of people. Drug lords, dirty cops, dirty politicians, rapists, murders… anyone who wanted a place to do their bad things under non-judgmental supervision. The Penguin didn’t have many rules, only if you kill someone you don’t do it in the club. Y/N’s night was passing quite fast, she’d even managed to get some information from one of the cops that had come in on how the overdoses were intentionally being hidden from the media.

She only had 30 minutes left of her shift when she was delivering a drink order to a table of drug pushers. One of them had been eyeing her all night, normally when she saw this she’d trad tables with another girl; but since they were drug pushers, she had to hope he’d slip and give her some information.

“Here you are, boys,” Y/N smiled as she set the drinks in front of each of them. “Is there anything else I can get you for?” She gently rested a hand on the shoulder of the man closest to her, winking at him. The man who had been staring at her, who also seemed to be the leader of the pack, slowly stood up. “What’s up, baby?” She asked, blinking her eye lashes at him and she stepped over to him.

He smirked at her and gently grabbed her waist, pushing her against the wall behind him. Y/N would have protested, but he’d been so gentle with his movements that she had no reason to worry yet. “You,” the man slurred, tucking some of her hair behind her ear before letting his fingers trail across the bruises on her neck. “Are a beautiful woman.”

“Why thank you,” Y/N smiled at him. “What do you do for work, hon?” She carefully snaked a hand across his chest.

“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” he slurred as his hand traced down to her chest now, the other still gripping onto her hip. She grunted softly as he roughly grabbed her left breast.

“I’d prefer we didn’t do this,” she croaked, pushing against his chest now.

“Shut up,” he said, slapping her across the face. She gasped and pushed harder against his chest now.

“Get off of me!” She yelled, straining her voice. His friends laughed as they watched what was happening and his hand finding a spot between her thighs now. “Fucking asshole!” Y/N groaned, punching him hard enough in the jaw to hear the bone snap and bringing her knee up into his groin. He doubled over in pain and Y/N quickly took the opportunity to walk away and rushed into the back room where the liquor was stored.

Her hands were shaking as she sunk down against the floor, feeling the tears stinging in her eyes. She spent the last 15 minutes of her shift there, allowing silent sobs to escape her body, before heading to the locker room and grabbing her items.

She happily allowed the cold rain to brush against her skin and wash that man’s skin away as she stepped into the alley behind the lounge. She started to walk down the alley, towards the main drag where she would get a taxi, when a hand clasped around her mouth. “You’re a fucking cunt,” the familiar slur filled her ear, thicker now that he couldn’t move his jaw. Her eyes widened and she started trying to fight against him.

She escaped his arms but he quickly punched her in the side of the head. Y/N groaned and followed up with a punch to his ribs, feeling the bone crack. The man grunted and mirrored her actions, punching her hand enough to break more than one rib and send her to her knees. He grabbed her by the hair and punched her face multiple times. Y/N’s vision blurred from both pain and blood, she yelled out as he busted her lip and sent another blow into her gut.

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, Y/N forced herself to stand up and quickly grabbed his head and pounded it into the brick next to them. He fell to the ground unconscious within a second of the blow. Y/N ran, she didn’t care to check that he wouldn’t bleed out, she knew someone would find him.

She ran all the way back to her apartment before the pain started to catch up to her. She grunted, leaning against the brick of her building. She didn’t want to be alone, she needed someone to help stich up some of her injuries, she needed her uncle. She quickly hailed a taxi, keeping her head down as she got in.

Bruce had returned home early that night and already had rid himself of all things Batman. A drop head had found the inconvenient gap in Batman’s body armor and sunk a knife in a little too deep. He was sitting in the living room while Alfred worked on stitching the gash in his abdomen. It was 2am, neither of the men had been expecting any visitors when they heard the service door open from the kitchen. No alarms went off so it was somebody who used a code.

Alfred was busy cleaning the blood off his hands and hiding the evidence of the medical procedure, while Bruce walked over to the kitchen entrance. He pulled his shirt on just as whatever visitor flipped the lights and his jaw dropped at the site. “Y/N?” His voice was panicked as he rushed over to her. Y/N leaned herself against the door frame, one hand cradling her side where her broken ribs were.

“Bruce,” she whispered, groaning slightly at the feeling. “I need Alfie…”

“Alfred!” Bruce yelled, gently scooping Y/N up in his arms and walking with her back to where Alfred was. Y/N blushed at the contact, leaning her head against Bruce’s muscular chest sleepily.

“Y/N?” Alfred’s voice was filled with fear as he saw his niece bloody and beaten. Bruce laid her on the sofa and Alfred rushed to assess her injuries. “Who did this to you?”

Y/N shook her head, and pushed her self to sit up. “Just stitch my hand, and my forehead,” she whispered, leaning her back against the sofa now. She cradled her ribs still with a grunt, “I may have some broken ribs though…”

Alfred would ask questions later when she wasn’t losing blood. He quickly numbed the areas and started to expertly close the open wounds. Bruce anxiously paced in front of the fire place while he watched Alfred work, he would also wait until she was okay but as soon as he knew who did this he would be beating them to a pulp.

Y/N started to feel better after Alfred had given her a small dose of morphine. She could breathe more evenly and used the damp rag he had given her to wipe the blood from her face while he stitched the cuts on her knuckles. “Y/N,” Alfred said, keeping his voice stern but calm. “You need to tell me what is going on, right now.” He cut the surgical thread once his last stitch was finished. Noting that he was done, Y/N stood up.

“Nothing is going on, I handled it,” she said, moving to look at herself in the mirror nearby. She examined the injuries, both new and old, that covered her face.

“Your neck is bruised, but not from tonight,” Alfred pointed out as he stood up straight. “You obviously have been fighting tonight, did you know them?”

“No, Alfie,” Y/N sighed, “I did not know them. I’m going to go home and rest now.” She turned towards the front door, she didn’t want to answer anymore questions.

“Enough,” Bruce spoke, his voice was harsh and dark. Y/N turned to look at him, shocked. “Tell us what the hell happened, now.”

She examined his face and noted the look she had only seen once before; he wasn’t going to let her leave without answering their questions. She looked at her uncle next, the worry and fear on his face broke her heart. She sighed and closed her eyes, swallowing hard as she prepared to tell them the truth. “I work at the Iceberg Lounge,” she admitted, Alfred stepped forward confused. “Well, I don’t… Lucy does. I’m a waitress and I do hospitality.”

“Why?” Alfred asked, needing to sit on the sofa as the shock washed through him.

“There’s a new drug,” Y/N sighed, starting to pace. “I go to the lounge and collet information for my articles.”

“What happened tonight then? Who—” Bruce’s voice caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to center himself. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know who it was. I served him a drink and when he made certain advances, I broke his jaw…” Y/N avoided the eyes of the men in the room as she explained. “After I left, he met me in the alley and well,” she motioned over her body. “After a bit of a fight, I knocked him out and came here.”

“You are quitting that job tomorrow,” Alfred commanded after a whole 2 minutes of silence.

Y/N snorted slightly, “I am not.”

"It wasn’t a request, Y/N!” Alfred yelled, his anger getting the better of him. “You will not be risking your life in this way!”

“I did not become a journalist to take pictures of Gotham’s celebrities and write about what they and their fucking dogs are wearing!” Y/N shouted back at him, ignoring the pain this caused. “I became a journalist to inform people what is happening in their city, their neighborhood, or up the block from them! I became a journalist to touch the lives in my little corner of the world and to help people!” Alfred and Bruce both watched her shocked, they hadn’t expected such fight from her especially with her injuries. “I love you, both of you, but people are dying out there; people that have nobody to care about them. There is nothing either of you can say or do to stop me.”

As soon as the door slammed to a shut behind Y/N, Alfred looked at Bruce. “I don’t care what you have to do,” he stepped towards him. “You keep my niece safe, understood?” Bruce gave one nod in agreement. He knew in his bones that he would never rest until he ensured Y/N would be safe.

next chapter

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #battinson #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #the batman #the batman 2022 #robert pattinson x yn #robert pattinson #the batman fanfic #battinson fanfiction #alfred pennyworth

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minks-country-club · 4 months

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In my humble headcanon, Batman ignores the people who steal from grocery stores. He knows about Gotham's poverty, he's very intimate with the conditions these people live in. It's one of the things Wayne Enterprises fight against and the charities Bruce donates to. Batman doesn't see the benefit of beating up some guy who stole a loaf of bread or a woman stealing period products and handing them in to the police. He simply looks the other way and beats up the other guy whose trying to get it on with a woman who clearly doesn't want the attention.

#robert pattinson batman #the batman #battinson #batman #fanfiction #fanfic promt #fanfic #headcanon #batman is a feminist #batman is for the people

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thewritermj · 5 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”.

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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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