#the batman x y/n

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Epilogue - Always You

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

(gif credit: @1038276637)

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

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

And it did, at least until the rain showers had been replaced by snowfall, and the white coat covering most of Gotham almost made up for the plummeting temperatures.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

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

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

You knew that was very much mutual.

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

It was still better than nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in time to hear the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was a little difficult to get used to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You already knew it was a yes if he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you never saw this coming.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most days, you simply did not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[madwomansapologist]

Mint chip — how did they court their lover? + Bruce/Batman 😳🙏

mint chip — how did they court their lover?

⤷ with: bruce wayne

I actually can talk about it with proper knowledge because he's my husband. So much easier that way.

It will really depend on who you meet first. The whole flow of your relationship (either it's as friends, enemies, lovers), can be decided in minutos upon Bruce meeting you.

If you meet Bruce Wayne first, his whole playboy persona will be an important part of your first interactions.

If you're a reporter who can see through his act, than there would be a sense of a shared secret between you both. You made through one of his many masks, which brings you closer to the real person. In cases like that, his courting will be more honest. There is no need to pretend to be shallow.

He will watch over you, both as Bruce and Batman. He will watch you on the news, hear all your programs during work (it help him focus), read your articles. Then when he talks to you, he can talk about the things that matter to you. He will also watch recording the news whenever he know you're on a dangerous place. He will protect you from afair without you even knowing.

If you're someone from his friend circle, another bilionaire of Gotham, than he have this mask he won't let go. But even tho you had to deal with his act, there is some sense of belonging. Of understanding him. Bruce can pretend from whoever long he need, but there is no way to foolish a real friend.

You care about him. You can see how he apparently doesn't sleep. That he's always in pain somehow. And when Bruce understands that his act didn't fully confused you, then he knows he have someone caring for him. Someone able to look at him and call his bullshit out. Someone that will kick him off parties saying he needs to sleep or he will never see you again.

If that's the case, than Bruce will court you as most imagine. Flowers, caring for you during your day by day, showing his more possessive side during events. In some ways, Bruce will be trying to give all you care back to you.

Now as an enemy, that would be kind of dificult for the both of you. You two have diferences that can't be overlooked. There is a abysm between you both, and somehow that's what brings you closer to one another. There is a sense of understanding, of longing, that can only be shared by two enemies.

You both have secrets. Masks and more masks to protect yourselfs. Is he Bruce Wayne, the man that suffers and loses and pretends, or is he Batman, the thing that endure and change and pretend? Which one is the real one and which one the act? How could he ever come to an answer for that?

And you, the love he feels for you, will just make those questions harder to answer. When he fights with you, he would rather not hurt you. If he sees you, he would observe you for more reasons than just the public safety. When he has the chance of really stopping you, somehow he can't.

What every situation has in common is that Bruce will love from distance before getting close. He will protect you, you being able to do it for yourself or not. He may stay away out of distrust, to protect, to learn more about you: let's not forget, he's a vigilante but first he's a detective. Bruce will make sure that he understands you before doing something.

You may know just one side of him, but do you really? Because when you care about Bruce's sleep, you are caring for Batman's rest. When you care about Batman agressive choices, you're caring about Bruce's heart. When you try to understand one side of him, you are also trying to understand the other.

Either way, that will make Bruce care about you. And isn't his whole identity about caring for others? Isn't it what makes him get out of bed every single day? Bruce cares. He deeply, really cares. And if you're on the list of people he loves, then you will be safe. Not matter what it takes.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #ask box #mwa birthday #fic prompt #ice cream prompts #writing prompt #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman imagine #the batman imagine #the batman #the batman fanfictipn #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #the batman x reader #dc comics x y/n #dc comics x you #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #dc imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne fic #batman #batman fanfiction #batman fanfic #batman fic

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐓𝐨 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟?

↳ summary: edward meets someone new

↳ warnings: slight mentions of suicidal thoughts, written from the point of a fucked up eddie, mentions of bombs, obsessive behavior, savior complex, incel behavior, teetering on yandere but i hate that word lmao. he's so pathetic without his mask on baby i love you

↳ song: malmo—mook

masterlist!

Love?

No. Insanity.

Edward can't remember where or how he first saw you, but if he had to guess, it was probably the night you moved two doors down from him.

He woke up that morning like any other day in his life. Full of bitterness and resentment for the city— his city, because it was his —outside a fog filled appartment window.

Once upon a time, it had been battered pane of glass that peojected this image to him as it did now; broken shards scattered on the dead grass outside reflecting 'GOTHAM ORPHANAGE' back to a much younger verson of him. Waking up as a child had always been such a disappointment. He used to hug himself to fitful sleep, a tiny part of him hoping he would pass in the unforgiving night like so many children before.

He didn't think that feeling of bile in the back of his throat would ever go away each time sleep was pulled from him and he woke up back in Gotham. No matter how many people promised change for the better on televisions or radios. Because Edward knew the truth.

Gotham reached out to him. It reached out to him in his dreams with its gleaming skyscrapers as hands and its screaming people as desperate pleas. Begging him to be fixed. To rid it of the scum plauging glamorous penthouses just high enough off the ground that just one push of the hand could send a sinner to his rightful death.

He thought about all of this before he had even finished brushing his teeth.

Careful hands pulled a frayed toothbrush from his mouth as Edward spit into the sink to wash his mouth out. A ratty towel swiped over his lips gently when he finished. Such a refined action for someone with a bomb built for a human neck sitting just outside his bathroom door.

It wasn't uncommon for him to get lost in the swirl of thoughts he called his conscious, but he needed to keep up appearances just long enough to carry out his plan. And that included not being late to work for the third time this month.

Eventually the knob of his appartment was being locked tightly with the end of a faux gold key — the toothbrush from earlier already drying on the edge of his sink.

He struggled with the lock for a moment more, silently cursing whoever had decided to make living on this side of town so hard, before eventually getting it with a pop.

From that point on, the sound of your voice would forever take over his mind.

Edward first noticed your smile lines. The crinkles by the sides of your eyes enticed him like a fresh baked cookie would to a child. How curious, that a person could have so much physical evidence of a happy life whilst living in this place. He wondered if you had been born here, or were new to the location. He found himself envying the thought of the latter.

The next thing he noticed about you, was that you were asking him a question for the second time in a row.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" Edward nervously stuttered, usually steady hands fumbling to push his glasses up clumsily. Once again— or at least he thinks once again — you grin at him, holding a slightly beaten up moving box in your arms. Why he had noticed that later than the deep crinkles on your face, he wasn't sure.

"I asked if all the locks in this place were going to act like that one. Because in that case, there's no way I'm surviving a horror movie chase." You nodded with your head at his troublesome door instead of gesturing. Probably because your hands were full. Most definitely because your hands were full, actually.

Edward blinked slowly.

"Uhm, no. No no I don't think so." He supplied softly. It was a lame response to your quip. He remembered reading somewhere that first impressions forever solidified a figure in your life, whether minor or major. The thought of that made his heart beat faster.

A pregnant pause settled over the hallway. Edward felt his palms sweat. He wiped them on his pants. All it did was spread it around more.

"Well, nice to meet you." It was you that finally broke the silence. With a shuffle of one foot to the other he heard a few things clink from inside your little box. He wondered what was in it. A vase you bought for decoration? Photo phrames? China that your great grandmother left you in her will?

He stood there wondering about fucking plates for so long, that you had begun to turn your body away and make your way back down the hallways.

"Wait!" Edward lurched forward to place a stern grip on your lower arm. The look of momentary fear you gave him in that moment was enough for him to straighten his spine out.

Something about that barely concealed emotion in your eyes excited him. For a brief moment he was in a leather mask, staring at the bloody body of the mayor below him on Halloween night.

And then he was back. Looking into your eyes like they were last thing he would ever see.

"My names Edward." He released his grip on you while finally introducing himself. With his falling hand went your initial fear. "But my friends call me Eddie."

He didn't have any friends. And if he did, they certainly wouldn't call him Eddie. But the white lie was nothing compared to the way his name, both the formal and shortened verson, slipped from your lips.

"I'll remember that next time. It's very nice to meet you, neighbor."

And then you were gone, feet shuffling against stained and waterlogged carpet before disappearing into what used to be a vacant appartment.

In your wake stood Gothams soon to be savior and cleanser. A man that has committed unspeakable acts in the name of justice and planned to do even more. The very same individual that hid skeletons in his closet and so many more at the scenes of his cromes.

Somewhere in between there, Edward would have to install a camera in your bedroom.

#the batman #the batman x reader #the batman x you #the batman x y/n #the riddler #the riddler x reader #the riddler x you #the riddler x y/n #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x y/n #paul dano #paul dano x reader #paul dano x you #paul dano x y/n #x reader

[moonlight-prose]

My thought is simply a pussy drunk Bruce Wayne 🥰 I think it would be good for him (imagine him still with the makeup on too, oof)

◇◆ ── DREAM GIRL EVIL

a/n: okay but i literally couldn't stop myself from not writing this as a drabble. and you had to send THAT gif which just made the whore in me jump out. this is purely filth with a sprinkling, barely a dash, of feelings and i've set it in the blood along the mood universe. it's not edited in the slightest.

word count: 1k+

pairing: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: explicit so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, cussing, angst cause it's emo bruce, oral (f receiving), masturbation, hair pulling, biting, cum eating.

Words would have been good at a time like this. Fuck, they would have better before now, but they were stuck in the back of your throat—trapped as he continued to take you apart piece by piece. You were as much of a puzzle to him as he was to you and this was his time to finally solve you. You were almost embarrassed how quickly he managed to render you incapacitated—the sounds coming from you garbled the longer he kept going.

But there was no room for that small inkling of shame to last. Now when he was practically sucking it out of you.

“Bruce,” you whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling back when he gripped your thighs that hung loosely over his shoulders.

You were a journalist for fucks sake. Words were your life, your career, and somehow they were gone from your repertoire of skills as you were reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess of limbs. His fingers dug into your skin, blunt nails cutting into you, but that spark of pain only added to the sensations. They piled on top of one another, shoving the air out of your lungs as he just kept going.

Heat burned through your veins—the sound of him lapping up your slick audible in your already small bedroom. He was enjoying this. That’s what shoved right to the edge of another orgasm that would no doubt rip the remaining energy from your body. He sucked your clit into his mouth, scraping his teeth against it and watched your back bow off the bed. A cry of his name bouncing off the walls. You weren’t sure how much longer you would last, how much you could take, but if there’s one thing you knew about Bruce Wayne…he was determined.

“I—fuck—I’m going to come,” you stuttered, hands shoving into his already mussed hair.

“Good,” he mumbled. His voice sounded strange…off.

You made the mistake of looking down and found him staring at you, a glazed look in his eyes as he continued his ministrations. The black paint around his striking blue eyes only helped to enhance them even more and for a moment you forgot he was eating you out like you were his last meal. For a moment you were simply staring at the man you loved. Except then you saw it. The subtle move of his arm shifting and you focused entirely on what he was doing—your heart freezing in your chest when the realization dawned on you.

He was fucking his fist as he went down on you.

The sounds of his wet hand wrapped around his cock suddenly became louder the moment you figured it out. Gasping, you felt your walls clench down, suddenly reminded of how empty you were, but his tongue running over your slit—gathering up your slick—left you breathless. You yanked on his hair, falling back onto the bed while your hips rolled forwards until you were practically fucking his face. Only he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he acted like he wouldn’t be able to live until you came into his mouth again.

Groaning, his eyes fluttered shut as he shoved his tongue inside of you, hand working himself over even faster—the need to come building up in both your bodies. He was lost in you; desperate for everything you could give him and more. When it came to Bruce there was always more. After years of depriving himself of touch, turning away from the sensitivity of loving someone, you found that he wouldn’t stop until you said you were done.

“Oh fuck,” you panted, pulling at his hair even harder. “I’m going to—”

He cut you off.

Wrapping his lips around your clit he sucked it into his mouth like candy, eyes focused on you as your legs clamped around his head nearly suffocating him. The building pleasure snapped and you sobbed out something you figured was his name. It was too much. Your nerves were set on fire, vision going white, but he continued to lick at you. Until the bottom half of his face was shiny and slick with your cum. His eyes shut, a broken moan tearing from him, his tongue running from your entrance all to the way to your clit to keep your orgasm going.

It wasn’t until you yanked his head away did he stop.

His hand pumped himself faster, his teeth digging into his bottom lip and you dragged him up your naked body, locking his lips with yours. The taste of you was spread on your tongue as you licked into his mouth. It had a shiver running down your spine the more you kissed him, sucking his tongue into your mouth and biting sharply on his lip.

“Are you going to come for me?” you cooed, eyes fluttering open to see his cock red and leaking over his fist that looked to be covered in…you.

He spread your slick over his cock before touching himself. You felt your swollen clit throb the longer you watched him try to bring himself to completion. Reaching down you cupped his balls, watching his eyes roll back and the vein on his throat stand prominent against his pale skin. He didn’t even take off the suit before he was dragging you to the edge of the bed—his cock pulled out haphazardly.

“Do you want to come?”

He nodded, whining out your name. “Please—”

Squeezing him, his hips bucked into you, the wet sounds of him fucking his fist faster now echoing around you. “Come for me Bruce,” you breathed, sucking his lip into your mouth. “Come on me.”

A broken shout hit your ears as you watched his balls draw up, body tensing, and he finally let go. The warmth of his release hit the soft skin of your belly and you took control when he let go to grip tightly at your hip—pumping his cock rapidly as he spilled over your fist. You’d always say the hottest thing you had the chance to witness in your life was watching Bruce come and this only solidified that statement in your head. He looked ethereal—the broken parts of his walls now falling around him with every stroke of your palm.

“There we go,” you whispered, smiling sweetly at him when his eyes finally opened. “You’re so pretty Wayne.”

His cheeks turned red, eyes shutting when his cock twitched in your palm. “Menace,” he grunted, thrusting his hips one last time.

Laughing, you brought your hand up to your mouth, licking it clean and humming at the taste of him. He watched in disbelief.

“You taste delicious.” Bruce didn’t know how to take compliments. Which only made you layer them on even more, enjoying the sight of his brain short circuiting whenever you got the chance.

Rather than let you continue, he shoved his lips on yours, licking deeply into your mouth and groaning at the taste of both of you combined. Neither of you would get used to it. The dizzying high of being together. But you couldn’t complain. Not when he looked at you like he would happily suffocate between your legs, getting drunk on the taste of you.

#bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne #the batman x reader #the batman smut #the batman x you #the batman x fem!reader #the batman x y/n #the batmn #bruce wayne x reader #my writing

[imagine--if]

Hm promt 14 with Batman! who doesn't love a fluffy emo Batman

A/N: I sure as hell love fluffy emo Bat 🦇🖤 here you are!!

Pairing: Battinson x reader (The Batman 2022)

Prompt: "Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you..." "It's alr- why are you so close to my face, honey?"

Words: 343

You know he has trouble sleeping at night, getting back home at extremely late hours of The Batman has finished his vigilante work. You briefly wake up to him slipping in bed behind you and wrapping his strong arms around your waist, pulling you snugly against him as he attempts to doze off with you.

This time, Bruce just can’t get to sleep. So he stops trying, and turns his attention to you, your face, as you roll over in your sleep to face him and lean against him. He expertly, gently, tucks a few loose strands of hair away from your face, studying the freckles and tones and beauty that makes you… well, you. And that’s all he wants.

You didn’t realise that this was one of the main ways Bruce Wayne calms himself after stressful nights and demanding days, but after drifting awake, you’re just about ready to relax into sleep again…

Until you realise how close Bruce’s figure actually is, shadowy and darkened by the night’s lighting. His fingers hover against your cheeks, mesmerised and concentrated peacefully, before his deep eyes widen a fraction in realisation as you open your own.

"Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you..." he stutters in a mumble, and you smile tiredly.

"It's alr-” you stop speaking when he moves his hand hesitantly away from your face, and you laugh slightly a you press yourself impossibly closer to him. “Why are you so close to my face, honey?"

You can tell Bruce is blushing at being caught red handed, and he looks away as he tries to find the words.

“I just… I like… memorising you?” He seems unsure of his words, them always not being enough when he tries to express himself, his incomprehensible love, leaving him annoyed with himself but soothed slightly by your amused, happy response.

“You do?”

Bruce nods. “It helps. I like… I like it like this. Us. Like this.”

You smile grows, and you nestle yourself comfortably in his arms. “I like us like this too, Bruce.”

#battinson x reader #the batman x reader #robert pattinson x reader #pattinson!batman x reader #batman 2022 #the batman 2022 #rob pattinson batman #robert pattinson fanfiction #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #the batman imagine #the batman fanfic #the batman fluff #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne x you #battinson fluff #battinson imagine #battinson x y/n #the batman movie #robert pattinson bruce wayne

[1-imaginary-girl]

One Last Time

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: Reader is a vigilante-type hero who works with Batman. When a solo mission goes wrong, you call Batman possibly for the last time. Reader is gender neutral.

Warnings: Angst, possible character death, violence, descriptive injuries. 

Word Count: 3693

A/N: I love a good angsty fic! It’s a bit of an open-ended ending but I liked it better than a conclusion so apologies lol.

The metal door slams into the wall, sending an echo bouncing around the space as you stumble into the stairwell. Your breathing is ragged. You press your hand against your chest and wince at the pain. When you pull your hand back, you see red coating your skin. You can feel more blood bleeding through your suit. But you try not to focus on that.

As you grip the railing and slowly descend the stairs, you can’t help but think back to how your evening started.

You had been bored so you decided to leaf through some files for the case you and your partner had been working on. The two of you were working on taking down a major mafia gang that recently emerged in Gotham. Anyway, while looking through the files you saw a strange address.

It was an address for a pharmaceutical company which made you wonder how it was related to the gang. Upon further research, you discovered the company didn’t exist until a few months ago – similar timing to when the gang started to gain traction. You decided to visit the address in the file just in case you saw anything.

You dressed in your vigilante uniform which consisted of a skin-tight dark purple suit, a matching mask for your eyes, a utility belt with double holsters for your guns and black boots. You didn’t want to be caught off-guard in your civilian clothing. A dagger also sat tucked away in your right boot in case you ran out of bullets.

The address led you to a building on the outskirts of the city. Parking your motorcycle in an alleyway, you climbed the building opposite the one you were staking out. For the first hour you didn’t see anything and when you were about to pack it up, two black vans pulled up in front of the building.

Grabbing your binoculars, you watched as a group of men piled out of the vans. Your jaw had dropped when you realized that some of them were the leaders of the organization. By some incredible coincidence, you had stumbled upon a covert meeting arranged by the gang. You immediately pulled out your phone to call your partner, but they didn’t pick up. You tried a few more times before giving up.

You saw the men entering the building and decided that this could be your one shot at stopping these guys once and for all. Cursing, you watched as the men entered an elevator and got off on the top floor before you descended from your spot. Your first mistake of the night.

The elevator was guarded by two men which you easily took down with your guns. On the ride up, you counted your ammunition and prepared yourself. When the doors began to slide open, you hid in the corner of the elevator and waited for the guardsmen to come to you before striking.

Bullets flew around the room and one managed to graze your arm, but overall, the fight was over before the others had a chance. You locked eyes on a closed conference room and noticed movement in the room. Taking a quick breath, you broke down the doors and faced off with the leaders of the mafia.

They had time to prepare for you but they didn’t accommodate your speed as you dashed around the room, narrowly missing bullets aimed at you. You were doing well, either shooting your targets or taking them on in hand to hand combat and no one had managed to land a hit on you. You tossed aside your guns when you ran out of ammo and eventually found yourself facing off with the last man.

You unveiled your dagger and sliced his neck, his blood spewing on your suit, but you got distracted. You thought you had taken them all out and only realized your mistake when the gunshot rang out. You were quick to react but not quick enough as a bullet lodged itself in your chest. A gasp slipped past your mouth at the pain. You turned to see one of the men on the floor with a gun pointed at you and you tossed your dagger at him, officially taking him out. But the damage was done.

Your wound wouldn’t excuse any sloppy work, and so you tied the men up before leaving. You never wanted to kill your victims unless you had to and you figured they’re worth more alive than dead anyway. You decided you would call the police once you left the scene, knowing that the criminals weren’t going anywhere. The blood loss was beginning to take root as your head felt dizzy. In your weakened state, you foolishly thought that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator. Boy were you wrong.

And that’s how you find yourself trying to walk down six flights of stairs while severely injured. You manage to reach the fourth floor but when you walk down the stairs to continue, you almost fall. Instead, you stop on the landing in between staircases, deciding to catch a break.

Panting, you lean against the white brick wall and slide down until you’re sitting. You try not to let fear or panic take hold of you. Instead, you take out your phone, though the touch screen is difficult to use with your bloodied fingers, and dial the one person who wanted to hear from.

You pray that your partner picks up the phone. You know they’re on patrol, but still you hold out hope that the ringing will stop. And then it does and your breath catches.

“Hello?” His voice is as deep as always. You suspect that it’s exaggerated to protect his identity, though you’ve never gotten him to admit it. Hearing his voice instantly calms your rising panic. In the background, you can hear the loud noise of an engine which you suspect is coming from the Batmobile. You had adopted that name for the vehicle, despite Batman’s protests. Though you think he secretly likes it.

“Hey Batboy,” you reply, managing a smile through your pain, even though he can’t see you. You imagine him behind the wheel, his gloved hands holding it tight. You imagine his bright eyes focused on the road before him, his serious demeanor on display.

“I’m sorry I missed your calls earlier, I hope it wasn’t important,” he says and it takes you a moment to remember what he’s talking about. When you do, you almost laugh. Not too important, just led to me bleeding out on some dirty floor. Though you don’t hold him responsible. You don’t have the energy for grudges. And after all, it was your choice to act.

“It’s okay, I handled it,” you say.

“I’m on patrol, what do you need?” Straight to the point as always. Though his directness can come across as rude, you never let it get to you. You know he means well and that he just isn’t a naturally positive person. Luckily, you are.

“Can’t I say hello to my partner?” You don’t want to talk to him about your situation because you’ve already come to terms with it. You wouldn’t make it. Even if you told him now, he’d still be too late. You remain calm even though your heart is begging you not to give up. You don’t want to die. But your fate is already sealed. Before you go, you just want to hear from your partner.

“I don’t have time for this. Call me back if it’s important,” he says and you almost cry out in a state of panic.

“Wait!” you say, letting too much desperation slip past your lips. You try to recompose yourself. “Please, it is important.” You wait with bated breath as you hear him sigh.

“What is it?” A sigh of relief escapes your lips, though you tense up again as your wound sends a wave of pain throughout your body. You bite your lip to keep from crying out as you put more pressure on the gunshot wound.

“I have new information on the mafia gang.” You try to focus on your conversation but your mind feels fuzzy and you find yourself staring at the brick wall in front of you. That plain, cold looking wall will be the last thing you see before you die. The thought causes your eyes to blur with oncoming tears. You had forgotten about the call before Batman spoke up.

“Y/N? Are you still there?” he asks, a slight concern in his voice. You smile and ignore your tears as one slips down your cheeks.

“Yeah sorry,” you clear your throat and enter your professional state. “I was going through some of our files when I found an address for a pharmaceutical company that I linked to the gang. The building is located on the outskirts of town, so I decided to stake it out.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing at first, it looked like a normal building. But then two vans pulled up containing the leaders of the gang. I think it was a covert meeting spot.”

“Wait, what did you do?” His voice sounds suspicious and worried as if he’s figuring out exactly what you did.

“About that…” you nervously chuckle, waiting for his accompanying anger.

“You didn’t.” His voice is hard and you imagine a fire in his eyes. Eyes that you find yourself staring into all too often and yet it’s never enough.

“It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I had to!” you argue, wincing again as you move and are reminded of your pain.

“You should have called me first!” Again, you want to laugh at his cluelessness. Some detective.

“I did,” you say. You’re met with silence as he takes in the news.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Your phone calls.” You can picture his shoulders slumping with guilt. “You still should have waited for me.”

“I didn’t want to risk losing them,” you admit. There’s another moment of silence as he prepares to ask his next question.

“What happened?” You then explain to him how you fought your way through the gang, leaving out the part where you wound up with a bullet lodged in your chest.

“Wow, I’m impressed.” You feel a little silly for the pride that suddenly swells in you at the sound of that, along with your blush. “So the gang’s taken care of.”

“Yeah, they’re now officially the GCPD’s problem.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” he says. He’s always so professional, so uptight. You often try to loosen him up and have even managed to make him laugh a few times, which remains some of your proudest moments, but it never lasts. You wonder if you were around him more, in a not-so-professional manner, if you could add more positivity in his life. Too late for that now. “If that’s everything, I should get back to work.”

Your breathing picks up at the idea of him leaving you. You try desperately to think of a way to keep him on the line. Unfortunately, only one idea comes to mind.

“Please wait!” you cry out, sounding even more desperate than the last time. It’s getting too tiring to contain your emotions. You prepare yourself to tell him and then – “I lied to you.”

“What?”

You take a deep breath and smile sadly. “I…they got me,” you say. “They got me good, Batman.” In moments like these, you wish you knew his real identity. You wish you knew his real name. Calling him ‘Batman’ feels impersonal. But I guess you weren’t meant to know him personally, and you respect his right to privacy despite him knowing your identity. 

Another moment of silence passes as Batman struggles to say something. “Are you okay? Where are you?” His voice sounds more concerned. You imagine his mouth turned down slightly. You wonder if his eyebrows are creased under his mask.

“No, I’m not okay,” you say, ignoring his second question. This isn’t how you wanted this conversation to go, but at least he’s still on the line. At least you’re not alone.

“Okay hold on, just tell me where you are and I can help you.” He sounds so determined you almost don’t want to tell him the truth.

“You can’t help me,” your voice cracks, but a smile still remains on your face. Somehow, you feel sad while maintaining a positive attitude. You figure these last moments should be enjoyable. At least you want them to be. Kind of a hard thing to ask for, but you don’t care.

“Yes I can, just—”

“It’s too late, Batman.” Your cheeks become wet as tears slip down them. They slide all the way down your neck where you’re finding it harder and harder to breathe.

“Y/N, tell me where you are.” It’s not his angered voice that convinces you, but the fact that you know he won’t let it go. Even if it’s pointless. Even if there’s not a chance in the world.

“I’m still in the building.” You give him the address and tell him where you’re located in the stairwell. You hear the screeching of tires and imagine Batman turning his car around. It pains you to know that despite all of his efforts, he can’t save you. And you’re not sure he’ll be able to come to terms with it.

“I’m on my way, just hold on for me, okay?” His voice is louder, trying to speak over the roaring engine. You hope there aren’t many drivers out tonight because you can’t imagine seeing that black car zooming down the street. Another wave of pain explodes from your wound and you let out a cry, too weak to try to hold it in. “Y/N?”

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to soothe the worry you hear. But your lie isn’t fooling either one of you.

You hear a growl sound from the phone. “Goddammit Y/N, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have gotten to you quicker.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” you say,

“Stop talking like that, you’re going to be fine.” His insistence makes you wish he was right. You can barely keep your eyes open, trying to focus on a crack in the opposite wall to ground yourself. But it’s hard.

“It’s okay, Batman. I wasn’t even going to tell you at all because I knew this would happen. I’ve accepted it.” Even as the words leave your lips, there’s still a small part of you screaming to keep fighting. The pain is slowly drowning it out.

“You can’t just give up, I told you I’m on my way,” he says. “And why did you call me then? To tell me about the gang?”

“I…I didn’t want to be alone,” you admit and you feel a small weight lift off of your shoulders at telling the truth. You decide to keep going. “And I wanted…I wanted to hear your voice, one last time.”

Batman doesn’t say anything for a moment and you’re almost afraid you’ve scared him off, when his voice crackles to life, “Y/N—”

“I only wish I could have seen you too.”

“You will,” he insists. “You will when I come to help you. I’m almost there, just another minute—”

“Batman I need to tell you something.” The urge grips you hard to tell him everything you’ve always wanted to say. You can feel blood leak into your lungs and you know it’s only a matter of time before you can’t speak at all.

“No, you can wait to tell me in person.”

“I can’t.” You can feel blood start to bubble up into your throat. The pain is fading away, which only means that your brain is starting to shut down. “Batman—”

“Y/N don’t do this—”

“I love you.” The words echo in your mind and you smile knowing that you’ve said it. At least he’ll know. Even if you can’t be with him, even if he doesn’t love you back, at least he’ll know.

“Y/N.” Batman seems to be at a loss for words. You can’t tell if that means he wants to reject your feelings or if he’s just surprised, but it doesn’t matter. You start to cough up blood and your arm feels heavy as if you were holding up a brick instead of a phone. You stare at the blank wall and try to imagine that Batman is in front of you. You want that to be your last sight.

“Goodbye,” you manage to get out just before your thoughts dissolve into air and your eyes finally close.

“No wait Y/N—” Batman’s yelling falls on deaf eyes as your arm drops to the floor, your phone still in your hand but your grip has gone slack. Batman’s voice echoes in your mind as you finally allow the darkness to consume you.

†††

“Y/N? Y/N!” Bruce yells but gets no response. “Fuck!” He presses down even harder on the accelerator, so much so that it might be touching the floor. That doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing that matters.

Bruce refuses to hang up the call in case he hears something, anything on the other end. As Bruce zips down the streets of Gotham, he can’t help but feel angry. Angry at you for giving up and for not believing he could save you. Angry at himself for not answering your calls earlier and for letting you get hurt. Angry at the world for trying to take away one more fucking person that Bruce loves.

The moment you said those three words, Bruce almost stopped breathing. It wasn’t fair, he thought. He finally finds out that the person he loves loves him back and you’re on your deathbed. Maybe if he had let go of his fears and told you earlier, the two of you would have been happy together.

Stop, he scolds himself. There’s still hope for that. They’re not dead.

Bruce hopes that he’s right. He’s about to find out as he pulls in front of the building you’re in. So close, Bruce had been so close. He told you he was coming. Why didn’t you wait for him?

He doesn’t even turn off the engine of the Batmobile (your nickname for his car) as he opens his door and dashes towards the building. Time seems to speed up and slow down all at once as Bruce runs towards the entrance to the stairwell and keeps on running.

He runs as fast as he can until he reaches the platform you said you were at and he has to take a step back at the sight before him. Slumped against the opposite wall is you with blood covering your face and suit.

Time stops as he takes everything in. Your closed eyes. The blood leaking from your mouth. Your right hand lying against the pool of blood on your chest. But the sight that breaks his heart the most is your phone that you’re still holding in your left hand, still on a call with him.

Bruce feels like the wind has been kicked out of him, finding it hard to breathe. But he snaps out of his despairing trance and quickly rushes over to you. He holds one hand against your cheek. “Y/N?” he asks but you don’t respond. His heart rages against his rib cage as he rips his glove off of his other hand and reaches out towards your neck to check your pulse.

For one horrible moment, he doesn’t feel anything. He’s about to break down, letting out all of the emotions that have been rising inside of him since you told him about your condition. But then, he feels it. A faint flutter of a pulse against his fingers. He feels like he can breathe again. He can actually do something. He can save you.

Bruce briefly examines the wound only to see blood still leaking from what he assumes is a gunshot. He wants to apply pressure to it but he curses when he doesn’t find anything to wrap it in. He’s going to have to move fast.

Carefully, he scoops you up into his arms and his jaw clenches when he sees your head roll lifeless onto his chest. You’re the one who’s usually so full of life. He found it rather annoying at first, but he soon realized that you were actually brightening his life. It’s not fair.

He moves towards the stairs and hears your phone hit the ground behind him but he doesn’t have time. Bruce races down the stairs while holding you tight against him, forbidding any more harm to come to you. He exits the building and manages to set you down in the passenger seat.

As soon as he’s behind the wheel, he takes off towards Wayne Manor. He would take you to the hospital, but the Manor is closer and he can’t have anything more go wrong. He doesn’t trust that the doctors can save you, but he knows that he can. He has to.

Normally when he has you in the car, it’s almost never quiet. You’re either singing (even when he turns off the radio) or just talking about anything at all. He has never hated the quiet so much. He glances at his screen and sees that the call still hasn’t ended. Your words begin to flood his mind.

Hey Batboy. 

I lied to you. 

They got me. 

It’s too late. 

I wanted to hear your voice one last time. 

I love you. 

Goodbye.

Bruce’s vision begins to blur but he blinks back any emotion knowing there’s time to hurt later but right now he needs to focus on saving you.

A thought occurs to him to call the GCPD about the gang. Normally he wouldn’t care, but he doesn’t want your suffering to be in vain. But to do that he’ll have to hang up on you and he doesn’t like that implication. Glancing at you, he makes a promise.

“You’re going to hear my voice and see me again,” he promises. “And it won’t be for the last time.” Then he hangs up the phone.

#battinson x reader #battinson x you #battinson #the batman x reader #the batman x you #the batman x y/n #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #the batman #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc fanfiction

[majahu]

To Die on Your Lips

Chapter 1: Late Night Outbursts

Next Chapter

Robert Pattinson Batman x Gn Reader (angst, slow burn)

Note: This fic was just supposed to be a one shot but I got carried away so now it’s a full story lmao. Trying to use gender neutral language on this one. Let me know if I slip up. Comment or message to be added to the tag list.

Summary: With Bruce Wayne’s attention anywhere but Wayne Enterprises, Alfred makes the decision to hire outside help managing the company. After a while, you begin to share the butler’s frustrations with the company’s heir, the two of you constantly butting heads during working hours. Soon, however, your feelings towards your boss begin to change as you start to unravel one of his best kept secrets.

Warnings: angst, lots of yelling, graphic language, suggestive content (wink, wink) in later chapters. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1.3k

  You had been working for Wayne Enterprises for the better half of a year, doing everything from book-keeping to meeting with potential and current investors and not once had you received any kind of help from the company’s owner.

 You rarely saw Bruce Wayne except for the rare occasions where he was dragged to a mandatory meeting with the company’s board. Your interactions with him were mostly countless unanswered messages that you left on his work phone, asking for clarification regarding various paperwork, transfers of funds, etcetera.

 Mostly, your communication to your boss was through Alfred Pennyworth, his butler, who you bet did more for the company than Bruce Wayne ever did. It wasn’t fair that he was the face of this whole company, when it seemed like he’d rather be doing anything other than his fucking job. 

You were currently at your desk, your office being located at the very top of Wayne Tower (which was a pain in the ass when the elevator was being serviced; at least all the stairs gave you some pretty killer calves). One hand rested in your hair, while the other clutched a mug of drip coffee; it was your third of the night and you had hoped that it would help you stay awake long enough to go over the book-keeping you needed to, but all it had managed to do was give you a massive stomach ache. The glare of street lights barely reached your office window, and illuminated by the light of a single desk lamp, the majority of your office was bathed in shadows. 

Wayne Enterprises had several branches, and though they all had their own team of accountants and managers, you were entrusted with giving everything a final look-over to make sure that nothing was amiss. With so many employees and branches, it would be relatively easy for someone to embezzle a couple hundred dollars, thousands even, without being noticed. It could easily get lost in piles of paperwork had it not been for your or Alfred’s tireless efforts. 

 “Thank god I’m getting paid overtime for this,” you sighed, eyes grazing over lists of charges  from the past month from Wayne Electronics. There were, of course, deposits of investments that you easily recognized; the withdrawals were the tricky part. Most of them had clear names, some money even being transferred to various branches like Wayne Tech, others, the ones that you didn’t recognize, you scrawled down in a small leather bound notebook to bring up to Alfred or try to decipher on your own.

 The numbers on the page started drifting slightly to the left as your eyes came in and out of focus. 

 God, you were tired. 

 You had been at work since 8:00 AM and it was currently—you checked your watch—9:47 PM. 

 Your eyes fluttered closed, and you had nearly drifted to sleep when you thought you heard your office door creak open. 

 “I’m really starting to lose it,” you muttered to yourself, eyes warily scanning the dark corners of your office. 

 Sure enough, your door was closed. You turned back around only to come face to face with a shadowy figure standing at the front of your desk.

 “Jesus, fuck!” You shouted, nearly falling backwards in your swivel chair. 

 “What are you still doing here?” the figure said, voice strained like he hadn’t talked to anyone in a while. 

You blinked a couple times, eyes coming into focus, and sure enough there was the face of your boss, dimly illuminated by the lamplight of your desk.

 “Mr. Wayne?”

 You said, tilting your head to the side, “What are you doing here?”

 As your eyes further adjusted to the man standing in front of you, you noticed what looked like some intense dark circles under his eyes. “Maybe you should go back home and get some sleep…” you muttered, not really meaning to speak the words aloud.

 “What?” he said, the beginnings of a sneer on his lips. He seemed more annoyed by your presence in your own office than you would’ve expected him to be, especially since you were working overtime to help make sure his company was staying afloat.

 “Look, is there something I can help you with?” you said, bitterness creeping into your tone. It’s not that you meant to give your boss attitude, but you had had a long day, you were tired, and you wanted more than anything to be back in your apartment under the covers of your bed. 

 He paused for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something before looking away from you, “No, it’s nothing. I noticed a light was on and I came to check and see if everything was okay.”

 You said nothing, staring blankly back at him.

 “You can go,” he said.

 Your annoyance at your boss was starting to bubble over, a long rant about responsibilities and leadership pulling at the corners of your mouth. You were so so tired, and you probably shouldn’t provoke one of Gotham’s most powerful men, but before you could stop yourself the words were flowing out of your mouth, 

 “You came to see if everything was okay?” you scoffed, “since when do you ever do anything for this company?”

 The man stared at you, brows knitting together slightly, his expression hardening. 

 Gripping the arms of your chair, your knuckles began to turn white as you leaned forward in your seat, “I have been working myself to the bone, coming in early, staying late, all to make sure nobody is taking advantage of how fucking disorganized this company is. You only ever come to meetings when Alfred drags you there like you’re some spoiled little brat, and even then you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. You could at least try to care! Or put nearly half the work in that your employees do, who, by the way, make a fucking fraction of your annual salary when they’re the ones carrying this place!”

 You were shouting now, and only when you noticed the expression on Bruce Wayne’s face did you shut your mouth, wishing you could retreat into the cushions of your chair.

 What did I just do?

 You had just lost your cool; majorly, by the way, in front of your boss. You were almost positive you were going to be fired for this.

 Bruce Wayne looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, or wrap his hands around your throat, or spontaneously combust. You weren’t sure what was about to happen, all you knew is that it wasn’t going to be pretty.

 He placed his hands on your desk, thumb covering the corner of your notebook. He opened his mouth, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully. He leaned in, bringing his face closer to yours as you fought the urge to shrink away from him, “do you think I chose this?”

 “I never wanted to run this company,” he said, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he tore his eyes away from you, casting them to look out of your window, studying the Gotham skyline, “do you know how hard it is to live up to his legacy?” he said quietly. 

 “Mr. Wayne I-” 

 “Don’t speak.” he said, pausing for a moment.

 “Every time I set foot in this place, I am reminded of what I’m not.” 

 “And I don’t need you, someone who I hired not even a year ago, to remind me even more of it or to pretend you know me and what I do for this company, for this city.” He said, his tone venomous. 

 Bruce Wayne looked back at you, his eyes narrowing, “Do you really think you’re such an invaluable piece of this company? That you can’t be replaced? You have no idea what goes on behind the scenes.” 

 He looked as if he wanted to say something more, like he was holding back. 

 Instead, his eyes studied you for a moment longer before tearing away from you again, “Get out.” 

 Not daring to say anything more, you stood, not even grabbing your notebook, and walked out the office door.

--

Tag List: @lesyeuxdebritty @rat-theghoul @withbeautyandrage

#Battinson #the batman #the batman 2022 #the batman fanfiction #batman fanfiction #battinson fanfiction #angst #slow burn #robert pattinson #robert pattinson batman #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #batman angst #batman slow burn #minors dni #my writing

[1-800-imagines]

then | changes part 8

masterlist of series

authors note: kind of a transition chapter, not the best, i apologize. ALSO this fic is obvi not cannon and selina kyle is not in it so i am adapting around that, some events are out of order

PRINCESS OF GOTHAM DEAD

the text scrolled across the screen and you bit your lip.

you bounced your leg as you watched the press release. usually it would be thomas you would be thomas you would be bouncing, but he was making his first public appearance today.

jim gordon was currently standing outside the gotham precinct talking to the reporters where they were all hungry for bruce’s appearance.

everyone had decided it be necessary to have thomas be there as no one would believe you dead if thomas were no where to be found either.

gordon stepped up to the mic. everyone had been in arms about your 'death' as you were a far different target than the mayor, the commissioner, and the da.

"it is with great sorrow to announce that y/n y/l/n was tragically murdered last night by the riddler. we know this without a doubt and we are using all of our resources to find him. a tape has been leaked of y/n's death and we are advising the public not to listen out of respect of her family. now a word from mr. wayne, her fiancé." jim finished.

bruce walked out of the precinct doors carrying thomas. bruce stepped up to the mic and cleared his throat, "this is the second person the riddler has hurt because of me. first alfred, now y/n." thomas started to whine, “this is our child, thomas bruce wayne jr or tommy as y/n called him. he’s without a mother now.” you could see the pain in bruce’s face as he spoke these words as they were his biggest fears and he needed to make it seem realistic.

you swallowed hard you were worried about the two of them being in such a public place when the riddler was clearly obsessed with him.

“she was a great woman and an even better mother. i should have made better use of our time together. that’s all, thank you.” bruce said and walked back inside as the reporters went wild with questions.

your heart broke, seeing the pain in bruce’s eyes knowing he meant every word of it. tears streamed down your face as you clicked off the tv.

“would you like some tea, ms. y/n?” you heard the voice around the corner, wiping the tears away from your cheeks.

you stood up, “dotty?” you asked softly. you knew she was around, but you hadn’t seen her during your arrival last night.

“i didn’t mean to interrupt. i made you tea. i thought you might like some.” she said, walking in and presenting you tea, just how you liked it.

“you remembered.” this made the tears come falling again and your knees buckled. dotty had always made you tea when you weee upset when you were a teenager, it had been a staple comfort item and a bonding moment between the two of you.

dotty quickly put the tray down and rushed to your side, “sweet girl, everything will be alright. you’re home safe again. we will take care of you.”

you leaned into her shoulder, just as you had when you were a young teenager, “how can anything be the same?” you whispered.

“well it won’t be and it shouldn’t be. there’s a baby now. and if that doesn’t make you want to work things out with him, i don’t know what will.” she said, stroking your hair.

you sniffled, “i’m just so worried about him.”

“well aren’t we all, but now he has someone to come home to besides just me and silly alfred.”

you hugged her a final time, “thank you dot.”

your phone beeped and you looked at it. it was a text from bruce with a link to a news article titled SECRET LOVE CHILD OF LATE Y/N Y/LN AND BRUCE WAYNE? FIND OUT MORE TONIGHT

you swore, you knew that meant reporters would be swarming the manor trying to get more pictures of thomas, especially after that pressconference. there was nowhere safe for them to go in gotham. you needed to find the riddler and be done with this, fast.

thankfully, bruce and tommy would have a police escort back to the house later, but you had gone down to start analyzing the latest letter. as you were about to shut down the computers a pattern in the code caught your eye of your initials. you erased all of those symbols which pertained and it spelled out perfect, ‘44’.

you felt sick, you never wanted to step foot in the iceberg lounge or 44 below again. your last name was a legend in that club because of your father as he was known to take any hit job no matter the target, no questions asked. a year after he had killed your mother, you went looking for answers and had a horrible encounter with falcone and the penguin. if it hadn’t been for young bruce, you wouldn’t have made it out alive.

but you knew you were the only one who was going to get in, even if you were supposed to be dead.

#battinson x reader #battinson #battinson imagine #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #robert pattinson #robert pattinson!batman x reader #the batman #the batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x fem!reader #batman #battinson x y/n

[demigoddessqueens]

tea 🍵 and sugar 💋 💕

Just a little multi-fandom headcanon combo from some of my favorites.

lemon tea - what are mornings like with them?

Mornings with Alucard are an intimate setting, with a hearty homemade breakfast for you and a sweet morning kiss as well

peppermint tea - what do they get excited about?

Ezio Auditore de Firenze finds the excitement in many things in life, but a new place to meet secretly 😉 with you always gets his heart racing

chamomile tea - what is their sleep schedule like? does it change around their s/o?

Sleep does not exist for Bruce Wayne/The Batman as he goes out at crazy late hours to patrol Gotham, but if he does meet you, good luck trying to get him into bed. And staying for a good night’s rest (and cuddles)

earl grey tea - how did they court their s/o?

Who would thought fighting monsters would be the easiest way to woo you? At least that’s what Trevor Belmont thought when you still looked at him lovingly, even scuffed up

milk tea - what are their kisses like?

Xander’s kisses start off tentative, but as he grows more comfortable with you, it’s pouring every living feeling he has

coffee - do they get jealous easily? how do they show it?

Jacob Frye, Vax’ildan, and Dimitri were not raised to be jealous men but that still won’t stop them from side eyeing someone, or pulling you close, if a stranger gets too chummy

rosehip tea - how romantic are they? how do they show affection?

Jester has picked up more than her fair share of tips from the romance novels she adores

black tea - what do they look for in a person?

Hector and Isaac seek a kindred soul that just accepts them, a hand reaching out to them in companionship 💕

pomegranate tea - at what point did they know they loved their s/o?

You would occasionally go out on patrols with Ms. Selina Kyle, and the one time you take a hit for her is when she realizes that you’ve always made sure to put her first

matcha tea - how and when do they propose to their s/o?

Fjord and you were help fighting off a rogue pirate band, and you both knew your feelings and just ran with it. Cue to the rest of the Nein honorarily marrying you both on the high seas

Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean

chai tea - how do they spice up their relationship?

Given that Claude has a knack for keeping his cards close to him, I could easily seeing him getting into role playing

hibiscus tea - what’s their favourite place to take their s/o?

Percy likes to walk arm in arm with you in Whitestone’s garden

green tea - how do they comfort their s/o? 

Dorian likes to hold you close, and let you ramble on if something’s on your mind.

russian caravan tea - how experienced are they with relationships?

Hubert was always dedicated to his work and never set much time aside for himself, so it would be rare of him to have had a past relationship

I was today years old when I realized Hubert and Dorian are the same VA 😆

english breakfast tea - would they want a family?

Sypha and Arno Victor Dorian would appreciate (and adore) the idea of creating a family of their own, to have a small one that bears their likeness

rooibos tea; what’s their favourite thing to do with their s/o?

When there’s some downtime, Greta appreciates picking flowers and enjoying a small nature stroll or a nap.

#critical role #headcanons #castlevania #fire emblem #assassin’s creed #writing tea prompts #the batman #critical role x y/n #critical role x you #critical role x reader #alucard castlevania x reader #assassin’s creed x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x reader #the batman x you #fire emblem x reader #battinson x y/n #battinson x you #battinson x reader #castlevania x reader #the mighty nein x reader #bell’s hells #exu kymal #jacob frye x reader #dimitri alexandre blaidydd x reader #percy de rolo x reader #vax’ildan x y/n #vax’ildan vessar #trevor belmont x reader #ezio x reader

[hobisstar]

no more running | dark!bruce wayne x reader

Summary: Y/N was tired of being trapped in the Wayne Manor, Bruce says its for her safety. Was he protecting her or just keeping her to himself?

Warning: Mention of murder, harmful doing, possessiveness, obsession, Evil Bruce Wayne, and Melatonin pills.

A/N: Okay, basically im an DC and Marvel fan also! Ive been reading Batman/Bruce Wayne fics for the past 2 days now and decided to make one. I watched The Batman movie last night and I LITERALLY BECAME MORE IN LOVE. I know Batman is more so like a natural hero so hes like A hero but does villain like things. So i thought what if he was just like Dark all around MORE than usually? This is my first one so thoughts from you guys will be highly needed. Its a one shot so its gonna be a little short! Enjoy!

“Y/N!” Bruce yelled following her through the Wayne Manor. “Look at me when im talking to you!”

“No! Because im sick and tired of you acting like you control me Bruce Wayne, when you in fact do not. What exactly are protecting me of when you are the most Dangerous man in the room right now!” She walked into their shared bedroom or so.

They’ve been bumping heads recently, a lot to to be honest.

He hasn’t been the nicest and to be honest he doesn’t regret it.

The crime rate in Gotham had gotten higher and even the day light was dangerous to be out in.

But last week, something changed in Bruce. Maybe it was the intruders he killed with his bare hands and had Alfred dispose of the bodies.

It was for her protection, they deserved the beating.

“You killed those intruders Bruce... You promised me you’d never kill, ever. To me being out in the city is safer than being in a shared room with someone who’s not even a hero but the same as those people out there.”

Bruce knew his temper, and oh was it rising as the more she badmouths him and compared him to those people.

“I was protecting you. You are fragile and can get hurt. I'm not letting you get hurt because of who I am or what I've done outside the manor. Yes, I've killed two men that dared step into our home. How was I supposed to know that they were just after me? They could’ve spotted you and harmed you.” He stepped closer to Y/N grabbing the so called 'bag' she was trying to pack.

“I told you if something were the happen outside you aren’t allowed to leave the manor. I meant that with every inch of light I have left. “

“You can’t keep me in here Bruce-“

“No I can. And I will. Its not safe out there. Hate me. Dislike me. Want me dead. Do whatever you please but you aren’t leaving this home.”

Y/N huffed and walked out the room.

“Ill get out one way or another.” She thought in her head.

5 hours later

It was about 9pm. Bruce- I'm sorry The Bat was out around this time and for sure wouldn’t be back till 4 am.

“Ms. Y/N are you sure we should be breaking Bruce’s orders like this? What such a hassle to just get outside.” said one of the maids.

Since the morning after the argument ,Y/N has been plotting in her head a few escape routes.

Of course the main ones or either locked or emergency usable only.

She huffed and grabbed the backpack. “Yeah well, I really have other business to attend to outside of this Manor. If Bruce comes back tell him, I'm in bed. He usually won't bother if I'm sleeping. I should be back at 3 am. Call me if he calls Alfred saying Hes on his way back. I'll use the front door to get in. See Ya” Y/N said and ran to the bat cave using the only exit she knew would be open.

She was leaving because her mother called her and said that it was urgent. Her father had been mugged and wasn’t doing the best and she needed to see him if the time was to come if he was laid to rest.

Dealing with Bruce was enough in her plate, but shed do anything to see her family for the last time.

She took his bike and speed off…

At Y/Ns parents house

“Oh my! Y/N dear i thought you said Bruce had the place on lock down?” Her mother said raising her eyebrows.

“He does but I told one of the maids to call me if he gets home before I do. Im willing to risk anything to see my family ma.” Y/N half smiled and looked around.

“Where’s dad?”

“Back here honey!” She heard her dad shout.

“Turns out he just had some bruises and sprained his ankle. Hes fine but because of his old age, it was worst than that.” Mother said.

“Gosh ive been away so long I forgot you are a doctor.” She chuckled and walked to the room.

“Papa!” Y/N said and ran to him.

“Wow you’ve grown my girl. I can’t believe you are even here right now. This city is a mess and I know Bruce would never let you out with the way the crime rate has sprung up.” He chuckled then looked at her.

“He doesn’t know im here… I promise I’ll be back-“

“You need to get going my girl! You know the city shuts down at 12 am now! There is no reason for him to be out so late.”

“WHAT?!-“

As if it was a que Y/Ns phone rung in pocket.

She picked it up with no hesitation. “yes?”

“Y/N! Mr. Wayne is 20 minutes away! Please hurry back!”

At the Wayne Manor

…

“She’s not home yet!”

“OH MY GOSH”

“We need to make it look like she was here for hours!”

“What if he notices that she wasn’t here?”

“Cave has been opened..”

After are the commotion it settled down when that alert went off.

Was it Y/N?

Was it Bruce?

They were scared shitless. Scared that all hell would break when he gets up here and there is no y/n.

The handle turned and the door opened.

They all released a sigh of relief.

“I made it back in time!” Y/N smiled a little out of breathe.

“Oh gosh Ms. Y/N you had us all covered in fear. Hurry along now he should he arriving shortly.”

She nodded and ran up the stairs to their shared room.

She sighed happily as she sat on the bed. Being out was funny for the little time she could be out.

Seeing her dad being healthy and her mother also doing the same made her so happy.

“Maybe I should start sneaking out more often.” She said out loud since she thought she was alone.

“No. Because I could’ve sworn I made clear instructions that you stay in the Manor.” Bruce said from the chair in the darkness that filled the room.

She jumped up and turned on the lamp looking at him. “W-When did you get home?”

“Y/N I never left. Because I knew you would try to leave so i planned to stay in tonight and watch over you. Alfred told me what you had said to the maids.” He stood up going to sit on the bed.

“Bruce i just wanted to see my mom and dad-“

“Does it matter?! You could’ve gotten hurt!” He yelled looking at her with pure darkness in his eyes.

She jumped back from his booming voice, slightly cowering away but stood her ground.

“But I wasn’t! I told you you dont own me! If I want to leave I should damn well be able to leave!”

He slightly chuckled and that smile soon went away with it. He stood up and just walked out not saying anything.

She signed and fell to her knees surprised she even said everything without once stuttering.

“I need a bath officially” she said and went I the bathroom and closed the door.

In the kitchen

(Warning ⚠️: this part is were the Melatonin will be used. It will be taken with tea for a better nights sleep. You may continue reading at you’re own risk:).)

“You are being to harsh on her Bruce.” Alfred said.

Bruce sighed. “Im not. She got hurt once while being out and I never forgave myself for it.”

“That was 2 years go, Sir. She’s more matured. You trained her to fight and protect herself, yet you have her locked away like she’s Rapunzel.”

“That doesnt matter! She needs to be in the manor Alfred. I rather she be locked up here in safety then locked up some where I CANT find.”

Alfred sighed. “Whatever you say. Here’s the madams tea and melatonin as usually.”

“Thanks.”

Bruce grabbed the tea and pill and walked up stairs to their shared bed room. Usually around this time shed Be in the bathroom getting ready for bed so he went with his gut and opened the bathroom door.

She was relaxing in the tub and sat on the side of it watching her not saying a word.

Gosh, how he just wanted to protect her. So what if he was being protective or possessive I mean he wanted the best for her.

Staying in the house was only for now when the curfew on the city was just on.

“Im telling Alfred to put the manor on lockdown. The maids will be going home tonight.” He said still looking at her no emotion in his eyes.

She looked up at him. “You-You can’t do that!”

He put the tea on the counter with the pills.

“You are not to leave the manor until the curfew on the city is lifted. You will stay in the manor every day and every night. You got hurt once because of me. And that was my fault. I love you to much to see you get hurt again because of my lack of protection. This is most I can do to protect you and Alfred. You two are my World and im not loosing either of you. I will never allow it.” He stood up and walked out.

Maybe one day, She will see that his protection is all he can bring. He loves her and will never let her get hurt EVER AGAIN.

Bruce went down the his cave and just started writing away about a few things for the city but it soon turned Into

Never let her out Never let her out Never let her out

Never let her out Never let her out Never let her out

Never let her out Never let her out Never let her out

Never let her out Never let her out

Never

Let

Her

Out

Has he perhaps gone mad?

#the batman #the batman x y/n #the dark knight #robert pattinson x y/n #bruce wayne #bruce wayne one shot #battinson #robert pattinson #the batman 2022 #Robert Pattinson oneshot #the vigilante #burce wayne x reader

[plentyoffandoms]

The Ridder x f/Reader

Main Masterlist ♡ The Batman Masterlist ♡ The Riddler Masterlist ♡ Somebody's Watching Me Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: Some swearing. Riddler stalking the F/Reader. Obsessive behaviour.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me.

Also have no idea if anyone would read this. Just wanted to write for The Riddler.

Summary: f/Reader volunteers in her spare time at Arkham Asylum. The Riddler takes a liking to her.

YN's POV:

Even though this isn't my first time walking through these doors, I still always get an uneasy feeling.

I mean, how could I not? Arkham Asylum is home to the most dangerous criminals in Gotham history and yet, I am the stupid person that volunteers in their spare time here.

It wasn't by choice at first. Just after I turned 18 years old, I got into some trouble with the law and because it was my first offence and it wasn't serious, I was forced to do 700 hours of community service at Arkham.

Now that seems like a lot and trust me, it was but it was better than the alternative. Working in Mayor Mitchell's office.

At first I was going to take that option but then I remembered one of my friends saying in passing that our old Mayor made a pass at her when she volunteered there one summer.

And when she turned him down, he threatened her. I don't know with what exactly, but not long after that, she left for college and refused to step foot back in Gotham.

"Look who it is. Long time no see YN." Steve, the guard at the front desk said to me, pulling me back to reality.

"How you doing Steve? Hope Crystal and the boys are doing good?" I said to him.

It has been almost a year and half since I came here. After the flood, my home was destroyed and I had to work my ass off to be able to get to where I am now.

"Good thing you were here that night huh YN?" I tried not to think about that night. The night when The Riddler set off bombs along the edge of our city and flooded it.

Hundreds died. Many people are still with out a home and for what reason? Because some crazy man decided that he wanted to get revenge against the elite of Gotham.

Instead, he just took everyone else down. The ones who work their asses off, day in and day out just trying to survive this city.

"Yes, it was good thing because I probably would of been at home and well, that place is gone." Steve gave me a look of pity, so I decided to change the subject quickly.

"Where am I needed today?"

~

I was placed in the library, helping to set up for the movie night that they did for the less violent prisoners.

I ignored the looks and the whispers from the people that were in there. I was used to it anyways.

The guards are not that far away and are keeping a close eye on them. It wouldn't be the first time I would be attacked in here, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

But then I heard a different name being muttered. "The Riddler."

Or as I have learned, Edward Nashton. I looked up when the room went silent. I couldn't help but stare at the man who Gotham still fears.

The same man who rallied a whole bunch of outcasts behind him and who they were willing to kill for.

He himself was staring back at me. Confused by my mere presence and then he did something that completely and utterly shocked me.

He gave me a small smile and raised his handcuffed hands up and waved at me.

I couldn't move. I could hardly breath as I watched the guard behind him, push him to get moving.

~

The moment I was done, I was gone. I practically ran from the building. I didn't bother to say goodbye to anyone.

I had to get out of there.

Even as I sat in cab on the ride home, I still had the same feeling I had when I laid eyes on him.

I have a feeling I shouldn't be going back to Arkham. Not when he is there.

The Riddler's POV:

I was stunned to see that woman standing in the middle of the library. Not because she was a woman, as Arkham has many of them, but for the fact that I have never seen someone as beautiful as her.

When she looked me, it felt like she was really looking into my soul. Her beautiful eyes got real wide when I waved at her but she did not move to look away.

No no, she continued to look at me. The moment was broken when my guard pushed me to get me moving again.

I had to find out who she is and I will not rest until I do.

~

After waiting weeks for the mysterious women to come back, I had to ask two of the guards for help.

They were up in the rafters during the flood and have never stopped believing in me and how I was and still right for what I did.

"This is all we can find on her. Her name is YN LN."

The last name sounds familiar. "LN?"

"Her family used to own the Gotham bank. That was until her father was murdered during his morning jog about fifteen years ago." Vince told me.

"From word of mouth, he learned about what they were doing with the Renewal Fund and was going to expose them."

I looked through the file that they gave me as they told me more about her.

Father murdered.

Mother drank herself to death and spent the family fortune on bad investments, leaving her only child with nothing to her name.

YN put herself through Gotham University by working at the same Diner I was arrested at, as well as working at a few high-end shops that the rich shop at.

"What does she do now?" I asked Carl after I was done looking through the first one. He handed me another file.

"She is a Realtor." I turned to see one of her ads. Her smiling face looking up at me.

"You have her address?" I don't see it in the file.

"2468 Fanshaw Road Sir."

I dismissed the two of them as they have been in here longer than what they should of been.

I put the files away, but kept her photo out. Trying to memorize her face into my brain.

"YN LN. You will be mine." I whispered to her photo.

Tag List: please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

Looks like it is time to move my escape plan up by a few months.

Part 2

#the batman 2022 #the batman #the batman imagine #the batman fix #the batman x y/n #the batman x female reader #the batman x fem!reader #the riddler #the riddler fic #the riddler imagine #the riddle x female reader #paul dano riddler #paul dano riddler x female reader #paul dano riddler x reader #edward nashton #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x female reader

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 20 - In the glow of the moon

Chapter 19; Masterlist Summary: Some conversations cannot be avoided. Especially when it is Bruce, who becomes impatient... Warnings: Swearing; angst. Too much talking. Author's Notes: Alas, we've made it. This is where the story ends *sniffles*. While I've got a short epilogue in mind, it's going to be more of a post scriptum, so I'm treating this as the conclusion to the journey. And what a journey it had been! 🥺 It only took me a year and a half to finish the series, but I'm so glad I did. Those idiots did not make it easy, but I'll sure miss them. This chapter is a long overdue punchline some of you had been waiting for. I hope it meets your expectations. Thank you for reading, waiting and supporting me in the very rocky process. You all made it much easier to convince my brain it was worth continuing 💕 And thank you, Shet, for dealing with my whining, doubts and endless drama - always grateful for you! Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5 (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

(gif credit: @1038276637)

In the morning, you dared believe the universe must have a soft spot for you within its core. As soon as your eyes opened, your gaze noted two things. One, Bruce was gone. Two, there was a note with his handwriting on your bedside table.

Without letting your mind run away with the first fact, undoubtedly working itself into a spiral like no other you rolled over to pick up the page. The contents were simple: “Sorry I’m gone. The hospital called to say Alfred had been signed out, so I went to pick him up. See you soon.”

The spark of relief drowned out everything else as you dropped the paper onto the covers and smiled at the ceiling. Everything was still fucked. But this was something. Something that could take your mind off the reality. It was easy to admit that one thought. You missed Alfred. Missed his clever blue-grey eyes that saw through your bullshit. Maybe it was what you needed… Maybe.

The thought was a motivator to drag you out of bed and into the closet, absentmindedly searching for anything you could wear. The first proper wake-up of the morning came when you entered the ensuite and found yourself facing the mirror. Finding mussed hair and a red bruise on your neck. A few more below, scattered like flares across your body. Drawing attention to what happened. Making it impossible for you to deny it, even before yourself. A wave of shame rolled in your stomach, erasing the budding hunger. You turned your head the other way and never looked back until you were ready to leave the bathroom.

It was cold enough for a turtleneck, anyway.

The distraction kicked in as soon as you made your way downstairs. A chorus of voices could be heard coming from the kitchen. A sound you had not heard in the tower since the explosion. A quiet sigh of relief was all the noise you made as you headed into the room. Eager to see what was going on. Having reached the doorway, you peered inside. Bruce was the first one you saw, leaning against the kitchen counter with a timid yet bright smile. He seemed happy. Lighter than when you had first met him.

Another dangerous thought you did not want to entertain. Your gaze slipped over Bruce to settle on Alfred. He was leaning heavily on his cane, but no bandages were in sight anymore. Only a fading yellowish bruise and darker circles underneath his eyes. Dory was talking with him animatedly, her hands gesticulating broadly. A grin broke out on your face as you stepped through the threshold, immediately drawing attention to your arrival. All three pairs of eyes landed on you. Without meaning to, you met Bruce’s gaze first. The look in his eyes shifted, but his face was still open. As if he was happy to see you. Even after the previous night. You never had the time to pull that revelation apart.

“Glad to see you join us, darling” Alfred crossed the remaining space towards you with a bright smile.

Affection filled the caverns of your heart, making it impossible to get rid of that one feeling. The one that reminded you that you had not felt this welcomed anywhere in a very long time. That this, the three of them, almost felt like the home you had lost twenty years ago. You swallowed past the lump in your throat to reply, a cheeky smile masking the emotions tearing through your chest:

“Pardon me, I didn’t know we’ll be having a kitchen party” an answering scoff from Bruce was enough of a validation for the weak joke, “It’s good to see you back, Alfred” you met the butler’s gaze with a fond look of your own, not hiding just how much you had meant it.

You knew he understood, instantly adjusting his stance to open his arms and invite you in for a hug with a quiet croon:

“Oh, c’mere,” you did not need to be asked twice, returning the embrace with care, mindful of his lingering frailty.

But Alfred’s hug was everything but frail, instantly making you sink into the comforting touch you did not know you had missed. After a beat, aware of the company and the prolonged silence, you pulled back, squeezing his arms one last time. Over Pennyworth’s shoulder, you caught Bruce’s gaze again. The softness in his eyes was replaced with something more tender. Almost as if seeing you close to Alfred meant much more to him than he could say. You sent him a small smile as the butler spoke again:

“I see my boy at least had the decency to invite you to stay for longer” the older man threw a pointed look over his shoulder at Bruce before setting his piercing gaze back on you.

You did wonder whether the blush on your cheeks was as telling as you worried it might be. Because there was no escape from it.

“Of course, I-” Bruce’s offended rebuttal was never meant to be heard.

Only because you feared what he might say and whether you could mitigate the effects without the scene dissolving into chaos. You threw Bruce an apologetic smile and interrupted him with faux chirpiness:

“He did. At least until everything settles down in the city,” the apologetic note was not easily eradicated from your voice.

Because no matter what, you still felt like perhaps you were a nuisance to them. Like maybe you should have disappeared a long time ago and never bothered them again. But then Bruce was the one to ask… And the previous night, he seemed happy with you staying… You barely resisted shaking your head against the barrage of thoughts as Alfred remarked:

“Well, we’re certainly not short on space” he glanced at Dory as if awaiting her approval.

You followed his gaze only to see the older woman smile at you warmly. Giving her blessing with your favourite question of the morning:

“Coffee?” she raised the mug to accentuate the gesture.

“From you? Always” there was no need to think as you flashed her your brightest grin and joined the woman by the counter.

Perhaps it was alright for you to stay. Just a little longer.

***

The illusion of peace lasted approximately 32 hours and 27 minutes. It shattered in the afternoon of the second day of Alfred’s return as Dory left the dining room table, leaving you alone with the older man. As if he had been waiting for the occasion to arise, Pennyworth instantly settled his heavy gaze on your face. You got as far as awkwardly clearing your throat before he launched the first question:

“How are you doing?” you knew the nonchalance in his tone was only a means of keeping you calm.

And making you stay at the table, despite the alarm bells in your head urging you to run away. Because hell knew Alfred was damn good at seeing through your bullshit. Unfortunately.

“I’m good,” you pasted what you hoped was a convincing smile.

Hoping it would be enough to deter him. Foolishly.

Alfred leaned forward, putting more weight onto his forearms as he levelled you with another long look:

“Are you?” your heart stumbled in your chest as if begging to say: No, I’m not; he paused, seemingly to find the right words before driving another striking blow, “Because it took me a little over a day to see that things are not exactly easy between you” you could see the tactful turn.

The exact moment when Alfred noticed he needed to be gentle with you. When he saw your fragility and discovered the cause without you needing to say it aloud. That need to run and hide only grew stronger.

“Well… we get on just fine” you shrugged, aware that it was a futile attempt on your side.

It wasn’t a lie. Even after that night, things were fine. As in, Bruce talked to you, still shared his work updates, and checked in on you throughout the day. But he kept his distance. And you tried your best not to dwell on the fact fearing the heartbreak that would follow if you did.

“I know that you do,” compassion in Alfred’s eyes told you he noticed it too, “But I also know Bruce. And I can see that he’s desperately trying to fix something, but he doesn’t know where to start” the hint of hurt in his face was enough to crack your heart.

It was one thing to know you had been hurting Bruce. Another to hear it from someone else. Someone who knew him more than you. A wave of shame threatened to drown you as you gasped quietly and trained your gaze on the table. A lone tear slipped from the corner of your eye and dropped onto the cloth. There would be no more pretending.

“What do you want me to say?” the hysterical note crept into your voice as you heard yourself spill confessions you never dared put into words, “I’m scared, Alfred. Always had been. Because there are feelings that I can’t get rid of no matter what I do” more tears rolled down your cheeks as the desperation you had tried stifling reared its head “I don’t want to hurt him, but…” you trailed off, your voice breaking under the weight of emotions.

But that was it. The truth was spoken for the first time and somehow more terrifying. You knew how it sounded. How utterly pathetic it was to be afraid of the thing many were willing to die for. But you could not help it.

“You’re also hurting yourself, though” Alfred’s gentle statement was enough to make you look up.

You fixed your red-rimmed eyes on his face, resisting the sudden urge to scoff. He was right, but that did not change anything. After twenty years of hurting, what was some more? An eternity? Easy. Much easier than whatever was going on right now.

“That’s inevitable” you could only shrug, staring at him blankly.

Because that’s just the thing. It’s inevitable. There is no outcome where you could have this and walk away unscathed. No such variant of the reality.

From the disbelief on Alfred’s face, you knew he disagreed.

“What if it doesn’t have to be like that?” you opened your mouth to protest, but he did not let you speak just yet, “What if you could have everything you wanted and be happy?” the conviction in his eyes was something you wished you could share.

But you couldn’t. It sounded like a fable, a tale too good to be true. It sounded like your childhood before.

“I don’t think that’s possible” you levelled him with a resigned look and brushed the drying tears from your cheeks.

Suddenly you wanted nothing more than to burrow underneath the covers and disappear from the world until the morning. Only Alfred had one more thing to say…

“I beg to differ” with his tone urging you to listen, you fell quiet as he continued, “I can’t tell you what to do or think, but… You make him happy” his gaze softened as your heart panged, barely able to sit idly for much longer, “And I know that’s mutual” though there was no need, you nodded weakly, confirming the correct assumption “Love is terrifying, but it’s also worth the pain” unable to withstand the vulnerable moment, you closed your eyes, hiding the pain he could find there; he hit the metaphorical bullseye “Don’t let the fear take it away from you” as Alfred finished the speech you let out a long exhale.

As if sensing you were barely holding on, he stood up from the table and left the dining room. But not without reaching out to squeeze your shoulder first. Only once you were alone did you let the tears flow freely.

You desperately wanted him to be right.

***

Only two days later, things came to a head with the most unexpected beginning. Although it was late, you were still busy with work, reading up on different witness accounts of the aftermath of the flooding. While you were still officially off work for another week, you wanted to make sure you had something to write about as soon as you could. And as much as you wanted to, Riddler’s case was off-limits. The decision was difficult to accept, but it was a no-brainer. You could not write about events that hit so close to home and expect it to be unbiased. And any good at all.

So, with a heavy heart, you began a quest to find something new. To your utmost surprise – Bruce offered to help. And help he did, sharing various stories he has heard during his patrols, dropping hints towards the whispers passed around in the dark. You were more grateful than you knew how to express.

Glancing at the clock in the upper corner of the laptop screen, you groaned at the late hour. Perhaps it was time to finish for the night… Perhaps you could- You never got to end the thought as sudden feedback sound rang out in the study. Its whine made you startle, head snapping up in rapt attention at whatever would follow. That was familiar. A memory from what felt like ages ago. It took you another moment to catch up and recognise the song. The subtle strumming was almost indistinguishable. And then…

You got up before you knew what you were doing. Like a siren call leading sailors to their demise, the increasing volume of the music dragged you down the stairs. Once you got closer, you could hear him sing. Quietly, as if he never wanted anyone to have heard him, but still. His low, gravelly voice was enough to increase the cadence of your heartbeat and make you pick up the pace.

‘You're just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world’

You knew the lyrics well enough to feel the familiar tension fill your chest when you reached the study and held your breath upon the sight.

‘I wish I was special

You're so fuckin' special’

Bruce had his back to you, the broad plane of his shoulders covered with a washed-out black t-shirt. Body hunched over the guitar. Without seeing his face, you knew that his eyes were closed. As the volume grew, his strumming got angrier. Dexterous fingers hit each note as they were supposed to. The pain in his voice perfected the picture and made you tighten your grip on the railing. It was terrifying to think about the song choice and what it meant. Whether it meant anything at all.

The longer you stayed, frozen by the sight, the more you knew you should have never given in to the pull. Because now you could not walk away. Not without talking to Bruce. Even if only just about the music. The longing got almost unbearable.

The guitar’s tone slowed; the riff returned to its gentle opening. Bringing the number to a close. Bruce’s voice turned smooth, rolling over your torn heart like a soothing balm. But only just so. Before you realised it, a solitary tear had rolled down your cheek. You whispered the closing lyrics alongside him:

‘What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here

I don't belong here’

Bruce finished the song with a long exhale. For a moment, you contemplated running back up the stairs like you had never been there. But you could not move. Your mouth opened on its own accord:

“You’ve got a beautiful voice” you winced as Bruce flinched, his body tensing as he turned to face you with a shock evident on his face; still, you trudged on and added, “But that was a rather gloomy choice, don’t you think?” an unconvincing smile graced your face.

Because you knew Bruce would see beneath the mask. He would notice the drying tear on your cheek and the pain in your eyes. That one look would be enough for him to tear you apart.

“It felt accurate” Bruce shrugged, his façade drawn up and ready to hide all hints of emotion.

But you could see him look at you, gaze searching and assessing. Noticing everything there was to see. Like he always did. Unable to withstand eye contact much longer, you let your gaze roam as well. Slipping over his forearms and hands, still carefully holding the instrument. As if he expected you to leave so he could continue. But it was not that easy.

“If you’re a creep, then I’m a weirdo” you gathered enough courage to look back up at him, finding Bruce still gazing back; it was enough of an encouragement to make you drop the nonchalance, a veiled confession ready on your tongue “Kindred freaks and all,”

For the first time since he looked at you, you saw Bruce’s mask slip. A flash of surprise passed through his blue eyes and, then, something more tender. The aching chasm in your chest grew wider as you stepped down from the landing and took a step closer to him. The movement woke him up. Bruce took off the guitar strap from around his neck and placed the instrument back on the stand. Silence echoed in the vast room.

“I didn’t think you’d hear me play” when he raised his head again, part of that wall hiding him from you was gone.

In its place, you could see wary curiosity. As if Bruce did not expect to see you tonight or have this conversation. As if you caught him by surprise. For some reason, the idea settled with heavy guilt in your stomach. Because maybe you were trespassing, bothering him with your presence when he would rather be alone. You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat and whispered:

“I’m sorry” your body had half made up its mind to turn around on your hell and march up the stairs.

Like you should have done when he finished the song. A goodbye was ready on your lips before Bruce spoke, making you freeze:

“Did you mean it?” the cautious tone arrested your attention.

As did the fleeting hope in his eyes. Gone so fast you assumed you had imagined it. Your heart skipped a beat as you understood what Bruce was asking. There was only one thing it could be. As if eager to spite you, your mind readily offered the memory. A sentence blurted out in a moment of passion. Your undoing, as it seemed. Heat filled your cheeks as you felt yourself shake. Panic took over; its job was simple – you couldn’t admit it. Not yet. Ideally never. So, you did what you do best.

“Mean what?” a confused smile was ready on your lips, masking the descending terror with a weak attempt at deflection, “The line just now? I-”

You should have known better. Bruce interrupted your pathetic one-woman play with a simple injection:

“You know what I mean” frustration rolled off him in waves, making him clench his hands into tight fists as Bruce stared at you with growing desperation.

Urging you to drop the act. But it was too late. The cold panic had settled, freezing you on the hardwood floors. Freezing your mind on that one thought – you couldn’t tell him. He can’t know.

“Bruce, I’ve no-” you tried again, without the foreign smile and bullshit nonchalance.

In your head, a pleading chorus was rising in volume. Drop it. Please drop it. But Bruce did not want to listen. He took a step closer, briefly reaching out his hand before letting fall back down. As if he wanted to touch you but soon realised that would not do.

“Please, just- Don’t lie to me” his voice broke on the last word, pain squeezing your heart like a vice; it only got worse when Bruce added, “I don’t think I can do this anymore” he glanced at you almost passively.

Almost as if he had not just crushed your heart in the palm of his hand with that one sentence. Cold fear rose in your throat as you took a step forward, voice wavering as you asked the only question you could:

“Do what?” even though you knew.

You could feel it in your bones. Bruce was done with this. With you. You could even guess why. And if that was it, the end, then you could not blame him, only yourself. A new wave of tears rose in your eyes as you waited for Bruce to cut the cord and end your suffering.

“This,” he vaguely waved his hand at the space between you before turning to pace the room, restless energy permeating every cell of his body, “It hurts too much to pretend. And- I mean, it’s pretty obvious. You must know by now” what? The question painted itself in the crease between your eyebrows as Bruce glanced at you with passion in his gaze, begging you to understand, “It’s not like I’m good at hiding it anyway” the following scoff was self-directed, as if Bruce was angry with his actions, or lack of them, as well.

But none of that explained what he meant. The bewilderment was evident on your face. You could tell Bruce saw it because he let out a long frustrated sigh. He stopped pacing, eyes trained on the floor as if taking part in a heated debate you were no part of. You reminded yourself to breathe, still frozen in your spot with no pointers towards where it was going. What was going to happen next. You opened and closed your mouth in a question that never quite came and went back to staring helplessly at Bruce. Fully aware of the pained look in your eyes and the shaking in your hands.

Later, you could pinpoint the moment he snapped. When the silence became too much to bear, and Bruce rushed in to fill it with words. More words than you had ever heard him say, unprompted. He walked back towards you, eyes wide and awake despite the late hour. But nothing you could see in his face warned you of what was coming:

“I know I’m new to this whole thing, but… I think I’m in love with you” oh. Oh. The breath hitched in your chest. The sincerity of his confession was the reason why you swayed on your feet, only just managing to grasp the railing before you fell at his feet – literary and figuratively; before you could process what Bruce had said and what it meant, he trudged on, seemingly unable to stop now that he began talking “Hell, I know I am, because nothing has ever torn me apart and put me back together all at once. No one else, but you” remembering to breathe, Bruce took a greedy inhale as his eyes met yours; the blue of his irises was set ablaze with that emotion you could never quite decipher. Until now, “I’m tired of pretending this is fine when it’s anything but. Nights like that last one are the worst because, for a moment, I get to feel what we could have, but then you- You leave, and it hurts twice as much because I know what I’m missing. What I’ll probably never have unless it’s with you” tears rolled down your cheeks as you stared, feeling the fear and love wage war in your heart. It was almost impossible to understand what was going on. And why the pain in his eyes only seemed to grow with each confession, the words dropping heavily onto the space between you, staining the floorboards with blood and despair. Yet still, Bruce’s next words slashed your heart anew, “And sometimes, I think… I think that maybe you’re the same” he looked at you again, the unasked question evident on his face.

A question you could not answer. The fear had won, claiming reign over your head and heart as you stared back. Still too frozen to move. Still unable to understand what had just happened. Bruce loved you. He was in love with you. He reciprocated, even though he did not know it. Fuck. All at once, you wanted to howl - be it from joy or pain, you could not decide. What now?

Your thoughts rushed a hundred miles per hour, spiralling and panicking. Worrying about every single what-if you could think of. All your mouth could form was a plea:

“Bruce, please- Don’t-” you did not even know what you were begging for.

Mercy, mostly. But with every second passing, you began to understand there was no way out of this. For better or for worse.

As if reading your feverish thoughts, Bruce closed the gap between you and reached out a careful hand, letting his fingers skim down the length of your forearm. Immediately, he had drawn attention to the chill you could feel settling in your bones as goosebumps followed his tentative touch. The sole-minded focus was still in his eyes:

“I swear I’ll leave you alone, detach myself from whatever is going on between us, if you’ll tell me I’m wrong” softening his voice a notch, Bruce searched your face, looking for the answers himself, “Tell me you don’t think of me like that and I’ll let it go. I promise” his hand clasped around yours, squeezing your palm as a reassurance that he meant it “Just tell me- Tell me you don’t love me” there, simple.

Or not so simple at all. A shudder went through your body as Bruce repeated the cursed word. Now it was entirely in your hands. The weight was resting on your shoulders, waiting for you to choose. For a second, you considered taking the way out that was still there. Faint and going against every promise you had made to yourself, but it still existed. You could deny everything, tell him he had it all wrong, lie and flee the scene with only the price of Bruce’s wounded heart on your conscience. But you couldn’t. Could not make yourself consider it beyond the basic set of assumptions and potentials.

Instead, you could only offer him an incomprehensible stutter, a collection of sounds paired with the colour draining from your face:

“I can’t- I-” the desire to run was still there, growing stronger with each second Bruce had spent staring at you.

He must have read it in your eyes for the moment you turned on your heel, body poised to run up the stairs, his arms were around you in a second. Caging you with your back pressed to his chest. Your shocked gasp was the only sound you could make.

“Don’t run away from me now,” Bruce’s plea was whispered right into your ear, making you shiver, “Please” only once you had the time to breathe, you noticed how lose his hold was; it would not take much to free yourself, should you want to “I’ve got you” the reassurance got through the white noise in your ears, making you relax.

Even if just by a fraction. You could feel the rise and fall of his breath at your back, the wisps of air across the back of your neck and cheek. One of his hands traced small circles on your arm, slowing your heart rate to a manageable pace. That was it. You couldn’t run from it anymore. You took a deep breath before you spoke:

“I’m so scared,” the admission was easy enough to utter.

A fragment of truth you owed Bruce. The reason for everything, as he would come to understand very soon. His embrace tightened slightly as he pressed a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head. It was almost enough to quieten the panic.

“I know, my love. Trust me. I know” the gratitude at his understanding was quickly overshadowed by the nickname he used.

The heart stuttered in your chest, unable to process it. My love. Two words that had never been aimed at you; have never related to you. A term of endearment you had come to envy in the quiet of your heart, yearning for something you never expected to have. But here it was, within your reach. If only you were brave enough to take it.

You closed your eyes, willing the courage to fill your veins as you pressed your back to Bruce’s chest. He wouldn’t hurt you. The statement filled your head like a mantra as you slowly forced more words out:

“You see me. The real me and it’s scary because what if you come to hate me? I don’t think I could survive that” it all came out in a rush of breath, leaving you gasping.

But it was out there. The truth for Bruce to hear and take in. The bravery was draining the energy from your body as you waited for a reply, a comment – anything at all. Anything to show you he understood.

He did not disappoint, offering you another gentle squeeze before speaking:

“I could never hate you” the certainty in Bruce’s voice was what you later considered as the thing that tipped the scales.

Because, for once, you pushed against the denial and believed him. After all, Bruce was the one with more to lose. The first to reach out. To come clean before you. Goddamn it, if he was brave enough, maybe you could be too… Maybe.

Cold shivers ran through your body as you tried to give voice to the words that had been choking you for days. If not weeks. You never thought to keep track and were too busy keeping them in. Despite everything. Perhaps there was no better time than now.

You squeezed Bruce’s hand to assure him you were not running away and turned in the embrace. It was better that way. Proper. You met his boundless gaze, now filled only with hope and the feeling you had recognised as the love he spoke of. It was enough. With a shaking voice, you released the confession from the prison you had made for it:

“Christ, I- I- I love you” the words came out wavered, and your breath stuttered with each syllable, but the light in his eyes was a reason to go on, “So fucking much it kills me” now that you started, the admissions did not seem to stop, slipping through your lips in a steady stream, slowly gaining speed “I’ve no idea when it happened, only that now you’re all I can think about. Every day, I go crazy because of you. Because I want you so much, I don’t know what to do with all those feelings. Sometimes it feels as though they’re going to tear my heart apart” running out of steam, you swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in your throat; it felt like a fraction of the weight had been lifted, now drowning in the blue gaze that did not stray away from your face. There was one last thing to add, a conclusion stating the obvious “But I’m still afraid,” the cursed punchline you did not seem able to shake off.

Only now, once the words were out, you allowed yourself to look back at Bruce. His shy smile acted like a magnet, drawing out your helpless twist of mouth. Your eyes followed the line of his nose (slightly crooked to the right) up to his eyes. Instantly drowning within the depths of blue irises filled with affection. Almost as if what you revealed did not change anything for him. As if, somehow, it would be alright. He would try rather than run away from you and your complex feelings no one seemed to fully comprehend. Not even you yourself. Too lost in his eyes, you only noticed he had reached up to touch you when you felt the gentle thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. Caressing your skin and quelling the worries.

“Of what?” Bruce’s simple question acted like the needed push in the right direction.

A reason to put into words and label what you never dwelled on. But now, you had no choice but to piece it apart. Even if only because Bruce deserved it from you. He earned an attempt at trying from you. Because, when faced with the reality that he felt the same, you knew you could not deny it anymore. It was terrifying. And oh, so hopeful. You let the feelings in his eyes anchor you in the moment as you spoke:

“That you’re going to leave. Or something takes you away from me” you could see the recognition pass through his face, making the addition nearly redundant “I don’t have a great track record with love” still, the sad scoff could not be kept in.

There was something freeing in seeing the knowing look on Bruce’s face. In knowing that he understood the feeling, perhaps better than anyone else ever could. That, no matter what happened next, you were placing your heart in the palm of someone who gets it. That you had fallen for that same boy you felt a kinship with days after your childhood ended. It was almost poetic.

“I don’t plan on leaving” when Bruce gave voice to the affirmation, you wanted to believe him.

Because he said it before. Every time you let your insecurities win. You clenched your teeth against the denial bubbling beneath the surface and asked a question:

“Why?” hoping he would know what you meant.

It was the only way you knew of asking him why you were the one to make him care. Why you? Bruce only smiled in response, leaning in to kiss your forehead before effortlessly meeting your gaze and baring his heart. Again.

“Because you’re incredible, beautiful, smart, and you see me. You see Bruce Wayne where everybody else sees a symbol, an idea of who I am” the sincerity of his words made your heart seem too big for your chest, each beat threatening to be the one that would make it implode, “Only you see me as I am” as did the gratitude and love in his gaze.

Showing you that the feeling was mutual. You saw Bruce just as he saw you. Like no one else did. The discovery was enough to make you sure – it was worth it.

Aware of the likely sparks in your eyes and the foolishly lovesick look on your face, you cleared your throat and whispered a question:

“Can I kiss you?” you did not know why it felt necessary to ask when you never did before.

When it was probably a given, considering everything he just said. The only thing you were sure of was that you had to let him know. Had to show how much it meant to hear him say it.

Bruce’s fond smile was an answer enough, but he still brushed away your concerns.

“You don’t have to ask” leaning in, he nudged your nose with his and waited for your decisive move.

After all, it was you who had asked. Getting onto your tiptoes, you returned the playful nudge and placed your hands on his shoulders. From then on, everything was a reflex and acting on well-practised instincts. Your eyes closed as you leaned in, slotting your lips over his in a tender kiss. Bruce responded immediately, tightening his hold over your waist and opening his mouth underneath your tentative tongue. The kiss quickly turned heated, drawing out a muffled gasp from your throat and a half-stifled whine from his. Your fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck as you gently sank your teeth into his bottom lip. Enough so to make Bruce groan and pull you closer.

That long-buried, sentimental part of your brain could tell this kiss tasted different. More carefree, unrestrained. Nothing stopped you from tracing the confessions on his skin as your tongue whispered words only Bruce could hear. You did not think anyone ever kissed you quite like that. Like it was the only thing he wanted to do until the end of time. Like the time spent caressing your lips and body was his holy ritual and never a waste of time. Like it mattered enough to be something Bruce devoted his attention to. Until you broke the contact to catch a breath, you were only his, and he was yours. Then, as your eyes met again, wearing matching infatuated looks, the kiss became a promise of more to come. You noted his blushing cheeks and offered a remark:

“I like what you called me, by the way” from the way Bruce’s eyes lit up instantly, you knew it was no slip of the tongue.

Even more so, it was a reason for your heart to beat faster. He meant it.

“My love?” his gaze traced the movement of your tongue, licking your drying lips.

And collecting the remains of the taste of his kiss. A pleasant shiver ran through your body as Bruce repeated the endearment. You could get used to it.

“Yeah, that’s new” you nodded, not even trying to school your features and erase the hope blooming there.

Bruce smiled, drawing out a gasp from your lips as his fingers crept beneath your shirt, lightly touching the skin on your waist. It almost distracted you from his next words.

“It can stay if you want,” without needing Bruce to elaborate, you knew what it meant; the feeling only grew stronger as he added, “If you’ll stay,” a meaningful pause signing off the conditional.

If. You still had a choice. At least, Bruce seemed to think so. What he did not know was that you had already decided. Or that your heart has chosen for you. There was no alternative there. But the slightest bit of uncertainty in his eyes told you he needed an answer:

“I’ll try to” the honest reply was a perfect opening for another question, one that you had been holding back for a while, “Are you mine?”

It was the final assurance you needed from Bruce if only to convince your head it was safe to give him your heart, body, and soul. For as long as he was willing to have them. For as long as he would have you.

Bruce used his unoccupied hand to squeeze your palm as he lowered his head to catch your eye. You had no doubt he caught the nerves lurking there; impossible to be exiled entirely. Unknowingly, you held your breath, waiting for his answer as if the world depended on it.

“If you’re mine,” Bruce’s reply was simple, bringing out your chuckle at the banter you had fallen into.

The joy was reciprocated, too, if the creases at the corners of his eyes were anything to go by. Not for the first time since you had met, you had been struck by a thought, a recognition that he was beautiful. The sharp features and striking eyes always pulled you in and made it impossible to look away. To stray your eyes from his. To find anyone else worth looking at. At this moment, in the dark gothic study, lit up only by the fireplace and the lamp, you knew it was always a lost cause. You had lost a long time ago.

Instead of replying, you kissed him quickly, relishing in the sharp gasp you got in return. When you parted, an answer was easy to conjure:

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one willing to put up with this” upon Bruce’s questioning look, you motioned at the meagre space between you, highlighting the truth he might have missed.

That there was no competition there. Only Bruce was willing to endure you for this long and in this way. He was the only one wanting your love and loving you back. You were not quite ready to piece apart why (or how) that could be.

“I’ve always been told I’m relentless” the cheeky uptick of Bruce’s mouth was a hypnotizing sight.

You did not miss the telling glimmer in his eye or the smooth move which resulted in your body being pulled closer to his. Almost flush against his chest. It was impossible to deny your brain’s desire to offer you a recap of every moment you had shared which had begun in that way. And to stifle the shiver and the knowledge that, if the universe were gracious, you would have many more coming. The reminder was enough to make you smile and return the playful smirk:

“Good for me” struck with sudden weariness and feeling the rapidly dropping adrenaline, you tugged Bruce’s hand and wordlessly led him towards the sofa; only once you had fallen onto the cushions with a sigh and curled up next to him, you asked the question “What happens now?”

You knew Bruce would get what you meant. He always did.

You felt him shift, one arm coming up to rest around your shoulders, drawing you closer. The other hand was placed on your knee, providing gentle warmth and helping you stay present with him. It was almost too easy to let go and fall back on his constant support to keep you grounded. The doubts were still there, rising and falling like the natural ebb and flow of the tide, lapping at the edges of your conscience. You suspected they would probably always be there, somewhere. Ready to take over at the tiniest chance of something going wrong. The best you could do was hope that would never happen.

As if sensing your mental chatter getting louder, Bruce leaned in to leave a trail of kisses on the shell of your ear and nuzzled your temple. The resulting sigh was effortless on your part. As always.

“We try not to fuck it up” he had his answer ready, eyes trained on you and waiting for whatever might come up.

You had to admit it sounded simple. Almost doable. But…

“And if we do?” you turned to catch his eyes with what you knew to be a wild gaze.

You needed Bruce to say it. To promise he would fight for whatever you were to become. It had to work. Please. You already knew you would be willing to sacrifice a lot for this fragile thing between you. It was already a fact.

A fact Bruce could undoubtedly see in your gaze, for the confidence bled into his voice as he replied:

“Then we’ll try harder” he grabbed your hand, which restlessly picked at the loose thread on the hem of your shirt and squeezed it.

On a reflex, you threaded your fingers through his and pressed your palms together. You had no choice but to trust him. To do the unimaginable and place your heart in his hands, surrendering control in the process. You swallowed past the fear in your throat and pressed your mouth to the corner of his lips. It felt like an apt conclusion to the conversation long overdue.

A little later, once another kiss had ended, and a new one had not yet begun, you raised your head from its comfortable placement on Bruce’s shoulder and fixed your gaze on the black and white guitar resting on its stand. An in-direct reason you had the conversation in the first place. You briefly contemplated sending a thank-you letter to the manufacturer but were struck with a better idea.

“Bruce?” taking pleasure in how his name rolled off your tongue, you marvelled at the rare peacefulness of the moment.

There was nowhere else to be, nothing else to do. Nothing, but feeling the low rumble of his voice as Bruce hummed.

“Mm?” he kept tracing letters onto the skin of your arm, leaving you to guess their meaning on your own.

Sometimes you were willing to bet he was repeating the confessions he just spoke of. The thought drew an involuntary smile onto your face.

“Play me something” you met his gaze with that same affectionate look in your eyes.

There was no need to specify the request - you knew Bruce would choose well. He only grinned at you in response and disentangled from your embrace to stand up and pick up the instrument. You watched his forearms flex, tendons dancing beneath the pale skin as Bruce placed the strap around his neck and bowed over the guitar. His eyes closed in concentration, but he was not tense. It was a far cry from how you found him over an hour before.

With a breath trapped in your chest, you awaited the first notes. When he began the rhythmic strumming, a fond chuckle escaped your lips. You had to admit Bruce was nothing, if not predictable. Humming the chorus alongside him, you met his questioning gaze. You smiled, mouthing the words that were no longer forbidden. Love you. Sweetheart.

“Something in the way, huh?” the laugh spilling through the gaps between the vowels.

“What? You did not specify” teasing edge you would have never even imagined becoming so accustomed to.

“I knew I didn’t have to,” and then, just to see him roll his eyes with that enamoured exasperation “Babe,”

#the batman #the batman 2022 #the batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson!batman x reader #robert pattinson!bruce wayne x reader #battinson #battinson x you #battinson x reader #battinson fic #battinson x female reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x fem!reader #batman x y/n #waiting for the night

[madwomansapologist]

Bruce Wayne meeting you would include

Masterlist | Taglist | Library | More Bruce Wayne | AO3

synopsis: When a new journalist moves to Gotham City (and by choice, can you believe that?), Bruce Wayne discovers that he isn't prepared to overcome everything and everyone.

warnings: fluff. grumpy x sunshine. optimistic reader. being a hostage in a bank robbery. threats of murder. fighting. no one dies cuz he is Batman duh.

note: basically, I love him so much that I took the reader-insert and turn it into a author-insert by making the reader a journalist :D

• Who, in full conscience and access to information, would choose to live in Gotham City? Well, you did. There were many reasons for you to not leave your old life behind and move to Gotham (the majority of them involving violence and death), but you also had so many reasons to forget about all that and at least try.

• You have a reputation in the journalistic world, and the Gotham Broadcasting Company has expresed interest in having you as announcer and columnist. And it turns out that Gotham is spending a lot of money into convincing people with degrees to stay there. Is not like you would be rich or anything near that, but it would be easier than in your hometown.

• Also, its not like the place you lived before was that good. You found a really great job that actually pays well, a great apartment that costs quite the same as your old one, and maybe there you could do something good. Thats why you chose this job: to spread knowlegde is to change peoples lifes. And in a city with such a bad political environment, anyone with good intentions will make a difference.

• Like Batman. Not that you think of yourself as someone as great as Batman, but you can't help yourself from daydreaming. Batman is there, making more good things than half of the elected politicians, and for what? He is not gaining money, or fame, or status. No one knows who he is. He is just helping because he can.

• Would he agree to be interviewed if you was a hostage in a bank robbery? A bank robbery happens at least once a week, so maybe...

• What you didn't expect was that, well, it would work. Not that you really was a hostage just to get a interview with Batman, you were just trying to solve a problem with your bank manager and then one person screamed to everyone to lay on the floor and one thing lead to another and suddenly you were a hostage.

• The only thing everyone need to do was to lay down in silence but what did a women just did? Yes, she runaway. While crying. Really loud. Obviously it wouldn't work, but it did start a clutter. You felt one of the thieves lifting you by your hair and demanding to everyone to shut up or they would start killing people.

• And then Batman came in. And he was... wow. He jumped into the bank by a windown, crushing a thief and fighting with two others near. The man holding you started to walk backwards, yelling something to his gang. They did fought back but who would win against Batman? When remained just the man holding you and Batman, he did threatened to kill you. But with just one move Batman threw his bat shapped blade and the thief fell back, already unconscious.

• You would have fallen to the ground if it wasn't for him. You may be dead if it wasnt for him. Batman was more than just a guy with a mask. He was a hero. Your hero. And when he asked you, with that rough and deep voice that chills you to the bones, if you were hurt... of course you said the only thing that no one with a good mental health would say.

• "Are you interested in giving an interview to Gotham Broadcasting Company?"

• Bruce Wayne is prepared to everything and everyone. He is ready to defeat any hero or villain. He knows how to use all kinds of weapons, and how to transform anything into a weapon. Bruce knows all types of combat styles, is polyglot and is can manage his family enterprises. And yet, that took him by surprise.

• Batman didn't answer you, not with words at least. Because that night, trying to sleep but failing miserably, you could still hear his laugh. And it was enough. At least by now.

• If only you could imagine that, at same time you were hearing his surprised laugh on your bedroom filled with moving boxes, Bruce Wayne was thinking about giving an interview to Gotham Broadcasting Company.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #dc comics x reader #dc imagine #dc comics #dc comics x you #dc comics x y/n #batman #the batman #batman imagine #the batman imagine #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #the batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n

[ladyelissarose]

Warnings: nothing serious, more of a fill in for what’s coming. Chapter 25pt.2 is when the serious stuff will start.

“The Secrets of Gotham-Unmasked”

Chp. 25

Y/n’s POV

That night while Bruce had not yet returned, Y/n checked the time on her watch as she sat on the living room carpet in front of the tv finishing her dinner with Saunders behind her drinking his coffee while reading an old newspaper, her watch read, ‘9:35’. 

  Sighing and getting up from the floor Y/n said,

  “Alfred should be here any minute now.. he has everything I need.”

  Perking his eyebrows Saunders questioned,

  “And what exactly is he bringing again? You said-“

  “It’s basically a whole makeover mask situation... if I want to make a good first impression of what a great stripper worker looks like, I’d need Alfred and his techniques for the job.-“

  “And I have arrived-“

  “JESUS CHRIST!”

 Y/n jumped out of her skin at Alfreds sudden entrance and voice, Saunders chuckled at seeing his niece being jump-scared. And Alfred being Alfred was only causal about it all,

  “It’s me Alfred, dear. Not Jesus.”

  “Well now I know... thanks.. so what did you bring?”

Alfred lifted a large suitcase from the side and explained,

  “Once we get you in a chair I’ll show you.”

  Saunders getting up from the couch added,

  “Let me grab a few things for Y/n while you start on her Al, I’ll be right back.”

  “Very well Greg.”

  Soon Y/n was standing completely straight in just her undergarments while Alfred helped her cover every scar she had with concealers and skin blending patches. Before she even started she felt insecure about it all but Alfred assured her that he’d do his job, nothing more or less. And once he started Y/n felt comfortable as she watched him cover every scar and fading bruise, soon making her skin look flawless. Examining his work he praised,

  “Looks like perfection to me Miss Y/n, and to not mention you have the body type they need, long legs and a small waist.”

  Fiddling with her fingers she asked shyly,

 “But doesn’t that make me look sick? Wouldn’t anyone want someone fuller or bigger? I’m not that ‘big’ you know.”

  Shaking his head with a comforting smile he reminded her,

  “Dear dear don’t give me that kind of insecurity talk. You don’t look sick, you’re perfectly healthy and it’s mostly because of your genes that you look this way. We don’t need fuller, bigger, or better, we just need you. And ‘you’ is what we have.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so... now, get dressed into this, I’ll help you through the way. Then, we’ll  do your shoulders up..”

  Saunders POV

 Saunders walked into his room where he had a whole technical system up, he had already printed out a whole fake birth certificate and I.D. for Y/n. He had already written her application online, she just needed to arrive with the copy of it and present it to see if they’d take her in, though he was certain they would. Everything the could of ever requested from a person seeking to be a worker at Gotham’s most resilient clubs, Y/n had it. Or at least he wrote down that she did, hoping she’d adapt to it and nail every lie with perfect performance. He also wrote down a bunch of paperwork stating fake personal information and a background. It was perfect for what they knew the people at the Lounge would be looking for.   

  Now going through his boxes of old stuff, he pulled out a smaller box of Y/f/n’s personal items, the few things he had left for Saunders to keep. And in the midst of the items he found a necklace whose charm was actually a bullet. Y/f/n always used to wear that under his neck collar.

  ‘His lucky bullet... he always wore it reminding him of the day it went through his chest, almost killing him. But he survived, only because that was the day he got the late call from his wife saying she was having a baby, his first kid, his only daughter. He knew in that moment, that he had to fight his way, and make it home to hold his daughter, Y/n. Oh how I remember that day so vividly.’

  Saunders took the necklace and promised that he’d give it to her, like a token of promise, that no matter what, she could always make it through, because there was always someone home to come to, making her fight and struggle worth it. He was scared deep down though, so much could happen to her through the course of this mission, she can be compromised, beat, drugged and raped, or worse killed. He’d never forgive himself for losing his niece to the same man that killed his best friend. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny the pride that seeped into his chest for Y/n’s bravery to go on, she had the same dedication and will power like her father, it felt good to be around someone like his old friend again, except in the image of his daughter, but he’d take either at this point. Saunders picked up all the paperwork that she needed and put it in a folder to keep in order. Walking out of his room he then walked towards hers, and was brain shocked at what he saw the minute he entered.

  Alfred’s POV

 Seeing Saunders expression at Alfreds work he proudly faced Y/n to him and said,

  “Greg, I present to you, Diana Taylor.”

 Alfred could see Y/n clench her fist at the nervousness that creeped up her skin, but Alfred laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing it a tiny bit to let her know that he was there for her.   

  Saunders took in her new appearance, she wore a black short wig, that had curtain bangs dangling on the sides, she wore the lens contacts Bruce had made but Alfred made them hold a different color to change her real ones, of course she had the lashes to make her eye makeup pop out more. Alfred somehow made her lips seem bigger with bright gloss over pink lipstick, bright blush overtaking her high cheekbones, she wore a simple white tank top with a black shiny mini skirt and black tights under, also six inch black heels, making her more taller at this point. 

  After taking a few breaths in Saunders confessed,

  “For a few seconds there I thought you had brought someone else in, damn Y/n you sure that’s you there?”

  Letting out a breathy chuckle she said,

 “Yup, it’s me.. Diana Taylor, listen now, as much as I’d love to gush with you over Alfred about his incredible work here with me I really need to go, we are almost hitting 11pm, I need to be home before 2 latest 3.”

  Alfred agreed as he added on,

  “I assure you none of this will run off, so you’ll be safe. Remember how I told you to take it all off once you’re done right? It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes, and the suitcase for all of this and more clothes and wigs is under your bed within the box spring, in case of anything, you call me Y/n, you have the emergency button on your wrist bracelet, you have camera lens in your contacts, and the ear piece I gave you, that both your Uncle G and I have access too. If they run you through a metal detector these items will never pick up. You’re going to be ok, that place is a mess, but just focus on the case and what you need to find and you’ll be fine ok?”

  Alfred could see the nervousness in her eyes as he spoke but he tried to reassure her that she would be ok, even though he felt that he was more scared at this point for her.

  Y/n’s POV

 She nodded her head and replied with confidence in her voice,

 “Thank you, I’ll be talking you through the entire time, you write down everything you hear, names, addresses, numbers- just anything that seems important, Uncle G you’ve been in the business you know how it goes down.”

  “I sure do Y/n/n. Now please, don’t let that man’s hands or anyone’s hands get on you do you understand, there’s always another way to get your answers. But when you do be careful. Here, I wanted to give this to you.”

  Saunders extended his hand that held the necklace in his palm, Y/n took it as she examined it and asked,

  “What is this?”

  “Your father was shot in the chest with this bullet the day he found out your mother was having you, your mother had a cryptic pregnancy. She didn’t know she was pregnant, and neither did he. But I remember your father was bleeding on the floor ready to give it all up, until the doctor called his phone, I picked it up and put it at his ear, and that’s when he heard the news about you. I had never seen him so happy, even when bloody and disoriented. But yeah, long story short, he called this his lucky bullet because, first it didn’t kill him, and second, because it was the day he had his first kid, you. So I want you to wear it under your shirt... as a reminder yeah?”

   Trying to dry her tears without making a mess of the makeup Alfred had delicately put on her she sniffled as she clasped it on,

  “Damn that’s crazy, I thought everything of my father’s was lost.. but this is gold.. thank you.”

  “You got it kid, now get the hell out of here times ticking.”

  “Yes sir.”

  She gave him a goodbye hug as he said in her ear,

  “If Mackenzie ever gets his hands on you again just know that if I ever see him I’ll chop them both off. You know how to fight, so don’t be afraid.”

  “Thanks Uncle G.”

  Saunders handed her the folder then let her go, going to his technical room to start keeping an eye out for her lens footage and tracker.

 Alfred led her to the door as he explained that he had called an Uber for her two blocks away, so that her home place wouldn’t be discovered or seen. But he reassured her that she was being tracked the entire time, meaning that she was going to be ok.

  “I’ll make sure to keep Bruce away dear, I’ll be discreet though. I’ve got your back. Here in this folder your Uncle has your application form, it’s filled with your covers’ Diana Taylor’s information. They just need to approve it, and your in. Please remember your cover name, don’t screw it up or give yourself in, from now till you come back you’re Diana Taylor. Now go, I believe he’s waiting for you.”

  Before she could leave she embraced Alfred tightly as she put forth,

  “Thank you for seeing and giving me a chance. I won’t let neither of you down, I promise.”

  “Believe me, I know you won’t.”

Batman’s POV

  Batman planned on heading home around 4 maybe 5am that night, it was barely 11pm, so he had a lot of time. He wanted to search around the city outcast places for any sign of anything at this point. But while looking through an abandoned building he ran into RedHood, who was crouched down looking at something on the ground, he recognized the red helmet but saw a difference in the suit, but Batman either way took advantage of RedHood’s distraction to scare him. But he’d do it quickly hitting the weakest place, sweeping his feet off the ground with a swift kick. Sending RedHood to his knees Batman attempted to grab him from behind, but RedHood was able to roll away and jump to his feet with a flip. 

  RedHood’s POV 

Now facing his opponent he let out a scoff,

  “That was a bad move B, come on behind my back?”

  Showing off a smirk Batman came back with a challenge as his low soft voice echoed off the building walls,

  “Didn’t know if you could take me face to face... I think you’ve heard what happens to people when they try me.”

  “Are you challenging my skills, I’ve seen you’re moves, I’ve watched you for a while, I think I’m faster-“

  “Oh really?”

  “Hm hm.. really.”

  “Alright then, take off your lousy brown jacket and face me like a man.”

  Hugging the brown jacket against his chest Y/b/n protested with a hint of an offended tone

 “Hey Alfred made me this coat! It’s not lousy.”

  “Shoot fine... sense when did he make you a suit?”

  Stepping forward Y/b/n threw the first swing as he said,

  “Sense the day he saw I had a chance for his mercy.”

  Batman ducked the swing and used RedHood’s adrenaline in the punch to push him away then swept his feet again, sending RedHood on his front to the floor.

  Chuckling with pride Batman taunted,

  “You’re fast but you’re not focused, get up.”

  With a grunt RedHood stood up and reached for his crowbar, but Batman stopped him,

  “Nuh-uh... you use your toys I use mine... and you wouldn’t stand a chance with the things I have on me. Show me your fists.”

  “Fine old man.. want to do it like that huh?”

  “Hm.”

 With a deep huff RedHood charged at him again, but Batman only sidestep him and tripped his feet, but this time when RedHood hit the floor he grabbed Batman’s ankle and pulled it harshly, sending him to his ass. Batman took advantage of his sitting position to get RedHood between his thighs and held his arms as he locked him in and began to squeeze pressure into RedHood’s sides.

 Hearing RedHood huff for breath Batman asked with a stern tone but with a hint of concern,

  “Surrender?”

  “Never! Though I can’t move, your thighs are wrapped around my chest squeezing my ribs, and you have my arms twisted as you hold my wrists with one hand, using your other to hold my necks pressure point, I just have my legs.”

  “Then use them.”

  “How?”

 “I thought you said you’ve watched me... so, what would I do, RedHood?”

  ‘Fuck what would the Batman do? Nah... I’d just pretend he’s suffocating me with his metal ass thighs.’

  “I-I can’t breathe.”

  Pretending to suffocate made Batman retract his hands and release his thighs pressure immediately. Now free, RedHood used his hands to reach to Batman’s cape to yank him over his shoulders so Batman would land flat on his back in front of a kneeling RedHood. RedHood pinned his arms with his hands as he snickered,

  “And you thought I couldn’t take you down.”

  “You manipulator... but that move was ok.”

  “Ok? Fine.”

 Letting him go Batman stood up as he asked,

  “What are you doing here anyways kid? Alfred let you out?”

  Sliding off his helmet to ruffle his own hair Y/b/n answered,

  “I guess he figured he’d give me a chance, hoping I wouldn’t kill anyone... which I’m working on trying not to do. And I was here just because this is where I used to stay, I left my old gadgets here. How about you? This is an odd spot, you’re usually within the alleys of the city.”

  Taking Y/b/n’s invitation to sit next to him on a worn out mattress Batman told him,

  “Maybe you can help me, I’m looking for any abandoned place that can probably hold top secret information.”

  “Like what?”

 Hoping Y/b/n remembered Y/n well enough Batman asked,

  “Remember your sister? Y/n?”

  “Yeah.. I remember a lot about her now.. what about her?”

  “She’s was trying to work on your guys’ fathers case, but it’s been a dead end everywhere. Especially after what happened on Triangle Bridge, I told her to get off of it, and now I have her stuck dead to the city as she’s staying at a safe house with Greg Saunders.”

  Remembering the familiar name to a certain extent Y/b/n asked,

 “Isn’t he my fathers friend?”

  “He was his partner, friend too, so yeah. But he’s a good guy, I’ve been studying him for a while, and he’s been good so far. He takes care of Y/n well, keeps her inside and safe.”

  “That’s good, I wish I could see her, but... I don’t think she’d want to.”

  Batman looked at him as he questioned,

  “And why not?”

  Pointing to himself and his red helmet Y/b/n replied,

  “Because of what I’ve become B, I’m not the same, I’ve killed people. And she knows it, Y/n knows the RedHood has murdered people. But, she doesn’t know that it’s me Y/b/n under the mask, she’s never seen my face. And I’m not sure if I’m ready for her to see it you know? See the real me, what I am now.”

  Patting his back comfortingly Batman promised,

  “If there’s something about your sister that you should know by now, it’s that she’ll never stop loving you, no matter what. The minute she makes a home for you in her heart, there’s no way you can ever leave. She’s seen the worst of me yet she never stopped loving me or ever ran away. Meaning she’d never run from you, instead taking you back.”

  Sighing with doubt Y/b/n asked,

  “But why though?”

 Having his arm draped over Y/b/n’s shoulders bringing him closer Batman answered with his low voice as usual, by you could hear the certainty of love in it,

  “Because, you’re not just her brother Y/b/n, you’re her son. You’re our son.”

  Lifting a small smile Y/b/n commented,

  “Y/n had made you quite the softie huh?”

  “Ha, Tell me about it, but I wouldn’t change it for a thing, before I was always miserable... silent, didn’t care about love and all that, but she showed me different. Now come on, help me out looking around for anything suspicious. Anything that can lead us to hidden information.”

  “Copy that.”

 Getting up they both went separate ways searching around the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the city. But before he left RedHood Batman gave him an earpiece that connected to his, so they could communicate the entire time.

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[moonlight-prose]

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON | FAMILIAR FACES

a/n: i kept this rotating in my brain for so long until i had to finally write it. yes i stole the title from the song mad world cause it feels very bruce wayne (being the sad man that he is) rather than the batman. which is perfect, because finally the emo man has arrived. i hope you enjoy it! once again a big giant thank you to @mandocrasis who is in love with story as much as i am!

summary: you were tasked with one job - interview bruce wayne.

word count: 5.8k+

pairing: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, talk of nightmares, awkwardness, ptsd mentions, stubbornness, bruce wayne following reader.

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There’s poetry in sitting on the couch—staring at the open box on the coffee table in front of you. The red stuck out like a sore thumb. Dark enough to almost bleed into the black of the box itself. How ironic. You had to hand it to the bat; he had a sense of humor that would be sure to keep you on your toes. That is…if you wished to be near him again. For you—after what happened—that was a damn big if. You weren’t even sure you wanted to get off the couch to go to work, let alone meet up with him again.

The familiar chime on your phone reminded you that the first option was no longer a choice. You’d been out for a week as you healed to the best of your ability and now it was time. Elain had given you the okay yesterday. So, why couldn’t you get up off the couch? Why were you staring at the damn box; the card being turned over in your hands again and again?

It’s not that you didn’t want to wear the coat—you did. It was the fact that you would be going against every moral code you set for yourself. The one precedent you held onto was this: never involve yourself with vigilantes. As a journalist it was on you to remain impartial; ready to tell both sides of the story. Except what were you supposed to do when one side was your story?

How could you remain impartial then?

Another ding went off beside you. The texts from your boss was yet another reminder that you couldn’t hide anymore. Even though you were stuck in a loop of rewatching your near-death experience. Over and over you woke up gasping as the sight of his blue eyes haunted you like a ghost that wouldn’t vanish. They were branded to your skin the second he saved you. Although you still weren’t sure if that was a good thing…or a bad thing.

Sighing, you placed the card in your wallet, already reaching for the coat. It slipped over your arms easily; the fabric lining of the inside was soft enough to move. You sighed. This was not a cheap coat to have custom made. Which told you one thing—the bat had someone paying for him to run around as a makeshift hero.

Before you even finished putting the coat on you scribbled down the word sponsor in your notebook for a later reference.

He couldn’t be working alone on all of this and though you would most likely be put on the bench from investigating further once you got to work, you made sure to keep the thought fresh in your mind. The bat—whoever he was—couldn’t do this as a one man job. It wasn’t possible. Which meant you had to find the source of his income, his man behind the curtain, in order to track him down. Except as you shoved your notebook into the pocket of the coat…you weren’t sure if finding him was still a good idea.

Did the world deserve to know who he was? Did Gotham?

You didn’t have time to dwell on your number of questions that seemed to continue piling up, because yet another text was coming through. It seemed your boss had enough of you being absent due to your apparent sickness. There wasn’t much else to tell him on that front. He wouldn’t necessarily believe that you’d been saved by Gotham’s vigilante and even if he did he’d no doubt call you a hypocrite for attempting to unmask him.

“Alright already,” you muttered, silencing your phone and reaching for your old dinky pair of sunglasses.

The sun didn’t quite shine directly on Gotham. In reality it was more a glow of brightness than anything else, but on the days when the smog cleared and clouds were gone—the sun peeked its head out. Almost as if to say I’ve been here all along—watching what you do when you think I’m not around. Funny how the same message could be said for Vengeance. He seemed to know everything before it happened; was somehow everywhere all at one without being there. Or perhaps that was the fear that he implemented into every criminal who dared to try things when he vanished.

Where he went…no one knew.

The bat was like a ghost. Haunting the city until the sun finally returned—bringing a sliver of warmth with it.

You made sure to wear boots today (sans the heels), wanting to be able to run at a moment's notice. The fear from that night still hadn’t worn off; the memories leaching their way into your everyday life, reminding you of what happened. If you didn’t believe the city wasn’t worth saving then…you did now. People here didn’t give a shit about rules, about the law enforcement that was supposedly meant to protect them. After all, what would they need the bat for if the system worked?

As a reporter you were meant to see both sides of the story, but this one…this ongoing horror that continued to play out like a damn movie had no good or bad angle, because the good no longer existed. It had been stripped away from every corner and crevice of Gotham—leaving nothing but this pit of darkness.

Perhaps those thoughts were too gruesome to harbor in your mind as someone who was meant to view both good and bad. Yet it didn’t make them any less real.

People milled around outside, walking the streets to take in as much sunlight as possible before it vanished again. Tomorrow was Halloween which left this place one last day of normalcy before it all went to shit again. The holiday seemed to invite all manner of villains to walk the street, their destructive nature practically bleeding into the streets…just as you did. It would be hectic tomorrow, but for tonight the city would sleep, awaiting its impending doom.

The Gotham Gazette building was nothing fancy—nothing like Wayne Tower—but it held a certain appeal to it. Like a straggling piece of history that refused to be taken down. You had to admire its stubbornness.

Taking in a deep breath, you held it for a few seconds feeling the slight sting from your partially healed wound as the band aid pulled on your skin. Once you entered the doors, you’d be back to the chaos of life. Back to being the reporter who was suddenly confused about their path; back to some sort of normal. However, in Gotham normal came with a side of crime and a helping of murder to keep things going. After all…what was this city without the fear of death around every corner.

“Okay,” you breathed, taking one step and then another. “I can do this.”

The overwhelming sound of the building hit you head on right when you walked through the doors; people rushing to where they needed to be. There was no shortage of stories to report on, but it seemed with the upcoming election the stories grew to be more interesting. Each publication, looking for dirt on each opponent. You stayed far away from that part of the newspaper—too preoccupied with the darker aspects of life that liked to follow you wherever you went.

Waving at the receptionist, you headed straight for the elevators that were already crammed with people. Shit, you’d hoped that people would stay home for the upcoming holiday. People in this city practically lived for Halloween, but apparently you were wrong on this front as well. So, you managed to cram yourself beside someone carrying a large box, trying to breath through your nose as their elbow jammed into your wound.

“I didn’t know you were back Day,” someone’s voice said from behind you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught sight of Ricky from layout. “Yeah, I was…sick.”

“You feeling better?”

His glasses were practically falling down his nose as he smiled at you like you were the greatest thing he’d seen since Star Wars. He’d been hired not too long ago; intent on one day becoming an investigative journalist who told the hard hitting stories around the city. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that the job wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Hell, you didn’t even have the heart to face it yourself. He was just a kid, barely out of college, and naive to the twisted and dark parts of the world—you hoped that it would stay that way for him.

Nodding, you smiled back. “Yeah. A lot better thanks.”

The doors slid open with a shriek, cutting off his sentence. You tossed a bye over your shoulder as you entered the main portion of the paper—the sight of your desk piled with paperwork you didn’t put there somehow felt like a comfort. Rather than shove everything aside, you took a moment to look at what was there. Small stories (fluff pieces) that were given to the newer writers. That is until you came across one in particular that caught your attention.

INTERVIEW WITH THOMAS WAYNE NIGHT BEFORE DEATH.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, eyes scanning over the half put together paragraphs and jumbled sentences.

Whatever this was…it wasn’t finished. You only wished you knew who wrote it and if the interview actually took place.

“Day!” Henry’s voice made you cringe. “Get in here.”

Dropping your bag, you did your best to seem up to par with what everyone expected. They couldn’t know you were stabbed and they definitely couldn’t know you had been rescued by Gotham’s very own superhero. That would merely cause an uproar as everyone attempted to make you their next big story. You could practically see the headlines now: LOCAL HYPOCRITE FINALLY SEES THE TRUTH. Yeah…you didn’t need that to happen.

“It’s good to see you too Henry.”

He humphed, his eyes flickering over your form behind his glasses—an air of nervous energy around him. “I’m not going to get sick am I?”

“No,” you said, flopping gently into the chair across from him. “But I could cough on you to test it.”

“Nice to know your sense of humor is still intact,” he muttered.

“Oh I must not be funny if you’re not laughing.”

He tossed down the paper he was reading, red marks splattered all over the once crisp white page. “How soon until you’re ready to get back out there?”

That caused you to sit up, ears perked. “Today if you need it. What’s the story?”

“I need you to interview someone and before you get all huffy about it—this one’s important.” You already wanted to say no, but his hand going up stopped your words. “I’m sending you down to Wayne Tower to interview Bruce Wayne for the next issue.”

“No,” you said, eyes narrowing at him. “Send someone else.”

He sighed. “You’re the best reporter here.”

“Henry—with all due respect—that shit’s a fluff piece at best. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Day look—”

Shaking your head, you leaned back in the chair. “Surely you’ve got someone here who’s willing to go. I’ve got other things here that I can work on. What about—”

“So help me if you say The Batman piece I’ll fire you.” Taking off his glasses, he rubbed at the spot between his eyes, a weariness settling over him that you’d only seen once before. “You’re the most qualified, we both know that, and given Bruce Wayne’s reputation with reporters…we need qualified.”

“What’s so important about this interview anyways?”

“It’s the anniversary of his parents death or did you forget the date?” He quirked an eyebrow your way as the realization dawned on your face.

How had you missed that? That would explain the bits and pieces of a Thomas Wayne interview landing on your desk this week. You knew that this piece was merely a distraction for the people as the election was practically shoved in everyone’s faces. But you also knew you could work this interview into something intriguing; a character study at the shut in nobody saw anymore. Bruce Wayne hardly left his home and in a way getting this interview would mean a win for the paper more than anything else.

Resigning, you nodded, holding out your hand for the sticky note he scribbled an address on.

“I made an appointment with an Alfred Pennyworth at Wayne Tower and from there I’m assuming he’ll see if you can conduct the interview.” Before he officially handed it over, he made sure you were paying attention to him. “Do me a favor. Be nice.”

You snatched the note. “I’m always nice Henry.”

“I know you’re nice, but just take it easy on him. He hasn’t spoken to the press in years and this might be huge if it happens.”

“So what you’re really saying is don’t be a hard hitting investigative journalist.” He nodded as you stuck the paper between the pages of your black notebook. “Should be easy enough.”

Bidding Henry a goodbye, you gathered up your coat and the jumbled notes of the Thomas Wayne article—hoping you could do something with it. If things went according to plan, you’d be sitting down to talk to the reclusive Bruce Wayne in the next hour. Except that familiar tug in your gut told you that things were never as simple as they seemed—darkness lurking around every corner. For now, you’d take what you could, but eventually…it wouldn’t be enough.

“Daywalker!” Alex’s voice hit your ears, brightening your mood in seconds. Before you could reach for him, he ushered you into the elevator, shutting the doors. “I heard what happened from Elain.”

“Fuck,” you muttered. “She told you?”

“I made you chicken soup and stopped by to deliver it the other day.”

You leaned against the elevator wall. “And let me guess I was passed out on the couch.”

He nodded. “More or less. She let me in, told me what happened. I can’t believe you got rescued by the fucking Vigilante!”

“I didn’t—” The shriek of the elevator filled the silence as you attempted to come up with something to say back. Either you let this go on, or you actually explain everything and once again relive that night. “Yes he saved me.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Are you okay? Elain said you were stabbed but…”

Exhaling, you watched the number slowly turn as the elevator descended. “It was bad.” It was a fact you could no longer deny—even if the memories of that night scared you to death. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to accept the understanding that…you almost died that night.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said softly, wrapping you in a hug gentle enough to make your eyes sting with tears.

“Thanks Alex.”

This is what you ached for, the missing piece that seemed to always loosen when you walked out the doors of the building. The unequivocal feeling in knowing that someone actually cared about what happened to you; that they worried for your safety. Hugging Alex back, you did your best to tamp down the tears that now filled your eyes—the sting something you were sadly used to. Except you wouldn’t do it here. You refused to cry in front of someone who saw you as strong, because in a way…you could believe you were strong the longer you stayed in his presence.

He waved to you as you headed back out into the city, the note burning a hole in your pocket as you walked down the busy street. The bat of Gotham would have to wait for the time being.

You had to deal with the Prince of Gotham first.

Wayne Tower was the epitome of intimidating; always had been…always would be. You remember your first time seeing it. Back then you wondered if it belonged to someone of high importance (which it did) but like everything else in this god forsaken city, you got used to it. Became uninterested in what lay behind the walls of the tower just as everyone else. The people of Gotham gave up on Bruce Wayne a long time ago…just as he had with them.

You didn’t want to do this job. If it were up to you, you would be at home reading the half finished book that sat on your coffee table, with a glass of wine or two. At this point, you’d take anything over standing in front of Wayne Tower, hoping that an anvil would fall out of the sky and land on you. You knew this interview would be useless. Simply another fluff piece for the newspaper to remain slightly significant.

If there’s one thing you knew about working at a paper—becoming insignificant was a death sentence that not even Batman could stop.

Walking through the doors, you felt as if you were walking through a castle that stood still in time. The architecture alone made you subconsciously shrink in on yourself, hoping to appear smaller than you were. What was it about this place that made others avoid it so readily? Was it simply the bloody history of those that used to live here or was it the man who never left the walls of the building? The journalist part of you wished to dig deeper, to understand why Wayne Tower felt like the remnants of a ghost.

The memories were still there—written into its walls—but the spirits had passed on long ago.

An older woman sat at the front desk, her glasses larger than her own face. It was an odd sight to come across in a place such as this, but you found you didn’t mind one bit. In fact she made you feel a bit better about your less than professional appearance. Thankfully the coat covered most of what you were wearing—it’s black leather standing out against the gothic structure.

“Can I help you?” she asked, eyes roving over your figure quickly before snapping back up to meet your own.

You offered a friendly smile. “I have an appointment with an…” You grabbed the paper in your pocket. “Alfred Pennyworth. I’m with the Gotham Gazette.”

She humphed—the dislike of that paper’s name clear in her stare. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Turning to see a couch pressed up against the wall, you took a seat—clasping your hands together as you waited. In your mind this would go one of two ways. You would be told that Bruce Wayne wasn’t interested in speaking to a journalist, because of the nature of the topic. Or you’d simply be ignored, leaving you down here to wait for who knows how long. Some part of you hoped the former happened so you could then leave with the excuse that you gave it a shot. At least then you’d have proof that it wasn’t your fault this happened—that you could now focus on something far more important than this.

As you hoped, the elevator door opened to reveal a man, in a suit that no doubt cost more than your month's rent, walking with a cane your way. He winced as he moved slowly, his weight being pressed on one side and you had half a mind to ask if he was okay. That is until he smiled politely, his hand reaching out to shake yours.

“You must be here from…”

“The Gotham Gazette.” You show him your press badge as proof, the picture of you just as disgruntled as the present version of you.

“Ah yes. Please follow me.”

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he actually meant you. Couldn’t he reject the offer right where you were standing, giving you no time to get even a sliver of your hopes up? Yet he continued to walk away, expecting you to obey and follow without an argument, so you did just that; trailed after him to the elevator and got in beside him. If you were going upstairs that meant Bruce Wayne had approved the interview beforehand. Either that or you were heading to the actual offices in order for Mr. Pennyworth to ask you to leave there—which all in all would be a waste of time.

“Master Wayne isn’t one to agree to interviews.”

You swallowed thickly. “So why did you invite me up?”

A sigh left his lips. “It’s rather funny. He asked to see who you were first.”

“He asked…” You felt your eyebrows pull together. What the fuck did Bruce Wayne want with you? He didn’t even know who you were and for they knew someone else could have come to the tower instead of you. Rather than inquire further, you settled for shutting up—listening to the hollow silence of the elevator; Mr Pennyworth’s breathing was the only thing you could hear.

“This way,” he said, walking towards what looked like a large living room area.

That is if the living room was built in England during the Middle Ages. You could certainly see why Wayne was a recluse—as if his destiny was written in the very floors you stood upon. Didn’t everyone who lived in a castle go mad one way or another due to the castle itself? You smiled at your small joke, trying to remain slightly positive about the turn of events that surprised even you. Glancing at the floor to ceiling bookshelves and the sunlight that cast a glow upon them, you felt as if you truly walked back in time.

“It’s quite a collection,” you said, catching sight of one novel in particular. The very one that currently sat on your coffee table—Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

“Yes, this one has been in the family for quite some time now.”

You glanced over to see he’d taken a seat. “May I?” When he nodded, you pulled down the book, running a hand over the leather-bound exterior and noting the gold top edge gilt. A slight cracking sound came when you opened the front cover, proving that whoever bought this book clearly never bothered to open it.

“All human beings, as we meet them, are commingled out of good and evil,” you said more to yourself with a smile—having outlined that very same line in your copy.

“And Edward Hyde, alone, in the ranks of mankind, was pure evil.”

You jumped at the sound of a soft voice that definitely didn’t belong to Mr. Pennyworth. To your surprise, Bruce Wayne stood before you, his eyes catching yours within seconds and staying there; even as Alfred greeted him with a smile and introduced who you were. They were blue, but something about them, something about him felt oddly…familiar. You played it off as your mind playing tricks on you—after days of broken sleep you were bound to feel as if you were going mad.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Wayne,” you said, setting the book down on the small table to your right and stepping closer.

“Bruce,” he replied, his hand outstretching slowly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m sorry to intrude, but my boss—Henry Goldfinch—has asked me to come down. He’s hoping you’d be okay with doing an interview.” You still wanted them to say no, but now that you were looking at Bruce Wayne in the flesh, saw the way he tried to shrink in on himself, you wanted to know more. What made him tick as a person.

You blamed the journalist in you that always longed to know more—to know the truth—and this was no different. Bruce Wayne stood a few inches taller than six feet yet for some reason…he appeared as if he wished he were shorter—like the weight of his past, his legacy, was weighing him down. Shrinking him as a person. You could sympathize with him on that front.

“Is that alright?” you asked, hoping you didn’t appear too zealous.

He nodded, glancing at Alfred beside him. “Yes…that’s alright.”

Smiling, you reached into your pocket for your small black notebook that was pressed against your phone. “Okay well just let me know when you’re ready.”

“You can do it here,” Alfred interjected, gesturing to the small seating area you were just standing in. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“Um…coffee if it’s not too much trouble.” You’d seen butlers before, knew the nature of their jobs, but no one acted quite like Mr. Pennyworth. To you Bruce and Alfred acted more as father and son than someone who employed him and perhaps that’s what made you want to stay.

Or it very well might have been those blue eyes of his that sparked an itch in your brain you couldn’t scratch. You knew those eyes; had seen them before, but the topic of where never came to you.

“Are you aware of the nature of this interview?” you asked, settling into the large brown leather chair.

Bruce opted for the couch, sitting stiffly with his hands clasped in his lap. He nodded, eyes glancing at the book you left on the table—following the curve of each letter stamped with gold. You came to the conclusion that this would be a short interview, his silent nature already telling you so much. After all, what kind of person do you become after having seen your parents killed? What does that do to your way of life, harboring memories that shatter you as a human being each time you relive it?

“Do you like that book?” he asked, turning his haunting gaze back to you.

“Huh? Oh yeah I do.” Picking it up again, you flipped through the pages. “It’s very telling isn’t it?”

He froze, posture going even more rigid. “What do you mean?”

“Of Gotham.” You couldn’t count anymore the amount of times you’ve seen parts of the novel within the city. “A city that’s destined for brutality—holding two sides—but you never truly know which side is evil. Is it the bad guys? Or is it the good guys fighting them?”

Just as he went to respond, his shoulders dropping slightly, Alfred walked back in—a maid following along behind him, a tray in her hands. “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, but—”

“No this is perfect thank you,” you said smiling at him. “It smells delicious.” 

The bitter flavor on your tongue warmed your insides, reminding you of a taste you’d had before; although you couldn’t place it at this time. Setting it on the table, you were oblivious to the way Alfred’s gaze caught onto your coat—his eyes snapping back to Bruce.

“That’s quite a unique coat,” he started. “Where did you find such a piece of clothing?”

A question about your coat was certainly unexpected, but regardless you took it in stride, knowing that people might inquire about it. “A uh…a friend gave it to me as a gift.”

The word felt foriegn to you when speaking about the bat, but what else would you call him? He wasn’t an ally—at least you weren’t sure about that yet—and you couldn’t very well tell people the truth. Thankfully, Alfred accepted that as the truth, saying it’s lovely before moving back to the table that sat in the center of the room. By the light of the day you could tell it was barely the afternoon, meaning you had enough time to conduct the interview and get home.

You hadn’t gone outside in the dark since that night.

“If you don’t mind I’ll be recording this,” you began, waiting for his nod before continuing. “And you’re welcome to answer what you wish to and what you don’t.”

“Okay,” he replied softly.

“I’m going to start with talking about you first…if that’s okay.” Another nod. “As everyone knows you’re the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, but no one really knows who you are as a person. So who is Bruce Wayne? It’s a cliché question—I’m well aware,” you joked, feeling your heart flutter at the sight of his lips quirking up.

There was a small pause between you asking and him answering, and in that time you tried not to let the nerves get to you. He already agreed to do this with you, but you came up here knowing that some of the questions you asked would go unanswered. That was a given with him. Any other reporter would kill for this opportunity, so why didn’t you? Why were you feeling off about this entire thing?

“He’s…still figuring that out.”

You’d take that as an answer. “Aren’t we all,” you mused, flipping to the questions you should be asking. Except how could you look the man in the eyes and ask him about his parents death a day before the anniversary? No sane person would venture that far out into ocean waters without help, but as you suspected…you weren’t sane.

“I—” Shifting, you took in a deep breath to calm the jumping of your nerves. “I wanted to ask you about the anniversary.”

If only he would stop staring at you, then maybe you could manage to get the questions out with ease. This never happened. You stuttering for words as he watched you like a fucking hawk—probably waiting for you to fuck up at some point. You caught him glancing at Alfred for a brief second, his eyes saying something you couldn’t quite discern, but if his reaction was anything to go by—he didn’t like that. Only he never said no; he just nodded yet again and awaited your questions.

“A lot of people want to know what happened that night, if Bruce Wayne will one day take up his father’s place for good, but I want to know if you actually want to.”

You were getting good at reading his body language, whether or not he actually wanted to give you an answer. But this time you couldn’t tell. As if he finally set the last brick in place to complete the wall he was building—his mind now fortified enough to keep out an entire army. You were the single soldier sent out to defeat this power of a man and yet they hadn’t given you a weapon.

“My family’s legacy is important to Gotham.” He glanced down at his hands, body straight and rigid as an arrow. “It’s expected of me to take up the mantle.”

“Why?”

Once again you threw him off guard. “If I don't, who will?”

Sighing, you dropped your coat on the couch and kicked off your shoes. After sitting with Bruce Wayne for an hour, you gained nothing but vague answers and stubborn silence. He would give any interrogator a run for their money. You supposed that’s what people found so interesting about him. He was a man who chose to hide away rather than exploit his title, his reputation as the prince of the city. Given his answers, you could deduce that it was true.

Bruce Wayne was the prince of the city, but a reluctant prince at that. He didn’t want his name, his title, he simply wanted to be Bruce and you could tell your questions irked him. Nobody dared to ask him if he wanted to be a Wayne before—that much was evident—yet he still answered them. In a way, you understood. He kept to himself because he wasn’t ready to take on the Wayne name in full, even if its weight resembled a heavy crown he had to wear day in and day out.

Flipping on your record player, the soothing voice of Stevie Nicks filled your apartment as you yanked off your clothes, feeling the dirt and grime of Gotham stick to your skin. You may have spent the day back at work trying to make sense of that interview, but being at Wayne Tower made you feel like a thief intruding on their silent life. A shower would help you, but first…wine. So, you opted for throwing on your nightgown and a robe. After days of sitting on the couch unable to move, it felt nice to dress up a little for just yourself. Fuck, you were stabbed. This small amount of luxury was well deserved.

The window slid open with ease as you carefully maneuvered your way onto your fire escape. When you first moved here you tried to dress it up with lights, a small seating area shoved into the corner, and plants lining the floor. By your fourth month the plants had died and the pillows became your new couch pillows. Really all you had left was dingy white Christmas lights, but they were better than nothing—at least then you could feel a bit more like yourself.

With tomorrow being Halloween you relished in the overall silence of the city tonight. People were either sleeping early or finishing up the final touches on all their costumes. You would don the same outfit you always wore. That of a journalist who had to go into work until the sun went down and it became a fight to get home through the crowds.

Leaning against your small chair, you propped your feet up on the stairs across from you—the bottle of wine on the floor and your glass clutched in your hand. The Batman’s signal shone in the night sky—a reminder that no matter what he was watching over the city. He was Gotham’s dark angel and that thought alone made a wry smile stretch across your lips.

You should have looked across the street in actuality, should have turned your head a little to the right and caught his stare, but how were you supposed to know? Hidden in the shadows on the fire escape of an abandoned building, Bruce Wayne crouched—his clothes nearly swallowing him whole and binoculars in his hands. He watched you with curiosity, thinking back on the interview, on that night. He knew it was wrong to follow you—an innocent person—but he was unable to stop himself from checking in on you.

In actuality the overwhelming urge to make sure you were okay nearly surprised him.

He leaned back against the wall, hearing your music pour out into the empty street as you sipped at your wine—your head tilted back and eyes closed. You shouldn’t be out looking like that at this time of night. Hell, you shouldn’t be so comfortable with relaxing outside in a city known to dampen the light of others and you…you held a light he hadn’t seen since he was a child. You were the sunshine breaking through the darkened cloud cover, finally putting Gotham on display for what it really was.

The signal shined above his head, hung like a moon in the sky, and with a sliver of reluctance he pushed himself up to a standing position, chancing one last glance at you in your peaceful state, before he leapt to the ground. Tonight Vengeance would once again walk the streets, but tomorrow Bruce Wayne would come out from the cover of his home. In search of the person who cracked the wall of his mind without even trying; who brought light with them wherever they went.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne #the batman x reader #the batman x you #the batman x y/n #the batman #the batman 2022 #my writing

[imagine--if]

OKAY SO WHAT ABOUT A BRUCE WAYNE WITH A S/O WHO IS LIKE VERY HYPER 24/7? LIKE CAN BARELY SLEEP, IS ALWAYS RAMBLING, AND JUST LIKE VERY HYPERACTIVE LIKE ALL THE TIME? LIKE THEY'RE JUST LIKE ALWAYS REALLY HYPER AND CAN NEVER LIKE STOP MOVING AROUND? SORRY IF IT SOUNDS KINDA DUMB I JUST LIKE NEVER SEE ANY PROMPTS ABOUT LIKE HYPER S/O HAHSHAHDFDSFJSDIFJ ^^

A/N: It's NOT dumb it's PERFECT 👏🏼👏🏼I did a hc that's the exact opposite of this lmao, so enjoy!!

Pairing: Battinson x reader (The Batman 2022)

Warnings: Crazy hyper lovey stuff 🖤

•☆ Bruce honestly finds you hilarious and so cute, your energy and craziness absolutely brightens up his life and the atmosphere

•☆ He comes back from being The Batman and fondly scolds you for being up in the late hours of the night and doing random stuff on your phone instead of being asleep

•☆ You'll respond like "Noooo Bruce I'm not tired I only need energy drinks and an hour's sleep to do me for the day 😃" while he's trying not to laugh

•☆ I feel like he'd have to hide energy drinks to keep you from bouncing off the walls; he's probably the only one who can calm you down enough to sleep and relax for a few hours

•☆ And the amount of random crazy things you've convinced him to do with you is ridiculous, Alfred takes photos and videos like a dad before Bruce realises and gets all embarrassed

•☆ Bruce listens to every little bit of your rambles, even if they don't make any sense at all, he just finds it so amusing and loves hearing about what's going on in that brain of yours ♡

•☆ You get excited over the smallest things and Bruce loves watching it endearingly because seeing you happy makes him happy 🥺

•☆ I mean, he's a pretty chilled guy when he's not being Batman, and doesn't do much during the day so he has energy for the long nights, so Bruce usually watches you run around being your beautiful self and he watches and joins in when you beg and pull at his arms

•☆ He writes about it in a journal - he had to get another one that's separate from his reports on Gotham and being The Batman because it was getting too full of paragraphs about doing it all for you and then just going on about your hyper-cute traits

•☆ You absolutely liven up the manor with awesome new ideas and just being you, and Bruce wouldn't want you to change for the world... because you are his world 🥰

#battinson x reader #the batman x reader #robert pattinson x reader #the batman 2022 #batman 2022 #the batman movie #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #rob pattinson batman #pattinson!bruce wayne #pattinson!batman x reader #pattinson!batman #the batman imagine #the batman fic #battinson #the batman fluff #the batman film #the batman fanfic #the batman x you #the batman x y/n #reevesverse #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne fluff #batman imagine #batman fluff #batman fanfiction #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x y/n #the batman