Bruce Wayne X Reader - Blog Posts

Y'all hear me out again..

Batfam x neglected P5 Joker!M Reader

Reader gets sent to Bruce because of the assault incident and has to complete the rest of his high school years while living witht he Wayne's.

And let's be honest the things that happens in Peronsa 5 seem like that things that would happen in Gotham😭😭

Like when you really think about it, IT WORKS SO WELL TOGETHER.

Plzzz somebody @ me is y'all make this😩😩

Chapters: 3/61 Fandom: Justice League - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Clark Kent/Reader, Bruce Wayne/Reader, Barry Allen/Reader, Superman/Original Female Character, Batman/Original Female Character, The Flash/Original Female Character Characters: Superman | Clark Kent, Batman | Bruce Wayne, The Flash | Barry Allen, Justice League - Character, extended character ensembles that are appropriate to each charcater, basically related characters Additional Tags: Romance, Secret Identity, Identity Porn, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sex, internal thought processes Summary:

This story will be a sort of preferences, much like my Hetalia fic if you’ve read it, but also technically be both “x Reader” and “x OC.” You see, I really struggle to write with (Y/n) (L/n), or 2nd person POV’s. So I have made three blank slates of OC’s, and wrote romance with them. They technically have backstory and description where it serves the stories. If this interests you, please read. I’ll explain more in the first chapter which characterization and continuity I’m following. Enjoy!

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— Superman Ticket —

_ Alexandra Ogden POV _

You know, I understand why a lot of businesses both do and don’t have ‘friends & family’ discounts. Those things are great for advertising, but can be easily abused. Luckily for me, as my own boss, I can give out discounts wherever I like with little consequence. Plus, my friends tend to feed me while I clean so I call that a net-bonus. A preemptive tip, if you will. Maybe it’s unprofessional, but hey, it works. 

Lois easily moves around the kitchen while I finish cleaning the living room. Last room of her apartment left to clean, it was where she was sitting out of the way while I cleaned the rest of her place, and the last client of the day. I do find cleaning to be enjoyable, because the instant gratification after completing the task is addicting, honestly, but it is tiring. Some places just take some elbow grease, what can I say? 

“Nearly done?” Lois asks. “Almost! Just gotta move your couches back in place, and then I’m done for the day.” I call back, and get to moving said furniture over the newly swept floor. “Good! We haven’t had the chance to hang out in a while.” Lois comments, and I hear her popping open a wine bottle and moving around her cabinets, so I think I have an idea of what she has in store for me. 

She’s not wrong though, we both have been busy. Lois just got a promotion at work, and as a reporter she’s been very busy. She worked incredibly hard to get where she is, and that’s not going to falter because she’s reached one of her goals. No, she’s going to keep going, I know that. I’ve been busy too. My cleaning business is hard as a one-woman show, but I have regular clients who have also recommended my services to their friends and family. So I’ve been swamped. It’s nice to have a routine of which houses I go to in a given week, but the parties I clean up after on the week-ends and now week-days have taken up so much of my time. But the pay has been good, and has been padding me for times when it’ll be slower. 

Once I’m done with the living room I gather my cleaning supplies and place them by the door. I’ll carry them down to my car later. Just on time too, as Lois emerges from her kitchen with two wine glasses filled with a generous amount of a cheap red, if I know her well, and a knowing smile. Lois always knows what's going on. I’d say it's her reporter instincts, but I’ve known her since high-school and she was like this long before she joined the newspaper club. 

I take the offered glass and sit down next to her newly shiny couch. We both drink before talking, because all conversations are better a little buzzed I think. “So, how’d it go?” She asks me, a sly smirk on her face, and I sigh. I know exactly what she’s talking about. I had a date yesterday, one Lois prompted me to go on, and she wants the tea. Too bad it’s going to be very cold. “Not great, how well did you know this guy again?” I prompt, thinking back to how the date went. 

Lois raises her brows in question, and slowly says – “Not especially well, why? What happened?” I lean back and take a sip before I answer. “Like I said, not great, he was very… how do I put this, self-assured? Entitled? He seemed to think my work was either a hobby or not a real job.” I try to explain how he came off, but it’s hard to put it into words. He was just off… and obviously so, but not in a way you could put your finger on immediately. 

“The job that you get paid for?” I nod at Lois’s comment, and she looks stumped. “I’m sorry girl, I thought he would have been better.” I shake my head. “Not your fault, Lois, you didn’t know him well. I just think I’m gonna be done with dates for a while.” I say, and Lois hums in thought. “What if… how about you trust me one more time?” She says, looking excited. 

I look at her, slightly concerned. “Lois, you didn’t do well with the last guy you recommended, why would this one be different?” Lois smiles at me in what I’m sure she thinks is comforting, but it’s one of her determined smiles that makes me think I’m about to be roped into something chaotic again. “Because I’m not the one recommending him!” She explains. “What?” I ask, confused beyond measure now. 

“You remember that photographer at the Daily Planet that I work with?” She pushes on, and I hesitantly reply – “Yes? The sunshine one?” “Yes! He’s worked with this other reporter on my new floor, and he says this guy is a sweetheart, couldn’t hurt a fly. You’d trust sunshine, wouldn’t you?” Lois excitedly asks. I frown a little though. “I don’t know, seems like a risk, really.” Lois pushes on my shoulder a little. 

“Come on, Alex, live a little. You handled the last guy, if this guys the same then no problem, same story, same old song. But what if he’s not?” Lois pressures, and she makes some good points. I have handled bad dates before, what’s one more? I sigh and nod. “Alright, one more blind date.” Lois fist bumps the air in excitement, and I have to crack a smile at that. 

— Break Line —

_ Alexandra Ogden POV _ 

I like cafe dates, it means I can dress casually. The last guy I went on a date with chose a fancy restaurant, obsessively texted me to check I was dressing right, and most certainly did not return the favour. I was not enthused to say the least. So this is much better. Now just to find the man. You’d think Lois would give his number beforehand, but it seems like she wanted to avoid the aforementioned fiasco. Nevermind that, I’ve got to find this guy going off a name and a description. 

Clark Kent, or as Lois keeps calling him, Smallville is a man with black hair, usually a little messy, black, square glasses and a slouch despite his buff physique. Jimmy Olsen described him to me in some better detail. I can expect him to look nervous, as he comes from a small town and never got used to the city crowds. He’ll probably overdress, but not out of a sense of superiority, but in a nervous way where he feels the need to impress. Yes, he slouches, but it doesn’t come off as lazy, more insecure. His hair will be messy, but not so messy as to be unkempt. It’s curley more than anything. And blue eyes, Jimmy mentions those would be striking. 

And there is just such a man fitting that description in the back of the cafe, at a small table, nervously looking outside the cafe wall to ceiling windows. Hopefully he’s looking for me. He does have the curly black hair, the big glasses, and the slouch. He curls up in his seat like he’s scared of inconveniencing someone by taking up too much space. He’s wearing a nice sweater, some khaki slacks, and office shoes. And he is very buff. Jimmy said he was from a small town right? Bet he’s a farm boy, a natural buffness gained from lifting hay or something like that. 

I approach him with an easy smile, and stand by his table. “Hey, Clark Kent, right?” I ask, and his eyes jerk to me quickly. Wow, those are blue. Cute too. “Oh- Uh, yes. I’m Clark Kent – you just said that. Um - Alexandra Ogden?” He nervously stutters, going to adjust his glasses on his face despite them not being out of place. I give him a comforting smile. I by no means think I look bad, in fact I think I look very good, but I didn’t know I looked so good as to make him this nervous. At least, I hope it’s good looks that’s making him nervous. Hate for it to be anything else, except maybe natural disposition. Then it’s just neutral. 

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out. I hope you weren’t waiting long?” I ask, and Clark shakes his head negatively. “No, no, I just got here. Don’t worry. Do you want to get something?” That’s good, means I didn’t make a bad impression by being tardy. And he waited for me before going to get something to eat! Ain’t that sweet. I nod. “Yeah, join me?” I ask. “Yes!” Clark exclaims, perhaps a little louder than he meant, and scrambles out of his seat. Oh, this is adorable. This man towers over me, even with a slouch, and he’s acting like the most nervous-excited puppy I have ever seen. 

He follows me eagerly into line, standing a little behind me instead of just beside me. I frown a little at that, but I do understand. This cafe is small, there isn’t a lot of room. Speaking of little room, the line is already long, and more people start to pour in through the front door. That welcome bell has not stopped jingling. “Wow, it got crowded fast.” I comment, and Clark moves a little closer to me to save space. 

“Very fast. I’m starting to think the whole date will be spent in this line.” He answers, and he’s not wrong. As I mentioned, the line is already long, and moving very slowly. We might be here a while. “In that case, how was your day?” I ask. Let’s not let the time go to waste, right? “Busy, yours?” Clark asks, and that’s a short answer, isn’t it? I chance a glance back and see he’s looking at the crowd around us nervously. Olsen did say he wasn’t used to city crowds, or maybe given how long he’s been here, he just doesn’t like them. “Likewise. Any interesting stories?” I prompt, trying to get his mind off the crowd. 

“A couple, one intrigue into how the Crime Families of Metropolis are exploiting the restaurant scene, but Lois Lane snatched that one up, and another that I got on LexCorp. General PR things, really.” Clark seems to clock in that the date is going now, and engages readily. His job sounds interesting, and he seems knowledgeable about it. “Were you looking forward to the crime story?” I respond. “What reporter isn’t? But I have to admit, I think Lois will do a better job than I would have.” I see Clark shrug out of the corner of my eye, and I smile. Humble, not bad. 

“I’d say don’t sell yourself short, but I do have to stick to my best friend.” I shrug as well. What can I say, I have loyalty. Clark chuckles a little, which makes me smile more. Good to know he didn’t take offence. “I don’t blame you. You know, Lois didn’t mention what you did for work?” Clark asks the next question, and I toy with my bottom lip for a moment before I answer. This is where the last date went down hill. “I’m a cleaner.” I hesitantly say. 

But Clark doesn’t immediately change the topic or dismiss me, he asks a follow-up instead. “For like someone specific? Or freelance?” His tone is curious and genuine. “Freelance.” I answer. “Any difficult jobs lately?” Clark questions further, and I feel some flutters in my stomach from how well this is going. He’s not a snob about my job at least! One point for the small town boy. “They’re all a little hard, but I did have a party to clean up after this past weekend. Tell you what, if you ever plan a party in your beige-themed house – stick to white wine, not red.” I expound. That was a hard job, and my client was absolutely a snob. 

“Sheesh. I hope you got tipped nicely for that one.” Clark empathizes with me, and I nod as well. “Would it surprise you if I said I didn’t?” I chuckle a little. It’s been long enough and is more funny now than it was annoying and rude then. She was an ass. “Sadly, no. I don’t think your career is one that’s often appreciated these days, is it?” Clark sighs in sympathy. I snort a little though, in a humorous way. “These days? Please, point to the decade where they were.” I prod. 

“Good point. But forgive me for the assumption – you look like you're doing well for yourself?” Clark points out, and I have to say, he’s not exactly wrong. I’ve got several regular clients, and enough supplies that it’s not digging into my budget all the time like it did in the early days. I even have my own apartment, which while small is debt free. “That sounds like a compliment to me. But indulge me, what gave it away?” I query, and Clark astutely assumes that – “You don’t sound mad that your occupation is underappreciated, just annoyed.”

I used to get so angry, back when I was starting my business. It was hard at the start, and it still is now, although in different ways. I used to get mad at everything, from my clients, my career, myself, and the world in general. But I’ve done well for myself, and I suppose that gives me some privilege, doesn’t it? I’m in a place where I don’t have to be angry at the world, that’s something. “I think I am mad, on principle, but you’re not wrong I’m more annoyed about not getting tipped than pissed. Lucky me, really.” I eventually say after a moment. 

“Something tells me luck has nothing to do with it.” Clark states, and isn’t that curious. What does he mean? “Hm?” I question back with a hum. Clark explains himself. “You’re friends with Lois Lane, and something tells me she was hard to keep up with in High School. You’d need to be proactive for that, so I think you’re probably a very hard worker, and your success is a credit to that.” I blush a little at his take, and suddenly I’m glad he chose to stand behind me instead of beside, so that I can have that little moment to myself. It’s nice to be appreciated, isn’t it? Still, I shan’t let a chance to tease go. 

 “Is this flattery?” I ask with a smile in my voice, and a chipper little tilt of the head. I hear Clark chuckle quickly again. “Journalistic observation. Can’t help it when I meet someone interesting.” He jokes back, and I turn to look at him with a cheery smile. “I’m interesting, am I?” His smile is adorable, actually, it’s adorkable. The way his grin is comforting, to how his glasses sit, to the way his hair lays. Oh, I like this view. 

“Among other things.” Clark replies, that dorky smile still on his face. I truly turn my whole body to face him now, ready to continue this. “Well, I – hey, careful!” I try to start, but someone seems to take me turning around as a sign for them to skip the line. They shove in between me and the person that was in front of me, throwing an elbow into my back. I tip forward, but luckily Clark is close and catches me easily. 

“Woah there. I got ya’. It’s really getting crowded in here now.” Clark catches me by my elbows, and helps me right myself without letting go. I look around, and he’s very correct. I glare at the person who cut in line, but they don’t spare me a glance, and stoutly ignore me. “Too crowded. And we’ve barely moved in line.” I observe, and Clark nods back. “Yeah, I think our coffee is going to take a while, huh?” My lips form a thin line as I think about it. Yeah, it might even take more than a while. 

“Probably. Unless we try somewhere else?” I propose. “If you’re okay with it, so am I.” Clark looks me in the eye as I respond, and I stare back with a confident smile. I like him. “Great, let's get out of here and get some room to breathe.” We quickly shimmy out of the line, and Clark holds my hand as he uses his height and broad shoulders to wiggle us some room to move. We manage to squeeze out the door of the cafe despite having to do it sideways to pass the guy standing in it. We quickly walk to the corner of the block to escape the line that is trailing out of the cafe and onto the sidewalk. 

“Phew – I am happy to be out of there. Sorry about this.” Clark seems to relax and stretch out now in the open air. His shoulders settle and untense, and he almost stops slouching. Almost. I shake my head. “You can’t control it, or have known, don’t sweat it. Plus, you’re a buff guy, I imagine you were more crowded in there than I was.” He chuckles nervously, but turns to me with a sly grin. 

“Is this flattery I hear?” He asks, a smirk in his voice, and I laugh out loud. Good humor too! “Only altruistic observation. It was natural, really.” I quip back, and he smiles with me. “I certainly don’t mind it.” His gaze is kind as he stares down at me, and I can’t help but return it. Jimmy wasn’t kidding when he said his eyes were striking. Call me cheesy if you must, but I wouldn’t mind getting lost in them. “So, as a reporter I imagine you’re very familiar with Metropolis?” I start. 

Clark gives me a curious look, but does respond in kind to my odd question. “Comes with the territory, even if I only moved here for my career.” I smile back at him to reassure him as he answers. “Then would that familiarity happen to give you knowledge of other good cafes around here?” Clark smiles when he catches on to my plan. Although he still looks a little nervous. He rubs the back of his neck slightly. 

“It might, if the crowds from before haven’t already ruined this. But with the way this conversation has been going, am I wrong in assuming it hasn’t?” Clark asks in the most sincere voice I have ever heard. I wonder what makes a man like him nervous. He’s so tall, and such a big man. Yet he slouches to not inconvenience others, he’s nervous in the face of little old me. He’s something, I just can’t put my finger on it at the moment. But I’d like to find out. 

 “No, you’re dead on. It hasn’t ruined it all, only made it more interesting. Among other things.” I day as I grin up at him. He grins back, and holds out his hand. I hold it, and it’s more than nice. His hand is bigger than mine, warmer too. Calloused but not uncomfortable, and he holds my hand so gently. “Then I absolutely know another cafe.” I squeeze his hand excitedly. “Lead on then, few things could ruin this date now.” 

He laughs a little with joy, and his smile is starting to become addictive. He tugs me around the block, assuredly guiding me to another cafe. “Great. Com'n, this way –” He starts to say, but is cut off as the sky dumps a bucket of water on us. For fucks sake, it’s really raining now. There wasn’t even a sprinkle in warning! Just some grey clouds, and now it’s pouring. “I may have jinxed it.” I say, and yelp a little when Clark starts to tug me and jog towards something. 

“Or spoken too soon– this way!” Clark calls back, and he runs under the cover of a bus stop. Nobody else is in it, thankfully, and we both start to wipe the water off our faces and ring it out of our hair. Clark wipes the water off his glasses, and I shiver from the temperature. “God! Metropolis rain is so cold! You never get used to it.” I say, trying to keep the mood a little light in the face of this downpour. Clark nods. “Agreed! I don’t think we should risk running to the cafe, we’re already wet enough.” 

I frown at that, because it sounds like we don’t have a back up. I don’t want this date to end yet, it was going so well! “What about our date? Unless you want to have it at the bus stop.” I ask, and Clark frowns as well. He looks contemplative, and takes a moment to answer. “I think we’ll have to take a raincheck. Literally. The bus will come, do you live along one of the routes?” He says sheepishly. Damn, and this was going so well. 

“Yeah I do, you?” I answer defeatedly. Clark shakes his head. “Sadly not, but it’s alright, I’ll wait here for the rain to end.” What? I’m not going to just leave him in the rain, that’d be a dick move. And he’s been really good, and this has been an amazing date so far. We’re getting along great. I don’t want to ruin it by leaving him to soak in the cold. “I’d feel like an asshole if I just left you while I went home. You’ve been really nice, Clark.” 

Clark seems to blush a little, and puts his glasses back on his face. He’s back to that nervous stature, rubbing the back of his neck again as he asks – “Well, how about we try to go on another date? Another day?” I frown. I’m not opposed to another date, but – “That won’t keep you warm and dry.” I argue. Clark seems to blush more, and I don’t know what for until he argues back – “You never know, it might. I hear phone numbers from pretty blondes keep guys and gals alike very warm.” 

I feel my own cheeks flush, and with a small smile I tease back. “Is this flattery?” Clark, instead of continuing the teasing tone, responds seriously and with a smile. “Yes.” I think I’ll just have to trust him. Trust I’m not giving him a cold, or leaving him out to hang in this weather. I sigh, but I’m still grinning. “Alright, Clark Kent, you’ve got yourself another date.” Clark smiles brightly at me, holding my hands for a moment, squeezing them. “And your number?” He asks. 

I reach into my purse, grab a pen and loose but unused napkin, and jot my number down on it. I hand it over happily. “Here.” He takes it and tucks it into his wallet, probably one of the only places it’ll stay dry. I frown a little at the reminder I’m leaving him in the rain. Clark looks up for a second, and then quickly looks back to me. “Thank you, I think the bus is almost here.” I look around, and don’t see the bus. 

“How can you tell – well would you look at that, right on the dot.” I start to ask, but I interrupt myself as I see the bus turn the corner onto our street and slowly approach the bus stop. “It was just a feeling.” Clark explains. “A good one. Thank you for the date, Clark, despite the ending I very much enjoyed it.” I respond, and smile at Clark again as the bus comes to a stop. 

“Me too. Get home safe!” Clark calls back to me with a smile and a wave as I get on the bus. I turn around to wave back through the closing doors. “You too, and don’t forget to call or text me!” I remind him, and I just hear Clark’s response as the doors close between us. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” I sit in the back of the bus, and forlornly watch as Clark becomes a smaller and smaller speck in the distance. It’s really hard to see him through this rain. But as soon as I lose sight of him, I slump in my seat and turn back to look in the direction my seat is facing. 

I really like him, I think it was a good date, despite all the little things. But those were environmental things, not problems with Clark himself. I hope he texts me, and does take me on a second date. I’d really like to go. 

— Batman Ticket —

_Genevieve Dalton POV _

Most people like to chant ‘Eat the Rich!’, but today my job is to feed them. I’m not normally a cook for these kinds of high-scale events, but I am well connected within my field, and this is a private dinner. Some old rich friends or something are having a dinner together, and my friend was hired to be their private chef for the night. I understand why, he does cook fancy things. But he also has a lot of anxiety about these things, and was scared to cook alone. 

So he called me. I’m also a private chef, but nowhere near as bougie as he is. But I can be his sous chef for the night, handle the dishes and prep as such. It’ll be fine, really. I don’t let him know that I’m also a little nervous, because who wouldn’t be? I mean, it’s not like they can tank my ratings, I already usually work at a diner. They could tank Jeffery though, and I don’t want that to happen. So there is some pressure. 

But I’m a cook, I can handle it. I know I can, for Jeffrey. Even if one of the guests is the Prince of Gotham. 

— Break Line —

_ Bruce Wayne POV _

I’ve never hated Julie Madison, but I’ve never been fond of her in the way she wanted. I understand where she’s coming from, social pressure as well as pressure at home that pushes her to remain in the circle of the Gothamite elites. But it's not where she wants to be, deep down. She doesn’t quite believe in the imperialistic norm of the socialites, and I think she would much rather focus on developing a career instead of furthering her family's legacy of inherited wealth. 

I don’t know if it’s for moral reasons or because her passion for acting outweighs the silver spoon she’s been force-fed all her life. I don’t think I should be the one to point this out to her, though. It’ll mean so much more and stick so much harder if she figures it out for herself. I do hope she does though, it’ll do her a lot of good. 

A lot more good than this farce of a dinner. The food is good, the wine is perfect, and the atmosphere is as romantic as you’d expect it to be. But neither am I interested in her, or her in me. I wouldn’t hate a one-night stand, but I know it wouldn’t mean to her what it means to me. And she’d hate it. She doesn’t actually want me, it’s just the expectation her parents and friends are forcing on her. Gothams golden girl and Gothams Dark Prince would make quite the pair, if in name only. 

Her make-up is immaculate, but her smile is forced. Mine is as well, but for her own sanity I hope she doesn’t notice. This mask is easy for me to wear, I’ve practiced. But Julie just got back from a movie shoot, and it’s been a while since she’s had to put on her porcelain mask of perfection for Gotham. She’s trying very hard to make this work, and if we were anyone else I would be falling head over heels right now. 

But we’re not anyone else, and I’ve known her since High-school. I was admittedly not the nicest back then, but she was kind to me. I owe it to her to show the same kindness back. Neither of us want to be here, but this dinner will likely tide her parents overbearing attitude for a bit. It’s the least I can do for her. Still, this is dragging on. I should end this soon, as politely as I can. 

And I am saved by the bell, specifically the alarm bell. I feel my phone vibrate three times in my back pocket, and I know that is the tell I set for a bank robbery. As Julie goes to pour more wine I sneak a quick glance at said phone to confirm. There's a robbery at the First National Bank of Gotham, no rouges spotted. I should go handle it, but I also need to make sure Julie doesn’t feel slighted. Bathroom, Wayne Enterprise Emergency, Apology text. It’s a quick plan, but it will have to do. 

“If you’ll excuse me for a second, Julie, I’ll be back shortly.” I say with practiced grace and an easy smirk. Julie looks a little caught off guard as I stand, but she smiles pleasantly. “Of course, Bruce. I won’t be going anywhere.” I internally wince at that, but still smile back and button the front of my seat as I leave her dining table and make my way out of the dining room. Instead of turning right towards the bathrooms I turn left to make my way out through the kitchen. 

If I remember the layout of her penthouse correctly there’s a window to the fire escape there, which will lead down into an obscure alleyway. I send the location to the Batcomputer which then starts to self-drive the Batmobile to said alley. Luckily Julie lives on the edge of the city, it won’t be long. By the time I make it to the alley the car will be there and ready, my suit in the back to change into. 

I’m apparently a little too confident in my plan that I fail to notice someone in the kitchen as I enter until they ask – “Can I help you sir?” I hold back a startled flinch and immediately look up to assess the situation. It’s just one other person in the kitchen with me, a Ginger woman with her hair pulled back in a bun. She’s in normal clothes with an apron over it, and yellow plastic gloves to protect her hands as she scrubs dishes. Ah, one of the hired chefs. 

I had thought since Julie had hired private chefs for the night, and we had already just finished dinner, they would be gone by now. Shit. Alright, new plan, play nice, pretend I’m an asshole abandoning Julie, and look like going out the window is normal Playboy Nepo-baby behavior. I give the cook my most charming smirk, and put the flirting on thick. 

“Absolutely Sweetheart, I wanted to thank the girl who just made one of the most amazing meals I’ve ever had.” I say, and the woman blushes furiously, looking caught off guard. Her eyes frantically look to another door, but not the one I came from or the one she used to deliver the food to us. I hadn’t paid much attention to her then. But it’s a different door, are there more people? 

“I - I - Thank you sir, but I’m not the cook - tonight at least - Jeffery made your meal. He deserves your compliments.” So there is at least one more. He must be taking a break on the other side of the door. If I move this along quickly enough I won’t have to talk to or excuse myself from him either. I turn the charm up as I turn to look at the woman again. 

“Well, pass on my compliments for me, but I have to admit, while the meal was good, it didn’t look quite as good as you do. May I know your name?” I ask, leaning a hand against the kitchen island. The woman's face is a mess of red flush, which I have to admit is very charming, and she stutters out – “Gen – Genevieve Dalton, sir. You - sorry -” I laugh a little to interrupt her, and wave off her stumbling. “Bruce Wayne, but I bet you just remembered that.” 

She shyly nods, and I continue to smile. “Genevieve, a beautiful name. It suits you. You wouldn’t be willing to part with your number, would you?” It’s a little far, but I need to get this over quickly. There is an active robbery going on. She looks caught off guard, and this time her eyes do flicker to the door that leads to Julie. Good, think I’m an asshole, wave me off, and I will be out of her quickly. The Batmobile must almost be here by now. “Reunion not going well?” Is what she asks instead, and what? 

“What?” I ask a little dumbly, because what reunion is she talking about? Genevieve looks nervous as she answers – “The Highschool reunion, sir? Ms. Madison said this was a reunion dinner.” Ah, maybe I didn’t give Julie enough credit. But I hit the nail on the head when I said that she doesn’t want to date me. If she did she would have bragged about it to the cooks, but instead she misnamed the dinner on purpose. I can’t fault her for that, but I do now have to roll with the punches. My smile is a little strained as I quip back –

“Have you ever had a fun reunion? It’s always people who have mellowed out since high-school, and I did not come to talk taxes. So, number?” I rush, and Genevieve fumbles for a second to take off her gloves and write her number on a recipe card before handing it to me. I tuck into my breast pocket, and begin to trudge towards the window to make my escape, already planning my next line, when Genevieve stops my in my tracks by asking – 

“If I may ask, sir, what did you want my number for?” I turn to look at her slowly. Is she - is she joking? What does she think I want her number for? Still, play stupid games, win stupid prizes, and I should have just taken the damn elevator. So I plaster on an amused smile, and hit her with “So I can take you on a date of course.” Genevieve looks incredibly surprised, and very embarrassed, as her hands clasp together and squeeze in surprise. “Me?” She asks in a high pitched voice, and I have to chuckle at that. She’s dense, but she’s cute. 

“Do boys usually ask for your number for other reasons?” I jest, and she shakes her head. “Sorry sir, I just thought you were unhappy with my service or something and wanted to know who to call to complain to or something.” That’s a low opinion, although whether it's of myself or her I’m unsure. I shake my head negatively though, and placate her. “No, no, nothing like that. You were perfect. And call me Bruce, I will be taking you on a date after all, as long as you're interested.” 

She pauses for a moment, thinking it over, before looking me in the eyes and nodding. “I would like that, I think.” She responds. I give her an award winning smile, and say “Then I’ll text you the details. Now you’ve been wonderful, Darling, but I do need to leave before Julie notices I’m not in the bathroom.” And with that I turn towards the window. “So you're taking the window?” Genevieve asks incredulously. I shoot her a smirk over my shoulder as I open the window and climb out. 

“She’d notice the front door! And I’d hate to be rude.” I call back, and Genevieve comes closer to watch as I make my way down the fire escape. “And this isn’t?” She asks. “She’ll find it more amusing this way, and besides she’ll expect this of me.” I answer, slowly climbing down so as to not look like I do this every night. Not even a playboy is escaping by window every night. When I look up, Genevieve is smiling at me with a raised eyebrow. “Do this often, then?” She asks teasingly. I actually give her a genuine smile back, she looks better when not so nervous. 

“I did back in highschool. Do me a favour?” I ask. Genevieve laughs a little, but nods back at me. “Don’t tell her it was the kitchen window?” I say, covering my tracks. Genevieve smiles down at me. “I won’t.” She promises, and goes back into the kitchen and closes the window after her. Once I’m sure she’s not looking, I scale down the fire escape with much more practice and speed than Bruce Wayne is known for. The Batmobile is right where I directed it to, and I enter quickly. 

I direct it to drive to the robbery as I get changed, and I call Alfred while I’m at it. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Pennyworth's voice comes through the comms clear as day. “Text Julie Madison an apology, something came up at Wayne Enterprises and needed my immediate attention. I won’t be coming back.” I say. I can almost envision Alfred’s disapproving gaze. “I thought you were on a date, sir?” He prods. “No, turns out it was a reunion. But I do have a date, reserve a table at a nice restaurant in the next few days.” I order. “I thought you weren’t interested in Julie, sir?” Alfred asks. “It’s not with Julie.” I say, and take control of the Batmobile, speeding it down the streets of Gotham. “Batman out.” I say, ending the line before Alfred can respond. 

I’ll deal with that after the robbery, and after patrol. Whenever I get home.

— Flash Ticket —

_ Barry Allen POV _

My work as a forensic Detective is just as important to me as my work as the Flash. I think I wasn’t already working to fight crime, doing it with my powers wouldn’t have come as naturally to me. So I do take my work seriously, no matter what others say. But the thing about work is that it comes with colleagues. The Flash doesn’t really have colleagues, at least I haven’t run into any yet. My work for the Central City Crime Lab though? That comes with plenty of colleagues, colleagues who love to rag on me. 

“Barry, I saw you flirt with Kristen when she first got here, and if that’s how you flirt with everyone – no wonder you never get the girl.” James Forrest teases me as we walk back from the local coffee shop, our arms full of different drinks for the office. “Hey! That flirting was good! She just wasn’t interested! That doesn’t mean my flirting was bad!” I defend myself hotly, managing to balance the two full drink carriers I’m holding as I turn to glare at him slightly. James just laughs. 

“Nah Man, it was so bad. Your lines were so cheesy! No way that ever works.” He doubles down, looking smug. I grumble a little. “It totally works.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Has it? Has it really?” I pout a little, because as much as I hate it, he’s not wholly wrong. I haven’t gotten a date yet from a single girl I’ve asked. Hell, I don’t even get dates as the Flash! I know it’d be a terrible idea and all, but it doesn’t matter, because even as a hero I can’t seem to pull it off. Is it the flirting style that’s the problem? Or is it just me? 

As I think this I spot someone in the park, behind James. A gorgeous brunette, sitting alone at a park bench, just eating a sandwich and reading a newspaper. This is my chance! I’ll show him that I can flirt. “Hold this. Watch. I got this!” I say, and put my two drink carriers on top of his. “Hey!” James exclaims, struggling to balance all of the drinks, but I don’t pay him any mind and confidently stride towards the girl. 

It’s gonna work this time. 

— Break Line —

_ Barry Allen POV _

I run my hand through my hair as I approach the woman on the bench. She looks focused on her newspaper, but not deaf to the world. She’s dressed professionally, but I don’t see a ring. So I’m not homewrecking, hopefully. She finishes the sandwich in the time it takes me to walk over. I stop about a foot or two away from, I don’t want to crowd her like an asshole or something. 

“Hey beautiful, what’s your name?” I say, making sure I’m smiling and not slouching. She looks up, looking a little confused and wary. She eyes me up and down, spares a glance around to see that I’m not talking to anyone else, before looking back up at me. “Oh, uh… Charlotte?” She says slowly, and I smirk. I have just the line for this. “No surname? That’s fine, my names’ Barry Allen, and I wouldn’t mind lending you mine.” 

She keeps looking at me with those pretty green eyes, and stumbles for a moment - “Wha - you -” until she cuts herself off by laughing out loud. Her eyes close with the laugh a little, and she brings her hand up to cover her mouth, letting her newspaper fall to her lap. I wilt at her reaction. “Aw, it’s not that bad is it?” I say, my tone just short of a whine. I thought I had this. 

She responds through chuckles. “Depends how much you meant it. Seriously? So bad - but ironically? That was so good -” I perk up with a – “Really?” Hey, I’ll take it. She may think it's funny, but she doesn’t hate it. Still laughing, Charlotte manages to answer me with – “Yes!” With that, I slide into the spot beside her on the bench. I can and will do this, I can woo her. 

I slip my arm on the back of the bench, resting it behind her but not touching. I haven’t asked if she’s okay with that yet. “Want another?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrow for comedic effect. Charlotte gives me a blinding smile, her eyes shining with mirth. I could get lost in those eyes, and I wouldn’t mind. “If it’s as funny as the last one? Absolutely!” God, you can hear her smile in her voice, it’s contagious. 

“Did you just come out of the oven?” I eagerly ask. “Pft -  no.” Charlotte responds. “Damn! Then we better call the fire department, because you're smoking hot!” And I emphasize the end with an exaggerated wink. Charlotte begins to laugh out loud again, and I haven’t heard a better sound in my life. I want to keep hearing it, so I keep going. “I’m learning about important dates in history, want to be one of them?” 

At this point Charlotte fully lets go of her newspaper, and it slips off her lap, and she holds onto her side and the seat of the bench to keep from falling over in laughter. I push on, this is great. “Are you a flower? Because I wanna’ Bee with you forever!” Charlotte's head tilts back as she laughs, and I can’t help but feel some laughter bubble up in me. This is fun, this is amazing, this is working. 

 “Call me mister Flintstone, ‘Cause I can –” Charlotte holds her hand up and I stop talking, but her face is still smiling. “Stop! Stop! I’m gonna laugh myself to death!” She says, and I start to laugh at myself. I can’t say my flirting has ever gotten this reaction before, but I don’t hate it. In fact, I like it a lot. Charlotte wipes a tear from her eye as she rights herself, a few breathy laughs escaping her as she calms down. My own giggles come to a slow stop as well, and we both just bask in the joyful energy of the moment for a second. 

Charlotte turns to me with a smile on her pretty face, her lips quirking in amusement. “Barry Allen, you are a riot. It’s Eakins by the way.” Eakins? What? “Huh?” I end up saying, and my confusion must be very apparent on my face because Charlotte can’t help but giggle at it. “My last name, it’s Eakins.” She explains once she stops giggling. I exaggerate a pout on my face. 

“Aw, not Allen?” I joke, and Charlotte laughs again. I like making her laugh. “You’re funny, but I need more than pick-up lines to convince me.” She teases. I give her my best smile, which at this point I don’t even need to try, she just makes me smile. “But you’re open to being convinced?” I ask. 

“I just nearly fell off this bench laughing, and you think I’m not?” Charlotte leans forward, her voice still happy, but there is a sweeter tone behind what she just said. Am I about to get a date? I think I am. “Doesn’t hurt to be sure, so, how about –” I’m cut off by the sound of a phone alarm coming from Charlotte's back pocket. Charlotte looks panicked for a second as she pulls out her phone, and I watch her turn off a 12:45 pm alarm, and then look at me with a sad and sorry expression. 

“Shoot, sorry, I gotta go. This is my lunch break, and that means it’s over.” She says sheepishly, and stands up, putting her phone in her purse and shouldering it. She reaches down for her newspaper, and I scramble to hold onto her newspaper as well as she straightens. This was going well! “Wait! Can I have your number before you go?” It’s now or never it seems. 

“Planning on convincing me?” Charlotte asks, her smile coming back. I smile back. “I’d like to try.” I say, hoping my sincerity comes across in my tone. Charlotte bites her bottom lip in thought for a second, before letting go of the newspaper for the second to take out a business card and hand it to me. “Alright, here. Text me sometime, and I’ll see if I can make some time. Sell me on the surname and all that.” She says, and we trade the newspaper for the card. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring a powerpoint.” I say, and it makes Charlotte laugh. I like doing that. “Thanks for making me laugh, at least. Bye!” She turns and walks away, presumably in the direction of her work. “Anytime!” I call, and I tear my gaze away from her retreating form to examine the card she gave me. It’s a business card. Charlotte Eakins, Star Labs, Receptionist, and her number and email. Oh yeah, she was definitely dressed professionally. 

James approaches me not a moment later, setting the miraculously still unspilled drinks on the bench beside me. He looks disgruntled, probably because I left him holding so much stuff, and also watches Charlotte reach the end of the park, glance back, and then cross the street. I wave at her back, but she's already turned around. 

“So? How’d you fuck that up?” James asks. I wave the card in front of his face. “I didn’t! It worked! I’ve got a date!” And man, I am excited for it. I can already tell, it’s going to be amazing. James balks at my proof. “What the fuck? No way –” He exclaims, but I hold my hand in front of his face as I tuck her card safely away in my coat pocket. “Talk to the hand, James, talk to the hand. My flirting rocks.” Because guess what, I got the girl. I got a date. 

---

Hey! I'm going to continue this story on Ao3 if you want to read more!

You and Your Two Heaters~

A/n: Wrote while on my period and wanted some comfort, then I remembered that I can write and made this. Not proofread, might edit later, might not, who knows ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠). Anyways, enjoy⁠♡

You lay on your side within the warm safety of your nest on your bed, accompanied by your too big of a dog cuddled into your stomach called Lillie. She had joined you after hearing you whimpering from your cramps and after ensuring her you were in fact not injured, she cuddled right up against your lower stomach where it hurt the most. Because of this though, she ended up taking your heater of a boyfriend's side of the bed like she owned the spot. With a hand combing through her fur and the other holding up your phone, everything was peaceful even with your uterus deciding to curse you.

“Oh I see how it is,” that familiar gruff voice makes you smile as you turn your head to find your loveable boyfriend standing at the doorway looking playfully offended. “I leave for only an hour and I come back to have my spot stolen,” he huffs out as he sets a grocery bag down and strides to our bed.

“You snooze, you lose?” You slightly giggle out as you feel the thump of Lillie's tail wagging on the sheets. Lillie only nuzzles further into you as you laugh lightly at the cute sight. Your boyfriend mutters something along the lines of “you're lucky you're cute” before he gives you a small peck to your cheek and forces his way into your little nest.

“Did you generate more blankets while I was away? Cause there's definitely more in here than when I left,” he teases as he embraces you and adjusts you all. Lillie moved to lay more on top of you as you lay on your back, her head still on your stomach and providing warmth for your aching muscles.

“Not my fault if Lillie added some more,” you coo as you give your pup some head scratches while all three of you get comfortable again. You wince as a cramp hits harder than before and you're tempted to curl into yourself if it weren't for Lillie and your boyfriend helping you.

“I got ya princess, ‘m right here,” he purrs into your ear as he massages your pelvic region and places little butterfly kisses all along your face. You feel a small lick to your hand from Lillie and you smile softly at the boundless love surrounding you like a heavy blanket. You sink further into your little nest and lay happily with your dog and boyfriend as they comfort you through the pain. You get so comfortable that you doze off after a while, listening to the gentle sound of your boyfriend's heartbeat and your pup’s soft snoring while a movie plays in the background. Nothing could be better than this…except minus the period pain.

Lazy Morning~

A/N: I wrote this half asleep listening to Nonsense by Sabrina Carpenter so this is definitely not proof read and may not make sense, but I'ma still post it cause who's gonna stop me ಠಿ⁠_⁠ಠ. Also, I had no one in mind for writing this so you can imagine whoever you want. Anyways, enjoy and I hope you have a good day or night.

You slowly blink away tears as you yawn, your nose cold and your fingers wrapped around something soft. You lift your head up and find your lover sound asleep still with your hands buried in his hair. With zero restraint and being far too tired to care, you grip his head a little and hide your cold nose in his neck. You feel him stirr underneath you as warm arms snake around your waist and a gentle squeeze to your sides.

“What're you doing?” you feel him murmur into your ear with his morning voice adding a rumble to his words. While normally you'd be a menace and tease him about his voice, your brain felt too fuzzy to even form a proper sentence as you press your face further into his neck.

“Nose cold…” you slur out while you snuggle into him like a chick nuzzling into its mother's feathers. You hear him chuckle deeply and feel the warm blankets on your back get pulled up more.

“Can't have that now can we,” he chuckles out as he lets you do as you please. Content to be your heated teddy bear for the moment as he threads his fingers through your messy hair. Sighing, you kiss the nape of his name with a small “thanks” before you doze off back to sleep. Fully embraced and safe in your lover's arms as he rubs circles on your back to keep you asleep. He places a kiss on your forehead as he accepts his fate and feels contentment to have a lazy morning with you. He'd keep your nose warm always, even when you could barely form a sentence.

FAMILIARITY

absolute trinity x reader | sfw

CW! gn! reader, slight angst, character x reader romantically involved, multiverse shenanigans, drabbles, spoilers for absolute comics

Summary! Absolute Trinity meeting their s/o from the mainstream universe

BATMAN

"Bruce..."

His name was soft off your lips. The heat was hot on her skin as you looked up at the tank of a mine in front of you. The Batman from your home was less big, actually a lot.

"You know me...?" His voice felt hostile. Albeit it wasn't your Bruce it was him. He was big and still handsome. "You’re different from where I know you." You smiled at him.

He was still confused it seemed.

"You can take off your mask, Bruce." You asked hesitantly.

"How can I trust you?" His lips morphed into a scowl.

You faltered but you raised your head, “I’m not sure what’ll make you trust me, but I do know your parents would be very proud of you. I know that, and my version of you knows that. Even if he doubts it.”

Bruce stared at you blankly. His giant hand raised to bull down his cowl to reveal a very young man with still some wonder in those eyes. Short black hair and baggy eyes.

You stepped forward and cradling his face between you hands. Bruce didn’t know why but he allowed you himself to lean down for you.

“You’ve been working hard.” You smiled quite sadly, “Things never change do they.” You said it like it was a fact instead of question.

He titled his head with narrowing eyes. “The other you is rich, but also just as sad. He works so hard and is always blaming himself. Doing everything to make sure Gotham thrives. Things never change.”

He nodded. His blue eyes blanking as they stared at you. Only seeing love in those eyes of yours. No matter what he’s done, or perhaps violent, whether it was him or the other him you’d love him.

“He treats you good?”

“Always. He cares too much, so much it’ll kill him if he’d ever to lose me or anyone else he cares about.” You reassured.

Bruce found himself thinking that when he met his world’s you he’d protect you too. If this was you and your original then he’d protect you too.

Yeah, he couldn’t lose anyone else otherwise he’d lose it too.

WONDER WOMAN

“Woah you’re so tall and pretty!” You giggled when looking up at the woman with flowing dark hair, blue eyes, and red tattoos.

Diana, but not your Diana. Someone who belonged to the darkness, but good. She was intimidating but she was warm like the sun. Just like your Diana.

“Why thank you.” It was her, definitely. “You’re not from here. You came through with magic. May I ask how that happened?” She mused with a tiny laugh as you got a look at her prosthetic arm.

“A man named Savage made a device that sent people to different universes. It broke in the fight and I got sucked in.”

You played with the parts of your hero costume as you stared up at her tall stature. “My Diana, she tried to save me but couldn’t reach me.” You thought of your Wonder Women.

Just as beautiful and dressed in blue,yellow, red, and white. Flowing black hair and her blue eyes. She looked like a goddess and looked like light.

“My Diana? Another version of me, good [ ]?”

“Yes, my Diana is a lot less dressed in darkness and born in Paradise Island, a land full of women called Amazons.” You noted how she froze when she heard you speak.

You wavered over her expression. “You aren’t from Themyscira. From Hell maybe?”

“How did you figure it?” Diana’s brows were up to her forehead as you giggled. “You’re whole getup kinda screams hell. But you’re still my Diana. I can see that.”

Diana hadn’t met you in her reality. She hoped you existed here, and was just as kind as you.

A smile that made you shine like the sun. A sun that Diana only experienced when she arrived her on Earth.

“I see. Well I’m glad your perception is of me being evil.” She summed up. Her arms bulking as she crossed her arms. Your eyes glittered in excitement as she did so.

“Of course, because no matter how my Diana looks I’ll always love her.” The heat from your cheeks were loud. Diana couldn’t deny the flush of her cheeks.

Truly you were the birth of the Gods. A treasure she would protect; in every universe and any version of you.

SUPERMAN

Clark, or Kal-El floating in the air with blue eyes that were haunting. He didn’t give off that golden retriever aura like you were so used to.

He wasn’t all that huge, and this Superman was lean yet fit. Those eyes weren’t all that calming but haunting. Bright gold was shining off of his suit. Long hair and fair amount of stubble on his chin and jaw.

He was distant.

So unlike your Kal-El. In fact there was no Clark Kent. Simply the his Kyrptonian identity.

If was it was there then it was nonexistent.

Suddenly you felt a red cape surround you. Kal-El coming down and wrapping it around you. Your clothes were ripped. How you got here, but all you knew is that a machine by Gorilla Grodd broke and here you were.

That last memory being Clark being too late in saving you. Tears flowing from his eyes as you escaped into a blue light, and here you were.

“Kal-El…”. You shakily spoke.

“You know me?” He spoke. His voice still as he stared at you blankly. His mind twisting in gears. “Yes, but not mine. I can see that. I’m not from here.” You looked around to see the torn down buildings.

“You’re so much different from my Kal-El. My Superman is much more smiley, but I can see there’s goodness in you.” You looked hopeful into your eyes.

“This world is ugly. Some of these humans are ugly.”

His words made you still. Kal-El looked at you when he felt you falter. Shock in your eyes. That expression fatally fell to a sad smile.

“This world has been cruel to you.” Your hand drifted to his face. He didn’t know why but he allowed himself to melt into your touch. “But you still want to help. Humans are horrible but still fighting will make a difference.”

His expression seemed somewhere else. Like he was hearing someone else’s voice. Blue eyes flickering everywhere for anyone around you two. They came back to you and looking your eyes, locking eyeballs.

A hopeful look in them, “In your world, is it good?”

“Yes, and evil. But we do our best because even the tiniest effort can make the difference, Kal-El.” You gave him a smile. Cupping his face to which he melted.

A loud explosion was heard from elsewhere. Immediately you found yourself in his chest. His suit feeling different, and not made out of cloth like your Superman.

Kal-El made up his mind. Until you could return back to your universe he would protect you. Your world needed your goodness, and so did his other version.

After all it was true. Even if his suit said otherwise. Because maybe a world can be saved from themselves.

Just one step at a time.

MOONLIGHT DROPS

bruce wayne x reader x selina kyle | nsfw

CW! threesome, battinson, after events of Batman (2022), recieving oral (selina) , switch Bruce, top selina, bottom reader, gn! reader, riding, unprotected sex (pls be safe in real life)

"Move your hips, baby." Her voice was like smooth butter. You whined as you worked down on the organ below you.

The man below her, on her heat groan when you met his pelvis. "Selina! I don't think I-"

"You can." A teasing smile made way on her face. You flushed red seeing that. Her hands cupped your face as you cried from the stretch.

"C'mon move. Make Brucie feel good." She licked her lips as you followed her order. You rolled your hips on Bruce. Thighs burning and tearful eyes you cried out feeling his cock hitting all your special points.

Bruce moaned below.

Selina moaned in response. "Come here, baby." Her lips interlocked with yours. Silencing your cries of pleasure.

"Ah fuck- Bruce!" Selina laughed. Bruce was pressing his fingers hard into her thighs while eating her out. "What a good boy!" She ruffled his hair as he kept going.

Even more; she was getting off to you being subjected to his tiny thrusts up into you. You still tried to keep on the rolls of your hips but it hurt to do so.

"Make me cum, honey." She caressed Bruce's head gently, while also tugging on his hair to make him go harder. "Make our baby cum, okay?" She grinned seeing you utterly fucked out.

No longer were you moving your hips and were being subjected to his tiny thrusts.

Selina grinded her cunt against his tongue. Her moans loud and passionate. Her fingers moved and tugged and twisted at your nipples. You cried in response and holding onto her shoulders.

"Selinaaa nooo!"

She let out a cruel laugh and it turned into a loud moan as she came from Bruce’s expert tongue. “Oh good boy, Bruce.” She laughed while on your ass.

“Go on look up.”

Bruce looked up where you found the grease paint running down his face. His hands adjusted their hold on your hips and thrusted fast and hard. You yelped and moaned his name.

“Go harder. Faster.” Selina smirked as she came behind you and placed her hands on your waist which made you go faster. You flinched at her tongue.

Both she and Bruce were making a mess out of you. She kissed you and used her tongue. The vibrations of your moans were muffled in her mouth. Your ears could hear Bruce loudly moaning whimpering both your names.

Selina pulled at your chest with ease as she maked out with you with no shame. You flung your head way to cry from the overbearing pleasure. A feeling in your gut becoming worse the more Bruce’s thrusts became more erratic.

“What a good job you’re doing.” She giggled.

You ended up coming and Bruce kept on going. Overstimulated so much do to Selina’s tampering with your body. Her kitten lips at your chest making it so much worse. Clinging to her shoulders as Bruce handled his last few thrusts.

Coming inside you deeply and nice.

You and Bruce both moaning loudly. Your own body shivering from the amount of stimulation that was attacking your body. Selina didn’t let up on your assault at first but she soon did when you made a face.

“Good job kittens.” She giggled. You pulled against her chest, and Bruce scrambled to hug both you and her.

You felt plump feeling of Selina’s breasts against your neck and Bruce’s pecs in front of your face. You felt loved and cared for.

And trapped as you heard Selina and Bruce share a kiss. Selina taking the lead and making a sensitive Bruce weep when her hand wrapped around his cock.

You cried feeling Bruce’s hands drifted over your previously wreaked opening. His callous fingertips drenched in you and entering and you cried.

Once again Selina tweaked your chest and Bruce dug in to you like a buffet.

You were in for a long night and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

𝗕𝗿𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰

𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗻

Batfamily x reader incorrect quotes #2

Jason: My life isn’t as glamorous as my wanted poster makes it look like.

Bruce: What are your goals? Damian: To pet all the dogs. Bruce: No, fitness goals. Damian: To be able to run fast enough to pet all the dogs.

You: What’s this? Dick: My to-do list. You: Oh? That’s great. You’re starting to get organiz— You: This just says '(Name)'

Jason: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I'll wait. You: You and me!!! Jason, tearing up: Okay.

You: Look. I may not be a saint, but it's not like I’ve killed anybody. I’m not an arsonist. I’ve never found a wallet outside of an IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground. Bruce: Okay, that's really specific, and that makes me think that you definitely did do that.

Damian: *Accidentally hits you in the face* Damian: *Trying to decide between saying 'I’m fucking sorry' and 'Are you okay'* Damian: ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY?! You: What’s wrong with you?!

Tim, at a restaurant: You guys should get the orange soda, it's amazing. You: Okay Waiter: Can I get you guys anything to drink? Tim: Orange soda, please! Damian: I'll have the strawberry soda. You: Me too, strawberry soda. Tim:

Bruce: While I’m gone, Damian, you’re in charge. Damian: Yes!!! Bruce, whispering: Alfred, you’re secretly in charge. Alfred: Obviously.

You: The stars are so beautiful... Damian: They're just giant balls of gas. You know what, if you're just going to ruin this, then- Damian: And yet none of them are as huge as my love for you. You: Oh...

Dick: Three words. Say them and I'm yours. You: Three words. Dick:

Bruce: Where are you going? Jason: To get ice cream or commit a felony, I’ll decide on the way there

You: You saved me. I owe you my life. Damian: No thanks. I’ve seen it and I’m not very impressed.

You: I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are. Dick: It’s not a joke. Dick: *sniffles* Dick: I’m a legit snack. It’s not a joke.

Batfam x reader incorrect quotes:

Damian: And I’d love to be sorry for that, but we all know I’ve done much, much worse.

Bruce, in a meeting: My policy is if you see something, say something. You: I saw a squirrel in a tree today! Bruce, with the tone of someone who is used to You: Outstanding. You: This is what I’m talking about people.

Tim: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you. You: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule. Tim: Absolutely not.

You: Do you have any skeletons in your closet? Damian: You mean literally or figuratively? You: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...

Damian: God, give me patience. Tim: I think you mean 'give me strength'. Damian: If God gave me strength, you'd be dead.

You: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. Jason: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

You: What if the 'g' in 'gif' is silent? Damian: Go the fuck to sleep You: What gif I don't want to? Damian: Fuck You

Bruce: I actually have a black belt. You: In what, karate? Bruce: No, from Gucci.

You: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars. Damian: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the damn sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life.

You: That’s one of my biggest fears. Like, if I ever woke up as a donut... Dick: You would eat yourself? You: I wouldn’t even question it.

Tim: Do you think you’d actually notice if someone didn’t cast a shadow? Or if their limbs were just slightly too long? Or if they had just a little too many teeth? like how many times have you passed Something on the street and you just didn’t Notice It? You: Stay woke monsterfuckers ur love is out there!!!!! Tim: Yknow what? Not my point at all in any way whatsoever, but I’m glad I could be an inspiration.

me tryna read a long ass fanfic but I know I have a attention span that's shortter than 15 seconds:

DC Masterlist

Request Rules

Bruce Wayne

Nothing yet

Dick Grayson

Nothing yet

Jason Todd

SFW Fluff Alphabet

Fluff Headcanons - Requested

Big Spoon or Little Spoon?

You Playing Doctor Now? - Requested (Meta!Reader)

Tim Drake

Nothing Yet

Damian Wayne

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Batfamily

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SOMEONE WRITE MORE PLATONIC DICK X READER/BATFAM X READER FICS😭

I need inspo for my batsis!oc💔💔

"Young and Beautiful"

Prologue

ya'll, I cannot sleep with my arm in this stupid cast, so i started rereading "the great Gatsby" (my comfort book) and i got this idea. i know, i know, i have 3 unfinished fics buttttttt i'm injured and this is my blog and i have free will so i'm writing this. This is yandere romantic batboys and bruce x reader. BUT set in the roaring 20's. Send in asks, requests, ideas, and just what you think about this! Likes, comments, reblogs and asks are encouraged and keep me going! Love yall <333. This is written in 1st person, reader is recalling events in her journal. This is a rough draft for the prologue! Sorry if it doesnt make sense, i'm high off pain meds writing this bc i'm BORED.

The first time I saw Jason Todd, he was nothing to me Just another boy in my father’s estate, covered in dirt, hands rough from labor, his bruised knuckles proof of a fight he hadn’t won. His blue eyes were sharp, full of something wild, something untamed, something that made you bristle, the kind of fire you knew to stay away from, even at 12 years old.

The first time I spoke to Jason Todd, two years after I saw him, I thought he was filth.

He was a boy covered in dirt, his hands stained with mud and the smell of horses, his knuckles raw from a fight he clearly hadn’t won. His face was sharp, bruised, skinny and too wild for someone who worked under my father’s name. He was nothing, just another street rat lucky enough to be given work in my father’s stables, another nameless stray that old Mr. Wilkes had dragged in from the gutters of Gotham. He smelled like sweat, hay, and something sharp, something angry.

I was fourteen years old and wore pearls around my throat, a silk dress with delicate lace at the sleeves. My father’s estate stretched over rolling green fields, our mansion standing tall like something out of a dream. My mother’s hands were soft, her perfume sweet, and I had never known hunger or want. My world was a world of glittering lights and expensive champagne, of high society and grand parties, of people who smiled with their teeth but whispered behind painted fans.

Jason Todd did not belong in my world.

Yet, somehow, he slipped in like a stain on silk.

We met on the back steps of the estate, where the stable boys cut through to the gardens. I was waiting for my automobile when he nearly ran into me, boots dragging dust over my polished shoes.

Jason Todd? He was filth beneath my shoes.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Because the first time I met him, he nearly ran into me.

He didn’t bow like other servants did, he didn’t apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness.

He barely even looked at me before muttering, “Watch it,” like I was in his way.

I had never been spoken to like that in my life.

I hated him immediately.

I took a startled step back, wrinkling my nose at the smell of sweat, hay, and horse.

The nerve.

I straightened my back like Daddy told me to when I wanted to look serious and I tilted my chin up as I stared down at him. "Excuse me?"

Jason smirked, slow and lazy, eyes glinting with amusement. "Did I stutter?"

I had never wanted to slap someone so badly.

Instead, I remember turning and walked away, forgetting my plans of going into town, heels clicking sharply against the stone, vowing to never look at him again and to hate him forever, no matter how handsome he was,.

That vow didn’t last long, especially when he took off his shirt.

Jason was everywhere.

I saw him at the stables, his shirtless back slick with sweat, muscles shifting under tanned skin as he worked. I saw him sneaking apples from the kitchen, disappearing into the trees, laughter on his lips. I saw him in the streets, fists flying, always coming back with fresh bruises, always alive in a way no one else was.

And then, you heard about him.

"That stable boy got into another fight," the maids whispered. "Damn near killed the other boy, apparently the other kid got smart about his lady."

At the time, I thought the strange burning feeling in my gut was disgust at even hearing Jason's name. Now I know, what I felt was pure jealousy, not knowing the 'lady' Jason nearly killed a boy over was me.

"He’s trouble," my mother warned when I asked about him at dinner. "Keep away from him, sweetheart."

"He won’t last long here," my mother sighed. "That kind of boy never does, no matter how much of a soft spot your father has for him."

My father pitied Jason, told me I oughta be nicer to him like I am to the other workers (he would regret that statement soon.)

He had no one. No mother, no father, no family, nothing but the clothes on his back and determination. He had what my father called "the look of a man who'd rather die than fail" and my father respected that.

But Jason did last.

I hated him.

Hated the way he smirked at me from across the gardens, like he knew something I didn’t.

I hated the way he never bowed, never apologized, never treated me like the others did.

I hated that when I was alone, when my father’s friends spoke about marrying me off to the sons of their business partners, I thought of Jason Todd instead.

The first conversation I had with Jason Todd was after I had fought with my father.

It was about marriage. About duty. About a boy I didn’t love.

I ran into the garden dramatically ignoring my father's desperate calls, pearls at my throat, tears in my eyes.

And Jason was already there.

Sprawled under an oak tree, cigarette between his lips, watching me like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life.

"You rich girls cry over the dumbest shit," he muttered.

I whipped around. "What did you just say to me?" How dare he speak to me like I was any other girl, like this wasn't my home, like he didn't work for my father.

Jason pushed himself up, boots kicking up dirt as he smirked. "You ever go to bed hungry?"

My breath caught. He had a point, you were privileged.

"Ever steal to survive?" His voice was low, teasing, sharp. "Ever wake up in the morning and wonder if you’ll still have a roof over your head by sundown?"

I didn’t answer, for the first time in years I felt something close to shame.

Jason tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with resentment. "Didn’t think so, princess."

I hated him. He made me feel childish. He humbled me. He burst my perfect bubble.

And I loved him for it.

I loved him for making you feel something real.

And that was the beginning of everything.

I loved Jason Todd.

I loved him when he me you out of the house at midnight and made me ride my horse bareback through the fields.

I loved him when he knocked the rich boy who called me a tease's teeth out.

I loved him when he threw pebbles at my window on the third floor and scaled the walls to my balcony.

I loved him when he kissed me for the first time at 14 under the summer stars, hands gripping my waist, mouth desperate against mine.

"You’re my Jason, my Jaybird," I whispered against his lips. Corny, but nothing felt better to say, especially when I saw his face.

Jason smiled like I had given him the whole damn world.

And he? He was my whole world.

When Jason was seventeen and I was fifteen, he walked into my father’s grand house, dressed in his best suit, nervous but determined and proud, his hands clean for once, his boots polished.

He asked my father for my hand in marriage. He asked my father for my hand and I thought he would say yes. Daddy always thought he was a hard worker, called him a real good sport.

He stood before my father and said, “I love her, sir. I’ll make her happy. Give me a chance. I ain't got much now, but one day I will. I'll give her what she's got and more.”

My father just laughed.

“Boy,” he said, shaking his head, “she’s not meant for men like you.”

Jason left that night, whispering a promise against my skin.

"I’ll come back for you, I'll be great. Be a man like how your daddy wants, rich and proper, he'll have to say yes."

I waited, god knows I did.

I wrote letters to the last address he gave me every single day.

For five years. Till I turned twenty. I never looked at another man, I had my Jason.

I waited for him to reply, fought off suitors and pressure from my mother. I waited for a reply, that he was coming soon, that he missed me.

I waited.

And my Jaybird never came back.

My father loved me.

He regretted turning Jason away five years later, when I still refused to marry. He never forced me to marry, not even when the years passed and my suitors grew frustrated with my refusals.

He saw my misery, my longing and admitted, “I should’ve said yes. I should’ve let you have him.”

He thought my Jason was a passing infatuation, he wondered what people would say about his daughter marrying the stable boy.

He wished he saw my love for Jason sooner.

But love wasn’t enough to keep the debt collectors away.

I knew something was wrong when my father began to look stressed, when my parents began to argue, and when I heard my mother cry herself to sleep after selling her favorite pearls.

My father was going to loose everything all at once.

The steel business wasn't what it used to be.

And then suddenly, Bruce Wayne arrived like a knight in shining armor.

He was older than me, 18 years my senior. Refined, powerful, and dangerously charming.

And most importantly, rich. He was exactly what I needed to stop my family's fall from grace.

Bruce courted me like a gentleman.

He sent roses every morning, took me to the finest restaurants, whispered in my ear about a future where I would never want for anything again.

He was patient.

He never forced me to love him.

He only asked for one thing.

"Let me take care of you."

I kept Bruce waiting for three months. All I could do was think of Jason. I knew he was not returning, that he either was dead or found some other pretty girl to make promises to.

I told myself love was not enough to fill an empty stomach and keep my parents happy like they did for me.

I told myself that Jason Todd was not coming back to save me, yet each morning I woke up waiting for a letter or pebbles thrown at my window.

After four months of courting, I decided.

And at twenty, I became Mrs. Bruce Wayne.

Jason Todd never sent me a single letter, but I still dreamed of my Jaybird even as I looked at the massive ring on my finger.

OKKKKK SO WHAT YA'LL THINK??? CONTINUE OR DELETE??? FLOP OR BOP? SEND IN ASKS!!!! I MISS YALL! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING ROMANCE W JASON AND BRUCE. I REALLY LIKE THIS AU!!!! WHAT DO YALL THINK IS GONNA HAPPEN? SORRU IF IT SUCKS OR DOESNT MAKE SENSE, I'M SO HIGH BRO.

BE NICE PLEASE, I'M IN PAIN! THIS IS NOT EDITED OR PROOF READ.

"I bet on losing dogs"

ok this is like my first time actually writing anything EVER, and I don't know how to work tumblr or make this aesthetic so bare with me pls!! I keep seeing yandere batfam x neglected reader and I have had so many ideas so I'm giving this a shot! The reader is referred to with female pronouns but you can imagine it different if you want :) Reader is 2 years older than Damian and is 15 at the start of the story. Damian is 13. Dick is around 10 years older than reader, making him 25 right now. Jason is 8 years older than reader, making him 23. Tim is 2 years older than reader making him 17. Cass is 4 years older than reader and is 19. Stephanie is 3 years older than reader and is 18. Barbra is around 8 years older, making her 23! Bruce is around 35-40ish??? All just kinda guesses to make the plot and dynamics more clear, lmk if you have any questions!!

This is the prolouge and it kinda sucks so pls be nice. Hearts and comments are appreciated. If it's bad ignore it, english isn't my first language. Chapter one:, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

You couldn't understand it. You aren't a bad kid, so why were you treated like one? Why did your father treat you like the bane of his existence? Why did your older brothers see you as nothing more than dirt at the bottom of their shoes, a ghost in the manor, a blemish on their picture perfect family of misfits. You tried so so hard to fit in, to be part of the family. You wasted 11 YEARS of your life trying to get noticed, doing activities and hobbies you hated in the hopes of striking conversation with your "siblings". Batman, Bruce Wayne, your "father", ignored you no matter what. He ignored you like it was his job, from the day you came to the manor on your fourth birthday, your mother's death day, to today, your 15th birthday. You saved his life, his and all those other ungrateful losers who you used to call family. Yesterday, you put you life on the line for them, got bitten by that damn snake for them, and they ignored you and told you to walk it off while coddling the girl who suddenly appeared. Never again would you help them, nor would you brush off their mistreatment, not after this betrayal. Not after they took in another girl, a girl your age, the girl who took credit for your heroic act, the girl who bullied you for years at Gotham Prep, the girl who made your life living hell, and called HER family. They choose Tiffany Maverick to be their supposed savior, they would never believe you had the bravery to help them. They chose her to be Tiffany Wayne and scorned you.

You did nothing wrong, from the day you came to the manor you were perfect. Straight A's, no attitude, no complaints and no demands. All you did was try, try, try, and they never noticed.

Richard "The Dick" Grayson, as you and your friends call him, was the world's best big brother to everyone, except you of course! He was your first brother, he was the kid that Bruce Wayne actually wanted to take under his wing. You were 5 and he was 15, he was busy being Robin and then Nightwing. Alfred assured you that Dick adored you, you were his baby sister after all, he was just busy! In later years you realized he was only busy when it came to you. He made time for Damian no matter what, always attended Cassandra's ballet recitals, chatted with Tim and ruffled his hair, and he even dealt with Jason's snarky attitude and biting remarks. Yet, somehow when it came to you, he never had time. Always brushing you off with a shoulder pat and a "Maybe next time sweetheart!" and rolling his eyes when he thought you weren't looking. He's been making time for Tiffany or Tiffybear, as he loves to call her while pinching her cheeks and calling her his favorite little sister, "Don't tell Cass though!" he'll whisper to her. You don't even think he can remember your name. Or that once upon a time you were his "baby bird."

It makes you sick watching her take credit for everything, she's only been in the manor for 6 months and they've all given her more love than they have to you in the past 11 years. She took credit for all your awards, she told everyone she was top of your class, made them "homemade" cakes and muffins. It was all you. She stole everything.

Jason Todd, the red hood, was so mean to you. You used to admire him, looked up to him, and he took all your kind words and gestures for granted and spit them back in your face. Once upon a time, he was your favorite brother, you wanted to be as confident and unshakeable as him, it didn't matter how mean he was now because he was you brother and you loved him. The bond you had before his death was something you couldn't let go of, he was the only one who loved you. When he first came to the manor he was 12 and you came a couple months later. An adorable 4 year old who followed her favorite brother like a duckling. You were 7 when he died. You were 12 when he came back to haunt Bruce and Dick and Tim. You chased after him and tried to resurrect the bond you had for 3 long years. You gave up when you saw them. You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw him and Tiffany sneaking out the manor on a school night, you almost threw up when you saw him strap her on his motorcycle and leave for hours. They came back with shit-eating grins and cupcakes for everyone from a 24hr bakery, everyone except you. The bakery you asked him to take you to months ago. Tiffany saw the tears in your eyes and your clenched fists and she laughed.

Timothy Drake-Wayne, you first saw him after Jason died. Tim, in your 10 year old mind, was trying to steal your dad. Bruce ignored you even more after Jason's death and shut everyone out. Your bond with Tim was non-existent no matter how hard you tried. After you realized he wasn't trying to replace Jason, and saw how he was helping your father heal in ways you couldn't, you tried to bond with him. You attempted to play his video games and ignored his complete disintrest in you and anything that had to do with you in hopes he might come to appreciate you. You brought him coffee after long patrols, asked him about his day, asked to meet his friends, you picked up all his hobbies like hacking, cooking, reading even martial arts and yet he ignored you. You tried to find him in hallways at school, only to be treated like a stranger when you found him. He was embarrassed that you were his sister. You were chubby and awkward and didn't have many friends, he didn't want his cool kid friends to know you were his sister. For 5 long years you chased after him, for 5 years you chased a ghost, and somehow Tiffany captured his attention using one of the gadget-thingys you made in hopes to impress him. She walks the hallways of Gotham Prep with him, a perfect sibling duo, he even had her lunch moved so she could sit with him and his friends. He wasn't embarrassed of her. You watched them get closer in 6 months than you have in 5 years. And it hurt.

But perhaps what hurt most is her newfound bond with Damian. Your baby brother. You tried the hardest with Damian, almost as hard as you tried with Bruce, and yet he chose her while all you got was a sword to your neck and sneers of disgust thrown your way. Damian moved in when you were 12. You were elated, if you couldn't have good older siblings, at least you could be one! That plan went to hell when you realized Damian saw you as less than him. No matter how hard you tried, returned your love with disgust. You tried to show him around school like you wished Tim did for you and he called you " A waste of space and Wayne DNA" and said that there was no way you were of "Wayne" blood and that your "whore of a mother" had to have deceived his father, in front of your two friends and half the school. You could've handled his cruel words if he didn't begin attempting to duel you to become your father's heir. About a year ago, when you tried to hug him he threw you down the stairs and you broke your ankle, you stopped trying with him after that. He was so possessive over Bruce and now that somehow transferred to Tiffany too. You'd feel bad for her if she wasn't eating his obsession with her up.

Barbra, Cassandra, and Stephanie were the "It girls." All practically sisters, they hung out almost everyday and had sleepovers every Friday. They giggled about boys, hook-ups, missions and bonded over everything. You wanted be one of them, you tried so hard to be cool, to be pretty, and they could only see your flaws. You curled your hair and did your nails in hope you would blend with them, you even attempted to be Batgirl at one point. You were quickly denied after Stephanie pointed out that you didn't have the right 'physique' for it. Barbra quickly agreed and said you weren't cut out for it, Cassandra simply looked you up and down. Thats why it hurt extra when they welcomed Tiffany with open arms. Suddenly, she could be Batgirl. She talked to them about boys and bonded with them over girl things. She stole your sisters.

You figured out Tiffany was a spy almost as soon as she came into the manor. Her apperance and ability to act like it was her who saved the Bats from the Joker and his new radioactive snake was not a coincidence, neither was her becoming a vigilante only two weeks after coming into the manor, and neither was you catching her walking out the Batcave with arms full of Batman's weapons and plans. You couldn't believe your luck and pulled out your phone to take a picture, too bad you left the flash on. Tiffany quickly noticed you and tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding when Bruce came into the hallway. You beamed at the sight of him and began to explain what you saw Tiffany doing, only Tiffany was faster. She was quick to blame you for everything, and Batman, the world's greatest detective believed her. She said that you bullied her at school and you were so jealous of her joining the family that you went to steal plans and took pictures to frame her. It was a shitty lie and somehow everyone believed it. You still remember the cold indifference on Bruce's face, the sadness on Alfred's, the look of pure delight on Damian's, the shock on Dick's, the interest on Tim's and the disappointment and disgust on Jason's. Something shifted in you that night. You didn't feel an overwhelming amount of love and longing when you looked at your family, you felt anger. Pure unadultered rage, rage at Bruce for never loving you, rage at Dick for being a liar, rage at Jason for throwing away your bond and cool indifference and disgust at the rest of them.

Maybe that's why your abilities finally formed. Maybe thats why the place the snake bit you that fateful night began to glow as you cried in your bathtub, after being scolded all night and getting body slammed by Damian for trying to "taint his dear sister's image". You had powers now, the agility of a snake, you could eject venom out of your fingertips, you could walk on walls, now you could prove them all wrong.

okayyyy yall this was the prolouge. Again this is my 1st attempt at writing so be nice. If enough people like this I'll put out part one. Hope yall enjoyed and lmk what you want to happen next in the comments!!!!!!!!!

I’ll update my masterlist soon while I’m on my little mini hiatus- only a week and half left of school, I’ll be back soon!!!

(In the meantime please leave request, I love getting them!!!)

-Liv xoxo

I’m taking a (somewhat) short break 🫶🏻

I’ve got about 4 weeks left for my semester at college and my professors are loading me up with work. I would love to write right now, but I’m just trying to not burn out with school work. I hope that you guys can understand.

In the meantime I hope that you guys can load up my requests, that way I can have plenty of stuff for you guys when I return!!! I know I don’t have a lot of followers but you guys mean so much to me so I love you guys 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

See you guys in a bit!

-Liv 🫶🏻

Thats for ALL the fandoms i'm in and it hurts like hell

me seeing that my fav character barely/doesn’t have any fanfics OR imagines

Save Me

IMAGINE: You and Bruce had always had your ups and downs, but hey, if you were dating Batman, wouldn’t you? But, the two of you hit a major rough patch, one that forced you to leave. It’s difficult to get over him, but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day. How hard could it be? WORD COUNT: 2.7k

Batman.

Everyone knew who he was. The Dark Knight of Gotham City. He was their official/unofficial protector. He was loved by some and hated by others.

Bruce Wayne.

He was almost just as popular as the dark crusader. But just as hated. To some, he was just as heartless as the devil.

Combined, you knew them as your boyfriend. Yeah, your boyfriend. You knew the billionaire's habit of dressing up at night and fighting criminals. Nothing about it really bothered you. Only the nights he came home with awful looking wounds.

Other than his dark counterpart and his billionaire persona, you loved Bruce just the same. Underneath that tough exterior was a man in need of love. And you were the perfect person to supply it.

Or so you thought.

It all ended on a cloudy night. Gotham was quiet, as if it too knew what was to come. That didn't stop a handful of idiots attempting to break into Wayne Industries. As Bruce left to deal with them, you had given him a kiss for luck.

That would be the last kiss you would have given him in a long time.

"Hey Bruce," you greet the billionaire as he entered the kitchen. You quickly grabbed a mug of coffee you prepared for your boyfriend and held it out. "How did it go?"

Ignoring your offering, Bruce carefully made his way around you. "That bad?" With a small grunt, you watch him slink down the hallway. Setting the cup down and follow him. "What happened?" You ask him again, walking into your shared bedroom.

Another damn grunt. Whatever happened definitely reached a sore spot.

With a small huff, you sit down next to Bruce on the bed. He flinches at the closeness. Hiding your hurt, you grab his hand. As you run your thumb across his calloused palm, you lean against him.

"Don't do this to me," you plead quietly.

Bruce had a thing. Sometimes when being Batman got too rough, he would shut everything out to control himself. You would be pushed away until he dealt with whatever problem he had.

"I have no choice," Bruce replied roughly, surprising you. He would never talk to you during his moods.

"We always have a choice," you tell him. "They're not always the best, but we all have decisions to make."

"You're right," your boyfriend agreed. He stood silent, seeming almost content being with you. The silence of the room is almost soothing.

"I can't do this anymore," Bruce suddenly stated.

The words made you freeze. What was he talking about? You had an idea, but kept your mouth shut.

"I thought I could keep this up," he went on. "I don't know what I was thinking when this started, but now I know what to do."

Bruce gently pushes your hand off of his and stands up. You don't even bother to look up as he sighs. "We both knew this day was going to come," he said.

When you don't reply, he sighs louder. "With you in my life, I won't have time to be Batman. This is for the best."

"Is it?" You suddenly ask. Momentarily taken aback by your shaky voice, you steel yourself. "Is it best for you or the people?"

"Don't do this Y/N," Bruce quietly pleaded. It was bad enough he waited this long to tell you. "Let's not make this harder than it should be."

"I'm not the one making this harder. It's you!" You claimed standing up. "Stop lying to me and tell the truth!"

"What more do you want me to say?" Bruce demanded. "What do I need to say that hasn't already been said?"

"Tell me why you want me to leave," you responded, your tone matching his. "You've had other opportunities to get rid of me, but you never did. So why now? What broke you?"

Nothing. He said nothing.

You spent hours, days even, crying over the billionaire as you wondered if he would come back home safe. Sometimes Bruce would return and be surprised that you were even there to greet him. He wanted you to go so badly so you wouldn't have to see him like this, but he was glad you hadn't left.

What changed?

Deciding you didn't want an answer, you turn to the closet and start rummaging through it. Seconds later, you emerge with a large duffel bag. It's filled to the brim with clothes you had packed beforehand.

Storming to the bathroom, you grab another bag from underneath the sink and fill it with your things. "So you've prepared for this?" Bruce asked quietly. It broke his heart when you refused to look at him. But he knew it was for the best.

"Not for this scenario, no," you quickly reply. "But I'm glad I had it, anyway."

The soft sound of clinking metal caught the billionaire's attention quickly. He saw you slipping off the necklace you wore.

"It's yours. Take it," Bruce told you. It shocked him when you shook your head.

"It'll only make it worse."

You gave the chain one last squeeze before you placed it on the dresser. The ring resting on the metal links glistened in the soft light as you tried fighting back your tears.

"Goodbye Bruce," you tell him. It hurts, but you know it's what you have to say. It was for the best.

The hero watches as you leave the room but says nothing. He knows that if he utters a single word, he'd start begging you to stay. But it doesn't stop him from taking a last look.

A Few Months Later...

"How are you holding up Y/N?"

Whoever asked had to repeat it several more times before you snapped out of your daze.

"Did you say something?" You ask your friend. (Male Friend's Name) shakes his head as he takes the crystal flute from your hand and replaced it with a full glass.

"I thought you weren't drinking," he jested quietly as a waiter calmly took the cup from him. Nodding his head in thanks, he (Male Friend) pulled you closer.

"You're not all here, are you?" He asked you softly. He knew the pain you were going through. He sat there by your side as you cried out for the man who left you. It broke (Friend) to see you so out of it.

"Not exactly," you reply quietly. You fiddle with your bracelets as you keep your eyes on the floor. "How did I let you convince me to come to this... Thing?"

(Male Friend) had begged you to join him to a charity ball that was being held in the heart of Gotham City. Since he was an officer of the law, he was officially invited with the rest of his brethren. They also gave him an extra invitation, and he passed it on to you.

(Male Friend) practically got on his knees just to get you to come with him. He knew that you had gone to events like these in the past with Bruce. If it wasn't for the billionaire, you wouldn't have even wasted a thought on a ball.

But since the breakup, you didn't really go out much. (Male Friend) jumped at the opportunity of the charity event, seeing it would get you out of the house. You reluctantly agreed after your friend promised that he'd buy you the next 15 hero movies that came out.

"You never could resist superheroes," (Male Friend) joked, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

'You have no idea,' you thought.

An hour slipped by as your friend dragged you around the large ballroom. He insisted that you meet all of his coworkers and friends that he met over the years.

From previous experiences, you learned to keep a conversation going and to pretend to care what they talked about.

Things were going well until the shooting began.

All over the room, waiters and other banquet servers dropped their things and pulled out hidden automatic weapons. A few near the main doors fired randomly into the air, causing a stir in the crowd.

Immediately, all the officers reached for their guns until one of them reached for a human shield.

Lucky you.

He wrapped an arm around your throat while he rapidly swung the gun around. "Anyone of you pigs even thinks about firing your weapons and this bitch gets it."

To prove his point, he let his gun hang by his side and pulled out his knife. Pressing it to your throat, he dug it into your skin. (Male Friend) instantly lowered his gun and ordered his comrades to do the same.

"Good to see you know how to follow commands," the man commented. Keeping his word, he lowered the knife.

Your captor yelled at the other shooters in a foreign language. They ran around the place, corralling the people into groups. You watched as they focused on the politicians and other public officials.

Terrorists. They had to be. The mob would've focused on the wealthy and police officials.

Helping Bruce had its pros. Denying his request that you learn self-defense was not one of them.

As the lower terrorists work, the man holding on to you struck up a conversation.

"You know," he crooned into your ear, dragging his nose up and down the side of your neck. "After we're done here, I can take you back to my place and... Get to know each other better?"

"Over my dead body!" You hissed at him. 

With a growl, he raised his knife to your throat once more. "Don't make me mad," the man warned. "I can slit your throat this second and not blink an eye."

Just as you go to say something else, one window to your right shatters as a dark figure comes barreling through. Most of the civilians duck to avoid the flying glass, along with the terrorists.

The lights flicker as the silhouette weaves through the people, quickly picking off the radicals. As it nears you and your captor, it freezes. For once, you can see the face of the Dark Knight.

Your Dark Knight.

Getting over his moment of weakness, he pulled out a famous Batarang and prepared to fire. Just as he did, your captor pressed the knife into your throat. "Try it bat freak," the terrorist hissed. "Or you'll get this poor girl killed."

Bruce looked to you, unable to hold back the emotions threatening to overcome him. He opened his mouth to call your name, but you silently pleaded that he wouldn't.

"JuSt LeT hEr Go AnD yOu AnD I CaN sEtTlE tHiS," Bruce demanded, his distorted voice just as you remembered it.

Shaking his head, the man dragged you over to the window the hero barged into. He glanced over the edge and grinned when he noticed how far you were up.

Sending a wicked smirk towards the vigilante, the radical tilted you over the side. "Still want me to let her go?" The man taunted.

Bruce took a step forward. "Do It, AnD I'Ll MaKe YoU rEgReT iT!" He screamed menacingly.

"Is that so?"

As he prepared to throw you out the window, you saw Bruce run towards your direction. But even he wasn't fast enough to save you.

You can't hear your quick cry over the rushing wind flooding your ears. The broken window grew farther and farther away as you fell.

Have you ever heard about people who like to freefall from planes? The daredevils who like to plummet to the ground and don't release their parachutes until it's almost too late.

They talk about the rush that they get from feeling the air swishing through their hair as the scenery flashes past them. Their hearts practically burst out of their chests once they realize that this is real.

You felt all of that. But it wasn't beautiful.

You wouldn't fall safely to the ground without a parachute. You wouldn't land on the pavement with just a scratch or two. Your heart, along with other things, would explode out of your torso the second you splattered on the sidewalk.

A blurry object shoots towards you from the way you came. You blink slowly as it grows closer and closer like a speeding bullet.

Wanting him to be the last thing you see, you close your eyes with only a prayer echoing through your mind. He wouldn't hear it, but it made you feel better.

Save me, Bruce.

Darkness quickly overtook you as the air left your lungs.

"(NaMe)?" A gruff voice whispered. "(NaMe)? CaN yOu HeAr Me?"

A covered hand gently takes your chin and tilts it side to side. Your muscles seemed to scream as you slowly open your eyes.

Things are dark as you stare into nothingness. It isn't until hazel eyes meet yours do you realize who's calling for you.

Bruce looks worried as you stare at him with a blank face. He goes to ask if you're all right when you capture him in a hug. "Thank you," you whisper in his covered ear, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek.

As you go to pull away, the hero pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. Shocked by the action, it only takes you seconds to eagerly respond. And just as quickly the kiss ends.

Bruce pulled back, carefully cupping your face with his gloved hands. Rubbing his thumbs over your reddened cheeks, he shook his head.

"I aLmOsT lOsT yOu ToNiGhT," he murmured. "I tHoUgHt I wAs KeEpInG yOu SaFe By PuShInG yOu AwAy bUt I wAs WrOnG."

You laugh quietly as you shake your head. "I could've told you that, you dumbass." Giving him another kiss, you suddenly look around your surroundings.

"I think you should take me back now," you told the undercover superhero. "(Male Friend) might get worried if I don't show up back at the gala."

"ThAt... ThAt'S a GoOd IdEa. HoLd On."

He gently took you into his arms, quietly instructing you to wrap your arms around his neck before he jumped off the side of the building. The wind whooshed past your face, reminding you of your almost deadly fall, causing you to bury your face into Bruce's neck.

It tempted the billionaire to chuckle but decided against it, seeing you were so fragile at the moment. With skilled movements, the hero hurled a Batarang towards the nearest building, shooting a strand of rope that swung the two of you through the air.

It wasn't long before you approached the gala building. Police swarmed the area as they rounded up the dumbasses who even dared to step into Gotham City.

Bruce gracefully landed on top of shattered glass as he entered the almost emptied gala room. He carefully set you down as he checked you over one last time for any other injuries.

"WiLl I sEe YoU aT hOmE?" He asked you shyly, keeping his voice low so only you could hear. Keeping your gaze on your shoes, you feel your lips form into a small smile.

"Only if you pick me up at my place and get my things," you tell him.

Somewhere near the entrance, (Male Friend) noticed your reappearance and caught your attention. "Y/N!" He shouted, catching your attention as suddenly fought to get to your side.

"I'Ll Be ThErE oNcE tHiS bLoWs OvEr," Bruce commented before jumping out of the broken window.

Watching your lover swing into the night made your once broken heart skip a beat as you realized Bruce came back for you.

"Woah, you all right Y/N?" (Male Friend) demanded as he pulled you into a hug, quickly pushing you away to check your skin for visible gashes.

"Yeah, I'm uh... I'm fine," you told him assuredly.

Snapping out of your daze, you look up to your friend who still held his worried gaze. Realizing that you were too calm, you took a fresh approach.

"Hey, I just met Batman. As you said, I never could resist superheroes!"

Rolling his eyes, (Male Friend) pulled you into another hug. He kept you in a tight grip as if to reassure himself you were safe and sighed.

"Let's just hope this kept your mind off of Mr. Playboy," he teased. Sharing a chuckle, you glance nervously to the side as you recalled the promise you made to Bruce.

"Sure it did..." You say uneasily, thinking of a way to explain to your friend how you were getting back together with your ex.

The feeling of entering the tag and not having any new fic to read ... I NEED MORE

Money cant buy everything

A/N: this is base on a movie i watched on netflix the title was ‘Indecent Proposal’

Warning: swearing

You and Bruce decided to attend a gala thats been hosted by Vincent Beaumont basically a rich guy who wanted to surround himself with even more rich people and who better more to invite than the famous bruce wayne oh and it doesnt stop from there oh no he also invited the 'crown jewel of gotham' a nickname the press started calling you the very day you and bruce got married anyway normally you and bruce wouldnt go to these events or we would just leave early if the kids were with you and just use them for a reason you really did not want to go to the gala but bruce has been offered a deal and apparently he needed to 'take a look at it' honestly you dont know what wayne enterprises needed more than we already had well to make this 'less' boring you decided to bring the boys with you.

So here you are now in yours and bruce's room getting ready and still deciding on what dress would suit you more, although your hair and makeup was done you just couldnt choose between the dresses

"Hey hot stuff" a nickname you call bruce sometimes, women would just fawn over him billionaire bruce wayne former playboy, shrugging of the image is harder than it looks like i mean women are still fawning over him but ofcourse you would never let them take your brucey away (not that he would ever be fawned over)

"Red or blue?" You told him holding up the dress in both hands he turned to look at me he was already in his suit looking as handsome as ever jeez honestly he could be in his pajamas and would still look handsome.

He started to walk towards you as he looked at both dress then smiled "you know you can wear either of these and you'd still look as gorgeous as ever"

You laughed as you lay down the dress at the bed then wore the dress that you picked "oo you smooth talker" you told him as you smirked then went to look at yourself at the mirror smoothing out the dress.

"Only for you" bruce said as he hugged you from behind his chest at you back and placed his head at your shoulder it was small moments like this that would make you fall more in love with bruce if that was even possible 

You smiled then turned around fixing his tie "Lets get this over with you and the boys still have patrol later and i wouldnt want my favorite people in the world to get too tired" you looked him in the eyes then pecked his cheek while you get your purse then walked towards the door

"Ill just check on the boys" you told him as you give him one last glance before exiting the room .

You walk down the stairs to already hear shouting from tim and damian

"DAMIAN GIVE ME MY TIE" you heard tim yell as they chase each other around the house

"NOT UNTIL YOU GIVE ME BACK MY COAT" you heard damian yell back ahh these kids will be the death of you one day when they finally saw you coming down damian threw tims tie at his face as tim also threw the coat at damians face

"HE STARTED IT" you hear both of them yell  at the same time you laugh as you fix their clothes then hugged them.

"I swear i cant be mad at you two when your acting all cute" they both rolled their eyes neither admitting that it makes them happy when their mom babies them

"I WANT A HUG TOO" you hear someone scream from the stairs you look at the stairs and see dick running down the stairs then joining the hug

"Hello to you too dickie" you tell him as you ruffle his hair then kiss his head you let go of the boys to look around only to find baby #2 missing.

"Wheres jaybird?" You told them as you suddenly hear footsteps walking down

"Im here im here" you saw him go down the stairs

"Looking as handsome as ever i see" you told him as you also kiss his forehead then patting his chest, well the handsomeness does run in the wayne family i guess i mean look at those little cuties!

"Ok your dad is most probably waiting outside already lets go" we walked  to leave the manor then finally see bruce's loving gaze you smiled at him then pecked him on the lips before going inside the limo followed by the boys

The ride going to the gala was quiet a comfortable slience no one talked most probably getting ready to whatever chaos the paparazzi will do, once you finally arrived you sighed then exited the car  the boys were already blocking the flashes of the camera for you while bruce offered his hand to you while smilling.

"Such a gentleman Mr wayne" 

"Only for you Mrs Wayne"It brings you back in the day when you and bruce got married you guys couldnt stop calling each other 'Mr wayne' and 'Mrs wayne'!

You take his arms as you finally entered the gala you swear you saw the eyes of the women in the room become a dollar sign and the men glance at your body while the younger women glanced at baby #1 and #2 then dick giving them a wink the girls almost fainted when he did !

"Ah Bruce Wayne pleasure to see you here!"

"And to you Vincent" the man wasnt that old maybe just around bruce's age he switched his gaze from bruce to you the boys who was behind you already glaring at the man

"Mrs Wayne your even more beautifull in personal" he had that look in his eyes that any men had when they lay their eyes on a woman of their liking, lust

Bruce  tightened his grip on your arm ooooo Jealousbat is showing again it wasnt often that bruce would get jealous usually its when men are around or eyeing you like crazy.

"Come join me at the casino table Ive been losing all night maybe you would bring me luck Mrs Wayne" 

"Oh id rather stay with my husband and boys"

"Just for one game? Ill make sure its worth your time" 

"......one game i guess but i bet my husband would like to join" this guy was just very off, bruce would surely understand why your dragging him into the situation 

"Boys you can go around a bit in the gala but dont cause trouble im looking at you dick if i see another woman crying in front of our house i swear to god" 

"Yes mom" they all said in unison glaring at vincent before going around the event

"Come come the casino is this way" he ushered you trying to get a hold of you but bruce holds you closer and feeling comfort beside him

Once you reached the casino table the man hands you the dices you let go of bruce for a moment (he doesnt like admitting it but he always mentally whines when you arent beside him) as vincent betted 100 million 

"Just like that?" 

"Just like that"

Vincent smirked as he heard the numbers that was needed to win, jeez what a show off  you and bruce didnt really like bragging about your money you also taught your kids not to brag or how luck they are and that  they should also use their advantages to help other people

"Ok 9 or 11 get it the money is all yours" the man said the crowd was suddenly forming around the table interested on if you really were luck, as you were about to throw the dice vincent stopped your hand as he looks at you

"Arent you forgetting something?" He told me i held the dice in my hand kissed it then threw it on the table once i looked what number i got the crowd started roaring with suprisement

"See you are luck" vincent said to you, you didnt pay any mind to him as you frantically look for bruce around the table once you saw him you went to him then embraced him

"You know Bruce you have something i dont” Vincent said as he approached the two of you 

“and that would be?” 

“well you see both of us are very rich but you have her”

Vincent said as he looked at you once again there was lust in his eyes and desperation if you will man this guy really doesnt get the clue

“you cant buy Love” 

“oh really?” vincent told you as he smirked then turned his attention to bruce who was holding my hand tightly

“Bruce what if i told you id give you my entire company”

“But in return......” 

“one night with your wife, just pretend its real”

he smirked obviously it IS real he just wants to see what bruce will say to him obviously he thinks bruce is another man that can be wooed with power and not knowing your bond with Bruce is invincible and that nothing could break it.

“He would tell you to go fuck yourself” you told vincent before bruce can even get a response.

“i didnt hear that from him” he turns to Bruce obviously not believing that he would actually say that, you see Bruce’s hand clench as he glares at him 

“i would tell you to go fuck yourself” Bruce told him Vincents eyes widened in shock obviously expecting him to say ‘deal’ or ’sure’ since Bruce did have a reputation of being a playboy Vincent thought Bruce would just get another wife and that all he wanted was power

“w-what? come on man surely you can find another whore out there to fuck let me have her” he told him Bruce lets go of my arm as he grabbed the man by the collar gaining attention from the people around you

“listen here you scum i wouldnt give up my wife for the world and i dont really appreciate you calling her such word and need i remind you if we are talking about power the wayne enterprises is far more powerfull than you company” 

“o-okay man pl-please let me go” Bruce lets him go as he inhales deeply suddenly you here a scream going towards you 

“ YOU BASTARD” you see damian going through the crowd then punching the vincent face repeatedly until he got knocked out since he was on the floor it was easier for damian to reach him

“Oh my god dami stop!” you tell him as you grab him then pulled him towards you hugging him in reflex as he calms down 

Suddenly the rest of the boys join you and looks at the man knocked out on the floor as the screams of other party goers were loud

“What happened!?” Dick asked as he looked at the man on the ffloor with a broken nose Damian told the boys what happened and you can also see the anger in their eyes How dare this guy call their mom such a name!

“oh” Dick said as he turned his attention to the man at the floor then kicked him

“there now he also has a broken rib” Dick said as he laughed join by the other boys it wasnt often that any of them would laugh like that but here they are, you sigh a little embarrased on what happened, you turn you attention to bruce as he walked toward you and the boys

“i think we should go home” Bruce told you guys as he held your hand and turned his loving gaze at you and mouths an ‘i love you’ all the boys agreed to go home 

once you got home you treated Damian’s bruised hand and helped alfred make the boys’s favorite dish

“Im sorry for losing control” Bruce told you as you changed into your sleepwear and the boys get ready for their patrol you turn to him then walked towards him and gave him a kiss

“to be honest i already expected it to happen i couldve done it myself but suddenly Dami goes running to this man” you laugh as you remember the scenario its cute how the boys are also protective like their father you gave him a last hug as you finally let go

“now go out there and kick some asses” i told him he smirked then walked out the room

Sure enough the news next day were all about ‘not to mess with the wayne family’ since then no one ever even dared to make a move on you

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

❝honeymoon❞

V. sins of the mother.

parts: previously plot: alfred finds yours and bruce's old yearbook. you reminisce on how you lost him... and how he came back to you all those years later. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, LOTS of angst, eventual fluff, TW for depictions of brief physical child abuse (specifically to the reader), sorry but your fictional mom SUCKS, sweet ending though. words: 3.5k. a/n: I apologize to any british readers for inaccuracies with the whole yearbook thing. from what I gather, the american concept of yearbooks has gotten popular in the uk in the last 14-ish years but if it doesn't make sense, I'm hiding behind the fact that it's a posh boarding school and also- *runs away before I can think of a better excuse*

The rapping at your door is too gentle to be Bruce, and you're proven right when Alfred peeks into your room, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Bruce's guest room had steadily become your home over the course of your engagement. You still had your own place, paying the rent in case all of this fell through in one fell swoop (and it would, you couldn't escape the nagging feeling that it would), but you found yourself feeling some semblance of ownership over the tower. You hadn't even gotten the chance to put your desk up before Bruce was offering you his study—his father's study. He insisted it was because you were CEO, like his father. You dared to think it was because he was starting to see you as family.

The tower felt even more yours when Alfred stopped by like this, checking in on you, making sure you wanted him here. You set the papers in your lap to the side with a tired smile, "What's up, Alfred?"

It turns out he was hiding something behind the door. At first, you think it's a folder, perhaps some work that Bruce needed you to do for the company or some files Alfred kept from his time managing Wayne Enterprises. But when he comes round to your bedside, you realize it's a photo album. A yearbook, to be exact.

The green leather is embellished with the sparkling emblem of Silverstone Academy. It makes your heart jump up into your throat, "Where... where'd you find that?"

"After Bruce graduated, he had me put all of his old yearbooks away in storage. Kept this one, though. Would you like to see?" He turns the book to you with a well-meaning smile, and whether he notices your discomfort and chooses to ignore it is... debatable.

Still, your hands reach for it.

The spine crackles, unopened for many years by the looks of it. You thumb through the pages, flipping past pictures of the palatial school grounds and fellow classmates in freshly-pressed regalia. You're about to turn the page on the extracurriculars when Alfred places a hand on the page to stop you, pointing to a rather large group photo, "This was Bruce's favorite, if I recall."

There are rows of you, each one standing on the bleachers of a court, all of you awkward and fourteen and just wanting the whole thing over with. And then there, amongst the rows of smiling teenagers, is Bruce and you.

"Eyes front, students! I will not say this again. We want to look good for our parents, yes? We want them to see how smart and well-behaved you are, yes? Okay, then. Eyes forward. Shoulders back. Smiles on! This is your last chance. There will be no retakes!" Is what your headmaster probably said, but you were far too distracted by Bruce's fingers tugging on the tail of your un-tucked shirt to know for sure.

You bat away his hand but can't suppress the giggle that bubbles out of you. One of your classmates turns to glare, but the heat of it doesn't reach you when Bruce is whispering, "Last one to dining hall does the loser's chores."

"I'm faster than you and you know it."

"Hey, I beat Wilbur in the race on Saturday."

"That's cause Wilbur hit puberty and can't control his body anymore."

Your headmaster's shrill call draws your attention forward, "And three, two..."

You turn and smile. You feel Bruce's eyes still on you. Just as the shutter goes off, Bruce tugs your hand instead. And, even with all your teenage obstinacy wanting to make him work for your attention, make him fight for it, you can't help it.

You turn to look at him and the flash goes off.

"I remember being quite upset with this one," Alfred disperses your memory, gently calling you back to the present, "Bruce always hated taking pictures, but pictures were all I had of him while he was away. But... can't really hate that smile he's giving you, can I?"

You feel breathless at the image of younger Bruce and the look of... adoration he wears. Everyone else is focused on the camera, some eyes closed and some smiles skewed, but Bruce is focused on you and you him. Like you are the only two people in the world. Arguing over chores and who's faster than who. Like best friends.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until your body takes in one big deep inhale for you, "He wouldn't stop bothering me."

"It's funny how we couldn't get you two to talk to each other when you first met, and then years later you were inseparable."

You remembered that. Barely in second grade and being touted around by your parents at galas. You remembered Bruce hiding behind his mother's dress, and your mother guiding you by the scruff to say hello, "British boarding school will do that to you."

Alfred snorts, "I think he just liked that someone was treating him like a person."

You glance up at Alfred's soft expression, fatherly and proud. You've never seen him look any other way with Bruce. "Will you be Bruce's best man?"

Alfred seems to startle at that question, "Oh... well, he hasn't asked, but I suppose I will. Not sure who else he'd ask."

"I don't think he'd want to," you admit, and Alfred looks confused, "ask anyone else, I mean. You're it for him."

Bruce looks just like how you remember his father, but sometimes, when the light hits Alfred's eyes just right (that same color you've come to love and mourn), you think Bruce looks just like him too. You supposed they were always meant to be family, in that inexplicable way.

Alfred watches you for a moment, struck by your statement, and then softens like the teddy bear you know him to be. "And you as well. I'm glad you both found your way back to each other."

You can tell he means it in the heartwarming way, the way you meant it, but it doesn't fill you with warmth. There are no fuzzy feelings in your stomach. There is a whirlpool.

This time, there is no doubt Alfred senses your discomfort. He seizes up. He goes to say something, something no doubt kind and thoughtful, but you beat him to the punch, "Can I keep this? I want to... show it to Bruce later, maybe. Might make him laugh."

Alfred stops in his tracks. Then, as if used to such stonewalling, stands to his full height and begins his trek back to your bedroom door, "'Course you can. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

He waits for your affirmative, then shuts the door behind him.

july, seventeen years ago.

The banging on your door fills you with dread the second you recognize it for what it is.

You are tangled in sheets and limbs—warm limbs, arms and legs and hands wrapped around your body in the witching hour—while the heavy oak door of your dorm room shakes with each knock. You don't know how long they've been knocking, but you fear you have very little time left to answer before you end up in worse trouble than you seemingly already are.

You shove at Bruce and he flounders, half-asleep. He almost doesn't want to let you go until he becomes aware of the banging on the door himself and presses his back to the wall behind your bed, "He snitched."

"He wouldn't! Coulson would never," you grumble, pulling on a hoodie discarded on the floor, too tired to recognize it as Bruce's, "just... get under the bed."

He does as he's told, though he looks rather peeved to do so. You grab the back of your desk chair and twist it out from beneath the door knob, and almost immediately it is thrown open by the headmaster.

Your first feeling is shock. Your second feeling is, undoubtedly, ice cold fear. You never thought you and Bruce would get away with this forever, but to be caught by the headmaster is... way worse than you could've imagined.

Headmaster Collins was a spidery man. What he lacked in muscle, he made up for in menace. His features were all gaunt and shadowy in the dark of your room, and with only the light from the hallway to capture his silhouette.

Before you can speak, he raises a single finger to cut you off, "I will discuss you blocking doors later. You have a guest."

You frown. "I..." You stammer. Even with your hand caught in the cookie jar, you don't yet want to give yourself away. Maybe he had no idea it was Bruce that kept sneaking into your dorm. Perhaps Coulson hadn't divulged that much. You and Bruce had paid him in many ways to keep that part secret above all.

You just make out the narrowing of the headmaster's eyes, "Your mother. She flew in from Gotham. She says she's worried about you."

Your stomach drops. Perhaps Bruce being found under your bed would've been better.

To the headmaster's chagrin, you corral him back out into the hall and shut the door behind you, "What? I wasn't... she didn't..."

"She failed to let us know either. I only received the call minutes ago when she arrived outside. We don't want to keep her waiting, do we?" Now, in the light of the hallway, Headmaster Collins loses some of that menace. He almost looks... just as concerned as you.

He leads you to the library in complete silence.

When you push open one of the double doors, you see there are a few candles lit, the rest of the lights dimmed low, and your mother standing with her back to you in the center of the room.

She doesn't turn around until you hear the door click shut behind you and, just like that, the headmaster has left you to fend for yourself.

Everyone always said you looked just like her. A spitting image, and one day, "if you're lucky", you'd grow up to be just as powerful. As the eldest of your siblings, it was unavoidable. Your fate had been sealed long before you were born.

She opens her mouth to speak and whether out of fear or anger, your next words come tumbling out before she can, "I already know what you're going to say."

She clasps her lips together. Then, after a moment, smiles down at you, "Well, that saves me some breath. Tell me, darling mine: what was I going to say?"

"That you know why I told you so late. And that you're angry with me for not running it by you sooner... so you could be in control of it."

"I was angry eight hours ago. Not anymore. It was almost clever of you."

Almost. A smarter, more clever you wouldn't have run it by her at all. You would've quietly disappeared off to the Waynes' vacation house in Barcelona and, inevitably, when you got the call, you'd have told your mother you wouldn't be back for the rest of summer break.

But she had her claws in you, and try as you might to defy her, you always felt those fingers curling around your conscience, drawing out of you what little truth you aimed to keep to yourself.

"So you flew all this way to yell at me?"

"To join you."

You blanch. "You... can't." There is nothing else you can say. No argument, no temper tantrum. Nothing.

But your mother is smart. The plane ride over would have given her ample time to cancel her duties for the next six weeks, offload them onto someone else because what was more important than joining the future heir of Wayne Enterprises on a summer abroad in Spain? Most people on the board would kill for that kind of opportunity. That kind of favoritism.

She's smart too in that it's only her. You imagined your siblings had been left to the nannies, and if Bruce questioned her presence, she could argue that leaving Alfred to chaperone two teenagers all by himself would be just cruel. Her presence wouldn't tip the scales too far into dangerous territory. In fact, it would be nothing if not practical.

She takes a step toward you, then another, and then another until she is looming over you. Half her face is lit by the fireplace roaring in the corner of the room, casting a shadow on the other side. Like this, she no longer looks like you. She looks something far colder, "You didn't think I'd let you run off to another country and ruin this for our family, did you?"

"What? Wh... ruin what? Bruce is my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend is Bruce Wayne. There is a very real difference."

You feel your eyebrow twitch at that, "What's your point?"

But your attitude is nasty. Far too nasty for a child. The residual sting of her hand colliding with your cheek nearly sends you back into a chair but you manage to catch yourself after a few steps, staring at the rug beneath you in disbelief.

"My point is," her attitude is much harsher, and as you wipe away the bit of spit that dribbled down your lip, she blocks your view once more, "he is not just another boy, a peer, a boyfriend. Bruce is the heir to the company, and unlike his father, he has no foresight. Under him, this company will crumble. His family's legacy will cease to exist. That is why I am here, darling mine. Why you exist. Legacies must be upheld."

You hiss in pain when she takes you by the chin and forces you to look her dead on. At this angle, you can see her whole face lit up by the fire. Through gritted teeth, you whisper in horror, "What are you asking me?"

"I'm telling you that I'm coming along, or you will not go at all."

Your heart breaks a little more than it already has. This is what you'd thought of all week, what kept you up at night and got you up in the morning. And now your mother was going to ruin it all. A tear slips down your cheek and over your mother's fingers, and she releases you to wipe her hand clean, "Please."

"You would only find some way to make him hate you, and all my hard work for the past twenty-five years would be all for naught."

"Mom."

"I've already let the butler know."

"Please let me have this."

"Tell me you understand." You remain silent, teeth almost chattering from the chill her voice gives you. Her eyes harden, "Tell me you understand why I let you have him at all."

"He's my friend."

"He's your future. Tell me." Another tear rolls down your cheek. Your mother grabs you by the arm and pulls you to her, shaking you as more tears fall. You're doing your damnedest not to sob but you're failing spectacularly, "Tell me!"

"He's my future." You gasp out.

"And why do I allow you to be friends with him?"

"Because..." You blubber, fiercely wiping away the tears, "...to uphold our family legacy."

"And?"

"To keep you on his good side."

"Keep us," she taps your chin with her finger, making you flinch, "us, darling mine. Wayne Enterprises will end with him, but it'll begin again with us. With you. Say it."

"With me."

"So we'll go together. And you will do anything he tells you to. And you will make him very happy because he is not your friend. He is our ticket to owning Gotham City."

You would've done anything Bruce asked of you because you loved him, because you trusted him. The way your mother talked about what he might ask of you made you feel sick to your stomach. She shakes you again, expecting you to say it back.

Your lips part to release a shaky exhale meant to be a word, but behind your mother, you stare past the cracked library door and into the eyes of your best friend. The only word you can get out is, "Bruce?"

Your mother drops you completely. She swings around but the door is shutting before she can catch a glimpse, and you're shoving her out of your way before he can get too far.

You throw the door open and find him rushing back down the hall, a flummoxed headmaster lingering by as you run after Bruce. You shout his name but he doesn't slow for you at all, even as your voice echoes off the old school halls. "Bruce! Bruce, please! Let me explain."

It takes more energy than you have in you to catch up with him, but you eventually slide to a stop in front of him, stopping him before he could ascend the stairs and return to the dorm rooms. You expect to see anger clear on his face, or sadness, betrayal even. Instead, he is cold. He looks right through you.

The emptiness of which he looks at you catches you completely off guard. Anger, you could stomach. But this?

"How much did you hear?"

Those eyes that used to look at you so sweetly hold nothing in them at all. He stares you down as if you should already know.

When he tries to side-step you for the stairs, you grasp desperately for his hand but he yanks away from you like you've burned him, sending you collapsing to your knees against the bottom step, "Bruce, please... I don't feel that way about you. I've never felt that way about you. You... you're my best friend. This is exactly why I shouldn't have told her about the trip, I should've just kept my mouth shut-"

"What trip?"

You look up at him and see a wave of something sharp cross his face before smoothing back over completely. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He sees the question in you, the thing you fear to ask when it hits you.

Bruce turns his face away from you, "I'll see you in September."

You sit on those steps until sunrise.

The elevator stutters to a stop at cave level, letting you out into Bruce's sanctuary. He's standing at his desk and staring at you, as if he had expected Alfred instead.

"Hey," you start, timidly approaching him with yearbook in hand, "Are you busy?"

He watches you get closer and slowly shakes his head, eyes falling to the book clutched to your chest. They widen some with recognition, a cloudy look overtaking them once you're within arm's length of him. You set the book down on his desk, careful not to disrupt his work. You go to flip open the cover but his hand comes down on the Silverstone emblem, forcing you to draw back your hand in surprise, "Where'd you get this?"

"Alfred kept it." At that, Bruce groans. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

You watch as he slides the book closer to himself, nudging away the files he'd been poring over before you'd arrived, making quiet noises of recognition here and there. When he inevitably lands on the class picture Alfred had shown you, he hesitates. You wait for him to say something, anything, but after a moment of silence, he presses on.

It isn't until he gets to the individual headshots from that year that you notice something odd. On your page, where your headshot and name should be, is a hole cut into the paper. Your heart sinks.

Your mind goes for the worst thing first (that perhaps he had hated you so much that putting away the yearbooks wasn't enough, that he had to cut you out of them too), but Bruce simply traces the neatly cut edges where your face should be.

Then he flips to the page where his picture should be, and his picture is cut out in the same fashion.

You look to Bruce for answers, but his expression is... guarded. He almost looks like he doesn't want to entertain it, almost looks like he's about to tell you to leave him to his work for the rest of the night.

Instead, he pushes the book back to you, "I kept yours in my wallet. I was going to give you mine."

You don't know what to say first, but it finds you in the lull in conversation, "You were going to?"

Bruce's mouth twists in discomfort, still not looking at you. He reaches over and shuts the cover to the book, "I thought... you might tease me about it." For a brief second, he looks at you, "Dunno where they are now."

That brief second is, of course, his tell. It was a shame. Bruce had become such a good liar since he left you on those stairs. He had to have been to get where he is now. And yet, you know in an instant that he's not being honest with you. It feels good this time.

Hello and welcome to my humble blog!

My name is Walnuts and this is a new blog so please, please fill the inbox with whatever is on your mind

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ rules:

i wont write smut

i wont write about canonically minor characters

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⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ fandoms i write for:

Got/Hotd

Jjk

Jjba

Nana

Challengers

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The bear

Batman

Cod

Death note

House MD

Attack of Titan

hope you have a good time and remember to be kind!

Sugar on the Rim I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the gala rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating computers.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating computer?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to waver almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

Batfamily X Batmom!Reader

⁺‧₊˚My Sons Boyfriend⁺‧₊˚

Continuing my tim appreciation, Have a silly overprotective parents to one of their youngest kid

masterlist

Jason tattles that his younger brother has a boy over.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The TV played some noir film neither of you were paying attention to black and white shadows flickering across the screen, the occasional husky voice of a detective muttering something about dames and danger. It was background noise. Everything was background noise right now.

Your back arched against the couch as Bruce’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, tangled up in him, your knees bracketing his hips while his large hands gripped your thighs beneath the hem of your oversized shirt.

His tongue slid against yours again, deep and slow, and the kiss had long since lost any sense of restraint. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skimming up beneath it, palms exploring every inch of familiar skin. Bruce growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your lips as he leaned further into you, pressing you back until your spine met the couch cushions with a soft thump.

There were no patrols, no emergency calls, no villains trying to blow up the city and a damn good excuse to indulge in weeks of pent up affection with no one around to ruin it.

“What the fuck?!”

A voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, and both of you froze mid kiss, mouths still a breath apart, panting and flushed. Well no one around to ruin might not work if you have a Jason Todd for a child (even though hes an adult it still applies).

You didn’t even turn around.

“It’s a lazy day,” you said flatly, lips still swollen, one hand still fisted in Bruce’s shirt. “Go away.”

Jason’s voice rose another octave, and you could hear the trauma in it. “Are you two seriously making out like that on the living room couch? In the middle of the day?! seriously making out like teenagers right now?! I’ve seen less tongue in French films!”

You rolled your eyes and finally sat up, sliding off Bruce’s lap with a groan and adjusting your shirt though it didn’t help much. Bruce just rubbed at his face with one hand, exhaling through his nose like a man trying not to start swearing. Jason stormed around the couch, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. “You were all over each other! That was full on pre bedroom behavior!”

“Which we would’ve moved to,” you muttered, “we only do stuff out here when you guys for sure aren’t.”

“TMI LADY!! I live here!”

“So do we.”

“I grew up here! Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk in on emotionally scarring things? And now I have to add this to the list?”

You gave him a pointed look and gestured vaguely to Bruce, who was still slouched and half hard under the sweatpants. “You’re twenty something and you’ve walked in on worse. Remember the time you accidentally opened the panic room during our anniversary trip?”

Jason gagged. “Why would you bring that up?! I had finally repressed it!”

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “That’s why I didn’t jump out of my skin when you yelled. You’re one of the oldest. You’re basically numb to it by now.”

“That’s not how trauma works!”

“You’ll live.”

Bruce finally stood, setting a firm hand on your lower back as he stepped forward. “Did you interrupt just to complain, or is there a point?”

“Oh, there’s a point,” Jason said, smirking now, even as he pointedly avoided making eye contact with either of you. “Tim’s upstairs. With Conner. Door closed. Voices low. Lots of awkward pauses and ‘I dunno, what do you wanna do?’s. Figured someone with authority should stop it before I need a bleach rinse for my brain again.”

You and Bruce exchanged a glance. You raised a brow. “You think they’re…?”

“I’m just saying, I’m not doing the awkward sex talk with either of them. That’s your job.”

Bruce sighed through his nose again, rubbing his temples. “We should’ve eloped in Fiji.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You should’ve invested in a deadbolt and soundproof walls. You’ve got like fifty rooms. Go be gross in literally any other one.”

Bruce groaned, sitting up with the pained weariness of a man who just wanted five uninterrupted minutes with his partner. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he muttered. “You barging in, or the fact that you’re tattling like a six year old.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You can ground me later. But someone needs to knock before that kid goes full hormonal teenager with Superman’s clone.”

You rubbed your temples and slid off Bruce’s lap. “Can’t we just go one day without something weird happening in this house?”

“Nope,” Jason chirped.

Bruce stood, adjusting his shirt and shooting Jason a tired glare. “You’re not getting a thank you for this.”

Jason grinned. “I’ll settle for watching the fallout.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The carpet was soft beneath your knees as you crouched near the top of the staircase, one hand gripping the railing and the other latched around your husband’s wrist. Bruce was not thrilled. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, towering behind you in full grumpy dad form.

You shushed him. “Shh. This is important. Our son is dating.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “He’s not a child anymore.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, a feeling attune like he’d just slapped you with a divorce paper. “How dare you say that to a mother’s face.”

“I feel like as a mother you should be letting him have space” he whispered dryly.

“It’s anything and everything for my baby,” you whispered back, “heartbroken.”

Bruce sighed, letting you pull him forward like some six foot tall human leash. He followed behind you, slouched and sulking like a teenager being dragged into a parent teacher conference. But he didn’t resist. Not really. At the end of the hallway, just far enough not to be heard but perfectly in view, Tim was standing awkwardly with his shoulder slightly bumping against the wall, halfway through some rambling sentence that didn’t seem to have an end. Across from him leaned Conner Kent Superboy himself smiling with the easy, confident charm of someone who knew exactly how good he looked.

You gasped again, softer this time. “He’s so nervous. Look at him. Our baby…”

“Don’t start crying,” Bruce warned.

“He’s got no game, Bruce.”

Bruce squinted. “…This is objectively better than his brothers.”

You nearly cackled. “Low bar, sweetheart.”

Tim fumbled again, scratching the back of his neck while trying to not look directly at Conner. Conner leaned in just slightly, arms crossed as he nodded along, totally relaxed. He said something with a grin, and Tim laughed clearly too loud, then looked down at the floor in horror.

You sniffled, eyes shimmering. “Look at our baby flirting…”

“He’s not a baby,” Bruce said, though his voice was quieter now. “He’s nearly eighteen.” And yet, he leaned a little more over your shoulder.

You smirked. “You’re watching.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re parenting.”

Bruce sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, crossing his arms as he stared harder at the two teens.

“What’s Kent’s clone doing here alone with him anyways?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

“Ohhh,” you grinned, “now you care.”

“Of course I care,” Bruce snapped, more defensive than he meant to be. “That’s my kid.”

You nudged him with your elbow, whispering proudly, “Our kid.”

He didn’t respond to that but the corner of his mouth twitched. Down the hall, Conner leaned in and brushed something off Tim’s shirt something that wasn’t there. Tim went red, practically short circuiting.

Bruce straightened immediately. “Okay. That’s enough recon.”

“Oh, now it’s enough?”

“I’m getting my Batarangs.”

You caught his wrist before he could march off. “No. No Batarangs. No Bat glare. You said he’s not a baby, remember?”

“He wasn’t getting flirted with then.”

You snorted, still holding his arm. “I think your overprotective thing is hot.”

He paused. “That a fact?”

You smirked, glancing back toward your bedroom door. “Yes. Now let’s go back to our room lights off, no clothes, door locked this time and let the kids be kids.”

Bruce gave Tim and Conner one last skeptical look, then sighed. “If they start kissing, I’m interrupting.”

“No you won’t,” you said, dragging him back down the hall by the wrist again. “Because I’ll be too busy making out with you to let you get up.”

Despite that, the minute you headed to the room. Conner and Tim were happily walking towards the kitchen. making you drag your husband again to watch your boy. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only real noise coming from the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of snack bags. You and Bruce had found your new favorite spot behind the kitchen island, crouching low and trying your best not to make a sound, despite the undeniable excitement of spying on your son.

You had your phone held up, recording through the cabinet doors like a proud wildlife documentarian. Tim and Conner were in the next room, chattering nervously while they raided the pantry for snacks.

Bruce was less than impressed with the situation. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, glaring at you as if you were the one causing trouble.

You smirked, eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in the next room. “I practically raised him. I have the right to witness his first love.”

He grunted, his voice tinged with mild exasperation. “You’re literally crouched next to the coffee machine whispering commentary like it’s National Geographic.”

You held your phone at a slightly different angle, zooming in on Tim as he fumbled with a bag of chips. “And you’re crouched next to me, so what does that make you?”

Bruce looked at you, deadpan. “An unwilling accomplice.”

You shot him a look, trying not to giggle as you saw Tim’s hand hover uncertainly over a box of cookies while Conner casually leaned against the counter, looking way too smooth for someone who was probably still a teenager.

“Conner’s definitely a pro at this,” you whispered, shaking your head in amused disbelief. “Look at him, just leaning there. Like it’s nothing what if he just wants to play woth out boys feelings.”

Bruce sighed dramatically but didn’t move. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“This is serious, Bruce. It’s parental responsibility.”

Bruce looked at you, his eyes softening. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Yeah, well, you love me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve got a lot of regrets today,” he muttered, but his hand brushed against yours in the dim light, soft and reassuring. Just as you were about to comment on Tim’s awkward attempt at getting a cookie into his mouth without looking too desperate, the kitchen door swung open with a familiar creak.

“Are you spying on Tim?” Dick’s voice rang through the space, sharp and amused.

Both you and Bruce froze, immediately making eye contact in a way that could only be described as a guilty deer caught in headlights moment.

Bruce was the first to recover. He straightened up quickly, stepping away from the island and crossing his arms like he was trying to physically distance himself from the ridiculousness of it all. “No,” he said instantly, as if the word would somehow erase the whole scene.

You, on the other hand, didn’t try to hide it. You looked up at Dick with wide, unapologetic eyes. “Yes,” you said, shrugging as though this was completely normal behavior for a concerned parent.

Dick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe with a smug grin. “You guys are so lame.”

You grinned back, unbothered by his teasing. “You think we’re lame, but when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

Bruce, clearly not keen on the whole ordeal, shot a look at Tim and Conner through the kitchen entryway. “I’m just making sure he’s not making any… stupid decisions.”

“Right.” Dick’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Because you’re both really qualified for that.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey, we did the best we could. And this is where you come in. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak a peek when you thought we weren’t looking.”

Dick’s eyes widened for a second before he cracked a grin. “You two are hopeless.” He turned his attention back to the other room. “What are they even doing, anyway?”

You and Bruce both turned to look through the cabinets again, slightly distracted now that Dick was standing right there. Tim was holding a cookie out to Conner, his fingers trembling slightly, and Conner took it with a grin that could melt even the iciest heart.

“He’s handing Conner a cookie,” you said, your voice dripping with awe and mild concern. “A cookie. They’re not even talking about something deep or meaningful, like… I don’t know, saving Gotham or discussing conspiracy theories. It’s literally just this.”

Dick raised an eyebrow again, his grin widening. “You’re really invested in this?”

Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck, clearly torn between indulging your parental instincts and the embarrassment of being caught in such an absurd situation. “Yeah, we’re not stalking them. Just… observing.”

Dick snorted. “Sure, sure. Watching them like they’re some rare, endangered species.”

You looked at him deadpan. “They are.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Look, we’ll stop when they stop… getting… weird.”

Dick gave the two of you an incredulous look. “You two are so ridiculous. Seriously.”

And with that, Dick pushed past you both to head upstairs, but not before he paused to make one last comment.

“If I ever catch you two creeping on me like this, I’ll start a family group chat called ‘Creepy Parents.’”

You and Bruce exchanged an amused glance. “We’ll take that risk,” you said,

Dick groaned, clearly not interested in sticking around for the ridiculousness, and disappeared upstairs.

You looked back at Bruce, who was still watching Tim and Conner, now in full parental protective mode. His brows were furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“I guess we’re just going to wait this out?” you asked softly, leaning against the island.

Bruce nodded, but his tone was softer now, full of that deep, unspoken love only a parent could understand. “Yeah. But we need to be the ones to have that talk when they’re ready.”

You smiled, leaning into him, the whole world feeling a little less chaotic, even if the kids’ drama would never stop.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim and Conner were sitting at the kitchen table now, their snack raid completed, with Conner casually leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the seat across from him. Tim, on the other hand, was picking at his cookie, his eyes occasionally flicking nervously around the room.

Conner noticed Tim’s unease and raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Drake?”

Tim cleared his throat, his gaze shifting quickly toward the hallway, and then back to Conner, hoping his casual demeanor would mask the slight panic he felt. “Uh, no, everything’s fine.”

Conner smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I can’t help but notice your… parents have been acting a little weird.”

Tim froze. His heart rate quickened as the words hit him. He blinked at Conner, unsure if he’d heard him right. “What?”

“You know, they’ve been hanging around for a while,” Conner said, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “I can’t believe they’re still hiding behind the kitchen island.”

Tim’s face went white, of course he noticed it. his eyes darted toward the kitchen counter, his heart sinking into his stomach. His parents… They had been watching this whole time. He quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, his eyes shifting uncomfortably as if he could pretend that the observation had never been made. “You’re imagining things.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Maybe I am.”

But before Tim could settle into any sense of relief, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes glanced toward the cabinets, toward the hidden space behind the island where his parents had been crouched like secret agents, but the moment he saw something shift in the shadows, he quickly turned his head away. A blush spread across his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside him.

He heard a muffled whisper coming from the kitchen, the faintest sound of your voice saying, “Do you think they noticed?”

His heart skipped. He knew they were there. He immediately looked back at Conner, who was now wearing an almost triumphant smirk, clearly enjoying this entire awkward exchange.

Tim’s face reddened even further. “Ugh, I hate you.”

Conner’s grin widened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying the chaos Tim was going through. “your family is so weird”

Tim just buried his face in his hands for a second, trying to collect himself. It didn’t help that he could hear the whispering getting louder, still faint, but unmistakable. “No way. I think they didn’t notice. Maybe we can sneak away after they leave…”

“We?” Tim thought he heard Bruce’s voice this time. It made him stiffen.

His face was now a bright red, and he buried his face further into his arms, hoping it might all just go away. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his pulse racing. This was so embarrassing. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? Why did his parents have to be so… so overly protective?

As his embarrassment grew, Tim stole another quick glance at the kitchen, only to see a shadow dart behind the cabinets. His stomach flipped, and he quickly turned away, biting his lip to keep from saying something he’d regret.

Conner’s eyes were sharp. “Yeah… they totally noticed,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I’m cool with this. You’re lucky I didn’t go tell them they’ve been caught. That would’ve been funny.”

“Conner, shut up!” Tim hissed, but the laughter that followed didn’t make it any better.

Somewhere from behind the cabinets, you whispered again, louder this time, “Maybe they’ll pretend they didn’t see us.”

Bruce’s voice was closer to a growl. “We’re being subtle, right?”

Tim’s body stiffened again, but this time he was ready. He shot up from his chair and took a deep breath. There was no going back now. “I’m going upstairs. You’re all insane.”

Conner chuckled, watching him go, clearly having the time of his life while Tim fumbled his way toward the hallway.

As Tim rushed out of the room, trying to hide the heat in his cheeks, you and Bruce exchanged a glance from your hiding spot, then reluctantly peeked around the corner to make sure your son had left the kitchen.

“We should’ve just went in our room,” you muttered, sounding almost defeated.

Bruce nodded, glancing up at you. “This is why I wanted to go back to the room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t let that go?”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’ve been caught so many times.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” You flashed a teasing grin at him, clearly finding amusement in the awkwardness.

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t move either. He just kept watching the empty kitchen, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Finally, he said, “I’d still rather be making out with you right now.”

You grinned. “One thing at a time, Bruce. One thing at a time.”

Bruce didn’t waste a second. The moment the last of Tim’s and conner’s footsteps faded up the stairs, he was on his feet, his usual quiet intensity shifting into something more playful albeit with a touch of authority.

Without a word, he moved toward you, his hand reaching for your wrist. Before you could even fully register his intent, he pulled you into his chest, his other hand gently cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips were almost on yours, just inches apart, but he hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if savoring the moment.

“As much fun as that was,” he said in a low, husky tone, his voice thick with amusement, “it’s time for mommy and daddy time.”

Your heart skipped. You had to admit, despite the awkwardness of everything that just happened, the sudden shift in Bruce’s demeanor made your pulse spike. The playful tension in the air was thick enough to cut through. You could see the flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“Bruce…” you whispered, half trying to resist, half already giving in.

“Our boy will be fine” His voice was low, but there was a firm edge to it, a reminder that your playful surveillance time had come to an end. “You and me. Upstairs. Now.”

Before you could protest or offer some sarcastic response, he was already guiding you away from the kitchen island, his hand firm around your wrist. The way his grip tightened made it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer not that you really wanted to resist.

“Bruce, we can’t just…” you started to say, but you were quickly cut off as he kissed you, his lips catching yours in a brief, but intense press that stole your breath away.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “No more distractions. No more spying. Just us.”

You were about to make a snarky comment, but all the words caught in your throat when he pulled you against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his strong frame seemed to draw you in closer.

“I’m not letting you get away that easily,” he said with a grin, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Your breath caught as you felt his touch, suddenly aware of how much you’d been craving this intimate moment. The tension that had been building throughout the entire day between your kids, the spying, the ridiculousness was finally going to melt away, leaving just the two of you.

With a final, teasing smile, Bruce began leading you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours. The world outside your bedroom had faded into the background there was only him and you, and the quiet promise of some much needed time alone.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim was lying face down on his bed, groaning into the sheets. If he could dig a hole and disappear into it, he would. He’d half expected his parents to hover maybe ask a few awkward questions. But full on mission mode surveillance? That was next level.

The door creaked open, and Tim didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“I knew they were weird,” Conner’s voice came, all smug and sing songy. “But hiding behind the cabinets? thats weird.”

Tim rolled over with a groan, face still half buried in a pillow. “Can we not talk about it?”

Conner stepped in like he owned the place, casually flopping onto Tim’s bed with zero regard for personal space. “Dude, your mom was crouched like it was recon. I think she even whispered something about your ‘game.’ I’m emotionally scarred.”

Conner, of course, wasn’t far behind. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into the room, his usual easygoing grin plastered across his face. But there was something different in his eyes something softer. Maybe he was trying to ease the tension Tim was still feeling.

“You good?” Conner asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tim turned his head just slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I dunno, everything’s just kinda weird today.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Conner chuckled, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was more of an understanding one. “Your parents… they’re something else.”

Tim groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t think they’d go full surveillance mode.”

Conner moved further into the room, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Well, they’re just looking out for you, you know? They’re probably a little overprotective, but… I mean, I guess I’d do the same thing if I were them.”

Tim half smiled at that, finally sitting up. “Yeah, but it’s a little much. I’m almost eighteen, not, like, seven.”

Conner gave him a side glance, his smile still there. “Right. You’re allowed to… y’know, have a life outside of your parents’ radar.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Tim muttered, but it wasn’t with annoyance more like he appreciated Conner’s effort to lighten the mood. Tim glanced at Conner, his mind wandering as it often did when he was around him. Something about the way Conner carried himself, the way he was always so relaxed, so at ease it was easy to get lost in.

Conner seemed to sense it, his voice dropping a little lower. “So, uh… are you sure it’s just your parents that’s got you flustered? Or is it… something else?”

Tim blinked at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Conner leaned back against the headboard, looking over at him with a teasing smile. “I don’t know, just seems like you’ve got a lot going on in your head. And I mean, I did see how red your face was back there, so”

Tim immediately turned even more red. “Conner, I swear to God”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Conner laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t make it worse. But, uh… you do know you can talk to me, right?”

Tim let out a soft exhale, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t even realize how much he’d needed to hear that until now. “Yeah. I guess I just… didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Making it weird is kind of my thing,” Conner joked, but there was something reassuring about the way he said it like he wasn’t trying to force the conversation, but also wasn’t afraid to be open with him. Tim’s heart skipped a little at the casual warmth in Conner’s voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Conner was looking at him now, or just the comfort of knowing someone actually cared, but he found himself letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m definitely not the best at this… flirting thing. I’m just… I don’t know, overthinking it all.”

Conner’s eyes softened, and before Tim could protest, Conner slid closer on the bed. He nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. I think you’re doing just fine.”

Tim froze, his pulse racing at the sudden closeness. “Wait, really?”

Conner smirked, but there was something genuine in his smile now. “Really. You’ve just gotta stop trying to be all… cool about it. Just be yourself. If someone can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss.”

Tim swallowed, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re… you’re the worst, you know that?”

But Conner just laughed, the sound light and effortless. “I know. But you like me anyway.”

Tim bit his lip, trying not to smile too much, but there was no denying the way his heart was beating faster now. Conner had always been the one to tease him, to make him laugh when things were tough. But this this felt different. The way they were sitting there, so close, the unspoken understanding between them it was the kind of connection Tim hadn’t realized he was craving.

“Alright, alright,” Conner said, standing up and giving Tim a teasing grin, “I’ll leave you to think about that. But you know I’m here, if you wanna… talk or whatever.”

Tim nodded, his throat a little tight, but he didn’t know what to say. Conner’s easygoing presence had a way of putting him at ease, and for the first time in a while, Tim felt like he was starting to understand what it meant to really be seen by someone.

“Thanks, Conner,” Tim muttered, his voice soft.

Conner winked as he walked toward the door. “Anytime, small bird. Anytime.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tim sank back against the bed, his heart still racing, but now for a different reason.

Conner: So…

Tim: Please don’t.

Conner: Your parents have been following us for like… an hour. I swear I saw your mom dive behind a trash bin.

Tim: If I ignore it, maybe it’ll go away.

Reader, whispering from the kitchen: They didn’t see us.

Bruce, deadpan: They definitely saw us.

Batfamily X Batmom! Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Someone Thought Of Meཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

I feel like Tim has very little love. So how does he feel in a family thats so weird?

masterlist

Timmy timothy tim likes to journal his problems

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Journal entry- Shes always there. Written from the point of view of Tim Drake. In Tim Drakes Journal. Which Is my journal… Tim Drake… because it’s my journal?

When people think of Bruce Wayne, they think of Gotham’s crowned prince brooding, rich, charming in a suit. Maybe they even think of Batman if you’re one of the few people that actually know him, the knight in Kevlar, Gotham’s relentless protector. They forget, more often than not, that behind the cowl is just a guy made of jagged edges. The kind that can cut even the people he cares about most.

But her?

She was warmth. A reporter with fire in her blood and sharp questions at her lips. That’s how Bruce met her chasing down a story she didn’t know he was part of yet. She wasn’t intimidated by his name or the shadows that followed him. And when she found out he was Batman, she didn’t run. She pivoted. She didn’t want to be used by the Gotham Gazette to milk a headline about their relationship. So she left. Started something new. Told the stories of villains not to glorify them, but to show their truth. The people they used to be. The cracks that made them break. That was her power.

I didn’t meet her until later, of course. But I always knew of her. I still stayed with my parents at the time and since she stayed at the mansion i never really saw her. she was the one everyone talked about. Not just in passing, but with reverence. Even Bruce, in his own quiet way, would drop her name like it meant safety. And to Dick and Jason? She wasn’t just a stepmom, or “Bruce’s wife.” She was Mom.

Dick talks about her like she’s the sun. When he visits he always visits, at least once a week no matter where he is you can see it. How his whole face lights up just stepping into the manor and hearing her voice from the kitchen. You’d think he was back in the circus and just found his net again.

“She used to stay up for me, no matter what time patrol ended,” he told me once. “I’d come in through the balcony, boots muddy, bruised up, sometimes bleeding and she’d be in the kitchen heating soup. Always that look on her face like I’d just come back from war. Never lectured me like Bruce. Never told me to be more careful. Just… held me. Like that fixed everything.”

Dick never stopped calling her “Mom.” Not even during the rough years when Bruce pushed him too hard. Not when he moved out. Not when the Batcave felt colder than the Gotham River in winter. If anything, she was the reason he kept coming back.

When she got that small publishing deal to write about Harvey Dent’s past, Dick flew back from Blüdhaven just to take her out to dinner. No press, no big celebration. Just a booth by the window at her favorite Thai place and a bouquet that barely fit through the door. He said he owed her everything. “I don’t care if I’m not hers by blood,” he told me once. “That woman taught me how to hold on to who I am, even when everything else was falling apart.”

Then theres my other older brother. Jason’s love is different. It’s quieter.

Harder to see unless you’re looking close. He’s not good at the soft stuff. Not anymore. But with her, he tries. He never says “I love you.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words leave his mouth. But he’s always fixing stuff around her house. Not the manor her place, the little brownstone Bruce bought her because she hated the echo of the mansion. The place with the bookshelf she filled herself, the mismatched mugs, the heavy desk where she does her interviews. Jason comes by when she’s out running errands. Patches the leaky sink. Replaces the light in the hallway. Leaves a bag of her favorite tea on the counter. No note. No credit. But she always knows it’s him.

“She used to sit on the fire escape with me,” he told me once, when we were staking out some arms deal in the Narrows. “I’d be pissed off at Bruce, just raging. And she’d just sit there. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t talk me out of it. Just sat and sometimes smoked a cigarette. One time I cried. Don’t remember why. But she didn’t flinch. Just put her hand on my back. Stayed until I fell asleep.”

He’d die before saying it out loud, but I think in a way… he’s more hers than he ever was Bruce’s. And when he came back when he was the Red Hood and he was full of grief and rage and bullets she was the only one who hugged him. Everyone else flinched. Even Bruce. But she opened the door, saw what he’d become, and said, “You look like hell, baby. Come inside.” And he did.

I remember the first time I met her. Bruce had just taken me in. I was still flinching every time he walked into the room, still unsure if I belonged in this broken, stitched up family. And then she walked in breezy and fierce, like she’d just come off a battlefield with coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “You must be Tim,” she said, giving me a once over like she could see right through to my spine. “You eat?”

I hadn’t. She fixed a plate, sat with me, asked me about everything except my parents. I had just lost them at the time and that’s when I got it. Why Dick lights up around her. Why Jason will move heaven and earth to fix her sink. She’s home. Not the kind with walls and Wi-Fi. The kind with presence. With knowing how to say just the right thing without ever saying too much. With safety, and warmth, and late night soup and hair ruffles and sitting on fire escapes even when the kid next to you’s got blood on his boots. I think that’s why even Bruce… softens around her. She’s the one person who makes him feel safe.

When she got her first daughter, you can tell something changed in her. Cass didn’t talk much. Not in the early days. She was quiet in the way shadows were quiet always there, always watching, always slipping through cracks without a sound. Most people assumed she just didn’t want to talk. Or couldn’t. But I saw it different.

Cass spoke just not with her mouth. She spoke with her hands, her eyes, the way she’d tense or soften when you entered a room. But with her? With Mom?

Cass bloomed.

She’d lean on her shoulder when they sat on the couch. She’d grab her hand subtle, small, but full of meaning and lead her to the garden out back just to sit in the sun. I watched Cass laugh once, like actually laugh, cheeks lifted and eyes crinkled. I didn’t even know she could laugh like that. But it was because Mom had made some dumb joke about a rogue penguin at the zoo stealing someone’s purse. Cas used to flinch at affection. Now, she hugged her. Without hesitation. Leaned into her side. Signed things with soft smiles and the rare, quiet “Love you,” if no one else was around. She didn’t even say that to Bruce. Not really. But Mom? Mom got everything.

She knew how to talk to her. Never pressed. Never coddled. Just existed beside her with a kind of understanding that didn’t require words. I think Cass clung to that someone who didn’t need her to be anything but herself. Someone who didn’t treat her like a porcelain weapon. I’d never seen Cass so… safe. So full.

Then there was Damian. God. When Bruce brought him to the manor, I thought maybe we’d finally seen the worst of it. Turns out a ten year old assassin with an ego the size of Arkham was the cherry on top.

From the minute Damian showed up, he was a walking migraine. Arrogant. Condescending. Entitled in the way only someone born and bred to believe they were superior could be. But the worst part? He was cruel to her.

Not in the loud, tantrum way kids can be cruel. No. Damian was sharp. Precise. Calculated. His insults were surgical targeted and clean like a blade to the gut. “I don’t see the point in you,” he said once, arms crossed in the foyer, looking her dead in the eye. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be her. Father had real women in his life before you.”

It wasn’t the first time he said it. Wouldn’t be the last. she….God, she just took it. Not because she agreed. Not because she was weak. But because that’s who she is. She let him be angry. Let him lash out. Let him burn himself on her because she knew what was underneath it all. But I saw it. I saw the way her shoulders slumped when she turned away. The way she stirred her tea a little too long in the kitchen. The way she lingered in front of Bruce’s old pictures of Talia that he put up for Damien. didn’t touch them, didn’t say anything, but looked like someone standing in a war zone, wondering if the ruins were prettier than she’d ever be. She never said it aloud. Never asked if she measured up. But we all knew the weight she carried. Bruce’s past wasn’t just shadows it was legacies. Legacies she was never meant to compete with. And Damian made sure she felt that.

I don’t know when that started to change. Maybe when she helped patch him up after his first solo patrol and didn’t say a word about the busted ribs. Maybe when she sat in the library and helped him with his handwriting because even deadly assassins have messy cursive. Or maybe it was when she found his sketchbook. hid it from everyone else, never mentioned it, just left him new pencils on his desk with a quiet, “You’re very talented.”

He stopped being so sharp after that. Still rude. Still Damian. But less… venomous. Like the poison had burned itself out and he was left kind of confused by the fact that she was still there. Because she always was. For all of us.

And then there’s me. The extra. The late one. I was never brought in because Bruce wanted to be a father. I was brought in because I figured out his secrets and then wormed my way into the cave, into the suit, into the family. I don’t know if I was ever really meant to be here. Not the way the others were. Me? I had parents. Not great ones. But they were there… until they weren’t. I didn’t grow up in an alley, or a pit, or the League. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I feel so… replaceable. But she never made me feel that way. She saw me. She knew I overworked myself. Knew I never slept. Knew I spiraled when I wasn’t useful. And instead of pushing me to be better or telling me to slow down, she just… met me where I was. Once, I found a note in my backpack. Folded between mission plans.

“Youre the most amazing boy that i know, You my boy are going to do amazing things. I love you so much!!”

I never told her I found it. But I kept it. Still have it, tucked into my journal like armor.

I don’t know if any of us would’ve survived this family without her. Bruce taught us how to fight. How to fall and get back up. But she taught us how to rest. How to breathe. How to love without blood and history binding us. She fixed all of us. Bit by bit. Even when we didn’t know we were breaking. I don’t feel broken enough to deserve that kind of care. But she gave it anyway. Because that’s who she is. Because she was always there.

I heard her once, talking on the phone to someone. Maybe a friend. Maybe a source. “They’re not mine by blood,” she said. “But God help the world if they ever needed me. I’d burn down Gotham to protect any one of them.” That’s when I knew she meant me, too. if I had to tell this story about the Batfamily, about the ones who wear masks and hide pain and throw themselves into the fire night after night I’d start with her. Because Batman might have saved Gotham but she saved us.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Tim closes the journal with a soft thump, fingers lingering on the worn leather cover. His hand hovers just a second longer before pulling away. The room feels too quiet now like his thoughts are echoing louder without the scratch of his pen to distract him.

He pushes the chair back, the legs creaking on the old hardwood floors, and stands. His back cracks. How long had he been writing? Hours maybe. It’s dark out, the kind of heavy Gotham dark that presses against the windows like it wants in. The manor groans quietly in the silence, pipes murmuring and the wind brushing tree branches against the windows like fingers tapping to be let inside.

He walks out of his room, bare feet soft on the carpet as he pads through the hallway. The air feels heavier at night in the manor. Like all the ghosts that live in the walls are finally breathing.

I turned the corner after walking mindlessly and stared. There you were.

Back facing towards me, wearing one of those oversized, faded shirts Bruce always swore he didn’t miss. Standing in front of the stove, hair pulled up, humming something under your breath as you stirred with a wooden spoon like you were crafting alchemy and not just soup. And beside you, leaning against the counter, arms folded but eyes softer than I’d seen in weeks. Jason. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Which was rare. His boots were off. Rarer. And he was smiling. Not the cocky half grin he used when he was about to pick a fight, but something quieter. Warmer. Something like a son sitting in the only place in the world where he felt safe.

You said something to him I couldn’t hear what but you reached up on your toes and smoothed his hair out of his eyes like he was five. He rolled his eyes, said something sarcastic, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it. that was when Alfred walked by, hands behind his back, chin tilted slightly in amusement as he passed me. “You know the rule, Master Timothy,” he said, low enough not to disturb the moment in the kitchen. “She is the only one allowed in there. The rest of you have forfeited that right after the last… incident.”

I groaned.

“That was Damian’s fault,” I hissed back.

He raised a brow. “Was it Damian’s idea to flambé a Pop Tart?”

“Okay. Fine. That part might’ve been me.”

It was one of our dumbest ideas maybe not the dumbest, but it’s a crowded race. It started with a challenge. Damian, fresh off a smug streak and newly obsessed with culinary documentaries, claimed that my “American palate” had “eroded my taste and motor skills.” I told him I could cook circles around him. Neither of us could cook.

It escalated quickly. An Iron Chef style duel. Secret ingredient: eggs. Only, I dropped mine. Three times. Damian misread the baking powder as flour. Then I panicked and tried to “smoke” the scrambled eggs for flavor using a packet of incense from the guest room and a lighter.

Within ten minutes, the fire alarm was going off, Alfred had activated the emergency sprinklers, and the kitchen looked like something between a crime scene and a culinary apocalypse. Mom was the one to find us.

Standing soaked, flour covered, blinking through smoke. Damian holding a spatula like a sword. Me covered in what I hoped was yolk. You didn’t yell. That’s the worst part. You just… looked at us. Long and hard. Then let out a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and said, “Alfred, I assume this is why you told me to ban them from the kitchen.”

“Indeed, madam,” he replied grimly.

And that was that. Kitchen rights revoked. Except for you. Always you.

Now I stood there in the hallway, watching you and Jason from the doorway, unseen. He was telling you about something he saw on patrol a gang trying to smuggle rare books, of all things. You were laughing, that full body laugh that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes close, like the world could still be beautiful if you just tried hard enough. And Jason?

He was drinking it in. Like he’d been starved of this kind of love for years. Ever since he came back, you were different around him. Not overly careful like Bruce. Not tense like some of us had been. You just loved him. Loudly. Freely. kisses to the temple, touching his shoulders like you had to convince yourself he was still solid. Like you had to remind him that he was still wanted. Jason never said it but he melted under it. His edges dulled. His anger slipped. When you held him, when you gave him that smile that said “you’re home,” he softened. He belonged.

I swallowed hard. Stepped back, just a bit. Let the shadows take me. Because I’d never had that. Not in the same way. You loved me I knew that. But it wasn’t the same kind of fierce, smothering love. And maybe that was fair. I wasn’t broken in the way Jason was. Not born in blood like Damian. Not carved out of grief like Dick. Not silenced like Cass.

I was just… me. Smart. Quiet. Stable, mostly. I’d always felt like a thread sewn into someone else’s tapestry. Useful. Strong, even. But not the reason anyone stayed warm. in moments like this seeing Jason melt under your hands, seeing you pour every ounce of your soul into making him feel alive I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ever going to fit here. So I stepped away from the kitchen door.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only happens after everyone’s gone to bed or pretended to. I was curled up in the corner of the library, one leg slung over the arm of the chair, a thick old book cracked open across my lap. It wasn’t for patrol or mission planning. Just something to read. Something to fill the quiet so I didn’t have to think too much.

It was peaceful, until muffled voices filled the room. I blinked, tilting my head just enough to catch the low murmur threading in from the hallway. At first, I thought maybe Bruce had wandered into the Batcave again, but then I heard my moms voice. Whispering like someone trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Bruce responded, and you both laughed, low and secretive. I rolled my eyes and went back to my page.

I stopped caring about that kind of thing a long time ago. You and Bruce were always, in a word, gross about each other. Not the clingy, PDA gross… well yes the clingy PDA way but the kind where he’d brush your cheek mid conversation like it was instinct. Or the way you’d make him coffee without asking, and he’d pass you reports to look at because he trusted your opinion more than the board’s. It was… sincere. Intimate. Kind of annoying, honestly, when you were trying to eat cereal and Bruce kissed your temple like it was some kind of reflex.

But it was comforting too. Something solid. I was just starting to lose myself in the book again when

“Boo.”

“GAH!”

I launched the book about a foot into the air and nearly twisted my entire spine trying to figure out what demon had possessed the room. My heart rocketed into my throat as I whipped around, hand halfway to a batarang that wasn’t even on me. You stood there, grinning ear to ear.

“Tim,” you cooed, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh, “you should’ve seen your face oh my god, I think you levitated.”

“I almost hit you with Tolstoy!” I hissed, breath still catching up to my body. “Don’t sneak up on a guy in this house! I was ready to throw hands with a ghost.”

“Well,” you teased, “if it was a ghost, you’d be the only one I’d trust to outsmart it.”

I gave you a flat look, still massaging my neck. You sobered a little, stepping forward and tapping the top of my head gently. “Come on, kiddo. There’s something we want to show you. In the dining room.”

I blinked. “We?”

“I’m here too,” came Bruce’s voice from the hallway, in that terrible deep gravel whisper he clearly thought was somehow sneaky. You and I both turned to look at him as he peeked around the corner, trying very hard and failing to look inconspicuous.

I squinted at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

You sighed and gently smacked his chest. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m building intrigue,” Bruce said with what I assumed was supposed to be a straight face. “It’s part of the plan”

“You’re ruining the surprise,” you whispered, dragging a hand down your face.

“There’s a surprise?” I asked slowly, eyes darting between the two of you.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but I could see the micro tension in his brow. He was lying. For the world’s greatest detective, the man couldn’t lie to his children to save his life. Every time he tried, he got this weird stiffness, like someone who’d never used human emotions before. You groaned again and took my wrist gently. “Come on. Just come to the dining room. Please?”

I stood up slowly, abandoning my book on the chair. “What’s going on?” I asked again, warier now. “Is this, like… an intervention? Did Damian break into the Tower again?”

“Nope.”

“Did Jason get arrested for vigilante loitering?”

“Not this week.”

“Are you going to make me touch grass?”

You snorted. “God, no.”

I sighed. “Alright. But if this is a trap, I want it on record that i died saying my parents were weird.”

Bruce just grunted. So I followed them. These two weird, overly affectionate, semi cryptic parents of mine one with crows’ feet from smiling too much and the other still pretending he didn’t smile at all. Down the hallway. Toward the dining room. Still completely, utterly confused.

The hallway to the dining room wasn’t long. It just felt long. Partially because Bruce was still trying to act like this wasn’t suspicious at all, and you kept elbowing him in the ribs every few steps. Partially because my nerves were starting to twitch under my skin. mostly because I could hear whisper yelling coming from the dining room.

“I said put the banner up, not strangle the chandelier with it!”

“That wasn’t me! It was Damian! He climbed up there!”

“I was fixing your poor attempt at symmetry, Grayson!”

“Why is the pie we made lopsided Jason what did you do to the pie?”

“It’s good. Shut up.”

“You burned it.”

“I call it caramelized flavor.”

“…It smells like regret.”

“Can someone…. Cass, what are you doing with the glitter glue?!”

“Decoration.”

I paused just outside the door and looked up at Bruce and you with raised eyebrows. You just smiled softly and gave a little shrug, while Bruce tried to maintain whatever shred of dignity he had left. It wasn’t working.

You both looked so stupidly in love standing like that his arm around your waist, yours looped casually around his. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was normal. Like this whatever chaos was waiting behind the doors was ours.

Bruce leaned in toward the doorframe like he was assessing a mission room, and I swear I saw his eye twitch.

“I gave them very simple instructions,” he muttered.

You patted his chest. “Your children are as smart and emotionally constipated as their dad”

The door swung open before anyone could knock. Dick stood there with his usual too big grin and remnants of glitter on his cheek like war paint. “Timmy! You’re late to your own surprise party!”

“It’s not my birthday?”

“Not that kind of surprise party!” he said, reaching out to drag me in with too much enthusiasm. “It’s Appreciation Day!”

“That’s… not a real holiday.”

“Sure it is,” said Jason, appearing from behind a mess of mismatched plates and aluminum foil wrapped disasters. “We just made it real. Sit down, Nerd Boy.”

Cass waved from the head of the table with a little toothy smile. Damian was on a chair next to her, arms crossed, already pouting like he hadn’t been helping just ten minutes ago.

The table was atrocious like someone had thrown a home economics final exam and a kindergarten arts and crafts project into a blender. The centerpiece was a crooked sign that said “WE APPRECIATE YOU” in bold, messy handwriting (clearly Dick’s). There was glitter on everything. The cups didn’t match. The pie looked like it’d been in a fight. it was perfect. All of it.

Dishes were stacked, uneven and mismatched. Cookies were slightly burnt on one side. Jason’s so called “caramelized” pie was visibly cracked. Cass had made what looked like finger sandwiches shaped into little bats. Even Damian had contributed begrudgingly with a plate of sliced fruit that had been carved into vaguely threatening shapes.

And in the middle of it all was a small card in your handwriting.

Tim,

We know things have been hard.

We know it sometimes feels like you’re overlooked.

But you’re not. Not here.

You’re brilliant. You’re loved. You’re ours.

Love,

Your Family (a bunch of idiots, but yours)

I couldn’t speak. Not really. Because what was there to say? This… this wasn’t some big show. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. it was for me. I glanced down the table.

Dick was beaming and already scooting over to make room for me. Jason was pretending not to look at me too hard, but his expression was softer than usual. Cass gave me a small nod, the kind that said more than words. Damian looked away when our eyes met but I could see the tiniest hint of awkward approval in the way he pushed a napkin toward the empty seat beside him. I took it. Quietly. Still blinking a little too fast. I didn’t cry. I didn’t. But I felt it thick in my chest. That weight. That feeling. Because my biological parents had never done anything like this. They didn’t see me, not really. I was a project. A prodigy. An obligation. But you and Bruce, in his awkward gruff way you saw me. You made this happen. I looked up once more and saw you and Bruce still standing near the door. Arms still around each other. Watching. Bruce’s eyes met mine. He gave the smallest nod. You just smiled. I mattered here. not always loudly. not in the same way the others did. But I mattered. And this this was home.

Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ You’re Weird ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

masterlist

Check it, Bruce sees you’re drowning and wants to make sure you’re ok. Gotham gazette has a few other ideas.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Your fingers curled around the warm ceramic mug, the heat soothing your skin. “It’s weird,” you mused, glancing around at the clean streets, the laughter of children in a nearby park, the general lack of sirens. “Being here makes Gotham feel like a fever dream. Like I blinked and woke up in a world that doesn’t smell like wet concrete and cigarette smoke.”

The scent of freshly ground coffee beans swirled in the crisp Metropolis air, rich and inviting. You sat across from Bruce Wayne at a quiet café tucked on the corner of Hyperion Avenue, the kind of place that prided itself on being “low key millennial vibe,” though the exposed brick walls and imported furniture suggested otherwise. Still, it was a breath of fresh air from Gotham’s perpetual gloom.

Bruce smiled over the rim of his espresso, the smallest curve of his lips. “I told you Metropolis would be good for you. A different pace. Safer.”

“Definitely safer,” you nodded, chuckling softly. “Though a little… unnerving? Like it’s too perfect. No edge.”

“You miss the unnerving…ness?”

“I feel like Gotham just might have more personality?” You grinned, teasing. “Besides, there’s no challenge in writing about Metropolis. They treat their criminals like punchlines.”

Bruce looked at you then. That quiet intensity in his eyes, the one you always caught glimpses of in rare, unguarded moments. “You like the challenge. That’s what makes you different.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Different?”

“Just different, you don’t have to think too hard on it”

You looked down, the compliment sinking into your chest a little deeper than you were prepared for. “ahhhh okok whatever mister cryptic. What are we doing in metropolis anyways? you havent even done any work while here”

A pause.

“thats true,” Bruce said softly. “Maybe I wanted to see what it’d be like. Sharing coffee somewhere bright for once.”

Your heart did a little pirouette in your chest. It was nothing nothing, right? Just a moment. A shared breath.

But before you could say anything, a familiar voice called out from the sidewalk.

“Bruce! Well, I’ll be damned!”

Bruce’s smile flattened like someone had stepped on it. You turned in your chair to see a tall man in glasses and a warm beige trench coat strolling up, the sun glinting off his dark hair. Clark Kent. You’d seen him in bylines, youre pretty sure youve seen him carrying a camera around. Mild mannered, curious, somehow always in the right place at the right time. And right now, he looked delighted.

“Clark,” Bruce greeted, standing only because etiquette demanded it. His handshake was brief. You noticed the way his jaw ticked as Clark’s gaze immediately shifted to you.

“And you must be the [Y/N] [L/N],” Clark said, eyes lighting up. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

You blinked. “You… are?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. That piece you did on Clayface? Incredible. All your stories go into so much depth and extremely captivating.”

You felt yourself flush. “That means a lot. It’s mice to meet you.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, his cup suddenly very uninteresting as he picked it up for a sip he didn’t take.

Clark pulled out the empty chair beside you and sat before you could protest. “Oh! Im Clark by the way! I’ve always believed there’s more to every story than just the ‘bad guy’ angle. But the way you frame it, like… you make people care. You make them wonder if these villains could’ve been something else in a different world.”

You smiled, glowing under the praise. “That’s exactly what I try to do. Gotham’s complicated. Everyone wants to point fingers, but no one wants to understand the systems that failed them.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Clark nodded. “You ever think of working in Metropolis?”

Bruce’s cup hit the table a little harder than necessary.

“I like Gotham,” you said, glancing at Bruce. “It’s home. And having a indepth understanding makes for good copy.”

Clark laughed. “Fair enough. Still, if you ever need a second pair of eyes or someone to bounce drafts off, I’d be happy to.”

Bruce cleared his throat.

You turned to see him leaning back in his chair, expression unreadable, but his fingers were drumming a silent rhythm on the armrest.

“So, Clark,” Bruce said coolly, “I’m sure the Daily Planet is keeping you busy.”

“Oh, always,” Clark chuckled. “But it’s not every day I bump into old friends… and get to meet such impressive company.”

You smiled politely, but you couldn’t miss the faint twitch in Bruce’s brow. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked rattled. It was almost adorable.

“So, Bruce,” you teased, turning your gaze back to him, “you were telling me about that time you nearly got arrested in Paris for what was it again?”

Bruce straightened. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Clark’s eyebrows rose, amused. “Arrested? Now this sounds like a story.”

“No,” Bruce said flatly.

You laughed and shook your head, the tension easing around the edges. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Something had shifted. Bruce had invited you to Metropolis under the guise of research, but his eyes said more than that. His gaze lingered when Clark made you laugh, and his mouth set into a thin line every time you and Clark found common ground. You weren’t sure what to do with that yet. But you knew one thing for certain… You kind of liked it.

And Bruce? He looked like he was very much not enjoying sharing the spotlight not when it came to you. Especially not with someone like Clark Kent.

The conversation had drifted into the realm of old journalism war stories. Clark was on his third anecdote about chasing down Luthor’s motorcade on foot in attempt to get an interview completely glossing over how that was physically possible and you were laughing, your eyes crinkled with amusement.

Bruce, meanwhile, was over it.

He had tried. Really, he had. Tried to play nice, tried to keep the conversation moving without outright snarling, tried not to look like a man seconds away from flipping the café table over. But watching you laugh, that genuine, radiant smile that he didn’t get nearly enough of not when you were in Gotham, buried in crime reports and late night stakeouts and watching Clark soak it in like it was sunshine?

It was starting to itch beneath his skin. So, Bruce did what he did best. He weaponized polite.

“You know, Clark,” Bruce said, smoothly interrupting whatever story he was about to launch into next, “as fascinating as your insight is, I’m sure the Daily Planet is wondering where their star reporter has wandered off to.”

Clark blinked. “Oh I’ve got the rest of the day off. Lois has it covered.”

“Of course,” Bruce replied, tone light but laced with something sharper. “But I imagine someone like you never really stops working. Especially with… so many rooftops to jump between.”

There was a beat. Clark’s smile faltered for just a second, and you blinked, confused at the oddly specific phrasing.

Bruce leaned forward, resting an arm casually on the table, expression carved from cool stone. “Besides, I’m sure [Y/N] wouldn’t want to be distracted from the purpose of her visit. Research, remember?”

Clark chuckled, though this time it came out tight. “Right. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

You arched a brow. Something was going on between them something that felt like more than old friends catching up. A subtle chess game you weren’t meant to notice. But you did notice. Especially when Clark stood with an exaggerated sigh and adjusted his coat.

“Well,” he said, flashing you another warm smile, “it really was a pleasure meeting you, [Y/N]. Let’s chat sometime professional to professional.”

“Definitely,” you said, nodding.

He gave Bruce a weird glance. “Always a pleasure, Bruce.”

“Likewise,” Bruce said, not even pretending to mean it.

Once Clark was gone, Bruce leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly like the air was finally breathable again. His jaw relaxed. His shoulders dropped an inch. He reached for his espresso and finally took the sip he’d been pretending to take all afternoon.

You watched him with an amused smirk.

“Well, well,” you said, folding your arms over the table. “I wasn’t expecting Gotham’s golden boy to be so antsy.”

Bruce didn’t look at you right away, choosing instead to swirl the contents of his cup. “I’m not antsy.”

“You absolutely are,” you said, grinning now. “Clark was lovely, by the way. Very sweet. You could learn something from him.”

“I’d rather not,” Bruce said flatly.

You laughed, tilting your head at him. “rich boy your spoiledness is coming out.”

He finally met your eyes. There it was again that quiet, smoldering honesty buried beneath the billionaire’s mask.

“I just don’t like sharing good coffee,” he said coolly. “Especially when I invited you here.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was electric.

You leaned in just a little, your voice softer now. “Then maybe you shouldn’t hide behind excuses like ‘research.’ Maybe next time, just say you want my attention.”

Bruce’s lips curved ever so slightly. Not a smirk, not quite a smile something just for you.

“ill hold you too it”

And this time, it was your heart doing pirouettes.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Wayne Tower loomed as it always did, cold steel and glass slicing through Gotham’s ashen sky like a blade. Rain tapped against the windows in soft percussion, blurring the gray city below, but Bruce barely registered it. He sat alone in his office, the lights low, his chair turned just slightly away from the sprawling skyline.

He hadn’t moved in the last ten minutes. Not since that morning paper landed on his desk.

The Gotham Gazette, bold font screaming at him like a damn siren:

“WAYNE WINES AND DINES MYSTERY REPORTER IN METROPOLIS”

Right beneath the headline was a photo of you laughing at something Clark said, sunlight catching in your hair, your posture turned comfortably toward Bruce. Another photo showed the two of you walking side by side, your elbow lightly brushing against his as you reached for your coffee. And, of course, the pièce de résistance: a wide shot of the table, Bruce leaning forward, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Goddammit,” he muttered.

It wasn’t the paparazzi he was used to them, expected them. It was Metropolis that caught him off guard. He thought, stupidly, that the clean air and cheerful streets made people less nosy. Less likely to shove a camera lens into his business.

Clearly, he had underestimated how rabid Gotham media could be. Even there, even with you.

And you.

You hadn’t brought it up. Hadn’t mentioned the paper or the photos or the wild headlines speculating you were Gotham’s newest It Girl, or that the elusive Bruce Wayne had finally found someone to tame him.

That was what was killing him. Not the photos. Not the gossip. Not even the implication that the two of you were something more. It was the not knowing how you felt about it.

Bruce rose from his desk, the chair scraping quietly behind him. He paced the room like a caged animal, the newspaper still clutched in one hand, wrinkled from how tightly he’d been gripping it.

He read the headline again and immediately hated himself for how warm it made him feel. Wayne Wines and Dines. He could hear your voice in his head, laughing. God, Bruce, that sounds like a sleazy rom com title.

He wanted you.

He wanted you in the most undignified, unbillionaire like way possible. Wanted to kiss you until the words stopped working in his brain. Wanted to sit next to you again in some sunshine drenched café and actually enjoy your laugh instead of being consumed by it.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing faster now. He hated this. Hated that he was in a thousand meetings a week with CEOs and board members and city officials, but the second you walked into a room or in this case, a newspaper he felt like a goddamn teenage girl.

What if you didn’t want people thinking you were involved with him?

That’s what haunted him. Not the story. Not the photos. You. Would you hate it? Would you laugh it off? Would you roll your eyes and say, “God, Bruce, you’re so dramatic”?

Or worse would you tell him it was all a misunderstanding, that you didn’t see him that way? The thought made him pause mid step, one hand on the window frame, staring at his own reflection in the glass. His jaw was tense. His eyes darker than usual.

He hadn’t felt this unsure of himself in years. Batman never hesitated. But Bruce Wayne? He was a mess. He looked back at the paper. Back at you.

Back at the way you looked when you laughed, when your eyes crinkled, when you let your guard down just enough for him to wonder what it’d be like to really have you.

He sighed, resting his forehead against the glass.

“Get it together.”

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

it started out very simple. He became fascinated with you. It had been one of those Gotham nights long, bone tired, the kind of quiet that was never actually silent. Just… tired. The flicker of neon through you ur tiny apartment windows painted the walls in restless color, but inside, it was dim, peaceful.

You were curled up on the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing your form, mug of something warm and sweet nestled in your hands. Bruce sat across from you in an armchair, undone just enough to tell you he wasn’t working anymore tie loosened, cuffs rolled. He was watching you. He always watched you. Not in a creepy way but in fascination.

“You ever get that feeling like everything’s just… pressing in all at once?” you asked, voice quieter than usual.

Bruce blinked. “All the time.”

You gave him a weak smile. “Right. Stupid question.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said immediately. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. I’ve noticed.”

You looked away, exhaling through your nose. “Yeah, well. Work’s getting heavy. Not just deadlines or research like, the stories themselves. I think its hard knowing so much about someone’s hurt. Its addicting I cant stop. I know I’m good at telling those stories. I know it matters. But lately, I feel like I’m drowning in it.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure you wanted him to not with solutions. You pressed the edge of your mug to your lips, then lowered it without drinking. “And Gotham never stops, you know? Never lets you breathe. I love it. But sometimes, I think it’s eating me alive.”

The silence between you stretched. Then Bruce leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice gentle.

“I’m going on a trip.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Business,” he clarified. “Metropolis. Just a few days. Meetings, some board schmoozing. Normally I wouldn’t bring anyone but” He paused, almost like it hurt to admit. “I don’t want to go alone. And I think you need a break.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You… want me to come with you?”

He nodded once, deliberately. “You need sunlight. Coffee that isn’t brewed by a street vendor in the Narrows. Air that doesn’t taste like exhaust. And I think…” He hesitated again, then met your eyes. “I think it’d be good for both of us.”

You stared at him. “You’re sure this is a work trip?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Mostly.”

You snorted softly, your lips twitching upward. “What, you trying to whisk me away like some overworked intern in a workplace romance?”

“Do you want to be whisked?” he asked, and you knew he was being dry, but the way his eyes softened made it an excellent argument.

You set your mug down, heart thudding a little faster than you were ready for. “Okay.”

He tilted his head.

“I’ll go,” you said, quieter now. “To Metropolis. Maybe a change of pace will help.”

His gaze lingered. “Good.”

You nodded, your smile ghosting. “Good.”

the city outside could rage and howl all it wanted but inside your apartment it was quiet.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

There was no such thing as privacy in the Gotham Gazette bullpen. Not when your desk was sandwiched between the copy editor who played music a little too loud and the sports columnist who smelled like energy drinks and cheap cologne. Not when cubicles had walls barely higher than your shoulders. And definitely not when you’d just come back from a suspiciously timed “business trip” with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.

You hadn’t even set your bag down before the vultures descended.

“So?” came a voice before you even logged into your computer.

You blinked. “So… what?”

“Oh, come on,” groaned Jamie from Features, leaning over your cubicle wall like a hungry hyena. “You and Bruce Wayne disappear to Metropolis for a weekend, and you come back looking relaxed. In Gotham. What did he do, buy you a new nervous system?”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a work trip. You know those things some of us actually do?”

“Honey, you haven’t even opened your email,” Jamie said. “I opened your email. You’re in the email. You’re trending.”

You stopped, staring at him. “What?”

“You haven’t seen the photos?” asked Liz from Editorial, practically hopping in place as she slid around the corner, tablet in hand. “You two at the hotel. At the gala. At the rooftop bar. Looking suspiciously cozy. Very hands on.”

Your blood ran cold. “There were photographers?”

“Babe, there are always photographers. Bruce Wayne doesn’t sneeze without a hundred flashbulbs going off,” Liz said, flipping the tablet around so you could see the image in question.

And there it was.

You and Bruce, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now. His hand was on the small of your back. Yours lingered on his arm like it belonged there. The skyline glittered behind you like it was painted in.

It looked… intimate. Too intimate.

“Great,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s just great.”

“You’re front page gossip,” Jamie sang. “You made Page Six, babe! That’s legacy status!”

You slumped into your chair, praying for spontaneous combustion.

But the hits kept coming.

“Did he fly you out first class or private?”

“Is he as brooding behind closed doors as he is on TV?”

“Do you think he’s going to propose?”

“Oh my God, please shut up!” you snapped.

That earned a few snickers, but also a hush. You didn’t snap often. You never snapped. Which was why every nosy reporter in hearing range immediately began whispering twice as loud.

You opened your inbox to find a stack of notifications you didn’t want: tabloid alerts, social media mentions, subject lines like BRUCE WAYNE: WHO’S THE GIRL? and MYSTERY WRITER GETS WAYNE’S ATTENTION.

Someone even sent a meme of the two of you photoshopped in wedding attire. Wedding attire.

You nearly threw your monitor out the window.

And to make matters worse someone literally just took a picture of you. You turned so fast your chair creaked.

“Did you just?”

“Noooo,” muttered one of the interns, tucking their phone away and walking very quickly in the opposite direction.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “This is a nightmare.”

Liz leaned closer. “Okay, but like… is anything happening?”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Do you really think Bruce Wayne would date someone whose cubicle doesn’t even have walls?”

Liz paused. “You make a fair point. Still. You’d be the first tabloid rumor I’d actually root for.”

You sighed. It was hard to tell if that made you feel better or worse.

The truth? You didn’t know what was happening between you and Bruce. Not really. There had been stolen glances. Quiet words. An almost moment by the elevator that hadn’t turned into a kiss only because you’d chickened out.

And now this circus.

You opened a blank document, willing yourself to work.

But your mind wasn’t on the story. It was on Bruce on how quiet he’d gone since the trip. On how he hadn’t returned your last message.

You were halfway through typing a sentence that didn’t make sense when the crowd got worse.

“I swear, if another person breathes in my direction”

“Hey, superstar!”

You winced.

It was this random guy from Politics loud, nosy, and the worst kind of gossip. He strutted into the bullpen like he owned it, carrying a mug that read ‘World’s Best Journalist’ (he bought it for himself, no one doubted it). Behind him trailed two junior reporters and someone from the digital team, all of them making a beeline for your desk.

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered under your breath.

“Come on, just a few words!” Mark leaned against the edge of your cubicle, grinning like the devil himself. “You know the public’s eating it up Wayne’s mystery date turns out to be a journalist?”

“I didn’t agree to be anyone’s date.”

“That’s not what the pictures say,” someone behind him chimed in.

“I hate the pictures,” you snapped. “And I hate this office.”

“You say that every Monday,” Liz said, now openly eating popcorn like this was her entertainment for the day.

Mark held up a recorder. “I’m just saying, give me the exclusive before the others twist your words. I can paint you as the brilliant writer who stole Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.”

“I didn’t steal anything.”

“Fine, borrowed.”

You stared at him. “Mark, put that recorder down or I’ll throw it in your coffee.”

“I’ll fish it out,” he said without hesitation.

“Oh my God”

Before you could finish, two interns popped up on either side of you like synchronized jack in the boxes.

“Do you like him?”

“What was he like off camera?”

“Did he smell rich?”

“Can you get him to donate to our fundraiser?”

“I’m stopping all of you right there” you said, spinning in your chair and standing, your hands up in surrender. “I’m not answering questions. I’m not giving an exclusive. And I’m not I repeat, not dating Bruce Wayne.”

“But you went with him to Metropolis”

“And it was work! Professional! Boring!”

Liz muttered, “You don’t look like someone who had a boring weekend.”

You grabbed your half finished coffee and nearly spilled it as you tried to retreat.

Mark followed. “Look, I get it, privacy and all, but you’re sitting on a gold mine. Just one quote. Something classy. Like ‘He’s not what I expected’ or ‘Billionaires they’re just like us.’”

You whipped around so fast Mark almost tripped over himself.

“If I give you a quote, will you leave me alone?”

He perked up instantly. “Depends on the quote.”

You leaned in, voice low.

“Here it is: ‘I’d rather be trapped in Arkham with the Joker than give you an interview.’ Print that, Mark.”

The entire bullpen howled. Even Liz nearly choked on her popcorn. Mark gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. No quote. But if he shows up at the office, I’m interviewing him.”

You sat back down, muttering to yourself. “Not unless I strangle him first.”

And then, as if on cue because the universe had a sense of humor you did not appreciate your phone buzzed.

One name. One message.

Bruce Wayne: “Are you free for lunch?”

You groaned. Loudly.

Liz leaned over again, peeking at your screen. “So…nothing happened eh?”

Your phone buzzed again before you could finish your dramatic groan.

Bruce Wayne: “Already here. Back entrance.”

Your heart did a little flip.

You looked up. Mark was still hovering. Liz was now showing your photo to someone from the tech team, pointing directly at your face and whispering like you were a zoo animal. Someone in the far corner had definitely just snapped another picture of you, and the interns were forming a human wall.

You slid your phone into your pocket, stood up quietly, grabbed your jacket, and turned to Liz. “Tell them I died.”

Liz blinked. “Wait, wha”

You were already moving. Fast. Ducking behind cubicles, practically army crawling past the coffee station, then booking it down the hallway like a fugitive. when you finally slipped out the back entrance of the Gotham Gazette into the cool alley behind the building, there he was.

Bruce Wayne.

Leaning against a sleek black car, sleeves rolled up, looking wildly out of place in the grime of downtown Gotham. He looked up the moment the door opened, concern flickering across his features the second he saw your expression.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t have to come all the way here. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he said gently. “You looked like you are going to strangle someone.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was just Mark.”

“Should I be worried about Mark?”

“Only if you want to see a grown man cry because I didn’t give him a quote about your cologne.”

Bruce huffed a quiet laugh and opened the passenger door for you. You hesitated.

“This isn’t a ‘kidnap the journalist’ situation, right?”

“Not unless you want it to be,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You shot him a look, but the tension eased just a bit. You slid into the seat.

He climbed in next to you. The car was quiet. Luxuriously quiet, compared to the zoo you’d just escaped. It smelled like leather and some subtle, expensive cologne that did make you want to punch Mark for being right.

Bruce glanced over at you. “I really just wanted to check in. I didn’t mean to… make your day worse.”

“You didn’t,” you said, voice softer than expected. “It’s not you. It’s them. People. Eyes. Phones. I feel like I can’t move without being… watched.”

“I know the feeling.”

You turned slightly to look at him. There was something in his tone that made you pause like he meant it more than most.

“You get used to it,” he added. “Eventually.”

You didn’t respond right away. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was still, almost warm.

“I didn’t expect you to actually check in,” you admitted after a moment. “Most people would’ve just texted a thumbs up and disappeared.”

He looked at you then, eyes searching. “I’m not most people.”

You were about to respond, something snarky on your tongue to break the intensity but then it happened.

Click.

It was faint, but unmistakable. A camera shutter. Right outside the alley.

Your head fell back against the seat with a loud groan.

Bruce sighed. “is it ok for you to be out of work?.”

“I told Liz to say I died,” you muttered.

“Not sure that’s going to help now.”

You closed your eyes. “God, I’m going to be on some gossip site by noon.”

He hesitated, then reached over and gently touched your hand where it rested on your knee. Just a soft brush of fingers.

“You want me to drive around for a bit?” he asked. “No press. No phones. Just quiet.”

You looked down at where his hand had been, the ghost of the touch lingering.

“…Yeah,” you said quietly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And with no more words, he pulled the car out of the alley, away from the flashing camera, and into a city that for once felt just a little quieter.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

The city passed in a blur of gray and gold as Bruce drove. He didn’t put on music. He didn’t speak. He just let the silence stretch, calm and easy, giving you room to breathe. The engine was barely a hum beneath your feet, and the windows were tinted enough that no one could see you inside. For once, you weren’t on display.

You leaned back against the seat, letting your eyes drift toward the city you loved and cursed in equal measure.

“I used to think about leaving,” you said finally, your voice barely above the sound of tires on pavement. “When I was younger. Before I really understood Gotham. Before I knew I couldn’t.”

Bruce glanced over at you. “Why couldn’t you?”

You smiled faintly. “Because people like us don’t get to run. Not when we know how broken the system is. Not when we can do something about it. We stay. We try.”

He didn’t answer right away. You saw his grip tighten slightly on the steering wheel, like he understood more than you knew.

Then, casually almost too casually he said, “And what if you weren’t trying alone?”

You blinked, turning your head toward him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I mean… all of well… this. The gossip. The whispers. The headlines. What if it didn’t have to be something to run from? What if it wasn’t such a bad idea?”

You blinked again.

It took you a second to process what he was saying. Then your heart stuttered. Oh.

“Bruce,” you said slowly, cautiously, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He faltered. You didn’t need to see his face to feel it. The way his jaw tightened just a fraction. The way the next turn came a little too fast.

And maybe that was what made you soften.

“I would,” you added quietly. “God, I would. I would love it. So much.”

You felt him glance your way again.

“But my whole life… I believed I needed to tell people’s stories. I thought I was supposed to keep myself out of them. Be the one behind the scenes. Not the subject.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be in the public eye like that. I don’t know how to be that kind of person.”

Another beat of silence.

Then his voice, low and steady: “I can be quiet.”

You looked up.

He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice stayed soft, sincere. “I don’t need headlines. I don’t need public. I just need you. However you’ll let me have you.”

It was a crazy thing, the way your heart reacted. Quick and eager and warm. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, caught between laughing and crying.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said.

The car slowed to a red light. He finally turned to look at you, and the honesty in his gaze hit you like a punch to the ribs. There was no pressure. No expectations. Just him, offering.

“I can wait,” he said. “I’ve waited longer for less.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you reached out and put your hand over his on the gearshift, quiet and certain.

“I’ll get there,” you said.

You watched his profile as the light turned green again. Something about him had shifted softer now, more open. You’d never seen Bruce Wayne so weird. The suit was stripped away, even if the one he wore now was more expensive than your rent.

And then, slowly, a grin curled at the edge of your lips as a realization hit.

“Oh my god,” you said, trying not to laugh. “You were jealous.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t deny it.

You let out a small laugh, more delighted than you expected. “Clark. That’s what that was about, wasn’t it? You were so sulky that I was talking to him”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“You’re such a child,” you said, but it was affectionate. “Sulking in your tower, giving moody interviews, and then crashing the Gotham Gazette like a bat out of hell…. wait a second…”

You turned in your seat, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re weird. You vanish without notice. And God you could be Batman with how weird you are.”

Silence.

Your laugh trailed off. You stared at him.

“…Wait.”

Bruce didn’t look at you.

He didn’t say anything.

“Bruce?” Your voice dropped into something halfway between suspicion and awe. “You aren’t Batman. Right?”

Still nothing.

You squinted. “Oh my god.”

“Let’s not do this here,” he said finally, quietly.

You opened your mouth to fire off something a question, a scream, anything but he cut in, almost abruptly.

“Why don’t you write about heroes?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone. “What?”

“In your pieces,” he clarified. “You always follow the criminals. The corruption. Why not write about the ones stopping it?”

You leaned back in your seat, chewing on the thought. “Because that’s not my job.”

“That sounds like a choice.”

“It is,” you said honestly. “Heroes don’t need a microphone. It feels like they feed off it. They’re already being celebrated, idolized, plastered across news stations and cereal boxes. But the ones slipping between the cracks the ones getting hurt, the ones no one’s looking at they need a voice. The ones who don’t make it out. The ones who get silenced.”

You paused, watching the streets pass.

“The heroes are doing the saving. I’m doing the remembering.”

He didn’t interrupt. So you kept going.

“And besides,” you added, your voice softening, “most of the heroes I’ve met… they don’t feel real. They feel like gods pretending to be human. Or humans pretending to be something else.”

Another beat passed.

“But Batman…” you murmured.

Bruce’s hand flexed on the steering wheel.

“I don’t know. He feels different. Gritty. Angry. Sad. The city chews him up and spits him out just like the rest of us, but he stays. Every night, he stays. I think…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“I think Batman might be the only hero I really like.”

You looked over at him.

“He feels the most human.”

And that’s when Bruce Wayne flawless billionaire, effortless playboy, Gotham’s golden son turned his head just slightly. The streetlights hit his jaw, shadowing his eyes. And in the flicker of the red glow, he looked haunted.

Bruce turned down a quiet side street, one that wound along Gotham’s upper overlook, where the city glittered like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t say a word as he parked the car.

The engine cut off. The silence wrapped around you like a heavy coat.

You turned to him, half expecting a denial. A smirk. Something to backpedal the idea that he might actually be.

“I’m not going to deny it,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”

Your breath caught.

He looked over at you, eyes tired but so present not a billionaire mask, not a cowl, just a man. And you could see it now, clear as the sky wasn’t: the bruised silence, the late nights, the way he disappeared.

“I meant what I said,” he added, voice low. “I love the way you… make a difference.”

Your brows rose, skeptical. “By being a little shit to the richest man in Gotham?”

He let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.

“The way you dig in, ask the questions no one wants to answer. The way you walk into a room like you don’t care if you don’t belong like you’re going to own it anyway. You’re stubborn.”

You raised a brow. “You’re doing a terrible job at complimenting me.”

Bruce half smiled, glancing down, then back up. There was a flush of pink at his neck, almost like embarrassment.

“And since that gala,” he continued, “when you showed up in a dress that didnt match you at all and tried to sneak out after five minutes…” He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I saw you and… I felt it.”

“Felt what?” you asked quietly.

“That pull. That connection.” He stumbled a little, like the word sat wrong in his mouth. “I’m not good at… this.”

“No shit.”

“I mean it,” he said, tone a little sharper. “I don’t talk about things. I work. I disappear. I do what I have to. And maybe it’s selfish, but I just”

His jaw tensed. You could see him trying to make the words work.

“I want to,” he said finally. “I want to try. With you.”

You sat there, frozen, heart thudding like thunder against your ribs. The man next to you was Batman. And somehow, more terrifyingly, he was Bruce. Vulnerable. Honest. Looking at you like you were the only person in the city worth telling the truth to.

The silence stretched long between you. The kind that didn’t beg to be filled.

You stared ahead for a while, letting the lights of Gotham blur at the edges of your vision. Your heart hadn’t calmed down since the moment he parked the car, and now it was beating so loud you were almost sure he could hear it.

Finally, you tilted your head toward him, the corner of your mouth tugging up.

“So… as much as you basically just called me a little shit…” you murmured, trying to ease the tension with a smirk. “I’ll try. With you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, something soft blooming there.

You added, quieter now, “But it has to be secret. Just let me keep some part of me mine.”

There was no hesitation.

Bruce reached out slowly, his hand closing gently over yours like he was afraid you’d pull away. And then, without a word, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

It was soft. Earnest. You swallowed thickly, eyes locked on his. Something warm and unfamiliar settled in your chest.

“…You really are weird, you know that?” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t let go. And he didn’t disagree.

You: “Bruce, you’re emotionally constipated.”

Bruce: “That is absolutely not true.”

You: “Then say one feeling.”

Bruce: ”…Vengeance.”

You: ”…Try again, but like, a normal human.”

Bruce: ”…Mild affection…?”

You: ”…You’re lucky you’re rich and weirdly hot.”

Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Gotham Socialite ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

masterlist

I want to make some batman themed oneshots where it explores a relationship between you and him.

EDITED- changed a bit of dialogue and description because I want the reader to be super cool and amazing

High society, meet the reporter reader. Reporter reader, meet Bruce Wayne

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Gotham’s elite are as gaudy as the chandeliers hanging above them. expensive, bright, and utterly useless. The grand ballroom of the Gotham City Opera House is filled with them, men and women draped in designer gowns and tailored suits, sipping champagne as if their wealth isn’t built on the backs of the people suffering outside these marble walls.

You move through the crowd like a ghost, unseen despite being one of the few people here actually worth listening to. They invited you because of your work because your name is attached to articles Gotham’s wealthy pretend not to read but secretly obsess over. You don’t write puff pieces about Gotham’s heroes; you write about its monsters. You dig into their minds, their motivations. Why does Edward Nygma need to prove he’s the smartest man in the room? Why does the Joker turn his suffering into a performance? What makes a villain tick? That’s what you care about.

Not this.

Not the empty smiles. Not the soulless small talk. Not the way these people clutch their designer purses like they contain anything of real value.

You exhale sharply through your nose, taking another sip of your drink just to give yourself something to do. It tastes expensive but meaningless, like everything else here.

As you turn to leave, you accidentally bump into someone a woman in a tight, sequined dress that probably costs more than you’ve made in the last six months.

“Oh, my God,” she snaps, stepping back as if you just assaulted her. “Are you serious?”

Your brows lift. “Oh, relax. You’ll live.”

Her expression twists in outrage, but before she can respond, a man approaches tall, broad shouldered, with a perfectly practiced smile. And just like that, she flips a switch.

“Oh my God, Bruce!” she gasps, laughing like she wasn’t just seconds away from throwing a fit. She rests a hand on his arm the same arm she previously flung up in disgust when you bumped into her. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up tonight! You never come to these things anymore.” You watch with mild disgust as she transforms in real time. It’s like watching an AI desperately try to mimic human emotion.

“Yeah,” you mutter, just loud enough to be heard. “hmmm I might see myself out”

Bruce Wayne glances at you then, his interest piqued. You don’t fawn over him. Don’t preen or attempt to charm your way into his good graces. No, you just look at him like you’re wholly unimpressed. Its not that he wasn’t appealing. Of course you found him attractive. Though finding him attractive felt a little like betraying the people you grew up around. Just because you escaped the extremely poor doesn’t mean you want to abide by it.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “for a guy whose while company is built on working with the community , you don’t seem to have much of a grip on reality.”

The woman beside him gasps in horror, clutching Bruce’s arm even tighter, but you’re not done.

“This whole act,” you gesture vaguely at him, “isn’t cute. I mean no disrespect though, go party and go crazy.” Your eyes lock onto his with something sharper than hatred indifference. “I don’t know how you stomach it. It’s honestly an insult to humans.” Silence settles over you like a fog. The woman looks scandalized, staring at you as if you just spit in her drink.

Bruce, on the other hand, just looks intrigued. His usual mask of carefree billionaire playboy falters just for a second. His blue eyes search yours, something thoughtful flickering behind them. Then, just as quickly as it had cracked, the mask slides back into place. He lets out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in feigned sheepishness. “Well,” he says, flashing that same easygoing smile he always wears in public, “can’t please everyone, I guess.”

The woman beside him giggles like an idiot, but you just roll your eyes. Bruce Wayne is a good actor, you’ll give him that and judging by the look in his eye, he looks a little off put.

You don’t give Bruce another glance as you turn on your heel, moving toward the exit with the same single minded determination as a prisoner inching toward an open cell door. You’ve had enough of this place enough of the fake smiles, the rehearsed laughter, the suffocating air of money and ego pressing in on you from all sides.

Bruce watches you go.

He should just let you leave. He should turn his attention back to whatever mindless conversation he was meant to be entertaining tonight. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze follows you, his interest snaring on something he hadn’t expected.

You very evidently don’t belong here. Not in the way these people do, with their polished exteriors and empty souls. He mentally jokes that press training might be on a to do list for your manager.

No, you move like someone who doesn’t care to belong. Which from his relationship woth selina, Its definitely evident that women from the narrows dont care. You weave through the room with an awkwardness that’s both endearing and painfully obvious dodging trays of champagne like they’re landmines, sidestepping small talk with barely concealed irritation. Your distaste is written all over you, from the way your fingers tighten around your glass to the way your shoulders hunch slightly, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable.

But that’s the thing. You are noticeable. More than anyone here. Bruce takes in the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way you mutter something under your breath when a socialite nearly clips you with a careless turn. He watches as you catch your footing after bumping into a server, your apology quick and sincere so different from the sneering entitlement of the rest of the room.

A quiet chuckle leaves his mouth as he watches you finally get to a corner. Bruce’s lips press together, something flickering in his chest that he doesn’t have time to name.

He should let you go. Instead, he steps forward, slipping through the crowd with the kind of practiced ease that only someone used to wearing masks can manage. You don’t notice him until he’s beside you, his voice cutting through the noise of the room like a knife.

“You’re not very good at this,” he says, amusement lacing his words.

You glance up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “At what?”

Bruce gestures vaguely to the room. “Blending in.”

A scoff leaves your lips as you finally reach the exit, one hand already pushing against the heavy door. “Yeah, well,” you say, sparing him one last glance, “I’m used to this kind of thing.” And then you’re gone.

Bruce watches the door swing shut behind you, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. For the first time all night, he finds himself smiling.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce barely makes it through the front doors of Wayne Manor before he’s pulling at his bow tie, loosening the suffocating knot that had been pressing against his throat all evening. The moment the silk slides free, he exhales, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the night along with it.

The grand doors swing shut behind him, the quiet of the manor swallowing the distant hum of Gotham’s high society. The transition is immediate, like stepping out of a suffocatingly bright stage and into the cool embrace of shadow. The mask the one made of careless grins and charmingly vague conversation falls away as effortlessly as the jacket he shrugs off, tossing it onto the nearest chair without care.

From the hall, Alfred watches the display with an arched brow, ever the picture of poised amusement. “Welcome home, Master Wayne. I see the evening was as eventful as anticipated.”

Bruce sighs, running a hand down his face. “That might be an understatement.”

Alfred steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “I assume you spent the night ok though master wayne?”

“Something like that.” Bruce rolls his neck, loosening the last remnants of his socialite persona. “A lot of people talking without actually saying anything. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

“The inevitable I hear,” Alfred muses, “you always seem equally miserable every time you return.”

Bruce lets out a humorless chuckle, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. “That’s because it never gets any less exhausting.”

Alfred gives him a knowing look before stepping toward the chair where Bruce had carelessly discarded his jacket. He picks it up with practiced ease, shaking his head. “One of these days, you might consider hanging these properly.”

“I consider it every time,” Bruce remarks, already making his way toward the hidden entrance to the Batcave. “Just never quite get around to it.”

Alfred merely sighs, following him with a well worn patience. “Shall I prepare something for you to eat? Or will you be brooding on an empty stomach this evening?”

“Not brooding,” Bruce corrects as he reaches the hidden panel in the wall. The mechanism clicks, revealing the passage leading down into the cave. “Just… following a curiosity.”

Alfred hums, ever perceptive. “Would this curiosity have anything to do with the young woman who managed to offend half the room tonight?”

Bruce pauses mid step, glancing back at him. “You heard about that?”

Alfred gives him a pointed look. “Master Wayne, the moment someone dares to tell off a socialite at an event like that, it becomes the only thing worth discussing. I’d be surprised if her picture isn’t already pinned on some poor soul’s dartboard.”

Bruce huffs out a short laugh before shaking his head. “I’ll be in the cave.”

Alfred merely nods, already knowing there will be no convincing him otherwise.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The Batcave hums softly with the sounds of running water and flickering monitors, a stark contrast to the suffocating luxury of the ballroom he had left behind. Here, Bruce is no longer Gotham’s golden boy. No longer the playboy billionaire.

Here, he is himself.

He settles into the chair before the Batcomputer, fingers swiftly typing as he pulls up a search. He hadn’t planned on looking you up. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But there was something about you something about the way you moved through that room, awkward yet unyielding. You didn’t belong there, and you didn’t care to. The way you had looked at him, unimpressed and disinterested, had been a rarity in a world where everyone was either too enamored by his wealth or too busy trying to figure out what game he was playing.

His fingers move with purpose, bringing up your name, your records. The first thing he finds is that, unlike many of the people who had surrounded you that night, your life had been anything but privileged.

You were born and raised in the Narrows Gotham’s forgotten underbelly. A place where opportunities were scarce, and survival was a skill honed from childhood. Your record is clean remarkably so, for someone who grew up in the part of Gotham where crime wasn’t a choice but a necessity. No arrests, no notable scandals. You had gone to school, worked through college, and carved out a place for yourself in a city that did everything it could to swallow people whole.

But what catches his attention the most are your writings. Articles. Interviews. Pieces dissecting the minds of Gotham’s most notorious criminals. Not in the sensationalized way tabloids did, but with an analytical depth that spoke of genuine understanding. You weren’t interested in painting them as mere villains or glorifying their crimes you wanted to understand them.

Your work focused not on the spectacle of their actions, but on the why. The motivations. The cracks in Gotham’s system that had allowed them to exist in the first place. You had interviewed ex gang members, street level criminals, and even those who had managed to escape Gotham’s cycle of violence. You wrote about the lives that high society ignored the people who lived in the shadows cast by the city’s towering skyscrapers.

You gave them voices.

Bruce leans back in his chair, studying the screen. You had lived a normal life at least, as normal as someone from the Narrows could. You had no connections to the criminal underworld beyond your work. No secret vendettas, no affiliations.

And yet, your writing showed a perspective that very few people in Gotham ever took the time to understand. You weren’t just observing Gotham’s worst. You were showing that they had stories worth telling.

Bruce’s eyes flicker over the last article on the screen, the words settling in his mind.

“Society has already decided who deserves redemption and who doesn’t. But if you never listen to someone’s story, how do you know they weren’t doomed from the start?”

His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before he finally leans forward again, exiting the search.

Curiosity, he tells himself. That’s all this is and yet, as the screen fades back to black, he can’t shake the feeling that you might be someone worth paying attention to.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you wanted your stories to be heard, you had to be seen. That’s what your publicist told you. That’s what you repeated to yourself as you stepped through the towering entrance of yet another Gotham high society event, where old money mingled with new power, and influence dripped from every word spoken between sips of champagne.

You didn’t belong here. You never did. But belonging wasn’t the point.

This was the price of being heard. If you wanted your work to matter if you wanted people to actually read what you wrote, to listen to the stories Gotham’s forgotten had to tell you had to stand in rooms like this. Not because you cared about these people or their whispered scandals, but because they had the power to shape the city’s narrative, whether they deserved that power or not.

And so, despite the suffocating air of wealth and self importance, you showed up.

The ballroom was an exhibition of excess. A long, lavish table stretched the length of the room, set with gold rimmed plates, crystal glasses, and floral centerpieces so elaborate they could have easily funded an entire year’s worth of rent for a struggling Gotham family. Conversations bubbled up around you hollow laughter, polite murmurs, the occasional hushed gossip passed between sculpted lips.

You found your seat. And nearly laughed. Right beside Bruce Wayne. Of course.

You weren’t sure if this was some kind of twisted joke or if the hosts had simply thrown darts at a seating chart, but there it was your name card placed neatly next to Gotham’s most beloved. Maybe they thought you were more important than you actually were. Maybe they thought Bruce had the patience of a saint. Though you have a feeling after your last stunt, they were trying to see if another PR disaster would come from this. Maybe more publicity for them. Any publicity is good publicity you guess.

Either way, it was too late to change it now. Sighing, you pulled out your chair and sat down, reveling in the last few moments of solitude before the night officially began.

And then, the atmosphere shifted. Even before you turned your head, you knew. Gothams golden boy had arrived.

The energy in the room changed, as if the very air had been pulled toward him. Conversations faltered just slightly, eyes flickered in his direction, and there was a quiet ripple of interest that passed through the gathering like an unspoken current. It was always like this.

The city’s most eligible bachelor. The name that sent tabloids into a frenzy and made socialites tilt their heads just so, hoping to catch his attention. He was power wrapped in effortless charm, an untouchable figure who played the role of the careless heir so well that even the most cynical couldn’t help but watch him.

You risked a glance. Of course, he looked perfect. Dressed in a dark, tailored suit that cost more than your entire apartment’s worth of furniture, he moved through the crowd with the kind of casual grace that made it seem like he belonged everywhere. A relaxed smile curved his lips, and the people surrounding him whether they were whispering behind their glasses or outright gushing were captivated.

It was almost infuriating, how easy it was for him. Why can’t beautiful people feel more im reach?

When then he reached his seat and saw you. For the briefest moment, the mask slipped. Not much just a flicker of something sharp in his eyes before it smoothed over, replaced with something unreadable.

He barely acknowledged the lingering hands on his arm, the voices vying for just another second of his time. His attention had already shifted. To you. You on the other hand are practically clutching your pearls to remain calm. Your publicist told you to absolutely DO NOT fuck up again.

Bruce had been willing to chalk that first encounter up to chance. A passing curiosity. Now he was beginning to think fate had a sense of humor.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured as he sank into his chair, his voice carrying the warmth of amusement.

You exhaled through your nose, already bracing yourself. “Yeah, well. maybe i won the lottery to be seated next to Gotham’s golden boy.”

His lips twitched. “I doubt im anything that special”

You gave him a dry look. “Didn’t take you for a masochist, Wayne.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Only selectively.”

You sighed, picking up your menu just to give yourself something to do. “I do want to apologize for last time, I swear im more civilized. I guess that I kinda got thrown off a bit?” Bruce leaned in slightly, his voice dipping just enough that only you could hear.

“Acting all fancy? Where’s the fun in that?”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you had to endure one more second of this sanctimonious drivel, you were going to jam your fork into the back of your hand just to feel something.

The dinner had been dragging on for what felt like an eternity, and the conversation at the table was as unbearable as expected. The hosts, a couple who clearly thought themselves Gotham’s greatest benefactors, were speaking at length about their so called “generosity” and the many ways they had given back to the community. It was all so painfully rehearsed.

“We simply couldn’t sit idly by while Gotham suffered,” the woman declared, holding her glass delicately between her fingers. “Which is why we’ve dedicated ourselves to philanthropy.”

Her husband gave a solemn nod. “Yes. Our foundation has put millions into rehabilitating Gotham’s most… unfortunate areas.”

Unfortunate areas. You took a slow sip of your wine, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting something you’d regret. They were talking about the Narrows. Where you had grown up. Where people still fought to survive every single day, no thanks to the people in this very room.

They spoke as if their generosity was some grand solution to the city’s suffering. As if they had single handedly saved Gotham. You exhaled through your nose, already feeling your patience fraying. It was then that you felt someone shift beside you.

“Did you hear that?”

The words were spoken so casually, so smoothly, that at first, you weren’t sure you had heard them at all. You turned your head slightly, finding Bruce Wayne sitting beside you, his face the perfect picture of polite interest. His voice was quiet, just low enough that only you could hear him.

“Hear what?” you muttered, confused.

He took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “The sound of Gotham being saved.”

You blinked. “what?”

Bruce gestured subtly toward the hosts. “Between the Restoration Project and last week’s fundraiser, I think we can safely say Gotham’s problems have been solved.”

For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, absolutely,” you whispered back. “Crime? Poverty? Completely eradicated. I bet even the Joker is rethinking his entire life’s work.”

Bruce tilted his head, considering it. “Maybe he’ll go into finance. Become a hedge fund manager.”

You snorted. “I’d pay to see that.”

Bruce hummed, pretending to ponder it. “Or accounting. Something low risk. Maybe he’d be great at tax fraud.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to laugh.

“Honestly?” you whispered, leaning slightly closer. “A few more dinner parties and we might even get Two Face to start a nonprofit.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched. “And I hear Penguin’s investing in an animal conservation project.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head. How had this happened?You had been so close to losing your mind just minutes ago, and now here you were, whispering snide remarks with Bruce Wayne of all people. The absurdity of it hit you all at once.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous.”

Bruce arched a brow. “What is?”

You glanced at him, lips twitching. “Didn’t think you were so much of a hater.”

Bruce leaned slightly closer, his voice amused. “Isnt that your job? you haven’t stopped being one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smirk. “I think it’s a little more nuanced than that. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

He chuckled, his blue eyes sharp with something unreadable. “Funny. Me too.”

Bruce wasn’t sure when it happened. When the night had gone from something exhausting to something… bearable. Enjoyable, even.

He had sat down at this table expecting the usual the same empty conversations, the same mindless flattery, the same performance he had perfected over the years.

You, who had spent the first half of the evening looking like you wanted to crawl out of your skin. You, who had made no attempt to charm him, who had barely acknowledged his presence at all until he had decided to push you just a little. when you had responded, it had been effortless. Natural.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had felt that. Since he had been able to talk to someone like this without posturing, without pretending. It reminded him of something. Something old. Something familiar. A woman in a black catsuit, teasing him from the edge of a rooftop. Bruce’s fingers curled slightly against his knee.

Selina had been one of the first people to remind him what it felt like to be real. To be alive and now, somehow, you were doing the exact same thing and you didn’t even realize it.

Bruce glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You were still trying to suppress a smile, still glancing around the table like you couldn’t believe you were actually enjoying yourself. He found himself studying you really studying you. You didn’t belong here, that much was obvious. The way you sat stiffly in your chair, the way your fingers tapped lightly against your wine glass when you were irritated, the way you watched the room rather than participated in it.

You were observing. Just like him. Just like he had been doing since he was a boy, since he had first learned how to read a room, how to pick apart every detail, every lie. for all your sharp observations, you had completely missed the fact that you had captivated him.

Bruce Wayne was staring at you like you were a puzzle he needed to solve.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Your voice cut through the air softly, and Bruce blinked, pulled from his thoughts. You had caught him looking. For a brief moment, he considered deflecting, playing it off with a practiced joke. But he didn’t want to.

So instead, he simply shrugged. “I was just thinking,” he said, voice low, “that this might be the first time I’ve actually enjoyed one of these things.”

You frowned, clearly skeptical. “Bullshit. You go to these all the time.”

Bruce smirked. “Doesn’t mean I like them.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still not quite believing him. “And I’m supposed to believe this dinner is different?”

His smirk deepened. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

You blinked, and Bruce almost laughed at the way you processed his words, as if you weren’t quite sure what to do with them. But then, slowly, you shook your head, exhaling a quiet laugh.

“You’re so full of shit, Wayne.”

Bruce grinned. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

For the first time that night, he didn’t feel like the billionaire playboy. Didn’t feel like Batman. He just felt like Bruce. Which wouldn’t that feel weird? He always believed that Batman was the real him. Right now feeling like a teenage boy meeting a girl.

&&&&

The second the speeches ended, you were on your feet. Not rudely just quickly. The second round of self congratulation had begun, and if you had to listen to one more person pat themselves on the back for “saving” Gotham, you were going to lose your mind.

You made your way toward one of the grand patios, slipping past gilded columns and chandeliers that cost more than your entire apartment complex. The doors were open, the cool night air seeping in just enough to make you crave the quiet outside. The moment you stepped onto the patio, you exhaled.

It was massive of course it was. Probably bigger than some of the city blocks you had grown up on. A perfect marble terrace with pristine railings, overlooking the twinkling skyline of Gotham. You leaned against the stone railing, closing your eyes for a moment. Peace. Finally. But, of course, peace never lasted long in Gotham.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t like high society events, you sure end up at a lot of them.”

You opened your eyes, lips already twitching into a smirk before you even turned around. Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking at you with that same insufferably amused expression. A short, incredulous laugh escaped you. “stalking me now rich boy?”

Bruce stepped further onto the patio, shaking his head. “Just wanted the air, cant blame me”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the skyline. “Mhm. Right. Sure. Just a coincidence you keep popping up wherever I am.”

Bruce leaned against the railing beside you, his voice casual. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be sure to keep a three foot distance from now on.”

You smirked. “Six, just to be safe.”

“Ten, and I might start getting offended.”

You shook your head, biting back a grin. There was something so easy about talking to him. Too easy. The thought was unsettling. “I have to admit,” Bruce mused, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t expect you to show up tonight.”

You sighed, toying with the rim of your glass. “Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I would have.”

“you can say that again”

You exhaled through your nose, staring out over the city. “Yeah, well. If I want my stories to actually matter, I have to be seen.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, watching you. Then, his voice softened. “Is that why you do it?”

You turned to him, brow furrowing. “Do what?”

“Write the stories you do.” His blue eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. “Why villains? Why not the heroes? You’d probably get a lot more recognition if you did.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Because the heroes don’t need me.”

Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. “And the villains do?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “The people who get thrown into Arkham, who are labeled as ‘monsters’ and ‘freaks’ and just written off most of them have stories no one ever hears.” You exhaled. “I want people to understand them. Or at least see them. Even if they don’t deserve sympathy, they at least deserve to be known.”

Bruce didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at you. Not in an uncomfortable way, not in the way men at these events usually did. No, Bruce was really looking at you. And for some reason, it made you shift under his gaze.

“…What?” you muttered.

Bruce just smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Nothing. I just didn’t expect that answer.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint. I know the usual arm candy around here doesn’t have thoughts.”

Bruce snorted. “You really think that’s all I see you as?”

You arched a brow. “What else would I be?”

His expression turned thoughtful. “I dont really know”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re looking for something interesting, you should probably set your sights somewhere else. I have no interest in being one of the people you “help” from the sidelines”

Bruce’s lips quirked. “help from the sidelines?”

You gestured vaguely. “I want to respect the people in there. the ones who have influence. Though when you’re on the other side of the spectrum its a little rough. The rich like to be seen and not heard.” You turned to him, meeting his gaze directly. “I have no intention of being a footnote in the pretend of gotham.”

Bruce watched you for a long moment, his smirk slowly fading into something softer. Then, finally, he spoke. “I have no intention of making you just a fling or to discard your work.”

The words were said so smoothly, so matter of factly, that they took a second to register. You blinked. Your mind blanked. Your entire brain shut down for a solid five seconds. Because what…what did he mean by that? You weren’t sure what part of the sentence flustered you more.

The fact that he wasn’t denying wanting you, or the fact that he had just so casually implied that you are going to be something more than a just a thought. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Bruce just smirked, watching you flounder. Then, slowly, he leaned in just a fraction.

“Speechless?” he murmured, voice low.

You snapped out of it, your pride kicking back in. “Please.” You scoffed, turning away. “You wish.”

Bruce chuckled, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And as much as you hated to admit it… You kind of loved that he had caught you off guard.

The soft breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against the stone railing, trying to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had left you this disoriented. Bruce’s smirk only deepened as he studied your reaction, clearly enjoying the fact that he had thrown you off balance. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of cool air could wipe the warmth from your face.

“So…” he began, his voice far too smooth for your liking. “I take it that wasn’t exactly the response you were expecting?”

You forced yourself to look at him, swallowing back the knot in your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” His gaze darkened just a little, and for a moment, there was no teasing, just something more genuine. “I think you do.”

The way he said it made your stomach flutter uncomfortably. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to laugh or slap him so you did neither. Instead, you stepped back from the railing, trying to put some distance between you and the overwhelming presence that was Bruce Wayne.

“fucking rich people,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from him.

Bruce didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, his lips slightly curled. “Is that a no?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “A no?” you echoed, unsure if you had heard him right.

Bruce gave you that damnable, knowing look again. “You know, you don’t have to act all tough. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, despite your nerves. “I just I don’t even know what you’re asking me.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “I’m asking you if you’d like to go out with me.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait. What?”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “Yes. That.”

You stared at him, utterly baffled, before glancing at the ground as if it might have the answers to everything you had just heard. You couldn’t tell if you were about to burst out laughing, slap him, or just walk away and pretend none of this happened.

“…You’re serious?” you managed to croak out after what felt like an eternity.

Bruce simply gave you a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dead serious.”

For a long, torturous moment, all you could do was blink at him, trying to make sense of the situation. Bruce Wayne Gotham’s richest, most infamous playboy was asking you, the rebellious daughter of the shadows, on a date and you couldn’t even think of a single coherent response.

Finally, you let out a frustrated breath and turned your head away. “You’re insane.”

Bruce’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile. “I try.”

You shook your head, not knowing whether to feel mortified or weirdly elated. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well, you could say yes,” Bruce offered casually, his voice now a little more sincere.

You looked back at him, your heart still racing from the unexpected turn of events. “…I’m going to need a lot more time to process this.”

Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll give you time. But just so you know… I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension between you two was still there, thick in the air. But for some reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. More like the beginning of something unexpected. Something that might change everything. And just like that, you were thrown back into the whirlwind that was Bruce Wayne.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ It was a quiet night as you walked home, the cool breeze against your face, your mind lost in thought. It had been a long day at work reporting, editing, and finalizing a piece about Gotham’s growing underbelly, a story that seemed to sink deeper with every layer you uncovered. You were used to it. You thrived on it. The truth was your domain, and you’d learned how to swim in the darkness long ago. It was something that made you feel connected to your roots, to the people you came from.

The streets of Gotham felt familiar, in a way. No matter how much money flowed into this city or how many pretty buildings sprang up in the skyline, you couldn’t forget the parts of it you grew up in. The darker corners, the alleys, the people who had nothing but each other to survive. They were your people, the ones you understood more than you ever could the high society types you’d been forced to mingle with.

You rounded the corner onto a familiar street, just a few more blocks before you were home. Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you slowed your pace. Gotham had a way of making you hyper aware, and tonight was no exception.

You felt it before you saw them. The footfalls behind you, too quiet, too steady. Your pulse quickened.

Before you could even react, two men emerged from the shadows, blocking your path. The dark shapes loomed over you, the threat in their eyes clear. One was holding a sharp looking knife, the other a crowbar. The older, taller man grinned, a twisted, unsettling look that made your stomach churn.

“Give us your bag, sweetheart,” he sneered, a rough, gravelly voice edging the threat. “We don’t want any trouble, but we will make it happen if you don’t cooperate.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t back down.

“Sorry, I don’t have time for this,” you muttered, trying to side step the bigger man, but he was quick, grabbing your arm with a vice like grip.

“Not so fast,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere until we get what we want.”

You spun around quickly, your elbow connecting with his ribs in a sharp strike. He grunted, but it didn’t stop him from tightening his grip. The other man stepped forward, the crowbar raised as if to swing.

That was when you knew you were in trouble. But only for a second. You kicked back, slamming your foot into the first man’s knee, hearing the sickening crack as he stumbled backward. He swore, holding his leg in pain. You used the opening to break free, turning to face both men. The one with the crowbar swung at you wildly, but you ducked under his reach and used his momentum against him, redirecting his strike into the side of the nearby wall. Your movements were quick, practiced clean, precise. You didn’t need to fight dirty. You didn’t need to be anything other than efficient. All you needed was enough of an excuse to escape. Within seconds, the two men were on the ground, groaning in pain, incapacitated by your calculated strikes.

Breathing hard, you exhaled slowly, dusting yourself off. That was easy. But when you looked up to check for any more threats, the air around you grew heavy.

Batman was standing at the edge of the alley, his towering form almost blending with the shadows. His cape fluttered slightly in the wind, the symbol of the bat glaring on his chest, and those piercing eyes those damn eyes locked onto yours.

You froze. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down. It was him. Batman. The dark vigilante, the city’s protector, who had always hovered over Gotham’s criminal world like a myth, now staring at you with an unreadable expression.

His eyes narrowed. Recognition flashed across his face, though his expression remained carefully controlled.

You stared at him, blinking rapidly, confusion clouding your mind. You knew him. But how? But you hadn’t had you really? You were too caught up in your own world to truly pay attention to the rumors and gossip. He was, after all, just the Batman to you. That was all you cared about. But in that moment, you realized with an unsettling clarity: He knew who you were.

You laughed awkwardly, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Oh great, just what I needed tonight,” you muttered under your breath. You quickly brushed a hand through your hair, trying to act like this wasn’t the most bizarre encounter you’d had in a while. “Listen, don’t worry about me. I appreciate what you do for the community though.”

Batman didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His posture remained rigid, intimidating, but his eyes… his eyes seemed to soften for a split second. There was something in them something that spoke volumes. You couldn’t place it, but it felt like something more than just the bat.

“No,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His words were firm, but there was a thread of concern beneath it. “Gotham isn’t safe.”

“Yeah, well, Gotham doesn’t care about safe,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s just me out here. If I want to get home, I’ll get home.” You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about the way he said that it made you feel smaller. But you didn’t let it show. You lifted your chin, defiant. “I can take care of myself. Just like I did with them.”

You gestured to the two men still groaning on the ground, the earlier tension dissipating into the night air. But Batman didn’t reply. His eyes swept over you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. His body language shifted just slightly, enough for you to notice, but before you could say anything more, he was moving.

“Get inside,” he said abruptly, his voice unwavering. “I’m not letting you walk home like this.”

There it was again. The command in his voice. You narrowed your eyes, a little defiant but feeling a strange pull toward the urgency in his tone. “It’s very courteous of you but please. I told you, I’ve got it. I’m fine.”

Batman didn’t even blink, his tone now sharpened. “Get inside, now.”

His words left no room for argument. You were tempted to push back tempted to keep up your independence. But there was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze hardened, that made you swallow your pride. With a small, frustrated sigh, you turned and started walking towards the street, heading home. You could feel his presence lingering behind you, watching, making sure you weren’t followed.

For a split second, you almost wanted to ask him more. But you stopped yourself. You didn’t need him. Not really. He was just Batman, after all. You shook your head. No need to think about it. Sometimes you want to find and interview him for why he punches first and asks later. Though the bias for your work might be interfering with those thoughts.

But somehow, you couldn’t ignore the tight knot in your chest. The tension in the air between you and him felt like more than just a confrontation. It felt like something else. And that something else… well, it lingered.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, his back pressed against the cool stone wall, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the Batcomputer. His cape hung loosely behind him, still damp from the rain soaked night. The adrenaline of his patrol had long since faded, but an odd unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn’t quite shake.

He’d spent countless hours in this cave, fighting Gotham’s worst and dealing with the city’s many challenges. His mission had always been clear: protect the innocent, bring justice, and make Gotham a better place. But tonight, something was different. Something about the encounter with you had stayed with him in a way he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you had handled yourself, standing tall despite the danger.

He had seen countless people fight back, but there was something unique about the way you did it. You weren’t just trying to survive you were alive in the moment, every move deliberate, confident, and unapologetic. You weren’t waiting for someone to come save you; you were saving yourself. It was rare in Gotham, a city where people often needed help just to make it through the day.

And yet, there was a sadness to it all.

Bruce knew that the city had a way of wearing people down, turning them into something else something bitter or broken. People like you, who had grown up in the shadows, had learned to fend for themselves because Gotham didn’t make it easy. He couldn’t help but wish that you hadn’t had to be so strong. You shouldn’t have had to fight alone.

His thoughts wandered back to the moment he’d seen you in the slums. Despite your strength, despite the control you’d taken of the situation, Bruce felt a pang of sympathy. The city had failed you, just as it had failed so many others. Gotham had a way of demanding too much from its people, and it had never been kind to those who were already struggling.

It was clear you weren’t someone who needed saving. You had made your own way, fought for your own space in a world that hadn’t always welcomed you. Bruce couldn’t help but admire that. It was something he understood well carving out a place for yourself in a city that tried to break you. But it still frustrated him that Gotham had forced you into a corner like that.

He pushed away from the computer, rubbing his eyes as he tried to clear his thoughts. He had a duty to the city, a duty that didn’t leave room for distractions or feelings. Yet, something about the way you carried yourself, how you didn’t let Gotham’s grime get the best of you, lingered in his mind. You were a reminder of the resilience he’d always admired in this city, but also a stark reminder of how much still needed to be done.

Bruce had always seen Gotham as a city to fix, a place in desperate need of change. He’d dedicated himself to that cause, but seeing you, standing strong in the face of everything this city threw at you, made him think what if there were more people like you?

But you shouldn’t have to be like that. You shouldn’t have to fight for your survival in a city that was supposed to be your home. And yet, you had.

Bruce exhaled deeply, leaning back against the stone wall again. It was moments like these that reminded him of how complex Gotham truly was. People like you weren’t just victims or criminals. They were the heart of the city, the ones who kept going even when the world seemed determined to make them quit.

He didn’t have the answers, but seeing you hold your own, standing up to those men like it was just another day, reminded him why he kept doing this. Gotham wasn’t just about fighting crime it was about protecting the people who refused to be broken. People like you.

Bruce let out a slow breath, turning back toward the Batcomputer, but his thoughts were still on you. He wasn’t sure where this would lead, or if it would lead anywhere at all. But for the first time in a long while, he found himself hoping that, somehow, Gotham would be a little less lonely for you.

For all of them.

Alfred: So, how did the gala go, Master Wayne?

Bruce: I think it went well. There was a very pretty woman. She didn’t say no when I asked her out

Alfred: Fascinating. Like watching a car crash in slow motion and calling it a graceful landing.

Bruce: …I’m sensing sarcasm.

Alfred: No, no. I’m very impressed. You managed to express interest without brooding in a corner or vanishing mid conversation. Progress.

Bruce: I hate it when you bully me.

Alfred: And yet, I persist.

I really enjoyed reading your DC headcanons! Your characterization in particular is really really great! I'll be looking forward to reading more as you post them :)

Ahh thank you, you're too sweet!! I'm glad you've been enjoying them. Hopefully, I'll have some more out soon! <3

DC ✢ When he admitted he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark. This is a companion piece to another headcanon called 'When he realised he loved you' linked here. Though, you can still read it independently.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

Bruce did not say it in a quiet moment — for such moments were rare. Though, when they did find him, he spent them with you in silence. Not with words but simply by being near, by existing in your presence.

No. It came during an argument. One of those arguments that shakes the very foundations of a relationship — not because of what was said, but because of what had never been, what was expected.

You had asked him — raw, wounded — what you meant to him. What all this was. Why he kept forming barriers between you, when all you had ever wanted to do was break through.

His answer had been frigid. Precise. Calculated and sharpened. A blade forged from old habits, Bruce wielded it with an unconscious mastery, a last-ditch defence mechanism perfected over decades.

You left. Not in fury, but in heartbreak, disappointment — the kind that does not cry, does not scream, but simply broods into silence. Your absence rang louder than a slammed door, louder than any yell you could have mustered.

Alfred did not speak. Just passed Bruce in the hallway with the kind of look that had once made him sit straighter as a boy. And now, it made him feel small once more, as though he were still a child.

Time passed and still, silence.

He found you in the garden, beneath a sky now thick with stars, the sun had still been gleaming when you had hurried away. You had not been crying. You were still. And in that stillness, he saw the damage he had inflicted upon you.

‘I can’t seem to protect what I love,’ he said, words fractured, conflicted. ‘Not my parents. Not Jason… Not you —’ 

You turned. Not startled by the confession, but by the break in his voice. You had never seen him like this before, never so fragile. 

‘But I do. I love you. I want… I need you to know that.’

It was not cinematic. No kiss. No arms thrown around shoulders. Just him, standing before you, hollowed by an atypical honesty, praying you would believe him — even if he was undeserving of that trust.

And you did. You believed him. Bruce could see it in the ease of your countenance, in the smile that now warmed your face. But even so, he apologised as though he had committed a most heinous crime.

You pulled yourself to your feet, still wordless. And enveloped him in your arms.

‘I love you too, Bruce.’

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

Dick meant to say it casually — with that charming nonchalance that usually came so naturally to him. He had rehearsed it, even. Smiled in the mirror once or twice. But it never felt right, never felt adequate. It was too simple a word to describe what he felt for you. 

But love, he discovered, should not wait for perfect timing.

It came unexpectedly late one evening, while a movie played in the background — some low-budget film neither of you had been truly watching. Your head was on his shoulder. His thumb was tracing invisible shapes into your side.

And then — suddenly breathless, it had grown too large to contain, he could not hold it any longer,

‘You know I love you, right?’

You blinked like someone newly roused from a dream, and looked at him as though he had spoken in a foreign language. Dick was not confident he had not. 

When you remained quiet, he chuckled, uneasy. And brought his hand to the back of his neck, in a nervous, boyish manner. 

‘I mean — I have. For a while. I just didn’t want to ruin it by...’ He trailed off, not quite sure what he was saying. 

You remained quiet for a few moments more, contemplating. The juncture of silence stretched taut, he held his breath. And then you smiled. 

As soft as the moonlight now shining through the curtains, you whispered, ‘I love you, too.’

He kissed you gently, as though he were trying to make up for all the times he had not said it sooner. In that moment, he was not Dick Grayson, he was not Nightwing or the Boy Wonder — he was simply someone lucky enough to be loved by you.

To this day, he cannot for the life of him remember the movie that had been playing. All he could remember was that smile — the way it had already lit up your eyes by the time it reached your mouth and the enthralling, glowing warmth that had flooded his system.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

You were stitching him up again — hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, skin cold under your touch. You sat cross-legged before him. 

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ you murmured, not for the first time and certainly not the last. 

He did not answer. Because what would he tell you? Not the truth, you would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that you cared; he could not resist the temptation. He did not believe you could love a man like him, but when he felt your gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn. 

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned your face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’

And then — something unspooled. A thread that had been pulled too tight for too long. Jason sighed.

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you —’ He looked into your eyes, gaze piercing, willing you to see the truth of it. 

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. ‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere you did not grace, the very notion made him ill. 

You stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work.

He was not looking for a response — only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But you gave him one anyway.

‘I love you, too.’ You had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching your lips, he may have missed it. His breath caught — not in fear, but in awe — as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.

Your words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin — like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.

He spoke up again, softer this time,  ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave you one of his rare smiles, and your heart jolted.

You silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing your head against his shoulder. After a short while you shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment, he felt that same electricity once more. 

Your hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message you were trying to convey, what you were trying to have him understand.

Jason did not sleep that night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

T I M⠀D R A K E

You both had been working late, each focused on your own tasks, yet relishing in the silent company of one another; the peace of it. Tim sat at his desk, while you lay across his bed, legs swinging behind you with a pen in hand.

Tim had asked you to stay at the manor for the night, but you had gently refused, reminding him you had work in the morning. You got up and walked over, placing both hands on either shoulder. You then pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered in his ear.

‘I better head off now.’ He leaned his head back into you, and his eyes met yours, smiling.

And then — too casually, too instinctively — he said, ‘Okay, love you.’

The words had flowed out like a torrent. A sudden, unexpected failure in his system.

Then a silence dropped like a stone in deep water — sudden, heavy, and irreversible; absolute.

He froze. His eyes were wide, as though the phrase had been spoken by an imposter, by someone else within his skin. He had known this fact for a long time, it had only been a matter of time.

‘I didn’t — I mean — that wasn’t—well, it was, but —’ He stopped. His words crashed over each other, panicked and sputtered.

You tilted your head. Shock the dominant expression on your face.

‘You love me?’

He nodded, slowly, it would be silly to deny it; to lie. Shame crept into the corners of his expression. What if he had said it too soon? What if the word drew you away?  Then suddenly you smiled, as though you had been waiting for this exact failure, this exact slip-up.

‘Well… that’s good,’ your whisper was tender. ‘Because I love you too.’

And just like that, his spiralling mind halted. His thoughts — so often a storm of what-ifs and whys — were suddenly still.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders eased and melted away. He let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding — shaky, but smiling. It was not his usual tight-lipped smirk, nor the polite upward curve he would give strangers — this one was real. Quiet, disbelieving and full.

You leaned downward and rested your forehead against his, your hand moving to cradle his cheek. Tim leaned into it like he had been starved of its softness. You spoke through a grin.

‘Maybe I should stick around. Was that your plan all along?’

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E⠀(Aged up as Batman)

Damian did not like the word love. Not at first. The word felt paltry. Trite. A flippant syllable never built to hold the sheer weight of what he carried for you.

You had just bested him in sparring. You always did, but only because he allowed it — Damian would sooner impale himself on his training blade than admit it, but it was not as though you were unaware. You had thought it cute, an adjective you would never dare utter to his face. 

Damian had no shortage of self-pride. The fact he was willing to sacrifice it, simply to please you, always left you breathless. 

You extended your hand to guide him up, but he simply stared at it from his place on the mat, his gaze shifting upward. You were standing over him, a barely contained smirk donning your features. 

‘You do not understand what you mean to me,’ he said, voice low and filled with a thousand ulterior meanings, though they bled through, his tone turning earnest.

You did not speak. You simply waited.

‘This feeling,’ he tried again, ‘it disrupts everything. My training. My thoughts. My plans. Everything. It… it…’ He trailed off, not sure how to finish what he was saying, not confident that the words capable of conveying these feelings were extant across any vernacular, it seemed too implausible. 

You smiled, faintly. ‘You mean love?’

He flinched like you had cursed. But then — after a moment — he nodded.

‘Yes. That.’ It was not enough, but he figured he would concede. ‘I feel it. Unwillingly. But truthfully.’

You laughed, it was warm and bell-like. It struck something tender in him, something still learning to hope.

‘I love you too, Damian.’

How was it, that word he had held with such contempt, such scrutiny and scepticism, was suddenly so weighted, so gorgeous uttered from your lips? How was it so impactful now it was directed towards him? 

He looked away, not from shame, but from overwhelm. He had fought assassins, atrocious criminals, and the weight of his father’s legacy — but never had he felt something as all-consuming as being wanted, as overwhelming as the thought of your love.

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He had told you on a rooftop. Not because it was histrionic, but because it was distant — far above the world’s inescapable noise, yet still beneath its stars. 

You were talking about something entirely ordinary. Rent, perhaps. The cost of your water bill.

But he was not listening, not truly. He watched as your lips moved and thought only of how he yearned to kiss them, to wake up to them each and every morning. 

And then he looked at you. Really looked. And the words came like wind through the ether — soft, inevitable.

‘I love you.’ He had cut you off, but it needed to be said. He could not have lived another moment without these words held suspended between you. 

You smiled, easy. ‘I know.’

But he shook his head. Shifting closer. There was an ache in his voice, a gravity to it.

‘No. I love you. Not in the way people say when they’re hanging up the phone. Or when they leave for work in the morning. I love you like… like…’ He paused, eyebrows furrowed, ‘I’m not sure I can put it into words —’ He places his hands on either side of your cheeks. 

You stopped breathing.

‘You’ve given me something no one else has,’ he said, his voice near breaking. ‘Not because you wanted a hero. But because you saw me — as nothing more than a man. The farmboy. The one who still forgets to fold his laundry, after you’ve already asked him five times…’

You let out a sudden laugh, but it was not for his joke, your joy at his admission could not be contained; it surged out. You kissed him.

‘I love you, too.’ You murmured, Clark could hear the smile within your voice. Then he thought of the stars glimmering upon them, they shone bright, yet still somehow paled in your comparison. 

I was thinking of expanding upon the Jason Todd section and turning it into its own one-shot, would anyone be interested in that? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3