Fuck capitalism - Part Two
Pair. Yandere! Bruce Wayne x Reader
Summary. Bruce has already confirmed his decision to be part of the child's life. His responsibility is supposed to start from pregnancy, isn't it?
CW. Unplanned pregnancy, mentions of sex, power dynamic (employee/boss), ambiguous consent. NSFW. English is not my first language.
Words were not enough to describe your son of a bitch of a boss.
Ah... you just tried that, didn't you?
It felt good, you'd probably do it more often.
After the disastrous conversation with Wayne, you'd been given the day off.
“To think” He had told you “Try not to stress.”
Yeah, sure, of course you'd stay in a Zen state, do yoga, controlled breathing exercises and all that crap.
What else could you do? You had never thought of yourself as impotent.
You had been the perfect student all your life, with outstanding grades from high school to Gotham University (but not enough stress to fall into madness, like almost all professionals in Gotham), and you were a charismatic enough person to get a well-paid job at Wayne Industries.
A complicated work life, but one that had allowed you to save enough to retire at 35 and live peacefully the rest of your life without depending on anyone, even with a child (if you took good care of your finances, of course).
At what point had it all gone wrong? You caressed your belly.
No, this had nothing to do with the child in your belly. This had started long before.
When you were still a student of administrative sciences and He of criminology, psychology and forensic sciences.
It wasn't something you could afford to think about right now.
Not with all the suitcases in your living room, reminding you of the thwarted dream of an escape that couldn't be.
Not with all the clutter in your mind about what your next steps would be.
Running away from a disinterested Bruce Wayne was a no-brainer. Now that he had decided to get his hands on the matter, it was an entirely different thing.
The owner of Wayne Industries had all the power, means, contacts and resources to follow you to the ends of the earth.
And you knew this because, as his secretary, you had been involved in the process more than once. Is this what they call karma?
Ruthless decisions by a ruthless man.
You had decided to stay on as Bruce's secretary at Wayne Enterprises.
And, before anyone could judge you, it was the most rational decision possible.
There was no way Bruce was going to take his eye off you now that he had decided.
And you could make it hard on yourself by quitting the job and losing substantial monetary compensation. Or you could play on his board while you figured out a way to work it all out.
Deadline? 8 months, until the baby was born.
Doesn't sound too far-fetched.
How harmful would it be for you to start smoking again?
— Miss, excuse me, we have arrived at your destination. — The cab driver pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked out of the window, the most imposing building of the gothic city clouded your view.
— Thank you very much. — You extended some bills towards the man, with a crooked smile. — Keep the change.
And, still with your heart in your throat, you got out of the cab to enter the offices.
The work environment had never been the best. Evidently, in an organization as successful as this one, competition and betrayal were part of everyday life. Everyone wanted to be the best, open their doors to the world, receive juicy compensation and, if the goddess of luck was feeling especially kind, maybe even reach the upper echelons.
You had never minded, you took the job knowing the environment you were getting involved in. And yet, for some reason (which of course you knew), the big walls felt much more stifling than ever; the hallways, endless; the lights, cold.
It was supposed to be part of your duties to head to Bruce's offices as soon as your shift began; in all your years on the job, nothing had ever stopped you from fulfilling that condition.
There's always a first time.
Your footsteps led you hurriedly to the first bathroom you encountered.
Your insides twisted inside your stomach, and as you opened the doors, you quickly entered the first available cubicle. You tied your hair up in a messy bun and just.... You let it go.
Absolutely everything, food and bile, in a bitter and disgusting combination inside the toilet. The smell was foul, apparently, your senses had been heightened since pregnancy, your mind seemed to spin, in a foul, suffocating sensation inside the small space.
And, without even giving you time to breathe, to forget the sour taste that had settled in your mouth, your phone began to vibrate in your pocket.
You felt on the verge of fainting, your arms, not responding properly to your brain's commands, clumsily approached the device.
— Where are you? You're late. — You pulled the cell phone away from your ear before answering.
Two minutes late. Just two fucking minutes.
And that you had him to thank for passing up one.
— I'm on my way. — And you hung up the phone, before you had to listen to his voice one more time.
Outside Bruce Wayne's main office, you looked at the clock on your cell phone.
The two minutes had turned into ten.
Between the two minutes you had taken to finish throwing up, the two you needed to clean out your mouth, and the last two in which you ran, in heels, from the bathroom to here.
Hadn't you made good time?
— I hope you have a good explanation. — Bruce had his elbows resting on his desk, his jaw on the back of his hands. His blue eyes staring at you, analyzing you, scrutinizing you.
Looking for the slightest hint of anything.
You should have taken longer.
— There's no use making excuses for me. Not when I'm here, now. —
You couldn't lie to him, not if you wanted to escape his spiral of paranoia and conspiracy. You didn't want to tell him the truth, because he couldn't know you felt weak, not now, not ever.
So when you answered him, you made sure you did it with fortitude, showing him that he couldn't get one more bit of information out of you.
Bruce wasn't happy, but didn't probe further, his consideration to avoid stressing you out?
— So, as for your gift ideas for Damian? —
Ah, where will you be giving out awards for father of the year?
— I didn't... make any such appointment for you, Mr. Wayne. — The limo pulled up in front of a luxurious clinic in downtown Gotham.
A private institution that catered only to the cream of Gotham's crop, whose consultations cost more than half your annual salary.
— Are you... sick? — You asked cautiously, like a cat prepared to back away at any moment.
It didn't make sense, you spent so much time with Bruce that you would notice if....
The revelation hit you like a punch. No, no, he didn't have the right to do this. To take you to the first ultrasound of your pregnancy without even warning you.
You weren't a dog they had to hide your vet visit from, or a child to lie to about going to the dentist.
Not when you had already decided on the date you would go, when you had already taken into consideration the hospital (a fairly good and financially affordable one).
Why did this man always think he could walk all over you? Completely blurring the line between personal and work that you were trying to build between you.
— “You don't have the right to do this.” — You tried to use a cold tone against him, but your voice was cracking with anger, your jaw, tense, causing you trouble formulating your words properly.
You hated not even being able to yell at him, to express your anger the way you would like to.
— “The right to give you quality treatment at one of the best hospitals on the continent?” — Bruce's expression was confused, as if he really didn't understand the problem here.
And that made it even worse.
— "No, don't you dare make me sound crazy for challenging you. The problem here is that you make decisions without my consent." - You pointed to the hospital from inside the limo. — "I already had an appointment, Bruce" —
He smiled as he heard his name leave your lips. It had been so long since you'd called him that, just like they were close again.
You rolled your eyes, his satisfaction wasn't part of the results you expected. And even though it felt weird to have his name between your lips, you didn't stop your speech.
— A good date, in a good hospital, why didn't you ask me? I'm not something you have to take care of, I'm not a child in your care. I'm an adult, Bruce." —
The man in front of you took his time to respond. Like a parent who decides to wait for his child's tantrum to pass instead of feeding it.
His eyes watched you with boredom, as if waiting for you to simply take it back, put on a smile and happily accept everything he had to give you.
And that felt so... Invalidating. Like he was right here, like you were acting crazy, just for refusing his help.
You weren't even supposed to need it in the first place. This child is yours, it had to be. Why was Bruce meddling so much?
If he was the one who wasn't supposed to feel anything else for you.
— "I understand... Sorry." — Bruce approached you with tenderness, the kind he almost never showed because most of the time he was too busy pushing you or fucking you). — "I didn't know you had a date, I should have asked you. It's just that I care about my son, I want him to have the best? Am I being oblivious?" —
He placed his hand over yours, and those deep blue eyes of his, which usually showed coldness and boredom, tried to look deep into you, in a way that felt almost.... Warm.
At first, you even felt able to relax, just for a second. He had always known how to touch you....
And yet, something about the calm tone he put in his voice, the emphasis he placed on certain words only angered you even more.
It seemed that he had agreed with you, that he had apologized. And yet, you felt that the only person who had lost here was you.
Note from the author. Yes, I'm definitely planting some clues here. JAJAJAJA. I've always thought of Bruce Wayne as having such an oppressively charming personality. I hope I've portrayed him well.
Next up is a little person who asked to be tagged. Jeje. Hope you like this one as much as the first one. Thank you!
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