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hey, I'm skye, a mostly sfw blog. I write for dc, haikyuu, bnha, the spiderverse, avatar (blue people), and, avatar (not blue people). I like eyeliner lol. also, don't reblog this post.
warning/s: kissing, fem!reader, antinous being annoying, wrote this in 20 minutes and it shows.
a/n: just watched the odyssey a couple hours ago, and I love robert pattinson.
"Well hello there my lady," Antinous' voice cut through the air as you arranged the myriad of the Queen's colored threads. You simply rolled your eyes at the sound, he always did this, and you knew exactly what he wanted.
"Not now, Antinous, I'm working," you said, not even turning to look at him, finally getting the red threads in a neat line before moving on to the orange.
"Always working," he whined, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he could whisper in your ear.
"What about me?" He asked, placing a kiss to the shell of your ear, making you almost shiver.
"Don't you have a beggar to insult," you said, not wanting to give in to him just yet.
"I told you, I'm sorry about that," he sighed, throwing his head back dramatically before resting his chin on your shoulder as you moved on to sort the yellow threads.
"I was too deep in drink," he said against you, now placing a kiss on your neck which you still ignored.
"That seems to be the case all the time," you snapped once more, yet you didn't even try to escape his hold.
"Are you still cross with me about that?" He asked, nuzzling deeper into the side of your neck.
"I'm cross with you all the time," you said.
"That is true," he relented, kissing your neck again before letting his teeth sink into your flesh ever so slightly, the action making you gasp.
"Well, I guess maybe not all the time," he chuckled as you slapped one of his hands that rested upon your waist.
"I'm working Antinous," you said again, this time finally leaning into his touch.
"You know you like it," he teased, and you slapped his hand once more.
"What about a little kiss?" He tried.
"No," you said, moving on to sort the green threads.
"I'll stop bothering you after," he offered.
"I doubt that."
"Please, my love," he now begged, using the tone he knew made you melt. It was softer than usual, more boyish in comparison to the front he put up amongst the other men in the palace. And it was reserved only for you.
You let out a sigh. "You promise to leave me to work?"ย
"Soldier's honor," he promised, a grin on his face, knowing that he had won.
"We both know you're no soldier Antinous," you rolled your eyes, yet still turning around and reaching out to cup his cheek.
"So handsome though," you admitted, taking in his sharp features that almost softened at your touch.
"Was that a compliment?" He asked, raising a teasing brow that matched his equally teasing grin.
"Maybe," you said, leaning into him, finally closing the gap between you in a kiss.ย
It was quick, just a peck, and you were already pulling away, but he pulled you toward him again by the waist.
"Antinous," you let out a gasp that turned into a chuckle as you saw his face. The so-called soldier was pouting, and as always it got to you more than you cared to admit.
"That was no kiss my lady," he said, almost whining, and before he could do so even more you rolled your eyes again and pulled him in again by his cloak, giving him a searing kiss.
Your hand had found his hair, making a mess of the curls at the base of his neck, and his arm wrapped tighter around your waist making you cave into him.ย
His free hand made its way to your cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your now burning skin.
The kiss was a long one, one that made a mess of both your clothes, with some of the elaborately placed pins in your hair also beginning to come loose.ย
Yet you both continued on, pulling away every few seconds, your hot breath fanning each other's lips before you both leaned in again.ย
It was when he hiked your leg up to his waist you realized you had lost yourself.
You pulled away quickly, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him away, the action was met with another pout.
"That is quite enough," you said, beginning to fix your clothes, and despite his disappointment, Antinous helped you.ย
He straightened out the strap of your dress that now hung lower on your shoulder than intended, and gently tucked the hair that stuck to your cheeks behind your ear.
"Beautiful," he whispered, not intending for you to hear, but the proximity failed him.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," you said simply, now satisfied with your appearance.
"I must now get to work," you said, giving his chest another push so you could squeeze past him, holding up your dress so you could sprint away back to do another task.
Leaving Antinous with quite the tight strain in his trousers.
warning/s: kissing, fem!reader, atinous being annoying, wrote this in 20 minutes and it shows.
a/n: just watched the odyssey a couple hours ago, and I love robert pattinson.
"Well hello there my lady," Antinous' voice cut through the air as you arranged the myriad of the Queen's colored threads. You simply rolled your eyes at the sound, he always did this, and you knew exactly what he wanted.
"Not now, Antinous, I'm working," you said, not even turning to look at him, finally getting the red threads in a neat line before moving on to the orange.
"Always working," he whined, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he could whisper in your ear.
"What about me?" He asked, placing a kiss to the shell of your ear, making you almost shiver.
"Don't you have a beggar to insult," you said, not wanting to give in to him just yet.
"I told you, I'm sorry about that," he sighed, throwing his head back dramatically before resting his chin on your shoulder as you moved on to sort the yellow threads.
"I was too deep in drink," he said against you, now placing a kiss on your neck which you still ignored.
"That seems to be the case all the time," you snapped once more, yet you didn't even try to escape his hold.
"Are you still cross with me about that?" He asked, nuzzling deeper into the side of your neck.
"I'm cross with you all the time," you said.
"That is true," he relented, kissing your neck again before letting his teeth sink into your flesh ever so slightly, the action making you gasp.
"Well, I guess maybe not all the time," he chuckled as you slapped one of his hands that rested upon your waist.
"I'm working Antinous," you said again, this time finally leaning into his touch.
"You know you like it," he teased, and you slapped his hand once more.
"What about a little kiss?" He tried.
"No," you said, moving on to sort the green threads.
"I'll stop bothering you after," he offered.
"I doubt that."
"Please, my love," he now begged, using the tone he knew made you melt. It was softer than usual, more boyish in comparison to the front he put up amongst the other men in the palace. And it was reserved only for you.
You let out a sigh. "You promise to leave me to work?"ย
"Soldier's honor," he promised, a grin on his face, knowing that he had won.
"We both know you're no soldier Antinous," you rolled your eyes, yet still turning around and reaching out to cup his cheek.
"So handsome though," you admitted, taking in his sharp features that almost softened at your touch.
"Was that a compliment?" He asked, raising a teasing brow that matched his equally teasing grin.
"Maybe," you said, leaning into him, finally closing the gap between you in a kiss.ย
It was quick, just a peck, and you were already pulling away, but he pulled you toward him again by the waist.
"Antinous," you let out a gasp that turned into a chuckle as you saw his face. The so-called soldier was pouting, and as always it got to you more than you cared to admit.
"That was no kiss my lady," he said, almost whining, and before he could do so even more you rolled your eyes again and pulled him in again by his cloak, giving him a searing kiss.
Your hand had found his hair, making a mess of the curls at the base of his neck, and his arm wrapped tighter around your waist making you cave into him.ย
His free hand made its way to your cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your now burning skin.
The kiss was a long one, one that made a mess of both your clothes, with some of the elaborately placed pins in your hair also beginning to come loose.ย
Yet you both continued on, pulling away every few seconds, your hot breath fanning each other's lips before you both leaned in again.ย
It was when he hiked your leg up to his waist you realized you had lost yourself.
You pulled away quickly, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him away, the action was met with another pout.
"That is quite enough," you said, beginning to fix your clothes, and despite his disappointment, Atinous helped you.ย
He straightened out the strap of your dress that now hung lower on your shoulder than intended, and gently tucked the hair that stuck to your cheeks behind your ear.
"Beautiful," he whispered, not intending for you to hear, but the proximity failed him.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," you said simply, now satisfied with your appearance.
"I must now get to work," you said, giving his chest another push so you could squeeze past him, holding up your dress so you could sprint away back to do another task.
Leaving Antinous with quite the tight strain in his trousers.
warning/s: kissing, fem!reader, atinous being annoying, wrote this in 20 minutes and it shows.
a/n: just watched the odyssey a couple hours ago, and I love robert pattinson.
"Well hello there my lady," Antinous' voice cut through the air as you arranged the myriad of the Queen's colored threads. You simply rolled your eyes at the sound, he always did this, and you knew exactly what he wanted.
"Not now, Antinous, I'm working," you said, not even turning to look at him, finally getting the red threads in a neat line before moving on to the orange.
"Always working," he whined, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he could whisper in your ear.
"What about me?" He asked, placing a kiss to the shell of your ear, making you almost shiver.
"Don't you have a beggar to insult," you said, not wanting to give in to him just yet.
"I told you, I'm sorry about that," he sighed, throwing his head back dramatically before resting his chin on your shoulder as you moved on to sort the yellow threads.
"I was too deep in drink," he said against you, now placing a kiss on your neck which you still ignored.
"That seems to be the case all the time," you snapped once more, yet you didn't even try to escape his hold.
"Are you still cross with me about that?" He asked, nuzzling deeper into the side of your neck.
"I'm cross with you all the time," you said.
"That is true," he relented, kissing your neck again before letting his teeth sink into your flesh ever so slightly, the action making you gasp.
"Well, I guess maybe not all the time," he chuckled as you slapped one of his hands that rested upon your waist.
"I'm working Antinous," you said again, this time finally leaning into his touch.
"You know you like it," he teased, and you slapped his hand once more.
"What about a little kiss?" He tried.
"No," you said, moving on to sort the green threads.
"I'll stop bothering you after," he offered.
"I doubt that."
"Please, my love," he now begged, using the tone he knew made you melt. It was softer than usual, more boyish in comparison to the front he put up amongst the other men in the palace. And it was reserved only for you.
You let out a sigh. "You promise to leave me to work?"ย
"Soldier's honor," he promised, a grin on his face, knowing that he had won.
"We both know you're no soldier Antinous," you rolled your eyes, yet still turning around and reaching out to cup his cheek.
"So handsome though," you admitted, taking in his sharp features that almost softened at your touch.
"Was that a compliment?" He asked, raising a teasing brow that matched his equally teasing grin.
"Maybe," you said, leaning into him, finally closing the gap between you in a kiss.ย
It was quick, just a peck, and you were already pulling away, but he pulled you toward him again by the waist.
"Antinous," you let out a gasp that turned into a chuckle as you saw his face. The so-called soldier was pouting, and as always it got to you more than you cared to admit.
"That was no kiss my lady," he said, almost whining, and before he could do so even more you rolled your eyes again and pulled him in again by his cloak, giving him a searing kiss.
Your hand had found his hair, making a mess of the curls at the base of his neck, and his arm wrapped tighter around your waist making you cave into him.ย
His free hand made its way to your cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your now burning skin.
The kiss was a long one, one that made a mess of both your clothes, with some of the elaborately placed pins in your hair also beginning to come loose.ย
Yet you both continued on, pulling away every few seconds, your hot breath fanning each other's lips before you both leaned in again.ย
It was when he hiked your leg up to his waist you realized you had lost yourself.
You pulled away quickly, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him away, the action was met with another pout.
"That is quite enough," you said, beginning to fix your clothes, and despite his disappointment, Atinous helped you.ย
He straightened out the strap of your dress that now hung lower on your shoulder than intended, and gently tucked the hair that stuck to your cheeks behind your ear.
"Beautiful," he whispered, not intending for you to hear, but the proximity failed him.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," you said simply, now satisfied with your appearance.
"I must now get to work," you said, giving his chest another push so you could squeeze past him, holding up your dress so you could sprint away back to do another task.
Leaving Antinous with quite the tight strain in his trousers.
warning/s: kissing, fem!reader, atinous being annoying, wrote this in 20 minutes and it shows.
a/n: just watched the odyssey a couple hours ago, and I love robert pattinson.
"Well hello there my lady," Antinous' voice cut through the air as you arranged the myriad of the Queen's colored threads. You simply rolled your eyes at the sound, he always did this, and you knew exactly what he wanted.
"Not now, Antinous, I'm working," you said, not even turning to look at him, finally getting the red threads in a neat line before moving on to the orange.
"Always working," he whined, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he could whisper in your ear.
"What about me?" He asked, placing a kiss to the shell of your ear, making you almost shiver.
"Don't you have a beggar to insult," you said, not wanting to give in to him just yet.
"I told you, I'm sorry about that," he sighed, throwing his head back dramatically before resting his chin on your shoulder as you moved on to sort the yellow threads.
"I was too deep in drink," he said against you, now placing a kiss on your neck which you still ignored.
"That seems to be the case all the time," you snapped once more, yet you didn't even try to escape his hold.
"Are you still cross with me about that?" He asked, nuzzling deeper into the side of your neck.
"I'm cross with you all the time," you said.
"That is true," he relented, kissing your neck again before letting his teeth sink into your flesh ever so slightly, the action making you gasp.
"Well, I guess maybe not all the time," he chuckled as you slapped one of his hands that rested upon your waist.
"I'm working Antinous," you said again, this time finally leaning into his touch.
"You know you like it," he teased, and you slapped his hand once more.
"What about a little kiss?" He tried.
"No," you said, moving on to sort the green threads.
"I'll stop bothering you after," he offered.
"I doubt that."
"Please, my love," he now begged, using the tone he knew made you melt. It was softer than usual, more boyish in comparison to the front he put up amongst the other men in the palace. And it was reserved only for you.
You let out a sigh. "You promise to leave me to work?"ย
"Soldier's honor," he promised, a grin on his face, knowing that he had won.
"We both know you're no soldier Antinous," you rolled your eyes, yet still turning around and reaching out to cup his cheek.
"So handsome though," you admitted, taking in his sharp features that almost softened at your touch.
"Was that a compliment?" He asked, raising a teasing brow that matched his equally teasing grin.
"Maybe," you said, leaning into him, finally closing the gap between you in a kiss.ย
It was quick, just a peck, and you were already pulling away, but he pulled you toward him again by the waist.
"Antinous," you let out a gasp that turned into a chuckle as you saw his face. The so-called soldier was pouting, and as always it got to you more than you cared to admit.
"That was no kiss my lady," he said, almost whining, and before he could do so even more you rolled your eyes again and pulled him in again by his cloak, giving him a searing kiss.
Your hand had found his hair, making a mess of the curls at the base of his neck, and his arm wrapped tighter around your waist making you cave into him.ย
His free hand made its way to your cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your now burning skin.
The kiss was a long one, one that made a mess of both your clothes, with some of the elaborately placed pins in your hair also beginning to come loose.ย
Yet you both continued on, pulling away every few seconds, your hot breath fanning each other's lips before you both leaned in again.ย
It was when he hiked your leg up to his waist you realized you had lost yourself.
You pulled away quickly, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him away, the action was met with another pout.
"That is quite enough," you said, beginning to fix your clothes, and despite his disappointment, Atinous helped you.ย
He straightened out the strap of your dress that now hung lower on your shoulder than intended, and gently tucked the hair that stuck to your cheeks behind your ear.
"Beautiful," he whispered, not intending for you to hear, but the proximity failed him.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," you said simply, now satisfied with your appearance.
"I must now get to work," you said, giving his chest another push so you could squeeze past him, holding up your dress so you could sprint away back to do another task.
Leaving Antinous with quite the tight strain in his trousers.
warning/s: kissing, fem!reader, antinous being annoying, wrote this in 20 minutes and it shows.
a/n: just watched the odyssey a couple hours ago, and I love robert pattinson.
"Well hello there my lady," Antinous' voice cut through the air as you arranged the myriad of the Queen's colored threads. You simply rolled your eyes at the sound, he always did this, and you knew exactly what he wanted.
"Not now, Antinous, I'm working," you said, not even turning to look at him, finally getting the red threads in a neat line before moving on to the orange.
"Always working," he whined, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he could whisper in your ear.
"What about me?" He asked, placing a kiss to the shell of your ear, making you almost shiver.
"Don't you have a beggar to insult," you said, not wanting to give in to him just yet.
"I told you, I'm sorry about that," he sighed, throwing his head back dramatically before resting his chin on your shoulder as you moved on to sort the yellow threads.
"I was too deep in drink," he said against you, now placing a kiss on your neck which you still ignored.
"That seems to be the case all the time," you snapped once more, yet you didn't even try to escape his hold.
"Are you still cross with me about that?" He asked, nuzzling deeper into the side of your neck.
"I'm cross with you all the time," you said.
"That is true," he relented, kissing your neck again before letting his teeth sink into your flesh ever so slightly, the action making you gasp.
"Well, I guess maybe not all the time," he chuckled as you slapped one of his hands that rested upon your waist.
"I'm working Antinous," you said again, this time finally leaning into his touch.
"You know you like it," he teased, and you slapped his hand once more.
"What about a little kiss?" He tried.
"No," you said, moving on to sort the green threads.
"I'll stop bothering you after," he offered.
"I doubt that."
"Please, my love," he now begged, using the tone he knew made you melt. It was softer than usual, more boyish in comparison to the front he put up amongst the other men in the palace. And it was reserved only for you.
You let out a sigh. "You promise to leave me to work?"ย
"Soldier's honor," he promised, a grin on his face, knowing that he had won.
"We both know you're no soldier Antinous," you rolled your eyes, yet still turning around and reaching out to cup his cheek.
"So handsome though," you admitted, taking in his sharp features that almost softened at your touch.
"Was that a compliment?" He asked, raising a teasing brow that matched his equally teasing grin.
"Maybe," you said, leaning into him, finally closing the gap between you in a kiss.ย
It was quick, just a peck, and you were already pulling away, but he pulled you toward him again by the waist.
"Antinous," you let out a gasp that turned into a chuckle as you saw his face. The so-called soldier was pouting, and as always it got to you more than you cared to admit.
"That was no kiss my lady," he said, almost whining, and before he could do so even more you rolled your eyes again and pulled him in again by his cloak, giving him a searing kiss.
Your hand had found his hair, making a mess of the curls at the base of his neck, and his arm wrapped tighter around your waist making you cave into him.ย
His free hand made its way to your cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your now burning skin.
The kiss was a long one, one that made a mess of both your clothes, with some of the elaborately placed pins in your hair also beginning to come loose.ย
Yet you both continued on, pulling away every few seconds, your hot breath fanning each other's lips before you both leaned in again.ย
It was when he hiked your leg up to his waist you realized you had lost yourself.
You pulled away quickly, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him away, the action was met with another pout.
"That is quite enough," you said, beginning to fix your clothes, and despite his disappointment, Antinous helped you.ย
He straightened out the strap of your dress that now hung lower on your shoulder than intended, and gently tucked the hair that stuck to your cheeks behind your ear.
"Beautiful," he whispered, not intending for you to hear, but the proximity failed him.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," you said simply, now satisfied with your appearance.
"I must now get to work," you said, giving his chest another push so you could squeeze past him, holding up your dress so you could sprint away back to do another task.
Leaving Antinous with quite the tight strain in his trousers.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
a/n: once again wrote this in an hour and it shows.
"You always have your head in the clouds, it feels like you don't even see me a lot of the time," you say, lips trembling as you did so, but not quite crying yet.
This had Ryland go into a defensive stance, not meeting your eyes as he responds.
"That's not true," he said, sifting through his manuscript.
"I always see you."
"You say that but look at you now," you said, voice almost cracking as you spoke, gesturing towards the mess of papers and open books on his desk that he was looking through.
It was laughable really, how he kept riffling through his drafts as if the stack of papers could shield him.
"I support you Ryland, you know that, I always have. But sometimes I want some time with you," you said, your throat beginning to hurt as you spoke, but you pushed on.
"I've done it for you, why can't you do it for me."
It was true, even with your near full schedule you always found time for him. May it be bringing him lunch, picking him up from work when it rained, or simply just being there when he asked, you did it.
But for some reason he couldn't do the same. You love Ryland's work ethic, you really do, it's one of the first things that drew you to him.ย
Who knew it would also be your downfall.
"Baby, please, I can't talk about this now. I have to finish this reading, I have to grade papers, then I need to get back into writing," he tried to push you away again, but this time you weren't having it.
"See," your voice cracked finally, and tears finally came rolling down your cheeks.
"You're doing it again," you said, and this time he finally looked up at you, his mouth agape at the sight of you crying.
"I'm so sorry," he finally said, getting out of his seat and pulling it out for you.
"Okay let's talk, sit down baby, let's talk," he urged, hoping that you would stop crying, just the sight of your distress made his eyes begin to sting.
"Now it feels like I'm forcing you," you said, refusing his offer while angrily wiping the tears from your cheeks.
"No you aren't," he urged again, trying to take hold of your hands but you quickly pulled away before he could
Still he tried. "Please, let's talk."
"I'm sorry Ryland, I can't right now," you said, another round of tears coming as your lips trembled.
You felt pathetic. You're the one who started this, but now you couldn't finish it in your current state.
"Baby, please don't cry," Ryland tried to comfort you, no longer trying to reach for you.
"I'm sorry," he said again, beginning to pace the room, like he always did when he was nervous.
"I can push everything back," he stopped, gesturing to his messy desk.
"We can talk, please," He said, gesturing in-between both of you.
"Just please don't cry."
You shook your head, taking a back from him, still wiping away your tears. You wanted to do this, you really did, but you couldn't right now. It wouldn't be right with the myriad of emotions you felt, so you did what you felt was right.
"I need to go," you said, making Ryland's eyes go wide as he followed your bolting form.
"Wait," he tried, but you were already one step out of your shared apartment door.
"I need to be alone Ryland," you said with pleading eyes, eyes he couldn't resist.ย
And with that he let you go, you rushed out the door after grabbing your purse and drove off in your second hand car. He watched you speed off with a heavy heart, willing to give you your space, but also praying you came home tonight.
You didn't drive too far, only a couple blocks down from your shared apartment. You knew it wasn't wise to drive so much in your state. Lips trembling, hands shaking, and tears blurring your vision feeling that you overreacted.
You pressed your forehead to the steering wheel and let the steering wheel soak your tears. The thought felt selfish and unavoidable
But how could you not act the way you did when the man you loved rather spent every night hunched at his desk instead of laying in bed with you.
"Babe, it's time for bed," you would say.
"In a minute," he'd reply.
But minutes turned into hours, and you'd fall asleep alone.
How could you not act the way you did when the man you loved would rather read through dissertations than eat dinner with you.
"Ry, dinner's ready, could you put those down for a bit," you would call from the kitchen as you set the table.
"I'm almost done honey, start without me," he would call back, while his dinner went cold.
And finally, how could you not act the way you did when you woke up every morning without him.ย
"Ry, baby?" You would call once you saw the empty space in your bed, only to be met with silence.
You would get up only to find him with his head on his desk asleep, or having left for work without even saying goodbye.
Even more tears began to fall out the corners of your eyes as you remembered all those times.
Were you really not worth setting aside time for?
Did his work matter more to him than you did
You felt selfish just thinking about it, and all you could do was lean your head against your steering wheel and cry your heart out.
Back in your apartment was a similar scene.
Ryland found himself on the couch, sobbing into his hands as he himself replayed those moments in his head. And he was met with the bitter taste of regret in his mouth.
ย He pressed his palms to his eyes until his cheekbones stung. He was in the wrong, he knew that, but he hated himself for taking so long to realize it. He also knew he had to make it up to you.
The question was how.
*****
A couple hours and a few rounds of tears had passed before you finally found it in yourself to drive home. It was the early evening, the sun had just come down, and there was a slight drizzle.
It was like the world was setting the mood.
You walked into your apartment quietly, not wanting to make a scene. And you were greeted by Ryland, who was standing in the middle of the living room, hands fidgeting, and hair messier and glasses more askew than usual.ย
"Welcome home," he said, breaking the tension.
"Yeah," you said, that being the only response you could muster.
"We need to talk" you both said in unison, followed by awkward chuckles.
"You go first," he pushed.
"You can go first," you responded.
"Baby, please, you go first," he insisted, gesturing to the couch.
You relented with a sigh and you both slowly took a seat as you took a deep breath before speaking.
"I'm sorry for being selfish," you began, and he gave you a surprised look which you ignored with your need to continue.
"I know your work means a lot to you, and I shouldn't have overstepped," you said, voice small and apologetic.
"I guess I just felt lonely," you added, eyes dropping to your hands as you let out a quiet sniff he quickly noticed.
"Oh baby, you don't have to be sorry," he murmured, reaching out but stopping himself, not knowing if I was okay to reach for you yet.
"I should be the one that's sorry," he admitted, voice thick with remorse as he fidgeted his hands, wanting nothing more but to reach for yours.
"You were right, I've been neglecting you, and I'm really sorry for that," he confessed, looking down at the floor.
"Yes, work is important to me, but so are you, more than even," he said, lifting his gaze to meet yours.
"I should've been making more time for you, I should've balanced my schedule better," he said, running a hand through his hair in the way he always did in times like this.
"I just get so deep into it, but I know that isn't an excuse," he sighed, rubbing his temples.
"I'll try better baby, okay, I promise," he said, licking his lips.
"Can you please look at me now," he pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.
You answered his plea quickly, though his words had tears forming in your eyes once again. But this time the tears were not laced in bitter sorrow, but something much sweeter.
"Oh baby, don't cry, come here," he said, voice small as he reached out, his hands shook when they finally found yours which you let him hold tightly.
"If you cry, I cry," he admitted, as he pulled you close, forehead now resting against yours.
"Do you really promise," you asked, breathless and raw, against him, voice cracking ever so slightly.
"Cross my heart," he whispered, closing his eyes as if sealing the vow, he himself had begun crying just as he said.
"You're so stupid," you muttered, half laughing through the sob, his words were juvenile, but him and truthful all the same.
"I am, and you should tell me whenever I'm more stupid than usual," he said, smile watery and apologetic as he pulled away slightly to place a kiss on the tip of your nose.
"I'm sorry baby, and I know it will take a while for you to forgive me, and I'll work hard till you do," he promised, voice breaking on the last word.
"I already forgive you a little bit," you said, the corner of your mouth lifting.
"I'm glad to hear it, but please let me work for it," he pleaded, cupping your face gently with both hands.
"Okay," you breathed, the word small but real as you wiped away your tears, already feeling a million times better at the promise in his words.
"Speaking of, I have dinner on the table," he added, bobbing his chin toward the doorway as if it were the most important thing in the world.
"Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me?" he asked, eyes searching yours for permission.
"Of course Dr. Grace," you replied, amusement and tenderness threading your voice.
"Then let's go, a feast awaits us," he said, standing up and wiping his tears, offering his arm in an old-fashioned, earnest way making you laugh.ย
And with that he was gently pulling you towards the dining table, already beginning to fulfill his promise.
Ryland Grace always seemed to have his head in the clouds, but at least now he knew when to come down. And it was forย you, always for you.
I wanted to make this end in a break up and then I realized nah, Ryland who'd be communicative as hell. So here we are. Lemme know what you think!
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
warning/s: mentions of assault, stalking, blood, injury, stitches, smut.
a/n: a trilogy all in one, fem!reader btw, no use of Y/N.
i. Playing House.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youโd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnโt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatโs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youโll get a better one once you donโt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnโt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceโs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeโs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it: no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts. It's part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonโt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iโll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonโt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnโt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnโt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting, and that was the best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
***
ii. Help Me Forget.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youโ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceโ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,โ you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
"A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,โ he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
"And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
"You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatโ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meโI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,โ you said, before taking a deep breath. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.
"But I hope now you can listen to me,โ he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceโ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentโit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
"I love you."
Fuck.
***
iii. Casual.
"I'm sorry," Bruce blurted out immediately after.
"It just came out," he added, low and quick, like he was surprised by the sound of his own confession.
"Bruce, calm down, it's okay," you said, trying to steady both of you.
"Calm down?" he echoed, voice breaking. "This was supposed to be casual."
"Fuck, I know, I'm so sorry," he cut in, rushing to apologize as if apology could undo the word.
"Like I said, it's okay. Calm down, Bruce," you repeated, softer this time, reaching for whatever calm remained.
"How the hell are you so calm?" he demanded, already getting up from the bed, finding his jeans in the mess you two made.
"What do you mean?" you asked, clutching your thin blanket around you.
"I thought you would say it back," Bruce said, every syllable raw, making your eyes widen.
"Bruce, Iโ"
"No." He stopped you before you could finish. The single word was flat and final.
"After everything we've been through" he pushed on, hurt sharpening his tone, as he slipped on his shirt.
"You still call it casual?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," you whispered, because the room suddenly felt too bright and too small.
"Of course you didn't," he said, but there was no comfort in it.
"I have to go," he managed, not even sparing you another glance as he turned his back towards you.
"Bruce," you called after him as he reached the door.
A slam answered you. The sound filling the space he'd just left, leaving you standing in the sudden silence.
You didn't see him for weeks after that.
And as stubborn as he was, so were you. Hence, you didn't even try to reach out.
Yes, there was still some part of you that ached whenever you saw one of his t-shirts in your drawer, or his spare toothbrush next to you in the bathroom. But you wouldn't budge.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
It was supposed to be casual.
You would pray those six words in your head every time those feelings crept up on you, though they did little to calm the burning feeling in your stomach that would inch to your throat every now and then.
By week 5, you had accepted you would probably never see Bruce again. The complete and utter radio silence had gotten to you. You knew a conversation was long overdue, but you didn't expect it to come at that moment.
You most especially didn't expect it to come any time soon. And as much as you hated to admit it, the whole ordeal had caused you to lose sleep, more sleep than usual. That's why you were currently curled up on your couch watching some mindless TV to pass the time.
The same couch you and Bruce would embrace on those very rare slow days.
It was just you and the rumble of the TV in the unique quiet of a Gotham night, till urgent tapping cut through the air. Your head quickly whipped towards the direction of the sound, the window that led to your fire escape.
You saw nothing but my silhouette and what looked like a gloved hand tapping at the glass. You had an inkling on who it was, but you couldn't be too sure. So you grabbed your steel baseball bat from the side of your couch and walked towards the window.
The bat was raised in your tight grip, prepared to swing at any moment, but once you saw who it was you quickly dropped the bat and sped to open the window.
"Bruce," you said in slight surprise, letting him in.
He said your name in response, and you let out a rough breath that turned into a gasp as he suddenly took you in your arms.
He held you close, in a way that made you curve into him and him into you. You didn't really know how else to react but to wrap your arms around him as well.
"It's okay Bruce," you whispered when you noticed his body begin to shake against you.
"What happened out there?" You said against him, almost afraid to ask, but you knew you had to.
"A woman was almost mugged," he said, a bit breathless from his sobs.
Your forehead crinkled a bit in confusion, there was always a mugging in Gotham. And knowing Bruce he had stopped multitudes of them. But you let him continue.
"She was in scrubs, had the same hair color, build, and gait," he went on, taking a deep breath.
"As you," he ended, looking you in the eyes through the white lenses of his cowl, and your face softened in understanding.
"Oh Bruce," you sighed, holding him once more.
"She alright, I got there in time. But, the possibility that it could've been you, I just," he choked up, beginning to shake again in your hold.
"It's alright, you don't need to explain," you said, holding him tighter, before pulling away a bit.
"May I?" You asked, gesturing to his cowl, and all he did was nod, a quiet sob escaping his throat.
With gentle and nimble fingers, you gently removed his cowl, revealing his bloodshot blue-grey eyes that only made your heart break even more.
"I'm okay honey, I'm right here," you whispered, taking hold of his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.
This has happened before, and you knew exactly how to comfort him. It was times like this that made you realize how much he cared, how much he loves you. You froze and your own thoughts, but you shook your head, refocusing on the man in your arms.
He shut his eyes as he continued to cry, and you just brought him into your embrace again. You held him tight, till you felt a wet spot on your side. You pulled away ever so slightly, to see what it was. And you saw red staining your t-shirt, Bruce's old t-shirt to be exact.
"You're bleeding," you exclaimed, once your eyes caught a glimpse of his side, he was literally bleeding through the kevlar.
One thing led to another, and he was now on your couch in nothing but his black compression shorts. Your nursing instincts quickly kicked in as you tied your hair up and brought out your first aid kit.
With a pair of working gloves on you began to work on the incised wound on his site. You were happy it was just that, it made things a whole lot easier, but it was deep, and it needed stitches.
After disinfecting the wound, you made quick work to stitch it up. You did so in complete silence, Bruce knew better but to disturb you as you worked.
Five minutes and eight stitches later you were just about done.
"I'm going to clean it again before covering it up okay," you said looking into his eyes, not that you needed to tell him, but it was a force of habit.
He only nodded again, and you quickly disinfected the wound, and he didn't even do much as flinch as you did so.
With the wound now covered, you quickly got up to throw away your gloves, methodically doffing them before finally looking at him.
"So," you began, not really knowing how to start this conversation.
"So," he said, very much in the same boat.
"It's nice to see you again," you tried, fidgeting with your hands as you did so.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's been a while."
An awkward silence finally filled the room as you began to fidget with your hands. A silence that was only broken by a gruff sigh and Bruce's deep voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I shouldn't have said that," he continued.
"I know what we have is completely casual, and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," He said, now no longer meeting your eyes.
Once again, you did not know how to respond, so your mouth decided to run for you.
"It's me who should be sorry," you said, surprising yourself, but you had no choice now but to continue.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," you said, taking a step forward, as he stood up to meet you.
He straightened, pain and something like hope mixing in his face. "What do you mean?"
You swallowed, as the TV you forgot to turn off buzzed in the background.
"I told myself I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to admit that I wanted something. You know me Bruce," you stopped, testing him. He only watched.
"I'm stubborn, maybe even more than you," you let out a humorless laugh.
"I don't let myself have nice things because I'm afraid to lose them, but right now I-," you took a breath, closing your eyes for a second.
"I love you too, Bruce," you said, the admission finally pushed out.
He blinked, and that steady, impenetrable Bruce mask slid for a fraction of a second.
"You do?"
You stepped closer until the distance between you was measured in breaths.
"Yes," you sighed.
"This is gonna sound like a fucking soap opera, but I love you when you're reckless with your fists and when you're quiet at two in the morning. I love you when you're bruised and angry at the city. I love you even if you haven't reached out for weeks."
He let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob.
"It was easy, you know," he admitted.
"I wanted to call, to talk to you, but I knew you needed the space, I needed the space, it was for the best."
"I guess it was," you agreed, looking him deep in his blue eyes that seemed a bit brighter now.
He ran a hand through hair that had been mussed by the cowl, then reached up and took your face in both hands, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw with the gentlest patience.
"Can you say it again, " he said, small and true, and you couldn't help but chuckle, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I love you, Bruce," you breathed, leaning into his touch, turning your head ever so slightly to place a gentle kiss to his palm.
He lost a breath.
"I love you too."
He closed the distance and kissed you, slow, not frantic, careful enough to keep you both steady and certain. The apartment hummed quietly around you, the TV's light flaring as if to bless a scene it had interrupted.
When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his. "Promise me one thing," you said.
"Anything."
"If we're doing this, really doing this, then be here even when it's ugly."
His hand found the small of your back, fingers warm and sure.
"I have and I will, I promise."
It wasn't a vow that eliminated all the things stacked against you. It was a promise to pick each other when the city, the night, or fear tried to push you apart. That, you decided, was enough for tonight.
Bruce leaned back a fraction and kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, and you did the same to his cheek.
"Stay the night," you offered softly.
"Of course."
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