pairing — catwoman!reader x bruce wayne warnings — none. some teasing & jealousy
you can feel his eyes on you.
they’ve been locked on you all night—a pair of heat-seeking missiles, tracking your every move. BRUCE WAYNE, gotham’s most coveted billionaire playboy, decked out in black-on-black, fingers curled around a crystal tumbler of macallan m. the amber liquid captures in the chandelier’s glow, fracturing into rivulets of molten gold.
that je ne sais quoi to that prickles along your spine when you’re perched on a rooftop, gotham’s skyline sprawling beneath you. déjà vu and adrenaline. up there, things are personal. intimate. almost like a date. the irony isn’t lost on you—here, in the thick of it, stripped of masks and kevlar, swathed instead in silk and wool, you are still batman and catwoman, wearing masks in the metaphorical sense.
a breathy laugh spills from your lips, one hand pressed to the chest of the poor fool currently trying to woo you.
“aw, you’re terrible,” you purr, artfully flirtatious (and truthful), tapping a manicured nail on his lapel. the man flushes, mistaking your amusement for interest. he stammers something about fetching you a drink, but that barely registers—there’s movement in your periphery.
bruce.
“mind if i steal her?” a beat. your companion falters, mouth half-open as if debating whether he actually has a choice. “it won’t take long,” he adds, but it isn’t a request. his hand is already at the small of your back as he starts to lead you through the crowd. he doesn’t stop walking until you’re in front of his car.
“having fun?”
you smile extravagantly, leaning against the sleek frame.
“oh, loads. some of us don’t spend the entire night brooding in the corner, you know.”
“he was boring.” is that petulance you sense? interesting. “oh, so boring,” you agree, voice syrupy sweet. “but—he was also very nice. unlike someone.”
“nice,” he repeats flatly.
“mmhm hm,” lithe fingers trailing up to curl in his tie, bringing his lips just a hair’s breadth from yours. “he told me i looked beautiful.”
“you do look beautiful,” he murmurs.
“funny,” you muse, tilting your chin up ever so slightly, eyes glinting. “didn’t hear you say it.”
the silence on his end is loaded. your lips curve slyly.
“are you jealous, mr. wayne?”
heat blooms where his lips meet yours, the faint burn of whiskey lingering as you finally reciprocate. you let him have it, just for a second—two, maybe—before you tilt your head, catching his lower lip between your teeth, a small nip that draws a low groan from his throat. coaxing him forward with the languid draw of your mouth, you deepen the kiss, sucking on his tongue. and when he moves in again, you pull back. smirking, a ghost of a laugh caressing his skin.
