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.
There's a difference between fucking with Batman and fucking Bruce Wayne.
Batman doesn't do "sex" he's much too busy for that and it's risky─ he would rather fight and tussle. Capture you or hold you down if possible. You're a slippery one, hard to keep an eye on if he's the slightest bit distracted. You always manage to pull one over on him. Keep him guessing as things get messier after every exchanged blow.
Anti-hero, villain or some morally grey aligned vigilante─ it doesn't really matter when he gets swindled in the end. Pinned down or knocked off balance as you taunt him, making the fight seem more like a game or a lover's tiff. The tension between the two of you is electrifying, the air buzzing the moment the your paths cross.
Oh, how he'd enjoy seeing that sly smirk fall right off your face the day he bests you, just you wait.
Charity events, galas, casual meetings or something of the like is how Bruce would have ran into you at first. If you're interesting enough to catch his eye or he feels that something's off about you. He'd dig into you. Investigate.
He'd learn and research everything there is to know about you and your company/business or reason for being in his city. Using all kinds of tactics to get everything out from under the rug. Offering you a collaborative deal to get to know you more.
Somehow it'd lead to something more─ mixing business with pleasure against his better judgement. Taking the mornings off to have brunch together, late night dinners when he's not out on patrol.
Tangled in the sheets after one too many glasses of expensive wine or liquor. Now he's gasping and panting, hot all over as you press kisses on his shoulder blades and spine. Working your way down as you trace over the (suspicious) scars littered on the billionaire's body.
There's no reason for him to be so marked up if he's just a business man, right? No matter, it's not your place to pry. Especially with he's coming undone under your touch.
