Dick was the one who found the photo album. He, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke and Damian were tidying the attic. A punishment given by Alfred, and approved by you. It was for a mixture of being careless on patrol, sneaking out when banned from patrol the night after, and a build up of disobedience.
The only reason Bruce wasn’t up there with them right now, was because he claimed he had “important work” to finish, but you promised the children that Bruce would join them shortly. Plus, Alfred remarked that the Christmas decorations needed to be found up there anyway.
Dick pulled the album out of an old box, and opened the cover to be met with a photo he had to blink twice to figure out properly.
It was very obviously you in the photo, but much younger. You looked like you were college age, standing with a group of girls that were clearly your friends, judging by the arms around each other.
After flicking through a few more pages, Dick held it out and called, “hey look, it’s all old photos of mom.”
Damian’s head appeared from above the small wall of junk he had built while searching through the different piles. He made his way to Dicks side, stepping over whatever Tim or Jason had carelessly tossed over their shoulders. “Let me see.” He demanded, before humming a little as Dick lowered his hands.
Cass had appeared at the other side of Dick, also interested in the pictures of her mother. Duke had also made his way over, equally as interested. Jason shrugged, deciding that it was definitely better than continuing to clean and walked over. Tim was also interested, wanting to see any picture that he wouldn’t have seen when he was doing his previous research.
When they properly turned each page of the album, they found that the pictures started when you were a baby. There was a picture of you, small with chubby cheeks blowing spit on a birthday cake with a big ‘1’ decoration on it.
A couple of pages later, there was a picture of you, a couple of years older. You had hair that was just past your shoulders, flashing small teeth in a smile with one missing in the front. There was a small note underneath the picture that said “First day of school.”
First school play. Graduating elementary. First day of middle school. First day of high school. Prom, homecoming, and you with your diploma. You throughout different years crouched by a Christmas tree or you with different costumes through the years on Halloween.
That was the first half of the album.
Dick flipped the second half, when you had started college and most of the pictures were now taken by you or your friends, rather than your parents. They varied from different locations, from parties to your dorm room.
In one picture, you’re taking a shot with one of your friends, the clock in the background showing that it was 2:30AM. “And she tells me not to stay out too late.” Jason rolled his eyes, but had no real bite to his words. “She was cool.” Duke said, his voice laced with awe.
When Bruce made his way up the ladder to the attic, the album was open on a page that showed a picture of you getting ready for some event. You had rollers in your hair, and a bathrobe on as you beamed at the camera. The lighting made your eyes sparkle and your smile shine. There was a different look of happiness that the children hadn’t seen on your face. You looked much more carefree, and you had the look of someone that could never fathom the horrors the world had to offer you. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy now, it was just clearly different back then.
“What are you all crowded around?” Bruce asked them, making each of their heads fly up to notice him.
“A photo album of Mom.” Tim answered him before swiftly turning back to the photo album.
When Bruce cast his eye on the photos of you, he didn’t look surprised. A small, easy smile appeared on his face. Cass reached out to flip a couple of more pages, and they reached the section where you had clearly just started your relationship with Bruce.
The picture was the two of you in a kitchen that looked very different from the one in the Manor. Even though it was barely seen in the background, it was clearly smaller, with much simpler looking furniture. You were both dressed in pyjamas, the morning light coming knocking through the window in the background.
The camera was held in your hands, just the upper half of your bodies shown. You were making a face at the camera while Bruce wasn’t even looking at it. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed to your cheek as he stood behind you. Bruce looked younger too. He had some lines on his face, and there were a couple of scratches on his shoulder from presumably the previous night as Batman. But still, younger.
Bruce’s fingers reached out, eager to see more pictures of the two of you from the past. That’s when they heard somebody else enter the attic.
“Are you all doing alright up here?” Your voice was heard before you found them huddled around something in the middle.
“Grayson found an album of you.” Damian answered, already taking a step towards you as you joined their huddle.
You smiled upon seeing the different pictures of you when you were younger. There was a picture of you when you first appeared at a gala with Bruce. Your face was smoother back then, the crease between your brow not yet there. you weren’t yet aged with the stress of having a husband who likes to throw himself into danger every night, and six children who did the exact same.
“I was fairly pretty back then.” You said, “Been a while since that was a relevant fact, though.”
Bruce’s head immediately turned to yours at your words, his mouth opening. But a couple of people got there before him.
There was a chorus of outraged sounds, shouts of confusion and overlapping voices of siblings that don’t know how to speak in turn.
“Absolute nonsense.” The smallest boy at your side said, shaking his head. Damian was acting as if you had gotten a simple question wrong on a test. “You were beautiful then and equally beautiful now.”
“Exactly.” Tim nodded. “You’re gorgeous, mom. The amount of camera flashes when we’re forced to galas should prove it.”
Cass had slid herself close beside you, so that your arm subconsciously went around her. She shook her head at you too, before saying quietly, “very pretty.”
Dick looked downright horrified at your words. “How could you even think that?” He said. “Mom, you’re literally inspiration for like, five different clothing brands.”
“You’re stunning.” Duke declared. “In all these pictures you are. And you are now.”
Jason also tutted. He looked pained to agree with all of his siblings, but he had no choice. “Saying nonsense.” He muttered. “You’re beautiful, ma, always have been and always will be.”
You were silent for a moment before you smiled. “Thank you.” You said, a little sheepish. You pressed a kiss to the top of Cass’ head and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You know how to make me feel special, anyway.”
They continued fussing over you before you eventually reminded them to return to their ‘punishment’.
Later that evening, Bruce found you in your shared en-suite bathroom, washing your face before bed.
He stared at you for a moment, letting that indescribable feeling settle in his body again. Even after years of marriage, gentleness is still unfamiliar to him. He would’ve stayed there for hours if you hadn’t noticed him.
You caught his eye in the mirror before turning to him, “you okay?”
Bruce just nodded before walking the few steps to put his arms around you. “i’m okay.”
and that was enough.
“they’re weren’t lying earlier, you know.” he mumbled into your hair. “when they said you were still beautiful. you are. you’ve always been.”
You smiled against his shoulder. “thank you.”
And Bruce took every opportunity he could to remind you of it. because it wasn’t just your face that Bruce found beautiful, it was everything.
How you loved and cared for his children, how you put up with him and his late nights for years, how you cry and laugh at movies and books, how you treat Alfred with kindness and respect, how you were able to bring in so much love into his life when he thought it wasn’t possible, how you held him even when he couldn’t admit he wanted to be held.
Bruce Wayne might be the best detective in the world, but he’ll never figure out how you didn’t see how gorgeous you are.
A/N: i went from bruce wayne finger-banging to 8000 words of fluff, mutual pining and a lil bit of angst. i am not ok <3 also can you tell i listen to lorde :// anyway come talk to me about batman or the riddler or adrian chase <3
Word Count: 8.1k
Warnings: Language, mentions of alcohol, not beta read idc we die like men, spoilers for the batman, cringe fluff and i don't CARE because bruce wayne deserves loves ok???? (i think that's all <3)
Summary: Bruce makes his first public appearance since the memorial service, with you by his side.
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The creaking of floorboards behind you catches your attention instantly. You place your teacup on the table gently (avoiding another lecture from Alfred about taking care with his finest China) and twist your head, a small smile crawling on to your lips when you see him approaching slowly. “Oh, look who's finally emerged from his cave.” You tease, glancing over at Alfred in amusement. He doesn't find it that funny, though.
“I can only offer my apologies, (Y/N). I did call him up an hour ago.” Alfred says pointedly, shifting to stand up from the seat beside you. You recall sitting at the table, listening to Alfred bicker back and forth with Bruce, until a few stern words and the slamming of the telephone had him making his way back to you, informing you that Bruce would be up in ‘just a moment’. An hour, in Bruce Wayne terms. “Tea, Bruce?” He offers, his hand already on the handle of the teapot.
“No. Thank you, though, Alfred.” Bruce says, his voice quiet yet polite. Like a child who's been scolded by their parent.
The room falls quiet. He hasn't made any moves to sit down, to join you at the table. He's just lingering behind you, probably wondering why the hell you're here. You know he's suspicious, you can tell by the way his gaze flicks between yourself and Alfred. Then, his eyes land on the small envelope in front of you. Now he's definitely suspicious.
You're not so sure what to say. It's been a while since your last visit, since you last saw Bruce Wayne without the cowl or the suit. You see him on TV screens much more than you see him in person, nowadays. While he's been busy helping the people, working with Gotham P.D. on search and rescue missions (you're sure he's been patrolling the areas with high crime, too), you've been working closely with the mayor and politicians. You spend most of your days in conferences and meetings, negotiating donations to whoever and whatever cause. You don't care. As long as it helps, as long as it contributes to the rebuilding of Gotham, you're game. You always wanted to do good with your money, and now you're doing exactly that.
Alfred breaks the silence, the quiet cling of his teacup against the saucer echoing around the room. You watch him down the rest of his tea quickly, more than eager to leave before your conversation with Bruce can even begin. You curse him internally for that. You always found it easier to negotiate with Bruce in Alfred’s presence. Bruce would break out the classic 'you're not my father’ line, (as if that's ever deterred Alfred from advising him, or telling him what to do), but in the end he'd always buckle. And you… well you'd sit there with a smug smile, watching the whole thing go down. You're on your own this time, evidently.
“Well…” Alfred starts, picking up the saucer from the table, “It's certainly been lovely seeing you, (Y/N). Unfortunately, I can't stay and chat any longer. The Wayne household doesn't run itself, you know.” He jokes. Though it's not really a joke.
You smile up at him, “It'd be lost without you.”
“Oh, I know that.” His gaze lands on Bruce for a moment, before flickering back to you.
“It's been so great seeing you, Alfred. And thank you for the tea.” You say.
“My pleasure.” He squeezes your shoulder before he begins making his way out of the room. His footsteps stop after a few moments, and you hear whispering, though you can't quite catch what's being said. Then, the gentle tap of his shoes resume until they're out of earshot.
You suddenly feel incredibly awkward without Alfred by your side. You can feel Bruce’s eyes burning into the back of your skull like lasers in the mist, cutting right through you. Your palms are sweaty, you can practically hear your heartbeat, feel it pounding through your entire body. “Why don't… why don't you come and sit down?” You ask, patting the backrest of the seat next to you. Nothing. “Please?”
He moves then, slowly circling the table, though he walks right past the seat you gestured to. Instead, he sits himself down two seats away from you. You can't help but scoff at how petty he's being. “Really?” You shove your tongue into your cheek in annoyance. He doesn't respond. Instead, he turns his attention to the window, seemingly taking in the scenery in the bright light of morning. Which is funny, really, because he never cared for the view.
You're getting a good look at him now, and he looks like shit, to be quite frank. Like he hasn't slept, showered or even been out of the literal cave underneath the mansion in days. All of those things are probably true. In fact, you know they're true. Except for that last one, you're sure you saw Batman on the news yesterday. Either way, he looks like he hasn't seen the light of day in, well, days. There's dark circles under his eyes, and he's squinting against the natural light flooding in through the window. He looks tired. You're starting to feel bad for what you're about to spring on him.
You're staring at him, and he's staring out of the window. You're trapped in some kind of deadlock. Neither of you know what to say or do, how to break the silence or cut through the tension. You figure out pretty quickly that he has no intention of cracking first, so you decide that it's up to you. You'll take the fall, happily. Anything to feel like you can breathe again. “Look, I know it's been a while—"
“Two months.” It's quiet, barely above a whisper, but you hear it loud and clear.
Two months.
You nod your head, “Yeah. Two months.”
Two. Whole months. Fuck. The last time you saw him was at the hospital when Alfred was hurt. You remember that not much was said between the two of you. You just sat next to him quietly, holding his hand in yours and hoping for the best.
“Listen, you know as well as I do that things just got really crazy. We've both been busy, and—”
You almost jump when he snaps his head to you, but you have no plans to back down under his intense gaze. “We have?”
“Yes, we have.” You say through gritted teeth. “And you know that.”
“Do I?” His voice is soft, quiet, yet there's a certain degree of animosity in his tone.
You huff out a laugh, though there's no humour in it. You're smiling, but you're far from amused. “Can you just let me fucking finish?” One more snide remark, one more interruption, and you would be walking out. Judging by the slight nod of his head, he knows that too. “Look, I know it's been a while, okay? I know that. Two months is… it's crazy. And I'm sorry, okay? I am sorry. I just... I needed some time to think. I felt like I was losing my mind here. The sleepless nights, the worrying... The isolation. It just… it got a little too much for me. Two weeks. That's all I wanted. But then shit got so crazy. I think—… I think both of us just lost track.”
He drops his head, focusing his gaze on the table and the intricate patterns in the wood. “Yeah.” He mumbles under his breath, but you hear him loud and clear.
You've known Bruce your entire life. Family friends, as cliché as that may be. You're not sure when your little affair started, but you remember the moment you found yourself in his bed as clear as day. It was an unspoken thing, as far as you knew. Neither of you mentioned relationships, becoming something more wasn't a topic either of you wanted to broach. It kind of happened naturally, though. He sought you out after spending his nights on the streets, and sometimes you'd make the trip to the mansion to be there for him when he got back. You'd have sex, and then you'd have breakfast together, sometimes dinner, and then he'd drive you back to the city in the evening. It was… nice. Really fucking nice. You might've called it love. But it didn't come without its fair share of grievances. Evidently. You just needed to be away from him for a while, to clear your head. Things had gotten really intense, and you needed some time. But then the Riddler happened, and the flood. You'd managed to get on with life for a while, doing what needed to be done before dealing with personal matters. But a part of you felt— feels empty, like you're missing something. There's a huge, obvious hole in your heart in the shape of Bruce Wayne, and you can only hope that it's able to be fixed at some point.
“What's that?” He asks quietly, gesturing to the envelope on the table.
You're thrown off by that, yet it's so typical of him. He never did like to talk about his feelings, or give you anything deeper than an 'I'm fine’, even when he clearly wasn't fine. Whatever. You know him well enough to know that he'll come around at some point, that he'll talk when he's ready. You shake your head quickly, pulling yourself together. “That would be your invitation to tomorrow night’s charity ball. We're raising money for people who lost their homes in the flood.” You tell him, sliding it across the table slowly.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you have it?” He questions, picking up the invitation, pulling the seal gently.
“Because I told the mayor I'd personally deliver it to you. She's getting tired of being ignored and sent to voicemail, Bruce. She wants to talk to you.” You lean back in your seat, your shoulders finally relaxing as you let out the breath you didn't realise you were holding in.
“So that's why you're here.” He says, unfolding the invitation, his eyes scanning over it quickly. You know he isn't reading it, that he has no interest in reading it.
“That's part of the reason why I'm here.” You shrug.
He huffs, raising his eyebrows at you and dropping the invitation back on to the table, “There's another reason?”
You shove your tongue into your cheek for the second time, suddenly understanding why Alfred was so quick to leave. You forgot that dealing with Bruce sometimes feels like dealing with a moody teenager. “I heard Batman dabbles in detective work now.” That gets his full attention. “Y’know, I always thought you to be a little more… What's the word?” You pause for a moment. “Hm. Intuitive.”
No response. Just his eyes staring straight through you.
You sigh, “Yes, I'm here on behalf of the mayor. I told her I had a personal connection to you, and that I'd deliver the invitation myself.” You pause, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “But… I'm also here because I wanted to see you, Bruce.” You admit.
“You needed an excuse.” He says, finally catching on.
You drop your head, huffing out an awkward laugh, “Yeah. Sounds kinda pathetic, now that you're saying it out loud. I mean I could have just called, or… stopped by. I don't—”
“It's not.” You glance up at him. He clears his throat, repeating, “It's not pathetic. I'm… I'm glad you're here.” He doesn't meet your eyes, but it's okay. You don't feel uncomfortable or awkward anymore. You feel relieved. You're certain there's no way he'll want to talk about… anything. That you're better off just moving past it, at least for the time being. You are glad to see him, and he is glad to see you. Middle ground.
“I'm glad you're here.” He repeats, and you brace yourself. “But—” there's always a fucking ‘but’. “I'm not going to the charity ball.”
“Bruce—”
“No. I'll make a donation, but..” He shakes his head.
“Look, I know going out isn't really your thing. But the mayor wants you to step up—”
He cuts you off, “I am stepping up. I'm already playing my part.” There's a certain bite in his tone.
That's true. There's no denying that it's true. Almost everyday you see that familiar cowl on the news or in the papers. Everyday you see headlines about the Batman, about how he's doing the right thing for Gotham, protecting the people and the streets. But that's Batman. Not Bruce Wayne. Well, it is Bruce Wayne. But it also isn't, as far as the people and the mayor are concerned.
“Batman is playing his part.” You say gently, leaning forwards and resting your hands on the table. “I know what you do for this city, I've seen everything. You're working so hard and I feel so guilty being here, asking for more. But as far as the mayor is concerned Bruce Wayne is living outside of the city, sitting in his ivory tower and doing nothing.” He seems to straighten up. “You— Bruce Wayne, were mentioned by name. He had a whole— I don't know even know what to call it, a… a whole presentation dedicated to you and your family. Whether you like it or not Bruce Wayne played a part in what went down.”
“That's not— It's not—… I didn't know. I had no idea about—…” He tries to argue but voice breaks.
You push your chair back and stand up, plopping yourself down in the seat next to him. The one you asked him to sit in earlier. You take his hand, feeling him tense up for a moment before relaxing into your touch. “I know. I know it's not your fault. I can't—… The people know it's not your fault, too. They just… they just want to see you. He tried to ruin you, but I promise you that the people are still on your side. You just… you need to make an appearance.”
He's silent for a moment. More than a moment, actually, and you hope that he's considering you. Or he's thinking of a way to let you down gently. Yes, definitely that. “I'm not accepting the invitation.” He mumbles, pushing the invite away. Ouch. Okay. That wasn't gentle.
You were quite convincing just then, you think. It didn't seem to be enough, though. It's okay. Because you came prepared. You anticipated this from the moment you agreed to give him the invitation yourself. “Oh, well that's perfect.”
He narrows his eyes at you. “Why's that?” He asks slowly. He knows. Oh, he knows you have something up your sleeve.
“Because I kind of, sort of, maybe… already have you down as my plus one.” His stare is blank, but it says everything. He's less than impressed. “And my driver might have the night off.” You add, placing the cherry neatly on top of the already-pissed-off-Bruce-Wayne-Sundae.
“I suggest you fix that.”
You shake your head. “Uh-uh. No. I don't think so. It's his daughter’s birthday so… special occasion. I wouldn't want to ruin any plans.” You shrug.
“Well you're ruining my plans.” He comments, sitting back. He hasn't dropped your hand, though.
“And what are your plans for tomorrow?” You ask. He glances away, and you can practically see the cogs in his head grinding against each other as he tries to think of something— anything that he could possibly be doing tomorrow night.
“Gordon needs me.” He answers, finally.
“That's a lie.” Blatant, actually. You're offended that he thinks you're stupid enough to fall for that.
“It’s not a lie.”
“You're lying. Your nostrils flare when you lie.” You can't help but smile at him. You know him, and you've always known him. You know when he's lying, when he's being truthful, when he's happy, when something’s bothering him. You know him like the back of your hand. Like you know the alphabet. “And even if Gordon did need you, the event starts at six. So I was thinking we get there at six thirty, leave for eight. You show face, and it leaves you plenty of time.”
He's staring at you. You're staring at him. He's silent, you're waiting for a response. He sighs quietly, “I'm not getting out of this, am I?”
You shake your head, “I don't think so. I think I've backed you into a corner enough. But I have more excuses and reasons if you wanna hear those, too.”
His lips twitch, and soon enough he's breaking out into a smile. It's not a big grin, but you can see his teeth and that makes you grin right at him. He drops his head for a moment, shoulders shaking as he laughs quietly. “You're unbelievable.”
You squeeze his hand gently. “So are you.” You really mean that, too. Maybe not in the way he means it. “So, I expect to see you parked up outside of my house at five thirty tomorrow. It's black tie, so do what you will with that.”
“Fine.” He mumbles, though his smile still hasn't dropped, and he's staring down at your intertwined fingers.
The two of you sit there in silence for a minute, finally comfortable in each other’s company. Without the tension, the awkwardness, the uncomfortable elephant in the room. It feels nice, you think, to just sit there for a moment and be. It makes you realise how much you've missed him. How much you've missed just sitting at his table in a comfortable silence, eating breakfast together in the late afternoon while Alfred scolds you for being lazy. You hope this is the first step to fixing things, getting things back to how they used to be. Maybe you would become more.
You don't want to go. You want to stay right there with him. But you have to go.
You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. “I hope you don't mind but… I have to leave. I have a meeting soon.”
Bruce shakes his head, “No. No, of course. You—… Do you need a ride back to the city?” He asks.
You shake your head, “No, I'm good. Patrick’s waiting for me.”
“He's been out there the whole time?” He asks, his eyes widening in surprise and… probably guilt. It did take him an hour to bring himself to leave the cave.
“Uh-huh. Even more reason for me to give him the night off.” You stand up, and he doesn't let go of your hand. In fact, his grip seems to tighten. You feel guilty for leaving already. You really don't want to fucking go. You want to sit with him, kiss him, wrap your arms around him and tell him how much you've missed him and how you think about him every single day. But you have to go. “I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” He mumbles.
You start to walk away, and he still has your hand in his. Right up to the moment you're no longer in reach, his arm is outstretched. You swear you see him lean his body back, so you're fingertips can graze against each other for just a moment longer. You drop your hand down by your side slowly, the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin. Fuck, you miss it already. “If you stand me up tomorrow, I'm telling every magazine and newspaper in Gotham.” You tease.
“I wouldn't dare.” He reassures.
And then you're gone, your footsteps fading as you make your way down the hall.
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Bruce doesn't disappoint. You didn't think he would, anyway. He was parked outside at exactly five thirty, looking far from impressed, but his frown dissipated as soon as his eyes landed on you. You smiled at him, and he managed to smile right back. He's wearing a simple black suit and tie, that long coat of his over the top. You remember it's the one he wore to the memorial service, too.
Now, you're sitting in his car, dressed to the nines, waiting in the traffic. You feel like you've been here for two hours already, but really it's only been ten minutes. It's quiet in the car, which doesn't surprise you. He's nervous. So, so nervous. You can see it in his furrowed brows, his tense jaw. In the way his eyes flick between you, the road and his own hand on the steering wheel. You do feel guilty for dragging him out, for making him leave the comfort of his own home, the comfort of his armour and cowl. Tonight, the eyes of Gotham would be on Bruce Wayne, not Batman. People would talk, because that's what people do, and they'd talk for a while. But at least he'd only have to do it once. One public appearance is enough to cause a stir, you think.
“How are you feeling?” You ask gently, glancing over at him.
“M’fine.” He mumbles in response, nostrils flaring every so slightly. You know he tried so hard to hide that. His eyes are focused on the road now, the traffic moving along just a little. There's only five or six cars in front of you now. They'll know it's him immediately, just from the model of the car. You swear he's the only person in Gotham who drives himself to events.
“Okay. That's cool. Now tell me the truth?” He looks at you, then, almost incredulously. You shrug, “Why do you always forget that I know exactly when you're lying?”
He sighs. You're right and he knows it. “I'm feeling okay. Just… Just a little nervous.” There's more truth to it. Not the full truth. You know he's shitting bricks, to put it quite plainly. But you'll let him have that. You figure that's the most honest answer you're going to get.
“You'll be okay.” You reassure, but he doesn't look so convinced. “It's just for tonight. You don't have to answer any questions, if you don't want to. We'll go right in there, talk to whoever you need to talk to— definitely the mayor, and then we'll get out of there. Sound good?”
“Yeah.”
Soon five or six cars turn into two or three, and before you know it, you're right in front of the steps. You turn to look at him, to make sure that he's okay one last time before you step out, but he's already opening the car door, getting out quickly and slamming it shut behind him. Never mind then. You watch him walk around the front of the car, keeping his head down the whole time as all eyes and all cameras are pointed directly at him. He opens the door for you and offers you his hand, which you gladly take, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’. And then you're in the thick of it, too.
Cameras flashing in your face, reporters shoving microphones in front of you, everyone’s so desperate to get anything from either you or Bruce. He has his back turned to the press, handing his keys to the valet while you try and offer your best smile. It's pointless though, all attention is focused on the prince of the city, as they like to call him. You don't even register that he's turned his attention to you until he's tugging on your arm, pulling you gently towards the steps.
The ball is being held at some fancy hotel just outside of the city. It's big and bright and lavish, lit up from top to bottom, totally opposite to everything else in the city. It looks so out of place, honestly, compared to the monochromatic nature of Gotham. Oh well. You'd have plenty of time to complain about the ugly venue later.
You loop your arm around his, pulling him close to you, and immediately you feel him relax against you. The two of you ascend the white, marble staircase arm in arm. You smile and occasionally wave, answering any questions directed to you as quickly as you can. Bruce, on the other hand, ignores all of them. He doesn't even smile, you don't think. He just keeps his head down, blocking out the screams of his name.
“Mr Wayne!”
“Mr Wayne! It's so good to see you!”
“Mr Wayne, why are you here tonight!?”
“Mr Wayne, how are you contributing to the effort to rebuild Gotham?!”
“Mr Wayne, are you dating (Y/N)?!”
“Mr Wayne, you're the only one mentioned by name that survived the attacks. Is it true that you were working with Edward Nashton?!”
You feel him tense up.
“Mr Wayne, how does it feel knowing your father’s a murderer?!”
Fuck.
That one gets to him.
He stops dead in his tracks, and you stop too. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. You don't know what to do. He's frozen in place, breathing heavily, cheeks turning red with anger, giving the reporter who asked that question the deadliest glare. Seriously, if looks could kill, this guy would be dead one million times over. He'd be six feet fucking under. The only thing that comforts you is the fact that Bruce makes a conscious effort to not kill. You still fear that he'll lunge over the barriers, though. Give the reporter a piece of his mind with his fists instead. Warranted, though not entirely ideal, and you know he has enough sense to not go through with any acts of violence running through his head right now.
It’s your soft voice, the gentle tug on his arm that snaps him out of it, that quells his rage for just a moment. “Hey, let's get inside.” He looks between you and the reporter for a brief moment, then nods his head. You sigh quietly in relief as the two of climb the last few steps, making your way into the building quickly.
He's shaking. You can feel him shaking against you. You assume it's because he's angry, but then you see his eyes, red and glassy, and you realise he's on the verge of tears. You're not sure whether he's upset, or whether he's just really fucking wound up. Or both.
“So much for ‘the people are on your side’.” He mumbles under his breath, but you hear him. Oh, he's pissed off. Rightly so, but you don't appreciate his snide comment. He tries to pull away from you, but you don't let him. You keep your arm firmly locked around his, wrapping your hand around his bicep and squeezing gently. The moment you allow him to let go of you will be the moment you lose him. You don't trust him to not bolt straight out of the doors, to fly back down the steps, get back into his car and drive home. You've only just got him back, and you'd like to keep him for good this time.
You're in the fancy lobby, now. Bright red carpets, golden wallpaper and large paintings in golden frames hanging on the walls. It's ugly even on the inside, you think, but it's far nicer in here than it is out there. In here, you're surrounded by ugly decor, politicians, socialites and pretty much anyone who's anyone in Gotham. But you're safe. Out there… you're like pieces of meat to a pack of wild dogs. They're hungry, desperate for anything they can get from you. At least inside you're away from the flashing lights, the microphones being shoved under your noses and the screaming of your names.
The large, wooden doors that lead to the hall where the event is being held are just up ahead, but you pull him to the side before you even think about going right in. “Hey…” You whisper, looking up at him through your lashes.
“Don't.” He warns, refusing to meet your eyes.
“You just have to ignore them, Bruce. I know it's hard—”
“You don't know.” He's trying to be cutting, actively trying to ward you off. The same way he does with Alfred. But just like how it doesn't work with Alfred, it doesn't work with you, either. You know that deep down he's desperate for some kind of reassurance, but he only knows how to fight against it.
You bring your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks with your palms. “You're right. I don't know. But what I do know is that not everyone thinks like that.”
“But some people do.” He sounds genuinely hurt. Bruce spent his entire life idolising his father. He started the Gotham Project for his father, to continue his family's legacy. He knows the truth about what went down with his father and Falcone and the reporter who had dirt on his mother, and that should be enough. But it isn't, and you can understand why it isn't enough. It has to be, though.
You nod. “Yeah. Some people do. They'll believe the gossip and the lies and the fucked up shit they hear over the truth, as long as it lines up with their ideals. You know the truth, and the majority of the city knows the truth, too. And they're on your side, I promise you.” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing gently.
The two of you stand there in silence for a moment. He seems to be calming down, which is more than a relief to you. His cheeks are returning to their normal, pasty colour and he's breathing deep and slow now. He's okay. He's going to be okay. He's going to get through the next hour, at least, and then you'd be free to leave.
You bring his hand up to your lips and press a soft kiss against his knuckle, “Are you good, Bruce?” You ask gently. You don't want to push him if he's not ready yet.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Are you sure? Because—”
“(Y/N).” He speaks your name so softly, and it commands your full attention. “I'm okay.” He brings your hand up to his lips now, pressing a kiss against your knuckle just like you'd done only seconds ago.
You almost melt.
God. Just being with him, touching him and talking to him, makes you wonder why you ever spent so long away from him. Two fucking months. You can't even comprehend it, but you know it's never going to happen again. You're never going to spend that long away from him ever again. It's Bruce, it always has been and it always will be. You're certain of that. You'll never miss anyone like you miss him, crave anyone’s attention like you crave his, buckle under anyone’s touch like you buckle under his. You're not sure if the same can he said for him, but he's here with you, and that's all that matters.
“Okay. Do you wanna head in?” He nods his head, and this time he moves to take hold of your arm first. You smile up at him, and you see his lips twitch upwards. That's enough for you.
The two of you make your way towards the wooden doors. Most, if not all, guests are already in there, you assume, since the lobby is almost barren. “Are you ready?” You ask. He nods and without a second of hesitation you're pushing open the doors. It feels like there's a spotlight shining directly on you, or maybe that's just the effect of the bright lights and golden walls meshing together to create some kind of optical phenomena that has you blinded for just a moment. Fuck, if you thought it was light out there, you have no idea how to describe this. Though, it's prettier in here than in the lobby, you think.
People are staring, and he's incredibly tense, unsure of what to do. So, you just pull him along, out of the doorway and into the crowd. “People will talk, and they'll stare, but it's because they probably weren't expecting to see you here tonight. So you're gonna say hello, you're gonna say 'I'm doing fine thank you, how are you?’ and then we're gonna move along. Okay?”
And that's exactly what he does. He's still quiet and mildly awkward, but there's a charming edge to him, too. One that doesn't come out so often in public but it's there and tonight, as he chats to politicians and friends of his father, with you by his side for comfort, you see it. You know he wants to leave, to be out of there as soon as possible, you can see it in his eyes, but he's pulling it off. He's playing the part and he's playing it well. He's latched on to you, his eyes never seem to leave you, but you're more than happy to be his safety net. Though that won't last much longer.
“(Y/N), you must work miracles.” An oh-so-familiar voice calls from behind you. You turn around, dragging Bruce with you, and you're met with the eyes of the mayor, Bella Reál. She's beaming, smiling brightly at the two of you, but you can't help but notice she's eyeing Bruce from head to toe. Almost in shock. “Look who it is. Mr. Wayne himself.”
“In the flesh. I thought I'd never get him out of that tower.” You tease, a grin on your lips as you squeeze him closer to you. You can feel his unimpressed stare, but you're not intimidated.
“I always had faith in you.” She reassures. “Do you mind if I steal him from you? I've been dying to speak with him.”
“Oh, no. Of course not. He's all yours.” You try to pull your arm away from him, but his grip tightens. He won't let go, he doesn't want to let go. But he has to. You give his bicep one last squeeze before you yank your arm away from him, careful to keep your elbows to yourself. “You'll be fine. I'll talk to you later.” You mumble. He isn't happy, his tongue is pushed against the inside of his cheek in annoyance, but there's nothing you can do.
“I promise I'll bring him straight back.” She jokes, giving you one last smile before she turns and starts walking away, with Bruce reluctantly in tow.
You're not so sure what to do now that you're on your own, so you pick up a flute of champagne from a waiter and make your way through the crowds of people. You talk to family friends, introduce yourself to unfamiliar faces and chat about any new plans or projects you have in the works to aid the city. You keep a smile plastered on your lips and a glass in your hand at all times, ready to greet anyone and everyone. It's exhausting, you have to admit that, but it's what you do. Occasionally, you feel Bruce’s eyes on you. When he's not in conversation, and even when he is, you feel him staring right at you from across the room. You're surprised he can even find you amongst the crowd of black suits and dresses, but he does. Every single time. You always look back, give him a reassuring smile and watch as he visibly relaxes. You're glad he's making an effort, that he's finally giving the mayor a chance to speak to him and discuss how he's going to help the city (though if she knew even half of what Bruce had done for Gotham, you're sure there's no way she'd be on his case about it). You can't wait for him to be back by your side, though. He's a comfort to you just as much as you're a comfort to him.
You're at a small table in the corner that's covered with champagne flutes, your back turned, when you feel hands grab on to your waist from behind. You gasp and jolt backwards, bumping against a firm chest. You're about to swing your elbow back when you hear a familiar huff in your ear, the fingers on your waist digging into your flesh lightly, forcing a quiet giggle out of you and making you squirm in his grasp. You curse the day he realised you're ticklish. “You're an asshole.” You mumble, but there's no real anger or annoyance in your tone. “How'd it go?” You ask, picking up a flute and bringing it to your lips.
“Terribly.” He says simply, though there's amusement laced in there somewhere and you know he's messing around.
“Hm. I'm sure it was awful. I bet she had you talking about all sorts of diabolical shit. Like going outside, making more public appearances, attending meetings, doing inter—”
Bruce squeezes your waist gently, cutting you off, “Yeah, yeah. I get it.” A pause. “Can we leave now?”
You pry his hands from your waist and turn around, your eyebrows raised in amusement. It's not a shock to you that he's already so eager to leave. “You wanna go? Already?”
He nods his head once. “I did what you asked me to do. I spoke with the mayor. You said we could leave early, so let's go.” He tries to tug on your arm, but you stay firmly in place.
God, you've only had two or three glasses to drink but you're already feeling slightly fuzzy. You give him your best pout, “You wanna get rid of me already?”
A beat of silence. His brows furrow, “That's not— I didn't—”
“We should dance.” You tell him. There's an orchestra playing in the background, certainly not anything yourself or Bruce would typically listen to, but that's not a problem to you. There's other couples dancing in the middle of the room, stiff and looking far from happy. Probably talking about some important matter or another that would be too intense to discuss without the distraction of dance.
“I can't dance.” A lie, for sure.
You scoff, shaking your head, “Do not disrespect Alfred like that ever again. I know he's taught you how to dance.”
He sighs, fully aware that you're right. Alfred would scold him for that. “Fine, then I don't dance.”
“You could.” You retort.
“I don't like dancing.” He says.
“Do you like anything?” You ask playfully.
His mouth opens and closes for a moment, as if there's something he want to say, but he's just not quite sure how to say it, or if he can at all. “I just don't want to.” He says, as if it's final, but you know he'll cave.
“I think it'd be fun. Just one dance.” You hold up your index finger, as proof that you truly mean just one dance.
He's silent for a moment, and you hope he's considering you. “People will talk.” He mumbles. About him, about you, about your maybe, sort of, kind of relationship. About your outfit, his hair. About why he's here tonight, why he came with you on his arm. You can understand why taking your hand and allowing you to lead him into the middle of the room, to have him wrap his arms around you and pull you close in front of so many people would be so daunting, but—
“Fuck it.” You say confidently. “People are always gonna talk. They're talking right now and we're just standing here.” You bring your hands up and cup his cheeks, looking up at him. “Let them.” You grab his hand suddenly and begin leading him to the dance floor. He tries to pull against you, to tug you backwards, but you don't care, you know he'll give up eventually. And he does. He reluctantly lets you guide him around small crowds of people and couples dancing together until you're right in the middle of… everything. The room, the dance floor, the crowd. The song that's playing is something classical. You think you recognise it, though you can't quite put a name to it. You don't really care to. You're more focused on Bruce. He looks so fucking awkward, and you can't help but feel guilty. But then you remember that if he really didn't want to dance, he would have said so. He's a big boy, and you're sure he can make his own decisions.
So, you wrap your arms around his neck, and after a moment of hesitation and a barely audible sigh, his hands find their way to your waist. You're quiet, just watching him and his facial expressions. His eyes are flickering around the room, his lips pressed into a thin line, and there's a slight tinge of pink in his cheeks. Completely different to the angry red you saw earlier. You can feel the stares, the whispers and the conversations, and you're sure not all of them are about you but you know he probably thinks otherwise. You know he wants nothing more than to sink into the floor. “Hey…” you whisper, catching his attention. “It's okay. Forget about them. It's just us. We're alone. Just me and you.”
He doesn't respond, but he sways when you sway, he moves when you move, breathes when you breathe, until the pressure releases from his shoulders and he relaxes into the dance. He still looks anxious, and slightly uncomfortable, but you're just grateful he's still entertaining you. He never did know how to say no to you, after all.
“I'm sorry.” His quiet voice cuts through the silence between the two of you. It's so sudden, and it almost makes you jump.
You're confused, though. “You're sorry… for what?” You ask slowly. You're not trying to make him admit anything, you're genuinely baffled. He hasn't made any sudden moves to leave, he hasn't left you stranded, or done anything wrong at all.
“Yesterday… when you said you were sorry for leaving for so long. I never said sorry. So I'm saying it now.” He's not looking at you, instead choosing to look straight over your shoulder, but you know he's being sincere. “I missed you.” He breathes out.
You screw your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. “No— You don't— Please don't be— We're both at fault.”
“I guess we are.” He looks at you, finally. Wanting you to know that he really, truly means every word. “I thought about you every day.”
You glance up at him, slightly taken aback by that admission. “Y-you did?” You curse yourself internally for stuttering over your words. God, you must sound so pathetic.
“Yeah. I did.”
“Well… you could have called.” You shrug. “I don't bite.”
“I wouldn't say that.” He's teasing you, and he's trying so hard to stop himself from grinning at his own joke.
“Wow, your comedy career’s really coming along, huh?” You bite back (fitting), but there's no malice. You take note of the fact that he doesn't even entertain the idea that you could have called him. He's somewhat self aware, at least.
“Hm. It could use some work.” A beat of silence. “I'm sorry, though. Truly. I—” He stops himself, because he knows you're about to cut him off. The look he gives you is stern, and you back down instantly, deciding to stay quiet. “I'm sorry for driving you away. It shouldn't ever be that complicated.”
“I don't mind complicated. I just— I just needed a little time. I was always gonna come back because— Fuck. Because I can't stay away from you. I'd go through forty sleepless nights in a row for you.” It's all coming out now. You're just talking and talking and you can't stop it, you're not even sure that you want to stop it.
“You shouldn't have to—”
“But I want to. I just— I want you. And everything that comes with having you.” You admit quietly, barely above a whisper. It occurs to you then that you've become the couple on the dance floor having an intense discussion. But it's not about finances or divorce or whatever the hell else, it's more along the lines of love. “I want you.” You repeat, reaffirming it to yourself and to him.
He's silent, and you fall silent too. You're not sure what to do, what he wants you to do. You're just staring at each other, and you only realise now that you stopped swaying along to the music a long time ago. You feel his hands move to your hips, pulling your body closer to his, and you take the opportunity to slide your hands from the back of his neck to his cheeks. He's leaning down, and you’re standing up on your tiptoes to meet him in the middle. Everything's so fucking loud, now. You can hear every word of every conversation around you, your heart thumping in your ears, though you can't hear your own breathing. Are you even breathing? Fuck. You don't know. Fuck. Are you breathing? It's all too much. You feel like you're going insane. You can't think or do anything. It's getting louder and louder, to the point where even quite exchanges seem deafening.
Until your lips meet his, and then the room falls quiet. Well, not really. But it feels like it does. You can't hear anything now, you're so focused on him and his lips and how they mesh perfectly with yours. It feels like the first time. It's not. It's far from the first time you've kissed the prince of the city, actually. But those sparks you felt in your stomach the first time, the ones that sent tingles through your entire body and made your legs feel like jelly are back in full force. You don't want to pull away, to be reminded that you're in a room full of people you don't know and probably don't like, to be reminded that people are watching. You want to stay in this little world that you've created forever, where it's just the two of you alone together.
He pulls away first, and you almost whine in protest as you pull him back in for another. And another. And another. Just one more. One more. His shoulders are shaking in silent laughter as you refuse to let him go, to let your lips part from his just yet. When you eventually pull back, you grin at him. It's lazy and love-drunk, and you're sure he's looking at you in the same way. “I want you.” You tell him again.
He doesn't need to say it back, and he probably won't. At least, not here. It's okay, though. You don't need him to. You know he feels the same way. You can see it in the way he looks at you. He's smiling. Like, actually smiling. In public. And that's enough for you to know that he feels the same way. He wants you too.
“Hey, do you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smiling to yourself because just ten minutes ago you were practically begging him to stay. Now, you just want to be alone with him.
“Yeah. I do.” He breathes out, and within a second he's grabbing your hand gently. He leads the way this time, weaving you through the crowd, ignoring everyone's stares and calls of his name or yours, dead set on making it to and through the wooden doors without interruption. You're giggling the whole time, and from the few glimpses you catch of his face, you think he's smiling.
When you make it outside, still hand in hand, you're not exactly thrilled to see that the press are still there, camera men and journalists focusing all of their attention on the doors, ready to capture any and all swift exits. You notice that the guy from earlier, the one who called Bruce’s father a murderer, has gone, and you thank your lucky stars for that. The attention is on you immediately, from the moment you step foot through the doors. They're shouting his name, snapping pictures, vying for any trickle of attention they can get from him, for anything to talk about in their gossip columns or front pages. He's intent on leaving, but you're more than happy to give them something to talk about.
You stop right in the middle of the marble staircase, and he stops too when you tug his arm back. “What are you doing? What's wrong?” He asks, his brows furrowed.
“Come here.” He doesn't move. “Just come here, Bruce.” You encourage.
Slowly, he makes his way up the few steps between you, and you waste no time in flinging your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. You can hear the cameras snapping photos, and even with your eyes closed you can still see the faintest flash of white light.
You know he won't be happy when he wakes up the next morning and reads the headlines, when he sees the photos plastered in every newspaper and magazine, but you can't really bring yourself to care. You're his, and he's yours, and you don't care who knows it anymore. It's your world, and you're alone together. People will talk, so let them talk.
Summary: After a hard and tiring day, Bruce finds you taking a relaxing bath.
Warnings: No Spoilers! Sleepy and exhausted Bruce. Mentions of being naked in front of your significant other, and showering together (very brief).
It has become a routine. Every Friday, to end your week on a good note, you try to relax as much as you can. You do a little bit of everything that you enjoy doing throughout your day. A little bit of reading here and a little baking over there. Anything, really, to get your mood at its highest before the weekend even starts.
Sadly, you don't happen to have much time to spend with your boyfriend these days since Fridays tend to be harder for Bruce. It's where the nights are the busiest. No one wants to go home right after their week's worth of work is done. And a little bit of alcohol later, a group of assholes can become the absolute shitholes of the city.
And, Bruce also doesn't really have an exact time where he gets back to the tower. There are nights where he might come home hours earlier than usual but stay at the cave for the rest of the night, or, sometimes, he might just come up the elevator after the sun rises. Nobody really knows when he's going to be back.
You began to wait for him awake around the time your relationship became more serious, but that only really left you with a really messed up sleep schedule.
And, that might be the reason why you're taking a bath at 2:30 in the morning.
The warm water around you surrounds your body in the coziest of embraces as the foam above the surface hides your body in its entirety from your own eyes. The soft and not-to-fragrant smell of your favorite candle reaches your nose even when it burns away at the top of the counter.
There's no way to be more relaxed than this. Your eyes are closed and you have just your shoulders and face out of the water. The bathroom is naturally warm and your breathing is calm.
But that’s when you hear the soft noise of footsteps in the hallway above all the silence.
It could truly be anyone that shares the ceiling of the tower with you and Bruce, but you highly doubt that either Alfred or Dory would be awake at this time and not trying to walk on their tippy-toes.
Only one person doesn’t care enough to not lift off their heavy boots off the floor when walking.
The absence of noise of the steps just by your bedroom, reassures you more of your assumption, as the room is one that just so happens to have carpeted floors, and who else would get themselves inside it?
There's a soft knock on the door of the bathroom and with a small grin stretched over your lips, you open an eye only to check to see the door slowly opening.
A messy head of dark hair appears before the familiar tall and broad figure of Bruce's body does. His eyes are on the ground but his head is still held high.
You can tell, as he tries to re-close the door and not make too much noise, that his face doesn't have that much of the usual dark paint around his eyes. He must have already washed his face before making his way up.
You open your eyes fully at the same time the door clicks closed. Bruce leans back tiredly to the door for a second, hand behind his back as he holds the doorknob, and then finally leans back forward and starts making his way to you.
His eyes lift from the ground finally and he watches you for a bit. Your head still leaning back on the white porcelain bathtub and gracefully resting under the bubbles of your beloved Friday-late-night bath. You don't look in any way alarmed, already very much used to the way he intrudes himself into your relaxing moments in seek of his own.
Even though he tries to hide it, you notice Bruce favoriting his right side over his left while he walks. You don't say anything, though, not yet at least.
He comes closer to the tub and then he stops a simple step away, to your left. You hide your smile as he, in his still fitted and dark clothing, slowly crouches down to your height in the tub and sits right by you.
"You don't want to get in?" You ask him in a whisper.
He shakes his head. His eyes feel heavy but his body is tense and it aches with every movement that he does. The side of the tub is pretty high so it’s easily comfortable for Bruce to rest his arms over it.
As he holds onto it, his eyes come back, right after he stared at the floor for a little bit.
"You're back early." You tell him, keeping your voice soft but now above a whisper.
"I got too tired." He answers you, and a small smile creases your lips. It's rare to hear Bruce ever admit that, and it never seems to not surprise you when he does it.
Bruce can feel the heat of the water slowly come up and touch his forearms, and he stays silent for a little bit. Enjoying the calmness that surrounds him.
He has a crease over his forehead as he seems to think about something, and you watch him as he squints since his eyes looked too close to a harsher light of the bathroom. He highly regrets looking and for that, he brings his eyes back to you all over again.
You move a bit closer to him, making the warm water around you move and collide slightly over the sides, and you turn your head a bit to the side to look at him better. He stares back at you with ease.
You can totally see a bit of paint still at some spots of his face, and you bring your hand up from under the water.
Bruce watches as your hand appears in front of him and your wet fingers smooth over his face. Just by the side of his head, close to his hairline, you scrub softly and the paint comes off effortlessly.
You bring your hand back to the water and scrub away the paint from your own fingers.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" You ask, this time, in a whisper.
"Just bruised."
You nod at him and Bruce quietly studies every inch of your face. He has his arms folded as one hand rests over the other. You look away from your hands, just in time to watch him lay his head over his arms.
His hair, which was already freely cascading down his head, falls over from the top and left side of his head towards the water, and its tips gently touch the bubbles.
You bring your hand up again and try and get the rest of the paint from this side of his face.
When done and with your hand is clean again, you notice how tense his shoulders still look under the fitted shirt. He is now sitting on his knees, much closer to you, and his eyes blink from time to time, possibly dry and tired from all the hours he's been awake.
Your hand lays over his head and your warm and wet fingers work through the messy strands of hair. As your nails softly touch his scalp, you watch as Bruce fights to keep his eyes open.
Your soft digits caress over his forehead and smooth down the skin over his eyebrow, and slowly down to his cheek. Right as your hand lays over the side of his face entirely, you notice how Bruce closes his eyes.
As you pull your hand away, his eyes reopen from this rather long blink and his eyes stare back into yours. You move a bit and lean your head down over his arms as well, just by his right arm while he lays over his left.
You stare back at each other for a little bit and then your hand comes back to the top of his head, working tenderly over his scalp. Bruce closes his eyes and feels his body finally relax as pain doesn't reach him at every shift of his limbs.
"You need to go to bed, Bruce." You whisper to him while snuggling your cheek closer to his arm.
He doesn't answer, but he does reopen his eyes. He stays still for a good few seconds.
"Don't make me have to carry you there." You playfully add.
A soft curve of his lips appears and your heart swells at the sight of a familiar sleepy face. He lifts his head and leans down, closer to you. He lays a simple kiss over your lips, one not too long. When he pulls away, your hand comes down to his cheek as he stares down at you.
"I can wait for you until you're done." He tells you, voice low and soft.
"There's no need."
He doesn't move nor say anything back.
"I won't drown, Batman." You tease him, "You can go sleep."
You lift your head from his arm and take your hand off his cheek. You sit straight as he looks back at you, giving a look over at the shower just a few steps away from you. He still has to shower before going to bed. Even if the night wasn't the busiest, Bruce really didn't want to go to sleep while still smelling like all the smoke and usual smells from Gotham's streets.
His body feels so tired and heavy that he struggles a bit to force himself to even get back into a crouch and stand back up.
"I got to shower, first." He tells you simply.
After you give him a short answer in return, he drags his boots slightly over the tile of the bathroom and walks up to the shower to turn on the water.
It doesn't take him long to get undressed or get into the shower. You, using the foam as a random excuse to get into the spraying water as well, hop out of your tub. You know you wouldn't enjoy the rest of the bath as much now that you finally got his company, so, you unplug the tub and go into the shower.
The shower is quick and not really where you two shared many words. And, after that, it took you almost no time to get Bruce to walk back to the bedroom, and even as he was half dry, yet tired enough, he got himself into the covers with no hesitation.
You joined him not too long after.
As both of you lay on the bed, the silence sets comfortably over you. Bruce stares, as he always does, while you seem to feel tired just by laying on the comfortable bed. His eyelids are heavy and his bruised body is hurtful as he lays on his side and has his arm under your pillow. You face each other as sleep gets the best of the two of you by the second.
Right as your eyes are about to close for a final time for the night, you feel a pair of soft lips press a small kiss over your forehead. Bruce pulls away and lays his head back on his pillow, watching you slowly fall asleep. You snuggle your face closer to his chest and his vacant arm lays over your back, caressing it with his palm.
Your breathing softens and so does Bruce's, as both of you fall peacefully asleep.
I'm not leaving any character soak in their dirtiness, so, yes, I made Bruce take a shower over a bath.
Hope you enjoyed this!! I didn't have much time to correct it, so I hope it's not too bad!
A/N: Hello friends!!! Here is the Bruce Wayne fic I promised!! This is a combination of the last two Bruce x Reader requests I got (reader finding his journal/a big fight with Bruce), so I hope you guys enjoy!! I based this on “I Want You To Love Me,” by Fiona Apple. It felt like it fit. Next post will most likely be chapter two of “Two Weeks,” (my Din Djarin chaptered fic). Also, lmk if you want a part 2 of this with smut. See you guys soon!
Summary: You and Bruce get into your biggest fight yet, which leads you to find something you shouldn’t have seen.
Warnings: Major mutual pining, lots of angst but eventual fluff. Cursing most likely, mentions of gun shots/wounds/blood/typical cannon violence. Probably some grammatical errors I didn’t catch.
The portal just suddenly appeared. He entered the old closet of some warehouse next to Fennel Fields, where he was trying to hide the body he had caught in the back alley when following an assailant, and this was the quickest place to bring him. But the next thing he knew, the room was not the same one he scoped out that one time months ago. The next thing he knew, a random door ended up leading to an elevator.
There was no time for him to react, nor a chance for him to resist when the box started moving upward. The elevator was a clean one. It had chrome walls, a soft scent of lemon citrus and something a bit floral, and the floor beneath him gleamed it’s marble shin.
Adrian then looked down at himself. His was armor scuffed and he was still gripping his sword, that had traces of blood on it. He looked up at up at the mirror in front of him, where his reflection looked just as confused as he felt.
The elevator then dinged, a soft chime that was oddly calming. And before he could figure out how to work the fancy panel on the far wall, the doors slid open.
He stepped out into a penthouse apartment, one that looked like it could have belonged to a celebrity, or maybe a sexy Bond villain by the looks of some things. The ceilings stretched high, soft white light spilling across plush toned leather furniture and soft cream carpets. But what caught his eye were the details.
A pair of crow Beanie Babies perched on the mantel near the door, lags handing off the shelf and flaps next to each other like they were holding hands. Little glass cat figurines lined the window ledge. There was also a massive aquarium that glowed by the entrance, filled with colorful fish weaving through coral and bubbles. There were also large pictures of a sexy woman in lingerie hanging from some of the walls.
The whole place was…glitzy, but strangely comforting.
He barely had time to process before he heard the soft scrape of a knife on a cutting board.
Walking further into the home, Adrian turned toward the sound and saw you.
You stood in the kitchen, the sunlight spilling over your skin like honey from the large windows of the open floor plan. Everything about you looked expensive, especially as part of the home. From the delicate gold bracelets stacked on your wrists to the diamond studs glittering in your ears. Your hair was a perfect sculpture of curls that framed your face, and your skin was a rich and radiant brown that seemed to glow.
You were slicing fruit, which looked to be kiwi, which he watched you pop into your mouth. Your outfit was as pristine as the apartment, a fitted cream blouse tucked into a pastel skirt, and cream red-bottom stilettos clicking against the tile floor.
For a moment, Adrian forgot to breathe as he stared at you.
And then you looked up.
And your entire face lit up.
“Adrian!”
The sound of your voice hit him like a shot to the chest. Before he could react, you were rushing toward him, those expensive heels clicking against the floor like rapid-fire gunshots. You threw yourself into his arms, your perfume wrapping around him—that same lemon citrus mix from the elevator, but more intoxicating on your skin. Your arms went around his neck, and your lips pressed against his cheek, his jaw, his forehead, his mouth. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! You’re here!” You got out between pecks.
Adrian stiffened at the sudden impact, and his arms came up instinctively, hands resting awkwardly at your waist. You were warm to the touch, skin soft and like putty in his hands.
He blinked, eyes wide and unblinking, as you pulled back enough to look at him.
Your manicured nails slid up into his hair, careful not to caress his skin, as if you were used to his sensory issue as you scratched at his scalp. “I’m so glad you could make it, baby.” Your voice softened, affectionate and playful all at once. “I was so bummed thinking we wouldn’t get to spend our anniversary together.”You pouted then, genuinely disappointed, before you leaned in to kiss him again, a soft press of lips that tasted faintly like fruit.
Adrian still hadn’t spoken. His brain blank, which was highly unlike him.
“Adrian?” You asked, tilting your head.
He blinked them. “Huh?”
“What’s wrong?” You asked, eyes narrowing in concern. “You look dazed. Are you sick? Did work give you another concussion? And when did you change your frames? The good looks nice, though.”
“Oh, no, I’m okay.” He said quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just… so excited to see you.”
Your smile softened at that, but your eyes were full of love as the sun reflected on you, shining in the light. “It’s been a while.” You said softly.
“It has.” He said, trying to match your warmth.
But then your voice dropped, husky and intimate, your words brushing the air between you. “I’ve missed the smell of you on the sheets.”
Adrian froze again at that, eyes locked on yours.
“And on your clothes.” You murmured, brushing your nose against his, rubbing against his cold skin. “It didn’t last long in your laundry, either. I had to clean them after a while—or else the blood would stain.”
He just keeping getting more and more confused, one that now mixed with hot and bothersome as you kept speaking. That information hit him like a jolt. His pulse jumped, the soldier in him snapping to attention. But your tone wasn’t fearful. If anything, it was fond. And that turned him on, that you weren’t phased by his way of life.
“And I missed your touch.” You whispered, leaning close enough for your breath to ghost his ear. You nipped at his earlobe, then let your tongue trace the skin lightly, teasingly. Adrian’s breath hitched, his hands twitching against your waist.
Before he could close his eyes or respond to your sensual affection, you pulled back, playful and chipper again, your expression snapping back to that look of sunshine.
“But we don’t have time for that!” You chirped.
You grabbed his face, squishing his cheeks together so his lips puckered into an exaggerated pout. “You’re here, it’s our anniversary, and we should have plans!”you then leaned in and planted a loud, dramatic kiss on his lips. “Muah!”The sound echoing in the quiet apartment.
“Now go get dressed.” You said, tapping his nose with a manicured finger. “And don’t go rummaging through my dirty laundry.” You added, sending him a cheeky wink before you turned back toward your breakfast, hips swaying.
Adrian stood there, dazed, watching you walk away. His gaze dipped briefly, almost helplessly, to the curve of your hips in that tight skirt, and just as he realized what he was doing, you glanced over your shoulder and caught him. You smiled, a slow and knowing grin that made something in his chest twist, before going back to slicing your fruit.
Summary - Dick and you have been dating for a couple months so he decides to start telling his family, with your permission, while you are off world. Only no one believes him. Thus begins a month of Dick trying and failing to convince a family of detectives that he has a girlfriend.
Event Masterlist
"Do you have to go?" Dick whines and flops back onto your bed dramatically next to you.
"Sadly I can't blow off an incoming space war for you." You laugh and push at his shoulder. "I will hopefully be back in about a month."
He sighs, letting his head lean back against the pillow so he can stare up at your ceiling, "I wish you didn't have to be so absent lately."
The humor on your face melts away into something softer as you fix some of his curls that have fallen into his face. He looks over at you with a longing that has sat in his chest for years.
"I asked for more time off so hopefully I will start working closer to home. After that I will be around more and I can finally meet your family properly."
The prospect of you being around more often makes him giddy but you meeting his family makes him a little nervous.
They are going to love you, he knows because Dick loves you. The problem was that he would most likely never have alone time with you ever again.
"I will let them know about us while you are gone so they can be eased into it." Dick decides aloud.
You give him a smile that makes him feel like he just won the lottery, "I am excited to meet them and the other Lanterns probably want to give you a shovel talk, especially Guy and Hal."
Dick can't help but roll his eyes at that, "They can't scare me, I'm not even scared of Batman."
"Maybe but they feel the need to so don't laugh at them too hard." You laugh and kiss his cheek.
Once you have left with the rest of the lanterns, and Hal and Guy have threatened him sufficiently, he decides to begin the process of telling his family.
Dick tells Bruce first, knowing his mentor would appreciate not being kept in the dark. He stays behind one night after patrol when everyone else is gone. Bruce calls him out on his constant fidgiting and Dick tells him the truth.
He gets a hum in response. Usually it would be a grunt of acknowledgement or something like that but instead he gets a hum that sounds extremely skeptical.
Dick narrows his eyes at him and doesn't call him out on it, just files it away for later.
One by one he pulls his family aside to tell them about you and each time he is either looked at with confusion or, in Jason's case, laughed at hysterically for ten minutes.
He doesn't know what is going on. Are they collectively pranking him? Have they all gone insane? Has he gone insane?
You are still off world so he feels particularly down as he stands on a rooftop over looking Gotham. He feels terribly like Bruce as he broods while the city moves below him.
"Nightwing." Bruce greets as he lands on the rooftop, followed by Jason and Damian.
Jason gives him a two fingered salute while Damian nods in his direction.
"Batman, Red Hood, Robin." Dick greets. "What do you need from me?"
"We need your help on a case-" Bruce starts and Dick immediately crosses over to their side of the roof, ready to help.
Bruce goes to continue talking but a bright streak of pink light illuminates the night sky.
Dick is almost knocked over by how fast you hug him, it knocks some of the air out of his lungs. As soon as he registers what is happening he hugs you back.
"Baby!" You float a little off the ground as you hold him. "I missed you so much!"
"I missed you to." Dick says with a soft smile.
You release him and he remembers that Bruce, Damian and Jason are still there.
Dick's smile turns to a self satisfied smirk.
"This is my partner." He looks smug as they all are in various states of shock.
"Hi!" You wave cheerfully at them, unaware of his uphill battle of getting his family to believe him.
"I thought you made it up Richard," Damian regains his ability to speak first. "She is very out of your league."
Dick groans in frustration while you hold back laughter.
He wishes he never told his family about you.
Blue’s notes - Star Sapphire reader how I love you 💕 also this idea is hilarious to me.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: damian wayne x batmom!reader (feat. bruce wayne and tim drake)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: damian is sick and needs someone to pick him up from school, but the vice principal doesn't make it easy for you as damian's stepmother.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a bit angst (idk if it's considered as angst but just to be sure), mention of having to bury a child (jason), fluff, 3.1k words, not proofread, let me know if I forgot something :p
𝐚/𝐧: wanted to post this fic like 2 weeks ago, but I was distracted by other ideas.
"Here we are," you say, turning around to face your youngest boys in the backseat.
"Great, thanks mom," Tim smiles at you, unbucklling his seatbelt so he is able to lean forward to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before he opens the car door to step out, frowning at Damian when he realises that the younger boy hasn't moved a muscle yet, although he was always the first one in and out of the car.
You give him a nod when he looks to you, signaling him that it is okay to go. "Have a nice day with your friends, Timmy. Love you."
"Love you too, bye," he says with a smile, closing the door when he spots some of his friends.
When Tim is far enough away, you turn your head towards Damian who's slightly leaning against the window. He looks a lot sicker than when you all left the house, but when you tried to convince him to stay home he said something along the lines like '𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦' and '𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴' or something like that.
Damian lives with you for a while now, but sometimes he still finds it difficult to accept help (especially because he still has the feeling that you want to test him and not that you actually just want to care for him). You don’t want to think about all the cruel things Ra's al Ghul probably did to him when he was sick and couldn't concentrate on his training.
With a shake of your head to get the image out of your mind, you look at Damian again. "Are you sure you want to go to school?" you ask with a soft voice because you're sure the boy has a headache, "your father has a lot of meetings today, and with Tim going to a friend's house after school, it would be just you and me at home, and well Alfred of course."
"I'm fine," he mumbles back while finally unbucklling his seatbelt.
You let out a quiet huff, of course 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 his answer. "We could watch some movies, read a bit or play some games," you suggest, "we can do whatever you want."
"I want to go to school." 𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, you give him that.
"Okay," you relent, watching him rub his slightly glassy red eyes before he opened the car door to step out. "I'm home today, please call me when you feel worse," you say, thinking about what you could say to convince him to come back home with you, "you're not weak if you call me, Dickie still calls me when he's not feeling well."
Damian rolls his eyes with a scoff, "Grayson just wants the attention you give him."
"And I gladly give it to him," you defense your eldest son, "I give it to all my kids. That includes you too," you smile softly before you continue with a teasing voice, "besides, if you really think Dick wants attention when he's sick, you should really see how your father acts when he's sick."
Damian's lips twitch at your tease.
"Have a nice day, love you."
Damian gives a small nod, working his jaw before he lets out a quiet, "bye, mom," and closes the door to make his way to the entrance of the school.
You start your car, smiling to yourself despite the slight guilt you felt because you couldn't convince him to stay home with you. Damian started to call you '𝘮𝘰𝘮' a month ago, and it still made you smile every time you heard it. You two had a bad start—like everyone had with him—but when he started to realize he couldn't get rid of you, he started to see that you actually didn't want to get also rid of him—like he thought—but that you just want to get to know him, and if he wants to take care of him.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
"Hello?"
"Hello, Mrs. Wayne, it's Zuri. I'm really sorry to bother you," she begins, and you straight up at the voice of Bruce's assistant, not because you didn't like her, you absolutely adore Zuri. She's a really sweet woman in her mid fifties, who helped you a lot back then when you were new parents to Dick, and you bought him along when Bruce had time to eat lunch together. It was rather her tone that let you knew something was wrong.
"What did Bruce do?"
"It's about Damian—"
"Damian?" you interrup her, feeling guilty for not convincing him to stay home.
"Yeah," Zuri winces, "the school called a few times, saying that he doesn't feel well, and that Mr. Wayne should pick him up, but he's in a very important meeting right now."
All you could think about was why the school tried to call your husband first, and why they didn't called you immediately after they found out Bruce was busy? On all three information sheets of your boys (Jason went to a public school), you filled out that in case of any emergency you'll be the 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 person to be reached out for, and 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 if they couldn't reach you, they would have to reach for your husband. 𝘚𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?
"I asked them if they couldn't reach you," she continues, when you didn't say something back, "they said that it was against the school rules or something like that, and that Mr. Wayne should pick Damian up."
"Against the rules?" you ask, but it was more a question to yourself. "That's weird, but thanks for calling me."
"I'm sorry for not asking more questions, but they pretty much ended the call quickly after that."
"No need to apologize," standing up from your bed, you grab a jacket before you make your way downstairs to get your shoes, "you absolutely did the right thing to call me first, before interruping an important meeting."
"It's probably just a misunderstanding."
"I hope you," you say, putting on your shoes, "please let Bruce know, after the meeting is over, that I picked Damian up, and he doesn't need to worry, we just make a cosy movie day together."
"Will do Mrs. Wayne."
"Thanks again Zuri, have a nice day, bye."
"You too. I hope Damian gets well soon, bye." With that the call ended, and you had all your things to go get your son, and make a cosy movie day, hoping that he doesn't want to watch animal documentaries again.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
You walk through the door, seeing Damian sit on one of the chairs near the secretary's desk, well he's more slumped into it which directly alert you on how worse he must feel because that boy has a straight posture 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, even when he was 'relaxing'.
You go straight to him, ignoring any other people in the room completely, your boy comes first.
You kneel before him to better cup his face, frowning when your hands make contact with his skin that feels hot and sweaty. He probably has a fever. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?
"Ummi?" Damian questions, when he felt your hands cup his face, trying to blink his dizziness away, "I'm...fine."
You smile at him softly, knowing he must feel vulnerable (even though he would never admit that). He called you that the first and last time after he was seriously injured on a mission. Back then, just like today, he didn't want to admit that he didn't want to be alone, and you didn't left his side for his entire recovery time. Some time after that he started to call you 'mom'.
"I know, baby," you let out a quick disbelieving laugh, of course he still tries to argue with you, "but I take you home anyway. You can feel fine at there too."
He doesn't argue with you any further which is another signal for you that he was anything but fine. You just hoped you didn't need to take him to a hospital or call a doctor, you just want to get home, give him some medicine, Alfred's famous 'get well' soup, and than cuddle in bed, but for now you had another problem to solve first.
Standing up, you turn around and look at the other two people in the room. You first look to the secretary, the one who should have called you, but she wouldn't look directly into your eyes which is really weird to you because she was always friendly, shrugging it off in your head, you turn your gaze to the man you never saw before.
"Hello," the man greets with a sigh and a look that tells you he is not happy that you ignored him before, stretching his hand out anyway, "I'm Mr. Banks, the vice principal."
"Mrs. Wayne," you say, shaking his hand, "where's Mr. Santos?" you had a really weird feeling about this 'vice principal', starting with the fact that you never saw this man before and that he had grabbed your hand to hard to which you let go as soon as possible.
"Oh, Mr. Santos isn't here today, he called in sick."
You give him a soft nod in acknowledge, looking over you shoulder to make sure Damian was still fine, you really should make this conversation short, the sooner you'll be home the better.
"Will Mr. Wayne be here soon?" Mr. Banks asks before you could ask anything, looking at the door to see if Bruce just parked the car, and will soon coming in as well.
"No, he's in an important meeting," you answer, "which is why I'm actually a little confused as to why nobody called me. The information papers clearly states that in case of an emergency, I am the first person to be informed."
Mr. Banks frowns slightly, seemingly not happy about the fact that your husband wouldn't come to the school. "We simply followed the school rules."
"Which are?"
"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed."
"But I wasn't informed," your brows knit together, looking back to the secretary, but she still avoided eye contact. "The assistant of my husband informed me. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but I'm the first person to be informed because—"
"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed," Mr. Banks interrupts.
"Right," you agree, nodding your head once, "that's why I'm confused to why you didn't call me first, or even after my husband didn't answer his phone."
"In case of an emergency the parents—"
"Which I am," you interrupt him this time, getting very irritated with him, your child was sick, and you wanted to know why nobody called you. "I'm his mom, so I—"
"𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘮𝘰𝘮."
"Excuse me?" you say with a clam voice, but you were everything but calm. Yes, you're his stepmother, but you absolutely didn't like the tone he used when he said the word.
"You're his Stepmom, and the school rules say that 'the parents are to be informed', and that doesn't apply to you here," he says with a smile on his face that you really want to slap off of his face.
Damian straights in the chair, glaring at the vice principal. How dare he to speak to you like that? Your his mother, and nobody but him and you could decide on that matter. Reaching to his dagger, that he actually wasn't allowed to bring to school, he stops when you step aside, blocking his way to Mr. Banks. Damian scoffs, knowing it's a warning that you have everything under control. He slumps back in his seat, but being still on high alert to fight for your honor.
You relax slightly when you hear Damian scoff, knowing he wouldn't do anything, well at least for now. You've been long enough together with Bruce, therefore you have unfortunately a lot of experience with these kind of people. People who saw you 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 as his wife, as a 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭 who can't do nothing but spend the money of her hard working man.
"You can of course wait here with Damian until your husband arrives."
You're normally a very patient and calm person, you had to be with four sons, but you were fed up with this man, so you couldn't help yourself but laugh at him.
Mr. Banks looks confused, clearly not understanding what's so funny all of the sudden. "That's not funny, Madam."
"Yeah it is," you say, still laughing, "it's very funny that you think you can stop me from taking 𝘮𝘺 sick child home."
"It's against the school politics to allow a stranger to pick up the kids."
"Well, lucky for you that I'm not a fucking stranger. I'm his 𝘮𝘰𝘮, I have authority 𝘢𝘯𝘥 permission to take him home."
"Like I said," Mr. Banks continues, completely ignoring what you just said, "you can wait here with Damian, but only Mr. Wayne and Damian's mother are allowed to take him home."
You scoff, turning around to go to Damian. You were absolutely tired and fed up with this stupid conversation. "Sweetheart, grab your bag, we're going home."
"You can go, but Damian stays here. I don't want to call security, so why don't you calm down and go a bit shopping or whatever else you do with your husband's money."
Normally Damian would jump off of his chair, and protect your honor from his vice principal, but he felt really dizzy. But then he saw the look in your eyes, and could slump back in his seat with ease, knowing this look all too well, he knew to better not stand in your way.
"I adopted three children."
"What—"
"I adopted three children," you say again, raising your voice slightly, "I'm their mother, and also Damian's. I didn't adopt him because his biological mother is still alive, and I'm very grateful for that because the parents of my other children are 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥."
"Mrs. Wayne please listen—"
"No, you listen!" you take a step forward. "I had to fucking bury on of my kids, so if you think security can stop me, please be my guest and call them, but I'm calling the police because you hold us hostage. I have permission to take Damian home, so next time do your fucking job, and look in the files of the children to see who is allowed to pick them up and who isn't."
Mr. Banks looks shocked, not knowing what to say or what to do, but before a sound could come out of his mouth you continue, "oh and I'm not a stupid little doll who spends the money of her husband all day. Am I a staying home mom? Yes! Absolutely nothing wrong with that. You think you can do my job?" you laugh again, taking another step forward, "fine, let's switch places for a day, but we all know you wouldn't survive an hour in my shoes."
With that you turn on your heels and go to kneel before Damian again. "C'mere, baby," you say in a much softer tone, taking him in your arms to stand up, its also another sign on how bad he must feel. Damian wouldn't let people carry him, he must be really 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 tired.
"Ma'am, please let us talk this through," Mr. Banks tries to stop you, seemingly sensing that he made a huge mistake, but before his hand, with wich he tried to stop you, could touch your shoulder, Damian stopped him.
Damian grabs Mr. Banks' wrist, looking him with his last bit of strength sharp in the eyes, "don't touch her!"
I-I wasn't I o-only—" the man stutters, shocked by the brutal strength of the young boy.
You turn around, forcing Damian to let go of his vice principal. "You wanted to meet my husband so desperately? Congratulations, you will meet him, but I can guarantee you that it won't be a pleasant meeting," you say with a wicked smile that mirrors the same one that your son has on his face, when you finally leave the school office.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
Back home you send Damian into his room to change into something cosy, asking Alfred to make soup while you prepare tea and look for medicine to hopefully reduce Damian's fever.
You thank Alfred before heading to Damian's room with a tray of everything you need to take care of your boy, frowning when you see his door is open, but he's not in the room, you smile to yourself because you know exactly where he is, where all your children end up sooner or later: 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮.
And indeed, Damian lies in your bed on his father's side as if it had always been his.
"There you are," you smile, placing the tray on your nightstand.
"I thought it made more sense to be here so you wouldn't have to get up every ten minutes to check on me," he mumbles between coughs. Damian would never admit out loud that he just doesn't want to be alone right now so. "And your TV is a lot bigger than mine."
You both knew that was a lie; all televisions were the same size, thanks to 12-year-old Dick and his jealousy of Jason at the time. But you just hum in agreement, happy that you can take care of him without arguing about it.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
A small smile spread across your face when you hear hurrying footsteps. After Damian ate his soup and drank half of the tea, he quickly fell asleep once his head made contact with your shoulder, thanks to the medicine.
Bruce opens the door as quietly as possible, smiling when he sees you and Damian cuddle up together with you stroking your hand through his hair. When Zuri told him everything after his meeting, he immediately cancelled all other meetings, and made his way home.
"Hey," he whispers, leaning over you to give you a kiss before he brushes some hair from Damian's forehead, the boy lets out a displeased sound, tucking his face into your neck. "Looks like we got another mama's boy."
You laugh softly, cupping Bruce's face with your free hand, "aren't they all at some point?"
"Can't blame them," he smiles, leaning down to give you another kiss before he frowns slightly, "want to tell me what happened with the school?"
"Later," you answer to which Bruce nods. You don't want to talk about what happened now, knowing that Bruce will get angry when you tell him what the vice principal said. "I just want to cuddle with my boys."
Bruce smirks, standing back up to his full height to take off his jacket and tie before he cuddles up to your other side.
"What?" he asks at your raised brow, "he's completely on my side, and they always kick me when their sick."
"Expect Dick."
"That's because he kicks every other time."
"Can you be quiet? I'm trying to sleep."
You and Bruce chuckle, giving Damian a kiss on the head and cuddle closer together. You feel the stress from today leaving your body when you melt against your husband, knowing that Bruce will probably ensure that Mr. Banks won't find a job as vice principal ever again, after having a 'talk' with him of course.
The Wayne Family Does A WIRED Autocomplete Interview
pairing: batfam x batmom; Bruce Wayne x fem!reader
warning: Usage of Y/N (it's unavoidable here), Bat siblings, Bruce Wayne has a sense of humor (who knew), talks of pregnancy, Tim Drake missing spleen, light cursing (there might be grammatical error sorry)
wordcount: 3, 184
author notes: my YouTube watch history is going to be fucked with this series. Anyways I hope you guys like it.
[Batfamily Interviews Masterlist] | next interview ->
The video opens with with a short in the moment intro. It the Wayne Family, they don't know that the camera started to roll. In the first row from left to right sit you, Damian, Cass, and Duke. Behind in the second row sits Bruce, Jason, Dick, Tim, and Stephanie. Jason is messing with Damian by barely touching his earlobe. Damian flinches at the feel of a ghostly touch.
"Todd!" Damian yells. Which cause Damian and Dick to both laugh.
You turn in your seat to swat Jason's hand away, "Can we behave for once?"
The camera cuts before showing the Wayne again, but this time all facing the camera sitting nicely as this time they were informed that the video had started.
"Hello, we are the Waynes and this is the WIRED Autocomplete Interview." Bruce introduces.
Autocomplete suggests the most common searches on the internet
"I still don't quite understand the rules of this…" Bruce admits to his children.
Stephanie groans, "B, we went over this."
So WIRED asked the Wayne family some of the Internet's burning questions
Jason holds the board and angles it in a way that it faces the camera. The board display that of a Google search with Bruce Wayne typed into the search bar and four questions coming up in the search. Part of the sentence was hidden under a white tab.
"So these are like the most searched questions from Google and you have to answer them." Tim explains.
"Is there a right and wrong answer?" Bruce asked.
Tim and Steph both shake their heads, "No."
"Just answer the question however you want." Stephanie said.
Jason pulls the first tab off to reveal the hidden part of the question. "Is Bruce Wayne…richer than Lex Luthor?"
"Um…I think I'm generally considered richer than him in wealth, I mean I'm certainly richer than him in other aspects…like having hair…"
The crew begins to laughs. Jason makes a 'boom' sound as he pretends to drop a bomb.
"Shots fired." Dick said.
You were sitting there pinching the bridge of your nose trying your best not to laugh.
"You know lots of things" Bruce said smugly.
"Why is Bruce Wayne…afraid of bats?" Jason read off the next questions.
"Are you really afraid of bats?" Duke asked turning in his chair to look at Bruce.
"Okay…I wouldn't really say afraid…." Bruce started before you interrupted.
"No, you still have some fear for them." you corrected.
"When I was seven, maybe eight, I fell down an old well that was part of the property that I wasn't suppose to be at. Ended up being part of a cave system and there was a flock of bats that swarmed and attack me." Bruce stated.
"Wait are you serious?" Stephanie double checked.
"When aren't I?" Bruce said sarcastically.
Jason reveals the next question, "Does Bruce Wayne…have living family?"
Stephanie gasps, "Kate. We love Kate." The other nod in agreement.
Bruce throws a hand up, "My cousin, Kate from my mother's side. Who was actually with me when I fell down that hole and may or may not be the reason." Bruce gives a dead stare to the camera.
"Clip that." Steph said towards the crew.
Bruce gave a confuse look, "What?"
"B, again we talked about this!"
You were still hung up on what Bruce said, "Wait no she wasn't. Kate was living in Europe at the time."
Bruce put a finger to his lips in a 'shushing' motion.
"Alright last question," Jason annouced, "Is Bruce Wayne…batman. That's the age old question right there."
"Bruce is never beating the batman allegations." Dick said.
"Not I am not Batman. I hate that guy." Bruce states.
Jason throws the board somewhere off camera.
The next broad gets passed and it had Dick's name on it. Damien holds it, while you peel off the tabs and read the questions.
"Alright is Dick Grayson's name Dick." you read off.
"Yes actually his full name is Dick-wad." Jason answer for his older brother.
Dick slaps the back of his brother's head. "It's Richard." There was a pause before Dick speaks up again, "Why is Dick short for Richard? Who came up with that?" Dick asked, genuinely curious.
"In the Middle Ages, it was a trend to rhyme things. Rich or Rick was actually the shorten name for Richard, but then Rick evolved into Dick." Alfred answer somewhere off camera.
"That was the infamous Alfred Pennyworth everybody." Jason said.
You read the next question, "Where is Dick Grayson…from?"
A unison of 'o's' sounded from Dick's left (camera right).
"Aren't you like…technically not from anywhere?" Tim asked.
"Kind of, I was born into a traveling circus, so there was like actual city to like call home because the circus was home." Dick explained.
"So nowhere?" Stephanie clarified.
"Your birth certificate actually says Star City because that's where the circus was heading next." Bruce mentioned.
Dick pauses and leans forward to look at Bruce, "They told me that they lost it."
"I have my ways." Bruce said.
"Okay, two more question." you say. "What happened to Dick Grayson?"
Dick looked towards the camera confuse, "Did something happen to me that I'm not aware of?" This makes Stephanie and Jason laugh.
"I think they are talking about the circus accident, honey." you say.
"Oh like what to me after the…oh well to make a long story short, I got adopted by a grumpy rich guy that had no idea what he was getting himself into by taken in a kid that lived in a circus his entire life."
"Never in the history of ever did someone had to child proof chandeliers." Bruce said.
"Is that why the chandeliers are all bolted like that?" Duke asked.
"Yes, because Dick kept swinging on them."
"You know everyone thinks that Jay was the trouble, rowdy kid, but it was actually Dick." you pointed out. "Alright last question…you wanna read it Dami?"
"Dick Grayson…butt contest?" Damian read out.
Dick hides his face while his siblings laugh at him.
"So…" Dick began to say, face still hidden behind his hand. "So Teen Vogue put me in a contest for who had the greatest ass or something like that." Dick removes his hand from his face. "They had Nightwing also in that contest and it was down between me and him and I lost…which is utter…crap. I definitely have the better ass, but yeah that's that." Dick explained.
Damian tosses the board lightly off camera and another board was handed to Duke.
"Damian this one is yours." Duke said. "Is Damian Wayne…vegan?"
"Vegetarian. They are entirely different despite what people might think." Damian informs with a matter-of-fact voice.
"Is Damian Wayne…" Duke begins the next question before Damian can go into detail about the difference between vegans and vegetarians. Duke pulls back the tabs and slightly laughs at it before speaking. "Is Damian Wayne a test tube baby?"
Jason fell towards Dick in a belly laugh. Stephanie was also laughing and clutching onto Tim for support. Damian crossed his arms in a pout and you pulled him in and gave him a little frown.
"Oh wow, how did you guys get Tim's search history?" Jason joked. Tim threw his hands up in defense.
"I think they are confusing me with the clon-" you covered Damian's mouth before he could say too much.
"Is this really what people are searching?" Bruce asked.
Jason straighten up and wiped tears from his eyes, "I think that's the best question we are going to get this entire video."
"No Damian is not a test tube baby." you answer as you removed your hand from Damian's mouth.
"Well…" Tim began and that seem to set off a vocal stim amongst the siblings.
Damian glared daggers at his brothers.
"Stop it." Bruce warned.
"What is Damian Wayne's…favorite animal?" Duke read.
"All of them, it's hard to chose a favorite." Damian states.
Cassandra leans over and whispers something into his ear. It was the first time she had say anything the entire video. Though she is know to be the quite one and not one for speaking.
"Cassandra said that I should mention all of my pets that I have." Damian repeats what Cass said to him.
"You have have like 20 animals." Tim said.
"This is gonna be a minute." Dick stated.
"There's Alfred The Cat, he a tuxedo cat so it makes him look like a butler. So I named him after our butler. Ace and Titus are mostly father's pet Doberman, but they like me more. Then there is Bat-Cow, she has marking on her face that make it look like she is wearing a mask like the bats and then I'm gonna count Grayson's dog Haley because I watch her a lot and then…" Damian turns to look at Bruce. No words where exchanged between the two, but you knew what Damian was asking. "And then there is Goliath, he's a dragon bat."
"You just unintentionally answered the next question." someone says off camera.
Everyone looked towards Duke as he pulled off the tab to the last question.
"How many pets does Damian Wayne have?"
"Are you fucking psychic or something, Cass? Jason asked looking at her.
Cass gives a knowing smile.
The next board was pass and Stephanie grabbed it.
"Oh this should be good." she said and looked at Tim, who was beside her. "Is Tim Drake…" she pulls the tab, "Gay?"
"I lied I think Tim's questions are going to be the best." Jason said.
Tim sighs, already over it, "Yes, bisexual. Next question."
"Does Tim Drake…" Stephanie reveals the rest of the question and instantly falls out of the chair in laughter. Everyone was confuse.
"Wait what did it say?" Dick asked leaning back to look at Steph who was on the floor.
Tim snatched up the board from her and read it. "Does Tim Drake have a spleen..okay you know what, we're done."
Tim tosses the board and walks off screen. Stephanie was now in tears on the ground. Dick and Jason were now also laughing. Cass was smiling, laughing silently.
"Drake is very sensitive about his spleen." Damian said.
"Tim, baby, come back." you say.
Bruce looks back at Stephanie, "Stephanie…" there was a bit of amusement in his voice.
"Steph, honey." you said.
The was a cut in the video, everyone was in recovery form laugh, Stephanie was wiping the tears from her eyes and every once in a while she would threaten to start laughing again, but would compose herself.
"Okay look the whole spleen thing." Tim began and this time Jason was the one to break, "Jason!"
"I'm sorry, the situation was funny." Jason said.
"Okay so I got stabbed. When you live in Gotham there is a fifty percent chance you are going to get caught in something." There was some gasps from the crew. "Hold on, don't gasps yet. I kept it a secret. Bruce and mom where out of town along with Alfred," Bruce could feel his blood pressure rise the more Tim tells the story, "So I tried to take care of it myself. Ended up getting an infection from it, got really sick. Dumb and dumber had to take me to the hospital, where I had to get my spleen taken out."
You and Bruce were shaking your heads.
"This is where we also learned that Tim is like a freaking Victorian child. A common cold could actually kill him." Dick said.
"Should also mention that Bruce had to demand to get your spleen back and now we have it in a jar." Stephanie said.
"Yeah, so that is the spleen story, so now everyone stop talking about my spleen." Tim said to the camera.
"Tim Drake coffee order." Stephanie says.
"Black coffee with half a pound of sugar." you say.
"It is not that much sugar." Tim corrected.
"Timothy." you said with a stern voice.
"It's a lot of sugar." Tim said, defeated.
Stephanie reveal the last question, "Tim Drake's age."
Tim went to answer, but Jason stopped. "Hold up, hold up. I think we should have the old man answer this."
"I know how old all of you are." Bruce stated.
"Do you though?" you looked back at your husband. He looked at you offended.
"Dick's 25, Damian is 11, Duke is 16, Jay you're 19…"
"That sounds like a question." Jason stated.
"It wasn't. Cassie is also 19, older by two weeks. Tim and Steph are 18."
You looked surprised, "Wow, I'm surprised, you normally get them mixed up."
"Jason's turn." Dick says holding the board. "Is Jason Todd…Bruce Wayne's biological son?"
Jason rolled his eyes, "Really."
It should be noted that Bruce and Jason were sitting the exact same way with their arms crossed and a scowl on their face.
"Multiple blood test have been done and we can confirm, for now at least, that Jason and Bruce have no biological relations." you state.
"I think it's the fact that DNA test have to even be done." Tim said.
"You guys do scarily look alike though, even Dick, Tim, and even Cass have some resembles." Duke said.
Cass got your attention and started to sign to you.
"Do you remember when we found that one picture and we all thought it was Jason, but turns out it was actually just a young Bruce." you translate Cass' signing.
"I don't see it." Bruce says looking at his children, which makes the crew laugh.
"Is Jason Todd…dead?"
"Only on the inside." Jason says and he moves before you could wack him because he just knows. "Um…I was. Well I was presume dead anyways."
"Dude has a whole grave and everything." Stephanie said.
Dick pulls the tab back to the third question, "What happened to Jason Todd?"
"That's a loaded question." Tim says.
"A lot." Jason states.
"And final question," Dick says, "Why did Jason Todd go missing?"
"Oh my gosh," Jason blurts out, which makes some laugh. "I ran away, I was a kid. Stop Googling me, please." Dick throws the board behind him.
"Oh goodness is it my turn?" you say looking at the board Bruce was holding.
"How did Y/N Wayne and Bruce Wayne meet?" Bruce askes.
"The most rom-com way ever." Dick said.
Bruce made a face, "I wouldn't say that."
"Bruce didn't like me when we met." you say. The news of this makes the children gasps. You nod, "Yeah He tried to find ways to get rid of me actually because he didn't think I was needed. I was hired on as Bruce's assistant though really I was working for Alfred cause someone didn't want to run their own company." you dissed.
Bruce lean down to kiss the top of your head, "I'm glad my attempts weren't successful, my love." he said.
Jason reads the next question, "How did Bruce Wayne propose to Y/N Wayne?"
"Well it was suppose to be a surprise, but someone couldn't keep their mouth shut and crash the proposal site." Bruce grumbles.
Dick had a guilty look on his face, "Listen I was excited, I didn't know it was suppose to be a surprise."
"I quite literally told you that it was when I tucked you into bed that night."
"To answer the question though, we went to the Gotham Botanical Garden because there was a new statue exhibit that were like copy of famous renaissance sculpture, but I had to pretend like I didn't know what was happening because Dick told me that night before leaving for dinner." you said.
Bruce has the board back in his hands now, "Y/N Wayne's birthday."
"Yeah Bruce, when's ma's birthday?" Jason asked.
"It was one time…" Bruce address.
"One time too many." you said giving him a look.
"It's May twenty-second." Bruce said.
"Is Y/N Wayne…" Bruce lifts the tab, but puts it back when he read what underneath it.
You furrow you eyebrows at him, "What?"
Jason leans over Bruce to pull the tab away, "Pregnant." An uproar started which causes you to laugh.
"There is already enough of us!" Steph exclaim.
"There's no way this is how you tell us." Tim adds.
Duke and Cass where beaming compare to Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie. Damian's expression was unreadable.
"No I am not pregnant." you say.
"You're smiling!" Jason points out.
"I was just laughing."
"I'm not convinced."
"Last board." Duke announces.
"Last board!" the rest children said (minus Damian and Cass) in various different ways.
"Alright. How to get adopted by the Wayne family?" Tim reads off.
"Be an orphan or semi-orphan." Dick said.
"Have a lot of trauma." Tim adds.
"And you too just might be picked up off the streets by Bruce Wayne." Jason finishes.
"Or you can be like me and just stick around long enough that you eventually get you own room and become a dependent on taxes." Steph says.
You laugh at your children's antics while Bruce just shakes his head. Something that he seems to do a lot through the video.
"How many kids are in the Wayne Family?" Duke reads the next question.
"Legally or…" Bruce asked, which makes the crew laugh. "Legally everyone here minus Stephanie who, beyond contrary belief, won't let us adopt her. So don't let what she says fool you."
Stephanie beams.
"Does the Wayne Family own Gotham?" Dick reads.
"No." Bruce answers, "We are one of the founding families, but none of us really own anything. Gotham is run by the people…I just help fund it."
"The Wayne family corrupt." Jason reads.
"Again no." Bruce restates, "My father made questionable choices, but it was all driven by the love he had for my mother."
"And it seems the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Jason said as he grabs Bruce's shoulder.
The last broad gets flung somewhere off screen.
"Well that's it, I hope everyone was satisfied with our answers." you say.
"Thank WIRED for having us and apologizes to the crew members that were almost taken out by flying boards." Bruce said.
The children all wave to the camera and the video ends.
922 Comments
@ rollinghills
Bruce's face the entire time during the pregnancy question, oh she is definitely pregnant.
@ tessabp17
Not them throwing Bruce under the bus the entire time.
@ clairebear646
Why didn't Stephanie, Duke, or Cassandra have a board??
→ @ tjt5841
Cass is really private, Duke is also private and still new to the family, he's just being foster by the Waynes, and Stephanie is just there.
@ nicodegallo
Stephanie is essentially a squatter in the family. She has squatter rights lol.
@ bee2free
No because Damian looks the least like Bruce and he is the only one actually related to him.
→ @ justiceforjay007
They all look so alike, I forget that none of them are related to one another
→ @ snaillover365
Tim and Cass could literally be twins
add. notes: Lore is ovbiously changed because the internet/people can't know that the Wayne are in fact the Batfamily.
summary: being bruce wayne's best friend comes with some unexpected surprises
pairing: pattinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader
word count: 1.2k (blurb who??)
warnings: bruce is broody (ofc), implied sexual harassment (not from bruce), implied smut, best friends to lovers <3, reader is a smartass
a/n: day 2 of my sweet summer writing challenge with the prompt "you're cleaning this up, right? since this was your idea." !! dedicated to sweet @foreverindreamlandd because i know this man is everything to her 😭 this is my first time writing for bruce wayne so please be kind! i hope y'all enjoy <3
main masterlist ─ challenge masterlist
i no longer have a taglist, but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on post notifications to get fic updates! 🤍
When he first told you his secret, you all but laughed in his face. No, you did laugh in his face. The Bruce Wayne, billionaire recluse, was a bona fide superhero? That was like saying you were in the running to be the next mayor of Gotham. So you laughed and laughed, then looked at him - that cute little twitch of his mouth that either meant he wanted to laugh with you or throw you across the room - and then you laughed some more.
Until he led you down the long winding hallways to the basement - a cave, Bruce, you built a full fledged Batcave, you had said - and something deep in your gut told you the technology wasn’t just a rich man’s playthings.
So, cool, your best friend was the masked vigilante that no one in the city could decide if they loved or hated, and you had to be fine with that.
Which also meant, after Alfred, you were the only person he really had in his corner. So on the nights Bruce came home more than a little battered and bruised, you sent Alfred to his room and patched Bruce up yourself. Which afforded you the opportunity to get to know him better than you had before.
Even as his best - and only, you liked to tease him - friend, there was an unsurprising barrier around his vulnerability that few people ever stepped into. But there was something about you stitching up the holes in his body that caused him to open up more to you. About his fears of never doing enough, the hurt of the loss of his parents, the thought that he was disappointing them rather than making them proud with his nightly activities.
And as those walls came crashing down around you, so did your feelings.
You wanted to laugh it off at first, the thought of having something as silly as a crush on Bruce Wayne. Until you caught the scantily clad waitress from the bar down the block sneaking out the front door one morning, you weren’t even sure Bruce was capable of sexual or romantic feelings. But the closer you got, the more you realized that you desperately wanted him to have them, for you.
The lingering touches and covert stares from the both of you were enough to balloon your hopes until it all came to a head one winter night.
Bruce had gone out on a patrol, a typical weekday night that you hoped would be quiet and he could get back home quickly and out of the below freezing temperatures. You set up your usual first aid supplies on the dining room table and very sweetly asked Alfred for help lighting the fire before he headed up to bed.
You sat in the plush armchair reading a book until you heard the tell-tale rumble of the Batmobile - don’t call it the Batmobile, Y/N, he said every time - entering the space below you.
Thinking back, maybe you should have known something was wrong. Usually it was about 20 minutes from the time you heard him arrive to the time the fortress level door just off the study opened up. Enough time for him to download any pertinent footage from the night, take his suit off, and wash away any blood that wasn’t his own.
That night though, it was less than five before you heard heavy, booted steps and the whoosh of the door. You stood abruptly, your book falling to your feet, and rounded the corner to see Bruce standing there in his full armor, save for the helmet.
He looked disheveled, more than usual, and you could only begin to imagine what horrors of the night had The Batman so rattled.
Despite the near impenetrable material that was his suit, you knew from his slight limp that it was not a calm night, and when you stepped into his personal space to try and assess the damage, he grasped your hip so hard you winced a little. His grip loosened considerably, but he still crowded you, so in your own space that you were backed up until thick wood of the dining room table dug into your spine.
“Heard them talking about you,” he said, voice low and breathy. “Scum, all of them. Talking about you like you were a piece of meat.”
You shook your head, terribly confused. Who would be talking about you to Batman? Then you remembered your coworkers - ex-coworkers, you should say - and the whole ordeal you had sworn to keep from Bruce.
Which was, men were often entitled and sometimes handsy and you were one of several women in your office to go to HR with complaints of management trying to feel up special offers, if your meaning was clear.
You hadn’t wanted to tell Bruce, knew he would do his broody and protective bit, and it was all more trouble than it was worth, in your opinion. But of course you couldn’t keep anything from him, though you had hoped you had actually gotten away within it since it had been several weeks. No such luck.
You didn’t know if he was more angry at them, or at the fact that you had kept it from him.
“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you started, wanting to stop the conversation before it really began. “I should have told you, but it’s not a big d -”
“Not a big deal?” he hissed, crowding you even more. “You’re a big deal to me. You’re- you’re everything to me.”
Well, that certainly didn’t sound like best friend talk. No, that sounded like school boy crush, draw-your-name-in-hearts talk. Coming from Bruce? To say you were baffled was an understatement.
“What?” You wanted to back up, get away for a moment, because you couldn’t think clearly with him so close, but he didn’t get you the opportunity. Instead, he swiped a hand behind you, scattering the various supplies that laid on the table onto the floor, and lifted you up so you were sitting and he was slotted between your legs.
One hand still rested on your hip, the other coming to the nape of your neck, angling your head so your foreheads pressed together.
“You’re everything to me,” he whispered again, this time with more conviction. “Tell me you want this too.”
You were too stunned to speak, so you just nodded, and that was enough for him. Lips on yours, hands everywhere, clothes scattered one by one. You were overcome with passion for him, feeling every emotion all at once, and finally, finally, as you lay sweating and dazed on the mahogany table, Bruce’s weight pressed on top of you, did you find the words to speak.
"You're cleaning this up, right?” You motioned with the hand that wasn’t laced with his to the perfectly good medical supplies that now decorated the dining room floor. “Since this was your idea."
That managed to elicit a rare Bruce Wayne smile and instead of answering, he peppered your face with kisses, moving lower down your abdomen. And, well, you weren’t inclined to stop him.
if you liked this please consider donating to my ko-fi! 🤍
summary: Bruce should've known that nothing in Gotham City ever is smooth sailing. But when the one person in his life who means most to him gets kidnapped, he feels the darkness descending on him.
pairing: fem!reader x bruce wayne (pattinson)
tw: kidnapping, canon violence, injuries, blood, established relationship, kinda grumpy x sunshine, mentions of guns, fluff, happy ending (let me know if i missed anything!)
words: 4.8K
a/n: hi hello! of course i had to write about another emotionally damaged man, what did you think?! i hope i got the characterization right, i've only seen the movie once so let me know! hope you enjoy this piece, because i loved writing it! smalltown boy by bronski beat was on repeat when I wrote this. make of this what you want xo.
p.s. i now have a library blog! follow @aeristhotle to get notified when i update!
reblogs and feedback are appreciated ✨💗
bruce wayne masterlist | all masterlists
Gotham city had always been a dark place. During winters, it was cold and icy. Snow would heap in the streets and the sounds of the city would be muffled, though there was always an eerie quietness that left any tourist just a little unsettled. Even some of the natives of Gotham weren’t quite used yet to how the city always felt on edge, ready for a violent event to happen.
Even during spring, when the world would come out of its hibernation, Gotham remained engulfed in the darkness. It was a combination of the stormy clouds, the relentless rain and the cold gusts of air that made many scarfs disappear in the sky.
That day was no different.
However, when Bruce’s arms snuck around your waist under the warm weight of the comforter, Gotham city couldn’t feel more like paradise.
The clock read 5:13 A.M., and Bruce was a little bit earlier than you were used to. You didn’t mind the extra hour of warm body-heat that wrapped around you as he pressed his face against the back of your neck and breathed in your scent. It was a reminder to him that, even when the city was at its worst, you’d still be there in all your glory and softness - a perfect contradiction.
Bruce pressed a soft kiss against the supple skin of your neck and tightened his hold on your waist as the slumber pulled him into another world filled with darkness.
The hour of silent comfort you had with Bruce quickly passed.
At 6:15 A.M., you softly turned in his embrace and pressed a kiss against his temple. There was still a bit of dark eyeshadow left-over, forgotten in the hurry to pull off the suit and join you in his bed.
You softly rubbed the black away under his eyes, your thumb ever so gently passing over the delicate skin as Bruce inhaled deeply.
“You forgot a bit, mister,” you softly whispered as his eyes remained closed. His thumb rubbing circles over the exposed flesh of your hip revealed that he was awake.
“I’m gonna get some coffee from Roberto’s,” you whispered again, trying to peel away from his embrace that had you locked in place. Morning always came too soon for Bruce, no matter how he tried to shy away from the light.
“Why do you insist on getting coffee from Roberto’s when Alfred makes a perfectly fine cup?” He muttered, his voice still a bit hoarse from running through the cold all night long.
“Because,” you grinned, pressing a kiss against his bicep and finally untangling yourself. “It’s only a block away and I’ve been going there since I was 15.”
“Hnng,” he groaned, burying his face in the pillows. His eyes were so well-adjusted to the dark that the first rays of the sun, however faint they were, felt like stings and made his head throb. “Come back soon, I’ve barely seen you this week.”
You pulled on a dark jumper of his and laced your boots, ready to defy the rain that was pounding down on Gotham city.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” you bent down to press another kiss to his temple. You would never stop showering the man in physical affection, for as long as your heart beat in your chest.
You pulled on a long trench-coat over your jumper and closed the door to the bedroom behind you.
Bruce was back to snoring again, already lost in a slumber and blissfully unaware of the upcoming events.
When Bruce awoke again, it was a little past 8 A.M. For some reason, his dreams had been filled with scenarios of your death. He often had nightmares where he relived the night his parents got murdered or scenarios where he himself was the target of some sort of violent crime. But those all paled next to the horrors of your passing, an event he wished to never experience.
Bruce had grown immensely attached to you over the past 15 years.
You were like a warm blanket that wrapped around him when he needed it most. A warm blanket that drove away the cold that had settled in his bones ever since his parents passed. The moment that made him the sole survivor of a horrible crime gone wrong.
The warmness of your personality made him feel again. It made him susceptible again to caring what happened. You might be the only reason why he returned to being Bruce again, when being his dark alter ego seemed like the only solution to battle his demons.
So why didn’t he feel your warm presence in his embrace again? Where was your scent that usually calmed him down after another nightmare? Where were you?
Bruce shot up from his bed.
His heart was battering in his chest. You could’ve been held up in Roberto’s. People are so drawn to you, it often happens that you are stopped in the street and asked for something.
It’s because you’re a household name in the city, known for your father’s media-empire and for the philanthropy department you ran. People seemed to know where you were at any given moment, so much so that they bothered you all the time. Well, it bothered Bruce. He knew you liked looking over all the proposals and helping out people wherever you could. It was yet again a testament to how different you two were.
Bruce pushed his sunglasses on his nose and sauntered over to the living room where Alfred was doing some paperwork. He knew he shouldn’t have been worried, yet he couldn’t think of anything else, especially after that horrific nightmare.
“Where’s the miss?” Alfred asked, taking a sip of his coffee as he looked down at the paperwork again. Apparently he wasn’t worried either.
“She went out to Roberto’s a few hours ago,” Bruce muttered, still an edge of unease in his tone. “Did she leave a note or say something to the maid?”
Alfred shook his head, “can’t blame the woman for not leaving a note, she’s been going for years.”
“She’ll turn up, don’t worry, sir,” Alfred added as he spotted the pained look on Bruce’s face. He slid a cup of coffee Bruce’s way and continued his reading.
After a few minutes of enduring the silence, the doorbell rang in the distance.
“There she is,” Alfred said, a hint of a smile hidden in his voice as he turned the page. Alfred was happy there was another person in his life that cared as much about Bruce as he did. Bruce needed all the love in the world he could get, and he was glad you were able to provide that. The fact that Bruce was so anxious to see you again, was like music to Alfred’s ears.
But then the maid entered the living room, her eyes wide-open and her hands wringing in one another.
A second pair of steps quickly followed the maid’s and that’s when Bruce realized it weren’t your boots that were stomping down on the floor, but a standard issue of the Gotham city police department.
Bruce had been watching the news all morning.
His adrenaline was peaking, just like when he was out at night trying to stop criminals.
But he couldn’t go out just yet.
His dark alter ego only left when the night was at its peak darkness, when the last rays of sun had left the city and were replaced by the cold glare of the moon.
“Breaking news: the heiress to the Quantico-media empire was kidnapped in broad daylight this morning. Bruce Wayne’s partner was last seen this morning as she left Roberto’s. Our sources confirm that the heiress has been frequenting the coffee shop weekly since her teenage years. Afterwards, she was captured around 7:05 A.M. and pulled into a blacked-out van. Right now, police are doing everything they can do bring the woman back to safety. Police asks witnesses to come forward with any information they might have -“
He couldn’t listen to the woman anymore. Bruce didn’t feel like himself anymore. The only thing he felt was this inner rage. The same rage he felt when his parents were murdered.
Bruce tried to storm off, but Alfred quickly stopped him. Alfred eyed the liaison that the police had sent over to keep Bruce up to date. He couldn’t say anything to reveal the nature of Bruce’s… after hours job, but he could try to imply that his alter ego had to wait until the night fell over the city.
“Bruce, you can’t do anything.”
His nostrils flared, but aside from that, he couldn’t do anything.
Bruce couldn’t do anything and he never despised himself more.
So he did the only thing he could do, as a rich heir to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce paced around his apartment, his eyes glued to the screen and his hearing focused on the police liaison that got updates every half hour.
The little bit of light was just disappearing when the liaison got the call that the abductors had reached out with a message.
“Mr. Wayne?” The woman asked, a bit hesitant as she saw his fearful face. “They’re demanding a huge ransom.”
“How much, I’ll pay it. I’ll pay it all,” Bruce cut her off. He’d gladly give all his money if it meant that you’d be home by the end of the day.
“That’s not the only thing they want.”
The woman’s brown eyes were pulled a bit downwards, as if she was perpetually sad. Who wouldn’t be in this godforsaken city?
“They want 15 million dollars from you, 15 million from her father and…” the woman trailed off. Goddamnit, couldn’t she get to the point instead of dancing around the truth? Whatever news she would tell could not be worse than you not being safe in his arms right this moment.
Alfred noticed the distress on Bruce’s face. He noticed how his brows were pulled together, how his jaw was just a bit sharper than usual. He saw the darkness that was swirling in his eyes.
“What else do they want?” He asked, standing in between Bruce and the liaison.
“They want Quantico-media to shut down. They want to get rid of the independent news and install a media-outlet that is biased and, well-“
The liaison trailed off once more, but this time Bruce couldn’t think straight anymore. “What? Just spit it out for once!”
“Her father was fine with paying the money, but shutting down Quantico-media is off the table. There’s no deal. We have 24 hours to come up with something new or they kill her.”
It was as if something exploded in his mind. But it wasn’t like the type of fireworks that went off in his mind as when he kissed you, or when you laced your fingers through his when the media was once again hounding him.
It was more like a time-bomb that finally ticked to zero. A bomb that caused a chain reaction which made his critical thinking fly out the window.
Bruce looked outside. The sun had set and was replaced by the eerie darkness that engulfed Gotham City. It was time.
He turned to Alfred. “I’m going out. I can’t just sit here.”
Alfred nodded and turned towards the liaison, asking about what the next steps were.
To anyone else, it looked like the whole ordeal had become too much for Bruce, like he had to go outside to think, to not feel like a helpless creature that was stuck inside his high-rise apartment.
To two people however, it was clear what was going to happen.
It was clear that, whoever exited the underground garage next wouldn’t be a young heir, pained by the disappearance of his love. The one who exited the garage would be the kidnappers biggest nightmare.
It took Bruce the whole night and the first few hours of daylight to get some information about your whereabouts.
Gordon had also activated the signal, meaning that the police had just as much trouble in finding you as he had encountered through the night.
Bruce had gone through any kind of criminal that could be affiliated with a crime lord who wanted control of the media.
He was covered in grime and blood, remnants of the fights he had endured and would continue to endure until he knew where you were. He didn’t even know whose blood was on his hands anymore. It was a mixture of his and probably 20 other men’s blood. His knuckles were split open under his gloves. His chest hurt from all the punches he had endured and his head felt like it might split open any second from all the bullets that bounced off his helmet.
But he finally got a location. It was on the outskirts of the city. An abandoned building that once was a printing house. The irony wasn’t lost on Bruce.
Gordon had ordered him to wait for the police force to get there, so that there was back-up and some sort of official authority, but Bruce felt like he might jump out of his skin the longer he waited.
So he went in on his own. He’d deal with the ramifications later.
The building was dark and quiet. A musty scent clung to the air. A mix of gunpowder and cigarette smoke.
Bruce’s senses were dialed to the max and though exhaustion was settling in his bones, the idea that you were somewhere in this building reinvigorated him.
The thought that he’d sleep for a whole week in his own bed, your soft skin against his once again made him push through the one of the hardest nights of his life.
Bruce was no longer alone in the building though.
A man shot out from the shadows, a gun that was pointed at him.
Bruce heard the click of the safety switch being switched off, followed by the loud clatter of gunshots and bullets that were bouncing off his suit. Bruce quickly kicked the feet from under the man’s body, not caring how much he hurt the captors that kidnapped you.
A few other men reacted to the sounds of guns going off, and soon enough there was a group of men crowding around Bruce, hitting him everywhere.
He felt as if he was losing the fight. There were just too many men and guns attacking him all at once.
Bruce fell down on his knees. His whole body hurt and searching for you had exhausted him to no end.
The men continued pouncing on him and he felt the integrity of his suit wearing down with every bullet that hit it.
Bruce was so close. He was so close to finding you again. To getting you out of this hellhole and back into the safety of his home. His home that hadn’t felt like a home since his parents passed, but ever since you stayed over it was more a home than ever before.
He was now totally knocked on the ground, he was losing a fight for the very first time he started as the Batman. He was losing the one fight he wasn’t supposed to lose. The fight that would ensure your safe return.
So Bruce did what any sane person would do. He thought of you. He thought of the simpler times. The times were it was just you and him. The times where you went to sleep smiling at him and where you woke up a few hours later, a smile still present. He thought of how beautiful you looked when he first met you. He thought about the first time you dragged him to a gala he didn’t want to go to, yet you were the last to leave the party, just because you were both glued to the dance floor. He thought of you.
It was thinking of you, thinking of all those memories that made him realize how many more memories you could still make in the future. Of how many more stupid gala’s he’d go to just because you asked him. Or how many more times he’d see you smile. It was all those things combined that seemed to give him an extra shot of adrenaline. A boost that made him stand up again.
The group of men didn’t know what he had in store for them.
After fighting them off for another 45 minutes, he was finally able to knock them all out.
Bodies were spread over the whole first floor and he didn’t hear anyone else approaching.
His whole body ached, but he ignored the burning in every limb and ran to the stairs.
Apparently they had hidden you in the basement.
The basement was possibly even darker than the upper floor of the building. It was quiet too, aside from the squeaking of a few rats in the distance.
Was luck finally on his side? Were there no more guys that he needed to defeat to get to you?
It really felt like luck as the next thing he heard was a soft muffled whimper, a few feet in front of him.
“I’m here, I got you, I’m here,” he repeated as he saw your frame hunched over in the corner. Your mouth was taped shut and a tight rope shackled you to a pillar in the musty basement. There was some blood on your hands, but aside from that, you looked physically as okay as you could. Bruce couldn’t spot any other injuries, so he deducted that you’d probably tried to fight your way out.
It still caused Bruce to want to let loose all the rage that was coursing through his veins.
But when he saw the look in your eyes. That glassy look where your eyes are filling with tears, all that rage was packed up and stored somewhere in the back of his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he softly pulled the tape from your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, it’s okay,” you whispered back hoarsely, your voice still hurting from screaming your lungs out. “They’re after my father, not you B.”
“I-I still should’ve protected you,” he breathed out, eyes focussed on untying the rope. Bruce was struggling, his fingers wouldn’t cooperate and seeing the loving look in your eyes made everything hurt even more. “I protect the city but can’t protect the one thing that’s worth more to me than anything I’ve ever loved.”
At this point, Bruce didn’t even care anymore who heard him confessing his love for you. He’d gladly give up the anonymity to save you.
“Oh, my love,” you said, your hands finally free. You placed your palms against his face, the cool leather of his mask in stark contrast to his skin that felt feverish. “You couldn’t have done anything more, but yet, you found me.”
Bruce felt like he was stuck. He had knocked out all the kidnappers, anyone who was involved with hurting and abducting you. The only thing he could do now, as the Batman, was to get you to the safety of the police. How he wished he could just drive off and take care of you himself in the safety of his apartment. Of his home that was a now again a home.
His conflicted nature quickly was overtaken by the need to make sure you would be physically and mentally okay.
“I’m going to lift you up,” he said. His voice still had a pained edge. He was afraid of hurting you, even though his body was on the edge of breaking down. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
You could only nod.
The shock finally started to register. It started somewhere deep in your bones, an ache that could only be explained by the horrible way you had been treated the last 36 hours. The ache travelled from your bones into your veins. It was transported through your veins, just like the blood platelets and nutrients and entered your heart in less than a minute.
You couldn’t stop the sobs that left your throat. Somewhere deep down you knew you were safe, safe in the arms of the man you loved most, but the reptile part of your brain just now realized what horrors you had been through.
“I’m so sorry,” Bruce repeated again. It seemed like the only thing he could say. His vocabulary had been exhausted as was he after running himself ragged around the city in search of you.
Bruce had carefully lifted you in his arms. He could feel the shivers that were running through you, the sobs that made your whole body violently shake. He heard your lungs struggling to pull oxygen from the air, the air that was feeling thinner for him too, the effects of your distress taking a toll on him.
When he finally got you out of that wretched basement, the night had reached its darkest time in Gotham City. Instead of the white moonlight shining down on him, there was now the red-blue flickering of approaching police cars painting the walls.
Gordon stepped out of the first car, his face immediately contorting from a pained look to a more relieved one. “You got her out.”
Bruce held on to your body, refusing to let you go. You were safe in his arms, and he didn’t think he could ever let you go again.
The ambulance pulled up just a few seconds after, parking right in front of him. The doctor and paramedics tried to pry you out of his grasp, but he insisted on carefully placing you in the ambulance himself.
“Be careful,” he quietly said as he put you on the stretcher and the paramedics got to work.
You looked so small all of a sudden. Usually your confidence almost made you look like a giant goddess, but now you looked like a small little animal, hurt in a trap that some evil entity had placed.
Your eyes were still locked onto his, even when the paramedics shone a light in them to check for brain injuries.
“We’re gonna take you to the hospital for some extra testing, but physically you look okay,” one of the paramedics told you. You nodded and a sad smile overtook your face as you looked at Bruce.
The man who saved you looked a little broken. His black eye-make up had faded a bit due to the tears and the sweat, but you still recognized his vibrant eyes. The eyes that always looked at you with so much love. A love that burned brighter than the biggest star in the universe.
“Thank you,” you told him before the doors closed and the ambulance drove off. He still saw your tear-stricken face through the little windows. For the outside world, it seemed like just like you were grateful for your saviour, but Bruce knew it was so much more than that.
Gordon quickly asked for a debrief, but once the detective had all information he needed, Bruce speeded off towards his workshop.
The Batsuit was quickly stripped off and replaced by a pair of normal pants and a jumper. The only thing he wanted, was to see you again, surrounded by the best doctors of Gotham City.
Bruce remembered the day you found out he was the nut job running around Gotham city in a suit with a cape. You’d been pissed, unable to understand why he chose to put his life in danger to save others. But then after arguing for a bit, you also realized he tried to protect those the city wanted to harm. The same city that murdered his parents.
He needed to find a way to protect you from this city. He couldn’t let the same fate be bestowed on you, the fate that took his parents. He needed to do more. He couldn’t let the most important person in his life get hurt again.
Bruce was glad he had this dark alter ego. Because without him, you would never have been saved.
You were laying in between his sheets, not a trace of blood or a hint of distress to be spotted on your face. Bruce felt compelled to stay in your vicinity, even though you had been out of the hospital for a week already.
You were still fast asleep, soft snores leaving your lips as the sun finally revealed itself to the city again. The sunlight was filtering through his windows and straight onto your frame. Bruce couldn’t think of another word than ethereal.
The trauma of being taken had translated itself into exhaustion, meaning you slept almost 12 hours every night. Alfred and the maid were also at your beck and call, just like Bruce when he wasn’t out during the night. Your father had been remark fully absent.
Though he was tired from being out all night, the sight of you felt like a shot of pure adrenaline, reawakening him. Bruce couldn’t imagine spending his days any other way.
“Hi you,” you whispered, pulling him away from his daydreams. You hand came up to cup his cheek. You had loved Bruce for so long, you couldn’t imagine waking up without him present anymore.
“Hi,” he whispered back, a rare smile present on his face. His smiles were rare, but when he was in your presence, he couldn’t wipe them off. “How are you feeling?”
“In need of coffee,” you grinned. The few bruises you did have were fading. The one on your neck had almost completely disappeared. The more the bruises faded, the less Bruce was reminded of the horrific event.
“I’ll get the maid to bring some, you stay here,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.
Bruce wanted to stand up, but you gripped his wrist, a silly smile plastered on your face. “Please stay just a bit B, let’s enjoy this morning together.”
And how could he resist you? How could he resist the love of his life? The one who made him feel more like himself, day after day?
Bruce crawled under the comforter and once again wrapped himself around you, his limbs tangling with yours. God, how he longed to touch you after a night out.
“You know,” he started, fixating on how your fingers perfectly fit between his. “Without you, I don’t think Bruce would still exist.”
And though most people would look at him as if he grew a second head, it all made sense to you.
You knew how much the murder of his parents changed him. How much Bruce retreated into a shell and how it fundamentally changed his core. So much so that he had this primal need to mask up and fight for this city to get safer.
“I’m glad you’re still in there somewhere,” you whispered back, caressing the side of his face and swiping away the dark hair that hid his beautiful eyes. “Because without Bruce, I wouldn’t be here either.”
Bruce shook his head lightly, disagreeing with your statement, but not wanting you to remove your warm hands from his face. “No, no, you’ve always been stronger, you have always been a guiding light for me.”
“Oh Bruce,” you said, looking at the man who had risked his own life just to save yours. “I’ve said it time and time again, but I love you.”
You tilted your head closer to his so your foreheads touched, a gesture that started when you were just teenagers, too anxious to try anything else.
“I’ll love you forever,” he whispered back, still unbelieving of how he had gotten you back after his nightmare turned reality. “I’m never letting you go again.”
You tilted your head a bit forward, just so your lips could touch his in a deliciously soft kiss.
The kiss was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the maid entered with two to-go cups on a silver platter. Talk about service.
“Got you some coffee from Roberto’s miss,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes as she was so happy to see you back again. “Roberto sends you his regards.”
Bruce took ahold of both of the cups as you thanked her. Both Alfred and her had been so careful and helpful, even more so since your return.
She left the room again and Bruce handed you your cup. Roberto had written a small welcome back message, missing your weekly visits but totally understanding that you needed some time.
“Happy?” Bruce asked.
“Couldn’t be happier,” you replied, biting your lip as you leaned in again for another kiss.
warnings / includes ; mentions of death, allusions to childhood trauma, one mention of scars, bruce is a dramatic emo softie, alfred is just worried™, reader is a smartie, bruce is on the "save the bees" agenda from now on, an extension of the found family trope i'd say
main masterlist.
Bruce didn’t like it outside.
He wasn’t a fan of the way the sun would glare angrily into his tired eyes, nor was he too keen on the way the wind was blowing the dark strands of his hair away from his forehead. The birds were too loud, the ground felt uncomfortably soft beneath his boots, and he constantly had to raise his palms to gently wave away a bumblebee that merrily buzzed past his nose every five minutes.
But he liked you. He liked the way the sun looked on your skin, bathing you in a warm honey glow. He liked how you’d pluck at blades of grass and toss them for the wind’s mercy. He liked how you’d comment on how pretty he looked in his black hoodie despite it being so very hot outside.
So he bit down all his complaints and sat down beside you on a picnic blanket you’d spread out on the grass as you sketched into a large drawing pad, tapping the edge of the pencil against your bottom lip in thought. Bruce watched in rapt intrigue as you scribbled with mute concentration, creating a new design for his vigilante costume—something that he hadn’t ever meant for you to get involved in, but you found out nonetheless after connecting the dots (those dots being his runny black mascara he forgot to take off and the large collection of scars he steadily acquired). You were always the more intelligent of the two, anyways.
“What are those?” he asked quietly, pointing to the small bumps on his utility belt.
“Hidden storage units,” you responded at an equal decibel, sparing him a glance and a knowing smile that left his heart stuttering desperately against his ribcage. “A place where you can hide small devices people can’t find if you were to be searched. You know… just in case.”
“That’s smart,” commented Bruce, face remaining stoic as ever. You read him plain and clear, however, and nudged his shoulder affectionately before ducking your head back down to keep sketching.
It wasn’t often that he spoke on your little outings. That was perhaps one of Bruce’s favorite things about spending time with you. He didn’t feel like he was out of place with you—nor did he ever feel pressured to speak. If he had something to say, he knew you’d listen, and if not, he knew you were still there for him. Besides, he’d much rather listen to you talk—he quite liked your voice and highly respected your thoughts and opinions. And sometimes, just sometimes, you made funny jokes that’d make him let out a little laugh.
You’ve been a constant in his life ever since… well, ever since he lost his parents. Alfred had taken you in on a cold and stormy night more than two decades prior—you were drenched and shivering to the point of no return. The Wayne Manor was a desolate building, no place for a child so young and afraid. Nine-year-old Bruce watched from the shadows of his ghastly mansion that night, observing the moonlight on your tear-soaked cheeks, the stiffness of your fingers as it lifted the steaming mug of sweetened tea Alfred had fixed for you. He recognized the anguish in your youthful features—it was the very same as what he saw in the mirror every day.
As the weeks droned by, and Bruce came to realize that you were here to stay, you became a familiar figure in his life. In the beginning, he pretended like you were never there. He lived life like he did before—an emotional little boy with no idea what to do with said emotions. Only now, he was the very same but just… bigger and somehow even broodier. Oh, and with time he began talking to you, too, albeit barely more than two-word phrases at once. It took an excruciating ten years or so of walking on eggshells before Bruce finally grew close enough to you to call himself your friend. You were all quiet smiles and thoughtful gestures; it wasn’t that much of a surprise when he found himself falling head over heels for you, even though he was appalled at himself for feeling such a thing.
“Do you think we would’ve met if Alfred hadn’t taken me in all those years ago?” you postulated in the gentlest of tones, snapping him out of his reverie.
It took him another second to realize that you’d already packed away your sketchbook, now shuffling so that you could lie down on the blanket, staring up at him with a look that meant nothing good for Bruce. It was the look that always made him stumble over his words—the one where your eyes went all wide and inquisitive and affectionate. You were close; so close that your knees brushed against his side and your arm was pressed up next to his thigh. It didn’t help at all when Bruce inhaled sharply, the scent of park flowers and your honey-like perfume invading his senses. You were driving him crazy without even realizing it.
“I don’t know,” he admitted tentatively, voice hoarse from neglect. You briefly wondered if he’d had anything to drink today. “You’d probably know Batman. Not…” He trailed off before he could say his own name, gesturing vaguely to nothing.
“Not Bruce Wayne?” you murmured for him, hand reaching upwards to brush your knuckles over his sharp jaw, relishing in the way he leaned into your touch ever so slightly. “I think I prefer my Bruce over your dark alter ego.”
His heart nearly gave way when you called him yours. You weren’t wrong, though. He was yours.
“I’m not quite done with the new suit design yet, by the way,” you said, dropping your hand to trace random, mindless shapes into the blanket. “But I’m thinking of giving you more kevlar reinforcements—heat resistant and bullet proof. Besides, extra protection never hurts. What do you think?”
“Yeah, ‘s good,” he grunted out bluntly, nodding once. You hummed in response, a lazy smile curling at the corner of your lips.
The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence once more—with you watching the clouds drift by above and Bruce observing you do so.
When your phone buzzed in the pocket of your jeans, you twisted to fish it out, propping yourself up with your elbow resting across his lap, answering it with a swift, “Hello?”
Alfred’s concerned voice buzzed from the other end, and Bruce could faintly hear him ask where you were right now—and that dinner was ready and it’d get cold if you didn’t hurry back.
“Don’t be a worrywart, we’re coming!” you said with a mellifluous chuckle. “Bruce says hi, by the way.” Your eyes locked with his and an amused grin painted itself golden over your lips. “Alright, Alfred. I’ll tell him that. Love you, too.”
When you hung up, you removed your arm from him, and he had half the mind to grab your wrist and pull you closer once more. Obviously, he didn’t. His hands fidgeted anxiously in his lap. “What did he say?”
You fixed him with a humorous faux-glare. “He told me to tell you to stop drawing on the floor. Who knew spray paint was so hard to wash out, huh? I swear, I thought you grew out of that habit when you were fifteen!” you burst into several peals of laughter, clutching at your own abdomen at the thought of Alfred walking into a room full of random violent words and arrows spray painted all over the floor. Against his own will, Bruce could feel a grin twitch at his lips.
“Don’t laugh,” he gently admonished, prodding your arm. “I didn’t have any paper.”
“I literally live right across the hall from you,” you replied pointedly as you got up, ushering him off the blanket so you could fold it up. “You could’ve just asked. I have plenty of paper.” Then, after a considerable pause, you tacked on, “In fact, you could come to my room whenever you want. Whether you need paper for your nancy drew-ing or not, my door’s always open for you.”
Sometimes it felt like Bruce was constantly dangling on the very precipice of emotional turmoil, feet just barely skimming the surface of agony. But you were his tether to reality, his anchor to shore, the beam of light to guide his ship back to land. What did he ever do to deserve someone like you in his family?
Wait… did he just call you his family?
Family was the most fickle thing, Bruce mused. Family meant pure, undulated love and care—family didn’t have to only mean blood of his blood.
“You’re my family,” he said, so uncharacteristically sudden, flushing deeply when you looked back at him with those inquisitive, round eyes.
It was ridiculous at this point—he’d known you for upwards of twenty years and it was still hard to speak to you without losing his damn mind. Quite reminded him of how he still refused to tell the waiter at the local diner the two of you often frequented that he always orders a burger with no pickles (the acidity of the brine made his head hurt), even after receiving a burger stuffed to the brim with the accursed things, despite being a regular customer there for ages by now. You’d urge him to say something every single time, but knew not to push him too far—besides, he needed to learn how to deal with things like that himself.
He sucked in a breath. This time, slower, he added, “You… You mean a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you.”
He cautiously waltzed around the word love because he’d probably combust into spontaneous flames if he professed his love for you in the middle of a bee-infested park. What made it all the worse was the fact that you’d often casually say the dreaded L word to him as if it were a regular greeting. It frustrated him to no end because he wasn’t entirely sure if you meant platonic love or romantic love. Or both. Bruce was just happy you loved him at all, if he was to be honest. Don’t get him wrong, he was very much content with platonic affection, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the latter kind of love from you.
And it wasn’t like he’d never tried to tell you about his true feelings before. There was that one time he made you sit down and listen to Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana after hours of psyching himself up, carefully watching you for your reaction. If sharing his utmost favorite song from his most favorite band with you wasn’t enough for you to take the hint of his extremely profound and complicated feelings, Bruce supposed it was hopeless for him.
He’d always had a flair for the dramatics, hadn’t he?
The blanket you were holding crumpled beneath your tight grip. You blinked once, then twice. Bruce wanted the ridiculously soft ground to open up and swallow him whole. How embarrassing—this was probably the most he’d ever vocalized how he felt for you. He wanted to run back home and lock himself into his dark room that stank of toxic spray paint chemicals.
Recognizing his subtle distress, you stepped forward and placed a hand on his pectoral, the other coming to tenderly lodge itself beneath his chin, maneuvering his dark gaze to look away from the grass and to you. “Oh, Bruce. You’re my family, too,” you assured him with a sweet smile that made his insides cave in on themselves. “And you mean the world to me. More than you can ever know.”
The last sentence was said with somewhat of a bittersweet, hollowed tone, and Bruce could feel his mind gear up into overthinking panic mode. What did you mean by that? Was there even the slightest chance his feelings were reciprocated? He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but oh—he could already feel his hopes getting up.
“Now, c’mon, I’m ninety-nine percent sure Alfred is at his wit’s end with us right now. We should get back before he ruptures a blood vessel or something.”
His stomach coiled into nervous knots when you slipped your free hand into his, lacing your fingers together, tugging him out of the secluded park to go back home. A bumblebee flew past his ear for the millionth time since he stepped out of the comfort of his expansive manor. Bruce didn’t like it outside, but with you—with his family that he L worded—he supposed he’d be able to tolerate it.
divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto
word count: 720
synopsis: After a long night at the gala, your feet are aching but your husband is more than willing to carry you.
a/n: A cute little idea I had
The champagne still hummed in your veins, a faint, golden buzz that softened the edges of the night. Behind you, the gala’s orchestra faded into a distant echo, replaced by the heavy, muffled silence of the hotel corridor. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble—each step more unbearable than the last.
“God, I can’t do this anymore,” you muttered, stopping abruptly and pressing a hand to the wall for balance. “I’m pretty sure my feet hate me right now.”
Bruce’s brow arched in quiet amusement as he slowed, waiting for you to catch up. “I told you those shoes looked like a bad idea.”
“Well at the time they looked like a spectacular idea,” you huffed, your fingers fumbled clumsily with the delicate strap at your ankle. “But right now, I think I might have to agree with you. It feels like I’m walking on glass. I can’t even—”
The rest of your complaint was swallowed by a gasp as Bruce suddenly stooped. Before you could finish the thought, his arm swept behind your back and beneath your knees. In one fluid motion, you were hoisted upward, the hotel’s crystal chandeliers tilting overhead as you let out a startled, breathless laugh.
“Bruce!”
His expression was calm, almost smug, as he adjusted you against his chest, holding you effortlessly in a one arm bridal carry. Your purse and heels were claimed in his free hand before you could protest, his grip steady and unyielding.
“You’ll ruin your feet if you keep going in those,” he said simply, as if carrying you was the most logical solution in the world.
You looped your arms around his neck instinctively, caught between the feeling of embarrassment and the sudden, fluttering warmth in your chest. “You don’t have to do this, Bruce. I feel bad—I can manage.”
He scoffed, “Baby, what kind of husband would I be if I let you limp your way to the car?” He began to walk, his pace steady and effortless. “Your job tonight was to look beautiful and enjoy yourself. Mine is to put these muscles to use—and to carry you when that beauty becomes a pain.”
You fought back a smile, “You realize people are staring, right?”
“Let them.” He shrugged, his tone nonchalant, the kind that told you he didn’t care and that left no room for an argument. “If I want to carry my wife, then I’m going to carry my wife.”
As he spoke, he tightened his grip slightly, pulling you a fraction closer to his chest.
He moved through the long stretch of the lobby, staff members and lingering guests glanced up with wide eyes before quickly averting them. Whispers broke out behind raised hands, but Bruce’s stride never faltered. He carried you with an easy grace, as if you were the only person in the building who mattered.
When the glass doors of the lobby parted, the crisp night air rushed to meet you. There, idling at the curb, Alfred stood by the sleek black sedan, the rear door already held open. His expression didn’t waver in the slightest as he took in the sight of Bruce carrying you and your things out of the hotel.
“Sir, Madam,” Alfred said, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth the only betrayal of his amusement. “I see the evening was… eventful.”
You buried your face in the crook of Bruce’s neck, a mix of champagne-induced tipsiness and pure mortification, but you felt the low rumble of his chest as he let out a quiet, rare laugh.
“The evening was fine, Alfred,” Bruce replied.
Without ever shifting his hold on you, he passed off your purse and those treacherous heels to Alfred before carefully settling you into the leather interior of the car. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to your lips.
“You’re right, those shoes looked gorgeous on you,” He murmured, before he stepped back, moving to circle the car and enter through the other side.
You grinned to yourself.
As Alfred went to close your door, he offered a small, knowing nod. “I do hope the shoes at least matched the dress, madam. It would be a pity to suffer so much for a clash in style.”
You groaned, covering your eyes with your hands, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide.
pairing husband!dick grayson x wife!assassin!reader
summary in which you try to keep your husband on his toes as to prevent him from ever being killed. your method? by making him go through your rigorous training, of course
It all began when your beloved husband came home with blood soaking his suit and his feet tripping over each other in a way they never did, even when he was drunk. Moonlight spilled in from behind him as the chilly air mussed his hair. If he weren’t on death’s door, you would’ve taken the time to admire him.
Your knees wanted to give out at the sight of him trying to grin. Even now, even in so much pain, he tried to reassure you. So you helped him, laying him on the couch and rummaging through the cabinet for supplies. A sharp, chemical smell wafted through the apartment. You didn’t flinch. Nor did your hands tremble when you stitched his wounds.
Once you finished, you tucked him into bed and gazed at him, checking for the rise and fall of his chest. It was then that you noticed a chain around his neck, his wedding ring looped through it. This foolish man. He should know better than to carry something so precious out there.
Instead of scolding him like you wanted to, you curled up against him, fingers carding through his hair. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been home. And when morning came, he would surely try to calm you.
No, you couldn’t let it go this time. You would not let him distract you with his kisses. He needed to be reminded of just how dangerous this world was.
———
When the clock struck eight the next morning, you flung the curtains open. Sunlight poured in relentlessly, making Dick groan. He threw an arm over his eyes, his beautiful features twisting in discomfort from the movement.
“Sweetheart, the absolute love of my life, could you perhaps not agonize your very amazing husband today?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.
You hummed, bustling around the room for the medication you’d prepared for him. All night, your mind had whirled with ideas of how to make sure he was properly trained. He fought to save. That was the problem. You needed him to fight to survive.
You appeared beside the bed with the pills and a bottle of water. Looking at his injuries, you steeled your resolve. “Take these,” you demanded.
He shifted, opening one eye. Slowly, he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The sun painted his skin in soft gold. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes and fondness.
You held out the pills and water.
He rolled his eyes and took them, letting his fingers linger against yours. When he went to swallow them without the water, you cleared your throat loudly.
He paused, eyeing you.
“Isn’t there something you need to do before taking them?” you asked.
He tilted his head. “Oh yeah,” he said with a grin, and gestured for you to come closer. You leaned in, brows furrowed. what—
He kissed your cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me, sweetheart,” he murmured, like the idiot he was. Then he swallowed the pills, and you closed your eyes in disappointment.
“This is worse than I thought,” you said gravely. “You took the poison.”
“Huh?”
“Poison, Dick. That was poison,” you explained calmly.
There was a beat of silence.
“When did my sweet wife get a sense of humor?” he chuckled, eyes crinkling in that careless way that irritated you. Most people wouldn’t describe you as sweet. Dick, though, had always been a little weird.
“Dick,” you said flatly.
He faltered slightly, scanning your face. “Hang on… have I been neglecting you? Because if this is a cry for help, I can clear my schedule.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. “What?!”
“Honey, you don’t have to go to these lengths,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “You can have whatever you want. I’m yours, remember?”
You grumbled. How was he making you flustered with a few words? The fact that his wife had poisoned him was somehow the least of his concerns. If your dosage was right, he had about thirty minutes before he started throwing up.
You grimaced.
Dick, naturally, took that as confirmation of marital failure. “Baby—”
You shot him a look and reached into your pocket, pulling out the antidote. “Take it.”
He stared at it. “Is that poison?”
“Oh, now you hesitate?” you said sharply. It seemed that with you, he lost all sense of self-preservation.
He closed his mouth and obediently took the antidote. Embarrassment crept across your cheeks. This wasn’t for attention. You just didn’t need him to know the real reason for your worry, poorly disguised as a murder attempt.
Admitting that would only make things worse.
———
Later that evening, you forced Dick to rest, his soft snores coming from the bedroom while you begrudgingly facetimed two very annoying redheads for help.
“This is serious,” you cut through their bickering.
Roy stopped mid argument. “That’s never a good sentence coming from you.”
Wally leaned into the frame, squinting. “Is he actually dying or is this just you being weird again?”
“Neither,” you said flatly. “This is training.”
Roy’s brows furrowed. “Training for what?”
You hesitated, then decided it didn’t matter what they thought. “So he doesn’t get himself killed.”
There was silence.
Then, Wally slowly spoke. “So let me get this straight. To make sure he doesn’t die, you’re gonna try to kill him?”
Roy snorted, which turned into wheezing. “He probably thinks this is foreplay.”
You glared. “What terrible taste he would have to consider this foreplay,” you said. “There is not nearly enough blood.”
Wally closed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. We’ll help— but only so you don’t accidentally kill him.”
“Hell yeah,” Roy grinned.
You sighed. The things you did for love.
masterlist
comment to be added or removed from the taglist <3
Normal! Reader who is constantly miffed by Bruce’s lavish lifestyle. Shopping consists of PR and personal assistants managing to close department stores just for Bruce to shop in peace.
Hundreds of dollars worth of champagne being poured without a second of hesitation. All while you and Bruce are given a private fitting room to try on clothes that go up into the thousands.
Normal! Reader who lost a piece of jewellery at the manor and can’t seem to find it. Doesn’t matter though because you’re already headed to a private appointment at a jewellery shop. Bruce insists that you get a new…everything.
Normal! Reader who just wants to head to the supermarket before going to the manor. Craving chips, a soda, and some chocolates. You watch as Bruce tries to pay at the self-service register with a cheque. He settles for his platinum card.
Normal! Reader who sometimes insists on doing things her way. Living easily and lavishly is all fun and grand, but there’s a guilt. You didn’t work your way up to this. So many people have it worse. And you’re scared that you’re losing your perspective and level head. So of course you drag Bruce to some random corner of Gotham for street food and just sit and watch people.
Bruce who doesn’t realise that having a chauffeur, a personal assistant, a butler, and an entire PR team isn’t a very comfortable life. It takes a second too long in his sharp mind to realise that the constant presence of people—who are technically his employees—isn’t the most welcome when you’re finally coming downstairs after a steamy good morning.
Normal! Reader who insists on living at their place for at least a year into their relationship so they can maintain some of their ‘average person’ habits. Even if Bruce has spruced up the place with thousands of dollars worth of safety upgrades and maintenance. All you did was complain about the mice and the mold scare you had a few months back.
Bruce who doesn’t bat an eye at some foreign politician’s expensive jewellery and dinner party. Something, something in Paris where he’ll likely leave before they serve the vintage dessert wines and Michelin star pastries. Normal! Reader who feels completely out of their depth in some president’s home, holding silver cutlery and thanking the waitstaff.
Bruce who notices your confusion when a tray looms over your shoulder, the man serving you not making a move to put anything on your plate. Using his own fork and knife, he grabs some food to put onto your plate. Then, when the man moves onto the next esteemed guest, Bruce leans in and speaks softly. He explains the order of the courses. When you should stand up. How you can’t leave to go to the bathroom if the host is still eating. Which cutlery to use. All while his hand finds yours under the tablecloth to ground you.
Normal! reader who takes advantage of Bruce’s access to basically anything on earth to get educated on their finances. Sure, they’re dating one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, but they want to know that they’re doing good with their own money.
Bruce who learns that you’re talking with his accountant and financial advisor regularly, and have even opened up multiple bank accounts so your money doesn’t just sit in one. He decides then and there that he’s willing to get you whatever money can buy. Just because you aren’t reliant on his.
Bruce who makes sure that at every event you stay away from the dark side of the rich and powerful. People with an ego trip and too much power in their hands. You don’t need to talk to people who hunt others for sport or engage in stuff the FBI (and Batman) are currently investigating.
synopsis: At Aunt May's F.E.A.S.T. gala, Peter just wants to be with his gorgeous girlfriend. But no one can know they are together. When Aunt May is tired of Peter's sad looks across the hall, she gives him the all clear to swing by his girl.
haha pun, get it?
content: peter parker x fem!reader, peter in a tuxedo, pining!peter, totallyinlove!peter, cantgetenoughofyou!peter, need I say more? peter wants to keep your relationship private, reader loves teasing peter, flirting!peter, aunt may loves your relationship
notes: who else has gotten either into or back into peter parker fanfics after the new spiderman bnd trailer release 🙂↕️ cause I have!
806 words
inspired from hush hush by the band camino!!
It's a gala for Aunt May's F.E.A.S.T. organisation.
Peter is wearing a nice black suit. He looks really good.
You're wearing a satin dress in a deep blood red. 'For Spider-Man', you tell everyone who asks you about it. But really, it's for Peter.
Peter, who is standing across the room next to his aunt. He can't keep his eyes off you. He's been itching all night to touch you, to kiss you, and to tell you how much he loves you. But he knows this is important to Aunt May; he can't just slip away with you in tow. What would the guests think?
No one knows about your relationship. Other than Aunt May, MJ and Ned. Peter would like to keep it that way. Unless he can sneak you away without anyone noticing...
Aunt May notices he hasn't said anything in a while and follows his gaze. She feels guilty, keeping him away from his girlfriend.
He's supposed to change into his costume and swing by and say a few words. This is only maybe 10 minutes away. May sighs, gesturing towards you. "Go on then. But don't be long!"
Peter widens his eyes. "Seriously?! Thank you, May!"
Screw what the guests think!
You're standing with some sponsors, listening to them mansplain investing and the best stocks to buy at the moment. You couldn't be more bored. But you just can't find it in you to excuse yourself. It would be rude.
Peter calls it 'the goodness' in you. He says it radiates from you. You don't know whether he was being serious when he said that or whether his spider-senses were just in overdrive.
Luckily enough, Peter manages to grab one of your hands that was fidgeting behind your back and whisks you away from that exciting conversation.
"Excuse us!" He calls back to the men.
You follow him to a secluded hallway.
"Hi." He breathes, smiling widely as he takes in your dress.
"Hey," you smile back, "nice save, Spider-Man."
Peter's eyes widen, and he puts a hand over your mouth to hush you. His eyes scan around for any guests, finding none.
"Don't do that!"
He's exasperated. And you're enjoying every second of it. He removes his hand, lacing your fingers together.
"I can't thank my boyfriend for saving me from the clutches of mansplaining terror?" You tease, bringing your other hand up to trace his jawline.
Peter shivers, only to pull back out of reach. "You can; you just can't call me...you know." His eyes are everywhere but your own.
"You're cute when you're stressed."
"You're captivating in that dress." He smirks, watching as it's your turn to become flustered.
"I wore it for Spider-Man." You try and say matter-of-factly.
"Oh yeah? A shame he's not here to see it then." Peter flirts, running his hands down your sides, the satin bunching in places.
He's leaning in, eyes closing as he breathes in your scent. It always sends him crazy. Like his senses are tuned specifically to you.
You grab his collar and pull him down to meet your lips. It's hot; it's heavy. It's like fireworks are exploding between the two of you.
It feels like a century since you last kissed, but in reality it's only been a couple hours. Still, you're enjoying every second of it. His smell, his taste, the softness of his lips. It's all very him. Very Peter. Your Peter.
Too engrossed in each other, neither of you notices the guest that shuffles into the hallway, probably looking for the bathrooms. She is stunned, her eyes hovering over the nephew of the gala organiser and a girl.
Peter's senses alarm him, and he quickly pulls back from your lips. You look down the hall and see the woman, whose face is shocked, and then she disappears back into the event.
Peter looks guiltily back at you.
You laugh breathlessly. "I guess we've been caught."
You reach up and flatten his messy hair down, and he catches your wrist and kisses it. "I'm sorry." He mumbles into your skin.
Shrugging, you smooth out your dress. "It could be worse; I could have been kissing Spi—"
Peter has already smashed his lips back onto your own, effectively cutting off your sentence.
"Peter!" Aunt May is the next to round the corner. "Go and get changed; you have 2 minutes!"
He laughs, pulling back to whisper an "I love you" before rushing off down the opposite side of the hall.
"I love you more," you whisper into the air, laughing to yourself as you turn to Aunt May.
You ask her with a shy smile, "Do I look okay?"
She smiles widely, pulling you to her side. "You look in love."
That leaves you smiling bigger as you walk back into the gala.
Summary: Clark catches you wearing his shirt. He deeply approves.
Warnings: fluff
WC: 336
ao3 // tag list
It was late afternoon, and the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan. You were lounging on the couch, knees tucked under your chin, wearing one of Clark’s oversized button-downs — the one he always insisted looked better on you than it did on him.
Clark walked in from the kitchen, holding two mugs of cocoa, and froze when he saw you.
“You’re wearing my shirt again,” he said softly, but his voice carried that warm, affectionate lilt that made your heart skip.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” you said, looking up at him with a shy smile. “It’s so comfy.”
He set the mugs down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch, eyes lingering on you like he couldn’t quite look away. “I don’t just mind,” he murmured. “I… I love it.”
You blinked, startled. “You… what?”
Clark leaned a little closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love how you look in my shirt. It’s… you. Soft, warm… perfect.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you hid your face in the collar of the fabric. “Clark…”
He chuckled softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t hide. You look amazing.” His hand rested lightly on your knee, thumb tracing lazy circles. “Honestly, sometimes I can’t stop staring.”
Your heart hammered in your chest, and you let yourself lean into him. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
“I try,” he said, a small, tender smile tugging at his lips. “But really… it’s easy when it’s true.”
You reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the soft stubble along his jaw. “I love you,” you whispered.
“I love you too,” he replied instantly, leaning in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Always.”
And there you were, tangled in his arms, wearing his shirt, feeling like the safest, happiest place in the world — just the two of you, quiet and perfect in your little corner of the world.
Summary: Clark catches you wearing his shirt. He deeply approves.
Warnings: fluff
WC: 336
ao3 // tag list
It was late afternoon, and the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan. You were lounging on the couch, knees tucked under your chin, wearing one of Clark’s oversized button-downs — the one he always insisted looked better on you than it did on him.
Clark walked in from the kitchen, holding two mugs of cocoa, and froze when he saw you.
“You’re wearing my shirt again,” he said softly, but his voice carried that warm, affectionate lilt that made your heart skip.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” you said, looking up at him with a shy smile. “It’s so comfy.”
He set the mugs down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch, eyes lingering on you like he couldn’t quite look away. “I don’t just mind,” he murmured. “I… I love it.”
You blinked, startled. “You… what?”
Clark leaned a little closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love how you look in my shirt. It’s… you. Soft, warm… perfect.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you hid your face in the collar of the fabric. “Clark…”
He chuckled softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t hide. You look amazing.” His hand rested lightly on your knee, thumb tracing lazy circles. “Honestly, sometimes I can’t stop staring.”
Your heart hammered in your chest, and you let yourself lean into him. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
“I try,” he said, a small, tender smile tugging at his lips. “But really… it’s easy when it’s true.”
You reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the soft stubble along his jaw. “I love you,” you whispered.
“I love you too,” he replied instantly, leaning in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Always.”
And there you were, tangled in his arms, wearing his shirt, feeling like the safest, happiest place in the world — just the two of you, quiet and perfect in your little corner of the world.
