Summary: a very short fluffy little drabble. the Batman stumbles into your apartment after being poisoned.
Warnings: a mention of choking but kinda just angsty fluff inspired by our favorite new invention of Bruce Wayne’s: those fucking contact lenses and all the cheesy fic’s they have inspired that I love
When The Batman arrived back at the Wayne Estate, the first thing he did in the cave down below was pull off his mask and peel off his contact lenses. He carefully placed them onto their rounded mounts to begin downloading the night’s events onto his high-tech computer. He gave it a moment to upload before scrubbing through towards the end of the night when he stumbled onto y/n’s fire escape. He mentally winced at the clunk his body made as it banged against her window like a disoriented overgrown bird, startling the young woman inside. He saw her open the window as he fell against her, almost 200 pounds of body armor and costume and muscle. At this point the poison he accidentally ingested was rendering his real vision blurry and spotty, but the view that the contact lenses recorded was clear. He saw her face above him full of concern as she pulled him onto her bed and fumbled to dip the antidote vial that he had thrust into her hands, unable to open it himself, to his lips. Her brows furrowed and lips formed silent prayers just for him. Her face left the view a moment before he passed out and the scene on the screen went black. Presumably this was when she was searching for the adrenaline shot strapped to the suit Bruce had mumbled about, which y/n had found and administered, because a minute later Bruce’s eyes were wide open, her face above him again, expression full of fear and worry. She reached forward to touch his cheek and on instinct he grabbed the poor girl and spun her so that she was pinned tightly beneath him, one of his hands holding a wrist above her head and the other wrapped tightly around her throat. She looked terrified.
Bruce put his hands on his forehead and looked away. God, he hated himself. One minute the girl is saving his life and the next he’s scaring the shit out of her as he’s crushing her windpipe. When did he become such a monster? He flicked his gaze back to the screen. Her eyes had softened slightly, her free hand touching his gloved one around her throat before moving her hand slowly back up to his chin, caressing the stubble she found there. Only then did the reality of the situation come back to him, and he loosened his hold around her. Her lips looked so soft and inviting, her eyes slightly watering but intent on the masked vigilant hovering above her, curling hair fanned out around her. He paused the screen on this scene.
Bruce Wayne you sick fuck, he thought to himself. The Caped Crusader was not supposed to need saving by ordinary civilian women, he was not supposed to attack them; and he especially was not supposed to get a hard on for them. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Alfred was not hovering in the doorway and scrubbed the footage back again.
After a few more sequences of watching the footage play out, he could feel the exhaustion creeping in and knew he would have to allow his body to sleep soon. He could go over the rest of footage from the beginning of the night later. Footsteps sounded down the stairwell behind him. He quickly went to save and minimimze the web player before Alfred could ask who the pretty girl was, but not before taking a sneaky screenshot of her tender face in the last scene.
“Rough night, Master Wayne?” Alfred inquired as Bruce passed him at the foot of the stairwell, tea tray in hand.
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