Summary:Â Desperate for a scoop (and a pay rise), you scout Gotham for anything of interest. When you cross paths with the mysterious Drifter, you decide to use the chance to spark up a fruitful cooperation.
Playlist
Chapter 1 - Nocturnal Animals
Chapter 2 - In the Shadows
Chapter 3 - Denial
Chapter 4 - Life is a Fear
Chapter 5 - Blackbird
Chapter 6 - Misery is a Butterfly
Chapter 7 - Unravel
Chapter 8 - Started slow, started late
Chapter 9 - Heart Attack
Chapter 10 - How Not To Drown
Chapter 11 - Hold No Harm
Chapter 12 - All These Things That Iâve Done
Chapter 13 - Forbidden bliss
Chapter 14 - Till I Got Nothing Left
Chapter 15 - Mess me around âtil my heart breaks
Chapter 16 - The hunt for atonement
Chapter 17 - While most of me is still intact
Chapter 18 - Speak To Me
Chapter 19 - You'll be the promise, I'll be the scream
Chapter 20 - In the glow of the moon
Epilogue - Always You
******
Deadlines & Commitments
Neil x F!Reader (ongoing)
Summary: Everybody knows anything can happen on London tube. That includes meeting a handsome stranger with a strange name, who doesn't mind saving a ballerina in distress.
Chapter 1 - Stratford Underground Station
Chapter 2 - West Ham Underground Station
Chapter 3 - Canning Town Underground Station
Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station
Chapter 5 - Canary Wharf Underground Station
Chapter 6 - Canada Water Underground Station
Chapter 7 - Bermondsey Underground Station
Chapter 8 - London Bridge Underground Station
Chapter 9 - Southwark Underground Station
Chapter 10 - Waterloo Underground Station
Chapter 11 - Westminster Underground Station
Chapter 12 - Green Park Underground Station
Chapter 13 - Bond Street Underground Station
******
The Art of the Inversion
Neil x F!Reader (finished)
Summary: Youâre offered a job in the mysterious Tenet organisation. It brings much more than youâve ever bargained for... especially in the form of your close friend and co-worker, Neil...
Playlist
Chapter 1 - The Life Changing Offer
Chapter 2 -Â âYouâre inverted, the world is notâ
Chapter 3 - Too Close for Comfort
Chapter 4 - Bound by Fate
Chapter 5 - A Question of Trust
Chapter 6 - The Undisclosed Desires
Chapter 7 - New York State of Mind
Chapter 8 - Parisian Nightmares
Chapter 9 -Â âKindest of Kisses Break the Hardest of Heartsâ
Chapter 10 - Enjoy the Silence
Chapter 11 - What If This Is All The Love Youâll Ever Get?
Chapter 12 - A Little Death
Chapter 13 - Remain Nameless
Chapter 14 - Dancing With Myself
Chapter 15 - Make Up Your Mind
Chapter 16 - An Absolution
Chapter 17 - Hiding
Chapter 18 - Holy Ghost
Chapter 19 - Holy Ground
Chapter 20 - Love Is Blindness
Chapter 21 - Losing My Religion
Chapter 22 - Not Strong Enough
Chapter 23 - So Far From Who I WasÂ
Chapter 24 - If You Want Me...
Chapter 25 - Easily
Chapter 26 - Surrender
Chapter 27 - Keeping Your Head Up
Chapter 28 - This Ainât No Hymn
Chapter 29 - No Sound but the Wind
Chapter 30 - Start Again
Chapter 31 - Invincible
Epilogue - The Look of Love
One-shots (I had to add adult content warning to 18+ fics):
Tomorrow is the day... The day my boy is mine 𼺠I don't know what to think, other than being scared shitless and excited to the point of being speechless.
After over six years, I'll have a dog again, and he'll be all mine this time. My darling Niki đĽš
girl will suffer unearthly tragedies and still run errands the same day with a smile on their face but if a mans parents divorce when he is 12 he will unleash his wrath on the world for the rest of his life
Summary: Desperate for a scoop (and a pay rise), you scout Gotham for anything of interest. When you cross paths with the mysterious Drifter, you decide to use the chance to spark up a fruitful cooperation.
Warnings: Swearing.
Author's Notes: ... Hi *waves*. Yes, that's a new series because it seems like Rob's characters tend to make themselves at home in my head. I wanted to develop Bruce a little more and this idea came to exist quite quickly. Reader is a journalist in need of a topic, Bruce is out on the streets... and the rest is history :))) Slow burn as always since that's my specialty (apparently).
I hope you'll enjoy this introduction and I'll greatly appreciate feedback!
The only pretty thing in Gotham during the Fall was the way neon lights reflected in the puddles of the alleyways and street corners. The myriad of colours and slogans tinted the darkness with a sense of something bigger than the wet tarmac and slippery pavement slabs. Only that light did not reach everywhere, creating niches in the cityâs fabric where no ray of hope could ever penetrate. That is where the crime skyrocketed, no matter the season. That is where scoop and intel were found. Conveniently.
Adjusting your hood for the umpteenth time, you frowned as another cold raindrop slid inside your coat. In October, even waterproofing hardly did its job; especially one long past its prime. But it did not matter. Your eyes scanned the surroundings, mindful of anything that could be of interest. While murders in Gotham were hardly the breaking news type novelties, a serial killer on the loose, seemingly connected to the cityâs elites, was quite the concept. A case to crack and the potential of a pay rise. Something you could not deny yourself, considering the tightness of the pockets and emptiness of the bank account. In short, you needed to find something worth writing about. Something worth covering by the GC1. Or else⌠No.
There was no time for that. Having made it to the docks, you stopped, hiding underneath the roof of an abandoned warehouse. The last victim had been found here, stabbed multiple times with an unidentified weapon. Potentially â a meat hook. Which did sound lovely, you had to admit. Having left the apartment that evening, you were led with the idea that maybe back at the crime scene, you could discover crucial evidence everyone had missed. Now, drenched, tired and disheartened, you realised how wrong you were. There was nothing left aside from the rain, the murky water by the docks and the foul stench of trash and urine. The police had cleared everything.
With a resigned sigh, you took a quick round of the area, taking photos with your phone. Apart from a few unidentified objects lying on the ground and rusty spots you hoped were the residual blood, there was nothing.
âFuck,â a soft curse escaped your pursed lips, ringing out in the quiet alleyway.
Finding absolutely nothing meant another stressful debrief in the morning. And you had had enough of those already. With the mind half-focused on the idea of heading back home and drowning the sorrows in a glass of cheap red wine, the unmistakable roar of the chopper pierced the ambience and made you look up.
At the sky first, following the instinct the whole of Gotham had acquired throughout the last few months. Once the signal had been lit, no one could rest easy, watching the shadows with anticipation of what came next. But tonight, the light was off. The masked vigilante, the Bat-Man, Vengeance⌠There have been many names and even more theories about his identity. No one knew when he appeared or when he left the scene. Having heard rumours, you held your breath until the black motorcycle appeared on the horizon. It was not him. Or at least it did not look like it was.
Your target parked the vehicle on the opposite end of the warehouse spaces. You observed, hidden in the shadows, as the man took off the black helmet and stood up, pulling up a black hood over his head. He was moving with purpose, throwing a nondescript backpack over his shoulder and heading towards the abandoned building. With curiosity, you watched as he kicked open the chained door and disappeared inside with the clank of metal. Now that was a way of investigating you had not thought of yetâŚ
For a moment, you wanted to follow him, to satisfy the curiosity as fast as possible and (hopefully) get some answers. But then reason kicked in; with yet another sigh, you backed into the shadows, waiting for the stranger to return. No one sane would leave a motorcycle like that unattended for too long. Once he appeared fifteen minutes later, you were ready. Staying away from the light, you skirted around the area and approached him without making a sound. A handy chat-up line on the tip of your tongue:
âVisiting the crime scene, are we?â Once the man looked up at you with surprise evident in the abruptness of his reaction, you grinned.
Even with the flickering streetlights, it was hard to make out his features. You could see sharp edges of the jawline, a slightly crooked nose and wide eyes, their intense stare intriguing.
âWho are you?â His voice was hoarse as though he was not used to speaking.
The sharp edge to the vowels told you the stranger was not easily intimidated. Yet your appearance was unexpected. His lips were pursed as he stiffened, bracing himself against what would come next.
Perhaps he was the case you could crackâŚ
âI could ask the same question, MrâŚ?â Leaving out the opening, you waited for a beat before adding in a faux-disappointed tone, âI see. Well, I canât blame you for snooping around. This case is quite the sensation,â making sure to drop the bait, you watched him closely.
There was no apparent reaction. The man threw a nervous look towards the alleyâs exit and then glanced back at you. As your eyes adjusted to the half-light, you could see more of his face. The chiselled features and fascinating eyes drew you in despite caution. Yet you still did not know who it could be. He did not look like your usual thug or a drophead, and you would bet he was not one of the Falconeâs. So⌠who?
âWhat do you mean?â Your internal ruminations got cut short with a simple question.
The enticement worked. Pasting on a mysterious half-smile, you stepped closer to the stranger and lowered your tone to a confidential whisper:
âThe usual⌠Corruption, Gothamâs finest⌠Perhaps some revenge to trigger it all and⌠boom,â with pleasure, you noticed that the man seemed transfixed on your story, âHere we are. I wonder whoâs next,â it was a simple deal: two people wanting something out of the conversation.
A game you were willing to play. Even if only to understand more about the case and the mysterious drifter. Something shifted in his eyes, acceptance replacing the previous uncertainty. An agreement had been reached without either of you laying out the terms. Feeling an inexplicable rush of adrenaline, you awaited the question as the man thought hard. Once he looked up again, you allowed yourself to stare at him as he asked:
âDo you think the killer is after the people in power?â The innocence in his voice made you throw a cheeky grin into the mix.
For whatever reason, you felt like extending the conversation if he was willing. The rain and damp clothes faded into the background as you eyed him, thinking on the next move:
âSure looks like it. Youâve been mapping the area from the roof, werenât you?â It was the obvious conclusion, so you decided to run with it, âFound anything good?â
The more you observed him, the less everything made sense. The dark streetwear, muddied motorcycle, and how he moved, like a fighter, a nocturnal animal. Yet he did not seem dangerous like a criminal. Before you could run on with the ideas, the man replied:
âIâm not sure,â the hint of caution made you frown.
âNot sureâ wasnât an applicable answer. Ignoring the pang of disappointment, you batted your eyelashes once your gazes locked and chose to voice the let-down:
âThatâs a shame. I could do with some scoop,â slight reveal of the identity in hopes he would follow.
But it was for nothing.
âYouâre a journalist,â it was his turn to measure you coolly.
Mindless of the interest burning bright, you raised an eyebrow, mirroring his judging stance with an aura of theatricality:
âThat wasnât a question,â another telling stretch of silence, making you add with the familiar tinge of bitterness, âYes, one of the hyenas, as some say,â the cold had caught up, making you shiver and helping to make up your mind, âWell if you donât want to help me, I better get going,â you sized him up one last time, the traitorous part of your brain hoping you could meet again.
Why? Because if there was anything you loved more than a good scoop, it was a mystery. A puzzle to crack. Something to motivate and drive you forward. He was an enigma you wanted to decode. With a parting shrug, you moved to turn away just as he spoke up:
âYou shouldnât be wandering out alone at this hour. Itâs dangerous,â oh.
That was new. A personal touch to an exchange of information between strangers. Turning towards him again, you noticed with surprise that he reached up to remove the hood. As the streetlight hit his unobscured face, you tried hard to look away yet found yourself unable to. There was something hauntingly beautiful in the blue of his eyes and the tightly set jaw. Pain written onto the features that could not be wiped off with a mere smile.
But one could try. You scoffed, choosing to armour yourself in humour to deny the maelstrom in your head:
âAnd the skyâs blue,â the repartee waiting for a punchline you delivered while looking the man point-blank, âOr black.â
It could have been an illusion (or wishful thinking), but his lips twisted in the faintest of smiles. There was no time to verify it. In a flash, he was putting on the helmet and turning the engine on, disappearing with a spray of water from the puddles.
Alone again, you grinned. There mightâve been no intel, but there was something else found tonight. A different sort of mystery.
***
Closing your umbrella with a groan, you pushed open the door leading to GC1 headquarters. The complaint was always the same â how come a leading TV channel in Gotham doesnât even have an automatic set of doors? Funding cuts, apparently.
It has not stopped raining since last night; puddles deepened, and the mood grew dense as the city descended into yet another circle of seasonal depression. As with most things, even that was extreme here, making an ordinary citizen keen to commit murder if it meant having one cloudy day without rain. Sometimes you did consider doing just that. And today was not any different. Your steps grew heavy as you neared the office, your mind unable to focus on anything that was not him. The stranger.
It made no sense. But he was there every time you closed your eyes, every second you drifted away from reality. As though in a dream, you passed through the familiar maze of cubicles, knowing the path to your desk by heart. Only once you reached the spot, falling into the chair with a groan, did you acknowledge the surroundings. Sophie, an acquaintance of convenience, occupied the cubicle next to yours, her keyboard clicking with aggression. A scowl on her face. With curiosity, you peeked over her shoulder, an innocent question accompanying the movement:
âWhat are you working on?â Noticing a fat pile of newspaper clippings on her desk, you frowned.
With so many current affairs and scandalous murders, barely any attention had been given to the past. Yet it seemed like that was what Sophie had been assigned. She acknowledged your appearance with a nod before flipping through a couple of pages without attention:
âA column about Wayne. I know, I know, the manâs a cryptid, but-â She waved a hand dismissively as you cut right into the sentence, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.
âWhat? The Wayne?â The intonation that once used to make you laugh, now commonplace in your dictionary.
Because, yes, the Wayne was a cryptid. And yes, writing about him was a task nearly impossible given he appeared in public once every few years.
Ignoring your paralysis, Sophie threw you a sceptical glare and picked up one of the clippings, putting the newspaper in the line of your vision.
âYeah. The boss said itâs been a long time since-â
As soon as your gaze landed on the black-and-white photograph on the page, everything faded into the background. He did not look the same when wearing a crisp white shirt and a tailored suit, but there were no doubts left in your mind. Even if it made no sense whatsoever. Mindless of Sophieâs protests, you tore the page out of her hand to examine the photo closely. Same features, same dark hair, same eyes. But-
âThatâs Bruce Wayne?â Your hand shook as you set the clipping back on her desk, aware of the waver in your voice.
âYes, why- You look like youâve seen a ghost,â Sophie fixed her curious eyes on you, noticing how blood drained from your cheeks.
Without giving it too much thought, you got up from the chair and picked up the bag you had just set on the desk. There was only one thing you needed to do. Everything else be damned.
âI did,â grinning at her puzzled look, you waved your hand, âBye, gotta go,â without waiting for an answer, you set out on the journey back through the maze.
Work had to wait. The blue eyes flashed before yours as you took out the phone and checked the next train that would take you to the Wayne Tower.
***
The initial bravado wore off when you approached the tower, gaze landing on the massive steps with apprehension. At the very top, you could see the heavy wooden doors with a brass knocker and a more modern doorbell button with a golden plaque. As though massive letters on the top of the building werenât enough. You took a deep breath as you eyed the fortress, unable to concoct a plan that had any chance of working out. Another thing everyone knew about Bruce Wayne was that he never allowed any visitors. And yet you also knew that you could not give up, having joined the dots. A final long inhale. Letâs wing it. What could go wrong, eh?
As you reached the set of doors on top of the staircase (and rolled your eyes at the said plaque), you plastered on a confident smile on your lips and pressed the doorbell button. The ringing pierced the silence, making you flinch. Maybe itâs a mistake? The doubts descended over your mind as your feet started itching, legs shuffling to fulfil the fleeing instinct best they could. With half the brain already eager to bolt, you barely registered when the door creaked open. In the newly created gap stood an older woman in a weirdly old-school maid uniform. She eyed you, never losing the pleasant smile that seemed fixed to her face.
âGood morning, Miss,â her smile widened as she asked the innocent question, âWhat brings you here?â
A good one, you had to admit. Stifling the increasing uncertainty, you beamed back, rushing out the words one after another:
âHi⌠I, um- Iâm here to see Mr Wayne,â your tongue stumbled over the surname, unused to the sound.
Never in a million years would you have expected it to happen. And yet there you were.
âHave you got an appointment?â Her smile faltered as she increased the scrutiny, hand tightening on the handle, ready to slam the door in your face.
Only one way out of it.
âNo⌠But heâll know who I am,â hopefully âI think heâll be happy to see me, actually,â an addition to charm the woman into letting you in.
The logical part of your brain knew that he would not be happy. Quite the contrary. But that did not change the needs. So, you strengthened your back and took an experimental step forward as though already confident of the outcome.
âIâm not sure-â She hesitated, the pleasant smile nowhere to be seen anymore.
Câmon. Another step towards the door, one hand reaching out to touch the wooden surface. A likeable facial expression put on like a mask. Seeing a shadow of conflict pass through her face, you added:
âPlease?â The puppy eyes that had earned you a few ins when they seemed absolutely beyond the realm of possibility right on hand.
Before you had to search the arsenal for more weapons, the woman replaced the uncertainty with a weaker version of the lovely smile as she took a step back from the doorway.
âOh, all right,â she opened the doors wider for you.
A passing desire to hug the woman had to be abandoned for now.
âThank you,â instead, you gave her the brightest grin available and took the liberty of having a look around the hallway.
The interior did fit the expectations with stone pillars, a wide mahogany staircase and hand-embroidered carpets on the floors. But it was evident everything had long since fallen from its glory days. Upon closer examination, you noticed the chinks in the balustrade and the old stains on the carpet. Mr Wayne did not care much for his familyâs legacy. But then, you knew better than anyone that material objects hardly matter when contrasted with lifeâs tragedies.
âHere, Miss,â your ruminations had been interrupted with the woman showing you an entrance to a vintage elevator, âMr Wayne is upstairs in the study,â she added as you stepped into the cabin.
She shut the metal crate and pressed one of the buttons on top of the list. The elevator creaked to life and began a slow ascent with the accompaniment of metallic clutter. With curiosity, you studied the floor plan, noticing how only the uppermost levers seemed to be in use, for the buttons were worn out from the regular touch. The elevator could also go below the ground floor, but the levels lacked numeration, adding to the interest and occupying your mind with possibilities until the cabin came to a standstill with a groan.
Your stomach was tied in a knot before you even stepped out of the elevator. And for a good reason, as you soon understood. There was barely time to register the surroundings as your eyes got drawn to the gothic arches and large windows showing the cityscape of Gotham laid out beneath the tower.
âDory, who is this?â The familiar voice rang out from the side, making you whip around in a flash.
Two discoveries: the womanâs name is Dory, and Bruce Wayne doesnât enjoy having surprise guests.
You did not dare wait for her to introduce you; instead, you took a step closer to the man and grinned with the simplest of questions:
âRemember me?â
Sure, hope he does. Using his moment of hesitation, you let your eyes wander over Bruce, noticing the dark circles under the bloodshot eyes and scarred forearms, revealed by the old, oversized t-shirt. He was not the man you saw in the newspaper photograph an hour ago. It was the stranger you talked to the previous night. Seeing the flash of recognition in the blue eyes made you release a shuddered breath.
âI didnât think youâd remember me,â Bruce shot you a glance before motioning for Dory to leave the room.
He seemed much less confident without the veil of anonymity and darkness, protecting him from knowing stares and judgement. The awkward movement and slouching posture were nothing like the man you met less than 24 hours beforehand. But it was the assumption that got you, emitting an honest scoff you did not bother hiding.
âOh, come on⌠How could I not?â You stared him down with disbelief, the head still soaking up the reality of the situation and recalibrating to fit the new needs.
With a start, you noticed a flash of surprise in his eyes before he turned away, staring at the cityscape. The wall had been put up, and there would be no more peeking. For now.
âWhat do you want?â Bruceâs back tensed as he asked the question, apprehension and frigidity filling every syllable.
Immediately you understood what it was â a public persona, the Bruce Wayne everyone thought he was. Cold, rich, and distant. Only, you knew that was not the whole picture. The memory of his faint smile from the previous night flashed before your eyes as you offered him a one-word response:
âInformation,â that simple.
You were not sure what that came from or why it became the reason for your rash decision to visit him. It seemed to make sense. And that was better than giving up.
Because forgetting didnât sound like a viable option.
âIsnât that your area of expertise?â The sharp edge in his voice was accompanied by a side glance full of disregard.
As though he wanted you to surrender and leave him alone. Little did he know of stubbornness and persistence⌠Using the room as your stage, you closed the distance to Bruce and placed yourself in the line of his sight to accentuate that he would have to listen. A sweet, knowing smile on your lips:
âIt seems like itâs yours, too,â you threw the remark, pushing onwards before he could think of a rebuttal, âNever in a million years I would have guessed it. The prince of Gotham scouting the streets at night and investigating the crimes. And yet,â with interest you observed as his confidence wavered and he dropped the gaze to stare at the floor.
You had laid out the issues perfectly. Now was the time to reveal the terms. But before you got that far, Bruce raised his head and began:
âIf you want money-â The contempt in his voice did strike a chord, making you frown and drop the act for a split second.
Karma for negotiations with the rich bastards, huh? For a moment, you wanted to scoff and tell him where he can put that money in the plainest of terms. However, you still needed him to agree and cooperate. So, instead, you offered him a warning glare and replied in a measured tone:
âDonât be a jerk, Mr Wayne. I just think itâs no coincidence weâve stumbled upon each other, and we could use it to our advantage,â noticing the glimmer of curiosity in the blue eyes, you allowed yourself another step closer, resting your hands on the back of a dark wooden chair, âHereâs what I suggest: youâll let me work with you, weâll share the intel and whatever tips we get our hands on,â it probably sounded better than it could work.
To hell with reason. There was that rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins again. Making everything brighter and sharper. If it worked out⌠You did not dare hope that it could. To keep your hands from shaking, you gripped the wooden frame tighter, awaiting the response.
âWhat will I get from this?â This time, Bruceâs voice was devoid of spite.
In its place, you detected genuine interest and determination. Although it was difficult to admit, you were not that different. Each driven by their own needs and ambitions, desperate to make it work, no matter the cost. Alone.
Your mind got stuck on that word, making your mouth follow its logic by saying:
âA friend?â Warily, you met his gaze over the table; his walls were up yet you could still see a shadow of recognition, âAnd a promise that I wonât pry into whatever it is that youâre doing. I wonât write anything about you or our cooperation. Itâs going to be our secret,â concluding the pledge, you knew the earnestness could not be hidden from your eyes.
It was there, making your heartbeat speed up and your hands shake. You never believed in destiny or fate, yet somehow, everything that happened since last night felt like it could be one of those. Like a plan devised by someone else in charge. An opportunity you did not dare let go of.
âAll that for information exchange?â Bruceâs question caught you by surprise as he added, eyeing you, âYou must be desperate.â
It was his time for scrutiny, a chance to take apart the protective armour and see what you were made of. You met his inquisitive gaze, showing a degree of loneliness in your eyes and the extent of dedication. Just so he understood. And then you shrugged, letting a genuine smile bloom on your lips:
âArenât we both?â Not expecting an answer, you allowed yourself a longer look at his face before throwing the conversation off its profound grounds, âListen⌠Itâs not like Iâm trying to bribe you into a marriage of convenience or other such bullshit,â on its own accord, the thought entered your mind.
Marriage of convenience? Now that was an idea youâd rather not delve into. Where the hell did that come from? Sure, he was not the dapper gentleman you always expected him to be, but he certainly was not ugly either. Stop. Ignoring the urge to shake your head and stop the ridiculous train of thought, you found a distraction in the subject of the mess.
There it was again, the not-quite-smile from the previous night. As soon as you spotted it, you grinned, feeling an inexplicable sense of triumph deep within your heart. It did seem like he was capable of smiling, and that discovery alone felt like a victory.
âIâm glad,â Bruce rolled his eyes, evidently trying to distract you from the observation.
He still had a lot to learn.
âMe too, sweetheart,â your smile widened as he visibly froze at the nickname, âSo⌠Whatâs the verdict?â There was no point in dancing around the subject.
You relaxed the pose, making it seem like you did not care, all the while holding in a breath and feeling the pulse speed up in your veins. Everything depended upon it. Or it seemed like it did. Bruce met your gaze warily, conflict visible despite the veil in how he had caught the bottom lip between the teeth, worrying the fragile skin. Despite yourself, you glanced at his mouth, feeling the warmth spread over your cheeks because of the act of looking alone. It had been too long.
You slapped sense into your brain when Bruce broke the silence:
âFine,â he spared a final look at you before wandering off to gaze out of the windows.
A clear signal. Despite the cold response, you grinned, unable to process the feelings filling every corner of your mind. You would make the best out of the situation. You had to.
âGreat,â letting the quip slip, you added, âIâll talk to my sources about the docksâ case, and I shall be back,â there was a promise in the sentence that you could not deny yourself.
Even when you knew that it was only you who felt excitement at the prospect.
âFantastic,â Bruce sighed, for once not hiding the myriad of feelings aroused by your suggestion.
He still had his back turned to you, expecting your imminent exit. You did not want to disappoint, so one last, selfish look had to do. Your eyes slipped over his form, the broad shoulders and the nondescript clothes, looking out of place in the grand study. And yet all of it was his, the master of the house personified. A mystery to crack.
You could not deny yourself the pleasure as you turned towards the lift, aware you could not even see his reaction. It did not matter.
âDonât worry, youâre gonna love it, darling,â glee made your heart somersault as you stepped into the cabin with a final remark, âIâll let myself out.â
