Yandere Alpha Bruce Wayne
Warning: financial abuse, Stalking, Kidnapping, Omegaverse, Yandere themes, Possessiveness, obsessiveness
Authors note: I haven't uploaded in a bit Cause I'm on holiday from uni but now that the next term is starting, I'll procrastinate studying and start writing :D
Part 2
The first time Bruce Wayne smelled you, the entire gala blurred into background noise.
Champagne, politicians, models—none of it mattered.
Omega.
His omega.
The realization struck the alpha part of him like lightning, ancient and absolute. For a man who controlled everything, who was control, the sudden primal certainty felt almost offensive. He did not lose composure. He did not react without calculation.
And then you walked right past him.
No curtsy. No nervous glance. No subtle attempt to linger in his orbit like everyone else in Gotham. You didn’t even look at him, and that was what followed him long after the gala lights dimmed.
By the time the last guest had gone home, he knew your name.
He knew where you worked, where you lived, the route you took each morning, your favorite café, your friends, your medical history, your heat cycle schedule.
Not because he didn’t trust you.
Because he didn’t trust the world with something that belonged to him.
The Batcave screens glowed with your face while Alfred stood behind him in weighted silence. Even the hum of the computers seemed quieter than usual.
“Sir,” Alfred said carefully, “you’ve monitored heads of state with less intensity.”
Bruce didn’t look away from the screen.
“They aren’t my mate.”
A week later, Wayne Enterprises sponsored the community center where you worked, and he met you properly under fluorescent lights instead of chandeliers.
You were polite. Professional. Distant.
The bond flared the moment he stepped close. Your pulse jumped. Your breath caught. He smelled it—the recognition, the instinct.
Instead of leaning into it, you straightened like someone bracing against a wall.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t use that tone with me,” you said when his voice softened into something too intimate for strangers.
“Which tone?” Bruce asked, though he knew.
“The one that assumes I’m already yours.”
Something cold slid under his ribs. You weren’t supposed to resist. The bond was supposed to pull you to him. That was how it worked.
“You are,” he said quietly.
Your eyes hardened. “I’m not a company acquisition, Mr. Wayne.”
After that conversation, Gotham began to shift in ways that were difficult to call coincidence.
Streetlights near your apartment never flickered again. Crime in your neighborhood dropped sharply. Your rent was quietly lowered. A mugger who grabbed your wrist one night didn’t make it halfway down the block before Batman himself intercepted him.
It didn’t take you long to notice the pattern.
“You’re watching me,” you accused the next time Bruce appeared at the center, blocking your office door with tailored precision.
“I’m protecting you.”
“I didn’t ask for protection.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Your scent sharpened—anger layered over the involuntary reaction of an omega standing too close to a powerful alpha. Bruce’s control thinned at the edges.
“You walk home alone. Your building’s security is inadequate. Your heat is in nine days and you don’t have a bonded alpha. Do you have any idea how many predators live in this city?”
Your eyes widened. “You tracked my—”
“You’re my mate,” he said, voice dark and unyielding. “Of course I did.”
“That’s not romantic,” you snapped. “That’s fucking creepy, you weirdo.”
He had been called worse. The word should have meant nothing.
From you, it landed like rejection.
Bruce went very still. The air in the office grew heavy, charged like Gotham before a storm.
“You think this is a game,” he said at last, voice too calm. “You think you’re looking at a man who doesn’t understand boundaries.”
“I think I’m looking at a man who broke into my medical records and timed my heat like it’s a board meeting.”
Your pulse was racing. He could hear it. Smell the fear threading through your anger.
It didn’t push him back. It drew him closer.
“You live in a city where people disappear every night,” he said. “Where monsters wear human faces. Where omegas are trafficked, hunted, sold. And you’re angry because the one person who can make sure that never happens to you is paying attention?”
“I’m angry because you don’t see me as a person,” you shot back. “You see me as something you own.”
Something shifted in his expression then.
Not softness.
Understanding.
“Of course I see you as a person,” Bruce said quietly. “You’re the only person I see.”
After that, the coincidences stopped pretending to be subtle.
The café you liked switched suppliers with Wayne funding. Your landlord was replaced by a Wayne subsidiary. Your best friend received a sudden, life-changing job offer in another city.
Two weeks later, fury carried you up the steps of Wayne Manor unannounced.
Alfred opened the door as though he had been expecting you all along. “Mr. Wayne is in the study.”
Bruce stood by the window when you stormed in, Gotham stretched beneath him like something he personally sustained.
“You moved my friend.”
“She was offered an opportunity.”
“You bought my building.”
“It was structurally unsound.”
“You're meddling with my life.”
He turned slowly, and your breath caught despite yourself.
He looked relieved.
“You’re safer now,” he said.
“I don’t want to be safe if this is the price!”
“You don’t know what the price is,” Bruce replied, stepping closer. “You don’t see what I see. The threats. The probability charts. The names of people who’ve already noticed you because of me.”
Your anger faltered. “What?”
“I tried to let you stay separate from my world,” he continued, something raw threading beneath the control. “I tried to give you distance. But you’re already on the radar. Anyone who watches me long enough will find you.”
Your stomach dropped.
“I am the most dangerous man in this city to be connected to,” he said softly. “Which means you are the most valuable target.”
The room felt smaller.
“So this is protection?” you whispered. “You isolate me? You take away every choice I have?”
He reached for you slowly this time, giving you space to retreat.
You didn’t.
His gloved hand closed around your wrist, not tight, but unbreakable.
“I am removing variables,” he said. “You still have choices.”
“Like what?”
His thumb brushed your pulse point where the bond throbbed.
“You can keep fighting me,” Bruce said, eyes dark and unshakably sincere. “Keep calling me names. Keep pretending you don’t feel this.”
Your breath hitched.
“Or you can come upstairs. There’s a room that’s been yours for weeks. Clothes in your size. Your books. Your tea. The view you stop to look at every morning on your way to work.”
Your heart stuttered.
“You’ve been in my apartment.”
“Of course I have.”
The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine.
“You’re insane.”
“No,” Bruce said gently. “I’m prepared.”
He lifted your hand and pressed it flat against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, unshakable.
“Everything in my life is built on contingency plans,” he murmured. “Every outcome accounted for. Every threat neutralized.”
Your fingers trembled.
“What happens if I still say no?”
For the first time, Bruce smiled without charm. It wasn’t the public playboy grin. It was private. Possessive.
“Then you’ll stay in your apartment,” he said. “With the upgraded security. The surveillance. The patrol routes I’ve already altered. The people watching you from every rooftop. The systems in your phone. The trackers in your bag.”
Your blood went cold.
“I told you,” he continued, stepping closer until retreat was impossible, “you’re the only person I see.”
His hand rose to cup your neck, thumb resting over your scent gland.
“You think this is about control,” he said. “It isn’t.”
“Then what is it?”
His forehead lowered until it nearly touched yours.
“Permanence.”
The word settled around you like a locked door.
“You can hate me. You can call me creepy. You can refuse to stand beside me in public.”
His grip tightened just enough to be felt.
“But you are not living a single day in this city without me knowing where you are, if you’re breathing, if you’re safe.”
Your scent spiked—fear, bond, something dangerously close to surrender.
“And one day,” he said with absolute certainty, “you’re going to realize that there is nowhere in this world where I am not already waiting for you.”
When he finally let go, it didn’t feel like freedom.
Because as you stepped back, the truth settled heavy in your chest.
Your life hadn’t been taken from you.
It had been absorbed into his.
And there was no shadow in Gotham, no street corner, no locked door
where you could exist without Bruce already being there first.
