THE CAPTAIN OF THE DARK KNIGHT ( bruce wayne! )
summary | Captain Wayne doesn't believe in the legends told by the old pirates on the crew, until an incident forces him to experience the situation firsthand.
pairing | pirate! Bruce wayne x mermaid !reader
cw | nudity, pronouns she/her, a bit of description (big eyes and long hair)
bruce wayne mlist - serie mlist
The sea spoke of him long before his ship was sighted on the horizon.
He was a legend; sailors called him by various names: The Shadow of the Seas, Captain Wayne. But they all agreed on one thing: wherever his black flag appeared, with its bat emblem unfurled against the moon, enemies trembled.
Bruce Wayne was born into English nobility, but the years robbed him of everything he loved, in the most unjust way. One night of fire and gunpowder left him an orphan, and from then on, he vowed never to be a victim again. He turned his pain into steel and discipline, and over time, became one of the most feared and respected captains of the seven seas.
His ship, the Dark Knight, was no ordinary vessel: it was a floating fortress, swift as a shadow and deadly as a sword. On board, his crew followed him not out of fear, but out of absolute loyalty. Bruce Wayne was tough, demanding, but fair. He never attacked innocent ships, and he never abandoned his own, something very few pirates would recognize in their captains, and on very few occasions would they risk their lives for him; they needed to keep the only decent captain they had alive.
The night was as thick as ink. The sky unleashed its fury upon the Dark Knight, which sliced through the waves with the stubbornness of a monster of wood and steel. Each flash of lightning illuminated for a second the tense faces of the crew, men hardened by salt and fire, but who now resembled children shivering beneath the storm's blanket.
The wind whistled like a lament, and the creaking of the ship mingled with the roar of the sea. Amidst the chaos, the old sailors began to murmur, their hoarse voices floating among the thunder like prayers.
"It's a night of omens," spat Pannyworth, a gray bearded old man who had been at sea for more than three decades. "A night of things that must not be named."
A boy, barely a cabin boy, clung to the rope he was holding, his knuckles white from squeezing so hard. “What are you talking about, old man?”
The old man narrowed his good eye, looking up at the black waves that rose like walls. "Of creatures that wait beneath the foam. Women with long hair and sweet voices, angelic faces, but with a heart with teeth, with tails of scales that shine in the moon. Mermaids."
The boy paled, and another younger sailor gave a nervous laugh, though his eyes betrayed fear.
"Moonshine."
But Bartholomew didn't smile. "I've seen men throw themselves overboard like madmen, chasing songs no one else could hear. And when we went down to look for them… they never came back."
"I myself saw them dragged to the bottom of the ocean," an elderly man confirmed. "They hypnotize them with their pure appearance and lead them to their deaths."
Murmurs spread like wildfire through wet gunpowder. One spoke of ghost ships, another of tentacled monsters that could tear a vessel in two. The legends that had grown up between rum and taverns now seemed palpable, as if the storm itself had given them voice.
The atmosphere became dense and suffocating. The young sailors looked out over the water, hoping to see a face emerge from the waves. Fear was a rapidly growing enemy, and the storm seemed to enjoy feeding it.
Then a voice cut them off.
"Enough!"
Captain Wayne strode across the deck with a firm stride, each flash of lightning marking the severity of his features. The rain pelted him like hot nails, but he didn't even brush his wet hair away from his face.
"Mermaids? Sea monsters?" His deep voice rose even above the thunder. "The sea is an executioner, yes, but it doesn't sing. There are no demons waiting for us underwater, only our own foolishness to fear what we don't understand."
His blue eyes scanned each of his men, from the hunched veterans to the youngest, who watched him as if their calm depended on his word.
"The only monster you should fear is man," he continued, with the edge of conviction in his tone. "The steel of an enemy, the gunpowder of a cannon, or the cowardice that would make you abandon the helm in the middle of a storm, these are true threats."
A heavy silence fell over the crew. The cabin boy gulped, the old men pursed their lips, and little by little, everyone returned to their posts. Discipline returned, although fear remained hidden in their eyes. Bruce stood at the bow, clutching the wet timber, his gaze fixed on the horizon, barely visible through the gusts of rain.
"Mermaids..." he murmured to himself, barely a whisper that no one else heard. "Stories for drunken sailors."
He had spent years on the ocean, conquering them, raising his own name with his attacks and expeditions, and in all his life as a pirate, he had never seen anything like it, hundreds of pirates that surrounded him repeated the same legends over and over again, as if they had all been brainwashed since their first trip to the dangerous sea, but he would not allow those old drunks to continue ruining the young and inexperienced minds of the new pirates, there were enough real problems within the sea to worry about with nonexistent legends.
A flash of lightning lit up the horizon, and that's when Bruce saw it.
Through the curtain of rain and spray, a dark silhouette was making its way toward the Dark Knight. It wasn't just any shadow: it was a ship, enormous and with tattered sails, emerging from the storm like a specter.
The captain squinted, taking in every detail as thunder rumbled across the skies. The ship's wood seemed corroded by age, blackened by the fire of a thousand battles, and its flag flapped violently in the wind. Instead of the classic pirate skull, it bore a grotesque, grinning, mocking skull, as if laughing at all the men it had taken to their graves.
"Captain..." Bartholomew's trembling voice brought him out of his observation. "It can't be..."
"What do you see, old man?" Bruce asked, without looking away.
The sailor gulped, his good eye fixed on the enemy ship. “The Arkham Crow… damn, I thought it was just a story.”
Murmurs spread across the deck. The name was familiar: a ship commanded by a deranged captain, a man seeking neither gold nor glory, but chaos. The Joker.
"Prepare the cannons!" he shouted, coming from the bottom of his lungs. "Come on, damn it!"
And as if the sea itself were mocking Bruce's disbelief, a burst of laughter echoed through the storm. It wasn't the roar of the wind or the creaking of wood: it was human laughter, unhinged, amplified by the echo of the ocean.
The Arkham Crow charged fiercely, firing a volley of cannons that shook the Dark Knight. Splinters flew, and men fell to the ground. Bruce barely moved, his jaw set, his gray eyes blazing with determination.
"Everyone to battle stations!" he roared, his voice firm above the chaos.
The collision was inevitable; within a second, the grappling hooks were digging into the deck, locking the two sea beasts together in a deadly dance. Mad men began leaping from the Arkham Crow, armed with rusted swords, flintlock pistols, and madness evident in every gesture.
And there he was.
Among his men, advancing as if the storm were calling for him, appeared the Joker: tall, thin, dripping wet, with his hair plastered to his face and a smile that seemed unfading even if the sea devoured him. He brandished two curved swords, twirling them like toys.
"Bruce Wayne!" he shouted, with a laugh that chilled even the bravest. "The man who doesn't believe in legends... let's see if he believes in his own downfall!"
The clash of swords and steel filled the deck. The Dark Knight's crew fought with discipline, but the Joker's men seemed to revel in the madness, growing fiercer the more blood they shed.
Bruce cut a swathe through the space with relentless precision, each movement deadly and exact, until he stood face to face with his enemy. The Joker greeted him with an exaggerated bow, dripping wet, his teeth flashing in the lightning.
"Shall we dance, Captain?" she whispered with delight.
The swords clashed, a flash of lightning accompanied the sound of steel, and in that duel of titans the storm seemed to roar even louder.
A cannon shot shook the ship. The railing shattered into splinters, and Bruce, in his eagerness to resist the Joker's onslaught, lost his balance. The sea opened beneath him like a hungry mouth.
The villain laughed, the crew screamed, and Captain Wayne fell overboard.
The icy water enveloped him like a death grip. The pressure dragged him down, and for the first time in years, Bruce felt the weight of defeat, his body weakening. He had no chance of surviving such an ordeal. The sea was in a violent state due to the massive storm, the tide was at a level he'd never experienced before. His days as a captain were over.
The sea, that enemy that had always challenged him, claimed him.
The water engulfed him brutally, battering him against the current as if he were merely a toy being tossed by invisible giants. The roar of the cannons faded as he submerged, replaced by the deep crackle of the ocean, a dark echo that seemed to come from the bowels of the world.
Bruce tried to swim, but each stroke was useless. The storm dragged him down, his lungs gasping for air, and the salt burned his eyes. The weight of his coat, his boots, and the steel belt pulled him down faster, as if the sea itself wanted to claim him as tribute.
“So it ends,” he thought with cold lucidity, his mind clinging to the only certainty he had left: that no man could escape the fury of the ocean.
His strength drained with every second. The cold bit into his skin like a thousand tiny blades, and the weight of his body became unbearable. The pressure of the water wrapped around him in a deadly embrace, squeezing his chest until it almost burst. His vision blurred, and in the blackness, he thought he heard distant echoes: voices of his crew, laughter from his enemy, the roar of a sea that mocked his endurance.
His lungs betrayed him first; he could no longer hold his breath there. The spasm shook him, and the icy water forced its way into his throat like liquid fire. Bruce convulsed beneath the surface, knowing it was the end; everything in him began to fail.
Then, he felt it.
A touch on his arm, gentle but firm, unlike the pounding of the waves. A hand. Before he could resist, a powerful pull engulfed him, quick as lightning. His thoughts fragmented, blurred between disbelief and unconsciousness, as he was swept through the currents.
Darkness claimed him completely.
(...)
When he opened his eyes, the world was different. The storm had ceased, replaced by the steady sound of waves gently breaking against the shore. The sun, shy behind pale clouds, bathed the damp sand in golden glints.
Bruce took a deep breath, the salty air burning his throat like fire. It took him a moment to recognize he was alive. The main proof was that he could feel his clothes hard from the salt water, the sand around him, every part of his body.
With effort, he propped himself up on one elbow, his body aching, his muscles stiff. That's when he saw her.
A few feet away from him, sitting on the damp sand, was a young woman. Her skin seemed luminous under the mist, drops of water still trickling down her long hair, a shade reminiscent of fire trapped underwater. Her eyes watched him with a strange mixture of curiosity and alarm, large, bright, almost inhuman.
Bruce barely managed to move his hand, and she shuddered. Instinctively, she slid back, resting on the sand with agile, almost crawling movements. It was then that the captain noticed the impossible: she was completely naked, and yet, she seemed oblivious to any notion of shame, as if nudity were a natural part of her being.
He blinked, stunned, trying to piece together what he saw. The storm. His fall. The hand that had rescued him. Those eyes underwater.
"You..." Bruce's voice came out hoarse, torn, barely a whisper that the sea almost swallowed. "It was you."
The young woman stared at him, as if she understood every word and, at the same time, as if she didn't know what it meant. Her pupils seemed to vibrate with sunlight, liquid, impossible. Bruce tried to sit up a little more, the captain's instinct urging him to face the unknown, but as soon as he moved, she jerked back.
The sound of wet sand slithering beneath his body shook him. Bruce blinked, confused, and what he saw sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't just his movements that seemed unhuman: it was the way his skin shimmered with subtle glimmers, as if fragments of the ocean still clinging to him.
For a moment, he was a child again, remembering the stories his mother whispered to him before bed: beautiful creatures that could captivate anyone to the point of death.
But she hadn't sunk him, she'd saved him, and that puzzled him even more. Bruce clenched his jaw, bewilderment mingling with a strange fascination.
"What are you?" he asked, his voice deep, more to himself than expecting an answer, as if he needed confirmation.
The girl tilted her head slightly, like a wild animal trying to decipher a sound. Her lips parted, and although no words came out, a soft, almost musical murmur escaped her throat. It was a sound that seemed to caress the air, unlike any human language.
Bruce tensed. He'd faced storms, canyons, and men more beastly than human. But never anything like this. And yet, all he felt wasn't fear, but a dangerous attraction, as inevitable as the tide that had swept him toward her.
Bruce forced himself to breathe calmly, even though every fiber in his body was tense. He watched her as he would an enemy, searching for weaknesses, but what he found wasn't hostility, but something more disconcerting: innocence and curiosity.
The murmur escaped her lips again, a brief, broken melody, as if testing her voice in a world that didn't belong to her. The captain felt a chill run down his spine. They weren't words, but there was emotion in that sound, emotion he shouldn't understand... and yet he understood it. It was a lament, and at the same time, a welcome.
He sat up a little more, placing his palms on the damp sand. The sudden movement was enough to make her flinch, sliding back a step. Her breathing quickened, her eyes fixed on him, large and bright, as if she feared he was going to attack her.
"No... I'm not going to hurt you," he said, surprised by how soft his voice came out, as if he were negotiating with a spirit and not flesh and blood. "Do you want my jacket?"
The words seemed to hang in the air between them. She blinked, uncertain, her body leaning toward the sea, ready to flee at any moment. And then, with an unexpected gesture, she barely extended a hand toward him, trembling, as if curiosity were fighting against fear.
Bruce didn't move. His instinct was to trap her, to assert the truth of what he saw, but he knew that any attempt to assert himself would cause her to disappear in a foamy sigh. So he remained motionless, letting her decide.
The sea breeze stirred her hair, leaving her more exposed, and for a moment, the scene became unreal, the pirate captain recognized by the seven seas and in front of him, a beautiful, naked and vulnerable woman, protected only by her long hair.
Bruce watched her with fascination, mesmerized by every movement, every flicker of her wet skin, every ripple of her hair that seemed to move with a life of its own. He had faced storms, boarding attacks, and men who didn't hesitate to kill, but nothing had left him as defenseless as that creature before him.
"You saved me..." he whispered, as if he couldn't form another word.
She blinked, as if she didn't quite understand the words, but the tone of his voice conveyed gratitude and vulnerability, something the other mermaids had told her didn't exist in the land of Men. She leaned a little toward him, the damp sand crunching beneath her body, and for the first time, she allowed his closeness to be less fearful, more exploratory.
Bruce held his breath. His gaze never left hers as he slowly extended his hand, a gesture not to grasp her, but to offer reassurance. His fingers barely touched hers; a light, almost electric touch that made them both pause for a moment.
"No…" she whispered, her voice a musical murmur, unlike any language Bruce knew. "I don't hurt."
"I know," he replied, his voice deep and husky, cracking with disbelief and astonishment. "I've never... seen anything like it."
She tilted her head curiously, and her trembling fingers dared to touch his arm, gently running over the sea- and battle-hardened skin. Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the innocence that contrasted with the harshness of his pirate life.
"You are…" he said, hesitating, unable to find the right words to describe her, "so beautiful…"
She looked at him with those huge, shining eyes, and a musical murmur escaped her lips, like an echo of the tide. Her hand ran down Bruce's arm again, this time with more confidence, exploring the hardness of his skin and the strength contained beneath every muscle. He inhaled, heat rising in his chest, the strange, electrifying sensation of being faced with something impossible and yet terrifyingly real.
Without realizing it, she moved closer, her naked body brushing against Bruce's in a gesture that seemed casual, but that ignited a fire in him that was impossible to ignore. Every curve, every line of her shape, every inch of contact made his heart race and his mind blur, mixing fascination, desire, and a wariness he'd never felt before.
He was a damn pirate, his life was based on knowing the great seas and that could get very lonely, rum and women were a weakness when they reached dry land, and right now he was living the best wet dream he could ever have.
She, unaware of the intensity she aroused in him, gently rested her chest against his, the contact so light it seemed a natural gesture from the sea itself. Her fingers traced his shoulder and slowly went down his arm, exploring unintentionally, simply out of curiosity. Bruce inhaled deeply, suppressing the mixture of wonder and desire that coursed through him.
The warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, and the fragility she emanated made the whole world shrink in that instant. The tide was breaking in the distance, but its sound became a whisper in time with the rapid beat of his heart. He was a pirate, accustomed to solitude, to women who came and went, to adventures that never left him vulnerable... but nothing had prepared him for this.
For a moment, Bruce closed his eyes and allowed the sensation to wash over him. His hands rested near her, not to hold her, but to hold her, so that the contact wouldn't be lost. She tilted her face to one side, as if seeking his approval, and then she slid her body naturally closer, resting her side against his. There was no intention beyond curiosity, and that only made the effect on him even stronger, more addictive.
She seemed curious about his warmth, his presence, gently leaning her torso against him, her hair sliding like water over his shoulders. He was living in the damned paradise, perhaps after all, if he's dead.
"How... how can you be like this?" he whispered, a mixture of wonder and fascination, without taking his gaze from hers.
Her eyes shone with pure curiosity, not fully understanding the intensity of her effect on him. Bruce felt his heart pound, a mixture of desire, disbelief, and fascination.
The young woman gently slid her hand over his chest, following the contours of the muscles beneath his wet shirt, and he inhaled sharply, holding back a sigh. His pirate instinct, always accustomed to passing women, knew he'd never find someone like her out there.
"If this is death," he thought, with a crooked smile, "maybe I don't care so much."
For a moment, the world disappeared. There was no storm, no ships, no cannons. Just them, on the wet sand, bound by a silent, profound bond that defied all human logic.
Then a distant, harsh, and familiar sound abruptly brought them back to reality: “Captain! Captain Wayne!”
Bruce blinked, the name bringing him back to reality like a blast of cold water. He turned his face toward the sound and made out several figures emerging from the sea mist: battered, soaked men, dragging rusted weapons and storm-battered bodies. The Dark Knight's survivors.
When he turned his gaze toward the girl, she was no longer so close. The glint of alarm had returned to her eyes, and her body was leaning toward the sea again, ready to flee. Without taking his gaze off her, he felt the need to protect her and not lose her mingling with the desire that her proximity had ignited.
"Don't go," she whispered, almost breathless. "Stay... just a moment longer."
He instinctively leaned toward her, bringing his forehead close to hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away: the storm, the cannons, the sailors… everything was left behind.
Their lips met, almost shyly, but charged with something ancient, deep, and magnetic. The contact was brief, but enough for Bruce to feel a fire run through his chest, an electricity that seemed to pierce every fiber of his being. The legend of mermaid kisses wasn't a lie: his mind clouded, his senses heightened, and the world around him shrank to her, to her warmth, the softness of her skin, and the salty scent of her hair.
"What the...?" Bruce gasped, his voice hoarse with emotion and astonishment, unable to tear himself away from her lips. "This... this isn't possible."
She smiled faintly, as if she were absolutely certain she knew what she was doing, with a murmur that seemed to blend with the waves, and she brushed his lips again, this time with more confidence, as if she were exploring the reaction she was causing in him. Bruce closed his eyes, letting himself go, knowing he couldn't resist, caught between desire and fascination, as if each kiss were a spell claiming him.
The effect was immediate: his breathing quickened, his heart pounded, and a deep warmth spread throughout his body. It wasn't just physical desire; it was something that defied reason, a bond that seemed to be etched deep within him. Every movement of hers, every touch, was a call impossible to ignore.
The sound of footsteps broke the illusion, and Bruce opened his eyes briefly, aware of the approaching sailors. But even then, his hand sought hers, holding her close, as if the whole world could wait just a moment longer, while his heart still beat to the hypnotic rhythm of that impossible kiss.
The kiss broke for a mere moment when the sound of footsteps grew closer, the Dark Knight's sailors shuffling across the sand. Bruce opened his eyes, still dazed by the intensity of the contact, and for the first time realized how close he was to danger: not only could men interrupt this moment, but they could also frighten her with their presence or with a wrong gesture.
"Wait..." he tried to say, his voice hoarse and full of urgency. still feeling her on his lips "Don't go..."
But she no longer heard him. With a swift, natural movement, as if the sea itself were calling her, she stood up quickly and ran toward the shore. The foam greeted her, and her feet disappeared beneath the waves in an instant. Bruce froze, the wet sand marking the spot where her touch had been, while his heart pounded, unable to follow her in time.
"Wait!" he shouted, but his voice was lost in the sound of the waves and the wind blowing from the horizon.
The sailors finally reached the shore, panting and soaked, and saw the captain standing motionless, staring out to sea.
"Captain Wayne... we finally found you. Are you okay?" Bartholomew asked, fear and confusion laced in his voice.
Bruce took a deep breath, trying to regain control, his heart still trembling from what had just happened. "Yes," he finally answered, with a calmness he didn't feel before. "Just... staring out at the sea."
