Discover Top Posts Tagged with #bruce wayne x reader

the in between.

summary: bruce comes back into your life, though not in the way you want him to. for the bat must work, the element must be dealt with, and you must be protected. but despite it all, he is yours, and you are his, hearts bleeding out for each other until someone has to give. pairing: battinson! bruce wayne x reader, gn reader content: YEARNING, attempted kidnapping, violence, angst angst angst, implied exes/fwb, no use of y/n, takes place right after the batman 2022 with minor spoilers word count: 3.9k a/n: this one has been cooking for a while! i love battinson hehe :) repost because i decided to switch reader back to gender neutral ^_^

Bruce watches you from across the room.

You’re even prettier than he remembers. Under the ballroom lights, your whole visage sparkles. Poised, refined. You’ve grown into the perfect image of Gotham royalty, it seems.

You’re in the middle of talking to someone, a guest that he’s done a full background check on, when you catch him looking from the corner of your eye. He immediately averts his gaze to the floor, pretending he wasn’t watching you like a hawk (or a bat), but it’s too late. You’ve already excused yourself from your previous conversation and are walking over to where he’s standing, body pressed into the corner of the ballroom and concealed in shadow.

“Bruce,” you greet him with a sweet smile as you approach, and he’s forced to look at your bright eyes. He tries to offer you a smile back, but his lips fail him, pressing into a slanted line. “I…didn’t think you would come.”

He shrugs and fidgets with the glass of cider in his hands, gaze falling to the floor once again.

“It’s for charity.”

He can’t say that someone is waiting for your charity gala to end so they can do god knows what to you. That the remnants of the Riddler’s followers have marked you as their next victim. That would scare you.

“Charity, yes, but I didn’t expect the city’s prince to show up,” you point out and take a sip of your champagne. “This is the first public appearance you’ve made since the memorial, no?”

He nods.

“With everything that’s happened, I thought it would be best if I used my family’s wealth to help the city recover,” he explains. It’s a half-truth, a practiced lie.

You hum thoughtfully, your champagne glass still at your lips.

“I see.”

You consider Bruce with a long gaze and a tilt of your head. He still won’t look back at you. You wonder if it’s because of what was exposed about his family, the stress of the flood, or something else.

You know that people are probably staring, whispering amongst themselves that you’re speaking to Bruce Wayne, the recluse, the bachelor, the prince. But you still see him as Bruce. Your Bruce, who would sneak you candy behind Alfred’s back as a child. Your Bruce, who broke your heart as a young adult.

You feel multiple pairs of eyes on you, scrutinizing you like you're a bug under a microscope. You know he does, too. The two of you talking will surely cause a stir in tomorrow’s Gotham Gazette gossip column.

Slowly, you lean closer to him and whisper, only loud enough for him to hear.

“Want to get some fresh air?”

Bruce’s eyes snap up. They’re blue and wide and surprised and asking, “are you sure?”

You answer by taking a step away from him, nodding, and gesturing for him to follow you. He does, setting his untouched cider down on a passing waiter’s tray. Silently, he follows you through the crowd of your gala, weaving through crowds of potential donors. They were all clamoring for your attention, and yet. You shut them down with a gentle gesture of your hand. Tell them you’ll speak with them later. You choose him over all of them. Always him. He feels something in his chest he hasn’t felt in a while.

He keeps following you until you’ve both reached a private balcony overlooking Gotham. You’re already leaning over the railing, the night breeze shifting your hair. He sidles up next to you and stares down at the city. From this high up, he couldn’t see the ugly underbelly he dealt with every night. Gotham almost looks like a starry sky, a sea of flashing lights. You seem to be captivated by it.

You don’t acknowledge him yet. Neither does he.

“Did Alfred get the flowers I sent him?” You break the silence first, eyes still on the city below.

“He did,” Bruce answers in a hushed voice. He remembers how Alfred’s face lit up when they were delivered to his hospital room. Sat up so fast that Bruce had to scold him.

“That’s good.”

Bruce hums in agreement. He notices how your eyes flicker to him and then away, something caught in your throat, but doesn’t say anything. The breeze passes you both by.

“You know,” you finally muster, shifting to face him. “I missed you.”

Bruce looks away, continuing to focus on the view below, and scoffs.

“You know I don’t deserve that,” he says bitterly, brow pressed down and shoulders hunched in his tailored suit. Shame bubbles in his chest like tar.

You frown at that, leaning further over the railing to try and catch his gaze.

“You’re my friend,” you insist, emphasizing the word by bumping his shoulder with yours. “I’m allowed to miss you.”

“Friend” is far too light to describe what you have with Bruce. You both know it and the word torments you with a cackle. Warm limbs tangled in sheets and kisses, handwritten letters and confessions taped with pressed flowers. A “friend” isn't exactly what Bruce is to you. A companion, a confidante, a lover, something in between. He’d been all of them.

You've known him since you were a baby, your parents being business partners. You were bound to be close. Some days, you worry that a part of you will always belong to him, his name carved into your soul. Maybe a part of him will always belong to you. You think it fate that you were meant to be intrinsically woven together, an invisible string connecting you, no matter how wide the chasm grew.

Bruce is silent. Replaying that night in his head, when he said, I can’t do this anymore, and you’d demanded to know why. Bit his tongue, didn't tell you the truth. Nearly did, though, turning the thought around in his head again and again and again. Considered your reaction to him saying, I'm going to fix Gotham. Fix me. Considered it until he deemed it unsafe, until you were sobbing and already out the door, leaving him alone in Wayne Tower.

Yet despite it all, you’d been kind to him. Gentle in a way he could never understand. Patient with him the way one would be with a wounded animal, still offering a hand even after he’d scratch it away. It disarmed him. You were the one thing he couldn’t predict, the one thing he couldn't make a plan for. He almost wishes you’d hate him instead. At least he knew how to respond to that.

And here you are again, standing next to him above Gotham. Preferring to mingle with him above the other socialites at your gala, even if it meant sitting in silence. You’d wait for him, as you’d always done. Wait until he lets his walls down and lets himself breathe.

Wait until he allows himself to look at you, to study and memorize your pretty face all over again.

Wait until he allows himself to admit, in a tired grumble that you almost don’t catch, “I missed you too.”

Your lips curl up at that. You feel his pinky brush against yours until they're linked together. His cold, blue eyes firmly stare back into yours with a gentle glow. It’s a quiet renewal of unspoken vows.

He’s as much yours as you are his.

The air between you is buzzing, heavy, and filled with hope and longing. The chasm shrinks, the string gains slack. You see Bruce part his lips hesitantly, like he’s about to say something, when you hear someone calling for you.

Bruce’s hand swiftly flees from yours. You feel a chill from where it was. Turning, you see one of your assistants peering through the balcony door.

“Pardon me,” she says, one arm clutching a tablet. “But a representative from Luthorcorp would like to speak with you.”

You quickly straighten up, face and posture returning to perfect professionalism.

“Tell them I’ll be there soon,” you respond smoothly. “Mr. Wayne and I were just having a discussion about his company.”

Your assistant nods, closing the balcony door behind her.

Once she’s gone, you turn back to Bruce and wordlessly begin fixing his tie, just like you always used to. He lets you, watching as you adjust it into place.

“Have to make sure you look good,” you murmur as you straighten his shirt collar. “Can’t have Bruce Wayne looking bad, can we?”

“No, we can’t,” Bruce replies softly. His eyes flutter as you push his mousy hair back. You feel the subtle weight of his head in your hand. He pushes into your touch like it's instinct with a sigh. You allow it, tracing your thumb along his cheekbone before withdrawing your touch.

Lapels are saved for last. Your hands wander over the firm planes of his chest before you tug on them. He feels the same, all electric and warm. You let your hands rest against his body, savoring the feeling of closeness. You can feel his heartbeat through your palms. Bruce’s gaze is trained on you through hooded lashes, breath in time with yours, lips almost touching.

You’re being greedy. So is he.

“I'll see you in there?” you ask him quietly, barely a whisper, afraid that any louder would scare him away.

You see him glance away from you. Nervous. Hiding, like always.

“Maybe,” Bruce answers. There’s that familiar tone in his voice, the one that tells you he’s keeping something from you in partial truths and broken promises. “I might go soon. Check in on Alfred.”

Your brow furrows in suspicion. He notices, jaw tightening. You know he does.

“Okay,” you start slowly. “Just…don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Liar, you almost utter. You don’t. You drop your hands from his lapels and take a step back. Bruce swallows thickly, blue eyes darting back and forth from you to the ground.

“I- I can call later-” he tries, and you nearly roll your eyes at his attempt.

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, raising a hand to stop his feeble efforts. “I know you’re busy after…well, everything.”

Bruce stands awkwardly in front of you for a second, staring blankly and fidgeting with his gold cufflinks before realizing that was his signal to leave. He gives a hesitant nod before slipping inside, taking one last glance at you over his shoulder. You don’t look back.

Once you hear the balcony doors shut behind you, you let your posture sink, cursing to yourself. You try to blink away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes as you rub your brow.

You’d lost him again. Just when you thought you had him, when you thought he could be yours again, he slips from your fingers like smoke. And you let him.

“Damn it,” you mutter to yourself, staring down at Gotham’s city lights one last time before willing yourself to return inside.

The chasm grows. The string goes taut.

It seems Bruce has left the gala. As expected, of course, but you can’t help the pang of disappointment that has made its home in your chest for the rest of the event.

Without Bruce, it's back to your usual dance of charming potential donors, trying to sway rivals to your side as allies. Unsurprisingly, it’s hard to convince rich people to donate a sliver of their money to charity. You find reprieve in speaking to some people, like the newly elected Mayor Bella Réal and Lieutenant Gordan. But nothing compares to Bruce.

As you meander around the ballroom, you think of those steely blue eyes of his. Cold like winter, yet with a hidden softness beneath the surface. You’d seen them euphoric, infuriated, and tonight, utterly defeated like a kicked puppy. Trying not to linger on the thought, you chew the inside of your cheek and take another flute of champagne from a nearby table. You'll need it if you're to survive the night.

After a few more hours of giving the same spiel to donate over and over again until you were sure your tongue would fall off, you finally say goodbye to your last guest before exiting the ballroom yourself. You only have to wait for a moment in the Gotham cold until your car back home arrives, sleek and discreet in black paint, and punctual as always. You step into the back seat with a sigh, waving at the driver to start the car again. You watch as the Gotham skyline flies by. The gothic architecture of Wayne Tower in particular catches your eye, towering over the city like a goliath. You wonder if Bruce was home yet. But suddenly, your view of the skyline is interrupted by darkness. You realize your driver had taken a turn they didn’t normally take. You had every driver you had remember a strict route that they weren’t to deviate from as they drove you, for your own safety and to prevent scenarios like this. You conceal your mistrust under a practiced smile as you question the driver- if it was even one of your drivers, at all. “Excuse me, how close are we to home? I’m awfully tired after the ball.” You hear him swallow heavily before he speaks. “Just around fifteen minutes. Please sit back and relax.” You spot the faintest hint of anxiousness in his eyes in the rearview mirror, and that’s enough for you. Too nervous, too vague. This was not your driver. You give the man another faux smile, perfectly playing the part of dumb rich socialite that they expected from you. But slowly, you reach your hand out to your side, feeling for the door handle. Whoever was trying to kidnap or kill you right now was an amateur. He hadn’t even bothered to lock the damn door. In one swift movement, you swing the door open and throw yourself out of the vehicle, grunting as you tumble down the rough asphalt. You move to stand, wincing at the small scraps now on your body when you hear the screech of tires and an angry yell. Before you can even anticipate what’s happening, more men come out of the dark alleys surrounding you, all of them wearing the same question mark masks the Riddler wore. Maybe these guys weren’t amateurs after all. They just stand around you, like a predator waiting for its prey to run. And you do. Bolting down the dimly lit street, you run like hell. But you then learn that your gala outfit is no good to run in. Your first mistake of the night. You can’t fully extend your legs the way you want, and your feet are killing you from wearing your dress shoes for so long. You can’t help what comes next- tripping over the bottom hem of your gala outfit like a fool, crying out in pain as you feel all your weight put onto your ankle. You fall back to the ground with a thump, and soon, one of the Riddler goons is in front of you. You hear the heavy breathing behind his mask as you attempt to get up and run again, but your ankle burns too much. You try to avoid him as he reaches for your hands, grunting as you struggle against him. “Don’t resist,” the man says to you. “You’ll only make it worse.” “Fuck you,” you hiss through gritted teeth. The man only laughs, belittling and demeaning. “You silly, poor fool. Soon the truth about your crimes will be revealed, and-” You interrupt his monologue by kicking him square between the crotch with your knee. Your second mistake of the night. You see the anger rise in his eyes, and he grabs your shoulder, pinning you to the concrete below. It’s only then you realize how much bigger this guy was than you. The rest of the men slowly surrounded you, and you hear their jeers and mocking voices as they watch gleefully for what was going to happen to you. Maybe you were in danger, after all. You almost think you see your life flash before your eyes. You hoped all the money you received as donations today would go to the right place. You hoped Alfred could leave the hospital soon. You hoped Bruce was home, safe. You wait for the man above you to deal a blow, knock your teeth out, anything. But nothing comes.

Then- you feel it before you see it. A burst of wind, the man’s hand pried off your body. An inky black flourish of a cape billows before you and settles. As it does, you begin to recognize the figure. Heavy armor, dark as night. A cowl pointing up on both ends like horns. Vengeance, as street gossip called him. The Batman, as the news had recently dubbed him. The men surrounding you turn to cowards as they cry out and run in fear.

You let out a quiet gasp, heart still pounding against your rib cage. Despite the recent positive press about the vigilante, all the good things you heard about him, you instinctively cower away.

And maybe you're right to do so, as the Batman swiftly hits your perpetrator over the head (multiple times, in fact) before tossing him aside like a rag doll. Dread crawls up your spine.

You listen to him mutter to himself, cursing about something you can't quite hear. Then his hunched shadow straightens up, as if remembering you were right behind him. He turns to face you fully, revealing himself in his full, dark glory. Under the Gotham streetlights, he looked more beast than human.

You swear your heart stops beating.

“He’s alive,” he gruffly states, nodding his head to the passed-out lackey on the sidewalk. You don’t say anything. You can’t say anything, frankly, still too stunned by his sudden appearance and actions, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Are you hurt?” Batman tries again, kneeling to your level, extending a hand to you. “I'm here to help.”

His voice is just the slightest hint gentler this time, as if he was attempting to soften his edges as to not scare you. You look at his gloved hand, then the unconscious men behind him. You swear Batman’s shoulders slump at your hesitancy for just a second.

“Who are they?” you finally manage to ask, voice hoarse from the shock of it all.

Batman lets out a tired sigh, shaking his head.

“Remnants of the Riddler. They still have an ongoing hitlist, and you were next.”

“Oh,” you dumbly respond.

“Are you hurt?” Batman asks again, a bit more urgently this time.

“I- I don’t think so,” you mumble back, attempting to stand but wincing once you put weight on your injured ankle.

In one swift motion, Batman slips your shoes off your feet with practiced precision and hooks them on his fingers. Next, he scoops you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style. His armor feels cold against your exposed, scraped skin.

“Looks like a twisted ankle,” he murmurs, observing your injury. “I’ll take you to the hospital after the police interview you.” Your trembling slows as he continues to treat you delicately, like you were something precious to protect. His hold is almost comforting as he walks you over to the gathering police cars down the street. You’re almost tempted to think that you’re seeing the man behind the bat. “Thank you,” you say softly. You feel Batman’s grip on you tighten ever so slightly. As you pass under another streetlight, you’re finally able to get a good look at Batman’s face. A sharp jawline, stubble prickling his skin. His mask is sculpted to perfectly fit his high cheekbones. You move up until you see- his eyes. Even though they’re smudged with black eye makeup, the color is unmistakable, perfectly blue and cold. Your heart drops to the floor.

Those eyes. Those damn eyes. Those piercing blue eyes that you knew like the back of your hand, that you’d seen so many times and longed for many others. Those eyes that could only belong to the one who shattered your heart, who you knew was trying to piece it back together. Those eyes that could only belong to-

“Bruce?” you whisper.

Batman freezes, stopping dead in his tracks. “Bruce,” you whisper again, cautiously reaching up to brush his jaw with your fingers. “I know it’s you.” Bruce doesn’t answer you, doesn’t look at you. You cup his jaw, forcing him to turn his head. “Is this what you were hiding from me?” you ask him, half-speechless. Bruce remains silent, as if that would prevent you from recognizing that it was him carrying you. But how could you not? You’d always be tied to him, one way or another, whether he liked it or not. He knew you as well as you knew him. He’d know you by breath alone, and the same for you, his name still carved into your soul with a dagger. You see the bob of his throat before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, and you can’t tell if it’s earnest or not. And luck must be on Bruce’s side tonight, because Lieutenant Gordon walks up to the two of you, interrupting the moment. “They alright?” the lieutenant asks, nodding towards you. “They're okay,” you hear Bruce’s voice return to the timbre of Batman. “Just a sprained ankle. But take her to the hospital just in case.” You open your mouth to protest, but the look Bruce gives you has you going quiet again. “You’ll be alright,” he assures you, and you’re not sure if it’s Bruce or Batman speaking. “The Lieutenant can take you from here.” He gently sets you back on your feet, making sure you’re balanced before fully letting go. You already miss the cold of his armor. You move to leave with Gordon, heart feeling heavy in your chest, when you hear Bruce clear his throat.

He wordlessly offers your shoes back to you, and you take them with an awkward thank you. “I should be going now,” Bruce excuses himself with a firm nod to Gordon. “Let me know if there are any updates on this case.” Gordon nods in return. “We will.” Bruce takes one look back at you before he runs and disappears into the darkness of an alley, the inky black of his cape concealing him from your eyes. And then he was gone. Hiding from you, again. Like always.

You stare into the alley, trying to make shapes out of the darkness as if to will Bruce- will Batman- back to you. You hear the Lieutenant call your name, telling you he’s going to take you to the hospital for a check-up and questioning. You nod your head, only half listening to his words as you shakily limp behind him. The memories of the night replay in your head. Bruce alone in the ballroom, your near kiss on the balcony. The look in his eye as he left you there. The brutality he dealt to your would-be captors, only to hold you so delicately in his arms. The way he tried to deny you a truth that you knew you were owed.

It seems that even after all these years, you still don’t know what Bruce is to you. A friend, a lover, a savior, a stranger. Something in between. The chasm grows. The string goes taut. And a bat watches you over your head.

reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! <3

#bruce wayne x reader

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#bruce wayne x reader