blue christmas - chapter one
yandere Clark Kent x reader x yandere Bruce Wayne: You move to Gotham to escape Metropolis—or rather, your unhinged ex-boyfriend, Clark, who lives in Metropolis. Even with its bad weather and soaring crime rates, you would take living in Gotham over being stalked in Metropolis any day. Until, that is, you attract the attention of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne, who takes an unhealthy liking to you.
warnings: non-con elements, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, 18+ only.
Snow crunched beneath your feet as you wandered through Gotham square. You were eager to get upstairs to your apartment, dying to curl up on the couch, eat some junk food, and eventually pass out.
It had been a long week.
You looked down at your phone. Six voicemails from No Caller ID. You groaned, dread pooling in your stomach. You didn’t even have to listen to them to know they were from Clark.
You wondered what this Christmas would be like without him. It was the first holiday in five years you would be spending alone—no living relatives, no boyfriend. Nobody. All of your friends lived back in Metropolis, and you didn’t have enough saved up to go and see them. Apart from that, it wasn’t entirely safe for you to return yet.
Metropolis hadn’t been safe for you for quite some time.
It was sad, really. You used to dread the holidays, having lost your parents when you were little. You bounced from foster family to foster family until you turned eighteen, and spent your Christmases alone.
Until you turned twenty five, when you first met Clark.
You vividly remembered your first holiday together, spent with his family in Kansas. It was the first time you’d felt like you were part of a real family since you were a child. You cried that Christmas Eve, cuddled up next to Clark in his childhood bedroom. Not because you were sad, but because you felt more safe, more at home than you had in years.
Funny, how drastically things had changed. It broke your heart a little whenever you thought about it too much.
You buzzed yourself into your building and made your way up the stairs, shopping bags in hand. You unlocked your door and stumbled inside, snow turning to slush as it slid from your boots onto the floor. It was late at night, or early in the morning depending on how you looked at it. It should’ve been pitch black in your apartment, but it was far from it.
It should’ve come as no surprise. You had heard about it on the news before it was even set up. Your building was right across the street from the city’s giant Christmas tree, a donation from Wayne Enterprises. It had been put up earlier that afternoon. Your living room window was in direct line of sight of the star at the very top. The bright yellow light shone through your window like a beacon, making it difficult for you to see. It felt like the sun was beating down on you as you scrambled to close the curtains.
“...should be illegal,” you grumbled, moving to the kitchen where you diligently set to work, making yourself a cup of hot cocoa.
“Salem!” you called out. “I’m home!” Your cat had a habit of hiding under your bed while you were at work. You had left out more food for her than normal, knowing you were going to be out later than usual. It was odd, though. She hadn’t touched it. Your brow furrowed as you walked around, opening closet doors, checking beneath the bed, looking under cabinets. Your teeth chattered, and it suddenly hit you how cold the place was. It was no warmer than it was outside. And then you realized it.
The kitchen window was open.
Your eyes widened. You had opened it this morning to let out some smoke after you burned your breakfast, and apparently, it had been left open all day. You were taken aback. You could’ve sworn you closed it.
“Salem!” you called out, feeling a pit in your stomach.
You poked your head outside the window, staring out at the lights from the tree, the night sky, the stars above. She could’ve easily wandered out onto the roof. Against your better judgment, you made your way to your living room and opened the much larger window there, stepping out onto the fire escape.
“Salem!” you yelled, as if that made any difference. She wouldn’t have come if you called. She liked to do her own thing. “Salem, are you out here?”
You made your way onto the roof, covered with a thin layer of snow and ice. You were surprised to find that someone else was already up there—a man, tall and lean with a long black coat. He turned to look at you. It was clear he hadn’t been expecting you, either. He was hunched over slightly, holding a little black ball of fluff.
You smiled, letting out a sigh of relief as you approached.
“Oh, thank god.”
The man smiled at you. Salem was purring as he pet her. “This your friend?” he asked.
“Salem, oh my god,” you said, rolling your eyes as you reached over to grab her. “Thank you so much! I was so worried.” She was warm as she snuggled up against your chest. He must’ve been holding her for a while. “I’m such an idiot. I left my kitchen window open this morning and she must’ve just wandered out. She can be too curious for her own good.”
“Don’t mention it. It was nice to have the company. No one comes up here usually.”
“I’m surprised, typically she’s not so friendly with strangers. I’m glad she was nice to you.”
“Oh, she was on her best behavior, I promise you,” he chuckled.
You stared at him for a moment. He was handsome with hazel eyes, messy hair, and dark circles under his eyes. He was very familiar. You had seen him before. You had to have. You were sure of it. He must’ve been one of your neighbors you’d seen in passing. Why else would he be up on the roof?
“You live here, I’m guessing?” you asked. “I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
“Not quite,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I kind of, um, own the building…?” He said it like a question, like he was embarrassed.
“Really?” you asked. “I thought Bruce Wayne owned this building.”
“I do,” he said simply.
And then you realized. You had seen him before, dozens of times. Hundreds of times—on the news, online, on the big screens in Gotham Square. Bruce Wayne. This man on the roof of your building, the one who’d found Salem was none other than Bruce Wayne, billionaire celebrity philanthropist, and you were having a conversation with him.
“I’m…wow. I’m so sorry. I really am an idiot. I didn’t even recognize you.”
“It’s alright,” he said, smiling warmly at you. “I look a little worse for wear these days.”
“I think you look just fine,” you said earnestly.
He laughed, and your eyes widened. You hadn’t meant for your words to come across as flirty.
“I mean…I don’t know what I meant. I’m sorry. Thanks for finding Salem. You, um. You have a good night.” You turned to leave, and then you felt a hand grab the back of your arm.
“Wait!” he called out, making you whip your head back around to face him.
You paused. “Yeah?”
“Do you like the tree?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“The tree,” he said, motioning towards the giant Christmas tree. “Do you like it?”
“No,” you blurted out nervously, before you could even think about it.
He let out a laugh. “No?”
You were wondering why you were so anxious in his presence, until it occurred to you that this guy could easily have you evicted if he wanted to. And here you were, telling him that you didn’t like the tree he had so graciously donated to the city. Great. Awesome. It didn’t help that Salem was starting to squirm in your arms. She meowed loudly, jumping from your grasp and walking back towards Bruce. Your eyes narrowed.
“Traitor,” you mumbled. “Sorry, Mr. Wayne. Like I said, she’s usually not this friendly.”
He snickered as Salem wound her way around his legs. He reached down to pet her again. “You don’t have to call me that, you know. You can just call me Bruce. But the tree—you don’t like it.”
“It’s beautiful, Bruce. Really. It’s just…”
He raised his eyebrows. “It’s just…?”
You sighed. You had already dug yourself into a hole, you might as well just come out with it. “The star is really bright. Like, really bright. My window is right across from it, and it sort of—”
“Blares into it?”
You pinched your fingers together. “A little bit.”
He sighed. “I was worried the residents might be bothered by that, but no one wanted to listen to me.”
“It’s fine, really.”
“No, it’s not fine,” he brushed you off. “It’s annoying. I’m so sorry. I’ll have it handled.”
I’ll have it handled.
He said it so confidently, like he said that sort of thing all the time. Like it was just that easy for him. If he had a problem, he had it handled, just like that. He was Bruce Wayne, of course. Things were probably always pretty easy for him.
You wished your own problems were just as easy to handle. Your grief, your loneliness, your issues with Clark, you wished it was all that easy. You wished you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder, even six months after leaving Metropolis. You wished you weren’t such a nervous wreck all the time. And in this very moment, you wished you weren’t stumbling over your words and embarrassing yourself in front of Bruce Wayne.
“Thank you. Again, hope you have a good night,” you said, scooping up Salem once again. She meowed again, as if to protest. For whatever reason, she loved Bruce Wayne.
Salem wasn’t the best judge of character.
She had loved Clark, too.
“You too!” he called out.
As you walked back towards the fire escape, you wondered how long he stayed out on that roof after you went back inside. And as you sat down with a cup of hot cocoa, you wondered what he was doing up there to begin with.
