One year ago today I posted this miniature The Batman photo I created using real lighting, figures foil for water and miniature sets. The flare sparks I illustrated in digitally everything else is real
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ grumpy! bruce wayne x sunshine! fem reader | ~2k words, 2005 or 2022.
CONSISTS OF ↬ bruce wayne being awkward and brooding. flirty tension. total sunshine reader. silly fluff. lowkey 2000s romcom vibe. christain bale or robert pattinson's batman were what i had in mind.
── .✦ Gotham’s most guarded billionaire never planned on staying long at yet another glittering gala. That was, until he spotted the one person who could cut through the noise. You weren’t supposed to be here, and yet there you were, smiling like the night was yours, all while pulling him into a corner of the world where the shadows didn’t seem so heavy..
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You weren’t supposed to be here.
Well, technically you were, just not like this. Not in a gown that caught the light every time you moved, not with your hair pinned up in the sort of way that made strangers glance twice, not with your usual work badge swapped for a champagne flute and a smile that could talk anyone into believing the world was less sharp-edged than it really was.
Bruce Wayne noticed you the second you stepped through the grand entrance of the Gotham City Museum ballroom. The place was buzzing with senators and CEOs brushing shoulders, reporters skimming the room for scandal, and the clink of crystal against crystal was echoing off the marble. Bruce had been leaning against a pillar, doing his usual disappearing act in plain sight, black suit that was perfectly tailored, expression carved in that vague and untouchable neutrality he’d mastered years ago.
And then you walked in.
The problem wasn’t that you looked nice, though you did, painfully so. It was that you looked… comfortable here. Not in the way he’d expected from the girl who worked three floors down from his office at Wayne Tower, who always seemed to be juggling an armful of folders and an overstuffed tote bag, muttering under your breath about broken printers and late invoices. At work, you were sunshine in motion, all quick smiles and sarcastic little comments tossed over your shoulder when you passed him in the hallway.
Here? You were sunlight trapped in glass -- and Bruce, annoyingly, couldn’t look away. He wasn’t supposed to stare. He told himself that twice.. maybe three times. But then you caught sight of him.
“Mr. Wayne?” you called over the noise, and he blinked like you’d just yanked him out of deep water.
You were already walking toward him, weaving effortlessly between people who would’ve demanded a full calendar invite just to stand in the same ten-foot radius as him. And you didn’t even slow down, didn’t hesitate.
“I wasn’t sure if the rumors were true that you actually attended these things, or if they just propped up a cardboard cutout in your place.” you said when you stopped in front of him, one brow arched, a teasing glint in your eyes.
“I could say the same to you,” Bruce replied, voice low but warm in the way it always was when he spoke to you.
You shrugged, tilting your glass. “My friend’s on the museum board. She didn’t want to come alone, and I’m a sucker for free food.”
His mouth almost curved, almost. “So you’re here for the hors d'oeuvres.”
“And the open bar,” you added without missing a beat.
You didn’t notice, or maybe you did and just didn’t care, that his gaze lingered a fraction too long before drifting to the rest of the room. People were watching now... like they always did when it came to Bruce Wayne. That's exactly when he felt that familiar edge of discomfort creep in, the instinct to step back into the shadows.
But you didn’t give him the chance.
“Come on,” you smiled suddenly, tugging lightly at his sleeve like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You can’t just stand here looking like someone lured you into a trap. Let’s walk around.”
He didn’t usually let anyone pull him along. Not at galas, not anywhere. But the warmth in your grip, the way it was soft and certain, was disarming. So he let you lead.
The next hour blurred into a strange, easy rhythm. You made small comments about people’s outfits, whispered half-true stories about the art pieces on display (“That one’s probably haunted,” you said at one point, and Bruce actually laughed, a quiet thing under his breath that surprised even him).
The conversation should have been surface-level, at least that's what people would suspect, but he found himself leaning in slightly, drawn to the way you spoke like you weren’t intimidated by him. You didn’t tiptoe around his name, didn’t lace your tone with the half-flirtatious awe he was used to.
Instead, you told him about your work in a way that made him forget the room. You spoke about the neighborhoods the program was helping, the people who slipped through the cracks, the kids who just needed someone to believe in them.
“You care,” he uttered quietly, almost to himself.
Your expression softened. “So do you. Even if you pretend you don’t, I do most of my work with your company, y'know.”
He froze for a second, caught off guard, but you just took another sip of champagne like you hadn’t said something no one was supposed to notice.
A slow song began to drift from the quartet, and you glanced toward the dance floor then back to him as an amused smile graced your lips at the scowl that appeared on his face. “Not really your thing, I’m guessing?”
“Not usually,” he admitted.
“Then it’s good I’m not asking,” you grinned as you looked back at him. “But.. I am telling you that if you keep walking around the outskirts like you’re waiting for a fire alarm to be pulled... people will assume you’re miserable.”
“I’m not miserable.”
“Prove it.”
He arched a brow, and you weren't sure if it was amusement, annoyance, or a pleasant combination of both. “How?”
You set your glass down on a passing tray and extended your hand, palm up. “One dance. Just so I can tell people Bruce Wayne smiled tonight.”
The instinct to refuse was immediate, but then he looked at you, at the warmth in your eyes, and found himself placing his hand in yours.
You led him toward the dance floor, the room tilting just slightly under the soft gold of the chandeliers. He let you guide him into the sway of the music, his hand settling at your waist, and for the first time that evening, he wasn’t thinking about the mask he wore.
“You’re better at this than I expected,” you murmured the compliment after a moment.
“I’ve had practice,” he admitted before he even thought about what he was saying.
“And here I thought you were all brooding corners and quiet exits in the shadows.”
He exhaled in faint amusement,. “Maybe I am.. maybe you caught me on a good night.”
You tilted your head, studying him with narrowed eyes that still sparkled with joy. “I think I caught you off guard.”
He didn’t answer, but you didn’t need him to. The music swelled, the world narrowing to the small space between you, and for a fleeting second, the noise of Gotham -- both in this room and far beyond it -- seemed to fade.
When the song ended, you didn’t pull away immediately. Neither did he. “I guess you proved your point,” you laughed softly as your eyes met his.
“Which one?” He quipped, it felt more natural now, with you. He wasn't sure if it was the few glasses of champagne, or if it was the gentle glow of warmth you had to you that made his guard lower.
“That you’re not miserable. At least not right now.” You laughed, your head going back a bit in amusement, and his eyes didn't leave you. He was studying the glistening of your lips and the sparkle of your eyes as your cheeks puffed and your nose crinkled with joy.
There was a part of him that wanted to say something, to bridge the space between you with words he couldn’t quite put together. But your voice interrupted his attempts to mentally find what he wanted to say.
“You know,” you spoke slowly, “you’re not as impossible to talk to as everyone says.”
Bruce’s lips twitched, and this time the smile actually happened, small but undeniably there.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured. But then someone called his name from across the room, and the moment broke.
You stepped back with a small smile and a wink. “I won't. Now, go be brooding Bruce Wayne. I’ll see you around.”
And before he could ask where “around” might be, you were already walking back toward the crowd, your presence like a patch of sunlight he hadn’t realized he’d been standing in until it was gone.
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EDIT: the fact that this has been enjoyed by OVER 300 PPL IS INSANE??? tysm for the support, and to anyone who is reading this note, LMK IF YOU WANT A CONTINUATION of this particular plot line w them
