THE BEST GIFT ♡ Bruce Wayne . . . after several men in her life, Y/N finds it hard to believe that Bruce cares not only about her but also about her son.
: ♥︎ content WARNING : Bruce Wayne × Milf!Reader, single parenthood and past relationship disappointment, family dynamics, fluff.
: ♥︎ doll notie note . . . ALMOST CRIED WITH THIS
The clock showed 4:17 in the afternoon. The rich scent of cinnamon and freshly toasted oats filled the kitchen. Y/N had spent most of the afternoon perfecting a cereal recipe tailored to Ethan’s taste, ensuring her son had the ideal snack for watching his favourite cartoons. She cherished these afternoons, even if cleaning up the mess from her kitchen experiments was a hassle. Any weekend afternoon spent with her son felt perfect, and she was certain every single mother would agree.
She was carefully wiping flour smudges from her hands when the apartment buzzer sounded, its sharp ring startling her slightly. But she knew exactly who it was—the only person who’d show up at her place at this hour, unannounced.
Bruce Wayne.
Opening the door, she found him standing there, his hair slightly tousled, holding a sleek black box tied with a simple silver ribbon. It was the kind of gift that radiated expense from every detail.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. “For me?” she asked, leaning lightly against the doorframe, one hip cocked.
Bruce’s mouth twitched. “Not this time,” he said. “It’s for Ethan.” He stepped inside, the scent of his strong cologne mixing with the cinnamon in the air. “Where’s the little guy?”
Y/N’s smile faltered, just for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. She wasn’t used to this... men who saw Ethan as more than an obligation, who didn’t treat her son as a footnote to their interest in her.
“He’s in the living room,” she said, her brow furrowing slightly. “It’s his TV time. He’s glued to his show.”
Bruce nodded, his eyes catching hers. “Mind if I give him the gift?”
Her heart did a strange little flip.
“Of course,” she said, leading him toward the living room.
The hardwood creaked under their steps, and as they rounded the corner, the scene unfolded like a snapshot of Ethan’s world. The six-year-old sat cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of homemade cereal balanced on his lap. The TV blared the Batman: The Animated Series theme. Ethan’s eyes were wide with focus, a crumb of cereal clinging to his chin as he munched.
Bruce paused, a quiet chuckle escaping him at the sight. Y/N caught it, and her lips twitched, but she stayed back, letting the moment belong to them. Bruce set the box on the coffee table and sank onto the couch beside Ethan, his presence large but gentle.
“Hey, buddy,” he said. “What’s Batman up to today?”
Ethan turned, his face lighting up with a gap-toothed grin. “Hi, Bruce!” he chirped. “He’s fighting the Joker! He’s got this cool batarang, see?” He pointed at the screen, oblivious to the crumb now falling onto his shirt.
Bruce nodded, and slid the box closer. “Got something for you,” he said, tapping the lid. “Wanna see?”
Ethan’s eyes widened, the TV forgotten just for a second. Of course, only a gift could take his attention more than his favourite show.
“A gift?” he squealed, scrambling to set his bowl down, nearly tipping it over.
Y/N stepped forward instinctively, but Bruce’s hand steadied the bowl with a practiced ease that made her chest tighten. Ethan tore at the ribbon, his small fingers fumbling with excitement, and when he lifted the lid, his gasp filled the room. Inside was a miniature Batman cowl, crafted with meticulous detail.
It wasn’t a cheap costume piece; it was a work of art, the kind of precision only money and high-tech could buy.
“Holy cow!” Ethan squealed, his voice pitching high. He pulled the cowl from the box, his hands trembling with glee, and turned to Bruce. “Can I put it on? Please?”
Bruce’s smile was soft. “Let me help,” he said, taking the cowl and gently fitting it over Ethan’s head, adjusting the straps to sit snugly against his small face.
The cowl was perfect, sized just for him.
Ethan leaped off the couch, striking a dramatic pose, fists on his hips. “Mommy, look! I’m Batman!” he shouted, bouncing on his toes.
Y/N stood frozen, her hand pressed to her chest, feeling her heart clench. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched her son twirl, his laughter filling the room like music.
She’d never seen this—not like this.
The men she’d dated before, the ones who’d breezed through her life, had tolerated Ethan at best, their gifts cheap toys tossed his way to keep him quiet. But Bruce… Bruce had seen her son, really seen him, and gone to lengths she couldn’t fathom to make him happy. Her throat tightened, the weight of it overwhelming—gratitude, and something deeper, something that scared her.
She stepped closer, sinking onto the couch beside Bruce, her shoulder brushing his. Ethan was still jumping, now narrating his own Batman adventure, the cowl bobbing as he “fought” invisible villains.
Y/N leaned in. “Where did you get that?” she asked. “I bought him a Batman suit once, you know. The fabric was so bad it ripped in the wash after one wear. He cried for days.”
Bruce turned to her, his gaze steady, searching. “I had it made,” he said simply, his voice low, carrying a weight she couldn’t quite place. “There’s a lab I work with—they were working with some prototypes.”
Her breath caught. A lab. Prototypes. The kind of resources most people couldn’t touch, and he’d used them for her son. For a six-year-old who loved Batman more than anything. Her eyes burned again, and she blinked hard, looking away to hide the tears threatening to spill.
“Bruce,” she started, her voice trembling, “no one’s ever…”
She couldn’t finish, the words tangling in her throat. No one had ever cared enough to make Ethan’s joy a priority, to see him as more than an extension of her. But Bruce did. He saw her as a woman, yes, but also as a mother.
Bruce saw them both, in a way that made her feel whole.
Ethan ran over, the cowl slightly crooked, his grin wide enough to break her heart. “Mommy, Bruce, look! I’m gonna catch all the bad guys!”
© RSKDOLL 2025 — written by me and only me.