★ — SUMMARY | shower sex after a night on patrol.
★ — WORD COUNT | 1.2k
★ — WARNINGS | fem!reader ; pwp ; unprotected sex ; mentions of blood/injuries
18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.
most nights when bruce gets back to the manor, you’re still asleep. in the early hours of the morning, just before the sky begins to lighten, he doesn’t expect you to still be awake as he sheds all his gear and trudges his way upstairs.
but some nights you wait up for him, occupying yourself with a book or a new tv series as you sit curled up in your chair in the dark.
he assumes you’re still in bed sleeping soundly and he heads quietly into the bathroom to start cleaning himself up, not noticing that you’re silently watching. he’s known for being stealthy, but tonight you’re the one who’s slipping into the shadows.
his clothes hit the floor piece by piece as he turns the water on and strips bare, the steam from the shower quickly filling the room with heat and fogging up the mirror.
the hot water stings the bloody cuts on his knuckles, and he hisses as he runs his hands beneath the shower stream, watching the blood wash down the drain. they’re just minor scrapes and it’s nothing he isn’t used to by now, but it’s always a chore to take care of himself at the end of the night.
you open the bathroom door just a crack and peek your head inside to call his name, and instantly his head whips around at the noise. droplets of water collect in his eyelashes as he stares at you, his piercing gaze locked with yours as tears of black eyeliner roll down his cheeks, the warm water melting away his dark exterior. he's tired, he's aching and bruised from this routine of difficult nights, but everything disappears the second he sees you.
you pause as he wipes his hand across his eyes, smearing the fading makeup even further before he jerks his head to beckon you to join him, and you quickly start to undress. your clothes slip off, collecting in a pile on the floor next to his as you slide back the glass door and step inside.
your heart races as his eyes silently roam over your figure, streams of water trickling down his toned chest, and you can’t help but study him in return. you reach out to trace your fingers over the old scars that litter his skin, and you note the fresh scratches and cuts he’s earned himself while out in the city tonight.
you start to pull away to grab the soap, but his hand wraps around your wrist and you freeze, looking up at him. you can see the flash of lust in his eyes as he grips you tightly, pulling you closer until you’re standing flush against his body, and the proximity sends a shiver of desire down your spine.
he leans forward to capture your lips, his deep voice groaning out your name as his arms sliding down to sit firmly around your waist. you melt into him, automatically moaning into the kiss, and he greedily swallows your noises until it feels like he’s going to suck the breath right out of your lungs.
he kisses you harder, one hand falling to your hip while the other reaches up to cup your jaw and guide your mouth further into him, his tongue prodding between your lips in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out.
his hand on your hip travels lower to grope your ass, and he squeezes a little harder when you let out a gasp against his lips, relishing in the responses he’s drawing from you. he starts to move and suddenly you feel the ice cold tile of the shower wall against your back, and you arch away from it instinctively, seeking the warmth of his body.
a large hand grips your thigh and hikes your leg up around his waist, securing your ankle behind the back of his thigh for balance. his pelvis presses between your legs, and you can already feel his cock hardening against your skin.
“bruce,” you whine as you try to rock your hips against him, desperate for the friction he provides.
he doesn’t reply but he lets out a soft noise under his breath, somewhere between a hum and a growl, and he attaches his lips to your neck just below your ear.
he pushes himself into you and you gasp, your heat enveloping his length as you cling to him. your legs tremble as he begins to thrust slowly, your arms wrapping around his neck even tighter. you can feel his biceps flexing around you as he holds you against the wall, supporting nearly all of your weight as he starts to build up his pace. drops of water trickle down your neck and between the valley of your breasts, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the shower or if it’s sweat.
even after a night of patrol and the physical toll it takes on him, bruce’s stamina far outweighs yours. it only takes minutes before he has you whimpering and clenching around him, struggling to keep up with his relentless pace.
he pulls back to adjust his hips, giving him a better angle to drive his cock into you so that his tip kisses your spot with each stroke. he can tell you’re about to cum when he feels you starting to pull away from him, all the tension in your body building up like a dam about to break as your back arches and you squirm in his grasp.
with one more pointed thrust you come undone, a constant stream of whines pouring from your lips like the shower water pouring down his back. he doesn’t let up until your body goes limp in his arms, fucking you through your orgasm while you can barely keep yourself standing up straight.
suddenly he swoops in and presses his lips to your mouth once again, his perfect pace slipping and becoming more and more erratic, and you know he’s close behind. with your leg behind him you pull him closer, giving him just enough extra leverage to bury himself inside you as deep as he can go before his release slams into him.
his grip on your hips is almost bruising as he keeps you held tightly against him, letting out low, deep groans as he spills into you. warmth floods your stomach and you exhale a shaky whimper as you start to come down from the dizzying effects of your high.
just before you feel your leg starting to cramp up he pulls back, slipping out of you but keeping his arms still firmly around you to keep you supported. he tilts his head down to study you, secretly preening at the fucked-out look on your face. he looks much worse off, his cuts and scrapes still forming scabs and the black makeup streaked across his cheeks, but he’s still more concerned about you than himself.
he gives you a moment to stand on your own, and he smirks when you immediately reach again for the soap and start to scrub at his body with a loofah.
he lets you pamper him for now, because he knows neither of you will be getting any sleep until dawn.
if you enjoyed reading, please reblog or let me know in a comment or an ask! feedback helps so much with motivation and gives me energy to continue writing :)
a/n: this is my first time posting outside of my main fandom, but it was a lot of fun to write && i am really excited to continue writing new things!! i hope you enjoy, please interact (reblog, comment, ask) if you liked it!
plot: after arguing at graduation, you can’t wait to be back home for good. when Bruce arrives back at Wayne Tower, Alfred is alarmed by his behavior.
pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader
cw: 18+, mental health issues, hallucinations, arguing, discussion of death
words: 4.4k
Your parents eyed you while you looked at him with disdain. No one got you riled up like this; the spunk, the sass. It made your dad crack a smile, unbeknownst to you. You were acting petulant, almost like a child—in a fun way, a way he hadn't seen in ages. He wanted to keep this going. He wanted to keep this 'Bruce Wayne' around. "What about we all go to dinner, huh? I hear there's an Olive Garden about twenty minutes east!"
You squeezed your eyes shut tight, then snapped them back open to stare at Bruce. What initially felt like shame morphed into daggers shot at the billionaire. No. There's no shame in Olive Garden. And if he thinks so, he's an asshole. Much to your surprise, he didn't flinch. It was a bit amazing, actually, how much of a 180 he had done in such a short time. Amazing if it weren't so suspicious.
"I'm afraid I'll have to regretfully decline." Bruce gave the slightest shake of his head and shifted his eyes downward, as if filled with actual regret and shame, a feeling you didn't think he knew.
Your dad then smiled at him and shook his hand, speaking about how he needed to come see Washington sometime, but you couldn't focus. After who knew how many seconds, or minutes, your father took your mother's chair and began walking them both toward the parking lot. "Meet you in the car, Y/n." He winked and your mom slapped his arm again as she settled into the seat. Christ.
Your eyes flit over to meet Bruce's that were shifting around the turf until he saw you were reoriented to reality. You hadn't a clue as to why he was so shifty, but presumed it nothing more than residual nerves from speaking at his first public event... ever?
"Thomas!" Your mother's voice rattled between his ears and he shifted his weight from hip to hip, trying to pace his breathing. A common name. An unfortunate, ridiculous coincidence it happened to be your father of all people. The only time he ever heard that name in Gotham was in pitied whispers. You nudged him and he looked away. "You go to acting school or something?"
Bruce's brow furrowed, his defense kicking into immediate action. God, why did you do this to him so easily? "Why?"
"This new character of yours. It's like you think you're a playboy or something."
Not wanting to get into another argument he tried to diffuse it. "No." He kept his tone flat, answer simple, hoping you wouldn't further push him—but of course, you did.
"Then why are you acting like that?" You moved in front of him and kept a neutral expression, your voice low. No one needed to know you were interrogating the man. When he played dumb it only frustrated you further.
"Like what?"
He had to have a plan. This isn't him. "Like a normal human."
Bruce's scoff returned as if he were still alone in his empty house. The one you had stayed at against his will after blackmailing him into oblivion. "Maybe because I am a normal human."
Your glare was impossible to wipe off. He wasn't normal, he was anything from it. Weird, strange, reclusive, rich, famous, a goddamn vigilante. Of course he wants to play this card. Of course he does. "But you're not. You're you." A billionaire. Nepotism baby.
He hid how much the comment stung. "And 'me' isn't human?" He loathed being reminded of how larger-than-life he was. His reputation preceded him, or rather, his parent's legacy. He never got to make a name for himself, never got to make a first impression. Everyone's mind about him was already made up.
You noticed the slight slack in his face at your insinuations, and a similarly sized pang in your gut. Your voice quieted even further, rounding out the edges of your words just enough to soften the frustration. You were acutely reminded how he probably didn't even want to know you but had to, all because of you wanting him, a stranger, to be the subject of your assignment. It was easy to forget you weren't a saint while unimaginable privilege and wealth, both unearned, stood unchallenged before you. "I'm just saying. You're, like, smiling."
Yeah, and my face hurts like hell because of it. He chanced another moment of contact with your gaze before shoving his hands in his pockets and twisting back toward the stage. His lips were tight and hands clenched. You were the reason he was in this predicament; the reason why his jaw ached, the reason why he had to carve out a public persona for Bruce Wayne, the reason his calendar was rapidly filling with event after event after event... it'd only been a few days and he was impossibly exhausted. Unable to fully recover from his long nights now, he felt the burning in his wounds and the tearing of scabs splitting with every step. This time he squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars, rushing words out of his mouth before he simply stormed off and made another ass of himself. "Look, it's your big day. We shouldn't be arguing like this."
"Yet I get two syllables from you and everyone else gets five." Your cheeks flushed red at how whiny it came out, and crossed your arms for good measure. he side-eyed you, still not turning to fully face you. He spoke under his breath with hardly a movement of his lips as he surveyed the field of people taking covert pictures of him. Your instinct wanted you to shrink away, knowing you would end up in so many photos on so many people's phones. Something as simple as a conversation that lasts a little bit too long, or a bit too familiar could lead to wild speculation...
"I didn't think you'd be walking." Low and quiet. Slightly sarcastic.
You darted back under your breath as you got out your phone and pretended to take a call. Maybe it'll distract from the fact I'm standing next to Bruce Wayne. "Is that the only reason you came? Thinking I wasn't going to disgrace you with my presence?" The black screen was cold against your cheek.
He visibly bristled. "I thought when you said you hated Gotham you meant it. You seem to mean every other word you say to me." More sarcasm. More barely-concealed groans. Why. Wouldn't. You. Just. Leave.
You felt the words he wasn't saying, the anger boiling in both of you. He has no right. "What's your problem with me being here?"
It was like you were two children arguing on the playground over the swingset. "What's your problem with getting two syllables?"
Fuck! "UGH!" You pretended to listen on the phone for a minute longer before ending the call. Your cheeks were bright red, his glare was set. "It was not a pleasure to meet you." You gave a subtle bow to him and stomped off the field, toeing the line between obviously pissed and someone who might just be in a hurry. Tears stung your eyes and it only made you walk faster, your teeth grit more until you felt the early ache of a headache. I'm only worth two syllables. And some bullshit passive aggression.
He watched you rush away. His first thought was Wow, shocked she's able to walk so well in those now but he stopped himself before the thought sat fully in his mind. God, why do you do that to me. The aggravation was filling his body like you were pouring into him and he was just a cup, a cup you filled with frustration, annoyance, noticing... he turned back to the throngs of people waiting on him and his stomach split in two. Christ. What did I sign up for.
A crowd of women ran up to him the second he was free, big white veneered smiles holding out papers and pens, and snapping tons of pictures. "Can I kiss you for a photo?" "Can I get a hug Bruce?" "Mr Wayne, can I be your Mrs?" And a bunch of chuckles. He smiled through it and prayed no one saw how paper-thin it was. As he quickly signed all of their gear and smiled alongside them in selfies, he couldn't stop the bass of his internal monologue. Why did they like him? Was it just his money? No one had ever run up to him like this. He hadn’t exactly made himself available, sure, but... wow. More women. Even more. Did he need dedicated security? How could he escape?
After what felt like hours, his feet ached and his wrist felt like it was twisted off his body. Had every single person on the planet wanted his autograph? The crowd was mostly dissipated, and he found himself with just a few other professors and Dr. Vry standing in the middle of the stadium as the lights flickered on. The chill of the night air was biting at his neck, and he longed for the cowl. His eyes had nearly glazed over when she spoke to him directly. "Thank you, Bruce, for coming out with us tonight. Always good to see your family out and about, and to finally see your handsome face." As she said it she gently cupped her palm around his jaw and then moved her hand down, but not before he noticed a twinkle on her wrist. It was silver, much like the pendant he'd seen on her lapel before. Don't ask. His mind screamed at him, and he resumed eye contact.
He ignored that she'd just caressed him and excused himself. "My pleasure. Thank you for allowing me. I'd better get home, I've got a pledge to keep." He shook her hand, which she pulled into a hug, and he strolled off the field to where his car was parked.
He jumped in the driver's seat and floored it onto the main road, taking the first right onto a side road. He tucked his car next to some bushes and got out, his Dior shoes crunching against the gravel and popped up the trunk. He pulled out black sweats, black boots, and a black hoodie. He stripped quickly and tightened the strings on the hood, obscuring his face from view. He grabbed his journal and a pen from his glovebox, and jogged out toward the edges of downtown. While he waited at the crosswalks he slowly sketched together the owl from his memory. It was a plain owl, nothing too spectacular or detailed if his memory served him. He made a mental note to always wear his lenses when he was out. Bruce can enter places Batman can't. He penned a reminder above the sketchy drawing, swiftly shutting the journal as rain pelted the city.
He decided to jog back to his house. He needed to release the pent up energy from having spoken to you, from having spoken in front of that many people, and from having to smile so much. By the time he reached the front steps he was exhausted, more drained than he'd felt in years, with a strange desire to learn everything he could about that owl pin. Without his key he knocked, and Alfred was beaming upon Bruce's arrival through the main doorway.
"Master Wayne! How was your speech? Any glowing reviews?" He lowered his voice as if to tease and leaned toward him. "Any thrown tomatoes?" He held in a chuckle to himself—he was certain the speech had gone impeccably, he'd always excelled in those classes as a young boy. But tonight Bruce's mind was elsewhere, and he didn't even register that Alfred was trying to joke with him.
He stared ahead at the staircase blankly, lost in exhaustion. He mumbled a response. "Uh, no. It went as expected."
Alfred cocked his head at the boy. The tension in his gaze was palpable, and he could tell Bruce was lost in a world of his own again. "What's the matter?" The silence that followed was just long enough to be too long, and stirred suspicion in the old man.
The mumbling continued, this time with a shrug. "It just ran a little long. I had to trim it."
His eyes shifted away from the top of the staircase to the floor in front of him. He's coming back, Alfred thought. Just needs a bit more coaxing. "Come now," Alfred motioned for him to hand over his soaked hoodie, but he shrugged away and pushed past him.
His voice was terse, defensive. "I'm fine, Alfred."
The house felt extra chilly. Alfred had known these moments before—moments he was sure the boy journaled about long into the night before his Batman shifts. As often as he'd longed to look inside one of his many journals, he knew the kid didn't need any more peeking into his personal life. However, that didn't mean he couldn't urge Bruce to open up; it wasn't as if he'd come in trying to hide his internal turmoil. He cleared his throat. "Can you assure me these are just residual nerves?" Nothing but the sound of his hair dripping onto the cherry wood. "Bruce?"
He winced at Alfred using his first name. He didn't particularly like Master or Wayne, but they at least felt familiar in the man's mouth. Calling him by his first name was like when his parents had called him by his full one. Bruce Thomas! His dad's commanding tone rang in his ear like it was just said. He began up the stairs, frustrated that Alfred had pestered the memory out of him. "I'm fine, Alfred. Just a long day." He didn't yet know enough about the owl situation to bring it to Alfred's attention, and he didn't have the energy to explore it further tonight. He just wanted to sink into bed.
Alfred's eyes caught on a sopping wet journal clutched tightly in Bruce's left hand. The pen's nib was still open and glistening, even in the low light. Why would he go out in the rain with his journals? He never leaves with his journals. A pang rang through his stomach and came through in his voice. "It pains me to badger you so much, boy."
This time he didn't linger in the silence at all. "Then stop. I don't need babysitting." He began to jog up the stairs.
It seemed the rushed defense had caused his grip to slip with the journal falling out of his hands and opening to the last crease, displaying an inky sketch of an owl. Bruce knelt down immediately to scoop it up, but not before he'd fully risen he noted Alfred's face fall and gather. Bruce rose slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. "What?" A quickening heart rate forced him to turn around and stare into him, past the gray lashes. Alfred tried to pass it off with a small shake of his head and a quick clap. Bruce wasn't going to dismiss it. The temperature in the house had just dropped ten degrees. "Your face. It fell."
Another shrug. This wasn't usual of him. "Just an interesting image, that's all." His chuckle was so strained it insulted Bruce, who bristled at it. "Didn't expect your next hobby to be artiste!"
"You know something. Tell me." Bruce stepped toward him and Alfred stepped back. Bruce's brow raised in surprise. What the hell?
Alfred put his hands up to his chest with his palms out, feigning innocence. "As long as it doesn't concern you, it doesn't concern me."
His fingers brushed the rough wet leather on the journal backing. His heart was pounding in his ears, eerily similar to the rush he got as he caught wind of another crime. He swallowed back a nervous lump. "And what if it does concern me?"
Alfred's blue eyes looked back at Bruce's with pity. Bruce suddenly wanted to vomit. Alfred sighed and looked down, his voice tempering. "Well then. Maybe we'd have a conversation."
The foyer was boiling with something under the surface, a secret unsaid, a something Bruce was terrified to know. Why was it to the owl? Alfred didn't look like this. The house didn't feel like this. Adrenaline overtook his fear and he shoved the words past his teeth. "Been seeing owls a lot lately."
That same reaction—a short twisting of face, a blank stupor behind the eyes, all gone within the same second but not soon enough. Bruce's suspicion turned to gritted teeth and he turned to glare at the man. The silence between them was loud; so loud, in fact, it darkened the blue in his eyes to a cloudy gray. He stepped forward again, and Alfred stepped back. It stung. "What do you know?"
Anxiety fluttered in his chest and the old man looked down, then gestured to the stairway. "Let's come into my office."
In Alfred's office he sat across from him at the desk while Alfred rifled through a dusty cabinet. He tried not to let his thoughts run. He thumbed through the green cardstock until he paused at the back and pulled out a slim file titled ALAN WAYNE. He plopped it across the desk in front of Bruce and paused a moment. He sounded hesitant, but resolved. "I didn't want to say anything but, better to catch it early."
Bruce stared at the weathered pages. Barely concealing shaking fingers he flipped it open to see an old newspaper clipping from the late 1800s. The black ink was worn, with what looked like old tear stains running through the paragraphs. "What's this?" His eyes took it in but his mind didn't. It was sprinting now, fizzing toward a short circuit. Deluded Owl Man Found Dead. He blinked, then blinked again, and a sigh from across the desk tethered him.
"That's your great grandfather." Another sigh. Bruce went cold. "As your father told me—upon organizing his office ages ago—he had an illness which manifested into seeing owls."
Bruce read the rest in his head, his mind white and blank. Alan Wayne of the esteemed Wayne family has died this past Thursday, the 19th of October. Witnesses say he emerged from Wickham Alley where he soon died from fall wounds. A. Wayne was known in the year preceding his death to be deluded by a particular bird of prey. His eyes skipped lines and noticed a page tucked behind the paper—a death certificate. ALAN THOMAS WAYNE. DECEASED. CAUSE OF DEATH: PRECOCIOUS DEMENTIA. His brow furrowed and he gestured to Alfred. "Precocious dementia?"
Alfred nodded. "That's what they called it at the time, yes. I believe it's modern-day Schizophrenia."
This caused Bruce's brow to furrow further, his cognitive processing turning on. He didn't care to interrogate whether it was a defense mechanism or not. "They say he was sixty five when diagnosed. That's unusual, correct?"
The man nodded. "Right. Not typically. Usually in puberty or just after." He scanned the boy's face for signs of distress, but didn't see any. All he saw was a boy with his detective hat on. Not the boy. He deserves more. "Perhaps we can get in with your old analyst. Treatment has expanded dramatically." He lended a small laugh to break any tension.
"What else did my father say?" He ignored the callback to his childhood therapist.
Alfred adjusted on the creaky wood burrowed into by the heavy chair that had been there for nearly a century. "He said his grandfather was a very normal, happy fellow until one day he came home talking about owls. Then he went, well, you can see what happened there." The grin he gave was watery and grim.
He turned to the back of the death certificate to see autopsy report. Tightness cramped his abdomen and he pushed the file back toward Alfred. His heart was thundering in his chest. Why hadn't Alfred told him? Why was this happening? "I'm going out."
"Bruce," He was probably going out to do something reckless. He wouldn't let him. "You've had a long day,"
"I'll be back before sunrise." He slammed through the office doors and hurried down the stairs, ignoring Alfred's calls the entire way down. He pulled his hood up over his head again and rolled up his journal. He shoved it into his pocket and jogged back toward downtown. So disgusting. Vile. Sudden. His feet slammed harder against the wet concrete, grinding his joints together while he could still run, while he could still think...
Already spoken for. That phrase followed you the rest of the evening. Your parents made themselves at home in the hotel room, settling into the king bed to watch some television together. They convinced you to watch, too, and you sat on a nearby recliner as you absently stared in its direction. You had an attached room next door—supposedly it had actually been cheaper to get a pair of rooms, a single King and single Queen, than one room with two beds. Your mind fumbled with emotions too complex to name, and a deep tension knotted your stomach to where you couldn't relax. Already spoken for. Who would he be with? Who was this mystery person?
"That Wayne guy was really something. You sure you two aren't together?" Your mother probed you when your father left to go to the bathroom. She shifted excitedly, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I defended you at the ceremony, but I couldn't help but notice the chemistry between you two!"
Your laugh startled her. You? With HIM? "Mom, no." You shook your head and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back with another cackle. "He's..." You tried to come up with a word somewhere between arrogant and ridiculous before your dad came back with renewed curiosity.
"What's that, honey?"
"Oh, nothing." Your mom quickly backpedaled, which you appreciated. Your dad shifted toward you much in the same way your mom just had and you struggled not to roll your eyes.
"Is this about that commencement speech guy?"
"I don't know why you are both so convinced we're together. He's... aggravating. Trust me. I'd rather die." You shifted back in your seat and gestured with your head back towards the screen but they weren't having it.
Your dad chastised you. "Don't say that, c'mon!"
You felt close to snapping, which wasn't entirely their fault, Bruce simply took up too much of your brain space, so you tempered your response. "Didn't you both want me to come back from here? That Gotham was too dangerous?" You wondered how much of potential guilt weighed down the city for you... and then promptly remembered how rude he'd been when you two had first met face to face.
Your mother shook her head. "Of course dear, the crime here is unbelievable! But he's quite an accomplished, handsome fella who could sure afford to move somewhere safer." She grinned at you like you both a) wanted to be with Bruce and b) dating a billionaire was as easy as asking him out.
You scoffed. "If you count inheriting billions an accomplishment..."
"Come on now." Your father glared softly at you.
You looked down with a sigh. "Do you need anything from the corner store? I'm gonna take a walk." Pushing yourself out of the seat was creaky and awkward, and you cringed putting on your old slippers to walk in the wet rain. Had Walter hidden my sneakers? He must have.
Your dad protested, not wanting you to go out alone this late at night. He first offered to go down with you, then told you to take a flashlight. They both said they didn't want anything, and said to be back ASAP. "If you aren't back in half an hour I'm calling a search team!"
When you stepped out of the lobby you squinted down to see the corner store was actually two blocks away, which made you more nervous than it should have. You started on your walk and braced yourself for any catcalls. I forgot how scary it is here. I can't wait to be back home. You stepped in a puddle and the splash went up your entire leg. Cursing, you waited for the intersection to clear, but the light was taking an incredibly long time. You looked around to see a few bars, a club, and the corner store just ahead. People here care more about partying than food. You couldn't remember seeing a single club in a twenty mile radius of your house. When the white walk signal lit, you remembered the sudden screaming of bullets the last time you'd went clubbing. Maybe Mar would want to chat, maybe I could text her when I get back to the hotel.
A voice startled you until you almost fell into the street. "Y/n!" You turned to see a soaked Bruce wearing a baggy hoodie, his hair obscuring his face under the hood. His chest was heaving like he'd just sprinted over to you.
The second he'd noticed you standing at the corner he turned around. He didn't want to talk about what had happened earlier, or feel any more embarrassment about giving his speech. It felt frilly. He wasn't meant to appeal, he was meant to challenge. And yet he'd more or less traded in armor for custom designer. For now. What made him turn back around was thinking about the suit; you were the only one who knew him. It would be weird to talk to you but weirder to talk to someone on the street. You could help him. Maybe you'd seen some owls too.
He looked... frantic. The intensity of his already palpable gaze nearly cracked the sidewalk. "I need some help."
No warnings. Small Bruce Wayne drabble. No descriptions of reader. Fluff. WC 816 *could be any of the Bruce/Batman combos
**gif not mine**
You work closely with Bruce Wyane at his Wayne Enterprises office. He’s been gone for close to a month now instead of the two weeks he said he’d be. You had found excuses to text each other about work but it wasn’t enough. You didn’t feel it was your place to question if he was still actually on the work trip or not but you were getting antsy. Regardless, you missed him. Badly. You had started to notice the tiredness of his face and occasional bruise peeking out of his collar just before he left and it was worrying you. What was he up to at night?
The morning he reappeared you were at an appointment but his secretary had texted you of his return. Almost slamming into multiple people, you had to practically yell at yourself to slow down and walk towards Wayne Tower at a normal pace.
***
His back was turned to you as he greeted a man in a crisp gray suit into his office. Dang, you thought. Just the sight of him however made you instantly calm down. Walking to your own office, you sat in your comfy desk chair and tried to keep busy by shuffling papers. Finally you leaned back and closed your eyes for several minutes until you heard a familiar ding on your computer and a little box popped up in the lower right corner.
Come to my office when you have a moment.
Please.
-Bruce
The please was because you had jokingly scolded him one day about needing to be polite, even on the company messenger system. He always added it now as an inside joke. You highly doubted he remembered to say it to anyone else, even as an afterthought.
You gathered a folder and some random papers you needed his approval on and made your way to his office. Leaning over his secretaries’ desk as you had done multiple times a day for the past few years now, you pushed the button that would buzz in his office letting him know someone wanted in. The familiar click of the electronic door unlocking signaled to you could head in without him even questioning who it was. Grateful to see his head was down as you walked towards him, it was ridiculous your face felt so flushed.
“I’m guessing you have a pile of very boring crap waiting for me to sign.” He finally looks up from his desk and his smile starts to fade.
In one fluid motion he stands and scoots his chair back. As he stood, you were still making your way towards his desk. As you started to slow down, reaching it, he was already around it and meeting you face to face.
"Actually, it’s very important crap that..” but by then he was already kissing you. Not hard and forceful, but almost with a sense of need. You slightly backed up, breaking it.
“I’m so sorry” he quickly spilled out. Looking almost horrified with himself.
“No, I just, uh, wait, what?” you started to giggle as you often did when you were nervous. He looked at you with sadness and worry that he had just misread the tension between you two for months now and acted in a completely unprofessional way,
You watched it all flash before his eyes before quickly saying, “No no! Please don’t, I mean…Could you do that again?” Before he could think about it, he stepped forward and this time put his hand gently on either side of your face as he brought you in as he kissed you again. This time there was no doubt that it was needy.
As you stood there for what could have been several minutes, you dropped the papers you were holding all over the floor. His arms moved to your waist and back as yours went to his neck and hair. He must have turned you from where you were because you could feel the front desk edge bump into your thighs. Almost sitting on it you heard a beep, shattering the moment.
Without saying a word to each other, you bend down to the floor and start collecting the papers as he reaches over his desk to push the call button to his secretary's desk. “Give me just a minute. We are still discussing some business” he cooly says without sounding as flushed as he looks. “Very good Mr Wayne” you hear back.
You are setting the papers down on Bruce’s desk as he makes his way to sit again. You don't make eye contact but he clears his throat. You turn to walk away and as you almost reach the door you quietly hear him.
“I missed you” he says with almost a pleading tone.
You turn your head back to look at him, softly smiling. “I missed you too” and walk out of his office.
****
tiny side note. I've written on my main a few times but nothing huge. If you liked this, I understand why some things don't get rebloged but if you could comment what you liked possibly that would really help me improve my writing. Thanks for reading!!! 💕 💕💕
Headcanons for hurt reader (this could be someone attacking her on the streets but not too deep yk) and bruce comforting her… please
A/N: So this is the requested part two of this post, which was where The Riddler obsessing over you kind of got out of hand and The Batman stepped in to save the day 🙃 so here we are with Bruce! I might have to do a part three of bonding with Bruce later hehe 🖤 enjoy!!
Wordcount: 1.1K
The enormous, gothic gates of Wayne Manor swing open steadily as one of their posh cars rolls into the driveway, driven by Alfred. Just one call from The Batman twenty minutes ago and everything was sorted, just like that. It was as if his presence allowed him to bend wills, instil fear in everyday Gotham rioters and a spark of hope in the more peaceful ones who just kept themselves to themselves and looked after their families.
What kind of effect could you call the one he was having on you?
Was it the same as his own?
"I really hope I'm not imposing," you say in a slight fluster to Alfred, who parks up the car into a long, lit-up garage. "I mean, the, um, The Batman said it was fine, but..."
"It's no imposition at all, Miss," Alfred says with a genuine, kind look, stopping the engine and getting out first to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you out. "As for Bruce Wayne, he is unused to guests, but in a circumstance like this I assume he'll be happy to oblige."
A small weight of uncertainty weighs in your chest, and you walk up the grand entrance of the Manor meekly, feeling completely out of place; you, a supposed everyday person in Gotham, suddenly called out for acts of charity and roped into a whole, terrifyingly obsessive ordeal with the Riddler, and billionaire Bruce Wayne, tucked safely and secretly away in his home as it all goes by.
He doesn't appear at first as Alfred works the advanced security indoors and leads you into a lovely, wide gothic hallway. Alfred sweeps off his coat and puts it away, and you shift awkwardly on the spot, thumbing the lightly worn material of your hoodie, your clothes damp and uncomfortable now after all you've been through wearing them. Alfred seems to notice, and he gives you a reassuring smile.
"We can send for some of your things, Miss, don't worry about that. Or you could order new things online. Orders often come within a few hours here."
Of course they do. Here, you'll be treated like royalty, and you blush just thinking about it, an overwhelmed rush of adrenaline hitting you, snaking its way through your body.
"I'll take you upstairs," Alfred continues, with a magical kind of sixth sense into your needs though you've only just met. "Then we can get you settled properly, and you can rest up. You must have been through a lot."
You shrug, raising your brow. "Yeah. It's been... yeah, a lot."
"Well, try not to worry yourself too much, Miss, especially now you're here. It's the safest place you could be in Gotham."
You nod with a small smile, following the butler as he takes you to a beautiful corridor with multiple guest rooms branching off opposite each other, leaving you to take your pick.
"I'll try not to get lost," you say, half-joking, half-serious, and Alfred nods with a knowing smile.
"Ah, yes, it does take some getting used to. There's a map of the whole Manor in the top drawer of every bedside chest in each room, which you could make use of. Feel free to wander whenever you fancy. Except for the Waynes' old wing," Alfred adds, a sad note tinging his voice, "and the basement area is restricted too. Other than that, I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, and try to relax. You're quite welcome here."
"Thanks," you say gratefully, but can't help asking once more, "Are you sure he won't mind?"
"I don't mind," a different, deeper and lower-toned voice answers you instead of Alfred, and you flinch in surprise as Bruce Wayne himself stands before you both.
You have to force yourself to stop staring at the mysterious, reclusive billionaire, the soft, smooth brown shades of his hair and deep, dark brown eyes that bleed into your gaze, effortlessly yet intensely reading you, a sombre, indifferent expression on his face. His clothes are all black, and he squints slightly in the chandelier's light hanging above you, bringing life to the stretch of the hallway.
"I don't mind at all," Bruce repeats, looking you straight in the eye. "I'm glad you're... that you can be safe, here."
"Oh," you breathe in a daze of wonder and shock, too much happening in twenty-four hours for you to keep up with. "Thank you, I... yeah, I'll be fine."
Bruce nods, and it seems like he wants to say something, but he falters, gaze dropping to the ground in his antisocial awkwardness. You wait patiently, Alfred smiling and leaving you to it quietly.
"I guess you heard about what happened," you assume, playing with your hands as you try to bring back the conversation, and Bruce's eyes flick back to yours. "With The Riddler, I mean. Do you think he'll figure out that I..."
"That you're here? Maybe. But the chances of him breaking into the Manor and taking you from this site are slim to none. Our security is of a high standard. You'll be okay here."
There's a mixture of something meaningful in Bruce's eyes that you struggle to work out. Sympathy? Concern? Care?
"It won't happen to you again," Bruce tells you, so convinced by his words that you believe them just as easily, relaxing with a light sigh through your nose. "I... I won't let it happen. I'm sorry it did."
You frown in confusion, giving him a half-smile. "It really wasn't your fault. But thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," he responds, and after a beat of comfortable silence, he speaks up again. "I'll leave you to it, then. Try to rest."
You nod in agreement. "Okay. I'll try not to get lost at the same time. Don't want to give you the fright of your life when I suddenly walk into a secret room or something."
You cringe a little at your words, levity trying to lighten the mood, but to your surprise, a flicker of something that looks like a very small, but very genuine smile graces the young man's features briefly.
"I'll show you around tomorrow, if you want," he offers. "You'll be here until The Riddler is caught and apprehended, so it's best if you stay on Wayne grounds. But there's stuff to do, I guess, and... well, there's a library..."
You smile encouragingly. "I love books. I kind of like writing them too. I journal now and then."
Bruce blinks, before that faint, sweet smile reappears, and your heart skips seeing it. "So do I."
something calling to get closer | pattinson!batman
series: staring into the echo | 1 | 2 | 3
pairing: pattinson!batman x reader
summary: bruce can't wait to see you any longer.
wc: 1.7k+
genre: angsty, reader has doubts about feelings, sad, but has a happy ending (in part 3 <3)
There are three text messages on your phone when you wake up.
One is from Gordon to confirm your breakfast attendance. You still have thirty minutes before you needed to be there.
The other two send your heart into a gallop.
11:15 pm: Bruce: Hey, everything okay? I saw you leave. Just checking in.
Another text follows Bruce’s last one by an hour and a half.
12:45 pm: Bruce: I know you’re probably asleep. Would it be okay if I stopped by tomorrow morning? Alfred made you some biscuits he wants you to try. I want to talk to you. Didn’t get to say much before you went back to the department.
Gordon must have filled him in on you going to fill out paperwork. You’re surprised Bruce remembered. He did have a beautiful woman in front of him and all.
You sigh. That isn’t fair. Bruce at least cares about you in a professional manner, if not in the personal way you’re starting to understand you wish he did.
He did care enough to text.
Bruce must have missed your routine. You tamper the rising swell of hope in your chest. It’s just a routine. Anyone would be thrown off by a missed routine. This isn’t special. This is just work.
You consider texting Bruce back, but with only having twenty minutes to get ready before meeting Gordon, you decide against it.
You would need every moment you had to shower again to make sure all of the dirt from yesterday is gone. Then you’ll need to change and attempt to look presentable.
Swinging your legs over the bed, you get moving. You exit out of Bruce’s messaging thread and tap on Gordon’s thread.
7:15 am: Lieutenant Gordon: Hey, you coming by the diner @ 8?
7:32 am: (Name): be there in 30.
7:32 am: Lieutenant Gordon: I’ll save you some coffee.
You smile.
You look forward to meeting Gordon. It would be nice to sit and talk about what happened last night with a neutral party.
If anything, going over the explosions would help Gordon feel less guilty about what happened to the citizens. He has a habit of shouldering more than he needed to.
You pick out your clothes and are about to get into the shower when you remember you forgot to take your vitamins the night before.
It’s not the most important thing, but you have skipped them the last few days and the lack of iron is starting to catch up with you. Plus, a depressive mood never helps the immune system.
Opening your bedroom door, you tread out to your living room before a figure rises from the couch. “(Name)?”
You freeze.
You know that voice. You know it belongs to the man whose text messages you never responded to.
After a second, it clicks that he is now standing in your apartment. Then you remember you have given him the key just in case something happened.
Apparently, he was worried enough to make sure nothing happened.
“Bruce,” you shakily breathe. “You scared me.” You press a hand against your chest to calm your heart.
He sheepishly shuffles on his toes. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“What are you doing here?” You force yourself to turn and walk to the counter. You pull a glass down from the cabinet.
You need to do something to distract you from the fact that your heart isn’t just racing because you got startled. It’s racing because Bruce being here goes further than the requirements of a partner.
A little glimmer of hope pulses through you. But you can’t feed into it yet. It’s the morning after his texts now. A lot could have happened overnight. That includes meeting with the woman.
Bruce drifts nearer, leaning his elbows on the island behind you. His sleepy eyes watch as you pour water into your glass. “Wanted to check on you. You didn’t answer my texts.”
Your core warms at the soft concern in his tone. So he does like being in contact with you. But that doesn’t mean anything. The two of you talked all the time.
“I was asleep. Tired after everything.” You murmur, opening your pill bottle and popping a tablet in your mouth. It’s good to move, to give you something to distract yourself with.
Plus, you need to keep your tone measured. Just because you felt hopeful doesn’t mean Bruce needs to know that.
As you washed the pill down with water, you turn to find Bruce looking intently at your face, as if trying to decipher what was going on in your head. There’s a touch of vulnerability behind his gaze that you didn’t see when he talked to the woman with the red hair.
You nearly choke on your drink.
“What’s going on?” Bruce gently asks. He moves so he can lean his hip against the counter, arms folded in front of him. His long black t-shirt pulls against his forearms. His undone hair brushes against his eyes.
You shook your head. Partially to answer his question, partly because you’re trying to clear your head. His adorably tired look is distracting. “Nothing. I’m just a little tired still. Running over all the details of what happened the other day took a lot out of me.”
He nods but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Bruce and Lieutenant Gordon have this knack for being able to see past what you say to what you can’t bring yourself to admit.
If you were thinking more clearly, you would have avoided eye contact with Bruce. But you aren’t. You’re too distracted by how beautiful his eyes were. Too distracted by how much you want to smile and laugh and go back to how things were.
“What did you think about the multiple explosions?” His eyes hold a light squint as he watches for your response. You feel your palms start to sweat.
Bruce is starting to apply pressure because he knows, just as you do, that the crime scenes weren’t the only thing on your mind the other night. Cases like this don’t wipe you out; they energize you.
You should have come up with a better lie. A death in the family. Something you could avoid discussing the details of.
You know you would have to give him something but the truth is out of the question. It could ruin everything. It’s stupid anyway.
If you wait a few days and make yourself conveniently “busy,” these feelings would go away. Everything would go back to normal, or as close as it could.
Clearing your throat, you push some hair out of your eyes. “Chaos, organized. Needed to be during a busy time of day to get in the way of the governor debates. The news would be so focused on that they would miss discussions about the future of the city.”
Bruce hums, eyes slightly lighting up. “I thought that too. Maybe would also give them a good opening for an attack on city hall.” He chuckles as he continues. “Though, I don’t think he was ready for the debate to get canceled.”
You couldn’t help but smile back. But just as quickly as the smile appears on your face, it disappears.
You need to keep the warm feeling in your chest at bay. Plus, you still don’t know his whereabouts the night before. But a partner wouldn't ask about that. A partner wouldn't care. It's just work.
You know he had talked to Gordon a few times. Once you left. Again around the time the bat signal shone against the clouds. But that only accounted for a small portion of the time you weren’t together.
There was plenty of room for more to happen that you didn’t know about and shouldn’t care about. And yet, you do.
Bruce’s smile dies as he watched yours slide off your face. He looks concerned and confused at the same time, eyebrows agitatedly scrunching together.
When he realizes you aren’t going to add anything, his mouth wordlessly moves as he grasps to fill the silence.
“Did you get hurt?” He sputters.
He steps toward you, reaching out a hand you knew was warm and gentle, but you retreat, backing up toward your bedroom.
Not because you remembered you have breakfast with Gordon in twenty minutes and counting, but because you don’t know where his hands have been the night before.
Your heart isn’t ready to take any more blows, not when hope is starting to patch up the breaks in its armor.
You can’t ignore the flash of pain that dampens his eyes and sends a twitch through his fingers. He doesn’t quite withdraw his hand but he leaves it hanging in the air. It’s an offering, but it no longer searches for your arm.
A twinge of regret twists in your chest. You don’t like seeing him so disappointed, but you can’t risk acting on your hope until you know what happened last night.
Rubbing your arms, you offer him a brief apologetic look before pressing your lips into a line. “I’m fine. Just a few scratches.”
“Do you need any help with them?” His eyebrows lifted, face open and wondering, eagerly waiting for your response. The hope of a “yes” colors his warming gaze.
Even though your heart warms at his concern, you take a deep breath and brace yourself. “I managed. But I appreciate it.” You don’t let his disappointed expression stop you from moving forward.
This would be better for both of you. It would be better to stop pretending like you really meant anything significant to each other. You’d always be partners, but that would be it. Just professionals that worked well together.
“Listen,” you start, trying to wipe the sad puppy eye expression from Bruce’s face. “Can we talk later? I’m meeting Gordon in twenty minutes and I still need to get ready.”
Bruce, still looking dejected, blinks and then nods. His eyes are unfocused. You fight off the clenching of your heart. You remember that look all too well, but you won’t let it stop you. You couldn’t keep letting your hope get the better of you.
But denying it hurts Bruce. You never want to hurt him.
You turn to go get ready, already preparing to fight through tears as he left.
Then his voice, sad and open, calls to you. “Was it something I did?”
It’s hard waiting for Bruce to come home. It’s even harder to soothe him.
Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader
CONTENTS: fluff, hurt/comfort, character study, 1.3k+
It was idyllic; that synergy mix of harsh winds and soothing rain thrumming to beat against Wayne Tower.
Pushed ajar, a window let in a cool breeze, flowing throughout the room in hushed tones. And although she could barely process it, mind and body at war to fight off the impending blanket of sleep, she listened. Waited patiently.
Bruce had told her that it would be a quick, standard check around Gotham that night. Quick, done, easy. Yet as the hours ticked by and the brief span droned on to eternity, she felt her consciousness ebb away with still no signs of Bruce.
She could only slip into bed and wait until he returned.
Laid on her side, a mountain of pillows and blankets encircled her while clicking through several movies and shows, gravitating towards action-packed scenes so the loud soundtrack would keep her awake.
But her eyes had grown heavy, flickering into darkness while her thoughts were beginning to muddle with detached inconsistencies.
Until there was a soft click and footsteps neared the bed.
There was a ruffling of blankets being pulled over her form as a significant dip pressed down into the mattress.
“I’m up. I’m up,” she slurred, words mostly muffled by pillows. That would be the third time that night that Alfred came to check on her, hoping that she had fallen asleep. “I’m not sleeping. I’m still waiting for him.”
A second click followed and the audio to her movie stopped.
Her eyes shot open at this, now seeing her laptop shut.
She groaned. “Alfred, why would you do that?”
That gained a low chuckle.
Sluggishly, she turned, lips already tugging into a smile as Bruce settled to sit on the bed, watching her softly.
“Finally,” she sighed, dread leaving her body. “You’re back.”
Bruce dropped his head down to a small nod. His hair was slightly damp, tousled and skin flushed. He must’ve taken a shower in another room.
However, what was most significant was his reluctance to look at her. He fidgeted, fiddling with the loose strands of the blue shirt she wore – his shirt.
Without thinking much, she pushed herself up, reaching to pull him in by the back of his neck and drawing him to her lips.
He responded tentatively, kissing and following her lead. He let her touch him, hands roaming over his chest and arms, to deepen the kiss, but he remained oddly still, avoiding pressing closer aside from his mouth and kept his hands carefully stationary to his side.
Reaching down to snake her hand across his wrist to touch her waist, she found them balled in a fist, only loosening at her touch.
Bruce felt like a statue. Cold, like stone.
She pulled away, searching for a wound before glancing into the darkness of his eyes for the reason of his discouragement, his reluctance.
Oh, she thought, it must have been one of those nights.
Since Bruce had come into her life, she realized words were nothing but deceitful. They fell from tied tongues, or written hastily on paper, moulding themselves into whatever vessel needed at that given moment. A manipulation that delivered momentary peace.
Yet with Bruce, a man with few words, she was forced to adapt, pay attention to his eyes. She held them when he spoke, watched as they avert her gaze in moments of shyness or distress; glowed when excited, hazed with lust-filled thoughts, and glinted when surprised.
That was involuntary, a medium for a truth spoken louder than any word. A language uniquely shaped by him.
“That bad?” she asked.
“Bad,” he confirmed, a little wryly.
Her head tilted to the side, teeth gnawing the inside of her cheek while cupping his face between her hands. She noticed the start of a bruise forming, blue patches by the side of his jaw.
“Come here,” she said softly – as if any louder would scare him. Instinctively, she shifted to pull Bruce to her. He positioned himself by her side, curled, and dropped his face into the junction of her neck.
They stay like that for a long time: Bruce hid his face, gently cradling her. His breath shuddered often as her hands carded through his thick hair, hoping it would help to trickle away some of the stored tension in his shoulders. She was careful not to tug too hard, making Bruce feel constricted, only anticipating the moment when Bruce will pull away. But he doesn’t. Only latching onto her.
Bruce was always like this after a particularly hard night. He avoided initiating touch, felt rigid in her grasp, was reluctant to kiss her, to come to her in his darkest thoughts – as if tainted. Ugly. Undeserving of even the most basic human needs.
He never told her what had happened, what he needed, but she knew better. Bruce had always been hungry for love and reassurance, no matter how much he pretended he didn’t. He had been starved, stripped of it, wanted to be fed and filled with so much love that he could barely eat – to help combat the doubts and hollowing guilt.
She stroked her fingertips along the expanse of bare skin, making him shiver and burrow closer.
In many ways, she was his protector and would do her best to keep him from pulling apart.
“Bruce. Hey, look at me.”
There was a long, stretched pause where he lay unmoving. Minutes went and then finally she heard a long, drawn breath, the exhale tickling her neck until he lifted his head. Bruce’s deep blue eyes bore into her. His anguish was evident, and it hit her hard.
She could have laughed at the unfairness of it all. Her sweet, soft-spoken Bruce, paralyzed by loneliness behind the mask. Loud and terrible hurt underneath healed scars.
Brushing fallen strands of hair from his face, she gently leaned in, touching their foreheads together. Her hands wrapped around him in a hug, caressing him softly in hopes to help ease the strain in his body. The sensation of her skin sliding across his body flooded Bruce with heat and a pink flush appeared faintly on his cheekbones.
“I love you,” he said, voice shaky, raw.
“I love you too.”
His mouth narrowly cracked into a weak smile, one void of humour or happiness. “I’m sorry.”
It was quiet, pitiful.
“Don’t do this.”
He hesitated, then shook his head, unfocused. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
There were cracks in everything, no matter how big or small it was, but that was how light seeped in. Bruce was not shrouded by shadows like he thought he was.
“Never be afraid of letting me see you,” she whispered against his lips. A soft reminder, one read between lines. “Let me see you and watch me stay.”
There – a brief flicker in his mask.
Even if he didn’t say it, his body betrayed him: it blushed, it softened, went lax and calmed. It trembled with a brush against the nape of his neck. The sadness shone in his eyes, and with a blink, was filled with a glittering gulf.
He exhaled like he had been holding his breath for hours.
Slowly, Bruce pressed his mouth against hers, the warmth of him pouring into her. She could not think, the soft movement of his lips made her body buzz with a deep ache stabbing at her heart, soon covered with a warmth only he could generate.
She moved, shifting so she could push her body up and hover above him. Her fingers traced small shapes into his skin and she pressed soft kisses all across his neck, the span of his shoulders and nose.
She could have sworn he keened as he soaked the moment in. No matter how hardened a substance was, there was always a way to soften it.
Bruce sighed, and there was an inkling of light shining through his eyes, sparkling like the rain. She does her best to memorize it and stored the image in hopes it will reassure her during the darkest evenings when she cannot sleep.
Moving to lay on his chest, Bruce’s arm wrapped around her body protectively and nuzzled his face to the crown of her head.
The rain still hit the window, flowing down incessantly, continuously. She adjusted from listening to the rain to the rhythm of his beating heart. No other shade of blue — the one matching his eyes — flashed behind closed eyelids before succumbing to sleep.
author’s note: based off of “r u mine?” by arctic monkeys. this is j a short lil thing about loving bruce & being someone who fought for everyone in gotham, but in a different way than batman & how it is a lil different than a normal relationship
also i’m high asf rn so this was not proofread i’m j in my bruce feels hopefully i don’t embarrass myself too badly with this one :) ok i’ve got the munchies i’ve g2g but enjoy besties!
word count: 1.4k
You were known for being kind and generous. Your family’s legacy was like a blooming orchid in the middle of Gotham’s dark concrete skyscrapers. Your family built housing for the homeless, taking advantage of Gotham’s real estate business. Greed was never a word associated with you or your family. While you come from this old-money name that’s been in Gotham for centuries, the biggest rule passed down through your family is to take care of others, especially those not taken care of by everyone else. “The people who are turned away are the ones we take in” is etched in Latin on your family’s mausoleum in the Gotham City Cemetery.
The entire city of Gotham knew your name and saw the sacrifices you made, along with how you shared what you had with those who needed it and even those who didn’t, they saw how giving you were and how the giving never seemed to stop.
But there was one thing — the thing that it hurt the most the share with the city and people of Gotham — one person: the Batman. He belonged to everyone, he was the protector of Gotham. A knight with more than just a sword and a suit of armor; his horsepower no longer came from just horses, he had the resources and the connections and the training. The Batman did not belong to just you.
But Bruce?
Bruce was all yours.
He was a recluse. The crown prince of Gotham rarely came out of his castle, barely even sparing the city a glance even though he could see all of it from his vast throne. He had responsibilities, sure, but you came first. That changed a little when the Gotham Project started. But what didn’t change was Bruce’s love and adoration for you. While your relationship wasn’t traditional, it was more than enough.
However, you couldn’t help but find yourself yearning for the boring, the mundane, the ordinary. The routine of waking up next to your lover, laying so close you can feel them smile. Brushing teeth next to each other in the mornings, making breakfast, doing chores and home restoration on your own, arguing about wet towels on the bathroom floor, get ready for bed together— it was something you and Bruce exchanged for the betterment of Gotham City.
You resented the parts of Gotham City that forced you to give up a long and happy, excitingly ordinary life with the person you loved.
You needed Batman, but Gotham City needed him more.
And so you shared everything you had with Gotham and its citizens, including the love of your life.
He would be gone so long that some nights you wouldn’t sleep. You’d hear the chime of the bell notifying you that he had pulled into the Batcave, and once you knew he was home you could not keep your eyes open a second longer. The majority of time he spent at home was spent down in the cave, working on the next plot to destroy another one of the dirty schemes that was about to wreak new havoc on the city. You couldn’t sleep without knowing he was safe. Eventually, you started to drink sleeping tea to assist you in sleeping and shutting your brain down for a while. Bruce hated the fact that you usually waited up for him, he hated the fact that you had to worry. But he knew that his job was worry-inducing. He knew that you just wanted to make sure that Gotham had not snuffed out another light.
“He does so much for them and they’ll never know,” you say while sitting across from Alfred at dinner, “sometimes I think even if they didn’t know they wouldn’t care.”
“Not everyone is corrupt, but people put in corrupt situations have to make tough choices. Most of the people in this city are just trying to survive.” Alfred comments. “You and I know that. So does he. I don’t really think he cares if they give thanks to the Batman, he doesn’t view himself as the sole savior of the city. He is, but he doesn’t see it that way: he knows Gotham’s doomed. But as long as he has a say in how doomed, he’ll keep fighting for it.”
“I wish Gotham could just… chill out for a few days. I barely see him anymore. I feel selfish about it, but I miss the days when it was just us in our own little corner of the world.”
“It’s not wrong to miss those moments, miss,” Alfred responded, an understanding smile on his face. “Loving someone and having to watch them leave is painful, no matter the circumstance. Especially yours and Master Wayne’s. You sacrifice a lot, the both of you. And while the whole city may not know about those sacrifices, the two of you do.”
“We do,” you confirm, “and it’s enough for me.”
—
That night, you crawled into bed, clad in one of Bruce’s t-shirts. It was two a.m. and he wasn’t home, and you tried to stay awake so you could see him for what was the first time in days. But you just couldn’t. You knew that you were too tired to give him your full attention, so you just pulled back the covers and slid into bed, snuggling up with your blankets and resting your head against the pillow, inhaling the familiar scent of Bruce. The aroma made up for his arms, and while a bit lighter still provided similar comfort.
It’s not until a few hours later when the fading scent is replenished, Bruce slipping into bed and immediately pulling you into his arms. He’s just showered, most likely took a few extra minutes to let the warm water massage his aching muscles. Your body awakens at the mere feel of him, your eyes opening as you adjust so you’re laying face to face with him, “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” Bruce responds, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. One of your hands comes up to wrap around his wrist and stroke the back of his hand with your thumb.
“Are you okay?”
Bruce takes a moment to respond, his eyes studying your face as if you’re surely to evaporate into thin air, “I’m okay,” he echos. And while the bruises he’ll wake up with tomorrow disagree with that statement, the warmth of your tired eyes and the comfort of your presence is what makes him okay, even after the worst nights fighting crime in Gotham.
You let out a sigh of relief, your eyes fluttering closed as he confirms it himself: he’s here, he’s okay, and he’s come back to you. That is all the confirmation you need, your eyelids fluttering shut almost involuntarily. Bruce presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, thinking to himself that it was those small check-ins every night before bed were always the best part of his day.
You wake up the next morning with your head on Bruce’s upper chest, tucked into the crook of his neck. His nose rests just on the crown of your head, you can feel the hairs up there move as he exhales peacefully through his nose. One arm lays next to his side, the other is wrapped around you. His fingers have the slightest grip on your arm, as if he’s worried you’ll leave while he’s asleep. His presence and touch makes you feel secure, makes you feel like you’re in the safest hands in all of Gotham. Which, you are, but Bruce made you feel that way before the Gotham Project.
Your fingers dance with the faintest steps across his chest, repeating soothing patterns and movements that have your own eyes fluttering. Before sleep catches you, Bruce pulls your consciousness back from its fall.
“Morning, my love,” he says, the words like silk.
“G’morning, Bruce,” you respond, nuzzling into his chest. “What time is it?”
“A hell of a lot later than normal, that’s for sure.”
You furrow your brow, looking up at him through tired eyes, “Doesn’t Gotham need you?”
Bruce cracks a smile, “Believe it or not, Gotham can wait until it gets dark out. So can the Batcave. It can all wait for today, as far as I’m concerned. I miss just being around you.”
You push yourself up with your forearms so that you’re hovering over his face, “Really?”
“I’m all yours.” Bruce says.
You lean down closer to him, your eyes gazing into his, “Are you mine?”
Bruce sighs, placing his hands on your cheeks, brushing his lips against yours, “Completely.”
christmas!battinson?! kissing under the mistletoe? snow fights in the garden? baking cookies? PLEASE
wayne manor christmas
I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH THANK YOU ANON THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! happy early holidays everyone! i hope you all enjoy, although my writing skills aren’t at 100% currently.
pairing: pattinson! bruce wayne/ reader
warnings: none :)
you woke up this morning with a start. bruce however was not ready to get up, moaning tiredly as you roll over on top of his sleeping figure.
“bruce! come on let’s get up!” you whisper shout as you card your fingers through his black hair. he opens one eye to peer down at you.
“what’s the occasion?” he asks sarcastically, his voice was low and hoarse from sleep. you roll your eyes and sit up, tugging him by his arm until he unwillingly stands up. once he was on his feet and you smothered him with kisses, he began to perk up and even show you one of his rare smiles. what made this morning better was the snow that was steadily falling outside. it was christmas morning and you were too eager to head downstairs and exchange presents with bruce.
“here’s yours my good sir” you hand the present to him gracefully and watch eagerly as he rips off the wrapping. his eyes visibly light up as he observes your gift to him. it was an expensive watch that he had been eyeing for MONTHS but never got around to buying.
“my watch! i love it, thank you honey” bruce kisses your lips gently and you could feel him smile against you. “here, open yours”
you open the present quickly, too excited to see what lies inside. once pulling the box open, you were met with the most beautiful necklace you’d ever seen. he knew your taste perfectly. you were too afraid to ask how much it cost.
“bruce! it’s beautiful, thank you!” you nearly knock him backwards as you throw your arms around him and kiss him all over for the second time that day. the two of you spent another hour, talking and opening your smaller gifts for each other. before deciding to bake cookies for the christmas party you were hosting tonight.
“do we really have to host the party?” bruce asks, to which alfred gives a glare.
“yes, master wayne. it would be good for you to connect with some old friends, don’t you think?”
“plus we can show off our christmas decorations” you give an encouraging smile and pull out the christmas cookie ingredients.
baking took a lot longer than it should have. you were either throwing flour at each other, or shielding the raw dough from bruce who would have eaten it all if you let him. but alas, you eventually got the cookies baking in the oven.
“mission accomplished!” you high five bruce, which creates a cloud of flour. bruce had white handprints all over his clothes, and on his nose and cheeks.
“you got a little something” you point at your own nose, and bruce gives you a scowl.
“really? i didn’t notice” he throws sarcasm at you, and sticks his hand into the pile of flour on the counter. before you could react, he had rubbed it all down your face and shirt.
“oh my god!” you smack his hands away and gasp with shock, although a smile was tugging at your lips.
the two of you ended up showering while the cookies baked, and by the time you were finished getting ready, people were arriving for the party. you and bruce were in ugly christmas sweaters that you insisted would be cute to wear as you greeted guests that arrived. you enjoyed catching up with old friends, and even though bruce wasn’t enthusiastic, you could tell he enjoyed the socializing at least a little bit.
you both had an overwhelming feeling of normalcy, not having to worry about crime in the city as much, it seemed batman’s presence had really made it die down. it felt good to be able to breathe, and have something as normal as a party.
an hour in, the two of you were socially drained. you stood off under a wide doorframe, lost in a conversation that you didn’t have to force out like around guests. suddenly, bruce looks up. furrowing your brows, you follow his gaze and notice a mistletoe hanging above the two of you. you look back at him, giving him that ‘really?’ stare, along with a playful smile.
“did you plan this?” you cock your head to the side, bruce copies your head tilt and steps closer to you.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about” he shrugs and places a hand on your waist. his other hand gracefully balanced a wine glass. you on the other hand, nearly spilled your drink down his back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. you connected your lips with his, the kiss was passionate, a kiss reserved for when it’s just you and him (how convenient that the mistletoe is just out of the party’s eye?). no matter how long you’ve known bruce, every kiss felt like the first with him. the sparks never fade, but only grow stronger. hell, you felt like a highschooler.
the party flew by quickly with the help of being tipsy, and when you gave your farewells to all the guests you noticed the snow outside. the light from the moon bounced off of the powdery substance and you guessed there was maybe 2-3 feet of snow now. you gave bruce the look, and he immediately shook his head no.
“please!!” you clasp your hands together and show puppy eyes in a silent beg, and bruce quickly gives in.
in an instant you were in your winter clothes and out into the night, trudging through the snow filled garden with a childlike wonder in your eyes. you turned to bruce to speak to him, but were instantly met with a snowball to the shoulder. you gasp in fake shock, and you suddenly felt like you were in a gunslinger stand off. the two of you made eye contact, waiting to see who would make the first move. quickly, you run behind a bush and begin to create snowballs that you hurled at bruce. you managed to dodge (most of) them, but when you popped up from your bush again, you noticed he was gone. carefully, you creep through the garden, armed with two snowballs.
“bruuuuuuceeeee” you sing out teasingly, tossing the snowball up and down in your gloved hand. before you could even react, bruce pops out from behind a tree and charges at you. you manage to throw one snowball before he gets to you, and sends the two of you crashing to the ground. you let out a scream, followed by laughter from the both of you. you take a breath to calm down, but fall into a fit again at the sight of bruce’s face absolutely covered in snow.
“oh that’s funny?” he teases, grabbing your face and shaking the snow off of him onto you.
“hey, hey!!!” you grab his own face to stop him, the two of you were now dripping with melted snow. you kiss one of the snowflakes off of his cheek near the corner of his mouth, and when you pull back he catches you in another kiss on the lips. you smile against him and kiss back eagerly.
“can we go back inside now?” bruce’s voice was shaking slightly as he smiled at you, and it made you aware of how cold you were yourself.
