pairing: bruce wayne x gn!reader
premise: An up and coming Gotham artist keeps running into trouble. Good thing there's vigilantes and awkward billionaires to help them out.
[a little slice of life slow burn with battinson- fluff and self indulgent soft touches abound]
warnings: very mild spoilers, some violence and cursing, attempted kidnapping and assault, blood and injury, stitches, mature themes
extras: reader is gender neutral, reader is an artist, Bruce Wayne is touch starved, Gotham has an art scene, probably ooc but i'm having fun
chapters: 5 // word count: ~24k
chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5
Searing pain punches into your side as a thick boot slams down on you- a sharp cry escaping your lips. Your backpack full of aerosol paint cans is tossed around and strewn across the soaked alleyway, jeering voices ringing out through the rain.
Tough critics tonight. Gotta learn to work faster these days.
“We told ya before…” came a gruff voice. A hand reached down and yanked you up by the collar and you were met with a blurred face, flushed and grinning wickedly. The man grabbing you had a barbed wire tattoo across his neck and had been ‘voicing his opinion’ about your work whenever he caught you around your neighborhood.
“Now you’re gonna think twice before throwin’ more shit like that up around here, huh?” He slurred, his breath stinking of booze.
You grit your teeth, knowing you’re about to regret your venomous reply, but before you can get a word out, your captor’s eyes go wide and he crumples before you, taken down in a blur flecked with red.
You feel yourself drop suddenly, not ready to have your own footing, and a large hand cradles the back of your head before settling you to the ground.
Just as quickly as the group of men jumped you while you were absorbed in your work, they were mowed down, your eyes barely able to comprehend the dark blur that was your savior. As the stars fell from your vision, you uncurled your aching body, your head snapping up to meet eyes with him- the Batman.
He was frightening in person- too still to have taken out six men only seconds before. And those eyes. How could eyes so dark blaze like that? You felt frozen like a deer until he cut through the silence with a low rasp.
His voice rippled through you and suddenly you felt hyper-aware. The rain soaking through your jacket, the grit of the pavement in your knees and cheek, the mere feet between you two that you knew he could cover before you had the chance to breathe.
Those eyes had you locked in. They glanced from you up to the wall where you had been working before you were interrupted. Dripping smears of black and yellow. It was a symbol. His symbol. The one that would light up the sky on the most suffocating, pitch-black nights. You’d watch it from the window of your apartment, eyes scouring over rooftops for a glimpse of the masked vigilante who had inspired you, and many artists like you, to start making statements around the city. You’d been pretty unlucky tonight, however. Not everyone was a fan of the Bat. But he had started to stand for something more than fear- more than a bump in the night and a shadow bad guys had to run from. Batman, this very symbol, stood for hope- and that was what you believed in.
But at this moment it was a little mortifying.
“Y-yes.” A furious blush threatened to creep up from your collar and reality slammed into you, your hands grasping to replace the contents of your bag. “Thank you,” you managed, glancing back and forth from the tall, imposing figure to the bodies on the asphalt.
A clatter on the ground made you startle, your nerves fried. You looked up to see a spray can roll toward you from the direction of the masked man in the shadows. He took one last glance at you, almost seeming to assess you, then back up to the wall. You could have sworn you saw a slight tug at the corner of his lips before he slunk into the night, a low, “Get home safe.” bidding you farewell.
The lazy drizzle of rain was turning into a pour and some of the bodies around you had started to groan so you figured you’d heed the Bat’s words. Slinging your bag over your shoulders, you raced out of the alleyway toward home, your footfalls slapping against the wet pavement in time with the thunderclaps above.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
You jumped and scoffed at yourself, dropping the broken pieces of charcoal from your clenching hands. Careless. Where’s your head today, y/n? you asked yourself. Thinking about that night again. That’s three weeks now. You sigh, placing the broken stick pieces with the others in a nearby tray.
The afternoon light from your apartment windows falls warmly on your studio-slash-living room setup and onto your large sketchpad. Charcoal had been your tool of choice for your renderings lately, and you felt it suited the Bat. Not only his signature color but rough, easily abstracted. A pitch black blur with blazing eyes.
Through your window, you could see people out and about on this uncharacteristically nice day for Gotham. And where are you? Cooped up inside and slumped over your desk shrimp-style trying to capture the likeness of a masked weirdo you’ve met once. And even the word “met” is a stretch here.
Another sigh and you attempt to blow away the dust from the broken pieces littering the space below his mask. His only visible portion of skin- a curious choice for a man of very few words. You wondered what those lips looked like from up close.
Ok. The daydreaming was starting to get out of hand. The guy could be crazy- hell, he definitely is after all the shit he pulled with that serial killer with all the riddles.
You’d watched the water come in that night, way up from your balcony as the lights started to go out. You wouldn’t call yourself a faithful person but you hoped against hope to whoever was out there that Batman was alive and fighting that night. From that point on, it was like a switch had gone on amongst the people of Gotham. They knew there was someone out there who thought they were worth protecting, worth saving. An artist like you knew where to recognize symbols of power, and you knew you had to keep the momentum going. You had to do what you could to keep hope alive.
You had to stop touching your face while you were in the middle of projects. You scolded to yourself, realizing your charcoaled hand was pressed against your face as you wandered away, lost in your thoughts.
Damnit. You needed to get out. It’s about time you stopped by the Center this week anyway. After a considerable amount of scrubbing and tossing on some clean(ish) clothes and your trusty backpack (lighter today without any aerosols), you made your way down the street toward the subway.
You surfaced from the underground a few songs later, pulling off your headphones and shoving them onto your pack as you made your way up the steps to Gotham’s Community Arts Center.
“Hey y/n!” you were greeted in the entryway by a cheerful looking woman in a daisy cardigan with color-coordinated hair beads at the check-in counter.
“Hey Dahlia,” you smile, signing in on the registry with one of those pens an enthusiastic art teacher had taped a flower to the end of. “I love the new piece,” you say, remarking at the cardigan you knew she crocheted herself.
“Ttttttthank you, darling,” she says grandly, as if she’d been waiting for the compliment all day. “Took me all week!”
“I don’t know where you find the time,” you chuckle, glancing over at the stack of forms she was compiling into her laptop as they spoke.
“I’m a multitasker!” she replied with a grin.
“Well you let me know when commissions open up again, babe,” you say, making your way further into the building.
“You get a discount since you’re special,” she called after you, laughing, probably at the thought of your usually dark-clothed self in one of her bright, whimsical pieces.
You walked through a set of doors propped open with painted rocks and into the building’s large main hall. Scores of fold out tables were covered in projects and the air was filled with a familiar buzz: people chattering, the clink of brushes in water cups, the scratch of pastels on paper, the art students scrambling to affix falling clay to a monstrosity of chicken wire in the corner. The Arts Center was always open to the public and was always housing a variety of local exhibitions.
Practically a second home to you, the Center had known its share of wear and tear over the years but you loved the old place. You loved how it brought people together to celebrate things worth living for, and fight to keep them alive. Years of painted handprints and messages and murals lined the walls, the floors and tables littered with color from years of spills and the whole place smelling like art supplies. Perfect.
You stepped carefully around a set of drying protest posters, waving to familiar faces and dashing to catch a paper-mache dragon head as a shock of bubblegum pink hair yelped from atop a nearby ladder.
“Jamie, your creature’s escaping,” you laugh, holding up the head to face them.
“Y/N!!” They scramble down and tackle you in a hug. “Thank you thank you thank youuuu!” they exclaim, taking the head from your hands. “That would have sucked so bad, I really liked how this one was turning out..”
“Well it looks awesome so far- just be careful,” you chuckle, Jamie grinning sheepishly.
“What’re you up to, we hardly see you around here lately!”
“Just gotta talk with Pete about the mural thing,” you replied. “Do you know if he’s in his office?”
“Ohh I hope you get it! And yeah, I’m pretty sure. He usually takes his lunch late.” said Jamie, already perching themself back onto the ladder.
“Thanks,” you say with a smile before heading past the artists and out another set of doors leading to a long hallway lined with pictures, cards, and all manner of posters. Many of them seemed to congregate around a particular doorway to your left- Pete’s office.
His doorway was plastered with thank you cards, many of them depicting whales- his favorite animal. One of the directors, a retired arts professor from the university, Pete had made it his life’s mission to bring art back to the community- and make some pretty epic whale sculptures. You respected the guy immensely.
You gave the door frame a few quick raps and Pete looked up at you from his computer.
“Well, y/n! Good to see you!”
“It’s good to see you too, Pete,” you said, taking a seat in one of the old chairs in front of his desk.
“What can I do for you on this fine day,” said the old man, taking off his wire-framed glasses and rubbing his tired eyes.
“I was just wondering if there were any updates on the 15th street mural.”
“Oh! Yes, indeed, they’re moving forward with it!” he said happily.
“Oh my god, really?” you smiled, taken by surprise.
“Yes, yes, it wasn’t easy- took a lot of convincing on my end, I hope you know,” he said, mocking sternness in his tone, but his cheery face gave away his true feelings.
“Thank you, Professor!” you breathed, hardly knowing what to do with the rush of happiness that was running through you. Pete shuffled through stacks of papers in trays on his desk until he found what he was looking for.
“There you are,” he said, handing you a stamped permit. “They really loved your design. I’m so excited to see it come to life.”
“Thank you!” you said, hugging the page to your chest.
“The directors and I were going to wait until the showcase this weekend to announce it, but I know you like to plan for these things,” he said kindly and you chuckled. “You know, there’s still space if you wanted to show a few pieces,” he offered.
“Ah, I haven’t done anything too noteworthy recently,” you said, internally squirming at your notepad full of Batman drawings.
“Well, I find that hard to believe,” Pete said with a smile. “Just let me know.”
You stood, reaching out to shake the old professor’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough Pete, really,” you said earnestly, placing the permit gingerly within the pages of a hardcover in your backpack.
“Anything for my former students,” Pete said and bid you farewell.
You walked back into the main hall beaming.
“I take that as a good sign?” said Jamie loudly, now on the ground surrounded by fresh newspaper and a few helpers.
“I got it!” you exclaimed, rushing over.
“The mural? No wayy!” “Heyy congrats!” said Marcus and Leah, both friends and regulars of the Center.
You were given affectionate squeezes and pats on the back, the group of you so caught up in your celebration that you almost failed to notice a hush fall over the room. All eyes were turned toward one of the large tv’s on the back wall which had been quietly playing the news. Someone had turned it up louder for the whole room to hear. You turned as the reporter said his name.
“This just in, Batman has been sighted at the scene. Breaking news, if you’re just tuning in, just minutes ago, Mayor Reál was kidnapped just outside of City Hall. The Mayor’s vehicle was hijacked by disguised usurpers. Police are en route but as you can see, the masked vigilante is hot on their tail. Speculators are wondering if this incident is in direct response to the Mayor’s pending Watchlight Bill…”
You all watched the screen in silence, mouths agape with shock that something like this could happen in broad daylight. In a moment of startling realization, you watched as the helicopter footage showed the kidnapper’s route nearing the Arts Center.
“Should we lock the doors?” someone piped up.
“But what if the mayor-” another started before voices started to raise. The Batmobile had grazed the black SUV the mayor was being held in.
Just outside, the screeching of tires and honking of horns could be heard. In a flash, people were running to the front doors, fears suddenly foolishly abandoned to catch a glimpse. And of course you were with them, your backpack thudding against you with each bounding step. You watched the doors burst open in front of you, showing a scene right out of an action movie.
Cars swerved to avoid each other as the black SUV came careening around the corner, herded by the Bat’s monstrous car. The hijacked vehicle slammed against the corner street post with a sickening crunch and completely flipped around, its tires skipping up the first few steps to the Center. The Bat reversed in a flash and slammed into the front of the SUV, trapping it between the now-leaning street post and another car.
“Everyone back inside now!!” Yelled Pete from down the hall, quickly making his way toward the group. But no one heeded his warning, eyes glued to the caped figure practically ripping the kidnappers from the car and onto the pavement.
Shots rang out and you gasped, the crowd of onlookers surrounding the scene dropping to the ground in fear. The gun had been pointed right at his chest and he’d barely flinched. You hadn’t seen much of that night after taking such a beating, but in the light of day you could see just how fast and brutal Batman worked.
Everyone pulled the Center’s doors shut and crowded the windows, Pete still admonishing us to keep our distance.
“Look!” someone shouted, pointing. There, from the backseat of the car, Batman took the hand of the mayor, looking shaken but otherwise unharmed. The onlookers who had stayed cheered at the sight of her. As police cars started to file in, so did a number of unmarked cars from the other direction. This was about to get even uglier.
“Mayor Reál!!” came a shout from the Center’s front doors. It was Dahlia, beckoning furiously for the Mayor, who upon closer inspection, appeared to be limping, Batman shielding her with his body.
As men spilled from the unmarked cars and cops took up their positions, you realized this place was about to become a shooting gallery.
You dashed from your place at the window, just beyond Pete’s grasp, and booked it outside and down the stairs, Dahlia hot in pursuit. Adrenaline pumping through you, you barely had time to register the proximity between you and the Bat- so much closer than that night before. He handed off the mayor, you and Dahlia taking places on either side of her and helping her up the stairs as quickly as possible.
Her usually imposing figure feels light under your support and you wonder at how such a person can carry the weight of this cruel city.
The pounding in your ears almost drowns out the shouting from behind you as more hijackers try and make a move. Batman makes quick work of them, his fists a deadly flurry grounded by something graceful in his footwork.
If all of these thoughts weren’t jumbling your brain into a single instinct: go forward- you might have had the good sense to duck at the masked vigilante’s shouted warnings. A strong arm yanked the hood of your jacket and you were momentarily unable to breathe before being flung back down the stairs, landing hard against the Batmobile, your breath leaving you again.
You manage to choke out a jagged, “GO!” to Dahlia when you see her hesitate for a split second. You’re grappling for your attacker’s clothes, anything to slow him down before he gets to your friends. You manage to catch his shoe, yanking him off his feet and sending him crashing onto the stairs. He yells in rage and before you can ruminate upon what a poor decision that was, you scramble through the open window of the Bat’s car.
You feel your backpack being ripped open by the zipper as the hijacker makes another grab at you through the window, his bloodied face twisted with anger before being overcome with shock- a look you’ve seen before. Right before the inevitable.
With a growl of rage, Batman rips the man from the car’s window and knocks him to the ground. You shrink back from your spot in the passenger’s seat, hearing the thick and horrible thud of fist against flesh over and over from the other side of the car door. When it stops, so have the gunshots, and everything around you feels startlingly quiet. The click from the door startles you into focus, and it slowly opens. It’s more out of breath than that night and tinged with something raw, but it’s that same low rasp.
You shiver, hearing that same gentle inquiry from someone capable of such violence. Your nerves are rubbed raw again and you just want to curl up here, feeling hands upon your back and neck, phantoms pulling at you, grabbing at you.
“Hey,” came the voice again, pulling you back into focus. He’d crouched down to your level beside the car but didn’t dare come in closer. “Are you alright?” he asked again, softer.
You will yourself to breathe slowly and manage a small nod, testing yourself to move. Your body aches again, like you ran a mile, the absence of adrenaline leaving you hollow and shaken.
He looks more reassured and reaches out a hand for you. There’s something in his eyes as he looks at you, they bore into yours and it’s almost hard to look at. After a pause, you take the hand, feeling his strong grasp beneath his gloves as he pulls you from the vehicle.
The crowds’ cheering reaches your ears and you glance around at the scene, cops cuffing hijackers and putting them into vans one by one. You turn to say something but you’re crushed into a multi-pronged embrace- Dahlia and Jamie clutching you as if you would run away at any moment. They’re soon joined by Leah and Marcus and a few others and you can’t help but laugh, maybe just to distract from the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.
“Okay, I’m okay!” you insist, trying to reach out for everyone but stuck in place by your friends.
“Don’t ever do that again!!” Jamie screeches and Dahlia seconds, a chorus of admonishments and assurances echoing after.
“Your friends are right,” came a voice from up the stairs. The mayor herself, supported under one arm by a worried-looking Pete, made her way down to them and shook all of your hands, expressing her gratitude. “Really, a thank-you doesn’t cover it. You were all very brave today. But that was extremely dangerous. Next time, I need you all to think of your friends and yourselves too.”
You all nodded gravely, still grasping each other.
“And don’t you worry about me. My guardian angel’s gonna have plenty of time to get his skills in check to help me out.” Reál smirked over at Batman, who amidst all the praise from the crowd, looked stiff and out of place, especially with the last of the day’s sun shining on his usually shadowed frame. He nodded at the mayor then at your group. It could have been your imagination, but you could swear his eyes lingered on you for a split second longer than the rest before he turned and made his way over to the Commissioner, already engaging in quiet conversation.
Your gaze strayed over to him again and again as you all made statements and comforted one another. As the sun dipped below the skyscrapers and the city began submerging into shadows, they began sending everyone home, Pete insisting that we all do so safely and message at least one person that we did. You bid your friends farewell, declining insistent pleas for you to come and stay the night to just sit for a moment.
With a loud rumble, the Batmobile roared to life and shot off into the oncoming night. You stood to watch it go from your spot on the steps and felt the contents of your bag spill, having forgotten to have closed it after it was snagged. After replacing everything one by one, you notice a distinct lack of something.
No hardcover. And with it, no permit.
You scramble around on the ground, looking where you stood, by where the car was, back into the building and outside again. Maybe it had been tossed amidst the madness earlier. Maybe picked up as evidence. One thing was for sure- it wasn’t here.
“Fuck!!” you exclaimed, gritting your teeth, your eyes blurry with anguish. There goes four months rent. And Pete’s trust. And the notoriety you'd get all around town. They don’t just give these out every day! And after all Pete did to make it happen for me. You cursed and cursed yourself.
It was getting dark and you needed to head home and be somewhere that wasn’t here. What a shit way to wrap up the day. The subway jostled you all the way home as if nudging you over and over. Thought you’d be a hero like the big guy? You can’t even keep track of your own shit. Stupid, stupid.
You fumbled for your keys to the door of your building, slumping miserably up the stairs and tossing your things to the ground as soon as you made your way through your door. You crashed on your couch with a heavy sigh, switching on the lamp and messaging your friends that you’d made it home safely. You go to turn on the tv, your hand reaching for the remote, when suddenly, two hard raps hit your window. Your ears prick up, eyes darting to the dark glass.
You live on the 9th floor.
Sitting up slowly, you grab the nearest blunt object you can reach- in this case it’s a duck statue Jamie knew you’d love. You round your drawing desk and slowly reach for the curtains, steeling yourself with a breath before ripping them aside, duck brandished menacingly to find- nothing. Of course. You sigh and place the duck gently on the desk, feeling silly.
Probably just a pigeon or something, you think, when out of the corner of your eye, you spot something rectangular on the floor of the fire escape. You pop the latch and slide your window open slowly, leaning your head out tentatively. It’s a book. It’s your book. And peeking out from between the pages at the book’s center, a folded page- your eyes catch dark movement from the platform below.
“Wait!” you exclaim, clambering oh-so-gracefully out the window and onto the fire escape, grabbing the hardcover from the floor. “Thank you!” You breathe, leaning over the railing a bit too quickly- the ground, far away and swimming before you.
You can see a shadowed figure below you, paused mid-stride. He’s so still, so quiet. “Really, it…it means a lot.,” you try, willing him to stay just a moment longer. He looked ready to bolt at any minute. You watch him turn his head, the light illuminating half of his face. The proximity between you two stirred something in your chest and you searched his eyes, dark storms of gray-blue.
“It…seemed important,” Batman finally replied in a low voice.
You smile, flipping through the pages, the permit just as you’d left it. “H..how did you?” you ask slowly, the implications suddenly swirling in your mind.
“Found it in my car. Your address is on the permit,” he added quickly, clearing his throat.
“Well I..really appreciate it.” you say sincerely. “Everything,” you add, immediately regretting sounding so awkward. He shifted below, looking up to meet your eyes. You felt your breath catch in your throat.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said. “In that alley- that was you, wasn’t it?.”
Your eyes went wide and if it weren’t so dark, your reddening face would be on full display. You nod, swallowing down your nervousness. He’s just a man…you think.
“You should stay away from all this,” he cuts you off. “You could get hurt.” It wasn’t mean. But something ached in you all the same. There was something somber in his eyes that gave you pause.
“So could you,” you say. He stared up at you without a word.
You looked away, shriveling under his gaze yet again. “Thanks again,” you say quickly, giving the Bat one last glance before climbing back inside. You shut the curtains quickly and back up to the couch, sitting down hard.
Did that just happen? The thudding of your heart answered yes. God, get a grip, y/n. You repeated it over and over, your face in your hands. He was right, of course- but he was the one who helped make you brave. Thoughts swirled in your head through the rest of the night, and as you drifted off to sleep, you wondered at the sadness behind those burning eyes.
