Bruce Wayne x Mistress!Reader || Masterlist || Request Warnings: mentions of cheating, allusions to smut but none explicit, the ending is kinda ass to be honest Songs: The Other Woman by Lana del Rey, Casual by Chappell Roan, Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan Dividers from: @strangergraphics A/N: Note that this is my poor attempt for a bi!reader
Everyone knew Bruce Wayne was married. But everyone also knew Bruce Wayne had never been good with love. He was a ghost in his own life—charming at galas, distant behind closed doors, forever haunted by the shadows of Gotham.
That’s when he found her...
She was the nurse who had pulled his wife back from the brink of death after one of the Joker’s sadistic attacks. In the sterile chaos of the hospital, something unspoken had passed between them. Months later, she captured the heart of the richest man in Gotham. It was wrong—twisted and rotten in its own way. How could a man fall for the woman who had saved his wife’s life while his wife lay broken in a hospital bed?
Their first kiss happened in her small, dimly lit apartment. He had come to “thank her,” rain dripping from his coat, eyes dark with something neither of them dared name. The kiss was desperate, guilty, and addictive.
From then on, she lived for the stolen moments. She made sure her hair fell just right, her nails were painted the deep red he liked, and she spent the money he forced on her—buying silk robes and expensive perfume she only wore for him. Every time she saw the news—his arm wrapped possessively around his wife’s waist, their practiced kisses for the cameras—something inside her fractured a little more.
“We’re married out of convenience. There’s no love,” he would whisper against her skin in the dark.
But she knew the truth. He was in love with his wife. He was simply torn between the woman he loved and the woman he wanted. She was the secret, the escape, the body he craved when the weight of being Bruce Wayne became too much. She would never be more than that. Never a person. Never enough.
In the quiet hours after he left, she envied his wife with a bone-deep ache. Not the money. Not the name. But the way his wife got to have Bruce—the real man beneath the mask—while she was left with nothing but Mr. Wayne and the scent of him fading from her sheets.
A few months later, tangled together under her blankets, skin still flushed and hearts racing, she whispered the words that would destroy them:
“I love you, Bruce.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. He stiffened against her, and she felt the exact moment everything shattered.
Bruce stopped coming after that night. The silence was worse than any rejection. Every unanswered text, every empty evening, carved deeper into her chest.
Then one shift, while the hospital buzzed around her, she saw the news on the break room TV:
The Waynes had divorced.
“BRUCE WAYNE TRULY IS THE MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR—FOR HIS INABILITY TO KEEP A WOMAN! GUESS MONEY CAN’T BUY LOVE…”
She felt sick. She knew she was the reason. The guilt wrapped around her throat like barbed wire.
Across town, the confrontation between Bruce and his wife had been pure devastation.
“BRUCE, GET AWAY FROM ME!” she screamed, voice cracking as she hurled vases, picture frames, and anything she could reach. Shards of glass scattered like their broken marriage.
Bruce dodged with practiced precision, eyes pained. “Sweetheart, please—”
She punched him hard across the cheek. The crack echoed. For once, the Batman hadn’t seen it coming.
“No loyalty! NONE!” she yelled, tears streaming down her face. “Not even from you! Who is she?!”
Bruce had never seen her like this—raw, unraveling, furious.
“You say you love me, then you run off for some easy fuck?” Her voice dropped to a broken monotone. “You wouldn’t even look at me during sex. If you wanted to cheat, you should’ve divorced me first.”
“I love you. She meant nothing…” he said, but the guilt in his eyes was shallow.
“She meant enough to ruin us.” Her voice trembled. “There will always be another woman for Bruce Wayne, won’t there? One pussy wasn’t enough? How many are there, Bruce?”
“Just one…” he admitted, barely above a whisper.
“Tell me who she is. Don’t make me feel like the other woman.”
His next words destroyed what little was left:
“Don’t you get it? You’re the other woman. Your father gave me your hand in marriage.”
The pain in her eyes was bottomless. “No… You’re married to me! She’s the other woman! I never wanted any of this!”
She slid down the wall, knees weak, sobbing quietly. “A man in love would never do this to me… Just leave, Bruce. I don’t care who you fuck anymore.”
Days later, Bruce appeared at the nurse’s door, looking hollow and desperate.
“I want to fix this,” he said, voice rough.
But she stood firm in the doorway, tears burning her eyes. “We’re done, Bruce. I can’t keep being your secret. I won’t destroy myself—or her—any longer.”
She closed the door on his pleading face and cried until she had nothing left.
The next morning, she went to see his ex-wife. Hands shaking, she told her everything. The affair. The guilt that ate her alive. How she had ended it.
When she finished, she looked the other woman in the eyes.
“Yell at me. Hit me. Do whatever you need. Just don’t stay quiet. I know it won’t change anything… but I left him. For whatever that’s worth.”
The ex-wife stared at her for a long, heavy moment. Then she let out a quiet, broken laugh that held years of pain.
“You’re both so fucking stupid.”
The nurse gave a watery smile. “Yeah… we really are.”
Over the following years, the two women slowly became each other’s unexpected lifeline. They shared bitter wine and darker jokes about Bruce Wayne’s inability to love anyone properly. The angst never fully left, but it became something they could carry together—two women who had both been shattered by the same man.
Then came one reckless, drunken night after years of friendship. Laughter turned into lingering touches, tears turned into desperate kisses, and pain turned into something raw and consuming.
They woke up naked beside each other the next morning, sunlight cutting across tangled sheets.
The ex-wife panicked. She dressed quickly, avoided eye contact, and left with a mumbled excuse. For weeks afterward, she withdrew, drowning in denial and fresh guilt.
The nurse felt the rejection like a fresh wound. Heart aching, she eventually forced herself to move on and agreed to a date with someone else.
The date barely began before the ex-wife stormed into the restaurant, eyes blazing with jealousy and unresolved feelings.
They ended up back at the nurse’s apartment, shouting at each other.
“You can’t just pretend nothing happened between us!” the nurse cried, voice breaking.
“I was drunk! It was a mistake—”
“A mistake? Then why the hell did you chase me down and ruin my date?!”
The argument grew ugly, years of buried pain and longing spilling out. Tears streamed down both their faces.
Until the ex-wife suddenly grabbed her, slamming their lips together in a fierce, angry, desperate kiss—full of everything they had both tried so hard to deny.
Months later, the two women walked hand-in-hand through one of Gotham’s quieter parks, the city lights twinkling in the distance. They had come a long way. The sharp edges of their shared pain had softened into something warmer, deeper, and real. Bruce Wayne was no longer a wound—he was simply a cautionary tale they occasionally laughed about.
As they turned a corner, they ran straight into him.
Bruce stopped dead. His eyes flicked between them, widening in disbelief as he noticed their joined hands and the easy intimacy between them.
“…What is this?” he asked, voice strained. He looked at his ex-wife first, pain and longing flickering across his face. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I made mistakes—terrible ones. But I still love you. We could try again. I’ve changed.”
The ex-wife simply raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed.
Before she could respond, the nurse stepped forward, calm and steady. She squeezed her girlfriend’s hand gently.
“Actually, Bruce,” the nurse said, her voice clear and free of the old trembling, “we’re in a relationship. We’re happy. And we’ve both moved on.”
Bruce looked stunned, almost desperate. “You can’t be serious. After everything—”
“We are,” the ex-wife cut in, her tone final but without anger. “Take care of yourself, Bruce.”
The nurse offered a small, polite smile. “Have a good day.”
They walked past him without another glance, shoulders touching, leaving Bruce Wayne standing alone in the shadows—exactly where he belonged.
