𑣲 Theif ₊˚⊹♡
.ᐟ.ᐟ mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ
𑣲 Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Rogue!Reader
𑣲 WC: 2.8K
𑣲 Desc: After getting your hands on a small fortune worth of goods, Bruce follows you to see what you might be up to.
𑣲 Tags: Established Relationship!!, GN!Reader, Rogue!Reader, He calls you pretty, Bruce Wayne has stubble because I Like It That Way, Pathetic Bruce Wayne, Needy Bruce Wayne, Mentions of size difference, He's literally a brick house of a man, Bruce Wayne loves to spoil you, Bruce Wayne follows you home, Banter, Casual, Petnames; sweetheart, honey, This is probably OOC, Suggestive implications towards the end, Bruce Wayne likes having his hair pulled, idk how else to tag this
𑣲 Notes: Heyy I'm posting my first work everrr! If this post does even just vaguely okay I might make a nsfw 2nd part so yaaay!!! Emphasis on might bc i feel shy about these things (ヽ´ω`)
Creeping in the dark alleys of the less populated sides of town is hardly a fun way to spend your Saturday night.
You should be in a casino, betting your hard-earned cash. Maybe at the opera house, you heard they were selling tickets for cheap on opening night. Or perhaps, if all else failed, you should be indulging in the warm, buzzing company of a drink at the bar.
Instead you find yourself busy. Slipping from one shadow to the next, hugging each tight corner as you make an attempt to lose any potential enforcers on your trail. You've made a maze out of the city you love, it's become second nature by now. You're more familiar with complicated maps of back alleys than most law enforcers could fathom.
You know the city like the back of your hand. And although most getaways go without a hitch, the weather isn't always on your side.
It's raining.
Hard.
The smell of wet concrete muddles your sense of scent, and the constant shushing of falling rain on asphalt muffles your hearing. The combined problem forces you to rely more heavily on your sight, the only sense that remains sharp and unaffected by the harsh weather.
Unfortunately, depending on sight alone can only get you so far.
You're in the comfort of your own apartment now, having shed yourself of your gear— your mask discarded on the couch, your sleek knee pads forgotten nearby. You've done a good job at getting away without rising suspicion, and at staying mostly dry. In the rain it'd be hard to keep proper track of you anyway.
Under this belief, you stand calmly at the small island in the center of your kitchen, emptying your goodie bag atop the granite so you can start making note of your earnings. You haven't even started counting, but the layout on your counter looks promising enough, a satisfied little grin spreading easily across your face.
"What are you doing?" The rumble of a deep, gravely voice cuts through the delicate silence of your apartment. Familiar. But most importantly, coming from behind you.
However, you don't startle. You expected him.
You carefully place the pair of gemstone earrings you'd been assessing back on the counter— emerald, you're willing to guess. You're shameless, flaunting your findings as he interrogates you.
You shoot him a contented little smile over your shoulder as you turn on your heel, facing him properly. Your eyes land on his familiar silhouette— that dark, towering shadow that consumes all light. A black hole adorned with little ears.
"It wouldn't kill you to be a little more noisy, you know," you reply, hand lingering on the counter behind you. "You could've given me a heart attack. I don't think you would like to see me like that," you then claim in a show of dramaticism. But you soon turn your back towards him once again, with little care for his presence.
You left the lock to the balcony unlatched on your way in, a quick glance let you know that much. But you couldn't bring yourself to care when the surprise it brought in was this pleasant.
"That doesn't answer my question—" Bruce grumbles, taking a quiet step closer— "What are you doing?" He repeats himself, the furrow in his brow almost audible in his voice.
You lift your hands in false surrender. "I didn't steal, if that's what you're implying," you reply, shooting him another look over your shoulder. This time one of irritation.
"How did you get your hands on this, then?" He asks you, crossing his arms.
"Hmm..." you consider telling him, your irritated frown turning into an amused little smile just as easy as it had appeared. "Only if you promise to keep it a secret, okay?" You ask him in return for his cooperation, a barely disguised teasing lilt in your voice.
"Hm," Bruce gives a soft, short grunt in response, a near silent agreement of compliance.
You're going to be honest with him, just as you always are. But not without something in return, just as these exchanges always transpire. It's not like Bruce is awfully hard to bribe, he always seems to give in to you so easily.
Your lips press into a pouty frown as you turn towards him once more, this time leaning back against the counter.
"I didn't do anything," you defend yourself. "I've been keeping myself out of trouble, if you even care." You tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, leaving yourself open. Making yourself look vulnerable to silently draw him in.
And it works, as he takes another step forward. "I trust you are," he replies, voice laced with a nearly inaudible amount of softness.
"Mhm." you give a small nod of your head, pout replaced by a smile. A sweet, pretty little smile that falsely tells him you've done nothing wrong. "It's the rich folk— they don't know how to behave," you continue, voice taking on an oh-so-innocent tone. "You saw the news, right? How a fight broke out just outside the theater earlier?" You curiously ask, to which Bruce nods his head.
"Of course I heard of it," he replies, voice level. "I heard about it over the comms." He pulls his mask over his head, letting the hood fall back. "You know I have to stay informed on these kinds of things..." Bruce adds, running his fingers through his black hair. It's a futile attempt to make himself look less bedheaded, but the sight of his pretty face is enough to make your gaze soften anyway.
"Right, well..." you pause, drawing out the suspense. Bruce silently urges you to continue with a curious tilt of his own head. "I was there," you finally say, a Cheshire grin taking over your previous smile. "I stood silent in the shadows where no one would see me."
"What..." he trails off with a furrow of his brow. He hesitates to continue, already piecing together the story in his head. "What do you mean by that?" He asks. He's a star detective, but he hopes for your honesty regardless, blue gaze lowered to meet yours in something of a puppy-like fashion
"I waited for the scene to clear out, and it's like the heavens rewarded me for being so patient," you say, your hand blindly reaching and searching behind you.
"Pearls everywhere," you claim, fingers finally hooking onto one of the strings to dangle the evidence in front of him, creating an imaginary barrier in the space left between you.
"Jewlery, purses, wallets..." you list, though Bruce gives you a suspicious look on the last item. "I didn't take the wallets," you quickly correct his line of thought, brushing away his suspicion as quickly as it came.
"Mm, that's good at least," he hums his praise, though the admiration is only short-lived.
"I only took the cash in them, of course," you laugh, carelessly tossing the string of pearls somewhere onto the pile of goods behind you. They land with a troubling scattering sound, but you're not too concerned by it. "I'm not stupid enough to run away with someone's credit card, it's not worth the trouble." Even if the temptation is strong.
Retracting his precious praise, the muscle in his brow twitches once again. "You're a thief," Bruce accuses you, hands coming down to firmly rest on the edge of the counter at your sides, effectively caging you between his arms. You only shrug in return.
"Did anyone see you?" He asks. He's not trying to be imposing, never with you, but he can't keep to himself when you're so close.
"Would it be so bad?" You muse in return, a teasing whisper. His stubbled jaw tightens, and you decide it'd be for the best to change your answer. "No, Bruce. Nobody saw me," you deadpan, if only for the sake of his nerves.
He sighs in return, dipping his head to be more level with you, searching your expression.
"I don't like you putting yourself in harm's way over petty change," he rumbles, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "I've told you already, sweetheart, if it's money you need, I—" hes cut short.
You press the palm of your hand over his mouth, brows pinched together and lips drawn into a tight line as you take offense to his offer. "Shower me in all the expensive gifts you want, but you'll see me dead before you ever see me asking for money," you stubbornly refute, upset at his suggestion.
After a brief silence, Bruce gives a small laugh, the forceful exhale of air brushing against the back of the hand still firmly clasped over his mouth. No matter how much he argues with you on this subject, you're never willing to accept his financial aid. His gifts, yes, but never the idea of asking him for money.
He pulls away from your hand, eyes crinkling as he makes an attempt to reassess the situation. "I don't do it to diminish your efforts, honey," he assures you in that gentle, bassy tone, warming you up from the inside out like a warm cup of coffee.
"I just hate having you on the streets scrambling for loose pearls when I can provide for you so easily..." he murmurs, inching closer, his steady breath mingling with yours. His desperation to be near you is palpable.
"It's not that easy," you give a small shake of your head, but you don't push him away, avoiding his direct gaze. "No money is easy money, Bruce. You should know that better than anyone else..." you explain, a theory you've reviewed a thousand times over with him.
"If I use this dirty money for good, it's like getting payback," you add. And although he doesn't entirely understand it, he respects it. He tries to keep an open mind for you.
"I know..." he nods his head in acknowledgement, seemingly agreeing with you. He takes your hand, still hovering near his face, and guides your palm towards his mouth once more. He presses soft kisses to the inside of your hand, eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in your warmth.
"God," he murmurs. His free hand shifts from the counter and lands on the small of your back, splayed wide. He pulls your hips flush against his, hoping to feel more of you— to feel just how real you are. "I'd keep you to all myself if I could," he says. "Safe and sound..." but it's merely wishful thinking, and he'd be a fool to think otherwise.
"You know I wouldn't let you..." you refute, body easily molding against his. Like a puzzle piece finding its missing neighbor.
Blue eyes open, gazing up at you from beneath dark lashes. It's soft the way he sees you, displaying only his unconditional affection. "I know..." he answers once again, a distant melancholy in his voice. But its quickly overshadowed.
"You have auch a bright mind," Bruce murmurs, settling your hand on his shoulder and leaning close to press a reverent kiss to your temple. "And you're so pretty..." he kisses the tip of your nose. "And your heart—" his hand travels up your arm, towards your chest— "It's in the right place, I know it is," he says, feeling each steady beat beneath his palm. "I won't bother you about this anymore, I promise..."
But you know that's not true. Because Bruce a man who believes blindly in the concept of recovery, and you can't help but be endeared by it even if it's not always right. "Okay," you agree nonetheless with a nod of your head. "Thank you..." Because you know he means well.
He doesn't ask any further about the valuables you stole, turning a blind eye to your misdeeds just as he always seems to do. Instead he simply changes the topic, having always been so skilled at leading conversation.
"You should be out enjoying your weekend, Honey," he suggests, fingertips finding the soft curve of your chin, holding your face steady for him. "There's no reason for you to cause trouble in the city when the weather's so... gloomy." He tilts your head upwards, angling his own to steal a kiss from you. It's a brief press of his lips, but it sends sharp currents of electricity down your spine.
"How else am I supposed to get my boyfriend's attention if not by inciting pity, hm?" You ask him, but you don't really mean it.
"Mm, but you know I don't pity you," he hums thoughtfully, thumb tracing soothing circles into your back. "Far from it," he adds. Though it's mostly because he knows he'd wake up to a slit throat if you ever sensed him looking down on you.
"Yeah?" You ask, voice low and breathy. Luring him in once more, getting him to lower his guard just a little more.
"Yeah..." he confirms, a small smile stretching across his lips. As charismatic as ever. "I couldn't come see you sooner, but I missed you so much," he rumbles, thumb tracing the soft curve of your bottom lip, hoping to feel them against his again. "I thought about you everyday, and I wanted to call you but it never seemed like a good time," he adds, hoping to explain his absence. Though, really, you've only spent a few days apart.
"I was starting to think you'd found someone else to pass the time with..." you say, lips pressing into the sad little frown you use to get your way.
"I wouldn't never do that," he promises, leaning further into you. Your back presses against the edge of the counter, with his hand acting as a barrier so it wont cause you discomfort. "Let me make it up to you— tell me how I can make it better," Bruce gently encourages.
The smile from before threatens to return to your lips, corners of your mouth subtly twitching upward. He's so willing to give in to your whims that you dont even have to try.
"I can think of one way you could make it up to me," you whisper. Your hands find his forearms, fingertips carefully tracing every seam and line of his suit. "Or maybe a couple..." They follow the curve of his biceps, fingers greedily spreading as they reach his sturdy shoulders. No matter who he's standing next to, he always looks so much bigger by comparison. It's truly wonderful to have such an imposing man wrapped around your finger.
"Mhm?" He breathes, joined by a near inaudible tremble of anticipation. "Like what? I'll make it happen for you," he offers more calmly, correcting his nervous slip of energy.
Wrapping your arms securely around his neck, you press your lips to his jaw. Every kiss is soft, feather-light as you trace a path towards his eager lips. However, you stop just short of his mouth.
You pull away, teasing him in denying him the pleasure of having you. Bruce merely groans in disappointment, and silently decides to take matters into his own hands.
"Expensive dinner, maybe a gift or two..." you begin, watching as he leans in to bridge the gap between you both. In response you simply turn your head away from him, forcing his kiss to land on your cheek rather than your lips. "Then we can drive around town in that fancy car of yours," you continue as though nothing had happened, looking up at him through lowered lashes.
"That doesn't sound too complicated," he muses in agreement, settling for nuzzling against your temple, happy to simply breathe in your scent— Warm skin and faint, lingering perfume. "Whatever you want..."
He's being so generous with his promises tonight.
You aren't a secret, your relationship is known to the public eye. Most media outlets have reported on it at least once, claiming you as a mystery partner with a face but no name. You don't mind it, especially when every outlet is singing your praises for keeping the famous Bruce Wayne so well behaved. If anything, it just means he's allowed to spoil you more openly. And you make sure to take advantage of it.
"Then..." you begin, drawing out each soft word just to keep him on edge. "If you're good— Only if you're really good..." your hand trails a little further upward, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "After the date, we can book one of those gorgeous penthouse hotel suites and spend the night," you suggest. With his money of course.
"And then?" He asks, further lowering his head, nosing at the crook of your neck. You merely shake your head, fingers curling in his hair to give a gentle tug and pull him back in line. The pressure makes him groan.
"You only get to find out when we get there," you say, your voice an intimate little murmur. It sends pleasant shivers through his body.
"I'll be on my best behavior then..." he breathes.
You smile.
"I know you will."