#The Batman 2022 Fanfiction

[zipperzoo]

FIGHT TO MAKE IT UP

The Batman (2022) bruce wayne x f!reader

Word count: - 4.3k

Masterlist / AO3 / Playlist

Themes: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Crime Family, Thriller, Nior, Heist, Action, Comedy, Crime.

Warning: Description of illegal substances.

Chapter four:

I dance around in my fancy suit, although I am flightless I am rather cute. What am I?

Rivers sat in the security room of Wayne Tower. Munching on some cashews- from a vending machine by the front desk. They were swirling on their chair, going over the footage of the night. Nothing out of the ordinary for the first two hours from what the footage showed and from the reports it seemed to match up.

The room was obviously dark, full of boxes and a wall full of tapes from 1998 to today. The eight screens are all retro, box tv’s with built in VHS tape players took up an entire wall. Next to the main monitor was a small radio blaring music, they bopped their head to the beat as they continued to throw the cashews into their mouth.

On the screens people zoomed in and out of the building but something caught Rivers' eyes. Pausing the fast forward button they leaned in close to the fourth screen that was the CCTV of the reception. There they saw someone rather eye-catching at the front desk. Leaning in closer and squinting to get a better look- there they saw a roughly yellow thing in his hands. A walkie talkie? Rivers recalled a batman themed walkie talkie stashed in a storage cupboard near the elevator to the top of Wayne tower that was now part of evidence.

Jotting down the tape, the time and person of interest rough description, they also sent the screenshot of the footage to print. 

While that was printing, the rough scratching noise of the machine pumping out ink onto the paper disturbed the music playing. Rivers paid no mind as they continued to monitor the screens.

On screen two they noticed a bright red car, one reported on the officers who were on the chase with. It matched the description. They took note of how long it remained outside the building. 

They paused the video. They saw the man earlier who was at the reception holding an unconscious Bruce Wayne over his shoulder. Looking in the driver's seat, noticing it was empty, he then threw Bruce into the trunk. He looked panicked with his rapid movements and frantic head turns, taking in his surroundings.

Bruce was abducted. They already knew that from the call from security. They received two calls, one from security and one from Alfred. Both were rather odd from what Rivers remembered in the operators' reports but seeing how Bruce Wayne was kidnapped, felt a little unnerving. In the dusk light for everyone to see. 

Rivers' recalled seeing a CCTV of an actual abduction in the training videos back at the academy. Some guy put a tea cosy over his victim's head. They laughed aloud at it and that didn't impress the teacher. Who puts a tea cosy over someone's head?

A knock on the door, Rivers spun around to see Gordon at the door. “Hey kid. Found anything?” He just poked his head through a very small gap he made. Rivers’ didn't even notice the sound of the door open or hear the printer finish its job. 

“Actually- Quite a lot!” They beamed. “Got a good description on the guy who took Bruce Wayne and then got time matches from the call’s and the visuals of the car.” They pushed their chair across to the printer, grabbing the finished printed screenshot of Sausages talking into the Batman Walkie talkie. Flaunting it in the air to show Gordon.

“That's brilliant.” He clasped his hands together.

Placing the picture onto the desk, Rivers quickly took a look at the screens before returning their attention to Gordon. “How did the talk go with the witness?”

Shifting his weight, Inspecting the dust on the sleeve of his jacket. “He seems fine but what struck me was that he wasn't aware of Bruce Wayne’s disappearance despite reporting to come up to see if he was there. I want you to keep an eye on him while I go visit a friend.”

“What do I do with this info? Send it back to the station?”

“No actually… Give them to me. Stay here and see if you can find anything else you might have missed.”

They paused before responding. “How am I going to stay here and keep an eye on the Butler?” Raising a brow at Gordon.

“You’ll learn to do many things at once at this kind of job, kid.” Flashing a warm smile.

They grumbled in response to Gordon. “Hey what was that evidence found in that storage cupboard again?”

“You mean the walkie talkie?” “Psh- Batman walkie talkie.” They chuckled to themselves. “I caught the suspect on camera eight with it, time was uh-” they turned to look at the screen then spun back around to Gordon. “19:06 to19:11”

Gordon shook his head and let out a breathy laugh. “God dayum batman walkie talkies. We’re hoping forensics would get some prints off it, but matching the database stuff takes some time. Sometimes I think the GCPD’s lack of funding has us stuck in the stone age.”

“It's not all doom or gloom!” They said patting one of the big box tv’s. Causing it to have static run up the screen from the disturbance.

Gordon remained silent, looking at the screen that was the only source of light in the room- then to Rivers whose face remained dark when the light behind them haloed their silhouette. “I’ll get going, kid.” Gordon knocked once onto the door before raising his hand in the air as a gesture of goodbye. Rivers gave a small smile waving in return. Once Gordon left they let out a breath they weren't even aware they were holding in. 

Gordon was like a nice and cool dad that hung around but didn't know how to properly talk to their child so he just stood around awkwardly. That or he didn't really know how to handle small talk.

Putting all their attention back on the screens, continuing to eat the cashews from earlier. Flicking through the screens. The tape from screen 5 was finished, as the tape was injected and the screen was static. With a sigh they stood up and swapped the tapes over. 

The moment the screen lit up smack bang in the middle was a woman’s face. It scared the shit out of Rivers’, causing them to yelp and crash back in their chair. Struggling to get up, peering over the desk as they sat on the floor watching the footage unfold.

It was Y/N. She was in the process of disconnecting the camera with her face deadener of the screen, distorting her appearance with the fish lens of the camera. After sticking her tongue out with concentration- the screen suddenly went static then black.

Time was 19:34, location was the elevator to the top of Wayne Tower and right next to the storage cupboard where the walkie talkie was found. How did security miss this? This would explain why there was no footage of the trespassers leaving the Wayne residence with the suitcase and the dead body apart from the main entrance footage.

Rivers set to rewind the footage and took a screenshot of Y/N’s face and printed it out. Writing in big bold letters at the bottom of the paper: Second suspect.

^v^

Walking into the tent, Sausages threw his arms up into the air, full of excitement and full of glee. His face held stains of his blood from his attempts to clean it up after the situation from earlier. “Oz!”

“Sit down you big bald fuck.” Penguin snapped back, rubbing around his mouth from his comfy little spot in his luxurious camp set up. brightened by vintage lamps and lanterns. Despite the plan to meet at the circus being rather last minute, he set up pretty well. Made himself at home.

Sausages really did luck out with Cobblepot being at the circus. The phone call was endless yelling for extra time in hopes to crack open the suitcase but maybe showcasing Bruce Wayne in person would actually buy time.

“Okay… I’m not bald…That shit faced kid just ripped a few strands out.” Sausages stepped further in and took a seat opposite Cobblepot. Oz let out a big stomach laugh, finding amusement in Sausages’ complete change in attitude. He walked in with so much enthusiasm and now he was sinking into the cheap chair.

The twins strutted in just after Sausages. Shoving Bruce into the tent as they dragged muddy footprints in. Y/N slowly and cautiously followed behind, The room felt thick, the humidity of the tension that radiated off Oz- it was nauseating. Y/N breathed it in, making it sit in her stomach and churn with anxiety. 

“Well would you look at that! Children are good for something.” The Penguin joked, cracking a cheeky smile, showing off his crooked teeth and single golden tooth. Turning to a man, who hid in the far corner curled up into himself. Hiding in the shadow. Penguin saw he wasn't getting any sort of response from him and turned back.

To feel grounded from the dread of what might take place, with the man who held hers and Sausages life in his hands before them. Y/N placed her shaky hands onto Bruce’s shoulder in hope to disguise it as a way to steady him.

Bruce felt her tremble and instantly knew the weight of the situation. Especially from her confession in their little fight.

“We found them rolling around in the mud.” One of the twins laughed, putting the young Grayson down onto the floor. “And this one- was wondering out of his tent and was also rolling around with them,”

“Actually- I only went to get a candy apple, I just came across them on my way back and wanted to help-”

“Have you heard the phrase to be seen and not heard?” snapped Oz scratched his scalp. “I thought I made it clear to your parents that you all stay in the main tent.”

The child tensed, squaring his shoulders. Averting his eyeline away from Cobblepot he noticed a bunch of strange bottles on the table in front of him. Bruce also noticed this. There were a large amount of glasses, some different shapes and sizes. Inside the bottles was a strange gas that had a subtle green-y yellow tint to it. Not too distinct but alarmingly noticeable. Only a cork was keeping the mysterious gas at bay. 

Dick didn't really want to fuck around and find out what that was. On the other hand Bruce was actually willing to snatch one up. 

Y/N was too busy glaring lasers from her eyes into Cobblepot’s head to notice the bottles or Bruce edge a little closer to the centre of the tent- towards the table.

Shifting and scooting in place, Sausages was quite fidgety from nerves. The plan already went tits up with the guard who was carrying the suitcase being shot, and the suitcase being locked. It was already hard to negotiate more time to figure out a way out of this but now he was face to face with his judge. His grim reaper, the man who held his life in his hands. The man who had loaned him and Y/N money to just survive within Gotham's grasp. 

Looking at the guests in his tent, Oz scanned Sausages, taking delight in his shrunken state, looking over at Y/N and her stance- she leered at him. The person next to her caught his attention the most.

“Well would you look at that, you have Bruce Wayne in your posse. How fancy” Dripping in sarcasm. “Y/N, nice to see you again, lovely.” He paused. “What's it that pack of meat calls you again- Princess?” He chuckled, face sucked into his head as he snickered. “Nice to see you again princess.”

“Pleasure.” She spat out, tightening her grip on Bruce’s shoulder, digging her nails into his dirt stained coat.

“Hey Bruce, Been a while since I last saw you- wasn't it at the funeral. The rumour is true then, that crazed idiot on the tv didn't burn you to a crisp.” One of the twins coughed a snicker while everyone remained serious, soaking in the silence. “What do I owe the pleasure of Mr Wayne?”

“We-” grabbing Oz’s attention, Sausages attempted to divert the topic. “I… I thought it was a good idea to grab Bruce Wayne and have him as ransom. You know extra money along with the ahem… The original deal?”

Snapping his line of sight from Bruce to Sausages, Oz pulled a face. “Who are you gonna ransom the boy to? Mummy and daddy?”

Sausages with a glimmer in his eyes puffed up his chest. “Yeah!! Yeah!” Bruce besides Y/N, cringed staring at the floor. Embarrassed for the man. “They’ll be sure to pay a fortune!”

“You fucking idiot. Do you live under a rock?” Penguin laughed, turning around to look at the twins then the man curled up behind him. Mocking Sausages as he guffawed and howled in the tent. Bruce Looked up at Y/N, she looked pained and sad- hurt for Sausages. He- Sausages had tried so hard to get her out of Gotham even taking any job that would pay Oz’s greed. Even if it resulted in humiliating himself.

Bruce took note of that expression that was supposed to be private to her. 

Sausages’ face fell as realization hit him like a truck. Full fucking speed. Y/N had said earlier that night “He has no family.” Now it felt like a really stupid idea to have held Bruce at gun point at the auction and then knock him out by accident. It was all fucking useless and a waste of time.

“They died twenty years ago! You know, you're one lousy James Bond.” The penguin’s chest hurt from laughing, slapping it and then wiping a tear. “No wonder little Miss Princess keeps you around. You truly are a source of entertainment.” His eyes darted to her. That fucking pet-name. 

“You're going to kick the hornet's nest with Bruce Wayne here.” spoke up a voice that sat out of the light. It even caught Bruce’s attention. Only the outside of what looks like glasses could be spotted from within the void of his silhouette.

“Doctor, I’ll deal with you in a minute.” Oz waved his arm up, to silence his guest. Dick stood up on his tiptoes to peer over to look at the man at the far back of the tent. 

“Whatever is going on here, I don't want Mr Wayne involved in my research or our arrangement.” he stood up, allowing the light of the lamps to bathe his figure. He was a lean man, rather scrawny but well put together. Smart and sophisticated. 

“Listen, doctor, if you're getting bored and lonely, the twins here can keep you company. They really are great company, aren't you boys?” The twins remained silent just staring down at the man who hid in the far corner of the tent. Bruce squinted to try and get a better look at the doctor. He doesn't recognize a single thing about this ‘doctor’. Who is this man?

Oz had filled in the void- the gaping hole that was left after Falcone's murder and the Riddler's madness in Gotham. A month was just enough time to have something brew behind the iron curtains. At first Bruce thought it was something to do with him and his family which would explain the entire incident at Wayne Tower and the auction but some things just aren't adding up.

Y/N leaned closer to Bruce and whispered into his ear. “Don't Draw attention to yourself.” She paused, nodded slightly towards Penguin. “He is a lot smarter than he looks.” Her breath tickled his ear, causing the hairs on his neck to stand up, goosebumps brushed up his arms. He wasn't expecting that but Bruce did know that Penguin was a lot smarter than he looks. The man was cocky and great at Spanish.

The doctor took a step further into the centre of the tent, brushing past the twins knowing they were his guards for the present time, his guard dogs. Running his long slender fingers through his hair. He revealed a clever smile as words crept out “The whole GCPD will rain down on this whole little operation. I personally don’t want my work to be affected.” He waved his finger towards the bottles on the table lazily.

“Christ the GCPD?” Penguin tipped his head back, slapping his hands on his knees and let out a pained groan. “What a fucking mess you two bring to my door step.” obviously aimed at Sausages and Y/N. “Aight- Do you have the pearls?” He asked, fixing his posture, ready to send the two away. The word captured Bruce’s and Y/N’s attention. “Pearls?” Y/N uttered. Sausages gulped.

Oz’s eyes bounced around Sausages, Y/N and Bruce. “You know, The pearls? The infamous Martha Wayne’s pearls? A pearl necklace? The pearl necklace?” He turned to the twins. “Am I speaking English?” Turning back to his audience. “Español? Perlas?”

Pearls. The word rang through her head. Pearls? What pearls? 

The look of confusion on Y/N’s face and the twins made Cobblepot impatient. “The pearls that were supposed to be at a pretty boy's little charity event?” The penguin was getting easily irritated.

Face painted with confusion still, Y/N looked over Bruce, catching Bruce’s expression. Horror. Dick’s rapid head movements to try and catch what was happening- obviously looking discombobulated. He was itching to comment something but the fear of Penguin snapping at him still lingered.

His mother’s pearls. Bruce’s feelings began to snowball; Panic, anxiety, fear and dread all built up in him. Like a bottle overflowing with lava- burning and cracking the bottle, slowly destroying the physical barrier. Bruce was about to erupt- he was going to lose his cool. What was worse? Built up sadness that was engulfing or the rage and hurt that was choking him. Reliving his grief standing there as Oz was waving his hand around waiting for anyone to respond. The doctor watched, enthralled by the shock Bruce was cycling through. 

Why was Alfred giving the pearls to the auction? Bruce’s brain was racing. The singular word Pearls triggered him. His heart rate rose as beads of sweat were threatening to run down his perfect face.

The doctor was amused by Bruce’s break of character. Pushing his glasses up his nose to better inspect the subtle betrayal of emotions leak from Bruce’s walls.

“You're telling me, You’ve got me the prince of the city which is impressive but you didn't get exactly what the job entailed. The god dayum pearls in the god dayum suitca-”

“We have the pearls!” Spoke up Y/N. Bruce’s mind ran quiet as she took her hand away, leaving where she held her hand on him to grow violently cold. Her voice ran a shiver up his spine, she suddenly grew confident and took charge as Sausages shrunk further into his stool. 

Bruce was yanked out of his panic as his eyes glued onto her. 

Now knowing what exactly was in the suitcase this entire time and what she and Sausages was after put a fire under her ass. It was just some lousy Pearls.

“You're bluffing.” Spoke up to the doctor. “Otherwise you’d have them here.”

Sausages shot up from his seat and pointed sharply towards the doctor. Sending the chair to fall backwards behind him crashing into the ground. “Who the fuck is this pleb?” He was growing sick and tired of this weirdo just talking and trying to take charge. This was supposed to be between Cobblepot, Sausages and Y/N. No one else.

With all bark and no bite, the doctor backed up, sinking into the protection of the twins like a snobby spoilt child who finally was facing the consequences of his greed.

Sausages cracked a goofy snicker, turning towards Bruce and Y/N. “This mother fucker is one giant coward look at him!” Facing him again to then have a lamp thrown into his face, toppling him over in a brilliant back flip. Penguin had lobbed it at him. Quieting him and putting him in his place. Which was the floor.

Y/N face palmed as she broke her silence. “Was that necessary?” 

Sausages laid there on the floor, curling up into himself as Grayson shuffled by him, kicking him gently in the shoulder. “Hey- you okay?” whispered Dick. Sausages let out a soft whimper as a response while rolling over onto his back. He’ll be fine.

“Sweet heart, want one thrown at you too?” The penguin motioned his hand showing off his wide range of lamps to throw at her. She raised one hand up, signalling that she will be compliant. “So, where's the pearls? Unless they are shoved up Mr Wayne's tight ass- I don’t see it anywhere.” 

She cringed, Penguin talking about Bruce Wayne’s backside wasn’t something she had on her bingo list- to be fair a lot of things that happened in the past few hours wasn't on her bingo list. “In my car which is parked on the outskirts of the circus but-”

“Okay princess-”

“Don’t call me that.” She called out with a poisonous after taste in her tone, causing a sharp silence to invade the tent.

Bruce caught her face serious, focused and her stern stare directed at Penguin. Her body language is what stood out to Bruce. Her fists balled up as her shoulders tensed up. From his line of sight he caught Sausage’s mouth open agape while the mysterious doctor hid behind the twins. Cobblepot on the other hand, had his eyes pop out of his head. He quickly laughed it off, treating her reaction as a joke.

“Wow-wow sweetheart, calm down. How about this? You and the twins go get the pearls and bring them back here. Nice and easy.” Penguin knew when to stop poking the tiger that was backed up into the corner of a cage. He even thought his offer was him being generous. 

Sausages didn't like the sound of that. He sat up to interrupt to then have the wind be vacuumed out of him. Falling back to the floor in slow motion, everything around him suddenly felt chunky. Suddenly the lights in the tent were just a little bit more vibrant, and colours were pulsing.

He swallowed. The mushrooms had just kicked in.

Completely oblivious to Sausages, Y/N took a minute to organize her thoughts. She can't leave Sausages alone with Cobblepot and she would rather have her nails ripped off her fingers than be alone with the twins. Shifting her position to take a quick look at Bruce. He stood there watching Sausages, who was staring rather intensely at the table in front of him.

All Bruce did was stare, look- stare and watch. It was beginning to creep her out. If he wasn't attractive he would surely be a fucking creep. The halo effect was in full function but she wasn't going to let that win. She fleetingly considered throwing Bruce under the bus to grab Sausages and run.

Following Bruce’s line of sight- turned back and watched Sausages who was watching the bottles on the table in awe. He sat there, like a child watching television- eyes goggled and glassy as his mouth opened slightly. In a trance. Cobblepot wasn't really paying any mind. Assumed this was Sausages’ normal self.

“How does that sound sweetheart?”

Without looking away from Sausages she replies. “Yeah yeah sure- hey Sausages. You okay?”

The gas-like substance in the bottles' movement had captivated him. The way it moved and weaved in the enclosed space. It looked alive- convincing himself that it would taste like lime, tangy lime.

Inching closer towards the glass bottles. There were several- possibly more than twenty all lined up close to one another. “Hey uh- what's in these bottles.”

“None of your business.” The doctor pushed the twins apart, letting him back through. Full alert and protective mode. Bruce picked up on how tense the doctor was acting and geared ready just in case.

“It looks weird, kind of like bottled farts.” Sausages sounded like a child- even looked like a child sitting there. “But maybe like- it could taste like lime fanta?”

The whole room watched Sausages, only one trying to with strain a laugh was the child who was standing by him. Finding it all very amusing of course. This was probably the kids first experience with someone on drugs.

“Is he having a laugh?” commented Cobblepot.

“I think the drugs he took are starting to take effect…” Bruce said. 

Sausages reached out to touch one of the bottles, it itched its brain to wonder what it felt like to touch the clouded substances or to taste it, smell it and inhale it.

The doctor vastly caught wind of what was about to happen, horror and dismay took control as he pushed past the twins, leaping forward to stop Sausages to instead land beside the table pushing Sausages back only slightly. Landing beside the table his elbow knocked the table leg, causing the entire table to wobble.

Cobblepot reached his arms out with panic plastered across his ugly face. Springing up onto his feet with alert eyes.

Bruce dragged long steps towards the scene to then be jolted back by Y/N. She pranced towards Sausages, tugging him back with her arms wrapped around his chest. The weight of Sausages caused her to struggle and stumble back. 

Despite everything, all of the bottles on the table were knocked over, scattering the floor with glass shards. The mysterious gas was free and was vastly filling up the space. It all happened in slow motion- the tense panic and build up and the release. Everyone in the tent was murmurous as the inaudible uneasiness grew heavy.

They’ll soon learn why the gas was enclosed in those bottles and why it should have stayed that way.

[stargirlfics]

IRON

got a request awhile back for Battinson + pussy eating and l couldn’t resist!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, size/strength kink, slight exhibitionism, reader is a bit of a brat! smut: oral (reader receiving), manual restraints, praise kink, body worship, mask kink

Word Count: 2.5k

One could hardly say it was your fault. 

Bruce had left you here, in the Tower, all by your lonesome. You couldn’t be to blame, it was simple as that.

Though you didn’t protest his departure (you knew how important his work for the city was, how he’d answer that beacon shining high in Gotham’s stormy skies whenever it appeared) you also couldn’t help but sulk and pout about missing him. 

He could be out there all night and as selfish and indulgent as it was, you had plans, ones that involved as minimal amount of clothing as possible and his lips on yours, these desires being something you had started to tell him when it became clear he was needed in the city tonight instead. 

You could only hope the slight pinching grip of his hands on your waist as he left you with a tender kiss to your cheek meant he wouldn’t forget about your needs. 

It was raining now, just a little under a steady downpour and time seemed to move entirely too slow, barely an hour having passed with your next glance at the large grandfather clock in the foyer.  

Huffing a sigh, you wandered over to the bookshelves lining the alcoves in Wayne Tower’s main room, browsing amongst a few of your favorite novels that had found a new home here before you were pulling one off the shelf and snagging an old throw blanket, heading downstairs to Bruce’s hidden workspace to curl up in your usual spot and wait for his return. 

Funny, how casual this felt, like it was any other weekend night but most people in Gotham weren’t waiting up for the vigilante they called a lover to come home were they? And yet it was exactly where you wanted to be. 

For better or worse you were tied to Bruce and therefore tied to The Batman, swiftly coming to fall for both, to want both and all of who Bruce is, even when he made you worry. 

He promised both you and Alfred that he’d be careful and did every time he went out but he knew you would worry anyways, neither of you asking the other to change, loving each other too much to ask of it. 

Somehow you fashioned another fitting piece to the ever shifting puzzle that was Bruce Wayne and you weren’t going to trade it for the world.

The descent below ground brought a change in temperature, cool chilly air sweeping across your skin once you stepped onto the expanse of the abandoned terminus.

But the familiarity of it and the blanket draped over your shoulders was doing a fine job at keeping you warm, and the sleeping bats hanging above you were a fond presence with how much time you spent down here now. 

You were right at home.

Curled up on the sofa tucked into one of the spare corners in the workspace you chewed at the nail of your thumb, finding that the novel you’d chosen wasn’t helping your antsy, increasingly needy mood. 

The novel bordered on erotic and it made you squirm, heat creeping up from your chest to settle in your cheeks, your thighs pressing together without thought.

Mind wandering, dreaming of a steamy kiss, of being scooped up by him and made to feel good, the ache in your core finally being sated. 

You kept reading into the midnight hour, eventually unable to stop thinking of the details, his towering form, large, strong, and sure hands that gripped and held you so sweetly, so tightly, and how good it felt to be taken apart by him too. 

Bruce was unassuming like that, shy and reserved, awkward even, until he wasn’t, making it a point to discover all the ways he could fluster you, make you whine, and beg for him again and again. 

He was good at it too, had gotten especially skilled with that smart and stubborn mouth of his, and tonight, that’s what you wanted most. 

Wanted to grind yourself against his lips, his tongue, your clit bumping against his nose until your brain went quiet and all you could feel was the pulsing of the pleasure he loved giving you.  

Distracted by your fantasies you almost missed the soft whirring of the terminus gate opening, the book dropping closed in your lap when you realized he was back. 

It was late in the night now, it had been hours but you never felt more energized, letting the blanket pool around your middle as you watched the sleek black muscle car roll in, streaked with rain, the rumble from its engine reverberating against your chest in thrilling comfort. 

You stood up then, stretching out your limbs, a sly smirk threatening to stay on your lips as you watched Bruce step out of the car, his inky black cape draped around him, cowl shiny with moisture, and oh those eyes, shrouded in painted on shadows, his gaze finding yours immediately. 

“Thought you might be in bed by now,” his voice gruff but gentle as he spoke to you, a tone reserved especially for you.

“I considered it but thought waiting up for you here would be a lot better,” an innocent sigh left your lips while you busied yourself with folding the blanket, turning your back towards him, putting a nice little tilt and bend to your hips when you leaned over. 

The heavy footfall of his boots coming closer sent another thrill running up your spine, “Indeed it is, missed me that much, hm?”

Bruce was indulging your antics, always one to entertain your moods, your fantasies, wired on the adrenaline of his late night work in the streets, it made for such a potent mixture and you were delighted. 

“Mhm, cause someone’s skills were needed elsewhere, I had to make due all by myself,” you feigned a pout, trying to hide your smile when you spotted the briefest widening of his eyes at your words. 

He took another step towards you but you skirted away, dodging his hulking figure, the plated armor of his Bat suit still a little intimidating to you, your core clenching around nothing at the thought of being handled by those hands clad in Batman’s gloves, to feel his strength, the brute force in his biceps and forearms, pinning you down to do what he pleased with you. 

It’s all you could think about. 

Maybe it was the heightened level of your desire that made you feel a little bolder tonight, more eager to tease, to get under his ever-so-stoic skin, because you were making your way over to the car now, your hand trailing over its frame, walking, swaying almost till you were standing at the hood of the car, facing Bruce again who’s eyes were fixated on you. 

No words needed to be said as you smiled sweetly, your hands falling to your sides, tracing the edges of the satin slip dress hugging your body, fingers slipping under the hem, dragging it up your thighs a little. 

Chest tightening at his steady, measured steps toward you, one of your hands coming down to swipe over your inner thighs, touching yourself before he could reach you all the way, a giggle slipping out when you heard him grumble in frustration. 

It wasn’t often that you leaned into your brattier tendencies, but tonight, you were in that kind of mood, something sparking low in your tummy seeing him in the cowl, the suit making him appear bigger, taller, and underneath that you knew he had the strength to carry all that gear, to move and fight in it and it made you feel so much smaller in comparison, finding a thrill in pushing buttons. 

“Move your hand, baby.” his command came gently, a warning in itself of sorts, telling you he was going easy on you, giving you a chance to behave. 

Any other night you would have yielded, knowing just how good he could give it to you when you listened to him, but tonight you wanted the less inhibited side of him so instead, you kept your hand between your thighs, fingers finding slick skin with ease. 

“You have to wait your turn, sir,” you flicked your eyes up towards his playfully, heart jumping into your throat at his expression, the tick of his jaw. 

Bruce was pressed against you now, hands moving up to cage you against his chest, your breaths heavier, already losing the battle. 

It was so easy for him to break your tough girl act, knowing full well you were just as desperate as he was, knowing your weak spots and using them to his advantage.

Like now, for instance, using your distracted state to catch you off guard, his hands finding your waist and lifting, placing you up onto the warm, wet hood of his car, a delighted squeak filling the air as he lay you back. 

You were dough in his hands, shaped by the roll and press of his fingers, the weight of them making you whine as he pushed your legs apart, all but growling at your lack of underwear. 

The sight of him settling between your thighs, his body over yours filling your entire field of vision unlocked something for you, your heart beating wildly at the feeling of the suit again your skin, cool droplets of water landing on from the ears of his cowl as he lowered his head to your ribs. 

His lips were warm as they kissed down your torso, his hands keeping your thighs spread out for him, open so his mouth had a clear path to travel down, your breath hitching the lower his mouth went. 

A needy whine slipped out when he stalled, just hovering over where you wanted him most, his huff of laughter making you squirm from sensitivity. 

“Look who can’t wait their turn now…you’re lucky I’m in a generous mood.” Bruce chuckled lowly, catching you by surprise and making you ache for more. 

“Please-oh!” you weren’t too proud to beg, his mouth finally touching down on puffy folds.

The move turned your plea into a moan, hands jerking, slipping on the rain droplets now soaking your dress, grasping anything for purchase as your hips rocked with his movements. 

Curses and half stifled moans filled the air as he buried his face into your heat, his tongue lapping and swirling around your clit, moving further down to taste you properly. 

Your muscles ache from the strain of flexing against him, your body chasing the sensations he was giving you, the building pressure in your abdomen, the way he groans against your pussy, drinking you down, it all made your brain hazy in the best way. 

“Taste so fucking good…fuck.” the words left his lips with ease, finding them easier to come by when he was under the suit, when he was most himself. 

Trembling hands of yours creep down to grasp at his own hands still keeping your thighs held apart wide, and then move down, timidly tugging his head closer, crying out at the change in pressure, all your nerves tingling. 

Something about only being able to catch glimpses of his eyes, the sharp edge of his jawline as he ate you out, and the rest covered by the mask made you open up for him further, your desires reaching no end. 

Your hands pushed at his arms until he caught your wrists, holding them back with one hand, pinning them to your tummy, leaving you panting, unable to help but grind yourself against the patterned flick and swirl of his tongue. 

The added thrill of being so exposed, though this was a private space, how open it seemed, made you feel on display, another wave of heat flooding your body. 

Goosebumps travel down your arms as the cool brush of his free hand caresses your frame, grabbing dewy flesh, feeling your breasts, your waist underneath his grip, loving how you molded to his touch, how perfect you were in his arms. 

He could spend all night like this, making you feel good, pulling those high pitched whines and gasps from your throat, making your thighs tremble like they were doing now. It’s all he could think of, all he could do. 

“Please, please, keep going, yes!” more whimpers fall prettily, your body turning soft and pliant under the sweet pressure of his lips, the way his tongue sweetly nudges inside you, licking your essence, building you up higher and higher. 

Every now and then he’ll slow it down, teasing you just a little for his own self indulgent reasons before heeding your heady whimpers for more, building you back up again, enjoying the way you seemed to drip from his tongue, how he could make such a mess of you. 

He knows you’re close, can tell by the way you flutter around his tongue, can feel the frenzied aching in your limbs as it begins to happen. 

“Come on, let go. Now. Let me feel you,” the assertion in his tone left no room to argue, the gruff, grit out encouragement giving you the final push you needed.

Your orgasm reaches you quickly as his tongue returns to your clit, dragging out the sensations, making you shake even more, almost exhausted by the force of it. 

What a sight this must be, being spread out so sinfully and all for him, something Bruce intended to savor, the fact that you were all his, that rough exterior shedding a little more easily now that he knew he’d given you what you needed. 

His lips were still leaving kisses on your throbbing clit and sensitive inner thighs, staying close, bright eyes peering into yours, wanting the close contact to go on a little longer. 

That was just fine by you, he could have whatever he wanted with the way he just made you feel, and still, amusement twinkling for just a moment in his eyes at seeing you struggle to catch your breath. 

Pushed up onto your elbows now you peer down, cheeks burning again at seeing just how messy you’d become, rain and your arousal damp on your inner thighs, shining around Bruce’s lips and chin.

“God…that was so good, thank you, baby,” your praise and gratitude were soft spoken, holding all the usual affection you had for him, none of your earlier antics remaining. 

You watched him smirk at your content sighs, pulling the cowl off with ease, a practiced move that was second nature now. 

It wasn’t fair that he could look so handsome, rain soaked and hair disheveled, black paint still smudged around his eyes too but it was a look that fit him well and had much too strong an effect on you, feeling the muscles of your thighs jump once more. 

“Anytime. I’m always ready to straighten out that attitude for you, beautiful. Just say the word.” 

Maybe it was the unmistakable glint in his eye or the way he spoke to you then that had you laying back against the car again, trying to hold back whimpers and giggles when he followed close after you, wanting, no needing another taste, needing to see you fall apart again. 

“Think you can be a good girl and keep those legs open for me?” 

“Mhm, just don’t want you to stop, please.” 

“Never…have to make up for all those hours I was gone, right.” 

You shared his sly little smile and lay back for him once more, the searing kisses unleashed upon your still tingling skin dragging you back under, right where you wanted to be, under the skillful fangs of The Bat himself.

————

A/N: Well it had to be done! Cause I can’t be told otherwise, Rob’s Batman eats it like a starved man and I will stand by that! Period! Lol thank you for reading this fun little fic, lemme know what you think! Any and all thirsty comments welcome! 🖤

some tags, no pressure! @flamingdisputes @littlekidsteve @eupheme @saradika @allaboardthereadingrailroad @yelenas-lova @tarrenterror25 @moreofem @squidlywiddly87

[ryuzakemo128]

Immortal

Chapter Two

Trigger Warning: Cursing

A/N: I have an update version of what Thana looks like. Created in Art Breeder. So here it is.

Chapter Three: Thana's Early Life (Part Three)

2000

"It's been like twenty years and he still hasn't decided to fuck off" Thana started ranting, beyond annoyed at this point. "I swear God or Satan had something to do with this shit. No one has this much bad, I swear, maybe orphans do, but that's not the point"

Thana was done, done being stalked by angels and done with almost everything. Betty sat there on her couch, listening to her rant while texting the other girls to come over and listen to her.

"Sandra and Cynthia will be on speaker phone, Tamara is coming over and bringing cheesecake," Betty said to her.

"Does she have the answer to my stalker problem any chance we'll get any answers for that. I suggested murder. But apparently that's not something I should be considering" Thana shouted from the kitchen.

"No, unfortunately we don't have the answer for that problem" Betty laughed, as she greeted Tamara inside the house.

"Well you got better at interior decoration at least." Tamara looked around the in progress renovated house, "Although the fact that you have decided to sleep on the couch isn't a surprise."

"Tamara, lovely, come look at the kitchen, you'll love it I swear."

"I certainly doubt that, but I have been surprised by your interior decoration choices in the past"

"It's a work in progress for sure. But it's better than what I decided last time."

"Michael is here." Betty yelled out to them. "He also wants to speak to you Thana"

Thana walked over and Betty walked into the kitchen a few steps away from her. She closed the front door behind her to block out any possible yelling and most of the argument.

"I don't want to talk to you, but due to you being whatever you are now. We need to." Thana explained crossing her arms.

"I finally found out what you are." Michael started, "The reason why you have been hiding the entire time."

"Wow you are incredibly dense." Thana commented as she watched him pace in circles.

"Just let me continue ok? ok." Michael growled taking a step towards her in an attempt to be somewhat threatening, "My father would kill me if he found out I slept with someone like you."

"I hope he does. Kill you that is." Thana responded, "I'm tempted to kill you right now. If you don't stop stalking me or whatever the fuck you think you're doing. I will send you back to your daddy in person."

"Deal." Michael replied, then Thana proceeded to break his arm before he could attempt anything else.

"Fuck off"

2010-2021

Ten years went past, Thana finally earned another bachelor's degree although this time in Electrical Engineering. Her friends are either extremely old in hospice or now deceased. She doesn't know what to think of humans, outside of her friends and she hasn't formed a complete opinion of them.

Thana didn't know what else to do with her life. She had no idea if there was anything else to look forward to. She even started volunteering at various orphanages just to pass the time during the past ten years.

As 2010 came around, Thana is still volunteering at Gotham's orphanage. She's still trying to find out how to get caught out as a demon. Unfortunately the building was later burned down.

"Things just get worse." Thana thought to herself, "Who burns down an orphanage? A church burning down make much more sense. Who? Who does this shit?"

"Why are humans so fucked up?" Thana pondered on her walk back home.

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

"What the fuck?"

Selina felt that those three words were enough to describe her whole relationship with Bruce Wayne. First as Batman, then as Bruce.

She had thought there might be something between them. Luckily it had passed, and a weird friendship had developed between them. Which might make some people turn up their noses since she was a thief and he was a vigilante but Bruce hasn't been so uptight lately and as long as Selina didn't kill and steal only who deserved it, they were fine.

Still, what the heck?

"Oh, Brucie is growing up," Harley said, all too pleased.

She was upright on the bed, while Pamela sat on the other side trimming her nails, seemingly ignoring the ongoing conversation.

Fuck house arrest for both of them. Why had she accepted? Oh yeah, they were friends.

Alsp, Bruce hoped that with her, Pamela and Harley could direct their impulses towards more correct forms of fighting for their principles, without involving innocent people.

So far it wasn't going to be great, but at least Harley had dumped her clown ex, for good this time, so it was a win.

(Probably more thanks to Pamela than her, but details.)

"Let me get this straight…you, mister, I don't look anyone in the face and if you talk to me for more than five minutes I'll start crying, you want….I can't believe I'm about to say it…learn how to seduce a man."

"Exactly," Bruce replied, as he petted one of Selina's cats.

"Just…why?"

"Who cares?" Harley broke in.

"He finally wants to step outside his boundaries! You have my respect!"

"It's not about going outside my boundaries. It's about planetary security."

"Really?" Selina said, half joking.

"Superman is powerful enough to destroy the planet."

This knocked Harley over, and Pamela finally stopped pretending not to pay attention.

Selina didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or slap him on the head, "Do you want to seduce Superman?!"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To discover his weaknesses and use them against him when his powers drive him insane."

"Wow, talking about trust issues," was Harley's comment.

"I like to be prepared," Bruce said.

"What did the boy scout do to make you fear that he might become world dictator at the slightest provocation?"

The man pouted adorable, and grumbled. Selina still wasn't an expert at translating each other's mumbling but she swore it was something like smiling too much, and I don't trust him, he's got something to hide.

Harley said, "Isn't Superman having an affair with that reporter? Lois Lane?"

"She is General Lane's daughter. A close relationship is not advisable."

"She seems to know him well. Why don't you ask her?"

"She wouldn't answer me, so as not to betray him. Everyone says he's a hero."

"And you obviously don't believe it," Selina suspected.

"No."

"What makes you think he might be interested in men?" Selina asked him.

Harley laughed, "Cupcake, no completely straight man would wear pants that tight."

"Same conclusion I came to."

Oh good. The fate of the world was entrusted to a pair of tight trousers.

"Besides, I've done some research on him, and I might be his type. At least physically. What I lack is the ability to seduce him to lower his defenses and believe me harmless."

"Ability you think we have?" Selina asked, not sure whether to feel offended or not.

"Gotham is very sexist," Bruce said.

"You did your best to manipulate men who thought they knew better."

Pamela smiled, "I'm liking this one."

“I told you Brucie's one of the good ones,” Harley genuinely smiled as she said it.

"And he's a weirdo, like us."

Selina wanted to moan. This is what happens when you make friends with strange vigilantes. She said, "So Superman has a thing for brunettes. Good to know. Have you thought about what to do in case your brilliant plan fails?"

"It won't fail," he said confidently.

"You don't know," she insisted, trying to give him some common sense. A futile undertaking, it was Bruce she was talking to.

"Superman is overconfident. He will fall into the net."

"Definitely not dressed like that honey," Harley commented, taking a long look to Bruce.

"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

"You look like a creepy stalker," Selina said. Army jacket, hat, scarf to cover her face and mascara for her eyes. Bruce was a walking fashion insult. They're definitely going to have to fix his wardrobe, make him wear things that flatter his body and…

Oh god, she was totally on board with that plan, right?

Read more

[imagine--if]

A/N: I've missed writing for Eddie 🥹 hope you enjoy reading! And happy 2nd anniversary to The Batman movie!! Can't believe I fell in love with the film and its characters two solid years ago, and super hyped for the sequel 🖤 A Bruce Wayne/Battinson imagine will be coming soon, so stay tuned!!

Wordcount: 1.3k

Time period: Riddler Year One, Issue 6 (beginning of The Batman)

He hated it when you were gone this long.

It was okay if he knew where you were, if you were working or out with a couple of friends, someplace he could track you through your phone. Through windows. Through anything. As long as the sun was still out and he knew exactly where you were, could reach you whenever he wanted, he could keep his grip on his mentality, and at least half-focus on his plans and preparations.

But he couldn't do any of that right now. Which led to the inevitable.

Pacing his shabby little apartment that you somehow managed to make a little brighter, tidier, something close to home, closer than he'd ever got before. But now, it was cold and dark and empty, painfully quiet, apart from his uneven, staggering breaths that Edward tried in vain to swallow down.

'Breathe.'

It was a simple job. Too simple. Sneak into the Penguin's rooms at the Iceberg Lounge, plant the bug, slip out again, unnoticed. And you would either be very much unnoticed, blending in perfectly with. there's of the deceptively beautiful girls and boys who danced and flirted and drank at the bars and around round tables and tall, glossy silver poles stretching up into the high ceilings of the club. Or you would be pulled aside by some pervert that thought you were as pretty as Edward himself did, maybe by the Penguin, or that pig Falcone.

He shouldn't have set you. Too risky. Send a follower? No, too complicated; not enough of them yet, everything still growing and finalising, piecing together in a lovely puzzle crafted by his mind. You might well go unnoticed, but if he dared go himself, it would be a horror show.

This was a baadddd idea.

The smooth click and glide of the lock twisting and opening up the heavy front door made him flinch out of his thoughts, murky green eyes jumping to the short hallway with hope and fear in his gaze. The same hope a puppy gets when its owner comes back home, the same fear a madman harbours in a dizzying craze, living off the what-ifs and obsessions their mind feeds them in the darkness.

When he speaks, it's in a rush, words tripping over each other and his voice catching, stumbling forwards to grip onto your shoulders with his soft but firm, trembling grip.

"You were gone too long," Edward insists, his fingers digging into the fabric of your sweater, searching for your warmth and reassurance, his eyes trying to take in every part of your face at once. "Too long... and I was worrying, and I felt sick, and I- you can't do it again, please, please, because-"

"It's alright, Eddie," you cut him short gently in amusement and sympathy, your arms fitting snugly around his neck as you embrace him. You easily fill him shiver at the contact, starving, aching, as he hugs you back with enough force to make you breathless, digging his face in your neck needily with a soft whining sound.

It's almost funny, how desperate and childlike he can be, all big green eyes sparkling with joy and awe at how readily you give your affections to him, his skin bare of any sweet touch from another being in Gotham other than yours. But he doesn't want anyone else's now, anyway. The rest of Gotham can sink into its corruption, and his hope incarnate can dance above the waves.

He gazes up at you in a slight daze, speechless, and you smile at him the way you do, the way that makes him smile back in giddy wonder, his thoughts spinning around and around like a carousel, all bright, pure lights and ethereal tunes.

"I miss you," Edward mumbles, half to himself, his stare wandering to study your eyes, your nose, your lips. "Always."

"I missed you too," you reply earnestly, "but it was worth it. I did what you said."

He blinks at your words, his attention circling back as he looks up into your eyes in curiosity and a sweet, almost innocent light, one that doesn't at all match the moment.

"I bugged his office," you clarify, nodding, "in and out. No one saw my face, and if they did, they won't remember it."

Edward lets out a slow breath, his expression loosening from intrigue and thought to the depths bubbling to the surface, his eyes spiked with venom and his words hushed with a small smirk.

"Oh," he mumbles, before giggling slightly, blinking up at you in pride and unhinged malice. "I love you."

You beam at his words, your fingers stroking down the plump curve. of his cheek, an action that makes him shudder and his breath catch in his throat, his eyes round and adoring.

"I love you too, Ed."

"I- I'll give you everything," he promises, his words rolling into lovestruck rambles between repeating your name, "everything I have. Every... everything."

There's that strange but familiar feral hunger in his eyes, not violent, but full of untethered passion and obsession, of love and lust, of everything he's never experienced before. And now that he is, he wants it all, wants it now, to feel everything at once and lose himself in endless spirals of pleasure and ecstasy that rakes up his spine and makes his voice crack and break-

"I'll never," Edward continues in a whisper, tugging you deeper into his arms, walking back and down onto his couch and pulling you with him, "never let you go. Everything will happen as it should, and I'll be there to get you... again, and again, and again, and again, and-"

You let him keep rambling on, his cheek rubbing against yours and ducking into the hot curve of your neck like a cat, his damp lips skimming your skin mindlessly, hanging onto you with his surprisingly strong grip, even though there's nowhere else to go. Tonight, there's nothing but the Riddler, his arms trapping you inside all that he is.

Black and green screens of computers running code down their displays absently fills the night with an eerie but almost comforting glow, polaroid pictures of his targets, red ink scribbled harshly in question marks and accusations over the glossy print. For you, there's a separate case of shots, most taken with you knowing, across the room in his apartment, with Edward grinning and giggling when you glare at him weakly in amusement and protest at the constant flashes and printing of pictures and mugshots.

No escape. None at all. You're with him for life, because you let him in, and like a virus, he ran through everything that makes you, you, drinking it in and fantasizing up until this very moment. A moment where Edward forgot about the blood he shed and the streams up for his cult following, the big board pinned with pictures and news clippings and rage in the form of black and white. He just clung to you fiercely, inhaled you, to do it all again the next morning, still trembling with the warmth and tremors of raw desire and love.

I am there, but cannot be seen," he whispers in your ear, nuzzling impossibly closer to you, his fingers lacing with yours, "to have me costs you nothing. To be without me costs you everything. What am I?"

You've heard this one before. It was in one of the little notes he left you during your first few meetings with him, and every one of his riddles seemed to have something to do with you, with how he saw you, absolutely angelic with no flaws, no blemishes, gorgeously unharmed by the wicked world of Gotham.

"Hope?" you guess correctly, glancing up at him expectantly, and he giggles again, his fingers tracing over your lips boldly, caught up in the moment and his own wonderful world of puzzles and clues.

"Or," Edward smiles brightly at you, resting his forehead against yours... and answering with your name.

✧༺ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ༻∞ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

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[neonovember]

Hi babes!

Could you possibly write a battinson x sunshine vigilante!reader where the reader is just an absolute sweetheart in and out of the suit. Like she's super sweet to literally everyone she meets but she's also a badass vigilante. Maybe her and Gordon are close friends and that's how Pattinson meets her and he is just absolutely lovestruck when he meets her for the first time. Like a love at first site kind of thing, he's just absolutely whipped and enamored by the reader. Maybe written from Batsy's pov.

Much love babes

thank you so much anon for sending this prompt! I know this is super duper late, but it was a wonderful idea I truly wanted to do it justice. I made the reader a little morally grey cause I think it would be a little different, so I hope you enjoy darling! Feel free to send in any of your requests and asks and even if it takes time I’ll make sure it's done. (who I write for)

Carved in stone

pairings: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of drug trafficking, morally grey!characters, Gotham itself (its a warning alright), mentions of loss and grief, and a hint of touch!starved bruce if you turn it upside down and squint.

word count: 4.6K

The darkness that surrounds Bruce as he steps into his cave is one that he embraces like an old friend. The light that shines from every frosted window of the Manor stabs his eyes with an insistent twinge akin to a razor blade that had been left to rot on a windowsill during one of Gotham's thunderstorms.

There is a child-like fear in the air of the glacier cave sheathed in its darkness, the kind that materialises into green monsters and pale ghosts in the thin veil of nightmares. The kind that causes your parents to check under your bed, behind your clothing rack, in your closet.

Places where shadows and darkness would settle and make a home for itself. For most children, that gripping fear would outgrow itself over the years, replaced instead with reaching the 5th bar on the playground, failing driving tests, and falling in love for the first time. That was life, but Bruce Wayne was hardly a normal child. He had surpassed his pupils years before they had even begun to walk on two feet, and yet, that gripping fear of the dark still sprouted open deep within his stomach every time.

He has to shake it off of himself, as he reaches for his seat in front of the blaring screens projected from his desk. What he had found was too important to be tainted by the pathetic fears he allowed into his mind. Placing the contacts into the surveillance reader, Bruce combs through the hours of footage captured by the camera placed over his pupil. 

He had been trailing a shipment of drugs and armed artillery that was masked as a children's book delivery that had frequently made its route through Gotham's city streets. You didn't need to be Batman to know that it wasn’t the next edition of Captain fuckin’ Underpants being delivered to the underfunded children's orphanage. No, greed had taken over any sliver of humanity within Gotham governors long before the barrel of murders rocked through the suburban neighbourhoods and left hundreds orphaned.

He could hunt those killers down, but the crooked thug that had massacred his family was something Bruce would never be able to make it right.

The irony burnt a hole through the veil of what was left of him.

Gordon had been no help in tracking those marked vans down, whispering under the guise of the moonlight one night atop Gotham PD’S rooftop that it made his officers nervous. ‘Jittery and anxious’. Especially after so many of their dear brothers in blue ended up neck-deep in the underground crime syndicate they were meant to investigate, only to have their heads on a stick at the bottom of Miller Harbour.

Oh yes, Bruce knew all too well how greed had the habit of seeping into the morals of even the most respectable men, corruption had a way of appealing like salvation when you had no choice. That's what Gordan had said, and Batman laughed at that, shook his head and spit out in venom,

“There is always a choice, Gordon”

So it was up to Bruce now, the vigilante sheathed in darkness to uncover every small detail that could lead him to where these vans were heading too. This was different however, there was an unsettling itch behind his eyes, something pressing into his mind, begging him to see. And it isn't until he catches the flash of silver from the corner of the warehouse that he notices that someone else has been watching them too. Clicking on the magnified frame, Bruce leans in to try and decipher the glimpse of a face turned to the side, obscured by a black hooded cape that seemed to camouflage them into the darkness. The facial recognition software embedded in Bruce's computer pulled up nothing, not even a single trace of a face like theirs, obscured as it was.

Someone that lived in the shadows as Bruce did, someone who made it a home for themselves.

Bruce needed to find out who they were.

Now suddenly, Bruce has an actual reason to go to Gordan.

You rip off the latex body suit that enabled you to glide through the air, and shove your face into a navy hoodie in the backseat of your car parked outside the GCPD parking lot. It wasn’t safe but you had no choice, anonymity wasn’t pretty, and it sure isn’t easy.

But what you had found tonight, trailing after those marked vans that drove down the streets of Gotham like they fucking owned the place, was too sensitive to hold onto any longer than you had to.

Your eyes strain and survey the dark city streets filled with drop heads stumbling around and the thugs that fucked with them, for that same marked van charging towards you. You knew they wouldn’t dare come within the vicinity of the police department, and most importantly, you were smart enough to not leave even a hint of a trail.

It was irrational, but you knew enough of this life to know not to bet on rationality to keep you alive. You have to force yourself to shake it off before slamming the car door behind you and marching towards Gordan's office.

Officers decked out in uniform, glance at you twice before recognition fills their features, barking out hushed hellos and waves of acknowledgement towards you with confused faces as you walk through the department walls. You couldn’t blame them, your dark makeup had smudged from the humid air of rainfall and fog, and the incessant itch of your eye didn’t make it any better, even your cover outfit was washed in a deep midnight black.

They were used to seeing you in bright colours and skirts every time you met with Gordan to transfer any knowledge you had gathered the night before during your vigilance. Usually, you would wait until the next morning, when the mask of your pedestrian outfit and a sunshine smile would keep any questioning looks from the Officers around you at bay. To them, you were just a friend of Gordan who happened to actually like the last few pieces of Old Gotham. 

It wasn’t like you were putting on a facade, despite the incriminating outfit you wore now, you loved the colour as much as a child loves colouring outside the lines, your home itself was true to that. A true reflection of the warmth and sunshine you radiated, filled with potted plants hanging from ceilings and in corners, dyed pane windows that reflected warm hues of orange and yellow when the sun set over your studio apartment.

But that didn't mean you would let crime syndicates tear through your home, and this couldn’t wait until the next morning, no, no it was too personal, and oh how you loved mixing pleasure and business.

You couldn’t wait until you got their jaws crushed beneath your boot, watch their blood run through the city streets until it washed away all the crime, and the filth was clean.

You had a special hatred for people who exploited children, using them as a cover to transport drugs and arms had motivated you enough to spend the entire 3 nights straight documenting their every move, where their vans lead to and from when they would start their daily route of drug trafficking. It was imprinted into your brain, an obsession you would have to pretend was for the good of peace to Gordon, and not for your own twisted vengeance.

You don’t knock as you charge through the office doors of Gordon's chief floor, your connection to Gotham City’s Police commissioner gives you free clearance of the department, and your baked honey biscuits were good enough to bribe even the stone-cold assistant parked outside Gordan's office anyway.

You shut the door with an even loud ruckus, causing Gordan to sigh as he rummaged through papers stained with smoke scattered across his desk.

“Now what do I owe the pleasure of having Ms Sunshine in my office this goddamn late in the night?” Gordan says, not even having to look up to know it’s your loud boots against the hallway floors.

“Gordan” You reply, marching towards his desk until you are standing across from him.

“Yes?” Gordan replies, still skimming through the backlog of case files and police reports that seemed to double every night.

“Gordan.” You reply again, this time with an edge of urgency in your tone, and it’s sharp enough to cause Gordan to flicker his focus towards you.

“Those vans I was telling you about? The ones I’ve been trailing since August? I’ve finally found something, the cold must have loosened them up a bit because they got pretty fucking lazy” You start before Gordan cuts you off with a half-hearted sigh.

“You’ve been on them for months now Sunny, every bit of information you’ve squeezed out of them has led us to dead ends. Every time we’ve found a trail to their hideouts it’s packed up and shut down by the time we arrive.” Gordan replies before you shake your head quickly

“No, listen, Gordan, we’ve been looking at it the wrong way” You press on, but Gordan shakes his head

“I can’t afford the manpower Sunny, you know how my men have been feeling lately, the whole department is just holding their breath. Fucking restless, you damn near scared me marching in like that”.

You grit your teeth as you mutter under your breath, Gordan wasn’t listening to you, you didn’t need his men, they were all cowardly corrupt assholes on a power trip anyway. You just needed him, and he wasn’t listening.

“Sometimes you won’t always get to win every battle alright? It doesn’t work that way for us, you gotta save it for the big ones, the ones that are so bad you can’t even see them yet. You start putting your heart into it like you're doing right now? You’re gonna lose yourself along the way”

“They’re using fucking kids Gordan” You bark out when he begins another speech, you can’t help it. Gordans acting as if this is some small drug bust in a crack house. It’s way bigger than that, more sinister, it always is.

Gordan looks towards you wide-eyed, eyebrows furrowing as he opens his mouth to talk before closing it again.

You see that as a guide to continue,

“We’ve been seein’ those vans' as transporting the drugs through the cover of the orphanage, but they’re only using it to get to the warehouse. We can never find the drugs on them because it never was, they’re using the goddamn kids to traffick it, Gordan, fucking middle schoolers”.

“Jesus Christ”

“Okay, alright-uh” Gordon mutters under his breath as he gathers the paperwork strewn in front of him. He reaches into an unmarked drawer, pulls out a white card, and scribbles a mix of numbers onto it you had never seen before.

“Take this-” Gordon begins, motioning to hand you the card before you shake your head

“Gordan-”

“Take this, and meet me tomorrow, please” Gordon pleads, looking up at you, you wait a bit before nodding and taking the card from his palm.

“Come at the same time, but maybe next time you come barging in you at least change first” Gordon groans, knowing the litany of questions he was bound to get hounded for the second you left.

You roll your eyes, “I did” You mutter under your breath before saying Gordan's name again

“Thank you, Gordon, seriously, you're the only hope I have left in Gotham you know, the only one who actually cares what happens to this goddamn city,” You say

“I’m sure that’ll change soon Sunny” Gordan hides a smile, nodding towards you, before you leave his office quickly. You are too absorbed with the hidden message Gordan had said just before you left, to notice Gordans secretary staring into your back, what did he mean?

You ruminate over it as you pass the officers and down the precinct stairs, piling into your car and driving through backlit streets illuminated by just the moon in the sky and the sound of bats.

The visions of the cries of children fill your nights and leave you restless in the morning. You know you shouldn't, but you spend the break of dawn surveying the barren city streets for any sign of their presence, and when your obsession leaves you coming up empty you pull over and step out into the harbour bay.

You stare off into the Miller manor, watching the violent waves of the river crash into each other. Some people had an unrelenting fear of the ocean, of what may lay in its depths, but you had grown to fall in love with its beauty.

It was simple in its destruction, washing away the dirt and filth of the world. You had wished to escape in it, swim down to the bottom where you would lay for eternity, let the waves crash into you and take you away from it all.

You spent the entire morning standing there, blinking back hot tears and the brick that formed in your throat when you began to think too much of what you had lost.

You went home, for the first time since yesterday, and slept until you forgot.

-- -

Decked out in a light-coloured skirt and your face free from the dark black eyeshadow streaming down your face, you marched into the police department once again.

This time the officers greeted you with a genuine smile, seeming to forget about the events of yesterday, and were even more elated when you uncovered the Tupperware filled with the cookies you had made. You figured food would make them forget about it all but it seemed Gordan had beat you to it.

Opening the door to Gordan's office, you can't help but let out a chuckle when you see the commissioner in the same position you had stormed into last night. Gordon perks up at the noise, rolling his eyes before collecting the papers into a neat file and walking towards you.

Gordan begins to say something before a loud commotion muffled his reply, you reach for your gun fitted into the holster on your waist, and shift your body to point it towards the door of Gordan’s office.

It begins to shake as the loud sound of metal on wood gets increasingly closer and you can't decipher it until it stops at the front of Gordans office to understand what it is.

Footsteps.

Your eyes catch the door handle and begin to turn slowly, and you take a tentative step closer to the door, forming into a defensive stance with your gun pointed straight ahead and your finger dangerously close to the trigger.

The door opens much like it had before, with a loud bang, and you aim your gun towards the darkness that follows.

“Wait!” Gordon screams towards you, but you don't dare to take your eyes off the dark figure missing your perfect shots. There is a release of compartments before the figure uncovers itself, and there he is, in all his beautiful and dark glory:

Batman.

Batman’s POV

“What the hell Gordon?” You murmur, the glow of the table lamp illuminates your features, highlighting every dip and curve and line and Bruce can’t help but stare.

“Listen, please put your gun down Sunny, I invited him alright? Because there is no one in this precinct who can help you half as much as he could'' Gordon says, and Bruce catches your scrutinising gaze that seems to penetrate him through his cowl.

He raises his eyebrows as if testing the waters to see if you'll really do it, but you sheath your gun back into the holster hidden under that patterned skirt that's got Bruce thinking thoughts he shouldn’t.

“Uh, I think this conversation is better equipped somewhere more..discrete. Follow me” Gordon coughs, before opening the office doors. Bruce follows the dark patterned shirt of Gordon back from a short distance, you by his side, the heat emanating from you causes Bruce to step further away.

Bruce moves like he knows the ins and outs of the building, his shoulders tense, and his eyes always searching, but his body moves fluidly through the halls like muscle memory etched into him and you can't stop staring.  Bruce catches your eyes once, his cobalt blues stare right back at you with no hesitation, a flicker of recognition flashes over his eyes and Bruce begins to piece the face that's got his heart stopping and his hands reaching all at once.

You shift your eyes to the wainscotting lining the walls of the precinct, and Bruce's chest burns with a desperate need to see you seeing him. Bruce didn't know what overcame him, it seemed like the fear of the dark was replaced with the fear of never seeing you again. Bruce didn't even know your name, just Sunny. Bruce wanted to see how it would taste on his tongue, speaking your name and having your reply.

“You sure you know your way ‘round this building Gordan?” You sigh, as it seemed you both were  through endless hallways

“We’re here” Gordon replies, before pushing a lever door that opens into the precinct rooftop.

Bruce steps out into the rooftop courtyard, the cold chill of the night breeze does nothing to the burning hot in his stomach, but your visibility shivers and Bruce has to stop himself from covering you with his own damn cape.

Gordan passes you his worn-out leather jacket and you take it gingerly before he nods to Bruce in understanding moving to the far end of the roof.

You step towards the edge of the roof, knuckles turning white as you grip the handrail and Bruce watches you gaze out into the sky-scraping towers of Gotham City, glistening under the pale moonlit sky.

“It doesn't look so bad from up here you know?” You murmur, and Bruce's eyes flicker from the city streets below to your gaze.

Bruce shakes his head “No, no it doesn't”

“But then, doesn't everything get uglier up close?” You continue, your gaze flickering back to the city skyline

“No, not everything” Bruce replies in a whisper, but it's loud enough to hear and you shift your gaze back to Bruce

“You were there, weren't you?” Bruce says, the recognition hit him the second you stared off into the city, that same dip in the cheek, that same mark on your jaw. You were sheathed in the cover of the warehouse darkness then, and adorned an outfit akin to what Bruce was wearing now, but it was you the entire time.

“I suppose it was, but how were you there, Batman?” You reply, eyes flickering down to Bruce's tall stature,

“Been trailing them for weeks, but every single thread of their trail-” Bruce says

“Is a loose end” You murmur, and Bruce nods in agreement.

“I know it may look like it isn't, but I've been after them for even longer, and it’s like this has become my entire life now you know? If they can’t be stopped, if I can't stop them then’”

“What’s the point” Bruce replies

You nod thoughtfully, it was why you had barely slept in the last month, barely ate, this vengeance, this thirst for justice, it consumed you. And now it seemed you had met someone who was consumed by it too.

“How did this” You gesture between Bruce and Gordan “alliance even form” You question, it didn't really hit you then but this was the known vigilante that had been plastered on the front of newspapers across Gotham, now standing, comfortably on GCPD’s rooftop.

Bruce hides a chuckle, shaking his head “It’s a long story, but you see that light projector there” Bruce gestures his chin to the signal hidden near the edge of the rooftop, tilted to the sky.

“It’s a distress signal, carved out in a bat wing, and whenever Gordan turns it on, I always come, no matter what”. Bruce says

“I’m not foolish, these people we're both after, aren't the normal crooks and pickpocketing gangs, and together we can put an end to all of this, and I know you I haven’t made the best defence compared to the hundreds of newspapers calling for my head, but I care, I care about Gotham-

“I know, Batman” You stop Bruce mid-way through his erratic tangent, reigning him back in with that heavenly voice of yours.

“Bruce” He replies, after a heated silence, and a flash of recognition fills you.

How could you not have pieced it before? You don’t know if Bruce sees the surprise in your eyes but it dissolves right back into the space between you.

“Bruce” You nod, his name taste sweet on you tongue and it has him yearning to hear it again.

“I thought I would be scared if I ever came face to face with Batman, but, all I feel, all I really feel is understanding. I know you, Bruce, I know you because I see myself in you. This long life of fighting, of putting your everything in your purpose. It gives you a reason to survive in this hellscape, but it also fucking destroys you.” You say, eyes searching Bruce’s .

“How did you get into this life?” Bruce says

“I know from this darn skirt that is yellow of all things it may not look like it but I’ve been fighting the plague of crime and greed that had taken over this city for years”

“First with the power of books that could lead me to become something those rich fucks needed and then with my fists after this city took something from me it had no right to. And honestly? I’m surprised I hadn’t run into you sooner”

“Don't say sorry because I’ve hated that word ever since it happened” You reply

Bruce nods, his grip on the rooftop rial tightening as he stares off into the city skyline, Bruce wore his loss like a tattoo imprinted on his forehead, anyone could see what the violence of this city had done to him without having to read the hundreds of newspapers detailing his parent's gruesome death.

But you, at first glance seemed like a damn tourist in this city, unfazed by the crime and death that seems suffocating to Bruce, radiating a kind of glow and kindness Bruce had long forgotten exists.

“And for the record, I don’t read the newspaper” You reply, causing Bruce to let out a chuckle

“Oh yeah? You’re too prestigious for ink on paper?” Bruce replies

“No, not really, I just like to get my news first hand, as an observer. My uniform may not be as prestigious as yours, but it gets the job done and is a hell of a lot more discreet” You reply, a smile pulling at your cheek.

“Discreet is definitely the word to call it, couldn't even decipher your face in a damn near million-dollar computer” Bruce replies

You look at him in confusion, but he simply shrugs in response and before you can let out a reply, Gordon comes back into view from whatever dark corner he had ventured to.

“Now that you have acquainted yourselves, why don't we find a way to take those sick fuckers down” Gordan replies, and Bruce catches the delighted expression that forms over your features. You nod enthusiastically towards Gordon's words, interjecting pieces of information that even Bruce himself had not acquired. Bruce watches you in your element, formulating a plan with a million other plans B’s, that same unstoppable desire to protect this city that drives Bruce to put on that cape each day, and it’s like Bruce is falling in love.

“So we’ll hit them from the orphanage rather than from it, hopefully, their lack of diligence continues in our favour, Batsy, you okay?” You reply, eyeing him in worry as Bruce stares back with a glazed expression before snapping back at the sound of your nickname.

“Batsy? Now that's a good one” Gordon chuckles

Batman eyes you in question to which you reply with a shrug

“Batman is too long, and I figured if you're gonna be callin’ me Sunny, I’ve got to give you a nickname too, right?” You justify, and Bruce fails to hide the smile that erupts across his face at the mention of him calling you Sunny.

“He’s smiling Gordan!” I made Batman smile!” You giggle, shaking Gordan's shoulders, and if Bruce could he would bottle that sound and keep it forever.

“That's definitely a first, isn't it Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce simply shakes his head

“Can we get back to what’s important here?” Bruce replies, but the smile in his voice is clear as ever, and you don’t know why but it fills you with a burst of joy in a place that had remained empty ever since your sister had left.

“Mhm” You reply, and Gordan shares a knowing look towards Bruce as if to say “I’ve found you out”, and for some strange reason Bruce wants him to, he wants the entire world to know he's completely enamoured and enthralled by you the second he stepped into Gordan's office.

“Alright, whilst you both were arguing over costumes, I got a distress alert from one of the squad cars surveying the area near the orphanage. One of the vans seems to be making some sort of detour, we’ve got to hit them now, I don't know when they will be this unprotected” Gordon replies.

“I’ve got a car waiting for me, so Sunny, you’ll ride with Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce doesn't have a hard time seeing the smile hidden behind Gordan's stern face.

Bruce bristles at the mention of having you so close to him in such an enclosed space, fearing you would protest out of fear of him and all the other insecurities Bruce had burdened. But you nod and smile towards him, and it's like every doubt, every worry is dissipated, and every anxious thought sounds so stupid because nothing else matters but you.

And so, just like moments before Bruce walks side by side with you down the endless corridors of the Gotham Police precinct, but now, with the heart scorching desire to follow you down a hundred endless corridors, to dampen the burn in his chest with your silken soft voice.

Bruce didn't believe in prophecies, or soulmates that transcended time and space, but right now it was as if you both were meant to be. A sacred bond that was carved into stone long before Bruce had started to lose himself in his own purpose, long before the fear of darkness had seized him all those years ago.

Bruce had thought you made a home in the darkness within you, but it was so different now. You embraced this darkness, this thirst like a mother embracing a child, carved it into you like a relic, until it transformed within you to become the light Bruce had been blinding himself to.

And Bruce pleaded for the first time, he begged to the midnight sky for the first time since he cried out for God to will the loss of his parents to be erased. Bruce was left with the bitter taste of a silent sky then, but now he’s on his knees, begging that you would make a home for him too.

Bruce wanted to take the darkness you carried, wanted to uncover it from your skin and bones until all that was left was the illuminating glow Bruce knew he would ruin. But he didn't care, for the second first time today, Bruce wanted to be selfish, and have you all to himself.

Wanted to feel your touch hold him until the burn of your absence was stamped away, wanted you to uncover his cowl and run your fingers through his hair, wanted to curl into your body and under your skin at night, wanted everything. 

Bruce wanted it all.

[darlingdekarios]

serenity.

rating: mature for mentions of adult themes. length: 1,810 content: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, this was written in 2022 and has been rotting in my drafts (enjoy it if you dare)

Bruce concedes to a morning well spent with you at his side.

Normally when the bed sank under his weight as whatever amount of sunlight the clouds would allow was notating the beginning of a new day, the gentle hues blocked from sight by thick, dark curtains that you weren’t entirely sure he ever opened, you took it as your cue to leave. 

It hadn’t always been this way with him. What had started as scarce meetings had become routine, waking in the comfort of his own bed now rather than the guest room down the hall. It was simple, at first, and now had grown to be something so complex in the year since it’d started  – it had been this way for only a few weeks, and already the two of you clung to the fleeting moments of domestic bliss on these mornings. 

After a shower to wash away the evidence of his night, he would quietly crawl beneath the blanket that awaited him, brushing his lips across your jaw delicately as he wished you a good day. It was simple, quick – you never overstayed.

It would be foolish to hope for anything different from him, and yet the familiar weight built in your chest today as you heard him quietly make his way to the bed, a deep breath releasing as he surrounded himself in the warmth you’d provided in the bed. You silently waited, wishing despite all logic that today would be different, that he’d allow you even a moment longer to soak in the bliss of his presence. 

But recently, your hopes had been echoed in the heart of the man who had stolen your heart. While Bruce could seldom keep himself awake past five minutes with you beside him in his bed, the moment you were gone he grew restless again – no matter how exhausted his body was. 

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, angling his head to bury his face in your neck, breathing in the familiar scent that never lingered in the sheets long enough. You waited for his next words, for the truthfully unwanted instruction to leave to slip past his lips, finding your chest heavier than ever with hope that today would be different.

You were caught off-guard by his steady hand sliding to your hip, applying an encouraging amount of pressure to hold you against him. With little hesitation you melded to him like wax, your eyes closing tight as you wondered whether or not you’d truly woken for the day yet. 

“Stay with me today.”

Sometimes the least words said the most, and in this very instance all Bruce Wayne needed were four little words to say everything your heart was wishing for, to put your mind to a quiet ease as a knowing relief filled you. You were certain those fifteen letters would repeat in your mind like a poet’s finest sonnet. 

To anyone else it would sound as an instruction instruction, but you knew he intended it as a request. If you wanted to stand and walk through the door after being passed a quick breakfast by Alfred he would let you, just as he did every other morning he returned to you. 

He wasn’t the kind of man who was used to his questions going unanswered, his impatience showing itself with a gentle squeeze to your hip. His lips found purchase on the soft skin beneath your ear again, ever-so-lightly brushing the sensitive area. The longer you allowed his words to linger between you the more his regret for speaking them began to sink in, his breath beginning to catch as the assumption a ‘no’ would follow began to run rampant in his mind.

He needed you, though it pained him to admit it, even to himself. 

Serenity returned when you turned to face him, his eyes accustomed to the dark enough to see the light smile on your lips and the colors that painted your eyes his favorite shades. You reached upward to rest your hand against his cheek, brushing it briefly before moving to smooth a piece of his wet hair back.

“Good morning, Bruce,” you finally whispered, the words carrying enough of an answer to flood his chest with relief. He leaned forward to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as this continuously coveted feeling of peace overtook him. 

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” he breathed out the words before he could stop them, though the back of his mind cursed him immediately for the subtle confession that he thought of you while he was gone, the nagging persistence to be okay alone ever-present in his mind.

It was almost easy to ignore the gnaw when that beautiful, short laugh fell from your lips.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, Mister Wayne,” you offered, leaning forward only slightly more to rub the tip of your nose against his briefly. It always felt doltish to him when you stirred up this feeling in his stomach and made his heart skip, but served as a humbling reminder that no matter how many fears he overcame, it would never stop him from getting nervous around you.

He was enamored with you. It grew harder by the day not to tell you so loud enough that every wall in the manor could hear it.

“Anyone who considers your presence a disappointment doesn’t deserve to be in it.”

You were certain he could feel your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest and wondered if he felt how much you warmed up under his simplest flirtations. Almost as if he could feel your every cell screaming to be closer to him – perhaps it meant his were doing the same – he grasped your hips tightly as he rolled to his back, pulling you atop him in the smoothest, most practiced movement. He was rewarded with your radiant smile again, and it was quickly worth the over-exertion of energy he no longer sparred. 

“Is this sweet talk supposed to distract me from that bruise on your jaw?”

Bruce loved how gentle you were – you were probably the only one who ever truly was anymore, and he could lose himself in your tender touch, even as your fingertips brushed over the gothic array of blues, purples and blacks. Though he winced, he quickly recovered to lean his head closer to your hand, turning to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles. You always forgot how easy it was to lose yourself in his eyes.

“I really did think you’d be gone by now,” he muttered, his lips barely parting as he whispered against the inner part of your wrist. “I’m later than usual.”

That was obvious, even with the curtains drawn. The bruise was hardly the only eyebrow raising decoration on his skin, nor was it even the most severe. His nose had been bleeding recently, his bottom lip split open and swollen…but arguably most of all, the dark smear of makeup around his eyes that had run in the Gotham rains.

“I worry too much you won’t come back to leave before you do.”

Though he corrected himself quickly by tearing his gaze away from yours, busying his movements with gentle kisses up your arm until his lips brushed against your neck, you could feel the subtle curve to his lips as he pressed them below your ear. 

“Guess I should try harder to be on time.”

He silenced any further conversation with his lips claiming yours, your heart immediately bursting in your chest like it was the first time all over again. Bruce always kissed you like a man on borrowed time, and now was no different as he pulled you closer to him, desperate to feel the familiarity of your body against his. With a smile you pulled away slowly to end the kiss, though he was always ready to chase after you. His lips were so close your own brushed against them as you spoke. 

“What am I going to do with you, Bruce?” you questioned through quickened breaths, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. He knew what was to follow by the expression that crossed your features as your eyes clenched shut. “I can’t bring myself to ask where you go, because I already know the answer…and I just don’t want to hear that you’re stupid enough to put your life in danger every night for this horrible, dreadful city.”

He was too distracted by the only thing purely good in his life. If he was listening, he might agree: there was a lot of bad in Gotham – more than any one city could bear, really. But Gotham was where you called home, his personal shining beacon of the proof that humanity could be good. Ever since he’d met you he’d thought of you at night, saw you in the face of every person who needed help. 

One thing Bruce still feared was what could happen to you. Was it better to let you live your life as you wanted, walking the streets of Gotham with your friends to do the things that normal people did while there were so many criminals all around? Or was it better to monopolize your time so he could keep you safe? His punishing voice in the back of his mind was always ready to remind Bruce that the closer you got to him, the more danger you were in because of the secrets he hid from you. And yet, more and more often, he was crafting reasons to see you.

Calloused hands lifted to caress your cheek with such careful delicacy it was as if he thought you were made of glass, the lightness only increasing as his thumb carefully brushed across your bottom lip. “You deserve to live somewhere better than this.”

“You can’t fix it all, Bruce,” the seriousness behind your words weighed in the air heavily, but his feather-light affections never faltered as you spoke. “You can’t fix Gotham. It’s too broken…too many terrible people taking their turn with it and breaking it worse than before.”

His hand now slipped to the back of your head, pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his, the rain still dampening his hair. You reached upward to push his hair back gently, eyes not abandoning his gaze for a single moment. He’d stay exactly like this all day, if you’d let him - basking in your warm embrace and cherishing the rare moments he knew you were safe. 

“But people can be better. You remind me of that.”

Did he deserve it - the serenity and peace you brought him, the security you offered his heart? Perhaps not with his blood stained knuckles and cynical mind. Regardless, he’d spoil himself with you anyway for as long as you were willing to be his golden horizon.

masterlist.

[astrok1dz]

❤️ Glad you’re back! ❤️

I can’t remember your request guidelines rn so I’m gonna play it safe. Coddling and complimenting Eddie? 👀

RRRAHHHH THAT WAS QUICK!!!!!!! ALR, YES. Eddie needs to be spoiled and just. so much attention. I am very much willing to give that to him. that being said

cw: Eddie being traumatized (duh), a bit of angst, a dash of relationship issues, dw they fix it, happy ending, fluff

Never Too Much

-----

okay so bc of Eddie's past, we know he most probably has a lot of trouble getting into relationships, let alone romantic ones.

so when he met you, and obsessed over you, of course, he felt so lucky he could even breathe the same air as you

but nothing good ever lasts for him, everything is ripped away from him by this god forsaken city. he tries not to get too attached (and fails miserably) so he's shy for longer than he should be.

he's just trying to be prepared for when you'll leave him.

he's absolutely surprised when you don't

he doesn't say anything, of course, but he's just utterly confused

how? how didn't you leave him? all this city had taught him was how he wasn't good enough, how he was different, and how different people, people like him, don't get anything nice. don't deserve anything nice.

you notice this. you always do. it's not hard to tell when he's overthinking. he'll stop and take deep breaths or immerse himself in puzzles, but you're working on communication

you decide to start coddling Edward. to spoil him a little bit.

it doesn't even have to be something big, he'll be grateful for whatever you give him, although he doesn't quite know how to tell you or thank you properly

Eddie hadn't been your Eddie for the last two weeks or so, consumed with work and his plans to cleanse the city. He hadn't had the energy to be quite romantic or intimate lately, so things had been a little colder than usual. It hurt. Did he not love you?

One day you realized your mistake. Eddie? Your Eddie worshipped you. Sure, he could have his bad moments and want some time to himself, but after all the neglect and abuse he'd lived, he probably wanted to be coddled. He just was too embarrassed to ask you to do it. No wonder things had been like this. It was your turn to take the lead.

Now you knew, and you decided to take matters into your own hands. For the last couple of weeks you had been thinking of little ways to make him feel better, and today would finally be the day when you unleashed them all onto little unsuspecting Edward.

You hear the creak and slam of the door to your apartment. In comes Edward's tumbling silhouette, shuffling around to plop down on the couch next to you. Your sweet boy, all tired from work, all tired from this city. He always was.

"Eddie! Oh honey I missed you so much...", you coo, and his heart melts, because although he knows you adore him, he's used to having his absence not quite matter.

He's silent as he shuffles a little closer to you, and you immediately receive him with open arms and an inviting hug.

"Tough day?", you ask, and he nods. You do as well, and hold his shoulders.

"I got a little surprise for you, c'mon, follow me", you tell him. He looks at you, eyebrows knitted in confusion. You help him get up and slowly peel off his jacket, take his hand, and lead him to your bathroom.

He doesn't even get to see what it is before a sweet aroma invades his nostrils. Your tiny bathroom, adorned with scented candles, bubbles and rose petals floating on your tiny tub (if you could call it that).

What?

He looks at you, confused. Why would you do this? Why you, such an angelic being, the antithesis of this dirty city, do this for him, a broken man?

"I- you didn't-", he starts.

"I didn't have to, I know. But you've been so stressed lately and I wanted to help you relax...", you explain kindly. You start shredding your clothes, ready to enter the tub with him. You extend your hand to him, and he feels as if he's being dragged to the pearly gates of heaven.

"Besides, I've been missing you so much... I wanted you all to myself a lil' bit...", you say, and ignore the sting in your eyes. You really did miss him so so much...

"You can have me all to yourself whenever you want (Y/n)...", he stutters out, feeling guilty.

"Oh...", you let out. There he was, so kind, so sweet to you, so unapologetically yours.

"Well, in that case...", you say, almost seductively, but cover up a little once again when you remember your appearance. You were so busy planning this whole thing for today, you hadn't even shaved, you hadn't taken care of yourself. It felt overwhelming. What if your appearance ruined this whole things for him?

"Shit- I didn't- I forgot to- Sorry-"

He stares at you, but his eyes sparkle and his round face is flushed as if this was the first time he's ever seen you (which you both know is not the case).

"You know I don't care about those things. I want to see you...", he says, taking your hand. He looks at you, eyes full of adoration. His hands make their way to your waist and caress it gently, bringing you closer. He leaves a chaste kiss on your lips.

A few happy tears escape your eyes. There he was, the Eddie you've been missing. You help him undress, hands sliding lovingly over every inch of skin you know he's not fond of. Eddie. Your Eddie, so soft and round and most of all, so gentle.

You both get in the tub, cuddled up together. You don't even need to say a word. You both occasionally ask each other questions regarding doubts or insecurities, and reassure each other. When you're both satisfied with each other's answers you share the silence, snuggled up.

"You're so pretty, Eddie... my baby..."

He shivers, and you keep going.

"I love you, Eddie. You're kind and so so sweet. You deserve this, Eddie"

You notice by the way he shakes that now it's his turn to cry, happy cry, of course.

"My baby, you're so strong... You're safe here, you're okay. I love you Eddie, I'll never leave you". You coo.

He sobs, feeling free to break down in your presence. You kiss his tears away.

"Th-Thank you... you're too good to me... you do too much...", he hiccups.

"Oh, but don't you get it, Eddie? It's never too much", you reply, and for the first time, he begins to believe it.

[the-toulouser]

the sexiest thing to ever happen to me was someone bookmarking one of my fics and leaving a little hate comment along with it. the complexity. the drama lmaooo

[a-fandom-reimagined]

ALL OF YOU | BRUCE WAYNE X PLUS SIZE GN! READER (FT. ALFRED)

୨୧ type: fluff & angst | word count: 887 | tw: sfw, mentions of bullying but no actual descriptions of what was said or done. please enjoy

→ please note that I don't think I've ever written anything for a gn reader before so if I messed anything up (like how i couldn't figure out what the gn alternative for master/miss is) I apologize

requested: omg okay, idk if you would want to write this but; since i can't find ANY battinson x plus size reader stuff, could i request a battinson x gn plus size reader where bruce discovers his partner being insecure about themselves and tries to cheer them up? this would be angst mixed with fluff if that's okay with you :>

Everything is fine, you told yourself.

The limo pulled away from the curb merging into early morning rush hour. The annual Wayne Foundation Ball had ran hours longer than you'd intended. And as host, you couldn’t leave early. No matter how much you'd wanted to. You relaxed into your lover's embrace, drinking in his cologne. Basking in his warmth. It was the most relaxed you'd felt all evening.

You were almost asleep when Bruce's voice dragged you back to reality. "What's wrong?"

You opened your eyes. "Nothing." You couldn't even manage a smile to better sell the lie.

Tonight was supposed to be your night. And they took it from you…

Bruce frowned. "Don't lie to me. We're better than that."

You were better than that. And now you had shame to add to the long list of emotions weighing you down.

They were just words. Everything is fine.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. You didn't want to talk about it. Not with him. But you couldn't lie to him either.

Your fiancé kissed the top of your head, hugging you tighter. "Talk to me. Did someone hurt you? Did something happen?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not important."

"It's bothering you so it does matter and it is important. You've been talking non-stop about this Gala. You've been planning it for months. What happened?"

You pulled back to wet eyes and a broken smile. Bruce's jaw ticked, his expression chillingly blank. Bruce usually kept this side of himself hidden away from you. Was this the version of him that went out to hunt bad guys every night? Or was this just a small sliver of him?

"Sir, not to interrupt but would you like me to turn the car around?"

You'd forgotten the partition was down. Alfred's voice was low and clipped. Almost unrecognizable from the sassy, well-mannered man who'd been like a father to you over the past four years.

"I'll let you know." answered Bruce before returning his attention to you. "Please." he said softly.

You shook your head. "It's so silly. They were just words."

"What did they say? Who said it?"

You sighed heavily. He wasn't going to let this go. And it was stupid of you to try to hide it from him. The World's Greatest Detective… The World's Most Attentive Fiancé was more like it. "The…people at the gala were mean to me," you admitted in a small broken voice. You hated the way you sounded. You hated even more that you'd let it get to you. "There. I told you. They were mean to me tonight and they said awful things about my weight, how much I ate at dinner. One woman gave some diet pills she swears by in the bathroom. It shouldn't bother me. It's not like I haven't experienced this before. I am a plus-sized person, I know that but…I don't know. These people gather every year to give away exorbitant amounts of money to make Gotham a better, safer place to live. I don't know, I guess I just expected better. Dumb, I know."

"It's not dumb."

"But it is! Bruce, you put on a mask every night and go face down real villains. Real villains that cause real pain with real weapons."

Bruce's jaw dropped. It took a lot to shock him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything because they're just words, Bruce, not bullets! And I let them get to me. I've been miserable all night. That's why you caught me in the hallway tonight. I didn't get lost, I just got down crying in a broom closet and I was walking around and waiting for my eyedrops to kick in and hide the redness! Now, can we please just drop it and forget that this ever happened?"

"No we can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you feel like you can't confide in me just because of who I am and what I do at night. They're not just words, Y/N these people bullied you. You worked your ass off to make this Gala the success it was. We've never raised this much money in a single night before and it was because of you. Y/N I don't care how minor or unimportant you think it is. You don't have to get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster for your feelings to be valid."

You swallowed a laugh. "When in the world did you get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster?"

Bruce smiles. "That's the point. The point is your feelings are valid. And you can come to me with any of them."

"And I as well, *[Master/Miss] Y/N."

You breathed easy for the first time that night, And smiled for the first time that night. "Thank you. Both of you."

Bruce smiled back, pressing his forehead to yours. "Feel better?"

You nodded.

"Good. Because you're going to tell me the name of everyone who bothered you tonight. And then Batman is going to toilet paper their house and slash their fucking tires."

You barked out a laugh.

Bruce pulled you even closer leaving a trail of kisses from your temple to your collarbone. "You're perfect just the way you are, my heart. All of you."

REQUESTED! | REQUESTS: ALWAYS OPEN | REBLOG DON’T REPOST | MASTERLIST

[toowildintheseventies]

Trade Mistakes

Chapter 4: Used To Be My Girl

A/N: oops 🫣

Pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: You’re a woman with many vices. Smoking, drinking, spending time in shitty clubs, and your undying love and obsession with your ex-boyfriend, Bruce Wayne. You had spent your entire adolescence with each other until he had unexpectedly broken your heart and disappeared. For the last few years, you two had lived separate, mysterious lives. Until you are reintroduced under strange circumstances and fictitiously rekindle your relationship.

Warnings: none! 

Tag list: @midnightmystic @doetic @toowildintheseventies-fan @avengersgirllorianna @allgaslynobrakess @1lellykins @elliesbabygirl

You adjust quicker than expected. 

The first evening is too slow. You sleep for most of the afternoon, on an old, worn couch in a room near Bruce’s. When you wake up in the early evening, your belongings have already been brought into the East wing of Wayne Tower, which sat abandoned without guests or visitors for two decades. It’s a quick move, without many things belonging to you, and the large space seems even emptier once all of your things are thrown onto window stills and inside drawers. 

It’s painfully unfamiliar, even if your special wing of Wayne Tower is almost identical to the one you frequented years ago. The walls are darker, the floors colder. You find yourself getting lost looking for the bathroom in the bleak darkness. Without Bruce at your side, the Tower seems foreign. You hate it. 

You call Bella as the sun begins to set on your first evening back as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend. She’s already seen the news articles online, and she’s pissed. Rightly so, you think. 

Bella tells you that you’re being “a fucking idiot”.  You don’t disagree. 

She eventually calms down, after a few, long minutes of scolding you on heartbreak and irrational decisions. You promise to visit her at least once a week, along with the promise that you’ll still be paying your half the rent. Even though she says she loves you before hanging up the phone, it takes her a few days to answer your texts in the days that follow. Her life continues, along with the hidden life of the Lounge and the dirty night that you once recognized. Now, it seems as if your life is at a total standstill. 

You don’t see Alfred on the first night of your stay. At first, he seems to be hiding away, same as Bruce, as if you’re a secret guest that cannot be disturbed. But the next morning, he’s at your door with a cup of tea and a warm smile. You sit together in the dining room, discussing simply just as you always had. He doesn’t mention Bruce, but you don’t expect him to. For years, the two of you met once a month and had a friendly conversation. Bruce’s name never once came up, an unspoken rule. Instead, the two of you pretended to be old friends. You discussed work and city life, and Alfred shared a few memories of his life before working for the Wayne’s. It was obvious that he cared deeply for you, and you returned the sentiment. You don’t think you would’ve survived without him. 

The mention of Bruce never seemed awkward during those visits. Now, though, his absence is obvious and painful. If it was just another day like before, Bruce would’ve been sitting next to you at the table, ignoring his breakfast and instead, talking to the two of you. 

You assume that Alfred had already talked to Bruce about this new arrangement, only because it seemed to be his idea in the first place. Alfred always was strict about keeping up appearances and Bruce stayed true to his family’s name. 

In the middle of breakfast, you see a quick shadow appear in the hallway, just to quickly disappear again. You know it’s him. Expertly escaping just before you see him, but just dumb enough to make it too obvious. You look at Alfred with your eyebrows raised, daring him to mention it. He doesn’t, and your simple conversation continues until the food is gone and you go back to your bedroom. 

The next morning, after breakfast with Alfred, you enroll in classes at Gotham University and take your first class that same afternoon. You take the bus to campus instead of the black SUV that’s parked in front of the building, waiting for your command. The campus is old and dark, but small enough that it’s not difficult for you to find the English building and your first class. Classes are boring, but it’s exciting to continue what you once started. It feels good to be productive again and to have a goal. It’s been a long time since you felt like you were working towards something. 

Later that night, the first agreed-upon fake date begins. While getting ready in your bathroom, there’s a loud knock at your bedroom door. You’re quick to finish getting ready, putting in your last earring and finding your shoes, and then standing in front of your door, waiting. 

Waiting for what, exactly? You aren’t sure. Another knock at the door, maybe. Or him opening the door himself, instead of leaving the hard work to you. You’re hoping he would just disappear. You’d wake up back at your apartment, and this whole situation would just be some sick, depressing nightmare. 

Your hand reaches for the doorknob, and before you can change your mind, you open the door wide to find Bruce standing before you, his hands clasped behind his back. You haven’t seen him since yesterday morning when he disappeared into his bedroom after breakfast. He had given you a meaningless, polite smile and a funny little ‘good night’ that seemed to be an attempt at a joke. You hadn’t responded. 

No though, there’s no smile. Just a quick nod at your presence and a step back, letting you step into the hallway. Once outside in the light, you let yourself get a good look at him. He’s wearing white button-down and brown pants, looking brand new, as if he bought them just for tonight. (More likely, Alfred bought them just for tonight.) His hair is styled, and all remnants of black paint are gone from under his eyes. Instead, he’s clean-shaven and surprisingly, looks well rested. Well, at least as well-rested as Bruce Wayne can be. He looks…handsome. It makes your heart ache. 

“You look nice,” you murmur, walking past him down the hall. When you back at Bruce, he’s still standing in the same spot in the hallway, eyes wide and hesitant. 

“We have reservations, Bruce,” you say, trying to keep your tone playful. 

He quickly snaps out of his daze and follows you down the hallway. Walking down to the car parked outside Wayne Tower, Bruce is careful to walk a few steps behind you, as if he’s afraid to get too close. Even with him far behind you, you can still feel his overwhelming presence and pressing gaze. 

Once inside the car, Bruce turns to you. 

“You look nice, too,” he says, “I remember that dress.” 

You look down at your outfit, confused. You don’t remember the dress. It was just the first one you pulled out of your closet this afternoon after classes. It was a simple black dress, probably bought after graduating high school. 

“You do?” you ask, looking over at Bruce. 

He nods his head briefly, “You bought it directly after we received our first invitation to a benefit gala. The night before.” 

You stared at him, stunned. What a meaningless thing to remember. You think about the first benefit gala the two of you went to, probably at Gotham City Hall. The two of you were still trying to figure out your place in Gotham, outside of your family’s shadows. Even within the uncertainty, things were simple. Galas were always the most fun, with places to hide away and plenty of Gotham’s luxurious residents to ridicule secretly. You don’t remember the dress, but you do remember that night. How the two of you had shown up late with a swarm of reporters still awaiting your arrival, the dozens of politicians and influential people lining up to shake Bruce’s hand, and how the two of you had ended the night finding your little, secret door. 

You had found it on accident that evening, in a desperate attempt to hide from the crowds of people wanting to talk to you. You had pulled Bruce away from the chaos and into a darkened hallway, laughing and pulling him closer as you walked backward down the hall. Eventually, the two of you stumbled into an abandoned coat closet, with a tiny overhead light that flickered off and on, and broken furniture that you happily made your own. You had spent the rest of the evening in your secret room. 

It had become a ritual after that night. At every gala and event held at Gotham City Hall, the two of you eventually snuck away to the little room and spent the rest of the evening in total, hazy bliss. After that night, the two of you had it all figured out, and stabilized yourselves in the world of Gotham. Friendly, obnoxious smiles walking in, firm handshakes, fake laughter. All must be done. A few romantic moments, giggles in the corner, and a slow song dance as the night begins to end. Play the game, and excite the masses. Then, finally, release. Disappear into the little secret door, and become yourselves again. 

The car stopping directly outside the restaurant forces you out of your memory and back into the present, where Bruce is looking at you anxiously, awaiting instructions. 

You’re more nervous than you expected. Though, anxiety isn’t exactly right. It’s more of a feeling of absolute dread, something you hadn’t expected. Everything felt wrong as if you were expected to perform in a play you hadn’t read the lines for. You felt completely unprepared. 

You try not to let Bruce see your breathing hitch as he grabs your hand to help you outside the car, or when his hand finds the familiar spot on your back as he leads you up the steps. He’s not paying much attention to you, though. Instead, he’s busy shielding himself from the blinding lights and crowds of people waiting in front of the restaurant. 

The restaurant is quiet inside, enough to make you nervous. Underneath the dim lights, though, you find the anxieties disappearing. Sitting across from Bruce calms you in a small way, the familiarity is comforting. 

Possibly too familiar, however. Enough that you find yourself settling into your seat too quickly, and smiling at the waiter with your friendly, kind smile you haven’t used in years. Typically, your smile is used only as armor, like baring your teeth. Now, though, it’s genuine. A gesture of sweetness from Gotham’s favorite lover. 

Bruce reclaims his usual position, too. Ordering drinks and food for both of you and making friendly, common conversation as your order is taken. It’s unintentional, but the Wayne charm shines through just as it always had. A gentle smile that looks like his mother’s, and a polite handshake that represents the training from his father. He’d rarely notice it, never mention it. But it’s there, his rich-boy persona, the brilliant son skills. 

Once the waiter disappears and it’s just the two of you – the performance dissipates. You find yourself looking around the room, avoiding eye contact and instead freakishly focusing on the vintage flooring and shiny glass lights. The two of you are silent for a long time, the conversation already stalled. 

You’re distracted as two men are ushered towards a booth a few feet away from you by an anxious and jumpy hostess, who scurries away from them suspiciously quickly after dropping their menus on the table. They’re both dressed in expensive, vintage suits, with thinning hair combed neatly and a gold tooth poking through one of the man’s polite smiles at his companion. You think you recognize them, and as you continue to stare the man across from you matches your gaze, his eyes go wide with something like recognition. 

You fully recognize them now, as two frequenters of Iceberg Lounge, one of them the man who was beaten to a bloodied pulp two nights ago, who had run off with a broken nose, brought upon him by the man sitting across from you. 

      Bruce calling your name pulls you away from the images from that night, of drunken haze and bloodied hands. You look away from the table and towards Bruce, who is looking at you with intent, wild concern. 

  “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head, trying to pretend that the man isn’t there, that he isn’t staring at you like he knows you. 

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks again, leaning towards you. 

He’s able to read you without fault, from your eyes alone. Even after all this time, and all your change, he knows you. It’s impossible to ignore, the way just a simple glance can allow him to know every thought going through your mind. 

“That man across from us,” you whisper, finally, “He’s the man from a few nights ago. He recognizes me.” 

You watch as Bruce tries to control an almost burst of laughter as if the thought is so absurd. He quickly contains himself, but still shakes his head in disbelief. 

“He doesn't recognize you. Is he staring?” 

“Staring, yes. Uncomfortably so.” 

“He’s probably just enraptured by the fact that he's sitting across from the most beautiful girl in Gotham,” 

Bruce says the last statement with such confidence, not an ounce of irony or sarcasm. There’s a sense of humor, though, from a small little smirk as he watches for your reaction. He says in the same way he once called you princess, a joke that eventually became something of total sincerity. His small smile and amused eyes show a confidence you hadn’t been accustomed to in the last few days, a confidence that only existed when he was seventeen years old and still hopeful. The familiar disposition comforts you for just a moment, but you’re quick to roll your eyes dramatically in response. 

“Be serious. He could recognize you, too. Like I did.” 

“You recognizing me was an unavoidable fluke,” Bruce says. 

He’s interrupted for a moment by the waiter coming up to the table with plates of food. Bruce leans away from the table with a polite, kind smile of thanks and when the waiter disappears – he leans back towards you, even closer. 

“You’re too smart, and you know me too well. You would have recognized me in any way during any circumstance. But you’re the only one who can.” 

“That’s a dangerous philosophy for the line of work you’re in.” 

Bruce shrugs with the same hidden, familiar smirk – then pauses for a moment to look over at the table away from you. You follow his gaze toward the men sitting there, noticing that they’re both talking and drinking, paying no mind to you. 

“Maybe,” Bruce says, looking back toward you, “But I’ve done this for three years now. I always knew you’d be the one I needed to look out for.” 

“Why?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves. 

You hate this conversation. It feels as if you’re having a conversation with a part of your psyche, able to read your mind without you even speaking. His calm words ease you slightly, but make you feel like you’re going slightly insane. Not to mention the way he’s looking at you. It’s as if he’s trying to befriend a feral cat – like you’re something he has to be kind to or you’ll bite his hand. 

“Because I’d know you blind and deaf. I assumed it would be the same for you. And I was right, wasn’t I?” 

You copy his shrug, which makes him smile. 

“I was right,” he confirms, “You know me.” 

The rest of your meal is eaten quickly in comfortable silence until the check comes, when Bruce looks at you and begins again, already soothing the anxieties that hadn’t come. 

“They may recognize you if you throw on a pink wig and catch a certain look in your eye. But not now. Now, you’re completely unknown. It’s the same way with me, separate identities – only one of them real. I know you understand.” 

And you did understand. More than you felt comfortable with, honestly. You hate floating through different forms of beings, pretending to be a thousand different things. To Bruce, it seems to come as second nature. He’s able to become someone in the spotlight and become someone completely new in the shadows. It doesn’t seem to affect him, either. If anything, it makes him a better man. 

Bruce has the unique ability to close all the darkness within him into a crowded box and open it up only when there’s a funny little light in the sky and criminals in dark alleyways. The bloodied fists and anger hadn’t only come three years ago, at the beginning of his project. He had come home to you bruised and beaten a thousand times before. But when he looked at you, there was only kindness. That part of him had gone away. 

You aren’t sure you have that special capability. Instead, you bring little pieces of all your dead lives with you, nurturing them like ancient cracks on statues. Every part of you is muddied and connected, and you sit across from Bruce a mess of a person, unable to lock certain parts of yourself away. 

But maybe parts of yourself aren’t as obvious to others as they seem to be to yourself when you look in the mirror. Instead, now, you’re only one part of yourself to everyone. Bruce Wayne’s true love, Gotham’s special sweetheart. And no one is looking for anything else. 

The men from the restaurant stay in your mind for the rest of the night, even after Bruce’s comforting words. As you’re walking out of the restaurant, closer to Bruce than ever before underneath a dark umbrella, you can’t help but look over your shoulder one last time at the window where the two men are sitting, watching the commotion out on the rainy street. You’re quick to turn back to the cameras, though, smiling a brilliant smile and holding yourself close to Bruce, who has his familiar hand at the small of your back. 

Even in the car, away from Gotham noise and cameras, you’re still thinking of them. Specifically, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen in the evening, when Bruce disappears from the tower and onto Gotham streets. They could’ve recognized him, you think. It’s not completely impossible. And they’ll find him again, this time without the fear. There aren’t many criminals and underground vermin who are afraid of a billionaire son like Bruce Wayne, anyway. You try not to imagine the worst-case scenarios. 

You let the fear take over while he’s helping you out of the car and back into the entrance of Wayne Tower. You turn towards him frantically and resist the urge to grab both shoulders and shake. 

“Don’t go out tonight. Stay here.” 

Bruce’s face falls, and you realize you’ve just asked the question that he feared most. The question that probably convinced him to stop returning your phone calls and instead devote himself fully to a project that had nothing to do with you.  

“You can’t ask me to do that,” he says softly. 

“I know,” you say, shaking your head and taking a soft step back, “I just don’t want you getting hurt. You’re paying my rent now, you know. I need you around.” 

Your pathetic attempt at a joke is a failure. Instead, you just seem crazed and neurotic. Somehow failing as a fake girlfriend, being too needy and anxious in the face of some great design. If you ask him to stay, you know he’ll just disappear. 

“I’m going to bed,” you say at the stairs, “Just be safe tonight. That’s all I’m asking.” 

You leave him there, at the beginning of the stairs – watching you silently leave. You have to imagine he’s dreaming up a plan to get out of this game, cheat on the rules and kick you out of his home, and pretend nothing ever happened. At this point, you wouldn’t mind either. It would save you some embarrassment and sleepless nights. 

Hours later, you eventually find yourself falling asleep. You had closed the curtains tight in an attempt to ignore the glowing light that was beckoning Bruce toward danger. Your room feels more welcoming now, too. After a night out in Gotham and a halfway run-in with Iceberg Lounge pests, anywhere would feel like home. 

You try not to imagine what’s happening in the streets below you. Instead, you remember Bruce’s kind, faint smile – and distract yourself by eyeing the details etched on the wall near your bed, until you fall into a restless, disappointing sleep. 

—

“Are you asleep?” 

You look up at Bruce with heavy eyelids, watching as he towers over you on the bed. 

You shake your head sleepily, “Not now.” 

“Do you want to go for a ride?” 

“What?” 

Without answering, Bruce hands you a black riding jacket, which you take without further questioning. Sitting up in bed, you wrap the jacket around your shoulders and swing your feet off the bed. 

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs, where Bruce opens up a small closet near the entryway, rummaging through worn boxes in search of something. You take a moment to rub your eyes as they adjust to the dim light of the hallway and push your hand into the deep pockets of the riding jacket. 

You feel something inside the left side pocket, and when you pull it out towards the light, you see that it’s a magenta-colored pack of cigarettes, the same ones Bruce had given you the first morning, as a gentle peace offering. 

You extend them to Bruce with an eyebrow raised in silent questioning as he walks back over to you holding an oversized motorcycle helmet. 

He shrugs in response, taking them from you and putting them in his pocket. 

“Look around the place,” he says casually, “You’ll find a pack anywhere.” 

You’re too tired to analyze his response or to even really think about his reasonings behind keeping packs of cigarettes littered around his home. Instead, you take a moment to look at him as your eyes fully adjust. His hair is wild, and his eyes dark with smudged eye black. He has layers of clothing on, a dark hoodie underneath a heavy jacket, both dirty with late-night rain and oil stains. A completely different man than the one you left only a few hours earlier. Now, he’s a man visually stained with Gotham’s sins. 

He places the motorcycle helmet on your head, and you watch as he grins wildly at the sight, a small choke of laughter escaping him at the sight of the oversized helmet over your face. 

“I’ll take you around Gotham.” he says, “We still have time to see the sunrise.” 

“Sunrise? “Do you treat your other fake girlfriends this nice?” 

He’s still grinning at you, and as Bruce flips the visor down over your eyes with a quick swipe, he responds, “No. Just you.” 

There’s one thing that is still painfully true about Bruce Wayne – he knows his city. 

Once you are on the back of his old motorcycle, the same one he’s had since he was seventeen, Bruce takes you everywhere. Around the barely awake streets of Gotham, driving through late night traffic and broken construction sites, down old, secret alleyways, and through backstreets behind warehouses. It’s a different Gotham than you remember, one that you hadn’t seen in years. Though still dirty and damaged, the worn streets and skyscrapers are familiar. The only thing that’s ever resembled home. 

It’s nice, you realize, to spend time with him when the two of you aren’t expected to speak for a while. Instead, you’re expected to hold onto him tightly and listen to the sound of harsh wind against your face. The pressure is gone, without the cameras and onlookers watching every move. This is what you once wished for, though now it seems foreign and wrong. 

The two of you stop eventually on the outskirts of Gotham, as soon as the sun begins to rise over the city skyline. You’re in a forgotten spot, where trees still grow along boulevards and the paths are gravel and cobblestone. You can see the entire city from here, watch as it stretches awake from a long night, as cars begin to clog the streets, and lost church bells begin to chime. In this spot though, it’s quiet. 

It reminds you of the city that, for some reason, you love with your entirety. You’ve tried to run away a thousand times, ignore the city that raised you when no one else would. But it’s impossible. Especially with Bruce sitting beside you, who’s become Gotham’s prince, even within the shadows of his disappearance. 

Gotham isn’t a beautiful place. Maybe it’s only beautiful when you’re miles away from it. But you can’t ignore the way it makes you feel. 

“I’m going to sound insane,” you begin as you watch the sunlight hit the skyscrapers, “But I love this city. All of its chaos, its terrible faults – I know they’re terrible. But, there’s just something here, I think. Goodness that can’t be ignored.” 

Bruce steps off the motorcycle, keeping a firm hand on the seat to keep you steady as you swing your feet to one side and turn towards the skyline in its entirety. You watch as he grimaces against the sun for a moment, before turning back toward you. 

“Gotham’s killing itself. It’s hard to find the beauty in it.” 

You shrug, ignoring his common pessimism, “You’re Gotham’s hero. In more ways than one. You must notice something about it that keeps you going.” 

Bruce shakes his head, “Not exactly.” 

You lean forward, looking up at him with bright eyes, “Then why do it?” 

“That’s a great question. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” 

“Is it worth it?” 

“Barely.” 

You sigh softly and lean away from him, looking back toward the skyline past Bruce standing in front of you. The both of you are silent for a long time, looking at identical skylines, but imagining two very different things. 

“I know you love this city,” Bruce finally says, breaking the silence, “For a little while, it made me love it too.” 

“I loved Gotham because it was yours.” 

It’s a confession you hadn’t known you’d be making. Yet, it falls out almost too naturally, as if it had been dying to be said. 

“I protect it because it’s yours.” 

He turns to look at you when he says it, but you don’t match his gaze. Instead, you stay focused on the skyline, watching as the sky changes from a harsh night to a softer morning. 

He says your name, quietly, after a while. You finally look back at him and watch as his tired eyes follow yours. 

“I’d like us to be friends,” he says softly, walking back toward the motorcycle and you, “When you’re ready, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ll answer every question you’re afraid of asking now. Right now, I don’t want to make anything harder. So let’s try being friends.” 

You give him a faint, broken smile, “That would be nice,” you answer weakly, “I’d like to be your friend again.” 

Bruce smiles slightly as he mounts the motorcycle again, and as you hold onto him while he drives away from the little overlook, you can’t help but realize how genuine you’ve been – how much you meant every word you said.

[ryuzakemo128]

Immortal

A/N: Thana is a new oc idea that I had rolling around in my head for a short while. To get a better grasp on what I'm going for when it comes describing her in greater detail.

These are the headcanons I'm talking about for Thana: Part One/ Part Two / Part Three

Trigger Warning(s): Cursing, violence, Major Angst, small amount of intense gore, unwanted sexual advances and mention of suicide

Chapter Two

Chapter One: Thana's Early Life (Part One)

1919

It's a year after world war one, where the weather is foggy, drenched in rain, thunder and absolutely freezing cold. Despite it being in the middle of summer. A young woman had tried to have children with her husband for past seven, almost eight years.

"Marge, I know the exact thing that can fix your problem, I've been in contact with her about you for the past few months. It'll fix your baby problem" Donna told her, "I know it'll work. Just trust me ok?"

"Fine, if this witch can fix this problem. I'll go with you and talk to her. This better not be a waste of my time again Donna" Margret scowled crossing her arms.

"You won't regret it I promise" Donna yelled out to her with a smug grin spreading across her face.

"I certainly hope he can forgive me for this" Margret thought to herself, "I can't keep going on like this anymore"

"Marge, you back already?" George yelled out to her.

"Donna just had something to talk about, girl talk that's all it is" Margret replied putting her coat up.

"Donna make the same excuse as last time?" George said to her sighing as he walked back to his study.

"She made me promise to go with her next time George," Margret stood near the doorway of his study, "If it doesn't work I don't know what I'm going to do George"

Margret walked off wanting to cry into her pillow and die right where she laid. It's been a struggle to have a child, a singular child for the two of them.

George walked in after her pulling her into an embrace, "I know it's been hard for us. I know it feels like I haven't paid attention to how you feel."

"I'm still going tomorrow, I don't want to speak about this anymore Georgie" Margret whined.

"I know, I know. I'm just skeptical that's all I'm being, skeptical about any of it working." George hushed her and stayed with her until she calmed down.

1921

"Thana! Thana come here" George went looking for his little girl. "There you are, what are you doing down there little angel?"

"Hiding daddy" Thana exclaimed giggling from under her bed.

"Hiding from who?"

"Hiding from the monsters"

"What monsters?"

"The scary monsters daddy!" Thana exclaimed crawling out from out from under her bed.

"Where mommy coming home?" Thana asked, as her father brushed her hair.

"Mommy isn't coming home, she went on holidays" Her father explained, trying to be subtle as possible about her mother no longer being alive anymore.

Donna came over with Thana as a baby and in order to have this child. Margret had made a deal with both the devil and a witch. But the cost of the combined deal was her life. So from that day forward it had been just her and her father.

George and Donna decided to tell Thana the truth of her birth when she was older. As it would have only done more harm than anything else, besides George always wanted to have children with his wife and if this was the only way he could have one. Then he wouldn't want it any other way.

1924

It's been three years since Margret had passed away, Thana is now six years old and George had a hard time keeping up with Thana aging as fast as she is.

"George she's a demon, she's going to age faster than we are at that stage of her life." Donna explained, as George cried into his hands. After explaining about how stressed he is looking after his little girl.

"Daddy! Daddy look!" Thana grinned showing her father a drawing of her and her father.

"It's perfect I love it so much" George placed it on the table and replied "I think Aunt Donna is jealous that she didn't get a picture too."

"She is?" Thana looked at Donna suspiciously.

"Indeed I am. I would love it if you could draw me one too"

"I'll draw you the bestest one yet!" Thana exclaimed running back into her bedroom.

"The devil will speak to her on her sixteenth birthday at least I hope he will" Donna says to him.

"I just wish Marge was here to see her"

"I'm sure she'd love Thana"

1926

Thana is ten years old now, her father isn't always there for her as much as Donna. As Donna came around more and more to take care of her while her father continued to mourn the loss of his wife. As this continued, Thana continued to be more and more confused by her father's reactions to her, as she looked so much like her mother that he couldn't even look at her sometimes.

1930

Thana is now eighteen years old, seeking to work as a nurse for a few years to start making money for herself and to work out whether or not pursue higher education. Although the 1930s weren't kind to her, due to her coming into adulthood and never being properly educated in the starting years of her life.

Nurses she worked with taught her how to read and write. Her boss yelled at her for slacking off a few times while she was trying to read. Only for her co-workers to explain how she couldn't read or write and how they felt the need to teach her.

1935

"I'm not asking you to pay rent, for the same reason I never asked it from your mother" Donna said to her making Thana just more confused.

"I've worked as nurse for five years and I saved up enough to buy a car something right?"

"Keep saving and maybe you might be able to. Just leave the money side of things to me alright?" Donna replied pulling her into a hug. Thana didn't understand humans anymore than she did now than she did while she was six years old.

"You're a bright young thing aren't you?" A man said to her one night, his breath smelt like whiskey and ale.

"Sir, can you stop that please?" Thana asked him moving away from him.

"Stop doing what?" He said to her moving closer to her.

"Stop doing that, I don't feel comfortable with it." Thana explained moving further away from him.

Donna walked in, Thana practically ran over to her and hid behind her. "Aunt Donna I want to talk to you in private." Thana said to her.

"What happened?" Donna asked her as Thana pulled her into the bathroom.

"He tried touching me again, I told him over and over again that I didn't like it. But it's like there's a rock between his ears or something because he didn't listen to me."

Donna didn't feel the need to stay in there, she knew what would have happened had she not walked in and started shouting at her husband, "Get the fuck out. Just get the fuck out you sick bastard. Get the fuck out of my house!"

"Thana, you can come out now. It's safe, I promised your parents I would protect you. This is me keeping that promise to them."

1940

After working as a nurse for ten years, learning how to both read and write. She wanted to learn more about the humans she lived with. So she started reading books on the human anatomy, human biology and this continued to be interest while she was working as a nurse in the hospital she lived close to.

Although her interest to remain a nurse had dwindled down, as her interests lied in dressmaking later that year.

"It's great that she has so much interest in so many things. I just can't keep up with it. It's like she's entranced with it, she even made me a few months ago. I couldn't believe it, she told me about how she wanted to try it out and all I could muster was a few noises in response." Donna told her friends, while sipping a mug of tea.

"She's growing faster than I thought" the witch said gazing at Thana, "I can't believe it myself, already thirty eight years and she hasn't changed since she was twenty one."

"I don't know where this energy comes from most of the time." Donna explained, "I haven't told her what her father did, she kept asking when she was going back home."

"Her father committing suicide isn't something easy to bring up. Even if she was human like the rest of us." The witch told her as she walked towards Thana.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Florence, I'm a witch. What's your name love?"

"My name is Thana. Nice to meet you."

"Thana, I heard about your dressmaking skills from your Aunt."

"I wanted to give it a try and see if I liked it." Thana explained, "I also noticed that she didn't have any pretty dresses"

"I think it's a very pretty dress." Florence said with a smirk, "I think Aunt Donna will love it."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely"

1950

It's been five years since Donna passed away, she had a good life and when she didn't return home one day. It emotionally destroyed Thana, the witch stayed with her as Thana mourned her death. Florence moved into her place and the house Donna had bought, it was given to Thana. Even when Donna's ex-husband protested against it saying that she wasn't supposed to be considered to be put in the will while Donna was alive.

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

“Do you think those two are making out?” Lois asked as she and Selina went to sit down.

“Is your friend willing to take the first step?” Selina asked, not-so-carelessly stepping on the foot of one of the guests. She didn't feel guilty. The guy was about to put his hands on her and Lois's bottom. Selina had just reminded him of his place.

The other woman snorted, “Why would Clark make the first move? Mr. Wayne seems to know what he wants."

“A boy wants to be wooed,” Selina retorted.

Lois gave a delightful giggle, “Is the rich boy old fashioned? I would never have said it."

“You wouldn't say many things about him.”

“Yeah, in fact I had no idea that he was interested in men…”

Selina shrugged, “He had a very strict upbringing and only recently came out as bisexual.”

Alfred seemed like a good guy to her, but certainly not the best one to ask questions about why guys were hot too. Though she had to give him more credit considering how much he had to put up with Bruce.

Lois accepted the explanation. She then asked, “And what does he think of Superman?”

“Superman?”

“You in Gotham have Batman, we have Superman.”

Selina smiled, “I know, I'm surprised you ask about Superman.”

“Oh, you know…curiosity. Now it seems like everyone has to have an opinion on something.”

Nice save there. Lois Lane lived up to her reputation. But Selina certainly couldn't tell her oh Bruce is a first rate paranoid and is convinced that Superman is secretly evil or something.

There it was necessary to maintain a certain image.

“He enjoyed flying with Superman Airlines, and he would probably repeat the experience at the first opportunity.”

“Because of the arms,” Lois said.

“Because of the arms,” Seliana agreed. “He couldn't stop singing them to me. They were so toned Selina. They could have broken me in two and I would have thanked him.”

“Very interesting,” the reporter said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Who knows what her brilliant head was working up at that moment.

Selina didn't investigate. What she had to do was direct Lois towards the conclusion she wanted.

They finally took their seats. The chairs next to them were still empty. She smiled.

Read more Mission: seducing Superman

[imagine--if]

Can I ask for a Dano Riddler imagine? where him and Yn grew up together (she was in the girls wing of the orphanage and they talked through the walls, like him and the joker on the film) and she goes to see him in Arkham, and she's really sad that he's there, because they promissed each other that they'd never leave one another, and it's tearful and all, but he promisses her that he'll leave soon and never be apart ever again😭❤

A/N: I've just gotten round to reading the fourth issue of Riddler Year One so yessss I've totally got plenty of inspo for this imagine 😁 enjoy!!

Wordcount: 2.2K

"She doesn't say much. And when she does, it's hard to make it out. Shy little thing. Still, she'll get used to it. She'll have to."

You were only four or five when you were dumped in Gotham's orphanage, clutching onto your soft toy as an only source of comfort and some kind of stability in a terrifying world, and an even worse city. You were quiet, barely spoke, and when you did, it was in whispers, all wide, innocent eyes and secretive, the hood up on your little hoodie as you tried your best to hide yourself from everything and everyone. Just a toddler, with a sweet life twisted by death and misfortune that you barely understood as a toddler. You had shuffled meekly behind a carer who led you into the orphanage, a cold and cruel building that they expected you to call home.

The other kids there seemed so much bigger, loud and dominating and aggressive, half of them on drops, only around twelve years old. Others were plain bullies with filthy mouths and hateful glares, children's eyes glancing at you, assessing your small, shy form, before they carried on with what they were doing in disinterest.

You had buried your face in your toy and pulled the fabric of your hood up past your hair and head, over your forehead, shadowing your face, trying to disappear in it. You pulled your legs up to your chest and watched everything happen behind your toy, its fur pressed up against your face. A group of kids watched TV and fought over the remote, others played nearby outside, but from your spot hunched in a corner, opposite you, sat a boy almost as quiet as you. You gazed at him in silence for a few long minutes, absorbed in his puzzle book, and only when he looked up to get a fresh pencil did he notice your young, curious eyes fixed on him.

He was a few years older than you, with glasses pushed up his nose, making his murky green eyes twinkle as they looked back at you nervously. He gave you a small smile, the first genuine smile you'd received in maybe your whole life, awkward and hesitant. You blinked back at him timidly, hugging your toy closer with little hands, returning his smile bashfully. The boy seemed taken aback by the action, and beamed at you, a beat of hesitance passing before he offered you a pen. You stared at it, then at him, and wandered over, sitting beside him and accepting his offer. You barely knew how to read or write, and so you watched him instead, the quiet boy with a nice smile and lots of books, day after day.

And as the days went by, both of you becoming closer and more comfortable together, Edward would start talking to you in his small, sweet voice, writing answers to riddles with a hand over yours, pulling your littler form into his lap after a couple of weeks and reading to you, then helping you read, helping you speak up a little. He'd even speak for you with others, managing to push past his own shyness every so often to help you, to repeat your whispered, lispy voice to those who couldn't catch it. You'd trail after him throughout the day when you could, before you were taken back to the girls' dorm, and you'd linger in the separating corridor, afraid of the idea of you two parting and him never coming back out of his long, shared boys' room.

"I'll see you in the morning," He'd always say soothingly, giving you a warm hug, bending down slightly so you could return it properly. "I'll never leave you. You know that."

And you'd nod, because you knew Edward was telling the truth by the way he said it and looked at you with earnest, young eyes, letting you borrow a book to amuse yourself with if the nights got too long,

But then foster families and adoptees started popping up. And you, being a young, sweet-looking child, albeit a little shy, are swept up into the grips of a random 'family,' and the quickness of how your name's signed away to people you don't even know and have no say over makes your head spin. The orphanage was overcrowded anyway, and one less mouth to feed in exchange for money made all the difference.

Edward, on the other hand, was beside himself.

Newspapers and library books on adoption and rules and any ways to prevent what was happening piled up beside his bed, to the dorm he'd been disciplined to stay in for his shocking outbursts of frustration and hatred and upset. Thomas Wayne's renewal plan could help him, he thought. He'd already assured him that he could get to a special school to study and learn and have a brighter future.

So on the last night you could spend together, sneaking out of the corridor of a room you slept in with the other girls, Edward filled out the form in his shaky, uneven writing, stating on one line that he wanted to go to the school he'd talked about, and on the other, 'I want to stay with my best friend and stop them from being taken away by bad people.'

REJECTED.

The word stamped in bold, horrid red print was the response he got, the word that bled into his mind as you were made to pack a bag and wave goodbye and go, handing your young life over to strangers, and Edward couldn't do a thing about it. You were carted off out of Gotham to go to school and expected to become a whole new person.

But you couldn't.

The years went by agonisingly slowly, and with every one that passed, you thought about him, your friend, Edward. Did he get adopted too? Did he manage to find some source of happiness and hope afterwards? Would he even remember you if you went back?

Eventually, you save up enough money and have enough time to go back to where it all started, in the unfeeling streets of Gotham City. You had no idea where to look, and after hearing from someone that the orphanage had been burned down ages ago, your last resort was to ask at the GCPD.

"Sorry to bother you," you say with an awkward smile, as a detective greets you and asks if he can be any help; 'Lieutenant James Gordon,' his name tag reads, "I'm looking for someone who I think still lives here? We were friends a while ago, and... I'm sorry, you look busy."

"We are quite busy, Miss," Gordon tells you, looking a little overwhelmed. "We've just managed to catch some crazy psycho who's been letting hell loose recently."

Your eyes widen in confusion and interest. "Wow... that's... yeah, I'm sorry, it's okay."

"No, go on," Gordon nods, letting you into his office, "have you got a name, address or anything?"

"I don't know his address," you say in uncertainty. "We were friends as kids. His name's Edward. Edward Nashton?"

Jams Gordon stops abruptly, whirling around to face you with demanding, bewildered eyes.

"Excuse me?"

You frown. "What?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" Gordon says in shock. "Edward Nashton? That's who you're looking for?"

You nod slowly, and Gordon sighs, taking off his glasses and hiding his face in a hand.

"Look, Miss, I don't know how new you are to Gotham, but Edward Nashton has just been arrested and sent to Arkham Asylum for the crimes committed under the name of The Riddler. He was only just apprehended a few hours ago."

Your breath catches in your throat in disbelief, as Gordon's eyes narrow suspiciously, looking you up and down.

"And you really knew nothing about this? You aren't an accessory?"

"I- no," you shake your head, "I only just made it to Gotham this evening."

Gordon nods slowly, though he still doesn't seem convinced. He suddenly grabs his jacket and opens the office door, glancing back at you.

"Come with me."

You follow him meekly, as he leads you out of the building and into a police car. Are you going to be arrested? Could your Eddie really have done this? Why?

Gordon stops outside Arkham, opening the car door for you to step out, and leads you inside, showing his badge to the guards, who let you proceed. The walls are strong and metallic and thick, and the cells are sealed with heavy iron doors with a small, barred rectangular window at their tops. You try not to let your attention wander, sticking close to Gordon, until he reaches an interrogation room. A mad dressed in a jet-black bat suit already stands there with a frustrated look in his dark eyes, and Gordon signals for you to wait as he goes over to the Batman and whispers something you can't quite make out in his ear. The Batman looks over at you quickly, his expression unreadable, and then he approaches you.

"You know Nashton?" his deep, whispery voice states more than asks, and you nod.

Batman stares at you for another moment before marching back into the interrogation room, nodding at you impatiently to come in. You do, blinking at the hard lights and the security cameras glaring at you from the corners of the room. And, behind the strong, glass partition and metal desk, a young man sits staring at you in disbelief.

Clear, dorky glasses. Murky green eyes. Soft, sandy brown hair. It's definitely him.

"Edward?" you say breathlessly, going to step closer, but the Batman gives you a wary look. "Ed, is that really you?"

He nods wordlessly, his eyes wide and stunned. But beneath that familiar, comforting look he's always had, there's a layer you can only just make out, like a hidden spark of insanity, one that's made the whole city go into a frenzy and even The Batman apprehensive. Edward whispers your name like a prayer, his hands pressed up against the protective glass.

"You came back," he says in wonder, as Gordon and Batman glance between the two of you in uncertainty, but you're not focused on them at all, like the whole world is disappearing around you. "I- I knew you would..."

"What happened?" you say, overwhelmed by the whole scenario, staring in wonder at the now grown-up orphan labelled a criminal in front of you. "What did you do?"

"What I had to do," he smiles brightly, adoringly at you, that glimmer of insanity coming to the surface. "What they made me do. And I did it for you, too."

"Me?"

"Who else?" Edward giggles, standing up and moving closer to the glass, his hands cuffed and chained. "They tried to break us apart. But you came back. I've been waiting for so long..."

"What does she know about this?" The Batman slices through the moment, and Edward glances at him distractedly. "Have you been doing this together?"

"Of course not," Edward breathes, turning his attention back to you with a sweet smile. "She's too pure for that. Too shy, and lovely... it was me. But you inspired me," he insists, looking straight at you, "to make a clean slate, and clean it all up, so that it'd be perfect for us. And it will be, angel. You coming back was the last piece of the puzzle." Edward suddenly gives you that all-too familiar soft, loving look you'd seen back in the orphanage, and you have to fight to compose yourself, wanting so badly to run to him like you did so many times before. "You look so beautiful. You haven't changed a bit..."

You feel like crying, stunned by the casualness of what he's saying and admitting to. "I... oh Edward..." you shake your head, giving him a desperate look. "You're in Arkham."

"That's right," Batman interjects again, "you can't be together. You're a psychopath, Nashton. You're not getting out. I'm sending her back home."

"No, wait," you cut in desperately, still feeling just as drawn to the genius madman even after the dark truths, "please, I don't want to leave him, I can help..."

A guard interrupts, bursting into the interrogation room, and you all turn to him.

"There's been explosions," the guard announces, "the city walls have collapsed and the main road's flooded."

As he speaks, Edward giggles to himself, giving the masked vigilante a dark, unhinged look that makes your heart jump in your chest.

"She's not going anywhere," he says excitedly, grinning at you. "You're right where you need to be. We can watch the whole thing together."

The Batman dithers between leaving and staying, eventually rushing out of the room, along with Gordon, to deal with the flooding crisis, and a guard hustles you out of the room as Edward's voice calls out your name from behind you.

"You'll never leave me again! We were meant to be! You know it's true, darling! You know!"

You manage to glance back at him as you leave, studying his crazed, ecstatic look, that same softness in his eyes as the day you had to leave, but tainted with madness. But as you look, you can't help but smile back at him slightly, because you know it's true.

As the waters invade the city and the building erupts into panic along with the rest of Gotham, you know it's true. And maybe that'll make this all worth it.

⭒❃.✮:▹ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

@misadventures0fdes @junebugp @simestandswithtaylorswift-blog @carley-carley-carley @lostbunn @dragovegogrimborn @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @dangerouslittlefairy @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowersleep @hxney-lemcn @callsigncrash @bokksieu @skateb0red @philiasoul@felicityofbakerstreet @deadlights-darling @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

[greyangelpain]

Edward totally owns a batman conspiracy theory podcast

[ichorai]

talk ; bruce wayne.

track nine of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x fiance!gn!reader

synopsis ; it’d been years since you died. bruce stood silent in front of your grave, hair damp from the cold rain. you approached him from behind, tipping your umbrella forward just enough so the tears of the sky would stop mingling with his own.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, engaged au, ex-thief au

warnings / includes ; faked death, injuries/blood/violence/death, depictions of human trafficking, a lot of Emotions, reader used to be a thief, mentions of the joker and harley quinn, alfred cameo !! and one smutty-ish sentence?

main masterlist.

The ground was sodden with rainwater, mud clinging onto his black boots. Its long laces were loosely dragging through the dirt, wet and filthy, but he couldn’t be bothered to retie them. Rain dripped from the hair that hung limply from his head, frigid drops pricking his skin and meandering down his cheeks. The cold air from the sky was a pleasant but striking juxtaposition to the hot tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, conveniently camouflaged by the rain. It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne cried, but for you, he allowed himself to shed a few tears.

After all, it was the third anniversary of your death.

He hadn’t shown up to your funeral—well, from what Alfred told him, he wouldn’t have made much of a difference. There were hundreds of people there. He was just glad he wasn’t there so the vultures of public press didn’t have the chance to shove flashing cameras into his face.

He could just imagine the headlines: Bruce Wayne At Gotham’s Most Notorious Thief’s Funeral, Y/N L/N And Bruce Wayne: A Tragic Romance, Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Criminal Fiance Killed By The Joker.

Bruce coughed into his fist, masking a strained, broken sob as his eyes trailed down your headstone, where your name was carved in stone. His shoulders trembled. The sky thundered. He bit down on his tongue. His lungs felt thick and heavy, as if slickened with tar. 

There were nearly a dozen bouquets of flowers crowded around the stone. Bruce noticed that there were several wilting roses amongst the heap of petals and thorns. 

You hated roses.

“Hope you didn’t leave me any of those,” said an eerily familiar voice from behind him. All of a sudden, the rain stopped pelting his head, shadowed by a dark umbrella, just enough to stop the tears of the sky from mingling with his own. “You know I hate roses.”

His shoulders tensed.

Chest constricting, your name slipped from his lips, nearly lost to the pelting rain. 

“The one and only,” you said. “It’s been a long time, Bru.”

He turned around, stiff. His eyes twitched in disbelief. There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A part of Bruce, the grief-stricken part, wondered if he was hallucinating you.

But you were here, in the flesh. And there was a small grin coyly toying at the corner of your lips. You had a hat pulled low over your head, nearly shielding your bright eyes as well, and you were dressed in loose, dark clothing. 

The ring he gave you dangled on a thin silver chain around your neck, gleaming as if regularly polished. You silently noted that he still wore his own engagement ring.

Bruce’s supposedly dead fiance tilted their head, regarding him with veiled fondness.

“Come on,” you said, pointedly turning away so that the umbrella was no longer hovering over him. He flinched when the cold rain touched his skin. He stood there for a second longer, still in shock, before numbly following behind you. 

Rust. 

Bruce could smell it everywhere.

“I know it isn’t much,” you said, shouldering the creaky door to the abandoned warehouse open, “but it’s home. For now, at least.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Bruce’s hardened eyes. With pursed lips, you shook the water out of your umbrella before shucking it closed, tossing it somewhere in the corner. Bruce watched as you busied yourself with lighting small gas lamps on rickety metal chairs, before allowing his gaze to briefly dart around the room. It was spacious in a way that was unsettling—dark and dreary, cold and lifeless. There were a couple dozen boxes stacked along the opposite wall, lining the large, moldy windows. A beaten down sofa was placed off to the side, with a thin blanket messily thrown over the back. 

You’d been living here this entire time? 

When he spoke—his first words to you in three entire years—it was shaky and saturated with raw hurt. He was… he was so inexplicably angry with you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, so quietly you nearly wished he was yelling instead. “How could you… how could you do this to me? To Alfred?”

The splinter within the fractures of your heart was all of a sudden a large stake, and Bruce held the hammer.

A small sigh fell from your lips and you turned to face him fully. “It’s a long story.”

Bruce’s frustrated countenance remained unchanged. “You better get going, then.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, before dropping down onto your patchy sofa. “You don’t wanna sit down?” you asked. He gave you no response. “Alright, then.”

There was so much to tell him. You didn’t know where to start.

After clearing your throat, you finally croaked out, “That night three years ago—I contacted the Joker through Harley Quinn. She was an old pal of mine from my crime days. Through her, I asked him to meet me under Gotham’s largest bridge because I had a deal to make with him. A part of me wasn’t sure he was going to show but—my reputation as the city’s most famous ex-thief was more than enough to convince him. He was curious, you see. He thought I was coming back into the business of stealing. It didn’t take him long to realize that I wasn’t planning on working with him, and he was about to call his cronies for back up, but I knocked him out before he could reach for anything. I planted evidence of my death on him—a knife with my blood on it, his fingerprints over my equipment, his hair on my clothes, my skin under his nails. The next couple of hours, I was across the city, ingesting a fake-death pill—potassium cyanide. The next day, the entire world thought I was dead, killed by the Joker—though if you dug up that grave you were standing over earlier today, you’d find it to be empty. I framed him so he’d land in jail, Bruce. Like he deserves to be.”

Bruce’s pallid complexion made it look like he was going to keel over and hurl. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“There were people trying to kill you because of me, Bru,” you whispered. “They wanted me dead, and they wanted you dead, too. I was protecting you. If I’m gone, then they’d no longer have a reason to kill you.” 

“YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME!” he roared, his pain ricocheting throughout the warehouse. All of a sudden, he was no farther than an arm’s length away from you. The blue of his eyes gleamed with a mirage of resurfaced bitterness and anger. His voice quietened, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you. We could’ve worked through it together.”

You shook your head. “You knowing I was alive would’ve put us both at more risk. I had to do it, Bruce. I… I had to do it so I wasn’t under the eye of scrutiny anymore. Being the most famous ex-thief and Bruce Wayne’s fiance meant more eyes on me than practically anyone else in the country. One tiny slip up, and I’d be in jail right next to the Joker!”

Bruce reared back upon realizing what you were saying. “You faked your death to steal again?”

“No!” you bit back, voice cracking. “Not to steal. To help—just without the cops on my back. Without the Penguin breathing down my neck. Without Deathstroke hunting me down. I did it to protect you and help the city in my own way.”

Silence stretched thin between the two of you. Bruce was tense, frozen in front of you, repeating your words over and over in his head.

“I still love you, Bru,” you said, reaching out for his arm. “That’s never changed.”

He moved out of your way, flinching at the mere prospect of touching you.

“Then what do you want from me?” he snarled, gruffer than he had intended. “I grieved you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I’d failed you. I couldn’t save you. It tore me apart, Y/N. I just… I loved you so much. You meant so much to me. And to just… leave without so much as a goodbye! Not even a note!”

Your hand fell back to your side, a sharp ache clawing within your ribcage. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, gritting your jaw and willing the surfacing tears away. “I’d love to hash this out with you, B, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. I would’ve never told you that I’m still alive if I really didn’t need your help.”

There was a beat of silence. Bruce shifted, shoulders hunched over as if he wanted to cave in on himself. The thought of being around you right now was simultaneously the worst thing he could do to himself, and what he desired most. 

He missed you—painfully so. He missed the hard, determined edge to your expression whenever you concentrated on something. He missed the way you used to cradle him close to you when he had terrible nightmares, kissing around his bruises. He missed the way you’d playfully bump your hip against his while the two of you worked on the same table. He missed the way you'd lewdly moan your special nickname for him—Bru—into the mattress when he rolled his hips into yours from behind, pressing hot kisses down your arched spine. He missed your infamous grin, and how it never failed to replicate itself onto his own lips. He missed your scent—a homely mix of cinnamon and lavender, a smell he wanted to drown himself with. After you’d died, he’d sleep with your hoodie pressed against his nose—and he did so until the perfume wore away, and the last trace of you was gone. He missed your laughter, your lighthearted banter with Alfred, your help on missions when he found himself at a dead end. 

This time, you were asking for his help.

And how could he say no to that? 

Bruce’s sore eyes darted from the rusty ceiling to you, watching him intently. “What is it?” 

Hope sparked within you, like a candle lit in the middle of a hurricane. “Human trafficking, Bru. That’s what I’ve spent the past three years trying to take down. Gotham is rampant with it. If I told the police… they would’ve been five steps ahead and relocated across the country and we’d be right back to square one. I finally got my hands on some intel—they’re moving a bunch of kidnapped children through the abandoned railways under the city tomorrow night. I don’t know where they’re going, but I can’t let them leave, or things would get infinitely more complicated. I don’t know how many exactly. Could be a couple dozen. A hundred. Maybe even just one. But I know I have to stop them—and I can’t do it alone.”

There was something akin to awe behind Bruce’s blue irises. “The five missing kids randomly appearing in a homeless shelter last year—that was you?”

A weak grin nudged at the corner off your lips. “Yeah. The poor things were being forced to manufacture illegal firearms with scrap metal parts.”

Another beat of silence. The hesitance in Bruce seemed to wane away with each passing second. 

“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Bruce stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowing. The fact that all of this was happening right under his nose made a sick feeling twist his stomach.

Your lips trembled. Slowly, you pulled out your phone, pressing on a video file and held it out to him. He took it from you, watching with horror as the grainy footage played. Half of the screen was black, as if filming from behind a wall. The kids were chained, manhandled and shoved into a truck by several armed people, screams and cries echoing along the metal walls. There was a louder shout, closer to the person recording, and the camera began to wobble and shake, pulling away from the crime scene as they began running. The video was cut off there. 

He felt sick. His eyes flickered back up to you, anxiously worrying on your bottom lip. 

“I filmed that around a day ago,” you whispered, throat thick with emotion. You began to physically shake. “I saw it. I tried to stop them—but I messed up. One of the guards turned around the corner and saw me. I killed him, Bruce, or the entire operation would’ve been blown. I… I—”

There was a cold hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of your collarbone. Your fiance kneeled in front of you, nodding his head to silently tell you to go on. You swallowed nervously.

“Thankfully, the rest of them didn’t know I was there. I don’t know where the kids are now, and it kills me to wait. All I know is that they’re planning on taking them through the railways tomorrow. It’s the best shot I have.”

Bruce’s stare burned into you. “You’ve been managing on your own for the past three years. Why are you only asking for my help now?”

You winced, pursing your lips. “The man I killed—he didn’t go down without a fight.” 

Gingerly, you shifted your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal tightly wound bandages over your stomach. Much to your dismay, they were soaked through with copper-hued blood, a dark shade that sent a queasy tremor up your spine.

Almost immediately, a shadowed, closed-off expression melded over his features. You couldn’t exactly tell whether or not he was angry at you, or just angry in general. 

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, rather bluntly. You bit back the urge to berate him for spelling out the obvious, and remained quiet as he told you to lean back. “Do you have extra bandages?”

“Yeah—in that box in the corner there. Nicked ‘em from the pharmacy down the block.”

Bruce frowned at that, but didn’t vocalize his disapproval. 

In the box, he’d noticed a bottle of alcohol beside the bandages, grabbing that as well. 

He strode back to you, softly asking you to peel back your bandages. You complied, but not without a grumpy divot appearing between your brows. If you weren’t practically bleeding out in front of him, Bruce would’ve found it to be rather endearing.

There were several lacerations across your abdomen, some shallow, and others deep. There were stitches across the more serious wounds, but they were done shoddily. Bruce sent you a look, swallowing hard.

“These look awful.”

“Why don’t you try stitching yourself up, then?” you hissed, biting down on your palm as he started cleaning up your wounds with an alcohol-doused bandage. 

Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was cleaning up his fiance’s stab wounds after three years of their supposed death. A part of him wondered if he’d wake up from this nightmare, sprawled across his bed with his nose tucked into your hoodie. 

But this was real. 

Your muffled groans of pain brought him back down to earth.

You were real. 

As swiftly as he could, he neatly wrapped fresh bandages over your waist, murmuring a shaky apology when you cried out from the stinging agony of the combined pressure and the cleansing alcohol.

“What else have you been doing?” Bruce asked, much to your surprise. Your eyes darted to his, and his skin flushed with heat, shifting his gaze to the ground.

It took you a moment to formulate a response. You were walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a slip of your tongue would make him get up and leave. “I’ve been in international waters for the majority of the time—staking out meetings, organizing heists, stealing from the rich—all that lovely jazz. I went to France, Mexico, India, New Zealand—trying to find something to do. My purpose. I guess I was traveling all over the place to run away from Gotham for a while. But I came back—because Gotham will always be my home. Because Gotham is where you are.” You fixed him with a pointed gaze, and Bruce swallowed uneasily. The hazy blue of his irises darkened a shade. You spoke again, voice lowered, “I gave all the money to charities, by the way. A couple of orphanages, too. Balancing out the scales, Bruce. For all the shitty things I’ve done.” You gritted your teeth when he wound another set of bandages over you for good measure. 

Your words made an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There was good in you, no matter what the press had to say about that. Bruce knew that you were doing your best to help Gotham, just like he was. In your own way, of course, but it was what made Bruce fall in love with you in the first place. 

You cared so much for Gotham. For its people. Even when they probably didn’t deserve it.

“Ironic that I fell in love with one of the richest men in the world, isn’t it?” you chuckled, lolling your head back onto the sofa’s armrest, staring up at the rusty warehouse’s ceiling. Bruce could feel his chest constricting. “What about you, Bru? What’ve you been up to since I’ve been dead?”

The man gave you no response, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a tense shrug. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the past few years to you just yet. As much as he missed you, dreamed of you coming back to him—he couldn’t find it within himself to tear down all the barriers he built around himself since your death. 

It was all too sudden. Bruce needed time.

You understood him all too well, much to his mild relief, and hummed noncommittally, as if to say ‘take your time’.

“You can’t tell anybody that I’m alive,” you said breathlessly, after a moment of terse silence. “Not even Alfred.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from the closest thing he had to a father, but he knew that it was necessary. “What’s the plan?”

“They’ll be moving tomorrow. Are you in, Bruce?”

Only now did he realize that his hands were still splayed out over your bandaged abdomen, and he jerked back, as if he’d burned himself. You propped yourself up on an elbow, a hint of an amused grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

God, you were so beautiful. 

It took a great amount of effort for him to look away from your lips, and he focused on leveling his gaze with those bright eyes of yours.

“I’m in,” he said.

You smiled, all warm and utterly heart-breakingly wide, and Bruce could swear the air stilled around the two of you. 

“Alright.” Your hand reached out to clasp his pale, cold one. He couldn’t pull away. He should’ve. He didn’t want to. “We strike at midnight.”

There was something about Bruce’s Batman suit that made you stop and stare at him with awe. Quite a few adjustments had been made to the outfit the past three years—the bulletproof platelets over his chest and abdomen were much more form-fitting than before, and a lightweight cape draped down to his ankles, dark as the night. His mask was different as well—it was tighter and covered more of his face. Seeing him like this made you remember that Batman didn’t hide in the shadows—he was the shadow.

He caught you watching him, the blue of his eyes flashing almost dangerously beneath the moonlight. You noticed the way his gaze trailed up and down your form, soaking in your own suit.

It was a simple outfit, made up of a long, cowled coat, the hood draping over your forehead and stopping just above your eyebrows. It was a mottled hue of grey, perfect camouflage for the dull concrete jungle of Gotham city. A mask of the same color covered your nose and mouth, leaving just your eyes for Bruce to see. The rest of your outfit beneath the coat was dark and well-fitted, with several compartments to store your gizmos and gadgets. 

There were two daggers slid into your utility belt and a third emergency one strapped to your left shin. Further hidden within your pockets were a multitude of smoke grenades, ropes, and throwing stars. 

You had a small pistol wedged into your belt, but that was only for worst-case scenarios. You knew Bruce didn’t like guns.

The two of you stood before the entrance of the abandoned railways, the gaping tunnel overgrown with moss and greenery. He gave you a weary glance, non-verbally asking if you were ready. You gave him a soft nod in response. Graffiti lined the walls near the front, but as the two of you walked in, there were fewer and farther in between. 

The plan was clean-cut. Locate the children, take out the guards, and high-tail out of there. Your fiance (or was it ex-fiance? You weren’t quite sure) had made you promise not to kill anybody but—given the circumstances, you weren’t entirely sure if you could hold up to that promise.

Bruce had this innate ability to move in a way that if you hadn’t known he was already there, you wouldn’t have seen him at all. His hands loosely wrapped around your wrist to guide you to the right, and you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the minimal contact.

In the distance, the two of you heard echoing murmurs, gruff voices of what sounded to be a pair of boisterous men. They were getting closer, and getting close fast. In a whirl of dark fabric, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Bruce’s face mere inches from yours. His long cape draped over the both of you, blending seamlessly into the shadows. 

It took you another second to realize that his entire body was slotted against yours. His scent warped around you and consumed you whole, an overwhelmingly nostalgic aroma of fresh mint and blueberries and something purely, entirely just Bruce. You inhaled sharply.

This close, you could see the thin flecks of pale green amongst his blue irises, the smudged mascara around his eyes, the small, faded scar on his jaw. You could—

Oh.

A lump formed in your throat. You could hear his heart beating—feel it—thundering against his ribcage, just above where yours was. 

Heat spidered beneath your skin, crawling up your neck and flushing your cheeks. Bruce watched you with an indiscernible gaze, jaw set. Perhaps it was a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate, dipping towards your lips for a millisecond before flicking right back up to meet your heady stare. 

Desperate for a distraction, you craned your neck, and caught sight of the two men passing by. You bit onto the inside of your cheek, swallowing down a tirade of curses when you saw that they both held guns. Of fucking course they did.

Another couple of minutes, and they turned the corner, speaking to each other loudly. Bruce stepped away from you then, still keeping his eyes trained on you.

They both have guns, you signed with your hands. Sign language was something the two of you learned together during your first year of dating—it was always handy in case of emergencies such as this. 

Bruce cocked his head in understanding. Stay in the shadows, he signed back.

You nodded, and the two of you took off once more, skimming across the gravel so quickly that you were practically floating. 

The two of you slowed to a halt in front of several wrecked train cars, rusted and filthy with neglect. You peered through the glass, noting a few guards milling in front of trucks on the opposite side. That must’ve been where the children were. Tilting your head to look further to the left, you caught sight of a row of children lined up against the wall to the side of the tunnel. Chains shackled their wrists and ankles together. They were entirely silent, which unnerved you more than anything.

You’ve done this a million times before. Why were you so nervous?

Ah, right. Maybe, just maybe, because last time, you got stabbed. Or maybe it was because the love of your life was right by your side—the man who was supposed to think that you were dead. 

You bit down on your tongue in a fruitless effort to quell the nausea roiling about in the pits of your stomach. 

With a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder, you signed, Six kids. Get them to safety. I’ll take the guards.

Not allowing him the chance to protest, you reached into your coat’s pocket and brandished two smoke grenades, your other hand sliding out a dagger. You leapt through the totaled train’s doors, before pulling the pins out with your teeth, chucking them amongst the lounging guards. 

Shouts erupted as two large plumes of ashy white smoke encompassed the entirety of the tunnel. Silent as the night, you snuck up behind two guards, bashing their heads together hard enough to render them unconscious. Your dagger flipped in your hand as you knelt, sweeping around and stabbed another right in the leg, dragging the blade down the entire length of their shin. An ear-splitting scream ricocheted across the stone walls of the tunnel. 

That was when the gunshots started ringing out. You were able to dodge them lithely, watching the trajectory of the amber sparks made by the ricocheting bullets and ducking away from its sweeping arc. You drove your dagger straight into the jugular of the guard with a gun, kicking him back until he fell into the gravel, gurgling incoherently through the blood flooding his mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bruce ushering the children through the wrecked train cars, towards the exit. Panic seized its dark hands around your heart as you spotted another guard—the last one in sight—pointing their gun towards Bruce. 

You ripped your dagger out of the guard’s throat in no less than half a second, pulling your arm back to hurl it through the air. The blade embedded itself cleanly through the side of his head, the impact sending him crashing into the wall. 

A breath of relief slipped your lungs, and you ran over to scoop the fallen gun up, shoving it into your belt. 

Bruce had all the kids—it was time to go.

You dashed through the first set of doors into the train.

A deafening gunshot rang out to your right, and you dove down out of pure reflex.

But you were too late. 

Searing pain blossomed over your chest, your stomach, your head—everywhere. 

Children screaming. 

Footsteps thundering. 

The gravel beneath you—cold and sticky with your blood.

Bruce yelling your name, panic saturating every syllable.

The edges of your vision flickered with darkness.

Chest heaving—heaving—heaving—your breath leaving you—

Bruce… the children…

Oh, fuck. Everything hurt.

Your head throbbed angrily.

“Wake up, Y/N. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Bruce’s voice was tightly interwoven with dread—bordering on hysteria as he knelt down over you, palm applying direct pressure to the bullet hole in your abdomen. A low moan fell from your lips at the searing agony that shot up your body. 

As soon as your eyes dazedly cracked open, Bruce swore under his breath, mild relief seeping into his blown eyes. You’d only been down for no less than two seconds before he ripped his batarang from his armored chest, sending it arcing through the air to the last gunman, striking him down. 

Not a single thing registered in your mind as Bruce swept you into his arms, carrying you down the tunnel and ushering the children along with gritted teeth and panic-laced words.

An overwhelming sense of terror still coursed through the very fibers of his being. He couldn’t lose you—not again. 

“Bats, put me down,” you said, hoarsely. “Put me down.”

A protest was on the tip of his tongue, but the warning glare you sent him made him reluctantly comply, gently lowering you down to your feet. Your hand clutched his bicep for stability while the other still held pressure against your bullet wound. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he nearly felt dizzy with the overwhelming barrage of turmoil. 

The two of you soon reached the end of the tunnel with half a dozen kids in front of you. Bruce herded them into the back seats of the Batmobile—it was a tight fit, but they were small and eager to leave. One of the little girls started crying as soon as she sat down on the leather seat of his car, and Bruce could feel his heart lurch with an ugly amalgamation of anger and concern. 

He slid into the driver’s seat just as you slumped into the one next to him. A groan of pain left you as you began rifling through the car dash’s compartment, whipping out a roll of bandages and began winding it around your abdomen. 

The car purred to life and in no less than half a minute, you were jetting off, leaving the dirty crime scene far behind. 

Bruce’s eyes darted from the dark road to you, nearly bleeding out in the passenger’s seat. You were panting shallowly, head tilted back as you swallowed uneasily. Sweat beaded your forehead.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he whispered.

“No,” you replied, a biting edge to your tone.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. “You have a fucking bullet in you.” His voice lowered, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t lose you again.” The last bit was said softly, his voice cracking with raw hurt. 

You shook your head, stubborn. Your voice was quiet enough so the trembling kids in the back wouldn’t be able to hear you. “Don’t take me to the hospital, Bru. It’ll ruin everything I’ve built the past few years. Nobody can know I’m still alive.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Bruce clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack under the pressure. “At least let me take you back home. Alfred can help you.”

You frowned but kept silent. Going back to the Wayne Mansion was less than desirable, but it was the best choice you had—the other being bleeding out to death in your rusty abandoned warehouse. Your nose twitched as you slowly shifted to look out the window. 

The drive went by much quicker than expected, mostly because you were fading in and out of a pain-induced unconsciousness. When you cracked your eyes open again, your head was pounding angrily and your bullet wound pulsated hotly in tandem with the thick, languid beating of your heart. You could faintly make out Bruce in his Batsuit just outside of the car, leading the kids into a building. 

Your gaze shifted upwards, a sigh of relief falling from your lips upon seeing the gotham orphanage sign. Bruce helped the woman at the door usher the children in, before handing her about a dozen fat wads of cash. The look on the woman’s face was priceless—mouth gaping and eyes misting over with unshed tears. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him from inside the car. 

Once Bruce made sure the kids were safe inside, he nodded once to the woman, before turning back to the Batmobile.

He slid in smoothly, checking all the mirrors to make sure that nobody had followed you. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked, quiet and uncertain.

“I’m alive,” you replied. “Could really use an Advil right now, though.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Think you need a bit more than an Advil.”

You couldn’t find it in you to reply, the edges of your vision darkening at a concerningly rapid pace. 

“Hang on for me, baby,” Bruce whispered brokenly, his hand darting out to grasp your limp one as he drove to the Wayne Mansion, slamming down on the gas. “Hang on.”

The street lights began to expand into a million shards of light as your eyelids drooped.

Blinding, blinding, blinding. 

And yet you could see everything. The blue of Bruce’s eyes that constantly glanced over at you. The trembling of his pale hand on the steering wheel. The tacky blood that meandered down your sides and pooled into the crevices of the leather seat.

All of a sudden—

It all went dark. 

It’d been three years since you stepped foot in the Batcave. 

Really, it was just a private underground railway beneath the Wayne Mansion, but it definitely wasn’t fit for its original use and you were sure at least a couple dozen bats made the dark tunnel their permanent home, thus its name.

Bruce carried you out the car and into his work station, worry woven between every muscle. He deposited you gently onto the table, just as the elevator door rattled open. 

Alfred stepped out, and he immediately blanched upon seeing you, bleeding and teetering on the edge of death itself.

They exchanged a couple hurried words, but you couldn’t hear much. Everything was blurry. 

A tear slipped down your cheek when Alfred made his way to you, his hand cupping your cheek. He had a medkit clutched in his hands, and he popped it open right beside your head. 

“Hi, Al,” you murmured hoarsely. “Long time no see.”

“Hello, my dear,” he replied fondly, deathly calm. It might’ve been a trick of the dim lights, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes misting over with unshed tears. “Last I checked, you were dead.”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve laughed, and given him an easy shrug. “Plans changed, I guess.”

Mustering what little energy you had left in you, you turned to look at Bruce as Alfred began peeling your clothing back to start working on your wounds. 

“Hey, Bru,” you whispered. Bruce’s lips twitched at the nickname. “If I don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” he gruffed.

His warning fell upon deaf ears and you spoke again, determined. “If I don’t make it, for real this time, just remember that I love you. And I’ve never stopped.”

Something in his chest broke, and a suffocating sob thundered within him. He clutched at your limp hands, whispering out your name just in time for you to hear before you let the darkness take you one last time.

The first thing you noticed when you came to was Bruce’s hand still holding tightly onto yours. The second thing was the fact that the pain in your abdomen was no longer unbearable, but instead subdued to a sharp ache. 

Your gaze roamed around the room, and you dimly realized that you were in Bruce’s bed—the bed that the two of you had slept in together when you were together. He was asleep by the edge of the mattress, hunched over in a position that wasn’t at all good for his spine. 

He still had the black eye makeup on, smudged and flaking off, dried bits of mascara on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, as if he had raked his fingers through several times. 

When you shifted a bit on his expansive mattress, Bruce stirred awake, the blue of his eyes shifting from confusion to panic to relief in a matter of seconds. 

“Hey,” you croaked. “Thanks for getting me here. And tell Alfred thanks for patching me up.”

“We nearly lost you,” Bruce replied hoarsely. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Alfred wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. There was so much blood.”

A pained smile stretched your lips thin. “Well, I’m alive. Sort of. How long was I out?”

“A couple hours,” he replied. He exhaled quietly, lowering his head. “I never stopped loving you, too. After all these years… I should be mad at you. I was, at first… but I’m not anymore. I’m just—glad. I’m glad you’re here.��

You blinked, tilting your head. Slow, you wrapped your wrist around his hand, gingerly moving it up to your lips. You kissed the back of his palm, and he cupped your face tenderly just as the familiar sensation of tears began stinging the corner of your eyes.

“Oh, Bru. I’m so sorry for causing you all this pain. I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, not wanting to dissolve into a mess of tears right in front of him. “I love you so much. I wanted to come back every day, I swear. I had to do it. I did it for you.”

A glimmer of pain warbled in the blue of his irises. “After you died… I was in a bad place. I nearly killed the Joker when I visited him in prison—I was this close. Gordon took me away before I could. From then I just… I lost myself without you. I spiraled. I was vengeance. Then the anger just sort of left and all I had left was just this… this ache. This hurt that never went away.”

A part of you was surprised he was opening up. It was as if the dam had cracked, and the water was spewing out and Bruce just couldn’t stop. He began to cry softly, the dark mascara meandering down his face once more and his hand shaking against your cheek. You could feel your heart crumbling through the bones of your ribcage, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close to you. 

“Please stay,” Bruce croaked. “I can’t lose you—not again. I can’t go through that again. Please don’t let me go through it again.” His forehead fell to the mattress right beside your hip as his hand fell away from your face and his body shook. 

This was him begging, you realized in shock. He was begging you.

Helplessness placed its dark hands on your shoulders, and you were frozen for a second. 

“Bru, baby, I—”

“Please don’t leave. You can fight crime undercover with me. Here. By my side. Please—I love you.”

Tentative, you reached over and gently ran your fingers through his overgrown hair. This seemed to quell his shaking just a bit. He stayed in that position for another minute before peering up at you. 

“I’ll stay,” you said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. I can’t risk more people finding out I’m alive—and I can’t risk dragging you down with me. I need you to understand that if things go south, I’m leaving immediately—to protect you, Bru. And as long as you won’t hold me back from my own missions. We might’ve stopped one trafficking transfer tonight, but I have no doubt that there’ll be plenty more to come.”

For the first time in a very long time, Bruce smiled. It was a small one, the kind that twitched at the corner of his lips and wrinkled the corner of his mirthful, tear-glossed eyes. 

He shifted upwards so he sat beside you on the bed, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to your forehead. His palm found its way back to your jaw, and he rested his temple against yours. 

It’d been three long years since you kissed him.

You arched your neck just enough so his lips would meld over yours. A pained, broken noise fell from Bruce’s throat, and he surged forward, kissing you back with just as much vigor. He missed this. He missed you. 

He avoided touching your stomach, afraid that he’d hurt you or rip the stitches of your wound. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Alfred how you’d managed to hurt yourself even more. 

As he kissed you, your hands moved to grip his biceps, nails digging into his shirt. His nose bumped softly into yours and he could feel your radiant smile growing against his lips, utterly contagious. Your homely smell, the mesh of cinnamon and gentle lavender invaded his senses, and he nearly started sobbing again at the pure nostalgia from it all. 

You were back. You came back to him.

“As lovely as this is,” you husked, voice lowered an octave, “I still need you to promise me you won’t hold me back. You’d be Batman and I’d be… a ghost.” It pleased Bruce immensely to see your chest heaving, and your pupils dilated as they shamelessly darted from his eyes to his lips. 

“I promise,” he whispered against your lips in reply. Despite everything that had happened the past few days, he still trusted you to take care of yourself. A thrill shot through him when the cold engagement ring around your neck pressed flush against his chest. “How’d I be able to hold back a ghost, anyway?”

You smiled into him, before tugging him down for another kiss.