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hollandorks · 1 year

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transcendent -- motn oneshot

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

a/n: Hi! Long time no see! In honor of motn's one year birthday/ anniversary (I first posted on March 21, 2022), I decided to give you guys a little treat...without further ado, here's (most of) ch. 30 from Bruce's POV. I'm using the taglist from the last chapter of sitn, so let me know if you want me to remove your tag!

***this chapter is NSFW. 18+***

Series Masterlist

word count: 5670

Bruce was drowning himself in the Batman.

He couldn’t stop seeing the blade slide into the soft flesh of y/n’s stomach. Even before that, he’d gotten her beaten and stabbed and drugged and kidnapped–he was no good for her.

He craved her warmth, her company, more than anything, but he was a danger to her. She had almost died because of him.

So he stayed away, a punishment for himself and protection for her.

Working had always been his solace, so work he did. Every night he threw himself into the protection of Gotham and its citizens, even when he hadn’t slept in two days, when he hadn’t eaten in hours. He absorbed the blows of criminals like they were his own punishment. The pain kept him awake, kept him grounded…

Kept him away from her.

Alfred’s words still haunted him. Every time his eyes closed for a second, he heard the words. You deserve someone like her. You are good enough for her.

But he wasn’t good enough for her. Not even close.

Bruce took a deep breath in through his nose and held it, then went back to documenting his night in the Gotham Project journal before him. He ignored the mess around him. He’d set everything back up…eventually. Right now all he needed was the one table and computer. Everything else could wait.

A flash of memory–pain and guilt and so much anger–and he pushed it away.

The elevator started rattling its way upwards. He ignored it like everything else and kept writing. Probably Alfred, coming to chastise him some more. He deserved it.

He barely felt the chill in the air against the bare skin of his chest as he wrote. It felt good. It kept him awake. He needed to stay awake, because sleeping was dangerous.

When he slept, there was only blood and pain and death.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Bruce.” It took everything in him not to respond to her voice. If he ignored her she’d leave him alone. At least, he hoped. He kept writing as the video feed from his night played on. But of course she wasn’t deterred. “If you don’t talk to me I’m going to–I don’t know, put itching powder in your armor. Paint your mask pink. I don’t know! Look at me.”

He let out a breath of a laugh. He couldn’t help it. He briefly imagined her, frown on her face, sitting cross legged painting his mask pink, a smudge of paint marring her cheekbone.

She stomped closer to him and took him off guard by shoving him. Hard. His instincts kept him still, body absorbing the movement like it was nothing.

He took another slow inhale, then turned and paused the video.

He was a plant turning to face the sun after days of rain. He was drawn to her, to her warmth, her light. It was an impulse, an act of nature, something he couldn’t control unless he really tried. She was the brightest spot in the dim underground, the warmest thing for miles.

But Bruce kept his face cold, distant, as if the sun didn’t exist near him.

“If you don’t stop brooding, so help me–” She paused, eyebrows drawn together like she couldn’t think of another serious threat as bad as itching powder or pink masks. She pressed her hand flat against his sternum. Her touch was searing hot, almost uncomfortably so. He grabbed her wrist but couldn’t bring himself to push her away. He needed her touch like oxygen, and his body knew it.

“You can’t avoid me forever. I’m not quitting my job until you talk to me.”

His eyes narrowed as his heart stopped. “You’re still quitting?” he said, when really he wanted to shout, No!

“He speaks!” she said with a little twist to her lips, something like pride in her features. “I promised I would. But not until you stop being so–so–I don’t know, broody. I already told you I wouldn’t let you shut me out. I gave you time. Too much time.”

He still held her wrist. “I’m not brooding.” He let her go as if burned and turned back to the screen. He pressed play so he could go back to documenting his night. “I’m working.” She was too close to him. He needed her closer. He needed her to go. He needed her to stay. He needed–he had no idea what he needed, only that what he wanted and what was best were two completely different things.

She reached around him and smacked the button so the video stopped again. She shoved herself between him and the screen, forcing him back a few steps. The warmth of her was like a flare in the night. Her sudden invasion of his space took him off guard.

“You’re brooding, and it’s because you almost killed me.”

He couldn’t help his flinch, the words landing like a physical blow. He’d been doing–not well at ignoring it, exactly, but he’d been able to ignore it some. There had been so much blood, blood that still stained his hands–

“Go ahead,” she said, interrupting the memory. “Feel bad about it. It sucked. Is that what you want? Me to never forgive you? Me to hate you? To call you a bad man? A murderer?”

His breath came in panicked gasps. This was what he deserved but it still hurt. It ached. She wouldn’t let up, each of her words landing with such precision he half-expected to see blood blooming from his bare chest. She poked him right in one of the sore spots. Her eyes flashed. “Fine. You’re an asshole, I hate you, and I wish you would die.”

The pain of the words washed over him. He trembled even as his eyes narrowed. He knew her. She was going to make a point with all of this, he knew she would. But there was still that small part of him in the back of his mind that let the words hurt.

“Oh, is that not what you wanted to hear?” she continued scathingly. Her voice was pitched higher than normal and she was breathing just as heavily as he was. “Fine, how about the truth? It wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing to forgive. There never will be. I don’t hate you, so you can’t hate yourself. In fact, you big, dumb, stubborn asshole, I still love you.”

The words dropped like stones within him. He opened his mouth even as she glared. He didn’t know what he was going to say–that he loved her, that she shouldn’t love him, to leave him alone, that he wanted to kiss her. Before he could speak, she was jabbing her sharp little finger into his chest again.

“No! I’m not done. Since you’re finally listening. I don’t care if you–if you feel differently. If you see me as a friend. Or as just an employee. Batman’s partner. I don’t care! Even if it’s–fucking crazy! Because I’m in love with you, and I want you to know that you are still worth being loved. I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re a good man. Nothing will change that in my eyes. Do you get that? Nothing. You fucking stabbed me and almost killed me and I still fucking love you!” A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and over the apple of her cheek. She swiped at it quickly, still glaring, still breathing hard.

I still fucking love you.

Bruce shoved away from her. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair.

The words were too big. Too much. The love he felt for her was overwhelming, especially since it was destroying her. He was dangerous, and he would get her killed sooner or later. He’d been lucky that she hadn’t died, that he hadn’t killed her. But there would always be another chance for that, if she stayed close. If he let her in. If he let her love him, he would get her killed.

Everyone he loved ended up dead, after all. Just look at his parents.

He walked over to his motorcycle, still on its side from his fit of rage weeks ago, and righted it just to have something to do with his shaking hands.

He had to make her see. She had to understand how dangerous a thing like his love would be. How dangerous it already was. “I almost killed you. I almost killed you.” The words were blades as they ripped from his throat.

He blinked, and she was in front of him. Her hands were blazing hot as she put them on either side of his face.

“I don’t care,” she said fiercely, the words utterly convicted. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t you.”

“I’m not a good man, y/n,” he whispered. To his horror, a tear fell from his eyes. He loved her so much, and she loved him, but the universe was cruel and had already tried taking her from him too many times. It was for the best that he stayed away, that he pushed her away.

“You are,” she said. “In your heart, you’re a good man. Even good men do bad things sometimes.”

The hope, the love, shining on her face was too much. “You don’t get it. I’m–I’m no good for you. You deserve someone who is good. Not someone made for the shadows. Not someone…angry like I am. Someone who won’t put you in–”

“Stop it!” she said sharply. She grabbed his face again. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, he did. “I have seen the darkest parts of you, Bruce Wayne. And I am not afraid. I have seen the worst parts of you and I am still right here. I’m angry too. I’m–I have been just as complicit as you have in all of this. I killed James Maxwell. I–”

He shook his head vehemently as he closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories. “No,” he said. “You’re not like me at all, y/n. You’re too good.” Even the darkest parts of her were brighter than the lightest parts of him. He was made of shadows, made to stay in them, made to stay out of the light. And she was the sun, trying to burn those shadows away. But there was no light without shadows, and he could never be the brightness she deserved. Not ever.

“I love you,” she said. “Every part of you. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way about me, I want you to know that. You make me feel safe. I love every part of you. ”

He shuddered at the weight of the words. “You shouldn’t.”

“When have I ever listened to you?” she asked with a small smile. His mouth twisted. Never. She’d never listened to him, and he loved her for it. “I love you, even though you’re impossible. And stubborn. You have to stop blaming yourself. I’m alive.”

“Don’t you get it?” he said. His voice broke on the words. “Don’t you see? I love you and I almost killed you.” His hands pressed flat against her back. He shook against her. He was coming apart at the seams, all of his grief and darkness pouring from him in a wave. Didn’t she see? “All these people I’ve been trying to save, and I would have let all of them die if it meant saving you.”

She stared up at him for a beat, mouth parted in surprise.

And then she kissed him.

It was a reflex to kiss her back, a starving man confronted with a feast for the first time. Her lips tasted like salt and he couldn’t tell if they were his tears or hers. He pressed her against the work table, hungry for more, his fingers spreading against her ribcage and her back, trapping her against him. Her warmth completely stole the chill from the air and he almost groaned into her mouth at the sensation.

She made a soft noise and his mind went hurtling back to her on the floor beneath him, black dress wet with blood, her eyes on his as she told him she loved him even as his blade tried to steal her life.

He pulled away, the memory turning the salt on his tongue metallic like blood. “I can’t,” he whispered, anguished. “Every time I look at you, I see your blood on my hands. I can’t do this.”

But oh, how he wanted to. How he needed to.

He forced himself to go to the elevator and make his way upstairs. A shower–a cold shower. Then he could go back to work. Maybe he’d even go sleep at the signal tower. He couldn’t be near her, couldn’t corrupt her anymore, couldn’t be confronted with the blood on his hands anymore. Her blood. His blade.

His body went on autopilot like it had so many other times in the past weeks. Alfred would probably call it a defense mechanism.

He shed his boots inside his bedroom then went for the makeup wipes he had stashed everywhere. He let his mind go blank. He couldn’t–wouldn’t–think about what y/n said.

But of course she wasn’t giving up. She appeared in the doorway to his bedroom within a minute. He loved that about her, he always had, but at that moment all he wanted to do was hide like a child under his blankets and not come out for anything.

“Bruce,” she said. He pointedly turned away from her. “Bruce, you can’t just–”

“Please,” he said, voice cracking. “I can’t do this. Not now.”

She stepped up to him and once again placed a hand on his bare chest. She traced one of his scars. Physical proof of his anger, his violence, his darkness.

“I don’t care. Please look at me.”

After a long moment, he murmured her name. It was all he could manage. He was scraped raw inside, every nerve and every emotion laid bare.

“Look at me,” she said. “I’m alive. There’s no blood on your hands. There’s nothing I need to forgive you for.” He looked down at her. Her expression was still fierce, still convicted. “I can’t believe you almost killed me and didn’t tell me all of this sooner, you fucking jerk.”

He let out a soft noise but didn’t smile. “I’m no good for you,” he said again. But he could feel himself losing the fight. Her proximity was a heady drug, and he craved it, just like he craved the love she was so desperately trying to give him.

“Bruce, I killed a man.” Something flashed across her face that looked a lot like guilt. Bruce wanted to take the feeling away from her, to carry it for her, to make sure she never felt it again. “I killed a man to save you,” she said again. “And here you are, beating yourself up over almost killing me when it wasn’t even your fault. If anything, I’m no good for you.”

He pulled her closer and breathed her in. “I don’t care,” he said. “I should care, but I don’t. Not when it’s–not when it’s you.”

“Don’t you get it, then?” she said softly. The love in her eyes was so intense it was a physical caress against his face. He unconsciously leaned into it. “That’s what I feel about you. I don’t care about any of it.”

He saw how clearly she meant it. She didn’t care. He tried not to let the hope take him over, but it crested on a wave and threatened to pull him under. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say. Sorry for hurting her, sorry for doubting her, sorry for loving her, sorry for all of it.

But there she still was, patiently waiting on him. She was stubborn, even when it came to matters of the heart. He stared at her in wonder. She loved him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Except for maybe not telling me that you loved me sooner.” She gave him the lightest of kisses and then closed her eyes. Her next words were uncertain. “Do you mean it? Because I’m going to be so pissed off if you don’t.”

He huffed a laugh and then groaned. “Yes.”

And this time he let himself give in. He let himself trust her. She was so much stronger than he realized, so he let himself fall into her, into loving her. She could hold him. She could carry the weight.

Her kiss seared through him. He groaned into her mouth, and then again as her hands started exploring his bare back and chest. Her touch lit him from within. He expected to open his eyes and see flames. It was overwhelming, the love and desire he felt for her. He had never felt this way for anyone. He had never expected to feel it, either.

He pulled away with his eyes still closed. He rested his forehead on hers and simply breathed her in. “Every time you touch me, it’s like–like I’m on fire,” he said softly. “It’s too much. It’s not enough.”

Her hands stilled their exploration and rested on his back. “I thought you didn’t want me, all those times you didn’t want me to touch you,” she said. “But I couldn’t make myself stop wanting you.”

“I never said I didn’t want you,” he said. He kissed her again to prove his point. “That night you first kissed me–” He groaned as her hands slid up over his ribs and around his neck. Tangled in his hair. He couldn’t think with her touching him like that. “–I wanted it to be your choice, wholly your choice. Not because you were upset at work, or because you were drunk. I have never stopped wanting you.”

Instead of responding, y/n kissed him again like she was desperate. Like she was afraid he’d walk away again. The fire in his blood built into an inferno.

“Touch me, Bruce Wayne,” she murmured against his lips. Those goddamn words, he thought hazily as he moaned and backed her up to the edge of the bed. He had never known desire like this. He lifted her so her legs would wrap around him and their bodies nestled together perfectly. He knew she could feel his hardness pressing against her. Her eyes were blown wide with desire, which only built the fire within him further.

“I love you,” she said as his lips sought out the soft flesh of her neck.

This time, when the words rose to his tongue, he set them free. “I love you,” he said against the fluttering pulse in her throat.

“I’m so mad at you,” she said breathily. He went still. Had he done something wrong? Then she groaned and ground herself against him. The movement was so unexpected that his hands fisted in her shirt. “I’m so mad that we could have been doing this sooner.”

His expression cleared, and he laughed. “I love you,” she said as she kissed him again.

“Touch me,” she told him as one of his hands scraped against her breast over her shirt. “Please.”

He was already lifting her, keeping her against him exactly as she was. “You’re a bully,” he said against her neck as he held her up with one hand and fumbled with her shirt with the other. His tongue traced her lower lip.

“If I had known that bullying you into talking about our feelings would–” Her words cut off with a moan as his bare hands glided up the skin of her ribcage beneath her shirt. “–lead to this, I would have been bullying you every single day for weeks.”

He kissed her again. She belonged in his arms, he thought. She belonged against him just as she was. He never wanted to let her go. “Well, maybe that would have been worse,” he said pragmatically. “The doctor did say absolutely no sex for six weeks.”

Her legs clenched around him. His breath left him in a rush at the sensation, and she was still clothed. He realized he might not survive this, because his heart already felt as if it were about to give out and they hadn’t even properly begun yet.

She seemed to realize the effect she had on him and, with a wicked grin, clenched her thighs again.

He had her pinned against the bed with his body in half a second. His hips settled against her like her body was made for him, and she let out a moan that almost made him burst into flames, it was so hot.

“Hey–” she said, pulling away. “He told you what the doctor said?”

Bruce rested his elbow on the mattress behind her while the other held her by the ass. His hand flexed on its own accord. She was so soft. “Like I said before, meddlesome old man.”

He didn’t want to talk anymore, and especially not about Alfred. Not when y/n was spread below him, her body just begging for him to touch and taste it all over. His eyes roamed over her form for a split second before he bent his head to kiss her again. She squirmed underneath him.

He wanted to devour her.

He gave in to the urge and yanked her shirt and bra off. Her breasts were perfect, so he paused to kiss them, give them the attention they deserved. Her skin was so soft, especially compared to the calluses on his own hands. The small noise she made when his mouth touched her skin encouraged him to do more.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted her to feel good, to know how much he wanted her, to know how much he wanted to swallow her whole in the flames of his desire.

Somehow his body knew what to do. Without thinking, he knelt and pulled down her shorts and underwear until she was entirely bare before him.

His mouth went dry at the sight.

“Jesus,” she said on a breath as his mouth drifted across her inner thigh. He kissed her higher, experimenting to see how she’d react. “Fuck.” He was on the right track, then. He kept kissing higher and higher, stopping before he reached the place he really wanted to taste.

His gaze snagged on the angry scar on her abdomen. The one he’d given her. Reverently, he lowered his head and kissed the puckered skin.

He looked back up at her, hoping she could see everything he was feeling, because he wasn’t sure how to say it out loud.

Then he lowered his head once more. She moaned the moment his lips touched her and her fingers tangled in his hair. Something about the sensation coupled with the taste of her on his lips made him twitch in his pants as he moaned against her. He paid her back by slowly, slowly sliding a finger into her wet heat.

She growled impatiently and it was so endearing that he smiled.

“Please,” she said, polite yet bossy, so he obliged with another finger. Every response he pulled from her with his mouth and fingers informed his movements. The louder the sound, the more she liked what he was doing. He experimented with movements, learning her body slowly but surely. He let his tongue circle her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her, seeing if she liked it when he curled them.

He’d had no idea that tasting her, pleasing her, would be so…erotic. He could climax just from this, he decided, especially with the sounds she was making.

He didn’t know how long had passed when her entire body suddenly shuddered and the noises she made changed. He could feel her clenching around his fingers as she shook.

“Fuck,” she said as she heaved for breath. “Fuck,” she said again. She was so utterly beautiful spread out before him, her body loose with her pleasure. Her body trembled again. Her fingers fisted in his hair. “Bruce–”

He watched her come down from her high, feeling pleased with himself. He had done that to her, had made her look and sound like that. Even inexperienced as he was, he had made her feel good.

She sat up suddenly, still completely naked, and yanked at him until he understood what she wanted. He stood to his feet and stared down at her. He watched her look at him, eyes roving hungrily over his exposed abdomen, before she pressed a kiss there that made him impossibly more turned on. She kissed one scar–the one from the night they met–and then the scar from the night she’d been kidnapped. Her eyes lingered there for a moment, her expression softening.

Then a wicked gleam sparked in her eyes as she rubbed her hand over him through his pants. His hips bucked involuntarily. She stared up at him and the sight was so erotic he nearly came right then and there. His mind spiraled forward to things her mouth might do to him and–

And what came after.

Something he’d never done before.

He suddenly felt unsure. Would she expect more from him than he could give? What if it wasn’t good for her? What if she knew he’d never done anything like this before? Would she care?

“I–” he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Y/n stroked him through his pants again and all thoughts briefly left his head. He clenched his fists and tilted his head back because simply seeing her naked on the bed before him was almost too much to handle.

She didn’t notice his hesitation, unbuttoning his pants swiftly and pushing them down over his hips almost greedily.

He caught her hands in his own. “I–I’ve never done this–” His face was hot with embarrassment. “I’ve never–”

“Bruce,” she murmured gently. “It’s okay, we don’t have to–”

“No,” he said, then breathed a laugh. She’d utterly misunderstood him. Couldn’t she see–couldn’t she feel–how much he wanted her? “I want to, I just–”

She took that as permission to rid him of his underwear next and his words choked off. “I want to, too,” she said. Her eyes lowered. Her lips parted as she took him in, licking her lips absentmindedly. God, her mouth. She tore her eyes away from his nakedness and locked her eyes on his. “I’m yours,” she said simply. “However you want me. Even if you want to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait anymore.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, her hand wrapped around him. His hips jerked again. There was a wicked glint in her eyes.

He grabbed her hands again to stop her. “Play later,” he growled. Because he really didn’t want to wait anymore. He wanted her, all of her.

She laid back on the bed with a soft sigh and watched as he fumbled in the nightstand for a condom.

He saw her watching and flushed again. “I…may have gotten these before the gala.” He tore one open with his teeth. He tried very hard not to think about how embarrassing it had been trying to find the right kind and how he’d had to call Alfred when the sheer amount of choices had overwhelmed him.

She laughed. “Feeling cocky, were you?” she said, with a pointed look and a wink.

“I was–Let’s just say–” He swallowed. He turned his focus to putting the condom on, trying not to seem too new at it. When he looked at her again, his gaze roved hungrily over her naked body as he said, “The night didn’t go like I’d wanted.” He got on his knees on the bed and nudged her legs apart. He settled between them, body trembling in anticipation. “I have never stopped wanting you,” he said again, softer this time. He leaned down and kissed her deeply.

“I’m yours,” she whispered against his lips. He pulled away to look down at her, already deliciously disheveled, his cock pressed against the soft flesh of her lower stomach. She squirmed slightly, making him twitch against her. The desire was going to kill him, he realized.

“And I’m yours,” he echoed softly as his hands explored the soft curves of her. Did she know how beautiful she was? How perfect she was? How much she had changed his life? “I love you,” he said, savoring that he got to say the words to her at all. That he got to mean them.

And then finally, finally, he pushed into her, sliding in like a puzzle piece designed specifically for her. And she said, “I love you,” as they connected, both of them moaning quietly at the contact.

Bruce practically shook with the need to move as he held himself still above her. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers. “Is this okay?”

“No,” she said, and a weight dropped in his gut. Of course he was doing it wrong. Of course he– “I–more,” she said, the word almost incoherent. Her legs wrapped around his waist and with one easy movement, her hips shifted and he sank the rest of the way inside her. For a moment, he saw stars. She must have too, because she moaned his name and squeezed him more tightly against her, a small tremble moving through her body and into his.

Again, his body seemed to know what to do, and his hips moved. She wasn’t close enough–he wanted her all over him, every inch of her against every inch of him. He grabbed at her waist and lifted her so that he somehow slipped even more deeply inside her. She cursed, drawing a smile from his lips. Her head was tilted back slightly, her eyes hooded, her body soft against him, all around him.

“Extraordinary creature,” he said just to make her smile. It worked, and seeing the expression on her face made his heart twist in his chest.

He moved against her, her fingernails biting into his shoulder blades, one of her hands tangling in his hair. And again, the sensation coupled with that of being inside her sent a jolt of desire through him so sharp he moaned. She smirked then did it again, making his cock twitch inside her. He’d had no idea that someone pulling his hair, of all things, could be so sinful.

He shifted his grip on her hips so he could lean his head against hers and drink her in. She moaned, approving of the new angle, and he stole the sound off her lips with his own. He paused to keep himself from going over the edge too soon. After a moment, he started moving again, hips bucking into her, the slide so easy and perfect it drew sounds from deep in his chest.

Faster. Harder. The more he moved, the tighter the desire deep in his gut coiled, making him moan her name in ecstasy.

He’d had no idea sex would be like this. He’d had no idea that loving the person you desired, that having them love you back, made it so much…better. Would it always be like this? He hoped so.

Her muscles tensed around him, her back arching as he moved. He was right with her on the building wave of pleasure. It built and built and built, her noises becoming desperate, pleading, until she shuddered around him. She clenched around him, the sudden tightening sending him over the edge right behind her.

His vision went white, her name on his lips, and the moment exploded into perfect ecstasy.

It was transcendent.

“Fuck,” y/n said quietly as they clung to each other. He rubbed small circles into her skin where he held her.

Bruce was too stunned to speak. She giggled at something, fingertips brushing his face before he captured them and kissed the tips. Then he leaned down and kissed her lips. The kiss deepened, and that feeling of transcendence built.

He had never loved someone like he loved her. He hadn’t even known he was capable.

There was a warmth in his chest now, like a piece of the sun itself was lodged there. He was aglow in its warmth.

“I love you,” she murmured when he pulled away. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Okay?” she asked, suddenly seeming almost self conscious. He kept grinning at her. Okay? Was he okay?

“Better than okay,” he murmured as he stood. It was the biggest understatement he had ever made. He threw the condom in the trash can next to the bed. “Are you…okay? Did I hurt you?” She had seemed to enjoy it as much as he had, but he had no baseline to compare the experience to.

She stretched languidly and smiled dreamily at him. “I am way better than okay.” He grinned at her again as he pulled on a pair of comfortable sweatpants. She watched his every move, eyes sharp as they trailed over his body. He felt a swell of male pride at that, enjoying that she was looking, enjoying that she was enjoying the sight of him. Enjoying the possessiveness in her gaze.

She rolled to her side and used her hands for pillows. Bruce couldn’t help but stare at her breasts and the curve of her hip as she moved. She was his, this extraordinary creature, and he was hers.

The warmth in his chest carried him to her to brush a soft kiss against her temple. She sighed happily as she stretched again and stood. She smiled over her shoulder, corners of her eyes crinkling, as she stepped into the bathroom.

Bruce thought about how desolate he’d felt just an hour before. How…alone. Guilty. Desperate.

And now…now y/n was naked in his bathroom, her love buoying him and lightening the load of his guilt.

A smile spread slowly across his face.

#motn #bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #the batman x reader #batman x reader #the batman #the batman 2022 #battinson #motn oneshot

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hollandorks · 2 years

Text

middle of the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

epilogue

summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye. No spoilers for the Batman movie.

a/n: I apologize for how short this is but--it wasn’t ever really intended to be an actual chapter. It’s merely meant to bridge the gap at the end of the series into the sequel.

But...this is it. This is the end. I may still have lots more to explore in this world with these particular characters, but this is the end of this particular journey. Thank you so so much to everyone who has been on this wild ride with me--whether you were here from chapter one or before, or if you’ve only recently discovered this fic.

It has been such an unending joy writing this story and sharing it with everyone.

I’m so glad you have enjoyed this story with me and loved it as much as I have loved. I have so many other words to say but I’m feeling very emotional already and need to cool it down. Let’s just leave it at thank you, and I love you all.

This chapter is NSFW. 18+.

Song to play as the credits roll: Opalite by Martin Luke Brown

(yes I know this gif is Selina and Bruce but shhhh pretend she’s the reader)

Series Masterlist

word count: 3375

They stayed wrapped together until the middle of the night. It was the best date she’d ever had.

The newspaper headline glared up at y/n as she tugged the piece of cloth over her face. It was the first time in a few weeks that something other than the huge drug bust and takedown of mafia crime boss, Salvatore Maroni, had graced the newspapers.

BRUCE WAYNE TO WED

She smiled at the words as she tucked the ring safely between her breasts from where it rested on a long chain.

It had been his mother’s. The second piece of jewelry he had given her. The pearls had been carefully cleaned of her blood and returned to her at the hospital after the gala.

The ring had been a surprise. It was a simple band with a big diamond. Simple, understated. Just like Bruce. Perfect, like Bruce.

Her heart squeezed happily as she remembered the moment he had presented it to her.

He had woken from a nightmare. Kissed her senseless. Told her he loved her with his words and with his touch. Let his tears coat her skin as they moved together in the dark. It happened like that, sometimes, one of them waking in fear and needing touch in order to be reassured.

She had made breakfast while he showered. Brought it into the bedroom–their bedroom now, no use in pretending they weren’t sleeping together. He had been in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, water dripping from his hair, when he went to the dresser and turned around and got on one knee.

“I wanted to do this–better,” he had said. Stuttered adorably as he continued, “I–I’m no good with saying how I feel. So all I’m going to say is that I love you and want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

She had said the words “Are you serious?” about six times before he gently reminded her that he’d asked a question.

The answer had been yes.

That had been a couple of months ago. She wasn’t really sure how the news had gotten wind of their engagement, but she didn’t really care. She strongly suspected that Alfred had told them. He’d beamed like a proud father and immediately gone for their most expensive bottle of champagne. Had cried when she’d asked if he’d walk her down the aisle and again when Bruce asked him to be the best man.

Now, the ring was nestled safely near her heart while she got into the Batmobile and put the key in the ignition.

Y/n sighed happily as it roared to life.

“Please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is,” Bruce said in her ear. He’d promised to keep her in the loop when he went out as Batman. Just in case.

And she sometimes came to help him. Like she was currently doing as she sped down the tunnel and out into the streets of Gotham. They had an agreement now–he trained her whenever he had time, brought her in when he needed help on cases, and had even gotten her a bulletproof vest to wear. He’d made her promise to stay disguised at all times, and even was in the process of making her a cowl of her own. That was bulletproof, too, like his, but had no bat ears. She’d also had a condition of her own–no capes.

“Well, you’re getting your ass kicked. I’m not going to let you die before I get your last name.” As soon as she’d gotten home, she’d checked the screens and seen how surrounded he was. He was holding his own, but a little help wouldn’t hurt.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

But he didn’t get angry, not like he used to. They’d worked together for months. She’d gotten much better at fighting. Had learned which of his weapons she liked best. Had learned she had a deep, deep love of the Batmobile while he seemed to prefer the ease of the motorcycle. Her disguise had started simple, just a hood pinned to her hair and a cloth covering the lower half of her face. Sometimes, when she wanted to be funny, she stole Bruce’s eye makeup and wore that, too. It always earned her a smile or a rolling of his eyes.

The arrest of the mayor and the fifteen other men had created a power vacuum. All sorts of terrible criminals started appearing and making grabs for power and territory. Drops were worse than ever, despite that big drug bust. It had been a taxing six months for Gotham and for Batman, too.

Plus, the trial was set to start by the end of the year. She would be Mrs. Wayne by then. It loomed over her like a dark cloud most days.

Minutes later, she clipped the first guy with the Batmobile as she came tearing around the corner. They were close to the Iceberg Lounge. She hadn’t ever been back, though she did see Lena and her son as frequently as she was able. She hired some of the girls part-time when she was able at her pride and joy, a restaurant she had teasingly named the Gotham Project after Bruce’s journals. It was an amalgamation of the things she loved: cooking, and helping Gotham. She also hired newly released (and carefully vetted by Wayne Enterprises finest private investigators) convicts as waiters, chefs, and hosts. People paid to come eat, or they paid it forward for someone less fortunate to enjoy a good meal. She provided supplies for the needy, too, helped by generous donations, including a very generous one from her fiance.

Y/n leapt out of the Batmobile and hit one man in the thigh with a bolt from the crossbow. Hit the next in the face with a gloved fist. They were all wearing clown masks.

“What the fuck?” she muttered as she took in the sight.

“Took you long enough,” Bruce said as he appeared next to her. He blocked a blow from hitting her in the face. She shot another bolt from the crossbow over his shoulder. She still wasn’t great with the weapon, but damn did she like how cool it made her feel. And Bruce had remained insistent: if she was going to help him, she couldn’t use a gun anymore. She had learned to pick her battles with him.

“Sorry, someone forgot to tell me they were going to get beat up by a gang of clowns tonight.”

One of said clowns landed a punch to her kidney. Her breath left her in a huff.

Bruce had already knocked him unconscious by the time she straightened.

“Look out!” she said as another clown came at him with a knife. Her memory flashed to another night, another knife, blood on her hands and in the seat of the Batmobile. With a shout, she smashed the butt of the crossbow into the mask.

The man…laughed.

Bruce leaned over him. Grabbed him by the shirt and held him up. Ripped off the mask. Underneath, he was a normal guy. Forgettable, even.

He smiled at them. “Boss said to tell you hi,” the guy said.

He had something in his other hand. He lifted it.

Y/n didn’t let him get any farther than that. She hit him in the face again and he went limp.

A playing card fluttered to the ground.

Bruce carefully picked it up. Flipped it over.

“A joker,” he said, showing it to her.

She shrugged. Pointed to the men scattered around them. “Gang of clowns, joker card….really went all out on the branding. Sounds like someone else I know.” Bruce stared at her in a way that suggested he was raising an eyebrow beneath the bat cowl. She started ticking things off on her fingers, “Batman, Batmobile, bat cave, bat knife. Bat blade? Batarang.”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.” Home was the unspoken word. They were always careful what they said around each other, just in case. They didn’t want either of them to be tied to Bruce Wayne, to Wayne Manor. To each other. To Alfred.

They took different routes home, too, always careful.

Bruce had beaten her back. Was already scribbling fiercely in a journal, the joker card tucked between the pages.

She yanked her hood and vest off and tossed the Batmobile keys on the table next to him. Started taking off the armor around him while he wrote. He lifted one arm, then the other, letting her work around him without interruption.

She had read most of the journals. It had taken him a while to let her. Well, she’d actually started reading them one night while he was out. They’d fought about it when he’d caught her, and she’d come to understand how…important it was for his process. He needed to shed the skin of Batman each time he came back, and writing out his thoughts helped. It was how he figured stuff out.

If he didn’t want her to read something, or wanted her to wait while he processed it for a bit longer, he told her. She respected it. Understood that some things were harder for him than others. Never pushed, never snooped.

He had never written about the gala, despite her urging him to.

Some nights were harder than others. Sometimes he would wake her in the night with his shouts. Sometimes her nightmares woke him instead. Sometimes touching wasn’t enough. Sometimes when she woke, he was gone from the bed. She always found him downstairs working those nights. Sometimes he found her in the kitchen inventing new recipes to try at the GP.

When she finally had him out of his armor, she lightly kissed the space between his shoulder blades. There was a bruise on one side. She kissed beside it. She could tell by how his stance relaxed that he was getting to the end of his writing.

“You’re distracting me,” Bruce murmured. She could hear the smile in his voice. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Sorry,” she said as she held him close. Stayed still while he finished writing.

“Why clowns?” she asked after he had shut the journal. He tried to turn around but she wouldn’t release him from her arms. He twisted so she was still holding him but he was facing her.

“I…think it might have to do with that asshole I locked up. The one with the scars.”

She frowned, remembering a journal entry from before they’d met. “That’s…not good. He’s in Arkham right?”

Bruce hummed. She could almost hear the gears turning in his brain as he teased it all out.

She kissed his chest. Raised up on her toes to reach the base of his neck. Slid her hands up his ribcage.

He groaned. “You’re really distracting me,” he said again, blue eyes blazing with desire already. He was growing hard against her.

“That’s the point,” she said, and kissed his lips. “Work is over for tonight.” She kissed him again. Traced his lower lip with her tongue.

His hands grabbed at her ass and lifted her so he was carrying her. She wrapped both legs around his waist. She clenched her thighs and was rewarded with a moan against her lips. His fingers tightened. He walked her to the elevator. Held her against him with one hand and fumbled for the button to take them upstairs with the other.

She would never grow tired of this. Of him. Of how strong and capable he was as he held her.

He pressed her against the wall of the elevator and kissed her hungrily. Lightly massaged one of her breasts over her shirt until she gasped.

The elevator doors slid open. He carried her up the stairs easily. He wasn’t even breathing hard. At least, not from carrying her. She wrapped her legs more tightly around him and wiggled her hips. That earned her a gasp of breath.

In a flash, he had her pressed against the wall of the hallway right outside their bedroom.

He lightly bit the soft flesh of her neck and then kissed the hurt away. Her head thunked back against the wall as his lips moved against her clavicle and then back up her neck. He kissed the base of her ear. She shivered.

“Bed,” she gasped. Tightened her legs again unconsciously. “Now.”

“So bossy,” he said against her lips, but did as she told him. He set her down. She tried to pull him close for a kiss, but he turned her around. Pushed her so she was bending over the bed.

Her stomach flipped in anticipation.

He tugged at her pants with one hand and his own with the other. She loved when he was like this–bossy and insatiable and purposeful in his movements. She loved when Batman came out to play, as she’d once teasingly put it.

Bruce moaned her name as he entered her. He felt every curve of her with his calloused hands. Kissed her shoulder blade in the same spot she had kissed him only minutes before. Her hands fisted in the blankets as he moved. She said his name once, twice. Bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. One of his hands flatted against her sternum and pulled her up against him. He traced the chain of the necklace her ring was on. He kissed the top of her shoulder. Her back arched. His free hand slid down her abdomen and teased her clit.

God, she would never get enough of him.

“I love you,” he said in her ear, and it was enough to make her come.

He came a moment later with her name on his lips.

“Oh,” she said as she twisted to lay on her back on the bed. Her breath heaved out of her.

Bruce stared down at her for a long moment. His eyes sought out the ring where it rested against one bare breast. He leaned down abruptly and kissed her again.

“I love you,” they said at the exact same time when he pulled away. They shared a smile.

She stood and led him by the hand to the shower. Gently removed the makeup from his eyes while the water heated.

As they both hurriedly washed, Bruce said, “I think we need to let Gordon in on this.”

She sighed. “I told you work was done for the night.”

He shot her a look. “I have a bad feeling,” was all he said. But he was right. First the ex-mayor and all of that shit they’d been through, now Maroni and the Drops business, now the man already behind bars in Arkham. Something bad was brewing in Gotham.

She nodded. “Okay. Let’s see if he’s awake.”

It was long past the middle of the night. They had spent the darkest hours of the night together, like they did most nights.

Gordon was awake. He agreed to meet them at the signal tower.

“I’m driving,” y/n said as she practically skipped to the elevator. Her entire body was pleasantly warm. Bruce tried to steal the keys from her and sighed when she darted away. She was in the driver’s seat of the Batmobile before he could get in another protest.

It had been a while since she’d seen Gordon. They had talked on the phone a few times to prepare for the upcoming trial. Mostly the Wayne lawyer talked to her and then to him, separately. And even with the crime rates trying to rise in the wake of the arrests made after the gala, they hadn’t had much reason to bring Gordon in on anything.

Until now.

“Are you two partners now?” Gordon asked with raised eyebrows when they emerged from the elevator together.

“Something like that,” y/n said. She had to be very, very careful not to touch Bruce or look at him too lovingly while near Gordon. He was a detective, after all, and he knew that she was in love with Bruce Wayne. If they weren’t careful, it wouldn’t be hard for him to fit the pieces together that she was in love with Batman, too.

She hoped her face didn’t show what they’d just done in their bedroom.

“Congratulations on the engagement, by the way,” Gordon said with a flash of a smile. He glanced at Bruce. “Looks like you were too slow, buddy.”

Y/n couldn’t help it. She snorted.

“We’re just friends, detective,” Bruce said. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Lieutenant,” y/n corrected him. “Gordon got a big, fat promotion for all of the work he did to root out the corruption in Gotham.”

Gordon looked…embarrassed. “Yeah, well, I still have lots of work to do, alright? What did you need me for?”

“Came across a bunch of guys in clown masks,” Bruce said. He tugged something from his belt and passed it to Gordon. “Gave us a joker card.” Gordon’s eyes flashed. He had seen firsthand what the psycho in Arkham was capable of. It was one of the first big cases he and Bruce had worked together, apparently. “This, on top of Maroni and the rest of it…Something’s happening. Thought you should know to keep an eye out.”

“Thanks,” Gordon said. “I’ll look into it and let you know what I find.”

“Keep your eye out for a wedding invitation,” y/n said with a smile as Gordon got on the elevator. He gave her a startled look before the elevator doors closed and he disappeared from view.

Bruce tugged her closer. “Gordon’s invited to our wedding, huh?”

She smiled. She finally gave in and kissed him, now that Gordon was gone. “Of course he is. It’s a very exclusive event, so only our closest friends get to come. Speaking of, how many strippers can I invite?”

Bruce laughed. She held the sound close to her heart. Bathed in his joy. She had never loved anything as fiercely as she had loved him. As she loved all of him.

“I thought it was just Lena?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, a few others from the Iceberg Lounge wanted to come too, I guess. Not because you’re famous, I might add. Mostly because they’re my friends.”

Bruce sighed. Kissed her temple. “Invite as many strippers as you want.” Most of them were strippers, dancing in the Iceberg Lounge for the guests, still. But things had gotten better, they’d told her. The owner of the club, a man named Carmine Falcone with mob ties, had become much more involved since she’d left. The beatings had stopped, debts had been lowered, and things had generally improved. Lena had been quick to tell her that while the working conditions were better, the patrons were just as bad as always. They’d agreed that they couldn’t win everything.

Y/n smiled and hummed thoughtfully. After a moment, a thought struck her. “I wish my mom could come,” she said around a sudden lump in her throat.

“Me too,” he murmured. “And my parents. My parents would love you.”

“My mom would have figured out faster than me that you were Batman,” y/n said. Bruce laughed again. She let him pull her close against his side. “Have you seen the paper, by the way?”

Bruce stilled. “No, why?”

“Bruce Wayne’s engagement is public now,” she said. “That’s how Gordon knew, I expect.”

Bruce was quiet for a long moment. “I just assumed you’d told him,” he finally said. “How’d the press get wind of it?” There was a certain tightness to his voice that she didn’t miss.

She knew he hated putting her in the spotlight–hated either of them being in the spotlight–but she couldn’t help the little thrill she got thinking of the announcement being splashed across Gotham. He was hers, and now everyone knew it.

“Oh, I have a feeling it was a certain meddlesome old man who told them.”

They both laughed. Bruce tucked her closer and brushed his lips across her forehead. “I can’t wait to make you Mrs. Wayne,” he murmured. Her heart leapt. She couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Wayne, either.

Hand in hand, they watched the sun rise slowly over Gotham.

The night was over.

A new day had begun.

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