theblue6ook

[theblue6ook]

A Sick Day PT 3

Summary: Continuation of “A Sick Day” Bruce is leading Y/N around his house, until feelings get involved.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

B (24) & Y/N (22)

a/n: Oh, hello there. You thought I was never coming back? Me too! Anyways life update, fell in love, got dumped. It was a classic case of woman gives up hobbies for man. Anyways what’s better for the soul than writing the most slow painful SLOW BURN you’ve ever read.

masterlist

At 3 am, Bruce wordlessly led her around the dim hallways. The lights were low enough to be appropriate for the time, but high enough to say hey, we have billions of dollars we throw at Gotham Electric. At the very least, she was finally able to take in her surroundings. 

Just to be clear, this was not the first time Y/N had seen Wayne Manor. She had been here previously, during her interview with Alfred and when she had come to scold Bruce on his poor work ethic, but that all felt so long ago. Even then, she didn’t get to explore the depths of Wayne Manor. She only really saw the exterior, plus Bruce’s office. Sprawling grounds, ornate architecture, it looked unreal, but it almost felt plain compared to the interior. And that was saying something.

Y/N had always imagined that having a home of this size, would have to feel lonely. Like a shell of a home. She couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Wayne Manor was nothing less than a house stopped in time. As Bruce led her from hallway to hallway, Y/N couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a wall without decoration. Not a table was barren. She’s not talking about useless rich crap either, she means real family decor. Everything had a meaning. Everything was placed with care. Each shelf held either a memento, a trophy, or a family photo. Not even posed, professional photos. We’re talking about real, candid family photos. Bruce opening Christmas presents. Thomas and Martha picnicking. Alfred baking a birthday cake. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if Martha herself hand placed each of these pieces and if Bruce and Alfred were simply maintaining her vision. 

What was worse– it didn’t feel like Bruce’s house. It felt like Thomas and Martha’s house. Like Bruce had everything set up for his parents to come walking through the front door. In the end, he was still just a boy waiting for his parents. 

Bruce couldn’t help but feel a little exposed as he led her to the right of the kitchen and up to the West Wing of the Manor. He didn’t let many people see this side of him, especially not the private sections of his home. Sure, there were areas of the manor that got a lot of foot traffic, but the West and South Wings were off-limits. Galas stayed in the East Wing, and women stayed in the North (after all, he did have a scandalous image to maintain). But the West and South were where he lived, where his parents had spent most of their time. It was private. It was personal. It was, again, off-limits... to some. 

Truth be told, he didn't intend to run into Y/N tonight. He had hoped she would sleep through the night in the living room, and then in the early hours of the morning, Alfred would intercept her and take her to a more appropriate room in the North Wing. But when he had gotten back from his "night out" and noticed she was up walking around he just instinctually took her to the West Wing of the house. Something inside him didn't want her alone in the North Wing. He wanted her close by just in case. 

It was a bit of a risk, walking her around like this, but luckily it had been a pretty easy night activity-wise and he was only slightly sore on his left side. It was dark enough in the manor that he hoped she wouldn't notice anything.

On the flip side, Y/N was also feeling exposed to some extent. She was finally conscious enough to form a thought, or too many of them she supposed. Her face heated at the idea that Bruce Wayne, the richest man in Gotham, her employer, had to pull her out of her shitty shared one-bedroom apartment, that she sleeps in the living room of. Meanwhile, that man himself is leading her to the West Wing of his home, because his home is large enough to have wings.

While it was nice of him to forcibly remove her from her home and medicate her to the point where her fever had no choice but to break, she still wasn't sure what all this meant. Again, he employed her. He paid her bills. He provided (damn good) insurance, dental and all... but he also messaged her to see how her brothers were doing in school. He always made sure to order her favorite bagel from Upper East Bagel, with no tomato. If they put the tomatoes on anyway, he'd switch their sandwiches, and she never said anything, but she always noticed. Feelings were getting muddled and they both knew it, but were they ready to face all of that? What would even happen if they did?

Thinking about it, she could already picture the next headline, Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Most Eligible Bachelor, Laugh in the Face of Lonely Assistant.

It would be unbearably awkward. Even worse, it would be a conflict of interest. She could lose her income and her stability. Y/N glanced over at Bruce unsure. He continued to lead her down the long dim hallway, his back was littered with little scars, still dewy from his supposed workout. The sweats he had on hung low on his hips as he walked barefoot toward a dark oak door.

I could lose this view.

Bruce suddenly stopped to turn toward Y/N. Her brain barely registered what happened and she didn’t have time to think before she ran straight into him. Face straight into his bare chest, she swore this was both starting off as the worst and best day of her life. Jumping back quickly and wrapping her arms around herself, Bruce grabbed at her arms to steady her. She stepped back once again, back to the door and let out a nervous laugh. Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly, “You can stay here. I’ll have Alfred come up with some more meds.”

“No,” she protested, “Please, don’t wake him. I swear I’m fine.” 

He chuckled, “Alfred’s awake, probably reading at this point.”

“It’s 3 o’clock in the morning.” He only shrugged at her. “What is wrong with you two?”

“It’s not my fault he raised me,” he argued and then paused, silently staring at her. It made her feel vulnerable. It made her annoyed.

“Would you stop? What is your problem?” 

“You’re skittish tonight,” he commented plainly, stepping forward. Her back hit the door.

“I’m tired and sick, so excuse me for not being my normal self-”

“Why didn’t you tell me your radiator was broken?” Was the air around her starting to get hot? He was so close. She had no choice but to look at him.

“What is this a fucking interrogation?” she wasn’t even sure why she was whispering now. The stare down continued. It was haunting and so, so revealing. “Why would I say anything? You think I’d take advantage of you just because you have money?”

His brows furrowed, “If anything I take advantage of you-”

“It’s different. I work for you. You’re supposed to take advantage of me,” Y/N grew flustered. “Wait no. This is such bad wording. Don’t take advantage of anyone. Just-ugh- you’re supposed to use me for my skills. It doesn’t go the other way around.”

“It can.”

“It doesn’t. You’re my boss.” She didn’t mean to be so curt, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. She had always taken care of herself and everyone else. She didn’t know how to accept any offer without feeling like it was dirty money. She didn’t feel like she had earned any of this. 

He inhaled, disappointed, “I’m also your friend.”

Is that what we’re calling this?

“And just so you know,” he leaned in, chest to chest, cornering her in the doorway, “people who take advantage of me, aren’t worried about taking advantage of me.”

She could feel his breath on her neck, when she heard a click, and he pushed the oak door behind her open. 

She inhaled sharply as he stepped away. He grinned, “Get some rest.”

She stood, stunned in the open doorway and watched as he walked away from her. As he turned the corner, Y/N squinted in the dim light, barely noticing bruising starting to form on his side. She raised her eyebrow and backed quietly into her room, mumbling a goodnight.  The gym huh.

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @satin-rose02 @pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt @stxrsberkshire

[theblue6ook]

"A Sick Day" PT 2

Bruce invites a sick Y/N to stay at his home.

B (24) & Y/N (22)

A/N: I'm back... (let's be honest this one is not my best work, but we have better coming up)

The worst part of her illness wasn’t the migraine pounding in the back of her eyes, her high fever, or even the soreness in her throat. No. It was having to face Alfred after he’d heard about the condition of her sickness.

“I don’t know what’s worse. That Bruce, for the first time in his life, insisted on leaving the house, and in a blizzard - or him leaving to find you, on the verge of death, walking in it!” he bellowed at her. “Out of all the irresponsible-”

Y/N had been quiet since Bruce forced her into the car heading toward Wayne Manor. Alfred had even delightedly greeted her, not expecting the visit... that was until Bruce explained the circumstances. Y/N felt like branding him a tattle tale. The minute they walk in and he’s going on to Alfred, guess who walked to Wayne Enterprises today? She could’ve killed him. 

So now, she sits in an armchair by the fireplace in the main living area. Alfred made sure to cozy her up with a blanket and a cup of something warm and delicious before digging into her about being "irresponsible," as he said. As he dug further, Y/N felt her eyes drooping. Her body began to tingle delightfully. Down her sides, into her fingertips, all the way down to her toes. It was like all the stress from her day-to-day life, her illness, her radiator, was slithering out of her. She sank deeper into the chair, and as Bruce brought her bags in, he looked toward her sleeping form.

"Alfred," he said quietly.

"I'll get to you later," he snipped toward Bruce.

"Alfred," he said firmly, moving his head toward Y/N, and the old man turned toward her.

Alfred sighed deeply and pulled her blanket closer to her chin, taking the drink out of her still hand. He spoke mostly to himself, "What am I going to do with you two?"

“I’ll take her upstairs.” Bruce started to walk toward her until Alfred stopped him. 

“We shouldn’t wake her,” Alfred whispered, but Bruce looked weary. “She needs to rest and I don’t want to risk her waking up again.”

So they left her, in no doubt a medicated sleep in the cozy arms of the recliner by the crackling fireplace.

-

It was dark the next time Y/N stirred. Slowly she opened and rubbed her crusted eyes, her sign of a deep, unbothered sleep. For no longer than a second, she had no idea where she was. That was until her eyes drifted to the large family portrait hanging on the wall.

Leaning upwards in her chair she noticed her drink had long gone cold, now sitting on the table next to her, and the recliner she had been resting in had been leaned back to lift her aching feet. The fire was out, but it was still so warm in the living room. That might have had something to do with the fact that she was swaddled in two blankets. What time was it? Had she slept all day?

Unwrapping herself from the burrito of blankets, she stood on shaking legs. With a crack of her back, she moved toward what she thought she remembered to be the kitchen.

Y/N pushed through a set of dark oat doors and felt her socks slide against the checkered tile. Widening her blurry eyes, she looked toward the microwave clock, and there was no mistaking the time glowing off the stainless steel.

3 a.m.

So, that has to be incorrect. There was just no fathomable way she had fallen asleep this morning, slept all day, and then some. This had to be some stupid joke played by Bruce. It had to be. Grabbing her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket, she lit the screen with a click.

3 a.m.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She threw her hands against her face groaning. Snow or not, sick or not, she was not the type to skip out on work and though it was her boss's fault she couldn't help but feel the impending doom for when she did have to play catch up. Maybe I can just get a head start tonight? I slept all day anyway.

Looking around the kitchen, Y/N realized she didn't even know where her work bag was, let alone any of her things. She didn't have a chance of finding it in the manor, especially when she's not used to so much space. Honestly, the least Bruce could have done was wake her up to take her to an actual bedroom, or even show her around the manor so she wouldn't get lost... but if he did wake her, she would have surely started working anyway and Bruce knew this. Hence her current predicament.

But she wasn't alone for long. The heat had kicked on, which definitely masked a general nighttime sound, but there was something off about the silence. She swore she almost heard a metallic clicking, like a heavy door, and then shuffling behind her, but when she turned, there was nothing. Just the glow of the microwave clock shining in the darkness.

"What are you doing?"

"HOLY SHIT!"

Turning, she noticed that standing in front of her was a very shirtless, very sweaty Bruce Wayne. The kitchen glow shined off his damp chest, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. This is so inappropriate, she kept thinking, yet her eyes continued moving downward-

He cleared his throat, grinning.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in, "Don't you fucking scare me like that. What are you even doing up?"

"I was just at the gym."

Bewilderment struck her face, "It's 3 o'clock in the morning."

Bruce ignored her, opting to throw the back of his hand against her forehead with his brows furrowed. "Your fever is down, but you're still warm and a little flushed."

It wasn't the fever that warmed her cheeks. He was too close to her and too shirtless. She had never given too much thought to her boss's physique, but she's pretty sure spoiled billionaires aren't typically cut like he is. She stepped back quickly, looking toward the ceiling. 

"Okay, that's enough. I should probably get back to bed anyway.” Backing away toward the double doors, she paused, realizing she had no idea where ‘bed’ was. Bruce walked past her, his back was as impressive as his front.

With a grin, he opened the double doors and nodded his head in the direction of the living room. “Come on. I’ll show you where to go.”

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt @stxrsberkshire

[theblue6ook]

A Sick Day

It’s not a cold. It’s not. It’s just… allergies or something. Y/N definitely does not need to stay home. Bruce disagrees.

B (24) & Y/N (22)

A/N: recently got a puppy and he has taken all of my free time <3 Also, this fic is unedited and proud.

“Get your coats and turn on your radiators, Gotham. An ice front is coming in and it’s coming in hot. Or should I say cold? No, this isn’t the work of Mr.Freeze, he’s still in Arkham and we hope he stays there. This is the work of a winter storm. While the snow will be beautiful, it will also be dangerous.”

Y/N scoffed at her computer. The newscasters always made such a big deal about winter storms. Nothing can be worse than what they had to deal with when Mr.Freeze escaped a year ago. She was stuck in her apartment for three days with no groceries, splitting a box of stale Triscuits with Carrie three meals a day. If anything, cold weather is more an inconvenience than a danger. Plus, it’s been teetering on 45 degrees out the past week. How much colder would it get?

-

So… It got fucking cold.

Gotham had hit record-low temperatures. So low it hadn’t been a natural occurrence since the 60s. Lucky for Carrie, she had chemo this week and the hospital had gotten spooked by the recent weather reports so they asked her to stay overnight. While the hospital bill wouldn’t be nice, it’s way better than what Y/N is dealing with. 

Her radiator is shitting out on her. The whole building's radiator system actually. Normally when the weather is this bad she would opt to work at home, like everyone else, except she can’t take the cold. Her body in particular can’t take the cold. It could be from the shitty surroundings in her apartment building or from sniffly Nathan who works in Wayne Enterprise’s marketing department, but she thinks she’s coming down with something. What’s worse is that the cold weather is making it worse.

Her whole chest felt like it was burning, which is a real contrast to how cold she was walking to work. She couldn’t get her car past the snow and she needs warmth and warmth is at Wayne Enterprises. So, she trudges into the empty building, up the elevator, and sits at her desk with a groan.

Breathing heavily, she shrugged her coat off her shoulders and pressed her freezing fingertips underneath her armpits. She looked at her reflection in her desktop monitor. Her cheeks were bright red and she had dark circles under her eyes. At least no one else was here to see her. No one else was here to see her…

Would it hurt to take a nap? No one would know. No one would see. 

Y/N stood and stepped out into the hallway. Not. A. Single. Soul. Oh, she is so napping.

-

Bruce had chained up his tires this morning and headed to Wayne Enterprise. It was too bright for The Tumbler and he needed to gather a few equipment items from Lucious Fox’s bunker. It’s not like anyone was here anyway. There was not a single car in the garage, not even Y/N’s, which is really saying something. 

He perused the bunker, grabbing a few small but powerful heaters, fleece-lined leather for his suit, and a couple of other items, stuffing them into his duffle bag. He was used to the cold, training in it, even living in it on one occasion, and the people of Gotham needed him so he’d be there. 

Pulling the duffle bag over his shoulder with ease, he headed out of the bunker and towards the elevator. He left a particular file that wasn’t meant for Wayne Enterprise in his office, while no one was here, you can never be too careful. Except… There was someone here. 

He could only assume the head poking out from her coat was Y/N and she was sleeping? In the office? Stepping closer to her, he noticed, even under all her layers, she was trembling. Pulling her coat collar from her face, he finally got a good look at her. She was flushed and had broken out into a sweat, even her ears were bright red. He held onto her shoulder and shook her lightly.

“Y/N,” Bruce spoke softly. She ground turning away from him. He slapped a hand to her forehead trying to gauge her temperature. She definitely had a fever, it couldn’t be lower than a 100. Slowly her eyes opened at the disruption, then became wide at who was standing over her. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m not the one sleeping in the office.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled embarrassed, “I don’t know how that happened-”

“Y/N you’re burning up. What are you even doing here?”

“Why does someone come to work, Bruce?”

“You’re not working. You’re sleeping.”

“I had the intent to work-”

“Y/N.”

“I just felt like coming in,” she snapped. In truth, she was embarrassed. Here was her billionaire boss. If he didn’t feel like sleeping in his mansion, he could stay the night at his penthouse. She was sure he had other properties as well, meanwhile her radiator couldn’t even stay on when it gets chilly outside.

Bruce held her stare with a firm gaze and narrowed his eyes.

“You’re going home.” It wasn’t a question and he definitely didn’t ask as he lifted her under her armpits from the couch and stood her up on the floor. He took her coat roughly from the couch and threw it over her shoulders. Bruce turned to pack the rest of her things up. Y/N was so tired, but she was also so frustrated. She had just gotten here. It had taken her so long to walk here. “Let’s go. Where’d you park?”

She remained silent and looked away from him. 

“Y/N. Where did you park?”

“I’m not going home. I just got here.”

“You’re sick you’re going home,” before she could speak he added, “and don’t say your car is in the garage because I know it’s not in there.”

“...I parked on the street.”

He tilted his head examining her, “No you didn’t. The snow us up to the stairs. Where’s your car?”

His question came out as more of a statement, demanding of an answer. She wouldn’t look at him and he grew both frustrated and disappointed. “For the love of god, please tell me you did not walk here.”

“My car couldn’t get past the snow!” she loudly admitted, “Is that what you wanted to hear-”

“Y/N. When your car can’t get past the snow, it means you stay home!” 

He held his hand to his brow, trying to sooth the tension in his head. Throwing his duffle bag and her work bag easily over his shoulder, he didn’t give her much of a chance to say anything as he grabbed her by the hand to pull her toward the elevator. Even in his frustrated state, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, his grip on her was still gentle.

Stubborn as ever, she would let him pull her to the car. She would let him buckle her in. She would let him drive her to her broken, cold home, but she wouldn’t say a damn thing about the radiator. None. Of. His. Business.

[She’s even more stubborn when she’s sick.]

And she did just that. She let Bruce Wayne take her hand, blaming the warmth in her face on her high fever. She let him tug her to his expensive McLaren 650s Spider with a new shiny set of winter tires. She enjoyed seeing it too and part of her enjoyed annoying him. And she let him plop her into his expensive shiny car, buckle her in, and drive her home. What she didn’t expect was him wanting to walk her inside…

“I can get inside just fine, thank you.” Y/N attempted to push him back towards his car. Her hand held to his chest and pushed firmly. He didn’t even budge. Not even a sway.

“You’re not walking up three flights of stairs alone in your condition.”

“My condition?” she paused. “How do you know I live on the third floor?”

“You put your address on your resume,” he lied smoothly.

“I didn’t know you read my resume-”

“Stop stalling.”

She tried to keep him out, she really did, but he was so persistent. They made it to the front door, thank you Mr.Wayne I can take it from here. Nope, he needed to help her up the stairs, so they made it up the stairs. Thank you, Mr.Wayne I think I can make it inside by myself. Nope, he had already made it up the stairs; he might as well finish the journey. They made it to her front door. Thank you, Mr.Wayne you can go now. Nope, there’s no reason he can’t sit her things down for her.

In her heart, she knew there was no way he didn’t notice the cool, crisp air in the hallway. The way not a single apartment radiated heat and she knew he had to be suspicious. Her hand shook in shame as she unlocked her apartment and opened the door up, head down. 

Letting himself in, she heard a deep sigh, radiating from his chest, “Y/N, you can’t stay here-”

“Stop-”

“It’s freezing in here-”

“You don’t think I know that?” Once again, he grabbed her hand pulling her into the hallway, shaking her head. He took the keys straight out of her hand, locking the apartment door. “What are you doing? We just got here?”

“You’re staying with me this weekend.” 

“Are you insane?”

“I have a house with over fifteen bedrooms. I think you can find somewhere to sleep.”

“This is so unprofessional.”

“I don’t care.” With her apartment keys he walked back toward the stairs at an alarming pace. She had no choice but to follow.

“Bruce, I swear to God I am not staying at the manor.”

-

“Welcome to Wayne Manor Miss.Y/N.”

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[theblue6ook]

A Quiet Day

Summary: Bruce does not like celebrating his birthday. All of the pomp and circumstance was very “Bruce Wayne Bachelor,” but it wasn’t him. He wants quiet, he wants easy, he wants focus. So Y/N gives him that.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: I tried to add everyone who wanted to be on the tag list, but let me know if I missed you! [B (24) & Y/N (22)]

“Happy Birthday, Master Bruce,” he heard Alfred over the speaker system. 

Bruce couldn’t help but gaze at the digital clock built into his car console. Well, maybe a tank console? Lucious Fox said it was called the Tumbler, but the name just didn’t feel right to him. It was a birthday present he had told Bruce, and Bruce would call it what he liked... when he thought of a name. He was patrolling, as he does, except this time, he would take his new Waynetech Tank out for a spin. Nope, that name feels wrong too.

“Thank you, Alfred.” 

“Anything special planned this year, sir.”

“You know there’s not,” he chuckled.

“I wasn’t sure if you were getting bold with birthdays,” he could feel Alfred's grin, “considering what an extravagant time Ms. Y/N had.” 

“Just doing something nice for a friend, Alfred.”

Friend. That was nice to say. It’s easy to make friends when you’re a twenty-three - well, now a twenty-four-year-old billionaire. Bruce had never been low on friendships, but he had been low on real friendships. Of course, he had good friends. Rachel, Alfred, Lucius, and Jack Drake, to name a few, but that was all before The Bat. After he had left Gotham, he’d been through a lot. He’d been alone a lot. None of them would ever understand what he went through, who he was now. When he had trained, you’d be "assigned" friends. People you had to work with, save. He had met people who would and had died for him. How can you come back to trivial friendships after that?

And when you don’t water something, it dies. So, friendships slowly crumbled. Shriveled away. It wasn’t in a huge, dramatic way, but in a lost touch way. People didn’t want to deal with the Bruce Wayne he really was, a workaholic, stressed, easily annoyed, quick, and yet she didn’t care.

Y/N had come along, and he was used to the petty fights, people making up their minds, even leaving. They'd slowly given up on him. But she didn’t. They could fight all day long, and by the end, he’d be frustrated, grabbing his coat and announcing it was the end of the day for him. She’d look up at him and say, "See you tomorrow."

Once, he had questioned her about it, half joking and half not, “You’re not going to walk out and never come back?” 

She had looked at him strangely and scoffed, “Bruce, it’s fine if we argue and argue and move on. That’s friendship. That’s life.”

“That’s life?” he had asked sarcastically.

“Yeah. Now get over it and get out,” she had smirked at him.

So, they fight, and they move on, and they fight, and they move on, and Bruce doesn’t mind at all. At the end of the day, he knows he’ll see her the next, and then he does. It’s consistent, and god knows he could use some consistency. 

“A good friend gives back,” Alfred stated. “Maybe she’ll plan you a party.”

God, he hopes not.

-

Y/N had been conspiring. Bruce had made her birthday like nothing she had ever imagined, and even if her ex-finance had soiled the evening, she was grateful. So she wanted to do something special for him, except… he didn’t really seem like he wanted to do anything. Everyone in the office was talking about The Bruce Wayne’s birthday except for Bruce Wayne himself. 

Y/N knew she never typically saw his party side, aside from him hopping into the fountain at The Ocelot. The Bruce she knew was more reserved, quiet, and calculated. Plus, when it came to the topic of his birthday, it’s like he shut the complete conversation down. So, how do you plan something for the one person who wants nothing?

You don’t.

At least you don’t plan a party; you make the day itself special. Bruce hated meetings, so she moved them. He loved the bagel place she showed him down by Dorthie’s Flowers, so she scheduled a nice lunch. The last time she was in Dorthie’s, John had told her that violets were Bruce’s birth flower, so she put some in the office. Finally, for the last hour of their workday, she had a cake, nothing special, she had made it with Carrie last night, and a few birthday cards. 

She was nervous as hell. Giving something to the man who can afford everything is more nerve-wracking than she thought it would be. 

Bruce had arrived at his typical noon timeline. He stepped into the office with caution, just praying what had happened in the past years wouldn’t happen today. When he did occasionally come into the office years ago, past assistants and coworkers would plan some Bruce Wayne Birthday Happy Hour where everyone would get plastered, and he would sneak off annoyed. He knew Y/N knew him better than that. Or at least he hoped she did.

When he stepped into the office, there were no decorations, no music, and no surprises so far. He let out a breath. There was Y/N battling it out on the phone like she usually is. She waved at him and mouthed to him I can’t do phone calls anymore, rolling her eyes. He chuckled, stepping into his office.

Violets.

It wasn’t abnormal for Y/N to grab flowers for the office. She was dear friends with his florist, but violets made him think of his mother. Every birthday, his mother would go through the grueling tale of his birth just to tease him. 

“Thomas, you don’t get to laugh. You were no help!” she squealed. “Anyways, my dear Brucie. I was in the worst pain of my life bringing you into this world. All I wanted was my ice chips when our doctor started going on about birth flowers to distract me.”

“It annoyed her to no end-”

“Stop interrupting me, Thomas,” she had giggled, and Bruce had done the same. “Anyways, I was trying to bring you into this world, and he tells me, ‘ma’am it sounds like your son’s birth flower will be a violet. I never cared for violets.’ And I thought, what a terrible thing to say to a mother. So I kicked him out, and the nurse and I worked hard for you.” 

“She’s not joking, son.”

“But now, every birthday I just have to douse the house in violets for my sweet Brucie.”

 Bruce stepped closer, touching the edge of the petals with his fingertips. It had been a while since he’d been given any flowers... but violets, he was sure he had only gotten them from Mama.

There was a light cough behind him, and he turned to see a bashful Y/N. “So, no meetings today, but we have some paperwork to go through.”

“No meetings?” he questioned. That would be a first.

“Yeah, this donator work really should take priority,” she tried to act casually. “Oh, and I was going to run to Upper East Bagel later if you want to come.”

“We’re not getting delivery?”

“Well, it’s nice outside,” she started innocently. Bad lie, she thought. It’s February. It’s never nice. “I figured I’d walk, but if you want me to go by myself I can grab something for you.”

Bruce scoffed, “You’re not walking by yourself in Gotham.”

She grinned. Bait taken. 

For the few hours before lunch, they worked on paperwork. The donator paperwork did take up a chunk of time. There were so many details like which benefits he needed to attend, which non-profits were approved for the Wayne Charity donation program, etc. He was whipped, and even worse, he was hungry. Stepping toward the door, he leaned on the frame. Y/N was digging through one of her bags, and he cleared his throat.

“Bageles?”

She grinned, “I’m literally starving.”

Y/N was excited, not just for the bagel, but because as soon as they walked down to get their lunch, Alfred was going to come and help her set up Bruce’s office. Again, nothing crazy, a cake, cards, and maybe a balloon. It was nothing that should take long. She even had everything in a tote bag under her desk. 

The bagel line wasn’t long, and they didn’t have any issues other than a few people recognizing Bruce and wishing him a happy birthday. When they did, he’d look at her curiously. While Y/N had no reaction, Bruce was suspicious. So, she knows it’s my birthday, and she hasn’t said anything. Not that Bruce cared about things like that, but Y/N wasn’t the type to forget or be silent on the subject. She had only glanced at him innocently, batting her lashes, “Should we eat lunch in the park?

Bruce humored her, so they sat in Gotham Park and ate their lunch. While the bagel was great, it was fucking freezing outside. Y/N looked over at Bruce, pleasantly eating his bagel. It didn't look like the cold had bothered him at all. Despite not being cold, the whole ordeal had Bruce's mind moving. God, please no office parties when we get back. 

He was on edge stepping back into the office, waiting for some insane ordeal… but nothing. They took the elevator straight up to his office, and walked in by Y/N’s desk and… nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she forgot and didn’t want to say anything. Y/N walked casually over to her desk and set her purse down while Bruce put the code into his office door and stepped inside. There was a balloon attached to his desk chair, a cake that was clearly not from a bakery, and cards. 

He chuckled, looking through them. One from Rachel and Harvey Dent, one from Alfred, one from Lucious, one from Jack Drake (who he hadn’t spoken to in so long), and one from Y/N. Except it wasn’t just from Y/N; her brothers had signed it with little notes and doodles, and Carrie had signed a nice message as well. 

It was so simple, so homely, and wonderful.

“Happy Birthday,” Y/N appeared behind him with a couple of paper dessert plates.

He looked at her but said nothing. In the best way, he didn’t know what to say, and suddenly she became nervous.

“I know it’s not much, and you probably have friends planning something crazy, but,” she paused, unsure of herself, “it’s just… you didn’t really seem like you wanted a party.” 

Bruce chuckled quietly. “I don’t,” he said honestly. “I’ve had friends plan a few insane things over the years, and I’m grateful, but I never really felt like celebrating my birthday without-” He stopped, a little embarrassed. “I sound like a child.”

“You don’t,” she stepped over to him, bumping his shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbled.

“After my mother left, I tried to make birthdays special for my brothers, but my dad didn’t really celebrate, and neither did I,” she wasn’t sure why she was whispering. Maybe it was the close proximity between them, or maybe it was because she had never admitted what she was about to say aloud. “John, Carrie, even Russ, they all tried to make things special for me, but… I didn’t want to celebrate. I’d always leave early or fake a headache.”

“I didn’t know your mom left,” he replied back.

“I don’t really talk about it. It’s not like it’s a secret, but I don’t know. It feels so awkward to mention.”

“It’s awkward to mention your dead parents too,” he looked over at her, grinning. 

“At least you know they loved you,” she cringed like she regretted what she said. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

“I get it,” he said honestly.

“So, cake,” she quickly diverted the topic.

Bruce smiled. A real true smile, “Cake.”

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt

[theblue6ook]

(English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistakes! :-))

Ok I've been imagining a scenario that for some reason Martha and Thomas Wayne are brought back from the dead...

One day they are dead and the other they are starting at their graves, reading their names and being very confused.

Alfred probably finds them first, he looks out the window and sees two people standing in the family cemetery, Wayne Manor had problems in the past with grave robbers, and he would be damned if he let that happen with their grave. So poor Alfred runs, grabbing some old shovel on the way (just to scare, not to harm!), ready to give an ear full on these people. That's when he sees. His friends.

He's surprised to say the least. They don't look young, the years they were gone caught up to them. Thomas has mostly grey hair and Martha had a white strip of hair right in the top of her head...

Alfred doesn't know what to do, so he brings them inside. And starts to prepare some tea while he tries to explain the past 30 something years.

The next person who sees them is Dick, he smelled the tea and was going to get a cup, then he saw the people in the painting on the top of the stairs. And he panicked. Cuz he knows what that implies, and he is worried for his dad.

He introduces himself as 'Bruce's son' which gets them to be a very happy set of grandparents, he tells them the story of when Bruce adopted him (cuz grandpa wanted to meet his mom, in the end he got a nice and tragic story of the flying Grayson's)! And how he always wanted to meet them! He also text Jason, telling him to get his ass downstairs and talk to his family.

Jason almost had a heart attack, he thought that Dick wanted him to talk to Bruce not grandpa and grandma, he's very happy of course, but he's worried for them, resurrection isn't something nice, but they assure him they are as good as they could be. And it is his turn to explain that he's also adopted (they laughed at the tire story, he told them it was one of Bruce's "fancy cars"). He comments that he and Martha have matching hair (both with a white stripe right in the middle).

Tim comes home around noon, he's been spending time with some school friends, and when he hears some commotion in the kitchen he goes to investigate, that's when he sees them and thinks he's hallucinating (again), but he's reassured by a very happy grandma. He tells them he's 'Tim Drake-Wayne', and is his time to explain that no Bruce didn't marry a Drake, he is his legal guardian (aka Dad) cuz when his parents died on a archaeological excavation his uncle was not fit to be his guardian so Bruce stepped up.

Thomas and Martha are so happy in a couple of hours they went from being dead to having 3 beautiful grandchildren! They are very proud of Bruce for making a difference in these boys lives!

That's when Damian walks in the kitchen he just wanted Alfred's help with something, he looks just like Bruce when he was that age (or what they think Bruce would look like), he doesn't look surprised or excited, he just says that he's Bruce's 'biological son', which gets one of his ears pinched by Dick with a very stern 'be nice'. Before they can ask anything they're being hugged by Damian who says that it is nice to have them in here.

When Bruce comes home he's very tired™, he had a day full of meetings on Wayne enterprises and he still gotta do Batman stuff. He passed through the kitchen and saw that his kids had guests over. He doesn't think much of it until he gives a good look at them.

"Mama? Papa?"

And the world stopped spinning. That's them! All he wanted to see since he was an 8 year old little boy. He just doesn't believe it.

He looks just like his dad. Probably a bit shorter (and not rocking the mustache), but he has his mama's eyes. And her smile. He missed her smile so much! He missed his papa's hugs, he missed the lullabies his mama used to sing, he missed playing pretend with his papa, he missed them.

And he can't say a word. He just cries. He hugs them and he cries. His mama and papa are really back! They are back home!

And now it's his turn to catch up! And boy he's got a lot to say!

As they move to the living room Thomas gives this look to Alfred, smiles and says "Thank you for caring for our little boy, old friend!"

"Little boy? I'm sorry Mister Wayne, but that's an understatement. He's almost taller than the cabinets!"

[theblue6ook]

A Mundane Day

Summary: Is it ever really mundane office life as Bruce Wayne’s assistant? Bruce saves Y/N’s brothers from suspension.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Hello, hello. I hope everyone enjoys this fic. If I forgot to add you to the tag list please let me know! Enjoy :) [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname]

It was 3 pm. Bruce stretched, rising from his desk chair, with a groan. If he was lucky, he could take a nap before his night shift. Glancing at his desk, he sighed at the files there. A mix of his cases with Bane and Wayne Enterprise documents. He felt like groaning as he sorted them out and threw his case files into his briefcase. Pulling the Wayne Enterprise documents into a stack, he slipped a paperclip at the top to secure it.

It had been a relatively boring day. There weren't many meetings or executives to debate with, just lots of paperwork. Everyone was getting ready for the next quarter, and the files were coming in hot. Not to mention, he and Y/N hadn’t been the most comfortable around each other. After her broken engagement and falling asleep in each other's arms, it was like walking on eggshells. No one knew where the other stood, and Y/N had just become single. Bruce didn’t want to be that guy. So, they were lightly stepping around each other, waiting for the other to crack.

It sounds so immature or superficial to think about with everything else going on in his life. Paperwork, cases, and patrol, and here he is worrying about how to interact with a girl. How old is he, fifteen? But still, he couldn't help himself but think back to her body. How it molded against his, pressed chest to chest, with knees knocking. The sweats she wore still smell like her. It made him want to dunk himself in cold water. Tell himself to forget it. After what happened to Rachel, he knew he shouldn't. She barely made it away from him with her life, and she was lucky all she got was feargassed. Y/N deserved better than that.

Stepping out of his office and into Y/N's. She sat quietly at her desk with her blue light glasses tucked into her hair, knawing on a red pen. She was in intense focus. He silently handed her his stack of files, and she quietly mumbled a thank you, still focused on the work in front of her. Bruce moved to the coat rack to slip on his jacket with mild difficulty. Last night, he tried following one of Bane's freighter trucks. It had not gone well for him.

Finally, he shrugged the coat on in one motion, trying to minimize the pain as much as he could, while hoping to appear as normal as possible. Y/N glanced up at him as he prepared to leave, but once he shrugged his coat on, his button-down shirt slipped forward, and a bruise appeared bright and uncovered. 

The bruise was a bright, ugly purple that took up a large chunk of his collarbone and peck. Her eyes widened, "Oh my god, Bruce."

Bruce smiled lightly, playfully rolling his eyes. She used his first name. It never happened much unless she was either outstandingly pleased or uncomfortably serious. Bruce loved it and would take it either way, especially since it broke the silence. 

Y/N rounded the desk in a flash and took him by the collar. She pulled his face down to her level, trying to get a good view of the bruise. Bruce again rolled his eyes, trying to act like it was no big deal. Slowly, he worked to pull away, but she manhandled him, pulling him back down harder, popping the top button on his shirt. He tried to act oblivious, "Y/N, what are you doing? You know, if anyone else did this, it would be harassment." 

Y/N watched the bruise silently, with her brows furrowed. She looked over the top of his shoulder down to his peck. Without thinking ahead, she stuck out her hand and placed her cold palm on his warm chest. He tensed. At the temperature or her touch, she wasn't sure, but she smoothed her hand over the bruise. It was like ink had stained his skin. She looked up at him, frowning. He was closer than she thought, her nose almost hitting his chin. "What is this?"

“A bruise,” he stated plainly. Her eyebrow rose, and Bruce sighed, “I’ve been spelunking.”

“Spelunking?” she said quickly, “What is spelunking?”

“A rich man's sport.”

“Mr.Wayne-”

“It’s cave exploration,” he admitted, smirking down at her. 

“If people belonged in caves, they would be there,” she was interrupted by a harsh ring. Pausing, she looked up at him once more, “This conversation is not over. You stay there.”

He thought about making his exit, but she would no doubt follow him whether she was on the phone, or not.

She cleared her throat, “Bruce Wayne’s office this is Y/N… Yes, this is she… What? You’re kidding… Yes, yes I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can… Okay, thank you.”

Covering her face with her hands, she groaned. She moved on quickly, though, shoving files in her bag. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Bruce raised his eyebrow at her, and she looked over her shoulder at him, “My brothers are in the principal's office. I have to go pick them up and talk to the office about it. If I leave now, I can catch the bus-”

"I can drive you-"

"That's really not necessary-"

"Y/N, don't be ridiculous. Come on." He walked out of their office with a swagger, as if she didn't just catch the bruise on his collarbone and she really had no choice but to follow him. 

"Didn't Alfred drop you off?" she called after him, "I don't want to bother him."

"No," he laughed, "I can drive myself, you know."

They took the elevator down to the garage, and in his own personal spot was a four-seat, scissor-door Gordan Murray. Y/N had only heard about this car. It was over two million dollars, in a sparkling black that reflected blue in the sun. Oh, she wanted to drive that car.

He looked behind him and flipped her door open, "You getting in?"

She didn't know what to do but laugh. Come on he mumbled grabbing her bag and slipping it in the back before she got in the car. He closed it behind her like a gentleman. The interior was a mix of black and white leather. The seats were peak comfort and she wondered if this was what heaven was like.

The car rode like a beauty and they sat in blissful silence for some time. She saw Bruce glancing at her every now and then, curiously. She finally said, “What’s up?”

Truth be told, he was observing her. He needed to see if he had crossed a line when he pulled her into his arms. All he wanted to do was blurt out did I make you uncomfortable? Would you do it again? But everything in his head told him it would only lead to disaster, so he opted to ask a different question. “Two brothers then?”

“Two brothers in trouble,” she replied. 

“Parents couldn’t help out?”

Y/N laughed dryly, “I’m their guardian and emergency contact when it comes to school. We keep Frank out of it.”

“Frank?”

She sighed and spoke cooly, “My dad.”

Her cool tone seemed annoyed by the topic, but Bruce could tell her body language was anxious. Nodding silently, he decided not to pry. Bruce wasn’t even sure where he stood with Y/N, he’d rather not test his luck asking questions about her family, so they rode once again in blissful silence.

Pulling into the school parking lot, Bruce pulled Y/N’s hand away from the door handle and moved out of the car to open the door for her. He had another pleasant memory of his mother, be a gentleman, Brucie, pop into his head. It had become second nature to him now. As Y/N stepped out of the car, she noticed Bruce stepped with her toward the school. Turning to him, she said, “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I drove you here,” he said. She narrowed her eyes at him and he shrugged. “Honestly, I’m kind of in it now.” 

Y/N huffed, turning to reluctantly walk inside, and Bruce followed after her. Y/N knew if she really pushed, he would have stayed by the car, but she didn’t even feel like arguing. She had enough on her mind. Fighting, she thought, I’m gonna kill them. Buzzing into the office, she turned quickly to him, pointing at one of the chairs sat in the office lobby, “You can sit there.” 

“Whatever you want. I’m here for moral support,” Bruce replied as he plopped into one of the plastic, cushioned seats.

Liar, Y/N thought as she approached the receptionist's desk. The receptionist, an older woman with a shorter, choppy haircut, had given Y/N the basic rundown of what happened, but it felt like a few details were missing. Some boys were arguing over an article with Carl, and it caused a little tiff between them when Lucas got involved, and that’s when the… physical violence started, she had relayed to Y/N. What article? Why did Lucas get involved? Who was Carl fighting with? It wasn’t making sense. 

“You can follow me,” she said. She moved behind the desk to lead her over to the principal's office, but not before glancing over at Bruce Wayne and looking back towards Y/N with a curious look. Y/N mumbled, confused, “After you.”

Bruce had sat nice and close to the entrance of the principal's office. He wanted to be in range if Y/N needed anything. Not that she would, but just in case. God, what is wrong with him?

“Why would you fight him?” she scolded, sharply.

He could hear her brother try to defend himself, “He needed help!”

So, that must be Lucas.

“He needs mental help,” she teased back. “Seriously, you’re already on your third strike. What’s going on?”

“They were talking shit about you,” Bruce could hear who he could only assume was Carl mumble. That’s my cue.

It seemed as if Bruce had manifested in the doorway, “What’d they said about your sister?”

“What are you doing in here?!” she bellowed at him. Bruce took in the situation. Y/N was squatted in front of her brothers, who sat in similarly uncomfortable cheap chairs as they had in the lobby. She had her hands placed on their forearms, in a comforting manner. The oldest one, Lucas, looked like he was maturing well. He could see similarities between him and Y/N, but for the most part, he had his own individual look. His eyes were bordering on sunken in, and his cheek sported black and blue from his fight earlier. The second boy Y/N was with had to be Carl. He looked younger and impressionable. He clung to Y/N’s arm as if she hung the moon and sported a black eye and busted lip. Not only that, he was the spitting image of Y/N, but that wasn’t even the most shocking part. There at the desk was no one. No principal. Not a single person. 

“Where is your principal?” he responded, unbothered.

Carl stared up at Bruce Wayne flabbergasted, “Holy shit.”

“Don’t swear,” Y/N said with clenched teeth. “You need to go sit in the lobby-”

“Sorry, I’m late, Ms.Y/L/N,” the principal stepped in. “I had to settle a matter with the other student.” Their principal, a stout man with a slick combover, looked over at Bruce Wayne with what seemed to be slight shock and then a knowing look. He cleared his throat and gestured to the two empty chairs. “Please sit down. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.Wayne.”

“I’m sorry he really doesn’t need to be here-”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, interrupting her. Bruce looked over at Y/N and gestured his hand for her to sit first. She was embarrassed enough as it was, she really didn’t want him to hear about her dysfunctional family here, at her brothers' school, of all places. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N broke the silence, “Where are the other student's parents? I’d like to speak to them about this whole situation.”

“Well, that would be me, Ms.Y/L/N.” You have got to be fucking kidding me. Y/N looked over at Bruce in disbelief. Should the principal be handling situations his own son is involved in? She certainly didn’t think so. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate,” Bruce started, “to be handling your own child’s punishment? Regarding the situation, I mean.” Y/N gave him a sideways glance telling him it wasn’t his place to butt in, but he seemed to ignore it.

“Mr.Wayne,” the principal seemed to become defensive quickly, “I don’t suggest you put your nose into other people's business. These aren’t your kids.” Wasn’t he the one to tell Bruce to sit in? Y/N became visibly annoyed.

“As a donator,” Bruce smirked, and Y/N felt her ears perk up, “I just can’t support a school that handles issues in such a way. You understand?”

The principal’s face turned white, and every negative feeling Y/N had about Bruce Wayne, had dissipated. She could kiss him on the mouth.

Oh, he was good. He was so good at getting around people, getting exactly what he wanted to be. She felt a sigh of relief leave her chest, and Bruce placed a knowing hand on her knee. He was letting her know, I’ve got you. 

-

After the sour meeting with Carl and Lucas's principal, Y/N had suggested she and the boys take the bus home, despite her brother's protests. Bruce simply wouldn't allow it; he had other plans for the four of them. So here they all sat at Lucy’s Pancakes, a breakfast diner near the office. Y/N couldn’t even be bothered to be annoyed with the change in plans after Bruce’s stunt earlier. Her brothers might have been suspended if he hadn’t stepped in.

So she pleasantly ate her Choc-O-Chunk pancakes sitting across from Bruce Wayne, who looked like peak domesticity. He gave his full attention to her brothers, answering their every question and whim. With his shirt slightly unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, she couldn't help but grin. It was all too sweet.

Her brothers threw all kinds of questions at him. 

How much was your car?

What do you even do?

How did you meet our sister?

How much money do you have?

How many girls have you dated?

“So you broke up Y/N and Russ huh? I’d call it an upgrade.”

Y/N swore her head had completely swiveled when Carl asked that question. Bruce looked up at her, unsure how he should respond. He had to remind himself it wasn't his place, but he found himself shaking his head anyway. Y/N raised her eyebrows, "Carl, what?! No-"

Bruce cleared his throat and slipped out of the booth, "I think I should go pay the check."

Y/N couldn't help but feel so embarrassed, watching Bruce head toward the cashier. "Okay, not funny, Carl. What are you talking about?"

“You didn’t see the article?” he asked.

"That asshole kid was saying you were Bruce Wayne's bitch," Lucas said angrily, "Carl headbutted him."

"The article in the Daily Planet,” Carl handed her his cracked iPhone. There on the screen was her and Bruce at her birthday dinner. Y/N was photographed with Bruce’s arm on her bare waist, fingertips dipping into her dress. He was whispering in her ear in the picture, and she blushed about as red as her dress, but other than that, she looked good. It was the headline that shocked her. Bruce Wayne Breaks Up Assistant’s Engagement By Lois Lane. She snatched the phone out of her brother's hand. 

Bruce Wayne’s assistant, Y/F/N Y/L/N, was seen at The Ocelot wearing her engagement ring, but where was it the next day? Bruce Wayne might be the answer. 

Sources say the bachelor's assistant was involved in a four-year engagement with her high school sweetheart, Danny Russell. After witnesses saw Wayne mingling with Y/L/N in the Ocelot, the assistant appeared ringless as she walked into Wayne Enterprises the next day. Sounds like a classic romance trope to me-

“This is bullshit,” Y/N read.

“I dunno,” Lucas spoke pointing to the picture. “You look pretty close there.”

She slapped his hand out of the way, “Bruce is not the reason I’m done with Russ-”

“Your sister was lucky to dump that cheater,” Bruce emerged again, placing a tip down on the table. 

Carl turned toward Y/N for confirmation. Once he realized it was true, his eyes turned cold, “I’ll burn his house down.”

“He couldn’t afford a house and even if he could it’s none of your business,” she spoke pushing Carl’s head down, “now eat your pancakes.”

@pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt @maxinehufflepuffprincess @padsfirewhisky @moejoeflow @pank0w @qardasngan

[theblue6ook]

I really don't like the narrative of "Bruce thinks if he hadn't made Jason Robin, Jason would have ended up as a criminal."

I much, much prefer the narrative Robins (2021-) gave us. Jason knows he did illegal stuff to survive. He did what he had to do. But has been called a crook, a criminal, a kingpin and similar stuff so many times and yeah, he is one, that he believes this narrative of "oh, I so would have ended up as a criminal." Jason does not have a high opinion of himself. He knows his skills, he knows what he is, but his self worth isn't big.

And then you have Bruce. Who doesn't think that at all. He expects Dick and Stephanie to still be heroes if they hadn't been Robin. But Jason? No. Jason would be successful. He would use his skills, combine it with a passion and help others that way. In #5, they were all in a simulation based on Bruce's idea of what their lives would've been if they hadn't been Robins. And Jason? Jason is a famous race car driver. So good that he wins and wins and wins. He has his own charity dedicated to his mother. Every single penny he wins goes to that charity.

[theblue6ook]

A fanfic idea:

Bruce was able to rescue Jason before he died, and after this experience, Jason stopped being Robin.

He became afterwards the golden child, he goes to college (with a scholarship), helps out in the city library, teaches children (helps with their homeworks and helps them to study), works part time in a car garage in crime alley, and is a supportive brother.

And it pisses his siblings off.

Because there has to be something fishy because no one, really no one, is that perfect.

And there is something fishy.

He is also Red Hood.

No one knows, and the vigilantes never talk to Jason about "the family business" because he needs to concentrate on his studies and other stuff.

So imagine, Batmans suprise when the JL was able to catch Red Hood.

Someone takes Jasons helmet off in front of Batman, Nightwing, and other members

And Jason, who wears also a domino mask, doesn't look Batman in the face even as he says :

"Hey Dad. I can explain."

And Dick loses his shit, he laughs so hard because, Jason, The golden child, the one who gave up on being a vigilante, who reads to children in the library, is a goddamn crimelord.

Bruce just stands there frozen because wtf Jason?!

And Dick takes selfies with Jason being tied up and calles the other Batkids in because they should definitely not be left out of it.

(Edit: As someone who doesn't really write (or can write good stories), I want to say, feel free to use this prompt for a fanfiction. Just please give credits to me (because I don't know if someone else had also this idea and posted it) and please inform me if you publish something (because I want to read a fanfiction like this too))

[theblue6ook]

Jason Todd's pain tolerance and responses

[theblue6ook]

you mean TO TELL ME i have to WRITE my OWN FANFIC?!?!?!?!

[theblue6ook]

Other Lovers PT 4

Summary: After, Y/N’s ex-fiance cheated on her, she is in a state of depession and acceptance. Her ex is in the stage of bargaining.  

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Hello everyone. I’m back. Sorry, these were up later than they were supposed to be and thank you for being patient during my personal emergency. I also have two fics coming out soon! We’ll be back to our normally scheduled uploads ;)  [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname]

Y/N was typically the early bird at the office. It was normal to see her trotting in around 6 am. She was a classic worker bee with a never-ending workload. Today was different. She officially arrived at the office around 4 am, still sporting her silk red gown. Mud and rubble hung from the wet hem. Blotchy and swollen from crying, her eye makeup barely clung to her cheeks.

Not sure where to go, or what to do, she lay on the Wayne Enterprise balcony, Level Fifteen. The sky was a deep, silky black. Y/N stared up into the dark void. She saw nothing. Honestly, you could never really see the stars in Gotham, not with the thick smog, but still, she stared, lying on the cold concrete.

If anyone saw her here, she was sure she would get fired. Or should be.

Y/N couldn't even remember what prompted her to come here. After catching Russ at Mary Anne's, or I guess catching him in his new apartment, she just started walking. It was completely on impulse. She didn't have a destination in mind, and yet, somehow, here she was. At the office, bathed in sweet darkness.

Her bare back pressed against the gritty concrete, hair fanning around her head. She slid her fingertips over her bare ring finger. It felt freeing. It felt lonely. My best friend of nine years. Gone. Sighing, she squinted up once against, trying to find the tiny lights behind the clouds. They were there. Somewhere.

-

Bruce perched on The Waldorf, one of the nearby buildings, and stared at Y/N, who lay emotionless. The black Gotham sky moved above her, surrounding her in inky darkness. She stopped crying a little over two hours ago but still did not move from her spot on the balcony. Bruce sighed, stepping off the rooftop to move in her direction.

He swung up onto Wayne Enterprises and moved into the penthouse. Still covered in his cowl and leather, Bruce moved toward his bedroom to grab some clothes. His goal was to get her off the balcony and out of the office before the morning workers started showing up. You can only keep employees off a closed level for so long, and he didn't want to raise suspicions.

Grabbing a plain black sweatshirt, Bruce swiftly tugged off his armored leathers and pulled the soft material over his head. He could blame his sweat on a morning workout. Throwing on some grey joggers, he took his personal elevator down to level fifteen. It only took him a few steps off the elevator before he could see her through the window panes. She laid still. Bruce would have thought she was asleep if it wasn't for her wide eyes still staring at the sky. Sliding the door open, Y/N sat up quickly and covered herself with her arms, shocked. It was almost as if she had just realized she was still wearing her silk gown. 

Quickly and embarrassed, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" Bruce leaned against the doorframe, waiting for a response. Y/N turned away from him and huffed, laying back down. It didn't seem like she even knew the answer. "No one knew where you were. Not Carrie. Not Alfred. I was upstairs, so I figured I'd see if you were here." 

"What were you doing at the office at 6 am?"

"At my penthouse, Y/N."

"Oh." Honestly, she had forgotten he had a penthouse. Bruce's richness tends to allude her. Hesitantly, she flipped her phone over, flicking the screen on. Six missed calls from Carrie. Seven from Alfred. She was so fucking screwed. "Shit."

Finally, Bruce walked over to her and bent down beside her. He tilted his head, looking at her. She sat in a damp dress, and her makeup had run down her cheeks, but she was still Y/N. He put his hands around hers and said quietly, "C'mon, let's get you upstairs. I'll let Alfred and Carrie know I found you."

Y/N finally looked up at him and lightly nodded. Pulling her off the ground, Bruce embraced her, rubbing his hands up and down her cold arms. Finally, he led her inside the office and up to the penthouse.

The penthouse held a different vibe than the office. Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of it. While the office had been consistently updated to balance the flow of working people, the penthouse seemed frozen in time. It held a gothic charm, something that could only be described as Old Gotham. Large, cathedral-like windows covered the living room wall, and jewel tones littered the surrounding area. It was similar in wood tone and style to Bruce's office now that she thought of it. Y/N couldn't help but wonder if this is what Wayne Enterprises had looked like in its heyday.

Placing his hand on the small of her back, Bruce led her to one of the plush leather sofas. He placed his hands on her biceps and spoke softly to her, "I should go tell Alfred and Carrie that I found you, but if you want to wash up, there's a bathroom in that room over there, okay?"

Y/N nodded once again, seeming to have lost all interest in talking. How could she talk when she was just so embarrassed? Not only did she call her engagement off, but now her boss had to take care of her. As Bruce walked off, she threw her head back groaning, and stood, heading towards the bathroom. 

It's probably not employee etiquette to shower at your boss's house, but Y/N needs one. So she turned on the water. Hot. So hot, it almost burned her skin. She felt like she needed to scrub violently. Wash every cell Russ had ever touched, caressed, loved. The water pattered against the tile floors, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out her thoughts. What Russ had done had finally, really sunk in. It was branded into her mind. The way he thrashed against Mary Anne. The way he raised his hand to her. It was engraved into her bones. 

She lifted her head to the faucet, letting the water run down her face. It was all getting so overwhelming. The fan. The water. The silence. The thoughts. Knocking. There was knocking. She quickly shut the water off. Wiping her face with a towel. How long had she been in here? “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving some clothes out for you. I have to go run down to the office. There’s a meeting.”

“I can come with you-”

“No. Stay up here.”

Throwing a towel around her, she approached the door and cracked it a decent amount. “I can seriously change and come with you.”

“I think you should stay up here," he argued, "Mental vacation.”

“I don’t want a mental vacation.”

“You’re taking one.”

“Fine,” she sighed.

“I’ll be back in 30," his eyes quickly darted to her bare legs, "Just get comfortable and hang out until I'm back."

She watched him look back at her one last time before finding his way out of the bedroom. Turning toward the bed, she noticed a pair of sweats neatly folded. She picked up the sweatshirt, folded it in her hands, and slipped off her towel. You never realize how tall a person is until you try on their clothes, and this pair of sweats swallowed her whole. She had noticed they looked worn well. Curious, she brought the sweatshirt up to her nose and breathed in. The scent could only be described as Bruce. 

There was a light hint of cologne, something expensive, surely, but overtop of that, she could smell rain. Gotham rain and leather. These were no back closet finds. These were his. She wasn't sure why she felt surprised. It was his penthouse, and they were his clothes, but the sentiment made her grin. 

Stepping out of the bedroom, her pants dragged against the ground. She stepped over to the leather couch once again and buried herself into the pillows. Staring up at the ornate ceiling, she grabbed her phone off the coffee table, ready for the insane amount of calls that awaited her.

She turned her phone in her hand and finally switched off the Do Not Disturb. She expected calls from Carrie or Alfred, but immediately a call from Russ came through. She denied it. Another call from Russ. Denied. Looking through her phone history, he had now called seventeen times. Lighting up her screen once more, there was another call from Russ. Frustrated, she answered it.

“Usually when someone is denying your calls it’s because they don’t want to fucking talk to you.”

“Babe-”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not anything to you. Clearly.”

“It wasn’t like that. It was a mistake. After, all the things we’ve been through Y/N-”

“That’s what makes it so much worse. All of that and still you find someone else-”

“It wasn’t like that-”

“You were moving in together, Russ!” She sat up, angrily. 

“I made one mistake. One fucking mistake, Y/N. I don’t think that’s worth giving up on us.” She rolled her eyes. Here he goes again, saying the same shit.

"Maybe it's you, Russ. Maybe you're not fucking worth it," she spat at him, tears in her eyes again. She didn't mean that, and she knew it, but some part of her hurt, and it wanted him to hurt too.

“You think it’s been easy with you? You think you’re a cakewalk, Y/N. I just needed someone who’s not all about work all the time. Someone who makes time for me.”

“Great. Hope you got her.”

“You’re not better than me, Y/N. You’re not.”

“I never said I was.”

“No, but you’re acting like it,” he said. “Besides your job, what do you even bring to the table?”

“What table, Russ? You can’t afford one.”

She heard him promptly cut the line. Angrily, she chucked the phone into the couch diagonal from her. Russ was always like this. A glass canon. He could dish it out, but the minute it came back around, he could never take the heat. Hearing a ding come from the elevator, she turned with a frustrated look on her face. 

“Woah,” Bruce raised his hands, “I’m back early I know, but let's take a breath.” 

Y/N rubbed at her eyes, and looked back up at him, “You went down to the meeting in sweats?”

“I said I was going. I didn’t say I was looking nice," he defended himself, and for the first time in fourteen hours, Y/N began to chuckle. Gradually, her chuckle turned into a deep laugh, and she laughed hard. "Oh god. What is my life? I can't believe you went down there like that."

“I look better than you did earlier,” he said, plopping down beside her. “Besides, I didn’t really sleep last night. I’m tired, cut me some slack.”

“Yeah, same,” she whispered. 

Silently, Bruce sat thinking. He looked over at her one more time before opening his arms to wrap around her. She let him wrap his hands around her waist, but she didn't expect him to pull them down onto the couch. Pushing up onto his chest, she looked at him bewildered. He glanced at her with a lazy grin, “Let’s just take an hour-long power nap. Right here.”

“You do know you have like seven beds up here right?” she whispered to him, like they were the only people in the world.

Bruce grinned at her once more, opening her arms to give her a chance to escape. Instead, Y/N grinned back. Just this once, she was going to cut herself some slack. Slowly, she leaned down, placing her cheek against his jaw, and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Their bodies easily slid together, legs molding, arms wrapping around each other. The scent of leather and rain flooded her senses. She had never felt so safe. @pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[theblue6ook]

I everyone! I just wanted to let you know I had a personal emergency this past weekend, but the update on Out of My League is coming. I’ve written several fics I’m super proud of so I hope you enjoy them! The first one should be up by tonight.

Happy Eclipse Day!

[theblue6ook]

non-gotham locals think the most prolific bat-villain is the joker, or scarecrow, even the riddler — or any of their assorted highly dangerous deluded rogues.

but a real gothamite knows how big a pain in the ass condiment king is, in fact, urban legend says that the bat kids have formed a pact to not tell batman if condiment king just happens to turn up… at the bottom of gotham harbor.

[theblue6ook]

"Other Lovers" PT 3

Summary: Y/N is realizing the end of her relationship with Russ is near. Bruce is realizing he might like Y/N more than he leads on.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Hello lovelies. There will be a part four to this. There will be some flirting happening here with Bruce and Y/N so stay tuned.  [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname] Apart of my Out of My League series btw.

Bruce did not regard himself as a touchy, feely person. In fact, many people called him detached. Even as Bachelor Bruce, he wasn’t a big toucher, but he could not keep his hands off of Y/N. He knew Rachel noticed. He knew his staff noticed. He knew he shouldn’t, but he was just so comfortable with her.

It honestly had happened out of nowhere. She hadn’t even been his assistant long, maybe a few months? But they spent almost every single day together; it was hard not to get comfortable. Everything in him, especially The Bat, was telling him to knock it off, but he couldn’t. His hands traced her shoulder, walking her into the green room. He was excited to show her the present that awaited them. Her shoulder tensed with surprise when she noticed the large cake towards the center of the room. His hand slid down the curve of her spine toward her waist. Fingertips playing with her silk dress. 

Y/N couldn’t help but feel guilty, her heart speeding up as she felt his fingertips press into the flesh at her waist. She giggled, slightly overwhelmed. She wasn’t sure whether to focus on the singing, the cake illuminating the center of the room, or Bruce’s body heat against her back. 

He had leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I hope this makes up for earlier. Happy Birthday.” 

His lips almost grazed the shell of her ear. Firmly, she held onto his arm against her waist to steady her. Clapping erupted, interrupting her fogged mind and bringing her back to the cruel reality. I am engaged. I am engaged, and I don’t want to be. Despite her initial attitude with Bruce Wayne, he was him. She was glad he wasn't necessarily the bachelor everyone made him out to be. He was smart and funny and so stubborn. He was gorgeous. That's one thing the papers didn't lie about; they almost didn't even do him justice. She could feel every hard curve of his skin against her back.

She turned to smile at him, speaking over the clapping, “What is this cake?!” 

“It’s huge!” Carrie interjected, taking her hand off Bruce’s arm to clap as well. 

"You didn't think I'd get you a cake on your birthday?" he grinned teasingly. "Are you surprised?"

“I’m surprised,” she hugged him tightly, and he returned it just as tight. 

The birthday activities had resumed in various ways. Bruce had to sneak off and entertain his vast amount of guests. Carrie and Y/N feasted on birthday cake, then dinner, then cake again. It was a magical affair. She felt pleasantly drunk off cocktails, and Carrie giggled at Y/N’s lightheadedness. They decided to do a lap around the restaurant; it was like nothing they had ever seen before. Each room had a different color scheme; every table was set to the high heavens. It was like what she had imagined while reading The Great Gatsby. Once they had explored enough, they came back to the green room only to notice a crowd was gathering.

Bruce had to work fast. As stupid as this seemed, he desperately needed a distraction. One of Bane’s followers was here. Bruce caught him parading around as a waiter when he took him out, discretely, of course. They had been looking for their target, the CEO of Ace Chemicals, and though he had handled the waiter, there was no telling if there was another one of Bane’s goons in the area. So, Bruce needed a distraction while his staff politely escorted the CEO out, and he needed one fast. He needed a crowd. He needed people.

Y/N turned to her left, and there he was, in the view past her vast birthday cake, swimming in the tiger fountain with the half-naked ballerinas. It was his restaurant. What could the staff do but watch? She was his assistant. What could the staff do but watch? 

Feeling almost embarrassed, there was a tightness in her chest. Y/N glanced to her left to look away from the scene, and she noticed Rachel in a similar position. There she was, looking over at him, disappointed and discouraged. It’s like they were at two opposite ends of the same spectrum. The old lover. The new crush.

The cruel reality came back to her once more. He is him. He is Bruce Wayne, and I am his assistant. He is Gotham’s finest bachelor, and I’m engaged. 

“We should go,” she mumbled to Carrie. 

After messaging Alfred, he was there in no time, and they had plopped into the back of the Rolls Royce silently. Alfred could tell the night had not gone exactly as planned, but he opted to ask Y/N about it later. Y/N’s mind wandered as she stared out towards the passing buildings until she noticed they were coming up on East Merchant Street. That’s the street near the bar Russ works at.

“You can pull over here,” she suddenly stated. 

Carrie grabbed Y/N’s arm and turned to her, looking concerned, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Y/N ignored the question, “Alfred, will you take Carrie home?”

“Y/N,” she said firmly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Finally, sighing, Y/N turned to Carrie, “I need to have a conversation with my fiance.” She raised her eyebrow and gave Carrie a look that said this is serious. Hesitantly, Carrie let go of Y/N’s arm, but before she could get out of the car, Carrie snatched her once again.

“You call Alfred the minute you need to come home,” her gaze was serious. “I’m waiting up for you, and I’m not kidding. The minute you need to come back.”

Y/N heard Alfred repeat a similar phrase, and she looked toward Carrie, nodding. She gave her a quick hug before stepping back from the vehicle and watching them drive off, taillights reflecting in the puddles on the street. Inhaling, she started her trek down the sidewalk.

Y/N was at a crossroads. She knew she should have expected some wildly Bruce Wayne scene tonight, but she was disappointed. For a moment, she got to pretend like all of her problems had drifted. Like her engagement wasn’t falling apart. Like she was just a single twenty-two-year-old woman with her best friend out in society, flirting with the idea of men. When Bruce jumped into that fountain, it reminded her that the man she had thought about so much tonight was her boss. He was the most notorious bachelor in Gotham. Her fiance was drifting away. She was drifting away, and after all the shitty things Russ had done, she still cared for him. So, tonight, she was giving them one more chance. To talk, to laugh, to make love. She just needed one night to see if there was still something there for them.

She walked down the steps into Pipers. It was a sleazier bar, like an off-brand Hooters, with more alcohol. The men down here were different in a weird way, always looking at the waitress' assets. Originally, she had protested Russ working here, but he said the people like to drink a lot, and more drinks means more money. She heard a low whistle coming from behind the bar. Y/N turned, expecting it to be Russ, but instead, it was just Tony, the GM.

“What are you up to, honey?” Tony smiled softly at her. Tony was notorious for being an asshole, but he had always had a soft spot for Y/N ever since she spent her last summer tutoring his daughter.

“Hey Tony, I’m actually looking for Russ.”

He raised his eyebrow, “Russ? He told me he was taking a half-day.”

All the blood drained from her face. Was he hiding something?

“Did he?” she said breathlessly.

He inhaled and rose from his seat at the back of the bar, almost knocking his beer belly against the counter. He wiggled his finger for her to come closer as he leaned over the bartop like he had to tell her something in secret. “One of our servers here said she was going to drive him to meet you.”

“Do you think he’s at my apartment?” she questioned. After rubbing his gelled hair, he threw his arms out in a questioning manner, but he didn’t look as hopeful as she was. She whispered once more, “I mean, it’s Russ, right? It’s not like it could… be anything.”

Nodding, he cleared his throat, “Why don’t you uh check in with our server first? See where she drove him.” He pulled out a thick binder from the back of the counter and started flipping the pages. “I’m not allowed to share personal information about my employees, but I’m just gonna leave this right here and go do a lap around the bar.”

Winking at her, he moved away from the bartop and started doing his rounds. Y/N pulled the large binder over to her, looking at the page he had turned to. Her mouth dropped. Mary Fucking Anne. Y/N had met her years ago, and she had been nice enough. She was the type of woman who couldn’t be alone. Not because she didn’t know how but because the men at the bar kept her so busy. Y/N had praised her before for being so adventurous, but she didn’t realize she’d be adventurous with engaged men.

Snapping a picture of the book and scanning for an address, she quickly slid the binder back behind the counter and stepped out of the bar. 

Walking down the cold street in her thin red dress, she thought to herself it’s not like that. It can’t be like that. We’ve been engaged since we were eighteen. It’s been years. It’s not like that. In her head, she was hoping she knew the way it would play out. She’d get to Mary Anne’s and ask her where Russ was. Mary Anne would turn to her and say oh, I dropped him at your apartment because Russ has terrible common sense and probably didn’t realize The Ocelot takes more time than Chuck’s Chili. Then, she’d get home and Russ would be there, and they’d laugh about it. Yes, that has to be what happens. It can’t not be what happens because if she gets to Mary Anne’s and that’s not what happens, that is more than four years of her life wasted. That is not only her fiance but one of her best friends betraying her. Someone who was with her through everything and would amount to nothing. 

Looking at the address on her phone and back up at the building, here it was, Mary Anne's. It was a small dingy building about two blocks away from Pipers. Y/N looked up the steps toward the common door. It wasn’t likely the common door would be open, but she decided to try it anyway. Stepping up the stairs, she pulled, and there was nothing. Pulling again, it was like some divine intervention. The building lights flickered, and the magnetic lock holding the door closed let go. Y/N was too worried about the task at hand to even question it. Taking steps two at a time, she almost tripped on her red grown, but here she was. Apartment 24.

The noise already betrayed them. Trying the door, it happened to be unlocked. They had clearly been in a rush to get inside. Unapologetic, she threw the door open, and there they were against the countertop, a mesh of limbs and lipstick. But after taking in the state of the apartment, that wasn't even the worst part. His things were here.

Mary Anne squealed, trying to cover herself with a dishtowel, and Russ tried squeezing back into his pants, abandoning Mary Anne to rush over to Y/N, apologizing. “What are you doing here, baby? It’s - I’m sorry-”

The way she looked at him had him stopping in his tracks. Not another word came out of his mouth. Mary Anne still shrunk in the corner, trying to cover herself, shivering with shame. She slowly started to wander around the apartment. “You told me you didn’t want me over until your landlord renovated your apartment.” 

“Baby, I just-”

“-You’re moving in with her,” she said disgusted, turning to him. She grabbed at the records on the wall. She had gotten him each one for his birthday. With clenched teeth, she said, “These are our things, Russ.”

“They’re still our things,” he tried to reason, tears in his eyes, realizing his actions were finally catching up to him. 

Mary Anne had since forgotten her towel and modesty, pushing at Russ’s shoulder angrily, “They’re our things. You’re living with me-”

The sound of cracking had her silent. Crushed records lay at the bottom of Y/N’s red dress. Russ had looked like he’d been shot. 

“Four years,” Y/N mumbled, dropping the last record and crushing it into her heel. She stepped around the room once again. No one wanted to say a thing; it was like waiting for a bomb to go off. On the coffee table was the vase she made him in pottery class in high school. It was her first gift to him, and now it was holding the flowers he brought home to another woman. She picked it up, dumping the flowers and water onto the uneven wooden floor. She held the vase by the tip of her pointer finger.

“Y/N,” he started bawling, “I don’t have an excuse for it, but I love you. Please-” Mary Anne gasped at his statement, running toward her bedroom sobbing, leaving the pair alone. “I can’t live without you. Even if we’re not together, you’re one of my best friends-”

The vase landed with a shatter, and she started to walk towards the door. He dropped to his knees and wailed, “You’re just going to throw everything we have away!”

Turning to him, red with anger, she noticed the guitar mounted to the wall. It was something she had gotten him with her first Wayne Enterprises paycheck. With a scream and a cry, she swept the guitar off the wall and smashed it next to him. After taking a breath and looking at her surroundings, she finally stormed out of the apartment. Wet, hot tears finally smeared down her face as she approached the exit and screamed into the open air. Russ was not far behind. His sadness turned to anger, and he quickly gripped the front of her arms despite her protests.

“You think you can just throw me away!?”

“We’re done, Russ!” she struggled in his grip but continued. “I’m disgusted by you. I wish I never met you!” He raised his hand to her, but there was a sudden crack against Russ’s hand, and blood started to drip down his arm. There, lying on the concrete, was a sharp piece of metal in the outline of a bat. Thunder rolled, and there was a flash of lightning. Russ looked up, turning white like he'd seen a ghost, but by the time Y/N had turned around, there was nothing.

Now alone, she stared down at the little metal bat, and then her focus changed to the cracked engagement ring on her left ring finger. Slowly sliding it off her finger, she let it fall out of her palm and toward the gutter. Somehow, she felt lighter without it. She wasn't sure what came over her next, but she decided to pick up the little metal bat and pocket it into her clutch. 

Lurking in the shadows, Bruce watched Russ rush inside. He watched Y/N slide her engagement ring off, letting the Gotham sewer take it. He watched Y/N's red silk dress pool around her as she leaned down, picking up the piece of metal and dropping it into her bag.

Bruce had said it before that he missed Rachel. He missed their late-night conversations. He missed having someone down to Earth. He missed having a friend, and the fact that Rachel was his friend made him love her, but he hadn’t realized until tonight how much Y/N filled that void for him. They may not have late-night conversations. She may not know about his double life, but they had their afternoon talks over lunch. She brings flowers into the office, just because. She bantered with him. She wasn’t intimidated by him, and he would be damned if he let a man raise his hand to her. 

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[theblue6ook]

Jason: so I forgot about Father’s Day

Bruce:

Jason: okay, I didn’t forget about it. I didn’t know what to get you. but then it suddenly came to me, so.

Jason: *places large, bloodstained bag of broken computer parts on table*

Bruce: are those—

Jason: —the hard drives from the Russian case you’re working on? yeah. it took me a couple days, but I managed to get all of them. I know you were having trouble tracking them all down.

Bruce:

[theblue6ook]

Other Lovers PT 2

Summary: Y/N and Rachel get to know each other while Bruce makes up for his birthday party fowl.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: This is a SLOW BURN, we are burning slowly. Stay tuned because, in the next part, Y/N’s fiance might not be her fiance anymore, and is Bruce starting to have feelings??? This is also a part of the Out of My League series. [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname]

Y/N and Carrie sat in Swan, the gaudiest, most expensive fashion boutique there was. It was way uptown compared to what they were used to, but Bruce had booked this as a part of her birthday celebration. Y/N, you can’t go to The Ocelot without a dress, he said as he handed her his platinum card. She called him a snob as she snatched it out of his hand, white in the face. I don’t even want to know the limit to this card if there even is one. Normally, she’d never let him pay for her, but… it was her birthday, so she allowed it, and he had pulled out all of the stops. 

So, over cheese and wine and dresses, Y/N sat and finally came clean to Carrie about what happened with Russ. And Carrie… Carrie was pissed. 

“Y/N/N,” she started, “Now you know I would love and I mean love to spend your birthday dinner with you. Obviously. But what the fuck?”

“Listen, Carrie, I just… I don’t even know what to do anymore.” She sat down her Riesling and shoved a piece of merlot cheese into her mouth, hoping it would numb the sting of her absent fiance. It didn’t.

“He’s your fiance!” she cried out, almost spilling her mocktail out of her hand. 

“It’s just been like this with him. He’s hot, he’s cold. Anything that has to do with my job or Bruce, he just loses his mind!”

Y/N had shifted the dress she was trying on to tuck her legs underneath her. They had been dress shopping for a little less than an hour, but she could tell Carrie was getting tired; she had her treatments a few days ago, so they decided to sit and eat. But now that Y/N had blabbed on Russ, it was like all Carrie’s energy came flooding back to her.

“Can I speak freely?” Carrie had that fiery look in her eye as she sat up straighter. She knew this was something Carrie had been holding onto for a long time, but she wasn’t ever in the mood to hear it. She wasn’t even sure she was in the mood to hear it now, but… she nodded anyway. “It hasn’t been right with Russ for a while.”

“Carrie-”

“Hear me out,�� she stopped her, holding up her finger and a piece of cheese. “You know I love Russ; we’ve all known each other since high school, but just because you’re with someone for a long time doesn’t mean you should stay with them.”

Y/N shook her head, “We’re just in a rough patch.”

“Your rough patch started way before Bruce Wayne,” she said, sighing, looking at Y/N, “I’m not saying make any rash decisions. I’m just saying think about it. Think about what’s good for you.”

It felt like pins and needles were in her eyes as hot tears dwelled at the tip of her lashes. She knew it had been rough with Russ, but she hadn’t cried about it, and she didn’t want to. Pulling herself together, she inhaled. “What do you think about the red, backless one over there.”

Carrie grinned.

-

Everyone looked towards the large group of ballerinas that filtered into The Ocelot, entertained, and who was leading them? Bruce Wayne himself. His staff set his table to the left of the staircase, and ironically, so was Rachels. What a coincidence! Harvey Dent had waved to him immediately, oblivious to the past relations Bruce had with his date, while Rachel gave him a knowing look like she already knew what he was up to. 

Harvey stood to greet him with a pleasant, “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight, Mr.Wayne.” 

“Well, it is my restaurant, Harvey,” Bruce shook his hand politely. He glanced down at Rachel, and it was clear she didn’t take the bait and sat patiently in her chair. “I see you know my good friend, Rachel.”

She nodded over at the ballerinas disapprovingly, “I see you brought some friends of your own, Bruce.” 

“She’s always scolding me,” he mumbled to Harvey.

Harvey looked almost disappointed, staring at the group of women, “We were going to see the ballerinas tonight.”

“Were you,” Bruce feigned a shocked look. “I’m so sorry. I offered to take them to dinner for all their hard work.”

“On a recital night?” Rachel said knowingly.

“Well, we can always push out tables together if you’d like to speak with them?” 

Rachel rolled her eyes, aware of where this was going, while Harvey quickly protested as civilly as he could. Placing her hand on Harvey’s arm, Rachel asked Harvey to sit back down and assured him she was sure Bruce had other places to be, but Bruce’s attention moved elsewhere. A tiff was starting not too far from them. The workers were trying to kick two women out; it seemed their reservation had been taken over by his large table. He couldn’t see the women covered by the large group of hosts gathering, but he could hear their conversation. 

“Are you kidding me? Bruce Wayne made this reservation for her himself!”

“You know what? Don’t worry about it.” He recognized that voice. Shit.

Mumbling, excuse me to a babbling Harvey, he walked over to the group of people in strides. Clearing his throat, it was like Moses at the Red Sea. The hosts quickly split down the middle, and all went silent, wide-eyed. The manager, whom he recognized before, became red in the face, but that wasn’t the red he focused on. Turned at the waist, there she was bare-backed, draped in red, and annoyed, as per usual.

Before he could get a word in, the manager rushed to him and blurted out, “We assure you, Mr. Wayne, it’s being handled.” 

She turned fully this time holding the arm of the other woman she was with, whom he could only assume was Carrie. “Really Bruce? The entire Gotham Ballet.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t even know how your reservation got moved,” he looked toward one of the hosts. “I want them in the green room. Not too far from my table, but far enough the noise won’t be a problem. Anything they want, they get. Charge it to my card.” 

It was like someone had released the doves. White jacketed, hosts and waitresses flew around wildly and without question. Grabbing place settings, table cloths, moving around CEO’s, politicians, and models. Carrie was in awe mouth open. Y/N couldn’t help but feel the same way. Everyday she worked for Bruce Wayne, she was shocked by the power he had. She saw his odd moments. She saw his darkcircles when he came in office. She saw him fall asleep during meetings. She watched him sit behind her and watch New Girl with her while she was on break. He claimed he didn’t normally have time for Television. 

Y/N focused her attention on him, “You don’t know how our reservation was moved, but you invited the entire ballet?”

“Listen, it was a whim,” he grinned.

“Does whim mean Rachel-”

“-and happy birthday by the way,” he cut her off and pulled her in for a hug. Her dress was silky under his fingertips as he slid his hands around her. His hands were cold against her hot bare back. She shivered in his arms, but accepted the hug and slipped her hands over his shoulders, leaning onto her tiptoes. Still hugging Y/N, he extended a hand to the woman Y/N was with, “You must be Carrie I’ve heard so much about you.”

Carrie took his hand, grinning at the two, “It’s so nice to meet the man Y/N has been bullying every day.”

He laughed leaning his head back, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Y/N peeked over his shoulder and spotted Rachel staring at the pair, “Oh is that who I think it is over there?”

Before he could say anything else, Y/N’s staring had caught Rachel's attention. It seemed to finally be the bait she needed to stand and approach Bruce… or should I say Y/N. Harvey, struggling to keep up with her, seemed surprised by the sudden change in demeanor.

“Bruce!” she smacked his arm mischievously. “How rude of you! Introduce Harvey and me to your new lady friends.”

She smiled over at Carrie, but the way she looked at Bruce and Y/N could only be described as suggestive. Y/N stuck out her hand to shake Rachel's. She took her hand in return, eyeing her small, dainty engagement ring placed on Y/N's left ring finger. Anyone else looking at the ring would have immediately noticed it was not big or bold enough to be from Bruce Wayne, cracked with time, and clearly a fake stone, yet she still raised her eyebrow at the pair. Bruce and Y/N noticed the shift and suddenly started interrupting each other, creating some sort of rushed mashed sentence.

“Oh, he’s my boss, I’m engaged-” “She’s my assistant, Rachel-” “We work together-” “I wouldn’t say we’re that good of friends-” “I wouldn’t say we’re anything above coworkers-” “More like work friends-”

The smile on Rachel’s face grew in amusement. Oh, to tease Bruce Wayne. “So you work for him? I hope you’re keeping him on his toes.”

“On his toes and in office,” Y/N gossiped proudly. “Though now, with this ballerina fiasco, I have another thing to add to my plate. I almost lost my reservation because of this shit!”

“Do I have to ask how this is going to affect you?” Bruce asked, and Y/N’s attention completely shifted to him.

“Do you have no common sense? The entire restaurant is going to have to shift their reservations. Who do you think the governor is going to be calling when he can’t get a reservation for his anniversary? You. Because it’s your restaurant.” Y/N turned quickly back to Rachel. “I hope he hasn’t been bothering your date too much.”

She shrugged, “I’ve known Bruce since we were kids. Trust me, I can handle it. It’s so nice to see someone else who doesn’t just fawn over him.”

As they bantered, Bruce looked at Carrie and just shook his head. She snickered. He should have known if Y/N and Rachel ended up in the same space together, shenanigans would ensue.

“I hate to interrupt,” he spoke. No, he doesn’t, Rachel mumbled to Y/N, who grinned at her. “Okay, I don’t, but you should probably sit down and eat before my restaurant closes.”

Bruce had taken Y/N by the shoulder, to which she rolled her eyes, and offered Carrie his elbow, leading them over to the green room. The walls were draped in a deep green floral wallpaper. It was eclectic, like nothing she would expect from Bruce’s restaurant, especially after seeing his family home. There was a large fountain, big enough to swim in, placed in the center of the room and decorated with tigers. A curious thing to have at a restaurant called The Ocelot, she thought. But that’s still not what immediately caught her attention when she entered the room. Their table was to the right of the large gaudy fountain, decorated with a tiered birthday cake, almost as tall as the table. She held her breath, and Carrie gasped. 

He was still behind her, but his hand slipped to her waist. The back of his palm was against the hot skin of her back, and his fingers traced the edge of her silk dress by her hip bone. With a wave of his hand, the servers lit the candles and dimmed the lights, illuminating what could only be described as a frosted tower of light glistening against the water of the fountain. Leaning, lips against her ear, he whispered, “I hope this makes up for earlier. Happy Birthday.” 

To be continued… @pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[theblue6ook]

You ever just be sitting and then realize how lonely little tiny Bruce Wayne was sitting at the giant dining table with a dozen chairs, thinking that would be how life is after his parents murder. That he would sit there all alone every meal, that laughter would no longer fill the halls.

And just think how old man Bruce would be sitting at that dining table again and smile as his kids create louder and louder chaos. Laughing and smiling and teasing. That the old man sitting there and how he wishes to go back to that little boy.

And tell him it’s going to get better.