ultraxavbo

[ultraxavbo]

“The Lovers.”

word count: 2,441

summary: how two lovers knew what it meant to be defined by the things they love,

notes: first of all, thank you so much for reading and the support!! i see all of you, you guys, you’ve made my whole day! i can't express enough how it makes me happy to see that you enjoy my writing! ♡ i usually write for the female reader, but i try to keep gender neutral as much as i can because everyone deserves a fiction! however, i apologize for it wouldn't be enough for gender neutral readers! ♡ this was requested by an anonymous stranger and i couldn't thank them for their idea about the prequel to their marriage story!! 🫶🏻 i have gotten slightly inspired by my mother taylor, so i hope you wouldn’t mind!! happy reading!!

You and Bruce’s first encounter goes to a year ago; maybe a year and a half. Nothing more longer than that.

You were both young, both in the twenties — you were in the early stages of it and he was in the middle. There was a slightly age gap between you, a few years, if it was called an ‘age gap’.

The ever, first encounter was filled with simplicity, normalcy — maybe that was why it got Bruce hooked up on you since the first time he laid his eyes on you. His life was already filled with the things he was trying to keep in a state of rational mind as he tried to fight his way out of the corrupted streets of Gotham. His mind was full of rooted thoughts about freeing Gotham from the deeply — impossible to recover — inflicted illness.

But he had a vision.

That's why he was alive for, wasn't he? That was why he was left alone in that goddamned alley with the two corpses of his parents, and waited exactly one hour for help and GCDP to arrive at the destination. Gotham could be saved if he was alive, meat and bone, and reeked of vengeance. That's what he thought anyway.

Bruce never knew when you… happened. You were there. Just like that. As if this was it. As if you were supposed to be his all along the way.

You were something else. Something so priceless, so rare. Bruce could think of one hundred things all at once for you and you still deserved higher words. You happen to smile at him that day with kindness, the curve of your lips, the star-filled eyes of yours, the glowing light through your face almost made you look like a daydream — something that he never tasted the experience (maybe in his baby years) until you had came into his vision.

You didn't recognize him at first, he was wearing a cap and a jacket, his inky, dark hair through his blue eyes. He did look like a normal citizen of Gotham if you’d look close enough to see who was him really. But you did not smile at him because of who he was, you smiled because he was staring at you when your eyes found him the first time.

Bruce still does not remember until this moment how he saw you. All he remembers as the first time is your gorgeous eyes and sweet smile. That was enough for him to know.

You snapped him off from the daydream of his with your brief conversation and the rest followed itself. He offered you a companionship to your apartment. It was 19:45, a summer evening that Sun was leaving as it let its rays on the skyline of Gotham. But it was the evening. That was enough for Bruce.

You were a university student and intern to get a decent job, so you could’ve a decent life. Your conversation played in Bruce’s ears as you walked. Maybe that, simplicity in you got him addicted to you and your next conversations.

You two started to meet, first started as friends. Conversations about daily life are exchanged between you and him. You talked to him about your professors, your intern friends, or the book you read that week and he just listened.

Bruce would talk less because he hated the idea of lying to you. Of course, he wouldn't talk about his dual life, and he didn’t want to lie to you to conceal what he did in the nights. He believed that you must know the honest version of him and he talked to you about his honest opinions. His opinions about books, music, or any decent thing that let you see him in the truest version of himself — his beliefs, his justification, and him.

He loved your voice, he would usually look at you with a gaze that made you blush sometimes. He wasn't doing that with purpose, he was just so intrigued with you. But that was enough for you to know that you wanted him near you as well as he wanted you.

He had called himself out, over and over again in his reeling mind during your ‘friends’ relationship. Furious at himself for letting you in, calling the word ‘selfish’ or ‘reckless’, restless at some nights with the spiraling “what if”s. You were a normal person — a civilian. You were not broken just like him, you weren't driven mad by the traits of Gotham, you weren't corrupted nor you were blinded by greed.

You were a mere human. Very warm, very kind, very sweetheart. And he blamed himself for choosing you because he was putting you in a depthless hollow. He was dragging you to the madhouse he was living in mentally — as if his own home were mentally and psychically brighter. He hated himself for wanting you so much, wanting you to stay with him, sit with him in the darkness when he tasted it the first time. It was after you knew what were his motives. And his motives were more further than you called ‘friends’.

It was already a few months of your orbiting around each other and it was no lie that you were feeling like you could've burned with the intentions you were playing in your mind. You felt every time like you were flying because his blue eyes looked at you as if you were the most gorgeous thing he had laid his eyes on — he was still unconscious of the effect he was having on you or his actions.

When you knew his motives, you made sure that you wanted to be with him, all along the way to any point of the arrow of the compass. After that night, he loved the taste of it — the feeling of your staying.

He was addicted to you because you gave him something that he lacked. Something that he lacked throughout his life after his parents were murdered. He had seen people, met them — some offered a good companionship with a betrayal in morality. Some fell in love with him, leaving herself in a juxtaposition with her blood ties. But they all lead to a death road. They were against his morals, his visions, and his discipline. They gave him nothing but a mere memory; some of them were sharp, and some of them were like a leaf in the wind, unnecessary.

But you, you were not anything he had seen in his life. You gave him peace. That was the whole point. Because finally, Bruce had someone with whom he could be himself fully. He did not need to guard himself in his sleep because a person he called his best friend once, was clashing with his morals and planning to kill him. He did not need to hide himself or bury his honesty and care because he would be betrayed and used again. As if he was not a human, as if his thoughts, care, and devotion were a lie.

You gave all of them to Bruce regardless, unconditionally. You did not give them in exchange for something. The only thing you wanted was his love. And he swore unconsciously to himself that he would give all of them to you. His love, his devotion, his care, his faith and all.

You made him breathe finally with ease. And he loved every second of it. The quiet evenings at the Manor with him working on ‘the something that was related to his company’ and your quiet humming as you busied yourself with something trivial. He loved those moments with you — he loved every moment with you; you two spending the times with close to each other, even though he seemed distant to you. Even though his thoughts were blurred with some matter that he couldn't tell you. You were there, in the background, but you were there and that was enough for him.

Bruce remembers every moment when you ended up together. The first and early months of your relationship were him showing up at random hours of the day and sometimes, at night too. You weren't paying attention to his visits, you thought as an heir to a huge company and just being in Gotham for one year after twelve years was not enough for him to handle all the confusion and chaos. He would appear and just… was there with a ghost of a smile.

He was there sometimes during your lunch breaks before you went to your classes or sometimes would appear during the night, just ‘checking up’ on you with a flower in the night. You were happy, he seemed happy; with tons of thoughts about self-blaming for staying or the slight paranoia if you were find about him.

Would you… leave? Or be scared to death? Or tell him to fuck off because he was not normal — what he was doing wasn't normal. He was a rich kid with issues.

But it was not his fault that you were so sweet, so kind to keep him at the edge of kissing you until you were out of breath or swore himself out. He kissed you after that night when you knew his motives because how could he live with that? You, just looking at him with the stars in your eyes and him, nailed to his place with a thudding heart?

But what came next after a few months was when you discovered something. It happened randomly, honestly. One time you were playful and laughing and he was trying to keep his eyes off you by doing something trivial. It happened so quickly, you were being affectionate as you hugged him tightly behind, catching him off guard. Tight enough to disturb the stitch Alfred gave him before you came to the Wayne Manor.

He couldn't help himself when he let out a groan. You both were frozen — you from the unexpected voice of pain and him, as a deer in the headlights. Thank God that he was wearing a black turtle neck because Bruce believed that his stitch was opened and bleeding slightly. He brushed that ‘groan’ off that day by insisting that it was nothing, he just got slipped off from the grand staircase of the Wayne Manor.

You were pacified by him but that left an ink-like stain in your mind. He couldn't help but let a ghost of a smile form on his lips to your terrified and concerned face, but he held himself. After you were gone, Alfred gave him a hopeless look with his first aid needle.

‘How long will you keep that hidden?’

A month later you know who he was — what he was. He expected you to storm off from his life as if you never existed in the first place, but you stayed and that was enough for him to plant the seeds of the everlasting marriage. To have you to himself forevermore, as well as you have him to yourself.

You understood him very well when he talked about that to you. You could imagine the terror of a small child, witnessing the dark seconds of the torment of seeing your whole world collapse before you. And you to sit with their lifeless bodies until the help arrived. But you were also terrified by the idea of him doing this alone. Gotham was a long goner in the eyes of many — millions even. But your Bruce had a vision, so who were you to stop him?

Bruce could lay his heart on your feet — every being in his existence could belong to you. But he was cautious. He loathed being vulnerable. Maybe he didn’t know how to be vulnerable, you never knew; he did not know either. He was exhausted from the constant ‘fight’ he had been putting up since he left Gotham. But you loved him and that was what it mattered.

But the road to your marriage was filled with a few, troublesome issues as well as the sweet filled days. As the days, weeks passed, Bruce started to be at ease with the idea of having someone — someone he was stunned and smitten by. But that did not mean he wasn't scared, terrified, and raged. He was, most of the time, self-blaming. The ideas were spiraling in his head, his own demons that were whispering to him that you deserved so much better than him and you were in constant danger.

The rough nights with the results of dark bruises, or the slumber that he was in for seventeen hours were tiring him down. Not to mention his stubbornness about his actions. He was bitter and arrogant enough to quarrel with Alfred but with you? He tried to not cross that line with you. How could he when he was swimming in the pool of your love? Or the constant rays of you on him as if you were the Sun?

He made an effort not to say any bitter word to you when you were too irritated with his risks to his own life and his hardheadedness but you knew better. He always ended up with a quiet, reserved version of himself when you chided him. He refused to talk or look at your way because he knew what he could do and what he could do was to hurt you. It was the last thing he ever wanted to do to you.

Bruce couldn't handle of seeing you walk away from him. Couldn't handle the fact that after the rough nights and days, after like a man in the scorching desert had finally found his precious oasis, he had found you and you were gone because of his own arrogance.

You got used to his determination, his silent treatments when you told him that you were scared. Scared that something would happen to him. He usually gave just a low humming when he was pissed off, refusing to initiate a conversation. On other days, when he was your sweet Bruce, he would kiss you over and over again, to ease you and whispering he would come back to you no matter what. He knew your weakness was him and he assured you with that.

You got married after one year. It was a serious decision, the time you knew each other could be not enough for the most people. But you both were young and reckless — the lovers. And when two lovers were dancing in each other’s own trajectory, they should be defined by the things that they love.

thank you so much for reading, ♡

[ultraxavbo]

Please help with this guys

Help a Survivor Seek Justice & Healing

I recently came across the story of a brave survivor who has endured unimaginable abuse and hardship. She has finally found the courage to speak out and take the first steps toward seeking justice against a powerful and well-connected abuser. However, she is in a vulnerable position—facing financial struggles, mental health challenges, and a complex legal battle ahead.

To support her fight for justice, she has opened a GoFundMe to help cover legal expenses, therapy, and essential needs as she navigates this difficult journey. Every contribution, big or small, can make a life-changing difference.

If you can donate or share her story, it would mean the world. Let’s come together to help someone who truly deserves justice and support.

https://gofund.me/e3a38a66

Thank you for your kindness and generosity!

[ultraxavbo]

Help a Survivor Seek Justice & Healing

I recently came across the story of a brave survivor who has endured unimaginable abuse and hardship. She has finally found the courage to speak out and take the first steps toward seeking justice against a powerful and well-connected abuser. However, she is in a vulnerable position—facing financial struggles, mental health challenges, and a complex legal battle ahead.

To support her fight for justice, she has opened a GoFundMe to help cover legal expenses, therapy, and essential needs as she navigates this difficult journey. Every contribution, big or small, can make a life-changing difference.

If you can donate or share her story, it would mean the world. Let’s come together to help someone who truly deserves justice and support.

https://gofund.me/e3a38a66

Thank you for your kindness and generosity!

[ultraxavbo]

Help a Survivor Seek Justice & Healing

Hi everyone!!!!

I recently came across the story of a brave survivor who has endured unimaginable abuse and hardship. She has finally found the courage to speak out and take the first steps toward seeking justice against a powerful and well-connected abuser. However, she is in a vulnerable position—facing financial struggles, mental health challenges, and a complex legal battle ahead.

To support her fight for justice, she has opened a GoFundMe to help cover legal expenses, therapy, and essential needs as she navigates this difficult journey. Every contribution, big or small, can make a life-changing difference.

If you can donate or share her story, it would mean the world. Let’s come together to help someone who truly deserves justice and support.

https://gofund.me/e3a38a66 (this is the link)

Thank you for your kindness and generosity!

Please I beg that you can share, donate and reblog this post!!!!

URGENT: Seeking Legal Advice & Resources for a Survivor of Child Abuse & Trafficking

Hi everyone, I’m reaching out because I need help finding legal resources and advice for a survivor of severe child abuse and trafficking. I came across her story on Reddit, and after speaking with her, I truly believe she deserves justice. Unfortunately, she has no financial resources, no support, and her abuser is a powerful, well-connected individual who has never faced consequences.

She is located in Florida right , and the abuse happened in Tennessee during her childhood. She wants to pursue legal action but fears that her case, which involves historical abuse, will be difficult to prove. Despite this, she is determined to fight for justice, right now she’s not looking to take legal action against him because she’s very fragile right now due to her mental health, she just wants advice for now. I’m trying to do my own search for this but it would be great if any of you can give an advice.

I am not a lawyer, and I don’t have experience with legal matters, but I want to do everything I can to help her find the right resources. If anyone knows:

• Attorneys in Tennessee who specialize in child abuse and sexual assault cases and attorneys in Florida too.

• Legal aid organizations that provide free or low-cost support for survivors

• Steps she can take to build a strong case despite the passage of time

• Survivor support groups that can offer emotional and legal guidance

Please, if you have any advice, recommendations, or even just words of encouragement, reach out. I am doing this from the bottom of my heart because no one should go through this alone. This survivor deserves justice.

Feel free to reblog or share—getting this information to the right people could change someone’s life. Thank you

[ultraxavbo]

Please I need help with this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

URGENT: Seeking Legal Advice & Resources for a Survivor of Child Abuse & Trafficking

Hi everyone, I’m reaching out because I need help finding legal resources and advice for a survivor of severe child abuse and trafficking. I came across her story on Reddit, and after speaking with her, I truly believe she deserves justice. Unfortunately, she has no financial resources, no support, and her abuser is a powerful, well-connected individual who has never faced consequences.

She is located in Florida right , and the abuse happened in Tennessee during her childhood. She wants to pursue legal action but fears that her case, which involves historical abuse, will be difficult to prove. Despite this, she is determined to fight for justice, right now she’s not looking to take legal action against him because she’s very fragile right now due to her mental health, she just wants advice for now. I’m trying to do my own search for this but it would be great if any of you can give an advice.

I am not a lawyer, and I don’t have experience with legal matters, but I want to do everything I can to help her find the right resources. If anyone knows:

• Attorneys in Tennessee who specialize in child abuse and sexual assault cases and attorneys in Florida too.

• Legal aid organizations that provide free or low-cost support for survivors

• Steps she can take to build a strong case despite the passage of time

• Survivor support groups that can offer emotional and legal guidance

Please, if you have any advice, recommendations, or even just words of encouragement, reach out. I am doing this from the bottom of my heart because no one should go through this alone. This survivor deserves justice.

Feel free to reblog or share—getting this information to the right people could change someone’s life. Thank you

[ultraxavbo]

URGENT: Seeking Legal Advice & Resources for a Survivor of Child Abuse & Trafficking

Hi everyone, I’m reaching out because I need help finding legal resources and advice for a survivor of severe child abuse and trafficking. I came across her story on Reddit, and after speaking with her, I truly believe she deserves justice. Unfortunately, she has no financial resources, no support, and her abuser is a powerful, well-connected individual who has never faced consequences.

She is located in Florida right , and the abuse happened in Tennessee during her childhood. She wants to pursue legal action but fears that her case, which involves historical abuse, will be difficult to prove. Despite this, she is determined to fight for justice, right now she’s not looking to take legal action against him because she’s very fragile right now due to her mental health, she just wants advice for now. I’m trying to do my own search for this but it would be great if any of you can give an advice.

I am not a lawyer, and I don’t have experience with legal matters, but I want to do everything I can to help her find the right resources. If anyone knows:

• Attorneys in Tennessee who specialize in child abuse and sexual assault cases and attorneys in Florida too.

• Legal aid organizations that provide free or low-cost support for survivors

• Steps she can take to build a strong case despite the passage of time

• Survivor support groups that can offer emotional and legal guidance

Please, if you have any advice, recommendations, or even just words of encouragement, reach out. I am doing this from the bottom of my heart because no one should go through this alone. This survivor deserves justice.

Feel free to reblog or share—getting this information to the right people could change someone’s life. Thank you

[ultraxavbo]

I so badly need to see a Pantheon au where Maddie and Caspian are just. LIVING. NORMAL. LIVES. IMAGINE THEM CHASING EACHOTHER IN THE RAIN AFTER MADDIE PUSHED CASPIAN INTO A PUDDLE. SNEAKING OUT TO MEET AT MCDONALDS FOR A MIDNIGHT SNACK. LYING DOWN ON A FIELD TOGETHER. LEANING ON EACHOTHER ON A PARK BENCH FOR A COUPLE MINUTES. They didn't deserve all they were put through man, i miss my lil guy meow meows so much

[ultraxavbo]

After rewatching scenes from Pantheon season 2 for the scrillionth time in days, I spotted this neat little easter egg:

Did anyone else notice that the book Caspian is reading is the book containing short stories that the show was based on??

(Seriously, if you haven't seen Pantheon give it a shot when season 1 comes to Netflix this week)

[ultraxavbo]

One thing I find interesting about Pantheon season 2 is the difference between Holstrom and Caspian. Now there are a lot of differences between them, but I’m talking about the the big one. The one that made it so that Caspian could cure the flaw, but Holstrom couldn’t. I’m talking about how each of them feel love. 

Now, throughout the entire second season it’s all, but explicitly stated that Holstrom couldn’t understand love and that’s why he could’ve never fixed the flaw.

It’s a good way to highlight how the two genetically identical men differ, why one is our secondary protagonist while the other is the main antagonist. It also shows the audience Caspians understanding of love though his growing relationship with Maddie throughout the season.

But some viewers may be confused by this difference. After all doesn’t Holstrom have a love interest in Renee?

In fact don’t they spent a large amount of time collaborating on Holstrom’s plan, with her essentially being his arm in the physical world? Does their love not count just because they’re evil?

Well no. At least that’s not the reason their “love” doesn’t count. But to explain why we need to talk about how the show conceives of love.

In Pantheon love isn’t just about people liking each a lot. Not even to the point of where they’re willing to do a lot for their partners. Love is when people push each other along with supporting them.

Real love, to Pantheon, is challenging each other to be better and making each other better. It’s give each other perspective that they couldn’t have on their own. Love is something active between the people sharing it, it can’t be mindless adoration.

We see this healthier love with several of the couples throughout the show. David and Ellen start with several fundamental disagreements over the UI situation, to the point where it drives them apart at first. But when they reconcile you can tell how much they love each other even if they never officially get back together. Then you have Olivia and Farhad, who the show spends an entire episode displaying how they challenge and complete each other.

And of course, we have Maddie and Caspian.

You could make a whole separate post about how their viewpoints change and clash throughout the series while strengthening their relationship. But suffice it to say that the show views their love as the truest it could be.

And taking all this into consideration it should be obvious by now why the show considers Stephen and Renee’s relationship not to be an example of love. Renee doesn’t contribute intellectually to any part of it, she is ok simply fauning over the eccentric genius. While Stephen is content with basically being a relationship with a yes woman who goes along with everything he says and does.

And the most insidious part of their relationship in my opinion also relates to why Renne was chosen to play the part of Caspian’s mother.

We see in the interviews with Holstrom about his past that he never really cared intellectually about anything his mother said. He saw her as someone to care for, and thus receive care in return. Some may call this unconditional love, but Pantheon considers it an unhealthy love.

And as you probably noticed, the way Holstrom described his relationship with his mother sounded awfully similar to his relationship with a certain someone.

Which makes their already messed up dynamic even creepier. Especially when you consider how they wanted to shape Caspian.

TLDR: Holstrom couldn’t cure the flaw not because he couldn’t convince of love, but because his very conception of love was itself flawed.

[ultraxavbo]

<she will not miss her future> Watched Pantheon, had a crisis. Bon appetite

[ultraxavbo]

Some doodles of emo steve jobs jesus and my girl laurie>=D

Dont usually use tumblr but a lot of pantheon folks are active on here so i had to get on with it :”D

[ultraxavbo]

Family without light

[#Part1 #part2 ]

Jason's bike stopped in front of Damian's school, the school was almost empty at this time. Damian walked over to where Jason stopped and got on the bike after putting on his helmet. Jason noticed that Damian was depressed these months, he would be a fool if he did not notice the change in Damian, first his fights with Tim had stopped, his taking care of his animals had decreased, and his enthusiasm for fighting crime had disappeared. He knew why, it was all because of Y/N's departure, and he had to admit that her decision to divorce Bruce was a good choice... almost.

He rode his bike back to Wayne Manor in silence, Jason didn't make fun of Damian for this, he himself was suffering now after Y/N's departure and even before her departure... Before his death, his relationship with Y/N ​​was beautiful, wonderful, like a real family, he couldn't have asked for more, but after his death... everything changed, he still remembered that night when he returned to Gotham and sought revenge on Bruce and the Joker, when Batman was chasing him through the city's procedures and the identity of the Red Hood was still unknown Y/N was the first to discover his true identity, she was monitoring his movements through the bat computer while Batman was chasing him, and when she saw Red Hood's movements... and how familiar he was in every way she didn't hesitate for a moment to take the nearest car in front of her and drive to Batman and Red Hood's location. Alfred tried to stop her but couldn't, as soon as Y/N reached their location she ran to them. Batman tried to stop Y/N and push her away but Y/N shouted at Batman that Red Hood is her son… her son… Jason remembers that he froze in place when he saw Y/N and when he heard the word… my son… his mind was confused, he didn’t know what to do and from the sudden tension and pressure he raised his gun towards her and shot her… he doesn’t remember what happened after that… he doesn’t remember anything… he only remembers that Y/N gave him a look that he will never forget as long as he lives… a look full of pain and sadness… and disappointment… and from the strength of his fear and tension he fired another shot and then everything else turned into a blur… he ran as fast as he could away from the place… away from her…

Since that day his relationship with Y/N ​​changed, even after his relationship with Bruce improved, he didn't visit her or meet her... afraid of her reaction, afraid of seeing her hatred towards him in her eyes... Still... he was still trying to follow her... even if it was by chance... he wanted to improve his relationship with her.. like before... to be a mother and son again... he admits that he missed hugging her before going to sleep, and morning activities like yoga and chasing around the house... if he could go back.. he wants to stay in those moments that he cherished with all his heart... but he can't... he tried once to enter the house at a random time... just to meet Y/N even if it was by chance... but by mistake.. he overheard Y/N and Alfred arguing about him... which broke his heart and he surrendered that she would never forgive him.. Alfred told her to see Jason more, Jason became quieter and came to the house more often... Y/N's answer had ruined all his plans for reconciliation... Y/N said that this boy is not Jason... Not her son… Her son is dead and he’s not coming back. Jason remembers running as fast as he could out of the house, riding his bike as fast as he could, and hiding in one of his safe houses. He couldn’t stop the tears… He couldn’t hide his regret… Hide his feelings… Hide his frustration… He was sorry… He was sorry… He was ready to pay back… He was ready for Y/N to shoot him if she wanted… She could kill him if she wanted… He was ready to surrender… He just wanted her to forgive him… To be her son again… He wanted to tell her about his fears and nightmares that haunt him at night… He wanted to tell her about the pain he felt without her, he wanted to hold her before he fell asleep… Like a little child… Couldn’t he have that? Couldn’t he be her son again? What should he do? He was ready to do what she asked for until the end… He really missed her so much…

Jason stopped his bike in front of Wayne Manor. "Okay brat... We're here." Jason turned to Damian who took off his helmet and walked silently into the manor... Jason sighed sadly. He was sure Damian felt the same way... That he missed her... Jason wondered if Y/N still had any love for him... He didn't know.

As soon as Damian entered his room, he threw his bag and lay down on his bed... Why did she hate him? Was it because he was cruel? Or because he was so emotional? Or because he was cursing and belittling her? Or because he broke her hand because she tried to brush his hair? Or because he was comparing her to his mother Talia in front of everyone... ? Does she hate him now because of this? He's sorry... He's so sorry... He's ready to apologize... He's so sorry for all the stupid fights... He's sorry for every word he said... He's sorry for trying to be cruel... He's so sorry for all the threatening texts he sent... Maybe... Maybe if he apologized in front of her, she'd forgive him.... Right?

His tears were wetting his bed… His fist gripping the blanket tightly like a lifeline…He cried and screamed sadly into his pillow. She came today to school but not for him!! Not for him… But for two children he hadn’t noticed throughout his time studying here… Who are they to have Y/N’s love? Who are they to take Y/N away from him?!! Who are they to even dare to hug Y/N?!!… He wiped his tears and went to the bathroom to wash his face with cold water… He wouldn’t let two weak children have all of Y/N’s love. He walked out of his room and headed to Tim’s room… He didn’t care if he was going to beg… He wanted to know who these two children were…

Y/N’s love for him. Only him. And he wasn’t ready to share it with anyone.

@itsmadamehydra @sirenetheblogger @insomniaccorner @nommingonfood @supernaturalmarvelfan @moe-moes-stuff @stickyricewithmangosauce @emeraldcutie44 @randomlyappearingartist @type-ink

[ultraxavbo]

iiiii have a one shot prompt!! (if that’s okay)

Bruce and reader in a long term relationship and one day they hit him with “I want a baby” and scare the living Christ out of him?? (the idea came to me in a dream)

u don’t gotta write it if you don’t wanna I jsut thought I’d try to suggest :)

“with you”

bruce wayne x reader

words: 1.3k

“I want to have a baby.”

The statement fell out after feeling Bruce’s gentle hands on you as he maneuvered to the cutlery, his soft laugh lilting in your ear. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You’d already almost cracked the night before when he opened a new box of condoms. Your words echoed across the suddenly silent kitchen, and his hands dropped from your waist.

The only indication he’d heard you—or that he hadn’t disappeared—was the breathy, nearly inaudible “What?” a foot behind. You turned to look and he took a step back. His face was ghostly pale, eyes wide. In four years together he’d never looked so petrified, let alone of you.

He prayed he hadn’t heard you correctly. He never prayed. Maybe you wanted to start babysitting, simply have babies around. Surely you didn’t mean…

You cleared your throat, wondering if he truly hadn’t comprehended it. “I want to have a baby with you.”

You’d anticipated some apprehension, sure, it was why you’d wanted to wait until after dinner when you were both relaxed. But Bruce loved kids, and kids loved him. Every holiday with your family all the little cousins, nieces, and nephews flocked to him like a shiny new toy, pouting when he’d have to leave. On your second date (after realizing he was more than just a pretty face—and damn was it pretty), you’d asked the usual questions to filter out mismatches.

“Do you want kids?” You crossed your fingers under the table, conjuring the power of the universe to make this perfect, perfect man be in total alignment.

“Someday, yes. Absolutely.” He smiled, directed the question to you (‘Yes’, and by this point you were absolutely swooning), and the date continued without a hitch.

Now he stared at you like you’d asked him to bury a body.

The pit in your stomach morphed into a boulder as he stumbled out of the kitchen toward the hall. “I need a minute.”

He didn’t hear you say anything else, so he took off down the hallway. Then turned back around, his body buzzing. You stared limply at the bags of groceries adorning the countertops, your eyes flickering up to his in surprise.

“A baby?” The words felt foreign on his tongue. Already the responsibility tore at him, making the edges of his vision white out.

“You said you wanted kids.” Your eyes narrowed when you noticed the shallow heave of his chest. Was he scared?

He wheezed a nervous laugh and leaned against the hallway entrance. He had no clue how to articulate that it was still true with the wind knocked out of him. Not in any way that would be convincing. But so soon? Four years was… not nothing, but he suddenly felt like a helpless child.

He had panic attacks sometimes, and this looked like the beginning of one. As you left the kitchen to close the distance between you, you ached to think that you wanting to start a family would induce such a state. Your voice was softer, tentative. “Do you not want to have one with me?”

Your somber gaze met his like a caress. “Of course I do.” Your face, your eyes, your heart… he couldn’t imagine starting a family with anyone else. The thought was outright blasphemy. He’d thought he wanted kids—no, he knew he wanted kids, but the way you said it made it not only feel real, but within reach. It brought all his fears to the surface.

‘Of course I do’, but he looked devastated, frozen. His hand was quivering when you took it, and when your fingers interlaced, he squeezed. Staring at you with unblinking, timid eyes that broke your heart. His mouth opened but nothing came out. You released his hand, upset you’d even brought it up. “Let’s make dinner, okay?”

Ten minutes prior, the kitchen was full of whistles, jokes, and the crunch of snacking on groceries. At present, the hollow sound of knives slapping wood cutting boards filled the space. You lamented on the terrible timing of your ask, kicking yourself for not taking greater care. Talking about getting pregnant, about having and raising a child, starting a family, it wasn’t something you could be so flippant about. No wonder he’d reacted like that.

Dinner was tense. You ate in silence, punctuated only by an occasional scrape of metal on ceramic. Bruce was so kind, probably preparing how to let you down easily. Ask to push it back a few years. Promise to be ready by then, apologizing for making you wait.

He got up abruptly, leaving to where you could only imagine was the Batcave. You put your head in your hands. Or he’d changed his mind, and was about to break things off with you. You shoved your plate away, tears springing to your eyes. You knew it was too good to last. It would always end up here eventually.

Bruce didn’t come back for hours. You tried to distract by vegging out on the couch to a show, but your stomach swam with tight, jumbled knots. On a constant loop were memories you’d never experience again. Last holidays together, last nights sleeping in the same bed, soon to be last hugs. Hopefully he’d at least give you a kiss goodbye. You pulled a blanket over you as a chill swept your bones. It didn’t warm you.

By the time you heard movement in the house, you’d migrated to your shared bedroom and tucked under the covers. How would you explain it to your parents? That the man you loved more than anything in the world would now be relegated to pictures stowed in their attic? His footsteps drew closer. You held your breath. This is it.

He stood in the doorframe, illuminated in the night by a single bedside lamp. You’d miss this. You’d miss him. So much.

You spoke at the same time. “I’ll get my stuff.”

“Let’s do it.”

Your ‘what’s stacked atop each other. His brow furrowed as he stepped into the room, crouching beside the bed. The air had been removed from your lungs. “I thought…” You searched his face, dizzy. “With the way you were acting,”

He shook his head, horrified he’d left you like this so long. “I’m so sorry,” he took your hand and drew reassuring circles along your palm. He’d come up as quickly as he could get a reign on himself, get his body to stop shaking and his mind to stop racing. He’d wanted to ensure this moment would be a good one, not ruined by his anxieties.

“It made it feel tangible when you said it, and…” he trailed off, thoughts swirling again. He swallowed hard. “I was nervous. I am nervous. I don’t have experience with it, of even being parented.” The rumination he’d tried to leave in the cave came back to him. “What if something happened to us, or something happened to them?” He struggled to blink away the sting in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

And everything clicked into place. You cupped his cheek with your cold, clammy hand, soothed by the heat off his skin and the roughness of his stubble. He leaned into your touch. For a minute you both sat in the tenderness, soft waves of wondering how you could convince him he had nothing to worry about. That even if he did mess up, or something did happen, he was persevering, loving, and everything good in the world.

“But I want to try." As his panic had subsided, he'd been left with a thought so hopeful and persuasive it threatened a sob: he didn't want the possibility of tragedy to stop him from living.

"I’d do anything with you. I want this.” He wore his earnestness on his sleeve, his words mushy and saccharine, if a little shaky. Looking into your glowing, radiant face, imagining it mirrored. A small smile tugged up his lips. “As long as they have your eyes.”

a/n: this was such a cute idea!! i can imagine him becoming overwhelmed almost thinking he's a living curse, down there freaking out about potentially traumatizing someone like he'd been traumatized, or the fear of having his heart walking around outside of his body. thanks so much for the prompt!!! <3

[ultraxavbo]

“ENTWINED DECEIT, FRIGID DEMISE”

BRUCE WAYNE X FEM!READER

synopsis : You were meant to be just a mission for Bruce, a source of intel he’d extract before disappearing without a trace. But feelings, unbidden and undeniable, wove their way in, and even death seemed to conspire against the plan.

authors note : Just a heads-up, this one’s tragic. English is not my first language. Lmk if you’d like a part two !!

YOU HAD GROWN accustomed to galas by now, but attending one with Bruce was a different world entirely — everything you expected and yet somehow always more.

The velvet-lined walls seemed to hum with opulence, the chandeliers scattering fractured light across the room like stars caught in crystal prisons. Champagne flutes clinked in a delicate symphony, accompanied by the low murmur of Gotham’s elite exchanging pleasantries.

It all felt like stepping into a dream, one you couldn’t quite convince yourself you belonged to.

Bruce always insisted otherwise, his voice steady and sure, telling you that you were perfect, that your presence made these events bearable.

You’d roll your eyes, brushing off his words with a playful comment about how flattery wouldn’t get him anywhere.

But he’d only smirk, lean in close enough to whisper something sultry in your ear, and seal it with a kiss against your cheek that left your heart stumbling over itself.

At your side, Bruce was the embodiment of effortless poise and commanding presence.

His tailored tuxedo fit him as though it were spun from threads of myth and shadow, something that might have been forged by Hephaestus himself. He carried an air of calm control that was magnetic, the kind of presence that could hold a room without ever demanding it.

His touches were subtle yet constant, an anchor tying you to his side— a hand resting on the small of your back, a gentle squeeze of your hand beneath the table, his shoulder brushing yours in fleeting reassurance.

He wasn’t one for public displays of affection, and you appreciated the way he reserved those quiet intimacies just for you.

It felt private, sacred, like a language spoken only between the two of you.

But the mask never slipped, not in the way that mattered. His expression was calm, his words perfectly measured. The cracks in his carefully constructed world remained hidden, buried beneath the charm and the tailored suit.

You didn’t know then what lay beneath the surface — the sorrow he carried, the secrets he kept.

Behind closed doors, Bruce Wayne showed his affection in ways that made your heart ache with confusion and longing.

He would cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away any remnants of the day’s exhaustion, as if he could smooth out the weight you carried. He’d draw you into his arms in the quiet moments, his embrace firm but never constricting, murmuring reassurances you didn’t realize you needed.

Sometimes, he’d simply sit beside you, his hand resting over yours, tracing idle circles with his thumb — like a silent declaration in a world that expected noise.

His gestures felt genuine, too genuine for someone as guarded as he was, and you began to wonder if there was a depth to him you’d yet to uncover.

And for better or worse, you found yourself falling in love with him.

It wasn’t just the things he said or did but the way he looked at you, like you were something rare and fragile, deserving of reverence.

That look made you feel seen in a way no one else had before, and you clung to the hope that it meant as much to him as it did to you. You wanted to believe it, but a quiet part of you hesitated, unsure of what lay beneath the surface of this man, this relationship.

You had met him in the polished, artificial glow of one of the galas he had organized for Gotham General Hospital. You were there as a nurse, one of many faces in the crowd, trying to blend into the background.

But Bruce had noticed you.

At first, it felt absurd.

Why would someone like him ( a man who could have the world if he asked for it ) single you out?

He flirted with effortless charm, the kind that seemed reflexive, as though it was as natural to him as breathing.

And you? You didn’t fall for it.

Not at first.

After all, this was Bruce Wayne; the billionaire playboy who flirted with anything in heels. You’d seen it on television, read about it in gossip columns. You knew better, so you played hard to get, guarding yourself against the inevitable letdown.

But Bruce was persistent.

He had a way of breaking through walls with his quiet sincerity and surprising humor.

Slowly, almost against your will, he worked his way into your life, into your heart.

You began to trust him, little by little, until one day you woke up and realized he had become your world.

And how you wished you hadn’t.

You came from a family you rarely spoke of — a family mired in secrets and cloaked in shadows, their truths too heavy to carry and too dangerous to confront. You had spent years untangling yourself from their web, building walls to keep their chaos at bay.

The distance wasn’t difficult to maintain; they had never cared enough to hold on to you in the first place. You had learned to be fine on your own.

Fine with the solitude.

Fine with building a life far away from the mess they left behind.

But now, Bruce had found a way into your carefully guarded life, and you couldn’t help but wonder if letting him in had been a mistake.

The love you thought you saw in his eyes — was it real, or just another mirage conjured by your own longing? Could he truly care for you, or were you merely another piece in a game you didn’t know you were playing?

When Bruce first met you, it wasn’t serendipity or fate.

It was a mission.

A calculated move, meticulously planned and executed for the Justice League.

This wasn’t the first time he’d walked this path—charming someone, gaining their trust, extracting the information he needed, and then walking away, his conscience carefully compartmentalized. It was a routine he knew too well, one that came with the mask he wore both in the field and in life.

But somewhere along the way, the mission began to blur.

This time, feelings had complicated everything. You were… everything he didn’t expect and everything he realized he wanted. With you, there was no endless ticking, no constant countdown to the inevitable end like there had been in every other relationship he’d had. There was calm — steady, grounding, like the kind of peace he hadn’t dared to believe he could ever find. And he liked it. No, he liked you.

Perhaps more than that.

Bruce had never been one to believe in easy things like love, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

He might even… love you. Not that he’d ever dare to say it out loud.

The thought of losing you, of you leaving him once you found out the truth — was a fear that settled deep, a sharp ache he couldn’t ignore.

A year and a half had passed, and in that time, you’d become something no one else ever had. His longest relationship, his quiet anchor, the part of his life that felt both foreign and essential.

People had started to speculate.

Rumors about an engagement swirled, whispers that Bruce Wayne — the elusive bachelor — might actually settle down.

He couldn’t deny he’d thought about it.

Late at night, he’d sit in the dim light of the manor, his mother’s ring in hand, turning it over and over between his fingers. He imagined it on your hand and how perfect it would look.

But then the weight of the mission would crush the fantasy. The thought of you discovering the truth behind how this all began made his chest tighten painfully.

Losing you would be unbearable, a wound he wasn’t sure he could survive.

For once, Bruce allowed himself to be selfish. He wanted this — wanted you — and for the first time in his life, he didn’t care how wrong it might be. You made him happy. And he wanted that happiness to last.

He told himself he’d confess everything.

This week.

He’d sit you down and finally tell you everything, not just about the mission, but about how much you meant to him, how deeply he loved you. Those words had always felt impossible for him, too heavy, too vulnerable to speak aloud.

He’d never said them to anyone before, not to any of the fleeting relationships that had come and gone over the years.

None of them had ever held a candle to you.

None of them had ever made him feel this way — this terrified, this alive.

You already knew about his life as Batman; the boys had grown fond of you, and you’d fit seamlessly into his strange, chaotic family.

Seeing you with them filled him with a joy he hadn’t known he could feel, a joy that made him believe, even briefly, that everything might just work out.

If you forgave him — if you gave him a chance — he’d propose.

Simple as that.

He knew you were the one, like Orpheus and Eurydice, destined to be intertwined despite the shadows and trials of fate. Like the sun and the moon, pulled toward one another, unable to exist fully apart.

You were his anchor, the calm in his storm, the missing piece of his story he never knew he needed until you appeared.

He’d already spoken to Alfred, who, ever fond of you, had all but insisted Bruce follow through. The old butler was thrilled to see his master finally find a piece of happiness.

Yet every time Alfred gently reminded him of how this all began, that sharp, twisting guilt resurfaced, tightening around his heart like a vice.

God, he hoped you’d forgive him.

The idea that you might not ( that he could lose you ) was a pain he couldn’t bear to consider.

What would he do if you didn’t? He didn’t know.

And that terrified him more than anything he’d ever faced.

The evening had started with so much promise.

But here, in the heart of Gotham, beneath the gilded lights and the false smiles, the truth wasn’t so easily buried.

You were engaging in polite conversation with some donors for a cause that had always been close to your heart, children battling cancer.

It had been Bruce’s idea to dedicate the evening to this charity, a cause you held dear, and he had gone to great lengths to make it all happen. He’d chosen it specifically for you, recognizing how much it meant.

But you weren’t feeling yourself.

The exhaustion had become almost constant — fatigue that clung to you no matter how much you rested, a persistent need to pee, nausea that came in waves, and headaches that never seemed to ease.

It wasn’t until recently, when your period never came, that the weight of it all hit you.

Something was wrong, and you didn’t know if you were ready to face it.

You excused yourself from the conversation, the urge to use the bathroom pressing hard against you.

The elderly lady you were talking to, though, didn’t make it easy to leave. She smiled softly, leaning closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You know, I’ve never seen him like this,” she said, her eyes glimmering with a knowing that made your heart skip a beat.

You managed a laugh, though it was strained, your stomach doing somersaults as you tried to remain upright. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice betraying a hint of curiosity despite yourself.

She leaned in a little closer, like she was sharing a well-guarded secret. “Well, happy sweetheart,” she said, her tone light with amusement. “I’ve known him since he was just a boy. Always brooding, always stoic. You know, the usual Bruce Wayne charisma. And before you came along, he had a string of relationships that never quite worked out.” Her eyes flicked across the room, and you followed her gaze.

You saw Selina Kyle.

Bruce had mentioned her name before, but you didn’t know much about her. She was surrounded by a few men, laughing, effortlessly charming the crowd. You felt her gaze on you like a weight, but you pushed it aside, acting as if it didn’t bother you. Bruce had told you she would be here, after all.

The lady beside you continued, undeterred by the way your focus shifted. “But they were all toxic,” she said, lowering her voice even more. “Not a fit. Always something off about them.”

She glanced at Selina again, then back at you, her eyes narrowing knowingly. “But with you... it’s different.”

You raised an eyebrow, uncertain of what she was getting at. “What do you mean?” you asked, though you already had a sinking feeling you knew the direction she was heading.

She gave you a long look, almost like she was appraising you. “Well, you're certainly not from our class,” she said bluntly, her words sharp, but you could tell she wasn’t trying to insult you.

You cringed inwardly, but stayed silent, holding onto your composure. “But I can’t deny the way he seems more at ease around you. More him — if that makes sense.” She looked at you closely, her smile softening. “That’s a first.”

Your heart twisted at her words, a strange mixture of relief and unease stirring within you.

Bruce had always been a complicated man to understand — reserved, closed off in many ways — but this, what the woman had said, felt different.

You couldn’t tell if you were being swept up in some romantic fantasy or if there was truth to what she was saying.

All you knew was that you were standing on the edge of something fragile, something you weren’t sure you could trust, even though your heart wanted to believe it.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, even though you could feel the weight of the conversation creeping up on you. The old lady, who smelled of intoxicating flowers, seemed pleased by your response.

"Thank you, I guess," you said with a polite smile, though you were already feeling the urge to leave. "I need to go freshen up, but we can continue this conversation later if you’d like."

She nodded, and you took the opportunity to slip away, heading toward Bruce.

You spotted him across the room, talking with a man, but the moment his eyes found you, his expression softened, and he smiled, just a little. Your heart gave a little skip in your chest as you returned the smile.

Bruce excused himself from the conversation and moved toward you, his hand reaching out for yours. You met him halfway, and when you arrived by his side, he immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

"You okay?" he whispered, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yes."

He didn't buy it, though, his brow furrowing as his hand gently cupped your cheek. "No, you're not. Headaches again? I told you we should've stayed at home."

You leaned into his touch, savoring the comfort it brought, then kissed the inside of his hand. "I told you, it’ll be fine. It's too important to miss."

He sighed, his lips pressing to your forehead for a brief moment before he spoke again, softer this time. "Look, just take care of yourself, okay?"

You nodded again. "I will. I’m just going to the powder room to freshen up for a bit."

"Alright," he said, his voice laced with concern, though his grip on your waist tightened slightly. "But don't make me wait. I want you by my side for the speech. And then, off we go. I want you all to myself tonight."

His words sent a thrill through you, but you slapped his chest playfully, teasing him before you turned to leave. "Don't get too ahead of yourself," you said with a wink, heading toward the bathroom.

You needed a moment, a breath, a quiet pause. Your feet ached from the heels, but it didn’t matter now. The rush in your chest was too loud to ignore.

The bathroom was still — like a sanctuary.

The marble walls provided the privacy you craved, and for a moment, you let the silence wash over you. You closed yourself in a stall, sitting with your head cradled between your hands, desperately trying to steady your shaking breath.

But then, the click of heels against the floor shattered the calm.

“Can you believe it?” Selina Kyle’s voice sliced through the air—sharp, deliberate.

You froze.

The last thing you wanted tonight was to face her. But there was no escaping this now.

“It’s just ridiculous,” another woman replied, her voice dripping with a mix of pity and mockery. “I mean, does she really think Bruce cares about her?”

Your heart stilled in your chest, and for a moment, you didn’t even breathe.

The words seemed to freeze the air around you.

“I’m still shocked he hasn’t cut her loose,” another added, voice thick with judgment. “I mean, he already got what he wanted, right?”

A chill ran through you, one that had nothing to do with the cold air around you.

You clutched the purse in your lap, the leather a cold reminder of the world outside this bathroom, but the panic inside you wouldn’t let go.

What were they talking about? What did they mean?

“Yeah,” Selina chuckled darkly. “He was never interested in her. He used her, just like he always does. From what I understand, The Justice League needed her for intel, and once they got what they wanted, he'd be done with her, right?” Her words dripped with a bitter kind of amusement, and both women hummed in agreement.

Your stomach twisted, the silence around you suddenly suffocating. It felt like the truth had just shattered your world in one sweeping blow.

But still, you refused to believe it.

"But I guess it’s fun for him, too." Selina’s voice softened, as if savoring the cruelty of it all. "You should’ve seen him with me, though. He was all about the role — refused to kiss me, refused to even sleep with me. Can you believe that? It’s almost like he was trying so hard to keep it professional, but now I’m hearing he might actually do something with me."

"He's very committed," one of her friend remarked, casually applying some lip gloss.

“Watching her cling to him like he actually cares. It’s embarrassing,” Selina added with a scoff, as if every word she spoke was another wound.

The pain slammed into you like a tidal wave.

You tried to breathe, but the air felt too thick, too tight. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you fought to hold back the tears that were already burning your eyes.

“I don’t know how she doesn’t see it,” one of the women said, words laced with condescension. “It’s like watching someone in a dream, not even realizing that the rug’s about to be pulled out from under them.”

You gripped the purse in your lap harder, trying to anchor yourself to something, anything.

The tears burned against the back of your eyes, but you forced them back.

You couldn’t let them hear you. You couldn’t let them see how deeply their words were cutting into you.

“I guess we’ll see what happens when he finally tells her the truth,” Selina's voice was laced with mock sympathy, like she was savoring the scene she was imagining. “She’ll be heartbroken. Maybe he’ll even do it in front of everyone, make it public. He does love that kind of dramatic flair.”

Each word felt like a dagger, twisting deeper and deeper. The breath caught in your throat as a dark realization settled over you like a suffocating weight.

The world around you tilted, and for a moment, it felt as if the floor had vanished beneath your feet.

Everything you thought you knew about Bruce — the laughter, the stolen kisses, the intimate whispers, the times he held you close, making you feel like you mattered — suddenly felt like a cruel joke.

It had all been a lie.

You had been nothing more than a tool.

The door clicked behind them, the sound too final.

You let out a shaky breath, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating pressure in your chest.

The truth had burrowed deep inside you, cold and unforgiving.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it.

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you intended, lost in your grief, trying to piece together your heart.

Eventually, you forced yourself to step out, your eyes raw from the unshed tears, the weight of their words still heavy on your chest.

You stood before the mirror, hands trembling slightly as you tried to make yourself look presentable, to hide the turmoil inside. Who were those women? Did they work with the Justice League? Or were they just ordinary people, yet somehow, everyone at this gala seemed to know that you and Bruce were nothing more than a mission, a task for him.

The thought made your stomach churn.

You didn’t want to confront him, not now, not like this. You just needed distance, some space to breathe and think, to escape the suffocating reality they had painted for you.

But Bruce was nowhere to be seen.

He must’ve noticed your absence by now, but he hadn’t come searching — not really.

Not with the urgency you needed.

And when he did find you, you knew it would be too late.

You needed air.

You needed to get away from it all.

As you quietly exited the bathroom, you kept your gaze down, desperate to avoid anyone seeing the evidence of your turmoil—your eyes, swollen and red, stained by the silent tears you had fought so hard to hold back.

You moved quickly, your steps quickening as the truth settled in. But then, a voice—a soft, aged voice—reached your ears.

"Ma'am?"

You froze.

Alfred.

You turned toward him before your mind could catch up with your actions. The moment his eyes met yours, the lighthearted words he was about to say disappeared, replaced by a look of concern that made your heart ache.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. "I know," you said, though your voice cracked, betraying the calm you were struggling to maintain.

He lowered his gaze, his posture slightly faltering.

"You knew too, didn't you?" you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Everyone did. And I believed it... like a fool."

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he opened his mouth as though to say something, but all he managed was a soft, "I'm sorry."

You swallowed hard, holding back the flood of emotion that threatened to overtake you. "But, ma'am, believe me when I say that he truly cares about—"

You raised your hand, cutting him off. "I need air. Space. And I'm leaving," you said, your voice strained as a sob bubbled beneath the surface. "To think I actually fell in love with him," you muttered, shaking your head, unable to stop the broken laugh that followed.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, Alfred watching silently, expression heavy with regret.

The click of your heels echoed in the otherwise quiet hotel hallway, each step louder than the last. The receptionist gave you a glance, but you didn’t care enough to meet her gaze. You were too lost in your own mind.

You stopped in front of the front desk, barely able to hold yourself together.

“Where’s the back door?” you asked, voice barely a whisper, cracking with the sting of everything you were trying to suppress.

The woman pointed toward the hallway to your left, and you nodded in thanks. As you walked toward the exit, your mind was fogged with pain.

I don’t want to see him again.

I don’t want to feel the weight of his lies on my chest anymore.

I can’t. I can’t.

You stepped into the alley, the cool night air hitting you like a slap.

For a fleeting moment, you had clarity—a fragile stillness before the storm broke. Then the tears came, relentless and burning, streaming down your cheeks as anger and sorrow tangled together.

You gripped the fabric of your long skirt as you descended the stairs, every step deliberate, wary of twisting your ankle in the unsteady heels.

Frustration bubbled up, and you swiped at your tears with trembling hands, the motion sharp and angry.

Then, from the shadows, a figure stepped into view.

“Jewelry,” the man barked, his voice coarse and demanding. “Take. it. off.”

The sight of him made you freeze, a jolt of fear sparking through your exhaustion. But you didn’t have the strength to argue, let alone resist. Wordlessly, you handed him your purse, your fingers trembling as they let go.

It wasn’t enough.

He stepped closer, the gun shaking in his grip, its cold barrel pressing against the curve of your neck. His voice was sharp, insistent. “The necklace,” he growled.

Your hand instinctively rose to it, the one Bruce had given you. Diamonds and gold, gleaming faintly even in the dim light, a small defiance against the darkness surrounding you. The weight of it was more than its value; it carried the ghost of his touch, the echo of a moment when everything felt whole and true.

It was all you had left.

And now, even that was slipping away.

But your fingers tightened around the necklace, clutching it as if it were a lifeline. The barrel of the gun pressed harder, this time against your stomach, cold and unforgiving, a warning that your resistance would cost you.

Even so, you couldn’t let go.

Not yet.

The thought of surrendering the last piece of him — the last tangible thread to a life you had believed in — was more painful than the threat before you.

“No,” you whispered through your tears. “Please, no.”

The man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his yellowed teeth grinding together as his desperation became palpable.

His hand shot out, rough and calloused, grasping for the necklace with an almost frantic urgency.

“Hand it over, you bitch!” he snarled, his voice rising with rage.

The stench of alcohol clung to his breath, each word cutting through the air like a jagged blade, laced with frustration and fury.

He yanked hard, the chain biting into your skin, but you instinctively pulled back, clutching it tighter. The clash was brief yet electric, a silent battle fueled by his desperation and your unwillingness to let go of the one thing still tethering you to a fractured sense of belonging.

It was all you had left of him.

The only piece that held the truth of what you had believed.

The only thing that reminded you of the moments that weren’t tainted by lies.

You kept telling yourself that, even as the desperation rose within you. With a burst of adrenaline, you drove your knee into his groin.

He groaned in pain, stumbling back.

“You fucking whore!” he hissed, his hand grasping your hair, yanking it painfully. You screamed, thrashing against him in a frantic attempt to break free.

Then, the sound of a gunshot shattered the night.

The pain was immediate, consuming, like fire ripping through your flesh.

You gasped, a strangled cry tearing from your throat as blood blossomed from your stomach, staining your dress a deep, unforgiving crimson.

The man muttered a low, bitter curse, but you couldn’t focus on him anymore. You couldn’t focus on anything except the excruciating burn that spread through your body.

Another shot rang out, this time tearing into your shoulder, and you collapsed forward, the blood pooling faster than you could process.

A third shot — this one grazed near your heart.

The world twisted and spun, and your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps. You couldn’t feel your arms anymore, only the cold numbness that seemed to sink deeper with every heartbeat.

Blood pooled in your mouth, thick and metallic, and you choked on it as the world began to tilt.

The man’s footsteps receded into the background, but you didn’t hear them, not over the deafening ringing in your ears. Everything moving in slow motion, and the sirens — distant and fading — were little more than a mocking reminder of how little time you had left.

There was nothing.

But through the haze, you felt something, someone's touch, gentle but insistent, a hand cradling your cheek, pushing against your wounds. The voice was frantic, urgent, but it was so distant, as if you were underwater. It sounded like Bruce, but no, you couldn’t be sure.

But no, it couldn't be.

Because everything you had once believed in had crumbled to dust.

No love, no man, no future.

The fragments of your heart were scattered, sharp pieces glistening on the floor, each one driving deeper into the hollow space where warmth used to reside.

Your fingers instinctively curled around the necklace : the only thing that had stayed true, the only real part of him left in your life.

The cold metal felt alien against your skin, its weight a cruel reminder of everything that had been torn from you.

You tried to speak, to tell him that it was okay, that if this really was Bruce, you could let go. But the words refused to form, a strangled gasp escaping your lips instead.

And then, the darkness came, cold and complete, swallowing everything — taking the pain, the love, the memories — leaving only silence.

[ultraxavbo]

mature content ; mdni ┆warnings: mentions of sex + pregnancy. baby fever.

BRUCE WAYNE stared at his phone, the latest tabloid cover flashing across the screen. is gotham’s most eligible billionaire about to be a father? the headline was emblazoned next to an out-of-context photo of you—his girlfriend—your hand resting over your stomach as you laughed, caught mid-conversation at a gala. the picture had been taken at the wrong moment, the pose completely innocent, but the image itself stirred something inside him.

it wasn’t a new thought, not really. the idea of starting a family with you had crossed bruce’s mind many times—always during the occasions when he’s hitting it raw, buried to the hilt inside you. it was then, two thrusts away from euphoria (aka pumping your womb full with his cum), that the thought would slip in, unbidden: what if this led to more it? the telltale twitch of his cock was always accompanied with the idea of you, swollen with his child. it wasn’t something he normally dwelled on, but now, with the possibility spelled out in bold, blocky letters on the screen, it was tangible, no longer just a fleeting idea or a half-formed daydream. he couldn’t push the thought away.

he imagined you barefoot in their master bedroom, your bare feet pressing into the softness of the rug as you stood by the window; your figure swathed in the first light of dawn, the sky a pale wash of pink and gold, and outside, the sprawling grounds of the wayne estate stretched out, untainted by the darkness that was gotham city. here, it was truly quiet, the kind of quiet bruce only found when he was in your company. you held your arms.

he pictured your expression, tender and serene, your eyes focused entirely on the baby—his baby—in your arms. the soft, chubby cheeks, the tiny hand curling instinctively around your finger. a connection between mother and child that made his chest ache. it all felt like something ethereal, as if it had been plucked from a dream.

shifting slightly in his chair, bruce frowned as his trousers grew a touch uncomfortable, and the realisation sent a flicker of heat across his face. he pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at himself. this wasn’t like him—getting caught up in a fantasy, letting something as trivial as a tabloid headline get under his skin. brushing a hand across his jaw, he exhaled slowly, as if it helped release the tension coiled in his chest (it didn’t).

maybe this wasn’t something he could keep pushing away.

[ultraxavbo]

# BEING BRUCE WAYNE’S ❝SUGAR BABY❞ AND FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM — HCs

warnings — slowburn. brief mentions of sex synopsis — being a broke college student that caught the attention of none other than bruce wayne a/n — this is the fluffy slowburn sfw version… the 18+ one is still in the works

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

it started when you were a broke college student in your early twenties, juggling classes, part-time jobs, and an unrelenting mountain of bills. bruce wayne, freshly thirty, was already a household name—gotham’s elusive billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

you first crossed paths at a charity gala, where you were working as a server, weaving through the crowd with a tray of champagne flutes. you’d only seen bruce wayne in tabloids before, so when you caught him leaning against a marble pillar, watching you, you simply froze.

“you seem a little… distracted,” his eyes flicked to the tray you balanced expertly. “nervous, or just tired of all this nonsense?” you gave him a polite, slightly weary smile. “neither. just trying to get through the night without spilling on anyone important. still got a paper to finish.”

his lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t press further. at the end of the night, though, you found an obscene tip tucked beneath his empty glass—crisp hundred bills folded neatly, more money than you’d made all week.

weeks later, he appeared again—this time at a hole-in-the-wall café near campus where you worked part-time. it wasn’t his scene; he stuck out like a sore thumb in his tailored black coat, looking utterly out of place among the students.

he didn’t say much that first visit, just ordered black coffee and left another ridiculous tip. but he came back. again and again. sometimes he’d stay long enough for a brief conversation, other times he’d sit quietly in a corner, newspaper in hand. it wasn’t just the tips that stuck to you—it was the way he listened. bruce never made you feel small or dismissed your struggles, like so many others did.

when he first offered to help you financially, he did it with tact that left you room to preserve your pride. “you’re working too hard,” he said one evening. “let me take some of the weight off—just until things settle. consider it an investment in your future.” there was a sincerity in his voice that made it sound like a practical solution rather than a handout.

accepting his help wasn’t easy. you’d been so accustomed to clawing your way through life that the idea of someone else shouldering your burden felt unnatural. after days of hesitation, you finally agreed—but only on the condition that you’d pay him back one day. bruce had only nodded, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk, like he knew you never would.

he never made you feel indebted, though. if anything, he treated it like helping you was a privilege.

when your ancient car finally gave up, bruce didn’t even wait for you to ask for help. within the week, a sleek, brand-new model was delivered to your apartment, the keys tucked into an envelope with a simple note: you need something reliable. you tried to thank him, but he just waved it off. “just focus on getting where you need to go.”

your decrepit laptop, with its constant crashing and refusal to load anything on time, was next. one day, you came home to find a pristine, state-of-the-art model sitting on your desk, already set up and ready to use. you didn’t even have to ask.

bruce never demanded anything in return. the closest he came to asking for favours were the occasional lunches or dinners where he’d pick your brain about your studies, your ambitions, your dreams. he always seemed genuinely interested, never letting the conversation veer into anything too personal unless you led it there.

you realized over time that it wasn’t just the money, the gifts, or even the way he treated you like an equal—it was the steady presence he provided. bruce wasn’t there to fix your life or control it; he just wanted to make it a little easier. and somehow, that made all the difference.

when you stayed up late working on papers, bruce would sometimes settle on the couch nearby, a novel in his hands. he never intruded, but his quiet presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone. on particularly rough nights, he’d bring you a cup of tea without saying a word, setting it gently beside you before returning to his book.

on your birthday, he surprised you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers—something you’d mentioned in passing months ago—and a beautifully wrapped box containing a classic hermès birkin. the card attached to it read simply, “something to carry all those books in.”

his gifts were always thoughtful, never ostentatious in a way that would make you feel uneasy. designer coats, shoes, and bags—each impeccably tailored to your taste, yet discreet. the labels were always tucked away, hidden in folds and linings. they were things you could wear without being worried you’d get mugged. nothing about them screamed, “i have a sugar daddy.”

bruce never tried to “buy” your affection. you didn’t owe him anything—not in the transactional way most would expect. he just wanted to see you comfortable, to help you in ways that went beyond financial support. and, over time, you realized you cared for him too—not for what he could give you, but for who he was.

he had an uncanny ability to remember the smallest details about you. the way you took your coffee. the name of the professor whose lectures you dreaded. how the sound of rain on a window always calmed you. those little moments of attentiveness.

at first, bruce kept you at arm’s length emotionally, cautious about pulling you deeper into his complicated world. but as the months went by, as your late-night talks stretched into early mornings, it became clear that bruce didn’t see this as a favour or an obligation. he cared for you in a way that went far beyond surface-level kindness.

when you went through a bad breakup, he didn’t try to fix it or console you with empty platitudes. instead, he just wrapped his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest.

it wasn’t long before the line between benefactor and friend blurred entirely. he was no longer just footing your bills or buying you thoughtful gifts—bruce got greedy. he didn’t just want to take care of you financially; he wanted all of you.

one night, you were venting about your professors, frustration pouring out in a messy jumble of words. bruce listened intently, brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, giving you his undivided attention.

“you’re too nice to me,” you blurted, the words slipping out like a spew of vomit. before doubt could creep in, you leaned forward and kissed him. it was a kiss that changed everything—as you half expected him to gently push you away, his hand came up to cradle your face, deepening it.

the kiss led to one thing, then another, and before you knew it, you were tangled together in his sheets, lost in his kisses, his touch, his quiet attention to your every reaction. bruce wasn’t just passionate; he was thorough in a way that unraveled you completely—it was hands down the best sex you’d ever had.

when you woke up the next morning, still tangled in his arms, a wave of uncertainty hit you. maybe it was nerves or overthinking, but you couldn’t stop wondering if you’d crossed a line you shouldn’t have. sensing your unease, bruce kissed your shoulder, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “i hope you know this changes nothing… we’re fine.”

and just like that, you became his official “sugar baby.” not that the dynamic between you two changed drastically—it simply gave bruce an excuse to really spoil you.

the secrecy was part of the thrill, but also a necessity. bruce wasn’t ready to let the world know, and truthfully, you weren’t either. the thought of being reduced to a tabloid headline or a shallow label like “sugar baby” or “sugar daddy” felt like a betrayal of the genuine connection you’d built.

he started sending you to your favourite spa on weekends, claiming you deserved a break from all the stress. when you protested that it was too much, he just shrugged. “self-care is important,” he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

your closet, which had been a collection of fast fashion and thrifted pieces, was slowly replaced with the row, max mara, burberry, and dior.

your jewelry collection grew as well. delicate van cleef & arpels bracelets, tiffany & co. pendants, and diamond-stud earrings from cartier found their way into your life. he gifted you a dainty rolex, understated yet stunning, with a cheeky note: “don’t be late to class.”

despite all of this, bruce was careful to ensure it never looked like you were “living large.” you stayed in your same modest apartment, though it was clear his influence was woven into the details: a state-of-the-art security system, upgrades to your furniture and appliances that made life a little easier.

dinners became a regular occurrence, whether it was a reservation at gotham’s most exclusive restaurant or an extravagant meal in his penthouse.

when you graduated, bruce was there, blending into the crowd in a simple black coat, inconspicuous among the sea of families and friends. you didn’t spot him at first—he wasn’t the type to draw attention when he didn’t want to—but when your eyes finally landed on his, he gave you the smallest of nods. after the ceremony, he approached you quietly, slipping a small velvet box into your hand. you opened it to reveal a key.

“what’s this for?” you asked, already overwhelmed, fingers trembling slightly. “your new apartment,” he replied simply. then, after a pause, “unless… you’d rather move in with me.”

from then on, everything changed. bruce wasn’t just your benefactor; he was your best friend, your confidant, and eventually, your lover.

[ultraxavbo]

# BEING BRUCE WAYNE’S ❝SUGAR BABY❞ AND FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM — HCs

warnings — slowburn. brief mentions of sex synopsis — being a broke college student that caught the attention of none other than bruce wayne a/n — this is the fluffy slowburn sfw version… the 18+ one is still in the works

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

it started when you were a broke college student in your early twenties, juggling classes, part-time jobs, and an unrelenting mountain of bills. bruce wayne, freshly thirty, was already a household name—gotham’s elusive billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

you first crossed paths at a charity gala, where you were working as a server, weaving through the crowd with a tray of champagne flutes. you’d only seen bruce wayne in tabloids before, so when you caught him leaning against a marble pillar, watching you, you simply froze.

“you seem a little… distracted,” his eyes flicked to the tray you balanced expertly. “nervous, or just tired of all this nonsense?” you gave him a polite, slightly weary smile. “neither. just trying to get through the night without spilling on anyone important. still got a paper to finish.”

his lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t press further. at the end of the night, though, you found an obscene tip tucked beneath his empty glass—crisp hundred bills folded neatly, more money than you’d made all week.

weeks later, he appeared again—this time at a hole-in-the-wall café near campus where you worked part-time. it wasn’t his scene; he stuck out like a sore thumb in his tailored black coat, looking utterly out of place among the students.

he didn’t say much that first visit, just ordered black coffee and left another ridiculous tip. but he came back. again and again. sometimes he’d stay long enough for a brief conversation, other times he’d sit quietly in a corner, newspaper in hand. it wasn’t just the tips that stuck to you—it was the way he listened. bruce never made you feel small or dismissed your struggles, like so many others did.

when he first offered to help you financially, he did it with tact that left you room to preserve your pride. “you’re working too hard,” he said one evening. “let me take some of the weight off—just until things settle. consider it an investment in your future.” there was a sincerity in his voice that made it sound like a practical solution rather than a handout.

accepting his help wasn’t easy. you’d been so accustomed to clawing your way through life that the idea of someone else shouldering your burden felt unnatural. after days of hesitation, you finally agreed—but only on the condition that you’d pay him back one day. bruce had only nodded, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk, like he knew you never would.

he never made you feel indebted, though. if anything, he treated it like helping you was a privilege.

when your ancient car finally gave up, bruce didn’t even wait for you to ask for help. within the week, a sleek, brand-new model was delivered to your apartment, the keys tucked into an envelope with a simple note: you need something reliable. you tried to thank him, but he just waved it off. “just focus on getting where you need to go.”

your decrepit laptop, with its constant crashing and refusal to load anything on time, was next. one day, you came home to find a pristine, state-of-the-art model sitting on your desk, already set up and ready to use. you didn’t even have to ask.

bruce never demanded anything in return. the closest he came to asking for favours were the occasional lunches or dinners where he’d pick your brain about your studies, your ambitions, your dreams. he always seemed genuinely interested, never letting the conversation veer into anything too personal unless you led it there.

you realized over time that it wasn’t just the money, the gifts, or even the way he treated you like an equal—it was the steady presence he provided. bruce wasn’t there to fix your life or control it; he just wanted to make it a little easier. and somehow, that made all the difference.

when you stayed up late working on papers, bruce would sometimes settle on the couch nearby, a novel in his hands. he never intruded, but his quiet presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone. on particularly rough nights, he’d bring you a cup of tea without saying a word, setting it gently beside you before returning to his book.

on your birthday, he surprised you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers—something you’d mentioned in passing months ago—and a beautifully wrapped box containing a classic hermès birkin. the card attached to it read simply, “something to carry all those books in.”

his gifts were always thoughtful, never ostentatious in a way that would make you feel uneasy. designer coats, shoes, and bags—each impeccably tailored to your taste, yet discreet. the labels were always tucked away, hidden in folds and linings. they were things you could wear without being worried you’d get mugged. nothing about them screamed, “i have a sugar daddy.”

bruce never tried to “buy” your affection. you didn’t owe him anything—not in the transactional way most would expect. he just wanted to see you comfortable, to help you in ways that went beyond financial support. and, over time, you realized you cared for him too—not for what he could give you, but for who he was.

he had an uncanny ability to remember the smallest details about you. the way you took your coffee. the name of the professor whose lectures you dreaded. how the sound of rain on a window always calmed you. those little moments of attentiveness.

at first, bruce kept you at arm’s length emotionally, cautious about pulling you deeper into his complicated world. but as the months went by, as your late-night talks stretched into early mornings, it became clear that bruce didn’t see this as a favour or an obligation. he cared for you in a way that went far beyond surface-level kindness.

when you went through a bad breakup, he didn’t try to fix it or console you with empty platitudes. instead, he just wrapped his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest.

it wasn’t long before the line between benefactor and friend blurred entirely. he was no longer just footing your bills or buying you thoughtful gifts—bruce got greedy. he didn’t just want to take care of you financially; he wanted all of you.

one night, you were venting about your professors, frustration pouring out in a messy jumble of words. bruce listened intently, brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, giving you his undivided attention.

“you’re too nice to me,” you blurted, the words slipping out like a spew of vomit. before doubt could creep in, you leaned forward and kissed him. it was a kiss that changed everything—as you half expected him to gently push you away, his hand came up to cradle your face, deepening it.

the kiss led to one thing, then another, and before you knew it, you were tangled together in his sheets, lost in his kisses, his touch, his quiet attention to your every reaction. bruce wasn’t just passionate; he was thorough in a way that unraveled you completely—it was hands down the best sex you’d ever had.

when you woke up the next morning, still tangled in his arms, a wave of uncertainty hit you. maybe it was nerves or overthinking, but you couldn’t stop wondering if you’d crossed a line you shouldn’t have. sensing your unease, bruce kissed your shoulder, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “i hope you know this changes nothing… we’re fine.”

and just like that, you became his official “sugar baby.” not that the dynamic between you two changed drastically—it simply gave bruce an excuse to really spoil you.

he started sending you to your favourite spa on weekends, claiming you deserved a break from all the stress. when you protested that it was too much, he just shrugged. “self-care is important,” he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

your closet, which had been a collection of fast fashion and thrifted pieces, was slowly replaced with the row, max mara, burberry, and dior.

your jewelry collection grew as well. delicate van cleef & arpels bracelets, tiffany & co. pendants, and diamond-stud earrings from cartier found their way into your life. he gifted you a dainty rolex, understated yet stunning, with a cheeky note: “don’t be late to class.”

despite all of this, bruce was careful to ensure it never looked like you were “living large.” you stayed in your same modest apartment, though it was clear his influence was woven into the details: a state-of-the-art security system, upgrades to your furniture and appliances that made life a little easier.

dinners became a regular occurrence, whether it was a reservation at gotham’s most exclusive restaurant or an extravagant meal in his penthouse.

when you graduated, bruce was there, blending into the crowd in a simple black coat, inconspicuous among the sea of families and friends. you didn’t spot him at first—he wasn’t the type to draw attention when he didn’t want to—but when your eyes finally landed on his, he gave you the smallest of nods. after the ceremony, he approached you quietly, slipping a small velvet box into your hand. you opened it to reveal a key.

“what’s this for?” you asked, already overwhelmed, fingers trembling slightly. “your new apartment,” he replied simply. then, after a pause, “unless… you’d rather move in with me.”

from then on, everything changed. bruce wasn’t just your benefactor; he was your best friend, your confidant, and eventually, your lover.