#Batman angst

[batladss]

"I don't think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love."

[blog-moved-lol]

Reasons Why Bruce Wayne Refuses to Take a Break:

1. Why should he?

2. Because fuck you, that's why.

3. He's scared that if he ever actually stops to take a break, completely relax, and fully drop his guard, something horrible will happen to Gotham and/or the people he cares about and he won't be able to stop it because he wasn't prepared OR the years and years of burn out and physical/emotional pain will finally catch up to him (because he stopped running from it) and it'll hit him so hard that he'll finally have to face the trauma he endured as a child when he saw his parents die (which he is not physically capable of coping with, because the event fractured his identity into Batman, a man with childish morals and an inability to make exceptions [such as not killing a petty crook OR a mass murderer and thinking they should be dealt with the same way] and a childish sense of justice that cannot exist without him blocking out his trauma [so if he had to face that trauma his very identity would cease to exist]) therefore his mental health would be destroyed to such an extent that he'd be unable to even pretend he was alright, which in turn will make the people he cares about worry about him, and because he hates when people worry about him it'll cause him to lash out which will further isolate him from the world and from any form of human connection, leaving him sitting broken at an empty table in an empty mansion on an empty island just like he did when he was a mere, insignificant, hurt, orphaned eight year old who hadn't yet made his mark on the world-

4. He doesn't wanna >:[

[axstoria]

Being in love with Bruce Wayne is like hugging shards of glass.

He's a deep lover. He'll lather you in diamonds and jewels, hold you in front of the mirror, and call you beautiful while kissing your neck and ear and everywhere his lips can reach.

Bruce is a charitable man. He'll meet your parents and friends, acting all sweet and kind. When he finds out that your best friend needs a job, he'll hire them on the spot to ensure that you don't lose this important figure in your life. He donates to causes that you like and makes sure that the restoration fund for that museum you visit on the weekends stays up and running.

He's a good father. Over time, he'll introduce you to all his children (a few of which give you forced smiles, because who are you to be dating their dad?). The kids grow to love you, or tolerate you as best they can.

He's a forgetful man. Not in the sense that he doesn't remember important dates or anniversaries, but he finds the line between his time as Bruce and his time as Batman to be more strict than he would like. Romantic dinners were turned into patrols, leaving you alone in the manor, comforted only by a disgruntled butler. He raised that boy better than this.

He's a passionate man. His work as Bruce Wayne and Batman will overshadow his love for you at times. He'll hole himself up in his office instead of coming to bed like you wanted. He'll work himself until the breaking point and push you away and hurt you.

He's a lonely man. He'll beg you to stay, offering empty promises. No, he won't quit being Batman, even if you tell him you want to end the relationship. His crusade means too much to him. He'll fight until the day he dies, and if he has to be loveless again because of it, so be it.

Bruce Wayne is a playboy. He'll catch your eye at galas, a new woman on his arm each time. You don't miss the hint of longing in his gaze, and he doesn't miss the fury in yours. He'll never say sorry and you both know it.

Loving Bruce Wayne is like killing yourself slowly, from the inside out, leaving anyone who dares to fall tumbling into the endless void that is the Dark Knight.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

—‘marriage of convenience.’

BRUCE WAYNE X FEM!READER

ONE SHOT | smut, minors DNI.

synopsis : In a marriage of convenience, emotions were never part of the plan, yet they’ve begun to surface. You’ve always wanted to be a mother, but uncertainty hangs in the air. Your husband has four sons—why would he want another with someone who was never meant to stay?

A/N: This one’s a bit longer because I’m focusing on building up the pace, but I promise it’s worth it—or at least, I hope so! I didn’t specify which version of Bruce Wayne I used, so feel free to picture your favorite! I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but I’m a sucker for this plot, and I haven’t seen many similar ones with Bruce, sooo… here we go I guess ? Also, English isn’t my first language, so apologies in advance for any mistakes <3

THE MASTER BEDROOM felt both too big and too small at once—filled with walls of unspoken words and silences that grew louder each night.

Nine months had passed since you’d agreed to this marriage with Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most enigmatic billionaire by day and its silent guardian by night. He had told you his reasons, vague as they were, and you had yours.

Still, it was a marriage of convenience—a carefully orchestrated arrangement that left you perpetually feeling out of place, knowing it could end at any moment.

It wasn’t as if you’d come from wealth, either. Your life before Gotham was modest, middle-class, and worlds away from Bruce’s fortune and the grandeur of Gotham’s elite.

This marriage was supposed to be a shield—a calculated protection from some gang’s threat, leaked just enough to the Justice League to ensure Bruce’s intervention. Beyond that, the reasons were murky, known only to him.

But hey, you were married to a billionaire, at least for now. If nothing else, it would make for one unforgettable line on your résumé.

Through the vanity mirror, you watched him, absorbed in his meticulous ritual of dressing for the gala. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as he adjusted his cufflinks with a focus that held you captive every time.

The tailored suit framed his broad shoulders perfectly, narrowing to his trim waist, offering fleeting glimpses of the muscles shifting beneath his skin. His jaw was set, and a few unruly strands of dark hair fell just above his eyes as he tightened his tie.

Those blue eyes. God, they were enough to undo you.

You forced yourself to look away, turning to your own reflection, hoping it would quiet the ache swelling in your chest.

But it didn’t.

No matter how often you told yourself you were fine with the space between you, a quiet longing lingered—a need to be more than just an arrangement, more than a convenience.

The feeling ran deeper than you’d ever admit—far beyond the desire you tried to bury.

You wanted him to want you—truly, fully, unreservedly, and completely.

Foolishly, you even dreamed of children. His children. But you reminded yourself it was just that—a dream. He already had five sons, and one day, he’d likely find someone better suited to his world.

You swallowed the ache and tied the silk robe firmly around your waist, applying a final touch of red lipstick and smoothing your glossy hair into place.

The dress, lying in wait on the bed, was a sleek masterpiece that clung to every curve. You couldn’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the thought of his reaction, even if it was silly. Ridiculous, you scolded yourself. Pathetic, really, to hope he might notice.

With a nervous breath, you slipped off the robe and began to step into the gown, unaware that he was watching, his gaze tracing your every movement.

Bruce adjusted his cufflinks, stealing a glance from the corner of his eye as you bent down, the delicate fabric of your lingerie tracing every curve. The lace hugged your body perfectly, emphasizing the soft curve of your hips and the tempting line of your back. His fingers paused, the tightening in his chest mirrored by a tension lower that was hard to ignore.

With a clenched jaw, he forced his gaze away, willing himself to focus elsewhere—yet the image of you lingered, vivid and consuming, stirring something he’d long buried, something he wasn’t sure he could ignore much longer.

Finally, you slipped into the dress, smoothing it over your curves before looking up to meet his gaze in the mirror.

The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable; his usual restraint had slipped, revealing a raw hunger that sent a thrill through you.

His gaze traveled slowly, savoring the way the fabric hugged your silhouette, lingering on the curve of your hips, the bare expanse of your collarbone, and the soft line of your chest.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes softened, and you felt the weight of his attention like a touch, his restraint fraying at the edges.

Your breath caught as you held his gaze, the tension between you thick and electric, an unspoken pull that left your heart pounding. You’d never felt his eyes on you like this—an intensity that thrilled and unsettled you, setting every nerve alight.

Bruce looked away abruptly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, his gaze dark with something he clearly fought to contain.

Yet you could still feel the heat of his gaze lingering on your skin, and a forbidden question lingered in your mind—what would happen if he finally let himself surrender?

You tried to ignore the thrill that raced through your mind, focusing instead on slipping into your dress. But as you reached behind to pull up the zipper, your fingers faltered.

Clearing your throat, you took a steadying breath. “Could you, um… help me with this?”

In a few long strides, Bruce was behind you, his presence filling the mirror as he met your gaze. He reached for the zipper, his touch feather-light, and the brush of his fingers against your bare back sent an involuntary shiver through you.

His movements were unhurried, almost tentative, as if savoring the excuse to be this close. His fingertips lingered a fraction longer than necessary against the base of your spine, rough yet gentle, leaving warmth in their wake.

You couldn’t help the subtle arch of your back at his touch, pressing just close enough that your bodies brushed, igniting a spark that flared dangerously between you.

His breath ghosted against your neck, his eyes lowering to the bare skin exposed before him. And for a breathless moment, his hands lingered, hovering near your shoulders, as though wrestling with the urge to pull you closer.

Then, he stepped back, clearing his throat, the moment dissolving, leaving an ache in its place.

The two of you had never been intimate. On nights when he wasn’t patrolling, you shared a bed, but there was a boundary neither of you had dared to cross.

You had never… been with anyone, and while you weren’t ashamed of your virginity, it was a private matter, something you didn’t feel ready to share with him.

As for Bruce, once Gotham’s most eligible playboy, he’d shed that image completely since the marriage—a surprise to the public, but a quiet relief to you.

Yet, a small part of you wondered if he’d been with anyone else since you’d exchanged vows. The thought tightened your chest with a pang of jealousy you tried to ignore, a feeling that only grew stronger as the months went on.

“You look… breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice rough, as though he had to push the words past some unseen barrier. His warm breath brushed against your neck, and a shiver trailed down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

The sincerity in his tone pierced through the walls you’d carefully constructed, the tenderness resonating deeper than you expected.

“Thank you.” Your voice sounded softer than you intended, and you turned from the mirror to face him, finding his face only inches away from yours.

You let your hand drift to his shoulder, where he’d been wounded just the night before—a jagged slice you’d barely managed to patch up in the early hours before dawn, despite his protests. The paramedic in you had insisted on cleaning and dressing it properly, even if he brushed off your concern.

Absently, you brushed your fingers over the clothed spot, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch as you assessed for any tension or pain. “And you… you don’t look too bad yourself,” you managed, offering a soft smile.

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile—the kind he usually reserved for his family—and warmth blossomed within you. You felt… safe, desired in a way that transcended the formalities of your arrangement.

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, your fingers lingering as they traced small circles over the fabric.

“Almost healed,” he replied, his eyes softening. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture so tender it nearly unraveled you. The warmth of his fingers sent a thrill skittering across your skin, lingering long after his hand fell away.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the unsaid words that hung between you.

For a heartbeat, you almost dared to believe that he felt something deeper too. But then he stepped back, creating a measured distance that returned him to the safety of formality, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

You stepped back as well, the warmth of his touch still imprinted on your skin, and took a shaky breath. "Well, we should get going," you said softly, striving to regain your composure, to suppress the surge of longing that clung to every part of you he’d touched.

But Bruce held your gaze, the tension in the air so thick you could almost taste it.

He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it, casting one last lingering glance over you before slipping on his suit coat. "Of course," he replied, his tone as stoic as ever, as if nothing had happened. "Tonight is important."

With a final breath to steady yourself, you began to put on your high heels, fastening your earrings and necklace before spritzing on a hint of perfume. As you donned your fur coat and grabbed your clutch, you felt a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Bruce was waiting by the door, his posture relaxed yet alert, a man ready for the evening’s demands.

You stepped beside him, and for a moment, you both stood silently, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, as if the night held the potential to change everything.

The grand staircase was silent as you descended, the soft tap of your heels against the marble echoing through the empty expanse of Wayne Manor.

With Alfred away visiting family in England and the boys off with friends, the mansion felt hollow tonight, every corner draped in shadows and stillness.

Outside, Bruce’s sleek sports car waited, polished and gleaming under the foyer lights.

Ever the gentleman, he opened the passenger door for you, his eyes catching yours with a warmth that made your stomach flutter.

You slid into the car, smoothing your dress as you settled in, and he rounded the vehicle to take his place behind the wheel.

As the engine purred to life and Bruce eased onto the long driveway, the question gnawed at you again, sharper this time.

It had been weeks, maybe even months, building inside you—a silent hope that had somehow turned into a constant hum in the back of your mind.

You wanted to ask him about children, about whether he’d ever want to start a family. The words hovered in your chest, heavy as stones, weighing down your heart until they ached.

You could almost hear his answer, feel it—a quiet, certain yes. But in that silent, unspoken response, there was a sharp edge that you couldn’t ignore. He’d want children, maybe even a family, but he wouldn’t want it with you.

You glanced at him, fingers twitching nervously in your lap as you wrestled with the words caught somewhere between your mind and your heart.

The steady hum of the engine filled the silence, but the air between you felt charged, thick with all the unspoken questions.

Bruce’s gaze flicked your way, almost as if he could sense something lingering on the tip of your tongue. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a low, familiar rumble beneath the car’s gentle purr.

You swallowed, drawing in a shaky breath as you tried to steady your thoughts. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind.”

He nodded, his gaze softening. “It’s a big night. But I’ve seen you handle bigger.”

His confidence in you tugged a small smile from your lips, but the question still gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

Did he want a family? Could he imagine your family, a future with you? No. That was foolish.

This was a marriage of convenience—a choice made in the shadows, under false pretenses.

Besides, he had enough wards, allies, people to worry about already. A baby? Your baby? That would be a first, and a step he’d never take with someone like you.

The car glided down Gotham’s dimly lit streets, streetlights casting fleeting golden beams across the quiet interior.

You could feel your heart pounding as you looked down at your hands, fingers twisting nervously in your lap.

The question sat heavily in your chest, fragile and vulnerable. But after so many months of holding it back, you took a deep breath and let the words rise to the surface.

“Bruce…” His name came out as a whisper. You glanced at him, then away, focusing instead on the blur of city lights slipping by outside. “Have you ever thought about… having more kids?”

For a moment, silence filled the car, pressing thick and tense between you.

Bruce’s gaze stayed focused on the road, his face unreadable, shadowed in the dim light. As the seconds dragged on, you started to regret even bringing it up. But then he spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d want to bring that up,” he said, his voice a quiet murmur. “I thought you were… okay with how things are now.”

You hesitated, his answer making your heart clench, but you knew you couldn’t leave it there.

Summoning a shaky breath, you pressed on. “I am, really. I love the boys—each of them. They’re a part of my life in a way I never thought possible,” you said softly, fingers nervously tightening around the fabric of your dress. “It’s just… they know about us. They know this marriage is… part of the mission. And because of that, I think they’ll always see me as someone—” you struggled, searching for the words. “As someone useful, not… someone who matters.”

Bruce’s gaze flicked briefly to you, the hardness in his eyes easing as he listened.

“I know they care about you,” he said quietly, but there was a trace of hesitation in his voice, as if even he was aware of the boys’ guarded reserve, that shield they’d learned to hold around themselves.

“I know they do,” you replied. “They’re so much like you, in that way.” A faint, sad smile touched your lips. “They’re protective, and closed-off, and brave, and so loyal it hurts to watch sometimes. They’d die for you, you know?” You paused, swallowing against the ache in your chest. “I’ve tried to reach out, to be there for them… but I’m not sure they see me as someone important. Just another piece in this game. And I understand that.”

The words lingered between you, exposing the silent ache you’d carried. “But there’s a part of me that still wants…” You trailed off, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks as your heart willed you to continue.

Clearing your throat, you pressed on, “I guess I’ve always thought about… starting something like this, but from the beginning. A chance to be a mother… for real.”

The quiet that followed was painfully raw, every second stretching as you waited, almost afraid to look his way.

But when you did, his expression was softer than you’d ever seen, as if he understood, maybe even felt the same longing.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured, his voice gentler, with a kind of unspoken apology in his eyes. He reached over, his hand covering yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. “I thought maybe I’d assumed too much—that this marriage, this… arrangement, would always keep us in that gray space.”

Your fingers tightened around his hand, your pulse thundering as you tried to process his words. “So did I… but it’s hard not to think about it now.”

Bruce turned, his eyes catching yours, and in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, you glimpsed something rare—vulnerability in his usually guarded gaze, a hint of the man beneath the mask. “And… if I told you I’ve been thinking about it too?”

The weight of his confession settled between you, mingling with the warmth and hope rising in your chest. Your breath caught, surprised by the honesty of his admission. “Really?” you whispered, the disbelief blending with the gentle swell of emotions you’d kept buried.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, softening the edge of his stoic expression. “I didn’t think… I’d ever get to look beyond the mission. But it’s different now. Since marrying you, I keep thinking of… things I’d given up on before. It’s just… complicated.”

Your heart ached with the longing you’d tried so hard to suppress. “I know it is,” you replied, fingers clutching his hand a little tighter. “We’re not exactly a picture-perfect family. But I see the way you are with the boys, the way you protect them, how you’re there for them in every way you can be. You’re a good father, Bruce. And I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have that with you—to build something real together.”

He looked away briefly, his gaze darkening, his jaw tightening in thought. “I worry… what that means for us, for the boys, for everything. This marriage—it started out as a convenience, a front. And I don’t want to complicate things more than they already are.” His voice was almost pained, a weight in every syllable. “But… if we had a child, if we took that step—it would change everything. And I have to consider… the risks that come with that.”

You felt a thrill of excitement mingled with a pang of fear, both feelings clashing within you. “Maybe change is exactly what we need,” you said, your voice gentle but sure. “I’d never want you to feel trapped or forced into anything, Bruce. I just thought…” You paused, a blush heating your cheeks. “I just thought that maybe, there was a way for us to make this real, to make it work.”

His gaze lingered on you, searching, as if weighing his own feelings, his fears. “You really want this?” he murmured, his voice husky, a bare whisper that made your heart flutter.

You nodded, feeling the intensity of your own need to finally say it out loud. “More than anything,” you confessed, the words tumbling out, almost desperate in their honesty. “I want that with you. I want to build something, something that’s truly ours. Not part of a mission. Not for the sake of appearances… but because I love you.”

He looked at you then, and you saw something in his eyes soften, his own defenses melting as he held your gaze.

For a moment, the man you saw wasn’t Batman or the elusive billionaire, but someone who was deeply, painfully human, someone who loved fiercely but carried the weight of the world.

“I’ll have to think about it more,” he finally said, his words almost apologetic, but not without warmth.

Your heart sank a little, but you understood.

Of course he wasn’t going to say he loved you. Instead, he clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. He was restraining himself, caught in some inner struggle—or maybe he was just angry. Angry at you, at what you’d said.

Guilt washed over you, but you understood. Yes, you understood. His life, his choices—they were unlike anyone else’s, and you couldn’t blame him for thinking twice.

“I know, Bruce,” you said softly, guilt threading through your voice. “I didn’t mean to bring it up now, of all times. You’ve got enough on your mind. I just wanted to know… just to see if maybe…”

He didn’t respond right away, his silence heavy with unspoken words.

You turned your gaze out the window, watching the city streets pass by as the car glided closer to the hotel where the gala awaited.

The flickering lights of Gotham washed over the sleek streets, gilding the world outside in a golden glow, the perfect contrast to the raw ache in your heart.

Bruce’s hand never left yours. He gave a small squeeze, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes, as if to say, I know. 

The warmth of his touch felt like a quiet promise, reassuring even in the silence.

You found a moment of solace at the bar, the cold glass of water refreshing against your lips amid the gala's chaos.

As you took a sip, your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the crowd mingling and laughing, their voices blending into a dull hum that felt both comforting and overwhelming. Bruce was deep in conversation with the Wayne Enterprises board, his brow furrowed in concentration, clearly weighing matters far more serious than the evening's festivities.

You tried to shift your weight to ease the ache in your ankles from the high heels, but the discomfort only deepened as the evening wore on. Just as you were about to take a moment to breathe and steady your nerves, a man approached you—confident, charming, and entirely too close for comfort.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, leaning casually against the bar, a grin spreading across his face. His eyes roamed over you, assessing and appreciative, and you felt a knot of discomfort tighten in your stomach.

“Actually, I—” you began, but he cut you off, undeterred.

“Oh, come on. You look like you could use some company,” he said, flashing a flirtatious smile that only made you feel more uneasy. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing all alone?”

You forced a polite smile, trying to convey your disinterest without sounding rude. “I’m not alone; I’m here with my husband,” you replied, fidgeting with your diamond ring—Bruce’s mother’s signet—its intricate design sparkling under the dim lights. The ring felt like a reminder of your bond, a talisman against the unwelcome advances of strangers.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Surely he wouldn’t mind you having a little fun. It’s a party, after all.”

A small flush crept up your neck at his suggestion, and your smile faltered. “I really don’t think so. He’d prefer I keep to myself,” you said firmly, hoping to end the conversation.

Just then, you caught sight of Bruce looking your way, a flicker of concern in his eyes as he scanned the crowd. Your heart swelled with gratitude at the sight of him, a silent reminder of why you were here.

The man followed your gaze and smirked. “Seems your knight in shining armor is watching. How sweet.”

“Actually, it’s called being a good husband,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. You felt a rush of protectiveness over Bruce and your relationship, wanting to assert that bond against this unwanted attention. The man leaned in closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “I’ve seen you with him. You deserve a little fun tonight. I bet he doesn’t appreciate you like he should.”

Your heart raced uncomfortably. “No, really. I’m happy,” you insisted, attempting to keep your tone light. But the way he watched you felt invasive, and you were suddenly aware of how your ring gleamed—a reminder of your commitment amid the tension in the air.

“Let’s have a drink together. What’s the harm in a little fun?” he pressed, inching closer, his flirtation becoming bolder. You laughed at his joke, but it felt forced, a smile painted on your lips while your stomach twisted in knots.

Across the room, you could feel Bruce’s presence. When your eyes met, you saw the tension in his posture, his jaw clenching. The flicker of jealousy in his gaze sent a rush of warmth through you, reminding you of the complex emotions swirling around you.

Just as the man leaned in, brushing against your shoulder, Bruce appeared at your side, his voice smooth but edged with something darker. “I think she’s fine,” he said, making it clear he wasn't in the mood for debate.

You turned to Bruce, relief washing over you at his intervention. He positioned himself between you and the man, his body radiating authority and unyielding strength. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone leaving little room for interpretation.

The man straightened, clearly caught off guard. “Just having a conversation with this lovely lady,” he replied, struggling to maintain his composure, but you could see the flicker of fear in his eyes.

Bruce leaned in slightly, his voice low and serious, a chill settling in the air. “You’re talking to my wife. I’d recommend you keep your distance.”

The man hesitated, the bravado fading as he glanced nervously between you and Bruce. "Should I repeat myself?" His voice quivered, and you caught a hint of the intimidating Batman lurking beneath Bruce’s polished exterior.

“Of course not, Bruce,” the man stammered, gulping as he fumbled with his suit.

“It’s Mr. Wayne to you,” Bruce replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed the intruder. “Your name?”

“Uh—sorry?” the man said, clearly flustered.

“Your name.”

“Jack Laurent, sir.”

Bruce hummed, his dark stare analyzing him as if he could pierce through to the man’s very soul.

After a moment of awkward silence, Jack retreated into the crowd, a forced smile plastered on his face. As the tension dissipated with his departure, Bruce turned to you, his expression softening but still protective. “You okay?” he asked, concern threading through his voice.

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and something deeper at his instinct to shield you. “Yeah, just trying to find a moment to breathe,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "But I think you scared him off." You laughed lightly, trying to ease the lingering tension.

Bruce stepped closer, his presence wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. He grasped your bare shoulders delicately, as if you were made of porcelain. “I don’t care about him or anyone here,” he said, pulling you closer and searching your eyes with an intensity that made your heart race. “I just need you to be alright.”

You let out a breath, feeling the weight of his words. “I know,” you replied softly, slowly bringing your hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes at the contact, savoring the warmth, and your heart swelled with appreciation. “It’s just...sometimes it’s hard to remember that in a place like this.”

Bruce nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring. “You belong here just as much as anyone else. And don’t forget, I’m always just a few steps away.”

The tension in the air slowly melted away, and the chaotic buzz of the gala faded into the background. The music shifted to a slow, melodic tune, wrapping around you like an embrace, inviting intimacy amidst the sea of glamour.

“So, Mrs. Wayne, would you like to dance?” he asked, his voice low and inviting, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

You nodded, your heart racing at the prospect. “Of course, Mr. Wayne.” You smiled, feeling a warmth blossom within you as he extended his hand, palm up, inviting you closer.

When you placed your hand in his, a spark ignited within you, sending a thrill coursing through your veins. He led you to the center of the ballroom, where couples swayed, lost in their own worlds, oblivious to everything but each other.

In the heart of the dance floor, Bruce pulled you close, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back, guiding you against him. The warmth radiating from his body was intoxicating, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart, syncing with the rhythm of the music.

As you began to sway together, his fingers lightly brushed the curve of your waist, igniting a trail of warmth in their wake. Leaning in, you could feel his breath against your ear as he whispered, “You look stunning tonight.”

The compliment sent a delightful shiver down your spine, and you met his gaze, searching for the sincerity in those deep eyes. “I know, you already told me,” you teased, a playful smirk creeping onto your lips.

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating deep within you, revealing a smoldering intensity that stirred something primal and aching inside. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you smile,” he replied, his voice low, laced with a hint of mischief.

“But, thank you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as he guided your movements across the dance floor. In that moment, the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you and the palpable chemistry crackling in the air.

With each step, his touch grew bolder, fingers grazing your skin just a bit longer than necessary. It was electric, a tantalizing connection that made your heart race. The tension between you thickened, almost tangible.

As the song swelled, he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together, and you felt the comforting heat radiating from him. His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking gently across your skin. The intimacy of the moment made your breath hitch, your pulse quickening in response to his nearness.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, his lips nearly brushing your forehead, sending a shiver of excitement through you. The protective warmth of his embrace enveloped you, making you feel safe yet utterly exposed.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s more than okay.”

The music wrapped around you like a warm, irresistible tide, drowning out everything else. In that moment, it was just you, Bruce, and the rhythm. His presence was a force, drawing you in, and his gaze—filled with longing, affection, and something deeper—held you captive.

You broke away from his intense stare, suddenly aware of the warmth spreading through you, and cleared your throat. “Bruce, I… I wanted to apologize. If I made you uncomfortable in the car earlier, that wasn’t—”

But he cut you off, his voice calm yet unyielding. “You didn’t.”

Surprised, you looked up, your brows furrowing. “What?”

He clenched his jaw, the words seemingly heavy, as if pulling them from some hidden place within. “I’m not great with words. But… I love you too. And I want more than anything to build a life with you. Children, a family… all of it.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your body still in his arms. “You… you do?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

In response, he placed his hands on either side of your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. He leaned in close, his lips grazing your ear. “You’re everything I never knew I needed,” he murmured, his voice filled with a raw, unguarded honesty that sent warmth flooding through you, leaving you feeling both safe and seen.

As the song slowed to its final notes, he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist. His mouth lifted in a rare, tender smile as he whispered, “Let’s go home.”

Stepping through the grand entrance of Wayne Manor, the lively echoes of the gala faded away, replaced by the soft, ambient hum of the house settling into the quiet of the night.

It had been a long evening, filled with mingling and the subtle games of socializing with Gotham’s elite.

The air between you and Bruce buzzed with unspoken tension. His hand rested possessively on the small of your back, guiding you up the elegant staircase. Each step was a silent promise, building the anticipation and drawing you both toward the inevitable culmination of the night’s charged atmosphere.

When you finally reached your bedroom door, he paused, turning to face you. The moment hung in the air, electric and charged, as he searched your eyes for something—an answer, perhaps. The world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you suspended in this intimate space, heartbeats synchronized in the dim light.

Before you could catch your breath, he pushed the door closed behind you, the soft click resonating like a heartbeat in the silence of the room. He stepped closer, invading your space with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. The flickering candlelight danced across his features, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the depths of his darkened gaze, making you feel both exhilarated and vulnerable under his scrutiny.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, thick with desire and restraint.

The question hung heavy in the air, sending a shiver racing down your spine. It was raw, honest—an invitation that ignited something deep within you.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word barely escaping your lips as the weight of his gaze enveloped you. The rest of the world blurred away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in this cocoon of intimacy.

In an instant, he closed the distance between you, pressing your back against the cool wooden door. The warmth of his body radiated against you, and you felt his breath ghosting over your skin, igniting every nerve ending in a fiery dance of longing.

He leaned in, capturing your lips with his, and the kiss ignited like a wildfire—fierce, consuming, and utterly intoxicating.

His lips were warm and insistent against yours, each press sending surges of electricity coursing through your body.

You melted into him, hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was this moment, the exquisite collision of your mouths.

Bruce’s hands tangled in your hair, tilting your head back slightly to deepen the kiss, a gentle possessiveness that made your heart race. Tongues danced, exploring and intertwining as if they were fighting for dominance, enveloping each other in a sweet battle that fueled the fire of desire.

The sensation sent shockwaves coursing through you, awakening a hunger you hadn’t fully realized was there. You responded in kind, kissing him back with equal fervor, your lips moving in a rhythm that felt both familiar and entirely new.

The weight of his body pressed against you, grounding you while his kiss transported you to a realm of dizzying exhilaration.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, a potent energy that fueled the fire building within you. The kiss grew more passionate, a fusion of longing and urgency, as if you were both trying to reclaim something that had long been held back.

Every touch, every movement, felt like the unveiling of secrets long buried, a revelation of what had been simmering beneath the surface.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for air, his eyes dark and stormy, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed, his voice rough, laden with unfiltered emotion.

The vulnerability in his admission sent a thrill through you, a delicious mingling of excitement and certainty that surged through your veins.

“Me too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible yet brimming with honesty. The weight of those words hung between you, binding you together in a shared moment of understanding that transcended the chaos of the outside world.

Bruce stepped back slightly, just enough to trace a finger along your jawline, the touch featherlight yet electrifying. “I never wanted to rush you. I just needed to make sure you felt safe… wanted,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, filled with a sincerity that made your heart swell. Each word was a testament to his care, each glance a reminder of the bond you shared.

“Being here with you feels safe,” you admitted, leaning into his touch, craving more of that intimate connection. “It feels right.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, transforming his fierce demeanor into something tender.

He leaned in again, this time pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a promise wrapped in affection that made your heart flutter. “Then let’s make this moment last,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, igniting a yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

His lips were back on yours in an instant, and you surrendered to the moment, letting the world around you fade away once more. The warmth of his body enveloped you, drawing you into a cocoon of desire and urgency, each kiss igniting flames of longing that spread through you like wildfire.

With a gentle yet deliberate touch, he slowly unzipped your dress, the fabric slipping away to pool at your feet, leaving you clad only in your strappy heels.

The cool air brushed against your skin, causing your nipples to harden in response, the sensation electric and thrilling.

You felt exposed yet liberated, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

His gaze darkened as he drank you in like a man starved, his fingers trailing down your abdomen, teasingly exploring the curves that he found so captivating.

As his hand glided over your hips, he softly brushed against your nipple, sending a shockwave of sensation through you.

The unexpected contact made you gasp, your head tilting back instinctively, exposing your neck and inviting him closer.

His breath hitched at your submission, the hunger in his eyes intensifying as he inched even closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your skin.

You could feel the tension crackle in the air between you, thick and intoxicating, enveloping you both in a heady mix of desire and vulnerability.

He cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple, eliciting a shiver that danced down your spine.

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as desire ignited within you, flaring to life like a match struck in the darkness.

The sound seemed to spur him on, a silent encouragement that sent him deeper into this intoxicating exploration.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in, his lips grazing your neck as he trailed soft, tantalizing kisses along your collarbone. Each kiss sent ripples of pleasure coursing through you, and you tilted your head to give him better access, the soft whimpers of pleasure escaping your mouth only fueling his hunger.

The weight of his body pressed against you grounded you in this shared moment while your hearts raced in sync, every pulse resonating with the urgency of your connection.

His lips continued their tantalizing journey, exploring the sensitive skin of your neck as he whispered words that sent shivers through you, igniting a fire deep within.

Each kiss grew bolder, more urgent, as if he were claiming you, marking you as his own.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, a magnetic pull drawing you even closer, making it impossible to resist. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as you pulled him in, craving more of his touch.

He responded instantly, his hands roaming lower, tracing the curve of your waist before grasping your hips, anchoring you in place as he deepened the kiss.

The taste of him was intoxicating—warm and addictive, leaving you breathless, desperate for more.

With a sudden, bold movement, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as he pressed you against the wall, the cool surface contrasting with the heat radiating between you.

You could feel his heart racing, matching the tempo of your own. Every brush of his skin against yours sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you, and you gasped, caught in the whirlwind of desire and longing.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending waves of anticipation crashing over you.

The world outside your little bubble faded into nothingness, leaving just the two of you enveloped in this heated moment.

You locked eyes, the intensity of the moment palpable, and with a breathless whisper, you revealed your deepest desire, surrendering to the passion that had ignited between you.

“Take me,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper but heavy with longing.

The air around you crackled with anticipation as his eyes darkened, a primal hunger evident in his gaze. With a swift, possessive motion, he captured your lips again, the kiss igniting into a fiery dance of tongues and breathless gasps.

His hands roamed eagerly over your bare skin, exploring every inch as he savored the taste of you.

You could feel him growing harder against you, and it only heightened your desire, stirring an insatiable craving that drove you both deeper into the moment.

He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, searching for any hesitation, but all he found was unyielding need reflected back at him.

A smirk curled on his lips, playful yet dangerously seductive. “I want you to feel everything,” he promised, his voice a low rumble that made your pulse quicken.

“Everything,” you echoed, the weight of that word hanging between you, filled with the promise of what was to come. His hands tightened around your waist, and you felt an exhilarating rush of anticipation flood through you.

With each passing second, the tension between you escalated, pushing you both to the brink of surrender.

His hands grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carries you to the bed. You fall back onto the soft sheets, the sensation sending a ripple of pleasure through you. He hovers above you, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you like a warm embrace, and you can’t help but arch against him, craving his touch.

“Just like this,” he murmurs, leaning down to trail kisses across your collarbone, his warm breath fanning against your skin. He pauses, lingering at your breast, his mouth closing over your nipple, sucking gently as you gasp and writhe beneath him. Each flick of his tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, unraveling you further.

“More,” you plead, your voice thick with desire, and he responds instantly, shifting lower, his kisses trailing down your abdomen, leaving a path of fire in their wake.

You can feel every nerve ending awaken, every touch igniting a longing deep within you as you surrender to the intoxicating sensations washing over you.

He pauses, looking up at you, a devilish grin on his face. “You have no idea what you’re in for,” he teases, before continuing his descent, ready to explore the depths of your desire.

The air around you crackles with tension, your heart racing as anticipation coils tightly in your stomach, a mixture of excitement and raw yearning.

His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and heat, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m gonna put a baby inside of you,” he growls, the primal intensity of his voice igniting a fierce longing deep within you.

The sheer audacity of his claim leaves you breathless, every part of you alive with the possibilities of what’s to come.

You can hardly process the weight of his statement, the idea swirling in your mind, feeding the fire of your desire.

The thought alone sends a surge of warmth through you, making your cheeks flush as the heat between you builds, wild and untamed.

Your heart races, a blend of exhilaration and raw anticipation thrumming through your veins. His words are bold, stirring something deep inside you, a desire so potent it’s almost overwhelming.

“Do you want that?” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours, piercing through the haze of your desire to reach the vulnerable truth beneath. His question feels like an invitation, a daring challenge, as his thumb brushes over your cheek, grounding you in the moment. The tenderness in his voice only intensifies the intimacy, and for a heartbeat, you feel a depth that goes beyond passion—a need that borders on devotion.

“Yes,” you answer, barely more than a breath, but thick with longing. The simple word hangs in the air like a spark, lighting a fuse neither of you can ignore.

A slow, almost triumphant smile curves at his lips as he leans in, capturing your mouth with a kiss that’s searing, consuming. His hands slide to your hips, his grip firm, possessive, sending a thrill down your spine as he presses you closer.

“Then let’s make it unforgettable,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and low, each word vibrating through you as he begins to move, each movement slow, intentional, every thrust deep and consuming.

He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every shiver, every gasp that slips from your lips as he drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

In a playful moment, you pause him, a spark in your eyes as you lean in to trace your lips over the faint scars that line his chest, each one a silent testament to battles fought and endured. Your kisses are warm, gentle, and when you murmur, “You’re so beautiful,” the words come from a place of pure sincerity.

You can feel his breath hitch as your lips trace his skin, the depth of his groan telling you he feels it too, letting you both linger in this exquisite, vulnerable intimacy.

His breath hitches, caught off guard by your tenderness amidst the raw intensity of the moment.

You let your hands roam over his defined torso, tracing the contours and dips, savoring the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. The warmth radiating from him envelops you, fueling your desire.

With a bold move, you grasp the waistband of his briefs, teasingly tugging them down.

His length springs free, a glorious sight that takes your breath away. You bite your lip, heat pooling in your core as you admire the raw masculinity before you. He’s impressively big, thick and hard, with veins running along his length—a striking reminder of just how much he wants you.

He watches you with hooded eyes, a mix of confidence and need in his gaze.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling the heat and strength beneath your touch.

His jaw tightens, a low, breathy groan escaping as he watches you, eyes dark with desire.

Slowly, you begin to move, each stroke slow and deliberate, savoring the connection, letting the intensity build between you with every deliberate touch.

Then, with a teasing smile, you lean forward, your soft lips hovering just above him. The anticipation hangs thick in the air, charged with desire as you take a moment to savor the view. He’s so big and long, and the sight of him sends a thrill of excitement through you.

With a playful flick of your tongue, you tease the tip, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. The sensation sends shivers coursing through your body, igniting your own hunger. You wrap your lips around him, taking him in slowly, your mouth fitting him perfectly as you begin to move.

He groans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you, urging you to continue. The warmth of your mouth envelops him, each movement eliciting a wave of pleasure that sends him spiraling deeper into the moment.

You feel his hands thread through your hair, guiding you as you take him further in, savoring the taste and the way he feels against your tongue.

You lock eyes with him, the heat of the moment intensifying as you push yourself to take him even deeper, your lips gliding over his length in a rhythm that builds both your desires.

He watches you with a mix of awe and lust, every thrust of your mouth sending him closer to the edge.

“Just like that,” he encourages, his voice low and rough, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

You take him deeper, unyielding, letting the sensation of him fill you completely. You don’t care if you gag; the thrill of taking him entirely fuels your desire, and you want him to see just how far you’re willing to go for him.

His eyes widen as he watches you, the lust in them igniting a fire within you that makes you crave him even more.

As you push your limits, you feel him tense beneath you, the undeniable signs of his release building.

“I’m close,” he warns, his voice a low growl, but you only increase your efforts, sucking harder, your mouth gliding over him in a frenzy of pleasure.

Your other hand sneaks down, slipping beneath the waistband of your wet panties, your fingers finding your slick heat. You touch yourself, the combination of sensations sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

His breaths quicken, the sight of you pleasuring yourself while taking him deeper pushing him to the brink.

“Yes,” he gasps, and with one final thrust of his hips, he explodes, warmth flooding your mouth and throat.

You swallow instinctively, looking up at him through lust-filled eyes, and you can feel the overwhelming rush as more of him spills forth, dribbling from your lips.

You keep your eyes locked on his, the connection electrifying as you revel in the moment. There’s so much cum that it spills over, dripping from your mouth, a visual testament to the intensity of your shared pleasure. You can see the mixture of awe and satisfaction in his gaze, and it only heightens the fire within you.

With a satisfied smirk, you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, savoring the lingering taste of him and the thrill of the moment. But before you can utter a word, he grips your elbows, effortlessly pushing you back onto the mattress. His lips find yours again, this time with a roughness that sends a jolt of electricity through you. It’s primal, a clash of teeth and tongues, raw and unfiltered, leaving your lips bruised but you find you don’t care. There’s something intoxicating about his urgency, something that awakens a wildness in you.

He pulls back, his gaze piercing as you gasp for air, your heart racing. “Do you want a baby?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his fingers trailing across your stomach with a rough tenderness that sends a shiver through you. Heat floods your cheeks, and you avert your eyes, unable to meet his gaze. But he gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me,” he urges, his intensity igniting something deep within you.

After a moment of contemplation, you whisper, “Yes.” The word hangs in the air, heavy with possibility and charged with electricity. Without hesitation, he quickly pulls your panties down, the suddenness of his action catching you off guard and leaving you breathless.

As his fingers glide through your folds, a moan escapes your lips, and you arch your back instinctively. “Bruce,” you gasp, reaching up to cradle his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair. The way he teases you makes it hard to think clearly.

“Bruce, I—” Another moan escapes you as he applies pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves, making it impossible to finish your sentence. “I’ve never done this before,” you finally admit, your voice trembling.

He pauses at your words, concern flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry if you’re not ready—”

But you cut him off, urgency flooding your voice. “No—I want this more than anything.”

He softens, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before trailing down with warm kisses and the teasing flick of his tongue, exploring the valley between your breasts and moving down to your stomach.

Before he enters you, he shifts his position, lifting your legs and resting them on his shoulders.

The new angle sends a thrilling rush through you, completely exposing you and making you feel both vulnerable and electrified. You meet his gaze, a mix of hunger and desire burning in his eyes as he prepares to take you in every sense.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down your spine, and you feel the heat radiating from his body, drawing you in closer.

He lowers himself, pressing a soft kiss just above your thigh, teasingly inching his way toward your core. The anticipation is nearly unbearable as he inhales deeply, savoring your scent, and you can feel your body responding instinctively to his presence.

“Please,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need as you arch your back, trying to pull him closer. The heat within you builds, desperate for his touch. “I need you...”

With a wicked grin, he finally gives in, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like a decadent dessert. The sound of him savoring you vibrates through your core, eliciting a loud moan from your lips that surprises even you.

He licks with the fervor of a man starved, drawing on your most sensitive spots with a precision that drives you wild. Each flick of his tongue sends you spiraling deeper into ecstasy, your body instinctively arching and grinding against his mouth, hungry for more. He grips your thighs firmly, anchoring you in place as he devours you with an insatiable hunger, as if it’s the first time he’s ever tasted something so exquisite.

“God, you taste incredible,” he growls against you, his voice muffled yet filled with raw desire.

The heat within you rises, your fingers tangling more tightly in his hair, pulling him closer as you push him deeper into your core. He responds eagerly, teasing your entrance with his tongue, and you cry out in pleasure, coiling tighter with every movement he makes. The world around you fades, leaving only the intoxicating sensations of his mouth and the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

Your breathing quickens, each gasp mingling with soft cries as you surrender completely to the waves of ecstasy washing over you. The tension builds within you, the edge of release drawing nearer with every flick and swirl of his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your voice thick with need as your body thrums with anticipation, ready to shatter into a million pieces under his touch.

He watches you with hungry eyes as he slips one finger inside you, filling you in a way that sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. You gasp at the sensation, instinctively grasping his wrist, your back arching as your hips grind against his hand.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. He begins to work his finger deeper, curling it to find that sweet spot within you. The pressure builds, and the pleasure intensifies with each thrust.

Just when you think it can't get any better, he adds another finger, stretching you further. Your breath catches in your throat, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely. “You’re so tight,” he growls, his eyes dark with desire, and you can’t help but moan in response, guiding his hand deeper, craving more.

With a deliberate rhythm, he begins to thrust his fingers in and out, finding a pace that makes your body sing. Each stroke pushes you closer to the edge, heat pooling low in your belly as you bite your lip, trying to hold back the cries threatening to spill forth.

“Please,” you whimper, desperate for more, and he responds instantly, slipping in a third finger, filling you to the brim. The combination of his mouth on your sensitive skin and his fingers working you expertly is almost too much to bear.

“Let go, baby,” he urges, his voice deep and smooth as he continues to curl his fingers just right, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink, the tension winding tighter until you feel like you might burst.

With every thrust of his fingers, you get closer and closer, the room spinning as you lose yourself in the moment. “I’m so close,” you gasp, your body trembling under his expert touch.

“Good,” he growls, his fingers quickening, pushing you over the edge with a final, delicious thrust. You shatter, a moan escaping your lips as pleasure explodes through you, sending you spiraling into blissful release.

“That's it, let it all out,” he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice as he watches you ride the waves of ecstasy, your body writhing beneath him.

As you come down from your high, he pulls back, his fingers slick and glistening as he wipes them on your thigh, a smug smile playing on his lips. The hunger in his eyes tells you that this is just the beginning of what’s to come.

He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied grin. The sight of him savoring you sends a rush of heat through you, reigniting the desire that simmers just beneath the surface.

Then, with a deliberate motion, he takes a pillow and slides it under your hips, angling your body just right. Anticipation builds within you as he positions himself, the tip of his length teasingly pressing against you. You catch your breath, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through you.

“It’s gonna hurt at first,” he says softly, his gaze locking onto yours. You nod, breathing heavily, and he takes one of your hands in his, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “You tell me if you want to stop.” You respond by leaning in and kissing him deeply, reassuring him of your desire to continue.

With that connection, he slowly pushes inside you, stretching you in a way that makes you gasp. It’s hard and intense, and he’s not even halfway in yet. Every inch of him fills you, the sensation of his size and the texture of his veins overwhelming as he sinks deeper. “You feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Taking both of your hands, he pins them above your head, his grip firm yet tender as he leans down to kiss you. The kiss ignites a fire within you, and you lose yourself in the taste of him. As he continues to push into you, a mix of pain and pleasure washes over you. You know your body needs to adjust, but the feeling of him filling you is intoxicating.

“Just breathe, it’s okay,” he whispers against your lips, and you nod, focusing on his soothing voice as he finally buries himself completely within you. A gasp escapes your lips as you feel so full, and he pauses for a moment, allowing you to acclimate to his size.

As he kisses down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your skin, the pain begins to fade, replaced by an overwhelming wave of pleasure that courses through you. His movements are slow and deliberate, drawing out the sensations as he starts to move, each thrust igniting sparks of ecstasy within you.

The rhythm builds, and you can’t help but let out an echoing moan, the sound reverberating in the expansive room. “That’s it, let me hear you,” he encourages, his voice a low growl as he picks up the pace, the rhythm of flesh against flesh echoing around you.

You arch your back, surrendering completely to the pleasure, the initial discomfort forgotten as you lose yourself in the sensations he’s creating. It’s almost overwhelming; each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body responding instinctively, craving more, needing more.

At first, his movements are slow and tender, each thrust deliberate as he savors the connection between you. He watches your face closely, absorbing every expression and sigh that escapes your lips. The intimacy of the moment feels almost sacred, wrapped in the warmth of his body.

But as the rhythm continues, the tension builds. You feel heat rising between you, a pressure that intensifies with each gentle thrust. The sweet pleasure begins to intertwine with a growing need for something more. You grip the sheets beneath you, your body tightening around him, silently urging him to go deeper, to give you more.

And just like that, he shifts gears.

The slow, romantic pace is replaced with something far more primal—animalistic even. He thrusts harder, deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. The headboard bangs against the wall, the intensity echoing your rising desire.

Your breath hitches as each thrust sends jolts of pleasure mixed with a delicious edge of pain coursing through you. You can feel the raw power in his movements, the way he claims you completely. Each time he fills you, it’s overwhelming, and you gasp and moan, lost in the storm of sensation.

“Just like that,” he growls, his voice low and rough as he drives into you with urgency, his grip on your wrists tightening. One of his hands glides to your chest, grasping one of your breasts and squeezing, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. It’s too much, yet not enough, and you can feel his heart racing, matching your own as he loses himself in the moment.

Your body instinctively arches to meet him, craving every thrust. The sensations blur the lines between pleasure and pain, leaving you caught in their throes, every cry and moan spilling from your lips unbidden.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he rocks into you with increasing ferocity. You feel heat pooling deep within, the familiar pressure building as he takes you higher and higher.

With each thrust, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in this moment of raw, uninhibited passion. The tension between you is palpable, igniting a fire that consumes you both. You know you’re on the brink of something incredible.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, your voice a breathless whisper, urging him on. He responds with a primal growl, picking up the pace even more, pushing you further into ecstasy.

You touch your chest absently, lost in the sensations swirling around you. He leans down, taking one of your nipples between his teeth, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips. The pleasure is overwhelming, and with each thrust, the connection deepens, sending shockwaves through your body.

“God, it’s too much,” you cry out, your voice echoing in the room. You try to meet him with each thrust, but it’s a struggle; the intensity is more than you ever imagined. As you scratch his back, your nails digging in, he can only moan in response, reveling in your reactions.

Your legs open wider than you thought possible, driven by an insatiable desire for him to penetrate you deeper. “I want you so deep,” you whimper, your voice thick with need.

With every powerful thrust, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, the waves of pleasure crashing over you until you can’t hold back any longer. You explode, a scream of ecstasy bursting from your lips as your body quakes with release.

But he doesn’t relent. He continues his relentless pace, pounding into you with an urgency that keeps you riding the high, your body still trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm. Each thrust pushes you higher, your senses overwhelmed as pleasure pulses through your veins.

It’s only when your cries start to quiet, the peaks of your pleasure beginning to ebb, that he finally lets himself go. With a primal roar, he drives into you one last time, filling you to the brim, a wave of warmth spilling inside you.

You can feel him shudder as he reaches his own climax, the raw intensity of the moment binding you together in a whirlwind of heat and desire. He collapses against you, breathless and spent, and you can only hold onto him, the remnants of pleasure coursing through you as you both come down from the high.

In the stillness that follows, the echoes of your passion linger in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

But he isn’t finished. Not yet.

With a sudden, powerful movement, he turns you over, bending you back with an arch that leaves you vulnerable and exposed to him entirely.

You gasp as he re-enters you, the sensitivity from your last wave of pleasure sending fresh sparks through your body. Each thrust is a mix of pleasure and delicious discomfort, igniting a new fire within you.

“So tight, so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with hunger as he fills you once more. The initial sting quickly gives way to overwhelming pleasure, and you can’t help but surrender to the sensation. It’s as if he knows just how to push you, how to drive you wild.

As he thrusts deeper, you feel every inch of him, stretching you perfectly, igniting every nerve ending. The angle sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway—a breathy sound of pure desire.

“Take it,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly, anchoring you as he begins to pound into you with renewed vigor. Each thrust sends you spiraling, and the world outside fades away once more, leaving just the two of you in this heated moment.

“Please, yes,” you manage to gasp, pushing back against him, urging him to go harder, to claim you completely. The sensation is a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, and you can feel the heat pooling deep within you once again.

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, whispering words that send shivers down your spine. “You love it, don’t you? You love being filled with me.”

You can only nod, too lost in the pleasure to form coherent words.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, each thrust echoing your shared desire. You feel yourself teetering on the edge again, your body responding instinctively to his every movement.

As he continues to drive into you, the rhythm builds, becoming more frantic, more desperate.

You can feel your body tightening, your high building once again, and it’s almost too much to handle. “I’m so close,” you breathe, the words barely escaping your lips.

“Come for me,” he commands, and with that, you let go completely. The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, pulling him in with you as you both reach your climax together.

As the tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you, your body convulses around him, tightening involuntarily as the waves of ecstasy pulse through every fiber of your being.

Your scream of bliss fills the room, echoing against the walls as you surrender completely to the intensity of the moment.

He growls deep in his throat, the sound primal and raw, matching your high with his own. You feel him surge deeper, his movements becoming more erratic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your shared release.

The heat between you is intoxicating, a swirling mix of desperation and fulfillment that binds you together in that sacred space.

With each thrust, he drives you further into the depths of your pleasure, his own release mingling with yours. You can feel him spill inside you, a warmth that fills you completely, pushing you over the edge once more—a final wave of bliss washing through you, leaving you gasping and trembling.

“God, yes,” he breathes, collapsing onto you, his weight pressing you into the sheets as he takes a moment to catch his breath. The room is thick with the lingering scent of sweat and passion, the echoes of your shared climax hanging in the air.

You feel spent but exhilarated, every inch of your body humming with a delicious afterglow. He gently pulls out, and you can’t help but shiver at the loss, the sensation sending a soft gasp from your lips.

He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low and husky, tinged with concern, as he brushes a damp strand of hair from your face.

“More than okay,” you reply, a breathless laugh escaping you as you meet his gaze, your heart racing from the intensity of it all.

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that ignites the embers of desire once more. You can feel the heat building between you again, a spark that promises the night is far from over.

As his hands wander across your body, exploring every curve and contour, you realize that this moment, this connection, is something you never want to end.

With a renewed surge of desire coursing through you, you shift your position, straddling him as you sit up. Your body instinctively responds to the heat radiating from him, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as he watches you, his expression a mix of admiration and raw hunger.

Slowly, you begin to ride him, your chest rising and falling with each movement, breaths mingling in the heated air. You sink down, feeling him fill you completely again, a soft moan escaping your lips as you adjust to the familiar stretch.

“Just like that,” he encourages, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements as you find your rhythm. You lift your hips, then push down, the sensations electrifying as you take control, the intensity of the moment building with each thrust.

His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with a primal need that sends shivers down your spine. “You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “I could watch you all night.”

You smile at his words, feeling empowered as you pick up the pace, your body moving fluidly above him. The pleasure intensifies, and you can feel the tension coiling within you once more, ready to unravel.

As you ride him, your hands find his chest, fingers trailing over the defined muscles, tracing the scars that tell stories of battles fought. You lean down, pressing your lips against his, the kiss igniting a fire between you that fuels your movements.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a rhythmic melody that matches the beat of your hearts. You feel the familiar tightness in your core, the sensation building as you grind against him, taking him deeper and deeper, lost in the ecstasy of it all.

“Just like that, baby,” he groans, his hands gripping your thighs, urging you on as he meets your movements with his own thrusts.

The two of you are perfectly in sync, the connection palpable, electric even.

You feel the heat pooling within you again, a delicious pressure that teeters on the edge of release.

Every motion sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you can’t help but cry out as you lose yourself in the moment, surrendering to the bliss that envelops you both.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, the words escaping your lips like a desperate plea, and he responds with a growl, driving up into you with renewed vigor.

With each downward motion, your breaths come faster, a delicious mix of pleasure and desperation driving you both closer to the edge.

You know you’re close, the world around you fading as you focus solely on the moment, on him.

He brings two fingers to your clit, playing with it, and you scream, throwing your head back and exposing your neck, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with each thrust.

“I’m almost there, Bruce,” you gasp, feeling the heat pooling deep within you, ready to explode.

“Me too,” he growls, his eyes darkening with desire.

With one final, powerful thrust, you both let go, the waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, pulling you both into the depths of ecstasy.

As you watch where you’re connected, your heat enveloping his length, absorbing it, tightening around it, a rush of exhilaration courses through you.

The sight is primal and intoxicating, fueling your desire as you quicken your pace again, driven by instinct, addicted to the feeling.

Suddenly, he sits up, his arms enveloping your torso, bringing your naked chest against his muscled frame. His hand descends to grip your hips tightly, enough to leave a bruise, but you don’t care; you don’t want this to end.

He pulls you closer as the rhythm becomes almost animalistic—no, more than that; it’s nihilistic.

Both of you are sweating, your bodies glinting under the moonlight. The sound of your bodies meeting fills the air, a wild, desperate symphony that matches the pounding of your hearts.

You lock eyes, a silent understanding passing between you, and then you kiss fiercely, the connection igniting into a fiery exchange. Your lips crash against his with a fervor that leaves you both breathless, teeth clashing as you bite at each other’s lips, tasting the need that crackles in the air around you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls against your mouth, his breath hot and heavy, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, heightening your senses.

You can’t get enough, and you grind down harder, reveling in the pleasure that builds with every thrust.

His hands roam your body, exploring your curves as he pulls you closer, deepening the connection between you. You can feel every pulse, every inch of him, and it drives you wild.

Leaning back slightly, you allow him to watch as you move, the sight of you taking him in and out, completely lost in the moment.

“More,” you demand, your voice a low whisper, filled with urgency, and he responds with a feral growl, matching your intensity. The room is charged with heat, your bodies entwined in a dance that feels both ancient and raw.

You can feel the world outside fading away; the only thing that matters is the rhythm you’ve created together.

He leans in, kissing down your neck, each bite and kiss igniting sparks of pleasure that shoot through your body.

You can’t hold back any longer.

The pleasure builds higher, tightening like a coil within you. “I’m so close,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, urging him on.

“Let go for me,” he urges, his voice thick with desire, and with a final thrust, you tumble over the edge, your body quaking as pleasure washes over you in waves, pulling him along with you into the depths of ecstasy.

You cry out, a mix of pleasure and relief, as you both surrender to the moment—hearts racing, bodies entwined, lost in the bliss of your connection.

You can feel his warmth inside you, completely full and satisfied, and you revel in the sensation.

For a while, you stay like this—him on top, your bodies intertwined, enjoying the closeness and the aftermath of your shared ecstasy. He kisses your forehead softly, a tender gesture that makes your heart swell.

Slowly, he begins to pull out, and you moan at the loss, the sensation of emptiness causing a bittersweet ache.

Cum drips from your core, a reminder of the intensity you just shared, but before you can fully process it, Bruce slips two fingers back inside you.

You let out a soft moan, surprised yet responsive, your body still humming with pleasure despite the exhaustion settling in. Your eyes feel heavy, droopy with fatigue.

“Just to make sure it stays,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, as he lays down beside you.

You only nod, too spent to protest or question his actions, and finally, you close your eyes, surrendering to the blissful aftermath.

The world around you dissolves into nothingness, leaving only the echo of your shared breaths and the pounding of your hearts, two souls entwined in an exquisite dance of passion and desire.

Each heartbeat feels like a gentle reminder of the intimacy you’ve just experienced, a moment that feels both surreal and grounding.

In this cocoon of warmth and safety, you drift off into a peaceful sleep, fully content and wrapped in the remnants of bliss.

go check [ TU’BURNI (Bruce Wayne fic) ]

Congrats to me for finally posting this draft cause it’s been rotting since forever… Also first time writing and posting smut so please be nice … 😣 I might delete it later lol

don’t hesitate to leave a comment babes xxx

[confused-wanderer]

Do you think Dick Grayson can’t go to parks? Do you think that each time he hears the creaking of metal bars, he gets whiplash to the split-second he met his parents eyes when they all realised they wouldn’t make it?

Do you think Jason Todd can’t ever keep a timer on? Do you think he hears the bomb ticking down everytime he closes his eyes?

Do you think Tim Drake can’t decide whether to start talking or stop? Do you think he’s afraid they’ll forget him if he doesn’t, afraid they’ll think he’s gone mad if he does?

Do you think Duke can never go to concerts? Do you think that the moment the first smoke starts slithering into the crowd, their cheers sound like screams reminding him of his mother?

Do you think Damian never allows himself to try new things? Do you think that the moment he isn’t perfect, he hears everyone’s voice in his head telling him he will never be enough?

Do you think Stephanie refuses to do any treasure hunts? Do you think the moment she sees scrawled handwritten riddles she sees her father’s first descent into madness?

Do you think Barbara had to suppress a shiver when everyone hosts a surprise birthday party? Do you think waiting in the dark and listening to the victim’s footsteps reminds her of the moments before Joker shot her?

Do you think Alfred can’t let a single room collect dust? Do you think that the last time he put off cleaning a room he never saw their occupants again?

Do you think Bruce knows all of this? Do you think Bruce can only sleep at night knowing his kids didn’t turn out like him? Do you think he still blames himself for every wrong done to those he loves?

Do you think he can stop?

Do you think any of them can stop?

[messenger-of-babel]

Always Late

Summary: Batman was late when you needed him the most, but he refused to let it happen again. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 4.5K (This was supposed to be a quick fic 💀)

Notes: BIG AUTHOR NOTE INCOMING Before anyone comes for me- I know this was supposed to be a day for Chris. I'm just feeling a touch sick but still want to get a fic out, and I'm currently not able to churn out and go through his, so I'll write some Chris later! Instead I wanted something else, consider it a change up to shake some life back into the theme. I also rambled hella long on this one, so strap in, it's long and the plot got lost in the maze of my mind. I had to shuffle things around and it just kept growing and growing, oh my god so I hope it makes sense to everyone still. Clark caemo, some (very??) OOC villain work cause I forgot some of my original plot and villains so begging on my knees for forgiveness fr. GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/ TORTURE DESCRPTION FOR SOME AREAS. I should have made this two parts but I messed up and made just one massive fic. Was supposed to be batfam x reader but it started feeling more like bruce x reader hahaha. RIP my sleep schedule please reap the benefits of my labour. 😭

Again I was originally here to be a resi blog but I can't help writing for DC after a day of reading comics. On that topic I actually finished collecting Tom Taylor's run at #118, my store held #119 for me so I get to read that as a reward after the hell that will be my Monday.

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When you were taken, it caused a widespread panic among Gotham.

Tabloids across the city wrote about the latest missing person, this time none other than the latest member of billionaire Bruce Wayne's family. The Gotham Gazette had been running articles about you for months already, including the scandal that had come with it. Your dirty laundry and past had been aired for the entire city to read and speculate upon. Whether Bruce had just adopted you out of pity, sympathising with the way that you had lost your parents the same way he had. Gossip about it could all be a ploy for him to expand his influence in Gotham, after the riches and estate that your family had left you behind in their untimely death. The city was thrown into chaos from the death of your parents, both of them from founding Gotham families and well-established lawyers. It was shaken more once the Wayne had taken you into his household, and now it was all but alight as you vanished.

Fingers pointed in every which way, your disappearance marking the fourth among affluent families in Gotham. Accusations had even been hurled at Bruce, claiming that he had killed you in order to gain your assets and the other missing people were to establish an alibi. After all, Bruce Wayne had no alibi for the night that you went missing.

But he had an alibi.

Bruce reflected upon that fact for three days already, while he tore his hair out trying to find you. He had been out in the city, patrolling as usual. The disappearances were the latest case, and he was determined to stop them before they continued. He had been so involved in the case, standing so close to the evidence that he didn't even consider the option that he himself would be affected, or consider the perpetrator might targe the Waynes. he hadn't expected to get a call from Alfred a little past midnight, the butler wheezing painfully into the receiver.

Blood freezing in his veins he had come home to an empty house, windows on the third story smashed in. Alfred was slumped by the phone, its sleek body hanging off the hook. Bruce had pulled the cowl off without a second thought, cradling the older man's head in his lap with shaky hands. He had relaxed slightly when there was a steady pulse under his fingers, and the tension eased further when the older man had opened his eyes.

"Alfred," Bruce had sighed out, moving the old man from his lap to against the wall, hand keeping him upright. "Are you okay-"

"They took them." came the old man's mumbled reply, and for a second Bruce's jaw just hung there.

"What do you mean?" he asked, heart thudding painfully against his ribs, panic rising once more.

"They came through the window, cut the lights. I pretended to be unconscious to use the phone line, but they came back. Cut it shortly after I rang you." the older man said, looking up with remorseful eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Mr. Wayne." he said forlornly. "I couldn't stop them."

Bruce looked down; jaw tensed. "It wasn't your fault." he said firmly, trying to quell the despair radiating off the old man.

"They took them kicking and screaming. I could hear them the entire time, but I couldn't do anything I-"

"Alfred." Bruce said sternly. "Alfred it's okay. Let me handle it, you go make some tea." he said, helping the old man stand up.

"Tea, yes, yes that's right..." the butler murmured to himself, hand to his head. "It's been a while since you asked me for tea, sir."

"It's not for me." Bruce said, pulling the cowl back on. "It's for you. make yourself some tea and we'll patch you up. Take it easy tonight, wait for the shock to wear off."

Alfred looks at him, hesitating, but eventually nods. "We, sir?"

Bruce hums, fists at his side. "Yes. This case has escalated. It's time to request help."

He keeps his voice level as he walks away, but Alfred notes the way that he turns the corner, and the anger put into his stride.

When he gets to the cave he wastes no time, calling in everyone he can think of. His chest feels tight, breath short as his vision swims. Every signal he can send he does, the blurring in his eyes seeping into his mind too. He cradles his head in his hands, trying to calm it but to no avail. It's only when the ringing of the Batcomputer cuts through the fog that he is able to look up, shaking fingers hitting the accept call button.

"Batman?" comes the crackly voice of Nightwing, and the fog begins to clear slightly.

"Nightwing." he says back gruffly, voice hoarse.

"About time, you were making people pretty worried, you know." Dick chides, and there's the sound of yapping in the background. "What's the brief? What's happened?"

"Kidnapping." he says, voice thick. "Broke into the manor. Alfred is likely to be concussed, but it shouldn't be too serious. He's making tea, Robin is out on the other side of the city tonight. Red Robin is with you, isn't he?"

There's more shuffling on the other end before Dick responds. "Yeah, he's been helping in Bludhaven, he came last night."

"Bring him. Bring Oracle too. Everyone...come home." he murmurs, hands shaking as he tries to think clearly.

"Bruce, is everything okay with you?" Dick comes in, concern evident.

"Fine. I need people back immediately. Why?" he huffs back, rubbing the spots from his eyes with his fingers.

"Because we've all been trying to call you for the last few minutes. This is the first time you've picked up."

Bruce takes a deep breath, exhaling softly. He hadn’t realised how badly he had spaced out. "It's an emergency. They...they’re gone. They need to come home."

"The new kid?" Dick breathes. "Wait, you mean-"

Bruce nods even though he knows his eldest cannot see him. "Gone. Now come back and come back tonight." he ends the call before Dick can say anything else, and his tired eyes scan the monitor filled with a string of outgoing distress calls and an equally large number of missed ones. In his haze he had pressed every com line he had. He had pinged Jason, he had pinged Dick. Hell, he had even pinged the League and Clark, who hadn't even bothered to call for clarity, his response status just reading, 'On my way'.

He held his head in his hands, breaths laboured.

Bruce had held his own reservations when adopting you. He knew about the media uprising that it would cause, the rumours that were sure to fly. He had known what kind of mental state that would put you in, how it would angle you in a whole new world of cameras, but he couldn't help himself. He had seen you while in the suit, and maybe he had taken you in to make himself feel better. For not catching the person who had killed your parents, arriving too late. He had been training for this his entire life, it was his entire mission in Gotham, yet he couldn't stop the very crimes that had put him on this path.

If he had been faster maybe he could have saved your parents, disarming the man with the knife before it plunged into the chest of your father. Maybe he could have arrived faster so that he could have caught the offender that robbed your mother before giving her the same treatment and fleeing into the night. Instead, he was only there fast enough for him to hear you scream as your parents collapsed to the floor. He was there as you cried and shook them and tried to stop the blood spilling through your fingers, but you were unsure where to start. After all, how can someone make a decision between stopping the flow seeping from their father’s chest and the one from their mother’s throat?

He had been there to pull you away, was there to catch the last dying light of your father as he stroked your cheek before making eye contact with Bruce. "Look after my kid." he had whispered, something Bruce had nearly missed under all your screaming. Bruce pulled you away while he called for the GCPD, and from one father to another, he made sure to keep that promise.

Your relationship had been rough, clearly distraught at the way you lost your parents. You were older than he was when the same had happened, but you were still young. You had clung to Bruce the day he said he was going to take you in, and he had managed to soothe you with a soft hand up and down your back. Yet as the tabloids got worse and the gossip began to grow, you began pulling away from him and seeking the comfort of your room instead. He had done his best to protect you from the media, paying money to have articles removed and when that didn't work, he threatened to sue. It made the Gazette pull their head in a bit, but it still failed to be enough. Evidently, as there was now an empty bedroom on the third floor of the east wing.

All he could do was sigh and blink away the images of the children he had hurt, in the name of Robin or otherwise. He had to rub away the death of Jason that he reflected on in sombre moments when he thought no one was looking. He had gotten you into this mess, attached you with his name and all of its subsequent burdens. So, it was his duty to get you back and get you back safe.

Yet three days later, he had nothing.

The cave had been a buzz of activity for all three days, and Bruce, no, Batman, was acting close to a slave driver. Tim and Barbara hadn't left the caves computers in days, Damian and Steph constantly scouring the rooftops. Dick was concerned, hell, everyone was. Even the gruff Jason had been called in, and reluctantly he had answered.

"You find anything?" Dick asked, leaning against the wall with his younger brother. Jason was still suited up, coming back from the patrol around Bristol area. He removes the mask and shakes his hair free, sighing.

"Nothing. Areas come up empty. No sign of 'em."

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. "God, there's nothing on my end either. The Docks and all Southside of Gotham are clean, no traces. Any signs pointing to who it could be?"

Jason shrugs, helmet tucked under his arm. "No idea, as it stands, the kid's just gone missing. If Bruce isn't able to scrounge up a lead, I doubt I will. Not my forte. He should give Tim a break and send him out."

"Yeah, like he'll do that. He's got him tied to cave duty." Dick scoffs back. He feels bad, talking like your kidnapping was a causal affair. He didn't treat it like one, his heart stuttering when Bruce had called him in a haze and all shaken. It didn't a genius to see how attached Bruce had gotten to you in such a short amount of time, but sometimes Dick worried that Bruce was projecting his own trauma onto you. But still you were his younger sibling, a part of the family now. He had met you with a warm smile and a gentle hand the day that you moved in, coming in from Bludhaven to make the house a bit more lively while you got settled in. God, he knew what it was like moving in alone into that empty house, with only Bruce and Alfred to warm the halls. He had eaten dinner with you, took you out for walks in the garden when your grief allowed you move more than a few paces. He did his absolute best, and he knew that with time he could be a big brother to you.

Yet you hadn't been given the time, snatched away before Christmas even hit. He doubted you knew that Bruce was the Batman, or that the rest of the family had an interesting array of night lives.

Jason was the same in the way that he hadn't interacted with you much.

Honestly, he was awkward with kids, since the last kid of Bruce's he had met was the devil spawn who spat at him like an angry cat every chance he got. You were thankfully much older and easier to understand, but that still didn’t mean smooth sailing. Jason hated even coming back to the manor, and he and Bruce had been having one of their ongoing fights during the time he took you in, meaning he missed seeing you often. Yet he still talked to Dick (more so that Dick called him to make sure that he was okay) and the older man had seen you plenty. He felt like he knew you from Dick alone, but he wasn't oblivious to your story printed in the newspapers shoved under his apartment door. He pitied you, understood the grief that you must have been going through at the sudden violence that tossed your little world upside down. Sure, you had gone from luxury to luxury, but Gotham was unkind to everyone. it was the same violence that Jason strode to clean off the street, and his heart ached deep down that someone like you had managed to get caught in its claws.

"Do you think it could be the clown?" Dick asks quietly. "He'd do something as ballsy as this."

Jason tenses, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. "Not likely. That bastard likes to make a spectacle of things. No doubt he would have contacted the Bat the second he took the first victim or aired it like some twisted game show. It's not like him to lay quiet."

"So, it's someone else. It's unnatural for Gotham's villains to do something in the dark like this. I mean, it's been three days since they were abducted, and they're the fourth kidnap victim. There hasn't been a ransom note, a demand, a body. Not a peep for any of the captives. It's unnatural."

Jason hums in agreement, but they both jump as Bruce storms through grandfather clock entrance.

Everyone present turns, watching how Clark trails after him. Five sets of eyes watch the livid way the Bat cuts a path through the cave and gets into the batmobile, breaths too anxious to be released. Without a word the car screams out of the cave, and they all turn to Clark. Barbara casts a glance to Tim and then to Dick, who just shrugs, worry deepening on his face.

"What the hell's going on?" Jason growls, pushing off from the wall. Clark turns to face him, dressed in his Superman suit.

"We’ve found them." Clark says, face grim, and Dick shares a look with Jason. However, when Dick meets the eyes of Superman, he can see the flicker of worry in the Kryptonian. "Well let's get going then. Why did he leave alone?" Dick asked, slipping the domino mask back onto his face. Clark opens his mouth to speak but is cut off as Damian steps out behind his broad figure.

"Because it's the League." the younger boy says, green eyes boring in Dick's. "It's grandfather."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Bruce drove like his life depended on it, which wasn't fair when it was yours on the line instead. He could see the dots on his monitor indicating that the others were following him, and he had assumed that Clark had proceeded to fill them in. He had asked his old friend to look after the city while he sped towards the outskirts, just in case the League decided to do something while he had his guard on the city lowered. His com crackled to life, radio filling the otherwise silent car.

"Oi." snapped the voice of Red Hood, modulated and grainy. "Don't leave without telling us what's going on. Aren't you the one always spewing that 'feel-no-emotion' bullshit? To not let it cloud your judgement? Cause from the way I see it, you're acting kinda hazy."

"I trusted Clark would fill you in." he says back, voice tense. Red Hood scoffs.

"Yeah, and he did. You called us. You tell us what the hell you want us to help with, otherwise don't bother calling at all. Don't drag us out, get us invested then not let us help when it comes to it. What was your plan, beat the shit out of Ras and taken them back by yourself?"

Bruce falls silent, and there's a slight huff from Jason on the other end.

"Honestly? not the worst plan you've had, and I respect the enthusiasm, but you still should have looped us in. I want to get a hit in too."

Bruce turns his head to the direction of the radio, snapped from his concentration on the road momentarily and it's like Jason can feel his confusion through the commlink.

"Don't give me that silence." he groans. "They're family, aren't they? I'm not opposed to a younger sibling, you know." he huffs irritably. "But do me a favour and control Nightwing, hey? He's looking as coiled as you. You might have to fight him for the first hit."

Bruce doesn’t say anything before the comm cuts off, leaving him in the silence once more and eyes going straight back onto the red dot mapped onto his GPS. You.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

When you awoke the first time, you couldn’t feel anything. Your hands were tied to your ankles behind you, black cloth wrapped around your eyes. what you did know was that you were lying somewhere concrete, face pressed into the dusty cement. You knew that on the day that you woke and they had brough you were, that there were other people thrown in the same cell as you. You also knew that those other people were dead.

You had heard them scream, heard the way that they begged for their lives when they were dragged from the pen you were in. One a day, until you were left alone with no one to talk to. They had all been kidnapped like you, affluent people that you recognised the names and voices of. You had heard some of them at events you parents had hosted and attended, and when you traded names, they had remembered you immediately. You weren't dumb, you knew that you had all been taken here because you were rich. That was the only thing that you had in common with the heiresses and finance brokers that had shared the cells with you, huddled up against the cool metal.

Now the only thing left was you and the stickiness that crept under the bars of your cage, grateful that the blindfold was on so you didn't have to see what it was. At first you thought that you were alone, that your captors had left, but you knew better. You could sense them all around you, quiet and watching. They were like an uncomfortable prickling on your neck, the ghost of fingertips across your skin. Yet the hours and minutes had bled into days, and now you didn’t care if they were there or not.

You knew that they wanted to kill you. They had killed the rest. You had been given small amounts of food and water the first day or two, but today there had been none. Your mouth was dry as you lay on your side, lips cracking with the desire to drink. Your throat felt like sandpaper when you swallowed, and the silence that you were met with when you called out only made your panic and helplessness rise. You had lost the ability to cry, body sluggish. It felt like everything was shutting down, the pain in your stomach unbearable and tongue heavy in your mouth. As the heat crept in and pulled sweat from your unwilling skin, you began wishing that they would kill you.

You supposed that your wish was answered when the creak of your cell signalled one of your silent observers had come for you, and the tug on the ropes binding your limbs together made you lurch forward. You kept your face pressed down, too weak to struggle against them as they dragged you out and gripped your hair, making you shift onto your knees at an awkward angle. For the first time in days, you heard someone speak.

" So, this is Bruce's new...child." Your captor hummed. You could hear the way that their boots scuffed as they walked, coming to stand in front of you. You could faintly feel the swish of fabric, long and tickling the floor. "I wonder if he was planning to hand the title of Robin over so soon.”

Your eyebrows furrow, but your barely functioning brain fails to process what he's saying.

"Are you aware of your family's lineage?" comes the voice from above you, commanding and deep with a hint of something malicious in the undertone, like a coiled snake waiting to strike. “Your real family, the ones who claimed to practice a just and fair law. Not Wayne.”

 You manage to shake your head weakly, grimacing as the image of your parents covered in blood flickered into your mind.

The voice above you tuts. "The sins of the father shall be bestowed upon the son," he recites softly. "And you are to pay the penance. Gotham will be purged, and the bloodlines of the corrupt shall be the first to burn, aware of their sins or not."

You don't even get a chance to ask what he's saying, the words sounding like biblical rambling. A scream is ripped through your throat instead as a sharp hot pain erupts through your shoulder, the sound of your own skin bubbling making you sick. You wail, body aching to thrash but the fatigue and weakness preventing you from doing such. The hands on your shoulders hold you still as the sensation is repeated across your body, stray tears leaking from your eyes despite your dehydrated state. It's only when you feel like you’re about to cross over, embrace the light spilling behind your eyes that you realise that the hands have left your body and that you're lying face down, discarded on the concrete floor.

You can feel the ache all over your body, a stinging and writhing pain that makes your whimper involuntarily. You can now make out that there is sound around you, echoing off the empty walls and causing your head to throb after days of silence.

For Bruce however, the world was silent despite being in the thick of the fight. They had pulled up the abandoned building on the edge of Gotham and Bludhaven, thankfully located by Clark and his x-ray vision after days of searching. He had stormed into the building with Dick, Jason, and Tim on his heels, his hands filled with a shake only the trained eye could determine as rage. The world had dripped into the pulsing cadence of his heartbeat as soon as he saw you, kneeling at Ra’s feet and being held by league assassins. He had hardly any time to process the way that you curled up and into yourself when you were dropped so carelessly, head thudding lifelessly against the floor. Forlorn, he eyed the way your body was covered with cuts and stabs, burns from the red-hot sword still held in the hands of a soldier. He hadn't known when the league had decided to dabble in torture, but Bruce felt like joining that night.

Jason and Tim were dealing with the assassins, the younger male finally freed from desk duty. He didn't know you as well as he would have liked considering that you lived under the same roof as him, but you had been warming up. He had really hoped that you could get along, but now he feared that this was going to push your back into the shell you had just started to crack, and that frustration was evident in the whistling of his bow staff as it cut through the air.

Dick had gone after Ra’s immediately while Batman raced for you, Dicks escrima sticks going for the head. Dick was fast and agile, muscles more tensed than usual as he sent well placed blow after blow. Yet Bruce wasn’t an idiot, he knew the limits of him and his team, and he knew the limits of Ra’s. That's why in what limited time that Dick bought for him he dropped to your side, slicing through your bonds with a batarang and letting your arms and legs fall free from their cramped position behind you. You groan lightly as he cradles you to his chest, weakly crying out as he justles the many wounds. He loosens the blindfold from your eyes, and your blink up at him a few seconds later, squinting against the light.

Your skin is sticky with blood both your own and not, flecked across the apple of your cheeks. He eyes the burns, the warped and rippled skin that blistered angrily and would surely get infected if not treated soon. He observes the many cages set up in the corner, the one he presumes was yours wide open and empty. He feels sick seeing the dead bodies in the other ones, imagining that it could have been you in there, dead like some caged animal for slaughter.

You make a weak whimper when he stands, and he has half a mind to join Nightwing in beating Ras so badly he'd need to use the pit again.

But he doesn’t.

He rises to his feet with you in his arms, and he calls for a retreat. You cry and moan as he hurries out, Jason and Tim covering your exit while Dick flips into the rafters and out of range of the Demon Head. He wants to fight; he wants to put them in their place for hurting his family. But the moment he had met your eyes again, it was like that day in the alleyway. You had seen him as Batman too that day, but as he laid you hurriedly in the back of the batmobile and patched Oracle in to prep the med bay, he knew that something was different from that night.

Because unlike the day you lost your parents, he had made it in time.

[devilfic]

❝honeymoon❞

V. sins of the mother.

parts: previously plot: alfred finds yours and bruce's old yearbook. you reminisce on how you lost him... and how he came back to you all those years later. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, LOTS of angst, eventual fluff, TW for depictions of brief physical child abuse (specifically to the reader), sorry but your fictional mom SUCKS, sweet ending though. words: 3.5k. a/n: I apologize to any british readers for inaccuracies with the whole yearbook thing. from what I gather, the american concept of yearbooks has gotten popular in the uk in the last 14-ish years but if it doesn't make sense, I'm hiding behind the fact that it's a posh boarding school and also- *runs away before I can think of a better excuse*

The rapping at your door is too gentle to be Bruce, and you're proven right when Alfred peeks into your room, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Bruce's guest room had steadily become your home over the course of your engagement. You still had your own place, paying the rent in case all of this fell through in one fell swoop (and it would, you couldn't escape the nagging feeling that it would), but you found yourself feeling some semblance of ownership over the tower. You hadn't even gotten the chance to put your desk up before Bruce was offering you his study—his father's study. He insisted it was because you were CEO, like his father. You dared to think it was because he was starting to see you as family.

The tower felt even more yours when Alfred stopped by like this, checking in on you, making sure you wanted him here. You set the papers in your lap to the side with a tired smile, "What's up, Alfred?"

It turns out he was hiding something behind the door. At first, you think it's a folder, perhaps some work that Bruce needed you to do for the company or some files Alfred kept from his time managing Wayne Enterprises. But when he comes round to your bedside, you realize it's a photo album. A yearbook, to be exact.

The green leather is embellished with the sparkling emblem of Silverstone Academy. It makes your heart jump up into your throat, "Where... where'd you find that?"

"After Bruce graduated, he had me put all of his old yearbooks away in storage. Kept this one, though. Would you like to see?" He turns the book to you with a well-meaning smile, and whether he notices your discomfort and chooses to ignore it is... debatable.

Still, your hands reach for it.

The spine crackles, unopened for many years by the looks of it. You thumb through the pages, flipping past pictures of the palatial school grounds and fellow classmates in freshly-pressed regalia. You're about to turn the page on the extracurriculars when Alfred places a hand on the page to stop you, pointing to a rather large group photo, "This was Bruce's favorite, if I recall."

There are rows of you, each one standing on the bleachers of a court, all of you awkward and fourteen and just wanting the whole thing over with. And then there, amongst the rows of smiling teenagers, is Bruce and you.

"Eyes front, students! I will not say this again. We want to look good for our parents, yes? We want them to see how smart and well-behaved you are, yes? Okay, then. Eyes forward. Shoulders back. Smiles on! This is your last chance. There will be no retakes!" Is what your headmaster probably said, but you were far too distracted by Bruce's fingers tugging on the tail of your un-tucked shirt to know for sure.

You bat away his hand but can't suppress the giggle that bubbles out of you. One of your classmates turns to glare, but the heat of it doesn't reach you when Bruce is whispering, "Last one to dining hall does the loser's chores."

"I'm faster than you and you know it."

"Hey, I beat Wilbur in the race on Saturday."

"That's cause Wilbur hit puberty and can't control his body anymore."

Your headmaster's shrill call draws your attention forward, "And three, two..."

You turn and smile. You feel Bruce's eyes still on you. Just as the shutter goes off, Bruce tugs your hand instead. And, even with all your teenage obstinacy wanting to make him work for your attention, make him fight for it, you can't help it.

You turn to look at him and the flash goes off.

"I remember being quite upset with this one," Alfred disperses your memory, gently calling you back to the present, "Bruce always hated taking pictures, but pictures were all I had of him while he was away. But... can't really hate that smile he's giving you, can I?"

You feel breathless at the image of younger Bruce and the look of... adoration he wears. Everyone else is focused on the camera, some eyes closed and some smiles skewed, but Bruce is focused on you and you him. Like you are the only two people in the world. Arguing over chores and who's faster than who. Like best friends.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until your body takes in one big deep inhale for you, "He wouldn't stop bothering me."

"It's funny how we couldn't get you two to talk to each other when you first met, and then years later you were inseparable."

You remembered that. Barely in second grade and being touted around by your parents at galas. You remembered Bruce hiding behind his mother's dress, and your mother guiding you by the scruff to say hello, "British boarding school will do that to you."

Alfred snorts, "I think he just liked that someone was treating him like a person."

You glance up at Alfred's soft expression, fatherly and proud. You've never seen him look any other way with Bruce. "Will you be Bruce's best man?"

Alfred seems to startle at that question, "Oh... well, he hasn't asked, but I suppose I will. Not sure who else he'd ask."

"I don't think he'd want to," you admit, and Alfred looks confused, "ask anyone else, I mean. You're it for him."

Bruce looks just like how you remember his father, but sometimes, when the light hits Alfred's eyes just right (that same color you've come to love and mourn), you think Bruce looks just like him too. You supposed they were always meant to be family, in that inexplicable way.

Alfred watches you for a moment, struck by your statement, and then softens like the teddy bear you know him to be. "And you as well. I'm glad you both found your way back to each other."

You can tell he means it in the heartwarming way, the way you meant it, but it doesn't fill you with warmth. There are no fuzzy feelings in your stomach. There is a whirlpool.

This time, there is no doubt Alfred senses your discomfort. He seizes up. He goes to say something, something no doubt kind and thoughtful, but you beat him to the punch, "Can I keep this? I want to... show it to Bruce later, maybe. Might make him laugh."

Alfred stops in his tracks. Then, as if used to such stonewalling, stands to his full height and begins his trek back to your bedroom door, "'Course you can. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

He waits for your affirmative, then shuts the door behind him.

july, seventeen years ago.

The banging on your door fills you with dread the second you recognize it for what it is.

You are tangled in sheets and limbs—warm limbs, arms and legs and hands wrapped around your body in the witching hour—while the heavy oak door of your dorm room shakes with each knock. You don't know how long they've been knocking, but you fear you have very little time left to answer before you end up in worse trouble than you seemingly already are.

You shove at Bruce and he flounders, half-asleep. He almost doesn't want to let you go until he becomes aware of the banging on the door himself and presses his back to the wall behind your bed, "He snitched."

"He wouldn't! Coulson would never," you grumble, pulling on a hoodie discarded on the floor, too tired to recognize it as Bruce's, "just... get under the bed."

He does as he's told, though he looks rather peeved to do so. You grab the back of your desk chair and twist it out from beneath the door knob, and almost immediately it is thrown open by the headmaster.

Your first feeling is shock. Your second feeling is, undoubtedly, ice cold fear. You never thought you and Bruce would get away with this forever, but to be caught by the headmaster is... way worse than you could've imagined.

Headmaster Collins was a spidery man. What he lacked in muscle, he made up for in menace. His features were all gaunt and shadowy in the dark of your room, and with only the light from the hallway to capture his silhouette.

Before you can speak, he raises a single finger to cut you off, "I will discuss you blocking doors later. You have a guest."

You frown. "I..." You stammer. Even with your hand caught in the cookie jar, you don't yet want to give yourself away. Maybe he had no idea it was Bruce that kept sneaking into your dorm. Perhaps Coulson hadn't divulged that much. You and Bruce had paid him in many ways to keep that part secret above all.

You just make out the narrowing of the headmaster's eyes, "Your mother. She flew in from Gotham. She says she's worried about you."

Your stomach drops. Perhaps Bruce being found under your bed would've been better.

To the headmaster's chagrin, you corral him back out into the hall and shut the door behind you, "What? I wasn't... she didn't..."

"She failed to let us know either. I only received the call minutes ago when she arrived outside. We don't want to keep her waiting, do we?" Now, in the light of the hallway, Headmaster Collins loses some of that menace. He almost looks... just as concerned as you.

He leads you to the library in complete silence.

When you push open one of the double doors, you see there are a few candles lit, the rest of the lights dimmed low, and your mother standing with her back to you in the center of the room.

She doesn't turn around until you hear the door click shut behind you and, just like that, the headmaster has left you to fend for yourself.

Everyone always said you looked just like her. A spitting image, and one day, "if you're lucky", you'd grow up to be just as powerful. As the eldest of your siblings, it was unavoidable. Your fate had been sealed long before you were born.

She opens her mouth to speak and whether out of fear or anger, your next words come tumbling out before she can, "I already know what you're going to say."

She clasps her lips together. Then, after a moment, smiles down at you, "Well, that saves me some breath. Tell me, darling mine: what was I going to say?"

"That you know why I told you so late. And that you're angry with me for not running it by you sooner... so you could be in control of it."

"I was angry eight hours ago. Not anymore. It was almost clever of you."

Almost. A smarter, more clever you wouldn't have run it by her at all. You would've quietly disappeared off to the Waynes' vacation house in Barcelona and, inevitably, when you got the call, you'd have told your mother you wouldn't be back for the rest of summer break.

But she had her claws in you, and try as you might to defy her, you always felt those fingers curling around your conscience, drawing out of you what little truth you aimed to keep to yourself.

"So you flew all this way to yell at me?"

"To join you."

You blanch. "You... can't." There is nothing else you can say. No argument, no temper tantrum. Nothing.

But your mother is smart. The plane ride over would have given her ample time to cancel her duties for the next six weeks, offload them onto someone else because what was more important than joining the future heir of Wayne Enterprises on a summer abroad in Spain? Most people on the board would kill for that kind of opportunity. That kind of favoritism.

She's smart too in that it's only her. You imagined your siblings had been left to the nannies, and if Bruce questioned her presence, she could argue that leaving Alfred to chaperone two teenagers all by himself would be just cruel. Her presence wouldn't tip the scales too far into dangerous territory. In fact, it would be nothing if not practical.

She takes a step toward you, then another, and then another until she is looming over you. Half her face is lit by the fireplace roaring in the corner of the room, casting a shadow on the other side. Like this, she no longer looks like you. She looks something far colder, "You didn't think I'd let you run off to another country and ruin this for our family, did you?"

"What? Wh... ruin what? Bruce is my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend is Bruce Wayne. There is a very real difference."

You feel your eyebrow twitch at that, "What's your point?"

But your attitude is nasty. Far too nasty for a child. The residual sting of her hand colliding with your cheek nearly sends you back into a chair but you manage to catch yourself after a few steps, staring at the rug beneath you in disbelief.

"My point is," her attitude is much harsher, and as you wipe away the bit of spit that dribbled down your lip, she blocks your view once more, "he is not just another boy, a peer, a boyfriend. Bruce is the heir to the company, and unlike his father, he has no foresight. Under him, this company will crumble. His family's legacy will cease to exist. That is why I am here, darling mine. Why you exist. Legacies must be upheld."

You hiss in pain when she takes you by the chin and forces you to look her dead on. At this angle, you can see her whole face lit up by the fire. Through gritted teeth, you whisper in horror, "What are you asking me?"

"I'm telling you that I'm coming along, or you will not go at all."

Your heart breaks a little more than it already has. This is what you'd thought of all week, what kept you up at night and got you up in the morning. And now your mother was going to ruin it all. A tear slips down your cheek and over your mother's fingers, and she releases you to wipe her hand clean, "Please."

"You would only find some way to make him hate you, and all my hard work for the past twenty-five years would be all for naught."

"Mom."

"I've already let the butler know."

"Please let me have this."

"Tell me you understand." You remain silent, teeth almost chattering from the chill her voice gives you. Her eyes harden, "Tell me you understand why I let you have him at all."

"He's my friend."

"He's your future. Tell me." Another tear rolls down your cheek. Your mother grabs you by the arm and pulls you to her, shaking you as more tears fall. You're doing your damnedest not to sob but you're failing spectacularly, "Tell me!"

"He's my future." You gasp out.

"And why do I allow you to be friends with him?"

"Because..." You blubber, fiercely wiping away the tears, "...to uphold our family legacy."

"And?"

"To keep you on his good side."

"Keep us," she taps your chin with her finger, making you flinch, "us, darling mine. Wayne Enterprises will end with him, but it'll begin again with us. With you. Say it."

"With me."

"So we'll go together. And you will do anything he tells you to. And you will make him very happy because he is not your friend. He is our ticket to owning Gotham City."

You would've done anything Bruce asked of you because you loved him, because you trusted him. The way your mother talked about what he might ask of you made you feel sick to your stomach. She shakes you again, expecting you to say it back.

Your lips part to release a shaky exhale meant to be a word, but behind your mother, you stare past the cracked library door and into the eyes of your best friend. The only word you can get out is, "Bruce?"

Your mother drops you completely. She swings around but the door is shutting before she can catch a glimpse, and you're shoving her out of your way before he can get too far.

You throw the door open and find him rushing back down the hall, a flummoxed headmaster lingering by as you run after Bruce. You shout his name but he doesn't slow for you at all, even as your voice echoes off the old school halls. "Bruce! Bruce, please! Let me explain."

It takes more energy than you have in you to catch up with him, but you eventually slide to a stop in front of him, stopping him before he could ascend the stairs and return to the dorm rooms. You expect to see anger clear on his face, or sadness, betrayal even. Instead, he is cold. He looks right through you.

The emptiness of which he looks at you catches you completely off guard. Anger, you could stomach. But this?

"How much did you hear?"

Those eyes that used to look at you so sweetly hold nothing in them at all. He stares you down as if you should already know.

When he tries to side-step you for the stairs, you grasp desperately for his hand but he yanks away from you like you've burned him, sending you collapsing to your knees against the bottom step, "Bruce, please... I don't feel that way about you. I've never felt that way about you. You... you're my best friend. This is exactly why I shouldn't have told her about the trip, I should've just kept my mouth shut-"

"What trip?"

You look up at him and see a wave of something sharp cross his face before smoothing back over completely. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He sees the question in you, the thing you fear to ask when it hits you.

Bruce turns his face away from you, "I'll see you in September."

You sit on those steps until sunrise.

The elevator stutters to a stop at cave level, letting you out into Bruce's sanctuary. He's standing at his desk and staring at you, as if he had expected Alfred instead.

"Hey," you start, timidly approaching him with yearbook in hand, "Are you busy?"

He watches you get closer and slowly shakes his head, eyes falling to the book clutched to your chest. They widen some with recognition, a cloudy look overtaking them once you're within arm's length of him. You set the book down on his desk, careful not to disrupt his work. You go to flip open the cover but his hand comes down on the Silverstone emblem, forcing you to draw back your hand in surprise, "Where'd you get this?"

"Alfred kept it." At that, Bruce groans. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

You watch as he slides the book closer to himself, nudging away the files he'd been poring over before you'd arrived, making quiet noises of recognition here and there. When he inevitably lands on the class picture Alfred had shown you, he hesitates. You wait for him to say something, anything, but after a moment of silence, he presses on.

It isn't until he gets to the individual headshots from that year that you notice something odd. On your page, where your headshot and name should be, is a hole cut into the paper. Your heart sinks.

Your mind goes for the worst thing first (that perhaps he had hated you so much that putting away the yearbooks wasn't enough, that he had to cut you out of them too), but Bruce simply traces the neatly cut edges where your face should be.

Then he flips to the page where his picture should be, and his picture is cut out in the same fashion.

You look to Bruce for answers, but his expression is... guarded. He almost looks like he doesn't want to entertain it, almost looks like he's about to tell you to leave him to his work for the rest of the night.

Instead, he pushes the book back to you, "I kept yours in my wallet. I was going to give you mine."

You don't know what to say first, but it finds you in the lull in conversation, "You were going to?"

Bruce's mouth twists in discomfort, still not looking at you. He reaches over and shuts the cover to the book, "I thought... you might tease me about it." For a brief second, he looks at you, "Dunno where they are now."

That brief second is, of course, his tell. It was a shame. Bruce had become such a good liar since he left you on those stairs. He had to have been to get where he is now. And yet, you know in an instant that he's not being honest with you. It feels good this time.

[melloollem]

Trash|| Bruce Wayne × child!reader

Summary: In a city where survival is your main objective, you do whatever it takes, including getting involved in Gotham's criminal world.

Warnings: Common comic book violence, weapons, corruption of minors (minors involved in crimes), reader with no gender specified, comment if you want to be tagged in the continuation.

(Chapter ll, Chapter lll, Chapter lV)

(Dc masterlist)

Prologue

The problem with Gotham was that those who said crime didn't pay would soon start to think it did and those who said it did would find the end too quickly for it to be true. Your problem was that you didn't have time to decide whose side you were on. When the city became a field of war, it was better to have a side, whether it was the side of the innocent or not.

Although you were young, you had seen the city destroy itself and start over many times. At some point, you realized that it wasn't starting over, it was just continuing. Fear gas exploded in the city, chaos spread, a villain was arrested, next month another villain had his own idea for an attack and the city didn't even have a chance to repair the damage from the last attack. It was in one of these circumstances that you lost your family. What did you do without your mother in a city where fear was a constant feeling? Survive and you would follow the law of the weakest.

Petty theft, that's how it always starts, take what you want and run. You weren't the most skilled, but circumstances make the thief and it's not as if you didn't have examples to follow. You lived on the worst side of town, used to seeing robberies almost daily, it was easy, just see where they went wrong and do better. You noticed that most of the thugs who committed robberies in Crime Alley were caught, ironic isn't it? You had also calculated a gap in time when there was no vigilante on duty, it was a few minutes before they spread across the city, the police patrols in Gotham were constant, but they weren't looking for you if you committed petty crimes, there were bigger problems for the city.

In a few months, you had your own map of Gotham, with the information that really mattered: areas prone to robbery, areas that should be avoided, small crooks, big crooks, who ran what, what crime could be committed in each area, which crime was worth the most. If circumstances made the thief, you were in the circumstance most likely to make him successful. And if it had all started with petty theft, soon your preparation would prove that you were capable of more, and it didn't take long for the bandits in the area to notice your potential, now you work as a bandit's henchman, it's not as if you were a big deal, they just considered you skillful enough. You could be useful to them, but if you died in a few weeks' time there would be another one like you, this town was shit.

And if with small robberies, you were out of focus, when a major city bank is robbed with all the vigilantes busy trying to stop it, now everyone knew there was something fishy and you knew it wouldn't be long before the vigilantes were on your tail. You could escape the Gotham police, but Batman? It wasn't about being found, it was about when you would be found. Your first thought was to run away, but did anyone care if you got killed for going against the law? They were clear, you stayed until the end, it was kill or be killed.

Bruce followed your every move, if your plan consisted of staying off the vigilantes' radar, once they saw you, it wasn't hard to find the rest, every crime was in evidence. At first, he thought you were like young Jason, a kid from Gotham who was doing everything he could to survive, but without hurting anyone, and well, you were trying to survive, but if someone had to die in the process, it wouldn't be you.

He thought about approaching you at first, but you didn't look like you were going to give in, you were one of those who were always ready to attack, too scared to look into the dark before firing. If he wanted to approach you, it would have to be slowly, he didn't want you to run away or react. You might have been the one holding a gun, but you were also a child who shuddered at the sound of his shot.

But Batman's plans for you would have to hurry up. In one of the robberies you had planned and were on the front line for, you had been shot in the stomach, and it was now that you would discover that crime doesn't pay. Something peculiar about this situation was that there were no police, it was a vigilante's bullet that had pierced you. Now the Red Hood was carrying your weak body to a Gotham emergency ward, how could he have guessed that the person who shot him was just a child? The second he heard a child scream in reaction to the bullet, he ran for your life.

You looked exactly like a street kid, did you have parents? He didn't have time to find out, he wasn't sure if someone would come and stay with you in hospital, so he did. For the next few hours guilt consumed Jason, how could he shoot a child? He was in the waiting room, now in civilian clothes, waiting to hear from you. He hadn't called anyone, but after signs of a disastrous mission in a Gotham warehouse, Jason had a target on his back, so Bruce obviously wanted to know where he was.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

This is the prologue to a story that will soon be released. I hope you enjoy it and stay tuned to my profile. Every new episode released will be linked in this post, comment if you want to be tagged.

[junimo-hexed]

I miss them so much, they were such good friends...

[aeturnum-mendacacium]

How many people do you think batman had to see die? Because batman can't save everyone and this is Gotham, it's not a game, he has most definitely seen people, kids bleeding out to their death and know that they won't make it

Do you think he has held a child in a alleyway, leaning on the tattered wall, and let blood pour out of this boy, maybe a teenager, maybe just a kid, but held them so dearly, rocking them, humming, telling them that he'll be there till it ends, and do you think that during those times, a child so Little would have asked why it's ending, that he didn't want to go, and asked batman to come with him just for a bit cause he was scared to go alone, it doesn't matter what age, how many do you think he lied to? So that they could rest just for a bit, and then held on to that for the rest of his life? And had to move on. Move on and plan for the next day.

Do you think it was the reason why he was late for a few justice league meetings? Holding on to a dying life he knows he couldn't save, lying to them, comforting them, and then arriving late to get interrogated,blamed, for not being on time, and offering a simple offhanded excuse.

?knowing that tomorrow he has to escort another soul because there are no angels anymore to do so, lie to them that he'll follow them through, then turn around at the gates of heaven to drag his bloodied feet and follow his footsteps back to hell?

[apolloskyes]

Jason Todd: soldier, brother, son.

Closeups and some info abt designs under the cut

So this definitely isn’t my final Jason robin design, I drew this a few weeks ago and have different opinions about how he should look now. But this was my first pass at a robin design for him, also, if you couldn’t tell, I’m not great at drawing kids. Jay should look much younger than he does, but it’s fine. I can just get him better next time. And who knows! Maybe I’ll redraw this at some point idk. Anyway, I had a very vivid image of the red panel in my mind and I decided to make a whole piece out of it, I like it a lot. Also I would’ve loved to use dicks mullet but it didn’t look good with the disco wing collar :(. Also feel free to use the close ups as like a phone background :3

Reblogs highly appreciated!

[giotanner]

Nightwing has many things he has never forgotten: when Jason Todd died Bruce did not tell him about the funeral. When Bruce was Zur he brainwashed Jason in Gotham War. When the Joker was still alive and Jason was not, Grayson found himself kicking and punching him to death. When he was Agent 37 he could not even tell his brothers that he was alive.

[Support the video on tiktok]

This is not bashing against Bruce, but rather we always forget how angry and angsty the conflict was between Bruce and Dick and how many communication problems there were. Their bond is so sad and interesting, so strong and filled with guilt

Ko-fi ☕

[jvsont0dd]

this song has always made me think of Bruce grieving Jason’s death🥲

Tall white house with an empty room

And your name carved over the door

Facing out to the tallest view

From your place on the second floor

Sound it out to an empty house

Was it just like you had before

Savior pulled from an open mouth

Did you want to be something more

Now you're taller than you've ever been

There's a mark on the wall, you see

I'm sure that someone will draw a new one

And cover it before they leave

Mark my words

There's a thousand things

That don't wash out with anything

I keep you clean

You surrounded me

And my windows are breaking

Something is rotten inside of me

I have to find it and

Cut it out

Cut it out

[axstoria]

Bruce watching Jason laugh at something dumb Tim and Cass are doing, and immediately seeing his little boy again.

He's remembering watching Jason giggle as he hid under Batman's cape, or when his shoulders shook as he tried to keep himself composed while talking to Gordon after fighting the Condiment King and both he and Bruce are caked in mustard.

All he sees is his boy for the first time since he held his limp body in his arms that night in the warehouse. He hopes this warm feeling in his chest never goes away.

[confused-wanderer]

I know we all talk about Jason finding out Dick killed the Joker from Tim or one of the other batfam members, but what if:

One day he’s searching for blackmail material on a member just for fun and knows Damian keeps a list of all of them so he backs into the files and realised the folder with the heaviest inscription to unlock is one labelled “Contingencies”.

He opens it to find every single person in their family is on there and starts surfing through them. When he sees Tim’s he freezes, mentally filing away some horrific details for checking up on him later, Jason’s list is impressive but not much he didn’t expect…still concerned how he got the evidence though.

His fingers hesitate over Batman’s, and after thinking screw it what the hell clicks on it just to realise most of them are psychological, and had to do with Jason. One video showed Bruce as Jason remembered him from his robin days. He was pacing furiously in the Manor, tugging on his pocket square which for him was a high level of distress, before he went upstairs - to Jason’s room when he stayed there - and looked in. The change was sudden, Bruce’s shoulders sagged and his face grew into one of fondness, one he’d rarely seen before.

“I cant help it Alfred.. Scarecrow’s toxin.. I KNOW it isn’t real but.. I can’t stop thinking about it. What if -“ and Jason can’t really believe his ears, that was a fucking quiver in his voice- “What if one day it comes true?” “What was your worst fear Master Bruce?”.

“Jason..” and Jason flinches. “I.. I saw him die, and I was powerless. I cant lose him Alfred. I just cant.”

The recording ends, and it takes a while for Jason to realise he can’t breathe. He sends the file to himself and laughs bitterly, remembering what the fear toxin had shown him. Lucifer. It had shown him falling from Bruce’s grace, being his greatest disappointment. “Guess we both failed each other didnt we old man?”

After what feels like forever, when he can feel his fingers stop shaking his eyes drift over to Dicks.

Damian sure does adore him, wonder what the brats got in store for him.

Most of them were things he was sure Dick could handle, until a glitched file appeared which read “for EXTREME situations only.”

When he heard Joker laugh, Jason could’ve sworn he was in the cave. “Hello there old friend! Aww why the long face?”

Dick wasn’t facing the camera, but the sheer aura of destruction radiating off of him was enough for Jason to know Joker was in danger. Judging by his outfit and well- hair- this must’ve been years ago.

“Didn’t you like my..ah.. gift? It was quite the blast I hear!”

Dicks fists clenched. His usual smile was gone, replaced by a hatred so vile it could’ve rivalled batman’s glare. It was so odd.. seeing him so pissed.

“Well that’s what happens.. when birds get hit. They never see what’s right in front of them and then BAM!”

As his laughter rang out Jason heard Dick whisper something. It was so soft, quieter than he’d ever heard him and he found himself leaning forward.

“What’s that? How long he lasted? Well I counted everytime he screamed when I broke his bones so-“

“SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!”

Jason stumbled back, nearly falling to the floor himself. Dicks voice was thundering, echoing across the cave.

What the hell had happened? Why was Dick so mad? Why wasn’t he smiling?

“You..killed him.”

And that’s when it hit Jason. Oh. This was after he’d died.

The joker was trying to say something, but Jason couldn’t hear him. All he could focus on was how Dick was behaving, how he was walking upto Joker. Jason had seen that before.

The intent to kill.

SLAM

The fight was brutal, and blood flew everywhere, mixed with the laughter and cries of the Joker while Dick yelled, YELLED so loudly he could’ve sworn the cave was shaking before the sound of a wet snap ricocheted and Dick went limp.

No.. no no no no.

He watched in horror as Dick stood up, drenched in blood and heaving. Dick had gone- no BEATEN- the joker for Jason.

But the longer he looked, the more he felt the Lazarus pit burning inside him.

The joker wasn’t moving.

Dick walked away, and in the shadows, with bloody fists and face of hatred could not see him as the Dick he knew.

“Dead.”

He looked up to hear Dick whisper to the thundering sky outside.

“I killed him Jason. The joker is dead. Rest in peace little wing.”

Jason’s feet gave out under him, and he crashed to the ground gasping for breath.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he had been avenged.

Never did he even think that Dick had only killed once… and only for him.

Part two of related series where Jason finds out Bruce nearly killed the Joker:

[messenger-of-babel]

Picture Perfect

Summary: You and Bruce have the picture perfect relationship, but all it takes is a picture for it to be undone. (Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.0K

Notes: So sorry for the late post! I know I'm posting at 1am but I had so much to do for work it's been a really rough week. I do often post late at night since that's when I get back, but I try to have then in before midnight at least. Not many warning for this one, only lightly edited due to busy at work. I'll work extra hard to make up for it~

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If there was one thing about Bruce Wayne that you'd like to pass to the tabloids, it would be that he knew how to fuck up a Saturday dinner.

You'd gone out on his arm as usual, dolled up to the nines. It was hard not to, when he all but insisted to line your pockets with cash and pay for any trouble of yours to disappear. When you refused that, he settled for wrapping strings of diamonds around your neck and wrists. He'd do it with soft touch, grin lopsided as his chest pressed along your back to fasten them. When he looked at you with that twinkle in his eye, you could only wonder how long it'd take for him to put a diamond on your finger and complete the set.

You had both been dating steadily for eleven months, casting ripples across the delicate pond that was the Gotham high life. You had sworn it was only going to be a one-night stand, to go home with the most eligible bachelor for one night just to try him out. Well, you could say that he had definitely lived up to the expectations, but neither of you had expected to catch feelings. By the third gala you had gone home together, the Gazette was already in a tizzy, headlines running about how the billionaire playboy had been seen with the same socialite on his arm for nights in a row. Well, they damn well ran out of ink when you and Bruce became official at that year’s Winter Gala.

Despite the rumours fluttering around Gotham, you and Bruce were quite happy. He worked late nights, something you had come to realise the further your relationship got. It didn't bother you too much, as you were often in your office anyways. Since your father had died you had become the head of the company, and a woman being the head of the company was enough to stir the sharks below you, fighting to wrestle it out of your hands. Sometimes when you were doing paperwork you imagined Bruce in Wayne Tower himself, pouring over his own work. The thought brought a smile to your face, and it always made the nights feel less lonely.

You were so sure in your relationship that when you walked through the door of the restaurant he had taken you to, you hadn't noticed anything different about the stares that followed you both into the private booth. You were unaware of the eyes that scanned the palm branding your back, oblivious to the way women turned to whisper to each other with pitying voices.

It had been the best night after a rough week, wanting nothing more to end the night with a glass of expensive wine and Bruce's bedsheets wrapped around your legs.

It was shaping up to be the perfect night, but like they say, ignorance is bliss.

As you had been walking to the car, Bruce opening the door for you, a reporter had come into your face, camera flashing before you had a chance to react. "Hey, personal space." Bruce had growled, putting a hand on the other man’s chest and pushing him away. The reporter acted like he wasn't even there, eyes trained on you. "How do you feel about the current news circling Bruce Wayne? Do you think you both will survive this?"

Your blood freezes as you look at the reporter, Bruce's warm hand on your shoulder snapping you out of it.

"No more questions, please." he says gruffly, helping you into the back seat and climbing in after you. With a hand signal, Alfred had pulled away, hurriedly taking you to Wayne Manor. You felt numb sitting next to him, eyes staring forward at the seat in front of you. You didn't know what he meant, but the anxious feeling in your throat told you that the eyes following your car were more than usual.

Like all good things, they all come to an end. Unfortunately, that also happened to include your relationship with Bruce. you're surprised that your breath is as even as it is right now. Tears burn forcefully at the back of your eyes, standing in the foyer of the manor.

"What is this?" you hiss out, holding up a paper by your face.

'WAYNE SEEN WITH SELENA KYLE STARLET, GOTHAM PLAYBOY RETURNS', reads the headline, with a picture of the pair kissing on a staircase. Your heart feels as crumpled as the newspaper in your fist, lips trembling. "You feel like explaining?" you force out, hating the way the break in your voice echoes in the empty foyer. He looks down, guilty. "It wasn't anything, I swear-" he tries to defend, arms coming out to try and reach for you. You scoff, turning on your heel, lips wobbling as you hold back your sobs. "Don't give me that bullshit," you scoff, tears finally slipping loose. "You don't get to say anything, you don't deserve to."

you cover your face with your hands, fingers coming away with smeared make up. Alfred had quietly slipped away, expression solemn. "God, I really thought that we had something, Bruce." you cry softly. "Why?"

He looks at you softly, hands trembling. "I can explain, please, let me explain." His hands come up to make a soothing motion, gently approaching you like you're a wild animal. "It isn't what it looks like. We aren't together. I love you; you know that. She came onto me, I swear."

You roll your eyes, although they're blurry from tears. "That's what all the rich billionaires say." you say deprecatingly.

"Not me." he says firmly, eyes wavering with a tinge of fear, fingers itching for something to hold. For you. "We can work past this. We can work it out, I assure you. This tabloid isn’t true. It isn't as bad as it seems."

That snaps something in you, almost doubling over from the angst welling up in your chest. "Not a problem? Not as bad as it seems?" you whirl on him, letting him see the destruction written across your face. "You humiliated me!" you scream, hand clutching your chest, other waving the paper. "Our relationship? Did it mean anything? Even if you're telling the truth, the problem is that half of Gotham pities me now. Did you not even have the decency to tell me before we went out? Just paraded me around while everyone else knew about our relationship trouble but me? How is that fair, Bruce?" you cry, feet feeling weak in your heels. "You know, I really thought I came to see a new side of you. I thought I knew all of you. My friends told me that I should be careful, that you were a skirt chaser. But no. I trusted you, Bruce." you say, voice rising. "I trusted you!"

His face shatters, grimacing at your cries.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." he says, voice thick. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix this!" you cry, relieving the paper from your grip and it flutters to the ground. "It doesn’t fix us." you say weakly. "Did I…did I even mean anything? Or was I just another girl to string along?"

"No." he says firmly, taking a step towards you. "You weren't just another girl. you were my everything, you are my everything. I never meant to hurt you."

you shrug, tears falling down your face. "I'm a laughingstock." you cry softly, defeated. your fingers itch for your phone, to check the news, but you knew nothing good would come from scrolling the gossip columns. "I've got half of my father's board at my feet trying to get control through shareholder stocks. The other half were the elites mad I had taken you off the market," you jab a finger at him. "And now I'm nothing more than a floozy in the eyes of the public. I’m going to lose the respect I fought so hard for."

you run your fingers through your hair, stressed. Tears continue to stream down your face, heart rabbiting in stress. "I've never been this humiliated in my life." you weakly choke out.

He closes the distance, palms coming to cradle your face with thumbs stroking your cheeks. "I can fix this." he says desperately. you just shake your head, resigned and overwhelmed. You had always thought how special Bruce was, down to his calloused palms that were so different from every other highbrow man you had dated. "You still cheated." you grit out, eyes coming to meet his blue ones. Even though you wanted to relax so badly into his hold, to pretend like it had all been a dream and let him whisk you away into the bedroom, you pulled away.

you could see the flicker of pain that rippled across his body at your rejection, and the sight made your heart twist. "I need space." you say shakily, adrenaline making your world spin and chest tight. "Tell Alfred I'm going home."

The words feel heavy in your throat and even heavier when you see the panic in his eyes.

"Love, please don't-"

You hold a hand up to stop him.

"No. you, ‘please don't’." you say softly, head tilting down to the floor. "Just…don't. I need to find Alfred." you say as you follow the direction the elderly butler left in. Bruce can't do anything, rooted to the spot as he watches you hurry away. His body feels cold, and if he didn't know better, he'd say that this is what dying must feel like.

The old man is kind when you find him, and you can't help but cry on his shoulder when you break in front of him. He takes you out the kitchen door to the side, leading you to the car and opening the door silently. "I'm assuming you'd like some space for now, ma'am?" he says gently, not commenting on the tears and smeared makeup across your skin. you nod, and he closes the door after squeezing your shoulder comfortingly.

The ride back to your place is cold, hardly ever riding in the Wayne car without the warm presence of Bruce beside you. Your forehead presses against the window, staring out of it blankly. Staring out at the city that gossiped all about you now for sure, who'd eat you up in the coming months if you faltered. That was just the kind of place that Gotham is, especially in the elite circles.

When you click your phone back on, you make a conscious effort to resist the urge to respond to Bruce's string of frantic messages. Instead, your fingers trail over to the news tab, even though you know you shouldn't. Your face and Bruce's fill the pages, stages of your relationship depicted, all the way up to the photo the reporter snapped tonight. Your eyes are wide, lips parted in surprise. scrolling further down you encounter the fateful kiss and your heart clenches, mouth going dry. It was hard to believe that it was the same Bruce who kissed you so sweetly at night when he dropped you home or sent flowers to your office when work got hard.

It got so hard in fact, that all you could do was shut off the phone screen before any more tears could distort the colours on the screen. It flashes once with an incoming message from Bruce.

"Please let me fix this."

You shake your head to yourself, heart bleeding. Gotham was going to eat you alive. Despite your control your fingers typing out a message before backspacing.

"You shouldn't have broken us in the first place." remained unsent, as Alfred drove you to back to Old Gotham. Tears still dripped down the bridge of your nose, and you wished, desperately hoped, that the shame wouldn't follow you under the covers of your bed tonight.

The sheets that despite it all, you would still imagine to be Bruce's.