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hollandorks · 2 years ago

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transcendent -- motn oneshot

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

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

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

Series Masterlist

word count: 5670

Bruce was drowning himself in the Batman.

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

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

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

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

Kept him away from her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The elevator doors slid open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I still fucking love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care. Please look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to devour her.

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

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

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

His mouth went dry at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what came after.

Something he’d never done before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was transcendent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A smile spread slowly across his face.

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