#bruce wayne/reader

[gilverrwrites]

hopefully you're still doing these umm <<3 love you, hope you're feeling better soon totally feel you on the period stuff rn...😔

but emoji prompts for brucie, hal and/or jason (1 or all if you want)

❤️, ⏰, 😴, 🚨, 👄

i hope that's not too many!!

Hal and Jason are under the cut!

Bruce

❤️ making love headcanon

Bruce doesn't make love to you nearly enough for his liking. It's his favourite form of sex, every night he wants nothing more than to come home and show you how much he loves and appreciates you. Every morning he watches you climb out of the bed to prepare for the day and he thinks about kissing every inch of your skin until you agree to get back under the sheets with him. But rarely does he have the time to make good on his desires, or the energy, or the headspace. So he settles for quick romps in the shower, or lazy screwing when he gets home from patrol at 5AM when you're still half asleep and remains ever grateful that you never demand more for him.

⏰ fave time of day to have sex

Sunrise. Not always, often times he is exhausted and beat up and he just wants to sleep in your arms, but other times when he comes home from Batman duties, he's high on the adrenaline and desperate to let off some steam.

Any other night he hates when you wait up for him, but not those nights.

😴 falling asleep after sex

Bruce rarely falls asleep before you do, even when you're retiring at the same time. It's ingrained in him, not to let his guard down around others, even the people he trusts most. So usually he lets you rest your head on his chest, and watches you fall asleep first, no matter how weary he is, and once you're safe and sound and fast asleep he’ll doze off.

🚨 sex that sent me to the ER headcanon

[Repeated] The one time you managed to convince him to fuck you in the batcave. It had been a long night, he’d been craving your touch, he just wanted to get lost in your body. He’d been letting his mind drift, picturing it when you appeared to him, just like a mirage, in the sleek black nightwear he’d bought just for you.

“Bruce, please, I’ve missed you. I need you.”

The moment you were in reach he grabbed you, pressing you to the desk of the bat-computer, absentmindedly forgetting about the freeze gun he’s apprehended from Mr Freeze hours earlier. You managed to accidentally push in the trigger, freezing your thigh in the process. Fortunately, you came out the other side with all your limbs and minimal skin damage.

👄 making out headcanon

Bruce can make out really sloppy. He's got the movie-style, breathtaking, paparazzi-ready kisses down to a T. But in the privacy of your shared home, Bruce isn't really one for making out. Even when things are getting heated and the kisses are coming hot and heavy, tongues stay in your own mouths.

Hal

❤️ making love headcanon

It was a picnic under the stars, your face lit with the green glow of the candles he'd constructed, as you rolled around together on the gingham blanket. There was grass in your hair and starlight in your eyes as you smiled at him, ecstasy on your face.

That was the first time he considered the sex with you to be love making, that was the moment he knew he loved you.

⏰ fave time of day to have sex

Hal’s favourite sex is celebratory sex. He likes to be the big hero, likes it when you slide around his dick, kiss his neck, caress his hair, and sing his praises to reward him for a job well done. This can happen at any time of day really, the universe could come under threat at any time, and Hal will cum under you shortly after.

😴 falling asleep after sex

Hal is cuddly after sex. It’s a frequent occurrence for him to fall asleep with his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his hands cradling you close. It’s also a frequent occurrence for him to snore right into your ear and drool straight onto your chest, especially if you’ve really tired him out that night.

🚨 sex that sent me to the ER headcanon

Despite what people may think, despite the fact that Hal risks his life every single day, Hal is actually very on it with safety. Not that he doesn't take risks or enjoy the thrill of doing something dangerous and exciting with you, he’s just very on top of making sure it's done right. Any injuries that may occur in the bedroom department are far more likely to be caused on your end. Be you getting cocking and asking him to give more than you can take, tearing your internal walls or asking him to carry you high into the atmosphere only to trigger some kind of panic attack.

Whatever it is, Hal will get you the right treatment and tease you mercilessly afterwards.

👄 making out headcanon

Hal’s handsy when he makes out with you. At first, it was just about learning your body, in and out; finding the spots and the pressure that makes sense you want more. Nowadays he knows exactly where to touch to goad a reaction out of you and he likes to let his fingers linger just inches away.

He has such an endearing laugh, it's hard to stay annoyed at him when he laughs at you for grabbing his wrists and putting his mischievous hands exactly where you want them.

Jason

❤️ making love headcanon

Jason considers all forms of sex with you to be love making. Because he loves you. He wouldn't ever want to have sex with anyone else, no matter how soft or how kinky. Every time he gets you off in the bathroom with just his hands, whenever you get on your knees for him and take his cock to the back of your throat, all the role-play, the dry humping, the phone sex, all of it is love making to him and you can tell it by the look in his eye.

⏰ fave time of day to have sex

The evenings. Specifically, before he goes off to do his Red Hood thing. It's when he's at his best stamina wise, and he likes to give you a proper farewell, something to remember him by should things go sideways, or just something to think about while you're alone at night, a memory to keep your bed warm until he gets home.

😴 falling asleep after sex

Jason isn't much of a sleep cuddler, but he likes to be touching you in some way. It puts him at ease to feel you, to know you're safe and sound beside him. So he likes to rest his hand on the small of your back, or your thigh, or to hold your hand through the night.

🚨 sex that sent me to the ER headcanon

[Repeated] Jay was getting a little too excited, a little bit rough with the foreplay as he carried you to your bedroom, in stints, pressing you to the walls, the stairs, the doors to kiss and grind on on you. To strip each other of your clothes. It was a short-sighted accident when he whipped you from the wall, planning on carrying you through your bedroom door frame only to slam your head into the jam.

You were fine of course, just a bump, but he wasn’t taking the risk of leaving you with an untreated concussion or anything like that.

👄 making out headcanon

Jay likes it when you're on top. He likes it when you straddle him, wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him like you've been starved of affection. He's messy too, it's like he's trying to eat out your mouth, with his tongue down your throat. All that spit making salacious, wet echoes. He holds onto your hips, so tight, like you might abandon him any second, guiding you to grind on his tree trunk thighs as he practically devours you.

Smut Emoji Prompts

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

[meiluu]

Bats

Here's some thoughts about Bruce Wayne, my husband btw

cw: Major fluff

Just imagine being the wife of Bruce Wayne. Not the playboy, or the billionaire, not the philanthropist, but Bruce Wayne. A man who had to grow up at the young age of eight, and later on becoming a young man who spent his time traveling the world. Learning all he could, fighting, languages, anything. A man who sacrifices everything for the ones he loves, hoping that he can protect them from the world that seems hellbent on taking away all the people he holds dear.

Bruce is a man of few words, but each word that leaves those beautiful lips of his has a purpose. Those quiet moments when its just the two of you, cuddled in one of the plush couches in the Wayne manor library. The moonlight flittering in from the tall windows, the crackling of the lit fireplace is the only other noise that accompanies your whispered words of love. Wrapped in his protective embrace, a body that spends nearly every night defending and protecting the innocents of Gotham is here hugging you and gently massaging your back.

You bring a level of solace that Bruce didn't think he would ever have. Given how he accepted the fact that being Batman meant that he could never really have that. Then you came in. It wasn't some massive firework show or falling from the sky. You just... walked in like you were meant to be here all along. The patience, understanding and unwavering love you showed him time and time again had Bruce wondering where you had been all this time. You were so...You.

Bruce is the husband and lover who lets you kiss his countless amount of scars that litter his body that has been sculpted to fight and endure anything that comes its way. A body that held strength in every fiber of muscle and yet he turns to putty within your loving hands. Mind, body and soul, wholly yours.

Bruce had no idea of what he was missing when you weren't in his life and now that he has you, there is nothing on this planet or universe that would ever take you from him.

Bruce is someone who will die for You, and any one of the people he loves.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

On the subject of Bruce Wayne getting married: why not both? They have a marriage of convenience at Vegas first, but once they're deep in their feels, they have another more intimate and meaningful ceremony officiated by Alfred

UGH anon i could not agree more

Warnings: Marriage of convenience; fluff

Summary: It was supposed to be easy—a year-long marriage of convenience to keep Bruce's name clean; cash for your time spent, for your name and likeness splashed all over the papers, run through the mud by the tabloids.

You'd been in a tough spot; you were willing to risk it.

But you couldn't have banked on falling in love with Bruce, or on Bruce falling in love with you.

"We should get married."

It's mumbled against your temple mid-nuzzle, and chased by the warm pressure of Bruce drawing you impossibly closer. Your brow furrows even as your lips pull into a smile, your head tipping back to get a better look at Bruce in the dim bedroom light.

"We are married," You remind him.

"Properly," He insists.

You have to consider it for a moment.

Your first wedding hadn't exactly been a grand affair.

You still remember the roiling nerves as you'd pulled up to the drive-through chapel in Vegas. You'd known that the press would catch up with you in the next twelve hours; that every woman that had ever shown an outward interest in Bruce, so much as breathed in his direction, would come out of the woodwork; that you were likely expected to ignore his infidelity for the year of your contract.

But Bruce had held your hand tightly, come home faithfully. Your physical attraction had only grown as your emotional attachment had flourished. While Bruce's nights could be late, you never had a hint of infidelity from the press, or from Bruce himself.

You knew that you were in far too deep the first time the two of you had slept together. You hadn't been able to take your eyes off of him—even as you'd cum, your gaze had been glued to him, watching his eyes slip shut as his jaw dropped, your name and a murmur of, "Fuck," mingling as his hips stuttered.

It was supposed to be easy—a year-long marriage of convenience to keep Bruce's name clean; cash for your time spent, for your name and likeness splashed all over the papers, run through the mud by the tabloids.

You'd been in a tough spot; you were willing to risk it.

But you couldn't have banked on falling in love with Bruce, or on Bruce falling in love with you.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health, sometimes it feels too damn good to be true. Sometimes you wake up in Bruce's arms, and you just keep still and hold your breath. You revel in the warmth and comfort of his arms, and just feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

You've known that the end of your contract was nearing, but Bruce hasn't mentioned it.

Not until now.

"Properly?" You question, fingers skimming along his side. Bruce hums, hands sliding over your shoulder. "Was there some hitch with the first license that I don't know about?"

Bruce huffs softly, and your stomach flips as his hand slips up to your neck, grasping at the base and tipping your head up. You meet his eyes steadily, searching his gaze as his thumb skims along your nape.

"Go ahead," He urges, "Lie."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me you don't feel this, too."

"Bruce," You huff, pushing yourself up, drawing back from his arms. It's hardly a few seconds before Bruce is up behind you.

"Tell me."

"It's just—We have a contract."

"Fuck the contract."

"You're speaking in a lot of absolutes."

"...Look at me."

You hesitate, gaze lingering on the gold band on your wing finger before you tip your head back toward him. You let your eyes sweep and settle on his chest, his shoulder. It's safe there.

But Bruce has never been one to go the safe route. He reaches up, curling his fingers tenderly around your jaw, tipping your chin up and forcing your eye contact.

"If you want out, tell me right now," He insists. "Nothing from the arrangement will change. We'll divorce, you'll have your stipend...Or," He leans into it softly, "We keep on. Nothing changes...Alfred will get ordained—"

"Bruce!"

"—And marry us properly...He should've been there the first time."

You frown as his face shifts, his eyes dropping to your lap. You hadn't known then, but you know now how dear Alfred is to Bruce, and Bruce is to Alfred. You hadn't known when you'd agreed to the contract, but it's become crystal clear to you now.

You push a quiet sigh through your nose, reaching up and taking hold of one of Bruce's hands in both of yours.

"What if you change your mind?" You ply softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...This was supposed to be temporary, Bruce. We had a deal—we have paperwork, for fuckssake."

"I'll add a non-compete."

"Be serious—"

"I am being serious." Bruce intertwines your fingers, raising your hand and pressing a kiss to your ring. "Not about the non-compete, but...About Alfred. About getting married—and meaning it, this time."

You consider for a few moments before you lean against Bruce, sliding your thumb along his knuckles as you consider.

"The contract should be retooled into a prenup."

"We don't need a prenup."

"Now you're being ridiculous."

"No," Bruce insists. "I'm being decisive. I know what I'm doing."

"What if you're wrong about me?"

"I'm not."

"Are you always so full of yourself?"

"Sure of myself."

"Tomato, to-mah-to."

"Are you gonna marry me again or not, Mrs. Wayne?"

You grin, tipping your head back to press a gentle kiss to Bruce's jaw.

"Again and again, Mr. Wayne."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @missswriter ; @nominalnebula

[n0cturn4]

Was it worth it?

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader Summary: In his arms, with the last breath of life Word Count: 948 Music: Hurt Like Hell - Madison Beer

The abandoned building loomed in dark ruins, like a monument to oblivion, its peeling walls and partially open ceiling letting in only scattered drops of the rain outside. The dense shadows of dusk seemed to hold a vigil around us, and the heavy air carried the smell of rust and dampness, so thick it felt as if time itself was trapped there, holding everything stagnant except for the pain.

And then, in the middle of that desolate scene, my eyes found her. She was leaning against the wall, pale, her trembling lips shaped into an expression of exhaustion that no battle could explain, one hand pressed against the open wound on her torso. Blood slipped between her fingers, slow and dark, as if each drop was being pulled from the very essence of her. My heart clenched at the sight, realizing this was no longer one of the many wounds we healed in silence. This was something far deeper, a kind of sacrifice that should never have been hers to make.

She lifted her eyes to mine as she sensed my presence, her face marked by an exhaustion that went beyond the physical, an exhaustion that burned into the soul. Yet still, she managed a tremulous smile—a smile that, somehow, seemed more of a farewell than a greeting. Leaning against the wall, her frail and fading body seemed to struggle against an invisible weight pulling her down, as if the simple act of continuing to breathe demanded every fragment of strength she still possessed.

“Why…?” The question escaped my lips in a whisper barely audible, tearing through the oppressive silence surrounding us. I moved toward her, each step heavy, each movement carrying the weight of what I knew I couldn’t fix. I knelt by her side, my knees pressing into the dirty, damp ground, but none of that mattered. I was so close that I could see the contours of the bloodstains on her clothes, the dark color I knew so well but had never wanted to see there, on her.

She tried to speak, but the sound came out weak, sliced through by the pain. Her lips trembled slightly, and I saw hesitation in her gaze, as if she was afraid to let me know everything that was inside her. I touched her hand, feeling the warmth of life slipping between our fingers as she struggled to find the words. There was something solemn and irreversible in her eyes, as if she had already accepted a fate I still refused to see.

“I… I wanted to protect you, Dad.” Her voice was faint, a breath barely reaching my ears, but every word carried the determination of someone who knew that sacrifice was inevitable. “I knew the risks… knew it would be a one-way road… but I didn’t care. It was my choice.”

I felt my throat tighten, swallowing hard, trying to contain the unbearable weight now crushing my chest. There, in the middle of the shadows, with my daughter fighting for each second of life, the mantle of Batman felt useless. I was nothing but a father, and watching my daughter fade in my arms was a suffering no battle could prepare me for. I held her hand tighter, as if I could anchor her to life, as if I could convince her to stay.

“You didn’t have to do this.” My words came out shaky, almost like a murmur of despair. “I should… I should have protected you… should have stopped you… never should have let you walk down this path.”

She gave a faint smile, that sad and tired smile that bore a courage I had never seen before. Her eyes, even weakened, met mine with a depth that destroyed me inside. She knew, knew everything, and still, she looked at me with an acceptance that felt greater than any understanding I could have.

“Was it worth it?” The question escaped my mouth almost without thinking, a mixture of pain, guilt, and the desperate hope that, somehow, her words could relieve me of this weight that seemed to crush my soul. I needed to believe that all of this wasn’t in vain, that everything she had endured had a greater purpose.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Her trembling hand touched my face, a final gesture of affection, and when she spoke, each word came out in a whisper laden with unshakable strength:

“It was worth it, Dad… it was worth it, because I would do it all over again, just to know you’re still here. I was never just your daughter… I am your shadow, and that is my part in your legacy. You gave me purpose. Now, you have to go on, even if I’m not here. You have to keep Gotham safe… that’s the path I chose, for you.”

She closed her eyes, and her hand slipped softly from mine, leaving her last breath to escape her lips. I remained there, holding her in my arms, feeling the weight of loss rooting itself within me, a profound emptiness taking over what had once been a simple desire to fight. The rain outside seemed to intensify, as if the city mourned the loss of a silent heroine, a warrior who had sacrificed herself for something greater than herself.

For a long time, the only sound that filled the space was that of the rain, like a sad melody merging with the emptiness left behind. And I knew, there and forever, that this sacrifice was the greatest Gotham had ever demanded of me—a sacrifice I would carry with me for the rest of my life, a sacrifice that, as she had said, was now an inseparable part of who I was.

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— alexithymia —

(n.) the inability to express your feelings

Warnings: pregnancy, implications of sex, slightest illusions to abortion

Summary: You had to tell Bruce about the consequences of one night.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Female Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Based on this post (there’s a chance I’ll write more for this)

DC M.List || Navigation M.List || MCU M.List

Bruce slowly nodded, eyes hardening and the emotion behind them too intense for you to grasp onto. You stood, in the middle of the vast drawing room that the butler, Alfred, had guided you to, the silence thickening as the quiet rang on for a few moments too long for your liking.

The pit in your stomach was growing by the second and you could feel the air in your lungs tightening. When your ribs finally felt like they were being squeezed, Bruce spoke. 

“Okay,” he said, voice cool and calculated, eyes drifting over your body as if trying to find some evidence that you were pregnant. Your eyes met his and you tried to figure out what he might be thinking.

Maybe he thought you were trying to trap a billionaire or maybe he wanted nothing to do with the baby, or you. Maybe he wanted to be a part of the baby’s life and maybe not yours. Maybe he wanted the baby to himself. 

That scenario scared you. Even though this whole pregnancy wasn’t planned, over the last two weeks and the first appointment, you had grown into the idea. It didn’t even matter to you whether or not he wanted to be in your lives, but you wanted the baby now.

You would find a way to support the child and yourself. But knowing the connections and power he held over you, with all the money he had, you knew it would be impossible to win a custody case.

You cleared your throat. “I’m going through with the pregnancy,” you whispered, as if that much wasn’t obvious. You wouldn’t have been here if that wasn’t what you had planned to do. You watched him nod slowly again, jaw clenching this time as his eyes left yours to pin to the floor in front of him. 

“Are you sure?” He asked lowly, his voice betraying a crack of emotion. He shook his head, gaze flitting up to meet yours in question. “Even if I don’t want to be a part of their life?” 

“Even then,” you replied evenly. The sun was dipping in the horizon, coating the drawing room in honey. You could see the hint of a subtle approvement in his eyes, but before you could dwell on it longer, he spoke again. 

“Okay.” It was one simple word that had no other context. You were starting to get annoyed with that word leaving his mouth. You opened your mouth to voice that annoyance, but he beat you to it. “I'll do it.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, the annoyance and nervousness fading behind the relief that made your shoulders loosen. Your brows raised slightly before falling and your eyes flickered around the room, his gaze too intense for you to keep. A shiver ran through you and you rubbed your arms to keep the chill out. 

You met his gaze, swallowing down the urge to snap at him for scaring you. “You’ll do it?” You asked with a hint of confusion and skepticism, not entirely convinced with how easily he accepted it. The stoic expression and the guards in his eyes gave you little to no reading on how he was truly feeling.

Even that night after the gala, he had been the slightest bit vulnerable before he had turned away, gotten dressed, and left the room without another word. It unnerved you. 

His Adam's apple bobbed as he nodded. “I am. I’ll take care of the baby and you. I’ll pay all the expenses that may arise—”

You cut him off with a scoff. “No.” You met his careful gaze, a hint of anger shimmering under your emotions at his implication. You didn’t come here for him to throw money in your direction. “I didn’t come here for you to pay for me and the baby. I can manage that.” 

His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before meeting yours, confusion now etched into his eyes. “Then why are you—” he started before you cut him off again. 

“I just needed to tell you if you wanted—” you let out a deep sigh, frustration bubbling over the edge. You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose, not believing the fact that he had thought you were here to make him pay.

Out of all the reasons you had to come here to meet him, to tell him that he was going to be a father, your baby’s father, money was not one of them. 

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, now a little calmer. “I wanted to know if you wanted to be a part of the baby’s life, Bruce,” you said slowly as if explaining something very precious. “Not to pay or take care of expenses, but as just a father. If you wanted to see the milestones—the teething, the first steps, words.” 

He blinked, confusion melting into relief and then something akin to disbelief. “As just a father?” He asked, almost testing the words out on his tongue.

Something about the way he asked tugged at your heartstrings. You knew he was always seeked out by the socialites for his money and power, but he was as reclusive and quiet as they could get. 

You just hadn’t realized the extent of his distrust. He was used to people asking for him to get either his money or power and, no doubt, had jumped to the conclusion that you wanted his money. 

You nodded. “A father. Nothing more or less, Bruce.” You could see the slight hesitation in his posture. The way he shifted his weight ever so slightly and eyes darted to the wall behind you in contemplation. “We could co-parent or have set days or holidays or something. We—we could figure it out. I just—it wouldn’t be fair to not tell you. That's why I came.” 

His blue eyes met yours again, softening at the edges. He nodded slowly, his tense shoulders drooping slightly, his blazer ruffling with the movement.

He took his hands out of his pocket, finally reaching down to the coffee table for the sonograms you had placed there when you had told him about the pregnancy. He stared at the photos, eyes raking down the sonograms. 

“How far along are you?” He asked, eyes not straying from the little blob that was supposed to still grow. He couldn’t see the hands or feet yet, but he seemed to be trying to find them anyway. 

“Around eight weeks.” When you spoke, his eyes darted to you, lips pressing together tightly. 

He nodded. “That would make sense.” His eyes flickered back to the photos, fingers tightening around it slightly, just enough for a crinkle to appear. You knew he was still hesitant to believe you, that you were carrying his baby and that you didn’t want his money. 

“It’s up to you,” you said cautiously, taking half a step closer to the coffee table between the two of you. You saw his eyes flick up and then back down. “Whether or not you want to be there for the baby. It’s up to you entirely.”

And it was. You never came to him with the intention of forcing something he didn’t want. If he didn’t want anything to do with the kid, you wouldn’t blame him. It was supposed to be a one night thing, not a whole lifetime of commitment to a whole other human being. 

You had chosen to be responsible for the growing fetus inside you. You wanted him to choose as well, without any pressure. 

He let out a low hum, hand lowering the sonogram pictures and meeting your gaze. His eyes softened. “I’ll be there for the baby,” he said slowly, nodding at you. “And you.” 

You blinked in surprise. “Bruce, I—“

“And you,” he repeated before you could try and protest. His voice was like steel, resolute and strong. You knew he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer this time. “The baby and you.” 

You could merely nod in response. You didn’t know what would happen or how you two would navigate through the next few months and then some years, but you knew he was determined to make it work. However that would be. 

[spideybatsy]

Late Night

Summary: GN!Reader gets a cleaning job working at Wayne Enterprises when a certain billionaire playboy develops an obsession with them. Pairing: Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader WC: 3K Warnings: being watched without knowing, mentions of erections, nothing too serious. Notes: Can be read as any batsy you’d like, I personally picture Bale bc I’m a slut for him <3 This is the first chapter in my new series! I haven't written in a year, so be kind Masterlist

The wind pressed against your sweat slick skin as you stepped into the shadow of Wayne Tower. A shiver rolled down your spine, half caused by the weather and half by the ravenous butterflies in your stomach. Starting a new job is never easy but God, you have never needed a job as much as you need this one.

The renewal of your lease brought a steep increase in rent at the same time as your boss announced he was closing the business. You couldn’t really say you were surprised, the bakery was definitely a front for something nefarious, why else would the GCPD come in every other week?

It was a shame, really. You loved working at the bakery, especially during those quiet moments when you could just sit there and watch the world go by. God knows you’ll be rushed off your feet now.

Cleaning wasn’t your first choice, nor was it your second. Hell, it wasn’t even on the list. But you were not in the position to be anything but grateful when your friend mentioned an opening at their work. The hours weren’t the best but the pay was surprisingly good.

You walked into the building and were immediately shoved by someone sprinting to the lift. Taking a deep breath, you regained your bearings, straightened your shirt, and headed for security. You’d been in the building only once, for your interview, but figured you’d need some sort of pass to get into the actual offices. 

The security man who served you was disarmingly attractive and you couldn’t help but blush as he ran his eyes down your figure. His hair was a dirty blonde, pushed back and behind his ears. 

“First day?”

“That obvious?” 

He chuckled, before asking for your name and looking you up on the system.  “I’ll just call your supervisor, Emily, to come down.” 

“Thank you.” The two of you fell into an almost awkward silence. “How, uh, long until your shift finishes?”

“I’m on a morning today, so I finish at 12. How about you?” 

“Well, I’ll usually be doing the 4 till 10 shift but they wanted me in earlier today. So, I'll finish around 3.” 

“Too bad.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Well, I would’ve loved to take you out for dinner.” Were your cheeks on fire or was it suddenly just really hot in here? “Maybe it’ll have to be lunch instead.”

You opened your mouth to respond but was interrupted by Emily calling your name. 

“There you are, I’ve been waiting for you!”

You flashed a sorry smile at him and rushed over to your friend's side. 

“Hey, what’s that guard's name?” Although you knew he couldn’t hear you from here, you still whispered.

You cringed as Emily started to turn back, quickly reaching out and stopping her.

“I think that’s Russell.” She whispered back, “Why?”

“He asked me out on a date.”

“Really?” Well, no more whispering. You simply nodded your head, following her into the lift. “You don’t even have your access pass and you’ve got the men drooling. You dirty stop out.” 

“I haven’t slept with him!”

“Yet.”

“I’ll be telling HR you called me a slut.”

“Hoping they’ll sleep with you too?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, pushing her slightly with your shoulder. As the numbers on the lift drew higher, the two of you settled down. Joking with your friend was one thing but you needed people here to take you seriously, even if you were just the cleaner.

“Are the people here nice?” You weren’t expecting your voice to sound so… small.

Emily looked over at you, affectionately bumping your shoulder. “Yeah, most of them are lovely.” 

“What about the others?”

“Fuckable.”

The lift doors opened and filled the floor with the sound of your combined laughter. 

—-

“And down here, you have Mister Wayne’s office.” You followed Emily down the hallway, looking into an office and making eye contact with an older man. You gave him a quick smile and was pleased when he returned it. 

“That’s Lucius Fox, he’s really the boss.”

“What about Bruce Wayne?” 

“What about him?” Emily stopped at the front of the last door.

“Well, it’s Wayne Enterprises, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You couldn’t help but gasp as she threw the door open, jumping to apologise to the aforementioned man. 

Only, he wasn’t there.

Emily laughed, walking further into the room. “He’s hardly here, probably recovering from his drunken nights spent with supermodels.”

You hesitantly followed her in, amazed by the so-called office. This one room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. It definitely had better views. 

“I’m not sure you should be talking about our boss like that,” you mumbled, walking over to the floor to ceiling windows. 

Emily came to stand next to you, “it’s not like he’s ever here to hear it.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you jolted around, instantly fearing the worst. Was it possible you could be fired before you even got your first paycheck? How were you going to pay rent now?

You couldn’t tell if you should be relieved or not when you realised it was the man you’d smiled at earlier. Lucius Fox. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Emily replied, turning back to the view. 

Oh my God. What was she doing? “Please excuse my friend, Mr Fox. I think she meant-”

“I know what she meant,” he responded while walking over. 

You opted to say nothing and pretended to look out the window, wishing for the tension to dissipate as quickly as possible.

“You’re scaring them to death, Fox.” 

The older man laughed, coming to rest his hand on your shoulder. “Worry not, dear. You’ll grow used to the banter.”

The tension started melting from your shoulders, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

—

Within two weeks, you’d fallen into a comfortable routine. You came into work at 3:45 to make yourself a tea and read your book, before starting work at 4. You start at the side furthest from Wayne’s office, as they left the earliest. By the time you reached the common areas, the rest of the staff would be leaving, only Fox remaining. He was always the last one to leave, usually close to 7. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, since you knew he was typically the first person in the office too. So, you’d bring him a decaffeinated coffee around 5pm. You’d find yourself talking to him for a while, usually about stories from the past that you could both laugh about. 

Truth be told, you were starting to really enjoy the man's company. He had a dry sense of humour that you found hilarious. Being in the office late could be rather lonely, so you clung onto the moments you had with him. 

A positive of working alone in the office was that you could play all your music out loud. You’d recently gotten into a podcast where three friends read stories and discussed them. A lot of them were light hearted or ‘am i the asshole’ reddit posts.

Tonight, you listened to their supernatural episode as you finished up in Fox’s office when you heard a bang down the hallway. Slowly, you creeped to the door to peep down the corridor but there was no one there.

Maybe the ghost stories were getting to you. You shook your head and turned back into the office when you heard the noise again. Jumping, you looked toward the sound. The only thing down there was Mr Wayne’s office.

Clutching your mop between closed fists, you edged down the hallway. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and rushed in, hoping to catch the perpetrator in action.

Only the office was empty, of course it was. You couldn’t help the relief that coursed through your veins. It was obviously going to be empty, you had yet to see The Bruce Wayne in this room. You were starting to wonder if it had even been used. Maybe Fox should get this office, that way someone can appreciate the view.

You laughed quietly to yourself before turning off the podcast and putting on some tunes. That was more than enough scares for you tonight.

Unbeknownst to you, you were not alone. A certain billionaire had stumbled in here before his night duty, expecting to find the place empty as usual. He hadn’t been in for a few weeks now but things rarely changed this high in the building.

Then you’d burst into the room, armed with a mop and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. You were the single most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Who were you and what were you doing here? 

He couldn’t help the way his dick twitched in his trousers. No. Now is not the time. 

He stayed in the shadows and watched you work, diligently going from one room to another before stopping in the kitchen to make a drink. You pulled a book out of your bag and read for a while. Bruce found himself creeping closer, eager to see what you were reading. 

Then you looked up and it seemed like you were staring straight at him. He knew you couldn’t see him but he couldn’t stop the way his heart stuttered in his chest. Nor the way his lower half jolted. 

What was it about you that made his infamous control slip? He’d never had this issue, not even as a teenager.

Your eyes widened as you kept gazing in his direction and he slowly turned his head. The bat symbol drifted amongst the clouds. 

He held back a sigh as he shifted further into the darkness. 

Maybe he was due a visit back into the office, after all. 

—

Or maybe not. 

It had been a week since Bruce first saw you in his office, clutching a mop like your life depended on it. Sometimes, when he lay awake in his bed, he thought about how oblivious you were to his presence that night. And every night since.

He should really get you some self defence classes, perhaps send them as a gift from Wayne Enterprises. He hated thinking about what could’ve happened if he really was a burglar. He could only keep you so safe, you needed to be able to handle yourself. 

Then he felt a bit crazy. Here he was, talking about you like you were… part of his life. Although, he supposed at this point you were part of his life. He just wasn’t part of yours. Too many times he’d driven to the building just to never get out of his car.

He’d asked Fox about you at his last equipment meeting. He tried to act nonchalant about it, casually asking if there were any new staff on the top floor. 

“We have a new cleaner.” Fox said, relaying your name. “They’ve been here for about three weeks. Settling in very well.”

Bruce repeated your name, strangely satisfied by the way it rolled off his tongue. 

“May I inquire why you’ve asked about them?” Fox’s words caught Bruce off guard. “You’ve never been interested in the Wayne staff before.”

“Just keeping up to date with the comings and goings of my fathers legacy.” Bruce suddenly found the kevlar padding very interesting. 

“Better late than never, I suppose.” Fox hummed, running his fingers across the fabric. “This kevlar is half the weight of your current gear.”

“Is it still as durable?”

You didn’t come up in the conversation again but Fox filed the information away, eager to ask Alfred about it. 

—

“What does your partner think about you working so late?”

Fox’s question caught you completely off guard, causing you to almost spurt out your tea. He immediately grabbed the tissues off his desk, handing them to you.

“Forgive me, it was an inappropriate question.” 

“No, no, no. It’s fine.” You said, finally swallowing down your mouthful. “I, uh, don’t have a partner. So, I don’t think they mind.”

“I suppose that makes two of us.” 

Before you could respond, he tactfully changed the conversation. 

—

“They’re single, you know.” 

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t look away from his newspaper. “Whose single, Alfred?”

His heart almost broke free from his chest when Alfred said your name. 

“How would you know that?” Bruce’s words were more rushed than he would’ve liked, the newspaper long forgotten on the table.

“Every old man has his secrets.”

“You spoke to Fox,” Bruce sighed. “They probably thought he was coming onto them.”

“Worried you have competition, Master Wayne?” 

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“You know, I may not be the master of romance but I hear that the first step in any relationship is to talk to each other.” 

“Obviously,” Bruce muttered, picking his newspaper back up.

“What you’re doing right now has a name, Master Wayne.” 

“And what is that?”

“Stalking.”

Bruce couldn’t help but flinch at the word. He turned to defend himself but Alfred was already gone, leaving him a pot of tea. 

—

You were sitting in the kitchen, tea in one hand and your book in the other. You’d found yourself in the office a bit earlier than usual but didn’t mind. It was always good to have some time to wind down before you started your shift. 

“What are you reading?” 

You couldn’t help but inwardly sigh, putting your bookmark in. “Just a-” Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up. If Russell was attractive, this man was downright gorgeous. A face carved for a god with luscious hair combed behind his ear. 

He looked eerily familiar but you couldn’t quite place him. You could feel your cheeks heat up as you bought your gaze back down to the book.

“I’ve never heard of The Dry Heart before,” Bruce’s heart leapt from his chest as he took the seat across from you. “What’s it about?”

You sneaked a glance up at him but immediately looked back down when you made eye contact. “It’s about an unhappy marriage, I’m reading it for a book club.”

He hummed, his eyes searching your face. You were even more breath-catching up close. “You must be our new cleaner,” you liked the way he said your name far too much. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you.”

“You have?” Who was this man? You would remember seeing such a gorgeous face among the office. 

“I try to meet all the new employees but I’ve been a bit slack lately, please forgive me.”

You slowly lifted your eyes to look at him and couldn’t help the way your lips lifted. 

“Consider it forgotten,” you said softly.

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Fox. 

“Mr Wayne, how lovely to see you again.” Lucius came in and stood beside you. “I see you’ve met our latest employee.”

Your eyes shoot, Mr Wayne? Surely not. In your rushed state, you completely missed the way Fox smirked at Bruce, causing the younger man to stare daggers back at him.

“Of course, it’s important to know everyone in the office.” 

Fox hummed, turning back to you. “Please excuse us, I have a very important meeting to drag Mr Wayne into.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You had a hard time even saying the words, your mind whirling. Wasn’t Bruce Wayne an arrogant asshole? This man was the furthest from that. He was so kind and funny. And good looking. Holy shit was he good looking.

No, you’re not doing that. Not to your boss. Especially not when your boss is a world famous womaniser. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow him as he walks out or the way they trail down to his perfect ass. Entering the hallway, Fox rolls his eyes when he sees the massive smirk on Bruce’s face. 

—

“I was hoping I’d find you here.”

You can’t help but jump as Bruce walks into the kitchen. “Mr. Wayne, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Please,” he sits down at the table and smiles at you. “Call me Bruce.”

“Okay, Bruce.” 

Bruce savours the way his name rolls off your tongue and how your cheeks go bright red under his gaze. His eyes follow as your blush spreads down your neck and under your neckline. 

“I usually take the new employees out for lunch, your turn is well overdue.” He takes a moment before continuing. “I guess ours would be more like dinner.”

“I suppose so,” you smile at him, oblivious to his wandering gaze. “But you don’t have to do that, Bruce. It’s fine, honestly.”

“I insist. How about tonight?”

You brought a lousy microwave dinner for tonight but there’s no reason why it can’t wait for tomorrow. Plus, who doesn’t like a free dinner? Lost in thought, Bruce takes the opportunity to study the way you bite your lip and store it away for later. 

“Sure, tonight is good.”

—

You weren’t sure what to expect during dinner but it wasn’t this. Bent over, your hand clutching your side in an attempt to ease your stitch as you laugh hysterically. Bruce is laughing too, his smile so big it shows his perfectly pearly whites.

“No way, you’re lying.” You gasp between breaths.

“I wish,” Bruce looks away in faux-shame. “I wasn’t always the smoothest.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Your laugh settles into a smile. 

“Why’s that?” He sounds genuine when he asks, curious even.

“Well, look at you.” You immediately heat at the implication, quickly stuttering off an excuse. This is not a date. “Y-You’re The Bruce Wayne. It would’ve been a-all over the newspapers if you, uh, messed up.”

Bruce merely hums, his eyes dropping down to your lips as you bite away at them again. 

This is bad. You cannot be flirting with the boss, especially not your boss's boss. Sure, he might be into it now but he’s not known to stick around with the same person for long. You can not afford to lose this job if things go bad.

You’re saved by the server coming back to drop off the check. Bruce’s hand grasps yours as you go to take the check, sending a bolt of electricity down your arm. His eyes find your own, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I’ve got you.”

Fuck. 

[pentrologram]

advent calendar - day nine

You're pretty sure Bruce just wants to cuddle with you.

bruce wayne/reader

a/n; again, another late day! i'm sorry :( hopefully my internet doesn't cut out again so i can get day ten out in time....

You woke up this morning greeted by the gardens of Wayne Manor covered in heavy blankets of snow, eliciting a gasp from you.

Bruce, who had been asleep after a longer-than-normal patrol, grumbled and reached a hand out to tug you back into bed.

"It snowed!" You whisper-shout to Bruce.

"Mnmn."

"Oh, it looks so pretty, Brucie," you say, freeing yourself from his grip to look outside.

"Hnn."

"I'm gonna go outside!" His eyes fly open at that to glare at you.

"No."

"Uh, yeah!"

He sighs, about to rebuke you when Dick bursts through the door, sharing your sentiments and forcing Bruce to give in. While you put on your snow gear and Dick goes around excitedly waking the others up, helping the littlest get dressed in warm clothing. By the time you're dressed, Bruce has managed to get out of bed, leaving him victim to you getting him dressed, too.

You forced Bruce into making snowmen with you, and then snow angels; by the time the kids started a snowball fight, he was fully awake.

Dick and Jason were the only kids who knew the horror that was their dad in a snowball fight, leaving to pure and utter demolition. Snow in hair, snow down shirts, forts demolished, egos bruised.

It wasn't long until he hunted you down, sneaking up on you from behind and slamming a snowball down your head.

After that, he ushered everyone back inside and started the fire with Alfred's help. He made hot chocolate, and eventually, he dragged you to the couch for some warm, by-the-fire cuddles.

"…Was all of this a ploy to hug me?" You ask.

"No."

part two!

[k4marina]

bruce wayne x fem!reader || smau

pt. 3 of this

pt. 1 || pt. 2 ||

a little bit rushed since i made it all in one night. but since the last to parts are doing well, why not right?

lmk any ideas you might have for the next part

it’s been awhile since you or bruce have posted so your fans decide to look back on some of your memorable moments.

——

brucewayne posted a story 3hrs ago

[caption; 🫀: ]

[supeson]

je ne sais quoi

hey guys, girls, and gays. thanks.

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine , part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen , part fifteen, part sixteen, part seventeen, part eighteen, part nineteen

"Fuckin' stupid, putting it this high up, this is an accident waiting to happen," You mutter under your breath, fingers just grazing the bag of cat food on the top shelf. You step up on your tip toes, the shelf gets no closer. Stepping up onto the shelf helps, giving you another 3 inches, and you grab a corner of the bag, letting out a triumphant noise.

"Gotcha!" 3 inches too many, it seems, as it all gives way and you crash back to the floor, eighteen pound bag of cat food clutched tightly to your chest. You're staring into the fluorescent lights when a sharply manicured hand pops into view.

"Need a hand? I saw your valiant struggle against that dastardly-placed food."

You lift your head and look up. An extremely attractive woman with looks down at you and smiles, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners. You shift the food to the floor beside you and take her hand. "Uh yea, thanks. God, that's embarrassing that you saw that. I would've preferred to have been crushed under the food, actually."

She laughs. She laughs? Your brain short-circuits. "Well, you recover nicely, I'll give you that. What's the name that would've been on the obituary?" You giver her your name as you stare at her with wide eyes. Damn, she's good. She nods as though thinking about it. "Selina Kyle. And here, if you ever find yourself trapped under some cat food, and you can move your arms, give a ring, and I'll come over to dig you out. And hey, if you're not too beat-up after that, maybe we could grab dinner."

She hands you a slip of paper with her name and phone number, gives you a wink, and waltzes down the aisle. You stand there for three uninterrupted minutes before you haul the bag of food off of the floor and start calling Alfred's name.

*

"-and then she gave me her number, unprompted, isn't that fucking crazy?" you ask, shoving the piece of paper in Bruce's face. You'd put away your pet store findings once you'd gotten home and had gone to find him, finding all of this very funny, if baffling. You'd found him reading in the library, book now closed on the arm of his chair.

Bruce takes it, and turns it over carefully. You immediately backpedal. "I mean, I wasn't gonna call her, obviously, what we have is too important to me, and it's going so well, but this has never happened to me before, and I-"

"Selina Kyle is one if my exes. And she knows I'm Batman."

You deflate. "Oh."

Bruce catches the spiral you're going on. "That's not to say she didn't truly find you attractive, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that it brings up memories for me. Particularly painful ones. Selina and I, we have an incredibly complicated history, one that almost ended in marriage, if only-"

You kneel in front of him and cup his face with your hands. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Or, even if you want to, but can't right now. I'm in it for the long haul, remember?"

Bruce simply nods and rubs your hand with his own, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Another time, then."

*

Batman stands on a ledge, surveying the city. The night is quiet, surprisingly, given how warm the weather's been. So quiet, that she couldn't hide the taps of her heels if she wanted to.

"Going silent for a bit," Bruce says into his ear piece, then switches it off and turns around. "What do you want, Selina?"

"Oh, can't a girl just enjoy a night out on the town, Batman? Not all of us have such fulfilling careers," she replies, slinking into view from around the door to the roof. "Or relationships, for that matter."

"Did you know from the beginning?" His eye twitches underneath the mask.

"Honest to god, I didn't. I genuinely thought I was just playing the field, until I saw Alfred as I was leaving. That and Harley showed me some tabloids that weren't afraid of getting sued. I gotta say, this is pretty underwhelming, for you. Not a cape, not a villain, hell, not even somebody remotely famous. I'm impressed, I-"

"Don't talk about them like that. This is different. This is-" His hands are tightening under the cape. A master of his own mind and emotions it seems, until it comes to you.

Selina holds up her hands in surrender and smiles coyly. "Relax, B. I'm just here to tell you I'm not stepping into your territory. I'm not stupid enough to try and take something that's yours again." She pulls out a grappling gun and shoots it off into the night. "Just let me know when you're done, 'kay? I wanna take a turn."

She's gone before Bruce can formulate a reply. He switches his comm back on, and starts making plans.

*

You've been out at the pool entirely too long, Bruce thinks. Like a cat laying in their favorite window, as soon as it had become warm enough, you were out in the gardens, at the pool. You always told him that given the opportunity, you would stay out there all day, but he hadn't quite believed it until it became an inconvenience to his plans. You've been out there for seven hours now, and likely for longer, now that Dick, Steph, Duke, and Jason have joined you.

"Sir, if I may suggest going to them, instead of waiting for them to come to you?" Alfred asks, hands perfectly poised behind his back.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Alfred."

He simply nods. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Depends on how this goes. I'll let you know."

"Quite good, sir."

Bruce makes his way down to the pool, and walks up just in time to see you break the surface in the deep end, much like a polar bear in their enclosure at the zoo. Jason, Steph, Duke, and Dick have a volleyball game going in the shallow end, while Titus lays in the pavement and watches. His heart clenches when you catch his eye.

"Babe, hey! Are you finally gonna join us? The water's great! Steph says it's too cold, but here she is, right? Of course, Tim told us to drop dead when we invited him, but I think that's just because he's too skinny to appreciate how refreshing this cool water is." You swim up to the edge, smiling wide. His other children snicker.

Bruce kneels down by the edge. "Actually, I came to ask you something, would you mind coming up for a second?"

You note the way his smile falters for a millisecond, and how he tightens his hands. He's nervous. Anything that can make the Bat nervous warrants your full attention, you suppose. "Oh, uh, sure, one sec."

You climb up out of the water, and Bruce thinks you look radiant with the late afternoon sun behind you. You join him on the lounge chairs, toweling yourself off carefully. Bruce has never felt anxious until this moment right here. "Okay, big man, shoot."

Bruce clears his throat. "Right. Yes. So, I've been thinking. About our relationship, specifically, and how much it has changed me. Changed us, for the better. I never thought that something like this, given my line of work, would ever be possible, but you seem to have proven me wrong, and gone against every calculation I could have had for our relationship to play out. And it has been the greatest thing to behold, really. I want to deepen our commitment. I want us to commit to each other, despite our problems." Bruce pulls a small box out of his pocket, and flips it open. Sitting in the center are two rings, both with a silver band, but one with a ring of some crushed blue stone inlaid, and another with your favorite color instead of blue. He says your name like it's the first time he's ever said it before. "I love you, will you marry me?"

You immediately stand up, going, "Are you fucking sure?"

His children stare at him in shock, while Alfred simply walks down the pathway, champagne and sparkling grape juice in hand. Bruce's eyebrows start to draw in, and you speak quickly. "Shut up, shut up! I know you're sure, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that, yes! I meant to say yes, sure, whatever! I just, I don't, I've never-"

Bruce shoots up and kisses you. There are stars behind your eyes as you comprehend what's just happened to you, what's going to happen to you, and all you can think about is that you're soaking the front of his shirt right now. Bruce must not realize he's losing himself a little bit, because just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, Dick whistles. The two of you spring apart, Bruce combing a hand through his hair in embarrassment, and you burying your face in your towel. Alfred is already passing flutes of champagne around, and Tim and Damian are tearing down the pathway.

"Father, how could you!" "Bruce, holy fuck!"

Bruce just smiles wider than you've ever seen in your life as he pries your left hand away from the towel, and slips the blue ring onto your finger. Looks just like his eyes, you think as you stare in awe.

The sun starts to dip beneath the horizon as you kiss him again, then slip his ring onto his hand. The thought of announcing it to the press, and having to go out into public with him officially makes you nauseous, but that's a freakout for another time. For now, you kiss your fiancé, then throw down to towel and jump back into the pool to cool your heated face. Everybody yells their indignation, but you just hug yourself at the bottom of the pool, incredulous.

[gilverrwrites]

🚨 please release the secret Brucie scenario 👉👈

━ [In reference to this post]

🚨 sex that sent me to the ER headcanon

Hehe, playboy billionaire Brucie, getting cocky and excited after a few to many drink, and the buzz of your attention. Whose been hand feeding you booze all night, matching you drink for drink for drink, whose already stretched your hole out not just on his cock, but all of his fingers.

Brucie who pops a cork on a campaign bottle and pushes the neck into your entrance as the fizz overflows, making your already sensitive walls sting, intoxicatingly against the bubbles. Who grins, thoroughly enthralled at the way it makes your legs shake, and your eyes roll back as he fucks you with the cool glass.

Bruce who pays for your medical bills when you need treatment for alcohol poisoning and a yeast infection.

[Smut Emoji Prompts]

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[meiluu]

Welcome <3

My Masterlist

*just a little note I would like to thank you for stopping by and checking out my stories I hope you like them! and as I grow more confident with my writing I'll open up requests for some of the characters I'll be writing for*

{also don't be afraid to comment on my posts, I would love to interact with y'all. but don't feel pressured either, just a simple like really helps me in letting me know that you like my content.}

TWISTERS (Movie, 2024)

Tyler Owens

Dreamin' about cowboys: SMUT 18+, pregnant!reader imagine

DC

Bruce Wayne, Batman

Bats: FLUFF Bruce Wayne thoughts,imagine/drabble

SPIDER-MAN

Spider-Man 2099, Miguel O'Hara

Fangs: SMUT

Good girl: NSFW drabble

Soft Tunes: FLUFF drabble, Mermaid AU, Dad! Miguel

Spider-Man, Peter Parker

Merry Little Christmas: FLUFF, drabble

Fight Our Battles: FLUFF, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, one-shot

Tis' The Season: SMUT 18+, one-shot

TWILIGHT

Edward Cullen

Edward Cullen's Mate: SMUT 18+, one-shot

FINAL FANTASY VII

Cloud Strife

Just a thought about Cloud Strife: SMUT 18+, drabble

Pillow Princess Cloud: SMUT 18+, drabble

Cloud?: SMUT 18+, ANGST, drabble

Everything and You: SMUT 18+, one-shot.

RESIDENT EVIL

Leon S. Kennedy

His Sanctuary: SMUT, post-re:4

Good Boy: SMUT re:2 drabble

NSFW alphabet: A-D, E-H, I-M,

Stress reliever: SMUT re:2 drabble

Stray: FLUFF, can be any leon past re:2

Infected: SMUT, post re:4 if Leon didn’t get cured of the plagas

Flour: SMUT, drabble

Sleepy: SMUT, one-shot, re:2

Heat: FLUFF drabble, any Leon past re2

Black veins: SMUT re:4 plagas!Leon

Halloween fun: SMUT, re:4 AU, oneshot

"Touch her, and I'll kill you.": SMUT re:4, plagas!Leon

THE SANDMAN (NETFLIX SHOW)

Morpheus a.k.a Dream

Dreamer Held Captive: one-shot of Morpheus saving you and bringing you to the dreaming.

Morpheus' Return: one-shot of when Morpheus returns to the dreaming.

Lover's Embrace: one-shot, you and Morpheus' journey of your pregnancy.

CALL OF DUTY (MODERN WAREFARE 2 [2022])

Simon Riley a.k.a Ghost

Comfort: one-shot, ghost helps you after a rough mission.

Let me protect you: pt.1 , pt.2 , SMUT in pt.2. a surprise confession opens the door to a new relationship.

MISC. WORKS

Ghostface: pt.1 ,

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Bruce Wayne dating an ER doctor tho

- They meet at a Wayne Enterpise gala, where she's the guest of honor, speaking about her experience as a recipient of the Thomas Wayne Scholarship (which put her through medical school)

- Bruce being absolutely fascinated once he's able to speak with her personally, hanging on her every word

- The party basically closing down around them until they're two of the last people in the penthouse, besides the clean-up crew

- Bruce getting her number, trying to make plans a time or two, but her schedule is nuts, and evenings are weird for both of them

- For very, very different reasons, of course

- So Bruce turns up at the ER during one of her shifts, complaining about elbow pain (the lamest, non-life threatening excuse he could think of)

- (He says he whacked it when he was spelunking)

- Cue one very flirty assessment that leads to Bruce insisting on buying you a cup of coffee as thanks for checking him out

- The two finally get around to getting dinner and are both so utterly enamored

- (And you just know that when she does eventually find out that he's Batman, those late-night patch-up situations are special)

[n0cturn4]

You choose… You choose to fail Part. 1

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader Summary: Bruce crouched down, arms open, and for a moment, found himself almost laughing nervously. Word Count: 3471 Music: Bring me sunshine

Her face, so small and illuminated, lingered in Bruce's memories like a gentle warmth, something he thought would never fade. He found himself back in the days when his daughter smiled at him as if she carried the sun on her lips. "Bring me joy," she would always ask, extending her small hands, demanding a new story or a laugh he always tried to steal. And for a moment, he was another man: a father, and she was just a child.

"Bring me happiness in your arms, Daddy!" She used to laugh and ask, as if pleading with the sun never to extinguish. Bruce could hear her voice humming through the halls, little songs about light and love, and he felt that those moments could fill the empty corners of his life. In those days, there was an innocent hope that he could almost touch. The weight he carried seemed to dissipate in her presence; it was as if his own shadow dared not disturb that little sun.

But now, as each of her smiles and laughter enveloped him in echoes of the past, a dark melancholy invaded him. Time, which once seemed so generous, had revealed itself to be a relentless thief. She had grown up, so quickly and without permission, taking on burdens and embracing the darkness he never wanted her to know.

He remembered when his arms, once a warm embrace and refuge, became a barrier. She was just a child, full of joy and sweetness, asking for more happiness, for more laughter. And he, foolishly, believed he could protect her merely by keeping her away from his own darkness. But she was drawn to his path, to the end, as if she were an inseparable part of that shadow.

"Bring me the sun, Daddy" he could still hear, like a faint echo almost faded away. And now, knowing the sacrifice she made for him to continue, Bruce realized that the light she brought would never return. Even in those tender memories, what remained was the melancholy of a love that sacrificed its own brightness, a happiness that, as it dissipated, left within him an eternal and indelible sadness.

He remembered when she was just a baby, so small and fragile in his arms, her warm and cozy body nestled against him with total trust. She was a soft and silent presence, and Bruce almost feared breaking that enchantment with any sudden movement. In the early months, he would spend hours watching her sleep, marveling at every peaceful sigh, at the tiny face that filled with expressions he could barely decipher. It was there, in his arms, that she found comfort, and he, a calm he had never known existed.

And then came her first steps. She surprised him one afternoon when she stood up, shaky and determined, holding onto a piece of furniture and casting hesitant yet curious glances at him. Bruce crouched down, arms open, and for a moment, found himself almost laughing nervously. He didn't want her to fall, but he knew he couldn't hold her forever. She wobbled, stumbled, but didn't stop, and he was there, waiting. Her little eyes sparkled as she reached for him, and when she finally fell into an awkward embrace, her laughter echoed like the purest music he had ever heard.

In that moment, as she smiled, her tiny hand clutching his shirt, Bruce believed he could always protect her. The feeling of her little arms around his neck, the sweet, childish scent, everything seemed eternal. And for an instant, the world outside, with all its darkness, ceased to exist.

Since her first steps, Dick's presence was like a beacon lighting the way for his sister. He was not just a brother; he was a guide, a companion, a smile that made every day a new adventure to be explored. With a touch of humor and a wealth of laughter, he encouraged her to explore the world, to embrace life without fear, as their laughter resonated through the house like gentle music.

Dick had a special magic: he made his sister feel like the only person who mattered in a vast universe. He was the first to play, to offer words of courage when uncertainty enveloped her. "Come on, little one! You can do it!" His words danced in the air, imbued with confidence, as if every encouragement was a spell that dissipated the shadows of fear. He taught her to ride a bike, running alongside her, always ready to catch her before a fall became real, his gaze a mix of concern and joy.

In training, Dick transformed into something more than just a brother; he was a mentor who inspired her to be strong, to break barriers, always respecting her pace. He knew the world could be unforgiving, and so he made a point to show her that there was beauty in the little things, even amidst the chaos.

When Bruce set out to patrol the city, Dick became her shield. With stories of heroes and villains, he enveloped his sister in a world of fantasy, turning fear into something magical. "Everything will be alright," he would whisper, embracing her with warmth and protection. In those moments, she felt immune to danger, safe in her realm of dreams.

Dick was also the bearer of laughter, the one who brightened cloudy days with his comedic imitations and carefree jokes. There was a sparkle in her eyes, a palpable joy when he was around. And when she tried to mimic his acrobatics, her boldness was always covered by a protective gaze. "Be careful, little one! You don't want to end up on the ground!" He would catch her before gravity could claim her, and together, their laughter mingled, creating a symphony of love and joy amidst the shadows of life.

Tim was the anchor amidst the whirlwind of emotions that life brought. To his sister, he was more than just a younger brother; he was the safe harbor where she found comfort in the storms of the city. When the world around seemed a maze of challenges, she always knew she could count on him. With his curious gaze and sharp intelligence, Tim offered a sweet and calm refuge, where reality became lighter.

From their first exchanged smiles, there was a special connection between them. He watched her with admiration, as if she were the light illuminating his shadows. In their conversations, he encouraged her to dream, to believe that even in the darkest nights, there was a glimmer of hope waiting to be discovered. Together, they created imaginary worlds, and he was always willing to listen to her stories, her joys, and her concerns, becoming a loyal confidant.

When responsibilities and challenges weighed on Tim's shoulders, she was the presence that reminded him that, behind the masks and symbols, there was still a boy with dreams and insecurities. She made him laugh with her silly jokes and affectionate gestures, and Tim didn't hesitate to reciprocate, taking her on adventures that made her heart dance with joy.

There were sunny afternoons when they would explore the nooks of the mansion together, laughing and creating memories that would become eternal. He taught her to see the world differently, showing that there was beauty even in the simplest things. He never saw her as a vigilante, but rather as a sister, someone who brought light to his darkest days.

In moments of anguish, when the city seemed intent on swallowing them, she became the calm amidst the storm. Tim remembered how her words were like balm, healing his invisible wounds. She comforted him without needing words, a tight hug that said everything he needed to hear. In those hours, he realized that, although life was filled with shadows, there was still light—a light he could find in her eyes.

Their relationship was a delicate balance between support and playfulness, where both felt safe to be who they truly were. Tim, even amid his struggles, found in his sister the courage he needed to face the world, while she saw him as her refuge, the assurance that together, they could conquer any challenge life threw their way.

From the moment she entered Damian's life, a new world opened before him, a universe filled with emotions he had never fully understood. To him, she was not just a sister; she was a silent revolution that rocked his existence with laughter and fragility, a constant reminder that life could be lived with more lightness.

Damian, with his serious and often restrained demeanor, found a strange comfort in her presence. She brought a sweetness that softened his hardened heart, like a ray of sunshine breaking through dense clouds. Their connection was a subtle dance, marked by playful moments and competitions that transformed training into adventures. He challenged her, as if he wanted to shape her into something strong and untamed, but at the same time, it was she who shaped him, showing him the beauty of vulnerability.

There were days when the mansion seemed filled with shadows, but she always managed to bring a smile to his face. With her curious and cheerful gaze, she drew him out of the cocoon of seriousness in which he took refuge. "Come on, brother! Show me what you can do!" she would say, her mischievous tone reflecting a challenge he couldn't resist. Together, they would run through the garden, laughing and tumbling, with the lightness of children who only knew the freedom of the moment.

Damian felt more human beside her, as if the barriers he had built to protect himself dissolved with every shared laugh. She was the only one who could see him, not as the heir to a dark legacy, but as a boy who just wanted to be accepted. With her, he didn't need masks; the acceptance she offered was an invaluable gift.

As the training grew more intense, he never failed to protect her. Damian knew that life's struggles were not just physical; he wanted her to be strong but also understanding. "Life can be unforgiving," he would often whisper in serious moments, "but you must always fight with your heart." And in his own internal struggle, he found strength in her, in the silent courage she carried, even without needing a cloak or a name.

On the darkest nights, when nightmares came to visit him, it was her presence that brought peace. She would find him, without the need for words, simply being, like a beacon that never extinguished. And so, in the chaos of Gotham, she became the sun that lit his path, a reminder that there was beauty in being vulnerable, a treasure they both shared in their small moments.

And then there was Jason.

Jason had always been a charming mystery in her life, an enigma unfolding in whispers and glances. From their first encounters, there was an electricity in the air, a connection that seemed to transcend friendship. He, with his unassuming demeanor and teasing smile, made every moment by his side a dance of emotions.

It was as if the universe conspired to create little moments that revealed the depth of their feelings. She remembered the afternoons they shared secrets, the looks they exchanged as if searching for something deeper. The fine line between friendship and love began to blur, and they became accomplices in more than just laughter and playful banter.

He taught her to see beauty in rebellion, courage in fragility. Jason was a sun in a cloudy sky, a flame illuminating the darkest corners of her soul. With him, she felt alive, as if she could embrace the world without fear. Each touch, each laugh, was a note in a melody that grew increasingly familiar, and the idea that this could merely be friendship began to dissipate.

In moments of silence, when words weren't necessary, there was a deep understanding between them. He looked at her with a gaze that spoke more than a thousand declarations could express. The chemistry was palpable, a silent dance unfolding under the cloak of night. And even in the dark hours, when the weight of Gotham felt unbearable, Jason was the refuge she never knew she needed.

And so, amid laughter and looks filled with meaning, their friendship began to blossom into something deeper, something more intense. Each shared moment became an indelible memory, a promise that, regardless of the storms they might face, they would be together, like two lost stars that had finally found each other in the vastness of the universe.

.

.

.

The words hung in the air, heavy as laden clouds, as Bruce's daughter confronted him. The silence of the mansion was broken only by the sound of their hurried breaths. After the tragedy, pain echoed in every corner of the house, transforming home into an emotional battleground.

"You could have saved him!" Her voice was a mix of ferocity and despair, as if each syllable were an arrow shot directly at Bruce's heart. "You had the chance to end this! But you chose to do nothing!"

He felt the weight of the accusation, as if she were stripping him of his vigilante mantle, revealing not only the man he was but also the father who had failed. "I couldn't... That's not how things work," he replied, his voice tense, battling the guilt that consumed him.

"But you knew who he was! You know what he did to Jason!" Her crying was more than a simple expression of pain; it was a storm of accumulated hurt, a cry for justice echoing in his mind. "You let the Joker live, and now Jason is... not here anymore!"

Bruce's eyes, usually so firm and resolute, softened as they met hers. "I didn't want to lose anyone else," he murmured, the truth breaking apart in his mouth. "I thought that if I stopped acting on impulse, I could prevent more suffering. I thought that..."

"You thought you were stronger than the pain, didn't you?" She interrupted, disdain mixing with sadness. "But now it's us who are paying the price. And while you refuse to act, they continue to live. The Joker keeps haunting us! He's still out there, laughing at us!"

The anger burned in her chest like fire, but behind it was an emptiness. She had lost a brother, and the pain transformed her reality into an unbearable place. And even as her powers slowly consumed her, the idea of losing another loved one was intolerable.

Bruce moved, almost instinctively, but hesitated. "I don't want you to carry this weight. I want you to live!" The declaration sounded like a plea, a last remnant of hope.

"Live? How can I live knowing you didn't have the courage to do what needed to be done?" The bitterness in her voice turned into desperation, and her gaze became a mirror of what she truly felt. "I'm not invulnerable, Dad. I'm not like you. Being alive just means carrying more pain."

"Don't talk like that! You have to understand—" Bruce began, but the words faltered, the intensity of the conversation causing the walls he had built over the years to begin to crumble.

"Understand what? That your compassion turns into weakness? That you prefer forgiveness over justice? Jason had no choice, but you did," she exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "And you chose to fail."

The silence that followed was deafening. Time seemed to freeze as they both faced the unspoken truths, the open wounds that defied understanding. She knew that words could be a sharp weapon, but the pain of her loss was stronger than any caution.

"Either way, I can't stay here anymore," she finally declared, determination replacing sadness. "I can't wait for you to do what you should have done. I will seek justice for what was taken from me."

And with that, she turned her back, leaving behind a conflicted father, struggling against the chains of his own guilt.

. . .

How pain can be the fuel for many things...

Amid the chaos that had become her life, there was a moment when the sun still seemed to shine. Memories of laughter, play, and the lightness of just being a daughter echoed in her mind like whispers of a time that felt so distant. However, that light was slowly extinguished, like a flame that flickers before going out completely.

The powers that once made her feel special began to transform into a prison. Each explosion of energy, each surge of strength she unleashed, was accompanied by a growing weakness, as if an invisible parasite was devouring not only her strength but her essence. She had become a spectator of her own life, each forced smile a reminder of what she had lost and what was yet to come.

At first, the powers were a blessing; a way to help, to feel alive in a world that always seemed on the brink of darkness. Every time she used her gifts, there was a sense of freedom, as if she could touch the sky. But as time went by, that freedom became a curse. The echoes of her own achievements turned into screams of pain, and the euphoria that once accompanied her was now just a shadow, a bitter reminder of a potential that was slowly destroying her.

It was on one of those heavy days that the conversation with Bruce became inevitable. The pain of losing Jason still lingered in the air, like a mist that never dissipated. Bruce was distant, wrapped in his own shadows, but the truth she carried could no longer be ignored.

"You don't understand," she began, anger boiling in her veins like poison, "You chose a side long ago and continue to choose it every time you leave the Joker alive. How many lives must be lost for you to care? Is one death worth the lives of thousands?!"

The darkness of that abandoned building seemed to absorb her words, each one echoing against the worn walls, now witnesses to a conflict much deeper than the mere clash of heroes and villains. The smell of rust and mold filled the air, but nothing compared to the pungent feeling of loss that hung between them.

Bruce looked at her, the pain in his heart mixing with frustration. "I... I can't be the judge of life and death. I can't become what we fight against."

"But you already are!" She screamed, the weakness in her body mingling with the ferocity of her words. "You've become a prisoner of your own morality, a spectator while the Joker continues to get away, a predator in the dark, taking more lives! You should have ended this, and now Jason... he's dead!"

Jason's name sounded like a dark echo, a reminder of the pain that cut through their hearts. And she knew that, although Bruce had raised and loved her, there was something in him that still clung to his code, even when it meant losing a son.

The tears, previously suppressed, now threatened to overflow, and Bruce's expression grew heavier. He wanted to scream, wanted to say that all of this was his fault, but instead, the truth was that there were no words that could soften the grief. He had lost Jason, and now, before his daughter, faced the possibility of losing once again.

"You can't leave me, not now," he murmured, his voice choked. "I can't bear this pain any longer."

She shook her head, feeling the weight of the gravity of her words. "I have no choice, Dad. Can't you see? With each passing day, I feel more distant, more lost. These powers... they're consuming me, and with every struggle, every attempt to protect myself, I lose a piece of me."

Bruce's eyes widened in horror, and the realization of what she was saying hit him like a blow. "What are you saying?"

"I'm dying, Dad," she replied, her voice weak but firm. "And you can't do anything to stop it. The Joker has left scars on me that won't heal. I did this to feel alive, but now it's a curse I can't bear."

The silence between them turned into a wave of despair, the reality of their situation sinking like heavy anchors at the bottom of their hearts. The rain began to fall outside, the drops echoing like a lament for all they had lost. What should have been a refuge was now a cruel reminder that even the deepest bonds could fade away.

"You don't have to do this alone," Bruce pleaded, a thread of hope breaking through his voice. "We can find a way to... to heal this. We'll figure it out together."

But she smiled, a sad and resigned smile. "You can't save me, Dad. I'm not the same anymore. And when I'm gone, I want you to know that I did this for us, for Gotham. So you won't have to feel the pain of losing someone you love again."

And with that, she walked away, leaving Bruce in the darkness of that abandoned place, a father consumed by guilt, unable to save his daughter once more.

[lingerasthesmokeoncedid]

What Do the Lonely Do At Christmas? 

A Battinson Holiday Fic

After years of not celebrating holidays, Bruce Wayne is trying to do something different. But when he hires a professional decorator to deck the halls of Wayne Manor, Bruce finds that it's not just his home and holiday that will be different - his heart just might change, too.

I. They’re Singing “Deck the Halls,” but it’s not like Christmas at All

On days when he went into the downtown highrise office that bore his name, Bruce Wayne didn’t take the executive elevator. Ever since the beginning of his New Gotham project, he tried to connect with the people on a human level. To not be their boss, but someone they could talk to, who could hear their grievances and worries, who could do something in his considerable power to help them, even without his mask.

Funny thing about that, though. As it turned out, no one wanted to ride the elevator with The Boss. 

He would approach the elevator bank and people would scatter. A few would smile and wave uncomfortably when their eyes met, but none of them would brave even a few minutes with Bruce Wayne, the scion of the richest family in the city.

So, he rode the elevator alone. Always. 

At least…until one day in December, when the wind was biting and the snow tasted like change. 

“Hold the door, please!”

For a half-second, Bruce didn’t even realize the disembodied voice was addressing him. No one ever rode with him; now someone was calling after him, begging not to be left behind? 

“Hold the door – thanks!”

But then she appeared. An unremarkable stranger, running for the doorway like her life depended on it, shuffling past her frozen colleagues as she jugged several ill-stacked boxes. Bruce didn’t recognize her, but all the same, he couldn’t help but stare.  

Framed by the brass elevator frame and backlit by the strings of gold and silver lights on the lobby wall behind her, she beamed at him, beatific as an angel atop a tree. 

Bruce awkwardly shuffled to the side as he held the doors open to allow her inside. Not enough, apparently, because as she jostled to manage her tower of packages, she pressed her back against his until she was safely inside and could maneuver better. 

It was an accident, he told himself. And it only lasted a moment. Less than a moment. But he’d caught a breath of her scent, felt the shift of her body against his…and it now felt burned into his skin. 

“Thanks again for that. Sorry I kept you waiting.”

He pressed the button for the top floor, his stop, and was surprised when she informed him she was going to the same place. 

They rode in silence for awhile, Bruce in the corner of the elevator, shifting his weight across the balls of his feet, trying not to look at her slightly fuzzy reflection in the elevator mirror. She hummed along easily to the holiday elevator music playing above them, still carefully balancing her boxes. 

It was like riding with someone who didn’t know he was Bruce Wayne - or someone who didn’t care. Either way, he decided to break their silence. 

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” He asked, in that slightly stilted way of his. After so long in the shadows, it took time to adjust to normal human interaction. 

“Just a temp,” she chirped. Then, she gestured to the boxes, which, upon further inspection, contained red ribbons and garland. “I’m a professional decorator. I’ve been doing the building here.” 

“Oh, so you’re responsible for all of this?” Bruce asked. This time, it was his turn to gesture - to the tinsel hanging from the ceiling above them. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she replied. 

“No, no,” he said. Shit. He really was out of practice. He’d barely said a few sentences to this woman, and already he’d accidentally insulted her. “Your work is great. It’s just that all of this holiday cheer, it’s just not me.”

He expected the conversation to end there. He’d embarrassed himself, he’d screwed up already - no wonder no one wanted to ride the elevator with him, and her floor was fast approaching. But she surprised him. 

“Really?” She asked. 

It was obvious, wasn’t it? Bruce Wayne, tabloid badboy recluse with greasy hair and too-big clothes and too much money? Of course he didn’t immediately strike anyone as a Buddy the Elf type. But she seemed genuinely surprised, as if she saw something besides darkness when she looked at him.  

Strange. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had seen the good in Bruce Wayne. Batman, yes. Bruce Wayne? No. It had been a long, long road since then. 

“Now you say it like it’s a bad thing,” he lobbed back.

“It’s just…you just don’t really seem like a Grinch. Not even an Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Last year, he’d spent Christmas covered in someone else’s blood, standing over some nameless, faceless criminal who’d had the misfortune to try to rob someone at gunpoint near Batman. This year…he liked the idea of spending it at home. Giving out presents to kids in The Narrows. Doling out Christmas bonuses. Stuff like that. 

Sure, he’d probably Batman on Christmas Eve. And probably Boxing Day, too. But for one night, maybe he could help people as a man instead. 

“Call me a recovering Grinch. I just haven’t celebrated any holiday in a long time.”

She looked like she wanted to ask him why. He appreciated it more than he could say that she didn’t.

The doors opened on her floor then, and she smiled at Bruce before she left him. 

“Well. Maybe you should try something different this year.” 

II. It’s Beginning to Look a lot LIke Christmas

A few days later, Bruce Wayne was in the attic of the Manor, hauling things around like a man possessed, searching for something he hadn’t seen in many, many years. 

But then, a crackle on his watch, and suddenly, Alfred’s voice filled the musty attic room. 

“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve just been buzzed on the gate intercom. I have eyes on a woman, and she claims to have been invited by you–”

Bruce could picture it. The butler at the bank of security cameras monitoring Wayne Manor at all times, suspiciously eyeing some strange car approaching. 

His chest tightened. She was here. She was going to be here, in his house. A woman in Wayne Manor. Since his parents’ death, that was even less common than holiday celebrations. 

Bruce checked the time. Damn. He hadn’t meant to be up here when she arrived. But finding the boxes took more time than expected, and – 

There. There was the box he was looking for. Caked under a thick layer of dust, a box marked “CHRISTMAS/HANUKKAH” sat in the corner of the room.

He spoke into his watch, then reached for it. “I’ll take care of it, Alfred.”

A skeptical pause from the other end of the line. 

“...Very good sir.”

But Bruce’s understanding of very good, sir in that context must have been quite different from Alfred’s, because when he found his way to the atrium some ten minutes later, his attention was drawn away from the front door, where he expected her to be waiting, to the nearby sitting room. 

Despite the grand doors being shut, Bruce could still hear Alfred’s cool, modulated tones and a soft, female laugh. The clinking of fine porcelain. Soft Christmas music from a record player. 

Bruce’s shoes squeaked on the marble by accident. In the sitting room, Alfred excused himself and materialized in the hallway with Bruce a moment later. 

“You let her in?” Bruce asked, hating how he sounded like a petulant child, but not enough to let go of his frustration. He hadn’t wanted to explain all of this to Alfred. He’d hoped she would be able to decorate today, then leave before Alfred was any the wiser. He should have known the old man would find his way to interfere. 

“I couldn’t very well leave her out in the cold, could I?” Alfred said, his smug tone telling Bruce everything he needed to know. I wanted to snoop and I wasn’t going to let this girl go without getting to know her. “She’d have frozen if I hadn’t gotten her a cup of tea and brought her in, that’s how long it took you.”

Bruce grit his teeth. Yeah, this was mostly his fault. Not that he was going to admit that. “I was busy.”

“Busy with what? And what’s that?” he asked, gesturing to the box Bruce carried. “Old junk for the cave? Sir, when you have a date come over  –”

“We’re not dating,” Bruce said, quickly. 

“Apologies, I’m sure you’re keeping it casual, right?”

Dammit. He was going to have to explain now. Couldn’t have Alfred hearing wedding bells – the old man was convinced that was the only way Bruce would ever fully give up being Batman. If some woman came into his life and he hung up his mantle for her. “She’s here to decorate the manor. The boxes are our old Christmas and Hanukkah stuff.”

Alfred blinked. Finally on the back foot. Finally surprised by something. 

“She…what?”

“It’s the holidays, Alfred,” Bruce said, as if he hadn’t been avoiding them most of his life. 

A scoff from the butler. “First time you’ve noticed in ten years.” 

“I’m trying something different.”

Not good enough for Alfred. Bruce took a different tack, his lips quirking up in a slight smirk. 

“Come on. You should be proud. I’m finally starting to act human again.”

III. Your Eyes are Like Starlight Now

A few days later (Christmas decorating a manor of this size couldn’t be done in an afternoon, apparently), Bruce was set up in his office, trying not to think about the strange woman currently in his house. He didn’t let people into the Manor very often. It was private, a sanctuary - no, more like a creaking, heaving monument to the past. To let people in this house was to let them into a life he’d left behind. To poke around at the ghosts and peer around corners for his secrets.

So, as she worked, he was very aware of every creak and groan of the house. And he was also very aware of her humming those festive songs - the tunes echoed through the halls and to his desk as though they were meant for his ears only. 

The idea of someone else in his space, someone besides Alfred, unsettled him. But, as the days went on, he realized it was the disquiet of a man learning to dance for the first time. Awkward, then oddly comforting. 

Their shared conversations in the hallway as they happened to pass each other, their laughter in the kitchen as she took her lunch break while he just so happened to be there making a cup of coffee, the wave they always shared – him looking down from the window, her looking back at the mansion as she went to her car – at the end of each day….they all added up to something, something Bruce couldn’t ever quite name for himself. 

Even if he knew the word for this feeling – and he suspected that he did – he didn’t want to examine it too closely. Too complicated. Too confusing. Too risky. 

That afternoon, her voice carried across the house. This time, it really was meant for him. 

“Mr. Wayne? Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce left his desk and followed the sound, until they met together on the sweeping second-floor landing. He blinked as he approached. In the hours since they’d parted, she’d gotten busy. Christmas lights and dangling ornaments were everywhere. Had the house ever been this bright, this cheerful, before? 

“There you are, Mr. Wayne,” she said. “I was just–”

“You can call me Bruce, you know.”

He hated being called Mr. Wayne. It felt like carrying his father’s tombstone around his neck. 

“That’s allowed?” She asked. 

An understandable question. This house didn’t radiate casual, cool, boss energy. But he also thought, when he impulsively hired her that day after their first meeting, that she hadn’t seen him as only a boss. But as a person. 

A boss, you call Mr. Wayne. A person, you call Bruce. He wanted to be Bruce. God, how badly he wanted to be Bruce for her. What a peculiar feeling.  “I’d like it if you did.” 

Their eyes met. When he finally pulled away, he was convinced he’d looked at her for too long, but he wouldn’t have traded a moment of it. The Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes were hypnotic. 

He cleared his throat. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’m decorating the tree,” she said, waving down towards the first floor. She’d had a tall fir delivered bright and early in a snowdrift that morning as Bruce watched her from the second story window. “I thought maybe you’d like to put up some of the more sentimental ornaments?”

Bruce remembered decorating the tree with his own parents, but that had been so long ago. He assumed professionals like herself would do everything; that’s part of the reason he hired her. So he wouldn’t have to live out those painful, happy memories of his parents again. But, still. He didn’t want to be labeled as weird. If this was the done thing, he would do it. “Is that something your clients like to do?”

“Not usually. But I always like to offer. It’s how my family and I used to get ready for Christmas.” 

He wanted to ask her why she said that in the present tense; he then remembered the restraint she’d shown in the elevator. 

He’d been avoiding the holidays for years because they reminded him of his parents; it seemed, at least to him, that she was holding onto them because she didn’t want to forget hers. 

He’d been suffering for years. She seemed pretty happy. Maybe he could try her way. Just this once. See if it made him feel better. 

“Well. I don’t usually do that,” he said. Her face fell for only a second before he picked it up just as quickly. “But I remember someone suggesting that I try things differently this year.” 

Moments later, they were down in the grand atrium, where she and her team of delivery men had erected the fourteen-inch tree she’d spent the entire day decorating. The scent of fir and snow filled the air, immediately making him think of her. She’d smelled the same when they’d first met in the elevator that day, when she’d first shown him the kindness of treating him like a person instead of a name. 

As he stepped deeper into the room, towards the box he’d brought down a few days ago, he examined the splendor she’d brought to this usually drab, forgotten place. Of course, the Christmas tree stood like an elaborate mountain in the corner near a big, snow-dappled window. Holly and garland had been strung, the photographs in this room had been dusted and lined amongst hand-me-down nutcrackers and tchotchkes. His mother’s Hanukkah decor and family relics had been arranged, too, given a place of prominence on a long side table running the length of the room. 

It was…perfect. Like she’d borrowed a memory or a dream from the warmest, most sincere, deepest buried parts of him and brought it to staggering life. 

She looked like she was made to stand near his fireplace. Like she belonged there, in his room, in the warmth of this holiday scene she’d created. He tried not to think about that when he began picking through the sentimental ornaments she’d left for him to hang. 

“I haven’t looked at these in a long time,” Bruce muttered. He ran his chafed, scarred hands over some of the artifacts of Christmases past. 

The woman beside him, so close they brushed when she breathed too deeply, brightened. “You’re in for such a treat. There are some great ones here. Like….” She dug around in the box and produced a scuffed, chipped ornament from almost thirty years ago. “Bryce’s first Christmas.” 

Bruce chuckled. “My father gave that one to me. He’d been somewhere in Europe just before Christmas and apparently that country didn’t have have too many Bruces. This was the closest he could find. My mother said they probably had Bruce ornaments, but he brought this one home anyway. Always loved a joke, my dad.”

The words fell out before he could catch them. He stiffened when they stopped, then fully aware that he’d been soft, vulnerable, to this woman. Sensing the shift in mood, she offered: 

“I’m sorry - would you want to do this alone? I don’t want to intrude - ”

Yes, please go, every fiber of his being wanted to say. But he overruled the feeling. He’d been masking himself in shadows and isolation for years; maybe if he wanted to be a different man, a different Batman, he had to once again return to the land of the living. 

“You’ve still got some decorating to do, right?” He said. A small smile escaped him. Teasing people wasn’t really in his repertoire, but he gave it a try: “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

She rewarded him with a smile of her own. “Thanks.” 

For awhile, they worked in silence. One by one, Bruce would take out the ornaments – paper stars he’d decorated in kindergarten, a wedding bell given to his parents on their fifth wedding anniversary, a Dick Tracy ornament given to him by Lucious Fox after watching the movie in the guy’s office every time Bruce would go to Wayne Tower after school…

Each one was a fresh papercut. A memory of someone or something he’d lost or forgotten. But at least he was feeling something besides rage. Something besides vengeance. 

At least he remembered how deeply he’d loved people before. Even if he’d lost them. 

Every few minutes, his focus shifted to the woman who’d accidentally brought a blizzard of change to his life. She hadn’t precipitated the change. He’d been looking for ways to make himself a better man outside of his suit ever since The Flood, and she’d just been there at the right time. 

Exactly the right time. Looking exactly right. Talking to him exactly right. Making him feel exactly right, even in her small, subtle ways.  

At that moment, she struggled on tiptoe to fill an ornament gap about halfway up the tree.

“Is everything okay over there?” Bruce asked.  

She cursed softly under her breath, half-laughing to herself as she did. “It’s my own stupid fault. I wasn’t thinking and already brought my ladder back to the car. I’ll just have to run out and get it again.”

An instant war sparked inside Bruce. His natural instinct to help kicked in, but the darker parts of him, the ones that wanted to remain stoic and remote, kicked into defensive action. Don’t offer to help, Bruce. She has the ladder. You can carry that for her if you want to – 

Bruce paid that voice inside him no heed. He’d decided that he was going to try acting like a normal person, rather than a bat vigilante who only occasionally donned a human suit and pretended to be one. This was another step in that process. 

“Would you like - ” He cleared his throat and lightly flexed his hands in an awkward suggestion of lifting her up. “Could I help you with that?”

Her eyes sparked, then shrugged. “Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

Smothering a smile – if only she knew how strong he was, what damage his hands currently cupping her waist could do, how easily he threw over fully grown men three times her size, she wouldn’t have said anything – he lifted her up. 

In his life of extrajudicial crime fighting, Bruce had endured many painful moments that stopped time. But he couldn’t remember any pleasant memory that managed to manipulate time for him. In his experience, torment lasted interminably; happiness was fleeting. 

All that to say – holding her in his arms might only have taken a moment in reality. To him, though, the world tilted into slow motion, and it occurred to him how little kind touch he’d had. How nice it felt to touch someone else without wanting to hurt them. How perfect she felt in his arms. 

When he finally returned her to the solid stability of the hardwood floor, the world snapped back into proper rhythm, but still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She’d brought light and warmth to the manor again. She was mesmerizing. 

So mesmerizing, in fact, that he hadn’t thought to release her. 

A flush traveled across her collarbone, but there was a teasing note to her voice when she said, “You can let me go now.”

Bruce stepped away like she’d electrocuted him. “Oh. Right.” Then, he added, mumbling: “God, I’m a cliché.”

“You’re not. What’s a cliché at Christmas, anyway? We call that tradition.”

This time, he braved a joke. “So…it’s your tradition to spend Christmas in some guy’s arms?”

She smirked. “Only if he’s lucky.”

IV. Warm in December

On a bitterly cold December night, the Batman apprehended a series of criminals robbing an apartment building of its presents. At the scene, he lingered as the detectives and police officers investigated the aftermath. 

One man, Romero, was bent over a series of spent bullet shells (the robbers had been well armed), when he looked over at the hulking figure looming nearby. 

“Bats, what do you do this time of year? Hibernate?”

“Clearly not,” he said, gesturing to the fact that he was very obviously not sleeping off the winter somewhere. 

Romero’s cocky bravado dripped from every word, taunting and pointed. “I mean, really. I’ve been thinking about it, and I just can’t picture you by the fire, wearing mittens and Santa hats on those ears of yours, Mrs. Batman waiting for you under the mistletoe…”

Something must have shifted in his expression - or maybe his fists had clenched -  because in an instant, Gordon was in between the man and the bat. 

“Cut it out, Romero.”

Romero protested, but Gordon snapped again. “Go back to GPDHQ. You’ve got paperwork.” 

With one long, sharp look at Batman, Romero complied with the order, grumbling something like can’t believe I’m working Christmas Eve, should have worked Thanksgiving under his breath. 

When he was gone, Gordon took over his cataloging duty. Batman again hovered. 

“That wasn’t necessary.” 

“No, it wasn’t. But consider that your Christmas gift. Romero’s got a smart mouth; it was time someone put him in his place.” 

Batman silently nodded his thanks. 

“He’s right, though,” the detective said. “Not natural for a man to be this way.”

Gordon didn’t have to explain what he meant by that. The Batman knew. It wasn’t natural for a man to be so alone. 

But maybe he wouldn’t be alone this year. Maybe he would try something different. 

V. Underneath the Mistletoe

Bruce didn’t sleep much that night. After stitching himself up, he usually passed out for at least an hour or two of rest before starting a new day. Instead, he found himself pacing the holly-lined hallways, taking in all the work she’d done to the manor, thinking about her and what he would do the next day when he saw her. 

It was a big risk, this plan. He’d ever done anything like it before. He probably shouldn’t. What a terrible idea. But what if it wasn’t? What if it turned out alright? What if letting someone else into his life wasn’t the end of the world, but the start of a new one? 

He wanted to inspire hope in Gotham now, not just fear. What if that started at home? What if he stopped being so afraid all of the time – of everything, of every one, of every feeling – and actually let hope grow where rot once had? 

He didn’t know the answer to those questions. He only knew that when he finally found her the next morning, putting the finishing touches on a gingerbread display in the front hall, he spluttered: 

“Do you have any plans for the holidays?”

If his sudden appearance and even more sudden question surprised her, she didn’t let it show. She was probably used to it by now, he figured. His strange behaviors, his unsocialized difficulty connecting. Where other people might have recoiled or flinched, she merely smiled as she dusted powdered sugar snow over a perfect 1/35 replica of Wayne Manor. “Black and white movies. A big glass of wine. A defrosted pumpkin pie and probably some Thai food.”

Bruce shuffled. The next question was the part he’d been dreading. He didn’t want to seem like some creepy guy fishing, but he needed to know before he asked…“Alone?”

“Yeah. Alone.” A flicker of pain crossed her face. Again, she didn’t offer, and he didn’t ask why. Her voice quiver gave her away, though. She may try to seem brave, but there was pain under the surface and excuses. “But it’s better, really. I mean, that way, I get to, you know, do what I want on Christmas. No one to tell me what to do or anything. I pick the menu, I pick the movies...My Christmas, My way.”

A twinge of melancholy echoed in those last words. Bruce might have shivered; he’d never seen her anything less than the chipper holiday angel before. But, he had a plan.  

“Well. If you change your mind…” he said, as casually as he could manage. “It’s just going to be me and Alfred here this Christmas. It might be nice to have company.” 

Their eyes met. She froze. 

“We could have Thai food,” he offered, suddenly unsure. Shit. Had he misread this situation? Was he imagining feelings there that didn’t exist? Had he fucked up his first attempt at trying to open up to someone else?

She took a step forward. His heart jumped into his throat. 

“Not exactly traditional Christmas fare, though, is it?” She asked. 

Translation: You don’t have to do that for me.

He took another step forward too, braver than he felt. “We could try something different this year.”

Translation: There’s nothing I’d rather do.

They were impossibly close now, lingering beneath one of the countless arched doorways that made up this creaky old manor. For a moment, he thought she might reach up and kiss him. 

Then, her eyes flickered upward. “You’d better watch out, Mr. Wayne.”

He followed her gaze. Ah.  “Mistletoe.”

“I didn’t put it there,” she said, taking a step back, clearly afraid to give him the wrong impression. 

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I know you didn’t.”

Because he had. He’d hung up the mistletoe last night. 

All the same, he took a polite step back. He might have hung the mistletoe as an excuse to kiss her – knowing his courage would probably fail him without it – but now, he knew better. She would kiss him. And when she did, he would be ready. 

VI. Although it’s been said many times, many ways…

Being at Bruce Wayne’s house, as Bruce Wayne’s guest, was a very weird experience. He was the most famous man in all of Gotham city. She was a professional decorator, barely making ends meet. Totally anonymous and random. If not for a chance elevator meeting a few weeks ago, their paths would never have crossed. 

But the circumstances around her invitation weren’t the only weird thing. Bruce himself was weird, too. 

A nice kind of weird. An unsocialized kind of weird. She’d noticed it that first day in the elevator and chalked it up to him being an awkward first impression. Not great with people he didn’t know. But the more time she’d spent with him, the more she realized he just didn’t know how to be around other people.

Must be isolating, she thought. To be so alone. No parents. No friends. No girlfriends either, if the papers were to be believed. Just his money and his house and, (she imagined as he was the head of a major corporation and a huge power player in politics) many, many enemies. 

It broke her heart. Because it seemed to her, through their days spent in this house together, that Bruce Wayne had a lot to offer people. He just didn’t know how. So, she gently peeled back his layers, finding more and more depths and complexities to him than she ever could have imagined. 

This was a crush. She knew that. But the guy had invited her over for Christmas dinner. Just the two of them and Alfred. That had to mean this wasn’t one-sided…

Right?

Or that’s what she thought, anyway, until she was ushered into the formal dining room and placed at one long end of the table while Bruce sat at the other end.

Formal, indeed. 

During the soup course, she cleared her throat and raised her voice. “I can’t thank you enough for having me.”

Bruce glanced up from over his bowl. “What?”

“I said I can’t thank you enough for having me,” she repeated. 

He answered her, but it was completely unintelligible. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” She asked. 

“I said –”

Oh, screw it. Picking up her napkin and her wine glass, she waltzed down to his end of the table and planted herself in the seat next to him. 

“This doesn’t seem like you, Bruce.”

“This is what people do, right? Besides, you decorated it so well in here. It would be a shame to waste the atmosphere.” 

Pushing away from the table, she headed straight for the swinging kitchen door. 

“Where are you going?” Bruce called. 

“Just give me ten minutes.”

And then, she was gone. After so many days here, she knew the manor like the back of her hand. She navigated the stairways with ease, and set about improving this celebration. What was Christmas? Closeness? Coziness? Whimsy? Wonder? 

She thought it was probably a combination of those things. But really, it was just one day where everyone could feel like they belonged. And she hadn’t belonged in that stuffy dining room.

Neither, she suspected, did Bruce Wayne. 

And so it was that, less than half an hour later, she was leading Bruce and Alfred into the house’s cozy basement breakfast nook, which she’d taken the liberty of redecorating with repurposed holiday decor from the rest of the house. This was better. A simple four-top table, cheesy plates retired from an old Christmas party, a mismatch of wine glasses and coffee mugs because she didn’t know her way around Bruce’s kitchen in the slightest. 

It wasn’t like any other Christmas she’d ever had before. But for the first time in a long time, crowded around that tiny table with a billionaire and his butler, she felt very much at home. 

When the night came to an end, Bruce walked her to out. So close his warmth radiated through his jacket. Far enough away that the slight air between them crackled with possibility. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said when they reached the grand entryway. It was a stupid farewell, but the first thing that came to her mind. Her body was too focused on the we’re going to say goodbye in a few minutes and he still hasn’t kissed me, is he going to kiss me, oh god do I still have garlic breath from that last course questions to think of anything cleverer. 

“I’m glad you came,” Bruce replied, opening the door and unleashing a blister of cold air into the manor. They lingered in the doorway together. “I know it’s not easy giving up your traditions.”

“Even if your traditions include brooding alone and not celebrating the holidays?”

He bent his head and ducked behind that shaggy curtain of hair he never seemed capable of managing. An admission of guilt. 

She shrugged. “I’ve been alone for a long time. I thought I’d try something different this year.”

“Glad you did?” Bruce asked. 

She was breathless. Anticipating. This was her moment. Her last chance. “Take a step closer and I’ll tell you.”

Bruce glanced upward at the doorway. A slight furrow developed between his thick eyebrows as he saw what hung between him and his guest.

“I didn’t put any mistletoe there,” he muttered. 

“I know. I did.”  

And with that, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him in for a kiss, oblivious to the snow falling all around them, or the hammering of Bruce’s heart as she unknowingly picked up the broken pieces and put them back together again.