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Bruce fidgets with the collar of his shirt for the millionth time. It feels strange to be without the weight of his armored suit. His reflection glares back at him from his bathroom mirror, almost unrecognizable in the crisp black suit. The expensive fabric makes his skin crawl. The urge to back out at the last minute is almost too much to resist but he can’t. His last name is plastered all over the charity gala for Gotham General Hospital. People are expecting him. You are expecting him.
Easing out of his reclusive habits isn’t easy, even if it is for the best. Bruce knows he can do more for Gotham beyond his, uh, nighttime activities but that means he has to show face and socialize - things he isn’t exactly good at. The trashy gossip magazines and newspapers tore into his life even when they couldn’t get their cameras on him, but now his face is splashed across the front pages along with his name. Every public appearance is spun into some elaborate plot, strung along and connected to whatever other gossip has their attention that week. As much as he hates it, Bruce is used to it. The attention is an annoying itch he can’t quite relieve, one he’s grown almost numb to.
That itch flared back to the forefront of his mind the moment you became ensnared in the attention. The photos that came out a few weeks ago were innocent enough; just you walking up the steps of the tower, followed by a shot of Bruce standing in his doorway as he welcomed you inside. It didn’t matter how entirely boring those photos were. Speculation flew. They picked apart the way he smiled at you, how he stepped aside and ushered you in eagerly. Soon, everyone was wondering if the terminally awkward Bruce Wayne somehow managed to get himself a girlfriend.
Beating himself up for it is second nature. Of course, you assured him over and over that it wasn’t a big deal and you figured it would happen eventually. Even though he did as well, he cursed himself for not being more careful. You let him show you how sorry he is in the worship of your body, begging for forgiveness through every orgasm that leaves you trembling in his sheets. An unnecessary but appreciated display of devotion. You held him close afterward and he found relief in the soft promises your touch holds. Bruce finally divulged how exhausting it is to hide away the things he cares about the most, words of vulnerability whispered against your chest in the darkness of his room.
“You don’t have to let them control the entire narrative around your name.” You had murmured, your fingers carding through his hair soothingly. “I can’t pretend I know what it’s like and I’m sure they won’t stop no matter what… but I think those assholes are going to keep trying to twist every hint about your life into something a thousand times worse than what’s really happening. All you can do is start with the truth and go from there, I guess.”
The truth being that Bruce Wayne is obviously enamored by you. He can’t deny the instinct to curl inward, away from the comfort your love brings him. That innate, all-too-human urge for affection wars with the fear and isolation he has become so used to, but you aren’t exactly the type to be scared off by his emotional turmoil. You call him out on his bullshit and ease him into a new perspective, constantly keeping him on his toes in a way he has come to appreciate.
A weight is lifted from his chest when you happily agree to accompany him to the gala, even though you were going to attend long before his invitation. Bruce was already convinced he wouldn't last more than thirty minutes but with you by his side, he’s positive he can manage for at least a full hour. He’s anxious to get this over with, to be able to take you back to the Tower and lose himself in you.
Regret drops like a stone in his stomach the moment he hands the keys to his Stingray to the valet driver. Whispers of his name grate against his ears the moment he steps inside. His shoulders curl, head weighed down under the heavy gazes his presence is already attracting. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t be here. The Wayne Foundation Charity Gala is emblazoned in gold script across the welcome sign. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. This is too much, too soon. He can’t handle this. Bruce takes a half step back, almost wild-eyed as he searches for the closest exit that won’t draw attention.
Instead of an exit, he finds you.
You’re breathtaking. The pale pink dress he sent for you looks just as amazing as he imagined. Bruce spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to pick out something for you, an offering of his appreciation sent to your door without so much as a warning. Of course, you called to teasingly question him when a mysterious dress bag appeared hanging from the back of your closet door, but he’s glad he did it. You look beautiful. The bright sound of your laughter filters through the crowd as you clutch onto a dark-haired man’s arm, the both of you laughing at some joke he didn’t quite catch.
The abrasiveness of the room eases just a bit as you look up, almost as if you can feel his presence in the room, and the smile you give him is dazzling. You say something to the man you’ve been speaking with before you step away from him and the sight of you cutting through the crowd finally kicks him into movement. There’s no hesitation as you loop your arms around his shoulders and pull him into a tight hug the moment he's within reach.
“It’s so good to see you.” You sigh as you step back, your gaze gliding up and down his body with an appreciative look that makes him feel hot all over. Your fingertips graze the side of his neck as you fix his askew collar. “Oh, you look so handsome.”
The compliment earns you a shy smile. “You… you look beautiful.”
“Oh, this old thing?” You chuckle and brush your hand down the front of the dress, sneaking a sly smile at him when he scoffs lightly. “Kidding. I love it. I really can’t thank you enough.”
“Having you here is all the thanks I need,” Bruce admits, his voice even lower than usual. The curious stares have only multiplied and he doesn’t want them overhearing, ever protective of this little intimacy he shares with you. The space between you isn’t lost on him. It confounds him for a brief moment - he’s so used to your effortless touch, the constant closeness that he revels in - but it doesn’t take him long to realize your intent. You’re protecting him, waiting for him to set the precedent of what he’s comfortable showing the world.
It never fails to take his breath away. You handle him with such consideration, with so much love. He didn’t realize how much of that simple companionship he was missing out on until you swept into his life and stirred everything up. Despite the eyes on him, Bruce presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and offers you his arm in wordless permission.
You take it with a smile. “Would you like me to introduce you to Poe?”
Leave it to you to make it all seem so effortless. You introduce him to the man you were speaking with before, a fellow doctor you work with often in the emergency room, and it’s obvious how close the two of you are. Teases fly back and forth; you tell Bruce to ignore Poe’s arrogance, that it’s a side effect of being a bigshot trauma surgeon, and Poe jokingly warns Bruce not to be tricked by your sweet disposition. He gets to hear the story of the first time you worked together, how you nearly bit Poe’s head off for overstepping with one of your patients.
For the first time, Bruce doesn’t feel entirely choked by his awkwardness. It’s still there, of course. His tongue still feels thick in his mouth and he doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning. How could he, when he’s got you there to anchor him to reality? It’s uncomfortable and stifling but it isn’t as unbearable as he expected it to be. Poe is easy enough to be around and he seems to understand Bruce’s discomfort. It’s nice to not have that held against him.
Watching you is mesmerizing. You’re so animated as you speak that you draw a few more people to your little group, people who must have recognized your voice and gravitated closer just like he did. You introduce them to him and they don’t seem to be too thrown off by his presence. Even with the addition of new people, you don’t stray from his side. In fact, the only time you let go of him was to tuck your hair behind your ear and you laced your fingers with his right away. It would be a lie to say Bruce isn’t amazed that you’re willing to be seen with him, let alone so overtly affectionate.
The insecurity of it all hits him in his chest. You feel so otherworldly next to him, somehow unattainable despite the way you lean into his side. He knows. He knows for a fact that what you have with each other is real. He knows from the way you look at him in those first groggy moments after waking, the soft smile that graces your features as you draw him close for a few more moments of peace. He knows in the way you melt into his embrace after any amount of time spent apart. He knows from your gentle teasing and your bright life when he teases you right back.
And even though he knows, he can’t help but feel unworthy.
“Honey, it’s getting pretty stuffy in here.” Your soft voice breaks him from the turmoil of his thoughts. “Will you come get some air with me?”
Relief washes over him as you give him that little encouraging smile he adores. Bruce lets you lead him away from everyone, through the milling crowd of people, and onto a small balcony he hadn’t noticed before. The chattering voices from inside become muted as you close the door and he feels like he can breathe freely. Cool night air curls around him. It’s relaxing, especially when you press close to him.
“How are you holding up?” You ask quietly.
“I’m… okay, I think.” Bruce fidgets with his sleeve as the tension slowly eases.
“You just tell me when you’re ready to leave and we can go, okay?” You remind him, an echo of the same words you told him the night before.
Bruce sighs, a soft exhale forced out by the emotion your words stir in his chest. He feels so seen with you, so entirely understood. You have never shied away from his intensity, from the anger and exhaustion and fear that still permeate his life. He wants to tell you how much it means to him that you’re here with him but he’s never been good with words - so he just kisses you. Soft and sweet, Bruce cradles the hinge of your jaw and draws you close. He can taste the champagne on your lips and the vanilla of your chapstick.
Your fingers curl around the lapels of his suit jacket as you lean into his chest and it isn’t until he presses his hand to the small of your back that he realizes how cold your skin has become. Bruce pulls away just long enough to shrug off his jacket and tuck it over your shoulders. He envelops you in warmth just as you have done for him, keeping you close in his embrace to fight off the bite of the chilly breeze.
“Mm, actually…” You hum. “I think we should go now.”
“I… I don't want you to miss out on the fun just because of me.” Bruce says, even though he desperately wants to jump at the opportunity. “That isn't fair to you.”
“You know what I would much rather be doing than schmoozing with the same people I see at work every day? Going back to the tower and falling into bed with my ridiculously handsome boyfriend.” Heat blooms across his cheeks at the compliment. No matter how many times he hears you say such sweet things, it always leaves him dizzy with feelings he can’t quite name. “We could order from that Chinese food place on Cameron Street. Remember those egg rolls you love? C’mon, doesn’t that sound so much better?”
Bruce pauses, swallowing down his excitement to utter one last, “Are you sure?”
“I’m absolutely positive.” You step out of his space and Bruce immediately misses your warmth. Your fingers lace with his and tug him along. “Let’s go home, baby.”
For all his fame, Bruce is surprisingly good at melting into the background. He knows how to keep his head down and move just so as to avoid attracting attention. You, however, are far too excited to sneakily slip out. The way you pull him along draws quite a few curious gazes but to his surprise, Bruce doesn’t really care. How could he, when you look back at him with such a bright, genuine smile? You strike some chord in him that he hasn’t felt in… well, ever. Something hopeful and happy and free.
“Go, go, go!” You urge him the second you’re in the car - as if the two of you are on the run and not simply headed home together after a long day. Bruce throws the car into drive and the two of you make a clean getaway, the engine rumbling a low purr as you escape into the streets of Gotham.
The further he drives, the more relaxed he feels. Bruce opts to take the long way home, if only to have a few more moments of watching each passing streetlight illuminate your face. The silk of your dress is soft under his palm as he rests his hand on your thigh, his fingers tracing small circles in the fabric absentmindedly. In spite of his struggle to keep his eyes on the road and not on you, he manages to get you both back to the tower in one piece.
These calm moments with you are something he’s come to cherish, something he thinks back on when the anger and fear try to dig their barbs into him once more. Every image of you is burned into his mind like it may be the last. You, barefoot as you walk up the stairs, your heels dangling from your fingers. You, gazing over your shoulder as you ask him to unzip your dress. You, so trusting in his touch as you lean back into his chest. You, you, you.
Bruce feels alive in your presence. Truly alive, not just existing. Seen. Loved.
Your nimble fingers undo the buttons of his dress shirt and it soon joins your dress, crumpled together on his bedroom floor. He can’t help himself from being hypnotized by the sight of you. All that bare skin captures his attention, his eyes tracing every detail of the way you move so confidently in his space. You place his belt on top of his dresser before rooting around in his drawers to find those black sweatpants of his. His reverie is interrupted by those sweatpants nearly smacking him in the face as you toss them at him.
“Distracted?” You tease.
“Can you blame me?” He teases right back.
You just roll your eyes as you tug on yet another stolen shirt. The drawer he cleared out and filled with your clothes has gone relatively untouched, but he doesn’t mind. Both of you like it when you wear his clothes. He didn’t really understand what the appeal was for you at first.
“Your shirts smell like you. Makes me feel safe.” You had murmured one night on the verge of sleep, curled up against his chest. The words made him hold you a little bit tighter that night.
Now, it’s rare not to see you in one of his too-big shirts. The hem flutters around your thighs as climb onto the bed, arms full of takeout bags you just retrieved from downstairs.
“Alfred asked me to thank you for actually making an appearance tonight.” You say as you hand him his food. “Something about making investors happy, I don’t know. Either way, I’m glad you were there. I don’t think I would have shown up if you weren’t coming.”
“You seem like you handled just fine,” Bruce shrugs.
“Only because I knew this is where I would end up.” You toss him a pair of chopsticks and plant a quick kiss on his lips, and Bruce smiles sheepishly.
An easy silence falls over the room. He likes that. There’s never any need to fill their air with empty chatter. Simply existing in each other's presence is more than comfortable. It’s peaceful. Every now and then you reach out and steal a bite of his food or a kiss or just to touch him. Your fingers trace along the ridges of the tendons in his hand, across his knuckles, up each of his fingers. Mindless touches with no real end goal, touching just to feel him.
You fall asleep first, as usual. With a full belly and Bruce’s warmth pressed against your back, it would be hard not to. His exhales stir the wispy hairs at the back of your neck as he breathes in your scent, the smell of your shampoo and perfume and something so uniquely you. He presses a soft kiss against your neck and closes his eyes, finally content enough to let sleep take him.
- - - - -
The next day, the photos are everywhere. Splashed across the front page of the Gazette, all over the internet. You couldn’t help yourself from scrolling through Twitter, propped up on your elbows in Bruce’s bed as he sleeps soundly next to you. The tabloids are having a field day, as you expected, but what you can’t get enough of is the reaction from the everyday citizens of Gotham.
so how does it feel? to know bruce wayne landed a hot chick and you’re still single?
i leave this hellish website for two seconds and news breaks that gotham’s very own cryptid officially has a girlfriend. what the fuck.
why are y’all acting so surprised??? as if we haven’t been thirsting over these skrunkly ass men for months now. it was only a matter of time until he got snatched up lmao
You almost wake him up from how hard you’re laughing. It didn’t take them long to figure out who you are, to find all of your social media and storm you with endless notifications. You know you’ll have to do something about it at some point but for now, you just let yourself revel in the humor of it - though it is making your phone overheat. With a sigh, you turn off your notifications and roll onto your side, only to be greeted by the sight of Bruce blinking at you sleepily.
“Good morning, handsome.” You murmur lowly. It always takes him a few moments to really wake up. He isn’t much of a morning person, always glaring at the thin strips of sunlight that peek through the gaps in the curtains as if they’ve personally slighted him. He just grunts, unabashed in his staring. There’s something… different in the way he looks at you, though. “What?”
Bruce’s mouth opens and closes, trying to form words he can’t quite spit out. “I - I just… you know, right?”
Your heart stutters in your chest. You do. You know. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. Bruce shows you in every moment you’re together. He shows you in his kisses, in the way he looks at you after a long day, in the way he’s carved out a special place for you in his life. Bruce has shown you a million different ways just how much he loves you.
You kiss him softly. “I do. I know, Bruce.”