ˢᵃᵘᵈᵃᵈᵉ

bruce wayne 𝔁 fem! reader
𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕜𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕪

❝ i can't see you in pain, knowing that i
could help you... but you won't let me. ❞

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. You assumed it was early moment from the way the eerie grey light filtered in through the dark, blackout curtains of Bruce's bedroom. He always did enjoy his sleep, often napping far into the morning and early in the afternoon. You always wondered why he needed so much sleep─ It's not like he didn't get enough at night.

Or so you thought.

You only realized something was wrong when he invited you to live in the manor with him about two months ago. You had been dating for a couple months prior, so you were ecstatic to hear the question tumble from his soft lips after a deliciously passionate session with him at the mansion.

At night, after either an exhausting twist of the sheets or a soft night full of gentle talks and touches, you would fall into a deep slumber, and wake up the next morning, smiling at the feeling of Bruce's warm body wrapped around you. 

However, as the nights became earlier and the talks lessened, you would feel the bed sink beneath you when you were in that place between sleep and being awake, groggily glancing over your shoulder to find the unmistakable shape of Bruce leaving you. 

For a while, you shrugged it off as him going to the bathroom or grabbing a glass of water, falling asleep again just as quickly as you had awoken, but recently, you found yourself waiting for him, only to feel him return hours later in the early morning.

He was gone all throughout twilight every night now, and your mind was swirling with thoughts. Was he cheating? Infidelity was disgusting, and you wouldn't stand being on either end of it. Maybe he was hiding something from you? Maybe he's having second thoughts about being with you... Or perhaps─

The door opened. 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, and you forced your eyes to only pry open the slightest amount to see Bruce. He was shirtless already, the skintight black top you assumed he had been wearing tossed in a drawer, tucking it deeply under his pressed collared business shirts. Next was a pair of black pants, which once again, he seemed to hide. 

Your other senses heightened as you fully closed your eyes again when he turned around. Bruce made his way towards the bed, sinking into the mattress with a groan that sounded pained. He dipped forward, dropping a soft kiss to your shoulder, and lastly one at your forehead, before he fully rested atop the bed. 

You cracked your eyelids again to find him facing away from you, the clear expanse of his back your view. That was when the tears gathered. 

Bruises. Such deep, purple-blue bruises stained his back as if he was a splattered tablecloth, victim of a careless person and their wine. They littered the smooth plain of skin, muscles taut as Bruce tried to fall asleep. He succeeded; a few minutes later you heard his gentle snores and labored breathing. 

Slowly, you sat up on the bed, checking the clock beside you. 5:03 a.m. You never woke up this early, but you were suddenly alight with melancholic energy as you sniffled softly, fingers raising to graze over Bruce's tattered skin. 

Your touch, although in his sleep, still seemed to calm him, the muscles of his back and shoulders relaxing greatly under your padded digits. You rested your palm against the curve of his shoulder, before pulling away and rising from the bed. 

You grabbed one of his discarded button ups, pulling it over your bare body and sat on the large armchair in the corner of the bedroom. You perched your knee up and tucked your other leg underneath the arch. 

Then, you waited. 

Bruce groaned, sleep gathering in his eyes as he raised his hands to rub it away. Immediately, a common instinct now, he reached out to your side of the body, frowning when he felt the bare, cold sheets instead of your supple skin. 

Looking over, he raised himself on the bed, searching for you before the soft clearing of a throat echoed. Glancing up, he found you, perched atop the armchair you both had picked out when you requested to get something as a couple for the manor, even if it was something as miniscule as a piece of furniture in your shared bedroom.

He smiled, and although it was gentle, it was confused. You were just... staring at him with an expression he never wanted to see on your beautiful face. Disappointment. 

"Good morning," you whispered, and he hated that your voice was croaky.

"Morning," Bruce returned, tilting his head slightly. "What's wrong?"

"You tell me." Your tone shifted; dry. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he repeated gently, sitting up straighter and hissing at the action.

"That's what's wrong," you spat out. "Why are you in pain? Why are there bruises on your goddamn back?"

Bruce quickly felt his back, sighing when he felt his skin instead of a sleepshirt. He was so exhausted from last night that he forgot to replace a top to sleep in. 

"It's not what you think-."

"I don't even know what to think, Bruce!" you interrupted in a shout, raising from the armchair. "I know damn well no girl has lips big enough to suck fucking blood cells from your back!"

"Y/N, let's just..." He sighed, fists clenching as he rested them against the mattress, shoulders hunching forward. "Let's just talk this through."

"I'm not talking this through, I am going to yell and scream and cry!" you retaliated. "Bruce, you have been lying to me for the past two months now. Possibly even longer. Every night, you disappear, and come back in worse shape. What the hell are you doing?"

"I haven't lied to you."

"Well, you sure as hell haven't told me anything, which is much worse!"

"Y/N..." You hated how he said your name with such shortness, as if he was the one hurting. Physically, yes, but your heart was burning.

"Bruce, you either tell me what's happening, or I'm done. Because I can't take this anymore. I can't see you in pain, knowing that I could help you... but you won't let me."

When he didn't respond, you felt it. That break. That shatter. The pain flooded your chest, and you almost grasped it with a heave. But you contained yourself. You didn't like showing emotion when someone was so obviously unphased.

Bruce's jaw was clenched, body taut and strained, unmoving. He didn't look at you when you stood up.

Not when you pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

Not when you whispered a tearful goodbye.

And not when you left the manor.

It had been two weeks since you left Bruce, and you were feeling like complete shit. You had gone into work for a few days before you had broken down, and your boss had forced you to take a week off of work to gather yourself and thoughts.

You didn't even know what to think. You thought Bruce trusted you. You trusted him, with every fiber in your being, and yet, he couldn't explain why he had lied and kept such knowledge away from you. 

You entered the apartment, holding a bouquet of flowers, a wine bottle, and a brown bag of groceries. Before you had met Bruce, you had gotten this apartment when you first started out in Gotham. It was on the dingier side of the city, closer to the Narrows then the upper side, however, it was aesthetically pleasing and a great price, so you had tossed caution to the wind.

Even after moving into the manor, you still kept the apartment under lease. You were getting a great salary, so it wasn't a concern of money, and if you ever needed to lend a place to a friend, they would have the whole apartment to themselves. 

It was early evening, and you placed the groceries, wine and flowers on the island in the kitchen. Switching the light on, you made work of hauling out the food, and placing the tulips into a vase. You sighed, resting your elbow on the countertop as you delicately tapped the petals. 

You missed him.

It pained you to even think it, but you did. You don't get over someone that quickly; not someone that you loved. Someone that you imagined forever with. 

Shrugging gently, as if to ease yourself out of the little funk, you started your evening with a blazing warm shower, rinsing off the grime of the day before venturing out back into the living room. 

All of your little lamps and lights were on, scattered around the apartment to bathe every corner in a golden light. Pouring yourself a glass of the wine, you sat down on the couch and plucked your laptop from the coffee table. You had a column that needed to be done two days ago but your boss had let up for a while before asking you to finish it. 

So, you set to work for the next few hours, the night waning deep into the extremely early morning. You palmed your eyes when you had read the time; 1:17am. This column was definitely not worth the eyebags. 

Standing up, you grabbed your glass, which had been empty for a while, placing it in the sink and sliding the half-empty wine bottle into one of the cupboards-

Thump!

A gasp escaped your lips as you spun around, your fingers latching onto the countertop behind you. A large, hulking figure that was clad in black stood at the balcony window, their eyes glazed over and dark as they pinned on your form from afar. 

... Batman. The Batman.

"Wh-... Wha-..?"

You stopped when you heard the hard, ragged breaths escaping the masked vigilante's lips, and the alert seeped from your body, replaced with slight worry for the unknown man. He looked in pain, grasping his left rib with his gloved hand, breathing labored.

"Help-...me."

It was croaky, and you had barely enough time before Batman was collapsing into a heap of black fabric on your living room floor.

You acted on instinct; vaulting forward and lifting the man (as hard as it was) to lean against the situated sofa. He groaned at the movement but kept silent as he watched you move towards the kitchen. 

You tried to find anything that could help heal the vigilante, but the only thing helpful was a bottle of vodka gathering dust in the back of the pantry and a basic medical kit comprised of some thick bandages and gauze. 

"This is all I have," you murmured when you lowered down next to him. 

The man only grunted at your weak words, leaning his head back as he awaited your treatment. Batman worked on removing the hard piece against his stomach which had been scratched through from a fight. You cringed at the sight of the blood and gash, however he was lucky, for it seemed shallow and not hospital-worthy.

The movies are good enough, you thought to yourself as you poured a handful of the strong vodka onto the exposed cut.

Batman hissed, cursing softly through his teeth as you made work of the medical kit. You stayed like that for about half an hour, the time bordering a quarter to 2am by the time you'd finished with the wound on his stomach. 

It was unnerving how silent he was during the exchange, simply watching you with those dark, hooded eyes as you tried to help him.

"There," you murmured, finally meeting his gaze. "That's the best I could do."

"Thank you," he huskily muttered.

"Oh, wait." Your eyes caught onto a marking by his chin. Without warning, you moved forward slightly, raising your hands to graze the gash. It was going to require stitching, a talent you didn't possess. "There's a cut; right there."

Batman followed your gesture, gloved hand rising to feel where your fingers were. The touch was electric, but you ignored it with a short breath, watching as he slightly pulled the mask from his face.

It had barely peeled from his face, revealing the lower half of his face for only a moment when he tried to evade your eyes. 

But, you saw enough.

You recognized those lips... the soft curve of them and the supple pink color...Always so smooth against your own.

Your breathing hitched, your brows furrowing even deeper than you thought fathomable. You lifted your arm, fingers moving on their own accord to graze over the skin of Batman's exposed lower face.

The vigilante flinched at your touch, gaze snapping to your own, flinching at the sight of tears.

"... Bruce?"

Bruce. Your Bruce. He was the Batman. The masked vigilante that was protecting Gotham City. 

All was silent and frozen, and you could practically hear the mantra in his head; maybe if I don't move, she'll somehow forget.

However, he knew the look on your face, and although you were tearing up, eyes wide with caution and wonder, he could tell you weren't going to let up.

So, Bruce Wayne revealed himself for the first time. To the woman he loved.

The mask was lifted from his head, revealing the handsome face you had grown to admire and love. But he looked disappointed; in himself, and in the fact that he had worried you so much to a point of tears.

"I know I should have told you," Bruce started in a whisper. "But I couldn't. I... I think some part of me didn't want you to see how broken I really was."

"You're not-." Your voice cracked with the onslaught of emotion, head dipping slightly. "You are not broken, Bruce. You're good. You're good, and you're honorable."

Bruce watched you for a moment before he lifted his gloved hand to cradle your cheek. His hold was warm and comforting, and it was so familiar that it had you sighing softly, a watery smile painting your lips.

"I missed you," he confessed. "I'm a weak, weak man for letting you go."

You huffed out a laugh, allowing Bruce to wipe away the tears from your cheeks that had slipped. You were beautiful in the light, but that was nothing new. 

"I still love you."

Bruce huffed softly, nose flaring as he ducked his head, and you immediately knelt forward, pressing soft kisses to the crown of his hair.

"I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you," he muttered, looking back up again. 

"Don't tell me what you do and don't deserve," you whispered. "I love you, and that's enough. You're enough. For me."

Suddenly, you were pressed to Bruce's body, his arms tight around your back as he breathed in your scent. Too long did he go without you. 

"I'm never letting you go again."

His one promise. His vow to you. His love.