Arty

But right now the tears are dry on your cheeks, your thoughts have leveled out some but you were still indecisive. You start to turn your mind back, trying to recall if there was any proof of Dick’s cheating or if it was just your abandonment issues flaring up again.

Your relationship with Dick wasn’t perfect, but it was damn near close. You two had disagreements or communication issues that would be resolved in an evening. The worst fight you had was when Dick flaked on meeting your parents when they were in town. It wasn’t a big deal, just a light breakfast at a cafe or a lunch downtown sometime during the week they were visiting; something casual to introduce your family to the man you loved.

And he flaked all week. Each excuse was different to the point you weren’t sure why he bothered rescheduling if he was just going to not show up.

But that was then. Dick had made up for it in spades by insisting you both go see your family in your old hometown one weekend and it was amazing. Your parents loved him (as who wouldn’t) and you got to show him where you grew up so far away from the grimness of Bludhaven.

Dick would miss a few dates here and there, but you never thought about it fully. Until one night when Dick was sleeping over at your apartment and you woke up to him missing. You rarely woke up in the middle of the night while Dick was over (he made sure you had no excuse not to sleep soundly after he was finished with you), but during a sudden cold snap through the city you woke up freezing cold and alone.

At first you waited, curling the comforter around you as you waited for your darling heater to return. But the longer you waited, the more the chill got to you, and the more the chill got to you, the more awake you became. It wasn’t long before you sat up, worried, you pulled on Dick’s sweater from the floor and padded around your cold apartment looking for him.

You checked the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, and found no sign of him. You see that his phone is still connected to the charger by the bed but his shoes are missing from the front door. You try not to worry about it too much but in the end, you couldn’t return to sleep.

You heard the front door open sometime around four in the morning. You wait on top of your bed, waiting to see if your mind was playing tricks on you. But when you heard the jingle of keys hit the bowl by the door, you rushed to your feet.

You crashed into Dick’s warm body before he could even toe his second shoe off. His arms loop around you, his warmth seeping into the chill of your body from the cold and also from the lack of him. He mumbled softly with amusement as he petted your hair, “Well, hello to you too.”

As you pull Dick back towards your bedroom to return to sleep, you ask him where he went at such a late hour. He told you he had forgotten something at his apartment and didn’t want to wake you up over something so small. And you believed him, he was your Dick afterall.

Even though his apartment was only a few blocks up the street and he didn’t return with anything in his hand, you believed him. Because you loved him.

But then it kept happening.

For several nights, you would wake up to Dick missing and returning to your apartment hours later. Sometimes you would ask him where he went. He was always forgetting something at his apartment, always something small and different like his toothpaste or a change of underwear. Sometimes you would fake being asleep in your bed when he returned home. He would shower (in the dark as the lights would no doubt wake you up) then return to bed, curling an arm around your body as if he never left.

You wanted to press for more but you were more than aware about your own relationship issues. You had to trust that what Dick said was true even if your anxiety was fighting against you. You confided in your friends about it and they suggested a test.

Stay the night over at Dick’s apartment and see if he leaves in the middle of the night. If he does, it was all the evidence you would need that he was lying about where he was going for hours at a time.

And so you began to encourage the idea of spending the night at Dick’s apartment rather than yours. Your clever excuse was that you wanted to see Hayley more as your apartment didn’t allow pets. Which wasn’t a total lie. You loved Hayley to bits and loved taking her with you and Dick during dates to the park or a pet friendly restaurant.

Soon Dick’s apartment became a common location for late night movies and after-dinner sleepovers, rotating sporadically with your own apartment depending on where you two ended up and whose apartment was closer.

And while he still snuck out when he stayed at your apartment, Dick never snuck out of his. You always woke up in his arms with Hayley snugly curled in the gap between your legs. You would curl into his arms with a breath of relief, falling right back to sleep every time.

That was, until tonight.

When you woke up to Hayley whining at the door of the bedroom, gently pawing at the closed door. You sleepily sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you gently called out to her. She hurries over to you, tail wagging excitedly as you make your way out of the bed.

You notice Dick missing immediately but assume he was somewhere else in the apartment, accidently trapping Hayley inside the bedroom in his haste to close the door so the light from the living room didn’t disturb you.

You open the door, Hayley scampering out finally free from the bedroom and it takes you all of three seconds to realize the living room is dark. And empty.

And now here you sat, in the middle of Dick’s living room with two garbage bags full of belongings. Thinking about it only solidifies the obvious truth to you, Dick was lying to you. Whether or not he was cheating didn’t matter because he still lied and you weren’t going to make an excuse for him anymore.

“Baby?”

Your head snaps up. Dick is standing in his doorway, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and baggy joggers. He barely gives Hayley any attention when she runs up to him excitedly, licking at his halfheartedly extended palm as his eyes flick over you.

You don’t look injured, or sick. But you’ve been crying and you’re not meeting his eyes. Dick swallows. He’s seen this before. His eyes flick to the garbage bags before he offers a light hearted joke, “Doing some late night cleaning?”

You don’t reply, just close the bag in your hand into a tight knot. You stand up slowly, a tied up bag in each hand. You struggle for a moment, wanting to keep your voice neutral and even as you say, “Take me home…please.”

The silence that follows your simple request is heavy with unspoken accusations and bending under the pressure of—not rage—finality. This wasn’t the first time a civilian he was dating broke up with him due to his work as a vigilante (though none of them knew that was the reason why). He tried fighting against it before, trying to get them to see reason but it always ended in an angry shouting match with flying accusations and a slammed door. So he started to just accept the break ups when they happen, shrug them off like they don’t matter—like they don’t carve a piece of his heart out every time.

For a while, he stopped dating civilians as it would only end in heartbreak for the both of them. But then he met you, completely by chance. Dick wasn’t usually a romantic, but your chance encounter was practically right out of a rom-com.

Catching the eyes of an attractive stranger across a busy intersection, their hearts skipping a beat as if their souls knew something they didn’t. The light changes, the moment the two of you would pass each other going in opposite directions, probably never to see each other again, was fastly approaching.

And Dick’s arm shot out, he grabs you before you leave his sight, as he desperately asks to buy you a coffee.

It’s been total bliss since then. Sure there were bumps and bruises, but God were you worth it. Dick never wanted to come home to someone more than you, he never felt safer than when he was with you. He loves you. So much it’s irrational considering the timeframe. He was happy at whatever pace you wanted to go, letting you lead in everything in the relationship.

He’s been wanting you to move in since the third date (highly irrational and very insane of him, according to Jason), so he was more than excited when you brought up staying at his apartment more. He made sure his schedule was clear whenever you were over so he could appreciate seeing you in his apartment, making yourself at home.

He had decided to reveal his secret identity to you once you officially moved in, whenever you were ready to make that step. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to go the more fun or the more serious route when it came to telling you.

But now it looks like it won’t matter.

“I…” Dick struggled to speak, struggled to wrap his head around the reality he was seeing. A reality that only existed in his worst nightmares. He takes a step towards you, “Baby—”

“Dick,” he freezes as you take a step back, holding up your hand to stop him. Your tone carries a warning, though it wasn’t harsh—it still hurts. You don’t meet his eyes, “Please, just take me home.”

Dick can feel his heart racing, the bruises welting against his skin from patrol pulsing with dull pain in harmony. He shouldn’t have left. He should have ignored Batman’s call, should have told him to deal with the problem without him. He had tons of other wards, why’d it have to be him? And why did it have to be while you were here, waiting for him?

How long did you agonize and swirl in your thoughts before you started to pack everything? Or was it something you’ve been itching to do for a while now?

Dick takes a cautious step forward, “It’s not what you think—”

“How can it be anything else?” you accuse before you can catch it. You shake your head, you don’t want to fight or yell right now. You just want to keep yourself whole. Just for a little longer. “Just—take me home, please.”

“Can’t I explain myself first?” Dick argued. He steps in front of you when you try to walk around him, “Honey, please—”

“I’d rather not know, okay?” you snap back. You feel the tears start up again and you wipe at them before they can fall, “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know who it is or why or where—”

“Baby, it’s not like that,” Dick says as he holds your arms. His hands slide upwards, up over your shoulders until he finally cups your face in his warm palms. He forces your eyes upwards, his gentle eyes pleading as he softly repeats, “It’s not like that.”

You sniffle, eyes scrunching up as you want to believe him. But how could you? The tears slip as you dejectedly reply, “What else could it be?”

When Dick leans in, you think he’s about to kiss you as a final goodbye, maybe whisper an apology of admission. But instead he presses his lips to your forehead, soft and long, as if trying to reassure you. He lets out a long exhale when he finally moves away, hands lingering on you for as long as he could before he goes to pull off his sweatshirt.

At first you go to cover your eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time Dick used his body to distract you long enough to win a petty argument and you weren’t exactly in the mood to be messed with. But you hesitate when rather than see the color of his skin, you see black. You lower your hands slowly as you stare at Dick’s exposed upper body, fully covered in neck to wrist tight black-blue spandex that clung to every curve of his body.

Your eyes fixate on the symbol on his chest. Wide and blue, shaped vaguely in a V with cut outs to imply wings—you know that symbol.

Everyone in Bludhaven knows that symbol.

Dick swallows, your staring in awed silence wasn’t exactly reassuring. He drops his sweatshirt to the wayside as he steps back in, his hands gently reaching for yours. You let go of the bags almost instinctively, letting them drop with a plop as your eyes continue to take in the electric blue of Nightwing’s insignia on his chest. Even as Dick’s hands intertwine with yours, you remain transfixed. Dick rubs his thumb up against your index finger in soothing strokes, his eyes never leaving your face, “I wanted to wait until you moved in to tell you.”

Your eyes shoot up to his face, eyes wide in surprise, “Moved in?” You feel your heart start to race, your hands tightening their hold on Dick’s, “You wanted me to move in?”

Dick lets out an airy laugh as he smiles with a tilt of his head, “Of course I do.” He tugs you forward, releasing your hands so they could rest on his chest as his hands came to rest on your hips. His eyes look down at your lips, “Since the third date, actually.”

Your heart thumps, “Really?”

Dick nods, his gaze transfixed on your face. He leans in to kiss you this time, and you melt so easily. It’s brief, a chaste little thing only meant to quell Dick’s urge for now. Even so, Dick pulls back reluctantly, his hand coming up to hold your face. His thumb gently rubs against the warm apple of your cheek and he says, “Would you like to sit down for a bit? I would like to tell you something.”

You find yourself nodding, eyes half lidded, “Yeah, anything.”

Dick kisses you again, unable to help himself. He was okay to do whatever you want to so he could keep you right here in front of him. He would have waited until you were both gray if you wanted. But after what happened tonight, you’ll have to forgive him when in two weeks time he gets down on one knee and asks you to marry him.

Jason Todd (wc: 2.6k):

Despite how Jason was with other people, he rarely ever fought with you. You were someone he chose, who he respected, who he loved. The most you two would do is bicker over small things or discuss (very passionately) about miscommunication and reassurances. But neither of you would ever label moments like that as “fights”, no matter how heated they were in the moment.

But this.

This was a fight.

“I can’t believe you’re defending him right now!” you shout mid-pace in Jason’s living room as said man was sitting on the couch, trying not to blow more of a fuse than he already has.

“I’m just saying,” Jason started, trying to remember to be calm about this despite how stubborn you were at the moment, “his intention was to–”

“I don’t give a fuck about his stupid intention, Jason! He fucking groped me,” you spat back, stopping to turn towards him.

“Putting a hand on your waist is not groping!”

“Oh sorry, were you the one that was touched? I didn’t think so!”

Jason ran a hand down his face, his eyes glaring off to the side in annoyance. Not at you so much as himself and his big fat mouth. The topic of this fight was an incident at a bar a few nights ago. Jason knew that you were out with friends that night but didn’t know where. So when his latest mission as Red Hood came to a head in a ten versus one above some dive bar in Crime Alley with shitty infrastructure, he was more than a little shocked that when the floor suddenly gave way and he ended up falling in the middle of a game of pool, that you were there. Literally feet away from him, slightly dusted in sawdust or asbestos or whatever was used as insulation, clutching a pool stick close to your chest in surprise in the middle of the quietest bar Jason had ever been in.

Immediately more concerned about you than himself, Jason ignores the pain in his back to flip over and address you with urgency, “Are you hurt?”

It’s only when his voice comes out modulated and he sees the surprised look in your eyes as you frantically shake your head that Jason remembers, he’s Red Hood right now. Even so, that fact didn’t stop him from launching his body to cover yours the second the smugglers he was fighting opened fire down at him below. He rolls the both of you under the pool table, screams and breaking glasses echoing all around you as the other bar guests frantically run for the exit. All Jason was thinking at that moment was how to get you out of there as safely as possible, his mind flicking through options and ideas in his head like a flipbook, meanwhile you were trying not to pass out from sheer fear and panic.

Because on the one hand, the sexy Red Hood grabbed you of all people to save and hide under a low pool table with and he wasn’t shy about personal space in the slightest. On the other hand, there were fucking bullets ricocheting everywhere. Not to mention you were pretty sure your boyfriend was never going to let you go out on your own ever again.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You more felt Red Hood’s words than heard them, his chest rumbling and brushing against yours with each word due to the close confines. His elbows rested on either side of your head, the milky white eyes of his helmet staring blankly down at you. You couldn’t see the frantic searching of Jason’s irises as they looked over your face, searching for scratches, blood, bruises, anything.

You felt your heart start to pound when Red Hood leaned closer towards you, Jason leaning down to inspect a swipe of something dark against your cheek that he hoped wasn’t blood. You quickly place your hands on Red Hood’s torso right under his pecs (the only place you could reach since your arms were pinned under his hunk of a body, not because you wanted to) and turned your head to the side as you quickly, and quietly, spat out, “I have a boyfriend!”

Jason paused, the cute embarrassed expression on your face making him smile. He wasn’t obtuse, he knew Red Hood was considered a “sex god” by many civilians in and out of Gotham and from the few conversations you’ve had with your friends that he’s overheard, you thought so too. But the way you were rejecting Red Hood because you were dating him made his stomach twist up in knots. He couldn’t help the warm chuckle bubbling out of his throat.

Unfortunately for Jason, that warm chuckle sounded more condescending through the modulator to your untrained ears. And even though the words Red Hood said seemed harmless to Jason, they set off little red alarms in the back of your mind, “I think that’s the least of your concerns right now, sweets.”

The whole smuggler situation was resolved within twenty minutes, Nightwing was called in along with Spoiler to assist. Even though Jason was sure he could handle them on his own, he didn’t want to risk any harm to you and remained under the pool table as Nightwing and Spoiler took out the smugglers. Once the coast was clear, Red Hood offered you a hand to help you stand which you rejected. You could still feel the ghost of his hand that was on your side while you two waited out the skirmish. His hand rubbing up and down against your side in comforting strokes. Jason thought he was soothing you considering you were trembling under him and you responded well when he did it during horror movie marathons. But that was when he was Jason. Right now he was Red Hood and it was very uncomfortable for you. Not to mention conflicting.

The patterns felt too familiar, too comforting from a total stranger that it made your body react positively even though you knew the person touching you at that moment wasn’t your boyfriend. You felt guilt starting to swirl. Of course you thought Red Hood was hot, who didn’t?! But you were committed to a relationship with the sweetest, most romantic man you’ve ever met and you’d be damned if some handsy hero wanted to get fresh with you just because he saved your skin.

Even though you rejected his hand, Red Hood still put his hand over the edge of the pool table, something Jason usually did when you would crawl under the table to grab something you dropped. The action that usually invokes fluttering butterflies, now felt tainted when it was done by another man. You just wanted to get home and sleep, then rant about Red Hood’s handsy-ness to your boyfriend next you see him. You were all cleared to leave by Spoiler (no injuries outside of a rogue thin scrape from when a vigilante fell in the middle of your pool table) so you turned to start the walk home to your apartment.

Only to feel your feet lift off the ground when a strong arm wraps itself around your waist to drag you backwards into a hard warm chest, “And where do you think you’re going?”

That was the final straw for you. You hadn’t had to get aggressive with an unwanted man since usually Jason was intimidating enough to keep people back, so you were probably way harsher than you should have been. Then again, you were in the middle of a shoot out in your favorite bar just moments ago so maybe your violent shove was more than a little warranted.

You spun around, finger jabbed out towards, but no where near touching, Red Hood’s chest as you spat out, “Keep your fucking hands off me.”

Jason was stunned silent at the expression on your face. You never looked at him with such disgust and rage before. You spun around to start walking but Jason called after you, “Why are you being such a bitch?”

Okay, maybe calling you a bitch was a little harsh and Jason immediately regretted it. Even if you weren’t his romantic partner, he shouldn’t be calling any civilian a bitch after the night they just had. So you had every right to stop and spit back something just as harsh, “Why do you feel so entitled to fucking touching me? Oh, what, because you saved me from the mess you caused I should get on my knees and suck your fucking dick?!”

Jason stiffened in surprise, grateful for the helmet that hides his growing blush as it creeps up all over his face as his siblings snicker behind him. He bites back, “No! But you should at least be grateful!”

“For what? You doing your job?” you reply. You give an exaggerated bow, “Wow, thank you so much for saving me, Mr. Red Hood, sir.” You scowl, “Happy now?”

You turn to walk off only for Jason to scoff, annoyed. Usually you were kinda hot when you cursed people out, but right now you were being fucking unreasonable for no reason. In the end, Jason tightened his jaw before beginning to follow you. Even if you were mad at him, (for some reason) he wanted to make sure you got home safe after all that.

You, however, disagreed.

“Don’t fucking follow me!” you shouted over your shoulder.

“What, am I not allowed to make sure you get home safe?” Jason shouted back, exacerbated.

“I don’t want you to know where I live, pervert!”

“Pervert?!”

“Okay, Hood, how about I walk them home?” Nightwing suggested.

“Not a fucking chance,” both you and Jason say at the same time, the one thing you agree on but for different reasons.

For Jason, he didn’t want Dick finding out about his relationship with you (though at this point it might as well be out of the bag). Meanwhile, for you–

“I can walk my own damn self home just fine,” you respond.

Jason conceded, throwing his hands up in the air, “Fine, whatever. Get lost already.”

You flip him off, turning again to finally begin the walk home. Jason watched your retreating figure, his eyes never leaving your back, “Spoiler.”

“Follow ‘em, got it,” Stephanie replied, immediately shooting off her hook to follow your walk home from the rooftops.

“Can I ask–”

“No,” Jason snapped, silencing Dick for now as he turned his attention back to the smugglers that started this whole mess.

Jason only eased up when Stephanie told him that you made it home, but he relaxed when you texted him the same thing. Though when you added that you had a rough night, Jason felt a little guilty for being such an asshole to you. He was set on apologizing to you next time he saw you.

It was only when he saw you a few days later that he was reminded, again, that he was Red Hood to you that night and not your beloved Jason Todd as you recount everything Red Hood did to you that made you uncomfortable. Things that Jason thought were helpful, were actually creepy when it wasn’t him saying or doing it. And Jason felt awful for coming off like that, happy to let you rant about your terrible night out and how touchy Red Hood was despite you telling him you had a boyfriend (it was him but again, you didn’t know that). But when you started to insinuate Red Hood’s actions were more insidious than they were (because again, Red Hood was your boyfriend even if you didn’t know it), Jason couldn’t stop himself from jumping to his own defense.

The spark that started this whole fight to begin with.

“I can’t believe you’re actually defending this guy!” you shout, incredulous. “Meanwhile, if anyone so much as stares longer than a second at me, they deserve an elbow to the throat!”

“Hey I’m still working on that!” Jason replied, defensive. “They’re fucking sleazeballs with a staring problem. He beats up bad guys. Not exactly the same cloth here, babe.”

“Oh so because he’s a hero, he gets a pass is that right?” you snidely remark. “So if Nightwing gets all handsy next time I should just let him?”

Jason jumps to his feet, “Did he fucking touch you? Because I swear to God–”

“No you fucking idiot,” you snap, “It was an example. But how come you’re more upset about fucking Nightwing who’s all the way over in fucking Bludhaven, than you are about the fucking guy who is out in our neighborhood?!”

“I–That’s different!”

“How?!” you insist, “How is it different, Jason?! They’re both men, both heroes that save people, what makes it okay for Red Hood to feel me up but not Nightwing?!”

“Because he’s me, dammit!”

Silence overtakes the apartment. Jason can’t even look at you, hand running through his hair as he curses himself for letting it slip so easily. But what other option did he have? Jason knew realistically that he had to tell you, but he was putting it off for as long as he could. Because once you knew about him, you’d know everything. What he did as the Hood, that he died, that he came back. He was scared that you’d never see him the same. And it didn’t help that your opinion of Red Hood was soured very recently by his own inability to keep his hands off of you.

“That’s not funny, Jason,” you finally say.

Jason sighed. Denial. At least you weren’t shouting any more. Though, he probably preferred that over your quieter tone that lacked any tell of your true thoughts. He still couldn’t look at you, crossing his arms to protect himself, “I’m not joking.”

Another moment of silence. Until you punched him square in the arm.

“Ow!” the reaction was automatic, your knuckle was sharper than Jason was expecting and seemed to be the worst part of the punch. Though he’s seen you scrap in a bar fight before, you could definitely punch harder than that, “What was that for?”

“You asshole, why didn’t you say anything?!” you hissed, no true anger in your words or stance. If anything you looked…embarrassed. “I said all that fucked up shit about you. You should have just told me it was you.”

Jason stared in disbelief, “You’re not…” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting your reaction to be. Anger? Betrayal? Disgust? “You’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad,” you said. “I just wish you gave me a signal or something, I don’t know.”

Jason snorted, “Yeah next time I need to reveal my secret identity to you I’ll pinch your left hand.”

You slap his arm for teasing you, making him laugh as you roll your eyes, “God whatever, asshole.”

Jason entered your space, something he was careful to not cross when you two were fighting but now was craving it when he saw your smile. He gently took your hands, weaving your fingers together casually, his eyes never straying from your face, “You sure you’re not mad?”

You snort with a smile, “Of course not, Jay. If anything I’m relieved.” You give your entwined hands a tug, urging him to take a step closer as you look up at him with a knowing smile, “Shoulda knew it was you the whole time anyway. Only you could make my heart go stupid when you get your hands on me.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason replied, releasing one of your hands to loop an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, “I make your heart go stupid, baby?”

“Mm hmm,” you hum, leaning into his warmth. His safety. “Only you, Jay.”

Jason leans down, his lips brush against yours. Soft like a rose petal. Romantic like a sonnet. Even as you try to urge him to kiss you more with a simple break in your lips, a silent invitation, he doesn’t go farther. Not yet. His lips touch yours slightly as he speaks.

“Only me and Red Hood, apparently.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Bruce Wayne (wc: 4.7k):

This conversation was a long time coming. In all honesty, it was way overdue. About three years overdue but who’s counting (the kids and Alfred, with the answer varying depending on who you ask). Bruce knew he liked you from the day he met you, he knew he loved you nine months into dating you, and he knew he wanted to be with you forever three years ago. The ring he bought for you was hidden in his home office in a drawer in his desk, easily found if you were to open it but you never did.

You respected his privacy too much to do that. Which was both a blessing and a curse. If you were just a little more curious, a little more invasive into his private life, maybe the secret that was preventing Bruce from popping the question for three whole years wouldn’t have been such an issue. But he never blamed you. Only himself was to blame for the fact that you refer to him as your boyfriend rather than your husband after five years of dating.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you with his secret, with his children’s secret. He knew that marrying the man who was Batman was a huge ask, bigger than being a parent to children who weren’t your own or the spouse to a man forever under a spotlight. You handled the other two with ease, even as your status as just a romantic partner. You treated his boys and girls with respect and guidance. Bruce has never seen Damian cave to an adult’s requests faster in his life. Even Jason was open to your words of advice even if he didn’t explicitly ask for any. You treated the press as nothing more than words on a page. Though in your own words, you never read gossip columns much anyway so why would you bother to now?

But those two things were softballs compared to the lead sphere that was Batman. But in a way, you were already living with Batman, you just didn’t know it. All the missed vacations or rain check dates, you never held it against him so long as he told you about them the second he knew he wasn’t able to commit anymore. You never questioned him, never asked for more than he was willing to give. It was a blessing really, to have a partner so independent and trusting, and Bruce was happy to keep it that way. Even if that ring were to never be used as he wouldn’t feel right asking for your hand without you knowing all of what you were getting into, he was content so long as you stayed by his side.

Then he worked with you, as Batman. And he fell harder for you than he ever had before. You worked as a forensic lead at Gotham PD’s crime lab, specialized in toxicology and chemistry as the best in your field. So it wasn’t surprising that Commissioner Gordan suggested you when Batman asked him to borrow a forensics expert for an on-going drug case. What Bruce should have done was keep you as far away from this case as possible as your life could be in danger because of it. But as he hit deadend after deadend, asking you for help became his only option.

At first, Batman would only meet you in your lab or workplace. But as the case further developed and culprits attacked your workplace trying to get to you, you had to be moved to the lab in the Batcave until the case was solved. You fit in like a missing puzzle piece they didn’t know they were missing, the Bats and Birds more than thrilled to have you in the cave alongside them even though you didn’t know it was them under the cowls and masks. You acted no differently than if you were with Bruce and his family out of uniform, your parenting instincts and humor making an appearance even in the most serious of circumstances.

It was as Batman was watching you in the lab, chatting with his wards as you worked and gently swatting Robin’s hand from touching the burette and ruining your titration, that he realized that you belong here. In the cave. With his wards. With him. With Batman. He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t feel like you two have gotten closer since your stay in the Batcave began. Sometimes he would even catch you looking at him, only for you to quickly turn away and return to your work having been caught.

Once the case was over, it was obvious everyone else felt the same.

“Father, when will (L/n) return to the cave?” Damian asked him.

“When we require their expertise.”

“Hey B, is (Y/n) in today? I have some blood I want them to run,” Dick said with a bagged sample.

“You can run the sample on your own without their assistance.”

“(Y/n) would have laughed,” Tim lamented when his joke fell flat.

“They would have, yes, you’re still going with Robin.”

Bruce could take a hint, but it didn’t mean he was going to act on it. More often than not he’d find himself in the Batcave sitting in front of the Batcomputer with the ring box in his hands, opening and closing the lid repeatedly. That was how Alfred found him one evening after patrol, alone with his thoughts and your ring. Alfred approached, standing next to his master before saying, “Everyone has gone to bed for the night, Master Bruce.”

“Right, thank you Alfred,” Bruce responded absentmindedly, the soft click of the ring box closing and opening filling the silence that followed.

Alfred watched silently for a few moments before he said, “They would say yes, you know.”

“To Bruce Wayne,” Bruce agreed, clicking the box closed one final time. He envelops the velvet box in his palm, “To Batman? I have my doubts.”

“You say it as if those are two completely different men.”

“To (Y/n) they are.”

“Only because you refuse to tell them otherwise.” Bruce gives his oldest friend an unamused look that would pass as a pout if he wasn’t a man in his early forties. Alfred continued with a reassuring smile, “Master Bruce, in the five years that I have had the privilege of knowing (Y/n) as your partner, they have never once made me doubt their affection towards you. I believe that warrants a little risk, don’t you?”

Bruce contemplates for a moment. His eyes cast over to the dark and empty lab. He feels his chest warm at the thought of you working in that lab, helping him on cases, giving him first aid, being the support he needed when his back hit a wall. Bruce stands, shoving the ring box into his belt with one hand and pulling his cowl over his face with the other, “I won’t be long Alfred.”

“So you say,” Alfred said with a knowing smile, watching Batman hurry out, “Give (Y/n) my regards and congratulations.”

By the time Batman arrived at your city apartment, you were getting ready for work. You hadn’t showered yet, enjoying the early hours by yourself before getting your day officially started. Still dressed in a silk pajama pair that Bruce bought you two birthdays ago, hair still unkempt, you started brewing your cup of coffee. Batman watched from your highrise balcony, the morning light not bright enough to reveal his silhouette too clearly. His hand rested over the pocket on his belt. Batman doesn’t get nervous. He’s fearless and certain. Bruce on the other hand…

He taps on the glass before he can stop himself, fighting back a smile when you jump in surprise. You walk over quickly, you unlock the door and pull it open slightly to stick your head out, “Batman? Is everything alright?”

No. Everything was not alright. You looked positively radiant right now and it made the stoic bat stiffen at the realization–he could get used to seeing you like this. You two barely spent the night together outside of weekends away or the rare vacation, both too busy with work to spend the night in each other’s bed. Seeing you in such a domestic lighting, looking up at him with concern–God you were perfect.

Bruce swallowed, “May I come in?”

You nod, further opening the door to let the dark knight effortlessly glide into your apartment. Bruce has visited a few times before but he looked around anyway as his memories took over. That couch was where you introduced Bruce to the Fast and Furious franchise, a guilty pleasure you claimed to never share with anyone else before him. The coffee table where you fanned out several magazines that had Bruce as the front cover–an embarrassing discovery he was left alone to find when you were still getting ready for your third date. You still claim they weren’t yours.

Bruce’s eyes rested on the pictures on the wall, arranged in a style like a prized feature wall in a gallery. That wall was bare when the two of you started dating. Now it was overflowing with photos of your relationship. Couple pictures at beaches or restaurants. Group photos for the rare family vacation you always insisted they try to take. Some were just you and his kids. You and Damian at a school art show, you and Cass backstage at her performance with a bouquet in her hands, you giving a pep talk to Stephanie and Tim before a debate competition, several candids of Dick, Duke, and Jason both with and without you. It was all so touching, the evidence you had of how much you loved Bruce and his family. The evidence of how important you were to them.

“Is it another case?”

Batman turns, watching as you pour your creamer into your mug and mix it in. You use the spoon to taste, a habit Bruce found entertaining as even after thirty years you still couldn’t get the ratio exactly how you like it on the first try. You add a little more and put the creamer away, you pick up your mug and walk around the counter, “Should I pack a bag?”

Batman blinks out of the fond haze you put over him and walks deeper into your apartment, “No, that isn’t necessary.” He stops in front of you, “I’m not here for a case.”

“Oh,” you reply, surprised, “To what do I owe the pleasure of Batman's company?”

 Your hand in marriage.

Batman waved away the thought, instead focusing on reciting the speech he had laid out in his head prior to his arrival on your balcony, “I have something to say to you.”

You nod, taking his serious tone in stride and placing your mug on the counter behind you to give him your full attention. Bruce takes a breath, “Your…assistance–expertise, on that drug case was instrumental to me–to us. And I wanted to thank you.”

You smile, “There’s no need to thank me, Bats. I was just doing my job.”

Bruce paused at the nickname. He’s heard you say it before, even giving you explicit permission when you panicked about being too friendly to the vigilante the first time you said it. You said it so casually, so effortlessly; with an inflection Bruce was familiar with when you spoke his own name. Batman cleared his throat, “Yes well, there was something else.” You waited patiently as Bruce gathered himself, his hand going to rest on his belt over your ring. “You see, during your stay in the cave I–we grew fond of your presence there. If anything, your absence now is more noticeable. Almost…” his eyes catch yours, you’re hanging onto every word, “irritating.”

“I’m sorry,” you can’t help mumbling, your heart speeding up against your better judgement. “I didn’t mean to cause such an upset.”

“Quite the contrary,” Batman disagreed. He steps closer, your back digs into the counter but you don’t dare to look away. Almost like you can’t help it. “If anything, you revealed something that I have been struggling with for quite some time. And now that I know what it feels like to have someone like you by my side, I am ready to risk everything for a chance to feel it again.”

Your eyes flick over his face. They flick down to his lips, betraying the tension you feel that you try to cover up with intense eye contact, “I don’t understand.”

But of course Batman noticed. He noticed everything. His hand comes around your neck, your breath stutters. His thumb brushes against your jaw, “I want to lay my heart bare to you, my love. Reveal all its scars, all its pain–I want you to be a part of my life, all of it.”

When your eyes betray you again, he leans in. Batman captures your lips softly in his, tenderly. He’s kissed you so many times but this time felt different–real. Like he was able to shred the masks he wore in front of you for so long, able to feel the fresh breeze your presence gave him directly onto his naked skin. You kiss back almost instantly, the slight gasp of surprise melts with the tension of your body. You meet his lips with pliant acceptance, as if giving in to temptation.

When he pulls away to continue at a different angle, he feels your hands on his chest and a small push as your head turns away from him and you mumble, “...I think you should go.”

He doesn’t understand. You were kissing him back–you accepted him. Didn’t you?

You refused to look at him as he wordlessly moved away. The way you were holding yourself, the quiver in your lips–you were upset. But why? What did he do wrong? What could he say to change everything back to the way it was? Or was that your last gift to him–to Bruce, your final kiss goodbye?

Batman turned away with a mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t move, even after he left your balcony and disappeared into the early morning sky you were frozen in place. Your fingers shake as they brush against your lips, the guilt and shame swirling into a nauseous spiral in your stomach. You weren’t a cheater. You never looked at another person outside of Bruce no matter the missed dates or neglected nights alone, you never strayed. And yet all it took was a stoic hero of the night to sway your steadfast heart. A few weeks on a case with him and five years went down the drain like it was nothing. How could you look Bruce in the eyes now? The kids? Alfred? You had kissed someone who wasn’t Bruce Wayne.

And you liked it.

There were many downsides to raising wards to be brilliant detectives. Any surprise parties were spoiled before the cake could be made. Outings to escape rooms were practically children’s riddle books. And any information intended to be hidden would be found out within the day. Bruce was experiencing that last downside when he finally left his room to try to pretend his heart wasn’t broken this morning to grab something to eat. Preferably something sweet. And cold. With cookie dough chunks in it.

Bruce didn’t even make it past opening the freezer before Damian sidelined him with a question, “What did they say, Father?”

Bruce played dumb, turning his head towards Damian and trying to look as pleasantly neutral as possible, “What did who say?”

“(L/n),” Damian elaborated. Bruce shut the freezer door, opting for a bottle of water instead. Damian watched his father as he walked past, “You did ask them for their hand in marriage, correct?”

“Where did you hear that?” Bruce deflected.

His youngest followed him out of the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back as they walked, “My sources must remain anonymous.” Meaning he was just taking a guess. “You are planning on asking, correct?”

The usual response of “Yes, of course, when the time is right” died in Bruce’s throat as he hesitated. Was there even a point in asking after you sent him away this morning? Could Bruce even assume that you two were dating anymore? Did you break up with him or did you just need time to process everything?

“Father?”

Shit. Bruce hesitated for too long, now Damian was suspicious. And if he was suspicious, he’d start prying. And Bruce really didn’t need his ten year old son to start digging around in his love life. Again. He also didn’t want Damian or any of his children to despise you for your choice. Bruce hoped that even if this was the end, that you’d still be a guiding light to them when he wasn’t able to be. Bruce turned to his youngest, catching Damian’s hard gaze that was softened at the edges with worry. He put a hand on Damian’s head, ruffling his hair, “Sorry, my thoughts got away from me there. Don’t worry about that, okay?”

And with that, Bruce walked away, leaving Damian to disobey his father’s words.

It took you over six hours to gather the courage to come to Wayne Manor and tell Bruce what happened this morning. At first, you were going to just sweep it under the rug and forget about it. But it didn’t sit right with you for long. You don’t think you could pretend that everything was fine to Bruce’s face and you certainly didn’t want him to find out on his own later. So you decided to just tell him, the sooner the better. You had already called off work that morning (there was no way you were going to work after that) and after hyping yourself up for hours, you managed to get yourself in front of the manor and knock on the door.

Now all you had to do was wait.

And then confess to the love of your life that you kissed another man.

On second thought maybe you should go home–

The door opened, revealing Duke as he poked his head out to check who it was before he opened it further upon realizing it was you, “Oh! (Y/n)! Hi!”

“Hi Duke,” you say with a smile, feeling a little more at ease that it wasn’t Alfred. Out of all the children Bruce took under his care, Duke was the one who made you the least nervous to be around when you were first introduced. So it was a blessing that he was the one who answered the door, “Is Bruce in?”

“Oh yeah, he’s somewhere around here,” Duke said as he held the door open for you to enter, “C’mon in, I’ll help you find him.”

It didn’t take long for the pair of you to find Bruce after hearing a slightly heated muffled conversation coming from one of the parlor rooms. Duke opened the door in the middle of the conversation.

“I beg of you to drop this,” Bruce said.

“So we can’t be worried about you?” Dick asked, arms crossed.

Only Bruce and Dick are standing, the rest of the family scattered around in chairs and couches as if watching a play. You think you spy popcorn in-between Tim and Stephanie.

“I’m not saying you can’t be worried, I’m just not ready to discuss it,” Bruce replied.

“Father is deflecting again.”

“Damian–”

“You asked me to help keep you accountable,” Damian argued. “You asked all of us to.”

“Yeah, B, what’s so bad that you can’t tell us?” Jason asked.

At that moment, Tim spotted you and he elbowed Stephanie, who saw you standing there too. She beamed, waving her hand excitedly, “Oh hey (Y/n)!”

At the mere mention of your name, Bruce stiffened. Immediately all the detectives in the room zeroed in on Bruce like hawks spotting a mouse in the grass. You were none the wiser, Bruce’s reaction too subtle for untrained eyes to spot. You begin to pick at your nails, “Hi Steph, um, if you all aren’t too busy, may I borrow Bruce for a moment?” You pause, “Alone?”

The eyes that flicked to you, flicked right back to focus on Bruce, waiting for a reaction, a tell. Bruce was stiff as a board. He knew his children were studying him, trying to gauge from his reaction (or lack thereof) what you wanted to speak to him about alone. Everyone knew that an alone talk could only mean something bad. Everyone could see you were nervous, hesitant even. This was quickly spelling out to be a bad conversation.

“If you’re busy–”

“No,” Bruce was quick to say. He turns towards you finally, his smile not reaching his eyes like it usually does and it forms a pit in your stomach. He knows. Bruce walks towards you, “No, it’s fine. It must be important for you to come all this way.”

He notices your fidgeting fingers, a habit from your youth that you still haven’t broken despite being well into your late thirties now. Bruce instinctively reaches out to gently pry your hands apart. Then he hesitates. He hesitates for a little too long before his hand drops. When he looks at you, he doesn’t catch your eyes, “Shall we go to my study?”

You can only nod, your stomach twisting in on itself. It only eases just a little when Bruce puts a warm hand on your back. Higher than usual as if you were a colleague rather than his romantic partner, and he leads you out of the parlor room into his study.

Bruce doesn’t say a word as you both enter, closing the door behind you and opting to stand behind his desk by his chair as you stand on the opposite side. The invisible wall of tension now having a physical form as pregnant silence filled the space. You start picking your fingers again.

“What was it you wanted to discuss?” Bruce asked, the silence eating away at him just as much as the sight of you so anxious in front of him.

Rather than jump into your own issues, you couldn’t help thinking about the conversation you walked in on and instead asked, “Are you alright?”

Bruce is surprised, he doesn’t bother trying to hide his surprise from you, “I…I suppose. Why?”

You shrug, “The children have very strong intuitions. If they are worried about you, you must have something troubling you.” You caution a small smile in his direction, “They get that from you, I believe.”

That makes Bruce give a small laugh, a matching smile rising on his face at your compliment, “I wouldn’t be so sure. Even I can be wrong sometimes.”

My intuition certainly failed when it came to you.

Bruce frowned at the bitter thought, pushing it away to instead press the conversation forward, “I’m fine, though, I assure you. So please, tell me what’s on your mind.”

You pause, trying to gather the right thing to say, the right way to explain without so much pretext he may not even want to know. When you finally stop picking your fingers and gather your resolve, Bruce tenses. His hand digs into the mahogany wood of the desk, bracing himself for the break up that would ruin him for the rest of his life.

You raise your head, shoulders back, and blurt out, “I kissed Batman.”

Bruce blinks, his hand relaxing immediately in surprise.

I would think so, I was there, he couldn’t help thinking. Confused, he echoed your statement back to you as if to make sure that was the confession you meant to say, “You…kissed Batman.”

You nod once, still steadfast in your declaration despite the pounding in your chest at your false bravado, “Yes. And I liked it.”

That got the tips of Bruce’s ears starting to turn red. He shouldn’t be so flustered but the way you said your confession so confidently…was really fucking cute. When he didn’t respond, you started to explain everything. You explained that Batman brought you on a case and you had to stay in his Batcave for your own safety. During those weeks, you couldn’t help being fond of the masked hero but you knew it couldn’t be anything more than fondness, after all you loved Bruce–still do! Your heart never swayed from him, you reassured many times as you explained how your heart swayed away from him. Bruce brought his hand towards his mouth, trying to cover the embarrassingly sickly sweet smile that was worming onto his face. You were still so serious but Bruce couldn’t help smiling at the absurdity.

You had no idea that Bruce was Batman. For the past six hours and twenty-seven minutes, Bruce was agonizing over losing you because he was Batman when this whole time you genuinely had no idea. In your defense, he wasn’t exactly explicit in his reveal (he wasn’t explicit at all, he’s so used to his children’s observation skills that he forgot you were normal) and all subtly was lost to you. Even the pet name that he calls you all the time wasn’t obvious enough for you.

It was midway through your apology that Bruce let out an airy laugh. You stop dead in your tracks, staring at Bruce with confusion and mild offense, “Are you laughing?”

“I–” he couldn’t stop the small chuckle as the situation was just too silly. He was sure if you were in on it, you’d be laughing too. But Bruce was a little bit of a menace so he wanted to hold on to the reveal as long as possible, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, my love.”

“Then what are you laughing at?” you ask, any guilt and shame you had was soon replaced by mild annoyance, “You think it’s funny that I kissed another man? That I cheated on you?”

Oh it was all too tempting to respond with something akin to, “you cheated on me with myself” but the look on your face was just too beautiful. The crossed arms, the slight furrow of your brows, the annoyance in your eyes that barely masked the guilt that still swarmed inside–now was the moment. It wouldn’t be the most romantic one, far from it. But it was the moment Bruce thought, yeah, this is it.

Bruce couldn’t help smiling as he reached for his desk drawer and pulled it open with a, “My love, there’s something I’d like to ask you–” His smile faltered. The ring was gone. It wasn’t in the drawer where it always was.

“Ask me what?”

Bruce’s head snapped up like a child caught in the cookie jar, your concern waning with each second as your patience grows thinner. His eyes flicked to the grandfather clock behind you. His belt!

“Just a moment, my love,” Bruce said as he hurried around to the clock, leaving you sputtering in confusion as he opened it and revealed the passageway hidden behind it. He rushed down the stairs, “I’ll be right back.”

“What?! Bruce!”

“Stay there!”

Of course you weren’t going to stay there, your boyfriend just revealed a secret passageway behind a grandfather clock that you’ve seen for five years without a hint of suspicion. Not to mention he was acting strangely. First with the laughter while you were confessing that you kissed Batman, and now he was frantically searching for something. He could really be confusing sometimes which made it hard not to be annoyed with him when he got like this, often hurrying away in the middle of a date after you mention something off-handedly.

As you walked down the smooth stone steps, your annoyance was replaced by awe. Who knew that such a large underground was hidden underneath the manor. You couldn’t help the thought about the risk to the house, would it fall in one day with all the children, Bruce, and Alfred still inside? The hypothetical safety concerns came to a screeching halt when you reached the bottom of the steps. Your eyes flick around quickly, taking every familiar thing and putting them together like a puzzle.

The Batmobile. The Batcomputer. The dinosaur. The many Batman suits. The giant penny. Bruce rifling through a Batman suit trying to get to his belt. The training grounds. The equipment laid out messily on a table. The lab.

You stare at the lab. The very very familiar lab. It all dawns on you very quickly.

“Oh my God.”

You turn to look at Bruce, he pauses under your gaze. Batman’s belt clutched in one hand, your eyes honing in on the velvet box in the other.

“Oh my God.”