Delulu princess

Bruce Wayne was a nepo baby- spoiled, arrogant and vain.

Someone once asked him if he thought he was the best thing since sliced bread and he replied, “Of course!”

Being his PA was a whirlwind of feeling under-appreciated and disrespected.

Bruce insisted that he needed a scene partner when he learned his lines because of some method acting bullshit and needing to ‘feel the scene’, so you had to spend hours reading the script to him. Heaven forbid you didn’t give him enough gusto otherwise he’d throw a hissy fit and make oddly personalised insults.

Another great role of your job was being forced to sit in his trailer with him while he was taking his midday naps and then "wake him up gently" because alarms "ruined his beauty sleep”. Which was more bullshit because it was a thirty minute nap and you could have sworn it takes him 10 of those minutes to fall asleep.

He also had this ridiculous bat-shaped squishy that he demanded you keep on you at all times, because it helps him destress. Unfortunately he’s stressed once every two hours and you have to stand by him awkwardly as he fucking throttles this poor bat to death- talk about beating a dead horse.

There was also the matter of him being disgustingly good looking.

You weren’t talking white boy of the month hot. You were talking fine wine, old Hollywood, the ex you were always going to try win back hot.

Annoyingly he was aware of it too.

The worst part of being Bruce Wayne’s PA by far was being stuck watching him with his personal trainer. Because that’s the time when he throws his ego in the trash and actually focuses.

When Bruce Wayne is at the gym it’s like a different section of his brain takes full control. His sapphire blue eyes narrow in concentration, he’s always pushing for more weights to be added to the bar so his muscles become even more toned and he never gives up even when he should.

At the end of the session he’s a sweaty, stinky mess, the shocking part is though is that he doesn’t give a shit. The man who once yelled at you for forgetting his comb doesn’t care what he looks like in that moment.

Those are the times when you find him most attractive. Thank fuck he hadn’t noticed.

Currently Bruce was halfway through a production on one of those one-man-army movies. A genre you did appreciate, but was getting marred by the thought of your dipshit boss being apart of.

The director was called Mongol- if anyone knew what his real name was, they weren’t willing to speak out. Put simply he was a dickhead who got a power rush every time he raised the megaphone to yell at his actors, stunt team and vfx experts.

Honestly the movie was trash; the production value sucked and the story was flawed as fuck. Bruce was the main guy who is in the mercenary business, when his bosses wife gets killed Bruce gets framed for it and is then on the run from a shit ton of bounty hunters. Now that did sound intriguing as a plot, but instead of trying to find the murderer and clear his name, Bruce’s character instead opts for ultra violence and edgy one liners. To make matters worse the reason why the audience knows Bruce’s character didn’t do it, is because he was having an affair with his bosses wife.

You could not make this shit up.

Today was a rainy day on set so you were currently holed up in Bruce’s trailer, being forced to listen to him rant about how weather shouldn’t stop acting and blah, blah, blah.

You’d only stopped listening properly because he was waffling, not at all because you’d rather listen to his deep voice that could make a mountain tremble.

Blinking yourself out of your stupor you inwardly scolded yourself for being foolish- Bruce Wayne was attractive on the outside and heinously ugly on the inside.

Even if his lips did look so soft and kissable…

“Huh.”

Ah shit, had he noticed you were gazing at his lips?

“Rain sounds like it’s letting up. Let’s get that suit on.”

Suit? Oh right his tailored three piece costume because that was definitely worth spending the tiny budget on.

Scrambling up at his expectant stare you pushed all the hangars back until you found the right clothing bag.

“Right, you stand there and hold it.” He instructed unzipping his jeans.

Why were you being forced to stare at the wall? Couldn’t you just put the clothes bag down and wait outside like a normal person? He had such a fucking ego.

Suddenly a shocking icy touch brushed your arm and you jumped halfway up to the sky, furiously you swivelled to yell at him for scaring you.

“What is wrong with you?” You lambasted, carefully keeping your eyes on his.

“I was going to ask for the suit.”

You stared at him for a couple seconds, taking in the slightly alarmed look in his eyes.

“Sorry I overreacted. You just scared me.” You apologised stiffly. At the same time you passed the suit bag behind you so he could take it.

The distant sound of rustling filled the air and you felt the urge to apologise again for being so rude- yes he was a massive dickhead to you, but that didn’t give you an excuse to act the same to him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s alright,” he chuckled as he pulled something up (most likely his trousers), “You can turn now.”

Following his instruction the look in his eyes made you pause. There was a shocking amount of emotion shining in the pools of his eyes, you didn’t want to believe that he was being vulnerable with you, but there was no other plausible excuse for the way he was staring at you or the silence that had filled the space between you two.

Bruce gulped, drawing your attention to his Adam’s apple, “I like your necklace by the way.”

“Oh?” You instinctively reached for the pendent, “Thank you.”

“Yeah it suits you.” He mumbled as his eyes gradually roved down your body from your face all the way to your legs and back up with such a tantalising attention that you shuddered. Without warning his eyes snapped back to yours and then he looked away with a barely visible blush.

What the fuck just happened?

The next day when you’d woken up your mind still hadn’t detached from the memory of Bruce checking you out so reverently, it was all you could think about and it made you wonder if he’d ever caught your gaze upon him too or if he’d been looking at when you weren’t aware.

The entire night had been filled with restless sleep and twisted sheets from tossing to and fro. Somehow you weren’t cranky, instead you were hyperaware and fidgety like you had ants in your pants.

No. There could be no more of this. Bruce Wayne should not occupy your thoughts in this manner, nor should you be questioning all your previous interactions with him and his intentions disguised within them.

This would be a simple investigation, just like the science ones you did back in school. Your independent variable would be the clothes you wore and your dependent variable Bruce’s reaction.

This was scary, but the good type of scary that crawled into your veins and made your blood pump twice as fast.

You’d already made some key observations about Bruce’s behaviour: his breaths were shorter, he couldn’t keep his eyes on anything but your legs and he was strangling poor little bat-squishy.

To think all of this just because you’d chosen to wear a skirt to work today. This wasn’t just any old skirt though- you’d worn plenty of them for your time working with Bruce so why was this one so different? Maybe it was because this is the skirt that perfectly complements your skin tone, the skirt that’s just short enough to show a tinge of skin and make a man’s imagination go wild, maybe this is the skirt that you could picture yourself getting fucked in.

It was lunchtime now, but for the entire day Bruce had been in a terse mood.

Despite the fact that you’d been fully immersed in your scientific findings it was that point in the day when you actually took your job seriously and read to Bruce the rest of his schedule for the afternoon.

“-that leaves you with enough time to call your mother before the next scene, with the set planning to wrap at 6pm.”

“Hrm.”

Instinctively you shot your eyes up to regard his demeanour- he only did the ‘Hrm’ sound when he was angry about something and deeply examining it until it unraveled itself to him. The manner in which he was sitting was also something of note, his finger thrummed against his cheek while his eyes narrowed with irritation and his jaw was clamped as tight as a drum.

Abruptly he stood up and snatched your clipboard haphazardly flinging it away.

Thud.

Your traitorous lungs stopped working as your fight or flight response was screaming about the danger coiled within Bruce Wayne.

Testing the waters Bruce brought up his hand to your cheek and grazed his thumb across it, once, then twice. His breaths were bordering on heavy- in the region of laboured.

Finally your voice crawled out of its hiding place in your throat, “What are you doing?"

“This.” He replied furiously, slinging his arm around your waist and smashing his lips against yours.

His kisses tasted like hellfire, only soothed by the feeling of him running his hands through your hair like it was his only way to live.

Your moans were muffled against the press of his lips against your own, which quickly turned into a yelp as he bit down sharply onto your lip.

Bruce couldn’t get enough as he continued to ravage your lips while dropping his hand to your leg to hitch it up, letting you hook it around his own. All the while his lips travelled to your neck while he tugged at your collar so he could begin his painting of black and purple bruises.

“You wore this fucking skirt for me didn’t you?” He grunted against your neck, letting his hands roughly squeeze the curves of your hips and then quickly run up and down your sides.

The words left your mouth breathlessly as though you’d already had sex, “Bruce you have two minutes until-“

Like a whip he pulled back so his glacial blue eyes met yours, “The skirt. I’m asking about the skirt.” The sound of your breaths thickened the air and you suddenly felt so disgusted for being this undone by a kiss, “The rest of the fuckers can wait for me, I’m the only one carrying this shit.”

The moment died from being poisoned with his vanity- fuck, you hated him, you hated him, you hated him!

Unable to take it anymore as he opened his mouth to speak again, you pulled him closer by his rumpled t-shirt, angrily attacking his mouth as though this wasn’t the best thing you’d ever experienced.

He shouldn’t have kissed you back but he did.

That was the essential catalyst for what would become the worst career choice of your entire life- well, behind the obvious.

“BRUCE WE’RE WAITING ON SET.”

The heavy door thudded like a dinosaurs steps.

Alarmed you both pulled back, because that was the furious tones of the director.

“I’m coming give me a minute!” Bruce yelled back as you suddenly pushed him away and rushed to go find a T-shirt that wasn’t creased. For once in his sorry life Bruce Wayne read the room and joined your efforts in fixing his appearance.

As Bruce riffled through his hair rapidly with his comb, you searched the clothing rack for his spare tshirt. Your motions became increasingly more frantic, at the sight of everything but what you needed. In the background you could hear Bruce wrestling with his shirt buttons.

Fucking hell where is it!

Finally your eyes struck gold and you whipped out the t-shirt like a deranged person, turning to face Bruce which was a mistake.

That personal trainer must have been getting him to do weights all day everyday, because you’d never seen someone so toned- not even on the internet! You could easily imagine tracing your fingers along each of his abs one by one…

“T-shirt sweetheart.” Your eyes rocketed back forward to his stupid, smug, smirking face as you threw the article of clothing at him.

Scrambling to pick up your clipboard your eyes roved over the list to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything.

You winced, “You did learn your lines right?”

“I’m not an amateur.” He snapped, “I don’t rely on you for everything.”

“Don’t I know it.” You muttered under your breath, casting your gaze over him to make sure he didn’t look as frazzled as you felt.

Instead he was right in front of you and running his hands through your hair. Keeping your jaw wired shut you patiently waited for him to finish cleaning you up.

“You go first.” Bruce’s command was wrapped in a soft cadence that made your heart flutter.

You obeyed and opened the trailer door. The strong wind cooled down your heated cheeks and ruined Bruce’s handy work all the while.

“What’s going on?” The director barked.

“He couldn’t find his shirt.” You replied dryly walking down the steps to let the diva out himself.

“Mongul you look stressed.” Bruce drawled with a charming smile.

“I have some new lines to run by you Wayne.”

You trailed behind the two men as they walked forward with their head bowed over the script. Which gave you time to go over all the things that had gone wrong in the past 10 minutes.

Fuck, he’d kissed you and you’d kissed back. The worst part being you really liked it, so much so you doubted anyone else could kiss you so well the next time.

Mongol’s words pulled you out of your moping, “We don’t want the affair to be just implied any more.”

Both you and Bruce drew back at the words, but you weren’t in either of their sight lines for them to notice.

“Relax Wayne, just some kissing we know what’s in your contract.”

Huh, maybe he had a no sex rule or it could just be that stuff like that had to be stated explicitly in the contract, otherwise it was a no go.

At least you wouldn’t have to watch the man you just kissed have sex with someone else- still now you had to watch him kiss someone else!

“Y/n go make me a coffee, extra sugar this time last time it tasted like death.” Bruce commanded like a lazy queen with a flick of his wrist and a roll of his eyes.

“Course Bruce.” You muttered, veering off the path and towards the snacks tent, thankfully it was empty for once so it was just a matter of making Bruce’s coffee.

The coffee drained into the cup, you couldn’t ignore that way your heart was beating out your chest nor the fact that your body temperature had practically raised to feverish levels.

Gradually the coffee was filtered leaving the liquid to slowly make its way into the cup.

Drip.

He’d kissed you. It must have been a mistake.

Drip.

You kissed him. Purely because of pity.

Drip.

He’d noticed your skirt.

Drip.

You’d wanted him to notice your skirt.

Drip.

…

What could you even think about this situation? It was embarrassing and horrific, like a badly cut fringe you were now stuck with for the next month.

Dumping more of the out of date sugar into his cup then normal, you swirled it around a couple of times before just giving up.

Centring yourself you took one deep breath before waking to the set, making sure not to spill Bruce’s coffee (which you once did so you had to rapidly rush back to the station and then give Bruce his coffee, lying about how apparently there was a massive queue) since you weren’t interested in running around for Bruce Wayne.

The sun was glaring bright as if it was trying to burn some sense into you or was just angry about having to spend another day in the sky illuminating other people lives. As you turned the corner to see the cameras already rolling you went to go stand with the rest of the personal assistants. The sight that slammed into your face made your grip on the cup tighten to the point that it was on the edge of bursting.

Bruce had the leading lady pinned up against the wall of her ‘fancy’ bedroom that was filled with extravagant trinkets and cream furniture. They were making out as though this was the last time they could before the World ended. It was Earth shatteringly passionate, with Bruce crowding her against the wall and kissing her with a brutal pace. There was definitely some tongue in there but the real kicker was the fact that the actress was rolling her hips against Bruce’s.

Before this job you’d never considered yourself to be unfair. Yet the way you felt as intense hatred towards the two actors made your blood boil with such vengeance you had to physically look away before your head exploded. Deep down you knew you were wrong, they were just acting, but it was still an infuriating sight.

The worst part about it all was that he was kissing her the way he’d been kissing you- so had there really been any spark at all or were you just getting played by him?

“CUT!” Mongol’s voice boomed, breaking the jealous spell over you and allowing you to breath freely for a split second before Bruce began to walk towards you.

“Coffee.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Fuck off.

Wordlessly you thrust the cup into him and stalked after him, simmering with all the patience of a lorry driver stuck behind a learner at a green light.

“Coffee’s good.” Bruce said after a few sips.

“Oh great.” You snapped and if you hadn’t had been looking forward so resolutely you might have noticed his mini-flinch.

A hush crowded in around you two as you walked back to Bruce’s trailer, the wind picked up brutally whipping your hair around your face and instantly turning Bruce’s coffee ice cold.

As soon as the trailer door was in sight you redoubled your efforts and walked faster to get back to somewhere where you’d have an excuse not to talk to him.

Why had that kiss not meant as much to him as it did to you? He hadn’t even mentioned it

Fate was not kind because as soon as you walked through the threshold the heat pricked at your skin as if it was begging to tear you apart and each second you saw the image of Bruce kissing his co-star clearer.

“Alright what’s wrong?” He finally lanced through the silence as he whirled on you, forcing you to take a step back and walk right into the fucking wall.

“Nothing.”

“You have a face like thunder sweetheart.” He remarked with that stupid smile.

”Well it’s not like you care! You’d kiss any girl if she looks at you right.” You lashed out, breath catching once you realised how much you’d given away. Suddenly his stormy sea blue eyes were searching yours with a precision that made you gulp. Bruce stalked towards you before placing his arms either side of your head, edging closer as if the answer was hiding away from him.

“Are you fucking jealous?” He seethed finally the intensity of his words making your eyes widen.

“No!” You exclaimed, but you could feel yourself flushing with shame.

“You cannot be serious!” He scoffed then lowered his head closer to yours, “It's my job to kiss her.” Bruce trailed his finger along your jaw and to your dismay you felt yourself tilting your head to follow his touch. “Well consider it payback for that pretty little skirt of yours.”

“What you don’t like the colour?” You innocently breathed out, eyes flicking to his lips.

Rough chuckles filled the tiny space.

“It’s not the colour I’m upset about sweetheart.”

“You keep calling me that.”

“What you don’t you like it?” He mocked, but two could play at the game as you nudged your leg between his own. Running it up and up his thigh until he finally placed his hands onto it.

Unexpectedly he lowered himself down as though he had all the time in the World.

Never in your life did you think you’d see Bruce Wayne on his knees.

Soft, little kisses darted up the expanse of your thigh causing a sensation you’d never felt before- suddenly you were hyper focused on every brush of his hair against your skin and the feeling of his breath against your hotter-

“Bruce!” Planting your hand in his inky black hair you yanked his head backwards.

He leaned back on his haunches and gave you that incredibly infuriating grin. “What I’m hungry?”

“Not here.” You whisper shouted, desire skyrocketing when he tilted his head to the side. “Fuck, I don’t have the leg strength to-“

“I’ll hold them.”

“What?!”

“Hold your skirt, I’ll hold your legs.”

“Bru-“

“Shhhh, I need to concentrate sweetheart.” You gulped but pulled your skirt up nonetheless, exposing your simple cotton panties (because who the fuck could stand wearing the lace ones all day and you hadn’t expected yourself to end up in this position!).

Thankfully Bruce wasted no time in pulling them down, but the tantalising grazing of his fingers against your thighs made you wish he had slowed down.

True to his words Bruce held your legs while he began to kiss your… maybe you should have really focused better in those sex ed classes, but whatever he was currently kissing felt great but also like it could be even greater.

“Hah!” It felt so wrong to be with him like this, but you let your head fall back onto the wall and shut your eyes. He was full on making out with what you could only assume was your clit making the tremor's in your core feel like full on Earthquakes.

Unable to help yourself your hips bucked searching for that unreachable release that people always talked about but never received. The rhythm repeated as you bit down on your lips desperately, in attempt to keep quiet.

Bruce pulled his mouth back, a string of saliva connecting him to the scene of his crime. “I’m going to need one of my hands sweetheart, just hook your leg around my shoulder.”

“Huh?” Before you could tell him that all you could currently hear was a high pitched sound, he moved your leg and then continued his planned assault on your clit.

Then you felt yourself being penetrated by his fingers making you roll your hips again and again to the beat he was setting out for you.

Maybe he was saying something because you could feel the vibrations of his smooth voice in all sorts of places you probably weren’t meant to.

The sensations kept rising until all you could feel was him. All you wanted was to finally get that high that he was teasing as you pulled his hair to guide him into exactly what you needed, but it appeared he was already in tune with your desires.

The pumping of his fingers and flicks of his tongue were so simple if you weren’t so delirious maybe you’d wonder about how they could bring you such pleasure.

Before long the sound of your moans became shorter and more frequent, a signal that meant a lot to Bruce as he doubled down on his efforts one last time before ecstasy hit.

Your shaky legs pretty much gave out, but something or perhaps someone was holding them up for you as you screamed their name.

It felt like you were suddenly placed in a World made up of 4 infinite walls of pearl white and nothing else. That high pitched ringing returned but it didn’t matter because you’d never felt such pleasure in your entire life…

Eventually you felt your heartbeat returning back to its resting rate and then opened your eyes to look down at Bruce. He was leaning back looking properly ruined, with his hair sticking up and hands fiddling in his lap- it was awfully endearing.

Still you had to be a bitch.

“You’re such a mess.” He ran a hand through his hair, but that wasn’t what you’d been referring to. “Oh I’m sorry can you not feel the massive fucking tent in your pants.” The words were meant to be harsh, but you were still a bit dizzy from your orgasm.

“A thank you would be nice. I’m pretty sure you just saw the stars.”

“Ugh fuck you Bruce.”

“Can’t think of a better time sweetheart.”

You paused for a moment before looking down at him properly, suddenly those tremors were back again, “Does it hurt that bad?”

“Don’t try to pretend that it’s charity and you feel bad.” He scowled.

“Well it would be rude if I made you jerk off wouldn’t it?”

“Depends on what you’re doing at the time.” He grinned and suddenly yanked your leg so you were in his lap, you wrapped your arm around his back to prevent yourself from toppling.

“You have a sofa why are we on the floor?” You seethed, but you were already leaning in.

“Close that pretty mouth and help me out sweetheart.”

His lips met yours in the middle and never in your life had you expected to taste yourself or get fucked by your boss, but today seemed like a great day to do it.

You didn’t have HR with your job- not technically at least, but if you did you’d imagine you’d have been fired about two weeks ago. The main reason being that at least half the set had told you that you were glowing and kept teasing you about the lucky guy. You appreciated all the kind words gifted to you by your peers about how you deserved a nice guy, but guilt kept poking at you and ruining the high.

The paps had noticed Bruce had lipstick on his collar (a great memory for you both when you ended up having to scrub off your lipstick in his trailer, in the hopes that no one noticed it was the same shade) and your hair was chronically a mess which you were forced to blame on ‘humidity’ when the real reason was that someone else liked to play with it.

Honestly it’s a miracle no one had noticed that you were getting fucked by Bruce Wayne.

Time flied throughout the weeks as sets changed and characters started to be developed, your relationship with Bruce also started to evolve.

Being his screen partner when he was learning his lines quickly turned into a roleplay like experience, with you realising just how raunchy any situation could turn.

Instead of giving Bruce his stress toy you’d resorted to giving him the fastest blow jobs of your life and then cleaning him up as quickly as possible. They were quite effective at calming him down, with the added bonus of some pleasure for yourself.

Blaring alarms now had to be set for his midday naps since you took those together, after finding comfortable positions to cuddle on his small sofa.

Today was one of those days- you lying on his sofa, your head resting on his chest and listening to the beat of his heart. It’d been a pleasant day due to Mongol not changing the script once, so everyone had wrapped for lunch an hour earlier than normal.

Bruce ran his fingers through your hair, the distant expression he always had accompanying the sweet tune he was humming.

“What are you singing?” You asked gently, looking up from your comfortable nook between his neck and chest.

“A lullaby my mother sang to me when I was younger.” He replied, pressing a long kiss to your hair.

“Does it have lyrics?”

Bruce sighed, the displaced air rustling the strands of your hair, “This is just sex right? Nothing personal.”

You stilled at the question. Sure you two spent basically all of your time fucking or doing some sexual adjacent but… What about now? This felt pretty emotional and tender, maybe you had misjudged this relationship. The realisation hurt a lot more than you expected, like the first time you got a paper cut and didn’t expect it to sting so sharply.

“Yeah you’re right just sex… Didn’t realise the lullaby was personal sorry.”

“S’ okay.” Bruce muttered, his long tone suggested that he was falling asleep.

Oh well it’s best you had the reality check now rather than later.

“How come you’re my PA? You seem way too smart for this gig.”

You blanched at the question, subconsciously nuzzling into him for comfort.

“I did have my real career before this…” You admitted quietly, unsure of how much you wanted to give him- after all this wasn’t meant to be personal.

“But?” He prompted.

“But,” you continued with a heavy sigh, the words falling like stones into water, “I made a mistake and my employer didn’t want to admit it otherwise they’d end up getting sued. So I got fired. Turns out it’s impossible to get a job in my field without a reference. It’s kinda like getting black-listed in Hollywood. If I could just get an interview I know I’d get back in.”

“Damn.” You didn’t expect any pity or affirmations from Bruce, mostly because you felt as though he had no understanding of what it felt like to be stuck in a dead end job.

Unexpectedly you felt the warmth of his fingers leaving your hair, luckily he couldn’t see your frown, but then he rested his hand on your shoulder to pull you in closer.

Neither of you said anything as you realised that this was Bruce’s way of showing he cared. That simple action of pulling you closer as if to say ‘I’ve got you, trust me for a while’ and you did, you trusted him far too much.

Juggling your clipboard, phone and coffee cups you miraculously managed to open the trailer door without dropping anything, “Sorry the line for the coffee machine was backed up.”

Letting your clipboard and phone fall through you arms onto the sofa, you placed Bruce’s coffee down on the table.

Looking up you then blanched. There was dried blood on the hand he was currently cradling coming from a slice on his finger that was making your stomach roil. His body was turned away with his head lowered.

“Shit, are you ok?” You dashed to the other side to face him, “How did you even do that?”

He stayed silent eyes averted from yours, slowly you placed your hand on his chin, “Bruce let me help you…”

You lifted up his chin and he looked up at you with a grin, “Effects did it. I just wanted to see if you cared.”

The shock made you flinch backwards as you gritted your teeth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You cared.” He pointed out as if it were a simple fact.

“You… fuck!” Turning away you groaned and covered your face, yet another lesson learnt about trusting actors. “Why do you even have that?” You asked gesturing with your free hand.

“It’s for the next scene, Mongul changed it last minute, said he wanted our hero to be vulnerable and relate to the audience.”

You snorted at the explanation, “Oh yeah because a one man army is super relatable and everyone can just kill someone with a pencil.”

Sighing you turned back around to see him lifting the coffee cup with his good hand, “Bit cold no?”

Tutting you resisted the urge to storm out, “No.”

“Sit with me.”

“No.”

“What if I said please?”

“You never say please to me.”

He looked back down and for a moment your heart screamed with despair, then you remembered he was just pretending to be ashamed.

“I swear I’ve only been gone for half an hour, doesn’t it take ages for them to do stuff like that.” Truth be told you’d never cared much for the actual industry even after you got this job, but now you were intrigued about the whole makeup process.

“Y/n sit with me please.” Bruce’s tone was soft, but tortured and filled with emotions that you didn’t want to dissect but were so salient you couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by them.

“Ok.” You perched on the chair next to him waiting like a patient mother for their child to admit they’d done something bad.

Bruce still couldn’t bare to look at you. A notion that was filling you to the brim with rising alarm.

In a gentle manner you reached for his clean hand and brushed your fingers against them. His breath hitched as you explored the expanse of his hands- all of the little dips and curves, veins and bones, scars and smoothness. It was entrancing to be this close to someone and find such intimacy in a small action.

Finally you whispered, “Bruce?”

The thickness of the caravan door blocked out all outside sound, providing you two with a quiet atmosphere that further highlighted Bruce’s inability to speak.

“Bruce please, tell me what’s wrong. I don’t…” The admission that was on the tip of your tongue felt heavy with the weight of confession, but for once you sensed that this was the right moment to say it. “I don’t like seeing you despondent Bruce it makes me sad as well.”

Ultimately he raised his head, eyes brimming with tears and sadness that tore your heart in two. Unexpectedly a bitter sweet smile graced his face, “You feel that way about anyone who is miserable though, it’s apart of who you are.”

You cocked your head to the side, but he continued undeterred.

“You’re empathetic, sweet and kind. I don’t understand how you can be so unaware of the impact you have on the people you love or even just know.” Up until that point his words had been so quiet that you’d struggled to hear them, but then he spoke with more clarity, “I don’t understand how you can’t see the way I feel about you.”

“Bruce.” You interrupted, but he had finally found his rhythm now and the right words just flowed out.

“I tried to hide it with lust, making it seem as though the only thing I wanted from you was sex. But you make it so hard to pretend because you’re grounded in emotional connections. I couldn’t do it, it felt wrong! The way you make me feel and act is a sin. I love it, I love you.” Then he froze with his mouth open realising he’d just given away a piece of his soul that he could never have back.

You couldn’t say anything, even if you had it wouldn’t capture how you truly felt or what you were thinking. Shrinking back into himself Bruce shook his head, “But you hate me don’t you? I’d hate me too.”

Your heart jumped as you leaned forward and cupped his cheek with your hand, the lump in your throat was destroying your ability to speak and with each second you could feel Bruce pulling more and more away.

Resolutely you leaned forward and kissed him.

You kissed him with a passion you had no idea existed in yourself, leaning heavily into him and pouring every vestige of your soul into his waiting mouth. He clambered against the wave of your emotion, struggling to find his footing before letting himself just be swept away by it all. You wanted him to feel every single ounce of desire, pain, jealously and anger you’d ever felt because of him. The millimetres between you two were a chasm you were finally unafraid to cross. Bruce moaned into your mouth like he was dying in your arms, but you couldn’t stop. The kiss was the most precise one you’d ever shared with him- no teeth or lips getting bitten, just sheer fiery will honed into one single action that would define your relationship with him.

You did love Bruce Wayne. You could never stop.

At the same time you both pulled away to rest your foreheads against each others.

“You deserve better than me.” He whispered breaths hagged and raggedy.

“That’s not true Bruce,” you replied brushing the tears from his cheeks, “that’s not true at all.”

You knew that you loved him, but verbalising it seemed like an unobtainable task for no apparent reason. It pained you to see him with authentic tear drops in his eyes and not those engineered by a tear stick, yet you knew why you couldn’t end his hurt.

It didn’t matter if you loved him if you couldn’t trust him, after all what was the point of giving your heart to a man just to watch him smash it on the floor. It was a matter of respecting yourself and caring for your own wellbeing enough to realise that something this passionate was going to burn you permanently. You didn’t want battle scars so why would you force yourself to go to war?

Glumly Bruce stood up in a state of despair letting your hands falling away.

“Bruce.” You whispered and the way he looked at you was nothing short of devastating, he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, eyes filled with hope that you couldn’t fulfil.

Had there been times where he’d obviously cared for you?

For the first time you were starting to see Bruce for the vulnerable man he secretly was. There was no more flashing lights or cheap smiles to mask the injury this love of yours seemed to inflict on him.

Bruce did care about you and not just in a casual way, but in a way that was frightening to anyone that wasn’t you.

Shaking his head he trudged around the trailer while a rock lodged itself deep into your throat.

The silence became too unbearable as you grappled at your voice, forcing it to come back and serve you once more.

“I do.” You spoke timidly, Bruce’s eyes immediately snapping up to yours, “I do love you too…”

Why did you admit it? Why were you ruining yourself like this?

In a split second Bruce had strode to your chair and fallen to his knees in front of you, his eyes wide like the full moon and desperate like a trapped deer.

“I would have to suffer a thousand lifetimes before being half the person you are, but I can start deserving you now.”

“Prove it.” You quietly declared and for the longest time you both sat there, letting the moment sink in as you realised that your relationship would never be the same and perhaps that was the best thing.

Thank you so much for reading my silly little story, this genuinely took me ages but I know there’s still so much room for improvement so all constructive feedback is welcomed!! There is a part two to this, but it’s a lot fluffier, including Bruce’s backstory and relationship with his parents and I want to make sure that they’ll actually be an audience who wants to read it- even if it is just one of you!! Again thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed :)

Slowly you weaved your way around the counter to fill your glass at the tap. Despite not being a hundred percent sure what he was doing at the moment, you still leaned against the cabinet to watch him in action.

As if he could read your mind he spoke, but the words were muffled by his hand in front of his mouth, “I’m making myself lunch."

“A-huh.” You continued to watch him as he just stood there frozen, “Are you waiting for something?"

“Huh?” His head tilted slightly but he was still in the realm of stuck. “Just waiting for the…” he removed his hand and leaned closer to the furious frying pan, “the you know…"

Well this was just fantastic.

“All those years training and no one taught you how to cook?”

The sideways glare Bruce attacked you with was nothing short of scathing as he returned back to focusing on the seething frying pan.

“I can do this.” He muttered to himself, his eyebrow furrowed in concentration.

Perplexed your eyebrows shot up, you opened your mouth to ask if him if his personal mantra was ‘I am Batman, I can do anything’ but decided against it at the last second.

The click on the dial would have been salient, if the oil hadn’t been crackling and popping like it was in a Rice Krispies advert.

“You’re turning the hob down, right Bruce?”

“Err,” he blushed a pretty pink, which was quite uncommon for him, “Yes… No!”

“No?”

Gingerly he looked back up at you, “It won’t cook if I turn it down?”

Resisting the urge to wince you put your drink down on the counter, “Most things taste better when slow cooked, which means a lower heat also…” you tried using a gentle tone so as to not stress him out, “If the oil continues spitting everywhere you’re going to start a kitchen fire."

Suddenly he snapped up straight as if called to attention.

Sensing his growing panic you quickly moved forward, “Here I’ll turn it down for you, don’t worry,"

“Oh no, oh no. Alfred will kill me if I destroy his kitchen, he’d be… I mean…” Bruce spluttered as he held his head with his hands in his hair. “He’d be very angry that you ignored his very simple instruction to not use his kitchen while he was gone.” You filled in sweetly, turning the heat way, way lower.

“Yes!”

… Did he just have a voice crack?

Did Batman just have a pubescent teenage boy moment? Whatever, the novelty of the moment wore off pretty quickly as you cast a cursory glance at the bowl you asked, “What’s in that?"

“Omelette."

You turned to him shocked, “You know how to make an omelette?"

Awkwardly he scratched the back of his neck, “I found one of Alfred’s recipe books."

“How long did that take?” You asked bewildered.

“I know where they are, I’ve lived here all my life.” He said suddenly with much more gusto as he crossed his arms.

“Right…” you drew back slightly, reassessing the situation as you boyfriend was acting like a spoiled, grumpy cat and for some reason you liked it "do you want me to make it for you?"

“Maybe…” He muttered morosely.

“What was that?” You snapped with an authoritarian tone.

“Yes please.” Bruce was still mumbling, but at least he was looking at you (it was also a lot easier to hear him now that the oil had calmed down).

“Ok… usually I use butter for the pan, but it's alright.” After a few moments of adjusting to the stove (in Bruce’s defence it was quite old) you began to make one of the omelette’s for Bruce, quietly explaining what you were doing as you went along.

As you waited for the first side of the omelette to cook you felt Bruce’s arm snake around your waist as he rested his head on top of yours, his breaths disturbing the strands.

“Thank you,” he murmured and then placed a kiss in your hair, “Your hair smells really nice." Bruce continuing to nuzzle his nose

“I’m glad you like my shampoo."

Then you heard a sniffing sound and laughed louder, “Are you concussed?"

“Maybe.”