#grumpy bruce wayne

The first time Bruce Wayne actually looked at you during a mission, it was like someone had thrown a flare into the middle of his carefully controlled night. He had been perched on the edge of a rooftop, scanning a cluster of shipping containers for signs of their target, all precise and methodical, like he always was. And then you’d climbed up behind him — effortless, smiling like the world was a playground rather than a potential war zone.

“You’re late,” he said, voice low and a little dangerous. He didn’t even bother turning to face you. The words were clipped, precise, but the tension in them made the air between you feel almost solid.

“Traffic was killer,” you chirped, like the world’s gravest threat was nothing more than a detour. You set down your pack with a soft thud, brushing hair behind your ear, all sunshine and easy warmth that somehow made him want to snap, and not in a good way.

“You mean you got caught up in a cab.” His tone was flat, almost cutting, like he could slice through optimism with a single syllable.

“I got caught up in life,” you corrected, still smiling, your voice gentle, but underneath it all there was a steadiness that somehow made him want to grind his teeth and smile at the same time. It was infuriating.

He didn’t answer, just swung his grappling hook with mechanical precision and disappeared into the shadows, like he always did, leaving you to follow on your own terms. Except tonight, he had to follow yours too, because you were his partner for this. Because of that, he had to remind himself at least five times that night that this was something he was doing reluctantly.

Once you landed at his side, the walk through the containers was tense in a way that vibrated under his skin. He was all sharp edges, eyes scanning, every movement efficient, every comment a warning.

“You really don’t do stealth well,” he muttered when you stepped over a loose plank, making a little creak.

“Oh, I do,” you teasedlightly, like you weren’t even aware of it. “I just like to announce myself so people know how charming I am before I take them down.”

That made him pause mid-step, one eyebrow lifting. “Charming?” His voice was a growl, though whether it was from disbelief, or the fact that he hadn’t expected a response that didn’t involve embarrassment or fear... he wasn’t sure.

“Yes, charming,” you nodded, stepping around him as if he weren’t the storm cloud of a man in the room. “You might want to try it sometime. It’s refreshing! And disarming, which is a plus side when this is your job.”

Bruce tensed his jaw, but he didn’t argue, which was rare. That quiet pause of his was loud enough to almost make you feel guilty, except you didn’t. Instead, you pressed on, moving like light threading through the darkness, your confidence a quiet hum in the space between his clipped motions.

At one point, he had to crawl through a narrow air vent to follow the target, and of course, you fit right in behind him without a single complaint, smiling up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You always do this, don’t you?” he muttered. His voice was tight, and there was an edge that made your chest squeeze in that same way it did every time he looked at you with something between irritation and fascination.

“This?” you asked. “Smiling when everyone else is panicking?”

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “This. Talking. Moving. Somehow making every bad situation slightly less bad. I can’t-.. I can’t think when you do that.”

You laughed softly, a sound that was light and warm, and somehow he wanted to reach out and stop you just to see if it would change anything.

“You’re not supposed to think,” you said, as if reading his mind, which was probably true. “You’re supposed to act. And honestly, I think you’re brilliant at it. Just… don’t let the little annoyances-... ” your eyes twinkled, “...like me, apparently, get in the way.”

“Annoyances,” he repeated under his breath while crawling to the next vent hatch, but there was a tightness in his chest that betrayed the frustrated tone he took on. You were definitely in his way, and yet, impossibly, he felt like he couldn’t get rid of you even if he wanted to.

The mission itself went with a brutal precision, the kind of calculated movements and silent take downs Bruce excelled at. And every time you had to improvise, every time you flashed that damn smile at a guard, every time your voice threaded through the comms with calm cheer, he had to bite back a growl, swallow it down, and just... function. He couldn’t argue with the results, even if your presence made his chest tighten in ways he didn’t want to name.

By the time the last target was secured, and you were crouched together in the shadows watching the authorities cart away the bad guys, Bruce finally let himself exhale.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Am I?” you asked softly, leaning just a fraction closer. Your hand brushed against his as you passed him the comms unit, and he didn’t move his. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t even comment.

“You’re… too much,” he said finally, eyes flicking to you in that precise, calculating way that made your stomach twist deliciously.

“I prefer the term ‘more than manageable,’” you joked lightly, a grin tugging at your lips.

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but there was something there — something he didn’t admit aloud, something he would never admit aloud. He liked it. Hated that he liked it. Loved that he hated it.

And as you finally climbed down the last ladder together, stepping into the night air of the city, you laughed softly, bright, warm, and entirely infuriating.

“You know,” you said, bumping his shoulder gently as you walked, “if you ever decide to be less grumpy, I’m really very approachable.” Your words were punctuated with a wink that made him groan.

“Don’t,” he cut into your sentence sharply, voice low and sharp, but you caught the faintest curve of something almost… reluctant in it.