Killer!Reader x Bruce Wayne

N/A:I spent almost a month without writing anything because of a terrible creative block, so it's probably going to be kind of (quite) mediocre, but well… that's what I got.

Warnings: mention of murder, abuse, profanity, and others.

[Name] doesn't know exactly when she became this way, but she remembers who made her become this way.

When they say not to date a guy who already has a reputation, the best advice is not to get involved, but she didn't listen to that. In the middle of architecture school, she meets the infamous billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. He gave her flowers, jewelry, delicious sex, but none of that compensated for the frequent absences, the six weeks without contacting her, showing up with a bruise on his arm and walking with a slight limp.

With these factors, it wasn't difficult for her to connect the dots and see that she was in a relationship with the man the police were chasing and who had appeared in the city two years ago: Batman.

When she asked him directly, it wasn't pretty. There were tears, hurt feelings, feelings of betrayal, and finally, the breakup. Both were very immature, still in their early twenties.

After that, they never spoke again, but what he did on the street appeared on television, and the sum of his mistakes, coupled with how they covered up each of his actions, weighed so heavily on her emotionally that one day [Name], returning from the company where she worked, saw a twelve-year-old child lying in the street with blood between her legs and crying, and the dialogue still stays in her head to this day.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?” [Name asks, kneeling down to the girl's level and speaking in a soft voice so as not to frighten her, or at least trying not to frighten her.]

“There's a man on this street who hurts us. Batman has already arrested him, but he always escapes and comes back to do this to us. And since we don't have money to get out of here, we just pray that we don't see him. But Batman promised he'll deal with him once and for all, but it still hurts more every day.” The girl said, and the older woman's stomach churned, the taste of bile already in her throat, her hands clenching until her nails cut into her palms.

"I'll take care of this, I promise you, if Batman won't do anything, then I will." [Name]'s voice came out softly, and her fingers reached for a handkerchief in her bag and offered it to the girl to clean herself before walking away.

That same night, she dressed in old clothes and a mask she had worn to a masquerade ball years ago, and varnished latex gloves. She went to the house of the man the girl had mentioned and silently slit his throat while he slept, ripped out his heart, and stuck it in the bed next to his corpse and the pool of blood, along with a note written in the victim's blood: "What you don't do, I do."

This began to be repeated with any man or even woman who had committed a heinous crime; gradually, the FBI itself called her Devotion because of her devotion to correcting Batman's mistakes.

Returning to the present day, the pattern remains the same, even after more than a decade, even after she's witnessed more of the rise of Robins and vigilantes than she's kissed Bruce in her life.

On that particular night, [Name] had just killed a child trafficker, leaving his heart on the wall—all in common, all within her standards.

But what she didn't expect was a storm coming over her head. It's true that rain is frequent in Gotham at this time of year, but that's not the problem. The problem is that due to the city's high levels of pollution and improper disposal of chemicals, Gotham's rain is oily, smelly, slightly acidic, and depending on exposure, can really burn the skin. And when you have dried blood on your elbows and nose, smelling of sweat and soot, a rain like that is anything but pleasant.

Minutes of walking through alleys, narrow streets, shadows, and deserted roads reveal an abandoned building in the middle of construction, cement and bricks scattered, beams rusting, a few rats scurrying, and only a light about to burn out.

“It’s this or nothing,” [Name] thinks, getting closer to the building with each step. “It’s not like any living soul is going to show up.”

But as the old saying goes, “There’s nothing so bad that it can’t get worse.” And well… that saying has never been more true than at this moment.

The night was already awful, so awful it could easily be diarrhea combined with four packs of laxatives for a lactose-intolerant person after attending a cheese tasting event. A wonderful night.

Inside the moldy walls of the first-floor stairwell, [Name] heard two voices approaching in the darkness, their tone clearly suggesting a fight that had been raging for minutes. One voice was particularly familiar, identical to the voice of someone she hadn't seen in years.

“The question isn’t whether he deserved it, Cat, the question is that you promised not to steal again.” Batman’s voice grew closer and closer, and soon he leaned against the side of the stairs, leaving [Name] with only the railing of her cabin and her boots visible. Fear made her think he could see her, but reason reminded her that no one could see her from where she was crouching.

“You’re being irrational, he was already embezzling money, he deserved it.” Catwoman’s voice retorted to Batman, and with just a quick glance, [Name] realized that from the angle the feline anti-heroine was standing, it wouldn’t be difficult to see Devotion if Batman hadn’t positioned himself at that angle.

“Then this isn’t going to work, you know that.” The Bat retorted in a harsher voice, receiving a slightly irritated and disappointed sigh from Catwoman.

“I don’t even know why you should still try.” Selina sighed and turned her back, but before leaving for good, she said, “See you around, Bruce.”

When he was finally sure that his current ex had left, Batman remained silent for a few more minutes, a minute, maybe even two, he wasn’t sure. His breath caught in his lungs as he stepped away from the stairs and took a deep breath.

“Get out of here, Devotion, or rather, [Name].”

What? How did he know if she hadn't even left footprints or worn perfume? How?

“How?” the assassin questioned, still hidden, not allowing herself to emerge. “How did you know I was here?”

“I felt it, I know your presence very well. And it would be more polite to talk face to face.” Her voice held evident weariness, whether physical or emotional, it made no difference; the only thing that mattered at the moment was knowing why he was still there.

This is going to be a problem.

A huge problem.

And she knew it.

She knew it all too well.

All credit for the divisors goes to @cursed-carmine