wei

IDEA LIST/ IDEA LIST 2 || my ao3

💫= NSFW ||✨= finished

- Hayden Christensen <3

Star Wars

- Anakin Skywalker - Darth Vader

DC

- Bruce Wayne/ Batman

Other characters

Before you can finish your final thought, something ricochets off of the wall with deadly intent. Suddenly, the man in front of you collapses with a rock lodged between his eyes, his pistol discarded into a forming puddle.

You feel the man behind you jolt in surprise and you take the chance to elbow him in the gut though its quickly quite apparent that there is no need to, as he slowly crumples to the ground with a knife sticking out his head. 

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you search around for the origin of the objects; a figure in the distance moves closer but you have difficulty making it out through the sheets of rain. You exhale shakily when you notice the cadence of the figure’s walk-The walk that once carried fear, dreadful anticipation, and hatred, now only brought you comfort and relief. 

Dex’s stance is wide and he’s still on alert surveying the alleyway; once he sees that it’s just you, the two of you rush to each other. Without thinking you jump into his arms and bury your face into his neck.

His eyes are wide in shock at your willingness to touch him after what he did- you hate violence. But he takes it happily and wraps his arms protectively around you. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m here” he pants as he presses kisses to your wet hair. 

“Are you hurt?”  he asks as he slides you down back to your feet. “I-I think i’m ok, my head hurts” you say, holding onto his side. 

“Ben, I wanna go home” you sob into his neck. 

Home.

You called his apartment…Home.

For a moment he forgets about the five men he just killed, he forgets about Fisk, he forgets about worrying for the future. He has you and you’ve accepted him.

Thunder crackles above and Dex takes that as a sign to go. He heads past the man with the gun and picks up the umbrella, there’s no reason for his girl to be any more miserable than she already is.

He rushes the two of you back to the apartment, constantly looking behind to make sure there aren’t more men. But also because- even though he killed the guys in the bodega pretty inconspicuously- there’s always a chance there were good cameras in the shop. 

“Aww man, you guys must have gotten caught up in the storm! You better get dry so you don’t get sick!” The friendly concierge calls as Dex rushes you inside the apartment building. You don't even register what the man is saying because you’re still in shock, luckily Dex is pretty practiced when it comes to rehearsed interactions. “Oh yeah. Cats and dogs for sure” his annoyance not discernable from his delivery. 

The elevator ride feels more like 20 minutes rather than the 20 seconds he knows it is, but it might be because you’re still shivering beside him. Once you enter the apartment he’s quick to close the door and turn his attention back to you. 

Wet hot tears collect in your wide eyes as you stare back at him; he saved your life- no matter why he was there, honestly you don’t even care if he was watching you.

“Ben” you call him softly, walking closer. His hands cup your flushed face and he looks over your face once more; there is a slight bruise forming on your left temple where the man had hit you with the umbrella. Dex’s stomach churns- you would have died if he hadn’t followed you, for once he doesn’t feel guilty for doing so. But then again, it is also his own actions that put a target on your head in the first place. 

You wrap your arms around him pressing your cheek against his rain-soaked jacket; you don’t even flinch at the coolness of the water, you just want to be close to him.

He's brought back to the present; you’re shivering and need to get warm, he moves with determination as he gathers you into his arms and walks to the bathroom. He places you on the counter and turns the water to warm before sliding his jacket off. He replaces the towel with his jacket on the wall hook and does the same with yours.

The long sleeve shirt you’re wearing is also drenched and the outline of your black bra is visible; you should feel self conscious but for some reason, you don’t. 

Dex reaches his arm into the shower to check the water, once he’s decided it’s warm enough he offers for you to jump in. You’re still seated on the countertop, soaked to the bone, but you don’t want him to leave. You’re still shaken. 

He passes you to leave but you catch his arm; “Ben- would you stay, I’m.. I don’t want to be alone”.

His heart pounds as he looks between you and where you’re touching his arm- everything is changing. 

He runs his free hand over his face before stepping back and closing the door again, he leans down to you and promises, “Sweetheart, you’ll never have to be alone again”.

A moment lingers where he worries he sounded too intense but he’s pleasantly surprised when you wrap your arms around his neck and press your plump lips to his. He melts into your hold and practically whimpers when you pull away.

You hold yourself as you shiver again- “Oh lets get you out of those clothes, alright?” he offers gently as his hands tug at the hem of your shirt. 

You nod and begin to pull it over your head, you don’t miss the way Dex shields his eyes (playing the gentleman). 

“Ben, would you join me?” you ask quietly and he blinks back his astonishment. He’s never actually seen you fully nude…except for the few times he had used his scope to spy on you before you lived with him. Maybe he should just say that he’s never seen you nude… in person.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice sounding hoarse as he sheepishly turns to face you. 

Your short nod is all he needs; there’s no way he’s passing up this opportunity- you need him the way he always imagined you would. He’s your protector, your comfort, your home and he’s just glad you’re finally realizing that. 

“Alright, Sweetheart” he says, before pulling his wet shirt over his head and unbuckling his belt. 

The clasp of your bra comes undone with a small pop and soon you’re standing before him fully naked; you hold an arm across your body as you become more self conscious by the moment. 

Once he’s out of his pants, only his boxers remain- he holds his hands over his crotch with a shy look, the same way you cover your breasts. His blue eyes look at the shower as he nods, once you enter, he shoves off his boxers and follows behind you past the grey shower curtain.

The warm water makes you gasp at first since your skin is so cold from the rain, but soon you feel yourself relaxing into the stream. Luckily for Dex, his showerhead is pretty large and both of you are able to enjoy the warmth. 

The adrenaline has begun to wear off and at this moment you feel tired and vulnerable. As much as it doesn’t make sense, you know that you’re safe with Dex- that whatever those men were trying to do to you, would not happen if Dex were around, he would have picked up on it immediately. How has he suddenly become the only person you can depend on? 

The warm steam makes your head foggy and all you can focus on is the sensation of the water running down your back and how badly you want to be in bed. For the most part, you try to avoid eye contact with Dex- you have also never seen him fully nude. Some part of you curses yourself for asking him to join… why did you do that?

Then again…

Your arm keeps brushing against him and you can't help but feel the slightest bit comforted. For the most part, you keep yourself faced forward towards the showerhead but you know that he’s observing you from behind- it doesn’t feel predatory in the way you had imagined it would. 

His gaze is soft, admiring. You’re so exhausted; at some point you begin to cry and soon you’re confusing what is the shower and what is your tears. There is too much guilt and confusion wrapped up in whatever relationship you and Dex have, but you can't help but wish he would reach out and hold you. 

The steam becomes overwhelming and you drift backwards but Dex catches you before anything remotely bad can happen. He turns you to face him and he notices your red eyes, his face draws in concern. 

“Hey, hey- are you alright, baby?” His voice is gentle but filled with concern. Instead of answering you wrap your arms around him again. He’s taken by surprise but soon understands what you need. 

Dex is rarely gentle, most people would say he’s the exact opposite; sharp, cold, and dangerous… and he is. But when it comes to his north star, he becomes putty in her hands. 

He presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head while he runs his hands down your back as you cry against him. 

“Here, let me finish washing your hair, alright?” he says, turning you back around. You comply, satiated by his comfort; what you don’t realize is that he has to spin you around because being so close to you, especially like this, is making it a bit too hard for him to push his natural urges down. So as he cards his fingers through your locks, he makes sure to angle his hips away from you. 

Eventually the shower is finished and the two of you dry off, he makes sure you are occupied with drying your hair before he turns to grab his own towel.

It’s honestly a surprise that you even asked him to join you, so he really wants to make sure he doesn’t push your boundaries. Sure, he may have watched you without your knowledge, followed you home from work, cuffed you to his bed… but those things were different. You just needed to warm up to him and now that you have, he won’t jeopardize it. 

Once the two of you are dried off, he makes the bold decision to pick you up again just to gauge how comfortable you are. To be honest, he’s not terribly surprised when you allow him to- the events of today will probably shape the trajectory of your relationship. He can only pray it stays positive. 

You slip on one of Dex’s old army shirts and a pair of lace panties while Dex stays in the bathroom to shave the little bit of stubble that’s starting to prickle. The bed seems less of a prison and more like a refuge as you burrow under the comforter. 

Eventually, the bed dips under Dex’s weight and his arms find you again. WIth no hesitation you nuzzle into his side, his aftershave floods your senses and you can’t help but feel content. 

The rain picks up outside and a sudden crack of thunder makes you jump. Dex presses you closer to his chest and calms you, “shhh, it's ok, you’re safe”. 

You’re safe…

Maybe for now but what about tomorrow? Or the next day? Your thoughts begin to spiral and you wonder who those men were and why- 

“Ben” 

“Yea, what is it sweetheart?” his eyes are closed as he runs his fingers down your side. 

For just a moment, you hesitate. What if your question makes him mad? Or worse yet…what if he set it all up…

“Who were those men? Why- Why did they want to kill me” you say quietly, biting your lip to deter more tears from falling. 

His chest rises with a deep breath before he turns to his side to face you. The gentleness in his face has transformed into an unreadable look- you hold your breath. He looks conflicted as he attempts to formulate his thoughts, eventually he gives up and rests his forehead against your collarbone. 

It’s his turn to cry; it begins softly, a quiet sniffle here and a light exhale there, until his body wracks with sobs. Instinctively, you pull him closer to you and your legs intertwine under the blankets. Through the tears he manages to find his words. 

“It was Fisk’s men. He- he knows how much you mean to me”. 

Your brows crease with confusion. 

“It’s my fault.”

Three little words shake you to your core. Dex had never really taken responsibility for anything that’s happened to you in the past months. But this time… this time he acknowledges his influence in the matter. 

“I’m so sorry for putting you in danger- I’m so sorry for who I am” his voice is hoarse as he desperately clings to you. 

His apology feels heavier than its face value; it’s evident in the way he paws at your hands to hold his, in the way he quivers in your hold, in the way he hesitates to meet your eye. Benjamin Poindexter does not, in any way, deserve your pity or sympathy- but you cannot stop yourself from giving it to him. 

Too much has transpired between the two of you to act like you would be able to live without him. Sure, it’s toxic and a past version of yourself would kick you for becoming so lenient with him, but you just tried to get groceries and were almost killed. 

“I know. It’s ok Ben, I forgive you” the words spill out faster than you can grasp what they actually mean- today has been full of rampant emotions and somehow they fall out. 

Do you actually mean it? At this point there really is nowhere else to go, no other path to take. Maybe it’s time you allow yourself to feel something. 

Dex chokes back another sob before looking up at you with tear stained eyes; he sighs in ecstasy when your puffy lips meet his temple. Your words repeat in his brain- I forgive you… Eventually he regains himself and he then pulls you back into his chest. Your breaths sync and chests rise in tandem.

You imagine how things would have gone if you hadn't been kept in the apartment for so long. Obviously Fisk was well aware of the role you’ve played in Dex’s life since before everything between the two of you happened- so does that mean you might have been killed sooner? Fisk definitely would have sent his men after you if you still worked at the bar; you cringe as you think about how many chances they would have had- all the nights you closed down alone, the commute back to your apartment. 

As you hold on to the man before you, a realization dawns…Without Dex, you wouldn’t be alive right now. 

The air in the room seems to stir in a new way; no more running, no more fear ... .With one last sigh, you finally realize- you’re home. 

________________________________________

Warmth is the first thing you notice when you wake; usually by this time Dex has gotten up to fix his coffee and your chai, but due to the feeling of his arms wrapped around you- it's easy to conclude today he’s a bit off schedule.

 You turn around in his hold to observe his sleeping face, it’s not often that you wake before him. His face still seems concentrated even in sleep and you trace his jaw with your middle and pointer fingers, his face is still soft from last night’s shave. 

Eventually his eyes flutter open and a small smile settles onto his lips, “how’d you sleep?”. 

“Well”

A deep hum vibrates through his chest as he stretches, his expression changes again after he relaxes his muscles but you can’t quite tell why. 

“How are you feeling from yesterday?” he asks, sitting up to lean against the headboard. 

Maybe that’s why his face changed, he’s just concerned. “I’m- I don’t know… I’m still scared” you admit, wishing that it wouldn’t affect you so. The left corner of his mouth tilts down slightly before returning to a rested straight lipped expression. 

The room is silent for a beat, nothing to hear but the light tapping of residual rain dripping from the rooftops. Dex’s eye twitches at the thought of Fisk daring to speak your name; Fisk is to be wed in two days- maybe he should go ‘object’ to the betrothal.

Fisk deserves nothing after what he pulled…nothing short of death. 

In Dex’s silence, he hardly notices how his hand begins to shake until you place yours over his clenched fist. A deep exhale leaves his nose and he looks directly at you with one of the most intense looks you have ever seen on him. 

“Fisk deserves to die”.

His sentiment shouldn’t surprise you by now, but he had taken on such a different role last night that you almost forgot what he was truly capable of. Nevertheless, you shake your head and squeeze his hand. 

“Ben, no- he’ll kill you” you say; sure you didn’t want him actively seeking out murder, but you also know how deadly it is to deal with the Kingpin. 

You watch as his jaw tightens and loosens as he grapples with his thoughts. Dex hated to disappoint you  but it was something he so often had to do, especially when it came to Fisk, but just this once- if he killed Fisk- he would never have to disappoint you again. He’d put away assasination work, he’d be able to do it for you. 

“He put a hit on you for virtually no reason, I cannot have that! He can run his empire but coming for you- that’s…” he pauses to find his words. “He cannot get away with that!” Dex seethes as he tries to calm himself, he knows how carried away he can get and he doesn’t want to disturb you further. 

You frown; Fisk is a fight Dex cannot win and you know that so you beg him to stay any way you know how. Mindlessly, you crawl into his lap and take his face into your hands; Dex leans into your touch with a shaky sigh as you press kisses to his forehead. 

“Please, Ben… Just stay with me” you whisper, running your thumb against his cheek. 

Instantaneously, a plan begins to form in his mind, he can’t stop it even if he tries. He will make an appearance at the Kingpin’s wedding and he thought he might not be able to kill the man, he could do the next best thing. He could take Fisk’s “north star”, take the object of his humanity the way he tried to do to you. 

His blue eyes close as he makes up his mind, as much as it pains him to disappoint you he has already cemented the plan in his mind. Nothing can stop him when he’s this hyperfixated… not even you. 

He chooses not to respond to your words, instead, opting to rest his forehead against yours. He pushes his lips against yours and suddenly pulls you closer to him. Your body is warm under his touch and his head is becoming foggy. 

“You know I'd do anything for you, right?” his husky morning voice makes your chest burn. Of course, you do know that, his devotion is why you’re in this situation in the first place, nevertheless, you nod as he situates you on his lap. 

“Don’t go after him- It’s not worth it” you say as you play with the strings on his sweats, diverting your eyes because you can feel him intently watching you.

There’s no denying the mood shift in the room but you’re too nervous to be the one to acknowledge it- you’ve gone months without doing anything more than a prolonged kiss… You haven’t felt the need or even the want to. 

Regardless of the epiphany you decidedly had last night, there is still an inner conflict inside of you- yes, you are attracted to Dex and have begun to see him in a different light, but also you know what he’s capable of and how he views you. He holds you in such high regard and respects you- would being physical with him change the way he views your dynamic?

Would he still be sweet and thoughtful of your space or would he think that it would be the door opening for him to do anything whenever he wants? 

So many thoughts buzz around your head that you hardly realize that he’s put a palm against your cheek and the other halts your fiddling with his drawstrings. When you finally bring yourself to meet his eye, he’s already staring intently at you; his blue eyes are lidded and full of something you can’t quite pin point. He leans in slightly and you still in anticipation, but nothing happens. 

Curiously you tilt your head slightly against his hand and he traces his fingers down to tilt your chin towards himself- in almost a whisper he finally speaks, “I’m not going to push you- If you want something, you’re going to have to let me know”. 

For a moment you consider just giving in but his reassurance makes you realize that he wouldn’t be mad if you take more time. Everything is tedious as is- you don’t want to rush into anything brashly, so you nod slightly before kissing him softer. 

“Thank you, Ben”. Dex returns your kisses and smiles against your mouth.

Everything is going to be alright.

Dex becomes more paranoid about Fisk after a few miscommunications, his anxiety attacks are more frequent and he sleeps less. Today is one of those days where Dex can barely get himself up from the kitchen table, he’s trying to regulate his breathing  as you run your hand up and down his arm. 

“I think you need some food, Dex,” you say, observing how pale he looks. 

“I just know Fisk is going to do something- I… I don’t trust him”. 

You frown, no shit Fisk isn’t to be trusted, but that ship sailed long ago and all you can do now is hope that either he gets out of it or that you can get out of this. 

“Hey, I can grab some noodles from the store and grab some veggies from the garden to make us some stir fry, how does that sound?” you offer, Dex loves your vegetable dishes. 

He doesn’t meet your eye as he absentmindedly shakes his head. “Ok?” you ask again, he still doesn’t reply. You gather yourself and stand up, “I’ll just be a minute-”.

He holds onto your arm before you can fully push your chair in, “Wait- I- It’s not safe… I-I can come” he says. 

It’s your turn to deny him as you put your hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place. “No, Ben. You need to calm yourself and you haven’t eaten all day. It’s only like two blocks down and I'm only getting one thing. It’s ok”. 

He reluctantly lets you go and you press a kiss to his temple to calm him. 

“You’ll come back, right?” he asks in the smallest voice you’ve heard from him. 

“Yes, I will” the words sound foreign in your mouth.

You hadn’t even thought that this would be a perfect opportunity to run…but you couldn’t do that to him in this state and you haven’t even thought out what you’d do… 

Dex feels his heart tighten as you close the apartment door behind you. This is the first time you have been outside in the city without him since before you found out about him…

He had to believe you would come back. If you didn’t, oh God, he can’t even think about that. 

In reality it’s probably only been about 20 minutes but to Dex it genuinely feels like days; he’s curled himself into a ball in the corner as he watches the door with eagle eyes.

You’ll walk through the door again, you will. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he watches the handle turn and you enter with veggies in one hand and a box of noodles in the other. You’re too focused on balancing all of the ingredients that you barely see him scrambling to his feet to greet you.

The goods unceremoniously tumble onto the counter and one of the carrots falls off the edge, but Dex catches it before it can touch the ground. 

“Oh, great catch B-” before you can finish your compliment, he crashes his lips against yours. He basically whimpers when you place a hand on his cheek as you reciprocate. 

“You came back” he whispers as his watery eyes scan your face. 

“Well the stir fry wasn’t just going to make itself” you say to mitigate some of the intensity. He nods with a small smile. “Well, shall we get started?” you ask. 

Dex is actually pretty good in the kitchen, probably something to do with his insane precision. You give him the task of washing the veggies and dicing them while you prep the noodles and meat. He cuts so quickly and you’re always amazed by his perfect aim when throwing the ends into the trash can. 

“You shoulda played a sport” you say after the seventh perfect shot. 

He huffs a laugh, “Played baseball for a while when I was younger, but… I don’t know, I fell out of love with it, I guess”. 

You nod, “Well you could have totally gone pro”.

The savory aroma of your dish wafts through the apartment as the two of you sit down to eat; Dex had placed the silverware and dishes out with detailed intent.

Each of you fix your plates and begin eating. Dex takes his bite first and he closes his eyes slowly as he takes in the flavor, “Mmhhm, This is even better than last time” he hums in satisfaction.

You laugh and try a bite for yourself, “It is really good, holy shit”. 

The bowl of noodles is quickly consumed and the two of you are left full and happy. You feel his hand on your knee under the table and meet his eyes.

“Thank you, for everything”.

Your smile dies down slightly but you bring it back as fast as you can. “Of course, Dex”. 

Before he can respond, his work phone begins violently buzzing on the kitchen counter. There’s only one person who has that number. Dex’s mood drops instantly; Fisk wants him.

He steals a look at you before getting up from his seat. You’re looking away from him with a small frown- he knows you well enough to know that you’re just as disappointed (probably for a different reason than he thought). 

“I’m sorry Sweetheart, but I have-”  he can’t even finish his sentence before you’re standing up, walking the dishes to the sink. The weight of the cellphone in his hand feels like a bomb as his eyes anxiously dart between you, the running water, and the screen. 

He has to answer. 

The line clicks and Dex knows to excuse himself into the bedroom, you hated being able to hear Fisk’s muffled voice even if you couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. 

Your breaths are shallow as you scrub away the residue from tonight’s dishes, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than what Dex was being called to do.

Every damn time that phone rang, Dex would come back bloody, beaten, and probably a lot better off than anyone else involved. People died when Fisk called him. 

Dex comes out of the bedroom with a duffel bag in hand and his FBI Jacket on; he seems hurried as he brushes past you to grab one of his (many) knives. You feel sick. In his haste he bumps into you, making you drop the plate you had just been cleaning; it shatters.

“Shit!” he curses as he backs up from the pieces. You bite your bottom lip as you stare at the mess. You had just worked to get it nice and clean and now it’s broken. He broke it. 

A thick lump formed in your throat at the laughably obvious allegory. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart” he says as he rushes to pick up the pieces; he’s too hasty and he cuts his palm on one of the larger slivers. 

“Just- I’ll get it. Just go.” you say, eyes still trained on the floor. Dex feels his heart clench but he really has to go; he clenches his jaw and nods before attempting to give you a kiss. You turn to the side so that he misses your lips and only catches your cheek. 

Dex doesn’t have time to be upset, so he just takes what he can get and leaves. The door slams behind him, knocking a few photos on the wall askew. Your eyes still haven't left the floor. 

Eventually, your body allows you to move and you kneel to the floor and pick up the larger pieces of the plate with tears in your eyes. You thought it was getting better…

For the rest of the night you work your way down one of the fancy wines Dex had in the back of his cabinet. The tart taste burns as you sip down another glass; you’ve propped yourself against the couch and some old black and white movie is on in the background, though you’re not focused on the dialogue what-so-ever. 

You stare at the almost complete puzzle on the other end of the table from your place on the floor; you wanted to scream, cry, destroy things the way he did. You wanted to be able to let go and feel your emotions fully. 

The thoughts begin to blur in your mind once you're about half the bottle in and you decide that it doesn’t matter if you’ll be the one who has to clean up in the morning (what else are you supposed to do all day? You’re stuck here again).

Slowly but surely, you make your way to a standing position, the room spins and you brace yourself against the wall and close your eyes. The feeling passes and you stalk towards the table with determination. 

The stupid dark colors of the puzzle taunt you; it’s almost complete and yet it’s still missing a few pieces. Where could they have gone? Your eye twitches and then your hands move; the fragile sheet bursts into pieces after you violently slide it into the wall.

You stalk over to the discarded pile on the floor and take the crooked picture that sits on the wall above it off of its hooks and smash it into the ground. Small shards of glass cascade onto the floor and mix with the cardboard puzzle pieces.

A cathartic noise escapes your throat, scaring you. Never mind the fact that the neighbors probably heard, you don’t do that… You don't have outbursts. You don’t throw things…

…Dex does. 

In a panic you back up from the mess, your hands shake and you feel like you’re going insane. You don’t- you’ve never done this. Once you bump into the couch, you quickly turn around and find the neck of the wine bottle; without giving the glass a second thought, you drink straight from the bottle with vigour. After all of this time- after all you’ve been through… you cannot become him. 

You’ve fought so hard. You won’t…. You can’t!

The next chance you get, you’ll leave him. what ever the fuck this fucked up thing is, it has to end.

He’s reshaping your mind and it’s too much; it’s probably safer out there in the real world anyways. The only person who has any interest in your life at all is Dex, so if you can finally escape him, you can escape it all. 

Sometime in between your sobs and hyperventilation, you are taken by exhaustion and collapse. 

________________________________

The warm heat of morning rays glide across your back as you stir in the all too familiar bed; Dex is home, you can tell by the coffee smell. Squinting, you rub your eyes before you stretch your back. You have a minor hangover, but nothing too serious comparatively to what it could have been. 

With a troubling stiffness, Dex turns to look at you once you exit the bedroom. His face is unreadable. “You were drinking last night” he says with no particular emotion. 

Oh Fuck. It all comes back to you; the call, the plate, the puzzle, the picture… the wine.

Your eyes widen and you awkwardly take a seat on the couch; there’s no mess around the apartment. It genuinely looks like nothing happened at all- Dex must have cleaned it up. For some reason that frustrates you; any trace of your (valid) outburst is just swept away and disregarded. And now he’s playing the disapproving role as if you’ve done something horrendous. 

Slowly you feel your disdain for him seeping back in. How dare he give you the cold shoulder for what? For drinking? Now, breaking his things might be a more reasonable reason to be upset but you’re not the one parading around the city killing people!

“Yea, I was” you shoot back, trying to keep your emotions under wraps. Dex makes his way over to you with your chai in hand but you have no appetite for it. As he nears you can see the bruises on his face, no doubt from his escapades last night. 

“You fell asleep on the floor”.As much as you try to fight it, your face blushes with embarrassment. “Is there something wrong with a grown woman drinking a little?”. 

His jaw sets as he takes a seat beside you, the cushions tilt you towards him; he’s warm and his bodywash is exceptionally strong. His hands are clasped as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. 

“I’m concerned about you, sweetheart,” he says in a gruff tone. It sounds so artificial.How laughable, he is concerned about you? You’re not killing people and keeping someone hostage in your apartment. 

“Oh, really?” you respond blandly. He nods and tries to take your hands in his but you flinch away, only fueling his frustration. 

“Yes, you have been happy lately but then yesterday… I don’t know what happened yesterday, and I’m just-”

“You don’t know what happened yesterday!?” you have to laugh. His eyes widen but his brow is still furrowed. 

“We were having a good night” he responds calmly, as if you’re the unreasonable one. 

With a deep breath, you attempt to regain your senses but he’s really pushing it. “Dex, you left to commit a massacre, don’t act like I don’t know what that duffel bag is for! You put on that stupid fucking costume and kill people!” you cry. 

His composure cracks too and he squares his shoulders in defense; “That’s not fair- You know Fisk… You know I have to” he says, biting his tongue not to yell. 

“No Dex! No you don’t! You don’t have to kill- you don't have to work for the goddamn Kingpin! You chose that!” you stand up from the couch. There’s no fucking way you can even sit next to him right now. 

He bows his head and runs his hands over his face, “I try to be better sweetheart, you know how fucking hard I try”. 

“And yet my help does nothing, you still go out there and-” 

It’s his turn to stand up, “He’ll kill me if I don’t! Do you want that? Who will take care of you then?!”. 

Take care of you?  How laughable. “Take care of me? Dex you fucking kidnapped me! You’ve kept me here for months! You barely let me walk down the street!”. That seems to hit him hard because his posture seems to deflate just a little, “I- I haven’t kept you from leaving in a long time… I was misguided in the beginning, but you can walk out anytime-”.

“No. No I can’t. Innocent people will die! Do you not realize that you kill people with no remorse?! You don’t care for me, you don’t love me- or whatever the fuck you think you feel. You had a sick obsession and now you just keep me around like a goddamn pet to make you feel better when you do something bad”

He blinks a few times before sitting back down; his eyes are trained on the floor as he works on calming his breathing. You can see the shake of his hands as he clasps them in front of himself; when he finally looks back at you, his eyes are red and watery. 

“Y-you dont… You don’t mean that” 

Your head spins with residual hangover and adrenaline; you do mean that. You do, right? Well maybe on second thought… he doesn’t mistreat you and he does provide.

No fucking way that you’re actually considering this.

Without warning, he falls forward onto his knees in front of you; his head is lowered and his hands rest against his thighs. What the fuck is happening?

You want to back up but the wall is right behind you. Just when you’re about to ask him what’s going on, he looks back up at you with tears streaming down his face. 

“You are my north star- I love you. I cannot live without you. Y-you have to know that I love you” he blubbers. It's not pretty, it’s not performative. It's genuine. He genuinely believes that he cannot live without you. 

“Then why don’t you let me live my life too? Why am I stuck at your every whim?”. His head falls and he hesitantly reaches a hand out to touch your leg; once he makes contact you can physically see him grounding. 

“I don’t mean to be this way… I can’t control how I feel and I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I-I know it’s selfish but” he chokes on his words and leans his forehead against your thighs as he wraps his arms around your legs. 

A warm wave of emotion washes over you; maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s sympathy, or maybe it’s despair because you know that at this point, the trajectory of his life depends solely on you. You want to hate him. You need to hate him… but every time you try it never works. 

“I’m a selfish man, trust me I know- I” 

There’s too much back and forth in your head and you succumb to his words. Wet, hot tears begin to stream down your own face and you sink to the floor beside him. Violent sobs wrack your tired body; you’ve given up. This is how life is and all you can do is accept it. 

The allconsuming feeling of defeat settles on your shoulders and you break down further. Dex holds you through it. You’re inconsolable and he pulls your head to his chest and rocks you back and forth, pressing gentle kisses to your head. 

“I know I’m not perfect, but you’re the only thing keeping me afloat. If-if something happened to you…” his voice is quiet and not particularly directed towards you. 

Why? Why did it have to be you? As much as you want to end it, end your struggling- you can’t. Dex is a loose cannon and people will suffer if you don’t stay. How can you keep pretending this is ok? He’s made you a fucking martyr. 

“You don’t have to love me… you don’t have to even like me- but please stay with me… I need you”. 

Your body falls limp in his hold and you rest your head on his shoulder; his strong hands run up and down your back as you hiccup the last of your cries. “Shhh, I’ve got you baby. I’ve got you” he whispers as he cradles you like the helpless lamb you are. 

Truly. There is no end. 

_______________________

The next few days pass slowly; you can barely pull yourself out of bed most of the time and your diet consists of water and oatmeal. Dex tries his best to leave you alone but his mind is constantly occupied with your well being.

You might not be happy, but at least you’re here and you’re safe. 

After a week he’s desperate to get you out of bed and to have some type of emotion; he doesn’t even care if it’s anger. He just needs to see that you can still feel something. 

The unmistakable tap of Dex’s knuckles on the door slightly catches your attention from whatever crack in the paint you're focused on.

“Hey, it’s a nice day out- do you wanna go take a look at the garden?” he offers cautiously. He watches for movement under the thick comforter but he sees nothing. The silence makes his heart twist, he decides to proceed towards your side of the bed.

His shoulders slump when he finds you on your side, blankly staring at the wall with your hands curled against your chest. Dex curses himself for making you this way but he’s aware enough to know that he can’t make this about himself.

“Baby, do you want to look at the garden?” he asks again, crouching down to your level. You mumble out a response but he doesn’t catch it. He sighs again and places a gentle hand on your cheek. No flinch, no brace for impact, you just let him. 

“Ok” he whispers. He presses a soft kiss to your temple before leaving you alone again. 

No tears fall when he leaves. You have none left.

Dex paces around the kitchen, chest heaving- what can he do to bring you back? What can he do to help you? Letting you leave him is out of the question, but maybe if he just loosened the reins a little- maybe it would be enough. 

Later in the evening he preps the stove to make vodka pasta for the two of you; one of your favorite dishes he cooks. He knows that he doesn’t have enough pasta to make enough but that’s the point. 

Meticulously, he sets up the pot and pan on the stove, he lays out the stirring utensils on the countertop and begins to measure the ingredients for the sauce.

Once the sauce is coming to a simmer, he gives it one last stir before lightly tapping the spoon on the side of the pan. The utensil is placed neatly onto the grey spoon rest before he turns around to wash his hands. 

“Well, shit” he says, loud enough for you to hear (whether or not you’re listening, he doesn't know). Soon enough, the bedroom door opens and Dex steps in. 

“Hey, I’m sorry to bug you again, but I just realized we’re out of pasta. The sauce is on a simmer and I can’t leave it- would you run down the street real quick to grab some?” he asks, as if it’s just a standard task for you.

"Why" you say blankly, not trusting that he would let you go out again.

“I don't have enough for the both of us”. 

The prospect of getting some fresh air away from the apartment- away from Dex, does appeal to you. At this point you know it’s useless to run, but maybe leaving will make you feel a fraction better. You hum in acknowledgement before slowly peeling the covers off of you.

Getting up from being horizontal for so long makes you a bit dizzy but you’d push through just about anything to get away from this place. 

Dex seems oddly calm for letting you go out on your own without his accompaniment; maybe he feels guilty? Maybe he actually does trust you? Whatever the case you take what little he gives and put on something decently presentable. 

“Here” he hands you an umbrella, “It’s pretty rainy out there”. You nod and cautiously take it, still not fully understanding his motives. Dex fingers through his wallet and pulls out some cash for you, “if you see any snacks you want too, go ahead and get them”. 

It genuinely feels wrong for you to be holding the door handle and you hesitate before pushing the door open. Glancing back at Dex one last time, you take a deep breath and push the door open.

The hallway smells like a mix of cleaning product and the residents' dinners; your heart thumps against your chest as you press the elevator button. You keep glancing behind yourself to see if Dex changed his mind (a very likely possibility), luckily the elevator arrives and he is nowhere to be seen.

The metal box feels claustrophobic as you descend to the ground floor- the whole apartment building feels like it’s going to close in on you if you don’t get outside soon. 

Ding. 

You arrive at the lobby and hurriedly make your way to the door but you jump as you hear a man from across the room. 

“Good evening, M’am”. It’s the concierge- you nod awkwardly, “you too”. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at his desk.

You shake your head as you push the large glass door open, was that the right response? Did he think you were suspicious?

The sudden burst of cold winter wind rouses you from your thoughts; the loud sounds of the street ringing your ears and the thick smell of gas and rain floods your nose. The city was well and alive. 

The umbrella opens with a satisfying ‘pop’, you can’t contain the small smile creeping onto your face as you walk down the street. You allow yourself to walk rather slowly, not minding if others pass you- there is no telling when the next time you’ll be able to do this is, so you’ve gotta soak it up while you can. 

Your left hand plays with the money in your coat pocket while you hold the umbrella steady with the other. It feels like when kids are given some cash to play “adult” with.

Eventually you end up at the store, you’re kind of disappointed it took so little time, but there’s still the walk back to look forward to. 

_____________________

It takes about 20 seconds for the apartment elevator to descend from the third floor, Dex obviously has had that racked away since the first time he rode in it. So he gives you a minute head start to walk down the hall, ride the elevator, and cross the lobby.

During that time, he turns off the oven and scrapes the sauce into a container to put in the fridge- he’ll just pour it back in the pan before you return. 

With a quick glance out the window he watches as you open up his black umbrella and begin walking. He effortlessly stashes a pistol and two knives away, shrugs on coat, grabs his keys, and heads down to the lobby. 

He’s quick to toss his hood up and zip the jacket once he steps outside, he can’t get wet because that would cause suspicion. He does trust you… kind of… But he’s only following you for your safety (of course). 

The walk there takes longer than he expects, but that’s only because you are going at a snail’s pace- he doesn’t mind though, he just gets to watch you longer.

Initially he worries you’re stealing because you’re looking for an escape but soon he realizes that you’re genuinely just enjoying the stroll. He smiles.

After you walk into the store he heads back to a bodega further up the street to stay dry until he’s sure you’re on your way back to the apartment. 

He shakes off most of the rain and glances out the window; he notices a group of men that look familiar about to pass by the bodega; they branch off and three of them step inside of the bodega while the other two continue onwards. Odd.

Dex cards thought the stand of shitty gossip and home improvement magazines until he freezes. He realizes where he knows them from- they work for Fisk. The buzzing begins in his ears and he feels his heart sink; there was no way they were here for you, right? No way-

“You think they got it?” Dex turns his head to hear their conversation better, but still tries to keep his face away. 

“I mean yeah- the boss said to just get her when she’s alone.”

“But, Jesus man- It took us like five days of staking out for her to leave that damn apartment. I guess she's a nutjob just like him”; Dex doesn’t need names to know they are talking about him. 

He hates that people see him that way, but he hates it even more that they dare to talk about you that way.

That just won’t do.

_________________________

A small bell dings when you walk into the store and a friendly old woman greets you. Returning the smile, you continue down the aisles of food. Dex has been the one buying groceries and you’ve gotten used to his pretty bland diet, so the basically unlimited options excite you. 

You immediately grab a bushel of bananas and a carton of strawberries- you’ll be able to make smoothies with those. Heading down the veggie aisle you pick up baby carrots and a cucumber, next you head towards the pasta section to get what you were actually here for. 

It’s been so long since the last time you went grocery shopping and you forgot how alike all of the boxes look; your first instinct is to text Dex and ask what kind he wants but you stop yourself. 

First off, you don’t have a phone. Second off, why do you care what Dex wants? You grab the cheapest one off the shelf.

You head to the check out and quickly pay for the food, not wanting to linger awkwardly just because you yearn for connection. Not everyone wants to wait in line behind a girl who is a big talker. 

The rain is coming down harder now and you debate waiting inside the store; your mind flashes to Dex and how he’s probably already a bit stressed with you gone. You don’t want to be longer than you have to, especially if you know he’s not above hunting you down and making a scene. 

You’re about to head back to the way you came until you notice that the street has been blocked off by cop cars; it looks like there may have been a robbery or something at one of the bodegas down the street. You decide to go a backway between the buildings because the balconies and random pipes provide more shade from the downpour and because you do not want to get caught up in whatever the fuck was happening down the road.

Puddles are already forming in the sides of the uneven pavement of the alleyways and you grip the shopping bag close to your body; your mood has somewhat soured at the prospect of going back but it would be nice to get out of the rain and shower. Hopefully the pasta will be as good as it used to be. 

The brim of the umbrella is at eye level as you watch the ground to make sure you don’t step in a stew of garbage and city runoff- you’re so focused that you don’t notice the two men stalking behind you. 

In a flash of movement and rain your umbrella is ripped out of your hold as two hands simultaneously wrap around your waist and mouth. You kick and scream against the hand as the man leans back, lifting you off the ground. 

“Alright, no need for all’a that now, princess” ,the one who took your umbrella closes it and hits you across the face with its handle to stop your writhing.

A white hot flash of pain floods your vision and you start to cry. Why the fuck was this happening to you? Your life is already a major dumpsterfire- why add more fuel?

“Now, we got a job ta’ do, so you’re gonna be real quiet now ain’t ch’a” the man in front of you says as he reaches for his waistband; he pulls out a pistol with a silencer on it. He smiles too widely and wraps his hand around the base. This is it. What a pathetic way to d-

More often than not, Dex comes back irritated or stressed with his work; he’s too far in to quit and to be completely honest, he chose this. He’s complained about Fisk more times than you can count and every time you have to work him down from another anxiety attack. Fisk keeps asking more and more of him; late nights, early mornings, he asks him to terrorize…to kill.

In the beginning Dex felt a certain liberation from the law and enjoyed the freedom that came with the false suit, but the more progress he makes with your relationship, the less he wants to continue down Fisk's path. He doesn’t want to be bad. He doesn’t want to keep killing people. He wants to be good for you, but he can’t… otherwise Fisk will kill him. 

Over time, Dex finally realized that he wasn’t above Fisk’s manipulation-  a notion basically everyone in New York already knew. He thought that he’d be able to stay two steps ahead but that just wasn’t the case. Unfortunately he was too eager in the early days of his time working with the Kingpin and shared one too many personal details. 

Fisk was well aware of you and the role you played for Dex’s sanity. In the beginning he was glad that Dex had someone to keep him in line, but with rising tensions in the city, Kingpin needs a loose cannon. Your existence stands in the way of Fisk’s master plan and he cannot have that. 

It started slowly; a question about you here and a comment about you there. Dex paid no mind to it initially, but recently Fisk has only been asking questions about the relationship between you and Dex. 

You’re sitting at the table in the middle of the apartment working on a 1000 piece puzzle Dex got you from the MET’s gift shop; it’s something to do with a baroque style painting. The weather has been decent, so you also have one of the windows open for some fresh air. He’s been easier on you since that day in the city; you must have gained a semblance of his trust somehow. It’s about time for Dex to be back, so you ready yourself for any mood he may be in; there’s really no telling these days. 

The familiar jingle of his keys catches your attention and you slightly turn towards the door. He pushes it open and steps inside with a sigh; his back is tense and his jaw clenched- something is up. You turn back around before he can see you observing. Over your time with Dex, you’ve realized it’s better to let him approach you in his own time rather than do so yourself. One of the last times you asked him what was wrong, he slid a stack of clean plates off of the counter and into the wall. Of course he apologized later for scaring you and cleaned them with no complaint, but you have never asked him since. 

“Welcome back” you offer in the most even tone you can muster. 

He doesn’t respond. 

Your eyes are still glued to the chaos on the table; your hands shake slightly as they hover over the small pieces and your own spine straightens. Dex wouldn’t lay a hand on you but he was always so intimidating like this. The sound of his bag thudding to the floor startles you and the weight of his hand on your shoulder shakes you even more. There is really no telling what is going through his head; no way to know how he’s feeling. You wait for his next movement- maybe a word, but nothing comes. Curiously, you look up at him, his eyes are watery and wide, he’s sporting a rather concentrated frown. 

“What’s…” before you can ask what’s wrong, he wraps his arms around your head protectively and pulls you to his chest. He mumbles something into the side of your head but you’re not quite understanding him. 

“Dex?” 

“I can’t let him meet you… He can’t-” he says, not particularly answering your question. By some miracle, you’re able to ease out of his hold; he has tears in his eyes and his face is flushed. You notice his chest rising and falling rapidly and his right hand shaking. He’s having a panic attack. 

You’ve had enough experience with Dex when he’s in this state that your body goes into autopilot. Standing from the table, you guide him towards the couch; one hand on his back the other resting on his right forearm to calm his shaking. Once you’re both situated you take his hands into your own making him look at you. Whatever happened at work has obviously shaken him up but he doesn’t have any injuries that you can note. 

“I- Its my fault…” he begins to cry. 

“Ben, breathe. What’s going on?” you ask softly. He shakes his head, refusing to look at you. “Ben” you say, a little louder this time. Your hands have found their place on both sides of his face. For a moment, his anxiety subsites. He closes his eyes and swallows hard, his fists clench in his lap. 

“F-Fisk has been asking about you.” 

You run a comforting hand up and down his arm, “Ok, why has that upset you, so?”.

“He’s been wanting me to… to kill more. And he knows I don’t want to”. Your brow creases as you try to understand. Of course you knew that Dex wanted to be better, that was one of the reasons you were here in the first place. 

“Fisk knows you help me. He knows that I need you” he says abruptly, as if the notion itself is poison. 

“Ben, I- I don’t understan-” 

“He wants to meet you- he’s trying to get you out of the picture! He’s going to try to take you from me!” he nearly screams. 

You know how obsessed and possessive Dex is of you- he fucking killed people to have you- but it’s unsettling to see him so distressed. To be honest, Fisk is scary, but in the same way crimes on TV are- threats you hear about and know are there but have never actually dealt with. Maybe you aren’t fully grasping the situation.

“It’s my fault that he knows about you. I- I told him too much” he babbles, eyes unfocused as he absentmindedly shakes his fist. 

“No, No- Look, It’ll all be alright. We don't have to meet with him- I won’t meet him” you comfort him by placing your forehead against his. 

His skin is hot against yours but you can feel him slowly coming down. 

“It’s not your fault…It’s all going to be ok” 

That night you allow Dex to hold onto you to fall asleep. 

____________________________________________________

The days pass and Dex’s nerves still; Fisk must not have asked about you again. Eventually, it’s as if none of that had ever occurred. Dex’s routine rarely changes, especially his internal clock and meal times. Regardless of the content of the day, his body wakes him at the same time every day and he can only sometimes fall back asleep. It used to be a pain for him but since you’ve been around, he doesn’t hate it as much. He gets to sit back and watch you peacefully sleep (one of his favorite pastimes).

Today is no different, Dex leans against the headboard with a soft smirk as he watches your chest rise and fall under the morning sun. He can smell the remnants of your honeysuckle shampoo. His heart flutters. 

You stir next to him and he can’t help but run a steady hand along your side, “Good Morning, Sweetheart” he coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. Dex scoops you into his arms and smiles as you nuzzle into his chest. How long has it been since you last did that? If he had to guess, it was probably before you found out about his “observing”, or as you would call it, stalking. 

You’re finally accepting him again… Everything is falling into place and Dex cannot have anything ruin that. The two of you stay tangled together for a while longer until your stomach growls, catching his attention. 

“You’re hungry” he says, more as a statement than a question. 

“Oh, maybe- I didn’t really notice” you hum as you stretch your arms. 

He smirks, “well, good thing I'm here to notice for you”. 

Some time ago, that comment would have boiled your blood, but over time there has been some type of routine- some comfort in the life the two of you had made. You’ll never forget what he’s done and still does- hell, you don’t think you’ll ever fully forgive him for it. But you’ve grown accustomed to the “day-to-day” with him. There is not much else for you to do…

He makes you smile, he treats you well, you’ve patched him up God knows how many times. Caring for someone in that way will affect a person. How could you not when he would come to you crying, when you would clean his wounds, when he would beg you to help him be better. 

Benjamin Poindexter is not a perfect man- he isn’t even a good one, but he does try. In his own way, he tries to be better for you. He was broken from an early age and it seemed that you were the only person who could hold the pieces together, even if only for short periods of time. 

Maybe it was a bit of Stockholm syndrome, or maybe the part of you that once cared for him has come back. Either way, this was your life now and there really was no way out- might as well try to be content. You still had fight, but you realized there was a time and place for it; no room for mistakes. 

“How about we go get breakfast?” he offers, breaking you from your thoughts. 

“It’s almost lunchtime” you say, your brow arching at his classification of time. 

He playfully rolls his eyes, “Alright, smarty- let’s get brunch”. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed”.

Mornings with Dex are sweeter now that you’ve decided how you want to live your life. He allows you to wash your face, brush your teeth, and do your makeup before he steps into the bathroom; he brushes a gentle hand against your side as the two of you pass.

The weather in New York has been especially dreary lately as the impending winter weather rolls in, so you choose to bundle up. As you zip up your jacket and tie your shoes, Dex straps two of his throwing knives into a secure holster on his belt (he never leaves the apartment without some type of defense). He takes your hand and the two of you descend the stairs. 

The walk to the cafe isn’t bad, save for the strong wind. Now that it’s winter you have to remember to bring gloves, luckily for you Dex runs warm so you’re not left too cold. 

He opens the door for you and follows in closely behind you, he’s always on alert. The cafe lies across the street from Chelsea park so it gets quite a few tourists, but Dex knows how much you like their Chai. Today the line is pretty long but you don’t mind; having a break from the brisk weather is nice. 

You flex your fingers and rub your palms together before looking up at Dex, “It’s a lot colder than last week, I gotta dress warmer”. 

Dex registers what you say to him (of course, he’s always so attentive), but he finds himself distracted by the adorable dusting of pink across your face from the cold. The two of you first met in the spring, he had no clue that you flushed so easily from the wind. Collecting new information never ceases to excite him. 

“Maybe so” he chuckles, placing his hands on your shoulders before kissing the crown of your head. You don’t squirm to tense. He smiles wider. The line moves relatively quickly but then some guy asking for the most complicated order holds up the line. 

“No, no- I said two shots of espresso with half oat, half soy, steamed on high with caramel on top and vanilla in the bottom” the guy snaps at the tired barista. He’s wearing a cleanly pressed armani suit and his hair has about six tons of gel holding it in place. 

You patiently watch the scene, feeling more bad for the barista than anything- you’d been in that place at the bar more times than you could count. Out of the blue, your stomach growls loudly and Dex looks down at you with a frown. 

“We’re gonna get you some food soon, this fucking guy just needs to hurry up and order” Dex whispers to you, more protective than you thought was necessary.  

“So you’d like a caramel macchiato style cappuccino with half oat and soy?” she repeats back to the man as she types things into the screen in front of her.

The man pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs loudly, gaining the attention of other customers. “No. I need it steamed on high with extra heat and the espresso to be poured last”. The barista nods and enters it into the system and the man rudely checks his watch impatiently. 

“Fucking Yuppie” Dex comments snidely, cutting his eyes at the man as he moves to the side. 

The two of you finally get to the counter and Dex begins the order, “Hey, could I get a tall drip coffee, black and a hot chai, with extra cinnamon”. He motions to you and adds, “and whatever else she wants” with a soft smile. 

You ask for a blueberry-vanilla scone and Dex taps his card to the reader. The two of you were last in the line from the rush, so you wait to the side as the barista starts on the drinks. You open the pastry bag as Dex stands protectively behind you; “Do you want some?” you offer but he politely declines. “No thank you, Sweetheart. You eat it”. 

You shrug and happily bite into the scone; the consistency is perfect, not too dense and not too dry- only problem is that the drizzle is a little messy. The barista calls out your, dex’s, and the other man’s orders and you search for the napkin stand. It’s on the other side of the Yuppie so you politely excuse yourself to move around him, but he’s too busy on his phone that he steps into you, effectively spilling his scalding drink on your jacket and his suit. 

“FUCK!” he yells, looking down at the mess. Instinctively, you say sorry while also biting your lip at the heat. Dex rushes over to you and places the drinks down to grab napkins. 

“You stupid bitch! I have a meeting in 15 minutes!” he exclaims, brushing at his suit.

As soon as he says it, you’re immediately more worried about the man’s safety than your own; Dex snaps his head towards the man before you can even finish your thought. Soon, he’s stalking over to the guy, Dex’s shoulders are squared and his eyes are wild. 

“The fuck did you just call her?” Dex huffs, almost begging for the man to say it again. 

At this point the barista makes her way over to you with a small towel, “here- I know its not much, but it’s better than napkins”. She watches the scene with wide eyes and you don’t blame her- there’s no way you’d want to be in the middle of those two. 

The man wipes off a droplet of his drink that splashed onto his face, “I said…” he narrows his eyes at Dex, “ I have a meeting in 15 minutes and your dumb ass, bitch of a girlfriend spilled my drink”.  He made sure to enunciate every last syllable and your heart sinks. 

Dex’s right hand slowly creeps towards the holster on his belt while he moves impossibly closer to the other man, trapping him between the wall. 

Sure he was a dick, but you honestly weren't sure if Dex was going to whip out his knives and kill him right here. You didn’t want another death on your hands.

“Ben” you call, of course he turns- he turns any time he hears your voice. You shake your head “Please, can we just go?”. Dex’s eyes twitch as he looks back at the man before grunting, “You’re lucky she doesn’t want this to be any more of a scene than it already is. Watch your fucking mouth”. 

You barely have a chance to pick up your drinks before he guides you outside, the veins in his hands are bulging and his brow is still fixed into a deep scowl. 

“Are you ok?” he asks, his eyes trained straight on the sidewalk in front of him. Your mouth opens to respond, but you can only muster a small “mhm”. The rest of the walk is silent until you reach the apartment again; he unzips your jacket for you before he takes off his own. 

“You didn’t need to apologize to that prick” he says in passing as he heads into the bedroom to grab you a different shirt. What are you supposed to say to that? 

“It was just instinctive” you respond, slipping out of the stained shirt. “He doesn’t deserve an apology- I should have put him in his place” he mutters. 

Where exactly is his place? Six feet under?

“You did, You told him off. You did really good” you say instead. The tension in his frame dissipates at your praise and he can’t help but sigh; the man was still on his mind though, there is no way that he could just get away with talking to you like that. 

You open your arms to him and he walks into them as if he’s coming home. He buries his face into your neck as he hoists you into his arms; you wrap your legs around his waist and brush your fingers through his hair. 

“Thank you for not hurting him,” you say quietly. 

His smile sours slightly; how could he forget?

You’re still scared of him. You think that he could snap at any moment…maybe you’re right, but it still hurts to know you think he was still so dangerous. He chooses not to respond, instead he sets you down gently and suggests working on your puzzle. 

The evening is good and it seems that Dex got over the incident relatively quickly; it’s an early night for you since you spent most of the afternoon at the rooftop garden doing work. It’s not unusual for you to go to sleep before Dex, so you really think nothing of it when he’s still sitting at the dining table with his laptop open. 

You pass behind him and glance over his shoulder, he’s looking at some wall street documents. “What’s that for?” you ask, rubbing your eyes. He leans back in the chair and stretches his arms, “Ahh, nothing really, Fisk wanted some intel on this company who works with some of his finances” he says, giving you a quick once-over. 

You hum in response and pat his shoulder, “I’m going to head to bed”. He catches your hand before you can leave and brings it to his lips, “alright, sweet dreams”. That boyish smirk settles itself onto his face and you can’t help but smile. 

“Ugh, you’re so corny” you say as you roll your eyes. 

“Just for you” he winks before letting you go, “Oh, I forgot to say- I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, so I’ll make your drink and put it in the fridge, you can just add ice when you get up”. You toss him a thumbs up over your shoulder, “Ok, thank you!”. 

Dex turns back to his computer and cracks his neck with a sigh. A bit later on, he creeps into the bedroom to make sure you’re sleeping, before returning to his computer. His jaw tightens as he sifts through documents, phone numbers, and CCTV footage until he finds the man. 

Jason Stanley, 35, works at Morgan Stanley on Wall Street. Graduated from University of Chicago (probably paid for by his parents), treasurer of their chapter of Sigma Chi (of course). Lives alone at 515 18th St., apartment 1098. He frequents a strip club in the east village with a pretty well known cocaine problem. He also just seems to be an all around douchebag. No one in society would miss him. 

Dex closes his laptop and gets up to go shower; his mind is set, Jason is going to die. As the warm water cascades down his body, warm steam creeping up his spine, he can’t help but feel a little bad about the fact that you had just praised him earlier for doing the “right thing”. But as much as he wanted to be good and be better- he could not have someone treating you like that and living.

This was actually an act of his undying love, he wouldn’t tell you but he just knows it’s better this way. And hey, if he didn’t bring it up again, he wouldn't technically be lying to you. Just one kill wouldn’t mean he’s lost his progress, right?

This guy has an early routine so Dex pulls himself out of bed while it’s still dark to get the drop on him. It genuinely takes Dex about ten minutes from leaving his apartment to finding Jason; he watches from a corner store as the slicked-up yuppie hops into a cab heading towards Wallstreet. He notes the fact that the man is smoking a cigarette out the window. 

Somehow Dex beats him there and waits from another rooftop for the cab to pass him by, the window is still open which Dex decides is a good omen; why else would the window be left open for a clean shot if the world didn’t want this guy to die? 

Dex’s eyes narrow as he lines his sights up with the man as he’s stopped in traffic, his finger itching to pull the trigger. He glances to make sure no other cars are going to pass and then…

THUD.

The man’s body slumps over in the backseat and the driver doesn’t even notice. Perfect.

Dex doesn’t waste time as he picks up and begins heading to wherever Fisk told him to be; he doesn;t steal a look when he hears the taxi driver shout, he doesn’t look as onlookers scream, and he certainly doesn’t look back when he hears the sirens racing to get to the man. 

All he can do is smile. 

Benjamin Poindexter was never one to care about his physical appearance much. Of course he liked to keep his hair kept, face shaved, and hygiene up- but he was never one to worry about how his body looked. 

He’d always been an athletic guy and his years in the service and the FBI kept him in good enough shape. Honestly there were a lot of women who found him desirable, just that none of them caught his eye the way she did. 

She, whose sweet voice guided him back from the darkest places his mind would reach. She, who never judged him and supported the best way she knew how. She, who perfectly fit into his routine.

When he went to work for Fisk, he initially tried to keep it from her; he’d clean himself up as best he could before coming home to her. “The bureau just needed more hours” or he’d distract her in other ways. 

Benjamin Poindexter loves his woman’s body. Her defined collarbones, he likes to drag his teeth down, her tantalizing waist he loves to grip onto as he makes love to her, her bright eyes that consume his very soul. 

She is his muse. His north star. His ultimate devotion. 

He lives to impress her, to keep her safe and happy. Never had he questioned her feelings for him either, maybe that’s why he became so obsessed with their relationship.

He was not a good guy, but he wanted to be and she knew that. She helped guide him back to the light when he went too far and still held him close when he fell to the darkness. 

But when Fisk broke his spine. Broke him… Things began to feel different. 

For one, he couldn’t feel anything below his waist and only had limited mobility in his upper body. He watched as she came into the highly secure hospital room with tears in her eyes.

He was helpless. 

He watched as she was forced to leave in the mornings and called for him down the hallway. There was nothing he could do- not with this body.

It was utter torture to know he couldn’t be there for her- take care of her.

It was really a no-brainer for Dex when Dr.Oyama came to him with the experimental surgery. If there was a chance for him to walk again, hold her again- he would take it in a heartbeat. 

The surgery was strenuous and painful; somehow he kept waking up during the procedure. He could feel every prick, every infusion, but he was stuck. His mind wandered to her, this was all for her. 

Recovery wasn’t easy for him either, his spine felt alien and uncomfortable inside of him. It took two weeks for his legs to gain feeling again and even longer to stand.

The metal in his spine had a certain weight to it that was difficult to adjust to. The first few times he tried to stand, the aids had to catch him from falling backwards. 

Luckily, she was able to visit him during his time in rehab; she was there for the hard days, the small victories, and even his first steps. 

She held onto his bicep to steady him once he graduated from using the walker. Dex hated that he needed assistance and felt he had become a burden to her. 

The days passed; slow progress being made, eventually it was time for him to face the music. His detainment was quite anticlimactic; she was asleep on the chair next to his bed, his arm slung around her back. 

One of the soldiers made a comment about how such a beautiful woman must be equally as crazy to stay with a man like Benjamin Poindexter’s side. 

They woke him, rather unceremoniously, cuffed him and marched him out of the room. He complied but stole a kiss from his girl before leaving the room. 

“I’ll be back, Baby” he promised. 

She knew he would be. 

____________________________________

After he broke out, he bee-lined for their old apartment; regardless of the time that had passed he knew she would be there. 

The key he hid for emergencies was still sitting behind a loose brick outside of the apartment building. His heart thuds against his chest as he ascends the all too familiar stairs. The key clicks perfectly into the lock and he gently pushes the door open. 

She’s seated on the couch facing the TV, he can smell her shampoo. He drops the hat he took from the security guard and she turns. 

His heart feels as if it may beat out of his chest as her eyes meet his; they’re wide and hopeful. 

“Ben?” Her voice is small and soft. 

“I’m home” he confirms, opening his arms to her. 

She runs into his hold and her scent floods his senses. He tightens his grasp around her small frame and presses kisses into her temple. 

“I knew you were coming” she breathes into his chest before looking up at him with watery eyes, “I saw on the news- I knew you would come back”. 

He runs his fingers through her hair with a large smile, “I told you I would never leave you”. 

She detaches herself from his chest garnering a frown on him, but he’s suddenly satiated as she feverishly presses her lips against his. He moans into her mouth and runs his hands down her back. 

In prison, there wasn’t much for him to do other than read, think, and workout. His bulk was evident in his shoulders and arms, all she wanted was him to take her. 

“Ben, I need you” she breathes into his mouth between kisses and he physically feels the blood rushing southward. 

His eyelids are heavy as he stares down his nose at her, “Fuck, baby” he rasps.

Contrary to popular belief, he was quite a passionate lover and especially now- after so long away, he was going to savour every moment with her. His north star. 

She leads him to the bedroom, he follows with disciplined intent; it looks almost identical to when he left, she kept it the way he liked it. His heart swells. 

Before he can take off his shirt, she’s kissing his neck again; shuddering at the sensation of her teeth on his skin, he hoists her up into his strong arms and returns her actions. Eventually he eases her down onto the bed. 

She watches hungrily as he hurriedly strips down to his boxers. Pupils dilating with every movement of his taught muscles. She whines when she catches the evidence of his arousal- the outline of his cock, strains against its confines; a small patch of wetness forming from his anticipation. 

Before they can return to each other, she catches a glimpse of the raised line running down his back. Of course she never forgot that he was injured in such a way, but the chance to see it in such an intimate setting had not yet presented itself. 

Until now. 

She stands from her position on the bed and gently turns his body away- all the heated urgency from before has formed into something more gentle, more soft. 

“What’r you-” he begins to ask but she shushes him with a kiss between his shoulder blades. 

He gasps. 

“I want to admire you” she admits with a quiet tone as she presses her cheek to his back. 

He reluctantly allows her to observe the long scar running from the base of his skull down to his tailbone. It’s probably red right now from the friction of the security guard outfit.

His jaw clenches, he’s not used to feeling so physically vulnerable. Mentally and emotionally vulnerable? For sure. But physically… that’s something completely new. 

She ghosts her manicured fingers down the scar, retracting her fingers when Dex inhales sharply. 

“Does it hurt?” she asks softly. 

He squares his shoulders and shakes his head, not meeting her gaze. “No, it's just… it's just sensitive,” he admits, exhaling through his nose. 

Instead of responding with words, she presses her soft lips to the base of his neck and kisses down his spine. He feels every inch of her perfect lips and the sensation arouses him. 

She finishes her trail and turns him around to face her again, surprised by how much the action stirred him. 

“Yea, I’m just as surprised as you, baby” he laughs quietly, his eyes heavily lidded with desire. 

His hands caress her sides, each curve more familiar than the last- soon they end up on the bed again. 

Dex is gentle as he slowly pulls each garment off of her flawless body. First, the old tshirt of his that almost encompasses her whole body.

He presses soft kisses up her sides as he pulls the bottom of the shirt over her head. Her soft skin makes him weak. 

Next, the plaid boxer style shorts. Each inch he slides them down he makes sure to caress her legs with his thumbs.

Dex always loved that she wore his clothing to lounge around the apartment. 

He runs his calloused hands over her abdomen and kisses from her ankles up to the base of her neck with painful anticipation. 

Finally, he gazes upon what he’d been missing for so long, his North Star beautifully spread across their shared bed with nothing but the lacy black set he bought her not long before he was injured all that time ago. 

He almost cums from the sight. 

“Ben, I‘ve missed you so much” she whispers in that sweet voice he loved to hear. Her soft hand juxtaposes the hardened rough feeling of his jaw as she caresses his face. 

Their lips collide in a fit of passion until he begins to work his way down her body again, leaving marks of devotion all the way. He catches the lace of her underwear in his teeth before sliding it down her legs. 

Instinctively her thighs clench together but Dex just won’t have that; he parts them with his strong hands and buries his face into her aching core. Night and day, this pussy was always on his mind. 

Never had he tasted anything so divine. Her legs tremble around his head and she buries her hands in his hair as he nudges her clit with his nose. His precise fingers slip into her heat and her body arches at his touch. 

“Oh my God!” she cries grasping the sheets below her. 

Dex smiles against her clit as he gently sucks it while he guides her to release with his long digits. It was not only in combat that “never missing” came in handy. With one more movement he easily pulled an orgasm from her. 

Her voice, perfectly melodic as she cried his name- how he loved to hear it. 

His own arousal had dripped onto the sheets below but neither of the two seemed concerned in the slightest. His member pulsed with each breath she took, she was ethereal. 

“Please, Ben- Please…” she mewls, weak arms grabbing for him. 

Dex can’t help but smile, he’s made his girl happy- that’s all he could ever want. 

“What is it baby? Tell me what you want” he whispers, brushing a hair from her forehead. 

“I want you- I want to make love with you” she whispers shyly. 

Shivers run down Dex’s metallic spine; he adores when she calls sex “making love”, it’s so beautiful, so pure. He is a deeply obsessive romantic person after all. 

“Anything you want, beautiful” he promises before pulling himself up over top of her. 

His cock is heavy, flushed, and leaking as it rests on her stomach between them; she whimpers. Dex plants his strong hands on either side of her head and slowly ruts himself against her core, collecting her arousal. 

He curses at the obscene image in front of him, she’s absolutely dripping for him. Dex meets her gaze once more and holds contact as he enters her. 

The two moan in unison at the sensation. He won’t last long. 

Dex sets the pace slowly at first- it’s been so long since the last time they were joined and he’s not sure how well his back will do with the movement.

She molds around his cock perfectly and he swears she was sent from heaven just for him. He picks up the pace a tad and she locks her legs around his lower waist. Her hands run up and down his broad back until she feels the raised line of his scar. 

Curiously, she gently runs her fingers down it and press lightly at the small of his back to push him deeper. The sensation catches him off guard and he makes a sound she’s never heard before; something mixing a gasp, a shout, and a moan.

 Without warning he shoots his thick cum deep inside before briefly collapsing on her chest. He curses before reluctantly pulling himself out, both shudder at the abrupt removal. 

“Oh, Oh my- Fuck, I-I’m so sorry baby- I couldn’t.. I just” he babbles as he tries to catch his breath. 

Instead of scolding or patronizing him, she simply opens her arms to him. He releases a shaky breath before finding his place in her arms, he can hear her heart thumping against her chest as he lays on her. 

“I love you Ben” she whispers before kissing his forehead. 

Benjamin Poindexter was never one to worry about his physical appearance, because he knew his north star would shine for him regardless. 

After that night it becomes a common occurrence for him to come home late, bruised and battered.

Each time a lost opportunity to leave. At this point you question if you’re the one condemning yourself to this life. 

Each time, you tend to his wounds and allow him to cradle you in his arms in bed while you go numb.

He doesn’t talk about how he got his injuries or where he’s been. But he has started telling you when he’s done something “good”. 

“I resisted today…I was thinking of you.” he says casually one night as the two of you eat dinner. 

This was his way of letting you know that he’s been improving or whatever he thinks it is. You hate the fact that he thinks of you when he’s in those situations but maybe you did have some sort of impact on him, nonetheless, you tell him that it was a “good thing” he did. 

One early afternoon you wake from a cat nap the sound of the shower running, odd- Dex usually keeps to a pretty strict schedule so it’s quite surprising that he’s home.

Your joints crack as you stretch your back out on the couch before standing up to grab a glass of water. Your body freezes when you see the unmistakable handle of a pistol jutting out of Dex’s bag on the table.

Of course he uses guns and has some stashed around the house, he’s a veteran, not to mention a goddamn assassin. It's just that he’s usually more careful with his weapons- you’ve never had the chance to be so close to one. He wouldn’t give you the chance.

As you make your way to the fridge you notice he has two more lying on the lower side of the kitchen island. Both glocks look polished and lethal. This could be your chance- your chance to escape.

Your heart races and you feel your body drive into flight mode. Before you can really think about it your hand hovers over one of the handles, ready to-

Wait. 

How exactly would this gun help you? 

You step back with a shaky breath until your back hits the wall behind you. 

Dex is much stronger than you and much more familiar with these guns- if you were to use them, you would have to do so with the intent to kill…

The room begins to sway. There is no possible way you would be able to live with yourself if you killed someone. You try justifying having it as self defense, but you know that if he found out you took one that you’d end up having to...

The sounds of the water running in the other room catch your attention, how long have you been standing there? What if he caught you looking at it- what would he think? 

Your heart drops when you realize you just considered taking someone’s life. Regardless of it being out of fear or self preservation- you genuinely almost picked the gun up. 

Without taking a second look at the weapons, you scurry into the bedroom and try to calm your breathing. You’re afraid of your thoughts- did you actually want that? Did you want to kill him? 

No.

Maybe?

NO!

White hot tears prick at your tear ducts; this isn’t like you. You’re losing it. What if this were actually a set up? What if he was somehow watching you to see how you would react- Dex was never careless enough to just leave things lying around. A pool of dread forms in your stomach, you feel like a child who just did something they weren't supposed to. A strong urge to show him you weren’t going to use them took you over, you had to show him you were  good.

Not sure if it is out of fear or your own desire for comfort, you head towards the bathroom; clouds of steam seep through the crack at the bottom of the door, you can smell his body wash. There is a brief moment you consider knocking but you end up just opening the door. The frosted glass of the shower walls hide his face but you can make out his body. He’s facing the faucet, running his hands through his hair. 

Your stomach twists again- you actually have never seen all of him. 

Slowly, you approach the shower and call out to him in a small voice; tears are still rolling down your cheeks but he doesn’t seem to hear you. 

“Ben” you call, a little louder this time. 

His silhouette bends down to slow the water slightly before saying your name. The fabric of your sleeve brushes your cheek as you attempt to quell your apparent distress, you need to know that you’re still you. Still good. 

You place a palm on the tinted glass before he slides the door open to look at you. His face is neutral until he sees the tears, suddenly his eyes widen. 

“Hey, hey, hey- c’mon sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why’r you cryin’?” he says in a hushed gentle tone. It makes you sob harder. 

He reaches behind him to fully turn the water off and you miss the way he hides the throwing knife he was holding in case you came in with a weapon of your own. 

You sit on the lid of the toilet as he grabs a towel to wrap around his waist, his hair is still dripping and his whole chest is red from the heat but he doesn’t seem to care as he kneels down to your level. His large hands envelop yours in warmth and his eyes are large as he looks up at you. 

“What goin’ on, sweetheart?” he asks again.

Your lower lip wobbles as you feel another wave of tears coming; how could you consider hurting him? He was just a man who also needed help- you had no right to...

“I-I saw the guns” you squeak out before squeezing your eyes shut, maybe if you squeezed hard enough, everything would go away. 

The scent of his body wash fills your senses as he pulls your head to his chest, he keeps a protective hand around you as rests his chin atop your head. 

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry” his voice rumbles deeply through his chest. You sob. 

“I know you don’t like my work stuff, I’m so sorry” he says as he gently rocks you. 

He’s so gentle. 

Once you calm down, he escorts you the bedroom and tucks you into bed. His hair is still damp and he hasn’t had a chance to put on a shirt, but you’re his sole priority at the moment. You feel awful. Before he leaves you call his name again. 

“Am I still good?” you whisper; maybe to him, maybe to yourself, at this point nothing is clear. 

His brows furrow, “Of course you are. You - you are so good. You help me, you listen. You are my north star”. 

Another tear falls from your red eyes and he wipes it away before pressing a kiss to your temple and closing the door.

Dex stands on the opposite side and takes a moment before smirking to himself; he knew you'd do the right thing- he didn't lie to you, you were just that good. 

He saunters over to his beloved weapons, brushing his fingers against their barrels before collecting them.

There was honestly a 50/50 chance that you would come into that bathroom ready to send a bullet through his skull but he was pleasantly surprised to see you unarmed and willing to receive his affection. 

See, this proves you want to stay with him. 

He falls asleep with a smile that night. 

_________________________________

He’s much more comfortable knowing that you won’t run from the apartment but he still won’t let you outside without his (very close) accompaniment. Sometimes you beg him to take you out just so you can see the street up close, but he rarely gives in. 

Oddly enough today seems different, Dex wakes up as always and brews his coffee and makes your chai (you’ve actually been drinking them recently).

You walk out of the bedroom rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you sit on the couch. 

Dex is shirtless and only wearing his boxers as he joins you on the couch; he’d been getting much more comfortable about his body around you recently- maybe it's because you’re constantly having to patch him up.

During his short time working with Fisk, he’s collected a menagerie of scars. It’s rare that he comes back without some sort of new mark. 

He’s not a bad looking guy by any means and there was a time that you would have jumped at the opportunity to see him like this. You’ve just gotten so accustomed to seeing him that you don’t feel much at his physicality.

It's his touch that gets you.

His softness, his gentle smile, his doting aura. All the qualities you yearned for before you knew his true nature. Sometimes you swear you forget who’s sitting beside you. 

His calloused hand brushes your cheek after he hands you your drink, his eyes are bright and a soft smile settles on his lips. 

“I bought you something,” he says with a confident smile. 

You tilt your head curiously as he reaches behind the couch with a colorful boutique bag, something you definitely could not have afforded. 

“I- What’s this for?” you ask as he places the perfectly constructed bag into your hands. The light pink and purple tissue paper at the opening of the box makes you feel like you’re getting a birthday gift. That stupid smirk settles onto his lips and he tells you that you’ll just have to open it to find out.

Your heart pounds inside your chest- he hasn’t bought you anything but flowers or food in a very long time, not since you’ve lived under his roof. 

You don’t notice you’re trembling until you drop a piece of tissue paper, but Dex scoops it up before it can hit the floor. It has to be some type of outfit or clothes, the boutique wouldn't sell anything else and you doubt that Dex had the bag lying around to put something else in. He told you that he wouldn’t hurt you - physically, because of course he denies scarring your psyche. So you’re not worried that it would be something harmful, you’re honestly more worried that it might be something akin to lingerie. 

After everything the two of you had gone through, not once had you even tiptoed the line of sexual. Even when you were ignorant to his motives, you had only ever kissed him on the cheek. He never pushed you for anything you weren't comfortable with in that realm. Eventually when you began sleeping in his bed, he would cuddle you or kiss your temple, shoulder, and sometimes even the back of your neck- it was always “caring”, it never felt sexual. 

You remembered in the beginning that was one of your biggest fears; for God’s sake he stole a pair of your panties and handcuffed you to his bed. What else were you supposed to think?

At some point his touch became background noise, it was normal and expected. No longer did you cower from his hands. But for some reason all of the fear you once had floods back as soon as you touch a silken fabric.

Your blood runs cold. 

Naturally, you should have expected that eventually he would want to have you in that way. That he would truly make you his. The room starts to spin and you feel sick. 

“Well are you gonna take it out or what?” He breaks the trance with a smile. 

Reluctantly, you nod and lift the garment out of the bag. Much to your surprise it’s not a bedroom set, it’s a silken dress- actually it's a dress you had wanted, what feels like a lifetime ago. 

The boutique lies on the outskirt Chelsea, not too far from the coffee shop you and Dex used to frequent. Did you ever point it out to him? Not like it would matter anyway, he seemed to know you better than you knew yourself. 

“It’s beautiful, Dex” you exclaim, still confused as to why you need it. 

His left eye twitches a bit at the use of his nickname- he much prefers you to call him Ben. Like you used to. He can’t blame you though, at this point you’ve been calling him Dex way longer than you ever called him Ben. 

“I wanted to take you out today” he says, no particular emotion lining his voice. 

It had been ages since you had gone anywhere but the corner bodega (of course always accompanied by him), the thought of going outside honestly made you nervous. 

“Take me out? Why?” 

He smiles at your confused tone as if it’s crazy for you to be asking him that. “Becasue my girl has been working so hard around the house, I wanna treat her to a meal”. 

Was this a trap? Some sort of trick? There was no way that he would just trust you out of the blue like that. Sure, he’d become more lax with you but his guard was never fully down. 

“I- Thank you D-” you watch his eye twitch again. 

“Ben, thank you” you say, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “I’ll go put this on then” you say before disappearing into the bedroom, fully missing the blush creeping onto his cheeks. You never touch him first. Never. Maybe, just maybe you were coming around. He can’t help but smile to himself as he runs his fingers over his knee. 

Dex’s breath catches in his throat when you emerge from the bedroom, to him you look like the most beautiful thing on earth. You, on the other hand, cross your arms over your chest in shame. How long had it been since you wore something so nice and “normal”- you barely recognized yourself in the mirror.

In a way you resembled the woman you were before Dex came into your life, but at the same time, you never would have been able to afford something so nice. 

The dress reminds you that this, whatever this “life” is- its just made up, curated just like Dex’s routine. 

“You…look stunning” Dex says breathlessly as he involuntarily moves his hand over his chest. Offering him a small shy smile, you step towards him. “I- Are you sure it’s not too much?” you ask quietly, avoiding his eyes. 

He shakes his head and walks closer to you, “Of course not, sweetheart. It fits you perfectly”. 

“I just feel like I look stupid” you say vulnerably as you catch a glance of your reflection in the mirror. He tilts your chin towards his face; he’s frowning. 

“You could never look anything other than beautiful” he says before pressing a kiss against your temple.

“I got us reservations at this new restaurant over by Washington Square Park for tonight, seems pretty nice. Fisk actually got us a VIP booth too” Dex says, maybe it was his attempt to excite you. 

You thank him before heading back to the bedroom to change back into your normal clothes until tonight. 

“Wait, where are you goin’?” he calls. 

“I just assumed I would change back until it’s time to go” you respond. 

He smiles to himself as if you said some funny joke, “I know you’ve been wanting to go out. I planned a whole day for us, sweetheart”. 

A distant twinge of excitement runs through your body until it’s replaced with unfamiliar anxiety. You had wanted to go out so badly, to escape this goddamn apartment, but now it’s become all you know. The genuine prospect of venturing out into the city now seems to frighten you.

What if you acted oddly and Dex gets mad because you are drawing attention? What if nobody notices the dynamic and you get herded back into your corral at the end of the night? Running hasn’t worked but maybe acting in public would? 

Fuck- what are you thinking, wasn’t it already established that he would find you or find a way to get to you, regardless of any obstacles in his way. You should just enjoy the gift of a day out that Dex has presented you with. Maybe it would even be fun. 

_________________________________

For the first time in forever, Dex’s protective grip around your waist doesn’t feel suffocating. As you pass through the hoards of busy New Yorkers, you wonder how you did this everyday without being overwhelmed.The thick smells of the street, the blaring noises of the road, the constant crowds- it all seems less enjoyable than you remembered. The time tucked away in Dex’s apartment has changed you- it's evident in the way you flinch when a cab honks or in the way you can no longer navigate the crowded streets. 

Dex’s apartment lies on 9th avenue in Chelsea, that was easy enough to remember because you’d often watch people freely enjoying their day on the highline. Dex used to take you on walks there, you’d both make up funny stories about whatever bizarre art installations were there. 

You don’t recognize where you are now, you’re further than the radius you can see from the window. You’re on edge until the buildings fade into the familiar patterns of that midtown neighborhood you love. Hell’s Kitchen.

You’re back home. 

Instinctively, you point out the first bodega you recognize to Dex; “Oh my God! I used to grab 5 hour energy from there if I was pulling a double at the bar!” you squeal excitedly. Dex smiles. 

“Oh! And they have the best falafel” you exclaim, pointing to one of the extravagantly decorated food trucks on the road. 

You don’t realize how excited you are until Dex has to hold you back from walking when the crossing sign flashes red. His hand is firm on your abdomen and his eyes forward, as if to scout any other potential threats to your safety. It takes you patting his hand to snap him out of his daze. 

“Sorry, sweetheart- Just tryin’ to be careful” he offers before snaking his arm around your waist again. 

Soon enough you reach the edge of the kitchen, you frown as he continues forward. He seems to notice because he pats your side gently and tells you that he’ll take you two back through again. 

Eventually your journey ends at central park. Cliche maybe, but you know why he brought you here- its where you had your first official date. But it feels so nice to be out and to feel normal, you can’t take it for granted. 

It’s a beautiful day out and people are scattered throughout the park; tourists, locals, people having picnics, people playing games, people just enjoying the scenery. The birds seem to dance through the trees as they sing their light tunes- God it’s perfect. 

You’re so taken by the scenery in front of you that you don’t even register the fact that you’ve slipped your hand into Dex’s. It’s only when he has to let your hand go to grab his wallet to buy drinks from a small pop-up cafe deep into the park. He stands diagonally to the window so that he can keep a watchful eye on you, but at this moment- you have no intention of running. 

The cup warms your hands as you take it from him; you find a vacant bench shaded by a large tree to rest on. Once you’re situated Dex’s fingers come up to brush a stray strand of your hair from your face. You smile back at him- it feels how it used to. 

“What do you think?” He asks, sipping his drip coffee. 

“About what?” 

“I don’t know, everything? How are you liking today?” he offers, resting a hand on your knee. 

You squint up at the sky through the leaves; to be honest you don’t really know how you feel. It feels natural again, maybe it’s just the nostalgia (it must be) but it also makes you sad. How long has it been since you felt this way? Weeks? Months? Who can really know? 

But at the same time, how would life be without Dex? There isn’t a time that you can remember before him; surely it hasn’t been that long… There’s just something about him that is so polarizing while also drawing you in. 

“It’s really nice today, i’ve had a wonderful time” you choose to say, not to make him unsettled. That familiar half smirk, half smile settles itself on his face and he draws you closer to him on the bench so that he can kiss your cheek. 

“I’m really glad,” he responds. 

After a while, you make your way through the park to head towards Washington Square for dinner; on the way you pass through the artsy area of central park and come across an older gentleman playing music. People are dancing out in front of him and you tug on Dex’s bicep. 

Benjamin Poindexter was many things, but a dancer was unfortunately not one of them. He’d told himself that he would never embarrass himself like that, especially in public. But once he found you, he realized he would do anything to make you smile. 

“Do you remember when we danced here?” you asked, reminiscing on the time you got Dex to finally dance with you after he’d refused for so long. 

“Yea” he laughs nervously. 

“Well, can we?” you ask excitedly. 

A wave of nervousness washes over him, you’ve already seen him dance horrible but it still makes him feel woozy to think about doing it. He doesn’t like to seem incompetent or inadequate in any way, even if it’s not an applicable skill to his life. 

…but for you, he’d do it. 

“Ah, only if you really wan-” 

You’re pulling him to join you as you freely sway to the music as if you are the only people in the park. Music has always been a love of yours; it creates such a wonderful escape from reality. At some point in the dance, he is supposed to lead but you end up more-so “in-charge”. You spin for him and he holds you, you lead to the left, he follows. A radiant smile creeps its way onto your face and you find yourself laughing. You feel free. 

The music ends and somehow your high hasn’t yet dissipated; the old man with the music smiles at you and Dex offering an innocent compliment. “You two look wonderful together, you better treat that lovely lady right” he winks with a crooked smile as he gestures to Dex. 

“Will do, sir” Dex tosses back with a smile of his own. 

Will do- maybe he is going to get better. Maybe he actually will be better. 

The rest of the walk to the restaurant has you in a good mood. You’re actually conversing with Dex, grabbing his arm to show him something, and cuddling closer to him when a chilly breeze passes by. Feels how it used to… and for some reason, you’re ok with that. 

As the sun goes down and the bright lights of the city illuminate the night, you get an odd feeling. Nights used to be stressful- unsafe, your time working at the bar ingrained that into you. Now nights had a different meaning; would you get through another night or would Dex come back bloodied and beaten? 

Dex commits atrocities at night. The whole goddamn city does. 

The bright lit up sign of the restaurant makes you freeze. Dex had gotten this reservation by Fisk… paid for with blood money. 

You appetite suddenly tosses itself out the window, Dex notices. 

How could you stand to eat a three or something course meal (that probably is too conceptual to even taste right) while knowing you are only able to be there because someone else paid for it with their life…

For a moment he confusedly looks between the upscale venue and back to you, at some point it clicks in his brain and his right subconsciously begins lightly shaking fist at his side- a nervous behavior he has never gotten rid of. 

You look up at his unreadable face, he clenches his jaw and you see the muscles move beneath his cheek.

Today has been so great, you don’t want to set him off now and disrupt all of the progress you and him have made. So you place a gently hand around his bicep, “should we-”

Before you can suggest going inside he speaks, in a very I-just-rehearsed-how-to-say-this kind of way. 

“Hey, this place looks pretty pretentious, huh? How about we go somewhere else?” He says, brushing his thumb under his nose before meeting your gaze. 

Your heart skips a beat, was he about to change plans- pretty important plans, at that...for you? 

“I- But what about the reservation? Won’t Fisk know we didn’t go?” you ask as you nervously fiddle with the skirt of your dress. This was a potentially very dangerous move for him, Fisk may consider this a disrespect. 

He cuts his eyes towards the restaurant in a moment of thought before responding, “Nah- I know we like chinese more and it’s been a long day.”.

He’s good at curating his words because you can barely notice the waiver of his voice on the last word; anyone else would not have noticed that he was a little nervous himself. 

You’re still not convinced, would Fisk take this personally? Wait, why are you caring about what Fisk would think, you’re not the one working for him... you feel yourself starting to spiral.

Luckily for you Dex can tell and he places a hand on your cheek, diverting your attention to him; “We’re only a few blocks from Chinatown, what’d ya say about skipping this place to get some takeout?”.

How is this gentle, caring man the same person who snipes people for a living? How is he the same man who kept you bound to his bed- massacred your coworkers, all innocent people.

Regardless of the past, in this moment. Today. You allow yourself to join his game of house. 

“I would like that Ben, I would like that a lot”. 

Time passed differently with Dex after that night. He spared a life for you, that has to mean something, right? 

It was difficult to let your guard down around him especially after his massacre at the bar (you both silently agreed to never bring it up). And deep down it’s hard for you to truly believe your presence actually has a positive impact on him; he’s a killer afterall, a damn good one at that.

But as most things do, it became more bearable with time. 

His cologne doesn’t make you feel like vomiting anymore, his smile doesn’t make your spine go rigid, and sometimes you even find yourself calling him “Ben” again. 

You physically feel yourself becoming less abrasive- less combative; you can feel it in the way you wake with no shoulder pain or in the way your chest doesn’t burn from holding your breath when he passes you. 

Maybe you were warming up to him. Or maybe you had given up hope of returning to a life without Dex. 

The latter is much more likely. 

After months of this fucked up dynamic, your psyche has gaslit you into believing all hope is not lost. He can change.

He’s much more tender with you and sometimes you even find yourself enjoying his company, though it may just be the fact that you are never socialized outside of his all-consuming presence. 

Some nights you still wake in a cold sweat, his arms around you feeling tighter than the handcuffs that he once bound you to this very bed with. During those times he’s learned that it's better to leave you alone than to try to comfort you. 

You hate him. 

You still do and always will. 

It's just that your fire has burnt out. 

He’s very aware of that. But he allows himself to be swept up in the fantasy- playing house. 

You will learn to love him. You had feelings once, they can come back. 

There are flowers on the table; lilies and orchids. You wish he had gotten you just any flower so you could be annoyed at the fact that he got them thoughtlessly- just for show. But you can’t. 

Dex knows they are your favorites, he’s always known. 

He noted them in the back of his mind when you made a passing comment the first time the two of you walked past the local farmers market. Back when things weren’t so complicated- when he was just “Ben”, the harmless, compassionate FBI agent who saved you from a mugging. 

Sometimes the scent of the flowers makes you want to gag but you also find yourself staring at them for hours on end. How ironic that he gets you white lilies, representative of purity- something you feel he took from you. The orchids are almost worse, representing beauty, love, and strength…

At first you refused to water them, hoping they would wither and die, maybe they could find the peace that you couldn't. 

He noticed your initial aversion, noting it with a slight tightening of his jaw. But instead of getting rid of them, he begins to water them after making coffee in the mornings. Another step in his curated routine. 

You would get used to them and enjoy them again, you would have to- they weren’t going anywhere. Just like him. 

The roof became your escape during the day, planter boxes filled with soil and seed packets he picked up for you. He pitched it as a new passion for you to explore, but you both knew it was just a task to keep you busy. 

When he had shorter shifts and came back before dinnertime, he’d often head straight to the rooftop because he knew that’s where you’d be. You’d watch the pigeons that had gathered on the walls of the roof scatter at his arrival. 

You never thought you’d be envious of a pigeon...

_________________________________________

He became quite comfortable in his role with Fisk; he wasn’t bound by the law but also had direction. To him it was perfect. He was able to act out his obscene urges under the guise of work. 

Though, after one too many stories of him sending something through a person’s skull, you finally ask him to stop. Beg him to stop. 

“Dex, just stop.” you plead, fists clenched in your lap as you blankly stare down at the plate of mixed veggies and rice you made. 

You couldn’t hear this anymore. You knew what he was capable of and had seen it too. If he wanted to play pretend and keep things amicable, he couldn’t tell you these things. 

“Please” your voice comes out smaller than you anticipated and you’re almost embarrassed for even asking.

Much to your surprise he doesn’t retort back, he doesn’t shout, he just nods. 

You feel sick. 

Why didn’t he argue? He has never seemed to take your feelings into consideration before, so why now? 

A shaky sigh escapes your lips and you abruptly stand with your plate and head towards the sink to clean up. Usually you can feel his eyes boring into you from the back but there’s nothing this time. You sneak a peek at him and he’s sitting rigidly, hands clasped in front of him as he stares at the blank wall ahead of him. The air is thick with tension the rest of the night and at some point you decide you just need to be asleep. 

Dex is sitting in front of his laptop, still facing the blank wall when you pass behind him, “I’m going to shower and then get into bed” you say without glancing at him. 

He makes a sound of acknowledgement but before you can head to the bedroom, he reaches out and lightly caresses the inside of your wrist. You freeze. 

“I won’t talk about work anymore” his voice is low and soft, he doesn’t meet your eye. 

What is this? 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you” he adds, rubbing his calloused thumb against your skin. 

All you can muster is a noise somewhere between a hum and a choked sob before continuing into the other room. 

You gently close the bathroom door, worried that if it closes too loudly that it will provoke him. In a daze, you strip down and step into the shower. 

Something as simple as him agreeing to stop telling you about killing people shouldn’t feel so intimate. It should just be a common courtesy, but things are never simple with Dex. 

Your mind waders as the warm water trickles down your body. You asked for something and he complied. He, the man who had stripped you of your freedom- your life- just simply stopped talking when you asked him to. 

And then he apologized. 

He apologized for something so small. His touch was so gentle and his words so sincere- he genuinely felt bad for “upsetting you”. Life had become too comfortable. How was it that he could muster a deephearted apology for that but not for stalking you, manipulating you, keeping you here, killing people. 

None of it made sense. 

He truly believes he needs you and there’s nothing you can do to change that. 

___________________________________________

Days go by and the two of you eventually settle back into routine. He brews coffee for himself at 6:15 am and precisely 15 minutes before he leaves, he prepares a chai latte with a dash of cinnamon for you. 

Since the day he met- well…followed you, he catalogued every drink you got. In the beginning you stuck to plain vanilla lattes with the occasional macchiato but the caffeine started to give you headaches. You tried energy drinks for a stint but didn’t like the carbonation. Eventually you settled on chai lattes and the occasional decaf coffee. 

This morning is no different, he brews his pot as you lie in bed, somewhere between sleep and reality. The lingering warmth of his body against yours has begun to cool, you frown as you draw the covers closer to your chest. 

You hear his footsteps as he re-enters the bedroom with his coffee in hand- odd, he usually doesn’t like bringing any drink that isn’t water into the bedroom for fear of spilling it. He stands at the foot of the bed, you can feel his eyes observing your form. He takes a sip. 

No use pretending you’re asleep. You stretch and readjust yourself so that you’re lying on your side facing the edge of the bed. 

The carpet in the bedroom muffles his steps and he gently places the coffee mug onto a coaster on the bedside table before adjusting the handle so that it’s 90 degrees away from him. He’s dressed in a white button down that you ironed yesterday and his normal slacks. In the darkness of the room you can’t really make out his expression so you just close your eyes again. 

Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

“I’ve got a long day at work, I might be home late” he says in a hushed tone. 

You nuzzle further into your pillow and hum in acknowledgement not really wanting to talk so early in the morning. 

“If I'm not back by night, you can go ahead and go to bed, alright sweetheart?”.

You nod and whisper an “ok”. 

Dex smiles and leans down to kiss your temple, “that’s my girl, i’ll see you later”. 

You want to scream. 

By the time you pull yourself out of bed, the chai is cold and the cinnamon has sunken. You loosely grab the cup and pour the drink down the drain. Out of habit you wash the cup and place it in the drying rack before walking to the couch. The area is clean and he left you a book filled with crosswords.

You rub your eyes and head back into the bedroom to change into something other than pajamas. Once you’ve changed and cleaned yourself up it’s already almost noon. Another day wasted, just like that. Should you even care anymore? Time is just a concept at this point. 

You could always attempt to leave again, skip town, pick up some unnamed work and never look back. That has been a truly enticing idea. He told you himself that he won’t be home until late tonight and he doesn’t lie to you. 

Sometimes you wished he would, but that’s one thing about Dex- he is always honest with you. Whether you find out by your own volition or he straight up tells you he will always tell the truth. You numbly remember the last time you tried to run, he told you exactly what would happen. You didn’t believe him..

But his truth landed on the front page of the daily newspaper.

You’re not sure how much time has passed as you watch the busy streets down below. The weather is actually pretty nice for once and your plants are doing well. Though you try to push it away, a small part of you misses Dex when he’s gone. Maybe this was part of his design the whole time, desocializing you so that you would become more dependent on him. You know it’s crazy for you to actually miss him as a person, so you continuously tell yourself that you only miss the company- the human interaction.

You do not miss Benjamin Poindexter. 

You don’t.

The hours tick by and eventually you’re sitting at the counter with a cup of instant noodles you found in the back of the cabinet. The noodles bob up and down as you poke them with the disposable chopsticks Dex keeps in the utensil drawer. Soon it’s midnight and there’s no sign of him; a slight twinge of dread pools in your stomach… What if he doesn’t return? 

You’re surprised at the concern that thought brings you. Not that long ago, you would have prayed for that outcome. 

What would happen- Would you just leave? What if he was testing you? Maybe it’s best to stay put. 

You make your way to the bedroom and begin to prepare the shower when you hear the front door click open. Dex usually announces his arrival but you don’t hear anything. You wait a beat before turning off the shower; he’s made it quite evident that he works with “bad people” (as if he isn’t one himself). 

There’s really nothing in the bedroom you can use for self defense so you decide to just be very calculated in your movements. With your back to the wall, you slink through the bedroom until you can peek into the living area. The light catches on the unmistakable red suit. His back is turned but you can tell it’s him by the way his right hand shakes. The mission must not have gone as planned. 

He takes a knife from the block and slings it across the room with chilling precision as it lands in the center of the fireplace’s mantle design. Suddenly you remember just who you’re at the mercy of. You watch a while longer, not wanting to come out at a bad time and get hit in the crossfire of whatever was going on in his head. 

Suddenly items go flying as he rips off the red mask; he’s completely feral. You’re frozen in fear, is this it? Did he finally snap?  You shut your eyes and grapple with the fact that today might have been your last day alive. There is quite literally a homicidal maniac in the other room who could kill you with no effort at all. 

The noises in the other room die down and the rigidness in your shoulders dissolves just a little. Turning your head to get a better view, you see the silhouette of Dex propped up against a wall on the wall farthest from you. His head is in his hands and his whole body moves with each panicked breath he takes. 

Slowly, you open the door all the way and cautiously make your way towards him. The closer you get the louder his shaky breaths sound; his whole body is trembling and you can’t help but pity him. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy after all he’s done but he looks so scared, so small. 

His head stays down as you approach him; you call his name gently before daring to touch him. His eyes are bloodshot and teary when he finally lifts his face to meet yours; there are so many cuts on his face and a large bruise has already begun forming on his left cheekbone. 

Involuntarily your brows scrunch together as you kneel down to his level. His hands are still trembling as he tries to communicate with you. 

“I-I… The c.. I did it again” he sputters as his eyes nervously dart across your face. 

No further explanation needed, he killed more people. You can tell by the way he hugs himself tightly like a child; he hated letting you down. 

Your heart twists. 

It takes everything in you not to ask him to kill you too- how are you supposed to tell him that everything is alright when he’s killing people?! How are you supposed to guide him when it never helps?

“I know, Dex,” you say quietly. 

His eyes widened, maybe he was expecting you to yell at him, tell him to be better… but you just acknowledged it. Were you giving up on him? 

“I- I’m sorry” he chokes out as his hands uncontrollably shake. 

Taking a deep breath you place your palms out to him; he looks confused as he shifts his gaze between you and your hands. 

“Ben” you say softly. 

His mouth opens at that. 

You swallow hard, he kept you here because he believed you could help him. Maybe you needed to try a different approach.

“Give me your hands”. 

Without looking away from you, he reluctantly stretches out his hands to yours as if you are the one who he is afraid of. Once he feels the warmth of your palms, he exhales deeply and his whole body seems to relax just a little. Though his breathing is still off. 

“Breathe with me, alright? One… Two…” you lead and he follows. 

Soon enough he gains his footing and rests his head against the wall. The two of you sit in silence for a while, both digesting everything that’s occurred. 

“You stayed,” he says quietly. 

His statement makes you want to cry.

“I did”.

***

A/N: So if you didn't read the other story, basically Dex acted innocent towards the reader but then they fin out that he was actually stalking them and the whole dynamic between them is fucked up becuase dex keeps tham basically as prisoner and theres genuinely no escape. But its complicated because there is genuine care somewhere in there.

The smooth porcelain of the pristine teacup settles between your lips, Alfred’s famous English breakfast blend tastes as soothing as ever. You watch the ever-constant Gotham grey skies slowly moving across the city; Bruce has been in and out of consciousness for the past two days. Thankfully, you were able to call out of work for a “family emergency”. 

With a quiet sigh, you place the teacup onto the matching saucer and lazily scroll on your phone.

Gotham Post has been buzzing with theories and gossip surrounding Bruce’s “accident”- most have been chalking it up to an overprivileged rich boy spending too much money on fast cars and not enough time on the rules of the road. Some other outlets are proposing it was all a set up by some other party who wants to take his fortune. 

Behind you Bruce’s breathing changes slightly, signaling that he’s waking up again.

Without thinking you make your way to the left side of his bed and run a gentle hand over his shoulder- funnily enough, most of his larger injuries occurred on his right side (other than the bullet wound). 

“Hey B” your voice comes out softly, as if you’re afraid of startling him. 

He exhales through his nose and slowly blinks open his eyes to look at you. Once his blue eyes focus on your face, his features relax and his pupils dilate- of course being the hopeless romantic you are, his reaction sends butterflies through your stomach. 

“Hi Baby” he whispers out, his voice raspy from dormancy. 

He stretches out his uninjured hand to you, “lie with me?”.

You hadn’t shared a bed with him since before your argument- not that it was that long ago or that big of a deal… It’s more so the fact that you know so much more now. You know what he has been hiding, you know where he’s been, what he’s done. 

Also, there’s a part of you that's still hurt… did he not trust you to keep his secret? Did he not feel like you were important enough to tell?

Of course the man lying in the bed in front of you is the same man that never makes you open a door, buys you extravagant thoughtful gifts, and the man who proudly holds your hand amongst the Gotham elite at galas.

He’s Bruce- nothing can change that. 

So why is it so hard for you to get into his bed?

It has only been a second or two since he asked you, but you feel as if you’re taking way too long with your decision and you don’t want him to feel worse than he does already.

Plus, he doesn’t know why you would be hesitating anyways- better not to have the identity conversation if you’re not even prepared either.  

“Alright” you say with a tender smile. 

His lips quirk up into that stupidly charming smile he does that you love so much and now you really can’t resist. 

“I’ll get in on this side” you say as you pull back the covers on his left side. 

“I don’t want to be cuddling into your bruised ribs and broken bones” you joke before carefully sliding into bed next to him. 

Bruce clenches his jaw as the bed moves with you, his injuries are not taking kindly to any sort of disturbance.

Despite the pain, he never makes you feel like it’s your fault. Instead he swallows down his discomfort as much as he can, in order to have you close to him again. 

The residual smell of his body wash fills your senses and suddenly you almost forget anything is wrong at all. His large chest rises and falls in time with your own, making you tired. 

“I’m really sorry for what I said to you.” his voice rumbles. 

You tilt your head to look at him better, but his eyes are still glued to the ceiling. 

“I- Well, I have no excuse for what I said and I cannot take it back” his uninjured hand finds its way to your head and he begins running his fingers through your hair. 

He shifts his head as much as he can, to look at you “I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else and the thought of hurting you….losing you…. Makes me sick. You are what makes life livable. You bring the joy I’ve chased my whole youth. I am so sorry for making you feel the way I did and if… if you’ll allow it, I hope you will forgive me”. 

His blue eyes are glassy with emotion and you can’t help but press a kiss to his cheek. With the same emotion, you curl yourself closer to him. 

“I thought I was going to lose you Bruce” you can’t forgive him in good conscience if you don’t fully forgive him for everything, so you choose not to answer him.

You hide your face into his side as your own emotions begins to spill over, “I really thought you weren’t going to make it”. 

“Well you can’t get rid of me that easily” he said with a light chuckle.

You couldn't help but frown at his lighthearted response; did he not understand the severity of his situation? The years of countless injuries piling up and yet he still decides to dawn the cowl.

You can’t even ask him why. 

One of your muffled sobs comes out louder than you intended and doesn’t go unnoticed by Bruce. His large hand brushes your arm as he attempts to soothe you. 

“Hey, hey- Don’t cry baby. It’s ok, accidents happen” he said before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

Accidents happen. 

_________________________________________

Slowly, but surely things fell back into normalcy and soon you were back to your normal work schedule and Bruce was able to go back to the office (still on crutches though).

Things around the manor were pretty normal too, Dick went back to Blüdhaven and you were sleeping in the same bed as Bruce again. 

Occasionally, there would be a night where you didn’t see him but also you knew he was in no shape to carry on his normal nightly activities.

Tonight is one of those nights; Bruce has been gone for hours and it's almost 1 am.

The soft silk sheets have lost the coolness they had when you first got into bed, now they’re uncomfortably warm.

There’s no way you can fall asleep at this rate, begrudgingly you pull yourself out of bed and place your feet into the fuzzy slippers beside you. 

The halls are dark save for the moonlight shining through the large windows; you make your way into Bruce’s office and sit in his large leather desk chair.

One of his monogrammed notepads sits to your left and mindlessly you start doodling on it. A cat here, a flower there, a bat.

Eventually your eyes begin to feel heavy and the desk seems to get closer and closer to your face, until you finally end up resting on top of your right arm. 

_______________________________________

A gentle sensation running up and down your back returns you from sleep, you blink slowly and lift your head up.

Beside you stands your boyfriend with a concerned look in his eyes; He’s rested uncomfortably on the crutch under his right arm and his robe is loosely tied around his waist. 

“What are you doing all the way in here, Sweetheart?” he asks with a trace of sadness. 

“B?” you yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

His left hand brushes your hair down and he frowns, “I was going to bed but I couldn’t find you”. 

“Yeah, I don’t know- I couldn’t fall asleep and I didn’t know where you were so I guess I came in here to try to calm down” you say, leaning into his side. 

He goes silent for a moment before glancing at your sketches and then back at you, “Lets get you back to bed, Baby. We could both use some sleep”.

You happily comply and rise to your feet to follow him back to the master suite. The tap of his crutch catches your attention as he seems to be leaning on it heavier than he has been the past week- you want to ask him about it, but like everything else, you wait. 

Once the two of you get situated under the covers, he draws you closer and places a kiss on your temple. The room stills with the prospect of sleep but you still can’t help the little voice in the back of your head. 

Should you talk with him now or wait?

Maybe it's best to face the problem now.

“I know this might seem out of the blue, but I just feel like we haven't been being completely honest with eachother… you seem distant and I just want to know why. I hope that you know you can tell me anything” you turn to face Bruce but realise he is already fast asleep. 

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore” you whisper to yourself before scooting away from his hold.

***

The loud Gotham traffic penetrates your ears, jolting you awake. With a groan, you turn onto your side as you foggily remember last night. Suddenly you are hyper aware of the fact that you are in your bed and indeed, not on the floor beside a severely injured man. 

Bruce-

Quickly, you scramble to your feet and run into the living room only to find it empty. The area looks normal and you second guess if last night was all a dream- that is, until you see the large blood stains on your couch and carpet. 

What time did Nightwing come back? It was definitely not easy to get Bruce out with his condition, how did you not wake up? 

Your eyes widen as you glance at the time, it's half past noon- you’ve practically slept half the day away! Though, to be fair, you were up unbelievably late tending to Bat’s wounds and at least you’re still on “vacation”. 

Once you gain your bearings, there’s only one thing on your mind- You need to see Bruce. You needed to be there for him on the emotional level you weren’t able to last night. But how were you supposed to go over there without being suspicious?

Bruce definitely knew it was you who helped him last night and so did his partner, but he still thinks you’re oblivious… and if you just go over there after the two of you are still technically in the midst of an argument, why would you just show up at his door? 

Also… there’s no way he’s magically healed, so how will he try to cover up his injuries? Will he even try? It almost seems easier to just tell you everything. 

You enter your messages and click on Bruce’s pinned contact; his profile picture is your favorite photo of him. He picked you up from work one day and brought you to your favorite late night cafe- a place you’d never expect to see the Bruce Wayne.

His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, showing his muscular forearms, his jawline was sharp, but his expression relaxed. He had been sipping his black coffee before you called his name, catching him off guard as he turned- that’s when you snapped the pic.

It was so simple, his eyes were widened slightly, and his lips parted near the lid of his cup. He was so adorably handsome. 

The small grey bubble from two days ago sits unanswered as your thumbs hover over the keyboard.

‘Please stay safe, crime rates are abnormally high right now. Let's talk tomorrow. -B’

A frown settles onto your face- you should have answered him sooner. Not that answering his text would have prevented his injuries, but at least he wouldn’t have been worrying about you too. Maybe you had been a little childish…

You’ve decided that you’re going over to the manor no matter what, so you just need to think of a text to send that won’t indicate you know anything. 

‘I’m sorry for not responding sooner, I just needed some time to think. I’ll stop by later today to talk. I hope you’re doing ok’

Send. 

You exhale as you watch the blue bubble send, hopefully he or maybe Alfred will see your message. 

_____________________________________

As you arrive, your heart is racing; it wasn't that long ago that you were walking out these doors nearly in tears wanting nothing more than to get away from your boyfriend.

The gravel shifts under your shoes as you make your way towards the large entryway. With a sigh, you knock on the hardwood; the wind rustling the leaves seems uninviting as you wait for an answer. 

Only a few moments pass before the door slowly opens; Alfred is on the other side looking exhausted and grim. 

“Good Afternoon Miss, I was not aware you were stopping by today” Alfred says, an odd lilt to his voice. 

“I texted Bruce that I’d come by and talk to him about the other day, but he didn’t answer- Is he home?” you return, watching his expression closely. 

Alfred’s eyes shift downwards, he forms a frown, and suddenly he seems to go pale, “Why don’t you come inside, Dear. It looks like it may rain”.

He’s going to tell you about Bruce’s condition. 

You can tell by the gentleness in his tone and his diversion to the weather. Nevertheless, you nod and gingerly step into the threshold you’ve walked so many times before. He closes the large door behind you and guides you to a plush seat in the next room over. 

“Alfred, what’s going on?” you ask, anxious to hear an update on Bruce’s condition (and to see what type of cover up Bruce is using). 

“Master Wayne has been involved in a serious accident, the other night someone collided with his car and he was severely injured” Alfred explains, his tired eyes never leaving yours. 

He’s so convincing that you almost forget that you actually know what happened. 

You feign surprise and bring your hands to your mouth, “Oh God- Bruce, is he- is he”. 

Alfred answers before you have to finish your sentence, “He’s been well treated and hopefully will make a full recovery, though it will take some time. I know it’s not my place, but I am aware that the two of you were not particularly well off the last time I saw you, but I do think that seeing you would bring him some peace”. 

That’s all you want to do, you just want to hold him and comfort him. All of the questions you have about his nightly activities and secret identity can wait for later- there must be a reason why he does what he does and a reason for keeping it hidden from you. 

“I want to see him, Alfred.” you say. 

The old man swallows deeply before straightening his back and heading for the stairs, “I’ll let you in shortly, but let me check on him first- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner”. 

“It’s alright” you respond quietly as you listen to his footsteps disappear up the stairs. 

You stand from the chair and walk into the main hallway in anticipation. Was he going to be awake? What if there were complications after he left your apartment? Would he be mad at you for not answering him the other day? 

Further down the hallway you hear a door creak and suddenly you’re on high alert. Heavy footsteps patter towards you and soon you’re met with the bruised face of Dick; he’s wearing a grey T-shirt with some gym logo and black sweats, his hair is wet from the shower, but the most jarring thing about him is the large bruise blooming across his left cheekbone. 

“Oh my God, Dick!” you exclaim walking towards him, worry laced in your voice. 

His eyes widen before he exhales your name. Before you can even think about it, you gently take his face into your hands, examining his injuries. His bottom lip is split and there is a cut through his right brow, he’s collected a menagerie of scrapes all over his face and jaw. 

It might seem odd that Dick is allowing you to get so close to him, but over the years he’s gotten accustomed to you and your nurturing ways- afterall, you had been taking care of his father for forever, so why wouldn’t he trust you?

Your frown deepens as he winces, “Dick, what the hell happened?!” you exclaim, more worried than anything as you tuck a stray jet black lock behind his ear. 

“Car accident, I was with Bruce- I heard Alfred tell you just now” he says, the hoarseness of his voice seems foreign to you. 

“I- I’m so sorry” you say as you softly pull him into your gentle embrace. 

He returns the hug as you smooth down the back of his damp hair. Over the duration of yours and Bruce’s relationship, you had become somewhat of a maternal figure for Dick; sure he didn’t exactly live here anymore, but he had been coming back from Blüdhaven a lot more frequently the past few months. 

“It’s ok, I’m glad to see you again” he whispers into your shoulder. 

“Me too,” you reply.

Once you release him, you place a hand on the uninjured side of his face with a sad smile. He leans into your touch and all you can see is that small kid waiting for his dad to wake up from surgery from all of those years ago. 

“Miss, you may come with me now,” Alfred calls from the top of the grand stairs. 

You nod and brush Dick’s cheek once more before ascending the stairs. 

Car accident with Bruce.

Car accident…

…with 

Bruce. 

Something clicks inside of your mind and you almost have to grab the wall for support as you trail behind Alfred. 

You had been so caught up in worry from seeing Dick so beaten up that you didn’t even think about the fact that you knew there was no car accident.

And since there was no car accident, there was no way that Dick was “with Bruce” when he got those cuts. 

Dick- living in Blüdhaven, coming back home to Gotham… coming home to a father who is indeed the Batman…

The Batman, who had a Robin… 

a boy around Dicks age…

The Robin that now watches over Blüdhaven as… 

Nightwing. 

Your fingers grip the oak railing for support… there was going to be a lot of explaining to do. 

_____________________________

Alfred leads you to Bruce’s door and silently lets you know that he’s still resting but welcomes you to go in. 

“Thank you, Alfred” you nod before silently step into the familiar room. 

The door clicks behind you and you finally get a look at Bruce; his leg and wrist have been properly splinted and his chest is wrapped in bandages, thank God he got actual help and didn’t just take care of it himself (even if it was under the guise of his fake alibi). 

As you move closer you can see how the bruising around his collarbones and cheeks have darkened and he’s forming a black eye on the left. He’s got a thin oxygen tube running under his nose- nothing serious, you recognize as a customary precaution for all patients with this level of injury. 

There is a monitoring workstation pole rolled by the side of his bed. Usually those stay in the hospitals, but apparently if you’re a billionaire they make exceptions. It kind of makes sense though, the press would be buzzing around his room if they knew he was in there. 

His face is still and his monitor is beeping steadily. Good. 

You gently glide the tips of your fingers down his arm and cautiously grasp his hand in yours. He exhales a sigh at your touch and you almost think you’ve woken him, but he begins to snore quietly, making you smile. He never admits to snoring even though you’ve caught him doing it in your ear countless times. 

For a moment you just stand beside the bed, observing the way his chest rises and falls, just thinking about everything that's happened in the past few days, all of the realizations and connections. 

How could you not have seen it? 

The way Batman seemed more concerned with your safety than he should have been, the way he was contempt to just sit in your company during lulls in his patrols, the way he knew you were upset the other day-

And Bruce- Bruce’s injuries that never exactly lined up with the stories he’d tell, the dates he’d missed (all at night), his odd sleep schedule. 

How long had he been doing this- had it been as long as you’d known him?

That would mean he would have had to be doing it for years. And what about Dick? Did that mean he was out running around the streets of Gotham, fighting crime as just a little boy? 

Why would Bruce allow that? 

So many questions…but would Bruce give you answers? How would he react if he knew that you knew? He obviously didn’t have any intention of telling you.

A small groan escapes his lips as he turns his head slightly and you’re suddenly not worried about the details of his nightly activities. 

Bruce’s features seem to draw a slight scowl, even in sleep; you want nothing mere than to take away his pain. His stubble brushes against your palm as you run your thumb over his cheek- it’s not like him to skip shaving.

“A-Alfred?” 

His voice is rough and he has to blink away the sleep, but at least he’s cognisant. 

“Bruce” you exhale, getting closer to the side of the bed. 

“Alfred-”

“No, It’s me- I’m here” your voice waves slightly and you take his uninjured hand into your own. 

The recognition dawns on him and his face shifts from confused to some type of longing; his eyes widen and his brows draw together as he calls your name. 

“I’m sorry about the other night- I didn’t mean that I said. You- Gotham is important to me, but not as important as you. I should have never-” he rambles so fast that you think he might exhaust himself. 

“Baby- it’s ok, we can talk about all of that later, what I really want is for you to rest”. 

Bruce’s eyes flutter shut as he melts into your touch; you run your hand against his cheek before raking through his tousled black locks. 

“Come back?” he asks quietly, definitely expecting you to say ‘not yet’ or that you ‘need more time’. 

“Come back and stay with me?” his voice is so unsure as his tired eyes meet yours. 

You exhale a deep breath through your nose and manage a small smile; what should you even say to him? There isn’t really a handbook about how to interact with your boyfriend after figuring out he has kept a whole ass secret identity from you… Should you even bring up the fact that you know? 

His face falters at your hesitancy to respond. His gaze drops as he feels that he has his answer.

But…

You end up surprising him-

“I will, Bruce. I’ll come back.” 

***

Sorrowful droplets of rain race each other down the poorly tinted window in the back of the car. You want nothing more than to disappear into the seat you’re in but unfortunately the driver seems a bit too interested as to what connections you have to Bruce Wayne- some shit about being an only Wayne Enterprises intern. 

“Yea, he’s a great guy, pretty busy, but thoughtful. He really cares about this city” the guy says, as he twists the worn steering wheel. 

All you can manage is a huff- yea, cares about the city but apparently not his girlfriend- as you allow the man in the front to prattle on, “Don’t know much about him personally, but I’m guessing the two of you must be friends if you’re coming from his place- no one really goes out there except for his closest circle”. 

God, why is everyone in this damn city obsessed?

It's either with Bruce Wayne, charming billionaire orphan turned businessman and philanthropist or Batman, the crime fighting vigilante with pure intention and protection.

“Yea, something like that” you say before asking him to stop. 

“Here’s good” you say, gently patting his shoulder as you unbuckle. 

“But the app says two more blocks up?” 

“It’s ok, I just remembered I needed to grab dinner for tonight” you respond, manually unlocking the door and paying the man, just easier to do it with cash. 

He takes the wad and nods before starting up again and driving away. You head in to this takeout joint you like, this place has been fueling your late nights since your residency at the Hospital. 

Some of you wished you weren’t on a break because if you were on your normal work schedule then maybe you could at least distract yourself with something meaningful.

The main area smells like pan fried dumplings, lo mein, and veggie stir fry- just what you need. 

You walk up to the counter and see the owner of the shop, who knows your order based on the amount of times you’ve been in. His tired eyes brighten when he sees you, “Ahh, It’s nice to see you, you haven’t been in a while!”. 

You laugh and nervously rub your arm, “Yea, I’ve been pretty busy with work stuff” you lie. 

“Yeah, you’re usually in here much later- odd to see you in the daytime” the old man laughs, as he types in your usual order into the register (giving you a discount, of course). 

You laugh and fish out your cash, “mhm, just trying something new I guess”. 

He smiles and has your food out quick, you thank him before heading out of the restaurant towards your apartment. It’s weird walking home without feeling the presence of the Bat, but to be fair, it is mid afternoon and you normally only do this walk at night. 

‘Looks like it’ll be raining soon’, you note as you arrive at your dreary building, the large gates and security systems at Wayne Manor have made your once beloved apartment look sad and unsafe. You frown before heading up to the seventh floor. 

________________

Thunder rumbles overhead as steady rain pours down on the city. You actually don’t mind the downpour tonight, it's comforting. Once you’ve finished your dinner, you allow yourself to just melt into your couch. 

Some stupid show that you’re only half paying attention to, illuminates your main room as you lazily scroll on your phone. It’s almost midnight and Bruce has tried to call you a few times; he was usually good at allowing you space during small disagreements, so why is he trying to get your attention?

A new text message icon pops up on your lockscreen; 

‘Please stay safe, crime rates are abnormally high right now. Let's talk tomorrow. -B’

Normally his little ‘-B; signature on a text would have made you smile, but all you can do right now is roll your eyes. 

You almost fall asleep on your couch but a tapping at your window disturbs you. It’s Batman- odd, the two of you hadn't spoken but just that once. He usually didn’t stay long enough to talk. 

“Batman?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes. 

He nods (it was kind of a rhetorical question, but ok). 

“What are you doing here? Are you alright?” you question, stepping to the side slightly, so that if he needed to come in, he could. 

The man in front of you shakes his head before his gravelly voice speaks out, “Something’s bothering you”. 

You exhale a small laugh as you roll your eyes- even Batman can tell you’ve got boyfriend troubles. 

‘Yea, but it’s not important right now- how are the streets? Is it actually as dangerous as people have been saying?” you attempt to divert the conversation

"Yes, you should not go outside at night, or really any time after mid afternoon.” he states very bluntly before continuing, “...It’s important to me”. 

There's no way the Bat is flirting with you- right now of all times. 

You brush him off with as light hearted a laugh you can muster, “No, no- I’m sure it has no weight compared to what you’re dealing with out there”. 

His eyes narrow and he doesn’t even have to ask you again. 

“Ok, fine. Don’t look at me with those eyes, its creepy” you say, only half joking. 

“It’s just my boyfriend- he’s been busy lately and I know he’s stressed with the state of the city… but he hasn’t made any time for me in weeks. It just makes me feel unimportant and…forgettable.”

The masked man stays silent and you take that as a sign to keep talking. 

“I just really miss him but he makes me feel insane for doing so. He comes home and acts like nothing’s changed, like we haven’t been not seeing each other for days on end. It's not normal! I- I just want to feel as cared for as I do for him…” your eyes are getting misty again. 

Batman’s eyes soften but before he can speak, he sees the Bat signal in the distance. You laugh to yourself- apparently you can't keep anyone’s attention nowadays.

He looks back at you once more, studying your face before he speaks, “I have to go, but I want you to know that you’re not forgettable. Not in the slightest.” 

The Bat gently wipes the few stray tears from your cheek with his gloved thumb, “I’m sure he misses you too”. 

He turns to leave but you grab the hand that was just by your face before he can turn fully. Your eyes meet for a moment before you give his hand a gentle squeeze, “Be safe out there”. 

You release him and he nods, “That’s the plan”. 

____________

In stark contrast to the soft and understanding Batman you got last night, news outlets are saying that the crime fighting vigilante had a night of vengeance and rounded up more criminals and bottom feeders than previously accomplished. But on the other side of that, many of the criminals were hit with minor injuries- he was not playing around and something- or, God forbid, someone- put the Bat in a foul mood. 

Your day was pretty relaxing, all things considered- mostly you just ran some errands, while also doing some fun shopping on the side. You visited this tiny cafe on the other side of town that your parents used to bring you to; they have the best pastries in Gotham. 

You watched some new movie people were raving about, but honestly it was just ok- nothing to write home about.

So now you’re tidying up your kitchen before you head to bed. Thick, hard rain pelts at your windows, the loud thunder seems to shake the very structure of your apartment as it roars outside.

Good thing you don’t have to go to work tomorrow, it doesn't look like the weather is going to get better any time soon. 

Once you’re in bed it's hard to fall asleep, you toss and turn for what feels like hours. Both sides of your pillow are warm by now and the sheets feel suffocating- you can’t stop overanalysing your argument with Bruce- he did have a lot on his plate, were you too harsh? Wait- no, because he had been neglecting you for weeks, that’s not your fault for being upset…. But should you have been more understanding? 

…You still haven’t answered his text.

You harshly flop onto your side and groan into your pillow- this is the worst-

Tap tap tap

Is that Batman? You sit up quickly and check the time, 3:00 am. He usually doesn’t come this late… but who else would be coming up to the seventh floor at this time? 

Not to be too careless, you grab a small pistol from your bedside table; Bruce hates that you have one, but once you explained to him how dangerous it is, especially as a woman in Gotham, he gave some semblance of understanding. 

You conceal the gun as you round your corner, the figure is slimmer than the bat and isn’t sporting a cowl- but he is wearing a mask.

His voice is muffled through the glass but you can see he’s crouching down to talk to someone past the view of the window. 

Ok, the situation is getting weird- you aim the pistol towards your window before speaking. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” you try to steady your voice but its laced with uncertainty. 

“Nightwing”

Nightwing- isn’t he the guy who used to be Robin? So does that mean that Batman is here too? 

“Need your help, Batman is badly injured” his says through the glass. 

Maybe you’re too trusting, but you drop the gun and rush to open the window; cool, fat raindrops pelt against your arms and face as the wind blows them inside. Once you blink back the drops you look down to see an unconscious Batman. 

“Oh my God! What the hell happened to him?!” you say as Nightwing begins to pull him up. 

“I’m not sure the extent of the damage, but I know he was attacked and pushed off of a roof. He was shot on his left side and I think his right leg is broken”, Nightwing explains as he hoists the Bat up and begins to push him through your window. 

Instinctually you grab under his legs and guide him in as the other man follows inside, holding under the Bat’s arms. Once they’re both inside you motion to the couch and set the dark knight down. 

There’s a steady stream of crimson pouring from his side, his left leg and wrist are twisted in odd positions, and his breathing is scarily shallow. 

“Jesus, what the fuck are you guys doing out there?!” you say as you begin to examine the injuries, not really expecting an answer. 

“Protecting Gotham” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his stereotypical answer, “ Yea, I know that- but this is not normal, he needs to go to the hospital-” 

“NO! No hospitals” the younger man barks at you. 

“Why not?! They can help him much better than I can right now- I only have a limited supply”. 

Does this guy want Batman to bleed to death in your living room? 

“We can’t risk them discovering his identity- It would ruin everything he’s built!”. 

Ruining a reputation? This is Batman’s life at stake and this kid is talking about a reputation?!

You open your mouth to protest again but he cuts you off, “Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but I do know that he trusts you. He doesn’t trust easily, so please… Please just help him”. 

He’s obviously not going to budge on this matter and it’s better for you to try to help him than him getting no help at all. 

“I’m going to have to take off his armour if you want me to patch him up- i’m sorry, there’s just no other way-” you say to the younger man. 

“He’s not taking off the cowl,” Nightwing sternly interrupts, lips pressed in a thin frown. 

“I never said that- I just need access to his wounds” you state but the man doesn’t budge. 

“He’s bleeding out and has multiple injuries that need to be treated. If we don’t act soon he’ll be too far gone for me to help- And for some goddamn reason you won’t just take him to a hospital!” you shout, does Nightwing not understand the severity of the situation?!

Nightwing frowns, “Just- I can leave and you can take it off, but it needs to be done- I’ll leave the room”. 

Finally Nightwing agrees and you promptly hurry into your room to grab all of your stockpiled emergency equipment. You make sure to gather anything he might need, but also not too fast, because the suit looks difficult to disassemble and you don’t want to come back too early. 

Once you feel the time has been sufficient you call out to the masked man to see if Batman is ready. 

“Yea, the cowl’s back on” The younger yells back as you scramble out of your room. 

The Bat is laid out on your couch just in his underwear with a pile of strong kevlar next to your couch (now stained with blood). His body is perfectly sculpted and demanding, it reminds you of Bruce’s.

It's odd to see the prolific hero like this; you can’t help but wonder what he looks like under the cowl. 

His chest is littered with scars and the whole mid section is badly bruised, as if he had been repeatedly kicked- he’s probably got some broken ribs.

He has burns running up his right shoulder. Another detail is the multiple cuts and stabwounds around his whole body, none too bad but they will need to be disinfected and stitched. The most concerning thing is the large bullet wound on his left side. 

“Alright, I need to work on the bullet wound first, but he also needs his leg braced if he doesn’t want more permanent damage” you say as you begin working on the gushing wound on his side. 

The disinfectant is strong and the Bat hisses when you apply the cotton ball to the bullet hole. Nightwing takes his place near Batman’s leg and asks you for instructions. Sometime during the process of bracing his leg the Bat passed out from the pain. 

You’re still working on stitching up the bullet wound but Nightwing is pacing; what is it now?

“You good?” you ask, not looking up from the needle in your hands. 

“I can't just leave him here unconscious but I have to go back out there and finish what we started” he says anxiously. 

“I promise I won’t remove his cowl” you say, mimicking a ‘scout’s honor’ salute. 

The man just scoffs, “Yeah, you’d regret it if you did- but that’s not what I mean, I can’t leave him passed out like this”. 

“You don’t trust me?”

“I do, because he does. But I just can’t personally leave him here without knowing if he’ll wake or not” he sounds scared. 

You snip the stitching line and tie it together before wiping your hands on your blue kitchen towel. Without speaking you reach for his dislocated wrist and gently feel around the area.

“W-What are you doing?” Nightwing asks with a confused look. 

“Calmdown bird boy, I’m seeing something” you say right before popping his wrist right back into place, eliciting a gasp from the man under you. 

Batman lunges up with a groan and immediately winces; Nightwing flies to his side and eases him back down; “It’s ok, It’s ok- I brought you somewhere safe. We’re gonna get you patched up, don’t worry” the younger man says as if he’s a son speaking to his father.

The man under you groans as you splint his wrist with a makeshift brace. His eyes are unfocused as he looks at you, “I’m really sorry about that- but hey, at least you’re awake” you offer sympathetically.

Suddenly, he pushes the back of his head into the pillow you placed behind him; his jaw is clenched and he’s hissing through his teeth as he reaches for his side. The combination of broken ribs, burns, and being shot will really do it to ya. 

“Hey, hey- try to be still. I’ll go get you some medicine, it’s not as strong as morphine, but it’ll help at least a little” you say before hopping up from his side. 

As you rummage through your kitchen cabinets you can hear Nightwing speaking to the injured man, “Hey, she’s gonna take good care of you ok? I gotta go back out there but please don’t worry- we’ll get you home soon, just hang in there, ok?”.

Batman nods without opening his eyes to meet the younger; Nightwing gently pats his shoulder before turning to you. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can to collect him” there’s a slight air of concern to his otherwise steady voice. 

“Alrigh-”

“But I swear to God if you remove his cowl, you’ll regret it” his tone is much harsher than before. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll do my best to help him” you reassure before the man slips back into the dark city. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, at least some of the stress is off now that you don’t have bird boy breathing down your neck. But one long look at Batman brings the tension right back.

He is not well. 

For everyone’s sake, you hope you can hold the bat over til morning. 

_________________________

Luckily the bullet wound in his side has mostly stopped bleeding; the outside of the gauze patch is still white.

You disinfect his burn which looks more like a friction burn than from actual heat- almost as if he had been dragged along the road. 

He’s been in and out of consciousness, his only noises being groaning or gasping. He’s going to have to take a break from this vigilante stuff if he wants to properly heal. 

You’ve moved on to patching up the random stab wounds strewn across his body. They aren’t too deep and in non-fatal areas, but still concerning enough to stitch. You work on a wound between his shoulder and collarbone-pulling the stitches to tie.

He stirs under you and sucks in a sharp breath at the pull. 

“I’m really sorry about all of this, Bats” you offer, trying to provide any comfort you can. 

He grunts before his watery blue eyes meet yours; he has some type of black make-up smeared all over his eyelids and you can’t quite make out what type of facial composition he has.

You’ve never gotten the chance to be so close to him. 

Batman shivers, the cool rain has settled and the air conditioner in your apartment isn’t necessarily helping him regulate his body temperature.

He groans at the sudden movement and focuses on dissipating the pain, his left hand balls into a fist and violently shakes as you ghost over the last wound. Usually you wouldn’t notice something like that, but ever since you’ve been with Bruce- you notice hands more than you used to.

Your boyfriend’s main tell was when his hands shook; oftentimes he would ball them into first to try and ground himself when he was in pain. So it’s interesting that Batman had the same mannerism…

“I just need to work on one more wound, then I’ll get you some clothes, ok?” you offer, gently brushing the back of your hand against the cheek of his cowl; your pinky ghosting over his lower lip. 

He studies you intensely before closing his eyes once more. You take that as your sign to continue. The last stab wound is right above his right hipbone, you begin to stitch it up but your eyes glance over the plain of his abdomen- he has a healed surgery scar from what looks like a hematoma removal…

…It looks like your work.

You quickly go back to stitching, but a swarm of thoughts race through your mind. Could you really know Batman’s true identity? Who have you worked on that looks like this? 

Well…. He does scarily resemble Bruce, but there’s no way your boyfriend is Batman; he’s just not broody enough. He also spends time with you at night…though you usually go to bed pretty early and he’s always dead asleep when you wake up (if he’s even in bed). 

Holy fucking shit, your boyfriend might just be Batman. 

No jumping to conclusions, you snip the stitch and tie it before wiping your hands off on a towel. He’s still out so you take the chance to examine his body; he’s been so beaten tonight that it's hard to determine what's new and what’s old. 

You decide to check a few key places- Bruce has many scars but you would be able to recognize your own work anywhere.

Quickly you review the one on his left side, then you move across his body to see if there is a chest stabilization scar on his right. Unfortunately the bruising from his ribs makes it hard to see so you mentally move to the next surgery you can think of; the knee surgery you completed about a year and a half ago. 

As your gaze drifts down his muscular leg, your body buzzes in anticipation; part of you feels like you already know the answer.

Without moving the splint too much, you peer at his knee.

Your heart skips a beat. 

Three small scars surround his knee cap; done by your hand. 

It's Bruce. 

…

You start breathing heavily as you scramble back from the couch- Bruce is Batman. 

Your boyfriend…

…is Batman. 

How the fuck?!

Ok, ok, no- it does kind of make sense right? He’s always gone at night, he’s unnaturally built, and he has too many scars and extensive medical history to just do MMA for fun. 

Holy shit- why did he not tell you?! You would have understood keeping that secret early on, but for God’s sake- you’ve treated him for 7 years and have almost been with him for half a year, you’d think that maybe by now he’d trust you a bit more…

Well that isn’t really a pressing matter at the moment- what’s more important is the fact that he’s severely injured right now. This makes the stakes that much higher; of course you’d care for every patient with the same urgency but the fact that it’s Bruce- a man who you come home to (a man whom you love)- makes it all the more important to you. 

You have half the mind to just ring Alfred up and tell him that Bruce is hurt, but what if he didn’t know about Bruce’s secret? Well he knows most things about Bruce so it's only like a 3% chance that he wouldn't know. 

Batm- Bruce stirs on the couch as he shivers again. 

Right, you never got him that shirt. 

Quickly, you’re back by his side; his eyes weakly open when you place a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder. 

“Hey, hey- It’s ok. I’ll get you one of my boyfriend’s shirts, I know it’ll fit you” you say, a warm kindness to your voice. 

He swallows and nods as you head into your bedroom to grab one of his- one of Bruce’s shirts. You return and bite your lip as you look over him- getting him in this shirt is gonna be a hassle with all of his injuries. But once Nightwing returns, he’s going to take Batman back to wherever they go and it’ll be easier to put him into this shirt than put him into his armor again. 

“Alright Baby, this isn’t going to be comfortable, but I’m going to have to sit you up to get you into this” you say sympathetically as you hold up the shirt, not even realizing the pet name slip. 

His face twists into a grimace at the thought of moving, but he eventually agrees (apparently he didn’t notice the slip either). 

Batman groans loudly as you slowly help him into a sitting position so that you can slip the shirt over his head. He shakily supports his weight with his uninjured arm as you guide his splinted wrist through the sleeve.

It looks like he’s going to break his teeth with how hard he’s clenching his jaw; better finish this fast. 

As you guide his other arm through the left sleeve he begins to slip back, wincing as his abdomen clenches. You move to catch his back and cradle his head before gently easing him back down. 

“You did so well- I’m sorry, I know that wasn’t easy”. 

He grunts in response; his eyes are unfocused as his body acclimates to the position again. Your heart pulls as you watch his suffering- this was your Bruce. 

All those times you thought he wasn’t caring, he was out protecting the city. Protecting you. 

The material of the cowl is hard; a stark contrast to his soft cheek. Your handsome Bruce. 

Without thinking you softly caress his exposed cheek and trace your fingers down his jaw- how many times have you kissed this very face and not even noticed? His eyes slowly open as you absentmindedly stroke his cheek. 

His whole demeanor has changed, perhaps it's the fatigue- but he looks comfortable, his normal guard as the Bat is gone. All you see now is your lovely boyfriend- his big blue eyes stare into yours with such trust and vulnerability, it's almost as if he's forgotten he's in the cowl. 

It takes all of your crafted effort not to buckle and just capture him in a kiss, but he doesn't know that you have him figured out. So instead you continue to give him the comfort of your hands for a few minutes more. 

His eyelids rise and fall sleepily but his pupils never leave your form; he’s studying your face like he does on the rare occasion the two of you wake up beside each other. Once they’re closed again you hop up to grab a few blankets from your room; it really doesn’t matter if they get dirty. 

You carefully cover his body in your warm fluffy blankets that the two of you have shared many nights wrapped up in. tension leaves his muscles now that he’s not shivering; he might actually be able to get some decent rest now (well at least until Nightwing comes back). 

As you pass by, he absentmindedly reaches for your hand and you gladly take it, “Do you need something, Bats?” you ask softly, returning to this persona’s title. 

If you didn’t know him so well you would have missed the way his brows twitched at the title; “stay” his gravely voice rasps, barely audible. 

There’s no denying him, especially like this, so you return a warm smile and place a pillow on the ground for yourself so you can lie down next to the couch. You hold his uninjured hand until he falls asleep, rubbing gently circles with your thumb. His body relaxes and his breathing evens out.

Slowly, you sit up to meet his face- he looks at ease, peaceful, so beautiful. 

You cautiously brush the back of your hand against his cheek- no immediate reaction. You take that as a go ahead to get closer to him. Your body seemed to move on its own as you leaned down to softly press your lips to his. 

“Goodnight Baby” you whisper before lying back down on the floor, pulling your blanket over yourself. 

Before you can fully fall asleep, his left hand lazily drapes over you. It’s been a long day, without a word you reach up and capture it in your own, cradling his strong hand to your chest as you finally drift off. 

The early morning sun darts through the curtains of Bruce’s bedroom and you can hear distant sounds of people moving around downstairs.

What time is it?

Squinting, you feel around on the nightstand for your phone but you suddenly remember that you left it in the study or whatever the fuck the room with all the books was. 

Behind you, Bruce grunts at all of your movement- he’s still asleep, one arm lazily slung over your waist, his face is buried in the back of your neck as his steady breaths calm you. He doesn’t seem too terribly worried about the time. It is Sunday after all, not much planned today. 

Despite your desire to go back to sleep, you just can’t rest your mind and you’re stuck staring at the ceiling of Bruce’s master bedroom.

Did last night actually happen? Was he going to be cold and awkward when he woke up? Was this just a one time thing to prove to himself that he could get you? 

You shift a little under his embrace but wince as you move your hips, pulling back the soft duvet, you see the bruising- round patches of purple blooming over the hip bones- last night definitely happened. 

A reminiscent rush of arousal shoots through you as you study Bruce’s sleeping face. He’s lightly snoring, facing you with one half of his face smooshed into the pillow. His normally styled hair is a tangled mess, jutting every which way. 

His face is relaxed, no harsh lines, no scowl- he looks peaceful. 

You can't help but gently trace his jawline with your fingers, which soon turns into you tracing the scars on his arms and chest.

He stirs, stretching out his back and pulling you closer. You’re face to face with his chest, his comforting aroma floods your senses and you sigh against him. 

He seems pretty out, so you lean in to place a kiss on his chest before stealthily wiggling out of his hold. Cautiously, you place the duvet back over him and he adjusts again, pulling it to his chest in replacement of where your body just was. 

If only you had your phone, you could take a little screenshot of this perfect scene. 

You pad over to the bathroom and wash your face with some of his soap and brush your teeth with the toothbrush he gave you last night. A sweet aroma wafts in underneath the large oak door and you have the urge to investigate.

Silently, you crack the door open and slip out before gently closing it back. No telling how long he’d be out.

There are so many paintings and unique pieces of decor that definitely cost more than you make in a year, scattered through the manor.

It’s insane to see the effects of generational wealth first hand- much different than the way you grew up. 

Soon you find the source of the lovely smell, Alfred is masterfully folding crepes in the large kitchen. As if he can detect your presence, without turning around from the stove he greets you. 

“Good Morning, Miss. I hope you slept sufficiently”. 

Your eyes widen and you quickly respond, “Yes, It was wonderful- T-thanks for letting me stay”. 

Damn, are you stupid? You mentally facepalm yourself- why were you thanking him? It's not like he was Bruce’s dad.

Before you can reiterate your statement, your name is called from the other side of the room, by a much younger voice. 

You turn and see Dick; he’s sitting at the small table in a “Wayne Enterprises” shirt of his own and blue joggers. The expression on his face is somewhere in between confused, stunned, and disbelief. 

Oh God. 

How embarrassing, you’re here standing in (for all intents and purposes) his kitchen, with his Dad’s shirt on (no shorts), and just hooked up with the richest man in all of Gotham (also, not to mention- HIS DAD).

Your face goes bright red and you awkwardly affirm that, yes- it is you. 

The younger man exchanges a glance with Alfred before bursting out into laughter. “Holy shit, no way B actually did it?!”. 

Did what?

You tilt your head to the side as Alfred ignores Dick’s laughter, motioning for you to take a seat at the table. As you do so, your eyes stay trained on the dark haired man. His laughter comes to a halt as he rubs his eyes. 

“He finally asked you out- Jeez, I never thought he’d actually do it” Dick said, as if you should know what he was talking about. 

Oh shit, does that mean he heard? You and Bruce weren’t particularly subtle last night. 

Dick runs his hand through his hair, “Wow, I didn’t expect to see this when I came home”.

“So you didn’t hear anything-” you say before stopping yourself. Great job, could you have been no longer obvious. 

A wide, knowing smile spreads its way onto Dicks face before he responds, “Oh, no- I just got back in from Blüdhaven and my room is on the other side of the manor anyways”. 

You sigh a breath of relief but it;s shortly cut off by Alfred saying, “Unfortunately, mine is not”. 

Your face turns bright red as Alfred places a freshly made strawberry crepe in front of you. You mouth a ‘thank you’ before pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment. 

“Good Morning, Master Wayne” Alfred says, as he places one more place down. 

Thank God, maybe Bruce would be able to help you out of this awkward situati-

“Oh Shit!” Dick exclaims, looking between the two of you; Bruce is sporting fresh hickies on his neck. Dick almost falls out of his chair with laughter. 

Without a word, Bruce takes his place at the table, “Good Morning, Alfred”. 

He lowers his voice and serves a side eye towards his son, “Dick”. 

And then he turns to you and his expression changes before he places a steady hand on your thigh under the table. 

“Soooo B, is this why you wanted me to come home from Blüdhaven? So I could meet her in a more ‘casual’ setting?” he snickers. 

“You know why I asked you back…”

“Yeah, yeah- it’s just a coincidence that you’re here” dick says playfully as he turns his focus to you. 

“Enough” Bruce finally says, as he takes a sip of his black coffee. 

Dick raises his hands in playful amusement, “Alright, alright- I’m just surprised is all, but not disappointed". 

Bruce sighs as his son stands up with his plate, “But, I am glad that she said yes” Dick slips in before sending you a wink. 

Once he leaves the room Bruce rests his head in his hand, “I’m sorry about him, he’s just-”. 

You giggle and place a tender hand on his forearm, “He’s just a kid, I know”.

Bruce slowly meets your gaze with a crooked smile, “yeah”. 

Only the two of you are left in the kitchen but neither of you speak up; both focusing on trying to eat your crepes without making a mess.

What did Dick mean by finally? Has Bruce been wanting to go out with you for a while? Well yes, he said the thing about his number and the chocolates but that could have just been a flirty quip. But if his own son was saying it… He must have been talking about you. 

“I really enjoyed last night, Bruce” you say, breaking the slightly uncomfortable silence. 

“I did too,” he says, wiping the corner of his mouth with one of the linen napkins. 

He grips a hand under your chair and pulls it closer to him; your face now only inches from his own. Watching you closely for signs of hesitation, he slowly leans in, his straight nose brushing your cheek before his lips softly land on yours. 

“Didn’t want a lazy Sunday morning, huh?” He whispers against your lips. 

You hum in response and kiss him again, “I never said that, I just got a little curious”. 

Bruce huffed out a laugh before arching his brow, “don’t get too curious, or I might just have to kick you out”.

The line delivery is playful, but you notice a glint of truth in his eye; no need to pry further. 

“You wouldn’t wanna do that though, would you?” you respond, bumping his shoulder. 

“No, I wouldn’t- It’s taken me this long to grab your attention- wouldn’t want to waste it”. 

The rest of the morning is surprisingly domestic; Bruce takes you around the manor, giving you a mini history lesson as he does. Somehow the two of you end up in the gardens, hand in hand. Sweet magnolia, chrysanthemum, and rose wafts towards you. 

Who would have thought that Bruce gardened? 

“Yea, I don’t really keep up with it as much as I should, but It’s a nice little pass time- my mother used to love the gardens” 

There’s a misty look in his eye, a long forgotten memory, longing. 

“Well I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you’re still taking care of them” you offer, squeezing his hand.  

He smiles. 

“You know, Dick’s right- I had been taking a long time”. 

“What?” 

Bruce exhales slowly, looking forward, “I’ve admired you for quite sometime, I hope that you still don’t think I’m a womanizer”. 

Your fingers brush his cheek as you pull him down so you can press a kiss to his temple, “I’m being led away from that idea”.

“Good” he whispers before lifting you with ease. 

You gasp as he holds your bridal style and begins to walk back to the manor.

__________________________________

A few more dates and you and Bruce decide to make it official. It really didn’t take long, both of you were pretty assured people. 

It happened when he was at your place one night, tangled in your bed sheets, tracing imaginary shapes on his chest, basking in the after-sex bliss. 

“I want us to be together” Bruce breaks the comfortable silence. 

You sleepily laugh into his side as you softly kiss his chest, “we’re together right now”. 

His calloused hand runs up your exposed side, “No, I mean be together”. 

Your heart stills for a moment, together-together?

You knew the two of you were exclusive but you weren’t sure he’d actually want to take the relationship to the next level. Of course you want to, but you also knew the type of reputation he needed (and wanted) to uphold- so you don’t mind what the two of you have going. 

“As in…” you start; hoping to get him to say what he actually means, rather than make you try to interpret. 

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” he states bluntly (but sweetly). 

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at him , lips slightly parted. He only stares at you as you blink away your disbelief, “Are you sure?”.

It’s his turn to sit up and he captures your chin in his hand, tilting your face to look at his, “I’m certain, I want this. I want you”. 

His face is serious and so are his words, but as much as you want to agree right now, you need to hear him say it in the morning… not right after fucking your brains out. 

“I’d love nothing more Bruce, but I need to hear you say it in the morning- I just want to make sure you’re not going to go cold on me” you offer, eyes wide and vulnerable. 

He chuckles and cards his fingers through your soft hair, “Alright Darling, but you do know that my mind won’t have changed overnight”. 

“I know B” you whisper into his chest before drifting off. 

__________________________________

Sure as he said, he asked you again first thing that morning- of course you said yes (and then rode him like your life depended on it).

Now the two of you had been official for almost half a year; the public knew about the two of you and honestly, the tabloids ate it up. 

‘Charmingly Clumsy Billionaire Falls for the Doctor Who Always Fixes Him Back Up’ 

‘One too Many Ski Accidents Lands Bruce Wayne a Woman’

‘Gotham’s Prince Goes Exclusive with a Civilian: Could it be You Next?’

Bruce is a thoughtful partner; he brings you flowers on his way back from the office (when he goes in), he likes to bring you lunch from your favorite places when you have long shifts, and he loves to take showers with you when you get home from work. 

In the early months you stayed at your apartment, but when crime began to skyrocket in the city, Bruce was insistent that you stay with him. At least at the manor, he’ll know you’re safe when you get off of your shifts. 

Moving in with Bruce wasn’t that difficult to get accustomed to, the two of you had been acquainted for quite some time so things felt oddly natural. You knew he was the head of Wayne Enterprises but you had no idea just how flexible his schedule was; oftentimes he would avoid the office at all costs, instead running around doing God knows what. 

_________________________________ The asphalt is slick with today’s rain, there’s a slight chill in the air as winter approaches. Thankfully, once you get back to the manor, your four-day weekend will finally begin; its been so long since you last had a break from work. You’re looking forward to spending your time off with Bruce, especially since it seems like your schedules haven’t aligned in a while. 

Two weeks ago, the two of you talked about making some plans this weekend and even a few dates. Tonight, he promised you a date at the rooftop lounge that just opened downtown.

Bruce is working late at the office today and told you that he’d meet you at the place after his meetings. 

Hopefully the board doesn’t keep him too long… For living in the same house, it feels like you barely see him anymore.

Of course you know he cares a great deal about Gotham and there has been a stream of steady chaos with the recent breakouts at Arkham, but at the same time, you need him too- you miss him. 

The two of you haven’t shared a bed for a whole night in weeks; sure you get an hour or two with him on the weekends, but he always comes to bed so late and you have to wake up early for work. Sometimes when you wake for work, he hasn’t even come to bed. 

The manor is too big for you to keep tabs on where he is, so you just have to trust he’s not clubbing , cheating, or doing any shady business. Not that you think he would, but after observing his behavior for so long, how can you not worry? 

Recently, you’ve noticed him sporting more bruises and cuts than normal but he insists the group he trains with chose to go to a more intense 24 hr gym- though he still won’t give you the name of it. 

But today was going to be different, you’d finally be able to spend time with him. You keep hoping that just spending time with him will quell your worries and reassure you that everything is fine. 

You arrive at the lounge sporting a new dress Bruce bought you a few weeks back as an ‘I’m sorry for missing dinner’ gift. It was nice that he gave you a gift as acknowledgement for his blunder, but you would have much rather him just make it up to you with another dinner. 

The establishment is quite new but seems to be having no problem with business; almost all of the tables are full except for a roped off corner by the best view of the city. The host asks for your name and you respond but then add that the reservation is probably under your boyfriend’s name. 

“Alright, no problem- What’s his name?”

“Should be under Wayne” you say as if it is no big deal. 

The older man freezes before asking you again- this time when you respond he snickers. 

“Bruce Wayne’s table can only be accessed by Mr. Wayne, himself. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait mam” he says, fixing his sleeves. 

“I’m not sure when he’ll be here, but I’m his girlfriend, so may I not just wait for him there?” you say.

The man now laughs, before pardoning himself. What a dick. 

“Well I can give you proof that we’re together if that would make a diff-”

He holds up a stern hand, “I’m afraid not. You will have to wait.”

Great. 

You angrily take a seat on one of the free patio sofas that outline the rooftop, hopefully Bruce will be here soon to clear this up (and save you from embarrassment). 

But ten minutes pass, then twenty, then an hour… 

Bruce isn’t answering your calls or even reading your texts and you can’t help but feel disrespected. So much for making up all of those nights up to you. Was this relationship even worth it anymore? 

Work is busier and much more stressful since Gotham’s latest criminal mastermind has been causing injury-inducing scenes left and right.

You’ve wanted nothing more than to just have one day with Bruce and forget about your worries, but apparently you can't even get him for a night. 

You’re staring at the skyline with a half drunken Moscow mule in hand as you notice the distant illumination in the clouds, the Bat signal.

You hadn’t spoken to the Bat really since that one night, but you did notice every time you would go to your apartment at night, the familiar figure would follow closely behind to make sure you were safe; a silent guardian. 

Sometimes he would even take his perch atop your building or your fire escape to keep you company, well as much company as he could be when most of his responses come out as one word answers.

He would never stay long, but almost everytime you would see his light in the sky while you were home, he’d stop by.

Insane that Batman was more consistent than Bruce. 

With a sigh, you leave the copper cup on the bar as you decide to leave; with all of the chaos in Gotham, it’s probably not the best idea to be out if the Bat signal is on. Maybe you’ll run into Bruce at home and can give him a piece of your mind. 

_______________

It’s midday and you still have yet to see Bruce, he never showed up last night and he still wasn’t in bed by the time you woke up. At this point, you were less mad and more just worried. 

Sadly, Alfred wasn’t much help and even though Dick was back in town, he said he was staying with a friend. 

You’re trying to relax with some tea in the study when you hear Bruce’s heavy footsteps climbing the stairs to the bedroom. You scramble to place the teacup down and practically sprint up the stairs to check on him. 

Bruce’s broad shoulders seem tense as he rolls out his shoulders; he walks with a slight limp as he enters the bathroom. You’re about to follow in behind him but you hear the door’s lock click and the shower begin. Alright? Odd.

His shower takes longer than normal and you’re left pondering why he felt the need to lock the door- that’s kind of strange, isn’t it? Why would he feel the need to…. Unless- 

No, Bruce wouldn’t cheat. 

Right?

You're pulled from your thoughts once the lock clicks again; The large door pushes open and a cloud of warm steam sweeps out from behind Bruce’s large frame. He yawns and rolls his neck before locking eyes with you. It's so miniscule, but you see a slight bit of surprise from him when he meets your gaze. 

“What are you doing here? Thought you had work” he says as if you were the one with the unpredictable schedule. 

“No, I have a break this week, remember?” you respond quietly. 

His blue eyes drift to the left corner of the room before he shrugs, “Oh yea”.

How can he be acting so nonchalantly?! 

He walks over to the dresser to look for some lounge pants, your eyes don’t leave him. 

“You’re looking at me like you want to say something, so just say it” Bruce mutters in a monotone voice as he runs the fluffy white towel over his midnight locks. 

“B, where were you last night?” you ask quietly, trying to keep your anger at bay. 

“It’s really none of your business” he says, not even bothering to look at you. 

“Oh Really? Because last I checked, you told me we had a date and that you were going to meet me at the lounge” you say sternly. 

“Look Baby, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it but things change” He slings the towel over his left shoulder. 

“Things change? Well I guess they’re always changing because we haven’t had a night together in weeks. I barely see you anymore and we literally sleep in the same bed! How am I supposed to feel, Bruce?” 

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes, “You should know, better than anyone, that life gets busy. I don’t know what you want me to say- I had work to do”.

“Couldn’t you have at least told me that?” 

“It would have made you upset if I canceled again” he states as if it’s no big deal. 

There's no way he’s pulling that bullshit- that’s just insulting to your intelligence. 

“And not showing up would be better? Do you know how long I waited for you? How embarrassing it was to get stood up by Bruce Wayne? A man, who by the way, apparently people don’t believe I could be dating? It’s not only humiliating…it hurts” you say, all of your fragile feelings on display for him to ransack. 

“I am sorry about that, but I have no power over how people view us. I can only apologize for not communicating better.”

He’s being so cold.  

“Bruce, I haven't heard from you since yesterday morning! I had no idea where you were- if you were ok? Do you know what’s happening in Gotham right now?! Its dangerous” you say, feeling more hurt than angry. 

“Don’t you think I know that? That’s why I was gone; Wayne Enterprises needs to help Gotham- I need to help Gotham” Bruce says definitively.

“But Gotham isn’t the only one who needs you” you say, a bit more distressed than you intended. 

“Gotham cannot wait!” his voice rising as his frustration surfaces. 

“But I can?!” you shout back, feelings already fragile. 

“Yes! Yes, you can” he practically shouts. 

…

The room is still with dangerous silence as the tears in your eyes quietly spill over as you nod. Your voice is so small and hoarse as you manage out your words, “O-Ok. Ok Bruce. I wasn’t aware you felt that way”. 

He huffs in frustration before dragging his hand over his face, “Baby, you know I’m just stressed- I didn’t mean it”. 

“That’s not fair- I’m stressed too Bruce but the difference is that I’ve been here for you! You haven’t been here for me, hell, I don’t even know where the fuck you’ve been!” You say, abruptly standing up from the bed. 

You gotta get out of here. 

Bruce says nothing, instead he studies your features. You’re more than just angry, more than just upset, you’re disappointed in him. 

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bruce asks with a sigh when he watches you grab your duffelbag from the closet. 

“I’m going home tonight- or for the week, or -I don’t know. I just can’t be here right now, I can’t be around you” you say, tears flowing freely.

“You don’t mean that.” he responds, an edge of hurt in his voice. 

“I don’t know what I mean, B- But I know I need to be alone.” 

Bruce is silent as his eyes closely follow your form; you toss clothes and toiletries into the bag and try not to focus on your boyfriend’s eyes burning into the back of your head. 

You walk up to the bed and grab the small bunny stuffed animal he got near the beginning of your relationship. He makes his way towards the other side of the bed but stops abruptly, standing still with a grimace on his stoic face. It looks like he’s in pain; one of his large hands braces on his left leg and the other balls into a shaky fist- his tell tale sign of pain.

You almost break and go to him, but then you remember what he just said- maybe it’s petty, but he is a grown man after all, he’s capable of taking care of himself. 

Without another word, you zip past him, heading towards the entrance to the manor. You pass Alfred, who asks where you’re off to in such a rush.

“I’m going home for a while- please just- just tell Bruce to leave me alone” you say before continuing outside.

One good thing about dating a billionaire, his whole property has great Wi-Fi, so the long scenic walk towards the main gates of the estate allows you ample time to call an Uber.

Hopefully some time in your own space would calm you down and maybe you’ll even see the caped crusader swinging by. 

You wake up rather unceremoniously with a light headache from last night’s bottomless champagne, something Al warned you about.

The clock reads 10:30 am, later than you normally stayed in. It’s time to get up, so with a long yawn, you pull yourself out of bed. 

Residual moisture from last night’s downpour rests on your window but the sky was actually decently clear. Luckily it’s Saturday and you’re actually able to enjoy the rare sunshine. 

You’re in the middle of washing your cereal bowl when you hear a knock on your door- probably survey people or some kid trying to sell you the newest pyramid scheme- you return to washing your dishes. 

Once the sink is turned off and the bowl is on the drying rack, the knocking begins again. 

You groan and hustle over to the door with a frown, they were really desperate, huh? Brushing the brass peep-hole cover out of the way, you’re very surprised to see a more casually dressed Bruce standing awkwardly on the other side of the door. No way he has the audacity to show up here after embarrassing you. 

You let the cover fall back over the lens and begin to walk away, his muffled voice calls your name from behind the door. 

“Please, can we talk?” 

He’s so stubborn, he probably won't leave if you don’t at least acknowledge him, so you roll your eyes and open the door. 

Bruce has a large vase of flowers in his hands and an apologetic look on his face. Quite extravagant, seeing as the only thing you really even did with him last night was take a car ride and make out a little. 

Huffing out a sigh, you lean against the door frame, arms crossed, “What do you want Bruce?”. 

He struggles to articulate his thoughts, lips visibly twitching, until he finally lands on “I wanted to apologize for last night”. 

“You could have just called,” you say rigidly. 

“No, I wanted to apologize in person” he shifts awkwardly and looks past you into your place. 

“Just come in” you say exasperatedly. 

“May I?” he asks, eyes slightly widening. 

“That’s why I offered” you respond blankly, (damn…and Bruce thought he was the dry one).

Bruce followers behind you and places the vase on your counter, making sure not to disturb the petals too much. You observe him as he does so, he’s wearing a button-up as with a dark sweater over it. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows and the front of the sweater is tucked into his pants to reveal his undoubtedly expensive belt buckle- he had to know what he was doing. 

“So.” you say, arms crossed, leaning against your counter. 

“So…” he repeats slowly. 

“So, you wanted to apologize- let’s hear it”. 

He presses his lips together and nods, “I am genuinely very sorry for leaving you last night, trust me, that was the last thing I wanted to do”. 

Then why did you leave?

“Sure, Bruce” you responded instead. 

“I just remembered I had to submit a proposal for the company last night and I could only do it from my personal computer, security issues”. 

You capture your bottom lip in between your teeth, cutting your eyes to the side as you scoff, “Alright, Bruce”.

His shoulders drop at your tone. 

“Well thank you for the lovely flowers, I’m sure it took a lot of effort to grab them from the store, but I really do think you should get going- I’ve got some errands to run today” you say, heading past him towards the door. 

Before you can get all the way past, he catches your arm with a gentle hand. The way he calls your name makes your heart pang- you hated that he still had this effect on you.

You meet his deep blue eyes and he searches yours for some indication that you don’t actually hate him. 

He releases your arm and you turn to face him, now he’s the one leaning against the counter. Bruce slowly collects your hands in his and sighs, “Please, let me make this up to you”. 

You glance down, his hands are so much bigger than yours, they’re strong, calloused, and… you notice fresh bruising and cuts on his knuckles- unless he had to fight people to get to his laptop, those should not be there. 

“I don’t know Bruce, I’m not going to be strung along until you’re available” you say, avoiding his gaze. 

His eyes drop for a moment too before he announces, “Dinner, tonight at Chez Vous, 8:00. I’ve already set up reservations and I’ll have my driver pick you up”

“I-” you’re stunned, how was he going to flip this into a date. 

“You can’t just expect me to fall for that, I- mean I’m not one of your little flings Bruce. What do you even want from me?”

“I just want to properly apologize for the other night”

“A verbal apology would suffice”

“Ok, I want to take you out.”

It irks you that his words still make your heart beat faster. Fuck Bruce Wayne. But Chez Vous is known to have a good selection and the place is pretty hard to get into…. Fine. 

“Ok fine. But just so you know, I'm only going because I want to try Chez Vous’ steak… I hear it's delicious.”

“It is.”, he offers a small smile.

______________________________

It’s 7:24 and you still haven’t chosen an outfit- luckily you've already done your hair and makeup, but once you step in front of your closet, you realize that you’re already running out of fancy dresses. 

Last night you had to go out of your way to get that dress and now you’re struggling to find something that is nice enough to wear to the high-profile restaurant. You had an old bridesmaid dress from your college friend’s wedding but it was very obviously made for a wedding. 

You look back at the clock and its now 7:32- Fuck- the driver is picking you up at 7:40. 

Desperation kicks in and you start flying through the dress options calculating possible accessories that could save the outfit until- Your hands stop suddenly as you look at it. 

A long, tight, black backless dress; you forgot you had that. You thanked your past self as you slipped the form fitting piece on; it fit perfectly, hugging your curves and accentuating all of the right places.

Damn, how did you forget about this dress? 

Your phone’s alarm buzzes, 7:40- alright, showtime.

_____________________________________

The drive to the restaurant is short, Chez Vous is just in downtown Gotham- not far from your apartment. You arrive to already see Bruce standing outside the restaurant, his hands behind his back as he watches people walk past. 

Your heart begins to race; his hair is styled back and his suit is perfectly tailored to fit his magnificent body. He just looks so elegant, so confident- you actually can’t believe that you’re going to be seen in public with him. 

The door clicks open, stirring you from your fantasy world and the driver offers you a gloved hand. You thank the driver with a slight bow before turning to see Bruce; he’s got a stupid smirk on his face as he greets you. 

“Bowing? A bit formal, no?” he teases. 

“I- What else was I supposed to do?” you ask, playfully scoffing. 

“Just say ‘thank you’?” he offers, to which you lightly shove his arm, exaggeratedly rolling your eyes.

“You look stunning-”, “You look very nice, Bruce”.

Both of you laugh over your jumbled words as if the two of you were merely school kids going on your first date. A warm blush creeps up your cheeks; did he think that was sweet or did he think it was awkward? 

“Well thank you, but I’m definitely not beating you in the looks department” Bruce adds, regaining his footing in the conversation (not that he was ever lost to begin with). 

“Oh stop it, you’re such a cliche” you laugh, before he takes one of your hands in his. 

“I brought you this”, a small rose is extended to you. 

“Bruce, it’s lovely!” you say in surprise. 

“I pruned it this afternoon, from the Manor’s gardens” he mentions, a little less confident than before- as if he were almost embarrassed. 

Before you can respond to him, he clears his throat and motions to the restaurant, “Shall we go in?”.

“We shall” you respond with a smile in an overly posh accent; he smiles. 

The restaurant’s windows are blocked by velvety red drapes and each table lit by a singular warm lamp in the center. Everyone in the establishment looks like they make at least 7 figures, if not more. You feel an odd sense of displacement until Bruce’s hand on the small of your back brings you back to him. 

The maître d' stands with rigid posture and doesn’t look up from his books until you and Bruce are right in front of the stand. Even then, he’s slow to glance up, asking for a reservation as he does so. 

“Wayne” Bruce’s strong voice says. 

The older gentleman’s eyes widened behind his thin glasses, “Ah! Mr. Wayne- We have already prepared your table, if you would kindly follow me”. 

Damn, even his pattern of speech even sounds expensive.

The table is in a secluded corner, only a few other VIP tables are spread across the area. The maître d' is about to pull out your seat for you, but Bruce insists on doing it himself and the man doesn’t try to protest. 

Bruce takes his place across from you and before you know it, a woman is bringing an expensive bottle of red wine chilled in a small silver bucket. 

The menu is simple, sleek, and definitely not the flimsy plastic you’re used to- not that you can’t afford better than a little hole in the wall places, you’re just not a big foodie or interested in extravagant presentation. 

You scan the dishes and note the lack of prices (must cost an arm and a leg). Bruce has already placed his menu back down and is in the middle of pouring you a glass of wine. 

“Oh, thank you” you say, to which he smiles. 

“Of course”.

The two of you speak about random topics for a while until the waiter comes back to take your orders. Once he leaves again, Bruce turns back to you with a slightly more serious look.

“I mean no disrespect when I ask this, but if you’re on a surgeon’s salary, why do you choose to live in Bowery? It’s only a few blocks from crime alley- not the most safe area” Bruce asks, his eyes somewhere in between interest and concern. 

“Well, It’s close to the hospital and I try to be as close as I can in case of emergency” you say, taking a sip of your wine. 

“But if you could afford a safer apartment, why not just move to a different building?” 

You shrug, not really having a finite reason, “I’m not sure, I don’t really have much time to worry about moving and it's too expensive to hire movers and a new place if I were going to… Finding a ‘safe’ living situation in Gotham city is not cheap”.

“What about your salary? Surely it provides enough” he questions, genuinely confused. 

You smile at him, “Well, if you simply must know Mr. Wayne, you’re not the only one in Gotham who has a thing for philanthropy”. 

His head tilts slightly and you take a sip. 

“The causes I donate to are much more… subtle. Sometimes I provide local clinics with extra funding to get more equipment or medicines, helping out at the animal sanctuary, sometimes the orphanages in the narrows. Just personal soft spots of mine”. 

That seems to catch Bruce off guard and he smiles, “I had no idea…”. 

“I’m not great at going to donor galas or whatever they're doing now-a-days- as you could probably guess” you offer with a small smile of your own. 

“Do you avoid all of them because you have to go stag?” he teases, referencing last night. 

“No, maybe I’d rather spend my time off of work actually relaxing rather than pretending I’m someone important” you respond with a laugh.

“No need to pretend… you are” Bruce says, voice even and exact. 

He can tell you’re flustered because he goes ahead and adds, “I for one, would love to see you at more of them.”

“Then, I guess I might just have to reconsider …” 

“And maybe you won’t have to go stag” 

You’re interrupted by the waiter coming by with your meals; the plate is placed in front of you delicately; silver dish cover reflecting your face back at you. The covers are taken off of yours and Bruce’s plates at the same time, revealing a delicious aroma.

The platters are so thoughtfully arranged that it looks like a piece of art rather than food. It almost feels shameful to disturb it. 

The waiter bows wishing you “bon appetite” before turning on his heel and leaving. 

“Holy shit, this looks amazing” you exclaim a little louder than intended, based off of the way a few people’s heads turn in disapproval. 

You make a face and shrink back, “Sorry” you whisper, making Bruce chuckle. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it- your excitement is cute”. 

No sense in blushing because it hasn’t gone away since you got out of the car, so instead you just gaze at him with soft eyes and a smile to match. He made you feel like you belonged here, with him. 

The two of you looked like lovesick fools; who would have thought that you’d actually be here, on a date with Bruce Wayne? Of course, there was still that little part in the back of your head asking why you were falling for his charms when everyone in Gotham knew his reputation for this sort of thing… but it feels more genuine than not. 

Bruce is an expert at being in the public eye, he’s spent years carefully crafting his persona, but you can see that the one he uses at the gala is different than the one he uses with staff, which is also different from how he used to speak to you in your early days working with him.

But now, he's shown you a side of himself that you haven’t seen him use with anyone else- not even the women he was with in the past, throughout your time treating him. 

Never had he felt so… comfortable. 

“You’re staring again. Seems like we need to break that little habit of yours” Bruce says, cutting into his steak with a glint of something you can’t quite place. 

“Who says it needs to be broken? Can’t I just admire something that’s appealing to my eyes?” you respond, taking a bite of your own dish. 

His brow quirks before he speaks again, “Someone’s feeling bold tonight? To what do I owe the pleasure?”. 

“I’m normally like this, you just catch me in bad moods” you smartly respond, sending him a wink. 

Oh this is dangerous. 

_____________________________

The rest of the date goes well as the two of you banter and exchange stories. 

Before you even realize, the two of you are already done with your meals and Bruce is signing the bill. He takes a sleek fountain pen from his inner pocket and signs the bill in impeccably good handwriting before adding a $200 tip. Cash. 

He looks up from the book and meets your curious eyes. With a smile he rises and offers his hand, “ready to get out of here?”. 

Your hand feels so small in his as he helps you up; the two of you walk out of the restaurant, a few eyes following you once they realize who you’re with. Are they judging you? Do they think you’re not worthy enough to be with Bruce? 

He places a steady hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the exit, almost as if he could hear your inner dialogue. 

The driver is already waiting outside but you’re surprised to see a hoard of paparazzi; their cameras flick and flash as they all call for the man next to you. They shout questions and controversial statements all in an attempt to garner his attention, but Bruce is unwavering- as steady as ever, assured. He walks casually towards the car still guiding you. 

You don’t want to cause a scene either but you can’t help but look up at him, this is all very jarring for you. “You’re doing great, we’re almost there” he says under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear. 

The driver opens the car door for you and Bruce lets you enter first before closing the door and walking to the other side. Once he enters the driver promptly drives away. 

You’re still processing what just happened when Bruce places a hand on your thigh, “are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t think they’d get my location so quickly”. 

“It’s alright Bruce, I just wasn’t expecting that” you say before nervously laughing. 

His expression softens and he rubs his thumb in a circle on your leg, “Yea, it’s pretty bothersome, I can’t really go anywhere without people prying into my life”. 

There was a time that you would have made fun of him or teased him for being a “woe is me” billionaire complaining about having money, but after getting to know him more, you can understand how hard it must be; not having privacy, not being able to trust people’s intentions, and always having someone watching your every move. 

You place your hand over his, gaining his attention, “I’m sorry Bruce- I wish it were different for you”. 

He studies your expression with an emotion you can't quite place before tilting your chin with his fingers, “May I kiss you?”. 

As an answer, you crash your lips into his; Bruce is caught off guard, but quickly regains his composure. He places his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him as you run your neatly manicured fingers through his jet black hair. 

He gently catches your bottom lip in between his pearly teeth before moving his kisses down the side of your neck. Good thing the car has a divider, otherwise the driver would be getting a show. 

“God, you’re magnificent” he groans into you. 

“Fuck, Bruce” you moan as one of his large hands reaches around to grope your ass. 

His sharp canines rake across your collarbone prompting you to squeeze his clothed bicep. Bruce pulls you into his lap, hiking up your dress so that you can straddle his lap. His thigh muscles strain against the expensive fabric of his dress pants as he continues to pillage your mouth. 

Hot, breathy kisses, obscene noises- you can feel the desire pooling in your stomach and the wetness between your folds. Though, it seems like you're not the only one feeling so excited. 

The tent in Bruce’s pants is nothing to scoff at; he’s big. Your damping panties rub against the bulge, making both of you hiss at the sensation. In an attempt to gauge just how big he is, you begin to run your core from his base to his tip, but you only get half way before he’s caging your back down on his lap. 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, sweetheart" his gravely voice echoes in your ear. 

You’ve lost track of time and now the car is parked. Bruce taps your thigh signaling for you to get off of his lap.

“We’ll continue this inside” Bruce promises, your core greedily pulsing for him. 

The driver opens the door for you but it’s Bruce’s hand that is extended for you- damn, he's fast. You take it gingerly and he guides you out of the car; you’re so entranced by him that you almost don’t even see the magnificent mansion right in front of you. 

Bruce can tell the moment you notice the architectural feat once your gaze shifts from him and your lips slightly part. He smiles. 

“Oh my God, Bruce- I knew you had money, but I had no idea-” you’re completely enthralled by the house. 

He only chuckles as the two of you arrive on the doorstep; the doors are opened by an older man. He looks to be in his early to late 60s, he has white hair, and looks too posh for Gotham. 

“Master Wayne, Good Evening” he bows before fixing his gaze on you, “Ah, you must be the young doctor I’ve heard so much about”. 

Bruce talks about you? 

You catch a glance at Bruce, a tiny blush dusting his sharp cheeks before he clears his throat. He introduces you to the man- his butler and long time confidant, Alfred, before excusing the two of you upstairs.

Alfred continues further into the first floor of the manor as Burce sweeps you into his arms and carries you up the dark wood stairs. 

“You really didn’t have to do that” you say shyly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

“But I wanted to” he responded, nudging your head with his. 

He brings you to a grand room, it looks almost like a private library. You take a seat on the plush velvety couch that sits in the middle of the room. Bruce shrugs off his suit jacket before grabbing some firewood that's arranged next to the grandiose fireplace. 

Without a word, he begins a fire and as he’s poking and prodding at the flames, you take off your heels. Once he’s happy with its size, he joins you on the couch, placing a strong arm around you. He smells of sandalwood and expensive soap. 

“Do you normally bring all of your dates here?” you ask jokingly. 

“Still stuck on that, huh?” he quirks a brow at you, a small smile resting on his face.

“Why, of course Mr. Wayne. Part of my profession is being a risk assessor- I have to keep an eye out for these things”. 

He captures you in a deep kiss, his hand slowly sliding up your thigh, making you moan into his mouth, “So tell me Doctor- How much of a gamble am I then?”. 

God you needed him. 

“A dangerous one” you say before promptly pushing him down and climbing on top of him, “But I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge" you say as you begin to kiss down his neck, undoing his top two buttons as you go. 

Bruce all but groans as he feels your nimble fingers toying with his belt, his composure fracturing. “Oh yea?” he pants, as he slides the zipper of your dress down your spine; you can't help but squeeze your thighs when you feel his rough knuckles brush your back. 

“Neither am I” he says before flipping you over so that he’s now on top; his strong arms caging you in. 

You grab onto his shirt and tug him closer to you, “then prove it”. 

That’s all he needed. 

Bruce sits up and promptly kneels on the floor beside the couch, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down. His head rests between your thighs as he hikes up your dress with his hands- only your black lace panties on display. 

He makes a noise between a growl and a curse as he traces the band of lace, slowly drawing it down with his index finger to take a peek at what’s underneath. 

He feels himself growing stiffer in his pants and fights the urge to pull himself out and start stroking. He refrains because his focus is drawn back to you once he hears a breathy moan escape your glossed lips as he swipes his thumb over your clit. 

You prop yourself up onto your elbows so you can get a good look at him as he goes down on you, after all- there's a slight possibility that this will be your only chance to witness it (unlikely). 

Slowly, he pulls them off with his teeth, you subconsciously lift your hips to assist. He sits back on his heels, taking a moment to admire the sight before him; your flushed face, messy hair, left dress strap hanging off of your shoulder, and wet pussy on display. It was enough to make him cum right there. 

He kisses the insides of your soft thighs until he reaches your core, giving it a long, flat lick before swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud. Your body shivers and you moan out his name, fingers raking through his dark locks. 

Bruce hums against you, sending sweet vibrations up your spine; you clench your thighs around his head as his hands grip around your waist, pulling you closer against him. It was his turn to moan, you tasted so sweet and your cute noises were just overwhelming his senses- he couldn’t help it any more. 

Disregarding all self control and desperation, he takes his right hand and rips his belt from around his waist, discarding it somewhere behind him. He unceremoniously palms himself through his briefs before giving himself a squeeze- he can feel the damp spot from his precum. 

Your legs begin to shake as Bruce adds his thick fingers to the mix- it’s almost embarrassing how close you are. 

“B-Bruce! Fuck- Right there!” you whine as he curls his digits inside of you. 

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he growls, taking a break to lightly bite your thigh. 

He meets your dazed eyes with his hungry ones, as you vigorously nod- he wants to taste it all. He suckles on your clit as he continues working your pussy making you scream his name and see stars. The tightly wound coil in your stomach snaps and you go limp in his hold as he laps up your ecstasy. 

You’re left panting as he climbs atop of you; without a beat, you capture him in a kiss, tasting yourself on his warm lips. His strong hands roam the sides of your body until you break away. 

“I want to feel you Bruce” you whisper against the shell of his ear as you tug at his trousers, “would you let me?” you ask sweetly. 

“I’d do anything for you” his gruff voice responds, making the heat race to your core again. You weren’t expecting him to be so… willing. 

You push yourself up to meet his lips once more, but somehow it catches him off guard and the two of you end up tumbling onto the intricately designed rug on the floor. The way you land, he’s now on the bottom and you use this to your advantage, quickly undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt with lightning speed. 

He sits up with ease, taking you with him as he shrugs off his sleeves; you begin to help him remove his pants before pushing him back down. His chest is huge, large plains of taught muscle. He’s the most fit person you have ever seen- he’s always been, but you’d think he might have lost some of it within the ‘almost decade’ that you’ve known him. 

This is not the first time that you’ve seen Bruce’s body, but it’s the first time you’ve seen this much of it all at once. He has so many scars and bruises all over his body- some from you, some from his eccentric activities, and some you just have no clue about. It’s not unappealing though, actually- quite the opposite. 

Seeing your own work on display fuels your ego and you hate to admit it. You press heated kisses down his torso until you gently rake your teeth down his adonis belt; his sculpted thighs tensing under your tight grip. 

He exhales a few strangled curses before you palm him through his black briefs, his length strains painfully against the thin fabric. You smile and swiftly pull them down, freeing his fully hard cock. 

Oh Shit.

Bruce is massive, he’s a good 8 inches, if not more (how was he gonna fit?). His tip was swollen with lust and his precum was already spilling down his thick shaft. There was a prominent vein running from his bast to his tip on the underside, accompanied by a few thinner, shorter veins running to his leaking tip. You lick your lips. 

He watches you intensely as you give it a long pump, Bruce’s brows knead together as he balls his fists- his jaw tightens and you smile. 

“Bruce” you call sweetly. 

A moan escapes his lips as you gently take his heavy balls into your palm, leaning down to whisper into his ear. 

“I want you inside of me”. 

His eyes shoot open and suddenly you’re the one lying on the floor as he lines himself up with your entrance. You can feel the way his dick is twitching, so eager for your warmth. You’re waiting for the stretch, but it doesn't come, you’re about to ask whine but you meet his intense gaze. 

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, dead serious. 

“Bruce, please fuck me already” you practically beg. 

Without warning he pushes himself all the way into you; you scream, digging your nails into his back as he bottoms out with a guttural moan. Bruce rests his weight onto you for a moment before drawing his hips back- so painfully slow, before pumping himself back into you. 

Nothing is clear in your mind as he thrusts in and out of your sensitive hole, all you can do is hold onto his hulking frame and obscenely moan his name. 

“Yeah, Yeah tell me how well I’m filling you up” he grunts, through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck! S-so big, can’t- oh God!” you cry as he presses his skilled thumb to your swollen clit. 

He drinks up your praises and decides to give you some too, “You’re doing so well for me, pretty girl- Shit- you’re squeezing me so tight” his voice tapers off at the end as you clench him tighter. 

“F-fuck, I’m not gonna last” he pants, as his strong hands steady themselves on your hips (that’s definitely going to bruise tomorrow). 

“B-Bruce” you cry, the pleasure becoming too much. 

“Let go sweetheart, I’m right behind you” he coaches as your whole body wracks with searing pleasure. 

Your vision goes fuzzy as he pulls your hips flush against his; his balls tighten as he spills his warm release into you. His cock twitches and pulses inside of you as your walls milk him dry. 

The two of you lie there for a moment, before he rolls over, lying you on his sweaty chest- still connected. You whimper at the overstimulation and notice Bruce is having the same issue. His eyes are clamped shut, his body occasionally spasms. 

Weakly, you brush a hand against his cheek, making him open his eyes and smile lazily. 

So worth it. 

__________

You must have fallen asleep because the next thing you notice is Bruce’s strong arms carrying you into his ridiculously large shower. He gently sets you onto the built in marble bench; the cool stone makes you shiver and grip onto his bicep, he only smiles. 

He turns on the shower and warm steam begins to flood the wide space. He rinses off the sweat from his sculpturesque body before walking back over to you with a gentle look (yes, walking- the shower is that big). 

You sleepily meet his gaze, a small smile of your own settling onto your face; one of his hands tucks some stray strands of hair behind your ear and he leans down to capture you in a kiss. 

“You did so well for me” his low voice sounds so comforting as he helps you up and leads you to the water. 

A contempt sigh leaves your lips as the warm water cascades down your back. It feels wonderful but you can barely hold yourself up on your tired legs. Bruce begins to gently wash your body but your exhaustion washes over you and you begin to fall. 

He catches you in his strong arms again and holds you up, “Shit, are you ok?” he worriedly asks. 

You hum into his chest and wrap your arms around his neck, "my legs are so tired”. 

He huffs out a small laugh and you can tell he’s got a smile on his face as he scoops you up and sits you back onto the marble ledge. He twists a knob making water come out from another showerhead above you and he kneels down and resumes washing your legs. 

“You don’t have to do that-” you begin, but you’re cut off by a gentle kiss, nothing like the ones you shared earlier. 

“I want to” Bruce’s deep voice rings, making you feel even more dizzy than before. 

Once he’s done washing your hair and body, as well as his own, he turns off the water and dries you off. You’re all wrapped up in fluffy towels with little golden “W” Monograms, watching Bruce dry his own body off- he’s a work of art. 

Soon you’re dressed in one of his old “Wayne Enterprises“ t shirts, lying on the left side of his king-sized bed. You pull the covers over yourself and close your eyes, not trying to get to close to his side because cuddling is more of a-

Your thoughts are interrupted when one of Bruce’s strong arms wraps around your waist, pulling you to his side. You gasp at the effortlessness he grabs you with but once you feel the heat radiating off of his large chest, you curl into his side like a contempt kitten. 

“What were you doing all the way over there, Huh?” he whispers against your temple, before kissing it. 

You shrug and nuzzle closer to him, “I don’t know”.

He laughs at your answer and takes a deep breath through his nose. You crack open an eye to secretly admire his face, but he’s already looking at you. 

“I’ve been wanting to see you like this for years,” Bruce admits with soft eyes. 

Instead of responding, you gently caress his cheek before running your hand down his neck, over his torso. He has so many scars, so many untold stories- you can't help but gaze at the incisions made by your hand.

Bruce watches you closely as you lightly trace over one of the scars on the side of his ribcage, it was a chest wall stabilization you performed after a skiing accident. And then the scar on the left side of his abdomen where you removed a hematoma that formed due to blunt-force trauma; he had only said that it was a kick boxing injury. 

“You’ve collected a menagerie of these” you say as you press your soft lips against one of the large plains of his chest. 

Your head rises as he takes a deep breath, “Yes, I have”. 

The two of you are silent for a moment; it makes you sad to see all of the damage done to his body, but something tells you that no matter what you say wont stop his reckless lifestyle. 

Bruce gently runs his arm along your arm before tilting your chin up to look at him, “I know it bothers you- my carelessness”. 

“It does” you whisper. 

“But you’re always there to stitch me up” he smiles, “I wouldn’t be in as good of shape as I am now, without you”. 

His words are sincere and you feel seen. 

“I’ll always be here for you Bruce” you say before allowing exhaustion to wash over you. 

a/n: sooo I actually need him so fucking bad- we all know Bruce is capable of true interest cause have u seen him w Selena or rachel?! Tf. Anywayyys he’s a lil gardener and hero- so so sweet :3 Also the place I mentioned the reader living is a burrow near crime alley on a Gotham map- I’m j gonna pretend it’s by the hospital lol