Chapter 1: x | notes
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just a bit of a heads up, I guess! I have a full time job and not always down with writing, so there are times I legit just forget that I'm able to do stuff like this. bummer. but I'm also open to requests, even if it might take me a while to get to them! this is just me trying to have fun and get back into writing after a long time of not doing so
˚ aus are fine, but most of the time I try to stick to the main storyline or plot
˚ i try to keep all pronouns very neutral, unless requested other wise. there will be warnings at the beginnings of chapters if that changes, or if smut happens and whether the usage of dfab / dmab is used in reference to it.
˚ wont write any x for any underage character unless it's like friendly / familial stuff. there will be no shipping of adults with underage characters.
˚ i'm open to writing a lot, from angst, dealin with stuff, whacky situations, yada yada. ofc things of the more triggering stuff i try to stay away from, and i absolutely will NOT write any noncon / dead dove do not eat / things like that.
˚ i do write smut, it's just probably not gonna be the first thing i crank out.
˚ you can call me whatever ya want, i dont really have a pseudo for this account! and i use any pronouns
˚ i do technically have a tumblr, but i’m never on it. if you’d prefer to HMU there with any questions or to chat, it’s ryujisuguro !
Chapter 2: bruce wayne | the meet cute
Summary:
tags: bruce wayne is batman! , civilian reader, bruce wayne has a heart, slight nsfw / allusion to
also, i tagged both normal batman and THEE Batman ( 2022 ) so you can imagine whoever, but I sorta had the latter in mind. I like how portrayal of just an awkward, dark bruce wayne as opposed to a playboy
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Bruce knew he should’ve gotten rid of it years ago. There was no need for him to have it, really; the reality of having a soulmate was a burning mark to bear regardless, and it came down twice as heavy on him as a crime fighting vigilante who moonlit as the Prince of Gotham.
He wasn’t Bruce Wayne. Not really. He was Batman first and the shell of who he should’ve been second, and it’d always been like that. So whenever he’d rub his fingers across those words imprinted on his skin — right along his chest, where the bone of his clavicle ends and the muscle begins— he can pretend that it’s just Bruce Wayne’s business. It was well enough hidden that he didn’t have to hear random people say the words to pretend they were something they weren’t. He’d politely declined any photo shoots where the area might be expoed, and it was the easiest when he was Batman: a thick black suit covered 90% of his body, so he was fine.
But they haunted him. They toyed with the recesses of his mind, appearing in the nightmares that wanted to masquerade as dreams. He wasn’t aware of who you were, but your repeated words were always sweet. “Let me take care of that for you.”
It was the lonelier nights that got to him the most. Where he was so pent up after a night of fighting that he needed to release something, and he could pretend you were saying those words to him, this time less sweet and with more of a bite. “Let me take care of that for you,” you’d say, hot breath against his ear, lips trailing down his jaw, your hand agonizingly close to his cock. You, his soulmate, would take care of him — and he’d do his best to take care of you.
He hated to admit how often he’d let himself fall so far as to think about you in that way. Some mystery person he didn’t even know about, lowering themselves to take care of him. Neither Bruce nor Batman deserved that.
But tonight wasn’t one of those nights. No, tonight he was Bruce Wayne, and he was expected to show face at one of of the millions of galas that the city of Gotham hosted. He was self aware enough to feel like more money was spent hosting the gala as opposed to the money raised. He’d do more just donating the money or taking it upon himself, but this was what some of Gotham wanted; a face to put it all to, not just some orphan with too much money, hiding in the shadows once more. By now they were used to seeing him out, so showing face was just another chore on his list.
People filtered around him, basking in the glow that was Bruce Wayne. He’d gotten better at interacting with people. By now he could hold a conversation with most of them, pretending to care to listen to what most of them had to say. From the average upper class Gotham residents to the journalists that happened to get in.
But, despite it all, Bruce’s social battery was still something he had to work on. He’d only been here about an hour and a half before he could feel the agitation seeping into his skin, and he wanted to leave. Alfred would just have to deal with him being home earlier than expected, especially when the Batman had a full night ahead of him.
While Bruce was on the high end of the spectrum for being agile, others were not. The moment he had time to himself he’d gotten himself into a corner closest to the exit, and was ready to leave. His eyes did one last sweep around — looking for any signs of dismay — and when it all came up good, he takes his cue to leave.
He just didn’t plan on running into you.
You, a waiter for the event, who was carrying a tray full of champagne. You, who’d somehow managed to bump into him, and let out a surprised gasp as the tray tumbles in your hands. Bruce is quick enough to catch it, but neither of your clothes survive the impact. Champagne coats most of you both, but when you finally look up at him, you seemed more worried about his than yours, and he feels bad about that.
“Let me take care of that for you!”
He’s frozen as you put your tray on a table nearby, and you start mumbling your apologies to him. He’s totally transfixed on you; the expression on your face, the tremble in your voice. It was nothing like how he’d expect that to be said to him — god, he wished he didn’t have any expectations about that at all.
His body reboots as you continue on, murmuring about how it’s all your fault, and eventually telling him to specifically not help you pick up the champagne flutes. It’s far too late for that, because by the time you’re done chiding him, you’ve both got all of the champagne flutes are on the tray.
“I’m sorry, I really am.” You repeat, hands in front of you — a small barrier between the two of you, or perhaps just something you did when you got nervous. Perhaps you spoke more with your hands, and without holding something, you were able to do it fully.
“I’m serious, sir. Let me take care of that for you— sooner the better. I’m good at getting stains out.” You gesture to your own uniform, and there’s a crease between your eyebrows as you realize that you’d totally soaked your own uniform as well.
“Only if I can return the favor.”
This time, it’s your turn to be stunned. Moments pass between the two of you, your eyes on one another. The silence is palpable as he watches the way your expression changes— he just wished he knew you better in order to know what was going on inside your head. The thought after was wishing that he didn’t wish to know any of that. It was dangerous enough to be soulmates with the Bruce Wayne, but to be soulmates with Batman as well?
He doesn’t want this for you. You seem to already have a lot on your plate; the way you reacted from a simple mistake was a good indicator that you probably have had a shitty time dealing with men like him, or had some sort of a shitty boss who was going to rail into you for this. There was no need to add him onto your plate.
But then you smile at him. It’s light, probably out of politeness, but it was directed at him nonetheless. It wasn’t like the other ones he’d gotten earlier today; there was no ulterior motive behind it. It’s soft, knowing; was he deserving of such a smile?
There’s a gnawing in his chest, and that’s when he knows.
This was your death sentence, and he had signed the dotted line.