Bruce Wayne X Oc - Tumblr Posts

"Trust me? You stole me!"

Stressed out and had this little story in my head so I figured, why not make a post. Maybe I'll continue it, who knows.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne X Black!fem!OC (Its actually X Reader but it's hard for me to write without an actual name for a character. So, reader if you squint)

Rating: E for everyone. No cursing (that I remember), No sexual content. Ambiguous backstory.

Series Masterlist

“It’s always gloomy here.” She spoke absentmindedly, her attention captivated by the rainfall hitting the window pane. Her tone was tinged with the boredom she was feeling. Bruce glanced over to the passenger seat. Her big hair hid her face but he knew her well enough to know those maroon lips would be shaped into a pout. She hated the rain and had no issue making the fact known. “When can we go on another vacation? I’d settle for Metropolis at this point.”

“We just got back. You should be grateful that I took you with me instead of leaving you here.”

“What do you want me to say? Thank you, Big Daddy, for dragging me along to the superhero playdate that almost ended my life?” Her exaggerated southern drawl had him clenching the wheel.

“You’re mad.”

“Fucking right I am.” She snapped, her head swiveled so fast he heard the joints pop. He sighed. He didn’t want to fight with her. She had every right to be upset. After weeks of boasting about the vacation to Dubai he scheduled, they arrive and see half the justice league there fighting sewer monsters. The dark knight had to lock her up in saferoom for ten days while he and his teammates fought to save the world. “I’m tired of being Batman’s pet. You won’t let me go out by myself. I have to stay at home all day. You don’t even let me have a real phone.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“Trust me? You stole me! I have every right to fight you every chance I get.”

“You’re acting like a child.” Her eyes squinted with rage. “You should be happy I go along with your whims. It’s not like I push you to do anything.” That wasn’t true and he knew it. Still, she kept her mouth shut. It was clear by the way he clutched the steering wheel that he was getting tired of her mouth. She leaned back in the cushioned seat and thought.

Bruce had parked the car in his garage by the time she looked at him again. He rose a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. She never waited for him to open her car door, acting out to salvage what little freedom she did have. Maybe he will get her a real phone if only to get back on her good side.

The pair walk quietly out the garage to the warmth of the manor. Alfred had already set up a spot in the great room near the fire for her to warm up with her favorite blanket and drink. He grimaced. On any other day, this would cheer her up but after the argument and silent treatment she decided to enact, fuzzy blankets and hot cocoa would do little to ease her ire.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted with a slight bow before turning to the young lady greeting her the same. “I didn’t expect you two to get home so fast. Dinner will only take a few minutes before it is ready. Perhaps it would be best to change into something more comfortable?”

Before he could respond, her voice rang out. “Thank you, Alfred. Dinner smells lovely. Unfortunately, I am not feeling all that well so I will be turning in early.”

Both men watched her leave without a sound, turning to stare at each other when a door in the distance had been closed and locked. Alfred only blinked and moved on. “Shall I prepare the couch for you then, Master Bruce?”

“No. She’s not that upset that she’ll force me to give up my bed. Even she has a heart.” He said while walking to the table. Alfred hummed and turned off the fire under the pot, giving the food one final stir.

“Mistress Dove was upset enough to forgo my chicken noodle soup, I am not sure she what she is capable of.” Bruce only had to give his butler a look before Alfred turned and began serving a bowl of soup. He ate in silence, the only sound being the roar of fire in the fireplace and the hard hits of rain on the manor. Every now and then, Bruce’s ear would pick up the sound of her moving in the room down the hall. He wondered what she could be doing at this hour.

“If you are done Master Wayne, I’ll take that bowl you’re scratching up with your spoon.” Alfred interrupted his boss’s thought. Bruce stood without a word and looked in the direction of the only other person in the house.

“Goodnight Alferd.”

“Goodnight sir. And good luck.” The greyed man called out to the retreating figure of his employer. Whatever happens tonight, he knows he’ll need plenty of rest to navigate through tomorrow.

Bruce found himself hesitating, his large hand clasping the door handle but refusing to turn it. Memories of past dealing with her fire played in his mind. There was the time she moved all the furniture in front of the door, and later both the door and the windows after the first attempt failed. Another time, she barricaded herself in the bathroom for three days, living off of junk food and leftovers Alfred left outside her fort.

The most recent incident had Bruce living in the manor with a ghost of a woman. Dove refused to be in the same room as his, she left when he came and stuck to the shadows of the house. It would have been impressive if he attempted to catch her, but Bruce would simply let her go and hide his annoyance. Now he stood in front of the door of his suite, hand on the handle, cautious of what he’ll find.

Turning the handle, Bruce took in a deep breath and scanned the room. The window was open, the night breeze filling the room and chilling his bones. There was no crude escape made of bedsheets this time, so his steel-blue eyes moved on.

The bathroom door was open with the lights off. His ears could pick up the sound of dripping water in the shower, she more than likely forgot to wring out her loofah. Bruce could smell the scent of cucumber melon, Dove’s preferred post-shower scent. She should be out, yet the bed was still made with not a single indent as evidence she was once there.

His steps were silent, a perk from training Dove did not appreciate, as he slowly gaited to the middle of his room. The aloof billionaire closed his eyes and sighed out his nose. After their trip, he didn’t want to play any games. Tomorrow he would have to be up bright and early to attend a shareholders meeting. In order to get the best sleep possible and have a pleasant enough attitude for the meeting, Bruce would need to end this childish argument.

“Dove, let’s talk.” He expected no response and got exactly that. She could be under the bed for all he knows. Her life before he saved her had been active, to say the least. Bruce wouldn’t put it past her to hide in a bathroom cabinet all night.

“Dove, come out, and let’s talk like adults.” While he pleaded, Bruce undressed and entered the ensuite bathroom. If he was lucky, his physique would distract her long enough for him to grab her and force a conversation out.

He left the bathroom unlucky. No matter how many times Bruce called out for the mistress of the manor, she refused to appear. At one point he thought he heard her footsteps on the self-heating tiled floors, but after turning off the shower, Bruce realized it was just the noise of water dripping yet again.

It was when the sour man entered the closet that his luck turned around. Hidden behind tens of dozens of male suit jackets and coats, sat Dove. Her headphones, Wayne tech that wasn’t even on the shelves yet, plugged her ears and blocked all noise. Her body was cocooned in her favorite blanket, a ratty sheet he has unsuccessfully thrown away several times now. The reflection in her deep drown eyes showed the screen of her phone, heavily modified and monitored by a bot he created, playing a video ranking his costumed colleagues in a list of some sort. Bruce raised a hand to knock on the mahogany wood to alert the caged bird of his presence, but her eyes were quick to snap up and stare him down.

Dove did not frown not scowl, her plump lips remained relaxed in a neutral position. The amusement from the video leaked from her body as she sprung back up slightly, it was clear she was ready for a fight. He had no energy for that.

“Can I help you?”

“Come to bed.” She merely raised a brow.

“I don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow morning. I think I might stay up tonight. This is a pretty important video I found.” Always quick to choose her words. She had his interest piqued and they both knew it. Before he could ask, she gave the answer. “It’s a rank of best to worst costumes in the Justice League.”

“Where am I on the list?”

“Number 7. The all-black aesthetic is kinda out of fashion right now but it’s still timeless. Super and Wonder are on the worst list though, Red and blue are outdated.” A half-smile graced her face and Bruce wanted to caress her lips. Instead, he tugged on her hair scarf. He doesn’t do playful. He agitates people into reacting, digging into the vulnerable crevices people leave unguarded. When she swatted his hand away, the dark knight knew he’s won. “Stop.”

“Come to bed.” Bruce didn’t wait to see if she’d follow him back to the bed. He didn’t care if she would. The fact that Dove wasn’t angry enough to ignore him counted as a win for him.

Dove emerged from the darkness of the bathroom, sans ratty blanket, with a neutral face. The anger she felt in the car had not been forgone, simply paused for the time being. Her brown skin glowed in the yellow lamplight, the skimpy silk nightgown only covered to the middle of her thighs. Bruce noted his bedmate wasn’t angry enough to wear her old ratty pajamas, another win in his book.

They settled into the bed in silence. He got in first, then turned the sheets down for her to slip into her side. When her head settled on the plush pillow, Bruce leaned over to turn off the lamp on his nightstand.

“Goodnight.”

“Mhm.” A disgruntled sigh escaped. A few minutes passed before one hand snuck over to clasp a feminine one. When Dove continued in her silence, Bruce took the chance to yank her body to mold against his.

“You’re an asshole, ya know?” Bruce only tightened his grasp around her waist in response. Brown eyes looked over to see his closed shut in mock sleep. Even placing her ice-cold feet against his warm flesh did nothing to warrant a response. "Ya know, If I could, I would leave you.”

“Yes.” He grumbled, burying his nose where her neck and shoulder met. He knew that the moment his back was turned and the gates were unlocked, Dove would run without a backward glance. He knew she would dive as deep as possible into the underground to escape him and his omnipresent watch system. He knew, but Bruce did not care. “I know. Now, sleep.”

I'm supposed to be studying!

I just posted but them ten notes have me hype. I have a small piece from the story I want to share. As a thank you for the ten notes and two follows. Enjoy!

His focus was completely on her lips, though it occasionally would dip down to her chest every time she breathed. Caution still filled his bones. A month ago, Dove would never entertain him like this. A month ago, she would rather bathe in acid than let his hands caress her brown skin. A month ago, his caged bird would not be leaning in closer to peck his cheek.

And yet.

Now, in the closet of their shared room-

That's it. Have a great day!

"Might As Well, Right?"

Well Darlin, look at us now. A continuation of "Trust Me? You Stole Me?" I'm having so much fun writing this, slowly piecing the past together. Enough of me.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Black!fem!OC/reader

Rating: T for Teen

Warnings: Hints of Abuse/Manipulation. (closest I can get to expressing what's going on. I'm not trying to be pretentious, I literally can't bc I don't know where this story is going either. Something isn't right, is what I'm saying)

Series Masterlist

In the time she’s been there, Dove has never seen a guest visit the manor in the daytime. Sometimes when he had a gala to host or bigwig to impress, Bruce would open the gates to outsiders. Only at night, though. And never for any time longer than three hours. Those were the nights she hated the most. Bruce would bring up the evening in question two days before it was scheduled to take place, usually while they ate breakfast, and ask her what she wanted to do.

He was kind enough to offer two options. One, be his date and hang off his arm all night with the chance to socialize with people other than him and Alfred. Or two, hide in a windowless room with tv or a stack of books to keep her company while he entertained his guests on his lonesome. Dove found both options to be unpleasant.

The prospect of socializing with outsiders always felt tainted with the knowledge of who she would socializing with. Other rich people that, like Bruce, were out of touch with reality. Those were the type of people that could look her in the eye and not feel a sliver of concern.

She knew if she asked, her jailer would dress her in the finest jewels and silks. He would think Dove had begun to lean into the life he wanted to have with her. She made that mistake before. And there were few experiences more infantizing than being put in a room while Bruce hosts, with Alfred checking in on her every hour on the hour.

The new man placed across from her, on Bruce’s left side, presented a third option.

“A carnival?” This new man, closer to her age than Bruce’s, didn’t falter or pause cutting his food up while looking her in the eyes. She held eye contact and when he showed no sign of breaking it first, Dove cut her eyes to Bruce. Acrylic nails ‘clicked’ against the glass cup as the woman picked it up to take a drink. “I’m surprised you trust me enough to let me out of your sight.”

“Dick’s almost as good as me. But if you disagree, you’re more than welcome to attend the party as my date.” Dick smirked at her, daring her to take the invite to the party instead of the golden opportunity to escape her reality for a night with him. Pushing a fallen braid out of her face, Dove looked at the pair. Alfred was in the kitchen a couple of feet away, cleaning up after cooking their breakfast. These men at the table with her continued their meal, unconcerned with the fact that she stopped eating. “Or stay in the room and watch tv. You’re a couple of episodes behind that competition show you showed me, right?”

“The carnival,” Dove started, her fork moving again as she began picking at her food. She wanted to ask who this man was but refrained. What would it matter in the long run, she wondered. Clearly, this ‘Dick’ knew who Bruce was and what he did, both at night in the streets and to her.

“If it makes you feel better, my date will be there and would love a normal friendship with a girl around her age. Also, you probably won’t get another chance like this for a while. Might as well right?” Her nails thrummed against the table as Dove thought. Was she that desperate for outside contact that she’d settle for a trip to the carnival with two strangers that knew her situation and didn’t care?

“Sure." Brown eyes caught the action of Bruce readjusting the grip he had on his utensil. Still, she pressed on. "When’s the next time I’ll get to eat questionable junk food like a deep-fried triple-battered butter smothered double stuffed oreo?” It was then Alfred appeared at her side, his sixth sense about her empty plate right as always. He placed a gloved hand over her tapping fingers and looked deep into her eyes.

“Please. Don’t.”

-------

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Bruce said while watching jittery hands apply makeup to an awfully eager face. As much as he wanted to ask her to tone down her makeup, the light in her eyes made him refrain. It’s been a while since his caged bird has looked this excited. Not even the trip to Dubai, before it got ruined, caused such a reaction. It broke his heart to stay home and host the gala while she would be outside the manor tasting the small bit of freedom granted to her.

“No, Dick said tonight would be the last day the Hex Girls would be in town. I’ve been a fan for years! This’ll be my first time seeing them live.” Dove murmured, careful to stay absolutely still as she applied her eyeliner.

While she was genuinely excited to see her favorite band and be outside with normal people for the first time in months, Dove felt a second rush of excitement at the thought of being away from Bruce. She warred with herself after that breakfast, worried about her mental state if she leaned into this outing. As much as she wanted to hold back, her mind has already tricked itself into believing the couple she was going out with were friends instead of babysitters.

Steel eyes watched facial features be redrawn and colored to perfection, slowly he watched the woman he was infatuated with, return to her former glory. She smacked her lips three times to ensure the gloss had been evenly distributed before turning to look at him.

“How do I look?”

“Breathtaking.” Dove could feel her cheeks warm. Bruce doesn’t lie. He tricks and misleads until his opponent was too confused to move, but he wouldn’t lie. A compliment from her captor shouldn’t make her heartbeat any faster, and yet the muscle hammered away due to his honeyed words. “Maybe I’ll take you out next.”

“Maybe…”

“Would you like that?” She didn’t answer his question, but the billionaire paid no mind to that. He’d give anything to have her on his arm all night instead of out with his former sidekick. Canceling the outing would only strengthen the discontent in her heart. That would be spitting on the progress they’d made recently. Dove no longer scowled at him when he hugged her before he left the manor. Bruce had no desire to go back to how things were. “Dick should be arriving soon. We can wait downstairs.”

“What about your party? It starts in an hour, you should be getting ready.” The trail of perfume she left in her wake scrambled his mind with ease as she slid past him to grab her jacket on the bed.

“I don’t take that long to get ready. This is fine.” Together they strolled down the hall until the stairs started. The plaid skirt flounced with every step-down Dove took, something Bruce found hard to ignore. It wasn’t obscenely short, so saying something about it would only sour her evening before it began.

“Mistress Dove, that is a lovely outfit you have on.” Bruce could tell by the way Alred sucked in air that the woman in front of him had graced the butler with a rare smile.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Though, I’m not sure if that jacket will keep you warm in the autumn weather. Might I suggest taking Master Bruce’s casual jacket?” Gloved hands waved the article of clothing as an option just as Dove and her shadow reached the last step. “The oversized look is currently in trend right now.”

Dove merely hummed. Bruce crossed his muscled arms over his chest and watched her, not reacting when the security system alerted the presence of Dick on his doorstep. The large door groaned as it swung open, followed by the sound of two pairs of footsteps headed to the main den.

“What are you all standing around for? You ready to go?” Dick asked with hand clasped in his companion’s grip.

Bruce has only met Koriand’r a few times before now. Each time, the alien princess looked more and more assimilated into earth culture. Tonight, it appeared she successfully convinced Dick into wearing matching outfits.

“Hello, I am Kori,” The girls were quick to acquaint themselves with one another, giving the men time to talk before the three young adults left.

“Have her back by one. Not a minute late.” Dick scoffed and looked at the girls.

“Scared she won’t want to come back to you, old man?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Carnival closes at midnight anyway. Might get some food afterward, I’ll have her keep you updated.”

“Right,” Bruce pulled a phone out of his pocket and tossed it to his former sidekick. “Here. Add your number to it.” Dick complied without a word, though he couldn’t help but give his mentor a judgemental glance.

“Dove,” The women paused as the gruff man called to one of them. Dick watched with amazement as Dove walked over to them. It appears she had been taught the name recall command.

“Yes?” her voice came out timidly as if she was a child at risk of being forced to stay home.

"I updated your phone, My number, Alfred's, and the house's are all..." Bruce led them a few steps back and Dick lost his ability to keep up with the conversation. He walked over to his date and clasped her hand, and the two waited for Bruce to set his bird free for the night.

“Don’t let him work you too hard, Alfred.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Master Dick. I’m happy to let you know I’ve been taking pilates to strengthen my core.” Kori laughed at the perceived joke, but Dick didn’t put it past the old man to actually begin pilates.

“I’m ready,” Dove announced. She had ditched her jacket for Bruce’s, the sheer size of it covered her thighs more than the skirt did. Her brown eyes looked troubled, and her shoulders were tensed to high heavens. Whatever Bruce did had the woman on the verge of issuing a rain-check

Alfred stepped away for a second at returned with a miniature backpack. Dove nodded her thanks and slipped her phone into the front pocket of the jacket while taking the offered accessory.

“1 o’clock, Dick.” The only response to the reminder was a half-assed wave while the girls clutched the other’s hand. Bruce resisted the urge to call the whole night off, his event included, to fix his error. Instead, the two men watched the trio of twenty-somethings pile into Dick’s car and speed out the driveway of Wayne Manor.

“Sir-”

“I’m going to get ready, Alfred. I’ll be down before the guests arrive.” Back up the stairs, Gotham’s golden prince went. His steps pressed harder on the steps than Alfred thought was necessary.

“Of Course Sir.”

Lovely

Happy to say I started the framework to give this series some background. Still don't know what to call the series though. open to suggestions. Anyway, the teaser:

She stood behind the man, measuring tape around her neck and a kettle of tea in her hands, dressed head to toe in knock-offs.

Her shoes were fake Luis Vuitton and the purse she carefully placed at her workstation looked to be fake Fendi. Her slacks, though in style, looked like they came from a discount store. Her shirt was the worst offender, the signature Burberry plaid was all wrong. The older women of Wayne Enterprises would call her attempt offensive.

Bruce thought she looked lovely.

Jail

First of all, I'm about to succumb to a Cinnabon-induced coma, so if i start losing sense. Second, my Bruce Wayne x Black!fem!OC is going well and like sharing teasers with yall. Sidenote: researching the process of law is kinda fun. Anyway: here's a preview: A peak into the past

She’s never seen Batman in person, but the stories her customers told her about how intimidating he could be, rang true. Her mind couldn’t direct her body to move, there was nowhere to hide. The pickup scheduled tonight has been ruined, and the dripping woman could have sworn her ears were hearing the sound of police sirens.

Guess who’s going to jail tonight?

The darkness of the suit worked in his favor, and soon Dove found herself flat on her back looking into the lens of his eye cover. “What are you doing here? What’s your business with Joker?”

"A Bit Drunk But Still Fine."

Part 3 of We Flock Together, my Bruce Wayne x Black!OC series. No long rambles, let's get this shit.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Black!fem!OC

Rating: T for teen

Warning: suggestive conversation, hinted nefarious magicians, hinted abuse, and Stockholm syndrome. Yandere Bruce Wayne

Series Masterlist

The sound of stifled giggling chipped away at Bruce’s subconsciousness until sleeping in became a lost cause. The blinds blocked most of the morning light trying to brighten the room, but a small sliver made it through to land directly on his face. Next to him was his caged bird, cocooned in the blankets she insisted he kept on the bed now that winter would settle in any day. His vision went from bleary to focused when he noticed the restrained shake in her shoulders.

“What has you up early on a Sunday?” His rough voice traveled through the hills and valleys separating their bodies until it reached her pierced ears. Dove peered slightly to confirm his awakened state, only to turn away from the eye contact with a small gasp. “Hmm, Dove?”

The morning noise had been her acrylics typing loudly against the screen of her phone, followed by the sound of a message being sent. Whoever existed on the other side of the conversation responded within a minute and was the source of Dove’s amusement.

“Dove,” She looked back over to see Bruce inclined, held up by his thick forearms. “Who are you talking to?” She bit at her cheek, a nervous habit of hers that emerged after her first week in the manor. “I’m just curious.”

“Dick has been teaching Kori about memes and gifs, and now she won’t stop using them even though Dick asked her to calm down,” Her brown eyes snapped up to look at his reaction before continuing her sentence. “And I’ve been sending her new ones to use but Dick doesn’t know so now he’s demanding Kori to tell him where she keeps getting them from.”

“Wow.” The syllable left his lips without thought. He didn’t anticipate this outcome a month ago. Bruce couldn’t identify what the feeling building in his chest could be. The only thing he knew for certain was that she looked lovely with a smile so early in the morning. And he had an idea on how to make that expression last a little bit longer. “What’s a meme?”

Dove’s mouth shot off without hesitation, pulling her warm phone from under her cocoon to show example after example. Bruce chanced a lean, feigning it to see the screen better, and felt the warmth in him rise when she didn’t move in the opposite direction. Her lecture would be interrupted periodically with the notifications from the group chat. And every so often, when the conversation would lull and she looked close to getting up to start her Sunday, Bruce would ask another question to get his bird to chirp again.

Let the record show that Bruce Wayne, the aloof billionaire, and secret crimefighter, already knew what a meme was.

Only when Dove finally looked at the clock on her nightstand did the woman shuck the blankets off and get up from their shared bed to begin her routine. The warmth she left could not replace her actual body and the residual smells from her hair and body that had become infused with the silk sheets did not make up for the absence of the source.

Bruce joined her in the closet not long after she left, hopeful to continue what they started in the bed. “You make me feel so old sometimes.”

She huffed a laugh. His jokes have been landing more times than not recently. “I promise you, no old man looks like you do or does what you can.”

The sight of her brown skin being tinged with a deeper undertone of red made him preen. Ever since the carnival night that had Dick dragging Dove and Kori back to the manor, Bruce has noticed a difference. He noticed that night after the gala had ended and the house cleaned of all evidence of outsiders were once inside his home. Bruce met the trio in the foyer, eager to have his precious bird back in her cage. And his prize did not mind. She still did not mind. It was as if Dick brought home a new bird, a tamed bird, to his mentor.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. There’s nothing wrong with being older.”

“You’re only in your thirties, Bruce. Besides,” Dressed in a simple set of sweats, Dove glided to his side of the closet and laid a hand upon his cheek. “I think older men are so sexy.”

Stormy eyes narrowed in suspicion. This was the first time in a long time she’d come on to him under her own sober will. There had been countless incidents since Dove began living with him, where the contents of her glass would be low but her libido high. Slowly, he wrapped his large limbs around her cinched waist. Already, he could feel his fingertips itch to trace her shape down to those wide hips he adored so much.

“Oh, is that so?” Dove nodded.

“Especially older men that are as strong as you, Bruce. I bet you can pick me up without breaking a sweat.” Pearly teeth became exposed to the cold morning air as Dove’s body was hoisted into the air before landing on the table in the middle of the room. Her sweats did little to cushion her landing, her lips parted to let out a short squeal.

“Anything else you want me to do to you?” Pale hands twisted the hem of her sweatshirt as the question sunk in. His focus was completely on her lips, though it did dip down to her chest every time she breathed. Caution still filled his bones. A month ago, Dove would never entertain him like this. A month ago, she would rather bathe in acid than let his hands caress her brown skin. A month ago, his caged bird would not be leaning in closer to peck his cheek.

And yet.

Now, in the closet of their shared room, Dove was letting him kiss and nip and suck at her plump lips to his heart’s content. Now, she moaned at every touch and sighed from every squeeze. Now, she embraced him like he’s always fantasized, pressing her body against his with excitement he could relate to.

Bruce groaned as her clothed legs, legs he knew were just as silky smooth as the rest of her, rose up and wrapped around his waist. He grabbed under a knee and yanked, pulling the rest of Dove with it, to rub his quickly hardening crotch against hers.

At the feel of him pressing into her, Dove broke the kiss but did little else to dissuade Mr. Wayne from turning his lips to her neck. “Oh, Bruce…”

“Yes?” The words seared itself to her skin. Dove could feel the fog surrounding them thicken. Bright yellow claws combed through Bruce’s unruly bed head, stopping right before his nape to gently pry the man off his dear bird.

“I’m sure Alfred is waiting for us with breakfast.” He conceded and backed away. Even though his heart and flesh begged him not to, Bruce knew logically it would be bad to keep going against her hint. If Dove wanted to slow down, he could do that. He would do that…

Dove was proved right ten minutes later. Alfred did have a generous display of breakfast food waiting on them. As well as coffee and infused water. Breakfast went down as a quiet affair, broken up by the unfinished war in the group chat Dove had masterminded.

“-telling them that there was no way I would allow our technology into the hands of some pompous overgrown manchild for a couple billion.” Dove nodded along as Bruce ranted, not at all understanding the situation but content to witness the stoic Bruce Wayne show some color for once.

“Who do they think they are?”

“Exactly what I was-” The conversation had been cut in by the sound of a call coming in on Dove’s phone. She pouted and looked away, knowing how both men felt about a phone at the dining table. “Its okay, answer it. I have to do some work in the cave, anyway.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly but she waited before Bruce had made his way to the discrete entrance of his cave before turning to look at her phone.

“Dove!” The excited alien princess called out. Her green eyes took in the setting of her friend’s location. “Are you at the table? I can later, I know that Mr. Wayne is not fond of outside communication during meals.”

“No, it’s okay. He said it was okay. What’s up?” Alfred’s mouth twitched while he cleaned up the used dishes and utensils. This was the girl Bruce raved about in the beginning. Talkative and full of life, not barbed and withdrawn like what he’s seen during her stay. The change in attitude breathed new life into the manor.

As the two chatted, Dove moved from the table to the den, where a roaring fire already awaited her. Down below, Bruce had become engaged in his own conversation. The computer in front of him had surveillance tapes from over a month ago rolling, the master detective watched with careful eyes for what he was looking for.

“Are you sure? Maybe she’s just had a change of heart since then. OR maybe-”

“No, something isn’t right.” The Dark knight admitted to his once sidekick. Dick Grayson sat on the other side of the line, listening to his mentor come up with theory over theory. “She’s...easier to deal with. Like she let go of all her rage.”

“So why are you upset over that? You finally get to cuddle up to the woman and the first thing you think is brainwashing?This is why you’ll never be happy.” dick mumbled out the last sentence, but they both knew it was heard by the paranoid billionaire.

“I got carried away. I should have investigated that carnival the minute she came home.”

“Why? She looked fine then. A bit drunk but still fine.”

“She hugged me and told me about her outing.”

“And that's not…”

“Normal? Coming from a woman like Dove who compared being here to being locked up in Arkham Asylum two days before the carnival? No. it wasn’t.” Bruce went silent which gave the opportunity for Dick to dwell on the entire situation. Ever since Bruce came home that night, talking non-stop about a woman he met, life has lost predictablitly. This woman changed something in Bruce, unleashed something that was better restrained.

“There. I see you all entering. Where did you go after stopping at the corndog stand?”

“HA! Kori loved those and ate so much she-” Dick paused to refocus. “We played a couple games, the girls were adamant about getting a bear or something, so we stayed there for a while.”

“And then?” Bruce prompted, his eyes never leaving the screen. While he had to constantly switch to a new camera, he could keep up with Dick’s recount. Coily hair blew in the wind in front of her face, but it didn't deter Dove from throwing another ring at the organized bottles. The dark knight couldn't find it in him to fight the wobble in his cheeks, his bird looked so happy.

“Then Dove wanted a turkey leg. Kori saw a stand near the motorcycle stunt cage. I ended up there somehow-” Bruce watched the interaction, there was no “somehow” about it. Without the sound, he could tell his former sidekick had made a bet with his date that involved the stunt cage. “I nailed it, of course, then the girls dragged me to some loony magician.”

“The magician? A tall woman with a green tent?”

“Actually, they were non-binary, Bruce.”

“ What did they do? I can’t get any footage from inside the tent.”

“Ah, you know? Basic shit. Pulled a rabbit out of their hat, guessed someone’s card. Dove went up with a group for them to do hypnosis-”

“She did what? What did they tell her to do?” Bruce resisted the urge to drag Dove down to the cave and interrogate her.

“Come on, calm down. It was basic shit. Quack like a duck, Slap yourself, Kori could tell you the rest of that. I got so bored I swear I almost went to sleep with my eyes open.”

Bruce watched in real time from the outside of the tent until the trio emerged, along with other patrons. At first glance, everything looked fine, but there was something peculiar about the gait of Dove. It’s like she was tipsy. “Did any of you drink before the magic show?”

“Uh, yea. Just a beer or two when we were playing games.” He scratched his chin and thought of another question.

“Did you-” Bruce paused when the sound of the door opening hit his eardrums. “Alfred? Is something wrong?”

Her Shadow stretched from the top of the cave to the base of the stairs, not far from where he stood. “I was wondering if you would like to watch a movie with me? Me and Kori got off the phone not that long ago and Alfred went to do the weekly shopping.”

“I…” Bruce looked at the entrance to find a glorious sight. Though she was completely clothed in unassuming sweats, Dove’s curves were on display for him to take in. He worried about how well he could pretend to watch a movie with a woman like her sitting next to him.

Shaking his head, the detective refocused. He had a mystery to solve. Dove was not herself. That woman up there looked and talked like her, but she would never be her.

“Bruce?” her voice echoed in the hallowed cave. He could see her head swivel, looking for him with those beautiful dark brown eyes of hers. As hard as she looked, Dove did not step into the cave, her feet stayed in place at the entrance, still on the hardwood floors. Good girl, he wanted to say.

“I gotta go.” He muttered out to Dick, ending the call before the last word left his mouth. He sped through the power down process then jetted up the stairs to see the mistress of the house. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, show his happiness over her willingly seeking him out, Bruce had to correct his bird. Dove,”

“Yes?” She backed away slowly, nervous at the sight of his face. He had a certain look in his eye she knew spelled trouble for her.

“Hey, don’t back away, sweetheart.” Large steps closed the distance between them. Rough hands rubbed her covered shoulders in an effort to soothe the woman. "I just want to remind you how dangerous the cave is. You can’t pop in like you did, okay?”

“O-okay. I’m sorry.” This clearly wasn’t his Dove. She was so much easier, now. He shouldn’t be up here, the dark knight had a case to solve. But, her eyes looked so beautiful, filled with fear and hope at the same time.

He’s gone this long playing into the charade. What’s one more day, in the grand scheme of things? The batman could put in the hours later tonight, while his pet slept. And Bruce, he could pretend. For just a while longer, that this was normal. That Dove has learned to love him on her own.

That he finally won the long game.

Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her body closer to his, and suddenly they were back to the moment in the closet. Her eyes, as seductive as they were brown, stared into his. She wasn’t shaking, hasn’t shaken since that night. Pretty plump lips twitched.

This was normal.

Dove’s eyes stayed open when he leaned in to kiss her. His did too. Together they molded their lips to one another, waiting for the other to lower their lids and get lost in the moment. Dove went first, he followed suit.

He knew, eventually, the reason behind her behavior change would become uncovered. He knew the moment he fixed her -and he would because Bruce was a good guy and good guys don’t let their partners stay brainwashed- Dove would go back to being his untamed bird. He knew she would be in hysterics if she remembered what she had done. He knew, but Bruce did not care.

Breaking the kiss, He stroked her cheek until her eyes reopened. “What movie were you thinking about?”

Let's Add Caviar To It

My inspiration has been resurrected and it would be unfair to not use it in this series. I never thought I'd write this much for this story, but now its getting its own masterlist and taglist. Comment if you want to be tagged for future updates

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Taglist: @prettyvintageafternoon

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: cursing, obsessive Bruce Wayne

When Bruce first met Dove, the sky had just opened up for the third time that week. The rain made wonderful background noise as he stood upon a platform, staying completely still as his tailor made adjustments to the newest suit in his collection. She stood behind the man, measuring tape around her neck and a kettle of tea in her hands, dressed head to toe in knock-offs.

Her shoes were fake Luis Vuitton and the purse she carefully placed at her workstation had to be fake Fendi. Her slacks, though in style, looked like they came from a discount store. Her shirt was the worst offender, the signature Burberry plaid printed all wrong. Anyone that didn’t know designer would be fooled. The older women of Wayne Industries would call her attempt offensive.

Bruce thought she looked lovely.

As the appointment went on, his sharp gaze followed her captivating form travel in and out the room. Dedication bled through her every action. This woman moved with an eagerness to learn everything she could from her mentor. She had enough knowledge about the business to complete a task before Spinelli could call out her name.

“I’ll make sure to deliver the suit two days from now, Mr. Wayne,” Spinelli announced after taking the last measurement. When Bruce failed to respond, the old man a glance up. His highest paying customer had set his focus elsewhere. To the side of the podium, tucked away behind fabrics and order lists, where Spinelli had set up his apprentice to work.

“Mr. Wayne?” That time, the tailor gained Bruce’s attention.

“I just remembered that I have been invited to the mayor’s birthday dinner. This time deliver it to my office.”

“Oh?”

“Is that possible?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you want, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce’s focus drifted back to the young woman tucked away, working hard and not paying him any mind. Whatever he wants?

Two days had passed agonizingly slow for him. Between fighting crime and leading his company to new heights of success, his mind never strayed far from her. His morning thoughts revolved around her, curious about what she looked like fresh out of bed. Catapulting through the rain slickened streets of his city, he wondered if she had any hobbies or what she did to unwind. After shaking a shareholder’s hand, Bruce imagined what she smelled like and how soft were those working hands of hers, and if she touched his suit with them.

By the time Dove made it to Wayne Towers and knocked on his door for the delivery, Bruce had dug up the bare bones of her life. Where she lived - near Sheldon Station- what subway line she rode -the number 2 line all the way to the Fashion District where she walks the rest of the way to Spinelli- if she lived with anyone -just a roommate that’s barely home and pretends to forget about paying their share of the rent- and how old she was -mid-twenties and she just celebrated a birthday.

“Mr. Wayne. I have your suit, sir.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves yet. I’m Bruce Wayne, but I’m sure you knew that.” A small snort she failed to suppress warmed his being. That’s good, humor is a key factor in a long-lasting relationship.

“Dove CartWright, sir. I’ve been Mister Spinelli’s apprentice for the past few months.” Her voice coated her words in honey, unknowingly making her all the more appealing to him. Bruce could hear it now, the sound of her sleep-laden voice croaking out a rough ‘good morning’ from their bed as he paces around the room getting ready for work.

“Spinelli hasn’t taken on an apprentice in a long time. You must be deadly with a needle and thread.” Her eyebrows shot up an inch at his alluded compliment. Apparently, the news and local anecdotes were true. Bruce Wayne was a charmer.

“Thank you, sir. I came into his store with a few tricks and talents but he’s been wonderful sharing his expertise. I watched him tailor your suit and it was like a work of art how he did it.” Only watched, he wanted to ask.

“I’ve been going to Spinelli since I was a boy. I don’t know a better tailor,” Bruce replied, taking the garment bag and unzipping it to peek inside. Pristine black fabric greeted him. He let out an audible hum to telegraph his satisfaction.

While he inspected the suit, Dove stood still as a statue, running the tip of her painted fingertips along the edge of her skirt. Did he make her nervous? “Good as always.”

“He’ll be happy to know that. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Wayne.” Her body wobbled for a minute, trying to figure out what the proper farewell gesture would be for a tailor’s apprentice to give her employer’s most important customer who was simultaneously the CEO of the richest company in the western hemisphere.

Bruce would remember the smile she gifted him as she departed for the rest of his life. They weren’t the whitest teeth he’d ever seen or the straightest. The gap between her incisors induced an extra pump in his heart. Gapped teeth, something so plebian to fixate on, yet he did. It made her endearing. He wanted to see it again.

He had to see her again. Already the warmness of her presence had vanished, plummeting the CEO back into the usual callousness that was his life. He just needed to see her one more time. See her toss a smile at him one more time. Show him that gap in her pretty teeth one more time.

Dove kept her shoulders square as she strutted out the elevator into the lobby of Wayne Industries. Her job was officially over for the day, freeing her mind to think about the personal side of her life. What would she eat today?

How much money did she have in her account?

The 15th was coming up, she should stock up on purple polyester in case she runs out.

Dove broke out her train of thought at the sound of someone shouting ‘miss’ over and over.

“Ms. CartWright, Please come back. Miss?” A ruffled employee said again, sighing in relief when Dove’s head swiveled at the sound of her last name. “Mr. Wayne has asked that you return to his office at once. There seems to be an issue with his suit.”

“An issue with his suit? But-” Spinelli didn’t make a mistake, she finished in her head, nodding at the employee and retracing her steps to the elevator. What could have happened, she wondered as the numbers increased at an alarming speed, showing off the superiority of Waynetech.

Her knuckles barely rapped against the smooth wood grain of his office door before the entrance gave way to reveal the surprisingly shy half-smile of Bruce Wayne.

“Sorry to call you back so soon, but I accidentally ripped the seam on the jacket.”

“Oh. Oh! Sure, let me see the tear and I’ll have it fixed in no time, Mr. Wayne.” And there it was, another smile aimed his way, just for him. Her purse that had remained hitched on her shoulder during her first visit, drooped off and fell to hang from her covered forearm. It opened with a light ‘click’ giving access to the emergency sewing kit she had.

“I put it on my desk so I didn’t ruin it further.” The apprentice strolled up to the piece of furniture, kit in hand and ready to take on the task. The structure of her blazer wasn’t too restricting, it would allow her enough mobility to give her best effort.

“Okay let’s see what...Oh, wow. Mr. Wayne, this is-”

“You can fix it, right?”

“Of course, I know a trick or two.” A third smile. Bruce could feel an addiction forming. “I’ll show you why Spinelli agreed to mentor me.”

Bruce watched as she settled her supplies and entered a zone. Her body mindlessly gathered the garment and created a station on the coffee table. Her fingers made no unnecessary movement. She took a second to decide her course of action.

“How about I order you dinner as a thank you?” Though he really wanted to take her out, he knew it was best to start slow. Watching her covered yet tempting form relax into his furniture was more than enough at the moment. If only her hair hadn’t been restrained into a bun just like the one she wore two days ago. What would her hair look like untamed? How did she wear it outside of work?

Her head leaned as she thought about the pros and cons of accepting free dinner from Gotham’s most coveted bachelor.

“Sure, I’ll have a wagyu steak covered in gold, please.” The sharp exhale of amusement eased her mind. This was the perfect time to build a repertoire with him, a little humor could go a long way.

“Gold doesn’t taste like anything remarkable, so I advise against it. But the steak is a good choice.”

“You don’t have to really, Mr. Wayne. I was joking.” Bruce disagreed. He did, it would be an even exchange for gawking at her exposed legs while she worked unaware.

“Maybe so, but now you put the craving in my mouth. And please, call me Bruce.”

Dove paused to think once again. Who was she, at the end of the day, to tell a multi-billionaire how to spend his money? If he wants to humor her with premium steak, it’d be stupid to protest.

“First name basis, already? I feel so special. Let’s add caviar to it.”

“Whatever you want, Dove.” And he meant it. The sensation of saying her name riled him. He wanted to say it again.

One more time.

We Flock Together

Synopsis: Safe? Or Imprisoned? It makes sense someone like Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be able to tell the difference and think a pretty gilded cage is the only reasonable answer.

Status: On-going | Taglist: Open, comment or message me to be added

Overall Rating: PG-13 (subject to change)

Act 1

~Trust Me? You Stole Me!

~Might As Well, Right?

-A Bit Drunk But Still Fine

~Let’s Add Caviar To It

~That it, Bossman?

~He Put Out An Ad?

~I Know What They’re Thinking

Intermission

~That Girl is No Good

~

~

Act 2

Main Masterlist

Just to go to the Bodega

We Flock Together part 5 teaser

“That little shop off Westward? Isn’t that a little out of your way, Mr. Wayne. We need to finish these plans as soon as possible.” Lucious reasoned. The extensive food court within Wayne Towers had more than enough options to satisfy the evolving palate of it’s well traveled owner.

“I won’t be long. I’ll bring you back those snack cakes you like so much.”

Bruce smoothed his overcoat topping his suit, slyly wiping the sweat that had beaded up on his palms away. There was nothing to be nervous about. Bruce just wanted to stretch his legs, get a sandwich, then return to his office.

This had nothing to do with it being late lunch hour, which just so happen to be what Dove favored to avoid heavy mid-day traffic.

"That it, Bossman?"

Chile, I been gone so long, I'm just gonna post and go.

Series Masterlist

Taglist [OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole121919

Rating: Pg-13

Warning: naughty dreams, cursing, obsessive Bruce Wayne

She’s been haunting his mind ever since that meeting. This was an outcome even the greatest detective could have predicted. Morning, noon, and night, her visage ghosted around the empty halls and intersections of his mind, interrupting his day to day thoughts with a coy smile and trail of department store perfume.

The growing desire to jolt his head up and scour his surroundings every time he heard her laugh was getting hard to control. His heart couldn’t cope with the delusions of his mind. Everything reminded Bruce of her. 

Torture sessions replaced his sleep schedule. After his patrol in the dank underworld of his city, Bruce would return home to his estate, shower, then sleep. That’s how it’s always been since he became Batman. Injuries and catastrophic events would interrupt this routine, of course, but Dove ripped it to shreds. His silk sheets buried him like waves, drowning him until the oxygen in his lungs were depleted and the hallucinations started.

“Bruce…Bruce...please Bruce,” It always started with pleading. The begging in her raspy tone would be the initial strike, the first nail in the coffin. 

Brown skin, gleaming with sweat, shining under the spotlight. Her marks and moles painted illustrations on her skin, something that his mouth wanted to trace to perfection. Her body twitching, bared and naked for his eyes only. The images were overwhelming. 

“Touch me, Bruce. Please.” The fingers, smaller and more delicate than his, cleaner than his could ever be, blessed his rosy skin with featherlight touches. Moans flooding his ears, taking over his senses. 

“Touch me here, Bruce.” After the second request to feel her form under his fingertips, he would always wake up tangled in his bedsheets. Even in his dreams he couldn’t take the plunge. It felt wrong somehow, his morality had drawn the line in the sand. Searching up personal information on the batcave’s computer system was one thing, touching dream Dove was another. 

Breaking into the security feed of a small ethnic grocery shop that sold a specific brand of popsicles he found in Spinelli’s shop one night after an uneventful patrol? 

That toes the line.

But ultimately, could be overlooked. If anyone asked, and no one could or ever thought to question the respectable Bruce Wayne, a casual remark about the growing diversity in Gotham City would explain his sudden detours to that side of town. No one could fault him for being curious.

Especially when the curiosity paid off in the board meetings. Everyone fawned over his dedication to creating strong cell towers throughout the city. No one needed to know that Bruce only discovered the discontinuity in connection strength by dealing with the five second lag he experienced watching closed footage from his batcave. 

Today was like any other day. Waking up from a dream that left him unbearably hard in his silk pajamas- an issue he would have to address in his morning shower-, completing his tasks at his company, shaking hands and making deals with Gotham's elite. A simple routine he’s followed for years. But now comes with a twist. 

“I think I’ll go visit that deli again for lunch. Want something, Fox?” The older man shifted his focus from the prototype blueprints on his desktop to gauge his boss’s movements. Swift, everything Bruce Wayne could be studied and classified as efficient. He never moved excessively or put in more work than required. A trait few picked up, fortunate for him or else everyone would see him for what he really was.

A walking contradiction.

“That little shop off Westward? Isn’t that a bit out of your way, Mr. Wayne? We need to finish these plans as soon as possible.” Lucious reasoned. The small food court within Wayne Towers had more than enough options to satisfy the evolving palate of its well traveled owner. 

“I won’t be long. I’ll bring you back those snack cakes you like so much.”

Bruce smoothed his overcoat topping his suit, slyly wiping the sweat that had beaded up on his palms away. There was nothing to be nervous about. Bruce just wanted to get a sandwich and return to his office. 

This had nothing to do with it being late lunch hour, which just so happened to be what Dove favored to avoid heavy mid-day traffic. 

The world class chef’s at Wayne Towers couldn’t replicate the sauce only available at the small hole in wall deli. Or offer the variety of international snacks found in its compact aisles and fridges. Like the popsicles he tried the other day. The same ones he found in Spinelli’s trash. 

The bell dinged and the men grunted a hello from behind the counter. Their idea of good service and Bruce’s idea were on two different planets, but the billionaire knew a thing or two about being cocky. The type of cockiness he wielded at socials and galas, where all his peers and onlookers whimpered at his feet and laughed at his pisspoor jokes. The type of cockiness being the best breeds in a person. Knowing no matter what you do, you’ll still be untouchable.

It was a heady feeling, akin to consuming the finest absinthe. 

“Yo! What can I do for you bossman?” Cold steel eyes scanned the walkways and mirrors in the corners of the store, searching for that familiar head full of tamed hair. Did he come too late? Too early? Is she not on her lunch right now? Maybe, Bruce reasoned as the man fixed up his order while talking loudly to his coworker, maybe she went to another shop for lunch. 

Still, this would be his third time coming to the store without laying eyes on his current object of intrigue. At this point, going back to the footage and coming up with a new plan seemed like the best next step-

The bell dinged.

“Oi, there’s our little princess! Where you been at?” Following the cashier’s gaze, Bruce’s heartbeat picked up with a shy bit of hope racing through his system.

Pretty brown eyes. Hair covered by a neon yellow beanie. Black stockings with the smallest rips along her outer knee and a pretty red scarf that had seen better days. 

“Po, you know I have to wait until the fifteenth to afford one of your sandwiches. Don’t play dumb.” Bruce’s ears perked. There was a sharpness in her voice he had only heard from tapping into audio tapes from around the city. How familiar was she with these two?

“You talking to me, the man that makes your food, like that?” 

“I never said a word to Sammy.” A raspy chuckle trailed her response. “Sammy, how are you darlin? Po not working you too hard, right?”

“He not, but you could.” Dove snorted, tapping along the laminate wood counter, bringing the line count from one to two. In front of her, A sharp dressed man dug in his pocket for his wallet and collected his sandwich. 

“Boy, stop playing with my emotions like you don’t got a husband at home and make my food.” 

“That it bossman?” Brown eyes finally took notice of the figure at the register and the woman felt her body temperature drop. Of all people to catch her outside of her work persona, it had to be the most important man in the city, the possible key to her upward mobility if she impressed him enough. 

Should she speak up? Call his attention and butter him up with her hopefully endearing personality? Would it be best to act like she didn’t recognize him? But, Dove scrunched her nose in agitation as her eyes tracked Sammy slapping her sandwich together behind the glass barrier, who in Gotham wouldn’t recognize Bruce Wayne? The real dilemma was would he remember her? 

Sure they shared a meal one time, but a man like him must be drowning with dozens of shared dinners with women. Nothing made her special-

“No caviar this time?” As if sensing her internal dialogue, Bruce’s smooth voice startled her and solved her issue at the same time. Their eyes met, and everything outside of the woman next to him faded away from his vision. It was alarming how she could fog his brain with a simple look, which only made Bruce want to be around her more, orbit around like the moon does the earth, tethered to her gravity with no desire to break free.

“Not this time, Mr. Wayne-”

“Princess, want it toasted?” Sammy asked, breaking up the beginning of what Bruce thought to be a beautiful moment. His trained ears could hear the swallow of saliva being forced down her esophagus.

“Yes, add it to my total.” Too distracted by the thought of a warm lunch for the first time in ages, Dove is blind to the intense look her sponsor gives Sammy. 

“Mr. Wayne, you keep paying for my food and Gotham will start talking. I’ll end at the top of the gotham gazette web page.” Dove protested lighty, enough to say she tried but not enough for him to change his mind about buying her lunch. 

Bruce fought the goofy smile looking for a place on his face, sliding his card over for payment. Buying things for pretty girls was familiar territory for the billionaire. He could consider it foreplay at this point. In his experience, nothing made a woman want him more than getting a feel for how big his pocket bulge was. 

A decorated palm rose to wave at the gentlemen behind the counter. Wordlessly, the pair exited the shop with Bruce holding the door for her, the door chime signaling their return to society, one where a man like him didn't pay much mind to women like her. But Bruce had so much more he wanted to say.

Every parting with her tugged at his heart, demanding he take drastic action to keep her in his sights.  A more impulsive man would clasp her hand and smooze her number out. 

“If anyone ever gives you trouble, kindly send them to my office. I’ll take care of it, Dove.” What a man, she thinks. There must be something wrong with him. She found it hard to resist his charm, or believe that the persona he donned for the general public and the man on a midday lunch break were the same person. 

“In that case, maybe you should give me your number.” Bold. He liked it.

Thank goodness.

"He Put out an Ad?"

~Hey my darlings, Let's cut to the chase and post part 6 of We FLock together. I'm truly excited to post this, the last part was kinda filler. Now we gettin into some shit.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, plotting Bruce Wayne, silk press getting caught in the rain; cursing, barely edited.

Taglist [OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole121919

Bruce watched behind his cowl as dilated brown eyes became glazed with tears. Dried specks of blood had been splattered on the side of her head. If he hadn’t met with her two days ago to slurp down oysters at the newest restaurant in Gotham, he would have never believed the puffy mane on her head used to be straight. 

“Batman? Please, don’t hurt me…” A shrill voice called out, and oh, how it pained the man behind the mask to hear. As if he could ever hurt her, his sweet Dove. But he couldn’t let her know that. Batman doesn’t show compassion for criminals. Even someone like her, with a fearful expression and trembling body. Like a lone bird grounded by a broken wing. Later he would explain, over coffee at that diner she took him to, that Batman does what’s necessary for the public. 

For now, he had a job to do. 

His heavy shoes crunched on the discarded newspapers, stepping over unconscious bodies and pools of diluted blood. The tears in her eyes fell over her lower lid and blended in seamlessly with the raindrops hitting her brown skin. 

“Don’t, please! I’m not with them! Stay- Stay away!” Uncoordinated limbs attempted to move her out of his reach. Dove looked up at the vigilante. She’s never seen Batman in person, but the stories her customers told her about how intimidating he could be rang true. Her mind couldn’t direct her body to move, there was nowhere to hide. The pickup scheduled tonight has been ruined, and the dripping woman could swear her ears were hearing the sound of police sirens. 

Guess who’s going to jail tonight? 

The darkness of the suit worked in his favor, and soon Dove found herself flat on her back looking into the lens of his eye cover. “What are you doing here? What’s your business with Joker?”

“Nothing, nothin’. I promise I’m not a criminal. I’ve never even stolen from the self-checkout. Please don’t hurt me!” The taste of Gotham rainwater saturated her mouth with bitterness. Still, she spoke loud and clear, unwilling to give him an ounce of doubt in her innocence. 

The dark knight leaned further until they were a breath apart. She still smelt like how she did last time he saw her. His hands yearned to skim her body, the clothes she wore already glued to her frame, exposing curves he had only dreamed of prior. Focus, Bruce. 

“I won’t have to hurt you if you tell me the truth of why you’re here.” At the sound of her whimper, Bruce leaned back just slightly. Like a weight off her stomach, Dove sucked in air for all she was worth. “Don’t make this difficult. If you don’t tell me, I can promise the GCPD won’t be any kinder.”

“It’s just clothes. I-” Her heart pounded and her head felt fuzzy. This was all too much for her to deal with. A lone woman, out in the rain, with Gotham City’s fiercest defender on top of her. “Didn’t do nothing.”

He waited for her to elaborate. When her mouth didn’t open again, Bruce felt the ice-cold rain run down his back. A dark gloved hand lifted her neck to get a response. Her head fell back, Dove was no longer conscious to support herself. 

“Fuck.”

---- ----

“When you said ‘it’s just clothes’ what did you mean by that, Miss CartWright?” The detective probed. When Dove awoke from her unintended slumber, her wrists were cuffed and chained to the lone table in the room. This was an interrogation room. She’s seen the setup before in tv and movies, never did she think she would also experience them in person. 

“I said what?”

“When Batman apprehended you last night. He claims you said ‘it’s just clothes’ after he inquired about your connection to the Joker.” Long lashes fluttered, her mind racing and trying to catch up to her current situation.

“I meant that I’m just the supplier for his costumes. Well, all their costumes.”

“Uhm, What? Please explain.” The cop leaned back against the mirror, a two-way she thought. Clearing her throat, Dove pondered her next words carefully. She wasn’t a snitch, not against Gotham’s biggest menace. All she had to do was clear her name and pray they let her go without further interrogation. She would chirp as much as she needed to avoid a jail sentence. But if worse came to worse, she would sooner sew her lips shut with her strongest thread than snitch and end up on Joke’s shit list. 

“I’m a seamstress. You probably already knew that.” With a nod, the suspect continued. “I have an apprenticeship with Tailor Spinelli. It pays, but not enough. So I make the costumes and uniforms for Joker and his gang. Pays well. I don’t have to take up a second job or sell feet pics to men on the internet.” 

“Are you serious?” Her nose flared at the dubious tone in the detective’s voice. With a hard glare, she met the man’s eyes. 

“You think Joker is getting those purple suits off the rack? Or that he has his goons buying their matching outfits off the web in bulk? I’m serious.”

“Okay. Now how did you end up in this arrangement? He put out an ad?” The more the pig talked, the angrier her tone became.

“No. Miss Harley did.”

“Alright, enough bullshit. Tell me the truth.” Dove felt her temper rise and she had to fight to get a hold of it. Slamming the table and shaking her binds, she spat it out for the last time. 

“I told you the truth. I’m the Joker’s seamstress.”

His focus left the video in his hands and traveled to the smoking law enforcer. Letting out a cloud of tobacco, Gordon reached out to ask for the footage back. 

“Far as I can tell, she’s telling the truth. So why is she still in custody?”

“Miss Cartwright knew of illegal activity and knowingly associated herself with criminals. That’s enough to keep her at the station and guarantee a trial. We have a warrant to search her apartment.”

“She’s the closest connection we have to Joker right now, had in months,” Gordan admitted to the dark knight. Bruce frowned. The thought of someone he cherished being behind bars unsettled him. Regardless, the commissioner spoke the truth. The only thing he could do was wait for her on the other side of the trial. To do anything more, to tamper with the process would go against everything he fought for. 

If they tried to throw her behind bars, however,then he would have no choice but to act.

He left the rooftop in silence, something he knew Gordon had to be used to by now. The Batman still had a city to protect, a patrol to stick to. He made a note to set up alerts on his computer for any mention of Dove Cartwright. Hopefully, all went well, and she won’t be convicted of any crime. 

A week passed and he had heard nothing of what could be happening to Dove. The golden prince of Gotham planned on waiting one more day before he broke into the surveillance footage at the station. So he remained in his office, going over figures and reports when he got a call from the station. The caller ID flashed brightly in front of him, it beckoned him to pick up the phone and demand answers. 

Stay calm, Bruce. 

“This is a collect call from Gotham City County Jail for inmate Dove CartWright, say yes if you wish to accept this call.”

“Yes.” The silence on the other side deafened him. Concern crawled up his body and looped itself around his neck, constricting like a snake until he was on the verge of passing out. Then, a muffled sniffle came through the line. “Hello?”

“Bruce? Thank God you answered. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call.”

“Dove? Is that you? Are you in jail?” These were questions he already knew the answer to, but to get what he wanted, he had to play his part as a bewildered friend. Hammering down his role, Bruce cursed low under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I ran into some trouble. Made acquaintance with the wrong crowd and now the police are charging me with being an accomplice. I-uh need a favor, Bruce.”

“Do you need a lawyer? Don’t worry, I have a team ready. They’ve never lost a case, you’ll be out in no time.” He expected a sound of relief but did not receive one. “Dove?”

“I don’t need a lawyer. I already accepted a plea deal. I was hoping you could uh..” The billionaire smirked. He knew where this was going. 

“You want me to bail you out?”

“...yes.” He sighed and leaned back into his chair, staying quiet until she broke the silence. Focus, Bruce, focus. “M’sorry Bruce. You know I don’t see you as a walking bank or nothing. But I need to get out of here. I didn’t do anything. And I’m not safe in here.”

“Whose after you Dove?”

“Bad...bad people Bruce. I fucked up. I-”

“Ok.” And that was the end of that. She’ll remember this moment for the rest of their lives, Bruce rationalized, how quick he was to help her any way he could. How he didn’t even question her innocence, not like the GCPD have been doing. This would be the first of many milestones in their relationship.

This would be the day Dove realized Bruce Wayne was someone, the only one she could count on. 

Thoughts raced in his mind, plans forming and disassembling at an inhuman speed. He had calls to place, guards to disarm, supplies to buy, but piece by piece, his next steps became clear. 

“Bruce?”

“I’ll see you later tonight, Dove. Take care of yourself until then.”

“I,” a harsh exhale filled bounced around his eardrums. It didn't take detective work to know on the other side of the phone, shuffling her feet next to the phone station, Dove was struggling to hold it together.  “Thank you, Bruce. Really.”

The line went dead, his phone screen still pressed firmly on his side profile. Lowering the device, Bruce stared absently at the black screen. 6 minutes and 17 seconds. It felt much shorter than that, but the numbers refused to change. It made him crave more.  A calloused finger pad tapped the touchscreen, raising the phone back to his ear. The cooing of a call yet to be answered riled his spirit. 

“Alfred. I need you to prepare the manor for a guest.”

“Absolutely Master Bruce. May I ask how long this guest will be saying.”

“Indefinitely.”

"I Know What They're Thinking."

I'm not sure if I want to call this part 7 or part 6.5, regardless I'm posting it. I feel like I say this every time, but it picks up after this. Inspiration comes and goes these days, so yall just gon have to bear with me.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, sneaky Bruce Wayne, chipped nails, women's clothing sizing mention, cursing, barely edited.

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

Her nails had been chipping since that night she got arrested. Dove couldn’t tell you when it first started. Maybe that night in the cold rain, pressed between the unregulated vigilante and the rough asphalt of the city. Maybe during the unconscious hours that followed that, when her body was moved to the soulless gray precinct. Maybe when damaged palms repeatedly smacked the steel table, straining to convey her innocence to the detective. 

Maybe afterward, when Dove had been rudely escorted to a cell, crammed already with other convicted bodies. When she had very little room to breathe, even less to turn and gather her bearings without hearing some sob story or boast fest. Perhaps a chip of mauve nail polish flaked off when that erratic woman stalked through the cell like a predator, grasped her hand to offer her a proposition. 

There were infinite possibilities when her nail polish began chipping, but Dove knew for sure that after her mild mind break, the polish had shed like a snake's skin. With it went her armor. Dove felt out of control, the itch she struggled with for so long came roaring back, filling her head with roaring thunder. 

It made her restless. 

She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Everywhere she went, Dove could swear she smelled the sweet slightly nauseating odor of laughing gas and sweat. It made it hard to stay focused, and her an easy target for the police. Quickly the young woman earned the title ‘insubordinate’. Dove never knew loneliness like this before.

But then Bruce answered her call. And for a moment that dark feeling faded away.

She wasn’t prepared for it to return tenfold three months later.

***

Dove couldn’t help but fiddle with the buttons on the jacket he draped over her shoulders. The way it settled on her tense shoulders like a blanket soothed a toddler, it carried an inexplicable sense of security. The warmth of his body had remained trapped in the silk-lined fabric, thawing her from the horrors of being confined like an animal. 

A firm hand clasped the roundness of her shoulder, dragging her into the moment. The bustling movements and repetitive barking that characterized the police station rammed into her all at once. 

Her grip tightened on the button caught between her fingertips. 

“Ready to go?” No. Yes. Would the evening sun burn her after being deprived of it for so long?

“Yes.” Bruce led her through the corridor, out the door, and to the cherry red convertible that let all the sight-having citizens of Gotham know who was gracing their dangerous streets. The corvette played the perfect chariot for the golden Prince of Gotham, and Dove, in all her times of riding passenger, had never felt more unworthy. 

“Dove, are you okay?” Bruce watched her, her sullen attitude polluting the air around her. He hated seeing her like this, scared and broken. Luckily he knew how to fix it, but it would have to wait until the prerequisites were met. “You can talk to me, I won’t judge you.”

“I just,” her dam began to break. “Don’t know what to say. I-I don't know how to thank you. This was, you, what you did, how do I repay you?”

She couldn’t bear the look of pity she knew would be painted on his face, so burning eyes fell to her lap, watching her idle hands squirm in her lap. Her body flinched in the premium leather seat when a pale hand pierced her personal bubble to settle her restless fingers. 

“There is nothing to repay. You are someone I care about, I would do anything to help you.”

Dove looked at him head-on and opened her mouth to protest, to demand him to name his price because she’s lived long enough to know that nothing is free, but the gleam in his eyes stopped her before she could start. Even without getting to know him for the past few months, she had enough data in her brain to know Bruce Wayne was a stubborn person that came from a long line of equally stubborn individuals. 

By the flare of her nose, the billionaire knew the dragon had been defeated for now. Now for the next phase of his master plan. 

Dove’s demeanor slowly thawed out the further he drove them away from the precinct. Tense shoulders began to droop, twitching fingers calmed, her painfully stiff spine began to slouch, the fog of despair dissipated. The sullen woman worked up the energy to shift her focus from her lap to the window, watching the way the world passed by. 

Bruce had to resist jerking the steering wheel when a giggle escaped her cracked lips. 

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing to your billionaire mind. It always amuses me when people do double takes when they see this car. You can’t see their eyes but I know what they’re thinking. ‘Is that fucking Bruce Wayne?’ I always thought that when I saw you on my commute.”

Her tired voice perked up the longer she spoke, it warmed his ears. “Oh yeah?”

“The only other person that causes this reaction is Batman. He moves so quick and wears all that black so you can barely see him-”

Bruce slowed the car down to a stop as he waited for the light to change green. His jaw longed to clench and grind his molars against their opposites. It took no brain power to know what made his passenger stop her sentence. 

He hated that that was how she met his alter ego. The way her usually bright brown eyes were filled with nothing but panic and fear, fear of him, haunted him for days. He lost sleep thinking about how he was the one that turned her in, the reason she was detained in a cold cell downtown. 

It was all his fault and she didn’t know. Nor could she, not right now when things were so precarious. Bruce promised himself he would tell her soon, he had to. By his own hand, Bruce had trapped himself in a rock and a hard place. A splat of rain hitting the windshield broke the brooding man out of his thoughts.

“It never stops raining here. You know, I almost decided to move to Metropolis after hearing how bad the weather is in Gotham.” Dove said as her finger chased after a lone raindrop sliding down the tinted window, bare of the colored nail polish he remembered seeing the night of her arrest. 

“Oh yeah? What made you change your mind?”

“Bills. Everything is expensive in Metropolis. Rent, life insurance, cable, even car insurance and I don’t own a car! I calculated those numbers and signed the lease to my apartment the same day.”

“Gotham is cheap?”

“It's run down, Bruce. At least where I am. The same-sized apartment I got now is double the price in Metro. And it's not like rats are coming out the wall sockets or nothing, there’s too much crime for the landlords to charge an arm and a leg like they do in Metropolis.”

The light conversation distracted Dove from her demons. Instead of being mentally caged in the cell she could revisit the apartments she toured in the city before picking the one near Sheldon Station. 

“I think you just passed my turn, Bruce. Its a right on Rucha, remember-”

“Dove.” He spoke her name tensely. Bruce didn’t have to but for her sake, squeezed the wheel and twisted his grip to tell his unease. Like it pained him to deliver the next bit of news when it actually sent his heart racing with fervor. “I can’t in good conscious leave you alone there.”

Plump limps separated to express her shock. Before she could begin to protest, her savior put his hand up to stop her arguments. 

“Please, listen to me, Dove. I-” He sniffed his nose, seeming to hold back emotions he was too refined to express in public like this. “I don’t know who exactly you’ve gotten yourself involved with,”

Guilt coiled in her stomach like a cobra. Oh. Was she that awful and inconsiderate? For all he knew, Bruce could be getting himself involved with the biggest goons in Gotham for her sake. Was she really that self-absorbed? What was Dove thinking? Involving him in her plight. He was only trying to help her, the least she could do was hear him out. 

Paying no mind to the moving car, Dove failed to feel the increase in acceleration as she reached to touch his hand, soothe his mind, and coax out his thoughts. Times like this she wished he grew up normal, somewhere where showing emotions was okay.

“I don’t care either. I just want you safe. And the best way to do that is if you stay with me. At the manor.”

“Bruce-”

“I have the best security on earth. There isn’t another house for miles. No one pops up without a month’s notice. Alfred is trained in five forms of combat. You’ll be safe here. And that way, I won’t have to worry about you.” He ended that confession with a deep sigh, driving the point home. 

He cared so much about her, Dove realized. Her hips shifted if the premium leather seats. Outside the car, the beauty of Lemmars Park went ignored. The bridge that connected Uptown and the outskirts of the city loomed in the distance. Its overwhelming size didn't help to ease Dove’s nerves. She couldn’t even begin to see the other side of the bridge. The clouds and rain blocked what little light the streetlights provided the public. 

She wouldn't have to stay forever. Just a couple days, until her trial ended and her body found itself in the county jail or back on her worn mattress in her apartment she worked so hard to make cozy. 

Is Bruce asking for that much? A little staycation in the manor, being cared for and doted on by his lovely butler. Laughing and bonding with her friend. Learning new sides of his personality of the always posh and primped Bruce Wayne, sides that didn’t fit into his carefully molded character. Briefly, she wondered if he was the type to walk around in his draws or not.

Dove cast her eyes to his side profile. His jaw had tensed since he finished pleading his case. They neared the bridge. His grip on the wheel wavered before tightening until the leather squeaked.  Her hand had yet to move from his other. 

“I need to go home.”

Bruce cursed, out loud and at himself for falling for sucha stubborn mule of a woman. Was his tone not sappy enough? Should he have gone for a higher-pitched voice, and rubbed his jaw to showcase his distress instead of periodically gripping the wheel? It couldn’t be too late now. One last chance. 

“Dove-” 

“To pack up some clothes. Unless you have women’s clothing in a size 18 already in the guestroom’s closet?” Dove cracked the tiniest smile, those pretty crooked teeth lighting up the car. Bruce felt his chest concave. No, he didn’t have any clothing prepared for her in the guestroom.

Because he put the items in the master closet, next to his. 

“That wasn’t funny.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“How?”

“How about some of my special étouffée for breakfast tomorrow?” The convertible dipped as it rolled off the streets of Uptown onto the paved smoothed concrete of the bridge. They were almost home. 

“Can’t wait.” Dove could feel the honesty in his response. Her heart skipped a beat.

Oh, dear.

"That Girl is No Good."

Act two is beginning to write itself, until then here are what I like to call intermission pieces.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC) [mentioned]

Rating: PG-13 | warnings: none? public opinion and scrutiny, cursing

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

“What the public wants to know is who is this floozy that’s been caught time and time again, dangling off Mr.Wayne’s arm?” Judy’s fiery red tresses shook from the conviction in her voice, comparable to an agitated horse. She eyed the camera lens, attempting to convey the emotion brewing in her chest to her viewers. After months of failed lives and low viewerships on her blog, the woman had finally found her niche. 

Celebrity Gossip.

And who was the biggest celebrity this side of the western hemisphere if not Bruce Wayne? At first, the man gave nothing exciting to report on that could rally public interest. But now, this woman, this Dove Cartwright, had garnered interest the more he was caught with her. And that made Judy a very popular woman. She didn't understand why so few public personalities talked about this hot piece of news.

“Mr. Wayne is not a saint, we’ve all heard of the legendary parties he throws and the somewhat questionable meetings he has with some of Gotham’s infamous. But this woman is different. Poor, fat, black, with a criminal record, a key suspect in an ongoing investigation with a gang that is known for terrorizing innocents. I’m speaking out of a place of worry for Mr. Wayne. 

“I’ll take some callers now. Caller number one you’re on the air.

“Hi, my name is Michelle and I know for a fact that woman is a gold digger! She lives in the same neighborhood my ex does and it's nothing over there but future criminals and loser has-beens.”

Thank you Michelle for your concern and support. Next caller.”

“My name is Rich and I used to get my pants hemmed by her at Spinelli. She’s nothing but a girl looking for a meal ticket. She used to feel me up and press her breast against my legs like a bitch in heat. It's a real shame Mr. Wayne doesn’t know what he’s inviting into his life. That girl is no good.”

“Thank you for sharing that information Rich, I’m sure Mr. Wayne will open his eyes soon. Next Caller.”

“What’s up Gotham, it's Santana in the mix and I just wanna say all of yall is some haters. Yall big mad Mr. Wayne done found himself a baddie and yall jealous and bitter cause yall wish it was you all snuggled up with -”

“I’m so sorry to my audience for letting that thing assault your ears with nonsense. Maybe we should take a small break-” Three sharp knocks on her oak doors shocked her still. No one visits Judy. Her family had all but washed their hands of her years ago and she never connected with any woman she met in the 10+ years she’s been alone. Glancing at the setup, she could see the chat asking her who was at the door. 

“One second. Let’s take a small break.” she addressed both groups at once. Giving a small smile to the camera, Judy did a swift pivot and made her way to the door. She opened it without hesitation. The sight that welcomed her made her insides coil. 

“Judith Snorfeld?” It was a singular man, dressed in a sharp business suit with a manilla envelope gripped securely in his hand. By the second, Judy could feel her blood circulate faster. 

“Yes. Why are you-” Her breath rushed out her mouth as her body recoiled from the thick envelope that found itself forced into her embrace. She scrambled to secure the papers, all the while staring the man down. 

“Mr. Wayne is asking nicely that any and all posts you’ve made about him and Ms. Cartwright be taken down immediately.” Judy gawked at the man. He displayed no emotion or hint of an opinion. 

“You…he can’t be serious. It’s celebrity gossip, what I’m doing is-”

“I am just the messenger ma’am. If you don’t believe me or listen to Mr. Wayne’s kind request, those documents from his lawyers in your hands are more than enough to explain the situation.”

“But-”

“Good evening.” Judy watched, shock still freezing her body to the threshold of her quaint home, as the man in the sharp suit left the way she assumed her come. Slowly, she shifted her eyes to her torso, where the manilla folder had been pressed and secured.

She didn't bat an eye as the oak door closed without her body acting as a doorstopper. Couldn't draw in a single breath down the hall back to her tiny office, back to her waiting audience. She can't think of what to say, her words had been silenced and locked deep inside of her as fear took hold of her.

Judy glanced at the computer screen, chat lines obscuring her reflection. Her lips separate to utter something, a flimsy excuse to cut the show short, but her eyes pick out a colored piece of paper in the mess that was her desk before she could get anything out.

She's sick to her stomach. She wants to vomit. Of all people to blab about, why would she pick Bruce Wayne?

Now she's going to lose her viewers. Her short-lived steady stream of income. And her apartment.

"Fuck you, Dove Cartwright."