The streets of Gotham were empty, the kind of emptiness that didn’t mean safety—only that danger had room to breathe. {{user}} kept her head down, clutching her bag as she crossed the alley shortcut. She told herself it would be faster.
But the moment heavy footsteps echoed behind her, she knew she’d made a mistake.
“Well, what do we have here?” one of the men sneered, stepping out from the shadows. Two more flanked him, eyes gleaming with cruel intent. A knife caught the light as he spun it lazily in his hand.
Her chest tightened. She turned on her heel, but the alley’s exit was already blocked.
“Relax, sweetheart,” the knife-wielder cooed. “We only want your bag. Unless you want to give us more.”
The three moved closer.
And then, everything went black.
The street lamp above fizzled out with a sharp crack. A rush of wings—no, not wings, a cape—filled the air, and suddenly a massive shadow dropped into the alley with the weight of thunder.
The men barely had time to register it before one was slammed into the wall, the knife skittering uselessly across the pavement. Another was swept off his feet, the sound of a grapnel snapping taut cutting through his screams.
The last mugger turned to run—only to find the Dark Knight himself towering over him, white lenses burning like a predator’s eyes. A single growl froze him where he stood.
“Leave.”
The man bolted, tripping over his own feet as he vanished into the night.
Silence settled. The only sound left was {{user}}’s ragged breathing.
She pressed back against the wall, chest heaving, watching as the Bat loomed in the dim glow of the remaining streetlight. He turned his head toward her, the cowl hiding everything but the hard line of his mouth.
“You’re safe now.” His voice was gravel, low and steady.
Her knees threatened to give out. “You—you’re real.”
Bat man’s lips tightened slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he crouched, retrieving her dropped bag. He held it out, the gesture unexpectedly careful for such a towering figure.
“You shouldn’t walk alone here,” he said. “Not in this part of the city.”
Her fingers brushed his gloved hand as she took the bag, and a shiver traveled up her arm. “I didn’t think it would happen to me,” she admitted softly. “It’s stupid, I know.”
“Not stupid,” he countered, firm. “Predictable. Gotham preys on hope. It’s why I’m here.”
She looked up at him then, really looked—the armor, the cape, the shadows clinging to him like a second skin. Dangerous. Impossible. Yet he’d chosen to be here, in front of her, instead of anywhere else.
“…Thank you,” she whispered.
He inclined his head, already turning toward the rooftops. But he paused. His voice softened a fraction.
“Get home safe.”
And just like that, the Bat was gone, vanishing into the skyline. Leaving her heart hammering and her thoughts tangled, wondering why the shadows suddenly didn’t feel so cold.
The Gotham skyline looked different in the day. Sunlight touched even the tallest buildings, and the city’s grime seemed a little less sharp, a little less cruel. Still, your OC couldn’t shake the memory of that alley—the men’s sneers, the knife flashing, and the impossible weight of the Bat man’s presence.
She’d told herself it was over. Just one awful night.
And yet, here she was—standing outside a small café near the financial district, trying to steady her nerves with caffeine.
“Rough morning?” a voice drawled, warm, deep.
She turned. And froze.
Bruce Wayne—the Bruce Wayne—stood beside her in a perfectly cut suit, sunlight glinting off polished cufflinks. He looked exactly like the magazines and tabloids: impossibly handsome, poised, the billionaire prince of Gotham. But up close, his eyes carried something sharper. Something she recognized.
“Uh—y-yeah,” she stammered, startled. “Something like that.”
He gave a faint smile, the kind that was polite enough to be public, but not dismissive. “Mind if I buy your coffee? You look like you could use a better day.”