You had been dating Bane for a while — your quiet civilian life and Gotham’s most terrifying villain made for an intense, unlikely pair. Behind closed doors, he was attentive and protective, he loves you so much he'd kill if anything happened to you;
outside, he was a storm, moving through Gotham’s underworld, tracking Batman, negotiating with villains, plotting his next moves. He remained fully a villain, even if a part of his focus had shifted to you. Asides from playing future husband, he still the villain he is with his own goal in mind, to take over gotham.
Exhausted from work, you wandered into a dimly lit bar, hoping for a single drink to unwind. You sat alone, quietly sipping, tuning out the music and chatter. In a secluded corner, Bane was seated across from a man in a tailored gray suit, discussing Batman’s patrols and shifting alliances.
His leather jacket stretched over broad shoulders, muscles coiling beneath it, thick thighs braced as he leaned forward, every movement deliberate. The respirator hummed softly, a reminder of the chemical that amplified his strength and kept him fully in control.
Then his eyes fell on you, alone at the bar. A man nearby, emboldened, leaned in, smiling. “Hey there, mind if I sit?” he said casually.
You barely registered him. Bane’s massive hands flexed, biceps tightening, shoulders stiffening. Jealousy flared sharply, possessive, a tight knot in his chest. He muttered under his breath, low, deadly: “She is not to be disturbed… she’s mine.”
The man laughed nervously, unaware of the predator inches away. Bane rose smoothly, muscles shifting under his leather, thighs moving with silent menace. He stopped just a foot away, eyes locked on the intruder, respirator humming. “You should step away,” he said, gravelly and deliberate.
“Uh… yeah… sorry,” the man stammered, retreating immediately. Bane’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer, ensuring the message was clear, before he turned back to you.
Every ounce of his presence radiated ownership — thick, stuffed arm sliding around your waist, pulling your back snugly against his broad chest, ensuring you didn’t slip out of his sight. His hand rested possessively, almost claiming, while the weight of him pressed subtle, confident warning into your side.
You instinctively leaned slightly into him, unaware of the intent, while he murmured low and gravelly: “I don’t like it when other men try to talk to you.” His eyes studied you, memorizing every subtle motion, every breath, imprinting it into memory.
After a tense beat, he signaled the man in the suit with a subtle tilt of his head. Ofcourse you didn't know him and Bane bothers not introducing him to you, he wants to keep you out of his business as possible, of course he isn't going to risk you being hurt because of his connections.
The suited man glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “Wow… who’s this pretty woman?” he asked, and his gaze lingered a moment too long... Bane didn't like that.
Bane’s massive form stiffened, eyes narrowing beneath the mask. His hand tightened slightly around your waist, drawing you even closer, a subtle, protective claim. “Focus on the task,” he said, low, gravelly, a sharp edge cutting through his usual controlled tone. “She is not part of this discussion.”
The suited man blinked, quickly redirecting his attention to the papers and maps on the table. Bane’s arm remained snug around your waist, a silent reminder that you belonged entirely to him, a tension simmering beneath the hum of his respirator.
You, oblivious to the scrutiny and the quiet jealousy boiling beneath his calm exterior, sipped your drink. Every inch of him remained coiled, dominant, protective. Gotham’s chaos could wait. Tonight, his focus was entirely on you. The arm around your waist, the low murmur, the subtle pressure against your side — all unmistakable, a silent warning to the world: you were his.