random stories

Batman - Bruce Wayne/Batman x Male oc/reader (not finished ?)

“Bruce,” Alfred started, trying to catch up with his retreating figure. Alfred hobbled along with his cane, causing a click and thump noise. Bruce turned to face him.

“What is it, Alfred? I have things to do—.” Bruce grumbled.

“Yes, yes, I know. I just needed to discuss a few things with you—.” Alfred stopped, watching Bruce continue to walk down to the basement, “Bruce. I’m getting old. I’m going to need more help.”

Bruce whirled around to face Alfred, nearly startling the old man. “What?”

“I’m enlisting another’s help. He’s a family friend. One of your father’s.”

“I don’t need anyone else here, Alfred.” He glared at the old man. He didn’t want anyone else knowing about his identity. The Riddler finding out took a hard enough toll on him already.

“Perhaps you don’t, but I do. I need someone to run the estate while you’re out there—“ Alfred tried to reason.

“You will! You run the estate, Alfred! You always have, you always will!” Bruce shouted. Alfred sighed.

“Bruce! Listen to me! You want to be Batman. You are Batman, and what am I? I used to be your protector, now I’m nothing more than an old man. If I don’t start training someone to run your estate, then it will all go to shambles the second I die!” Alfred tried to keep his own shouting to a minimum, but he just couldn’t think of a day when he was gone and Bruce was alone again. This really had very little to do with the estate. Bruce could have easily managed that on his own.

Alfred didn’t want Bruce to be without a friend.

“He doesn’t have to know you’re the Batman, in fact, I don’t really want him to know. I just need him here.” Alfred said, sorrowfully. “Please, Bruce.”

After that, Bruce had given in, and Alfred had given his family friend a call.

The next evening was when he was scheduled to arrive. Alfred stood in the mansion’s foyer, awaiting him. A loud knock echoed through the home, drawing Bruce from his computers, using the elevator to get back up into his main office. Bruce rubbed the sleep from his eyes, appearing in the foyer to see Alfred speaking heartily with another man. A young one. Perhaps a little younger than Bruce himself. Alfred caught Bruce’s eye, beckoning him over. He cautiously took a few steps forward, catching the man’s attention.

“Bruce, I’d like you to meet Mr. Morgan. Or Oliver if he allows you to use it.” Alfred smiled. The man was dressed in a tailored black suit, he had chin length, black hair that hung loosely around his face, that Bruce noticed was cleanly shaven, and dark charcoal eyes. He was small, but Bruce could see slight muscle definition under his suit jacket.

Bruce almost chuckled when he caught the side eye Oliver gave Alfred upon hearing his first name. Oliver turned to Bruce.

“Mr. Wayne, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Alfred spoke very highly of you, over the phone. Please, call me Morgan. No need for Mr.” Oliver introduced himself, lifting his hand towards Bruce. The latter looked to Alfred and shook the outstretched hand.

“Yes, I believe now that you’ve been aquatinted, I should get you set up, Morgan. Mr. Wayne has… business to attend to.” Alfred said, raising his eyebrows slightly. Bruce nodded and turned to walk into his office, shutting the door closed to block the sound of the elevator. “Now, time for a tour.”

Later that night, Oliver had gotten settled in and was helping Alfred with some paperwork when Bruce reappeared, dressed in a black shirt with heavy duty cargo pants and combat boots. Bruce searched through a file cabinet on the far wall. A bruise on his jaw caught Oliver’s attention.

“Pick a fight, Mr. Wayne?” He queried, lightly. Bruce stopped.

“What I do is none of your business.” He snapped, grasping a file and shutting the drawer. He stalked away, slamming the door to his office.

“Little brings him joy, these days.” Alfred sighed. Oliver nodded.

“I understand.” he responded, pausing, “I relate. But only a little.”

“Yes… Those were both such terrible times.” The elder man sighed, his cheery mood retuning when he added yet another paper to the finished pile. “I’d say you were doing good, but you’re a little slow.”

“Suppose a few things have been on my mind.” Oliver said, biting his lower lip. “Nonetheless, I’ve completed more than you did, at my age.”

Alfred chuckled, “Sure.”

Bruce sighed from where he stood on the other side of the door, having heard their conversation.