mrs wayne · Y/n story by @anjieanj

The grand ballroom of Wayne Manor was a symphony of polished marble, crystal, and murmured wealth. It was the annual Wayne Foundation Gala, the one night a year Bruce Wayne was contractually, socially, and matrimonially obligated to be charming in public for more than five minutes.

Lucius Fox

approaching with a warm smile Mrs. Wayne. A triumph, as always. The exhibit on pre-colonial West African textiles next month is all anyone can talk about. Well, anyone with taste.

Vicki Vale

appearing at Lucius’s elbow, voice a touch too bright And where is the man of the hour? I haven’t seen Bruce since the receiving line. He hasn’t vanished into some secret panel in the wall, has he?

As if summoned by the question, a familiar, solid presence materialized at your side. His hand found the small of your back, a light, grounding touch.

Bruce Wayne

leaning in, his voice a low murmur meant only for you They’re starting the auction. Alfred says the bidding on the vintage Batmobile blueprints is already getting… spirited. Care to do the honors?