Chopped - Bruce Wayne x Reader
I forgot this was a thing I wrote for the DC Valentine’s exchange in February until like two days ago. So I figured I’d post it here lol
So here’s some domestic fluff with Bruce trying (and failing) to cook a nice meal.
You drum your fingers on the steering wheel of your car trying to figure out what to do. Dick had just called to give you a warning.
Bruce is cooking you a Valentine’s dinner.
He’s tried this twice before. Both times ended with severely inedible dinners. You understand why he’s trying to cook dinner. He takes you out to nice restaurants on a regular basis, and when you eat at the Manor, it’s Alfred who’s doing the cooking. So he’s just trying to make this Valentine’s Day special.
Even though he shouldn’t.
You groan internally as you decide last minute to stop by your favorite Chinese place.
You’re going to need it later.
As soon as you get home, you stash the emergency takeout in the spare fridge. You’re trying to give Bruce the benefit of the doubt; maybe he learned how to cook… something. But you’re not taking any chances on that. Still, there’s no need for Bruce to know that you have your doubts.
When you get close enough to the kitchen, you immediately smell it.
You don’t know what he’s trying to cook, but you can tell it’s not going well. Whatever he’s trying to cook smells painfully burnt.
“Y/N!” Bruce looks up at you when he notices you’re standing in the kitchen entrance. He’s standing next to the stove with a wooden spoon in a pot. Immediately he abandons his post and walks over to you, sweeping you up in a strong embrace and planting a sudden kiss on your lips. “How was your day, my love?” he says once he pulls away, though his arms are still wrapped around your waist.
“It was nice. But,” you gesture to the mess of a kitchen in front of you. Dick might have warned you about this evening, but that doesn’t mean Bruce isn’t trying to surprise you. “What is all of this?”
“I thought I’d try to cook you dinner,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”
“Well, I’m definitely surprised,” you chuckle, though whether it’s a nervous laugh or a genuine one you can’t tell. “But, hon, I think the pot is boiling over.”
Immediately Bruce turns around and runs back to the pot. He grabs two oven mitts and lifts it off the eye until the bubbles stop popping over the edge. He turns the knob controlling the heat after he sets the pot back down.
Then the oven starts beeping.
Bruce opens the door and a cloud of smoke fills the entire kitchen as he pulls out a pan of what you assume was once bread.
“Bruce, do you need any help?”
“No!” he responds defensively. He’s waving smoke out of his face as he sets the pan on top of the stove to cool. “I’ve got everything under control! I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
You hesitate for a moment before responding. “Okay. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
You walk away from the kitchen in the hopes that it will still be there by the time the night is over.
For the next thirty minutes, you listen to Bruce fumble around in the kitchen. At one point a loud crash almost sends you running in to check on him, but you catch yourself when you hear him swearing at the guilty saucepan that caused a metal avalanche. By some miracle, the smoke detector never goes off.
Then everything is quiet.
Part of you wonders if your husband has been killed by a burnt piece of toast or an angry spatula. However, your fears are dismissed when strong arms wrap around your shoulders from behind the couch.
“Dinner is ready,” Bruce says in your ear, and, even though you’re almost certain you’re going to need your emergency takeout, you can’t help but love him even more than before for trying to make tonight special. You stand up and he offers his arm to you.
“What are we having?” you ask with a smile as you take his arm.
“Braised beef and tortellini with garlic bread,” Bruce looks so proud of himself and it warms your heart. He leads you into the dining room where the table is set for two, with a beautiful bouquet of roses in the center with candles around them. The food is plated beautifully, and it at least looks good. Except for slightly burnt toast.
Maybe it’ll be a nice dinner after all.
Bruce offers you a chair before sitting across from you.
“Thank you for dinner, Bruce,” you say, and you really do mean it. It doesn’t look like it will be that bad after all. “It looks wonderful, and it’s so sweet of you to do something this special.”
“I hope you like it, Y/N. I know I’ve not been that successful in the past, but I really tried this time.”
“I can tell. It looks like your hard work is paying off,” you say as you get a forkful of food. You place it in your mouth with the mindset that it’s as good as it looks.
You are terribly wrong.
The steak is dry and the pasta tastes like rubber. The textures are so conflicting that you have a hard time swallowing it. You look up to see Bruce forcing his own mouthful of food down as well. He cringes and stabs another piece of pasta with his fork, determined to eat his creation.
“Bruce, honey,” you put down your fork and Bruce looks up at you. It’s time to have this conversation. “I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook for me. This is the third time you’ve tried and the third time you’ve failed. I’m sorry, but three strikes and you’re out. At this point I’m starting to wonder if you’re trying to actually kill me with your food.”
Bruce stares at his plate for a few seconds after you finish talking. He nods slowly before looking back up at you. “Yeah. That’s fair.”
“Don’t get me wrong, though! I love that you went through all this trouble. It makes me love you even more, if that’s even possible,” you reach across the table to take his hand. “But it’s time to turn in the spoon and apron.”
“Alright,” he leans across the table and kisses you on the nose. “No more cooking from me. I just hate that our Valentine’s date is ruined now.”
“Not entirely,” you say and avert your eyes. “A little bird may have told me that you would be cooking tonight.”
“Dick,” Bruce deadpans. In that moment he looks like a truly exhausted parent. You decide not to ask what kind of conversation he’d had with Dick.
“Yes, and I picked up some Chinese on my way in. I say we cuddle and eat egg rolls with a movie. All I need to make my Valentine’s Day memorable is you by my side.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Bruce stands up and walks around the table to pull you close to him. “I especially like the cuddling part.”
“I do, too,” you say and run your fingers through his hair. You stare into his blue eyes for a moment before speaking again. “I love you, Bruce.”
“And I love you, Y/N. Happy Valentine’s Day.”