#Bruce is terrified that he will ruin it all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nikovraskol · 7 days ago

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crack baby ; three

wc ; 3745 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect

prologue, one, two, three, tbc..

Sometimes it feels like there is someone puppeteering you into the worst scenarios possible.

It started when finally, after days of contacting every single landlord in Gotham and Bludhaven, one kind old man reached back. The house he was willing to rent you wasn’t half bad either, certainly no Wayne Manor but a small apartment about a convenience store would suffice.

After regressing, you were stuck in a loop of tears and anger and whatever strange, uncomfortable feeling you got whenever you were reminded of your weird interaction with Dick.

But finally, light at the end of the rainbow! You could cry (of joy this time), but you’ve no time for tears. Not when you’re faced with a big, overpowering problem. Leaving the Manor.

Now, in the past, you could just get up and leave, however after your run-in with Damian and Dick, you’re apprehensive to leave your room. What if you’re ambushed again? By Tim? Or Jason? Or heaven forbid, Dick again? Terrifying! You don’t have time to dilly dally, not when Mr. Kim is waiting in your future home.

So, you’re very on edge, looking around every corner with apprehension, bracing yourself for anything and everything. When you finally reach the door, unharmed, you let out a deep sigh, only to hear a voice behind you.

“Master (Name).”

What now? You whip your head around, a sense of deja vu hitting you, oh, it’s just Alfred. You let out a sigh, glad it’s not Dick with his strange shenanigans. “Alfred, is everything alright?” You smile, out of everyone, Alfred is the one you love most, the one who cradled you close in those agonizingly lonely nights, when you’d call out for your mother, for your father, for anyone.

He was there.

“You’re heading out?” He asks, assessing you with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. A few days ago, Dick had informed him that you were acting strange, you had run away from your older brother. His mind raced, the implications of what that might mean has been weighing on the butler’s mind for days. It was uncharacteristic of you, up until about a week ago you would jump for joy if any of your family would glance at you.

But after that day, that day where you had skipped breakfast .. What changed? Why are you suddenly so uninterested in your family? It’s unnatural. Your whole life had always been dedicated to them, you’d do anything to be apart of them, to be seen. So why? When you finally had the chance to be centre stage, were you walking away? Something about your demeanour was off and he didn’t like it.

“Yes, I’ve–” You pause, should you tell Alfred? I’m going to move out and never speak to anyone from this house again! No, you’ll wait until you’ve secured a place before letting him know. You’re not prepared for that conversation. “I’m going to– for a walk.” The lie is stale on your tongue, you’ve never lied to Alfred, not besides petty ones to get out of trouble. But this feels different, a heavy knot tying in your shoulders as you watch the butler’s confused expression.

“Is that so? Because a few days ago, Master Dick–” You were out the door before he could finish his damn sentence. You are not in the mood to discuss Dick right now! It’s going to ruin your chipper mood.

The click of the door had Alfred’s eyes narrowing, his eyes trained on where you once stood. He believed that the small push he gave Bruce would be enough, but it’s just driving you further away. How troublesome, he doesn’t want for you to end up hurt.

“Wow! This is a really great place? And I get the first month free?” You are convinced whatever deity sent you back in time is responsible for the saint before you. The small, chubby old man who speaks to you in such a paternal voice it makes you want to cry.

“Of course, it’s no problem, I just need to speak to your guardian to agree on your emancipation, plus they’ll need to sign some consent forms.”

“What?” You blink dumbly, your heart momentarily stopping before the damn organ speeds up so quickly it could power a small village, you try to convey your thoughts but all you can manage is a few dumb noises. “Are– Are you sure?”

“Apologies, since you’re only sixteen – you must have a guardian’s consent, this is a legal rental after all,” he smiles apologetically, before adding, “if you want to live somewhere without your parent’s consent, it’ll have to be illegally – which can be dangerous, ‘specially for a youngling such as yourself.”

Oh, right. You’re sixteen. The fact slipped your mind once more, you’re so foolish. So damn foolish, nothing will ever be so easy, nothing in your life will ever be handed to you like this. “Right, I’ll– let you know.” You smile, your eyes scanning over the small apartment once more. It reminds you of the place you stayed with your mother, the small space encapsulating those memories you hold dear so perfectly that if you light a few ciggerattes and close your eyes, you'll go back in time.

“I’ll keep this off-sale for you, please let me know as soon as possible.” Mr. Kim, so nicely adds, his small face – wrinkled with age, softening at your disheartened expression. You so desperately want to beg for him to rethink, to make an exception, but you don't want to get him in trouble, not since he’s been so kind.

And so, with a heavy heart, you walk out, walking with effort since your feet don’t want to leave. Don’t want to leave a future that could be, that should’ve been. Ugh, how disgustingly sentimental.

You don’t feel like returning to the Manor, not yet. The air outside is nice, it’s nice to breathe in a taste of something other than the suffocating walls around you, even if it’s just some dingy back alley. It’s nice to see what could’ve been, that is until a large hand clamps down on your shoulder.

Oh, great. So the one time you leave the Manor you die again. Maybe you’ll regress to when you’re eleven next, you muse.

“What the hell are you doing around here?” You recognise that voice and immediately you don’t want to turn around. What is he doing out? During the day? You thought vigilantes only patrol during the lunar hours, so why? Your heart squeezes in your throat, desperate to claw its way out, to escape your pitiful body.

After a tense moment of silence, you turn around, there he stands. Red Hood, your older brother. Well, older brother is a stretch, you’ve never really interacted with him – much like the rest of your family. You were brought in when he was still Robin, but he died shortly after. A small, vengeful part of you blamed him for your neglect. That was until Bruce brought in Tim, and you watched bitterly how Tim was embraced immediately, he didn’t have to fight for any attention, he was accepted by everyone and you were forced to swallow the thought that it wasn't Jason's fault -- but your own.

When Jason was somehow brought back, you selfishly hoped you would be able to bond with him, that he’d be the one to look back at you, to get to your level and hold you close.

No such thing happened, the only time you saw him was when he was walking through the Manor to the Batcave, and even then, he gave you a bone-chilling glare. You didn’t think of him so optimistically after that. Now, with his hand clutching your shoulder, his expression covered by his menacing red helmet..

You’re ready to be shot 5 times again.

“I asked you a question.” He says, his hand tightening on your shoulder, you snap out of your stupor immediately, your fear morphing into frustration. You shove his hand off of you with more effort than you’re comfortable with, and even then you’re sure he’s the one who dropped his hand to not embarrass you any further.

“I’m allowed to go outside.” You huff, your nerves practically fighting against the restraints of your skin, a cold, overbearing feeling rushing over you. This was..– Everything was wrong, this is not how this is supposed to go, not at all.

“You were talking to Mr. Kim, why?” He asks bluntly, your heart stops beating for a moment, the only thing you can hear is the ringing in your ears, your brain trying to block this all out, trying to block out everything. “Actually, nevermind, I think I know why.”

You want to cry, why was this happening? You were so happy, so content. Why do you bump into them every time you leave your room, can’t you have one good day? Will you need to become a hermit? Will that get them off your back?

“I can drive you back to the Manor–”

“No, I’m fine.” You cut him off, your voice not masking any of your fear, it has Jason blinking under his mask. Why were you so on edge? What’s going on with you?

“I insist– Gotham isn’t safe for you to just be–..” He watches the downright terrified expression on your face before sighing and signalling for you to go, his stomach churns in an unfamiliar way as you scurry away.

Why were you so nervous? Could it be that you're scared of him?

That’s understandable, you’re not a vigilante, you’re just some average kid. But when he saw you walking alone, he detests himself for the way his heart swelled with happiness. In his Robin days, he loved watching the normalcy of your life, the way you would live free of any strings to the ghastly occupation he had.

He was scared to get closer, scared to shatter that illusion you had.

The fear amplified when he came back to life, he was relieved to see that you were still unaffiliated with Batman, but fuck, he was too cowardly to reach out, that day when you looked at him with gladness, he was hit with a paralysing fear of you getting too close, of you getting hurt. He replays the crushed expression that dawned your face like a damn broken stereo.

So when he saw you sulking about a few moments ago, he saw his chance to reach out, to get a taste of your normalcy, he took it, however selfish it may be.

“Whatever.” He grits, climbing up the roof to tail you, he’s content with watching from afar, for now.

The whole way back to the Manor felt like a fever dream, you can’t brush these oddities off as coincidences, why the hell did Red Hood approach you. Was he trying to pull a Damian? Was that a simple reminder of how pathetic you are? Why did he do that?!

Why was everyone acting so strangely?

The Manor offered you no comfort, it’s looming walls did nothing but remind you of your own shortcomings, you were afraid, you were perplexed but above all you were furious. Why now? When you’ve finally accepted your position in this family, why are they all turning their heads. Well damn them! You’re sick of this whole stupid charade, you won’t be that small child anymore, a child who knew only loneliness. You’re going to become your own person outside of the surname which has held you back for so long.

“We need to talk.” A voice calls out as you reach your room, what now? You’re sick of these damn conversations. You just want to move out, why is it so damn hard?

Oh, it’s Bruce again. Your lips press into a thin line as he stands before you, you can hear the soft humming running through the Manor walls. When you were younger, that sound brought you so much comfort, yet now it’s different. Like a warning.

“Talk? About what?” You try to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. You’re distinctly aware of the way his brows furrow at your pitiful expression. Oh hell, you hope this won’t be another walk down the Manor where you awkwardly fumble in silence.

You don’t say anything as he leads you away from your room, a sullen quilt draped over the Manor, a strange foreboding sense that something’s going to happen. Something bad. You’re utterly perplexed as your father guides you to a part of the Manor you’re somewhat familiar with.

As a child, you used to lurk around the corners of these very walls, watching your family, itching to reach out and join in but fearing ruining the delicate painting they created. Fearing rejection, the cold glares and sneers as they pushed you away. So you trailed silently, waiting, hoping that someone would look back, smile at you and maybe hold out their hand. But it only ever happened in your dreams, a pale illusion of a reality that should've been true.

“Where did you go?” He asks, his eyes boring onto you with such intensity you can distinctly feel the way your blood begins furiously to pump through your veins, why did he care? “Alfred said you went out.”

“I just wanted some fresh air.” You’re not sure why you’re lying, it’d be easier to tell Bruce that you went to go see a house, the consent forms are folded in your pocket, waiting for his signature. It’d be so simple, so easy. Just a dip of pen on paper and you’ll be out.

So why do you feel such dread? A dread unlike anything you’ve ever felt. When you were in that alley, bleeding out helplessly, even then this oppressive feeling, which tightens your ribcage, forcing your organs into a tight space until you couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t comprehend if it was your heart pounding so heavily or your lungs, wasn't as scary.

“You’re only sixteen, you need to let someone know where you’re going.” His voice is so unbelievably despotic that it made your very core tremble with anxiety, with a looming sense of doom.

“It’s never been a problem before.” You mumble, your voice a lot quieter than you would’ve liked, your vocal chords burning with each word passing through it, your nerves invading each of your senses, as if warning you to stay quiet.

Bruce says nothing, and the moment the air grows stale you wish you could take your words back. You can see the way his brows crease, the way he looks at you as though you’re some sort of criminal and not his own flesh and blood, the soft humming in the walls has disappeared, left behind in your area of the Manor. Though it’s odd, when you would lurk around the Manor as a youthling, there was always some sort of background noise in this area, where everyone hung out. The silence unnerved you, another thing that’s changed, another thing you couldn’t have predicted.

“If you’re going out, make sure to let me know.” He sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you with what you interpret as belittlement, a burning hot rage boils in your stomach, and once more, you’re hit with the knowledge this isn’t how things are supposed to go, Bruce isn’t supposed to care that you go out without telling anyone, he’s not supposed to care about you.

‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ you want to say, you want to scream, to ask what rights he has to treat you like a child? How dare he? It makes your very being tremble with frustration, your hands clenching with barely contained anger.

But you don’t. Why? Is it the natural response from your mind? The fear of disappointing him? The fear that if you speak up, you’ll be kicked out and left to rot? Or perhaps it’s the fear of confrontation you gained through his negligence, the weakness he moulded. But still, you’re not sixteen anymore, not really. Mentally, you’re twenty-one, you’ve been through each stage of your life, and maybe, sure, the day you died, you were content for them to walk all over you in exchange for a single glance at your direction.

But you’ve died and come back (in time)! You shouldn’t let them walk all over you anymore, shouldn’t be content as an afterthought. So– you open your mouth and–

“What’s going on?” Another voice speaks out, great, because this is exactly what you needed, another clown to join the circus. Oh.

Is this a joke? Is the person responsible for your misfortune giggling at your despair, is it amusing to see you suffer?

Damian, Dick, Jason and now Tim.

Why is Tim walking up to you? Why is he looking at you? A rush of dread, a sensation you’ve grown familiar with in the past few days, washes over you. You’ve never had his eyes on you, never for so long. It’s unnerving. You thought the calculating look in Bruce and Damian’s eyes was scary, but the way Tim looks at you now? His eyes zeroed in on you? It has your insides melting into liquid, the urge to cover your face, to hide in the corner and bury your face in your knees is overwhelming.

You don’t want his eyes on you, you decide. Years of clawing at your own shortcomings, of desperately trying to appeal to him, to have him look back – you would do anything at that time for him to look at you the way he is now.

But now? You don’t like it, he wears a neutral expression, but the look in his eyes makes you feel vulnerable, like he’s picking you apart one by one, each twitch, each mannerism.

“It’s about what we talked about.” Bruce says, his tone completely natural, like he’s discussing the weather, you don’t know the specifics but you have a nagging feeling that you know what he’s speaking of.

“Ah. Really? You’re still on that?” Tim tuts, his head tilting ever so slightly as he studies you. Just as you’re about to ask what the fuck does he mean by that, he turns his attention to Bruce. “I told you, they can’t do anything without your consent, they’re 16.”

How dare they? How dare they talk as though you’re not here? This is disgusting, what loathsome, egotistical dickheads! Your hands itch, the anxiety in you speeding all over your body like a livewire, mixing with your anger to create an overwhelming feeling of terror.

What was the point of Bruce bringing you here? To mock you? Show you how great they have it? What you’ve been missing out on? Well, screw him. You need to get away before you lash out, you’re better than that. Better than this.

The pair watches as you walk away, your whole body tense. For a moment, there’s a prolonged silence which is broken by Tim. “Did we do something wrong?” He asks, genuinely confused by your little display.

When he came back from a particularly tough mission, the last thing he was expecting was everybody collectively freaking out. Bruce, Damian, even Dick were all tense, looking around each corner – searching for something, someone.

It was weird for a multitude of reasons, firstly – Dick was supposed to be gone by now, his stay at the Manor was for a few days only. Why is he here? And secondly, nothing particularly stressful was happening in Gotham, so what was with the gloom and doom?

When Bruce sighed, telling him about your plans to move out, well, to say Tim was confused was an understatement. That did not deserve such a reaction, but then he really thought about it, and, if this is how they react to you threatening to leave..

If you were to actually step out that door, to alienate away from them, to discard your last name. His head begins to throb at the implications, he’s acutely aware of how selfish it is for him to wish to keep you around, to keep you in this Manor all to keep himself happy.

But then the thought that, really, he’s doing this for you! If you thought it was so easy to just get up and leave, that at sixteen you’d just be able to pack up and go. Well, with that stupidity, you wouldn’t survive outside, in Gotham no less. He was able to placate Bruce’s stressing, thankfully, because the man looked three minutes away from a heart attack.

You wouldn’t be able to go without Bruce’s permission, so long as they had that – you’d stay with them. But that’s what led him to seeking you out now, if you had ideas about leaving that meant you were unhappy.

He was hoping to talk to you, to ask if you wanted to hang out – that’s what you want, right? When he thinks of you, his mind conjures up the slightly annoying, slightly endearing child that you were. He’ll hang out with you, destroy those silly notions and everything will go back to how it was.

So why did you stomp off? That’s not how you’re supposed to act. That’s not how you are.

“I don’t think so.” Bruce replies to his earlier question, his eyes still trained on the spot in which you were. How could you walk off?

Why were you so off during that conversation? He couldn’t…– This belies everything Alfred had told him about you, it's left Bruce conflicted. He had hoped that by bringing you here, he could ask which room you liked best. But you walked off, why? Why do you deny his affection? He was worried when he heard you left, a small, vulnerable part of him was afraid that you wouldn’t come back, that you had left for good, slipped through his fingers before he could hold you close.

So, when he saw you walk in – oh, he was elated. He just wanted to convey his worries, but you seemed to have gotten the wrong idea. He really doesn’t want that, you don't need anymore reasons to leave.

He doesn’t want the terrified expression on your face, he wants that dazzled look you used to carry around, he wants you – not this restless part of you, but the real you.

He'll get it back, he's sure he will.

ugh i hate the misunderstanding trope i say as i write the misunderstanding trope

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daydreamerdrew · 2 years ago

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Marvel Team-Up (1972) Annual #3

#oh I like that she becomes impressed with the Hulk for being able to follow all of her instructions #and that she’s considerate that he’s done a lot of hard work for her and tells him to sit down #though it’s kind of ruined at the end when the narration says she’s terrified of him #but the Hulk getting mad at the chair for acting against him by breaking when he tried to sit on it is cute #it does actually stand out that he was able to find the right train and grab the right package #without any mind control involved or her there #I like his gleeful response as he was pulling it off #‘Hah! Here is the metal box Hulk was sent for! This will be easy!’#marvel #bruce banner #my posts #comic panels

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panakina · 10 months ago

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There is a tiny sliver, deep down inside of batman, that is proud of the red hood. He’s ashamed of it, everything in him revolts against it, but it remains.

His son played the most feared crime lord in Gotham like a fiddle. In one night he earned the fear batman spent years cultivating. He put his boot on Gotham’s throat and had just the right leverage to keep it there.

Atrocity. Murder. Lives ruined, principles discarded, everything he stood for thrown back in his face. An abomination in his son’s skin. It is sickening to him.

But bruce’s clever little boy always knew the importance of efficacy. And he honed himself into terrifying competence.

Bruce forged himself around his principles because his ambitions needed them. Desperately. He wouldn’t settle for anything less than perfect control. Of everything. Every blow must land where it is needed and nowhere else, every scrap of knowledge must be correct, every judgement call exact. He can’t be proud. He can only be right.

If you’re going to do something, put your everything in it. Give nothing less than your all and accept nothing less than absolute perfection.

Bruce’s son is a bad man. And he’s better at it than anyone else.

Bruce looks at his son with grief and horror. And pride.

#jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #dc #is this anything

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 27 days ago

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Hit List pt. 2

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Pairing: Jason Todd/Red Hood X (f)reader

Tags: NSFW, toxic romance,dark romance, dark Jason, psychotic Jason, mean Jason, brain-washing, violence, Jason's death, threatening, stalking, intimidation, blackmail, unethical behavior, mafia au, exes, assassination, semi-public sex, fingering, kissing, love confessions, mourning, ruined orgasms.

The door opening snapped you out of your concentration. Your head shot up, eyes wide with surprise as the imposing figure in the red helmet stepped into your lab. Then your heartbeat froze as you recognized the terrifying figure you've been seeing on the news for the past month. The red hood - the crime lord of Gotham - was in your lab.

"Uh... can I help you?" you asked, your voice wary.

The red hood sweeped the room. You shifted uncomfortably.

“I’ve got some questions,” his low baritone was distorted through the modulator.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ Six Years Prior◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Jason lay on the warehouse floor, his Robin suit was torn around different parts, the exposed skin under it seeping blood onto the cold floor. Speaking of cold, Jason was pretty sure he was going to die here.

Yeah... asking Batman to let him patrol alone was just another notch down the line of Jason's cocky mistakes. But after doing it for so long, being Robin has become a second nature. He could beat up henchmen with his eyes closed and his arms tied. So, of course, he thought he could handle Joker alone to save his mother. Hell, he might have even stood a chance, but the moment he'd entered the Joker’s hideout, some familiar scent hit him, and Jason became numb in an instant.

Joker had been at it for so long that the boy should no longer register the pain from the crowbar. Only... he did. He felt every cut, hit, punch, every bruising hit.

Joker needn't have bothered with the gag, Jason lost his voice from screaming a while ago.

The newly carved "J" scar on his cheek hurt like a bitch.

"Well? Looks like bats are going to be late to save ya, kiddo." Joker laughed. "Bad traffic, I guess."

Jason didn't bother talking. Too exhausted. Everything after that was blacked out. Then he stopped breathing.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Jason was in excruciating pain. He was losing his mind. All of the hurt from his torture, from the explosion that followed, attacked his senses all at once.

He was in Ra’s al Ghul’s hidden stronghold, recovering from his resurrection. The room was dimly lit, incense filling in the air as Jason lay on a cold stone slab, his body wracked with phantom pain from his death. Ra’s entered and stood beside him, offering him water and speaking with a calculated gentleness. "You’ve been through a lot, Jason. The cruelty of this world knows no bounds."

Jason spoke with a hoarse "Bruce… Did he…?"

Ra’s tone stayed calm. "Save you? He didn’t even try."

Jason struggled to sit up, his face contorted in confusion. "No. I dont believe you. He would have… he he’s my fath-"

Ra’s directed Jason’s attention to a screen showing pictures of batman running side by side with... Robin, "While you were rotting in a shallow grave, your so-called father was playing hero with the one who replaced you."

Jasons tone was angry yet desperate as tears filled his vision. "No. He wouldn’t - he didn’t forget me."

But seeing the images of the boy in the Robin suit, he shut his mouth.

Jason recalled moments of Bruce’s kindness - of patching him up after a rough mission, smiling at him when Jason mastered a new skill or got an award at school. "He saved me before. He would’ve done if he could-"

"But he didn’t, young one." Ras said. "I did. Who truly values you, Jason? The one who abandoned you to die or the one who gave you your life back?"

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Jason's breathing quickened as his fists pounded the hanging punching bag in Al Ghul’s dojo.

He had overheard an exchange between Ra's and his daughter. The topic of which was Batman, a word which recently became a trigger to him.

Jason continued olbiterating the punching bag, which had tore open where his fists landed, mixing with his bloody knuckles.

I wasn’t worth the risk? I was his son! How could he-how could he just let me die?!

Ra’s placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder making him stop his movements. "Its difficult to cope. You were nothing more than a soldier to him. A pawn in his war. But to me, you are a warrior. A leader."

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

"We found this in your bloodstream the night you were killed." Thalia Al Ghul held up a vial of clear liquid. Jason nodded, hunched over a table with his shirt pulled over. A medic was stiching up a nasty gash he got from a recent mission.

"It's relatively new," she continued. "Not FDA approved. Not even patented. But my men tracked it to a lab in Gotham University. It matches the research on several Academic papers published by a PHD student."

Jason frowned at the colorless liquid, hissing against the anchoring pain of the stitching. "What is it?"

"It's basic form blocks pain receptors. Joker played around with it and manipulated the chemical to immobilize people by overstimulating their nervous systems. It can cause a hallucinatory haze, so they're unable to defend themselves. Sound familiar?" She asked.

Jason ground his teeth and nodded, recalling how disoriented and agonized he felt during his torture.

Then, another memory surfaced his mind. One rainy day at school, when talking to you about your lab research.

"Im calling it 'Chill Mist,'" you said, proudly holding up a vial. "It'll be a breakthrough in healthcare, Jay. It blocks pain receptors and induces a calming state. For when people undergo trauma or surgery." You explained excitedly, spraying a bit of it in the air for him to smell.

"What's the name of the student working on it?" Jason's tone was grave when he asked Talia.

He anticipated the name before Thalia spoke it, but it didn't prepare him from the painful stab of betrayal in his chest.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Raw anger fueled him as Jason stared at the limp body of his duel oponent lying lifeless at his feet.

Ra’s clapped proudly once. "See what you’re capable of? This is just the beginning, Jason. You will become unstoppable."

Jason stared at the blood on his hands, the sword shaking in his grip.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ Six Years Later ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Dmitry, a lower level henchman in the Russian mafia, sat across the table from the red hood, swallowing thickly. He felt for his gun in his holster and was relieved it was still there.

He's heard stories about the Red Hood from rival gangs, and he damn near shit his pants sitting across from him now. Worse, so when the man finally spoke, addressing him in his native language. "Привет Дима," (hello, Dima)

Dima looked around himself nervously, wondering why he was here instead of his boss. "Г-где Сергей?" (Where's Sergey?)

"Сергея больше нет. C сегодняшнего дня, я твой новый бос. Продолжим на английском. "(Sergey no longer exists. Starting today, im your new boss.We're gonna continue this conversation in English.)

Dmitry paled, his eyes cast down to the duffle bag resting beside the Red Hood's boots, suspecting the worst. "Бляд..." He swore under his breath. "W-we didn’t know it was your turf!"

The hood let out a sound that might have been a chuckle, but it was distorted behind the mask.

He leaned against the desk, spinning his knife lazily in his hand. "The whole fuckin' city's my turf."

Danny tried to protest, but Jason interrupted. "Here’s how it works now. You want to work in Gotham, you pay me a cut. I keep the cops off your back, keep you alive, and make sure you don’t sell this filth to kids. You mess up, you disappear. Simple enough?"

When Danny hesitated, Jason flipped the knife into his hand and buried it in the table beside him. "That wasn’t a question."

Danny nodded frantically.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

The by-now famous Red Hood walked into Arkham asylum to blaring sirens as inmates shook the bars of their prison cells, shouting his name. Under the fluorescent lights, he could make out some familiar faces. But he was only here for one.

Joker looked up as red hood approached, a grin spreading across his face. "What's this?" He asked. "A fan coming to visit -"

The gunshot rang out before he could finish talking. The smoke raising from the red hood's gun. He climbed out into a nearby window and jumped out, the jokers cold body on the floor behind him.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Jason's eyes narrowed as he watched you through the window of you lab. You looked different now, older than the girl he once knew, but no less intoxicating. He clenched his fists, feeling the phantom pain of his death crawling all over his body.

You didn’t know. He reminded himself. You didn’t know what the Joker planned that night...

But you made it. That damn toxin that burned through his veins, twisting his screams into something unrecognizable even to himself.

Jason ground his teeth behind his mask. How was it fair that you got to walk away? That you got to live while he had to claw his way out of a fucking grave?

His gloved hand flexed over the hilt of his knife. He wouldn’t kill you, no. But he would make you pay. One way or another, he would make you pay.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Your hand reached for your phone charging on the table, but he noticed. He grasped you by your lab coat, easily pushing you against the wall. His grip was firm as he pinned your hands above your head. The sharp edge of his helmet pressed against your side. "What? Don't you trust me? After all this time..." the words released in a low chuckle.

Confused, you struggled against him. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t-"

He stepped closer, pressing you against the wall and locking your movement. The sound of his boots against the floor echoed in the quiet of the empty room.

You heard a click of metal and risked a glance to see him lift the helmet before dropping it to the ground.

Your breath left in a rush as your world tilted. Impossible...

"Jason...?" you whispered, barely audible.

He smiled down at you. Not the boyish grin you remembered. But a sharp, humorless. "Surprise."

You stared, taking in the stark differences. The Jason you remembered was cocky and boyish. The man standing above you now had sharper features, his body bulkier, and his eyes were hollowed pools of blue - once bright and mischievous - now held pain and anger aimed at you.

You stammered. “You - how - youre dead!”

"Aparently not." He drawled. “And congrats on being the first person to know who’s under the Red Hood.”

The Red Hood. That’s who he’s become. The vigilante-turned-crime lord everyone in Gotham feared or admired. And he was standing in front of you, the same boy with whom you did your homework, the one who pulled your hair at school, who took your first kiss, and more.

Jason’s gaze roamed over you, his expression unreadable. "What's wrong, baby? You look like you’ve seen a ghost," he said, his tone filled with amusement.

You voice shool as tears filled your eyes. "What happened to you?"

He told you. Step by step. Recounting the literal horror he'd experienced. By the time he finished his story, it was clear to you that Jason blamed you for hia death.

Jason felt a twisted satisfaction in seeing your head shake, guilt evident in your teary eyes.

His hand slid to your body, the leather of his glove cool against your skin. “Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Does it bother you? Knowing that every time I look at you, I see the reason I died?” he emphasized by wrapping around your throat.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jason’s lips crushed against yours before you could form a single word. It wasn’t tender; it was raw, punishing, a collision of teeth and desperation that left you breathless.

He lifted you with ease and put you on the table you were working on. Worrying about chemical hazards was the last thing on your mind when you were being kissed by a dark reincarnation of your high school sweetheart.

"Jason-" you drew back on a gasp.

His lips brushed your ear before biting your neck, “Do you know how many nights I dreamed of making you feel an ounce of what I felt?” His words terrified you.

"What will you do to me?" Your voice trembled.

"I don't know..." He sounded distracted as his finger glided over your lab coat, unbuttoning it and pulling it down off you, leaving you in your t-shirt and jeans. You were suddenly cold, feeling bumps along your arms. Jason's haze was heated, and you followed it to your chest, where your nipples pebbled under your bralette. You held your breath as he raised his hand to circle one of your nipples, not saying anything.

"If you were me," Jason drawled, attention back on you, though his fingers continued circling your nipple. You suppressed a whimper desperate to be let out. "What would you do to you?"

"I..." Your voice hitched when his finger brushed the spot you wanted him so desperately.

"What would you do if you've defeated all of your enemies, but one." He asked, tone heavy.

Your heart ached at his words, and you shook you head. "I'm not your enemy, Jay-" you wispered.

Something you said made him freeze, a moment passed before he gave your nipple a brief but harsh pinch. “You don’t get to say my name like that,” he hissed, his other hand tightening on your hair.

Removing his gloves and dropping them to the floor with a soft thud. You watched at his scarred, large hand lowered to the buttons of your jeans, undoing them one by one. The sensation made your body jerk, and you bit your lip to keep from making any sounds.

Jason noticed and brought his lips up to yours, biting down on your bottom lip before saying. "Dont hold back now, baby. You never did before -"

"I've missed you." The confession left your lips in a quick breath.

That made him freeze again. Just like when he did when you called him by his nickname. Carefully, you reached to cup his cheek, your thumb tracing the "J" scar under his eye.

"Stop," he said under his breath.

"Jason," you wimpered, your voice strained. "I missed you so much-"

"Stop." He growled.

With tears in your eyes, you begged. "Please! Jason, I still love-"

He kissed you again, desperate to silence you. He was pretty sure the next words out of your mouth were going to break his conditioning completely. He couldn't pet that happen - not after how far he's come.

His fingers reached your sex, coating themselves in your slick and sliding up to rub your clit. "If you don't shut up for your own good, I'll have to find something else to keep your mouth busy."

The ministration on your sex, the words, and the fact that the love of your life was speaking them to you all sent your mind spiraling. But the sensations he caused in your body overtook any intentions in your mind, and you arched against him, desperately pushing yourself closer to him.

"That's right," he chuckled, his mind back where he deeded it to be. "Give up control, baby."

You were so close.

"Give me my revenge." He laughed, grinning against your ear.

You moaned just as you were nearing your climax.

He withdrew his fingers, ruining your orgasm.

"No!" You protested.

Pleading, your eyes sought his out in the darkness. He wore a wolfish smirk as he reached up and licked his fingers. His eyes were hooded as he glared at you. He didn't say much. Just hummed as he slowly approached you. Frightened, you tried backing away as far as you could. "Dont! Jason, I'll call the cops. I'll tell them -"

"Tell them what?" He pulled you by your hair. It was not a playful tug like he used to do in school, but a harsh grasp that had you gasping. "That the Red Hood fingered you? That he didn't let you finish?" He said in a mocking tone.

You swallowed harshly, not saying anything. This version of Jason was so cruel that you couldn't comprehend it.

"You're not gonna go to the police." He informed you. "You're gonna come to work wearing a skirt tomorrow." He finished before giving you one last kiss.

Before you could come up with anything more to say, he had put on his gloves and helmet, saluted you, and walked out the door.

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on-leatheredwings · 7 months ago

Note

What characters from DC canon do you think would make the most terrifying yanderes?

honestly theres so many ppl to choose from LOL

Scariest brute strength wise:

Superman, of course: You can kick and punch all you want - you won't get anywhere with that. Or imagine him flying miles into the air and threatening (softly) to drop you unless you calm down. He really will do it, even if he saves you five seconds later. What's scariest is knowing that even if you ask for help, no one can save you. He's fucking Superman.

Supergirl: same as Superman, but I think she has a petulant edge that's really awful. You can't reason with her if she's already made up her mind. Even if we're talking about Adult!SG, it's like you're talking to a child, holy fuck

Flash: .............something very terrifying of a man who can whisk you away before you can blink. If you ran away, he'd of course let you get a head start, just for kicks. Then he collects you, whether you're halfway across the world or just down the street. He'd run so fast the air leaves your lungs and by the time you've come to, you're back home... Yikes. I think he'd give you a lot of vertigo and disorientation to keep your mind addled.

Dr. Fate, Constantine, Zatanna: christ. Really, any magic user can go in this slot. I think the depths of their powers are just scary to even think about. Imagine arguing with them and getting kicked into another dimension, left to lose your sanity for what feels like years, but was perhaps just 10 minutes in regular time. Sure, they would bend reality for you, but they also would bend it just to keep you in line.

Scariest ruining-your-mental-health-wise:

Lex Luthor: oh god he's just the worst. He genuinely believes he owns you, unlike most of the other DC yans that at least try to pretend you have human rights. Him being a yandere probably consists of him offering you a place in his home. If refused, you won't be able to enjoy anything ever again. You'll be followed. You won't get new work anywhere. If you're famous, the tabloids are all against you and ruining your reputation because everyone is in Lex's pockets. He'd be a more spiteful Bruce Wayne, essentially.

Batman: I can't even elaborate like you already know. LMAO

The Question: i'm sorry the amount of paranoia this man would give me specifically. I grew up around paranoid people and they do irreversible psychic damage LOL. He'll be gaslighting you AND himself into believing into conspiracies at the same time.

Scarecrow: Fear gas. Just... fear gas. :)

if anyone wants to add in replies pls do kghdksk this is more like my nightmare yandere rotation

#ardennes' inbox #yandere dc #yandere superman #yandere batman

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hollandorks · 8 months ago

Text

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

interlude three

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: I'm alive!!! I don't want to talk about how long it's been since the last chapter because it's a little bit embarrassing. Anyways, I'm back! Hopefully! So here's a brief little Bruce POV to hold you over until the next real chapter, which should hopefully only be a week or two maybe? (Also, I apologize in advance....)

Series Masterlist

word count: 1.2k

Despite everyone who was trying hard to keep her alive, y/n felt utterly alone.

Bruce's POV

“Bruce, my dear boy, I don’t tell you often enough, but you are…so stubbornly stupid it makes me feel twice my age.”

Bruce startled and whirled around to face Alfred. The older man was leaning casually along the work station where Bruce’s video equipment was, his cane next to him, legs crossed at the ankles.

Bruce opened his mouth and then closed it again.

It was noon now, and he still hadn’t been to bed. He’d been out late staking out Maverick’s again, hoping to catch a lead on Frank Gallo or anyone that could lead him to the man, when Alfred’s call had come. Security breach. Elevator. The panic had almost killed him. Alfred’s next call came in when Bruce was almost home, telling him that everyone was safe. So he had changed direction and left to clean himself up to make an appearance as Bruce instead.

And still the fear lingered. Someone had been in his home, feet away from y/n, and he had yet to find any proof of how they had done it.

He wouldn’t–couldn’t–sleep until he was certain she was safe.

“What did I do this time?” Bruce finally asked. He turned back to the security footage he was pouring over. It terrified him that they could have been so close to y/n. That he could have been too late. That he could have–

He shut the thought down as quickly as it came. No use dwelling on it now.

“What haven’t you done? You imploded the most important relationship you have–repeatedly, if we’re being honest. You keep secrets from her but toe the line so recklessly it’s going to blow up in your face. You let your emotions get the best of you. And that’s just lately. Shall I go on?” Alfred recrossed his ankles in the other direction.

Bruce grit his teeth but said nothing. He restarted the security footage from the beginning and paused it frame by frame. A loud clack echoed around the abandoned station each time he smashed the button to go to the next frame.

“Let’s change tactics then. How long are you going to let her live in fear before you tell her that the Batman is watching over her from inside her home?”

Bruce’s jaw ached with the force of his clenched teeth. Still, he said nothing. First y/n had yelled at him, now Alfred. He knew his behavior was…abysmal to say the least. But he had more important things to focus on than everyone’s emotions, his own included.

He had to find Frank Gallo, and take down the rest of the family, once and for all. When that was done, when y/n was safe, he would think about all the ways he had ruined his relationship with her.

“Are you listening to me, Bruce?”

“I am trying,” Bruce said with a smack of his fist against the table, “to figure out who the fuck broke into my home and threatened y/n!” His voice echoed loudly around him, setting the bats to fluttering and chittering above them. He restarted the footage once again.

Alfred made a noise in his throat. “She hasn’t slept at all.”

Something oily slid down Bruce’s spine. “Neither have I.” It was a deflection and they both knew it. It killed Bruce to know y/n was so scared. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it–other than find those responsible and make them pay. She wouldn’t want his comfort, wouldn’t want him to hover, so he was doing the next best thing and trying to end it.

Alfred sighed. “All I’m saying is–”

“I know what you’re saying.”

“Then why do I have to keep saying it?”

Bruce went back to ignoring the older man. Let Alfred think what he wanted. Bruce had work to do. Nothing would get better until Frank Gallo and the rest of his family and cronies were gone for good.

What gives you the right to act like this? she’d asked, all of her anger turned towards Bruce like a roaring inferno. What gave him the right? He had admitted it to her right before that–I give too much of a shit.

She didn’t know he was still in love with her. That he always had been.

He’d hurt her so badly she couldn’t see what was right in front of her face–who he was, how he felt, what it was doing to him. If she would just open her eyes, she would know.

Instead, she had yelled at him.

He deserved it. He knew he deserved it. But walking in and seeing her hold Officer Martinez’s hand…it made him crazy. He had acted like the worst type of bastard without even thinking. It was pure instinct, the urge to protect her even from a guy like Martinez rising so strongly within him that it was almost as if he had blacked out. Like someone else had taken over his body.

She rarely ever got mad at him. It had only happened a few times throughout their many years together. It was a sight to behold, her rage, and he had been equal measures impressed and angry both.

“I don’t have time for this,” Bruce said after long stretch of silence. His voice was raw with exhaustion and emotion. “Either help me figure this out or go back upstairs.”

He felt rather than saw Alfred bristle. He waited to get berated yet again, but Alfred merely pulled up the footage on another screen and got to work.

They spent a few minutes in silence, Bruce’s eyes burning from lack of sleep, his thoughts churning. She hasn’t slept. He ached to go upstairs, to tell y/n that she was safe with him, that he would never let anything happen to her.

But it already had, and all of it had been his fault.

He knew without a doubt, just as he had known three years ago, that she was safest far away from him. And look what had happened already–the more she’d become entangled with him, with the Batman, the worse things got. She had spent three years in Bludhaven, far away from him, perfectly safe. And the minute she had come home to Gotham, come home to him…it had all gone to shit. Really it had gone to shit before that–when her grandmother had left the tower for the last time.

Bruce liked to think that was his fault, too, not that he’d ever it admit it out loud.

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” Alfred said into the silence. His voice was gentle, almost placating.

“Mm.” It wasn’t working, then, Bruce thought. He already felt guilty enough.

“I hate seeing you like this. Both of you.” Alfred sighed again. “I just think that talking about it–all of it–would help you both. It might ease the strain of…everything else going on.”

Bruce couldn’t see how it could help, only how it would make things worse. But he didn’t say that to Alfred, merely nodded and kept working.

Two nights later, all Bruce could think about was that Alfred had been right.

He should have told y/n the truth while he had the chance.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet @spencerrxids @giulia2372 @katara-is-a-goddess-changemymind @janezat @incorrectmarvelquotesss @spiritdetectivel @i-have-no-life-charlie @ilovemybabes @curseyouperrytheplatypus @lightsinmycity @yondiii @spideybv28 @fictionalmansl4t

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #the batman x reader #the batman 2022 #the batman #battinson #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #battinson x you

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introvertllux · 2 months ago

Text

Meet the Wayne’s Chapter 4: Fault Lines

I DON’T claim the rights to batman only the black!OC. Also this is pure fiction and NOT my thoughts on marriage or family at all.

Word count: 6703

Third Person P.O.V

The darkness of the Batcave barely registers tonight; it swallows him, its depths closing in as jagged memories claw through his mind, vivid and merciless.

He’s back in the chaos of the orphanage grounds, the moments after the explosion crashing into his senses. The blast hits him with relentless force, a wall of fire and shrieking metal tearing him from his family. Heat sears his skin; the raw, bitter tang of smoke and dust fills his throat, his vision flickering in and out of focus as the world twists into a blurred nightmare. A metallic taste sits thick on his tongue, the stench of burning debris choking every breath. Somewhere nearby, he hears the cries of panicked children, the dull thud of falling concrete, a cacophony of pain and confusion.

And in the epicenter of it all, he sees her—Scarlett, encased in a sickly, pulsing glow. His vision sharpens for a second, taking in the unnatural pink light radiating from her hands, illuminating her figure in the smoke-filled ruins. For a heartbeat, she is both familiar and terrifying, her skin emblazoned with symbols he doesn’t recognize—ancient, jagged symbols that coil around her body like hungry vines, each line bright and alien, pulsating as if they’re alive, twisting through her skin, binding her to something unspeakable. He can’t look away, horrified as she lifts her hands and the pink light spreads, expanding into a protective shield around the boys, shimmering with raw, arcane energy.

The symbols shift and flare, seeming to grow, searing themselves deeper into her skin until she looks less like the woman he knows and more like a creature out of a nightmare. Tendrils of light coil from her fingers, threading through the air, wrapping around their sons in a way that is both protective and horrifying, as if something monstrous is holding them close. His sons’ faces are wide-eyed, pale against the crimson haze of the chaos around them, their expressions reflecting his own fear, their voices swallowed by the explosion’s aftershock.

A flash of blinding pink light, and he’s thrown backward, hitting the ground with a force that cracks through his bones. He hears the world distantly, as if through water—the sound of Scarlett’s voice, strange and resonant, mingling with the low hum of power that feels like it’s bleeding into the very air. His head spins, pain rocketing through his body, and when he lifts his gaze again, she is still there, a vision of otherworldly power, the symbols now pulsating like a heartbeat. Every blink brings a new nightmare into focus—the symbols writhing across her skin, her eyes blazing with the same light, unnatural, almost… inhuman.

What has she become?

___________________________________________________________

Back in the Batcave, Bruce’s fists clench until his knuckles burn, his mind trapped between fury and a creeping sense of horror. It replays again and again, each time worse, each time clearer—the symbols, those terrible, glowing brands that marked her skin, the strange, almost reverent way they seemed to pulse with each of her breaths. And the power, raw and unearthly, wrapping around their sons with the force of an invisible hand.

The woman he thought he knew, his partner, his wife—she had stood amidst that chaos wielding powers he couldn’t begin to understand, forces that defied every rational rule he lived by. He realizes, with a cold dread creeping into his bones, that he’s been blind. Blind to the secrets she carried, to the darkness woven into her past. What else has she kept from him? What else is buried beneath the surface, concealed by her quiet words, her careful facade?. Questions swirl and harden into something cold, focused, and selfishly determined. He will have answers.

The moment Bruce storms into the manor, his fury is a palpable force, chilling the room as he enters. Shadows cling to him like a cloak, and each stride crackles with barely restrained rage. He’s singularly focused, almost feverish, every thought consumed by one need: answers. He has no concern for his sons’ well-being, no space in his mind to wonder how they’re handling the aftermath. The only obstacle between him and Scarlett’s secrets stands before him—Alfred.

In the dim light of the sitting room, Alfred stands protectively, the boys gathered around him like soldiers waiting for orders. They’re watching Bruce with uncertainty, tension radiating from each of them, but Bruce barely registers their presence. His face is a mask of cold resolve as he stares down Alfred, his jaw clenched, fists tight.

“Where is she, Alfred?” His voice cuts through the silence like a blade, each word sharp, deadly, and laced with venom.

Alfred’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly—a flicker of concern that doesn’t escape Bruce’s notice and only stokes his anger further. “She’s resting, Master Bruce,” Alfred replies, his tone calm, steady. “I’ve advised her to take time to recuperate, to let the—”

“I don’t care about rest.” Bruce’s voice rises, tinged with bitterness and barely restrained fury. “I need to talk to her. Now.”

Alfred’s gaze hardens, and there’s a steely resolve in his eyes as he meets Bruce’s. “With all due respect, sir, now is not the time. She’s been through more than you know. Let her rest.”

The betrayal twists in Bruce’s gut like a knife, the mere fact that Alfred—his oldest confidant—would stand between him and the truth, protecting Scarlett’s secrets instead of him. Him. The man who trusted Alfred above all else.

Bruce steps forward, his voice dropping to a low, venomous growl. “Alfred, I have every right to know what my own wife has been hiding from me. You don’t get to decide that.”

Alfred’s gaze remains steady, unflinching, calm as a stone in a storm. “And yet, Master Bruce, I fear pressing her now will only push her further from you. Perhaps… patience—”

“Patience?” Bruce’s voice is a raw, incredulous whisper, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles go white. “I watched her wield something beyond our world, Alfred. Symbols, light, things that have no place in this family. And you’re telling me to wait?” His eyes narrow, his voice a bitter accusation. “What else are you hiding from me?”

The tension between them is thick, suffocating, but the boys have had enough of watching silently.

“Maybe now isn’t the time, Dad,” Dick says, breaking the silence with a calm but pained voice. He steps forward, his gaze steady but pleading. “Mom’s been through a lot. Pushing her like this is only going to make everything worse.”

Jason scoffs, his arms crossed, a look of pure disdain on his face as he stares at Bruce. “Right, because ignoring everything has worked so well in this family.” He takes a step forward, his voice simmering with resentment. “Isn’t that how you work, Dad? Keeping everything buried under secrets, shoving us out whenever it’s ‘inconvenient’?”

Bruce’s eyes narrow, but Jason doesn’t flinch. The anger in his voice spills out with years of pent-up rage. “Funny. You act like you’re all about honesty, trust, family—but you’re just as much of a liar as she is. More, even. And you know it.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens, his voice coming out as a dangerous hiss. “This isn’t about secrets for the sake of it, Jason. This is about our safety. Your safety.”

Jason’s face twists with fury. “My safety? Are you kidding me? You know what’s not safe? Sending your kids out to fight psychos and maniacs every other night. You care more about Gotham than you ever did about us. About me.” His voice cracks, anger boiling over. “If she’s keeping secrets, it’s only because she knows that you’re incapable of dealing with anything you can’t control.”

Bruce glares at Jason, but he can feel the weight of all their eyes on him, each gaze a silent accusation.

Tim clears his throat, his voice careful but challenging. “But maybe there’s a reason she didn’t tell you, Dad. You’ve always been against… anything you can’t control. I don’t blame her for hiding it.”

Bruce’s gaze snaps to Tim, his fury mingling with a sense of betrayal that makes his voice icy. “I trusted her,” he snaps. “I trusted all of you. And now I find out that each one of you would rather protect her secrets than respect my right to know what’s happening in my own family?”

“Your family?” Damian’s voice is cold, almost mocking, as he crosses his arms. “Funny. You talk about family like you know what it means, but you treat us like soldiers. Like pieces on a chessboard you can push around and sacrifice when it’s convenient.” His words are bitter, razor-sharp. “Mother has her reasons, I’m sure. And if you can’t handle it, maybe that’s the issue.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow dangerously as he turns to Damian, his voice dropping to a deadly tone. “What I can’t handle is betrayal. Your mother has been lying to us—for years. You don’t keep something like this from your family.”

A scoff cuts through the room. “Family?” Duke says, his tone thick with disbelief. “You keep talking about family, but all you ever cared about is Gotham. You think being Batman gives you a free pass to ignore us, to push us out of your life and call it protection.” He takes a step forward, his voice steady but angry. “You weren’t even there when Jason—” Duke glances at Jason, his voice faltering, then regains his resolve, “when any of us needed you. And now you’re mad that she tried to do what you never did?”

Bruce’s fists clenched tighter, his face twisting with bitterness. “So this is all my fault?” He spits, his voice almost a snarl. “I put my life on the line every day to protect all of you. And this is what I get? Accusations? Disrespect?”

Dick steps forward, his face tense, his voice strong but filled with hurt. “No, Dad, this is what happens when you put Gotham before us. When you build walls around yourself and keep everything locked away. You think you’re protecting us, but you’re tearing us apart.” His gaze meets Bruce’s, steady and unwavering. “If you want to blame someone for all the secrets in this family, look in the mirror. We learned from the best, didn’t we?”

For a second, Bruce’s face softens, a flicker of pain crossing his features, but he steels himself, his gaze hardening. And then Jason steps forward, fists clenched, his voice dripping with scorn.

“You think you’re some great protector, but all you do is control. You’re so obsessed with Gotham, you can’t even see us for who we are. You use us, treat us like weapons, then demand loyalty?” He lets out a bitter laugh, stepping even closer. “Mom might have her secrets, but at least she gives a damn about us.”

Bruce’s face contorts in anger, and he takes a step toward Jason, his voice low and deadly. “Watch yourself, Jason.”

Jason’s sneer only deepens, his hands curling into fists as he stares Bruce down. “Or what, Bruce?” he spits, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re not half the father you think you are. You want everyone’s loyalty, but you don’t deserve it. Not like this.”

The words hang in the air, thick with tension, and for a moment, it feels like the thin thread holding them together is about to snap. Bruce’s hand twitches, his fury nearly blinding him, as he takes another step closer. It’s a heartbeat away from turning physical, the rage between them almost unbearable.

The tension in the room swells, pressing in like a storm about to break. The silence grows heavy, thick with unspoken accusations, with words so sharp and bitter they seem to hang in the air like knives. Each breath feels weighted, every glare a loaded weapon.

The boys are visibly shaken, their faces tense and guarded, raw emotions surfacing as they look at each other, uncertain, angry, hurt. Jason’s fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white; Damian’s face, usually calm, is clouded with a confusion he can barely conceal. Dick stands firm but pained, his shoulders taut, every inch of him aching with the burden of holding this family together. Tim’s gaze flits between Bruce and Alfred, his mind racing, analyzing every fractured piece of the scene. Duke, his usual calm slipping, looks ready to step forward, but something holds him back, a silent question in his eyes.

In the thick, tense silence, a presence shifts the air, drawing every eye to the doorway. It’s not the dramatic entrance of a warrior or a call for attention, but the quiet strength of a mother, a woman bearing secrets and scars. Scarlett stands there, her arms wrapped in bandages concealing the marks Bruce had seen, hiding the symbols that had just shattered the fragile trust between them.

Her face is pale, but her gaze is steady, deep as dark water, and beneath her composed exterior lies the weight of pain and secrets she’s carried alone for too long. There’s something hauntingly resolute about her, like a structure pieced together after a storm, refusing to let even a crack show. Every movement is deliberate, unyielding.

The boys, instinctively, draw closer to her, as if grounding themselves in her presence. Jason’s fists relax slightly, though his eyes still burn with restrained fury; Dick’s stance softens as he watches her, concern shadowing his face; Damian, usually guarded, reveals a flicker of vulnerable uncertainty, his gaze searching hers for reassurance. Each son looks to her with the raw ache of loyalty mixed with confusion, a need for answers balanced with an implicit, unshakable trust.

Scarlett meets each of their eyes, her expression unwavering as she takes a silent headcount, offering the reassurance only a mother’s presence can provide. Her calm gaze settles the chaos, even if just for a moment, promising them that no matter the secrets or tension, her love remains unshaken.

And then, breaking the stillness with a quiet strength that commands attention, she speaks.

"Enough."

The single word lands with the weight of an iron bell, stilling every lingering thought and dissolving even Bruce’s bitter glare. Her voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the air with a finality that no one can ignore, not even Bruce. His face snaps toward her, caught off-guard by the power of her voice.

But the shock quickly gives way to cold disdain, his gaze raking over her bandages. His mouth twists into a mocking smile. “Oh, so you’re finally here,” he sneers, his voice thick with venom. “How convenient that you’d rather hide behind those bandages, wrap up all your little *secrets* than show me who you really are. Was this your plan all along? Making me think I had a partner?” He laughs bitterly, each word an accusation. “Or was I just another pawn you thought you could use?”

Scarlett’s jaw tightens, but she stands her ground, meeting his gaze without flinching. Her voice is low, steady. “I was trying to protect this family, Bruce. I didn’t want to drag you into something you could never understand.”

“*Understand?*” Bruce’s face contorts with anger, his voice rising, accusations spilling from him like acid. “Protect us? You don’t know the first thing about protecting a family. *I’m* the one who’s held this family together while you lied to us every day, hiding whatever that was. I’ve sacrificed everything—for you, for Gotham, for these boys—and you… you just stood back and watched, hiding who you are.”

A flash of hurt flickers in Scarlett’s eyes, but she remains composed. “I did what I thought was best. I kept it hidden because I wanted to keep you safe.”

Jason steps forward, his frustration boiling over. “Funny, isn’t it?” he sneers. “That word doesn’t mean a damn thing around here. ‘Safe?’ No one’s safe in this family. We’re dragged into all your secrets, all your lies.” His gaze, blazing with betrayal, locks onto Bruce. “And you, Dad—don’t talk to me about loyalty. You care more about Gotham than us. Batman first, Gotham first. We’re just what’s left over.”

Bruce’s voice is cold and sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jason. *Everything* I’ve done has been for this family.”

“No,” Dick cuts in, his voice strong but carrying a tremor of hurt. “Everything you’ve done has been for you. Every decision you make, every wall you put up—it’s to keep us out and protect yourself. And we’ve been left to pick up the pieces while you keep us in the dark.”

Bruce’s gaze snaps to Dick, his face hardening. “I’m the one who’s kept this family alive. You couldn’t possibly understand the sacrifices I’ve had to make for Gotham, for *you.*”

Duke shakes his head, his tone cutting. “Sacrifices? Sure. But if we’re so safe, Bruce, why do we keep coming back broken? We’ve all had to keep secrets just to stay intact. And now you’re furious with Mom for trying to protect us? You’re mad that she did what you’ve done every day. Look in the mirror.”

Bruce’s fists tighten, his voice turning icy. “This isn’t the same, Duke. I haven’t lied to you about who I am.”

Tim’s voice slices through, measured and clear, the analytical mind behind it breaking through Bruce’s denial. “But you *have,* Dad. You kept us in the dark over and over. You hid Damian from us for *years.* You lied about Jason after… after what happened to him. You’ve kept things hidden from each of us, all the time. This family is built on secrets—and most of them are yours.”

Bruce’s eyes turn to Tim, his expression twisting with a bitter frustration. “Those weren’t lies; they were decisions I made to protect all of you.”

“Protect?” Damian laughs, a cold sound that carries the bite of deep disappointment. “Or protect your image, Father? You talk about family, but we’re just pawns on your board, part of your crusade. The minute we become inconvenient, you toss us aside or cover up the truth. Maybe Mother kept secrets because she knew what you’d do. And maybe the problem isn’t her—it’s you.”

A dangerous glint flashes in Bruce’s eyes as he steps toward Damian, his voice a low, deadly rumble. “What I can’t accept is betrayal. Your mother has lied to us all, hidden parts of herself that none of you could understand. And you’re blaming me?”

“Maybe she thought you wouldn’t understand,” Dick says, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. “Maybe she thought you’d react exactly like this—lashing out, accusing her instead of even asking why.” He holds Bruce’s gaze, his voice edged with pain. “Maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew you couldn’t handle it.”

A thick silence falls, and Bruce’s gaze lands back on Scarlett, his eyes filled with fury, his face hardening further as he stares at her, the bandages concealing everything he suddenly feels he doesn’t know about her.

“Oh, I can handle it,” he sneers, his voice low, mocking. “The real question is, what else are you hiding, Scarlett? Or was this all just some twisted game from the beginning?” His voice drops into a cold, scathing whisper as he steps closer. “Did you ever care about me? Or was I just another step in whatever plan you had?”

Scarlett’s expression holds steady, though pain flickers in her eyes. Her voice is quiet but unwavering. “I did what I thought was best for all of you, Bruce. I didn’t want to drag you into something you’d never accept.”

“Oh, spare me,” he spits, his voice full of contempt. “Best for you, more like. You kept us in the dark, treated me, treated all of us, like strangers. And you think that’s what’s best?” He leans in, his voice a cold, venomous whisper. “If I’d known who you really were, Scarlett… I would never have married you. I regret every single moment I wasted on your lies.”

His words hang heavy in the air, cruel and final, as Scarlett’s face pales, unshed tears brightening her eyes. The boys stare at him, each of them stunned, the devastation of his words settling over them like a suffocating weight.

She finally whispers, “You don’t mean that, Bruce.”

“Oh, I mean every word,” he sneers, bitterness dripping from every syllable. “You wanted secrets, Scarlett? Well, I want none of them. I want nothing to do with you if this is who you really are.”

The boys, caught in the tension, glance between their parents, trying to reconcile the love they thought they knew with the anger and betrayal spilling into the room.

Without another word, Bruce turns sharply, his footsteps echoing as he leaves the room, his final words hanging like a curse in the air. And as he disappears into the shadows, the shattered remnants of their family stand in stunned silence, the weight of his words pressing down on them like a suffocating shroud.

___________________________________________________________

Scarlett stands there in the heavy silence left in Bruce’s wake, her heart splintering with the weight of everything unsaid. She can feel the anger radiating from each of her sons, the betrayal simmering in their eyes, the questions they’re too hurt to voice. She forces herself to take a steadying breath, anchoring herself so she can be the calm in their storm, even as her own heart fractures under the burden of their pain.

She steps forward, her voice soft but imbued with a strength that she hopes they can lean on. “Come on,” she says gently, extending a hand to each of them as though gathering her flock. “Let’s sit down. Let’s talk.”

The boys exchange reluctant glances, some scowling, some averting their eyes, but they follow her, settling into the familiar comfort of the living room. Jason drops onto the couch with barely restrained fury, his gaze fixed on the floor, arms crossed tightly over his chest like a fortress. Damian sits stiffly, shoulders squared, masking the conflict within. Dick leans against the back of the couch, arms folded, his expression tense. Tim and Duke linger by the doorway, guarded and wary, their eyes flitting between her and the empty hall Bruce left through, as if hoping he might walk back through it.

Scarlett takes a seat beside Jason, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension wound tightly beneath her touch. “Jay,” she murmurs, her voice a balm, even if his walls are up. “It’s okay to be angry. You’ve got every right to be.”

Jason flinches but doesn’t pull away, though his jaw tightens, his voice raw and low. “Angry? That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He glances up at her, pain flickering in his gaze, barely concealed by the anger layered over it. “He doesn’t care about us, Ma. He only cares about himself—and that damn city.” His voice cracks, the vulnerability seeping through despite his effort to suppress it. “You’re the only one who’s ever really been here for us.”

The words cut deep, and Scarlett feels her heart shatter just a little more as she takes in the hurt he tries so hard to hide. “I know, Jason,” she says, voice steady but laced with sorrow, trying to reach through the bitterness to touch the young boy she remembers, the one who always looked for his father’s approval. “Your father… he has his own way of loving. It’s not perfect, but that doesn’t make your feelings any less valid.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Jason’s voice rises, frustration spilling out. “Why is he out there, doing what he does best—running from us?”

Scarlett lets the silence settle, her hand tracing soft, comforting circles on his shoulder, the way she used to when he was younger, before everything became so complicated. Her gaze drifts to the others, each of them wearing that same look, a mixture of frustration, hurt, and exhaustion, all of them silently asking the same question: Why isn’t he here?

Finally, she speaks, looking each of them in the eyes, grounding them with her gaze. “I can’t explain all his choices,” she says softly. “I wish I could. But I know he loves you, even if he doesn’t always know how to show it.”

Damian’s scoff breaks the moment, his posture rigid, arms crossed tightly. “Father has a very… peculiar way of showing love,” he mutters, sarcasm dripping from every word. “To him, we’re soldiers. Tools to be used in his crusade. That’s all we are to him.”

Scarlett turns to Damian, her expression softening as she reads the complicated tangle of hurt and pride in his eyes. “He’s not perfect, Damian,” she says, her voice a gentle balm. “None of us are. I know he can be… distant, cold even. But he’s just as human as the rest of us, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.”

Damian meets her gaze, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior. “Does he even know that, though?” he says, his voice softer, tinged with resentment.

Tim’s voice cuts in, calm but lined with a bitter edge. “That’s just it, Mom. He demands perfection from all of us, but he’s the first one to leave us behind when things get too hard.” His gaze is dark, conflicted, and Scarlett can see the weight of years spent trying to live up to his father’s impossible standards. “He sets expectations that no one can meet, then just… walks away when it suits him.”

Scarlett’s heart aches as she listens, taking in the toll Bruce’s distance has taken on each of them. “I know,” she says gently, reaching out to Tim, her touch light but comforting. “Sometimes he’s so focused on protecting all of you that he forgets you need more than just protection. And that’s unfair. It really is.”

Dick, leaning against the couch, lets out a long, weary sigh, his voice quiet but steady. “It just… it makes it hard to trust him, Mom. Every time he walks away, every time he shuts us out, it feels like he’s choosing his mission over us. Like we’re just… side projects.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his every movement. “And he doesn’t even realize it.”

Scarlett reaches for Dick’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, grounding him with the warmth of her touch. “I know, Dick,” she says softly, her eyes filled with a fierce love that envelops each of them. “You all deserve more than he’s giving you. And I know it’s hard—harder than it should be. But you’re not alone in this.” She glances around, her voice firm and steady. “You have each other. And you have me. No matter what happens, I’m here, and I will always be here.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, her words sinking in, and she can see each of them absorbing the reassurance she offers, letting it fill the void left by Bruce’s absence. Jason’s shoulders ease slightly, his anger softening into something quieter. Damian’s posture relaxes, the usual tension between him and the others fading, if only for a moment. Tim looks down, his expression unreadable, but she can feel the shift in him, the way her words have touched a part of him he rarely shows.

But beneath Scarlett’s calm exterior, a storm rages. She feels the weight of her choices, the secrets she’s kept, bearing down on her with unrelenting force. She wonders how much of this hurt she could have prevented if she’d been more honest, if she hadn’t woven her life with Bruce out of carefully constructed facades.

A memory stirs, drawing her back to the early days, when everything felt simpler, when she hadn’t yet seen the cracks forming beneath the surface of the life they’d built.

The memory washed over Scarlett, vivid and raw, as if she were back on that rooftop with Bruce, caught between the stars and Gotham’s fractured lights. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of rain and smoke, and each sound—the faint hum of the city below, the occasional gust of wind—felt amplified against the silence that stretched between them. She remembered the feeling coursing through her then: a thrill tinged with fear, an excitement she could hardly contain. She had been so young, eager to escape her past, to finally seize control of her own destiny. Being here with Bruce had felt like a door opening to a life that once seemed impossible.

She’d stood beside him, teetering between disbelief and exhilaration, tasting freedom on the edge of every breath. Her past with Ra’s al Ghul felt like a distant ghost, something she could leave behind if only she played her part well enough. She saw in Bruce Wayne the ultimate escape, a life that promised security, power, and maybe even the family she had always craved but never dared to dream of. Yet there was something else, too—a magnetism she hadn’t expected, a pull toward the man behind the wealth and mystique. She knew she had walked onto this rooftop to be exactly who he needed, carefully crafting herself into that perfect “cool girl” he might fall for. And yet, standing here, looking at him, she found herself suddenly questioning her own intentions.

Beside her, Bruce was half-hidden in the dim light, his features etched in shadow, his gaze fixed on the skyline. There was something unbreakable about him, a figure carved from stone and shadow, an enigma that made him seem almost otherworldly. But tonight, as she watched him, she could see a glimmer of something else, something fragile beneath the armor he wore. He wasn’t just Gotham’s billionaire or some untouchable vigilante; he was a man bearing a burden that seemed insurmountable. It was that rawness she saw beneath his façade that intrigued her, more than any amount of money or status could.

They shared the silence for a while, sipping wine as they looked out over the lights of Gotham, two figures united yet worlds apart. Scarlett could feel the weight he carried, a heaviness that seeped into his every movement, as if he were bearing the weight of the night itself. She felt a strange pull to ease that weight, to step into a role he’d never asked her to play but that she could see he needed. And yet, a small voice whispered that this was more than just a role. She wanted him to look at her and see something beyond the woman she pretended to be.

And then, as if pulled by some invisible force, he spoke, his voice low, barely more than a murmur. “Do you ever wonder if it’ll end?”

She blinked, caught off-guard. Bruce, ever composed and controlled, rarely revealed anything personal. For weeks, he had been a fortress, someone whose charm and mystery she could only glimpse, never fully reach. But tonight, something had shifted. She leaned in, cautious, aware that this might be one of those rare moments where he allowed himself to be vulnerable, even if only for a moment.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper, careful not to break whatever fragile connection had formed between them.

“This,” he said, gesturing out to the city sprawling below them, Gotham stretching endlessly into the dark. “This need to protect it. To keep it from falling apart.” He paused, his hand falling back to his side, and his gaze turned distant, his eyes darkened as if he were somewhere else entirely. “Sometimes I wonder if it’ll ever be enough. If anything I do will ever be enough.”

Scarlett felt something shift within her as she listened, sensing the depth of his burden. She could see it in the way his gaze lingered on the skyline, the city that had shaped him and scarred him in equal measure. But tonight, there was something different—a vulnerability that clung to him, making him seem less like Gotham’s mythic hero and more like a man struggling to hold himself together.

“Gotham’s… always been home,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s also the place that took everything from me. My parents. My sense of safety. There are nights when I feel like I’m fighting against something impossible, trying to save a city that doesn’t even want to be saved.”

Scarlett’s heart twisted as she listened. She knew the story of his parents—everyone in Gotham did. But hearing him speak of them, feeling the anguish woven into each word, made him feel heartbreakingly real. She understood, then, that his mission wasn’t just about Gotham; it was about trying to fill the void that had been left in him as a child, a promise he’d made to himself to never feel powerless again.

“When I was young, I thought the world was safe. That it would always protect me.” He laughed then, a hollow sound that seemed to echo into the night. “But that night—” His voice faltered, and his face hardened as he looked out over the city. “Everything I thought I knew, everything I believed, it all disappeared in an instant. I realized that no one was going to protect me. No one could.”

A chill ran down her spine, her own heart breaking for the boy he must have been, the boy forced to grow up in a single, shattering moment. She wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap between them, but she sensed he would only pull away. So instead, she let the silence linger, allowing him the space to speak, to collect himself.

“And that’s when you decided…” She let her question hang in the air, sensing he would understand, even if she didn’t finish it.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone resolute, though a dark resolve had seeped into his words. “That’s when I knew that if I wanted the world to be safe, I had to make it that way myself. I couldn’t let myself be vulnerable again. I couldn’t let anyone else feel what I felt.”

There was a silence then, a weight that settled over them as his words hung between them, unspoken truths filling the empty space. She could see it etched in his features, the years of pain and anger that had shaped him, the walls he’d built so high even he couldn’t see over them. Batman wasn’t just a mission or a mask; it was the only way he knew how to survive. Yet she sensed that the same armor that protected him had also trapped him, locking away any part of himself that might still feel.

“You carry so much,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, afraid to shatter the fragile openness between them.

He looked at her, his gaze piercing, as if studying her, weighing her understanding. “It’s not something I expect anyone to understand,” he replied quietly, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Not really. Batman… he’s the only part of me that makes sense. When I'm with him, everything is clear. The purpose, the mission—it’s the one thing that feels real.”

Scarlett felt her breath catch, realizing that Bruce Wayne was little more than a shell, a role he played for the world. Batman was who he truly was. He’d compartmentalized his pain, his trauma, turning it into a weapon, and yet she sensed he’d lost himself in the process. And standing here, she felt herself slip into her own role, crafting herself around his needs, becoming the woman who would understand without question, who could shoulder his darkness with quiet strength.

But beneath her calm exterior, a small voice whispered that she wasn’t here only for him. She was here for herself, too, for the life he could give her, for the chance to build a future free of her past. She was drawn to him, yes, but she had crafted her persona deliberately, adapting herself to fit his world, his desires. She was the “cool girl” who wouldn’t flinch at his shadows, who could meet his intensity with unwavering resolve. It was manipulation, she knew, but a necessary one—one that would allow her to escape Ra’s, to create the life she’d always dreamed of.

Yet as she listened to him speak, something deeper stirred within her, an unexpected tenderness that caught her off guard. She was drawn to his brokenness, to the pain he carried so privately. She wanted to be the person who could understand him, to be the one he turned to when the darkness grew too heavy. She wanted him to trust her, not because she played a role, but because he saw her as the one person who wouldn’t turn away.

“Then why keep up with Bruce Wayne?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. “Why not let the world see Batman instead?”

He gave a dark, hollow laugh. “Because Bruce Wayne is necessary. He’s a distraction, a mask. If people saw the real me… they’d see the darkness, and that’s not something the world needs.” He looked at her then, his expression hard, yet with a flicker of something vulnerable. “The world doesn’t need me. It needs the myth.”

And in that moment, Scarlett realized that she had lost control of her game. This wasn’t just manipulation anymore. She cared for him, deeply, in ways she hadn’t anticipated. She wanted him to see beyond the mask she wore, to know the woman beneath the facade. But she had built herself around his needs, and now, she was trapped in a role she had created, bound by her own manipulations.

They sat together in silence, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Finally, his hand brushed over hers, a small, tentative gesture, and her heart quickened. She had crafted herself to be his perfect companion, yes, but somewhere along the way, she had fallen for him. For the man beneath the armor, for his complexity and pain. And in that touch, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, one day, he would see her for who she truly was.

But as the years passed, that hope withered, cracked under the weight of the personas they’d both created. She had molded herself around his darkness, but she had done so at a cost, bound to a man who belonged more to shadows than to her. And now, as she sat beside her sons, aching for the family she’d tried so hard to hold together, Scarlett felt the weight of that night settle over her. She had wanted to be his partner, his equal, but in doing so, she had bound herself to his darkness, forever caught between the woman she truly was and the mask she wore to be loved.

A soft touch on her hand pulls her back to the present, and Scarlett’s gaze meets Jason’s. His anger, always so fierce and relentless, has softened into something raw, something painfully vulnerable. He looks at her with eyes that, despite the walls he’s built, reveal a flicker of the boy he once was, the boy who trusted her implicitly, the boy who had once looked to her for all the safety he could never find in his father’s absence.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” His voice is barely a whisper, a plea wrapped in bravado, but she can see the fear buried deep beneath it.

A tender smile softens her face as she reaches out, brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead, just as she had done when he was young. “No, Jay,” she murmurs, her voice steady but gentle, infused with a quiet strength that she knows they all need. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lets her gaze sweep over each of them, taking in the lines of tension in Damian’s posture, the guarded look in Tim’s eyes, the quiet ache on Dick’s face, the simmering frustration in Duke’s furrowed brow. These were her sons—not bound by blood, but by choice, by the promises she had made to them over the years. And now, looking at each one of them, she knows that, despite everything, she would keep those promises until her last breath.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” she says softly, letting her words settle into the stillness that’s fallen over them. “I’m here for all of you. Always.”

__________________________________________________________

Prior Chapters:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

_____________________________________________________________

Story Timeline and Overview:

_____________________________________________________________

Additional info:

I know Jason never calls Bruce "dad" unless by accident in the comics. I sort of did that vibe. But generally when reading, I want it to read as sarcastic or even him subconsciously doing so. The idea is that underneath it all he does see/consider Bruce his dad and wants a dad. So if I write him saying dad it's a vulnerable moment where he cares and wants love.

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dickmedowndc · 2 months ago

Text

Future Promises - Bart Allen x Bat!Reader

Word Count: 1,405

Summary: You could plan and follow through with a multi-month mission, undercover, while still coordinating with all your other team members. You had been in life and death situations more than you could count. You had once told Batman to go fuck himself in front of the League and not even flinched! And yet the idea of walking down that aisle the next day had your stomach dropping. You wanted to marry Bart; you were more than ready to do so. The idea had been to follow the tradition of separating and limiting communication of the soon-to-be newlyweds the night before. But tradition could choke for all you cared – you needed to call Bart before you ended up sick.

Notes: Requested by @ adoringnef (Wattpad).

<< Part I <Part II

…★…

It had been a year and a half since Bart had proposed to you, maybe a longer, but he had been nothing but patient in the planning, or quick to cover something when it seemed to be going astray. Money had not been an issue this time – you would have swiped one of Bruce’s cards regardless, but the man had already agreed to pay for what you needed. Not to say the two of you were not funding parts on your own as well, but the extra money had been an aid in securing a more private venue outside of Gotham and Central.

Otherwise, things had fallen into order easily – but it helped when you had strings to pull.

That did not, however, stop the pit in your stomach from growing into a cavern as your anxieties worsened. You were ready to marry Bart Allen, there was no doubt about that in your mind. But you would be just as ready to drag him off and get eloped, because it was the thought of walking down that aisle, all the things that could go wrong so easily, that was what terrified you.

A world ending event, tripping over your own feet on the stand, someone getting food poisoning at your wedding.

Everything made worse by the fact that you did not have Bart next to you.

The parties and the events leading up to the big day had been fun, but they had kept you busy, and less and less the pair of you had been able to be with one another. This proved especially true as you both zipped around your respective cities to try and clean up as many messes and ragged criminals that remained determined to ruin things for the two of you without even knowing. Either way, it had been never ending it seemed.

Though Bart had shown it far less, you knew it was wearing on him as well. If he started spiraling you might too, so he was right alongside you, powering through the worst of it and taking his time with you where he could get it.

Until tonight.

The night before your wedding, while everything was done with for a few hours. Everything was as quiet as you could get it. But it felt like the silence was eating at your insides with the empty bedspace next to you. Those same anxieties that had started plaguing you days ago only grew louder with nobody but yourself to quiet them out. And as much as you loved your friends and team, there was one individual better than any other to help.

Tradition be damned, you would see your fiancé.

Rolling out of bed, you stumble across the room in the dark looking for where you had set your phone a bit further from yourself earlier in the evening. You find it when you bang your knee against the stand and the screen lights up. Using the phone screen’s light to guide you, you make your way back to the bed and under the covers, wrapped up in a duvet cocoon.

It takes no time at all before you’re ringing Bart, his contact already in your favorites, right at the very top.

It rings three times, and you’re beginning to think this is a bad idea, because your speedster needs his sleep for tomorrow as well. It doesn’t seem fair to try calling so late, but stopping now just means questions in the morning and possibly upsetting him when you don’t try – so it is too late now.

On the fourth ring Bart picks up the phone with a groggy hello. “Baby bat?”

You open your mouth but find you cannot will the words out the way you want to. Nothing but dead silence comes from your end, and you can hear shuffling, assuming Bart is beginning to properly wake up in response to your odd behavior. And they are odd, there are few times you’re at a true loss for words, so it has his attention now.

The line goes dead for a moment, and you pull your phone back from your ear in surprise, looking at the ended call. Only for someone to take it from your hands a moment later as a gust of wind blows in after him.

“You look tired, have you slept?”

You rub your hand over your eyes, trying to knock the sleep from them as you shake your head and give a muttered no.

“Come here,” he urges, slipping under the covers next to you and wrapping his arms tight around you. “Is it about the wedding?”

You think for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “I’m ready to marry you. It’s just with everything that’s been going on I’ve barely seen you or had a moment to relax, just me or us. It’s just been a lot, you know?” Your hand goes up in the air as your frustrations bubble upwards. “And I just needed to see you. I hate sleeping without you next to me.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I thought you wanted to do this part though? The whole night before thing.”

“I thought so, and maybe if we had been able to see each other more before I would be fine? But this just fucking sucks right now.” You hiss the words out, letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you curl into him tightly.

“Good, because I’m not a huge fan of it either.” he drags the both of you down as he flops onto the pillows, pulling the covers up snuggly around of your bodies.

For a moment you readjust, stretching out but staying wrapped around him like velcro. “You’re not?”

“No way – I'd rather be right here next to you too. I fell asleep eventually, I guess, but I kept waking up anyways. I wanted to text you, but I didn’t want to wake you up if you had already gone to sleep.” He kisses the top of your head where you are now tucked under his chin. Bart keeps his hold on you with just as much enthusiasm, keeping his arms wrapped securely around your waist. “They might freak out in the morning though; I know they were going to try to pour water on me before my alarm.”

“Whose idea was that?” you mumble out, already finding sleep is beginning to come easy to you as your anxieties lessen. Bart’s voice is a lullaby, and he makes the perfect pillow as you listen to his heartbeat right under your ear.

“I think it was a group brainstorm or something. Their loss, I get to wake up to you instead.”

You can hear the grin in his voice when he next speaks.

“Besides, I already set my alarm early so I would be ready for them.”

“Let them panic for a little bit, they’ll check here next anyways.” you open your eyes for a moment to look up at him. “Probably, at least.”

“You’re the only person that gets to prank me tomorrow. Like shoving cake in my face.”

“I’m not shoving cake in your face, don’t worry.”

“But you could, and I would be fine with that, just so you know.”

You snort at his antics, but find your head is too heavy to shake at him and you won’t jeopardize your positions. “You just want cake in your mouth faster if you can get it.”

“You’re not wrong, plus we have to share with everyone.”

“We can get more cupcakes or something after the wedding if you still want them,” you promise, tapping at his chest lightly where your hand rests on him.

Bart hums at that and you can feel his own heartbeat slowing, breath evening out.

“Thank you for coming.” you whisper, receiving a squeeze in response that has you humming.

“There is nowhere I’d rather be. Except maybe at our wedding alter when we wake up so I can kiss you.”

“And I can finally start calling you my husband. I love you.” You say, yawning before tucking your face against him. He says something but the words are too fuzzy and you’re too tired surrounded by his warmth to stay awake any longer. Maybe you’ll get butterflies tomorrow, but that dread about something going wrong is gone, knowing Bart will be there right beside you if you need it.

#nicole writes #dc x reader #bart allen x reader #impulse x reader #bat!reader

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