I feel like Battinson would thrive in a longer and bigger cape 🤔
thinking about autistic battinson carrying a lil bat shaped pop it on his utility belt so when he gets overstimulated he just sits on top of a building and goes pop pop pop pop
me, realizing my hyperfixations are a little bit insane: oh no, i’m acting weird and my digital footprint from this phase could hurt my career
me again, just wanting to be happy: el oh el brain go brrr
shadows in the night
battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader
summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story
a/n: Trying to post once a week for you guys! I have a couple more chapters completed and hopefully I can write a few more even with this stupid writer’s block.
All donations on ko-fi receive a teaser for an upcoming chapter! Find the link here.
word count: 2967
And then he was gone, another shadow in the night.
Y/n didn’t think she’d ever driven home so fast in her life.
She didn’t bother taking the car through the front gate or to the garage. She drove it straight to the Batcave, leaping out the second she was far enough inside. She left the keys inside and the door open in her haste.
She hurried to the computer and switched on the feed for Bruce’s contact lens with one hand while turning on the TV to the news station with the other. She grabbed her gear and started pulling it on. Maybe she could make it back. She could at least be there if something went wrong.
The elevator started its rattling ascent.
On the screen before her, Bruce was looking at a phone. A phone with the Riddler’s masked face on it.
On the news, they were reporting that the bomb squad was on the scene, but that the Batman had shown up and somehow made his way inside.
With shaking hands, y/n texted Gordon. What is he doing there? she asked him. Better to play it safe, act like she didn’t know anything.
The elevator was coming back down.
The text came surprisingly fast. Card was addressed to him. Not sure how he knew. You two make it home alright?
Y/n had to take a steadying breath. No, her fucking fiance was standing in front of a live bomb and video chatting with a serial killer. Yes, we made it. Just turned on the news. Be careful out there.
The news was reporting that the Riddler was livestreaming the entire thing.
“Fuck,” y/n said right as Alfred came off the elevator.
“I got the alert that someone–” He stopped in his tracks as he saw both screens. “Is he–”
“Yes,” she said. A single tear slipped out as she pulled up the livestream on her phone. Now she had three angles of the whole thing–Bruce’s, the Riddler’s, and what the news was reporting, mostly from outside the building.
Her phone chirped with a text alert. Gordon again. I’ll let you know when he makes it out.
When, not if. Gordon had confidence that the Batman would be okay. She tried to let that steady her, but Gordon had no idea just how invested she was in the vigilante.
“Three riddles in two minutes,” the Riddler was saying. He seemed…gleeful, almost. “You give me the answers, and I’ll give you the code for the lock. Do you understand?”
Y/n sank into one of the chairs. Her entire body shook. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch. Two minutes until the bomb blew. Two minutes, and Bruce was still standing way too close.
“He wouldn’t let me come,” she told Alfred. She peered up at him with tear-filled eyes. Alfred squeezed her shoulder. And there was no way she could make it there in time.
“It’s alright, love,” he said softly. But he was as scared as she was. She could tell from the tightness in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. And his hand trembled slightly from where it rested on her shoulder. “It’s best that you didn’t.”
“Alfred,” she choked out in agony as she watched the timer ticking down much too fast. Both of his hands were on her shoulders now, anchoring her. That, or keeping her in her seat so she wouldn’t go rushing back towards Bruce. Towards danger. Because she ached to, but two minutes wasn’t enough time to even finish getting her suit on, let alone reach him in time.
Her blood roared in her ears. She opened her eyes to watch. She had to know if it happened. She had to see what was going on. She tried to force herself to listen, to get any sort of clues that Bruce might be hearing too, but all she could hear was her own heartbeat pounding fearfully.
On the screen before her and on her phone, she heard talk of justice and bribes. But it was all extra noise.
She watched through Bruce’s eyes as the counter ticked closer and closer to zero.
“What’s his name?” Bruce asked. The rat. They were talking about the rat. She tried to make herself focus. Because this is what Bruce had been after, hadn’t it? The missing piece? The key to the case?
Y/n’s mouth was bone dry as the Riddler practically giggled, “Twenty seconds!”
“Move away you idiot,” she hissed even though Bruce couldn’t hear her. It hit her then–the earpiece. He had the earpiece in. She started frantically searching across the desk.
“I’m a dead man either way. You’re talking to a dead man, okay? If I go out this way, it’s just me. But if I give over that name, I have family, people I love. He’ll kill them too.” Colson was more coherent than he had been, but still frantic.
“No,” y/n cried as she watched the bomb’s timer tick down and down and down. Selina still had the other earpiece. She couldn’t even talk to him–couldn’t reach him–
“Who will?” Bruce demanded in a growl.
“People are watching,” Colson whispered. Bruce was right in front of the man, their chests almost touching.
Y/n leapt from her seat and paced backwards.
No, he was too close, there wasn’t enough time left–
Colson was sobbing now. “It’s so much bigger than you could ever imagine. It’s the whole system!”
“Five! Four!” The Riddler’s shouting was excited.
“Back up you fucking idiot!” she half-shouted at the screen. She dug her fingers into her hair.
On the screen, Bruce’s eyes locked on the timer right as it hit zero.
The screen exploded in a blaze of fire.
And then it went dark.
“Breaking news–we’ve just been informed that an explosive device has–”
Y/n scrambled for her phone. “No, no, no,” she cried. She could barely see through the haze of tears. She tried to call Gordon, but no answer.
She called Bruce’s work phone.
Then his regular phone.
She heard it ring from the car behind her.
She screamed again and slammed her fists onto the table.
She snatched up the keys.
She was going to find the Riddler and kill him herself.
Alfred was calling her name but she didn’t hear it. Her mind was as blank as the screen the video had been on.
“Stop!” Alfred said. He snatched at her arm. “Stop.”
“Let me go, Alfred!” she snarled at him, half-feral with grief and rage.
“We don’t know that he’s–” Alfred didn’t finish the sentence.
“Dead?” she said. Her voice broke on the word. She yanked her arm away. “A bomb just went off in his fucking face! I told him not to–”
Her phone chirped.
It was a text from Gordon. A text that sent her to her knees.
Alive. Taking to station.
“He’s alive.” A sob exploded from her chest. “He’s alive, Gordon said he’s alive.”
Alfred sank down beside her and wrapped her in his arms. “Oh, thank God.” He pressed a shaking kiss to her hair.
She cried into Alfred’s shirt for a full minute before she got herself together enough to say, “He said they’re taking him to the station, what if they–what if they remove the mask?”
A different fear, more subtle and cold, slithered through her.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Alfred said calmly, ever the professional. “Let’s wait for more information first. But remember, Wayne Enterprises has very good lawyers.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m glad Bruce is as rich as God,” she said. But her chest was still aching. Bruce was still in danger. Alive, but probably hurt, and in danger of his identity being revealed to the whole of GCPD.
It was Alfred’s turn to laugh.
“I’m going–I need to get down there, just in case–” She made to stand, but Alfred held fast.
“No. Be smart. What on earth would Bruce Wayne’s fiance be doing checking on Batman? Especially when you’re both supposed to be home safe right now.” She idly thought that Alfred was using his dad voice on her. And it was working.
She took a deep breath. “I just–” She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. For a minute, she had believed that Bruce was dead. And now she wanted nothing more than to run to him and see with her own eyes that he was okay.
“I know, dear. I know. They’ll get him medical help if he needs it. And we have the lawyers on standby. Just in case.” Alfred closed his eyes for a moment. They were wet like hers. She was dizzy with the switch between immense grief and tentative relief. Bruce was alive. He was alive. She clung to that, grateful beyond words to Gordon for texting her. He had no idea how much he’d saved her with that simple text.
They had no choice but to sit and wait. Y/n texted Bruce’s work phone on the off chance that it still worked. Are you okay?
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said after a while. They’d been half-watching the news coverage. At this point, it was mostly repeats of everything that had happened. There was no new information. She fiddled with her engagement ring. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest as she remembered Bruce in their bedroom down on one knee asking her to spend her life with him.
“He or Gordon will let us know,” Alfred said soothingly. “Or we’ll see it on the news.”
“No, I mean–He–I–” She bit her lip. “I don’t know if I can keep up with him when he’s like this. When he’s throwing himself into danger.”
Alfred went still. “He’s been doing this the whole time you two have been…involved,” he finally said. She could tell he was using his words carefully.
“He was just blown up, Alfred,” she reminded him. Her voice broke again. “It’s–I tried to talk him out of it and he wouldn’t listen. I told him to be careful, and he was still right there when the fucking thing went off. What am I supposed to do? Watch him try and get himself killed like that when it’s avoidable?”
Alfred stayed quiet.
“I just–I love him too much.” She angrily wiped at the escaping tears. “I don’t want him to stop, I want him to be smarter about it. I want him to care if he lives or dies.”
Still Alfred was quiet.
It wasn’t like she wanted to break up with Bruce–she simply wanted him to see. Wanted him to understand what shit like this did to her. What it would always do to her. Was Gotham more important than she was to him? Did he love Gotham more than he loved her?
“Y/n,” Alfred said gently. “Don’t forget what you’re doing, too. You send yourself into danger, too.”
She opened her mouth to argue but her phone chirped with a text alert.
When she saw the black circle emoji, relief washed through her as painful as a hot shower after the freezing cold.
OK was all the text said. But it was Bruce. He was fine. He was letting her know he was fine.
She was crying again.
“I am going to fucking kill him,” she said. She clenched her phone so tightly in one fist she was afraid it would snap. “I’m going to finish the job for the Riddler the moment he gets home.”
“That was him?” Alfred asked. He leaned forward in his seat–Bruce’s usual chair.
“Yeah. Said he’s okay.”
Alfred sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe I should call Dr. Torres.”
“Maybe. Maybe his suit’s more bomb proof than we thought.” But she had a feeling it wasn’t. She was going to immediately make him find ways to bomb proof that fucking suit. She was going to handcuff him to herself so he couldn’t throw himself into danger. She was going to–she didn’t know what. The relief washed through her but it was tainted with lingering grief and fear and even anger.
They lapsed into another silence, time passing achingly slowly.
About a half an hour later, their phones both went off with an alert that someone was in the tunnels. She leapt to her feet even before she had the camera feed pulled up. There was only one person it could be.
She was running, slipping in a slick wet spot on the concrete, and was at the huge hangar door just as it started opening.
Bruce limped inside.
Y/n let out a strangled noise and crashed into him. Her lips met his and she kissed him with every ounce of anger and grief and relief she had. He grunted. It was loud enough that she stepped back immediately.
“Are you okay?” she asked quickly. “Where are you hurt? Did they take the mask off?”
He limped past her. “No. ‘M fine.”
His cape was missing and he was on foot. He’d walked all the way home. “Bruce–” she said. He stopped. His fists were clenched. “What happened?”
He let out a long breath. He kept his head down. He didn’t look at her or Alfred. “Woke up at the station. They tried to take off my mask but I fought. Gordon convinced them to leave us alone. He helped me escape. Had to jump off the roof.” At her wordless noise he looked up. He gave a humorless smile that was there and gone again in a blink. “Cape’s a wingsuit.” That explained the missing cape, then. But Bruce winced. “I–miscalculated. Hit a bus.”
“You–you got hit by a bus?” she asked incredulously.
Bruce was at the workstation, the screen still blank from the exact moment he’d been blown up. “No. Hit a bus. Pulled the chute too soon.” He rolled his shoulders back, obviously in pain, and grunted again.
She could only goggle at him with her mouth open. She and Alfred exchanged a look.
“We need to call Dr. Torres,” Alfred said. “Have him check you out.”
“No,” Bruce said, his voice suddenly sharp and decisive. “I have to meet Gordon.”
Y/n was at the dummy containing her mask before he was even done speaking. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you aren’t,” Bruce said.
But she already had most of her armor on, had been in it since she’d gotten back. She pulled the mask on and the hood over her head. “Shut up,” she snapped at him. “You just got blown up and hit by a bus, and you want me to stay here? I should fucking tie you up after the shit you just pulled!”
Bruce at least had the decency to look chastened. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Alfred’s eyebrows shoot up.
“I’m coming with you because this is the only fucking way I can make sure you don’t die!” She was shouting, but she couldn’t seem to calm down. Her words bounced around the space around them and echoed back to them. She heard the distant noise of the bats as the echoes got them stirred up.
All she had left to put on was her belt and gloves.
“Take off the armor,” she said after a moment of Bruce simply staring at her.
He jolted. “What?”
“Take it off. I need to see how bad it is. That way I can tell how bad to feel for punching you in the face.” She crossed her arms and waited.
Bruce looked to Alfred for help, but the old man’s spine straightened. “You heard her,” he said in that dad voice of his. At least Alfred was on her side in this.
Bruce sighed heavily, but did as he was told. He didn’t take off the armored pants, but the rest of it came off, cowl included.
Y/n couldn’t help her sharp inhale.
Bruce’s normally pale skin was already turning a deep, mottled purple and black. It was the worst around his shoulders, but there wasn’t much skin that wasn’t covered in fresh bruises. She cursed under her breath.
Y/n grabbed the first aid kit with more force than necessary. She dumped out four painkillers and handed them to Bruce, who wordlessly dry-swallowed them.
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Bruce rasped as she and Alfred both looked him over.
Y/n laughed. “Yeah, and I’m the fucking president,” she muttered. Feeling a little spiteful, she poked a spot on his side. He hissed in pain and immediately tried to cover the sound. “I’m sure that’s not broken.”
He simply stared down at her. “I’m sorry,” he said as she started slathering him in arnica ointment for the bruises.
“You almost died,” she said, anger and fear still tightening her throat. “I thought you were dead.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I–”
“Save it,” she snapped. She ripped open a bandage and smacked it a little too roughly on a small cut on one of his biceps. Bruce sucked in a breath again. “Idiot,” she muttered to him. He simply looked up at her, his eyes tired and almost blank.
She softened. She leaned her head against one of the few parts of his chest that wasn’t bruised. She inhaled the scent of him–more sweat and gunpowder than anything at the moment, but still Bruce–and let the breath shudder out of her. “Let’s just catch this asshole, yeah?”
Bruce grunted again.
“Let’s go see Gordon,” she said as she kissed him lightly on the lips. “And in case it wasn’t clear, I’m glad you aren’t dead.”
A ghost of a smile on Bruce’s lips before he kissed her back. “Me too.”
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More Battinson headcanons because this enby got a problem:
He likes to wash dishes, after his parents died it was just him and Alfred so Bruce had to do some chores, including the dishes. And he likes it, helps him clear his mind, he can’t explain it he just likes it. One time when he just had a shit day and was sitting in a restaurant he frequents, and just couldn’t anymore, he went up to the owner who he knew somewhat and in the quietest most tumblr small text tone asked if he could do the dishes, and the owner deeply perplexed but not wanting to upset the prince of the city just let him. No one really talked about it, because it was so strange.
He pays in exact change, every time. He has multiples of every bill and coin on him and pays exactly down to the penny every time. Its weird but he also leaves like $200 as a tip so you don’t see any service people talk about it.
He likes animals but doesn’t think he could keep one alive so he has Nintendogs and that aquarium game for the DS and still plays it.
He used to go to sleep away camp in the Catskills with Kate and Beth. The first year he hated it, but he learned to like it. The activities where fun and he could spend time with his cousins. He still has the photos, he sometimes looks at them, especially the one of the three of them sitting under tree smiling from ear to ear as it rained cats and dogs. That was the last year he really went, the paparazzi and a kidnapping attempt meant that he was kept close. Kate would always send him a postcard, he still has all of them.
He’s the right age and is from New Jersey he’s named after Bruce Sprigsteen.
He was never on any teams but excelled at sports in school, he always won the games in gym but never joined any clubs. This just made people think he was weirder.
He collected stamps and coins, all his albums are in a bookshelf somewhere. He used to do it with Alfred.
He’s such a babygirl (he is the most traumatized man to ever grace the silver screen)
On My Own | Chapter 54
Series Summary: In the aftermath of the trauma caused by the Riddler, Bruce and Araminta try their best to navigate their turbulent relationship. Bruce struggles to live two separate lives, leaving little crumbs of his secret identity in his path. A new enemy emerges, jeopardizing the life Bruce has desperately tried to build with Araminta.
A/N: 5k words of pain i hope you love suffering
CAUTION: THERE ARE THEMES OF SUICIDE, EXCESSIVE DRINKING, AND ABUSIVE BEHAVIORS IN THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
Friday, January 31
With the entire city on the hunt for the Batman, Bruce thought it best to lay low for a while until he started patrolling every night. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t working, and that didn’t mean he didn’t want to go out as his alter ego.
With the Penguin gone so soon after Falcone’s death, the criminal underworld started dissolving. Instead of one mob ruling the city, several smaller factions broke off–each engaging in their own bloody turf wars to try and collect the scraps of Falcone and Penguin’s fall from glory. The police were already stretched thin as it was looking for the Batman, the death of the fifteen officers still fresh on their minds. They had little time (or patience) to try and get in the middle of it all. GCPD’s only priority was finding the Batman, eager to make him pay for everything he’s done. Even if he never intended for any of it to happen.
Bruce wears his armor in the batcave while he works. Partially because it’s a habit to put it all on when he’s down here. Partially because it makes him feel comfortable. Partially because he hates feeling useless as Bruce Wayne.
Bruce flinches slightly when he hears a large crash from behind him, and he peeks over his shoulder to find a very embarrassed looking Araminta surrounded by a plethora of weapons she just accidentally knocked off the racks. She quickly hides her hands behind her back and apologizes to him. Bruce just smiles at her.
“It’s okay.” He tells her, holding out a hand and motioning to the table in front of him with his head. “Come here.”
She takes his hand and he guides her to stand in front of him. Her back to the computer screens, Bruce sitting at his chair in front of her. “I’m sorry.” She says again. “I didn’t mean to come down here and bug you. I know you’re getting antsy about staying in every night. I just thought you could use some company while you worked.”
Her voice is still slightly horse from the sickness she recently overcame. It had her bedridden for three days, and she practically started bouncing off the walls when she felt well enough to get out of bed. Bruce found it endearing, and relieving–because that meant that she was okay. The second day of her illness, when she seemed to take a turn for the worst, Bruce had had a momentary panic. The what if’s started floating around in his head, and he found it hard to look at her without thinking about her dying because of a simple flu he had accidentally brought home. After everything they’d been through together, it would have been cruel for the world to take her away like that. But she had assured him it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Despite being hardly able to move for three days, she still tried to keep a positive attitude to help Bruce keep a steady head.
Bruce doesn’t know how she does it–manages to make being okay seem so easy. She somehow finds good in everything and can find the strength within herself to smile even through her worst days. Bruce assumes she probably does it for his sake, knowing how much he relies on her strength to maintain his own. He admires her for that.
“You can come down here to keep me company whenever you want. Even though you make a mess every time you’re down here.” He tells her.
She eyes him suspiciously. “That’s not true!”
He hums. “I seem to distinctly remember you making a mess on the hood of my car.” He kisses her neck, right under her ear, and it makes her shudder. “And in the back seat.” He kisses the curve of her neck now, sucking a small red mark where her shirt collar sits. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes while he peppers kisses along every inch of the exposed skin on her neck, leaving ever-so-gentle love bites in his path.
“If you don’t stop I might make a mess on this table, too.” She tells him as he slips his hands under her shirt to feel the soft skin of her waist.
“I’ll take my chances.” He whispers into her ear. He kisses her with intense fervor as he drags his hands down the backs of her thighs, gripping them and then hoisting her up onto the desk. She giggles as she hears him push the contents of the desktop to the floor to give them more room, and they kiss again as he pulls her to the edge of the table. The action was quick and unexpected, and she gasps, letting her hands catch her so that she doesn’t fall backwards. When her right palm lands, she accidentally pushes the play button to Bruce’s contact lens videos.
And oh, how the world begins to fall apart after that.
Gordon’s voice can be heard on the speakers behind them:
“I can get a warrant for him. There isn’t a judge in this city that won’t sign one after what happened here tonight.”
“No. I have to do this my way.”
“Araminta can never know what he’s done. It will destroy her family.”
“He’s killed nineteen people. I think she and her family will understand. Look, I get it, man. You love her. But you’re not doing her any favors by keeping this from her, and I’m not going to let more people die because of her.”
Bruce looks down in shame, and Araminta stares at him with a blank expression as she finds out in the worst way possible that Bruce has been keeping such a massive secret from her. Her chest heaves in anger and her face turns into a hateful scowl.
“You’ve known who’s been doing this the whole time?” She asks him, clearly holding back the full brunt of her anger.
Bruce can’t look her in the eyes. She’s been with him long enough to know that means he’s guilty. She pushes him away from her and jumps off of the desk, standing so close to him, yet the distance might as well be miles long.
“How long have you known?”
Bruce still hangs his head in shame, and she hits him with flat palms across his chestplate.
“How long have you known, Bruce?” She repeats.
“A while.” He manages to squeak out, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper.
She blinks away tears out of her eyes, her heart filled with nothing but betrayal. “Did you find out before or after I was fucking kidnapped by him?”
Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head away from her. “Before.”
There’s a dead silence feeling the air around him. He braces for a slap to the face that never comes. Araminta gasps in horror and turns to walk away from him, but he catches her wrist, which she quickly tugs out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me.”
“I–I–Araminta please…” Bruce begs. “I was just trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” She yells. “I was taken from our home! What kind of protection is that?”
“I was trying to–”
“Shut up!” She yells at him again, through tears this time. “Don’t you dare try and tell me you were trying to protect me! I’ve been hold up in this tower for months because I was scared shitless of something happening to me–and this whole time you fucking knew who it was? Why haven’t you stopped him? Why didn’t you let Gordon write the warrant? Who is it? What else have you been lying to me about?”
“I swear on my life, I kept it from you for your protection. I mean it.” Bruce pleads.
Araminta scoffs. “That’s the same fucking thing that psycho said to me when I was trapped in a hotel room with him! That it was for my protection! Nothing about any of this has been protection! This has been fucking prison!”
“Please let me try and explain.” Bruce begs after her, following her into the elevator.
“Why? So you can continue to lie to me?” She finally answers as they reach the floor where their bedroom is. Bruce catches her wrist again when they’re right inside the bedroom door and she reaches for her purse and coat.
“Where are you going?”
Bruce feels an invisible dagger twist in his heart. “You can’t leave…not before we talk about this. Please.”
She pulls out of his grasp again and moves to the closet to remove one of his large suitcases and begins to throw clothes and toiletries messily in the bag. Bruce begins panicking at the thought of her leaving and never coming back, the dark caverns of his mind latching on to his fear and pushing out all rational thought.
“How do you expect me to trust anything you say, Bruce? And don’t tell me I can’t leave. I’m not Rapunzel. You can’t keep me locked in this tower forever!”
Bruce grabs her by her upper arms forcefully, his fingers dinging painfully into the soft flesh of her arms. He looks at her, his eyes wild and his body trembling when he utters the two little words that his fucked up mind force him to say:
It’s like Bruce is forced to watch as the darkest version of himself takes over his body. He begs and pleads with himself, but has no control over his actions. He watches helplessly as if he’s having an out of body experience. He pushes her onto the bed, giving him just enough time to turn and make it to the door, slamming it shut and locking it from the outside. His chest heaves as he trembles and tries to gain control over himself again.
From behind him, he feels a cane hit him behind his knees.
“What the hell has gotten into you, Bruce?” Alfred scolds, hurriedly unlocking the door after hearing the shouting, and pushing it open to reveal Araminta on the floor in front of the bed, tears running down her cheek in the midst of a panic attack, rocking back and forth on the ground. Alfred rushes to her side and tries to calm her down, but she cowers away from his touch.
Bruce feels himself–his real self, crash back into his body all at once and he falls to his knees in the doorway. “What have I done?” He murmurs to himself quietly, crawling towards her ready to beg with every cell in his body for her forgiveness. He reaches out to touch her, with a simple, gentle finger, and she slaps his hand away in fear. “Don’t touch me!” She shouts through gritted teeth, crawling backwards away from him a few feet.
“How could you do this to me?” She screams at him through tears. “You knew how much I hated feeling trapped! You knew how afraid I was of being locked in a cage again!”
“I’m sorry.” Bruce says through the lump in his throat. “I wasn’t in control…I’m–”
Araminta stands up in a rush, putting on her coat and running hastily out of the room. Alfred, in his old age, tries his best to follow her, and Bruce simply goes blank.
He’s ruined everything.
Alfred follows Araminta to the front door of the Tower, calling after her to wait. She stops before opening the door and turns hashly to face him. “Did you know that he was keeping that psycho’s identity from me? Did you know that he’s been lying to me this whole time?”
Alfred sighs, feeling the guilt and shame. “Yes.”
Araminta scoffs and shakes her head. “Let me guess. You didn’t tell me to protect me? You and Bruce are no better than that murderer.”
Alfred takes a deep breath. “Let me get you a ride and a hotel room.”
“No! I don’t want your help.”
“It’s the middle of the night and it’s freezing.” Alfred protests.
Araminta scowls at him. “Next time you hear from him, make sure to let that psycho know that Bruce Wayne will never see my face again.” Before Alfred can get another word out, she steps into the cold, rainy, night, leaving her life with Bruce behind.
Araminta doesn’t stop walking until she reaches a 24 hour diner deep within the city, smack in the middle of downtown. She’s been walking for what seems like forever, her clothes soaked through and her body aching from the cold. She orders a coffee and takes a seat at the counter, her lip quivering as she takes out her phone and scrolls through her contacts.
She ignores the fifteen missed calls and twenty-three texts from Bruce.
Her hand shakes as she dials the call button, hoping that she’ll get an answer despite it being an ungodly hour. Her coffee gets set in front of her, and the dam in her eyes breaks when she hears a voice on the other end of the line say hello.
“Hi, dad.” Araminta says, letting out a shaky breath.
“What's wrong, sweetheart?”
She sobs quietly into the phone, trying not to attract any attention from the other diner patrons. “You were right. About Bruce. He’s not who I thought he was.” She takes another shaky breath, trying to calm herself down. “I want to come home, dad. I don’t want to live in Gotham anymore.”
There's a beat of silence, and then her dad speaks again: “Where are you? I’m in New Jersey, for…business. I can come pick you up and we can fly home tomorrow.”
Araminta sniffles and wipes her tears covering her face and looks outside at the building right across the street. “I’m at a diner but…could you pick me up at the Gotham Empire Building? There’s something I have to do before I leave.”
Another long silence. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll be there in an hour or so. Be safe, okay?”
“Okay.” Araminta says. “See you soon.”
Araminta hangs up her phone, and has four new missed calls from Bruce and a dozen new texts. She waves over the waitress, and promises a big tip if she can have some paper, a pen, and an envelope from the office. The waitress smiles and comes back with the supplies, wordlessly handing them to Araminta.
Araminta takes a deep breath, and pours her heart into a letter.
Alfred watches helplessly from the doorway as Bruce frantically walks back and forth around his room, destroying everything in his path. The bedframe is split in two, the bathroom mirror is shattered, desks and dressers overturned. Pillows are ripped open, their filling scattered around the room. There’s an empty bottle of whiskey discarded by the fireplace, where Bruce is currently beating his guitar over the mantle. Black paint is dripping down his face, leaving tear streaks all over his cheeks and neck.
As he throws the neck of the guitar into the fireplace to watch it burn, his phone vibrates in his pocket and he gasps as he tries to pull it out, dropping it on the floor as he does so. When he picks it up, he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Araminta has texted him.
Araminta: Come to the rooftop of the Gotham Empire Building.
Bruce takes a deep breath. There’s a glimmer of hope. That’s their spot. That’s where they can always go to find each other. He shrugs on a hoodie and bumps into the doorframe on his way out, the alcohol he chugged thirty minutes after Araminta left finally sinking in. Alfred grabs him by his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“Araminta told me to meet her at the Gotham Empire Building.” Bruce slurs. “I have to go…I have to go to her.”
“You’re not going out like this, you’ll cause an accident.” Alfred says.
“Good. Maybe it’ll kill me.”
Alfred hits Bruce on the side of the leg with his cane. “Don’t say things like that.” Alfred says through gritted teeth, in his dad–voice. “Give me your keys. I will drive, make sure you get there in one piece.”
Bruce reluctantly hands over his keys and Alfred leads them downstairs into the garage. They load into the vehicle and Bruce is begging Alfred to drive faster, afraid Araminta will leave before he gets there. It’s stopped raining, the sunrise just minutes away.
Alfred parks the car in front of the front doors of the building, and despite being drunk, Alfred has never seen Bruce move so fast. Bruce clumsily makes his way up the building to the rooftop, his blood pounding in his ears. Alfred follows, lest Bruce do something stupid while he’s up here. Bruce pushes through the rooftop door, and his heart breaks when it’s empty.
Araminta’s not there.
But, perched on the ledge, is an envelope addressed to Bruce in her elegant cursive handwriting.
Bruce trembles as he picks up the envelope. He pulls out a letter, and falls to his knees as he reads.
I don’t think I need to explain why I’m leaving Gotham. I don’t want to hurt you by saying goodbye like this, but I have no choice. If I saw you, I would go running back into your steady arms. I would soak in your warm embrace and I would let you kiss me in the way only you can. I would forgive you.
But I’m not ready to forgive you. I can’t. Not when I can’t trust you.
I’m going home, to Texas, to be with my family. I hope you’ll find some comfort knowing that I’m safe with them. I promise that while I’m there, I won’t get into any trouble. I won’t go out by myself at night, and I’ll still carry with me the taser you gave me the night we met. I’ll take care of myself.
I want you to take care of yourself too. I know it’s going to be exceptionally hard for you, maybe even impossible, to let me go–but I think once you do, you’ll realize that I was only holding you back. I was a distraction. I was an enabler of all the self-sacrificing and broken parts of you. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good support system for you in that regard. I wish I could do things over again, and convinced you to get the help you needed sooner. I wish I would have been strong enough to give you the tough love you needed to save yourself from all the horrible things we’ve gone through together.
I will miss you. Just because I’m leaving, doesn’t mean I don’t love you. In fact, it’s because I love you that I’m leaving. One of us has to be brave and admit to ourselves that our relationship was never going to be perfect. It was never going to work. It was built on secrets, and neither of us deserves that burden. It doesn’t matter that we love each other so much it hurts. It doesn’t matter that we would go to the ends of the earth to make the other happy.
You deserve to love and be loved by someone just as extraordinary as you. I’m so sorry I will never be that. I wasn’t very good at loving you, but I gave you my all, and I wish it was enough. I know it hurts. I know we were talking about marriage and kids and a future together. I wish that was in the cards for us. I wish it was meant to be. But it’s not. And you might not believe me, and you might not want to accept that.
But you’ll be okay, eventually. I promise.
Even though my life has been a roller coaster from the moment we met, even through the most terrifying moments of my life, all of my favorite memories, I’ve made with you. I will cherish them, always.
I know this will be easier said than done, but please don’t give up on yourself just because I’m gone. I want you to move on. I want you to live your life to the fullest. I want you to continue to be Gotham’s hero.
Despite it all, you’ll always be my hero, too.
I love you, Bruce Wayne.
Forever yours, in your heart, and on paper,
Bruce’s eyes are like waterfalls, the chest and collar of his hoodie soaked through with tears. His lip quivers and he flips the envelope over, and if it wasn’t already shattered into a million pieces, his heart breaks just a little bit more when his mother’s ring falls into his palm. He closes his fist around the ring and brings his hands to his head. He tucks his knees into his chest and cries into them.
She’s really gone. He’s lost her, forever.
Alfred didn’t have the heart to tell Bruce what Araminta said when she angrily stormed out in the night. About how they were just as bad as her father, and that he would never see her again. The sun begins to rise over the horizon and Alfred bends down to place a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
“We need to leave, Bruce.”
“Just leave me here.” He whispers back.
“So you can jump off this rooftop the second I close the door? Absolutely not. Get up. We’re going home where I can keep an eye on you, so you don’t do something stupid.”
Alfred is sitting in the study, sorting through the mail when the landline rings.
“Wayne Residence.” Alfred answers.
“Mr. Pennyworth. There’s a Bethany Young requesting entry at the front gates–says she’s here to see Mr. Wayne.”
Alfred swallows the lump in his throat. “Let her through. I’ll meet her at the door.”
Alfred hangs up the phone and sighs, rubbing his temples before grabbing his cane to wait by the front door. When she gently knocks, Alfred answers it almost instantly.
“Hi, Mr. Pennyworth.” Bethany says, her voice quiet. Not her usual attitude.
“Hello, Mrs. Young.”
Bethany gives him a half-hearted smile. “Is Bruce here?”
Bethany nods. “Can I see him?”
Alfred leads her through the Tower to Bruce’s bedroom. He turns to Bethany before opening the door. “Brace yourself. It’s not pretty.” He warns her. Bethany nods again and sucks in a sharp breath when the door opens to reveal the chaos within. Bethany takes a few hesitant steps towards Bruce, who’s sitting at the edge of the bedframe on the floor. He doesn’t turn to acknowledge her, and judging by the several empty bottles of alcohol surrounding him, he honestly might not even register that someone even walked in the room. Bethany takes a seat on the floor next to him, and takes him in.
The black paint is still surrounding his eyes, smeared all over his face from hours of crying. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy. His normally clean-shaven face has the beginnings of a beard. His knuckles are raw and oozing blood from punching who-knows-what for the past few days. He has zero expression in his eyes, not even sadness, as he stares at the floor in front of him.
If Bethany had only one word to describe him, it would be hollow.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Bethany says after a long silence. Bruce’s eyes snap to hers as if he’s finally realized she’s there. She could see it in his expression, that for a moment, he saw her and thought she might have been who he really wished was there. Bruce turns his head away from her, taking another swig of whatever’s left of the bottle he has clutched in his hands. Vodka, by the looks of it.
“Nothing to talk about.” Bruce mumbles. “She left because I was lying to her, just like I said she would.”
“What is it you’re keeping from her?” Bethany asks.
Bruce looks at her again. “The name of the man that’s been terrorizing us and this city.”
Bethany sighs. “Will you tell me?” She asks.
“No.” Bruce tells her. He tries to take another drink, but Bethany places her hand over the opening of the bottle and gently pulls it from his grasp, fighting off his initial resistance.
“Why not?” She asks him again, placing the bottle behind her where she can’t reach.
“Same answer I keep giving her. To protect you.”
Bethany takes a deep breath. “She’s hurting too, you know. Do you want to know the first thing she said to me when she got home? She said she doesn’t think she will ever love again.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” He says, an echo of what he told her at the wedding. He twists the ring that’s still sitting snugly around his finger. “She took my heart with her.”
“I’m so sorry, Bruce.” Bethany says, placing a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder. After a long silence, she speaks again. “I’m going to start packing her things.”
Bethany stands and Bruce doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, except to reach for the bottle of vodka Bethany took from him. The voices have gotten so much worse since Araminta left. Even more so when he started drinking to try and numb the pain in his chest. They’re not possessive anymore though–they’re angry.
And they’re all directed at him, for ruining everything.
And directed at Elliott, for tearing them apart.
Bruce sits idly while Bethany slowly packs Araminta’s things into a large suitcase. She doesn’t have a ton of clothes, still recovering from losing everything in the flooding. All of her belongings can fit in the one suitcase, with room to spare. Bruce stands up when Bethany begins folding the last sweater into the bag, and he moves to the toppled over desk to rummage through all the papers scattered around the floor. Then he goes into the closet, emerging a moment later with something clutched tightly in his fist.
He pads over to Bethany and hands her the letter in his hands.
“The one you told me to write.” Bruce says. “Please give it to her?”
Bethany nods. “Okay.”
“And this too.” Bruce says, handing over the small gold pocket watch that once belonged to his father. Bethany thumbs over the Wayne family crest on the front, and tucks it safely into her purse with a promise to give it to Araminta when she gets home.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and Alfred enters the room with a small black box in his hand.
“This just arrived for you, by courier.” Alfred says, handing Bruce the box. The sleek black wood feels heavy and luxurious in his hands. Bruce balances the box on the suitcase and opens the lid, to find an even smaller box nestled in plush red velvet. Bruce’s hands tremble as he lifts out the smaller box, opening the lid and letting out a strangled gasp when his eyes fall over the contents. Bruce falls to his knees again and tears begin to run down his face as he sobs into the comforter of his bed.
Bruce tangles his fists into the comforter and cries out in agony, his loud scream muffled by his face pressed into the bed sheets. Bethany and Alfred share a look and Bethany kneels beside him, circling her arms around his shoulders and shushing him softly.
Alfred’s heart aches.
Because the world would, of course, be cruel enough to Bruce Wayne to have Araminta’s engagement ring delivered so soon after he’s lost her.
Bethany left with a soft goodbye hours ago, and Bruce drank so heavily after she left that he got sick, his body trying to get rid of all the poison he’s ingested over the past several days. Bruce can hardly move now without feeling the urge to puke, so he’s migrated from the bedroom to the bathtub. Alfred cut him off from the alcohol when he finished the vodka. Alfred admittedly should have cut him off sooner, but Bruce was inconsolable without it.
Bruce is halfway asleep in the tub when his phone begins ringing, and when he pulls it out, Araminta’s name is bright across the screen. Bruce presses the answer button, and despite his slurred speech, desperately pleads to try and get her to listen.
“Araminta! Please, please listen to me. I’m sorry about lying to you. I’m sorry about keeping secrets. I swear on my life, I swear on my parent’s grave, I was only doing what I thought was best. I just wanted to protect you. Please come back, please just let’s talk about this. I promise I will tell you everything if you give me one more chance. I’m hopeless, lost, useless without you.”
Bruce takes a deep breath and there’s a long silence on the other end.
“Araminta, please say something.” Bruce pleads, needing to hear her voice. He clutches onto her engagement ring on a chain around his neck, the sharp point of the pear shape digging roughly into his palm.
“You are…so unimaginably pathetic.”
A man’s voice on the other end causes Bruce to roll his eyes and growl in anger. “What do you want, Elliott?”
“I just wanted to hear you admit that I won. I told you she would wake up and leave you. You want to know the part that makes it even better? The first person she called was me. Not my wife, not her brother, me. You should have really kept your little batcave under a tighter lock. Using her birthday as the passcode? Predicable, as always.”
Bruce scoffs. “You broke into my home and made sure that video was the one pulled up on my computer.” He says, less of a question, more of a statement.
“I’m always one step ahead of you, Wayne.” Elliott mocks.
“How convenient that you chose that video and not the one where we met at the signal. What, afraid Araminta wasn’t going to take your side? Thought you were confident she would forgive you?”
Elliott laughs into the phone. “Don’t worry Wayne, I’m not done with you yet. I didn’t just come to your home for a silly video. My wife says you’ve been drinking yourself to death. Cut it out, would you? We haven’t even made it to the grand finale.”
“Which is?” Bruce asks, hiccuping.
“The part where I get to kill you, of course. To put you out of your misery like I promised!”
Bruce huffs, concedes, and tells Elliott exactly what he wants to hear. “You know where to find me.”
FIGHT TO MAKE IT UP
The Batman (2022)
bruce wayne x f!reader
Word count: - 3.4k
Masterlist / AO3 / Playlist / Song for this chapter
Themes: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Crime Family, Thriller, Noire, Heist, Action, Comedy, Crime.
Warning: Graphic descriptions of bodily harm and hallucinations.
A/N: We are now rolling into the main plot of the story! After part 2 is released I'll be taking a tiny break just to polish up some stuff and might throw out some stand alone stories outside of the plot for fun!
Chapter five part 1:
I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?
The stunned silence that invaded the space after the explosion of glass that showered the floor, vibrated through the residence that all stood idle in the tent. A pin could drop and the sound of it would be lost within the apprehension. The impedance ambience was lost within the puffs of the cold air.
The chime of the rain’s pitter patter was the only talkative entity, carrying whispers of paranoia.
At first, nothing. Nothing happened, Cobblepot gave it a minute for anything to happen before relaxing his tense shoulders. Raising a brow, turning to the doctor. The doctor had made the fast decision to cover his mouth and nose, knowing the chemical would fill up the space making the air unsafe to breathe. Bruce quickly caught onto this just by visually putting two and two together; do not breathe.
Bruce drew in a breath, he hoped would be his last while within the tent. He wasn't going to risk it. He needed a clear mind while here- as Bruce. Although he couldn’t care less about what would happen to him. He needed to see how this played out, he was given the rare opportunity of being in the heart of something and he wasn't going to waste it for a few gasps. Slapping his own hand over his mouth and nose while he observed.
“Well count that little accidental experiment a failure.” chuckled the penguin. The doctor didn’t appreciate the joke as he edged closer out of the tent. He was mumbling something but it was inaudible.
Bruce alarmingly took a mental note of how everyone but him and the doctor were just breathing in the air, unbothered. Even Y/n was panting after using a large amount of her strength to pull Sausages back. She was bent over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath.
The hue of the room turned a slight tinge of a greenish yellow- not too noticeable but just enough that everything was slightly tinted. Dick squinted, blinking several times unsure exactly if he picked up on the slight change or if it's always been like that and just- never noticed. Still confused he rubbed both of his eyes. As if that made any difference.
Slapping her knees, Y/N inhaled sharply before reaching over and assisting Sausages off the floor. He staggered of course still in shock over the silly little scene and panic he created. Guilt and remorse cradled in his throat. He swallowed hard, looking at the floor refusing to look up at anyone while the shrooms made everything still bubble in his vision. That and the guilt and shame he felt was intensified.
“Fuck- I’m sorry what- what was in those bottles?” stuttered Sausages.
“You’d be lucky if you don’t find out.” spoke up the doctor, full of spite. He was the only one bothered by the accident- alarmingly so. His stare was that of a scientist looking at test subjects. His eyes bounced between those in the tent with him- trying to pick up on any slight changes. He first noticed Dick trying to adjust his vision then the twins whose eyes became clouded.
Y/N snapped her head up and rolled her eyes to the man who stood in the corner. “What do you mean by that?” she spat out. “What the hell do you mean ‘you’d be lucky if you don't find out.?” She raised her voice. Something was wrong- something was really wrong and she was picking up on it. shifting to look at Bruce, noticing his hand over his mouth and his watchful eye. Silently watching everyone just like the doctor. It made her more alert. Even Bruce-fucking-rich-boy-parents-fund-Wayne knew something was wrong.
With the doctor hesitating, Cobblepot butted in. “Whoa whoa-” The penguin paused, leaned back and opened up his arms, flashing a friendly but uncanny lopsided smile. “Nothing happened! It's been what- a minute?-”
“Three minutes.” Interrupted Bruce. “It's been three minutes.” He eyed the doctor who refused to remove the protective barrier over his nose and mouth. Bruce then noticed the slight hue of green to his skin- to… Everything around him. Instantly regretted correcting Penguin as he had let too much air escape from his lungs.
“Alright, pretty boy. No one likes a ‘know it all’.”
“Symptoms are predicted to take place within the 5-10 minute frame.” the doctor murmured. It was hard to hear him since he had his hand over his mouth. He was practically itching to leave the tent by inching further and further away. He had noticed the change of colour in the room. He knew he had to act fast before they reached the time frame.
“Jonathan, If I throw a dog a bone, I don't want to know if it tastes good or not.” Penguin fell back down into his chair, causing a reaction of air escaping his lungs as the chair rocked. “It’s a failure! I have no fucking clue why Falcone even dealt with you in the first place. Or even agreed to take on your little weird experiment.” Exhaling, as he looked at his lap, contemplating. “God knows why I even bothered.”
From the little pieces of information that Cobblepot let out- Bruce couldn't help but wonder- what has this got to do with his mother’s pearls? What is this doctor who goes by Johnathan's intentions? Why this circus? Why here and why now? But obviously and more importantly what the fuck was in those bottles.
As Bruce pondered, he felt something tap against his feet. Looking down to investigate to then be welcomed by horror. Fading in and out of sight were pearls, pearls from a necklace. Several of them had rolled to his foot but there was no clue on where they originated from.
Alarmed, Bruce realized he had some of the gas in his system.
The doctor opened up the tent flap with the intention to leave. He stalled for a moment with a bounce in his step. Turning his head slightly into the tent pulling out a gasmask. Bruce’s eyes grew wide. Whatever was about to unfold. ‘Johnathan’ wanted to stick around and watch also but he was prepared. The doctor clipped the mask on then walked back into the tent. Once finally adjusting the straps to fit his head he started to breathe heavy breaths. His shoulders raised and fell.
The sight, Bruce envied as his lungs and chest began to sting. Screaming for him to gasp.
Cobblepot chuckled at how ridiculous the doctor looked. “Okay doc- no need to be so eccentric.” joked Penguin. “So, sweetheart-” he opened up his hand and lazily lifted it towards Y/N. “Let's get back onto the topic-”
“I don’t think now is a good time Oz…” she let out.
“I think now is a better time than any-”
“What the fuck was in those bottles.” Sausages coughing and spattering, barely able to get a word out. He was sweating, avoiding looking up. He looked uncomfortable. Y/N has never ever seen him like this before and she knows it isn't the mushrooms- magic mushrooms were supposed to be soft but whatever Sausages was going through was making him react badly.
Too afraid to look up. He didn't know why but he felt like the tent was getting smaller and smaller. The room was getting stuffier- humid. Harder to breathe. It was like his lungs were filling up with sand, his lungs struggled to inhale as it felt like he was trying to breathe in something solid.
“Fear is a powerful thing.” Spoke out the doctor exhaling with new found confidence. He stood up straight and pulled out a notebook. His breath rattled, ringing behind his voice. The filter was old, it sounded old. This couldn't have been his first rodeo if the mask sounded worn.
“Why are you suddenly talking about fear?” Asked Y/N with dismay. She was the only one able to talk. For some unknown reason the twins were too focused on the skin of their arms. The Grayson boy was paralysed as his face grew red and his eyes glassy. Cobblepot worked his jaw, suddenly fixated on something besides the doctor- but nothing was there.
Flipping through the pages the doctor felt nice enough to answer Y/N’s question. He let out a breathy chuckle. “It’s how we as a species have evolved and managed to survive our predators. Our entire brain is built around the amygdala- the part of the brain that activates fight or flight. When in situations of feeling danger and uncertainty. The brain finds comfort in some sort of control. We humans rely on simulation mechanisms- our ancestors saw situations that challenged their safety and well being but overcame them. It's fascinating how that all works out?”
“Speak English!” Cried out Sausages. Y/N’s wrinkled face, disquiet about Sausages until she saw it. In the reflection of the doctor’s gasmask, right behind her stood a tall black silhouette. The figure was just a shadow that had sharp pointed demon horns and white piercing eyes that gave a haunting stare. Just exactly how she saw it that night.
the whites of his eyes she did catch showed anger- raw anger. This was an animal, an unhinged and powerful myth before her.
“You're about to see- if not already, your worst fears and I want to see how you all react. It was supposed to be used on the main performance of the night but Beggars can’t be choosers though. Am I right, Ozwald?”
The words rang in the young Grayson’s ears. ‘Main performance of the night.’ That was him and his family- The doctor had intended to let out whatever gas was in the room with them, out during that performance. The Grayson's were supposed to have an audience of roughly three hundred. Those bottles couldn't have had the dosage for that many people- surely not?
Cobblepot's lips trembled and his eyes wavered. “Falcone?” Cobblepot whined. The doctor dropped his head and sighed letting his arms fall limply beside him. The penguin was seeing a dead man. Jonathan took note that Oz’s fear was a man who held more power than him. The very man who he aimed to replace.
The mysterious gas was actually working.
“You didn’t answer the fucking question!” Y/N ventured forward with her arms in front of her with full maleficent intent to strange the doctor.
She didn't know until she tried to move that her mind and body was separate. Her physical self staggered behind her. Dragged along but still stuck to the hip like a shadow or conjoined twins.
Charging to Y/N, Bruce snatched her from behind. She latched her nails into the side of Sausages for support while Bruce pulled her backwards. Putting his hand over her mouth and nose, with intent to get her out of there- and Sausages while Y/N was still attached to him. Bruce was being rough but now isn't the time to be delicate.
The twins and the Penguin were acting odd, it was becoming blatantly clear; Whatever that gas is- it was fucking up with the senses. First sight. The longer they all stayed in it the stronger it affected those in it.
Cobblepot rose up to his feet, arms in the air. “Li-listen it's not what it looks like.” he was sweating, talking to the space in front of him. Talking to no one. “Someone needed to take the position! Gotham needed someone!”
Y/N panicked from the surprise and squirmed in Bruce’s arms letting out muffled screams and cries. Quickly losing grip of Sausages causing him to flop onto the floor wailing.
Y/N’s eyes fixated onto the doctor. The dark knight that watched her through the doctors’ glass eye pieces watched her shriek and shout. He- the dark knight was the one who she saw seize her, with his demonic claws over her mouth- trying to suffocate her. He knew what she did, her crime of murder and he was now here to reap her sin.
Clawing at his hand and elbowing his chest, Y/N gasps for air as she squirmed under Bruce's touch. He couldn't let her go and risk her trying to breathe in what was in the room. Not knowing the full consequences of a gasp wasn't worth the risk to Bruce. He had no idea what she was seeing, he didn't even want to think of the possibilities in the moment. Just that they all needed to get out of the tent.
With the wind knocked out of him from a sharp stab of her elbow to his chest, Bruce barely managed out a “Don’t breathe.” With that she slipped out of his grasp and staggered forward. Spinning around wheezing shaky breaths. Bruce’s eyes widened- she was taking short deep breaths.
The one who was behind her- who had grabbed her wasn't the man she feared in the night. It was Bruce? She could have sworn it was-
Watching him struggle to hold his breath again after emptying out his lungs. She averted her gaze to Sausages who was scurrying on the floor. Pointing aggressively at the twin who were aggressively scratching and ripping apart their own skin. One was letting out gruesome screams and yells.
“Spiders- there's fucking spiders under my skin!- I feel them under my eyelid- It's crawling across my eyes!” Cried out one of the twins. While the other was aggressively gouging his skin raw till it bled.
“It's underneath.” He repeated several times over and over in a shallow, haunting whisper as his skin drew blood. In a trance he drugged his nails into his flesh, digging through his skin and muscle trying to to pull out something that wasn’t there. “It's under there I know it.” He sang.
Dick stood there in terror, he had never even seen anything like it. Something he was seeing in front of him was making his eyes water, his lips curl up and his brows to crease. He looked terrified. Y/N could guess a million things a child could see that would make them act like that but this kid seemed indifferent to the basics of what would keep a child up at night.
Her vision slanted slightly, everything was moving only subtly. Just before she blinked the visuals in front of her would distort only to a degree. If she stared long and hard enough everything would look normal but in her peripheral vision it appeared that everyone was staring at her. Staring with a dark look clouded over their eyes.
Blinking to try and adjust her vision, those just out of sight all looked like the man she killed earlier. The man with the hole in his head. With him looming near, all colour evaporated leaving behind only high contrasts of black and white. This made it hard to distinguish anything besides the harshness of light and dark.
‘Oh god’ she thought. ‘Oh god no.’ Blood pressure ran high as her ears rang with her head beating out of her chest, the dead guy’s ghost was haunting her. Clasping her hands over her head as she kneeled down cowering into herself and shook her head repeating to herself. “He isn't here, he is in the car.”
In Front of Bruce was unfolding the beginning of hysteria. They all had been in the tent far too long and all of them apart from the doctor had some gas in their blood. Making a rather calculated mistake, Bruce took a breath. Every inhale felt like a stab with forty hot needles right into the lungs causing him to gasp in pain.
With the air becoming thicker- it felt like swimming in a milkshake. Y/N tried to see where the gasps of pain were coming from to then have the unbearable sensation of being sucked through a black hole. Like someone was holding one part of her face forcing her to look one way while she tried to look another.
Her head felt like it was a few seconds lagging behind as everything was doubling in vision. There she saw Bruce bent over, gripping his chest, wheezing. There was two of him.
Feeling a small hand ring itself around her arm to then pull her. She stumbled then fell out of the tent from a sharp shove. Rolling into the mud, she was embraced by the crisp air and the downpour. The crisp air outside- the fresh air hit like a bulldozer but everything was still distorted. Those who walked past the tent had their faces slanted- their right eye would be on their cheek while their nose was dripping off their face. It was like looking at an uncanny Picasso painting but with rotting flesh and pinhole eyes.
Dick was the only one currently that was able to grasp some sort of control- throwing Y/N out of the tent. Convincing himself that the horror before him wasn't real. He mustered up strength to move towards Bruce, but to Bruce. Dick was a mirror reflection of his younger self. The terror and loneliness on his face as he inched closer.
“We need to get out of here!” Yelled dick jumping up to pull Bruce down to his level. All Bruce could hear was instead the cries of a child who just witnessed someone that would change his life forever. Noncoherent words and jumbles of languages. The second thing affected by the gas was sound.
Penguin Hysterical over seeing Falcone in front of him. His neck twisted in an unnerving angle blabbering something about a rat with wings? Every step he took closer towards Oz made his limbs become more elongated. Abnormal and inhuman.
Enough was enough. The doctor got enough information, he could have gotten more but he knew when to draw the line. Casually strutting over to Penguin to then sigh at his pathetic whimpers.
The doctor with little to no effort, grabbed Oz by the arm and pulled him outside of the tent to the stinging fresh air. Once the doctor noticed that the tent had a cloud that was growing larger above it. He realized that being outside would be no different from being inside soon enough. The gas was working too well.
“This worked out better than I could have hoped.” the doctor said in-between pants. “I told you, it wasn’t going to be a waste.”
“Oh shut up you freak. I just saw a fucking dead man in there!” Penguin was hunched over, splattering his guts up. Too scared to even open his eyes. At least his hearing was picking up fragments of what was actually English.
“It wasn't real- But it felt real right?” he joked gleefully. He was then rewarded with a sneer from Penguin for his comment.
“You think this is funny?”
Clearing his throat, the doctor brushed past Cobblepot’s comment. “I managed to clearly see two stages form within the subjects and now we just have to get a more enclosed space to test the full potential and stabilize the formula-”
“Subjects? You fucking have some nerve.” He straightened his back, standing upright. “You're insane. You’re actually fucking insane! I’ve just lost two of my own in there and two scummy rats- not to mention Gotham City’s richest man in there.”
“I’m very passionate about my work.”
“Okay Crane. Tell that to the GCPD who will very likely show up at some point. All this leads back to me!” Stabbing a finger into the doctor's chest.
“But Ozwald. The chemical works!”
“We’ll discuss this properly later but first and foremost I’m getting the fuck out of here. And next time you think about doing something like that. Get me a god dayum gasmask too.” Starting to waddle off shaking his head. Cobblepot was still feeling the gas’s effects. The fresh air did nothing to help the ease.
In every face of every person was a hint of Falcone. Everyone had a ghost that's haunting them, and Penguin wished his ghost stayed dead.
Fleetingly looking over his shoulder back at the scene. A glimpse of one of the twins who had ripped the skin of his arm exposing his muscles that were flexing was crystal clear. He was prying apart his arm muscles to look further within his anatomy. Inspecting as his skin was cleanly pulled back. Stuck in a trance. The image made Penguins stomach churn as he snapped away. That was forever going to be with him. He didn't even know if it was the gas messing with him still or if that was actually real.
“I think I may have forgotten to even ask why you're so keen on this.” asked Penguin.
Without betraying a single though. Crane responded. “You can control a lot with fear.”
He fucks and fucks well but only out of duty. Otherwise he just has a sad wank.
Just Give Me A Reason
Song- ‘Just Give Me a Reason’ by PINK
Battinson x reader
Right from the start
You were a thief, you stole me heart
And I, your willing victim
Two years into being the Batman, Bruce Wayne would’ve never thought how much of it would’ve changed him, but it did quite a number on him. He soon became nocturnal, relentless, and somewhat started to become cold in his empty heart full of vengeance. After the events of The Riddler, something in his life changed, both in his life as Bruce Wayne and as the Batman. He soon realized that his purposes shouldn’t of been to seek out vengeance and be the face of fear, but instead, he should’ve been a beacon of hope to those who needed it most. And that’s exactly what he became, especially when he fell in hard for the love of his life, who is now his wife, Y/n. Y/n stole Bruce’s heart the first night he met her, she saved his life after he had risked it for a bunch of kids who almost drowned in a bus that had crashed into a ditch filling with water from the heavy rains Gotham always brought in the most unfortunate times.
I let you see the parts of me, that weren’t all that pretty
And with every touch you fixed them
Being the firefighter she was, Y/n dragged him out of there without breaking a sweat. Bruce was injured badly after breaking his hand and arm trying to break through the glass to get his way inside the bus to the kids, the shards of glass also pierced through his suit and cowl causing him more damaged than he could’ve ever imagined.
Y/n begged him to let her drive him to a near by hospital, but he told her no because it would only make things worse for him, for they would try to steal is hidden identity. Finally coming to an agreement, after bantering back and forth with him, Batman let her drive him to her near by apartment and helped him inside to stitch his scars. When it came to the part to stitch his head, Batman hesitated wishing he had never agreed to this in the first place, but he knew he never would’ve made it to the Manor, his wounds were too deep and painful. Seeing the true compassion in Y/n’s eyes and her promises to never say a word about his identity as she crossed her heart truthfully, Batman was soon leaving her welcomed to the man he actually was under the mask. Y/n stood in awe of who Bruce Wayne actually was, she had always admired the Wayne’s, no matter what the Riddler has said about Thomas. So seeing her two favorite inspirations being one person, made her open up to him easier, as well as him to her.
Now you’ve been talking in your sleep, oh oh
Things you never say to me, oh oh
Neither of them never would’ve of thought that in a full year into their marriage many things would happen. Some of Bruce Wayne’s time was occupied by the Mayor or him needing to attend charity meetings, and being the Batman took most of the time in his life, wether he was out at night protecting the city or in his cave researching through his lens from his activities the night before, and for Y/n, being a Lieutenant at the GCFD would take her time too at anytime.
Some night neither of them would be in bed, or it was one or the other, meaning hardly or never together. Y/n missed Bruce dearly when she would finally make it to bed and he wouldn’t be there to welcome her into his arms, sometimes she would try and talk him into coming with her, but he’d never budge, saying he had a lot of work to do, so she’d end up alone. One night Bruce came home more than exhausted, that night been the hardest in a really long time. So he left all his work for the next morning as he dragged himself straight to bed. Upon walking in he heard soft but faint mumblings.. it was Y/n, crying in her sleep as she said,
“I miss you Bruce.. I need you Bruce.. I wish you were here... is my love not enough for you?”
Bruce’s heart broke at her words, how could’ve have been so reckless and losing touch with the one woman that had saved his life and took him as he was.
Tell me that you’ve had enough
Of our love, our love
The next days that came after that night he tried his best to give Y/n more attention, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how much to give it if there was even a limit when it came to the love of your life. Bruce knew he loved her deeply and truly, he’d do anything to keep her safe and happy, but he had lost focus while trying to keep her so hidden from his life in the shadows, when she had already told him.. that she’d take and love him either way. She tried to convince him that she had seen and lived through worse, meaning she was able to love him and face his darkness. But he was scared, that loving and bringing her into his life was a grave mistake.
Just give me a reason, just a little bit’s enough
Just a second we’re not broken just bent, and we can learn to love again
It’s in the stars, it’s been written in the scars on our hearts
We’re not broken just bent, and we can learn to love again
Bruce would start to stay away and be silent, hoping that she’d break things off first, but she wouldn’t, instead, she drew herself closer.. without words.. but with action. Leaving on display for him to see all her scars from all the fires she fought, she would tend his new ones from every night he returned home, showing him that there was noting to fear about them, scars are just the evidence that we are stronger than what’s hurt us and what caused the scars. She kiss him gently on every bruise and stitch, every place on his body that hurt she showed her undeniable love. Y/n wanted to prove to him that their marriage wasn’t a lost cause or choice, they just needed to learn to love with the same passion they had at first, love like they did in the first place, and come together.
I’m sorry I don’t understand
Where all this is coming from
I thought, that we were fine,(oh we had everything)
Your head is running wild again
My dear we still have everything
And it’s all in your mind(yeah but this is happening)
You’ve been having real bad dreams oh oh
You used to lie so close to me oh oh
There’s nothing more than empty sheets between our love, our love
Oh our love, our love
Bruce couldn’t understand the meaning of love, but he could feel it. It was like when you couldn’t describe how happy or sad you were, it was like a feeling without words to describe it. He began to claw into her touches, understand the loving words she said to him. He began to see that it wasn’t a bad choice, or a mistake.. it was a learning process. He realized that he hadn’t been coming to sleep with her but instead down at the cave. But when his dreams would torment him she was there to wake him out of it and bring him to reality where he was safe in her arms.
He didn’t understand how she could love him so much, after going through so much in her life and in his as well.. yet she never changed or showed indifference with him.
Oh tear ducts and rust
I’ll fix it for us
We’re collecting dust, but our love’s enough
Bruce would mention a flaw in their marriage that he had caused, which made him feel insecure and not good enough for his wife, but Y/n would find a way to fix it for him, and let him know that he was more than enough for her.
You’re holding it in
You’re pouring a drink
No nothing is as bad as it seems
We’ll come clean
Y/n told Bruce that no matter what he said or did that she’d always be by his side and always choose him first. She’d show him her actions of love, her soft words that calmed him down when he’d wake up shaking hoping it was just a dream, her warm meals she cooked before leaving to work, her taking his silence when he wouldn’t speak, being patient with him when he didn’t want to touched because his body hurt too much, or he grew so insecure about his once clear skin being covered again and again in black and blue. As much as she loved him, Y/n knew it would take work, to help him open up, but she chose to go through the pain, the silence, the empty bedsheets, the untouched meals, all to show him that there was more to life than under his mask and charity galas. One day, he walked into his room after spending the whole night in the cave after coming back, and she was crying again, but this time she was awake, curled up on his side of the bed wearing his sweater as a pajama top. He ran to her and took him into his arms quickly, without even thinking about it. Y/n pulled away in shock of his actions, he had never done that, at least in his own terms, his heart dropped and felt that he had probably crossed the line already, thinking it was over. But at sight of his new bruise on the side of his face, Y/n crawled into his arms again and embraced him tightly. They broke down in each others arms, spilling words of love and assurance to one another. Bruce confessed his love to her all over again, like if it was the first. And promised that he wouldn’t leave her to dry ever again, that he would love her and talk to her. He told her that he had problems with opening up to people, he had terrible trust issues because of his childhood, and what the Riddler has said had effected him much, making him feel disgusted by the legacy he carried. He shared every dark secret through tears and moments of silence as he collected himself to go on, and there sat his best friend, his loyal wife, his love and the air he breathed, holding him through it all. After spilling everything.. he broke down immensely telling her that it was ok to leave.. that he understood if she left because of how broken he thought he really was.. telling her that there was someone better out there for her. He never finished his rambling when she pulled him off the bed and made him stand up, she pulled him outside to the top of the Maine where they had the perfect view of the city, and the sunrise.. that was beginning to paint the once rainy clouds of Gotham in vivid shades or pink and orange. The warm shade of the sky shone on Bruce’s face making his wet cheeks full of tears visible. His trembling lips and shaking hands were given a loving kiss before she got on her knee, stopping him from questioning her actions as she said with tears in her eyes,
“Bruce Wayne, I cant imagine my life without you, I knew it would be hard, and did it hurt? yes. But that didn’t stop me from trying and loving you, I knew you were worth loving and saving from the darkness.. Bruce, where did you propose to me?”
He still didn’t know what was going on, but he answered,
“It was a rainy night.. after... after to stitched me up while I bleed on your floor for the 10.. 15th time? What’s going on-“
“Sh sh shhh... listen ok?”
He shook his head yes as she went on to saying,
“Now.. I want us to start all over again.. in the break of dawn, where there’s new beginnings.. giving us a new reason to go on, you’re not broken, I’m not broken, our marriage isn’t broken.. we just need a little fixing.. and I’m willing to love you.. all over again.. Bruce Wayne.. I want to keep you as you are.. will you marry me.. again?”
Bruce thought his tear ducts would be dry by now, but they continued to flow rivers of tears as he saw the light shine beautifully on his wife.. his new wife. Seeing her smile while on her knee holding his hands awoke something in him he thought he had lost because of his mistakes.. but she was right. He wasn’t broken. He got down to her racing as he held her face in his hands saying,
“... yes.. I say yes..”
They gave each other a loving and passionate kiss, one they would die to stay in forever. The new morning embraced them warmly as they held onto on another.. ready to start again. Sense that day going on, with struggles and all.. they always reminded each other, that there was a reason... to keep loving and moving on.
Just give me a reason...
we’re not broken just bent..
I never stop, you’re still written on the scars of my heart...
You’re not broken just bent..
and we.. we can learn to love again.
[ID: A series of fake tweets set in the universe of The Batman (2022), from the perspective of Gotham’s citizens. They read as follows:
Cedric C. (@/cedricccc): Ever since the flood last year, I’ve seen a few weird fringe theories about who the Batman is, but the craziest shit I’ve ever heard are the folks who think Bruce Wayne is the Bat. My man looks one dropped ice cream away from a mental breakdown.
Penny E. Larson (@/penny4urthots): i went to high school with bruce wayne at gotham academy. we got partnered together to dissect a frog and he started crying when he saw it. i had to do all the cutting. This man is #notthebat and we also need to protect him at all costs
R. Wilson (@/gothamtoaustin): I used to work for Wayne Ent. before I moved to TX. One day Wayne had to give my department a presentation and he was so awkward it hurt to watch. He dropped all his index cards, mumbled the whole time, zero eye contact. There’s no way. #notthebat
Javier Perez (@/itsjaviiiii): Bruce Wayne came into the 7-11 I used to work at, got an icee, realized he forgot his wallet as i was checking him out, then put the icee down and speed-walked away before i could get a word in edgewise. i would have given it to him for free. anyway yeah #notthebat
Alice Li (@/aliceingotham): Bruce is a regular at my grandparents’ restaurant. He gets take out a few times a month. I can’t tell you how incredibly soft-spoken this man is. My grandma always tries to take care of him but he shrinks away. Can confirm he is definitely #notthebat
Noah Crocker (@/gothamisnumba1): This poor bastard. Leave him alone. I was at that library charity thing last month and I saw him honest-to-God hiding behind a curtain. I went over to ask if everything was ok but a GCPD guy got to him first and pulled him out of the room. Cut him some slack guys. #notthebat
Libby H. Lewis (@/gothamlibby): Gotham, come on now. We can at least protect our boy Bruce Wayne from this nonsense. Are we all forgetting that time when he “ran away” as a teen and was found crying in a port-a-potty at an AFI concert? It was in the news for months. Leave him alone. #notthebat /End ID]
Image description via @t4tchucky
Guess who finally watched the Batman movie and right after this read a bunch of Fanfics, where they throw a young Robin/Dick Grayson at Battinson
and I’m gonna do that too^^
Edit: Fanfics here
in the next batman movie selina is back in town to con bruce wayne which he knows but he missed her so much and obviously he can afford it so he just lets her
*sighs dreamily* what is Wrong with him
literally haven’t been able to stop thinking about this
Wind down #TheBatman doodles. Some Robert Pattinson studies and silly batcat shenanigans 🦇 🐈⬛ stylizing humans is hard 😭