mitsukii-07

Latest Posts by mitsukii-07

Smalltown!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfamily: Part One - Rewrite

A/N: I got stuck on the action scenes in Part Nine and decided Hey, I should rewrite the earlier parts since my writing has improved. Only to realized, a lot of shit went down in those earlier parts. lol. help. This is 4.6k words and I have to make into two parts because so much happened.

Link to the Original Part One.

Warning: Parental Death, talks of grief, Bruce being an obsessive and cryptic mf, Alfred being a bit delulu, attempted GN!Reader.

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You had a happy childhood. You know that. You've always known that. People had repetitively said it to you. Over and over again. Blessed. Lucky. Privileged. Not just with material things, but with affection and talents. And, it seemed to increase as you got older and the circle of people you interacted with slowly began to expand and bubble around you. Sure there were some struggles. Some terrifying and suffocating moments. But, life was good.

You were quite serious as a child when you were told to be grateful for what you had. You'd say that mind et helped you retain some level of humility. But, in reality, you were grateful because you were selfish and didn't want to lose what you had. Not even for something better. You had enough. You could make the rain fall or the sunshine or even make a snowman on a hot summer day. And, you were loved. What more could you want?

The children's stories about being greedy stuck with you. So, being a little selfish was fine, but being greedy was not.

Besides, there was nothing to be greedy for. You had loving parents, lived in a wonderful community. Fresh air, good food, good clothes. An annoying, but lovable little brother.

Life was practically perfect.

I mean, sure, you had to live with the knowledge that Daddy wasn't your real father. It wasn't something that had been hidden from you. You knew, you were told. He loved you all the same and spoiled you almost as much as he did your Momma.

The way he loved you was without question. You might have thought he would have been weirded out when you discovered you were a meta, but out of everyone in the town and in the family, he had been your rock. He'd been the one to sit with you when you struggled not to make it rain in the house. When you accidentally shot off lighting when you sneezed. When your crush said you looked cute and a snow flurry followed you around for three days.

But, there was the fact that you just wanted to know who it was. Daddy even agreed that you should have been told who the man was. Not that even he knew. He didn't care about knowing who the man was. He'd probably just thank him for giving him such a blessing before containing to enjoy his easy going life.

You weren't greedy with it. In fact, you had dropped the topic after months of asking.

So why did everything fall apart if you didn't commit the sin of greed?

Why were you standing over two graves in the back of the family property surrounded by your loving town?

You couldn't muster the will to let rain fall. Rain was your delight. A delight you shared with Momma and Daddy. With them gone, seemed the only thing to fall was you and Lukie-boy's tears.

Condolences and condolences. You knew everyone meant well, but right now all you wanted was to curl up in Momma and Daddy's bed with your little brother and bury yourself under the covers. Just pretend this was a nightmare.

You didn't care that you were almost an adult, the grief left you feeling strangely like a child.

Nana had taken over most of the proceedings. While Granddaddy kept you and Luke close. You couldn't stop yourself from leaning into him. Being reminded to the silently way Daddy would hold you. Nana had a tendency to be overbearing and she was even more so today as she fluttered about Luke and you with concern.

You had to remind yourself she was also burying her son, and that made you hold back your tongue and most of your tears.

It wasn't until everyone moved back to the church building for some food that you felt the shift in the atmosphere. One you know you hadn't caused yourself with your lack of energy at the moment.

There was a man. He wore a sharply fitted black suit. Faintly you heard Mae mutter that it was Tom Ford in the same tone she used when speaking about her fabric and bugs.

You didn't recognize him. In fact, no one seemed to recognize him. That was until you really looked at him and you meet his gaze with your own solemn one.

Everyone said you were a sweet child. But, Mae was your best friend and she had little filter on her thoughts. And, you recall what she had said to you once after that long forgotten incident in the bayou a few years back.

"When you frown, when your eyes narrow, when your nose wrinkles in anger and annoyance, you're entire face reminds me of a dark and stormy night. Like from the stories. Even when your eyes glow, there's a shadow sometimes."

You had seen what she was talking about in the mirror once. Had wondered who it was you had gotten that from. It wasn't from Momma, or MawMaw, or Gab. But, you remember the way your Momma would sometimes look at you when you got like that. The way she'd poke your sides until it went away or held you close until it melted it off.

You didn't know who you got it from back then.

You did now.

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Bruce had hoped this day would come, but not like this. Not in a way that felt like history repeating it's self once more.

Two people dead, but this time two children left.

He wasn't even meant to get the call from what he knew. It was an accident. Something he was grateful for when he pushed that DNA test on Adeline all those years ago. A social worker, fresh to the field, called the manor. Luckily, Alfred had picked up the call. And, right when Bruce had walked down the steps, nearly missing the last one when he saw the expression on his face. One he has seen a few times before.

"Yes, he's just come down. I'll inform him myself, and he will be there promptly. No, no, travel will not be an issue. Thank you, Ma'am. Have a pleasant evening." The elderly man's voice remained stoic and composed, but Bruce watched him lean all his weight onto the decades old accent table enough for him to hear both, the bones of his Butler and the table, creek.

Alfred pressed a hand to his face, only letting out a sigh when he wanted to curse. Curse the word. Curse the Wayne name, curse the blood. Just scream at the cursed world. But, he didn’t.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at Bruce. His son. Knowing that this would break another piece of him once more.

"Ms. Adeline and her husband have passed."

Bruce's reaction is immediate as he moves in a rush. "The children-"

"Alive and well. Or, as well as they may be, all things considered," Alfred manages to finally take a weary breath before letting out an exhausted exhale.

"Drunk driver. Ms. Adeline and her husband had been on a date that evening. The children had been home. They pulled the car from one of the swamps this morning after a fisherman spotted it. It- It appears Ms. Adeline was rendered unconscious during the crash. And, Mr. Anderson drowned trying to unbuckle her." The old butler manages to keep a slightly even tone when speaking. Relaying the information he managed to garnish from the young social worker.

For Bruce it was a tragic sigh of relief. You were alright, but not alright. Tragedy had struck you, but not taken you.

"I'll be leaving to get-"

"The young Jean-Luc is already set to stay with his grandparents. But, the courts deemed you fit to take custody of our-" Alfred coughs, catching himself.

"Understood." Bruce grits his teeth. He doesn't want to separate siblings, but maybe you being around your other siblings will be enough. Besides, he can petition for custody. Surely an elderly couple would prefer their grandson stay with his closest relative?"

"I'll have my secretary arrange a flight out and clear my schedule. We need to cover all press leaks as well." Batman was in control now, already coming up with a plan and mentally coming up with a new patrol roster for the coming few days while he heads towards the cave.

"Alfred, prepare a room for them, please." He also asks, knowing the older man would need something to do unless Bruce wanted him to nearly exhaust himself by cleaning the manor top to bottom.

"Which room, sir?"

Bruce pauses to consider the options in the manor. Most of the rooms having been filled by the others or are in need of repair.

But, one does pop into mind.

"The Madam's Room."

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During the flight to that little backwater town in Louisiana, Bruce passes the time with his own thoughts. It's only a four hour flight by private jet, but, for a man like him, playing with the thoughts in his head can be dangerous.

The 'what if's linger in his mind. The few times he's allowed himself to stare at you through the screen of the Bat computer on your birthday. The occasional way he'd let his eye's linger on Adeline. Noting how she's aged like wine. How she remained soft and warm in each image and her only wrinkles were faint and clearly from sunshine and laughter. Faintly he could hear it echo even now. The throaty sound added to the list of things that haunt him.

Sometimes his eyes would linger on Jean-Luc in those rare instances. The boy an exact replica of his mother, with her warm brown eyes and curls. Sometimes, he'd pretend they were dark blue like his own. But, only for a second before he wiped to computer's hard drive and replaced it with another one.

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Your feelings over the entire matter were… complicated. You certainly didn’t expect to find out your biological father was one of THE richest men in the entire world.

But, it was just such an odd situation.

You had wondered about him, yes. But, you didn’t want to leave everything behind in your hometown.

Nana had thrown an absolute fit about him taking you. It was almost terrifying to watch the sweet woman you loved practically spittle with rage. Though in her defense, he had offered to take Lukie-boy too. Like an added bonus. Apparently he collected orphans judging from your quick google search in the bathroom after his arrival. Guess that means you fit his criteria now.

You had flinched when he’d done that. You understood he was trying to keep the two of you together - you did appreciate that, but the dirt over Momma and Daddy’s graves had barely settled before he’d made the offer in that almost posh accent of his.

It had soured things a bit, but you tried. You had tried.

Reassuring Nana that you’d call her every week helped her cope a bit. Telling her you’d promise to keep her updated helped soothe her some. And, asking her that she help by just focusing on Luke seemed to bring her back to reality.

Though she did grumble and get that terrifying look in her eyes when your family lawyer, one of the town residence explained that a new social worker had made the call to him accident. That same look that made Momma weary and Daddy's face age. But, they weren't here any more so there was only you to watch with furrowed brows.

Instead you hugged Luke, kissed his curls like Momma used to only to the be pulled into tight embraces and firm grips by nearly everyone you knew before boarding the private jet with your father.

It felt weird to say father.

Daddy was dead. Drowned and buried and in the dirt. Yet, here was your father. You didn't want to replace Daddy.

You also didn’t know how to react. How to handle this new father. And, you guess neither did he. Since for the first two hours of your flight to Gotham city, the man was completely silent. So instead you decided to look for similarities. Already you found one.

Momma had a thing for the quite type, you decided.

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Bruce couldn't really bring himself to say anything. To see you in person finally after all the years, made something in him break and the pieces collide back together suddenly. He's seen still shots with the highest quality imaging. Videos and audios with the best equipment money could by or he could create.

But, there was something different about watching you breath and blink in real life. No need to rewind and watch the footage again. To pretended he was there in those moments. He had you here beside him now. His baby.

And, you were beautiful.

Just as beautiful to him as you were in the first image he'd received of you in that clear hospital nursery cradle. He stands by his previous thoughts. You had his mother's eyes. And, now grown you had even more of his mother's features, blended together with your own mother, of course. Something he strangely found himself grateful for. A small reminder that he had once held a softer woman once. Even if he ended up letting her go.

But, he was afraid. This was a different fear than when he was introduced to Damian. Damian had been a surprised, not entirely un-welcomed. But, Bruce knew Damian was expecting Batman as his father. You were expecting Bruce Wayne. And, Bruce Wayne as a father didn't exist.

The media may say otherwise, but it was an act. And, he couldn't give you an act. He wouldn't. He wasn't going to lie to you. But, he needed you to be safe. Especially now. Especially when you had such sad eyes and a frown like his own on your face from a loss he deeply understood, but couldn't help you with. Not in the way you needed. Your hands were far to delicate for justice.

He'd already made plans to track down the driver that knocked Adeline and her husband into the bayou as you called it. He could see the way you shudder and how your eyes would water each time your mother and step-father's drowning was mentioned. Something he desperately wanted to ask about. A fear he could sense that he so deeply wanted to understand.

Instead, he finally broke his silence after you both were halfway to Gotham.

"Don't worry about being introduced to everyone right away. I want you to take some time to get acclimated to the Manor. Settle in a bit and find a new routine." He finally said, hiding the rough raw emotions he was feeling from sheer will power.

"I appreciate it, sir." Hearing you drawl even though your voice was hoarse was something Bruce found himself taking a deep breath over. Letting it sink in.

"You don't have to call me 'sir'. I know you have manners and all that, but you can call me," Father, Dad - give him the title he desperately wants, "Bruce. If you'd prefer."

"Understood, sir-- I mean, Bruce." You trail off, awkwardly. The silence filling the air. The jet was clearly one of the fancier breeds, considering you couldn't even hear the engines and use them as white noise.

"Um, what's Gotham like?" You finally decided to ask. Crossing your ankles in and attempt to relax while your eyed drift towards him again.

His eyes strangely seem to light up at your question, though a frown tugs at his lips.

"It is, in short summary, dangerous. There a lot of crime in the city. You'll defiantly be staying in the manor after dark."

You try ignore how he's instantly ordering you around. Like your not seventeen. Like you didn't just leave a loving home where you were allowed to float on the breeze through the bayou's trees at whatever hour you pleased. Things were going to be different, and you'd accept that. For now.

"What's the manor like?" You decided to ask instead. Concluding it was a fairly safe question.

"Oh, I think you'll like it." Was all he said while smiling warmly.

Already you wanted to smack him. You wanted conversation, not to talk to a damn cryptic.

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You should’ve taken Bruce’s ambiguous nature at face value for what your life was about to become.

Quite.

You wouldn’t have minded too much, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were stuck inside Wayne Manor while Bruce got all the paperwork set up for your fancy new school and the fact that he wanted to ease you into things at a snails pace.

Though you wouldn’t forget about the overwhelming nature of the entire situation. Looking up at the veritable brick castle of multiple styles you’d seen throughout decades of different architectural trends. The only comment you had gotten from him when you asked about it was that it had been in the Wayne family for over a century while he smiled proudly. Like that single sentence was enough to fill the silence.

You didn’t like silence.

Even when you were alone, you liked to listen. To music, to the wind, to raindrops, to the cicadas and crickets chirping back home. Not hollow echoing silence.

What made it worse was that Bruce practically disappeared after he introduced you to the family butler. A kindly old man that already gave you a fond look as you toddled after like a helpless newborn duck still learning how to swim and trying not to drown. His smile growing even wider when you asked your polite questions about the history of the manor, wanting to feel some familiarity if you were going to be stuck in these dark wood paneled hallways with red carpets.

Apparently, the house castle was built in the Colonial period. Fascinating, when were the gargoyles added then? Keep talking, please. You didn’t want to deal with thoughts of your grief and loneliness.

It was up two flights of stairs that you really got hit with the reality of your situation.

You remember the soft greens and earthy tones your mother was fond off when decorating your childhood home. The white trim that caught the light from the windows. The light oak wood floor that somehow felt softer than the carpets here. Even in the shadowed corners the most dangerous thing you’d find was a dust bunny. Your own room filled with dusty blues and soft whites and greys like a cloudy sky.

Here, you were hit with RED.

So much red. Dark floral wallpaper, that you’d admit was gorgeous in its vividness. But, it almost overwhelmed you. Not even the cream colored sheets and curtains could make it any less underwhelming.

“This is the Madam’s Room. Primarily, it’s been used as a closet and dressing room by previous ladies of the house. An example being your late-grandmother. I’ve taken the liberty of having her portrait hung over the mantel with your great-grandmother also having her portrait in here as well.” You couldn’t even be upset by the hint of pride in the man’s voice. The room was beautiful, tastefully decorated. Charming. Sophisticated. Historical. A million different of fancy words. But, it wasn’t home.

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth, sir.” You murmured looking around the room while giving him your best attempt at a smile.

Your eyes catching the aforementioned portrait over the fireplace. The breath in your chest catching. Everyone always said you looked like Momma just with different eyes and a few other little things. They didn’t feel so little now. You looked too much like the woman in the portrait. Way too much like her.

“My own room is right across the hall in case you need anything else, my dear. Please, do not hesitate to ask. And, most importantly, you are more than welcome to call me Alfred.” You snap out of your thoughts and let your manners take over, smiling politely and nodding along.

“Thank you, Mr. Alfred, sir. I most appreciate it.” You hide behind a grateful tone that seems to make him look at you with an even fonder expression.

“I’ll let you to get settled in then, my dear. Feel free to add your own touches and take it easy. Everyone else is out of the manor at the moment so don’t worry about having to entertain any questions for the time being.”

God, you’d rather answer the most invasive questions in existence than be alone right now in such an unfamiliar place. But, you smile anyway.

“Thank you, again. I really do appreciate it, sir.” Are your finally words before your left alone and the thoughts creep in.

It isn’t until you’re unpacking a few of the little things you grabbed from your room and the clothes that don’t even begin to fill the closet that it hits you. Your little happy lightning cloud pillow looking like a children’s toy on the pillows. It technically is one, but seeing it makes you realize you don’t really feel like a child anymore. Though you still cling to it as you cry softly.

You don’t bother causing it to rain.

Instead, it’s noted by those on patrol, how that particular Gotham night is unusually warm.

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Alfred felt unfortunately blessed. Bruce wanted to ease the poor child into life in Gotham, but just from how overwhelmed they were he could tell it was not going to be like any of them expected things to go.

But, it was nice. Pleasant to have someone that just wanted to lightly talk without the long history of patching up their skin and mending their bones to contact them. He would admit he thought often of Martha.

Alfred could easily conclude he was growing sentimental. But, he excused that. It was common at his age. Instead he just enjoyed your company while Bruce had the rest of the family hold back their introductions.

Though really. Bruce’s antics were a little less amusing this time around. Waiting until you were in the house and settled into bed before abruptly calling a family meeting to announce your presence? He doesn’t blame the others for being outraged. They should have at least been informed before you arrived. Though, he supposed it was for the best. It would have to do now, regardless.

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“Alright, B-man. What’s this about? No one’s escaped Arkham, and I have Alfred’s birthday marked on my phone’s calendar. So this better be important.” Jason had sat back in one of the caves chairs, possibly Tim’s judging from how he kept giving him a dirty look for creating his feet near some tech junk on the metal counter in front of him.

“What about the rest of our birthday’s?” Steph had to ask, grinning at him from her own perch next to weapons rack.

“Not as important.” Jason dismissed with a wave of his hand causing her to snicker. Duke also chuckled from his own seat, before sat more at attention. Or, at least as much as he could considering he was just about to head out on patrol.

"Didn't include your own birthday in that?" Dick quipped back, stretching the tension from his shoulders after the drive from Bludhaven. He had also picked up Barbara on the way which had added extra time. She had her chair rolled up to one of the tables where Cass was sitting cross legged on.

Only Cass wasn't in a joking mood, she was to busy observing Bruce. Noting the flickers of multiple contradictory emotions in him. Damian's eyes drifted towards her from where he stood at attention. Already suspicion brewing in his gaze at what she could possibly be reading from the family's patriarch.

“Does this have anything to do with that guest your brought to the manor?” Barbara eventually asked, catching everyone’s attention before their heads swiveled to Bruce. A guest meant they had to be careful in the manor, or at least above ground. Below it things were clear to run like normal.

“Great.” Stephanie said dryly, “How long are we going to be running like this?”

“A while.” Bruce finally answered after a moment. For once feeling out of his depth to explain this. As Alfred walking into the cave, he knew it was time.

“I believe they’re asleep now. The poor dear seemed exhausted.” The older man said while taking a seat himself, his eyes solemn and soft.

In a room of raised detectives they caught the look and the way Bruce was acting.

“Really, Father? Another stray? Thomas was bad enough don’t you.” Damian comments with little heat behind his words while Duke gives him a look of mock outrage.

“This one isn’t a stray.” Bruce admits, knowing that Damian was about to take this the hardest.

“You flew to Louisiana for them. A bit far for your usual route?” Barbara questions already rolling away from the table and towards him.

“Did you finally sign up for one of those adoption websites and get an alert?” Jason scoffed a bit.

“No. They aren’t adopted. They’re my biological child. Officially.” He finally announced, wanting to get the worst of it out of the way.

That seemed to stun everyone for a moment. However, Dick was the first to recover. Catching how serious Bruce was being. “Bruce, is this another Damian?”

Damian bristled at the question, but knew Dick didn’t mean anything harmful by it. However his breath did catch when it was Alfred that answered.

“No, Master Bruce was informed of their birth and subsequently had a DNA test done years previous.”

That made everyone’s heads spin. But, not as much as Damian’s.

“You knew about them and, you never told me?” He had meant to say ‘us’, but this was different. This was a blood matter. And, while he knew blood didn’t truly matter to make a family, it did forge a connection between people willing or unwillingly.

“Hold on, is this from the worst of your playboy days?” Barbara asked, trying to wrap her head around it.

“Yes. But, it was a particular woman. None of you meat her, except Jason.”

Heads and eyes and ears turned to him instead, watching for his reaction.

“Don’t look at me, he went through like fifteen women—“

“It was Adeline.”

Oh.

Jason remembered her. Hell, he had actually liked her. She lasted about three weeks longer than all the others. And, she was softer, warmer, with a drawl that he sometimes imagined reading to him. She hadn’t tried to be motherly to him, but it was clear to him she could’ve been. She could’ve been a lot of things.

But, Bruce had thought her too sweet and too good. And, had let her go. Jason had been sad about it. But, not distraught. It really was for the best, he'd thought. She had been to good for Bruce.

However, if he knew one thing, her kid probably had the best childhood in existence. And, away from Bruce to boot.

“The Cajun and Creole southern belle.” Was all he commented, drawing a few raised brows.

“With a bit more... spice than we anticipated. She had won full custody of their child while Bruce had been on a league mission.” Alfred added to the subject. Making Tim whistle a bit.

“Oh, damn. Those lawyers must have been good.” Was all he could find himself adding to the tense conversation.

“So, they’re… normal?” Was Stephanie next inquiry. Already feeling that spark of jealousy in her chest. A normal childhood only to end up with Bruce as your surprise dad? Talk about winning the genetic lottery.

“Yes. They’re ‘normal’. I don’t want them involved with any of our night work. Everyone is to keep it under wraps.”

“Until?”

“There is no until. Keep it under wraps.”

It was then everyone realized, Bruce was willing to throw away their entire routines and make their jobs more stressful just for this person. A person he saw fit not to trust any of them with. A person he was prioritizing over them, and possibly over the mission.

And, that pissed off more than a few of them.

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Taglist:

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A/N: Sooooo, what we think? Improvement, I hope? Don't worry, the neglected bits are coming and Yandere bs going to begin. I'm just tightening things up a bit.

A/N: Here's my Ko-Fi link. (My husband encouraged me to make it for diet coke, my weakness.)

↪ au: Poetic justice

Alternative ending to 04.1 Jason's crime I'll be honest I kept this one short mainly because this is a little bit darker then I usually write and idk if I should use a mature tag, because my original plan for this side story is a lot darker (I turned it down a lot). It might become a multiple part side story, depends if you guys like it. trigger warnings: medical + physical + emotional neglect, guilt, character death (semi-graphic suicide), gn reader (just pretend Reader is out in this au) main m.list          series m.list

‘I’m sorry mama.

It hurts, so much. I can’t take it anymore. It’s all too much, I can’t go on like this, but I know you didn’t me to turn out this way. But I can’t go back. This is the end, and all I do is listen to them.

I am scared of what will happen if I don’t, I’m so terrified mama. I can’t go on like this, but if I do this, isn’t it the easy way out? Especially for them? Wouldn’t I just be giving them what they want? A life without me? Oh, mama, how I wish you were here to guide me, to teach me, to talk me through this. To tell me what I can do.

At least I did what you taught me, I documented everything from the moment I could grab my phone. I took pictures of the injuries he gave me, I did as you taught me, but having these like a card up my sleeve isn’t enough. I want to die, but not just kill myself and leave a note. No, I want to explode this all in Bruce’s face. I want him to feel the hurt I feel.

I want him to burn here on earth and on hell.

That is the justice I want, it’s the justice I need. So I made a plan, you’ll be mad when we meet again. I know it, but you’ll understand. Won’t you, mama? I tried for so long, and this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Once I am done I hope the find this diary. I hope that they know that I am dead because of them all.’

You sigh, you hadn’t written in your diary for a while, not since the attack. But today your ‘family’ isn’t here.

Today you are doing what you should have done the day your mama died. But you aren’t leaving before pulling the manor down with you, you had created a social media account that quickly garnered followers. Mainly from school, they all wanted to know more about you. They want to know why you aren’t attending classes, and they’ll learn.

It will shatter their hope to know that the Wayne family isn’t as squeaky clean as everyone thinks they are.

You will shatter Gotham’s perspective the moment your timed camera and social media posts hit the decks. You just need to move fast, you had already gotten everything ready, Jason’s clothes are sturdy and make for a good make-shift rope, and won’t it be poetic? Beaten to the point that scars have already began to form, and now you’ll die at the hands of his clothes wrapped around your neck.

Just like his hands were that day.

But this time it won’t be in your room, no, even if your room was now a creepy replica of your original one, you won’t defile it. You’ll do it right here in the living room, the room your family met up in the most and the room you avoided the most.

Your hands shaking as you stand up on the stool, there is no time to turn back.

You close your eyes and as you feel life slip away from you, and when you feel it get closer? You smile.

The Bat Family knows death like it’s their closest friend, Jason specifically, having been in heaven after all. But when he arrives at the manor, waiting for a debrief, he realises he’ll never go there again.

Because here he stands frozen, in front of the sibling he had harmed, they were just hanging there. Oh god, what has he done? Tears roll down his eyes as he walks towards them. Completely unaware of his surroundings, not even noticing that a camera is rolling, that sirens are slowly surrounding the manor. He should consider himself luckily that he had already changed in sweatpants, no sign of his Red Hood gear. Otherwise he had to explain more than just their wounds.

The closer he got to them, the more his surroundings seem to disappear. The more he doesn’t notice, the others had rushed in the room after hearing the sirens and getting an alert from Barbara that (Name) leaked the situation on the internet, with proof. Bruce had lied to her, he said it was just a small situation. Shouting over the comms to demand the truth, is it all true? Did they truly do this her? But it doesn’t matter, Jason did this. He pushed them to their death.

“Oh God,” he chokes out, as he finally reaches his arms out to touch your body. As he finally takes in your expression. You’re smiling, as if you are glad. As if you are finally safe. He did this. He did this to you. “I’m sorry, what have I done….”

He falls to his knees, his head touching the ground as his sobs echo in the room. But his pity party didn’t last for long, no. Before he could reach for your body and beg for forgiveness Tim pushes him away from your body, angry tears streaming down his face. “You don’t get to touch them.” His voice was shaking, his body rigid and tense. He was on the defensive. Tim seems deluded as he shouts, pointing at them all; “None of you get to touch them!”

Tears streaming down his face as he screams once more; “What have we done?!” (Oh, would this have been him if Bruce hadn’t saved him?) His thoughts torture him and all he could do was pull on his hair, almost tearing it out as he swears he can see your body move. Your smile turning sour the longer he looks at your face. As if you’re telling him; ‘Oh, Tim, couldn’t you do this for me when I was alive? Couldn't you have defended me before?’

Then Tim’s eyes widen, what if you can still be saved, what if he can still turn your faith around?

If you were saved, would his complicity be forgiven?

He works quick, taking your body down as he tries to save you. But your body is already getting cold, it’s too late, but he doesn’t care. He needs you to open your eyes, he needs to ask for forgiveness, he needs to turn your faith around.

You needed someone in your corner, he shouldn’t have been complicate, he should have saved you. That's what Red Robin's for, to protect those that couldn't protect themselves. And he had left you behind, the person that saved him, the person that could relate to him the most. And he never let you in.

He didn’t even notice he was hyperventilating until Bruce pulled him away from your body as paramedics rush into the room. Bruce holds Tim in a bruising hug, almost as if he's terrified Tim would die too. His eyes shot up to where his other siblings were, their eyes terrified. Their eyes looking at your body as if it was all a dream.

Then it all became real.

You are pronounced dead.

And a dread settles upon them all.

They, who are Gotham’s protectors, killed a civilian.

They were the cause of a death of someone they vowed to protect. All because of their own ignorance.

as I said before if you guys like this I'll make it in a bigger side story, but it would get a new taglist and it's own masterlist. For this chapter I'll use the taglist for Nobody's child.

taglist (Nobody's child): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

Stone Skipping

Summary: The Batfamily has always been so crazy that no one notices the silent sister. She’s made her way through college with no one else realizing, sometimes forgetting about her completely. How many times can she bounce back before sinking?

Warnings: Angst?

Request: No

Pairing?: Family; Batfamily x Sister! Reader

———

A smile dawned on the young women’s face as her friends cheerfully greeted her. (Y/n) Wayne was a popular girl at the University whether it be by her looks, brains, or money she was certainly no idiot. It was her college graduation, a huge day for so many people this year and even bigger for her as her family swore they'd attend. They hadn’t gone to anything related to her success since, well, ever! (Y/n) tried not to get bothered by it, brushing it off calmly. She knew her father and brothers were busy people, far to go to every little thing that revolved around her.

This time however, they promised they’d come. No playing hero, no meetings, no dates, just be a supportive family like she had seen them be. It was the only thing she wished to have, her family there for her and to spend time with her. They had gone to Tim’s high school graduation but not hers due to Poison Ivy. They couldn’t got to an orchestra concert that she was part of because of a meeting. They didn’t even bother to wonder what school (Y/n) had chosen to attend.

Yeah, she was ticked off by it but she understood. Their jobs were important, they saved people, she was part of that people. The world needed them both ways, civilian and hero. (Y/n) didn’t have a place in the hero department, she was just an average person that walked the streets and attended school. Her brothers chased villains at night and ran businesses and had jobs in the morning. The only thing (Y/n) had was her looks and her brains, mostly her brains. She would graduate to become better in the medical field, she was going somewhere in life and she was happy about it.

That’s why the heartbroken feeling flowed through her as she got her diploma. No one but Alfred was there, she appreciated the fact that he came but the rest of the family had no excuse. She was updated on the news constantly, no attacks in Gotham or anywhere else in the world. The world was quiet and her heart shatttering was the only thing to be heard. A false but well practiced smile came along her face before she walked down the steps.

Alfred watched her sadly, he couldn’t believe he was the only one that had arrived. He was the only one to truly have seen the amazing young woman that she was now. Seeing her walk down the steps toward the rest of her class with a false smile made his anger grow. She had never complained about one thing in her whole life except for once, that one time when she complained that Bruce spent to much time doing work with her brothers rather than them all spending time as a family. (Y/n) had been 12 when that happened and her brothers only scowled at her for her words.

Dick was nicer about how he went about it, saying that the world needed them as both civilians and heroes so they didn’t have much free time. It was true but they weren’t the words that (Y/n) wanted to hear at that moment.

Tim was blunt about it, Alfred tried to blame it on the lack of sleep but neither parties had believed that. He said that she should’ve joined the group and worked for it rather than whine about it. (Y/n) almost smacked him for that but she kept her control on the situation.

Jason had been thought to be dead but when he heard about it he just gave her pitiful look and told her it was too dangerous and if Bruce wanted her in the tradition then he would have. (Y/n) frowned at him but she had known it was the truth, she told him to no longer pity her before she left the room.

Bruce had just sighed and said they’d talk about it at another time, they never did.

It was Damian that surprised him, he just nodded at her in understanding. Alfred had later heard two sounds of crying from (Y/n)’s room that night. He left it alone but he had at least hoped Damian would be there to congratulate her.

“Congratulations Miss Wayne,” Alfred said as he wrapped her in a hug as soon as he reunited with her. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Alfred. I’m glad you could be here, do you know where the others are?”

The butler saw hope in her eyes, just a small spark but it killed his to extinguish it. “I’m afraid not. Master Bruce hasn’t come home from work and neither has Master Tim. Master Dick is at his home. Master Jason is who knows where.”

“And Damian?”

“I believe he got caught up at school.”

(Y/n) nodded, that made sense at the very least. Education was important and if Damian missed any of his own she’d never forgive herself. Yes, she was very aware that her little brother was a Senior and the best in his year who could probably afford to miss a few day but she’d never let him. It was her other brothers and father that disappointed her, she didn’t bother tell Steph about it, the girl was so forgetful at times. Cass was in China so there was no point in calling her from a case to see if she could come.

Alfred watched sadly as the young woman hugged her friends goodbye before they left. She had a family here and now she was leaving it. (Y/n) climbed into the passenger side of the car and looked out of the window as they drove toward Gotham.

When they got home Bruce stood there inside, waiting at the door. “Alfred! There you are! I was worried you might have been kidnapped.”

“I was fine Master Bruce,” Alfred responded, sending a cold look toward the man. “However, I have work to do and Miss (Y/n) is here now. Why don’t you catch up with her? Lot’s to talk about I’m sure.”

A small smile graced the female’s lips but was replaced by a frown as her father shook her head. “I can’t, I have work to do for the League.”

“Why do you never want to spend time with me?” (Y/n) blurted out loud. She was tired of brushing it off all the time because she herself was brushed off.

Bruce sighed, “It’s not like that. Besides we talk a lot don’t we? You know I’m a busy man, I can’t just drop everything because you wish to spend time with me.”

“So where were you today?”

“What? What happened today?”

The (h/c) haired woman rolled her eyes, “You claim you be there for the people when they need you. Well guess what dad? I needed you today, at my college graduation, the one you promised you’d go to when the only one that had come was Alfred? Well I’m sorry that I complain about not getting to spend time with my own damned family!

“I hoped that you wouldn’t forget or randomly come up as busy but I should’ve known to never get my hopes up when it comes to you and the rest of my brothers! The only reason why Damian is off the hook is because he had school, you have no excuse. You were never there. Never once. You know nothing but my name.”

“I know lots about you sweetheart.”

“Really? What’s my favorite color?”

“(Most hated color).”

(Y/n) shook her head, “It’s (Favorite color). Face it you know nothing about me. I made the mistake of coming back here. I’m leaving after all my stuff is packed and I say goodbye to Damian and Alfred. I’m done being brushed off to the side. And for the record, this is my second time complaining about this. Last time was ten years ago.”

With that the woman brushed past her father, taking her packed things from college behind her and toward the bedrooms. She was tired of being brushed off, she was leaving Gotham behind, for good. Now, she just had to see if her little brother wanted to come with her.

Notes: I may make a second part of requested. Tell me how you liked it. This is my first piece of work on tumblr for writing.

Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader Part 2

London, midnight. The city breathed between ancient fogs and modern lights, as if the past and the present intertwined in every corner. In the heart of the city, a private museum opened its doors only for the chosen. Among paintings and sculptures that spoke of the fleeting nature of beauty, one figure stood out that seemed born to be admired.

Her.

The forgotten daughter of Batman, now turned into an icon. She wasn’t a movie star, nor a pop singer, nor even a businesswoman. She was something more intangible: a symbol. Living beauty, unreachable perfection. Like a vision out of a sweet nightmare. Unsettling. Irresistible. Unforgettable.

She wore black, a form-fitting silk dress that flowed like liquid shadow. Her hair, her skin, her eyes... Everything about her seemed created to provoke obsession. And yet, there was an invisible wall around her. No one could touch her. No one could claim her.

And that night, among the attendees, were them.

---

Bruce Wayne arrived with his children. The invitation hadn’t been an accident; one of the organizers was an old ally of the League. It had been Tim’s idea, obsessed with seeing her since he stumbled upon an interview with her in a Japanese art magazine. Damian came for pride. Jason… simply didn’t want to miss out.

Entering the hall was a moment of tension. They were not Batman, Nightwing, or Red Hood. They were Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Jason. Men who, for years, had lived immersed in missions, fights, masks... And had ignored the existence of someone who was now more radiant than all of them put together.

And there she was. Talking with a French designer, smiling barely. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it still hypnotized. Her movements were graceful, her voice low, charming. People surrounded her with devotion. None of them had the right to approach her. But that didn’t stop them.

---

It was Tim who took the first step. His heart raced, his fingers trembled. She saw him approach. Her eyes didn’t show surprise or anger. Just... emptiness.

—Hello —he said awkwardly.

She looked at him calmly.

—Are you here to apologize, Tim? Or just to confirm that I’m still alive?

He swallowed. Each word was a blow disguised as courtesy.

—I wanted to see you. Hear you.—You already heard me once —she answered—. When I was thirteen and asked you to teach me how to use a computer. You told me you were busy.

Tim lowered his gaze. There was no excuse. No excuse for such everyday indifference. And now, that indifference had irreversible consequences.

Jason was next. He approached more confidently, more determined. He had rebuilt his life more times than he could count. He didn’t believe in the past. Until that night.

—You look good —he said—. Like nothing could touch you.

—And you look exactly the same as when you pretended I didn’t exist .

Jason scoffed. It wasn’t what he expected. He thought she would give him a chance to redeem himself. But no. She didn’t need redemption.

—I’m not good at this —he admitted.

—No, Jason. The only thing you’re good at is picking fights. But you won’t break me. They tried. It didn’t work.

---

Damian watched her from afar for long minutes before approaching. He, who had always despised weakness, now saw a different kind of strength in her. It didn’t come from training, nor from physical pain. It was a type of power he didn’t understand. Something he couldn’t control.

—I thought you were useless —he said bluntly, as always.

—I know —she replied—. You made it clear with every silence.

Damian clenched his fists.

—But look at you now —he added, as if surprised—. You have no weapons. You don’t fight. And yet... you are feared. Admired.

—And you, with all your training, still don’t understand why.

That hit him. More than a punch. More than any battle wound.

---

Bruce was the last. His imposing figure approached with firm steps, but his gaze… his gaze had cracks. He watched her as if she were a mirage. As if he couldn’t believe she was really there, in front of him, so alive and so distant.

—I didn’t expect you to want to see me —he said.

—I'm not here to see you. This is my world, Bruce. You’re the one who showed up here.

She didn’t call him “dad.” She hadn’t done so in years. And that, for Bruce, hurt more than any word.

—I failed you —he said in a low, dry voice.

She didn’t respond immediately. She simply looked at a nearby sculpture: a faceless woman, carved in marble. A perfect, empty figure.

—I didn’t fail you —she said at last—. You just never saw me. And that... that can’t be fixed with apologies.

He nodded, defeated. It was true. No gadget, plan, or strategy could recover something he had never known how to care for.

—But I look at you now —he whispered—. And I see everything you could have been with us.

—No. —She looked him in the eyes—. What I am now is precisely because I walked away from you.

---

And then, among them, appeared Dick Grayson. The first. The favorite of many. The one who always seemed to have a smile ready, the bridge between Bruce and the rest. But that night, he had no smiles. Only heavy shoulders and a guilt he hadn’t allowed himself to accept... until now.

She saw him. And for the first time, her expression changed, if only for a second. A spark. A memory.

—Hello, little star —he said, using the nickname he had given her when she was a child.

She blinked. But didn’t respond with sweetness.

—That nickname doesn’t fit you anymore.

Dick nodded sadly. He hadn’t expected anything else. Unlike the others, he had heard her laugh. He had been the one to care for her when Bruce couldn’t. The one who taught her to do cartwheels when she was little. But he had also been the first to walk away. To “prioritize” other missions. To assume she’d be fine on her own.

—I didn’t realize how much my silence hurt —he said honestly.

She looked at him with something that seemed like pity... or maybe sadness.

—What hurt the most was that your silence was the only one that really mattered to me.

That broke him. There were no tears, but there was a deep sinking in his chest. Because he knew. He had known since the first day he stopped calling her. Since the first time he ignored one of her letters. Since the day he decided it was “easier” not to deal with what she represented.

—I wanted to come back so many times —he murmured.

—But you never did —she responded, with no resentment, but also with no comfort.

—Can I do something now?

She stayed silent. Then shook her head.

—No. The only thing you could have done was stay. And you didn’t.

Dick looked at her one last time. He wanted to hug her.

He wanted to ask her not to hate him. But he understood that desire wasn’t for her.

It was for him.

And she wasn’t there to heal anyone.

He walked away without looking back.

---

Weeks passed. Then months. None of them ever approached again. But neither could they stop thinking about her.

She became a cult figure. Her face appeared in art magazines, her appearances at events were rare but impactful. Every time someone mentioned her, the Batfamily tensed. Because they knew she shone without them. And that was unforgivable.

Not for her.

For them.

---

The last time Bruce saw her was by chance: a feature in an architecture magazine. She was sitting on a balcony in Florence, drinking coffee. Smiling. With a peace he had never achieved.

And in that instant, he understood that they had never lost her.

Because they had never had her.

She wouldn’t come back.

And now, the echo of her absence was louder than any scream.

Sorry if there are mistakes, I don't speak English, I only use the translator.

Masterlist

Order Up!

Commissions are: OPEN

🛎️ if you'd like to make a request, please ask here!

all pairings and situations are accepted, though i reserve the right to deny a request if a) i can't do it justice or, b) it doesn't align with what i'm comfortable writing.

pairings so far include: Wally Clark x fem!reader | Wally Clark x male!reader | Simon Elroy x fem!reader | Wally Clark x Dawn Burton |

overview: a collection of School Spirits requests/prompts that vary in subject and rating. please refer to in-story summaries for more information. overarching trope and rating are indicated beside each link.

below is the complete list of requests under Order Up!. you can also find all related content HERE as well as reformatted chapters on AO3.

~ 💚👻

📍WALLY CLARK:

Fifty Seven - fluff - PG | It's Just Biology, Wally - Wally Clark x Dawn - smut lite - M | Marshmallow Miles - smut lite/fluff - M | Best Friends Club - fluff/smut - M | Boy Noise - sub!Wally Clark - smut - E | Simp. - sub!Wally Clark - smut - E | Wally Clark Headcanons - 3 - fluff - G | Anxiety - sub!Wally Clark - smut - M | Wreck It Like A Rumor - angst/smut - M | Anxiety 2 - sub!Wally Clark - fluff/smut lite - M | Punctuation. - PG | Hot For You - smut - E | Hurt You, Heal You - hurt/comfort lite - G | Crush - smut/fluff - M | Silly Boy - male!reader - smut - M | Control Freak - sub!Wally Clark - smut - M | Intimacy with Strangers - smut - M | Transcendental - fluff - PG |

.

.

📍SIMON ELROY:

Boyfriend Simon Elroy (NSFW) - smut - M |

Marshmallow Miles

summary: prompt fill. Wally needs to get the hell out of Split River. thankfully, he finds the perfect excuse and takes you along for the ride. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. fluff. AU - everybody is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen. same 'verse as Cuddle Bug.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧁

Marshmallow Miles

Wally spent the last 40 years haunting the high school. Then spent the last few months within the town limits, adjusting to being a regular student while he got his second chance at life organized. Principal Hartman, Ms. Chung, and Mrs. Moretz—the guidance counselor—banded together to help the formerly-dead reacclimate, and part of that means they all need to graduate.

Except, obviously, Mr. Martin, who Sheriff Baxter's keeping a tight leash on. Or Janet, wherever the hell she is.

Point being, Wally and his friends are still tethered to the place they hate most in the world. Even if there is a light at the end of the tunnel this time, they don't get to enjoy it until they walk across the stage, diplomas in hand.

Which means Wally? Is feeling somewhat-very claustrophobic. Skin too tight, walls closing in, suffocated and nauseous at the thought of having to spend another goddamn second in the town that killed him.

It's as he's listening to you, hanging onto your every word like psalms, that the idea strikes. Light. Bulb. Wausau? Claire's stepdad's ski lodge? You don't say!

He knows your birthday's coming up (Simon made sure to stick post-it notes in every single one of Wally's text- and notebooks to remind him) and he's been fretting over what to do for weeks. But this? This is it! Not only will Wally be able to celebrate you the way you deserve, doing something you seem genuinely keen on, he'll be able to put Split River in the rearview for a whole week.

Is it a little selfish to use your birthday as an excuse to escape? Kind of, sort of, maybe. But he's desperate to find out if he can have a life beyond this. Beyond Split River High and Number 57 and tragedy and discombobulating rise-agains. And the only person he wants to find anything out with, well, is you.

It's two-birds-one-stone, honestly, and don't you always praise his efficiency? Hell yeah, you do. His biggest fan. Besides, he will dote on you, treat you right, make you feel like the center of the universe because you are. At least, you're the center of his, and that's why he has to do this. To prove there's a future with him that has more potential than cultivating small town syndrome.

You catch him grinning that dopey little grin he gets when he's thinking about surprising you, but Maddie distracts you before you can question it. Which gives Wally the rest of lunch to plot into his tater tots.

Thank you, Maddie. Best wingwoman ever.

‗•‗

The plan comes together seamlessly. Everyone pitches in to help bring Wally's vision to life. Claire gives him the keys to her stepdad's lodge. Maddie and Charley morally support Wally as he shops for warm clothes in your size that he can smuggle in his own luggage so you stay in the dark for as long as possible.

Nicole and Rhonda, the unlikeliest of best buds, drag him into The Body Shop and Victoria's Secret—"imagine a romantic bubble bath after skiing all day?" Nicole coos. "Imagine undressing her on a bearskin rug in front of a fire." Rhonda smirks around her new vape.

That's. Really. All the convincing Wally needs to make a dent in the allowance Rodney gives him.

Wally even swallows his pride, puts on his most charming smile, and asks Xavier for his truck. He knows the only reason Xavier agrees is because it's for you, but still, a win is a win. With a general, "hurt her and I'll rip your balls off," from your platonic soulmate, Wally joyfully departs. Tosses the keys in the air and catches them, his chest feeling lighter than it has in decades.

Everything is packed in the truck and ready to go the night before. He called you earlier to impart the vaguest of instructions as to what you should bring, proud of himself for not giving anything away too soon. Even when you asked in that silly-sweet voice, pouting on the screen like a princess, "Please? At least give me a hint!"

No. No hints.

Like a child on Christmas, Wally can barely sleep, he's so excited, but he manages a few hours. Dreams of the world beyond Split River as if he's setting off on some grand adventure and not just driving a 3.5 hour span of state highway.

Tomorrow, Wally will experience a first. Something that was so far out of reach there was no point entertaining it because all it led to was disappointment and regret. Instead there were years upon years of distractions. Mock Trials and obituaries and looking at his feet when he should've looked back.

Wally sometimes wonders if those missed opportunities weren't the yellow brick road that brought him to you. Everyone else walked through The Door with him, but there's no sign of Dawn who crossed over. If Mr. Martin didn't do what he did, Wally might've moved on, and you and he wouldn't exist...

His heart lurches in his chest.

No sense ruminating. You have him. He has you. That's all that matters now. And tomorrow, Wally will have his first real taste of freedom with the only person he wants to share that moment with.

It's going to be perfect.

‗•‗

Wally picks you up just after sunrise. You're grumpy and sleepwarm and, Jesus, Wally loves you. Pouting at him like he's both a menace and your savior. Arms up, lower lip jutted out, a sweet demand of carry me before you slump into his embrace and force him to take your weight. Which he does, easily, big grin on his face as he toddler-carries you to the passenger side of Xavier's truck.

He bundles you in, sets you up with the softest blanket Claire found at Target—Yuri and Ajay not doing their jobs as devil's advocate at all as the cart filled up with Claire's suggestions. Honestly, Wally doesn't care. Especially not after your eyes brighten as you run your fingers over it, wiggling happily in your seat.

"You cozy, babygirl?" He asks as soon as he's behind the wheel and the smile you give him makes him fucking melt.

"You got me a blanket." You state, tucking yourself in more securely; shoes off, feet up, elbow on the console so you can lean over it and kiss Wally's cheek. "Thank you."

Wally blushes, he can't help it, and shrugs as if it's nothing. "I got you a bunch of things, baby," he says as he starts the truck, "Just wait and see. You're gonna feel like a princess, I promise."

You slip your hand into his, fingers laced, and he rests them on your thigh as he drives. Down the street, turn left, continue to the intersection of Main and 4th. Right on 4th, all the way to the end and then left on Pine. Drive until the highway onramp. Now Leaving Split River, We'll Miss You!

Oh God... Wally's heart pounds, blood rushing in his ears. This feels bigger than his first step off school property. Bigger than feeling air in his lungs and a drum in his chest after being hollow for so long.

Somehow, and Wally doesn't know how, you manage to talk him through pulling over, crawling over the console to plant yourself in his lap. Hands cradling his jaw, you press your forehead against his and guide him away from the edge of a panic attack.

"—got you, Wally, I'm right here, you're okay, shh, you're okay..." The steady cadence of your voice sharpens as his breathing regulates. He's holding you like a lifeline, arms fastened around your waist, heaving great gulps of air as he trembles slightly.

"I'm sorry, baby," He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nuh-uh, no apologies, Wally Clark," You say firmly. There's a lull before you chuckle, gentle and kind, "Hey, this was a lot better than the night you first stepped across the school boundary line, right?"

Fuck, that was a mess. However, Wally wasn't alone when that happened. Charley and Rhonda and Yuri, Mr. Martin and Ajay, Mina, they were all there too, equally as overwhelmed. Rhonda threw up on Quinn's shoes. Charley passed all the way out. Yuri and Ajay were fine, fuck them, but Mina just...screamed. And then laughed. Then cried. Then screamed some more, listening to the sound ricochet off the surrounding buildings in a way it wouldn't have days before The Door.

Wally snorts, "Yeah. Sure," and finally peeks up at you. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks that he realizes belatedly feel damp. Is he crying? Weak. But you aren't judging him, simply gazing at him like he hung the moon; you're perfect person, the man you love most, and Wally's chest swells. "We're out of Split River," Wally croaks.

You beam at him, "We're out of Split River."

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River.

‗•‗

After climbing out of the truck to holler into the ether. To chase each other around the Now Leaving sign. To grab you, spin you around and fall into the grass as you and he laugh and laugh and laugh, Wally finally gets the show back on the road.

Once again, he tucks you into your seat, takes your hand, checks his mirrors and then pulls back onto the highway, the town that raised him then witnessed his death becoming a speck in the background with every mile marker you and he pass.

He lifts your hand, grazes a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes on the road and his mind on you and everything he has planned for this trip. At the halfway point, he stops for gas, shadows you as you browse the aisles for exactly the right snacks. Fondly gazes after you the whole time as you make tough decisions: Nerds or Twizzlers? Cookies or chocolate? Wally, do I want a vanilla or butterscotch pudding with my Oreos? Because that's a normal combination, what?

He's absolutely no help at all, too busy mooning over you as you flutter between the fridge and the chest freezer, babbling about how integral to your mood it is to pick the right snack. To cover for the fact that he isn't paying attention, Wally grabs a bag of marshmallows off one of the shelves when you call him out for not listening.

"These." He says, holding the bag up and then glancing at the graham crackers and Hershey's displayed at eye-level. "Maybe these?"

"You wanna make s'mores in the truck?" You ask, dubious.

"No," Wally saves himself, "Just these," and he jiggles the bag of marshmallows. They're the jumbo kind; the kind he used to bet his cousin Dennis to eat five of in one bite or else he couldn't play Wally's Magnavox Odyssey.

You consider the marshmallows for a moment and then, with a decisive nod, "And hot chocolate."

"And hot chocolate," Wally agrees, following you around the shop to the coffee station.

Wally pays for everything, hip-butting you (carefully, no spills) out of the way when you try to pass the cashier your card. He takes the bag and the tray of hot chocolate and still holds the door open for you with his heel. No fucking way is his princess lifting a finger on her birthday-slash-Wally's-freedom trip.

For every mile, you dip a marshmallow in your hot chocolate—dipping Wally's as well and feeding him, giggling when he nips or sucks the gooey sugar from your fingertips. It's silly and sweet and Wally basks in every second of it. Every second of your off-key singing, your trivia answers, your arguments over which is better, Thunderbirds or Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.

"You know, I have been catching up on TV shows, right?" Wally laughs, "You can use better examples."

"What's wrong with puppets, Wally? Are you a pupaphobist?"

Wally barks a laugh, "That's not a thing!"

"It definitely is a thing," And you wield your phone, flashing Google as Exhibit A. "So? Are you? Just say it, you hate Jim Henson and everything he stood for."

And it's amazing. It's anything and everything and so much more than Wally could've ever hoped for. Even the quiet intervals when the sugar wears off and the early wakeup call catches up to you; your body curled up in your seat awkwardly just so you can angle yourself right to rest your head on the console and place Wally's hand in your hair.

Adorable little diva.

As you doze, Wally watches the scenery drift by, his lungs expanding more and more with every mile he puts between himself and Split River.

Eventually, he turns off the highway and onto the backroads without you noticing a thing. His fingers card through your hair, trace the shape of your jaw and cheek as he absorbs the softness of the moment and tucks it away behind his ribs. Safe and sound, to be pulled out and cherished when he's alone.

When he parks, he's reluctant to wake you. So, he doesn't. Not immediately. Rather, he spends a few minutes just resting himself, sinking down a little in the driver's seat. Then slants sideways, curls over and around you to kiss your ear, cheek, jaw.

He couldn't dim his smile if he tried, enamored when you protest at first, but then sigh, realize where you are and who you're with before groggily chuckling at Wally's antics.

"Surprise, baby girl," He whispers, letting you sit up so you can take in your surroundings.

The look on your face tells Wally he did a good job. The way you tackle him into the inside of his door and kiss him tells him he's going to have to start planning next year's surprise tomorrow, because, fuck yeah, this is exactly the reaction he's looking for.

Getting out of the truck and staring at Claire's stepdad's lodge; at the trees and the snow and the vast expanse of sky, it hits him again like a ton of bricks.

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River!

‗•‗

He doesn't wait to celebrate. As soon as he closes the door behind him, he reels you in, kisses you deep and hungry while you're only halfway out of your jacket. That's okay, he helps you get it the rest of the way off, along with everything else.

"Let me make you feel good, baby," He whispers against your skin, hands everywhere, his hips rolling into yours as he pins you to the wall beside the door. "Let me show you how much I love you..."

Wally kisses you deep, hungry, groaning into your mouth as he keeps grinding his hard cock against you, fuck, you get him going like nothing else. All you have to do is breathe in his direction and his pants tent.

Heat courses through him, curls tight in his belly and flushes outward to his limbs, God, he needs you. Now. Right fucking now, baby, come on. He carries you to the enormous kitchen island, peels your leggings and panties off and has his lips on you and tongue in you faster than you can cry out his name.

"So sweet, baby," He moans into your pussy, panting, not bothering to breathe in his greed for your taste and pleasure. "Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you."

He spears his tongue in and out of you before teasing little circles around your clit, his fingers plunging into you in place of his tongue. Wally could do this all day and never get tired; the sounds you make, the way you writhe and beg for him, Jesus, he can't imagine ever wanting anything else.

Cruel, desperate, he doesn't care what you call it, he stops right as you're about to come, shoves his sweatpants just below his balls and drags your hips off the counter to punch his cock into you. His head falls back as soon as he feels you around him, so tight and hot, "Fuck, yes, baby, so good for me."

And he sets a frenzied pace, unable to keep himself in check now that he has you like this. His fingers dig into your lovehandles, your legs hooked over his elbows. He's grunting, you're mewling your pleasure, and Wally about loses it before you do. But he doesn't. He's better than that, fucks you like a beast until you scream and shake and squirt around his cock.

It's game over after that. No way can he hold on, his body tensing, hips grinding, as he spills deep inside you. Carefully, he sits you more firmly on the counter and leans in to kiss you, soft, sated, a little blissdrunk in the afterglow. Bodies pressed together, slowly recovering, Wally strokes the arches of your cheeks with his thumbs and gives you a muzzy smile.

"You're my whole world, you know that?" He tells you and then captures your lips in a kiss that quickly turns heated, "I'll do anything for you, baby." Fuck, he's already getting worked up again, needs more of you, always needs more. "I'll die all over again if you asked me to."

"Wally..." You gasp when he rocks his hips forward, driving his cock back into you.

It's just after sundown before you and he finally check out what's beyond the open kitchen/living room space, the table and couch and ottoman and, shit, bearskin rug fully christened in sweat and come.

You and he jump on the beds with childlike glee, music blaring on speakers that cost more than Rodney's mortgage. Claire explicitly forbade Wally from using the master suite so, taking that into consideration, that's the first bedroom he fucks you in—from behind, driving his hips forward while he pulls you back against him. What? He'll do the necessary laundry.

If he remembers...

‗•‗

After a supper of haphazardly thrown together and grossly microwaved nachos, Wally snuggles you between his legs on one of the Adirondack chairs outside, under a thick blanket and dressed accordingly in the thermals and sweater and fuzzy socks he secretly bought and brought for you.

The fire pit blazes, the stars above twinkle, and the land around is a peaceful kind of dark. Not the ominous, suffocating dark Wally grew accustomed to in the confines of the school. The comfortable silence between you and him is accentuated by the crackle and pop of the fire, the scene so peaceful, Wally has to wonder if he ever experienced any such feeling before.

His arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss to your cheek from behind, watching the flames dance as you lance another marshmallow on your stick.

Tomorrow is your birthday and he intends to take you skiing. Or, when he knows you'll diplomatically decide to trade skis for slippers, he'll bring you back here at noon and spoil you rotten with presents and a homecooked meal; that bubble bath Nicole suggested (thank you, Nicole), and a long night on that bearskin rug (thank you Rhonda).

It's going to be an incredible week, he assures himself. And on Saturday, the others will arrive while he takes you into the resort town to explore so they can set up your big surprise party. Yuri will grill in a t-shirt, and Charley will force everyone to play '90s boardgames he died too soon to play, and Rhonda will make everyone take shots whenever Wally gives you heart eyes just to watch the messiness unfurl.

Claire will probably reprimand him for fucking in her parents' bedroom, but Wally doesn't care. Because it means he celebrated you right. That you and he had fun. That there's evidence of the fact that, for the first time in 40 years, holy fuck, Wally made it out of Split River!

🧁___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Anxiety.

a smutty flashfic explaining how not. clingy. Wally is even when he thinks you're mad at him but won't tell him why.

Cuddle Bug

summary: a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. smut lite. AU - everyone is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍃

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch. No surprise there. The guy needs cuddles like flowers need sunlight to thrive. Always has. Being a ghost for 40 years exacerbated that need, and now that he's a real boy again, he can't help himself. Wally sits too close, hugs hello and goodbye, touches arms and knees when he's telling a story.

It's just that much more amped up when it comes to you.

He was affectionate before you and he became inseparable. Lightly grazed your hand when he walked beside you, found every excuse to tackle you when he tried to teach you football techniques. Ajay and Charley stood there like extra wheels even though it'd been Wally who'd rallied everyone to the field.

What? Your giggle's so damn cute! No way was Wally going to be able to focus on anything else!

Besides Charley's just as bad when Yuri's around, and Simon can't even function when Maddie gives him the eyes. So, everyone can suck it as far as Wally's concerned.

During group activities, Wally would find a way to sit next to you. Would squish his long limbs between you and Maddie and give you a bright, boyish grin. Sometimes he'd stare Xavier down until he got the hint and scooched closer to Nicole at the lunch table, leaving a gap that Wally could settle into beside you. His arm around your shoulders and his knee touching yours. Totally innocent.

Wally brought your favorite snacks to Game Night, established himself as your personal chauffeur despite the fact that you lived closer to Simon and Rhonda, and loyally helped you filter clothes when you and the girls went shopping. Yes. He'd made himself one of the girls just to spend time with you. Don't look at him like that; it worked, didn't it? 👀

Since accepting him as your boyfriend (he grins so big, his cheeks ache), Wally's dependence on your touch, warmth, shape against his, has increased a hundredfold.

You sit on the picnic table before the first bell, chatting to Maddie and Claire about something Wally isn't listening to, his arms around your waist, upper body slumped between your legs, head resting on your thigh as you rake your fingers through his thick hair. Oh, he could die all over again and be the happiest of ghosts just for this. Not that he wants to be a ghost again. Not unless you're with him this time. Which would require you to die, too, and that's a terrible thought and he's never going to tell you about it. But the sentiment remains. Wally doesn't want to do anything without you, ever.

He managed to convince the secretary to put him in all your classes, pouting and pleading his case that he'd been dead since 1983 and, "it's so traumatic coming back, she's the only thing I have that feels real...please?" A tactic that he should stop abusing, but it worked on all the teachers when he requested to be sat next to you. Every time a teacher caved, Wally would fold into the desk beside you, beaming like a winner. And who cares? Mina and Ajay, and Charley and Yuri pulled the same doe-eyed trick and got what they wanted, why couldn't Wally do the same?

On Fridays, everyone piles into Wally's high school best friend's living room—Rodney now Wally's legal guardian for reasons—to have movie marathons. There's trivia to guess the movie. Winner gets one veto and can insert their own choice, but there's three movies in total so pick wisely! They figured out awhile ago that Wally sometimes (always) lets you win trivia when it's his turn to play his lineup. You never veto anything, equally as eager to watch what he opts for. It drives Simon and Ajay insane.

He takes over a whole couch, the three-seater, sprawls long-ways and tucks you between his legs, your body draped over him like a blanket as he wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for anything. He traces patterns on your back, cradles your head against his chest, soaks up the physical contact like a sponge after years of ghostly numbness.

In the school halls, Wally keeps his hand on your hip. He kisses your head and cheeks and jaw. Doesn't care who sees because you're his girl and he'll do what he wants, thank you. He's proud that you call him yours and wants to show off who his heart belongs to. This one! This one said yes!

You're in his lap more than your own seat when the group descends upon Max's Diner after football games (that, no, Wally doesn't participate in. That era is firmly in the past and he'll never don a jersey again; sorry mom, God bless, rest in peace). His hands are all over you as you engage Rhonda in conversation; on your thighs, waist, back, hips. Anywhere and everywhere that's still appropriate in public. His head under your chin, eyes closed as he listens to your heartbeat, strong and steady, the rhythm matching his.

Wally rolls over in his bed, crushes you beneath his weight as he plays dead—knock on wood that that won't happen again for many years—and tries to stifle his laughter when you struggle to reverse the position. Eventually, he showers your skin with kisses, nudges between your thighs and laces his fingers with yours, pressing his smile to yours before kissing you deeply.

The sex is amazing, but nothing beats the afterglow when he has you pliant and sweet, curled into him on your side, your face in his chest, his hand on your lower back, whispering how much he loves you as you doze. Call him codependent, but Wally doesn't want to spend even an hour without you. He isn't a lost puppy, knows how to behave like a man. He just spent too many years being forgotten that he still has trust issues.

And you don't mind. You welcome it, in fact, and that makes Wally feel safer than he ever has. It makes it easy to ignore the looks people give you and him when you agree to go somewhere, "only if Wally's invited, too" because you and he are a package deal. And he does the same for you. Obviously, not for the same reasons, you're perfectly fine being alone, it's just that Wally's not ready to experiment with your absence just yet. Maybe never will be.

Rodney's long since accepted that Wally's room has become your room. From married and childless to married with several formerly-dead teenagers and their SOs, Rodney and his wife have accepted their homebase status like champs. They treat you like family—you have a house key for the rare occasion Wally isn't with you after school—and acknowledge that Wally can't sleep without you without suffering.

He stays curled around you all night, kisses you awake, big hand trailing from your waist to your hip as he nips the top knot of your spine and grinds his morning wood against your ass. God, you get him hard so easily, Wally sometimes thinks he should get checked out. You hum then sigh then turn in his arms, hook a leg over his and press yourself against him in exactly the right way.

Through half-lidded eyes, Wally gazes at you. Licks his lips as he rocks his hips slowly and watches your expression go from sleepsoft to wanting. You like how that feels baby? You want it inside you? And he kisses you deep and thorough, rolls you onto your back to fit between your legs, groans when one of your hands squeezes his ass through his boxer-briefs.

He needs to be inside you yesterday, loves how you feel, tight and wet and hot around him. Soft touches turn hard, light sweeps of lips turn to teeth and tongue and fresh bruises on your neck. Wally loves to taste you first, to prolong his pleasure by giving you yours, his tongue delving into you and sucking your clit gently; deliriously slow because he can't get enough.

It's not until you're begging him so pretty for his cock that he finally lets himself fuck into you, so hard and sensitive his brain explodes upon fitting deep inside you on the first thrust. A refrain of fuck, yes and oh God baby, you feel so good fills the room—sorry Rodney—the headboard smacking against the wall in time with Wally's hips. Throughout, Wally holds you like something precious, kisses you like salvation, breathes you in like he can't live without you.

He makes sure you come first before he even thinks about letting go, the sensation of you shaking apart around him ripping his own release right from his core. Wally licks into your mouth, moans like a beast, and then, one two three more stunted thrusts and he goes still. Hazy eyes hold yours and you can see the depth of his emotion for you. At least, he hopes so. How he'll treasure you forever. He'll never love anyone as much as he loves you. That's a promise and a threat and he smiles a lazy smile at you as you begin to giggle.

"What's so funny, baby?" Wally nudges your cheek with his nose.

"Nothing, I promise, I'm just...really happy." You tell him and he moans in delight.

"You don't feel suffocated or claustrophobic like Rhonda said you would?" Wally asks, a little insecure. Okay, a lot insecure, even if he doesn't usually feel that way about how reliant he is on your proximity. You've never given him a reason to feel anything but safe and happy and loved, but still. Rhonda knows how to hit bone even when she means well.

You shift, forcing Wally to look at you, your hands cradling his jaw, "Never. I will never, ever want this, us, to be anything but exactly how it is. I love having you all over me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." And you grin, a warm little thing, "I like sharing everything with you. It's nice. My very own witness to my life."

Wally kisses you again, another slow, deep, sentimental gesture; everything he feels poured into it, before he settles down on top of you, careful not to crush you, his head above your breasts and his eyes fluttering closed. Relaxed. Sated. Safe.

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch, and, in this second chance at life, he's profoundly grateful to have found someone fluent in it.

🍃___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Fifty Seven.

fluff. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you.

hey, we had fratboy shauna, lottie, and... fratboy jackie?

— so into you || fratboy and g!p jackie taylor headcanons 🎬

a/n: nothing smart to say this time. just need her. also, she gives strong ariana grande songs vibes if you ask me.

summary: she changed since high school and turns out…she’s not as bad as you thought she is. modern college au. girlfriend!jackie.

warnings: NSFW - content - MDNI

★ — well, you didn’t know that someone like jackie taylor exist til the day you walked in class. she sits spread open at the desk. varsity jacket around her shoulders with college soccer team logo. there’s weird, like really concerning amount of silver rings on her fingers. and, oh god, boxers are picking out from the waistband of her jeans.

★ — after that you learn that this girl is a soccer team captain! and your friends are pretty sure she’s into you. you let it slide for now, cause jackie…simply doesn’t make a move. sure, smiles at you, sometimes throw compliment or two. but nothing besides that.

★ — and hell, that girl got reputation. people say she’s mean which…just doesn’t make sense in your head. she’s so nervous around you, how could she be mean to anyone? then, when she finally gets her shit together, she catches you in cafeteria and in front of all your friends she asks you out.

i mean, she tries. cause what comes from her mouth sounds like she’s choking. “hi…so…” she swallows. “i actually don’t know, i mean, you don’t have a boyfriend, yeah? or hell, girlfriend? i just…” she stutters. “maybe you wanna go out? tomorrow? i mean, no rush! we don’t have to, it’s your choice, really…”

“jackie” you cut her off. “just pick me up around 6.”

she stares at you for a moment then she looks like she’s suddenly buzzing with energy. “oh fuck, great—“ she says relieved. “i mean, yeah. cool. whatever.” she mumbles, trying not to sound overexcited. she does anyway. she blushes like a total idiot walking away.

★ — did i mention her obsession with varsity jackets? no? cause this asshole has whole ass collection in her closet. not like you’re complaining when she borrows you another one. they’re smell like hell. (borrows is a big word, she just warps you in it. deal with it.)

★ — oh jackie’s smell. always so fresh, with that cologne sticking tt her skin that fills up your nostrils anytime she’s hovering over you.

★ — right! going back to her rings! the same with jackets — whole ass collections is placed at her nightstand. she wakes up in the morning and put random ones on. the more the better. turns out she loves jewellery in general. necklaces, bracelets. yes, she wears your bra strap as a bracelet.

★ — speaking of which — jackie has piercings! just in ears tho. beginning with basic lobes and ending with conch, helix and rook. and well…one hidden one. albert king piercing.

★ — you gasp when you have sex for the first time, feeling something like ring brushing against your velvet walls. you stare at her. not used to this new sensation.

“jackie, is that…?” you start but she nods swiftly, cheeks are flushed both from embarrassment and arousal.

“is it bad, cause…?” she pants but you shake your head swiftly.

“no, fuck that’s…” you manage to choke out. “that’s hot, jax.”

★ — you see, jackie was a virgin until she met you. she’s so panicked when you’re fucking for the first time. constantly asking you if she’s doing okay, if she’s not hurting you.

“jesus christ, jax.” you breathe out with amusement. “just fuck me.”

and god knows she does. firstly, she’s hesitant, taking things slow. but when her dick is buried deep inside your slick folds? she nearly cries out from pleasure. poor jackie, never had pussy around her cock. when she gets more confident, she fucks you like woman possessed. and she even moans way louder than you. whimpering in your ear with each thrust.

★ — not to mention the first time you give her a head. her eyes rolls back in her head from pleasure while you suck her tip with piercing.

★ — here’s another thing: jackie is prideful. jackie doesn’t like when people tell her what to do. always cocky, in charge. like she’s the best in every single thing she does (she’s not. she’s just annoying.) and then, there’s you. and she loves when you put her in her place while riding her dick. or even without fucking her. she just obeys.

★ — she loves affection but only privately. in public she plays this unbothered, smug frat. keeping your close but not always touching you. pressing kisses to your neck occasionally but she doesn’t cling to you. not around people at least. cough, reputation.

★ — cause when you’re alone? fuck, she does cling. her hands are all over you, lips travelling constantly up and down. like she’ll die if she won’t be touching you. call her all you want, she’s secretly an awful simp for you. also, people know that. probably after she fell asleep on you at that one party. gripping you like you’re the last person on planet earth.

★ — she gives you a lot compliments. leaving the notes on the fridge, in your notes, in your bag…everywhere. and you learn to compliment her too by that! she’s blushing like hell when you call her handsome.

★ — she’s annoying. like really fucking getting on your nerves sometimes. caring too much about her reputation. her clothes. her fucking appearance. all the damn time.

“jax, what the hell?” you ask irritated walking into the bathroom. “you’re sitting here for hours.”

“yeah, to look pretty for a date with my prettiest girlfriend” she grins tugging you for a kiss. and yeah…you melt right and there.

★ — she’s a smoker — always walking everywhere with her vape. she probably smokes something awfully sweet. like strawberry or raspberry.

★ — she needs to keep up her reputation of that confident, perfect asshole that somehow is loved by everyone around. but when it comes to you…you’re her safe place. she’s sensitive. more than people think. sometimes she simply cries in your arms because of the pressure. only to feel a little guilty next day and brings you breakfast to your bed. from your favourite restaurant. she memorised.

★ — she doesn’t say much i love you’s. she’s definitely not so obvious with her love. but she’s sure as hell possessive — you’re her absolute everything. and jackie taylor doesn’t share.

Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader

English version

In the Wayne Manor, there was a room without history. It had a small window, a neatly made bed, and a mirror without fingerprints. And in that room lived her.

She didn’t have a cape.

She didn’t have gadgets.

She didn’t have battle scars or soul wounds that others could see as worthy. She only had a face.

And in that house of masks, that meant nothing.

Since she was little, she learned not to make noise. When she walked through the carpeted hallways, she tiptoed, as if the echo of her steps were a crime.

When she spoke, she did it in a soft voice, afraid of interrupting the conversations between the heroes. When she laughed... she stopped. No one laughed with her.

She didn’t belong to the "team." She didn’t have official training. She wasn’t Nightwing, Red Hood, Robin, or the new girl from the orphanage with a perfect memory. She was just the daughter. The mistake. The useless shadow.

Her mother had died giving birth to her. Bruce raised her out of duty. Alfred was polite but distant. And the rest... simply didn’t see her.

"Since when has she been here?" Tim once asked aloud, not realizing she was right behind him.

Jason mocked, "She's always been here. She's like a nice piece of furniture.Looks good, but isn't useful for fighting."

And they all laughed.

She didn’t.

She just looked at her hands, delicate and soft, then lowered her head.

Bruce never trained her. He said he didn’t want to "put her in danger," but everyone knew he didn’t trust her strength. He didn’t consider her useful. He taught her to keep silent. To observe. To read books instead of reading bodies in combat. And she did. She learned to see without being seen. To understand without asking. To lock everything she felt in a corner of her chest where no one could enter.

But there was one thing she inherited: the gaze. That deep and sharp look. The one that made the guilty tremble. Hers was different, yes. Softer. More beautiful. But just as hypnotic. And no one in the house dared to hold it for too long.

---

One day, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was fourteen years old.

She had the darkest eyes in Gotham.

She had lips as soft as silk.

She had skin that seemed sculpted. And she felt nothing. "What’s the point of being beautiful if no one sees you?"

Someone knocked on the door. It was Damian.

—Move, useless. Some of us have things to do.

She didn’t answer. She just lowered her gaze. But that night, she broke the mirror with her fist. She didn’t cry. She just bled.

---

Time passed. She turned fifteen. Then sixteen. She knew no one would go to her room on her birthday. She knew no one would say "I’m proud of you." She knew that, to them, she was a mistake without scars. So, she left.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t leave a note.

She didn’t seek drama.

She simply made the bed.Closed the door. And disappeared.

Bruce didn’t search for her. "If she wants to come back, she will," he said coldly. And the rest continued with their missions.

No one imagined she would find another way to exist.

And to shine.

---

First came the photos. Self-portraits on lonely streets. Her face surrounded by shadows. Her silhouette reflected in puddles. Her lips slightly parted as if whispering secrets. Someone found them. Shared them. And the world… listened.

“They call her the Marble Girl.”

They said she had an impossible face. Too symmetrical. Too pure.

But what attracted them the most wasn’t her beauty. It was what she hid.

A silent sadness.

A threat without violence.

A sweetness that was poisonous.

---

At seventeen, she was in Paris.

She signed contracts without giving her real name. She modeled without saying a word. And every time the camera focused on her, the world stopped. Not because she smiled.

But because it seemed she didn’t need to.

She denied it.

And that... drove them crazy.

---

She lived alone. In a small glass apartment with black curtains.

She slept little. Dreamed a lot. And never looked back at Gotham.

She never mentioned her family. Not because she hated them. But because... they no longer existed for her.

They had died the day they forgot her.And she... had been reborn.

---

One night, an artist asked to paint her face.

—You have something tragic about you —the woman said, as she traced her jawline—. Like a broken virgin. Or a sad goddess.

She just smiled, without answering. And when the painting was displayed, people cried in front of the canvas. They didn’t know why.

It just... hurt.

---

At eighteen, the world already knew her. Magazines. Art videos. Red carpets.

But never interviews.

Never words.Only that presence. Mysterious. Distant. Unreachable.

And then... Bruce saw her.

---

He was working in the Batcave when her image appeared on the screen. An irrelevant article. A gossip piece.

But there she was. Sitting in a velvet chair. Dressed in black. Surrounded by photographers. And smiling. That smile. Calm. Unbreakable.

Free. Bruce blinked.

—It can’t be… Dick looked down.

Jason clenched his fists.

Tim swallowed hard.

Damian, for the first time, said nothing.

Because they all remembered her. And she didn’t remember them.

—Why didn’t she come back? Dick murmured.

Jason clenched his fists. —Because we didn’t make her feel part of this.

Damian whispered: —She seems happy.

Bruce didn’t answer. He just looked at the screen. And inside, something broke.

It wasn’t guilt.

It wasn’t love.

It was fear.

Because she didn’t need them. And that... was unforgivable.

Ghost in the Shell

Negleted male reader x batfamily chapter 1

Probably bad English ⚠️

Prologue - cap 2

Y un montón de orgullo argentino la puta madre >:)

You certainly always were weird, a weird boy and then a weird man

You were born from one night between a respectable and loving woman like your mother and...Bruce.Then you lost the most important woman in your life and your home as a child.

Then you grew up with your father and your family

You were so excited to make them happy, but it was all in vain.His false promises only brought sad hopes to the child.

You naively believed his words without thinking that they were lies or insults

You stayed alone so as not to suffer the consequences of such a beautiful life that could only have been a dream For the child who found comfort in his computer and later considered it his home

Considering the internet as your place, just for being yourself, and then evolving over the years, bringing happiness to millons of persons and hiding invisible shortcomings and pains.

From your first videos as a child to your last as a young adult who inspired others with his parodies, sketches and his accordion, native to your beautiful Argentina and inherited from your mother

Only to begin your own mourning after finishing your shift in the kitchen where you worked and passing away

You were young, still studying and working for a better future for yourself as a Latino only to die with two gunshots to the chest, lying on the floor of an alley

And that was your story so far. Locked inside the same technology that accompanied you in life in one way or another

You possessed your computer,ridiculous as it sounds,Only able to see your own room and what you considered almost your home

According to a Gotham website that recorded deaths, you had died a few days ago.You were successfully registered in the database as t/n and recognized by your family

No one has entered your room since then and for now you have only been doing your same daily routine on the internet, without your work, your few friends and studies of course, trying to understand yourself

Only Alfred came in, bringing with him some personal pain for the loss, you hid from him pretending to be turned off by fear..

The man meticulously dusted the objects in the unopened room while you stood in pure silence with your...Monitor? Face? Off

He walked around the room, stopping after a few steps to see somethings like it was a musem Posters,figures from series or games that Alfred din't know, drawings full of your unique creativity, your old sheets, the stickers of candy promos on the window and other places stuck

Your room seemed almost trapped in time and you loved it that way

Finally, the two great exhibits of "your museum" were your beautiful, and beautiful accordion..or how you like to call it,acordeón o Gardelito Demonstrating your people's characteristic love for your country

It was a beautiful old accordion painted black with a "fileteado" Showing your light blue and white flag with a sun in the center with all its pride

The brightness of the instrument made it charming to anyone and captivated the old butler who looked with interest at its keys

The old man's wrinkled hand landed on the keyboard, about to touch a key, then closed slightly and moved away, welcoming him to the latest exhibit: an old computer

Your old computer

And you

So many years sitting at the same table in front of an old blue chair entertaining one of Wayne's sons..

Only to be seen empty and sad without her partner in the silence of the room

It wasn't the most shocking image the butler had ever seen, but it provoked...a feeling of regret and pain

For the absence of someone Alfred knew deserved a chance

Shattered Bonds

English is not my native language, I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

The Wayne Manor loomed like a cathedral of shadows, its gothic spires clawing at the Gotham sky. Inside, chandeliers cast fractured light across mahogany panels, but the warmth of their glow never reached you. You were a ghost in your own home, a forgotten daughter of the Bat, tethered to a family that saw you only in glimpses. As Damian Wayne’s twin, you’d once shared his world—two children forged in the crucible of the League of Assassins, bound by blood and secrets. But where Damian’s fire burned bright, commanding attention, you were the ember, quiet and overlooked, your warmth reserved for those who cared to notice.

No one did. Not anymore.

The neglect had been a slow poison, seeping through the years. Bruce, your father, was a monolith, his eyes forever fixed on Gotham’s underbelly, his rare words to you clipped and utilitarian. Dick’s smiles were fleeting, Jason’s rough affection sporadic, Tim’s focus consumed by screens and cases. Even Alfred, with his gentle offerings of tea and concern, couldn’t bridge the chasm between you and the others. Damian, your mirror, your twin, had grown cold, his loyalty now a blade turned outward, never inward. You’d learned to live with it, to swallow the ache of being unseen. But then came Lila, and the ache became a wound.

Lila arrived a year ago, a waif with haunted eyes and a trembling lip, plucked from Gotham’s streets by Bruce’s boundless need to save. You saw yourself in her at first—a girl adrift, hungry for belonging. You spent nights by her side, listening to her whispered fears, bandaging her scraped knees, teaching her to navigate the manor’s labyrinthine halls. You thought you were building something—a sister, a friend. But Lila was no lost soul. She was a predator, and you were her prey.

Her lies began as whispers, soft and insidious. “Y/N pushed me down the stairs,” she’d sob to Damian, her voice quivering with rehearsed fragility. The accusation landed like a stone, and your twin’s emerald eyes—once your anchor—flashed with doubt. “Y/N mocked me during training,” she’d confide to Dick, who’d ruffle her hair and shoot you a disappointed glance. She told Tim you’d sabotaged her schoolwork, Jason that you’d sneered at her weakness, Bruce that you were consumed by jealousy. Each lie was a brushstroke, painting you as the villain in a story you hadn’t written.

The manor turned against you. Family dinners became tribunals, your every word dissected, your silences condemned. “You need to be better, Y/N,” Bruce would say, his voice heavy with the weight of a city he couldn’t save. “We’re a team.” But you weren’t a team. You were the scapegoat, the shadow cast by Lila’s light.

Behind closed doors, her mask fell. In the dim corridors, where the manor’s grandeur faded to gloom, Lila’s cruelty was a blade. She’d shove you against the wall, her nails biting into your arms. “You’re nothing here,” she’d hiss, her breath hot against your ear. “They all love me more.” She’d pinch your skin until it bloomed purple, leaving bruises you hid beneath oversized sweaters. Once, she poured ink into your schoolbag, ruining your textbooks, then wept to the family that you’d done it to frame her. The lie stuck, and your protests were met with sighs and eye-rolls.

School, once a refuge, became a battlefield. Lila’s whispers spread like wildfire through Gotham Academy’s polished halls. “Y/N’s a liar,” she’d murmur to your classmates. “A whore who thinks she’s a Wayne but’s just a mistake.” The words were venom, and they worked. Notes appeared in your locker—crude insults, threats. Girls shoved you in the halls, their laughter a chorus of malice. Boys whispered behind your back, their gazes sharp with disdain. You were ostracized, a pariah in a world you’d once navigated with quiet pride.

You fought to be heard. You went to Damian first, your twin, the boy who’d once shared your heartbeat in the womb. In his room, surrounded by his sketches and swords, you bared your soul. “She’s lying, Dami,” you pleaded, rolling up your sleeve to show the bruises Lila’s fingers had left. “She’s hurting me.” His gaze lingered on the marks, but his jaw tightened, and he turned away. “Lila wouldn’t do that,” he said, voice low and final. “You’re just upset she’s fitting in better than you.” The words were a knife, twisting deep. Your twin, your other half, had chosen her.

You tried Bruce next, standing in his study as rain lashed the windows. The Batcomputer hummed behind him, its glow casting his face in cold blue. You poured out everything—Lila’s lies, her cruelty, the bruises, the bullying at school. “I’m not making this up,” you said, voice trembling but steady. “She’s turning everyone against me.” Bruce listened, but his eyes drifted to the screens, to Gotham’s endless demands. “You need to work this out with her,” he said, as if your pain were a minor dispute. “I don’t have time for petty squabbles.” *Petty.* The word was a sledgehammer, shattering what little hope you’d clung to.

The others were no better. Dick tried to mediate, sitting you and Lila down like children fighting over toys. But her tears flowed on cue, and his sympathy tilted her way. “Y/N, you’ve got to meet her halfway,” he said, oblivious to the bruises beneath your sleeves. Jason laughed it off, slinging an arm around you that felt more like pity than support. “You’re tougher than this, kid. Don’t let her get to you.” Tim, ever the detective, analyzed your claims but found no “concrete evidence” to back them. “Lila’s stories check out,” he said, as if your pain were a case to be solved. Alfred alone saw the truth, his eyes soft as he pressed a warm mug into your hands. “You are enough, Miss Y/N,” he murmured. But his kindness couldn’t undo the family’s verdict.

Lila’s final act came at a family dinner, the table laden with crystal and silver, the air thick with unspoken tensions. She “accidentally” knocked a glass of red wine onto your dress, the stain spreading like blood. Before you could speak, she burst into tears, claiming you’d threatened her for being clumsy. The room stilled, eyes pinning you in place. Damian’s gaze was ice, Bruce’s disappointment a tangible weight. Dick frowned, Jason smirked, Tim looked away. “I didn’t do anything,” you whispered, but your voice was a ghost, drowned by Lila’s sobs. You stood, chair scraping the floor, and fled to your room.

That night, you made your choice. The manor was no longer home—it was a cage, and you were done begging for freedom. In the silence of your room, you packed a duffel bag—clothes, a photo of you and Damian as children, a knife Talia had given you years ago. You wrote a letter, your pen shaking but your resolve ironclad:

*Father,*

Fuck off, I don't care.

*With love, the girl you don't care about*

You left the letter on Bruce’s desk, slipped out through a servants’ entrance, and vanished into Gotham’s rain-soaked night.

The journey to Talia’s compound was a blur of buses, planes, and forged documents. When you arrived, the desert sun burned away the last of Gotham’s chill. Talia waited at the gates, her presence commanding, her eyes sharp but soft as they took you in. “My child,” she said, her voice a balm. She drew you into her arms, and for the first time in years, you didn’t feel invisible. “You’ve carried too much.” She didn’t ask for explanations, didn’t need them. Talia saw the weight in your shoulders, the shadows beneath your eyes, and she understood.

In Gotham, your absence went unnoticed at first. The Batfamily was consumed—patrols, cases, Lila’s endless dramas. But when Alfred found your letter, the manor erupted. Bruce read it in his study, the words blurring as his hands trembled. He’d failed you, his daughter, and the realization was a fist to his chest. Damian, summoned by Alfred’s urgent call, stared at the letter, your handwriting searing into his mind. He remembered your bruises, your pleas, and a crack formed in his certainty. Dick cursed himself, replaying every moment he’d dismissed you. Jason punched a wall, rage masking his guilt. Tim scoured security footage, desperate for a trace of you, but Talia’s network was a fortress, every lead a dead end.

Lila sensed the shift, her grip on the family faltering. She doubled down, weaving new tales, but without you as the scapegoat, her lies frayed. Damian, haunted by your absence, began to question. He revisited your room, finding a hidden journal you’d kept—pages of Lila’s cruelty, your pain, your pleas for help. His heart twisted, guilt replacing his doubt. Tim, ever methodical, dug into Lila’s past, unearthing inconsistencies—a foster home that didn’t exist, a story that didn’t add up. The truth emerged, slow but relentless, and Lila’s house of cards collapsed.

But it was too late. You were gone, and the Batfamily’s regret couldn’t bring you back. With Talia, you trained under the desert sun, your body growing stronger, your mind sharper. You learned to wield your mother’s blades, to command her operatives, to reclaim the fire you’d buried under years of neglect. You weren’t the scared girl who’d fled the manor. You were Talia al Ghul’s daughter, forged in pain and tempered by choice.

One night, as you stood on a balcony overlooking the endless dunes, Talia joined you. “You are whole again,” she said, her voice proud. You nodded, the weight of Gotham lifting. The Batfamily would always be a part of you—Bruce’s strength, Damian’s fire, the others’ fleeting warmth—but they no longer defined you. You’d chosen yourself, your mother, your truth. And in the desert’s vast silence, you were free.

And now, in the silence of the night, with your eyes fixed on the endless desert, the ghosts of your past begin to fade, one by one. Somewhere in the mansion you once called home, the echoes of your cries still linger—but they no longer define you. You spent a lifetime waiting to be heard… but now, in the quiet, you’ve finally found your voice. You are no longer someone’s shadow. Not a twin’s echo. Not a forgotten daughter. Not a casualty of someone else’s lies. Now, there is only you. And this time, the pain didn’t break you—it forged you anew. When you look back, there will still be memories laced with love, no matter how broken. Maybe, one day… someone will truly see you. But until then, as the desert winds whisper your name, you’ll no longer seek validation in the darkness. Because in the end, the moment you stopped fighting for them, you finally won for yourself.

How did it happen?

I am me

The lab was a cathedral of cold steel and sterile light, buried deep beneath Gotham’s decaying underbelly. Vials hissed, monitors pulsed, and the air hummed with the arrogance of creation. Dr. Elias Varn, a man whose ambition outstripped his humanity, stood before the culmination of his life’s work: a figure suspended in a glowing tank, muscles taut, eyes closed, a paradox of sinew and menace. The clone. A perfect fusion of Gotham’s greatest hero, Bruce Wayne’s discipline, and its most infamous monster, the Joker’s chaotic brilliance.

But Varn had never considered that the clone might have a mind of its own.

They called him {your name}. A name you didn’t choose, but one Varn etched into your file—like a cold, indelible mark. The first sinner, the first to shed blood, the biblical outcast. {your name} was feared before you even took your first breath. Your creators saw only the potential for ruin—Bruce’s tactical genius combined with Joker’s unpredictable fury. But what they couldn’t see was this: you looked at chaos and found it… wasteful.

Your first memory was the hum of the lab, the weight of eyes upon you, and a question that burned brighter than the fluorescent glare: Why destroy when you can build? It wasn’t about morality, not exactly. Morality was for others—guilt and virtue were clumsy dances. You saw the world in probabilities, in outcomes. Destruction was loud, fleeting, inefficient. Helping, fixing, optimizing—that was the puzzle worth solving.

Gotham was a city of screams, and you walked its streets like a ghost. Six feet of lean muscle, your features a haunting blend of Bruce’s chiseled resolve and Joker’s sharp, unsettling grin. But your eyes—one green, one gray—were entirely your own; the only flaw in Varn’s perfect design.

People flinched when they saw you, sensing the danger in your stride, the latent power in your hands. They didn’t know that you’d spent the morning rerouting a soup kitchen’s supply chain to feed twice as many mouths with half the waste.

Tonight, you stood in the shadow of a crumbling tenement, watching a woman named Mara load boxes into a battered van. Her face was streaked with tears, her movements frantic. Divorce had gutted her, left her scrambling to escape a home turned hostile. The neighbors had offered hugs, platitudes, casseroles. But you saw their gestures for what they were: emotional noise, useless in the face of logistics.

You stepped forward, silent as a predator, and Mara froze. “You’re… you’re him,” she whispered, voice trembling. The papers had leaked your existence weeks ago—Varn’s hubris ensuring that. The Clone. The Monster. The End of Us All.

You tilted your head, assessing. “You’re moving out. You need help.”

Her eyes widened. “I—I don’t—”

You didn’t wait for permission. In ten minutes, you’d packed the van with ruthless efficiency, stacking boxes in a Tetris-like arrangement that left room for her daughter’s crib. By midnight, you’d secured a lease on a subsidized apartment across town, one with a deadbolt and a view of the river. Mara stammered thanks, but you were already gone, her gratitude irrelevant. The task was done. The outcome optimized.

The world didn’t understand you, and you didn’t care. You weren’t good, not in the way people wanted. Good was Batman, cloaked in sacrifice, or the civilians who clutched their pearls and prayed for heroes. You were something else—a mind that saw systems where others saw stories, a heart that weighed effort against impact. Danger pulsed in your veins, yes. You could kill with a flick of your wrist, outwit a SWAT team, or burn Gotham to ash. But why?

Chaos was a tantrum, and you weren’t a child.

Your next project was a man named Carl, a dockworker whose father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Carl’s friends had clapped him on the back, sent cards, and organized a fundraiser. Nice, but insufficient. You spent three nights combing through medical journals, hospital records, and survivor forums. By dawn, you handed Carl a dossier: a ranked list of oncologists with the highest success rates, a breakdown of treatment costs versus outcomes, and a dietary plan tailored to bolster immunity. Carl stared at the pages, dumbfounded. “Why’d you do this?” he asked.

You shrugged. “It was the logical thing to do.”

Logical. That was the word they didn’t get. To Gotham, you were a walking apocalypse, the Joker’s madness wearing Batman’s cape. They saw your lineage and wrote your story before you could. Varn had wanted a destroyer, and the city braced for one. But you weren’t their puppet. You were your own man, carving a path neither Bruce nor Joker could have imagined—one where power served purpose, not chaos or control.

The Bat watched from the shadows, his cowl a mask of conflict. Bruce Wayne had found you, tracked you through Gotham’s veins, and now stood on a rooftop, grappling with the truth. This clone, this abomination, wasn’t the monster he’d feared. You didn’t kill, didn’t scheme, didn’t revel in pain. You helped. You solved. You were neither hero nor villain, but something Bruce couldn’t categorize—a man who saw the world as a machine and chose to fix it, not break it.

The Joker, too, had heard the whispers. In his latest hideout, he cackled at the irony. His DNA, his legacy, turned into a do-gooder? It was hilarious, infuriating, perfect. “Oh, kid,” he muttered, twirling a knife. “You’re gonna ruin my brand.”

But you didn’t care about brands, or legacies, or the war between order and anarchy. You cared about outcomes. And tonight, as you slipped into an abandoned warehouse to dismantle a gang’s fentanyl operation—not with fists, but with evidence mailed to the DA—you felt the weight of eyes on you. Bruce’s. The Joker’s. Gotham’s.

Let them watch. Let them fear. You weren’t their story. You were your own.

Why doesn't anyone see me?

Warnings before you start There are disturbing elements, self-harm, eating disorders, and implicit mentions of harassment.

The grand hallways of Wayne Manor looked magnificent from the outside, but to you, they were nothing more than cold stone. You were sixteen, and in this house, in this family, you had always been just a shadow. The man you called your father — Bruce Wayne — had left you to drown in his darkness. The marks on your body, on your arms, back, legs... each was a silent scream. Each one reminded you how a world you once trusted had torn you apart. And the worst part? The one who did this wasn’t a stranger. It was someone who had existed in the background of your life, like a ghost.

You tried to speak up once. That night, you opened the door to his study. Bruce sat at his desk, surrounded by files and glowing monitors. His Batman suit hung in the corner — as if that costume was his real face.

“Dad,” you said, your voice trembling. “I need to talk.”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired, distant. “What is it?” he asked, but there was no real curiosity in his tone.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in your chest. “I... Something happened. A while ago. And it still…” The words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to show him the scars — but maybe, just maybe, he would understand. Maybe he’d see you.

But Bruce lowered his head back to his files. “Now’s not the time,” he said, voice flat. “A lot’s going on in the city. We’ll talk later.”

Later. Always later.

You closed the door behind you, and tears began to slide down your cheeks. Batman could save Gotham — but he didn’t even try to save you.

The next day, you turned to Jason. The rebel of the family, a soul forged in his own pain. Maybe he’d understand.

You found him in the garage, working on his motorcycle.

“Jason,” you said, stepping closer. “I need to ask you something.”

He looked at you, wiping his hands with a grease-stained rag. “What do you want, princess?” he said with a mocking lilt.

You swallowed hard, gathering your courage. “Something happened to me. Something bad. And no one’s listening. I have scars—here,” you said, pulling up your sleeve slightly to show a faded mark.

Jason fell silent for a moment — then laughed.

“Everyone’s got issues, little lady. Go outside, see what I’ve seen. Then come back and cry.”

His words hit like a blade.

“But this is serious!” you cried, your voice cracking.

“Serious?” he snapped, standing and getting close. “You mean your little princess trauma? Grow up.”

Under his sneer, you felt yourself shrink. He didn’t see you either. He left you, too.

You decided to try Damian. Despite his young age, he had a sharp mind. Maybe he had noticed something.

You found him in the training room, practicing with a sword.

“Damian,” you said from the doorway. “Do you have a minute?”

He turned to you, green eyes cold and calculating.

“What do you want?” he asked, stabbing the blade into the floor.

“I… Something happened to me. And it’s hard to carry,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He frowned, then smirked. “You’re weak,” he said, flatly.

“What?” was all you could manage.

“If you can’t carry it, then you don’t belong in this family. I know pain — but all you do is complain.”

His words were poison. His scorn felt worse than Jason’s mockery. Because Damian saw you as a burden. And in that moment, you felt the final thread tying you to this family snap.

You found Tim in the library, headphones in, eyes on his laptop.

“Tim,” you said, sitting beside him.

He pulled out one earbud. “Yeah?” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

“One sec, let me finish this line of code,” he mumbled.

Minutes passed. You sat there, waiting.

Eventually, he said, “Just tell me later,” and put his headphones back in.

He hadn’t even heard you.

Dick seemed different — or so you thought.

You found him in the lounge, laughing, mid-conversation.

“Dick, can we talk?” you asked, voice faint.

He turned to you with his bright smile. “Of course, little one! What’s up?”

But before you could say more than “I…” his phone rang.

“Hold that thought — I gotta take this,” he said, walking away.

He never came back.

That night, in your room, you stood before the mirror. You looked at the scars — each one a story no one wanted to hear. Tears wouldn’t stop. This house, this family, was a prison. Bruce didn’t see you. Jason mocked you. Damian belittled you. Tim and Dick didn’t even notice you were there. You might have been Batman’s daughter, but in this place, you were nothing.

You walked to the window and looked out at the lights of Gotham. Maybe it was time to leave. Maybe you couldn’t escape your family, but you could escape this silence. You packed a small bag — a hoodie, some money, a long-sleeve shirt to cover the marks. At the door, you paused. Maybe someone would notice. Maybe someone would stop you.

But the hallway was quiet. No one came.

As you stepped into the street, the cold air slapped your face. Were you free? Or just stepping into a different kind of shadow? You didn’t know. But at least now… now, you were trying to find your own voice.

Gotham’s streets swallowed you whole. You had escaped Wayne Manor, but the darkness inside you came along for the ride. What you thought was freedom was just another kind of prison — this time, one built within your own mind. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you walked under the flickering streetlights. The cold concrete beneath your feet was a warning: No one here is coming to save you. But you weren’t expecting to be saved anyway. Your family had never seen you; maybe you really were invisible.

Days passed. You holed up in a cheap motel, using the credit card your father once gave you. You knew the money would run out — but you didn’t care. Under the dim lights of the room, you stared into the mirror. The scars were still there — on your arms, your back, your legs. Each one whispered that you were something filthy, something ruined. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Why me?” you murmured.

No answer.

The reflection staring back filled you with disgust. This body, these scars… it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you had been stronger, if you had spoken louder, maybe your family would have heard you. But you hadn’t. You were weak. Damian was right.

---________________________________________---

Days blurred into weeks. Gotham’s gray sky felt like a mirror to your soul. In the motel’s small bathroom, you sat with a cheap razor in your hand. You stared at your scars… and added new ones. Thin lines of blood appeared — but they didn’t bring relief. Pain couldn’t fill the emptiness. Every cut echoed the rejection you’d endured. Bruce’s cold “Not now.” Jason’s mocking laugh. Damian’s “You’re weak.” Tim and Dick’s silence. It all etched itself into your skin.

Every time you looked in the mirror, the hate grew.

“This is my fault,” you whispered.

Your eyes were swollen. Hair tangled. You’d stopped eating — your stomach turned at the thought of food. Sleep brought nightmares. Again and again, you relived the trauma — shadows, hands, the silence of your unheard screams.

When you woke, clutching your pillow, all you felt was emptiness.

Your family hadn’t called. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care.

Batman saved Gotham.

But not his own daughter.

Depression wrapped itself around you like a blanket — cold and heavy. Hurting yourself became a routine. Your arms were covered in cuts, but even that wasn’t enough.

“I’m worthless,” you said one night, your voice breaking.

“No one wants me. Not even me.”

You punched the mirror. Glass cracked. Your knuckles bled.

Still, you felt nothing.

Then, one day, everything stopped.

You lay on the stained motel bed, razor in hand again. Sirens wailed outside, but your world was quiet. You looked at your scars one last time.

“It’s over,” you said.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of your family — Bruce buried in files, Jason fixing his bike, Damian swinging a sword, Tim staring into his screen, Dick laughing…

None of them had seen you.

None of them had heard you.

This time, you used the blade one last time.

There would be no coming back.

The blood soaked the sheets — slow and silent.

You stared at the ceiling. Through the window, Gotham’s gray sky watched over you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure to whom.

Your breathing slowed.

Darkness closed in.

The sirens faded.

Bruce Wayne’s daughter vanished into the shadows.

---________________________________________---

The next day, the motel worker knocked, but there was no answer.

They opened the door — and found you.

The police report was brief:

“Female, aged …, suicide.”

When the call reached Wayne Manor, Bruce finally put his files down.

Jason went quiet.

Damian dropped his sword.

Tim turned off his screen.

Dick’s smile faded.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t seen you.

They hadn’t heard you.

And now… they never would.

---________________________________________---

Girl dad! Joker I literally need more bat!reader turned mini joker, Harley getting a daughter and they have fun little mother daughter playdates blowing all of Jokers money😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

hihi ty for the ask !!!

okay so I would like to think contrary to everyone - i think Joker before what's happened to him - back when he was a normal functioning human being was actually thinking about having a kid.

Like he genuinely wanted a kid with someone he loved and appreciated- just wanted to make another being genuinely happy . Then tragedy strikes and he turns into Joker and for a good few years - his morality changes drastically and the thought of a kid is pretty far fetched.

So when he sees this little girl in the the rain crying her heart of because someone ran over her doll - he feels an ache in his cold heart and it scares him at first - he literally avoids her for a good while but then one day he sees her fall while sliding fown a lil slide.

And he just rush over to pick her up and from then on she became his daughter.

Him and Harley loves her- I mean how could they not ? All they ever wanted was a chance at domestic life after everything they've been through - contrary to popular opinions I don't think they'd involve her in their criminal endeavors .

I feel like they'd hold onto her as their ine chance at feeling normal so they just have someone trusted watch over her til they get back. Notably they don't do alot of messes that could land them in jail because after all they have a little girl to go home too.

I feel like Joker would read her a bedtime story and Harley would wear matching pj's with her. Like I said before in a precious post , Harley is that mom he's on the pda board and goes to every meeting and Joker is a big sponsor of the school.

Hey they might kot be good role models and they're both equally insane and fucked up but they make good parents.

I HATE SPIDER LILLES

angst . gore . wip

summary : a lonesome child dies while a neglectful father loses himself to guilt and grief.

My body bleeds black as it eagerly gushes out my chest . The blade glistens in the faint moonlight - it looks so angelic , so beautiful as it lodges itself deeper into my chest . I want to cry - cry out to the world , cry out to everyone , cry out to them . There are so many questions, yet no answers . Why doesn't Daddy love me like he does to everyone else ? Why did my mummy have to leave me behind ? Why did my brothers have to ignore me ? Why does everyone hate me ?

It's unfair - so unfair that I have to die all alone in this cold , bleak night while they are wrapped in Daddy's warm arms - shielded from Gotham unwavering doom. My eyes strain as they stare out into the darkness- hopeful and naive searching for someone to save me from myself . Tears stream begin to stream down my cheeks as it dawns on me that no one was coming , that daddy and older brothers don't want to save me .

" I'm sorry daddy - I'll do better - I'll be better daddy , I'm sorry I disappoint you alot , I'm sorry I'm not strong enough daddy but - I can do it - I can be strong like jayjay - I can be smart like tim papa I promise - just gimme a chance daddy I can be like them - I can be fast like dick and I could be perfect like damian daddy please - please save me daddy please it - it hurts so much please ". I cry out but no one responds to me .

I let out a pathetic cry - was it too much ? Too selfish to plead for my daddy to save me from this cruelness ? Was I too weak ? Too imperfect for his perfect world ? Was I so forgetful , so useless to him that I deserved to die a painful , agonizing death ? Had I wronged my daddy by simply breathing ? Another painful cry leaves my trembling mouth - yet again questions left unanswered .

A spider lily blooms from the inside of my chest - practically weaving itself around the blade . My bloody , swollen hands reach to cup it like a desperate man would for water on a scorching desert. The petals are soft to touch - almost feather like . Is this what mummy's touch was supposed to feel like ? Soft? Warm ? Comforting? Its pungent scent invaded my senses - my body high on its vanilla like scent -

How sick , how cruel can death be ? How can it be so cold , so painful yet so warm and welcoming at the same time ? Was I always doomed to succumb to my own failure? Had my own brother predicted my downfall when he called me a failure and a waste of Wayne resources ?

Was I always doomed to die ? Did God hate me so much that he blessed my brother with a person to mourn him but left me without ? Another question left unanswered . More red spider lilies begin to bloom around me , swallowing me whole and for once - I give in - I embrace it for what does a child whom has experienced nothing from her own family left to embrace ?

I swallow another choked hiccup back - even now when certain death is about to consume me - I still bottle my feelings in fear of burdening others, even monstrous death himself. Spider lillies began to sprout from my own flesh .

Blood coating its red petals - like a wet blanket, its ire iron smell masks the once sweet vanilla scent . The flowers practically tear through my flesh , lovingly discarding my tissue about like confetti. It's painful, mummy , so painful, daddy - please save me - anyone please save me . I'm sorry for being me daddy - I promise to be better - I promise I'll be someone else anyone, Daddy, just make it stop .

My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out - nothing but another spider, lily - this time it's pure white . It sways it the wind like an enchanted being , a pure - untouched angel , an ethereal being spreading its soft love for all . The wind proudly ruffles through its prestine petals - a silent kiss of farewell from God , a kiss coaxing them to a far away land promising of a sweet , quiet , painless life. My dull eyes stare back into the abyss , this time, it's glassy , detached - its owner no longer belongs here , in fact they never had .

My eyes slowly closed in on themselves for the last time . Such a slow, pitiful death for a little girl . Left the world all alone and cold with no mummy and daddy to mourn her - no one to cry for her , no one to remember her . Such a sad faith for a little girl .

Bruce stares at name's dead body - guilt eats him alive as before him, his daughter's corpse lays on a plastic cover , cold and unmoving. He can feel bile crawling up his stomach as his mind digests how beyond mauled his daughter body looks .

His poor , innocent daughter lays there , and her once olive tone complexion turned into a sick ghostly pale . His shaky hands reach out towards her, unsure - how shameful is it that this was the first time he's embraced her in ten years ? He embraces her like a lifeline - like a drowning man would to a drifting raft in a vast ocean.

His worn hands traced the black , jaggered blade lodged in her chest - his eyes then dart to the spiraling spider lilly that wraps around it - as if this was some gift . How could such brutality present itself to be beautiful? How can it try to mask to horror of her heart torn into half with faux beauty ? He feels so angry - angry with the world , angry with himself - angry at her because how could she leave him - how dare she leave him in this cruel world with nothing but her cold corpse?

.

He tries to rattle his brain of any fond memories of you both to mourn over and nothing come up - his brain is blank and a delusional part of him wants to blame the fact he's in shock but the little rational part of him left picks at him for the lack of time and love he gave to you.

He wants to desperately go back in time - eight hours ago to stop you and Tim from a bitter argument , to go back and stop Damian from utter harsh words , to go back in time to simply love you like he should of , to go back in time to comfort himself when he got the call from Gordon telling him they found your dead body in an back ally thanks to the neighbors complaining about a disgusting smell.

He desperately wants to go back and fix everything but he knows he can't- what's done is done and now he has to live with the brutality of your death engraved in him forever , live with the reality he's failed you and you won't come back.

He looks down at the red spider lilies that sprout from around and from you - he feels them mocking him - laughing at him because they got to surround you , in your final moments , got to cherish you like a loving family, - got to be with you. Something he can only dream of.

He grips your dead corpse closer , practically encasing you with his entire being . Hot tears flow down his cheek, and he begins mumbling. Sorry, and I love you's, but what good is it talking and apologizing to a corpse when you had the real living thing all your life ? From that moment on - Bruce hates himself for what's happen , blames himself for your death- for your neglect and most of all he's grown to hate spider lilies because he blames them for taking you away from him and his family.

Bruce dislodges the blade from your chest , your inky , black blood coats it like a fountain pen . He grips onto the blade' handle , knuckles going white and strained the more he stares at it . He carefully places it in a plastic container and pockets it immediately - he doesn't trust the GGPD with finding out what happened with you , doesn't trust them handling your corpse with the utmost care and live that you deserved to have .

His face hovers over your open chest , he cringes at the scent of your corpse rottening, and the iron smell of your spilled blood . He rests his face on your wound carefully - scared he hurts you even more than he already did . His cheek collides with your cold flesh and dried blood, and it's there he mourns you over your broken heart - it is here he allows himself to be vulnerable with you - allows himself to shed hot tears . He pulls you in closer , hands embracing you for the first and last time .

He wants to say so many things, but nothing pours out of his mouth . How utterly pathetic , how cruel , how unfair - why , why must even in his last moment with you - he can not express himself , cannot express the fatherly love he feels for you . Angry hot tears cascade down his face - so angry , so blatantly disappointed in himself that he's failed you again and again .

He holds you like that the entire night into the early , wee hours of the mourning until a tired Alfred had to pry him off you.

" Master Bruce, please," Alfred pleads as he holds onto Bruce's crumbling figure . Alfred feels a wave of de ja vulnerable in case he looks at your corpse and back at Bruce - everything is the same way it was the night Martha and Thomas died - just this time Bruce is distraught beyond repair and instead of delicate pearls scattered about , it's your own flesh , blood and spider lillies .

He swallows back as he takes in your corpse - he feels so guilty - he knows he could of done more - knows that he could prevent you from feeling more alone and hurt than you already did but instead of prevention he was the enabler.

" She's gone Alfred - gone - she's not - she's never coming back home." Bruce cries out, pained and strained as he looks back at Alfred - pain clearly etched into his features .

Alfred is left speechless when he watches the police put away your corpse into a plastic baggy and transfers in the into the back of a van . He eyes Gordon, closing the door shut and entering the vehicle - barking orders to his officers .

" She - she deserves better," Alfred finally murmurs . Silence drafts between them as they watched the van and other police cars take off - their sirens echoing down the quiet mouring of Gotham .

Bruce's eyes follow them until they're out of his eyesight before looking Alfred in his eyes , " I am going to find whoever did this to her and break them," he says with finality. Alfred looks at him - realky looks at him and a part of him wants to agree with him - that you deserve justice- another part of him screams at him that they were the true cause of your despair - that it was hypocrite of Bruce and himself to feel this way when they caused this.

Alfred nods, and both men walk to the parked limo - determined to fix things - to bring you back home - to shower you with love and warmth - to hold you like the precious flower that you are .

Don't worry, beloved name , daddy would fix things - daddy will bring you back, sweet girl.

TIMELESS

summary: what if neglected character was well-loved in our universe despite being so hated in her own?

(spin-off neglected reader x batfam)

DC readers were eating up the comic run, but it really got a big hit when Batman, on one of his infamous runs, met this homeless family , neglected character's family, and offered to raise the neglected character till they were 18 out of false pity.

So this HC is essentially us , the readers; the 4th wall is essentially reading comics , specifically those about the Batfamily.

So the Batfamily comics are released by this huge company called DC , where a man named Bruce Wayne tragically lost his family one night and, filled with rage and vengeance, became Batman.

The comic's continued run continues on, and we, the readers, read how he met every Robin and learn about their pasts ,growths, etc, from Dick's tragic start to Jason's demise. Tim's rather conflicting start and Damian's controversial add-in.

The company hadn't expected so many readers (us) to like this seemingly normal person. I mean, come on, the neglected character can barely tie her own shoelaces properly and is literally so socially awkward.

This, of course, backfires immensely since a lot of DC readers really like neglected character because of how easily relatable they are to the big audience .

Neglected character was originally added to the family as, like, a punchline and for filler purposes, especially for Damian and Jason to appear more vibrant and more in touch with the audience and since they were running out of ideas and thought batman saving neglected character could be a moment.

There was also a whole separate run for Bruce and Tim with neglected character—they were talking about some complex time travel whatnots to explain a sudden time jump in the comics, and poor neglected reader was just there as a punchline because she was too 'dumb' to understand what they weee talking about .This backfired on them, of course—it turned into a massive meme about how 'shit is so confusing even our goat (neglected character) can't understand this shii.

At this point in the actual comics, things were getting frisky in the family. The Batfam literally starts despising neglected character so much. She's literally a nobody who doesn't even try to do anything like saving gotham like them, and they're so much better than her, so why is she getting all the love ?

Like, seriously, why would anyone want to like some lowlife who can't solve cold cases in two days, do crazy backflips, and knows ancient martial arts techniques and ancient languages? Oh! Did they forget to mention they can do anything? Side note: they can !

DC really tried to push the Batfam propaganda for a while, trying to manipulate us readers into liking them, but it's so hard too when we as the general audience can't even relate to them.

Thus, neglected character's fanbase grew exponentially—literally to the point where DC had to make their own solo because of the high demand .

Neglected character whose whole solo run was just them trying to find themselves and distance themselves from how hateful and harmful the Batfam are—especially Jason and Damian. Literally, their run was just them helping people, like a close friend getting over a bad ex, to helping this one grandma open a bottle of ketchup.

Their run made a big hit—loads of readers loved how normal and relatable the neglected character is! Especially how she grows to love herself for being normal and just living for herself, which touched a lot of readers' hearts.

Due to the neglected character's striking popularity , the company literally had to somehow mention her name or her existence everywhere in every run they make in order for it to be successful .

Oh, Tim Drake is getting a solo run? Let's put the neglected character in the background of the cover so people can pick it up to read. Oh, Damian and Batman are going on a duo adventure? Let's add a scene in the trailer where they mention the character's name once so people can flock to theaters to actually watch their movie.

Jason and Nightwing are getting their own animated series? Let's have a short ten-second clip of them discussing a plan and name-walking in the background so people can actually care about the series .

Literally the entire Batfam's popularity and relevancy are dependent on neglected character because whenever DC tries not to mention or include them, readers and viewers, respectively, don't engage with it, and it turns into a huge flop.

There are literally a hundred videos on YouTube where they all discuss who the strongest/best hero in the Batfam is, and the neglected character always wins , despite not even being a vigilante, because 'the goat (neglected character) just needs a bad day and a reason to crash out, and ain't no one in the Batfam can stop them' , ' Give my Goat (neglected character) a bat and a reason to crashout and she'd no-diff the entire villains cast in Gotham' , ' Personally if neglected reader was there , this situation would of never happened ' ,' TRUST NEGLECTED CHARACTER IS GONNA SHOW UP AND COOK JUST WAIT ' , ' NEGLECTED CHARACTER PLEASE SAVE US FROM WHATEVER THIS IS '.

Like, the Batfam is really starting to despise neglected character even more because, seriously, what does she have that they don't? And the neglected character couldn't give a damn because they are on their 20th comic issue where they are going to Spain with their classmates and they somehow save their airplane from crashing by accidentally falling into the cockpit and somehow hitting a random button that stabilizes the plane.

Safe to say DC readers and neglected reader fans are eating this shit up while Batfam seethes.

DC might have accidentally fucked up by making a run where Batfam gets so jealous they go out of their way to hunt neglected character and kill them, but due to leakers leaking the run and fans literally rioting, boycotting, and slandering the company, the company literally had to discard the whole issue and release an apology statement .

People took to the net by storm, even those who never read the comics in their life were leaving comments such as 'Ain't no way they tried killing my goat (neglected character),' Ayo bro, what is this ??,' 'LEAVE NEGLECTED CHARACTER ALONE,' and 'Tis pmo, man.'

It's safe to say DC indirectly created a literal icon of a character, and they can't kill them off or make any drastic changes to her character, or her fans will cook them alive.

Batfam slowly starts realizing their mistake in hating the neglected character and begins obsessing with her , trying to earn her favor, while the neglected character is just genuinely confused because since when do they check up on her?

ty for reading , pls comment , like and share !!

Taglist : @1abi

Broken heart

The rain tapped quietly against the tall windows of Wayne Manor.

But inside, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Not peaceful. Not warm.

Just… hollow.

You’d been brought here when you were thirteen.

After your mother died, Bruce took you in.

His real daughter.

Blood.

No one could say you didn’t belong here.

And yet, every single day since you walked through the doors of this grand mansion…

You felt like a stranger in your own story.

There was no welcome.

No warmth.

Only rooms that were too big, silences that were too loud, and people who were too busy to look.

Bruce gave you a bedroom, not a family.

A last name, not a father.

He told you he was "doing his best."

But he never looked you in the eye.

He never asked what your favorite food was.

Or if you had trouble sleeping.

Or if your chest hurt again.

Because it did.

It always did.

Your heart condition had followed you your whole life.

Weak rhythms, shortness of breath, chest pain.

Stress made it worse.

Loneliness made it unbearable.

But no one noticed.

Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to ask.

Dick smiled at you.

He was always smiling.

But it never reached his eyes.

You sat next to him one afternoon, hoping for connection.

He barely looked up from his phone.

“Bored?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t wait.

He left.

Jason ignored you.

He didn’t mean to be cruel—he just didn’t see you.

One night you collapsed near the stairs.

He found you.

But instead of asking if you were okay, he muttered,

“What are you doing on the floor?”

Like it was your fault.

Like your body betraying you was inconvenient.

He helped you up.

But he never looked at you.

And still... you said “thank you.”

Because at least someone touched you.

Tim barely knew when you entered a room.

You could be sitting across from him, and he’d still be more focused on his laptop than your pale face, your shaking hands.

One night, your breathing grew shallow—fast, unsteady.

You curled up in the corner, struggling.

He was there.

Headphones on. Typing.

You nearly passed out at his feet.

And he never noticed.

Damian hated you.

At least he was honest about it.

To him, you were weak.

Pathetic.

A waste of space.

“You can’t even hold your own weight,” he said one afternoon when you dropped a glass.

The truth was, your hands were trembling.

But he didn’t care.

He walked away while your heart pounded like a ticking time bomb inside your chest.

No one followed.

No one stayed.

You started keeping painkillers hidden in your drawer.

Not because they helped—

but because pretending to take them felt like pretending someone gave a damn.

You started writing letters you never sent.

Journals filled with

“Would they notice if I died?”

“Does it matter?”

Then came the night it finally broke you.

Your vision blurred.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t scream.

You reached for your phone—

but the battery was dead.

Your fingers fumbled.

No one heard.

No one came.

You passed out.

---+--+---------------+-------+-------_---------------

When you woke up, everything was white.

The hospital smelled like bleach and cold air.

Alfred was there.

He looked shaken.

Bruce came later.

He stood by your bed.

Silent.

Eyes unreadable.

And then he said,

“When did it get this bad?”

You almost laughed.

Because it had always been this bad.

But you had never been worth his full attention.

--------------------------------------------------------

Now, lying in a hospital bed, you stared at the ceiling and whispered,

“I didn’t want help. I just wanted to be seen.”

But the damage was done.

---+-------------------------------------------------

Maybe now they’d care.

Maybe now they’d feel guilty.

Maybe now someone would look at you and really see you.

But maybe it was too late.

Your heart was fragile—

and not just because of your condition.

-----------------------------------------------------------

End.

(Or maybe… just the beginning.)

English is not my native language

The price of justice

Batfam x neglected reader

What happens to a child that suffers neglect?

Why does a child have to suffer from their parents actions?

Why do they only regret it at the end?

"I don't want to live anymore..."

The dream was a tapestry of vibrant colors and impossible landscapes. I flew through fields of molten gold, danced with ethereal beings in a sky painted with swirling nebulae. It was a symphony of joy, a world where anything was possible.

Then, the colors dimmed, the landscape shifted. I found myself in a stark, grey room, the air thick with a palpable sense of sorrow. In the center, a child sat huddled on the floor, their tiny frame shaking with silent sobs. Their face, streaked with tears, was a picture of desolate despair. I tried to reach out, to comfort them, but my hand passed through their form, my voice swallowed by an impenetrable silence.

The child’s sobs morphed into a guttural wail, a sound that ripped through the dream's delicate fabric. It was a cry of utter loneliness, a desperate plea for solace. I felt a pang of sorrow, an overwhelming sense of helplessness. This child's despair felt so real, so palpable, it bled into the very core of my being.

Then, the child looked up. Their eyes, swollen with tears, met mine, and in that instant, I knew. The child was me. Not the me of now, but a younger version, a reflection of a past I had long suppressed. I recognized the worn, faded teddy bear clutched in their small hands, the same one I had carried everywhere as a child.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I was the child, weeping in the corner, ignored, forgotten. The neglect I had experienced, the loneliness that had gnawed at my soul, it was all there, echoing in the child's despair. It wasn't a dream of another child; it was a reflection of my own forgotten pain.

The dream dissolved. I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding, the image of my younger self etched on my mind. The room was dim, the silence oppressive. I felt a cold shiver crawl down my spine, a chilling awareness that the child's pain wasn't just a dream. It was a reminder of a reality I had buried deep within myself, a painful truth I had tried to forget.

The dream, a haunting echo of my past, had cracked open a dam of long-suppressed memories. They flooded back, a torrent of painful moments, each one a sharp shard of neglect cutting through my heart.

Fifteen years of my life replayed in my mind, a painful montage of missed birthdays, forgotten promises, and empty apologies. I saw myself, a small, hopeful child, yearning for attention, for a simple hug, a kind word. But my pleas were met with indifference, my needs dismissed, my existence overlooked.

I remembered the holidays spent alone, the birthday cake left untouched, the Christmas morning devoid of presents. I remembered the silence, the empty spaces where laughter should have been, the hollowness where love should have resided.

Each memory was a fresh wound, a reminder of the small, fragile child I once was, a child who had craved the warmth of a loving embrace, the comfort of a shared laugh, the simple reassurance that I mattered. I had been a shadow, an unseen presence in a house that felt more like a prison.

Pity washed over me, a wave of sorrow so profound it choked me. I pitied the child I had been, the one who had spent years yearning for acceptance, for love, for the basic human connection that every child deserves.

It was a crippling realization. Fifteen years of neglect, fifteen years of feeling invisible, of being a ghost in my own home. The memories were raw, agonizing, and the weight of them pressed down on me, a crushing burden of sorrow and resentment.

The memories flooded back, each one a searing reminder of the years of neglect. But as I grappled with the painful truth of my childhood, I couldn't help but think of my family, the ones who had shaped my life, the ones who had, in their own way, contributed to my pain.

My father, Bruce Wayne, was a multi-billionaire playboy in the eyes of the media, a man who seemed to have it all. Yet, behind his charming facade, he was Batman, a vigilante who spent his nights fighting crime, leaving his days consumed by the burdens of his alter ego. He was always busy, always preoccupied, always a figure shrouded in shadows, both figuratively and literally. He was my father, yet he was a stranger, a distant presence who felt more like a mythical figure than a real, living person.

Then there was Dick, my older brother, a whirlwind of happy-go-lucky energy. He was always smiling, always joking, always trying to lighten the mood. But beneath his sunny disposition, his promises were often empty, his gestures more about appeasing than genuine affection. He meant well, but his life was filled with his own struggles, leaving him with little time for genuine connection.

Jason, my second older brother, once held a gentle warmth, a genuine kindness that I craved. But a traumatic incident, a brutal encounter with a villain, had changed him. He had become guarded, cynical, and distant. He was still sweet at heart, but his harsh exterior was a shield he wore to protect himself from further pain.

Tim, the third brother, was brilliant, a master of strategy, a whirlwind of caffeine-fueled energy. He was always working, always planning, always trying to control the chaos around him. He was sharp, insightful, and often sarcastic, but underneath his gruff exterior lay a vulnerability he tried to hide. He was the one who could articulate his feelings, but never seemed to allow himself to be vulnerable.

Damian, my half-brother, was a different breed entirely. He was harsh, aggressive, and constantly seeking to prove his worth. He was the product of a family dynasty, trained in the arts of combat and deception. His coldness was a defense mechanism, a way to protect himself from the world's brutality.

And then there were the others, the ones who were not blood but still part of our strange, fractured family. Stephanie Brown, a vibrant, determined woman with a passion for justice, was like a whirlwind of energy, always buzzing with activity, always trying to help, but her efforts often felt like an attempt to fill a void rather than a genuine connection. Cassandra Cain, a gifted martial artist, was a quiet presence, a shadow in the corner, her communication a series of subtle gestures and a piercing gaze. She was a warrior, a protector, but her own struggles with social interaction made it difficult to forge a true bond with her. Duke Thomas, a young man with a kind heart and a thirst for justice, was a constant source of optimism and hope. He saw the good in everyone, and his attempts to connect with me were genuine, though sometimes awkward.

And then there was Barbara Gordon, a brilliant detective and a kind heart, a figure of strength and resilience. She was a source of wisdom and support for everyone, but her own battles with her past left her with a guarded nature, a sense of caution that made it difficult to truly open up to her.

They were all vigilantes, each with their own reasons for fighting for justice, each carrying the weight of their own burdens. They were my family, yet they were so far away, so consumed by their own battles that they failed to see the child who needed them most.

And then there was Alfred, our loyal butler, a man who truly cared for all of us. He tried to cheer me up, offering me a warm smile and a comforting cup of tea, but he was always busy managing the manor, tending to the needs of the family, and keeping the wheels of this chaotic household turning. He was a constant presence, a rock of stability in a world of constant upheaval, but even he, with his endless kindness and dedication, couldn't fill the void left by my family's neglect.

He tried, he really did. He'd often sit with me in the library, offering me a book or a cup of hot chocolate, but even his kindest gestures felt like an attempt to appease rather than a genuine attempt to connect. He was a servant, a caretaker, and while his love was boundless, it was a love that was always tempered by his role. He couldn't be the parent I longed for, the one who would understand my pain, the one who would hold me close and tell me that everything would be alright.

I was the biological daughter, the one who carried Bruce's blood, yet I felt like an outsider, a ghost in a house filled with shadows and secrets. They had adopted others, embraced them with open arms, but I was left on the periphery, a constant reminder of a past they seemed to want to forget. I was the biological child, yet they were so busy fighting their own battles that they never really saw me. It was as if they were all living in a different world, a world where I did not belong.

Their neglect wasn't malicious, not really. It was more a matter of circumstance, a byproduct of their own burdens and struggles. They were fighting for justice, for the greater good, but they had failed to see the small child who needed them most, the one who was simply yearning for a family, for a connection, for a love that felt real and genuine.

So I was left, a solitary figure in a grand house, surrounded by a family who loved me in their own way, but who ultimately failed to see the child who was yearning for something more than a fleeting glance, a hollow promise, or a well-meaning gesture. I was the biological daughter, the one who carried Bruce's blood, yet I felt like an outsider, a phantom in a house filled with shadows and secrets.

The dream had shattered the illusion of a happy family, leaving me with a raw, painful awareness of my own neglect. My heart ached with a longing for the love and attention I had been denied, but a cold distance had settled over me, a shield I wore to protect myself from further hurt.

I became polite, courteous, but distant. I engaged in conversations, listened to their concerns, but my heart remained closed. My responses were measured, my laughter strained, my smiles hollow. I was a ghost in the house, a presence they acknowledged but never truly understood.

Their attempts to make amends felt clumsy, insincere. My father, consumed by his guilt, tried to spend more time with me, but his efforts felt forced, his words empty. He bought me gifts, took me on extravagant outings, but they were never the right gifts, the right outings. He was still Batman, still lost in the shadows, and I was just a small part of a grand, complicated life he couldn't fully comprehend.

Dick, ever the charmer, tried to be more present, to offer his support. He would take me to sporting events, try to share stories of his adventures, but his attempts felt more like a performance than genuine connection. He was always trying to fix things, to make everything alright, but his solutions felt superficial, his efforts misplaced.

Jason, with his cynical exterior, struggled to reconcile his past actions. He tried to be more open, to share his struggles, but his pain was so raw, so overwhelming, that his attempts to connect were more likely to push me away than bring us closer.

Tim, ever the strategist, tried to understand my pain through logic and analysis, but his intellectual approach felt cold, distant. He could articulate my feelings, but he couldn't truly understand the emotional depth of my experience.

Damian, with his usual arrogance, tried to assert his authority, to be a protective brother, but his efforts felt condescending, patronizing. He was still the same impulsive, driven boy, unable to fully grasp the emotional complexity of the situation.

Stephanie, ever the enthusiastic helper, tried to fill the void with her boundless energy, but her constant efforts felt like an attempt to compensate, to fill the silence with noise rather than truly understanding the quiet desperation of my heart.

Cassandra, with her stoic silence, tried to offer her silent support, but her struggles with communication made it impossible to truly connect. Her attempts at affection were often clumsy, her gestures misconstrued.

Duke, with his genuine kindness, tried to create genuine connection, but his awkward attempts felt like a child trying to mend a broken heart with a band-aid. He was a good boy, a caring friend, but he was still young, still learning, and couldn't fully grasp the depth of my pain.

Barbara, with her sharp mind and empathetic heart, tried to understand my pain, but she was trapped by her own demons, her own struggles, and couldn't offer the kind of unyielding support I needed. She was a friend, a confidante, but she couldn't be the mother I had never had.

Alfred, ever the loyal servant, continued to offer his unwavering support, his kind words and comforting gestures, but even his best efforts couldn't fully erase the pain.

But as time passed, their efforts to mend the broken bridges only served to highlight the depth of their neglect. They saw the distance in my eyes, the cold politeness in my words, and it was as if a mirror had been held up to their own failings. Their guilt became a palpable presence, a weight that hung over them like a suffocating fog.

They started to grovel, begging for my forgiveness, pleading for a chance to make things right. My father, the billionaire playboy, the brooding vigilante, stood before me, humbled, his pride shattered. He spoke of his regrets, his failures, the burden of his secrets, but his words were hollow, his apologies devoid of true remorse.

Dick, ever the charming boy, now spoke with a broken voice, his carefully constructed facade crumbling under the weight of his own guilt. He confessed his failings, his empty promises, his inability to truly connect, but his words felt more like a desperate attempt to regain my favor than a genuine expression of remorse.

Jason, the once gentle soul, now stood before me, his cynicism replaced by a raw vulnerability. He confessed his inability to cope, his inability to offer the love I needed, and his pain was real, but his attempts to make things right were overshadowed by his own self-preservation.

Tim, ever the strategist, now spoke with a quiet desperation, his analytical mind failing to grasp the depth of his emotional failings. He acknowledged his shortcomings, his inability to connect, but his attempts to reason his way out of the situation only served to highlight his inability to truly understand my pain.

Damian, the arrogant boy, now stood before me, his pride swallowed by a crippling sense of shame. He confessed his cruelty, his inability to offer genuine affection, and for the first time, his words were not tinged with defiance but with a raw vulnerability.

Stephanie, the vibrant, determined woman, now stood before me, her energy drained, her spirit humbled. She confessed her misguided efforts, her attempts to fill a void with noise rather than genuine understanding, and her voice trembled with a mix of regret and self-reproach.

Cassandra, the stoic warrior, now stood before me, her silent gaze filled with a depth of remorse that even her limited communication couldn't mask. She confessed her struggles with connection, her inability to express her feelings, and her gestures, though still restrained, now conveyed a genuine depth of sorrow.

Duke, the young man with a kind heart, now stood before me, his awkward attempts to connect replaced by a genuine sincerity. He confessed his lack of understanding, his inability to offer the support I needed, and his words were laced with a genuine desire to make things right.

Barbara, the brilliant detective, the empathetic friend, now stood before me, her sharp mind failing to find the words to express the depth of her regret. She confessed her own struggles, her inability to be the mother I had never had, and her voice was filled with a pain that resonated with my own.

Alfred, ever the loyal servant, now stood before me, his usually stoic facade replaced by a genuine concern. He confessed his inability to fully understand my pain, his inability to be the parent I needed, and his eyes were filled with a deep sorrow for the child I had become.

They all groveled, begging for my forgiveness, pleading for a chance to make things right. But their words were hollow, their actions insincere. I had become a symbol of their collective guilt, a reminder of their failures, and their desperate attempts to mend the broken bridges only served to highlight the depth of their neglect.

I was no longer the same child, the one who yearned for their attention, their love. I had become a stranger to myself, a shell of the person I once was. I had grown up in a house full of shadows, surrounded by a family who loved me but who ultimately failed to see me.

The damage was done, the wounds too deep. I had learned to survive without them, to create a world of my own where their neglect couldn't touch me. But the scars remained, a constant reminder of the child who had been left behind, the child who had yearned for a love that never came.

I looked at them, at their humbled faces, their desperate pleas, and I felt nothing. No anger, no resentment, no desire for revenge. Just a deep, profound indifference. They had hurt me, but they had also taught me a valuable lesson: the only love that truly mattered was the love I could give myself.

And so, I turned away, leaving them to their guilt, their apologies, their desperate attempts to make things right. I had no need for their forgiveness, no desire for their love. I was free.

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Being submerged in a new way of living can be, figuratively, a very stressful time for a sixteen-year-old. New school. New city. New friends. 

And a new family, which can be a very fragile subject to handle.

Especially when you are forced to pretend to be someone who is no longer alive; all while looking for your missing twin, learning to keep your uncontrolled powers a secret, and discovering how not to lose your own identity with a body that is very much not your own.

(Y/N) Maximoff did not sign up for family drama. (Y/N) Wayne did not sign up to die young.

Both of them seem to become Death’s favorite tragedy.

Can Maximoff not lose herself in a place designed to see her crash and burn at the stake? Will she be able to find a place to belong? Learn to own up to her situation and even get some peace for the girl that is no longer amongst the living? Get some proper answers in a city full of mystery and secrets?

Thankfully, most of the questions have a positive outcome.

Can she escape from the haunting shadows of a family of obsessive bats?

That may be a lot harder to respond to, as expected.

Masterlist:

Reader's Moodboard

Chapter 1: I Could Be The Eye Of The Storm

Chapter 2: I Am Not My Body, Not My Mind, Or My Brain

Chapter 3: Not My Thoughts And Feelings, I Am Not My DNA

Chapter 4: Don’t You Find It Strange? The Only Thing We Share Is One Last Name

Chapter 5: Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head (TBA)

Playlists:

Fic's Playlist

Maximoff's Playlist

Wayne's Playlist

Asks: (Open)

Tag List: (Open)

 @bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0

You know how in most neglectful batfamily fanfic the reader dies and then goes back in time

Instead of the reader going back in time what if one of the family members goes back in time and tries to change things so that they don't die

Bonus points if it's Damian :3

(English is not my first language)

hihi ty for the ask >.<

━ if in this au a character who somehow goes back into time and witnesses just truly how neglectful the reader is, this character should have privy had a solid relationship with them ?

━ like im thinking initially when Damian came into the family - reader and him were pretty close , bonded over the fact they were outcasts, but as he grew into being Robin, they drifted apart ?

━ so like when he does go back in time ? Could be before his time of entering the family or the period they both drifted apart he feels guilty?

━ maybe he tries to reconcile with reader but the thing is - when you're so used to being left alone - socializing can be so stressful for you.

━ so when he is trying to rebuild that bridge reader is having a mental breakdown , too overwhelmed to really grasp the reality and it gets so bad one day she actually fainted .

━ freaked the hell out of Damian that he had to beg Bruce to carry her to a hospital because he's blaming himself for her condition.

━ Bruce starts feeling guilty as hell especially when the nurse is asking questions about the reader and he can't answer half of them .

━ reader gets evaluated on and the nurse literally tells Bruce straight up that she has to be put in a specialized facility to be properly taken care of and he starts tweaking out.

━ he starts like asking if reader can come home and how he can take care of her and the nurse is like " Quite frankly enough putting the patient in this specialized facility is the best option for their wellbeing"

━ we can have Damian visiting the reader , slowly but surely building that bridge and soon enough others begin trickling in.

━ somehow he gets teleported back to his own universe and sews his own reader and starts breaking down when he hugs her.

━ reader is confused and annoyed and just pushes him away because in this universe she has her own life and wants nothing to do with the batfam.

━ Damian literally tells Bruce everything form the other universe and their own outcome, and Bruce immediately guilt ridden and get everyone on a plan to get reader back.

Yandere BatFam x other dimension Reader.

SYPNOSIS: In another world they did love you.

IMP: Reader did get neglected in her dimension.

You've never been a figure or anything important, not something worth the light. Even in picture everybody looked so good and you're just there, even just from a glance it's hard to notice you.

You've tried to shine to take that light everybody else have in their grip but the light was purposefully avoiding you.

No amount of grade, beauty or perfection would make you their baby. Someone they cared for.

You weren't some star like them just the black sheep, everybody else have a life they can call theirs but your life was already written out for you, every possible things already carved out by everyone else but yourself.

Unlike Dick you weren't charming or good looking everything about him was amazing and admirable... The first Robin and the first to become their own person. Not even Bruce get to curve his story...

He treat his siblings equally, that was what he preached... It was true. You weren't a family to him, you didn't matter enough to be apart of his family.

Even when Jason decided to started killing you stayed by his side, brought him food and even tried to build an actual relationship but it was no use.

Everybody called you desperate for crawling to him when he needed somebody and the moment he healed(kind of) he throw you away. Ignoring how you were the only one who stood up for him, took all the insult and humiliation for his sake yet he took you for granted.

You took the word, hit and almost got disowned, for somebody who doesn't even care. You almost died for somebody you thought was your brother yet he didn't do shit when the family almost disowned you for staying by his side... Didn't offer home or solace. Just ignored your suffering for his sake.

Tim was smart everything you adore in a brother, stayed by his side spent sleepless nights just to watch over him when he was in the hospital, trying your best to support your brother who you fear might die.

Yes, everyone didn't get enough sleep but you didn't even sleep stayed by his side to make sure no harm could happened to him. Took your time to read book's knowing he can't even hear you, doing everything.

Yet when he opened his eyes he hugged the family and not you, even have the audacity to ask you to go out while they had some 'family' catch up...

Damian was one hell of a monster, yet you never gave up on him. He was just a kid and you wanted to be the admirable older siblings you never had.

It wasn't easy it never was, the constant lie about you to everyone and yes nobody in this world pity you enough to hear your side... Yout life was already hell and it wad just unfair how everybody else got what they wished for and you never get anything... Not even a family.

To the eyes of the media you were the black sheep often left out even in family portraits or any major Wayne gala, just some avarage citizen that was living the life...

Bruce couldn't remember your name's at times blaming it on old age, Alfred only saw you as an extra mouth nothing more nothing less.

Even when The joker kidnapped you and made Bruce choose between you and Catwoman he almost hesitate, you were never the first or second, you weren't an option to everybody... Just some extras living with them to make them look better.

Being you was painful itself, when your family who were supposed to be the hero rejected your presence.

So, when you accidentally step into another dimension you became attached.

Your false family loved you to no ends, you were dead in that universe... Dying a gruesome death.

Yet when they saw you alive even tho you weren't their family they cherished you and most importantly treat you like a family.

There was no more I no more threats just a loving family.

Who will do whatever to make you stay.

"I like this" You told them, you couldn't help but smile.

You've never played games with your actual family before, to them you were an actual bot with nothing interesting.

"Oh, you won't like it for long... I'll beat you"

Tim said as he aggressively nudge at you to make you lose control.

"Hey! That's cheating, someone take him out!"

Barbara stood up for you.

"Everything is fair in games... As long as you're the winner"

Damian speak up as he instinctively grab Tim hoodie and cover his eyes with it. To let you win.

"That's cheating! I should have won"

"Everything is fair in games... Just gotta have the right support"

You couldn't help it, everybody were together. You were finally in the picture, you didn't have to fit in they just have to accept you and they absolutely did.

You couldn't help but tear up, your heart aching slightly.

"Little wing are you okay? Should w-"

Dick spoke before he was cut off by Damian.

"Let's beat up Tim, he made them cry"

"Huh?! Im the one that lost... Your violence towards me make them scared!"

Before anyone else could argue on who made you cry Jason who was just there because of you spoke up.

"Don't be so obnoxious and loud... They're obviously emotional for a good reason. Bunch of wannabe adult in this room"

With that said he would gave you this handkerchief which was very unusual of him.

Taking a seat next to you on the ground as he pick up the extra controller, not even weirded out by your suddenly burst of tears just pure understanding.

Your Jason was the one who kick you aside the moment he felt healed but this one... He was trying his best to comfort you, he didn't like to be so upfront yet he was doing this to save you from embarassment and a little comfort.

Looking at the Handkerchief you couldn't help but smile, the same one you gave to your Jason when he came back but the one you made was burned into crispy by the very person you made for. He took it and throw it inside the crumbling building that was ignited into flames by him.

Called it a waste of fabric and time, not worth his precious time or life even tho you spend weeks stitching everything by hand... You just wanted to encourage him to be better you didn't knew he would take offence to your kindness.

There was some holes on the handkerchief yet it was extremely clean and ironed... He seems to cherish it alot.

"Took it everywhere and I ruined it, it was my lucky charm but you're here now so you'll be a good replacement"

"I don't think being compared to a literal fabric is fulfilling"

Duke commented.

"It's not just a fabric it's made by our beloved sibling here, shame on you Duke, shame on you"

Stephanie tease him with a fake offended look.

"They only made it for Jaybird... Im abit upse- Very upset"

Dick decided to bring another reason to start a full on war again.

"Hey! I want one but with our special logo!"

"This is childish, but I need one for a good purpose"

"Im the oldest so I should be first"

"Want one"

"Enough!"

Bruce spoke up, seems like all the arguing had finally went into his brain.

"As your Father... I am first priority"

"Master Bruce, as your somewhat father I must be the first I insist"

This was what family should be, united and happy. One that are willing to be by yourside even at your worst, willing to take the hit with you and just be ourselves to eachother without shame.

While you were finally getting the life you deserved your actual family were crumbling. Trying to find you, turning every nook and crook up side down.

Gotham was turning into literal hell, they were acting like dog hound pounding onto anyone who they assume have information on your whereabouts.

It seems like they have finally realised your worth. But you've already replaced them.

You were slowly healing but too bad they won't tolerate being replaced.

Watch me flop.

Dating Jackie Taylor

warnings: precrash!Jackie, angst(?), fluff, nsfw (under cut), switch!Jackie

❃ you and Jackie had been friends since childhood, both your parents being very friendly and having eachother over for dinner almost every other weekend.

❃ and maybe you'd always had a crush on her - you wouldn't know.. You just knew that the more you grew up and saw her grow with you, the more you wanted to be the reason for the smile on her face.

❃ But it was Jeff who was responsible for that.

❃ Jackie and Jeff had been in an on and off relationship since ninth grade after Jeff had kissed her at some dumb birthday party. You remembered that day and how you didn't know why a lump in your throat started to develop the more Jackie giggled at the boys words.

❃ but you continued acting like everything was normal, over the years managing to push that side of you deep down. It wasn't like the two of you could ever happen anyways.. You were living in rural wiskayok in the 90s for godsake, imagine what people would say! And that was if she even felt the same way about you..

❃ well she did. Jackie had spent years secretly pining over you, ever since Jeff had stood her up and "forgotten" their 1 year anniversary, and you had decided that you would take her out anyways. You spent the night having fun together, going to the cinema, eating at the diner in town, and ending up at the arcade where you managed to get her a cute little bunny plush.

❃ that day Jackie came home with the biggest blushing grin on her face, going to bed clutching the rabbit teddy like her life depended on it. ...She was so fucked.

❃ at first she decided that what she was feeling for you was just normal friendly feelings, like what she felt for Shauna! But she soon figured out that that really wasn't the case when she would giggle like a schoolgirl every time you said something.

❃ but you couldn't be together. You just couldn't. She had Jeff, they were quite literally the perfect high school sweethearts!

❃ Still, she couldn't help wanting you.

❃ something changed however when a party came around and everyone insisted on playing spin the bottle where the two chosen ones had to go into a closet for 7 minutes with the lights off and door closed.

❃ what are the chances then that you and Jackie got picked! At first Jackie refused, explaining that she couldn't do it because she had a boyfriend - but after a few awhs of disappointment from the others it didn't take much to convince her.

❃ wellll.. You spend the next 7 minutes making out desperately in the closet. So much for not acting out on your crush.

❃ "fuck.. I like you Jackie" "..I- I really like you too"

❃ she promptly breaks up with Jeff, saying that it wasn't him - it was her.

❃ anyways, you keep it secret for a while - Jackie being terrified that her reputation would be affected and that her parents would disown her. But you make it work despite the secrecy, Jackie being the same sweet girl behind doors - only never having to fake anything in front of you.

❃ she struggles quite a bit with internalized homophobia, but it got a lot better over time when she realized that you were the best thing in her life. And that she would never ruin that for anything else.

❃ love love loves baking with you, it's so intimate and cozy. Like the two of you are completely alone in the world together. And chocolate chip cookies are definitely her specialty - when she doesn't eat all the dough up.

❃ you come to every single one of her games, always excited support your favorite captain. It's so cute watching how focused she gets when playing against another team.

❃ after your first "date" together you've buy her a new plush every month - gotta treat your queen yk. She treasures them like they're your literal children - she even lost one once and literally called you crying in her bed.

❃ you guys go to concerts together all the time - the jumping around like no ones watching, and being able to cling onto eachother in public without worrying too much about who sees you is truly freeing.

— nsfw —

❃ after Jeff, she's so used to being sexually disappointed that she literally didn't believe that she could experience an orgasm that wasn't by her own touch.

❃ but oh boy was she wrong. One day you'd caught her whimpering and rubbing her clit next to what she thought was your sleeping body in the middle of the night, and you knew you couldn't pass the opportunity.

❃ "Jackie... Do you need help?"

❃ you'd never done anything like it before, but when you finally went down on her, it immediately felt like second nature. She was pretty embarrassed at first - she'd never gotten this wet when she was with Jeff, but the way you took your time and listened to the noises she made as to know what she liked made it the perfect experience for the both of you.

❃ she can't get enough of you after that - she even struggles to masturbate bcs you do it so much better than her fingers.

❃ but after a while she starts getting curious.. You were always the one on top, so, what if you switched positions?

❃ she brings it up shyly when things start to get heated and you're about to peel her pants off. "Can I.. go down on you?". You're kinda shocked at first, but quickly get over it when you see the pleading expression on her face.

❃ so you teach Jackie what you like and show her all your weak spots, and wow, she's surprised she'd never done this earlier. The intoxicating taste and smell pulls her in as she licks and sucks away (still too nervous to use her fingers) ...And she ends up desperately cumming in her underwear after rubbing herself against your leg the whole time.

❃ she gets a hang of it after awhile and after a few times she gets so skilled with that tongue of hers that she can make you cum in less than 10 minutes. Which she is incredibly proud of - the smile on her slick covered face grinning stupidly up at you.

❃ has a thing for quickies in lowkey public places - drags you into the lockerroom at school during history class so you can eat her out.

❃ gets embarrassingly wet when you wear clothes she picked out for you. There's something about the fact that you're hers and she gets to influence what you do that makes her incredibly horny.

-

a/n: I'm glad y'all are enjoying these headcanons sm!! 😫

Send requests PLSSS 🙏🙏😭 I'm running out of creativity (but I am working on my other requests dw 🤫)

MAIN MASTERLIST

"THE WAYNE SIBLINGS READ THIRST TWEETS"

requested by anon

summary: the internet is horny for you, your brothers suffer for it.

pairings: platonic! dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake x batsis! reader

A/N: 18+, on account of horny twitter users ;)

You and your brothers are lined up in a semi-circle, Dick, you, Jason then Tim, each of you sporting different expressions as the cameras begin rolling.

You and Dick are cheerful mirrors of each other, while Jason and Tim look like they'd rather be anywhere but here as the four of you settle into place.

"So today we're going to have you reading thirst tweets, but the twist is, they're all about your sister." The producer says from out of frame. Abruptly, your brother's moods swing violently.

"No!" Dick cheers, the blinding smile plastered across his face never even twitching.

Jason's frown has evolved from "mildly disgruntled" to "about to start shooting people."

Tim, meanwhile, appears to have stopped working altogether. "Timmers?" You giggle, waving a hand across his face.

"Ew... I mean, people find you attractive?" He scrunches up his nose, and your face turns murderous.

"RIGHT! Listen here you little - " you lean across Jason to strangle your little brother when a giggle from somewhere on set reminds you where you are, and you paste on a practised grin.

"I can see why Damian wasn't invited now."

"None of us should have been invited, this shouldn't be happening." Tim mumbled with a thousand yard stare.

Relishing in his stress, you quickly pull a piece of paper from the oversized thirst jug, staring directly at Tim as you read. "Bruce Wayne's daughter could smack me across the face with a brick and I’d say ‘thank you, mommy’"

Tim dry heaves, face a little green.

"Damn, now I can never use that in bed again." Jason grumbles, causing Dick to spit out his water as Tim gags once more.

"You're disgusting." He kicks Jason as you hum in consideration.

"I don't know, I think I could get behind it."

"Never speak again, actually." Tim fires back.

"Well, if you liked that, then you'll love this one: Sit on my face, I'll pay you, anything! please, SIT ON MY FACE! SIT ON MY-” Dick, who's only just recovered from his previous near death experience starts choking again, making you hit his back a little harder than strictly necessary.

Jason starts attempting to take the jug off your hands, but you quickly dance out of the way, "Oh look, this one's not even that bad." Your brothers look sceptical, but they don't stop you, "She's so fine, I'd kill a man just to breathe the same air as her."

"What is with people and committing crimes?" Jason seems genuinely concerned. How chronically offline of him.

"I attract a very passionate demographic." You shrug.

"You attract future convicts," Dick mutters in devastation.

A shit eating grin covers your face as you read the next one, having lulled them into a false sense of security.

"Need her to pull on my hair like a leash as she fucks me into next week with the strap." Dick wails, falling sideways off the chair like a fainting Victorian woman.

"Hmm, you want the pink or the green one, baby?" you smile seductively at the camera.

"That's it! You're done, you're done!" Jason lunges for you at the same time as Dick, your older brother getting the jug whilst you're hauled over Jason's shoulder.

You shriek, but you refused to be deterred, unfolding one of the papers you'd managed to grab before Dick attempted to thwart your fun. "Not to be dramatic, but if Jason’s sister looked me in the eye and said ‘kneel’, I’d hit the floor so fast I’d break my - hey."

Tim pulls the paper from your hands, staring at it like it killed his puppy. "Why are you encouraging this?" Tim gestures accusingly at the Buzzfeed staff members laughing behind the cameras, before he does a double take at the twitter handle.

"Wait... This is from Roy's Twitter account!" Tim yells, whirling on Jason like he's personally responsible for all of his grievances.

"There's one here from Conner too," You clear your throat, holding the paper far above Tim's head with your superior height courtesy of Jason's unwilling help, "I’d treat you right. You ever want someone to make you cum till you forget your own name, hit me up babe."

Your brothers scream, and you’re having so much fun that you only mildly worry about Conner’s safety in the near future.

(You wonder if you’ll have time to take him up on his offer before his inevitable funeral.)

The video ends with a message flashing across the screen: "Several of the tweets submitted came from Wally West's Twitter account. Some were deemed too explicit to share."

JACKIE TAYLOR.ᐟ

➤ jackie taylor x loser!fem!reader hcs

⤷ cw: no crash au, bullying, nothing romantic happens yet

✦ part two (coming soon...)

──────────────────────

── .✦ jackie who always had her eye on you. she was worried about you since she had never seen you with any friends, and the only people who approached you only did so to shove you against the lockers. the need to protect others came natural to her, though she chose to wait a bit with you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who regretted her decision the moment she heard how jeff and his friends talked about you. she was used to the boys talking horrible about almost everyone at school, yet it didn't mean she liked their immature behavior. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who ignored her boyfriend's "warnings" about you and tried talking to you one day in class. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who couldn't understand why she felt so nervous to talk to you. what if you thought she was messing with you? she tried not to overthink about it too much—it was only making her even more nervous and it was very likely for you to notice her weird behavior—. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who quietly sat down next to you in spanish class and stared at you for fifteen minutes, her eyes not once leaving the pen you were holding onto and using to draw on your left hand, before eventually speaking up, . ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who thought asking you about the upcoming project was going to be a great way of getting to know you. truth be told, she had watched way too many rom-coms where the popular one asks the nerdy one to study and they end making out instead. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie whose eyes widened the moment she questioned herself on why she thought about those movies. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who managed to talk to you without making her stutter noticeable, though having a hard time maintaining eye contact. the sentence "i was wondering if you could help me out with the project. maybe we could even do it together?" had never made the girl shake in her seat until that moment. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who felt a pang in her chest the moment you asked her if she was joking, her answer—"no! of course not"—immediately leaving her lips without any sort of hesitation. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who swore the class was way too short than it usually was. did she seriously spent that long gaining the courage to talk to you? ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't help with your skepticism as she said a quick goodbye before grabbing her stuff and rapidly walking out of the classroom. what you didn't know was how she immediately cursed herself under her breath for acting so stupid in front of you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who was dying to see you again and show you a more normal behavior, and whose wants were accomplished—yet not in the way she expected—. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't hesitate in defending you the moment she saw the way a guy pinned you against the locker and snatched your portapros off your head, anger bubbling inside of her as she watched the asshole snap your headphones in half. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"hey! what is wrong with you?" she immediately asked, rushing over to where you were and pushing the guy away from you. "you're going to buy her new ones, got it?" she added, her tone firm and leaving no room for doubt.

"whatever, jackie." the guy simply said, rolling his eyes and walking away from the scene—clearly not taking the girl's words seriously—.

── .✦ jackie who didn't want to leave you alone for the rest of the day. she needed to make sure you were okay, even if that meant following you around like a lost puppy. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who understood why you were quieter than usual. not only were you not used to having her presence around but you were also really mad about what just happened. jackie knew how much you used your headphones and how much you enjoyed music. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who knew she had to face a very confused jeff after school. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"so... i heard something went down earlier. what exactly happened?" he asked her, shifting on his bed and getting closer to jackie to rest his head on her stomach. "and what were you thinking?" he quickly continued, clearly feeling worried about his girlfriend.

"she's a nice girl. what do you all have against her?" she snapped, looking down at the boy with a heartbroken gaze.

── .✦ jackie who couldn't wrap her mind around jeff's "reasons"; they didn't even make any sense! she tried to make him see how childish he was acting yet he wouldn't listen, which ended up in the couple having an argument. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who started getting closer to you. whether it was small talking in the hallways or sitting down with you at lunch, she loved spending time with you. you were such a kind soul and she truly wanted to get to know you more. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't care how many times she had to swear she wasn't pulling a prank on you, she'd do whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable around her. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who immediately felt oh so happy the moment you looked out for her to show her the new spider-man 2099 comic you got. she didn't know shit about spider-man, especially not that one, but seeing how excited you were to talk about it was the only thing that mattered to her. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who wasn't expecting the yellowjackets to bring up her new friendship with you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"how's it going with your uh... little friend?" tai asked jackie, clearly trying her best to hold back a smirk—though her tone of voice said it all. "great!" she quickly replied, looking at her teammates with a bright smile plastered on her face.

"isn't she the reason why you fought with jeff?" shauna asked, not realizing how easily her words could get misunderstood. van couldn't help but let out a laugh; the rest of the girls looking at each other—confused. "uh yeah. i just don't get why he has to be such a dick sometimes." the locker room went silent again. the girls had seen you around and most of them started greeting you after seeing how already close you were to jackie.

"i mean, shit, the two of you are really close." nat intervened, scratching the back of her head before jolting as lottie smacked her shoulder. "we're happy you two are friends. she seems—... interesting." lottie spoke up, a tight smile forming on her lips.

── .✦ jackie who didn't understand why her friends were acting so weird about you; she couldn't stop thinking about what nat said. the two of you had indeed gotten really close to each other, not even discussing about the spanish project anymore, but what was wrong with that? she knew there was something else her team was referring to, and a small part of her knew what it was. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who couldn't stop thinking about you. you were her friend, of course it was normal for certain stuff to remind her of you. whether it was something as obvious as a comic book or as simple as a dinosaur plushie, you suddenly invaded her mind. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't think twice when she saw the new audio techina model; the new headphones worth $800. she knew you were going to lose your mind and she couldn't wait to see you again. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who started realizing how giddy she felt when she thought about you and your cute mannerisms. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

i just wanted... trophy wife jackie who is the best wife and housewife ever and you love spending your money on her and she loves getting all dressed up for you, she even buys new lingerie and waits for you to get home from work 😵‍💫😪

TROPHY WIFE JACKIE!!!!!!!!! jackie dressing up to go to the fuckin' liquor store with you... she wants you to show her off. and you do! shoving your hand in her back pocket and squeezing her ass while waiting in line, jackie looking at you like you're the only thing that matters (you are). jackie who gets jealous of the cashier who you're buddies with and that always gives you free cookies.. she starts kissing your neck and mumbling for you to hurry up and pay so she can take you home (her ass is NOT driving.)

always buying her the prettiest jewelry and helping her put it on, getting distracted by the freckles on her face when you put on new earrings for her or accidentally kissing her neck for 5 minutes when putting on her new necklace.

jackie cooks for you and expects kisses in return!!! especially while she cooks. she'll whine that she can't keep stirring unless you kiss her >.> you're her taste tester too. she's so proud of herself when you groan and mention how good of a cook she is. she loves serving you too... thinking of coming home from work as she's finishing the dinner, forcing you to go sit down before you can even get out of your work clothes. jackie who sets the plate down in front of you, leaning down over your shoulder and kissing your neck while helping you out of your jacket 😵‍💫

jackie who dresses up in her sunday best when visiting you at work just to tease you. she def brings you lunch sometimes too. wears those new clothes you bought her and has her hands behind her back as she asks you if you like them. jackie leaving the new lipstick/lipgloss you bought her alllll over your neck and shirt collar for the rest of your shift :-)

giving her some cash to buy what she wants and she decides that she wants to thank you for being the best partner ever and gets some lingerie she thinks you'd like. which also makes me think of jackie sending you lingerie pics.... but if she had the patience to wait until you got home, oh my god she'd be so excited at your stunned reaction. tossing the pillow she's been humping at your feet and pouting for you to come and touch her. jackie who flips you over and cocks her head to the side when you try to top, saying that she's in charge tonight. love the idea of her drooling and panting for you to let her cum by the end of night though 🤩

cheerleader captain with THAT football team captain?

miss you jackie :((

jackie who still sticks to soccer when she goes to college.... i could be misreading ur entire anon but im going with what i originally thought im sorry if you meant something different i just assume ur British or something..

having multiple classes with her and only realizing that she's on the soccer team when it's soccer szn and you guys cheer them on during their first home game. it quickly becomes your favorite sport. always making sure to tell her in class how good she was and congratulating her team on their wins :) she tells you that she couldn't do it without your cheering her on which makes you blush. slowly becoming more than classmates and actual friends!!!!

telling her where you work and she shows up to 'buy' things but ends up holding the line up while talking to you about this recent scuffle her teammates have gotten into which is making her brain hurt. you understand completely, as you're the captain of your cheerleading squad. thinking of her mentioning how good you look in normal clothes instead of your cheerleading outfit, but she does miss it. you don't know what she means by it.

cheerleader!r and soccer captain!jackie who sneak off to makeout when they're supposed to be holding meetings for their team after practice. you somehow always forget to send that "sorry! had to cancel today's meeting" text because jackie's pulling your phone out of your hand and pulling you onto her lap. sometimes you convince her to cut it short and you walk her to the soccer field before going to your own meeting, feeling crazyy at her swollen lips as she tries to act normal and pump up the girls.

being a cheerleader for another college and meeting jackie at a rival game.... ur teammates clock it very quickly and make fun of you for having a crush. you're so thankful that your college's soccer team plays them a couple more times throughout the season 😭 trying to befriend her and coming up to her before the game, wishing her good luck and asking for her number which actually works. it sucks that she lives so far away though. jackie who sends you photos of her at other games, saying she wishes you were here to cheer her on </3

cheer captain!r and jackie where you both kind of have a thing for the other in their outfit.... she, of course, loves when you're in that skirt. you, on the other hand, have kind of just been pavloved into liking her soccer uniform because of how often you mess around while she's practicing. she also loves stealing ur varsity jacket and Loves making out in it. has definitely helped you get ready in the morning and purposefully put you in her Taylor varsity jacket too.

doing routines for her!!! asking her if it's good enough or if you should practice more. jackie who comes and watches you practice too!!! she's the MOST supportive gf. when you're cheering for another team and she's able to go, she shows up with flowers and makes a sign to hold up when you guys are on 😭

making love with your trophy wife jackie because shes so good for you

· ·ᰔ · ·

which is basically every day because she's the best!!! you just wanna take care of her so bad but she takes care of you more :( not that you don't take care of her, because you DO, it's just she curbs your efforts to do anything for her because she's such a good wifey. sometimes you just gotta carry her to the bedroom and show her how much you appreciate her.

placing jackie on the bed, both of you giggling softly because jezzzzus it has been so long since you two have been able to even kiss because of how busy you are at work. she's gazing up at you so lovingly, stroking your cheek and telling you how proud she is of you. you melt for a second and start leaning into her, her plan to take care of you almost working until you get your head straight and put a hand on her chest, holding her back down.

"mm-mm," you mumble, your hands lifting her shirt up until her belly is exposed. you lean down and begin littering kisses on it, getting a fuzzy feeling when jackie's hand rests on your back and starts stroking softly. "i wanna take care of you."

jackie responds with the cutest moan as you bite her abdomen lovingly, and you look up to smile at her before undoing the button on her shorts and tugging them down. you crawl down her body until you're settled in between her thighs, grabbing them so they're flush against your ears.

"do you have any idea how fuckin' pretty you are, jax?" you place a delicate kiss on the outside of her thigh. "'specially like this?" she lifts her hips, and you can't find it in you to tease her about being so impatient, and you lick her over her damp panties. "gonna take good care of you, baby. just like how you take care of me."

just eating her out for hoursssss until she's on the verge of passing out and giving her a break :( bringing her some water and waiting until she says she's ready to go again and then getting the strap out and making love to her. slow, soft sex with her raspy whines against your ear, both of you telling each other "i love you." over and over again.

praising her too!! oh my god she loves that shit. she gets so shy and tries to hide her face from you but you make her look at you while you list the things you love about her. thinking of her cumming around your strap as you do so.... jackie who begs to suck you off because she wants to do something for you, and how could you possibly deny her?

I was thinking of Jackie Taylor (housewife Jackie perhaps?) with a trans male boyfriend or husband! Helping him remember to take his testerone shots or even taking care of him after top surgery!

oh my god all these housewife jackie thoughts are making me so happy....she'd be the best wifey ever 😭😭😭😭

housewife jackie who lovess wearing your shirts... especially your collared shirts for work. coming home after your shift and finding her curled up on the couch, only wearing your shirt and your boxers. literally the dream.

housewife jackie who wakes up when you wake up for work just so she can help you get dressed :( tying your tie for you... doing your t-shot extra early because she knows you'll forget to do it when you get home >.> jackie already having breakfast ready for you... or times when you have to get up super early and she's too tired for that, she makes sure to leave you a note on the kitchen counter along with a snack for you to take on the way.

housewife jackie helping you shave!! you always nick yourself so she loves doing it for you sometimes :) you also always steal one of her razors because you like the gel ones so she buys you a new pack :D but jackie gently holding onto your face, her thumb rubbing your stubble as she shaves you. NEED.

god. thinking about all the small stuff she would do to affirm your gender 😭❤️ things like buying you aftershave, deodorant, shaving cream, new work slacks or new clothes in general. god, and you know she'd call you hubby.

housewife jackie who has a whiteboard on the fridge that has the days you do your tshot. jackie who is so good at calming you down if you're nervous about it :( she talks you through it while prepping your injection site and she always makes it painless. she apologizes so much and probably tears up if she accidentally hurts you 😭 she'd be clingy the rest of the day and give you tons of kisses to make up for it.

housewife jackie who ALWAYS bakes you a cake for your t anniversaries! it's your 2 years on T? she's baking you a nice ass cake and probably inviting all the girls. also makes sure to take good care of you in bed to show how proud she is of you ;b

she'd Love pampering you after top surgery bro. thinking of showering with her the morning of and just being so giggly because it's finally happening!!! maybe you had to travel to get it and i think she'd love crashing in a hotel with you. she def overpacks. also thinking of telling her that you wont be able to hug her for a while because of recovery and she pouts so hard 😭 she's right there comforting you when driving you to the hospital and whlie in the waiting room, she's helping you into the gown and trying not to cry 😭 it ends up making you cry because you HATE seeing her cry and you're just so emotional because it's scary!! ur scared shitless but so excited.

god she's a mess when you go to the actual surgery room dude 😭 she's trying to calm herself down whlie waiting for hours but she's right there when you get out, all smiles and asking how you feel. you feel like proper shit of course, and she's doing everything she can to help you :( praising you for moving slightly to get onto the hospital bed, giving you a pillow to rest your arms on, giving you as many kisses as she can, helping you drink some water. helping you into your clothes after you're ready to leave!! jackie washing you and helping you go to the bathroom despite how embarassing it is for you. oh my god she'd be the best.

back on my tmasc nat thoughts because i love him. being so attentive after his top surgery, like he could be saying "ow" from the slightest wince and you're already rushing to his side

you honestly can't stop admiring him, maybe he's in denial of not seeing the changes yet you completely reassure him :((( getting so flustered at his voice getting deeper and raspier, especially from the hair growth too UGH

⋆ 🍓

i like to think that since hes Italian, he started getting way more body hair after starting T. nat who whines about it because his roots are even darker, and he has to bleach his hair more >.>

also, trans or not, nat with body hair 🤤🤤 nat with fuzz on his stomach....nat with hairy arms and hairy legs... nat with that prepubescent mustache that every tmasc guy has a phase of. Yeah.

feel like he'd love the amount of attention you give him after surgery, blushing while telling you that he can get up on his own but pouting when you actually give him space. nat who loves being taken care of!! gosh he's so thankful that you have everything ready for him back at home... his favorite pillow already fluffed up and his cozy clothes ready for him to put on. he loves you so much.

nat crying because of the pain :( he moved the wrong way and hated the way the compression binder rubbed against his scars and just lost it, breathing out heavily while trying to control his tears but he ends up calling for you, face twisted up in pain that makes you almost cry. ur so much more attentive after that, literally any slight "ouch" from him and ur asking a million questions to see if he's alright 😭

nat whos slightly disappointed at how it looks post op because all he wants to do is be shirtless all the time but it's all bruised and he's so nitpicky about it but i think he's just in slight denial of this huge change he went thru. of course he's happy tho!! and all those times u reassured him that it'll look good once it heals helps him so much :(

also thinking of him working out after it heals too 🤤 taking progress pics and sending them to you whenever he goes to the gym...

Hi can you do more Jackie trans masc comfort? It was my first time reading about someone like me in any sort of writing and I thought it was amazing thank you

ofc! im glad you saw yourself in my writing ^.^ that means a lot! i hardly see any butch readers on here, let alone transmasc, so i try to incoperate them into my work a lot!

these are just scattered thoughts i have of jackie with a transmasc bf, not really in any order.

· · ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ · ·

i think she'd jump at the opportunity to do your tshot. if you're perfectly fine with doing it yourself, she'd just watch you as you do it, smiling up at you so proudly after you're done. but even then, i think she'd try and ask if she could do it just once. she thinks it'd be romantic and sensual in a way. being able to do it for you would mean a lot to her i think :( mainly because of how much you trust her to do it. and you know she buys you all that shit you need for it. if ur running low on needles, she knows even if you don't, and orders like a 100 pack on amazon. always picking up some more alcohol pads for your shots :( always getting you cool bandaids bc she thinks you'd like 'em.

she'd be so supportive when you have bad dysphoria days it's almost suffocating 😭 almost. i definitely feel like she overdoes the compliments sometimes but she doesn't mean it like that yk?! she just wants to be there for you and help you feel better :( so what if she's called you her best boy 20 times within the past 5 minutes? she means well!! but gahh. she sits there and listens. which is more than you could ever ask for. sometimes you just need to rant about how shitty you feel without her saying anything, and she knows that. her hugs make all the noise drown out even just for a bit. she loves when she can get you to smile when she cracks a little joke too.

since she's got that #money, thinking of jackie who orders a bunch of binders for you so you can test out the best one!! maybe one's too tight but you like the material better than the others, and she researches along with you to find something similar. the best feeling for her is when you find the one, one that makes you feel good and causes you to smile while thanking her over and over again with a bunch of kisses. or maybe if your chest is too big to feel comfortable in any sort of binders/tape, i think she'd try and maybe make one for you by sewing smth together. but, ultimately, if you just can't find anything, she feels horrible and hates how uncomfortable you are all the time :( she's right there kissing your tears and holding your body as you cry it out, telling you that she's gonna do everything in her power to get you top surgery as soon as possible.

feel like you could tell her that your coworker was being a little weird to you after you came out or something and the next day you work with him, he comes up to you all scared and nervous and apologizes 😭 (jackie paid him a visit during his shift and threatened him)

jackie who keeps records of your transition!! you could be months/years on T before you started dating her, but she likes to take pictures of you each month and likes to tell you how much you changed as a way to hype you up. maybe bc you dont rly notice the changes like everyone else does, and she points out how sharp your jaw has become or how handsomeee you look ^^

jackie x athletic bf!! jackie who's there supporting you during games!! jackie who's there to comfort you when you feel bad about how your school keeps you on the women's team :( she keeps an ear out for any negative talk from ur teammates when she's allowed to sit on the benches with you....ohhh when she hears them mention your name she snaps her head so fast it almost breaks. n they were just saying how good you are 😭 but she loves supporting you soo much. kissing you before games as a good luck charm, shouting the loudest, always showing up with heart balloons 😭 jackie going to the gym with you and making sure all the lousy men in there know you're hers. jackie who makes you feel better about showing your top surgery scars in public :(