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ahqkas · 25 days ago

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“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

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solelifauna · 2 months ago

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With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)

TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.

Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.

Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.

The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.

You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.

You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten.

Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.

In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close.

Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.

~~~~~~

“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.

“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.

“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.

“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.

“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.

Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.

Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.

“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.

“Where would you go?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.

“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”

“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”

“Is that what you think?” He questions.

“Am I supposed to think any differently?”

“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”

There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.

You unconsciously take a careful step back.

Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.

Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear.

“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide.

“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”

“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”

“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”

The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.

“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

But you’d still leave when the time comes.

Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.

He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.

As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.

It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.

You show up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore?

You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.

The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.

You freeze.

“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.

“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”

“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”

Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.

“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.

You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.

“B-But, I can’t��”

“Did that sound like a suggestion?”

You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.

“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.

Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf.

You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.

Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.

You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.

As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.

The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.

When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.

Looks like another night of shitty sleep.

Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 3 months ago

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Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.

But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?

In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3

They are upset because I left

Where they never included me.

The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.

In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.

"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."

But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.

"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."

Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.

"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."

But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.

The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.

You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.

Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.

"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."

Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.

"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."

"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.

"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."

You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.

"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."

The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.

"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"

The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."

The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."

"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."

You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.

The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.

"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."

You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."

And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.

Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.

“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.

Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.

You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.

It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.

And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.

The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.

Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.

Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?

“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.

“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.

Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.

“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.

“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.

Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.

“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.

Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.

“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”

“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.

“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.

“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.

Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.

“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.

Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.

“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much… they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.

“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”

Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.

“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.

Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.

She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.

“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”

Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.

“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.

Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.

“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”

Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:

“You’re turning red, you know?”

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.

“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”

“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”

“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”

Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.

“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.

“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.

“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.

“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”

Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.

“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”

Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.

“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.

“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.

Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.

“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”

Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.

“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.

Y/n shook her head.

“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.

“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”

Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.

“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.

In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.

In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.

“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.

“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.

Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.

The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.

“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.

How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.

The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.

Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.

“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.

“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.

But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.

Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.

Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.

“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”

The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.

“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”

Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.

The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.

Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.

“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”

Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.

“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”

Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.

“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.

“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”

Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.

“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”

Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.

“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”

The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.

“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.

“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”

Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.

“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”

Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.

“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”

Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.

Wherever you are, I will find you.

Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.

Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.

“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.

“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”

Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.

“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.

“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.

“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.

Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.

“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”

The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.

“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.

“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.

The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.

“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.

“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”

The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.

The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.

“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.

“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”

The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.

The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.

“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.

Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.

“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.

The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”

Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.

“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.

Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”

The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”

“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.

The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.

“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.

In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.

Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.

“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.

Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.

“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.

The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.

Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.

“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.

Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.

“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.

“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.

Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.

“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”

With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.

“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.

“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”

Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”

Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”

The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.

“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”

And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.

The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.

The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.

The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.

“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”

Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.

“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”

Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.

The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.

“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”

“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”

The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.

“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”

Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?

“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.

“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.

The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.

“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”

Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.

“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”

The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.

“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”

“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”

The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.

“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”

“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”

“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”

A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.

“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.

“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”

“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.

“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”

Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.

“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”

The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.

“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”

He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.

Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.

“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”

Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.

Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.

The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.

The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.

As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.

“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.

“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.

“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.

“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”

“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.”

Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.

“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”

The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.

“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”

Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.

“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.

The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.

“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”

As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.

With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.

“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”

The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.

“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”

And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.

☆

A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.

I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.

By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

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stargrltara · 3 months ago

Text

RED HOOD - JASON TODD

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

Jason Todd who’s act of love is acts of service. He lives for the saying ‘ actions speak louder than words ‘. He loves when he comes home to a warm meal cooked for him, or even when you would spontaneously help him to clean his suit after he comes back from patrol. Sometimes, he returns from his patrols late, so he would never expect you to be awake at 2AM waiting for his exhausted state. But to his surprise, you’re always awake for him. Just the simple things like waiting for him, and that small tired smile that paints across your lips; just heats up his chest, and makes little red butterflies flutter in him.

Jason Todd who hasn’t really been efficient with communication, due to past trauma, so he attempts to show his love for you with actions. Jason yearns for you, and it’s pretty obvious by the way he would sometimes lay sweet kisses on the back of your shoulder or your neck whilst your doing the dishes with him, or he’ll linger around the kitchen, slightly glaring at you whilst you cook up a perfect meal for the both of you. You’d always notice in the corner of your eye how he glared at you in awe. Though Jason tries to hide his emotions, you always see straight through his sharp eyes, and right though his mistreated soul.

Jason Todd who of course, loves you, but sometimes fucks you like he hates you. On nights that don’t really go his way; nights when he comes back with bruised knuckles and a developing black eye, he’ll walk straight into your shared bedroom. You always notice the thump of heavy footsteps arriving into your room, it awakes you. Jason never wasted any time, he immediately strips and hooks his gloved fingers around your shorts waistline and pulls them down, your panties along with it. Ramming into you mercilessly, shoving your face into the pillows below, and you’re always unethically wet; the slick noises filling the atmosphere and the dim lighting from the far billboards and city lights creating a light flare in the room. You just take it as he ignores your mumbles and cries into the pillows, instead he groans pleasurably over your words. Jason doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied, until he’s left his seed dripping out if you. You never realise when he’s done, but you always hear the sound of the shower faucet turning on.

Jason Todd who sometimes fucks you so well, he forgets about his own needs and pleasures. On nights when it’s just you two, romantic and intimate, jason loves to make his favourite girl feel good. Honestly, holding hands, mating press, peppering wet kisses trailing from your throat up to your ear and whispering sweet nothings softly. The night doesn’t end until you’ve had at least 5 orgasms, and he’s ran you a warm bath. He loves doing these things for you, treating his girl like how she deserves to be treated. You always press your head up against his chest when cuddling at nights like this, and he’d wrap his arm around you, securing you like your his prized possession.

Jason Todd who loves blowjobs. And i mean, sloppy, dirty, mouth watering, gorilla gripping, carpet clenching, eye tearing, fanny fluttering head. He’d shove your face into his cock, making sure your nose is touching his pelvis. Your hands fly up, pressing against his thighs for some sort of support as he face fucks you roughly. Your babbling noises fill the room, and as you glance up you always notice the way his eyes roll back and his head is falling back along with it. It motivates you, so you shove your head further onto his length and bring one of your palms up to massage his balls, earning the sluttiest moan you’ve ever heard in you’re whole life. Hell, jason’s sure he’s never felt like that before. Jason looks down on you, it’s degrading, but you can’t deny the hot slick sticking to your panties. He’d even hold your nose and mutter, “—Go on, you can take it. I know you will.” Everything sounds a blur, and he’d pull your head back by your hair and push a finger into your mouth, widening it enough for him to spit clearly into it, using his finger tip to smother the saliva all over your lips. And by the end of it, you’re sleeping like a baby.

Jason Todd who discourages inviting you to his family gatherings. First of all, he believes you wouldn’t be able to keep up with his families drama. But second of all, he does not want you meet his older brother Dick Grayson. The boy scout, the flirt, the sexiest second most sexiest man in the world. Jason knew that if you ever met Dick, you two would get along way too well. And quite frankly, jason doesn’t like you talking to other men that aren’t him. He literally fucking despises when another man so much as looks your way, or checks you out. That’s probably why he always leaves hickeys and marks all over your body, to put on show what’s his, and will always be his.

Jason Todd who loves head scratches and massages. Hear me out, a movie is playing on the TV as you both relax on the couch; the only light reflecting off the TV and the lighting which strikes outside, rain pouring down. Hes got his head resting in your lap as he lays on the couch and you play with his hair while paying more attention to the movie than him. Nothing is more important than him. He’d push his head up into your hand, like a sleepy puppy to gesture his yearn for more as you lose your focus in scratching his scalp with your freshly manicured nails. You’d chuckle to yourself as you notice how needy he is to be in your touch. As you lightly scratch and massage his head and hair, you feel him start to relax under you. That’s when you look down and notice his pale lips slightly parted, and his eyes closed. A small smile paints on your lips when you begin to hear his quiet snores, and you lean down to lay a passionate kiss on the tip of his nose.

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

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ramonathinks · 9 months ago

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BILLIONAIRE BOYS CLUB

stuck in an elevator with the three elite billionaire sons of Bruce Wayne.

tags: (18+) fingering, squirting, pet names (doll face, baby, sweetheart), dry humping, dirty talk, ripping of clothes, confided spaces, brothers who share, oral (f!receiving), making out, hickies, nipple play, kinda exhibitionism (???), foursome, mention of breeding kinks, praise

notes: i imagine reader as black but i don’t think i used any physical description [repost!]

It was a tight fit. It had you rubbing your thighs together to calm the heat and aching throbbing between your legs. Crossing your ankles together you held your purse tighter and inhaled, trying to think of anything but your three bosses — but their presence was too powerful and overwhelming in this tight and suffocating elevator. Dirty and primal lust filled the air and you swallowed hard trying to ignore it.

They were all so tall, so lean and their muscular bodies took over all of the small space that you were confined in. Awkwardly rolling your hips, trying to ease your aches without being noticed, your body trembled a bit. Your stomach folded in as the mixed aroma of their colognes entered your nose — a musky smell of pine caused you to bite your lip.

The elevator was quiet besides the occasional rumbling but you couldn’t help but feel queasy, feeling as if they all were staring you down.

Quiet yet quick shuffling was heard before you noticed a tanned hand pressing yet another button. You tried to pay no mind to it until all at once the lights flickered and a loud bang started, you gasped aloud and backed back into a hard chest.

“S-sorry,” You stammered, pushing yourself off of whoever was behind you. You tried not to memorize the feeling that your hands felt of the muscular and broadness of his chest, your face felt hot and with the sudden change of temperature it was only worst.

“It’s fine, doll face.” Came the response of the one and only Jason Todd, his voice made you shiver with delight and the ache in your core returned again. Your blazer and tights making you feel stuffy and hot, as if you were wearing too many clothes. “You okay?”

You didn’t trust anymore of your voice but you nodded. Heat pooled between your legs listening to his deep and throaty voice and the nickname he bestowed upon you. Self fanning yourself a bit you looked off to the side, seeing Dick to your side, who winked at you.

“You’re looking pretty hot there,” Dick brought himself closer to your ear and blew a bit near your neck. He chuckled when you jumped back. “I don’t bite baby, you know, unless you like that kind of thing…” His piercing dark blue eyes scanned your face before eyeing your lips.

“No need to be scared.” Tim finally spoke up. You felt a shift in the air before he grabbed at your waist and pulled you in to his chest.

That’s when it clicked for you. Jason pushed the button to halt the elevator. As if reading your expression, their laughter shook the elevator. “Finally figured it out, yeah?” Jason’s eyes were equally piercing as Dick’s but it was the smirk and the white streak of hair that was making you fold.

“She’s been here, what..? About 3 months?” Dick quirked an eyebrow to him, who you felt nod against your shoulder. “Still haven’t noticed us… our stares… our conversations that we always try to rope you in… you just gave us nothing—”

“So we had to do something to get your attention.” Jason finished, bringing his calloused yet soft hands to caress your face, rubbing at your cheeks before removing your glasses from your face.

Grinding his hips against yours, Tim kissed the sides of your neck. Your breathing quickened with every tainting kiss before his mouth opened and then you felt pure wetness dripping down your neck. His thick long tongue licking up a pattern as he grinding himself more against you, you could feel how hard he was, how thick he was and just how big.

“I… I don’t understand…” You muttered, mainly to yourself. Trying to control yourself but your hips were already rutting against Tim’s, quiet moans leaving both of your lips.

“Shh…” Dick pressed a finger to your lips. “It’s nothing for you to understand. Just know… we’ve been thinking about this for quite some time now.”

“And we plan to make you understand every inch of it, baby.” Tim panted in your ear, you could feel his hands trailing up from your waist leaving a hot trail until he landed on your breast. “Jason, mind giving me a hand?”

It was almost too quick how Jason undid the buttons to your shirt, leaving both the shirt and blazer on, he was tempted to snap a picture. Looking at the position you were in made him want you even more. “So fucking beautiful.” He blew his breath on your nipples, watching them both get hard and erect.

He was never too big on sharing. But with his brothers? It was something different.

You yelped, feeling more heat hit your now bare legs as Dick stretched and ripped the flimsy fabric thighs you were wearing. He turned to look at Jason, “You owe me.”

With hungry eyes, Jason looked between your legs and sucked his teeth. “Fuck.” He groaned. Black lacy panties.

Was it wrong for the brothers to bet what type of panties you wore? Probably. But damn did it pay off.

Bumping his nose against your clothed clit at the same time that Tim tweaked your nipples you tried to move away from them, it was too much. “W-Wait!”

Jason moved closer to you and touched your face again, “Shh. It’s okay.” He cooed before he leaned towards, keeping his eyes on yours.

Everything happened all at once. Your eyes rolled back once you felt his tongue slither inside of your mouth with no warning, his brothers feeling you up it was almost too much for you to focus on — the rhythm of Tim’s hips, Jason’s tongue swirling inside of your mouth and Dick playing with your drooling covered pussy.

Jason applied pressure to your tongue before licking the insides of your mouth, both sides of the cheeks before he sucked on your tongue. Even with your eyes closed, you knew he was still staring at you. Each moan they pulled out of you, another one added pressure.

“Oh fuck,” Feeling Dick pulling your panties to the side and hearing him moan. Your slick wetness sticking to the black Lacy panties you were wearing. “Such a pretty mess down here.” He licked his lips. “Such a pretty little pussy, fuck, you like when I say talk to you down here baby?” As if the dripping all over wasn’t enough of an answer, he smiled before dipping his head down.

You held your breath, expecting him to get straight to the point. But instead, he kissed your thighs. Trailing deep kisses up and down, getting closer and closer to your clit every time. Your breathing uneven, Jason moved from your mouth to your breast, his teeth tugging on your dark nipples, still meeting your eyes.

Dick’s muffled moan drew your eyes to him. You watched as his wet tongue tugged at your folds before slurping up the juices that spilled out of you. Your legs were trembling and if it wasn’t for Tim, you would’ve fell over.

“You like what he’s doing to you, sweetheart?” Tim whispered. “Imagine what it’ll be like when I’m cumming inside of that pussy, you hear me? Matter of fact. When we’re all cumming inside of you, gonna birth a heir to this company, aren’t you?” He sucked on your ear lobe and your pussy tightened up when Dick tried to put his tongue inside of you.

“Don’t scare her off, Tim. He’s just playing around baby.” Jason told you, kissing the valley between your aching breast.

Parting the lips of your pussy with his fingers, Dick drove his tongue inside. “Oooh, I…” You we’re babbling. Wetness dripping on his face and even on his expensive shirt as he licked and slurped, nibbling on your puffy clit.

Tim didn’t like how left out he was, the brothers could see it on his face. With another long suck on your clit enough to make you even weaker on your knees, Dick rose up.

“W-wait I didn’t get to—” He covered your mouth with his, holding the sides of your face and massaging the breast that Jason was neglecting.

A sudden intrusion inside of your pussy made you moan aloud. You were so focused that you didn’t feel Tim parting you open for his fingers. “So fucking tight, right here. Such a small pussy. Can’t wait to break her in.” He purred, moving two of his fingers faster inside of you. His hips digging into yours, Jason now sucking on your throat. The gentle fiction from Tim’s slacks driving you even more crazy since his fingers are working too. Using his thumb, he pressed on your clit and dragged his thumb up and down adding pressure each time.

You were struggling to keep your balance. Your voice was hoarse as they had their way with you. Your entire body shaking while you whimpered against them, tightening up on Tim’s fingers and he groaned, stretching them inside of you.

With clenched teeth Tim told you, “Breathe. Fuck, sweetheart. It’s just me, just open up a bit more.” It was feeling good being stretched so good while two other boys felt you up with their hands and their mouths.

You were getting so dizzy. Your orgasm attempting to push through. You didn’t know how you didn’t come yet.

Licking up the pulse on both sides of your neck, Dick and Jason shared a look. You didn’t know what it meant until they both dropped to their knees and eyed your swollen clit.

“Oh you weren’t lying. I knew she’d be pretty. But this is truly a pussy, so smooth and bare.” Jason smirked, pulling your lips open, watching his brother’s fingers dipping inside. Then he moved forward and kissed your aching clit.

Your knees buckled and you threw your head back while Tim continued to hold you up and fuck you with his fingers. Sucking your clit into his mouth, Jason did a deep groan, putting your clit in his mouth and mouthing his head back before letting your clit bounce back before doing it again.

His tongue was putting in work, licking up and down your clit. Feeling another set of wetness you thrusted your hips forward, begging for more, not realized Dick had joined in on the assault of your pussy.

The strokes of their tongues plus Tim’s fingers moving and stretching you so deep, you rode out every feeling you possessed and when Tim pushed in deeper inside of your gummy walls that held him so tight, he pressed and circled your insides until he felt you clench harder than before.

It was the hardest you ever came, your limbs snapping, body shaking hard, babbling words and your pussy squirting out a clear liquid of slick on both of the boys below up, who happily drank it up. You felt drunk as you slid down to the ground.

With wild looks in their eyes, the brothers straightened themselves out, looking over your appearance. Dick pulled your blazer over you and Jason continued to rip the rest of your tights. Tim, got the elevator back on track.

The aftershocks of your orgasm still haven’t faded, your body still twitching and shaking. You could hear them talking to each other, “She’s completely fucked out. She won’t be able to go back to work like this.” Dick said.

“Can’t take her home or Bruce will have our heads for fucking with his best assistant.” Tim replied while Jason just laughed.

“Well,” Jason picked you up as if you weighted nothing. “I can always take her back to my comfy loft.”

Tim and Dick looked at him as if he was crazy. “So you could get started without us? Ha, very funny.” Tim snorted.

“Let’s just find her address on the company—” The elevator dinged and stopped, the doors opening to the person none of you wanted to see.

With wide eyes Bruce Wayne frowned at the sight. Putting a hand over his forehead he did a deep sigh, “Do I even want to know?”

The boys all shook their heads and Tim quickly pressed the button to the company garage. “Let’s just get something to eat first.”

“Works for me.” You yawned, looking dreamily at the three boys.

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allllium · 6 months ago

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Rn thinking about Jason Todd who is literally the most touch starved person ever but refuses to admit it. That's okay. You can tell by the way his hand always brushes yours as you walk side by side. He isn't great at hiding the way his body always leans into yours. He tried to tell himself he doesn't need your touch, that he'll be fine without holding you at night, or pulling you into a hug whenever he gets that overwhelming need to feel you against him. But again, you can tell. It always brings a smile to your face at how obvious he is without knowing. The way he only gets one bowl of snacks to share as you watch a movie, sitting as close as possible to you but only to "share the snacks." Of course your favorite way he tries to hide his feelings is when he 'accidentally' puts all his other blankets in the wash right before you come over. I mean what do you do when you only have one small blanket to share between you? Touch. At the end of the night you can't help but close your eyes and fall against his shoulder. You can practically feel the smile lighting up on his face.

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nosyrobin · 3 months ago

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BATBOYS WITH THIS DYNAMIC WITH READER:

BRUCE: if your eyes are naturally dark brown to the point it looks black, he may be curious and just flash a light in your eyes to see the brown hue which is amusing. But if your eyes are actually black, I feel like he wouldn’t overthink about it much other than you can get a little creepy when staring.

DICK: stares back at you with intent in his eyes to make you blink. He thinks it’s a staring contest…please tell him it’s not before his eyes burn.

JASON: says you’re a demon to scare people away from him in public. It works on some, and it doesn’t on some. But either way he likes how you can stare at someone til they get very uncomfortable. It makes him laugh when he brings you to galas.

TIM: same as his adopted father, he’s pointing a flashlight into your beady black or dark brown eyes of a void. Have to make sure if you’re human or not…but either way he loves your eyes as it reminds him of the type of coffee he takes. He might as well just drink your eyes up/j….

He had a dream he had drunk your eyes up…

DAMIAN: stares back just as evil as he is. But for real, he probably wouldn’t care as you have voids for eyes. That just lets him know that when you get mind control and the control shows what eye colors you have instead of your natural ones. He can just save you instantly. He’s got his father’s paranoia anyways.

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luludeluluramblings · 6 months ago

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Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part One

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’ve been hyper fixated on Batfam and DC in general for the past two months, and this is what my brain has been cooking. This is based on an fem!OC I made, but I converted it to GN!Reader. Or attempted to. Might write an official one with the oc. I don’t know. I’m new at this stuff and doing this on mobile to boot.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

Reader grows up happy, healthy, a safe away from Gotham

Momma and Daddy (step-father) adore their darling reader

Daddy is kind and understanding; gives good advice, encourages reader, comforts reader after nasty break ups

Momma is sassy and a bit possessive of her baby reader

Momma never tells reader anything about their biological father (He was a big city playboy that missed the court date for custody is all she said)

Reader has a much younger half-brother from Momma and Daddy, who reader also adores

Little Brother’s are annoying, but you have so many interest in common

Suddenly Momma and Daddy are dead; (tragic accident or murdered)

Reader’s Bio Father, Bruce Wayne is called and flies into town via Private Jet and whisk you off to Gotham

Bruce can’t get custody over half-brother due to Reader’s step-grandparents fighting him.

(They tried to keep Reader too, but blood is thicker than water in the eyes of the court. And, Bruce has enough money to make that water run dry)

Bruce isn’t exactly like Momma described, he’s distant and a bit cold with reader. (Like he doesn’t know what to do.)

Bruce gets upset when Reader talks about missing Momma and Daddy, especially when Reader talks about Daddy.

Bruce doesn’t introduce Reader to the family right away.

Reader doesn’t see anyone, but Bruce and Alfred for the first week at the manor.

Bruce avoids reader, but gets upset when Reader ignores him

Reader starts researching their new family. Everything they can find in the media, even the company.

(Family Buisness funds the Justice League? Gotham gains a new Vigilante almost every time Bruce gains a new kid? Jason Todd’s death and reappearance. Suspicious…)

Reader finally meets the others.

First up Cassandra.

Quite, but watches reader like she knows all of reader’s secrets. (That’s terrifying.)

Reader’s instincts scream that she’s dangerous (Reader trusts those instincts.)

Reader is still nice, they get along. Cass rather be alone, but it’s cool. They’re cool.

Second up is Duke.

Duke is great. Official bro. Passes all the vibe checks. (Most normal one in this house.)

Reader’s meta abilities go haywire around him, so Reader needs to be careful. (Reader’s not sharing that secret yet. Not till they share what Reader suspects is their secret)

Third, Dick and Barbara.

Dick is a whirlwind, coddling and pitying, treating reader like a sweet helpless child then leaving. (He’s a busy popular man)

Barbara is polite, but a stranger.

Reader tries to be friendly, but can’t get past the stranger stage.

Fourth Stephanie.

Stephanie politely ignores reader, but reader genuinely wants to hang out. (Similar interest, close in age. Please, can we be friends? ……….)

Reader says they’ll keep trying (It happens… eventually….)

Fifth, Tim.

Tim just brushes Reader off with a blank look and disappears.

Reader can never find Tim. (Always in the cave, at work, on patrol. He’s a busy busy busy sleepy man that avoids even the mention of Reader)

(Stephanie hangs out with Tim though, but they still ignore reader. It’s fine. Reader is fine. It doesn’t hurt.)

Sixth is Jason.

Jason is mean.

Calls reader spoiled, says reader a an ignorant privileged princess, Daddy’s pet, a brat, etc.

But, then leaves when reader starts to snap back.

(He looks like he’s struggling not to strangle reader almost every time reader sees him.)

Seventh is the youngest and reader’s half brother.

Reader is excited to meet him, reader already has a younger half-brother. Having two sounds even better!

Damian is cruel

It breaks reader’s heart.

Damian either ignores reader, or mocks reader viscously. He’ll push and shove and throw things at reader. (Won’t draw a weaponed though, he’s past that.)

He brushes off all of Reader’s attempts at sibling bonding.

All this goes on for a few months.

Reader tries so hard to get close to everyone, but they’re either avoid them, ignore them, are cruel, or they just don’t have the time.

Reader’s life in Gotham is… different.

Reader’s a commodity, and, surprisingly enough, most people like Reader

School Friendships form, which reader worries are because they’re a Wayne child

(Which is true, but not in the way Reader thinks; hint: it involves other types of night avians)

Teacher’s appreciate a humble Wayne (Damian goes to the same school, Reader is a relief to teach)

Reader is quite talented, not a prodigy, not extraordinary. Just extremely approachable.

But, like all good things there is a downside.

Reader wants to spend time with their new friends.

They’re invited to Galas, lunches, brunches, vacations, shopping, etc.

And Reader WANTS to go

But, Bruce won’t let them

It’s not safe

(Which Reader understands, that’s why they never really explore Gotham, but still brunch couldn’t hurt, right?)

So Reader has no one to lean on or connect with. It’s isolating.

Instead Reader spends hours talking on the phone to their old friends and family back in their small town.

There’s a silver lining though: Things are going to get better before they get worse

So much worse

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delusionsofgrandeur13 · 2 months ago

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your boyfriend, jason todd’s instagram

send an ask if you want some other characters too ;)

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ahqkas · 1 month ago

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“CRY BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING ! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your boyfriend’s here, doesn’t matter if you need him during an important task. you need him now so that’s what he does; he shows up. WORD COUNT! 2.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, mention of reader’s hair + lmk if more found ! NOTES! based on this req.!! header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE GROCERY STORE WAS UNUSUALLY CROWDED FOR A FRIDAY EVENING, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly as you shuffled through the small grocery shop. You grabbed a cart and slowly pushed it past the holiday display at the entrance. The pine garlands and cinnamon-scented candles filled the air with cheerfulness of the holidays that felt out of place for your mood. The day had been fine, but a little . . . heavy, like the edges of everything you did were frayed. Shopping for groceries was supposed to be routine, calming even, but tonight it felt more like a chore.

You started in the produce section, eyeing the dark red apples stacked neatly in pyramids. Jason liked apples, especially sliced up with peanut butter, and you didn’t have any at home. You grabbed a few, along with a small bag of clementines—they were on sale, and the idea of peeling one later sounded comforting. You added some spinach to the cart, though you weren’t ure what you’d do with it yet.

The next aisle had the coffee and teas. You hesitated in front of the shelves, scanning for Jason’s favorite blend. He always said he didn’t care what kind of coffee it was as long as it had caffeine, but you knew he liked the dark roast with the smoky flavor. So, you grabbed a bag and tossed it into the cart before picking up a box of black tea for yourself.

In the dairy section, you grabbed a carton of eggs and some milk, along with a tub of the fancy Greek yogurt Jason pretended to hate but always ate half of when you weren’t looking. You added a block of cheddar cheese too, because he always complained when you didn’t have any “real cheese” in the fridge.

Finally, you grabbed a loaf of bread and a box of pasta before heading to the candy aisle. You’d been eyeing the peppermint bark in the holiday section earlier but didn’t grab it. Now you plucked a small bar of it off the shelf and dropped it into the cart. A little indulgence couldn’t hurt.

The cart wasn’t full, but it was enough. Enough to get through the week, enough to stock your kitchen for the nights Jason decided to stay over and make himself at home. He didn’t live with you—not officially—but his presence lingered in your apartment like a second heartbeat.

You made my way to the registers, where the lines were moving slowly. It was late, but the store was still busy, the energy of people rushing to finish errands before closing time crackling faintly in the air. You took your place in line, watching other customers inch forward and fiddling with the edge of your scarf.

It wasn’t a bad day, you reminded yourself, just a heavy one. You would unload the groceries back at home, make some tea, and settle in for the evening. Maybe you’d call Jason later, hear his voice and let the rough warmth of it carry you into something softer. The thought made the corner of your mouth twitch up in the faintest smile. And maybe he could even stop by, spend the night.

That thought warmed your heart.

The line at the register moved slower than you expected, giving you too much time to stand there, awkwardly fiddling with your scarf and glancing at your cart. The apples and kettle chips sat next to each other, an odd little pairing that made you think of your boyfriend. He’d swipe one of each, snack in hand, smirking like he’d outsmarted the whole grocery system.

Finally, your turn came, and you pushed the cart forward. The cashier was a lanky teenager with a mop of greasy hair tucked under his name-tagged baseball cap. His name tag read Trevor, but his expression read bored in bold letters. He glanced up at you briefly, his eyes darting over your cart with the kind of disdain only a teenager could muster before going back to his phone.

“Hey,” you greeted the kid politely, smiling despite yourself as you began unloading your groceries onto the conveyor belt.

“Yeah, hey,” Trevor muttered, clearly distracted as he shoved his phone into his pocket. He hit a button on the register with a little too much force and sighed loudly, like the very act of being here was an affront to his existence.

You handed over the loaf of bread first, thinking maybe you could set the pace for a smooth interaction. Trevor grabbed it and scanned it without a word.

“Paper or plastic?” he asked flatly, not bothering to meet your eyes.

“Um, paper, please.”

Trevor reached for the bags, shoving the bread in haphazardly before grabbing the apples next. The bag tipped slightly, the loaf threatening to crumple. You winced internally but said nothing, figuring it wasn’t worth the trouble.

As he scanned the rest of your items, you started to pull out your wallet. Your fingers fumbled for a moment as you searched for your debit card, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Do you, like, need the receipt?” Trevor mumbled under his nose, tossing it into the bag before you could answer.

“Um—yes, please,” you said quietly, slipping your card out of the wallet at last.

The teenager rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Next time, maybe have it ready? Kinda holding up the line.”

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. You froze for a moment, face flushing as you quickly swiped your card through the reader. Your hand trembled just enough to make you fumble again, and you could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes as you hurried to finish.

Trevor didn’t respond to you anymore. “Next!”

You grabbed your bags as quickly as you could, your vision blurring slightly as you turned away from the register. Your chest felt tight, the weight of the embarrassing moment pressing against the bones of your ribs as you hurried out of the store.

By the time you reached your parked car, the tension had built to a boiling point. You set the bags down in the passenger seat and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The space felt safe, isolated from the world, and as soon as you were alone, the tears spilled over.

It wasn’t just the kid or his tone—it was everything. The way the week had dragged on endlessly, the tiny moments of frustration piling up like bricks until this one insignificant encounter became the tipping point.

You pressed your palms against the steering wheel, breathing uneven as the tears came in quiet, hot streams. They weren’t loud or desperate, just a release, a way to let go of the tension that had been weighing you down all day.

After a few minutes, the sobs subsided, leaving you feeling raw but lighter. You wiped at your face with your sleeve, sniffing softly as you leaned back against the headrest. The worst of it was over, but the ache lingered, a reminder of how fragile the balance could be sometimes. What you needed now was something solid, something warm to remind you the world wasn’t as heavy as it seemed.

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled through your contacts, thumb hovering over his name for a moment before you pressed it. The line rang twice before his voice came through, low and rough but tinged with familiarity and care. Jason always had a way of grounding you, his voice a tether when the world felt too loud.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his tone already softer than usual. “What’s going on?”

And just like that, the weight in your chest started to ease.

“Hi,” you said, the word wobbling despite your best effort. “Are you busy?”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that told you he’d caught on. Jason’s voice shifted, quieter but firm, like a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m not busy. You okay? You sound . . . upset.”

You hesitated, the urge to downplay it bubbling up. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though you knew it wasn’t convincing. “Just . . . had a moment. Nothing big, I promise.”

“Sweetheart,” Jason interrupted gently, his voice like a steady anchor. “Don’t do that thing where you act like it doesn’t matter. Talk to me.”

You sighed, resting your head against the window now. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s stupid. A cashier was kind of rude, and it just . . . got to me. I cried about it in the car, and I feel better now, but I guess I just—” Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily. “I wanted to hear you.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was the kind of pause that said he was listening, thinking about the best way to hold you from a distance. When he spoke again, his tone was warm and firm, a voice that could steady mountains.

“First of all, it’s not stupid,” he said. “People can be jerks, and it’s okay to feel what you feel. You don’t have to justify that to me—or to anyone.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He always had a way of cutting through the noise in your head, finding the simplest truth in it all. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Still in the car?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Just . . . sitting in the parking lot.”

He hummed softly, the sound almost like a purr through the receiver. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Take a deep breath for me—nice and slow. Can you do that?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you said softly, following his instruction. The air filled your lungs like it hadn’t in hours, grounding you.

“Good,” Jason praised. “Now, I’m on my way to you. Sit tight, and don’t you dare think about apologizing for needing me.”

“Jason,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t ‘Jason’ me, sweetheart. You’re my girl. That means if you need me, I’m there. Simple as that.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it was different—softer, less heavy. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he replied, and you could hear the faint sound of him grabbing his keys. “Now stay where you are. I’ll be there soon. And when I get there, I’m giving you a hug so big, you’re gonna forget what the cashier even looked like.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of it surprising you. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Jason said, his voice lighter now. “I’ll see you soon, baby. Just hang tight for me.”

The call ended, and though the ache hadn’t fully disappeared, it was quieter now, tempered by the knowledge that he was coming. Jason didn’t just make the world feel manageable—he made it feel safe, like no matter how overwhelming the little things got, he’d always be there to pull you back to solid ground.

Ten minutes later, a sharp, sudden knock on the car window startled you out of your thoughts. You jumped in the seat, heart leaping into your throat as you turned to look—and there he was, standing outside in the cold, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. Jason’s cheeks and nose were flushed a soft pink from the winter air, and he had one hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, the other gesturing for you to roll the window down.

You blinked, processing his presence as he gave you a small, crooked smile through the glass. “Come on, sweetheart,” he called, his voice muffled but still rich and warm, like it carried all the heat you’d been missing. “You gonna let me freeze out here or what?”

Scrambling, you fumbled with the controls and rolled the window down halfway. “Jason? What are you doing here?” Your voice wavered between shock and something lighter, something closer to relief.

He gave a soft huff, his breath visible in the cold air. “You really think I was just gonna sit around after that phone call? Get outta the car, baby.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the earlier tears still clinging to you, but his steady gaze left no room for argument. With a sigh, you grabbed your scarf and pushed the door open, stepping out into the biting cold.

As soon as you were standing in front of him, Jason’s hands found your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he guided you closer towards him. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and earnest, his green eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read all the parts of you you hadn’t said aloud.

You nodded, but the way your chin trembled betrayed me. “I’m fine,” I responded quietly, even though the words felt flimsy. “I was feeling better after we talked, really. You didn’t have to come all the way out here—”

Jason cut you off with a soft, knowing sound, one of his hands moving to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his knuckles warm against your cheek. “Yeah, I did,” his tone left no room for debate.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the cold wrapping around you but unable to penetrate the bubble of warmth his presence created. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, and you realized you had been leaning into his hand without thinking.

“You’ve been crying,” he said softly, the observation carrying no judgment, only quiet understanding. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know. Not ever.”

The lump in your throat returned, but it was smaller now, manageable. You took a shaky breath and gave him a faint smile. “I just felt stupid crying over something so little. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Jason’s brows knit together, his expression turning almost stern. “Hey,” he exclaimed, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. “Your feelings aren’t little. And I told you—no matter what, I’m here. You don’t bother me, alright?”

You nodded, swallowing hard as the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket. His sincerity had a way of melting through all the self-doubt you carried, leaving only the quiet reassurance of his steady presence.

“Good,” he said after a moment, his hand dropping to take yours instead. He laced your fingers together, his grip firm and grounding. “Now, give me your keys.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He smirked, his nose still adorably rosy from the cold. “You’re not driving, sweetheart. Not when you’ve had a day like this. I’m taking you home.”

“You didn’t bring your bike?” you teased faintly, trying to lighten the mood.

Jason snorted. “In this weather? Hell no. Now quit stalling and hand ’em over.”

Reluctantly, you pulled the keys from your pocket and dropped them into his waiting hand. He gave you an approving nod before tugging you toward the passenger side door.

“Come on,” he said, opening it for you like the gentleman he only pretended not to be. “Get in. I’ll crank the heat for you.”

As you slid into the seat, Jason closed the door behind you and walked around to the driver’s side, his movements easy and confident despite the chill. When he settled in and started the car, the warmth of the heater began to fill the space, and for the first time that evening, you felt completely safe.

Jason reached over, brushing his hand across your thigh in a gesture so casual yet intimate it made your chest ache. “See? Already better,” he said, glancing at you with a lopsided grin.

And as the car pulled away from the parking lot, the groceries safely tucked in the back and Jason by your side, you couldn’t help but think he was right.

1K notes · View notes

solelifauna · 9 days ago

Text

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?”

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on.

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless.

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile.

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

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