#wait for part 2 from alfred's side

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 1

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: On a cold, snowy dawn, a naive young girl knocks on the door of Wayne Manor in search of her brother, whom she hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad.

Word count: 2.1k

Note: I felt the need to emphasize that Talia is very attached to the reader and kept her hidden from Bruce. Although it's obvious that the reader is their biological daughter, I still haven't specified her physical characteristics.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

It was late at night when the doorbell of Wayne Manor rang. Much to Alfred’s dismay, he seemed to be the only one awakened by the sound, as he didn't hear anyone else getting up to answer the door. Whoever was waiting outside seemed patient, or perhaps shy, since it took a good two minutes for the bell to ring again. A single chime, just like the first time.

It was snowing now; no one would be crazy enough to show up in the middle of the night in this cold unless it was something important. Because of this, Alfred hurried to slip on his slippers, moving as quickly as he could to the entrance, but still cautiously peering through the peephole to see who the visitor was.

All he could see was the top of the head of someone very short, with a few strands of hair standing up, covered in snowflakes.

“Who is it, Alfred?” The sudden question from behind didn’t scare him, but it did surprise him. Dick had been awakened by the sharp sound of the doorbell the second time it rang and came down quickly to check.

“I don’t know yet, Master Dick,” the butler replied, intrigued, glancing quickly at the boy to see him rubbing sleep from his eyes. Alfred noticed how he stepped forward, obviously cautious about who might be on the other side. “I can handle this, sir,” he stopped him while turning the knob and opening the door without giving him a chance to protest.

Alfred tightened his robe as he felt the cold air rush in, ruffling the white hairs on his head and making the hairs on his arm stand up. He looked in astonishment at the young girl standing before him, clearly suffering from the outside temperature. Her lips were trembling and chapped, with a trace of dried blood coming from one of the cracks. Her rapid breathing also did not go unnoticed, forming a cloud with each exhale.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked with furrowed brows, feeling pity for her condition. Perhaps she was just a street child seeking shelter; you didn’t seem dangerous in any way.

“I-is this the W-Wayne Manor?” The question came out stuttered, and your eyes had a confused expression. He wasted no more time and extended his arm to pull you inside. It didn’t seem right to leave you out there.

“Come in, come in. Don’t stay out there, it’s not healthy.” He had that concerned, almost paternal tone, and you didn’t refuse his gesture. You grabbed the old man in a hug to keep safe from the cold, grateful he didn’t push you away. In fact, he pulled you closer, placing both hands around you and guiding you to the largest couch in the room.

“It’s just a girl,” he announced to Dick, who had been trying to peek at your figure since the door had opened.

“And who is she?” Dick moved closer, sitting on the couch facing the one where you and Alfred were seated and embraced. You didn’t seem to want to leave Alfred’s side anytime soon, appreciating the warmth he provided, clutching him firmly.

“What is your name, dear?” You heard the old man’s question, but it took you a while to respond. Alfred didn’t mind being ignored, or at least he thought he would be, already averting his eyes from you until your fragile voice was heard.

“Y/n,” you pronounced your name simply, so quietly it could only be understood due to the common silence of the early morning.

“What were you doing out there? Where are your parents, young lady?” Alfred pressed on with more questions, rubbing one of his hands on your back to bring comfort.

Now that he could look at you more attentively, he saw how well-dressed you were. And just by feeling the fabric of your coat, he knew it was an expensive garment. Your knowledge of Wayne Manor also didn’t escape him. It didn’t seem like something important to note in this situation, but you certainly weren’t an abandoned child; you were probably lost and knew them somehow.

His question seemed to upset you, as you turned your face to hide it, avoiding giving an answer. He noticed your reaction and decided to change the subject: “Let’s take off this coat and get a blanket. What do you think?” He moved you away, already pulling the sleeves of the garment off your arms, and you didn’t resist. The coat was damp from the snow and definitely no longer served to keep you warm.

“She’s going to get hypothermia if she stays like this,” Dick said hurriedly as he went to get a blanket, finding a thick enough one on one of the armchairs. Someone must have left it there before going to bed.

“I will light the fireplace,” you heard the old man say as he got up from the couch and picked up some sort of stick, probably a large lighter, to start the fire.

You opened your mouth to try to thank him, but stopped yourself, finally feeling shy upon realizing you were in strangers’ home. You felt a large, soft blanket wrap around you, turning your eyes to see the tall boy crouched in front of you, draping it over your shoulders.

“In a few minutes, you’ll feel better.” His voice sounded genuinely concerned, and you felt guilty for disturbing their night. You regretted disobeying your mother; you were supposed to be home now.

Dick saw your lost look, wondering who you were. Your expression was distant, and he thought you were lost in thought, until he felt your hand grab his wrist, preventing him from getting up. Your touch was gentle, yet cold, and now your eyes were focused on his.

“Does Damian live here?” you asked hopefully.

“Damian?” This caught him off guard. He was confused, processing for a few seconds what he had heard. From his confused tone, you felt your hopes fading, thinking he had no idea who you were talking about, but his next words encouraged you a little more: “How do you know him?”

You hesitated. At first, you weren’t sure if they were trustworthy, and your mother always said to be careful with whom you spoke. Growing up within the League of Assassins made you aware of how evil some people could be, and having grown up under Talia’s extremely protective arm, who treated you like an untouchable jewel, you were limited to conversations with few people, developing an abnormal fear of strangers. But bad people wouldn’t have taken you in as they did, would they?

“We’re siblings. Is he here?” Your confession didn’t carry the same weight for you as it did for the two men in the room. Alfred heard well, and like Dick, widened his eyes. Neither of them remembered Damian ever mentioning he had a sister. If you were truly an al Ghul, where was Talia? That woman might have had the blood of a viper, but she didn’t seem like the type to let her daughter wander alone at night.

“You said… He’s your brother?” Although Dick’s question was directed at you, he looked at Alfred, who returned an intrigued frown.

“Yes.” Your voice sounded simple to him, still not noticing the tension in the room.

“Master Dick,” Alfred said his name as a cue to follow him, walking away from the couch, and the boy quickly stood up. You found it strange and turned your neck to see them going to talk in the corner of the room in whispers, watching them with curiosity.

“I think it would be wise to inform Master Bruce.” The butler sighed, trying to speak as softly as possible, knowing you were watching them. “If she is Ra's al Ghul’s granddaughter, it’s convenient to take her home as soon as possible and avoid any unnecessary conflict with the League of Assassins.”

“You think she ran away from home?” Dick asked, turning to see you, who now was no longer watching them but had your gaze down, playing with your hands.

“I suppose so,” Alfred said punctually, moving away and walking to the stairs, climbing them with his usual formal posture. “I’ll wake him up. Stay here.” He seemed calm, but inside he was worried.

“Right…” Dick murmured to himself while taking slow steps back to the couch. He analyzed your face for a few seconds before sitting hesitantly beside you. You were almost disappearing inside that blanket, wrapped up like a cocoon, and he found it a bit amusing. All he could see was your head and hands.

You didn’t bother to say anything, nor did he. Instead, he clasped his hands together and paid attention to anything else, trying to hold back the urge to ask questions but couldn’t help himself: “So, you’re Talia’s daughter?”

“You know my mother?” You raised your gaze, and your tone was excited by the possibility.

“Not personally.” He picked at his nails before deciding to keep the conversation going, as the silence was becoming too uncomfortable: “My name is Dick, by the way. But you probably know that.”

“The old man is your grandfather?” For the first time, you referred to Alfred as “the old man” out loud, which made him smile amusedly. Dick found it funny how the nickname sounded innocent, imagining how the man would react knowing someone had referred to him like that.

“It's like he was. He's family.”

“Is Dami your family now?” You asked, trembling with the answer. It wasn’t something to be proud of, but you couldn’t help feeling jealous, and you hated it. It was an excruciating feeling, mixing sadness, anger, and other confusing emotions.

Dick frowned at your question. You seemed disappointed with the idea and it didn’t escape his notice how you were completely unaware of Damian’s current life. It’s been more than two years since he came to live here, enough time for Dick to see him as he always saw his other brothers and participate in patrols as an equal.

“He’s my brother too,” he tried to sound compassionate, and suddenly the silence returned, as you didn’t want to talk anymore and he didn’t know what to say. A lump formed in your throat and your heart felt heavy with each new beat. “How old are you?” He tried again, this time changing the subject.

“Twelve,” you answered immediately, but then shook your head and corrected yourself: “Thirteen.”

“Twelve?” Dick repeated the first answer to try to confirm, letting out a muffled laugh at your strange confusion.

“It’s thirteen.”

That was impossible. Damian was thirteen.

“I still haven’t gotten used to the new age. My birthday was on Monday.”

Damian’s birthday was on Monday.

Dick swallowed hard. He lost his voice for a few seconds, trying to piece things together in his head. He felt his heart race with nerves, doubting if he had been hearing voices all along.

“Y/n, right?” He said your name, seeing you nod positively. “Are you and Damian by any chance… twins?”

You heard him well, but couldn’t help feeling your heart ache with sorrow. He had no idea who you were, even after you knew Damian saw him as a brother. The realization that Damian hadn’t even mentioned you was painful, and as you felt the tears start to roll down your cheek, you quickly wiped them away.

“Hey, hey. Why are you crying?” He moved closer, brushing your hair back with his fingers. You seemed to be the type to answer yes or no questions with gestures, as you nodded positively to him once again.

“Twins…” Dick whispered to no one, trying to come out of shock.

“Y/n,” he called your name hoping you would pay attention, but you continued trying to dry the unstoppable tears. “Y/n,” he called for the second time, and you finally looked at him again.

Now, analyzing your face after what he had just discovered, he finally noticed how much your features resembled Bruce’s. It was like he had been blind and now could finally see.

“Does the name Bruce Wayne mean anything to you?”

“He’s the owner of this house,” you said nonchalantly, as if that was all that mattered and you needed to know.

His next breath came out shaky, completely incredulous. ‘Damn Talia,’ he cursed mentally. This night would be long and, undoubtedly, very complicated.

[lifetimeoftired]

How to Adopt a Dead Kid in Three Weeks or Less (Part 2)

Part 1 || Part 2

As promised; part 2! I would like to apologize to Dick for the trauma I put him through, but honestly it was really fun for me. Also I love the idea of Danny actually trying to leave, but he keeps getting pulled back into family shenanigans because they decided 'mine now'.

Tag list: @tkiesai @sir-ghost-the-green @dreamingaboutsakuratrees @atinygracie @wolfeyedwitch Enjoy<3

Duke squints at the mop of black hair, just peeking out of the blanket. When did Tim get in last night? And really? A couch? He usually at least makes it to the batcave and sometimes even his actual room if he’s going to pass out. And what happened to his sneakers? They look weirdly worn and they’re tucked up under the couch instead of being put away properly. Alfred’s going to be really annoyed when he comes down and finds Tim like this. Duke considers walking away and leaving Dick and Tim to whatever the heck is going on here- it would serve Tim right for being so terrifying about his unhealthy sleep schedule. 

Yet, just as he’s going to walk away again, he notices that Dick’s not moving. He’s crouched there, staring at the sleeping Tim with an unreadable expression on his face. It’s�� Unnerving.

“Dick? What’s wrong?”

“Tim’s not breathing.”

Is… Dick okay? The bags under his eyes aren’t as bad at Tim’s but he looks like he hasn’t slept. Duke can only stare blankly at him. Then at the has-to-be-sleeping Tim. Of course he’s just sleeping- it’s Tim! He consumes his weight in poison on a daily basis; there's no way he’s just gone. But the longer he looks at the should be sleeping form, the more Duke realizes the same thing Dick did. There’s no rise in the blanket. No accompanying fall to indicate that the body is breathing and alive. 

Panic wells up where his heart should be- having dug its way somewhere down near his stomach and was now useless beyond a frantic beating. Oh god oh god oh god- Bruce and Jason flash through his mind. Stephanie- Shit. 

“Tim- Tim wake up!” Unthinkingly, Duke grabs for him, unhearing of the noise Dick makes and- It’s only his bat training saves Duke from being flung head first into the wall. 

He twists, feet skidding along the floor and recovers in time to see Tim try to spring up from the couch. Dick snatches their brother mid-jump, and gets wrenched to the side so hard they flip over the back of the couch. Dick bends, ducks and rolls, ends up the other side with Tim in his lap getting the biggest cuddle of his life so easily in a feat that Duke would find impressive later when they all calmed down. 

“It’s us Timmy! Everything’s okay, you're safe.” Thankfully, Tim calms down pretty quickly and waits for his brother to get done with his bear hug.

It’s odd though. Tim doesn’t usually sleep if he’s in a bad enough way to freak out like that. Sure there’s a long list of cases that are ongoing right now, but that usually means so much caffeine Duke can feel his liver cringe in horror. Oh well, the only way to get answers is for their resident caffeine addict to talk, Duke knows he can only wait until their certified Older Brother™ gets it all out of his system.

Duke plunks down with a sigh, and grunts when he lands on something lumpy. Something that turns out to be a ratty old backpack that looked spiritually connected to those cranky old war veterans you see on sitcoms. Was it for a case? Tim’s not exactly a stereotypical rich guy (none of the Waynes were thank god), but any of them would have replaced this thing long before needing to duck tape the corners and shoulder straps like this. He looks over the couch to ask, maybe offer to help and hope Tim actually takes him up on it. But when he makes eye contact, the words die in his throat. Those are blue eyes (icy blue, wide, frozen in fear), and jet black hair (longer than Dick’s, stick up where he’d been nuzzled half to death, scruffy where he hadn’t, bangs styled forward in a way none of them had), but that’s most certainly /not/ Tim.

“Dick? That’s not Tim.” 

“What?”

Dick pulls away from the boy in his arms to get a better look at the wrong boy- Duke himself. Who quickly gestures back at the freaked out, curled up kid. This time, when Dick looks, it’s a much more proper look and notices all the reasons that’s not Tim.

“You’re not Tim.” Dick said stupidly. 

“I am not Tim!” The boy jazz hands awkwardly, his arms tucked close, and adds an even more awkward grin to puncture the statement. “You wouldn’t be the first person to think I’m him if that makes you feel any better.”

There’s a beat where none of them move, then Dick leans back with a long drawn-out groan. Before any questions can be asked, Dick ‘completely unnecessary acrobatics at any given time’ Greyson rocks them both back, laughing at the boy’s squeak, flips forward, and lands on his feet. Only then does he set not-Tim back on his feet with a friendly hair ruffle.

“What makes me feel better is that you’re okay. You gave us a bit of a scare there- I thought you weren’t breathing.” 

“I uh, y’know. Got a deep R.E.M. sleep?”

It’s a really dumb answer. Like, really dumb. It’s clear he never expected to be asked about whatever’s up with him and he doesn’t want to give a real answer. Moreover, it’s clear the backpack really is his because those clothes he’s wearing? Every bit as ratty. The shirt he’s wearing is less ‘white and orange’ and more ‘off white, suspiciously stained, and the logo is cracked to hell and back with very little indication of what it’s supposed to be’. Same with how many tears and faded stains are in the jeans. Also clear, from the way he angles himself, keeping both of them in view, that whoever he is, Duke knows better than he should about all the signs of a street kid.

“You guys weren’t kidding about Bruce’s adoption tendencies.” Duke quickly says. Distracting Dick so he won’t press too fast too soon and scare him off. The others (Jason excluded) are every bit as nosy as said serial adopter is paranoid and it can be a lot. Better to let the new kid acclimate to the manor so he’s not crawling out the window and disappearing into the night. Something Duke thought about doing every time things got to be too much. Which was no less than five times a day.

“I’m not being adopted!” When both Duke and Dick blink in surprise, not expecting the sheer amount of vitriol from Bruce’s latest, he winces and curls back in on himself. “I’m not staying, I mean. I didn’t even mean to wind up here- it just sorta, happened? In fact, I should probably get out of here. If you could just-” He makes a grab for the backpack, and Duke lets it go easily. “Thanks.”

“Hold on hold on-” Dick holds up his hands placatingly. “You haven’t even had breakfast yet! Alfred’s gonna be sad if you don’t join everyone.”

Dick gets a stare that says the kid thinks he’s insane- and Duke kinda can’t blame him. He also thought the Wayne’s were crazy. Because they were. For literally anyone else, random street kids they found pretty much dead on their couch weren’t usually invited to breakfast… At least their particular kind of crazy was nice.

“I know that that sounds, but Alfred really does love it when people appreciate his cooking. I’m Duke by the way.” Duke stands back up, holding out his hand with a smile. Seeing as not-Tim automatically shakes, he guesses the guy did have parents for the better part of his life. “Sorry for not introducing myself sooner.”

“... Danny.” 

Oh yes, a name really does make everything easier. Duke shakes Danny’s hand, and he even gives him a little smile.

“And everybody calls me Dick!”

“Well, people can be cruel.” 

Duke’s laugh desperately wants out both at Dick’s little puppy pout and Danny’s mortified expression, but he chokes it back very elegantly.

“You know, I’ve heard a lot of versions of that joke but somehow it always surprises me.” Dick says with a laugh, and another hair ruffle when Danny grumbles. “C’mon Danny. Let’s get some food in you, you can tell us how you met the old man. Then we get you some new clothes.”

“I like these just fine, thanks.”

“Sorry Danny,” Duke says apologetically. He’s been here long enough to know that stubborn glint in Dick’s eyes. He might insist he’s different than Bruce, and in many ways he is, but Dick’s mother henning is every bit as bad. “He’s going to pout and whine until you let him buy you something. Can we settle on a new backpack for now?”

It’s enough of a compromise for Danny to agree to be herded to breakfast. Bruce isn’t there, but Tim and Cass are. The real Tim is half asleep into his cereal (and grumbles about the bear hug he gets), and though Cass gives the new kid a curious look, she only stays long enough to grab an egg sandwich. Alfred is more than happy to put a big plate of the best food Duke knows he’ll ever eat in his life in front of Danny too- Much to his surprise. Did he really think Bruce would let him stay and not feed him? Hopefully he’d learn that Bruce was a pretty good guy after all and that he was safe here.

-

Over the course of the entire day, Duke learns a few more things about their new brother. 

For starters, Danny could eat. He was surprisingly good at hiding it too. Nibbling here and there and pretending he was eating slow and listening, but the second they pretended they weren’t paying attention, he’d stuff a good portion down his throat and refill his plate. Meaning he was able to eat almost four times the amount they would have reasonably expected out of a starving street kid while making it look like he wasn’t. It could only mean one thing; Duke knew he had to be a meta. No normal person could pull off either the speed or volume. 

The two other things he learned concurrently; That Danny was as accident-prone as he was kind.

Despite originally not really wanting to even go to the mall, with Dick’s good natured pestering and Duke mediating, they managed to convince Danny into not just the new backpack, but several new sets of clothes as well. In that time they saw him run into two separate doors- one of which broke his nose. His response? Crack it back into place and worry far more about the blood smear. Not even a few moments later, he was somehow roped into helping some little old lady carry her bags back to the front (they almost lost him there). Next, in the cafeteria, some unruly children knocked their tray and a good portion of it slapped Danny in the face. All he did was smile, clean himself off, and entertain the siblings with Dick’s help so their mom could take a small break and know nobody was in trouble. On the way out, Danny nearly got hit by an actual car helping some other shop-lifting street kids escape from the mall cop by pretending to trip in front of him. When the guy went tumbling into the street, Danny threw himself forward to push him out of the way of an oncoming car.

Getting back to the manor where Danny was moderately safer was a relief. It meant they could hand him off to a much more capable-of-dealing-with-this-crap Alfred and give Duke a moment alone to discuss things with Dick. The conversation went a little like;

“We need to make sure Danny is never on his own or he’s going to get himself killed. Meta or no meta. Agreed?”

“Agreed. I'll call the others.”

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Your new family (Part VI)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of stress, not a lot of plot here but little snippets of moments with all the kids

You were a little bit stressed out to meet all of Bruce’s children but you also felt like it was going to be alright. Jason was there, always by your side. Dick and Tim liked you and they had said only good things about you to the others. Especially Dick, because he was well aware that Jason wouldn’t agree to spend time with him again without you. The fact Bruce was much nicer since you were together was also working in your favour. Alfred was approving of you too and he had personally asked all of the children to treat you well.

The children were also aware that Bruce would be very unhappy and disappointed with them all if things didn’t go well. It was obviously very important for him.

At first, everyone was a little bit silent and awkward. It was the first time a civilian was introduced to the whole family. And technically, they already knew a lot about you without knowing you, so they weren’t too sure how to act around you. They didn’t want to scare you off by showing they made research about you… and stalked you.

After a little while, you gently teased them all, saying that for vigilantes they were quite shy. It quickly put them at ease.

Things went actually a lot better than you thought and you could tell no one really believed you would that easily get along with the family. You felt Bruce relaxing through the dinner, his hand on your thigh under the table. His warmth helped you feel safer around everyone as well.

Soon enough they all were chatting around and asking you questions. It was a true interrogation but you didn’t mind. For once, you were the one answering questions and not the other way around. It was fun.

Damian was the only silent one. He wasn’t too sure how to deal with you. He didn’t need you. He wasn’t used to seeing his father around someone. He wasn’t too certain how to react when his father kissed the back of your hand with such love shining in his eyes. 

You noticed his uncertainty but you weren’t too worried about it. You knew you were fitting just right in there. You had never felt like that before, or just with your grandma. It was a nice change in your life. And you were really eager to start spending some time with all of them, like you were doing with Jason already.

You went to concerts with Dick. He wanted to go to those classic piano concerts but no one was eager to follow him. He had asked you, half certain you would politely decline his offer. But on the contrary, you had been more than happy to agree to come with him. Your eagerness warmed his heart. It had been a long time he hadn’t had a motherly figure in his life, and he knew you were fitting perfectly. Since then, whenever one of you wanted to go to a concert - no matter what kind - you had to go together. It was your thing. None of you went to so many concerts before, but it was a pretext to spend time together. You talked a lot before the concerts too and Dick could only agree with Jason: you were easy to talk to.

You played video games with Tim. You were waiting for Bruce to come back from patrol one night and you were bored out of your mind. You found Tim playing in the living room. At first, you just asked him if you could hang around. He agreed without thinking much of it, before offering you to play with him. He needed another player and no one else was around at that time. It appeared you were a gamer and you enjoyed fighting against one other. But you enjoyed working together on co-op games even more. You spent a lot of evenings with Tim on the couch, screaming together when you were losing or winning. Everyone knew better than to annoy the two of you when you were gaming.

You watched movies with Stephanie. Stephanie was clearly not too certain how to be around you. Things weren’t always easy with Bruce and after the way her parents betrayed her, she felt like she couldn’t trust adults any longer. But Jason loved you so much that she thought she could give you a chance. Watching movies allowed the two of you to bond, without having to interact too much at first. Then you started to talk a lot about what you just saw, and then about everything else. Watching movies snuggled up against you started to become Stephanie’s comfort zone and you were more than happy to give her that. Even though you were a tease, you never said anything when she fell asleep on you.

You took dancing lessons with Cassandra. It was clear the girl was a classic dancer; she was really amazing to watch. You loved to dance too, even though you never really took any kind of lessons, so you thought it would be a nice activity to do together. Cass instantly agreed. It allowed her to observe you and your body language. She had more fun than she thought, and she offered to keep going dancing together. You improved a lot thanks to her help and she liked to discover other kinds of dances thanks to you. You also came to watch her repetitions and her representations. She started to always look for you in the spectators, happy to be taken care of that way. 

You did puzzles with Duke. You started to spend a lot more time at the manor, even when Bruce wasn’t around. You were currently doing a mind game on the living room table as Duke went by. You started to chat around and you saw Duke was quite eager to play with you, so you invited him to settle by your side. Once you were done, he looked for a puzzle he hadn’t finished yet so you could do it together. When the weather was pretty bad in Gotham, you quite liked to get some hot cacao and to do puzzles with Duke. Because you both were pretty good with puzzles, you had to always find more challenging ones. Looking for them was also part of the fun.

For Damian, things were a little bit more difficult, as he made it clear, he had no interest in spending time with you. It hurt you a little more than you wanted to admit but didn’t say anything at first. You eventually went to an animal care centre open to the public with Damian and Bruce. Bruce offered for you to come with the two of them so his son could get used to your presence. He had noticed he was the only one who was avoiding you. Damian stayed cold to you for a long time, eyeing his father holding your hand with a frown until you let go of Bruce’s hand to come closer to the lions. You really loved the animals and Damian thought you couldn’t be that bad then. That evening, Alfred the cat fell asleep on your lap, so Damian started to be more polite to you. It was the first step. You started to bond over taking care of his pets.

You also met Barbara, Kate, Luke and Lucius. 

Kate and you instantly became friends because you were seeing things quite similarly. You also loved to tease everyone together. You had a real complicity between the two of you, and you often hang out together just for the sake of being together. And annoying everyone.

Barbara needed some time to trust you but she could tell you were a good addition to the family. She slowly warmed up to you. You didn’t take it personally and you showed a lot of patience. You were happy to be part of this group of amazing people, and Barbara couldn’t deny how kind you were to all of them.

Luke trusted Duke’s approval of you. You talked a lot around a drink in a bar in Gotham after Dick invited everyone for his birthday. You asked him questions about the army and the way veterans were taken care of. You promised him to do an article about it, which touched Luke a lot.

Lucius and you enjoyed talking together, as ones of the only civilians of the family, with Alfred. For Lucius, it was quite refreshing to be able to discuss with someone who was also shaking their head at the Batfamily’s antics. Lucius quickly saw how much of a good asset you could be for Wayne Enterprises as well and he hoped that at some point you would agree to help Bruce with it.

As months went by, you started to all know each other a lot more. And to start to love one another quite fiercely. You were their Batmon. You got confirmation of it when the children playfully and yet tenderly brought you a bracelet with the bat logo on it. You swore to always wear it.

--

PART 7

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Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

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@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

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[klemen-tine]

Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 2

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

First Part

Part 3

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking

This is more of the family side than it is of Bruce. Next part will be everyone.

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“Young Master Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, opening their arms and sagging in relief once they hugged the butler. The three hour car ride had been tense, with everyone asking questions and Y/N trying their hardest to be polite while not losing it. The fashion show still fresh in their mind, and the clothing Francesca had given them was gently folded and placed in the trunk of the car. 

“It is good to see you, Alfred. It’s been too long.” The old man huffed, “Indeed. A year of only phone calls and cards does make it seem like it was a century ago since I last saw your face… in person.” Y/N smiled, giving Alfred a playful look before remembering where they are and how they got here. 

The smile on their face became practiced, expression smoothening out as they turned to face the rest of the family who were all waiting patiently. Dick was smiling brightly, unraveling his scarf and walking forward, “Hey Alfie, you should have seen our Y/N walk. They really made the show.” 

“I find it insulting they made you walk last,” Damian chimed and crossed his arms. Y/N gave him a small smile, “Being a closer is as much of a compliment as being the opener.” The young boy scrunched his nose, “I preferred the show in Paris.” 

“Francesca Gabbana designed the piece, Alfred you’ll have to see it.” Tim was the one carrying the case that had the piece in it. The old man hummed, “I saw it on the television, but perhaps seeing it in person will be better.” Jason shrugged, walking in and gently nudging Y/N with his larger shoulders, “Although, did she have to make the Bat symbol just the front piece? It barely covered anything.” Y/N could see his jaw clench like the very thought of other people seeing Y/N’s stomach. 

Bruce was the last to walk in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over his arm, “Fashion designers do not care about function, only beauty.” Y/N smiled tensely, “It is a form of art.” The older man smiled at Y/N, and the model couldn’t get rid of the image of the Bruce they saw backstage. 

“Of course it is. One of the most demanding forms of art as well.” Y/N couldn’t place the tone, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alfred shuffled, “Well, dinner is almost ready. Young Master Y/N, if you want you can wash up in one of the guest bathrooms. Your room is currently being used as a trophy room.” Y/N chuckled, “Oh dear, you’re not hanging up my photos are you?” 

“I did tell you I would be.” Y/N shook their head, “Thanks Alfred, but I don’t have any clothes here.” An arm swung around their shoulder, and Y/N stiffened under the sudden touch. Jason was smiling at them, “C’mon Y/N, we have some clothes for you.” Y/N felt the sudden spike again in their spine, alerting them that something was amiss and only bad things would happen if they asked questions. From how everyone was looking at them, Y/N specifically, it was like they were waiting for Y/N to ask. Impatiently waiting for that landmine to explode in front of them. 

“How kind of you, I wasn’t expecting that.” Y/N jumped over it. 

“Of course! How could we not have clothes ready for when our younger sibling comes home. Even though it’s been almost three years, I hope everything still fits right.” Just to land on another landmine. Y/N kept the smile on, years of being talked down to by photographers have helped them create the perfect mask of politeness. 

“So, which bathroom in which guest room?” Tim stepped forward and gently guided Y/N out from under Jason’s arm and further into the manor. Y/N stayed half a step behind, taking in the gothic manor and the decorations littering the hallway. 

Out of all the siblings, Y/N is closest with Tim. Not really siblings, and not really even friends, but if his relationship could be described as a length rope attached to each person, Tim’s would be the second shortest. Right after Alfred. They are close in age, and Tim was the first one to comment on Y/N’s photo when Y/N had first started modeling. 

It was only once, and it may have been in passing, but Y/N had held that interaction close to their heart. The first and last comment from a sibling about their modeling. An acknowledgement of sorts, that made Y/N momentarily believe that they were noticeable, only for that to be squished that same day. 

“You’re photo in the Cosmetology magazine, it looks really good. Red suits you.” 

The way that color looked on Y/N was the same as how a red rose looked on a green stem; like it was always meant to be. Y/N has seen the comparisons between them and their mother. M/N L/N was a beautiful woman, with large eyes and pouty lips, the very definition of innocence. A puppy-dog look that fit so naturally on her face. 

A white rose. 

While Y/N had a more sultry tone, a more powerful presence, one that demanded attention. 

A red rose. Not so innocent, or pure, but who can be when you see your own mother dead in the bathtub. Drug allegations and the loss of her popularity caused her downfall, and she loved her popularity more than she loved her child. Y/N finds it hard to blame her, because after they have gotten a taste of what beauty can get them, they can see why their mother got addicted to the camera flashes. 

The assurance that yes, they are beautiful. They are beautiful and worthy of the cameras. 

But with every camera flash, is a terrible comment. A terrible blog, highlighting their faults and insecurities. Someone dissecting every motion they made, every microexpression, ever comment. 

“Here you are, Y/N.” Y/N’s attention snapped back and sure enough they were in front of the door. Tim waited patiently for Y/N to enter, “Thank you, Tim.” The young man shrugged, “Sure. Clothes can be found in the dresser and shoes in the closet.” Y/N nodded, waiting for the other to leave. Instead Tim turned around and faced Y/N, waiting for the other with a raised brow, “You’re not going to ask about the clothes?” 

Y/N gulped, “I feel like if I ask, I won’t like the answer. I’d rather live in ignorance for now.” They walked past Tim, opening and closing the door, but before they saw Tim grin and a smile played out on his lips, “Smart.” 

They locked the door, and when they turned around Y/N nearly collapsed. They pressed their back into the door as they stared at the room in mild terror. Their room from their condo, fully paid off condo, was present in front of Y/N. The same color palette, the same furniture, hell even the bookshelves are the same. Gulping, Y/N walked further in and when they opened the dresser, their jaw clenched and fingers shook. 

The exact same clothes. 

The bathroom was their saving grace, or so they thought. It didn’t look like their bathroom in the condo, save for the same colored towels. That was until they opened the shower and saw full bottles of the same brand soap, shampoo, conditioner, masks, everything. 

“Just like home. It is just like home, Y/N. Only in the Manor.” They mumbled to themselves, stripping in front of the shower stall and jumping in and not even waiting for the water to get hot. They wanted in and out as quickly as possible. Washing their hair, their body, and not even bothering to do the usual masks and scrubs. 

Jumping out, they quickly towel dried themselves and threw on the robe that was so familiar. 

“Routine… keep to the routine…” Body lotion, while the skin is still damp so it can absorb into the skin better, followed by an oil. For the face it was a double cleanse, first an oil based then water-based, followed by toner, retinol, serums, hyaluronic acid, moisturizer, and face oil. Teeth will be after the meal, but hair… 

“Moisturizer, blow dry, and then oil.” Y/N continued to mutter, trying desperately to not go crazy as the familiar brands flashed across their face and they had to use it like normal. They had too. Cause if they don’t, then Y/N knows that they will go crazy. 

They don’t bother to look in the dresser again, already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and instead they opted to flop onto the bed. Y/N buried their face in the pillow, and tried to not think about anything. They tried to force their mind blank, just how they did on the runway. 

“Y/N, are you ready?” Only it wasn’t working. Sitting up, Y/N stared at the door and contemplated answering. The carefully crafted facade was cracking and Y/N doesn’t know if they can keep the mask on any longer. From the multiple shows this week, to the shows earlier today, then this, the mask had outworn its use and now it is slowly begging to be taken off. 

“One minute please.” Only they can’t. Not here. Definitely not here. 

Peeling themselves off of the bed, Y/N stripped out of the robe and grabbed the first shirt they saw, underwear, and jeans. Their house slippers were right next to the dresser, and Y/N wanted to cry. All of it was getting too much and they're not sure how much longer they can be doing this. 

Opening the door, Dick and Jason were the ones waiting for them. Dick grinned, “How insulting of you to look so great in only jeans and a crew neck, making the rest of us look like toads.” Y/N chuckled, closing the door behind them, “I am a model, its my job to look good in every style of clothing.” 

Dick laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder he pulled the other close. Close enough that Y/N could smell the detergent used on Dick’s clothes, and body heat radiating off of the other. They started walking, Jason keeping silent while Dick chatted to Y/N, catching the other up on the past year. 

“There are more to the family now, but they won’t be at dinner today. Cass is with Steph, Duke is studying, and Barbara has dinner with her own family to join.” Y/N nodded, ignoring the small sting that others can be welcomed in while they couldn’t be. Instead, they kept the conversation polite, “How nice! It must be worthwhile to have so many people here.” Dick grinned, and there was a type of sharpness to it that had Y/N squirming. 

“Yeah, but it was never really a full house because not everyone was here.” A jab at Y/N, who muscled through it, “Well, modeling is a travel-heavy job. There was no time to come back.” The brothers stayed quiet, leading Y/N to the dining room table where everything and everyone was sitting and waiting patiently. 

Bruce caught their eyes, and motioned for them to sit at the empty seat next to him, Tim on the other side. Y/N walked over, and took the seat graciously, trying to ignore the weight in their stomach that was making their throat close. Alfred emerged, and like the true butler he was, he began setting their plates in front of them. Perfectly made and being presented beautifully on the white ceramic plates with gold leaf designs. 

Their favorite meal, one that always had Y/N running down the stairs when Alfred would announce his plans to make it, sat perfectly in the center of the plate. Its been so long since Y/N had it, no one quite makes it like Alfred does, and plus its just not really in Y/N’s diet. 

But Alfred made it. Alfred put his time and effort into making it, and Y/N is not going to spit on that. Once everyone had their plate, the dinner table became loud with chatter. Just like hoow it used to be. Dick would carry the conversation for the entire table, Jason would make sarcastic remarks, Tim intelligent ones, Damian’s would be snide, and Bruce would look exhausted the entire time. However, he still partook in them, letting his kids have the family moment of conversing with their parental figure. Smiling and chuckling as he did so, Bruce tried to be that good father figure. 

And Y/N just sits there. They eat quietly and think about their next photo shoot, the next trends that they need to hop on, the workout routine they need to adhere by. Questions do not get thrown their way– 

“Now that fashion season is over, what are your plans Y/N?” E/C eyes blink owlishly, staring at Dick in wonder as all eyes focus on them. 

“Oh, uh, um, well its normally rest season for us, but I have plans to schedule a few photoshoots, commercials, and I know Maya has been talking about me becoming a brand ambassador.” Y/N wants to keep the momentum. Y/N wants to be kept busy to get and stay away from here. 

“You’re not going to rest?” Jason questioned, raising a brow and Y/N shrugged, “I plan to take a few weeks off, but modeling doesn’t really have a set time.” It isn’t a 9-5 job, or vigilante job. Y/N will have to make public appearances, showing up to Galas, grand openings, other fashion shows, fashion shoots, and a lot of traveling. 

Bruce hummed, “Sounds like you’re running yourself thin.” Y/N gulped, “It sounds like a lot, but most of it is traveling and getting ready. Besides, I like being busy.” In high school, Y/N would go from school the the modeling agency where they would schedule photo shoots and commercials. Then it would be meeting with dieticians, personal trainers, estheticians, and then more meeting for future goals. The next steps. 

Y/N was always busy, but so was their mother and she managed. She was a single mother and a high end fashion model. If she can do it, then there is no reason Y/N can’t. 

“But there are other stuff right? Like you need to get facials to make sure your skin looks nice, and working out,” Damian chimed in, and Y/N blinked in surprise at the youngest contributing to the conversation. They smiled, “That’s not really tiring, it’s just time consuming.” 

Alfred walked back into the dining room, a dessert platter in his hands, “Then it is good you will be resting here. Take a few days to enjoy being free.” A cheesecake was set down in front of Y/N, and Alfred pointedly stared at the half eaten meal. He gave Y/N a raised brow, and while the model would normally smile and reassure the man that they would eat later, their face was full of shock, “What do you mean a ‘few days?’” 

Bruce wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin, “A few days. Rest here for a few days, it’ll be good for you and for everyone else.” Y/N gulped, “Why is it good for everyone else if I stay?” 

“Of course it’s good for us. Family sticks together obviously, and with you running off, it really sent things haywire.” There it was again. The phrase ‘running off’ as if it was something Y/N actually did. They smiled, “You’re sounding like Tim. I did not run off, I moved out.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, “ ‘Moved out,’ huh. I didn’t realize moving out meant leaving without so much as a goodbye.” 

“The things you left behind, you scheduled people to grab them and throw them out. Alfred was the one to stop them from touching your room,” Dick stated. Those blue eyes keep Y/N locked in their seat. The smile on the oldest sibling’s face was anything but kind, “It’s like you wanted to erase yourself from this manor. You left behind almost nothing that would trace you to us.” 

“Not a number to call. We had to get it from Alfred,” Jason chimed, taking a bite of the chocolate mousse cake. 

“Or a letter explaining where you went.” Damian took a sip of the tea. 

“Or an address.” Tim gulped his cup of coffee, all of them watching Y/N. They way their sibling’s shoulders tensed and that fake smile became more and more downturned. Bruce spoke once more, “It seems like you don’t even want to be a Wayne. Taking your mother’s last name despite the controversies.” 

Y/N’s smile turned bitter, “I took her last name because Wayne is more influential and I wanted to start with as little influence as possible. Plus, legally my last name is still L/N.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, “And look how many speculations you got for drug use.” 

“...Since when did you read gossip?” 

“The moment my kid’s photo is attached to that piece of gossip.” Y/N is still aware of all the blogs accusing them of drug-use, the same blogs that accused M/N. People using her photos to compare their features and just cause more drama. 

Y/N took a bite of the cheesecake, and the tension at the table was thick. Usually it was between Dick and Bruce, or Jason and Bruce. Never between Y/N though. Although, Y/N never spoke at the table so maybe that is why they were arguing? Can this even be considered an argument? 

Alfred cleared his throat, “While talking is appreciated, arguments stay away from the dinner table.” So it was an argument. Y/N apologized to the man and took another bite of the cheesecake. Their mind filled with the workout they are going to have to do to burn this off. 

++++

Alfred watched the child he considered a grandchild drink their tea, brewed in the darkness of the kitchen and now sitting at the dinner table again. While a year may not seem long, for Alfred it was. Y/N, who had been there for half a decade, had been glued to Alfred’s side. The man always taking the teen to and from school, and then sometimes to their gigs. 

It was Alfred that took Y/N to their first audition to be a model, and it seems like it was only a few days before he received a call from a woman claiming to be M/N L/N’s manager, and while she may not be Y/N’s manager, her daughter will be. Alfred liked Maya. The young woman always let him know of Y/N’s gigs, she would pick the young teen up and drop him off, and she tried to be as helpful as she could. Maya was a woman born to manage models and their busy and demanding schedules. 

What Alfred didn’t like, was that Maya still had the old school model critiques. Alfred gaped at the woman when she handed him a list of diets for Y/N to ‘lose weight.’ A 15 year old Y/N, who was already slender, now being told they had to be skinny but toned. A child being told that ice cream was no longer an option, and their favorite burgers were banned. 

He furrowed at the training regime, wondering how agencies can expect a teenager to be toned like their already full adult models. Nonstop cardio, ab workouts, and toning exercises. Then strut practice, because if Y/N was M/N’s child, then they were made for the runway. Born to walk in front of cameras and audiences. 

“If Y/N wants to be a model, then sacrifices have to be made,” Was Maya’s response to Alfred's inquiries. She assured him that Y/N would still be eating, and she encouraged Y/N to eat, but now those meals were restricted to certain foods. 

Alfred watched as Y/N struggled at first, their own plate different from the others, and how the blisters on their toes and heels bled through their socks and bandaids. The old man watched as the training and strut practice became an everyday routine. Y/N walked on the wobbling plyboard, barely wide enough for one foot, and the amount of times they fell off of it. The books stacked on their head for good posture and balance, followed by walking on an incline in those uncomfortable shoes, then training the muscles to the point of exhaustion. 

He had watched the child-like baby fat on Y/N’s cheeks melt off and expose cheekbones that looked tight against the skin. Y/N still looked beautiful, not more or less, but Alfred could see the exhaustion in those young eyes and how Y/N juggles modeling and being a student. 

Y/N didn’t even go to their high school graduation, choosing instead to head to Paris for their first ever abroad photoshoot. That kickstarted the traveling and runway model career. Once Y/N got their highschool diploma, they were out the door and becoming busier and busier. 

“I see you still drink onion skin tea so late at night.” Y/N smiled up at Alfred, “Of course. I was shocked to see that you still keep the skins.” The older man sat across from Y/N, nursing his own cup of tea “Of course. In case you ever visited, I thought it would be great to have some in stock.” Y/N gave Alfred a ‘really?’ look, continuing to sip on the still hot tea.

“I saw the piece you wore today,” Alfred started the conversation. 

“It truly is a beautiful piece of work.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Did you know about-” Y/N waved a hand in the air, “- about Bruce calling to commission a piece?” The old man took a sip of the earl gray. Y/N shook their head, unable to be upset, “Alfred, a call about that would have been appreciated.” 

“An address would also be appreciated but seeing as you have withheld that information, I saw no harm in sharing Master Bruce’s commission.” Y/N deflated, rubbing their forehead with their fingers, “Alfie-” 

“You only use that name when you know you’re about to be in trouble, so you might as well just say it, Young Master Y/N.” Y/N’s cheeks blushed and their lips pouted, “Alfie, I told you that the reason I didn’t tell you my address is because I am always traveling. I’d feel awful if you showed up and I wasn’t there.” 

“There’s a wonderful contraption called a cellphone, Young Master Y/N. I would call before making that trek over.” Y/N groaned, setting his cup down and trying not to crumble in front of the grandfather figure. Answering to Alfred was always harder than answering to Bruce. 

“Alfie–” 

“Young Master Y/N, I understand your hesitancy is sharing in your life with others. Life was lonely here, and I understand wanting to forget that. However, having only a number to call you is terrifying. What if something happens and I cannot help you?” Y/N gazed sadly at Alfred, “Life wasn’t lonely, Alfie. I had you, right?” 

Alfred Pennyworth, Y/N’s saving grace and lifeline. The person who is proof that Y/N was not alone in the Wayne Manor. The butler always willing to lend an ear when Y/N vented their frustrations, and when tears escaped their E/C eyes. He is Y/N’s biggest supporter. Always buying a magazine that had Y/N in it, and he would listen to Y/N critique the pose and the facial expression. Then he would give Y/N a slice of cheesecake and compliment Y/N, in both the photo and in person. 

Always reassuring the other that a cheat day will not set him back, and rest is what the body needs the most. Reassuring Y/N that their mother would be proud, that Bruce notices them, and that Y/N’s siblings do in fact love them. 

“Besides, why would you even want to visit? My place wouldn’t be as grand as this–” 

“It would be to make sure your fridge is stocked and that you are eating. You have always been the worst when it comes to eating, and I worry that your fridge and pantry are empty.” Alfred doesn’t have to guess that Y/N’s fridge is empty, because he knows it is. 

He knows that Y/N’s fridge is empty besides some drinks, and that the pantry is only snacks. While Y/N may have the excuse of being gone for so long, traveling and whatnot, Alfred knows that Y/N does not spend a lot of money on food. Y/N spends more money on clothes, jewlery, facial and hair care products, than they do on groceries. 

Y/N doesn’t even look ashamed. Nervous, yeah, but not ashamed. They sip their tea without making eye contact. Time to change the subject. 

“Why is Bruce, and all the boys, all of a sudden interested in what I do?” Alfred didn’t Y/N out on the obvious change in conversation, but he let it slide. The old man sighed, “Why would a parent not be interested in what their child is doing?” 

“Alfred.” 

“Young Master Y/N, you have worked tirelessly to get to the position you are now. With no help from the family, you had spent your late mother’s money to audition, then to pay your managers, and now you are making it big within the industry. Is it wrong for a parent to congratulate their child?” Y/N bit their  lip, “So its because I’m finally someone now? Was I not worth attention because I chose not to be Robin?” 

“Young Master Y/N–” 

“I don’t care about that. Like I told Bruce, it wasn’t abuse or anything, he just simply didn’t have time for me and that’s fine. I’m not mad about that.” Alfred watched Y/N get worked up, and E/C begin to shift in nervousness, “What I am talking about is why did Bruce pay off my Condo, and why does he have access to my bank account?” 

Silence fell across the table. Y/N staring at Alfred expectantly, while the butler finished his tea. Once done, he grabbed his and Y/N’s tea cup and headed towards the kitchen. 

“Perhaps, that is a Master Bruce question.” Y/N made a sound of annoyance, throwing themselves back into the chair and scrunching their nose. Standing up from the table, Y/N said goodnight to Alfred, and proceeded up that stairs and into dark hallways. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the guest room, feeling their heart rate spike whenever they thought of the replicated room. 

Instead, they walked down familiar halls towards a room-now-turned-trophy room. They reached for the doorknob, but found themselves unable to open it. Y/N didn’t want to see all the photos Alfred had kept throughout the years. Rather, what caught Y/N’s attention was the lacking of doors in the hallway. There used to be two more doors on their left, but instead there was now one. The area where the second door was, was perfectly sealed and now blended into the wall. 

Y/N took a deep breath, and opened the door. They used to be guest rooms as well. The two rooms had queen-sized beds and armoires for the unexpected guests that popped up. Y/N’s room used to be a guest-room, but they ended up liking the privacy because no one else’s room was around their’s. In fact, it was the guest room across from Y/N’s room that they had turned into the practice room, seeing that no one came down this hallway. 

However, clearly people were not because of the renovation done. 

When the door opened, Y/N sought out the light switch. The room was pitch black, and the last thing Y/N wanted to do was trip over something. Feeling around the wall, Y/N rejoiced when they felt the familiar switch and flicked it on. Once the bright light filled the room, Y/N took a deep breath. They were expecting a game room, or an indoor swimming people because that seems like something a rich person would do. Turning two guest rooms into a pool despite it being on the second floor. 

Something not exactly normal, but expected. 

Y/N didn’t expect this. Gone was the wall that separated the two bedrooms, making it one long room, and all the furniture was absent. No more beds, armoires, and it looks like even the bathrooms were gutted and turned into part of the room. All the tables, rugs, sofas, everything that was once in those rooms, were now gone besides the chandeliers that hung on the ceiling. Filling the room with a bright light, that didn’t fit the manor aesthetic at all, and illuminating everything that was in the room. 

While the furniture was gone, the room was not empty. Mannequins lined the walls, on their own podiums and glass cases. While seeing them bare would have been scary, seeing them dressed in the clothes that Y/N had worn on the runways was more terrifying. Y/N, in the runway season alone, walked 86 shows. That is the runways season alone, not including the other smaller shows they have done since graduating high school almost a year ago. 

These weren’t all of the clothes they have worn, there was still a large amount and they were the most iconic pieces. Pieces that a designer would never want to give someone. 

Y/N walked further in, taking in the first mannequin on the right, and they noted that the mannequin looked eerily similar to Y/N. Only missing the facial features and hair, but it looked like the proportions were almost spot on. 

The plastic doll had on the outfit from a runway show earlier in the year, when Y/N walked for Versace. A simple long blazer with deep V cut, stopping mid-thighs where only an inch of skin was shown before thigh boots bedazzled in gold, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious jewels took over the rest of the legs. The earrings they wore were poked into the mannequin's own ears and the bracelets hung off the dainty wrists. In the glass case, next to the mannequin, was the photo taken of Y/N when they were walking. 

The next case was a piece they wore when walking for a newer fashion-designer, one that Y/N did for free just to get to their name out there, and the piece was a gorgeous suit, dyed a beautiful vermillion red that had the slighted shimmer of gold in it. Y/N’s runway photo was once again next to the mannequin. 

The entire room was full of these iconic runway looks, with Y/N’s photo right next to them, and they surrounded all sides of the room and some of them in the middle. Almost like an art gallery of sorts, and Y/N looked at every single one of them. Not in amazement or judgment, but more of horror. 

Y/N knows some of these fashion designers. They have known some of them since they were a child and watching their mom get fitted by these exact same designers. No matter how much she begged, they would never let her take one of their creations home. These clothes were meant to be either safe-guarded in a museum, in their own collection, or in some cases bought by a celebrity and worn to an award ceremony as advertisement. 

In other words, Y/N knows that some of these designers would rather gnaw off an arm then give away their precious creations. Yet, here some of those precious creations were, hanging on the mannequin shaped like the model. 

In the center of the room, like it was the main show, was the Batman-inspired piece. All that was missing was the photo, which wouldn’t be published for another few weeks. 

Taking a deep breath, they stared at the reflection in the gold-plated bat. They were trying to process all of this. It’s one thing to have photos, because Y/N is a model and photos are expected, but to have the actual clothes they wore. Clothes that Y/N knows the designers would kill for, dressed on mannequins that looked almost exactly like Y/N was another thing.

Y/N backed out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door silently. They stared at their own door, sweat beginning to break out on their forehead, and they went against their instincts and opened that door. 

A trophy room, Alfred had said. The walls are decorated in their photos, and the bed is still as immaculate as the day they left. Turning the lights on, Y/N couldn’t help but to smile as the time capsule in front of them. From their very first photoshoot, when Y/N was a gangly 15-year-old with still chubby cheeks, to the most recent photoshoot of a now 18 almost 19-year-old Y/N. Their confidence can be seen in their pose and gaze, something their younger self lacked. 

Y/N walked closer to the walls and looked at all the different photos. Some candid, some posed, some in the water, and there’s one where they are in Greece. Some had Y/N fully clothed with barely and inch of skin, and some were of Y/N with barely an inch of clothes. From makeup, to shoes, to perfume, to clothes, Y/N’s photo was pinned on the wall or framed. 

A photo caught their attention though. It wasn’t one from a website, or a magazine, but an actual photo. Y/N looked closer, and they recognized the set from when they were 16-years-old posing for an editorial magazine. 

However, the angle in which this photo was taken from, Y/N knows there were no cameras there. All the cameras were in front or on the side, not behind. Another photo caught their eyes, and it was the same thing. A photo from behind. 

Once they started looking for them, Y/N could begin to spot them all. Photos that they know no photographer took. There was one that had their blood chilling and fear rising in their chest. It was a photo, taken at night and through one of the windows in Y/N’s condo. Y/N had one wall in the living room that was basically all windows, letting in the morning sun and led out onto the gated terrace. It was high enough that they had no neighbors that could look through those windows. 

In the photo, Y/N was wearing their pajamas and their hair still looked wet. They were sitting on the counter of the island in their kitchen, eating raspberries and watching Youtube on their TV. It was such a close photo, close enough that the reflection can be seen in the glass. 

Y/N recognizes the blue and black, and when Y/N’s eyes drifted to another photo of them in their home, bile rose into their throats. The morning sun illuminated the warm neutral color palette in the living room, and Y/N was out on the terrace sitting at the patio table they had set up out there drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. They had their shirt off, exposing ribs pulled tightly against skin and abs that remained toned even when Y/N wasn’t flexing. The shorts they had on exposing soft skin and pedicured feet, their slipped laid forgotten under the chair they were sitting in. 

They recognize that book. It was a book they read in the height of summer, meaning that this photo was taken half a year ago, when it was okay to sit outside in the warm summer mornings and let the skin begin to circulate. 

What chilled Y/N even more was that whoever took this photo was on their terrace with them. They were on Y/N’s terrace, and Y/N didn’t even know. The Wayne family has known Y/N’s address the entire time. They knew where Y/N was staying, they knew Y/N’s photoshoot schedules, and they knew Y/N better than Y/N thought they did. 

“I didn’t think you’d come in here.” Y/N’s head whipped around and there was Dick, or Nightwing, still in costume and smiling at them. 

“The hell is this?” Y/N held up the photo of them on the terrace, and Dick shrugged, “I’ll admit, those photos we took. But we didn’t take the other ones.” 

“What other ones?” “The ones of you at the photoshoots. I know you saw them, but we didn’t take those.” Y/N glared at Dick, and pushed themselves close to the wall as Dick walked in. Damian was right behind him. The oldest brother walked to the photo that originally caught Y/N’s attention, “You had a stalker, can you believe that? He took hundreds of photos of you, and all we did was make him stop.” 

Y/N’s lips pursed, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Dick unpinned the photo, and with Damian’s help, trapped Y/N against the wall next to the photo of them outside. He held up the photo, “Because, Y/N, as you can see we prefer more… candid photos then staged.” 

Y/N snapped, “There is nothing candid about that photo! That is an invasion of privacy! Trespassing! So is that one!” They pointed to one of them sitting on the counter. Damian grabbed their arm, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to shove the kid off. 

“And so is that one.” Dick pointed to one of Y/N wearing only a large shirt, a towel around their shoulders as they walked into their kitchen. 

“And that one.” 

“And that one.” 

“That one there.” 

“There’s that one too.” Y/N looked at all the photos, hidden next to the magazine photos, and they were all of them in their home. Horror morphed on Y/N’s face when there was one photo of Y/N in the bedroom, in the midst of taking their shirt off. 

Dick continued to smile, and Y/N could see Jason and Tim peeking in from the doorway. 

“You did a lot on your own, Y/N. You built a name for yourself, became a highly sought after model, it really is amazing.” Dick walked closer, “But you know what all of those photos have in common?” Y/N stared into blue eyes, terror swimming in those E/C eyes of theirs. 

“You aren’t even aware of your photo being taken.” The truth unsettled Y/N enough to try and squirm out of Damian’s grip and to get away from Dick. They didn’t need to be pointed out. Y/N is aware that in every photo taken without their permission, they were not once aware of it. Even when they looked like they would be only a few feet away, Y/N not once looked bothered. Y/N doesn’t even remember that feeling of being watched. 

Tim and Jason stepped in the room, making it seem crowded and even if Y/N got out of Damian’s grip, there was no way they were getting past all of them. 

Large hands gripped Y/N’s forearms, feeling like they would bruise the skin if Y/N struggled. 

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?” 

________________________________________________________

Part 3 is coming soon....

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 7 Part 2/2

Masterpost

His hotel was 23 dollars-a-night. Air: stale. Carpet: faded. Receptionist: disliked all of them personally. 

“It’s extra to have guests!” He barked after them. He looked at Cass in particular when she came out from behind the men and he could see that she had a Black Bat face on. He paused.

“There is no fee,” Cass said, and glided past him.

The receptionist quietly cursed, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Damn,” Stinkyman RudeWizard said quietly to himself. “Maybe I oughta spend more time with Bats. You have a real talent for ending conversations.”

“I bite,” Cass said serenely. It wasn’t a threat. Just providing information. Not relevant information. She would not bite him. He was stinky.

Stinkyman was quiet until he unlocked the door. “Well, come in do-gooders and creeps of the night.” He somehow managed to flourish with with bare arm. Cass swept in underneath without touching him, just to flex. 

Captain Marvel waited politely for Stinkyman to move before he entered. “We ran into a situation the other day that we hope you can comment on.” Wow, business mode. So tall of him. Sudden professionalism. “We encountered an artifact that appeared to be scientific in design, in a location that was heavily contaminated with Death magic.”

Black Bat nodded agreement.

The wizard made a face. “And what did this artifact do?” He sounded exhausted.

“Electrocuted me,” Black Bat said, putting on her mission mind a little more firmly. No fear. No horror. “Had an involuntary transformation.”

“Tranformation into what?” stinkyman asked, reluctantly interested. “A normal bird?”

“She had a costume change and her physiological signs seemed to be altered for the duration of the transformation.” Marvel saved her. He lied a little by implication. She was grateful.

“What ended it?” He was looking her over carefully. He had gone through his own transformation into a responsible, thoughtful professional. Probably it was the money that did it. Cass mentally counted the bills she had left. She was more than willing to pay him to stop being annoying. 

“I was able to trigger the detransformation on purpose.” She had to sound that sentence out carefully so that the syllables didn’t turn into mush and tumble away, but this was important. 

Stinkyman nodded thoughtfully. “Try to trigger it the other way,” he suggested. He clamped his cigarette down on one side of his mouth. “I need to see what I’m working with before I can give you any assessment.”

Cass scrunkled up her face, unhappy like Alfred the cat when it was dry food. “I’ll try the inverse.” She closed her eyes and thought about what it had been to be White Bat. Her heart had been still and empty in her chest. Her body moved easily, no aches and pains. Lightning thrummed in her veins. 

She held the feeling in her mind and said, “White Bat,” under her breath.

Light flashed over the room. When it receded, she saw that Stinkyman was shading his face and scowling. “You’re an Infinite Realms being,” he diagnosed dryly. He let his cigarette drop carefully from his mouth and fall onto the shitty hotel carpet. Absently he stepped on it, as if this was a muscle habit.

“...What?” White Bat asked. 

The wizard shot her a lopsided grin that was almost handsome. “You’ve got ghosts in your blood. Want cocaine?”

“No one is going to be doing any drugs!” Marvel put his hands up and his tone high. “Haven’t you seen the PSAs about that? You do that and then your teeth fall out!” Genuine stress. Concern. Don’t hurt yourself!

“Thank you,” White Bat said. “Yes. No drugs.” She addressed that to Stinkyman. “Infinite Realms being?” she repeated. “I’m an earth being. Born and raised here.”

“And died here.” Constantine fished another cigarette out and lit it up. “You clearly have control over the transformation, so… might not be any repercussions if you avoid thinking about the metaphysical. Just go back to Black Bat and never think about it again. Or…” He appeared to have a new idea. He looked at her. Shifty. Curious. Could I benefit?

Died? Died here? Her brain skipped like Alfred’s records after Damian threw them for Titus to get revenge for the establishment of bedtime laws..

“What?” Cass said flatly. She crossed her arms. No blood moving in her veins. It was less upsetting the second time. At least it was not a surprise. 

Stinkyman looked sly. “If you want to look into it, we’ll have to go to the Infinite Realms. Hard for humans to get there, of course, but things like you are right now, well.” He gestured at her as if it was self-explanatory. “I’ll help you get there if you take me along with you. There’s something I’d like to pick up from hell.”

“From hell?” Marvel stressed. He thundered his face at the wizard. He looked intimidating. “We’re going. I’m not going to let you use Black Bat for whatever weird bet or gamble you have going on.” 

Cass blinked, impressed by his scaryface. She didn’t know he could do that. She inhaled through her nose and went back to Black Bat. It was… easy.

The wizard put his hands up in faux innocence and smirked. “It’s an offer, you can take or leave it. Anyway, you have my opinion,” he addressed Black Bat. “You died, Black Bird, I can only assume after touching something that clearly ought not have been fucked with. Can’t tell you offhand why you’re still walking the earth, but you’re not a revenant, ghoul, or other obvious fuckery that I care to banish. You look as human as me.” He flopped down on his motel bed. “Shut the door on the way out, that’s a love. But feel free to call me if you want to find out more.”

[battymommastuff]

The Loop [Save it for Later]

Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: Why is this happening? Why won't it stop?

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TW: DARK THEMES AND DEATH

It was sitting right there. That object, the cause of all of this. It was right there, but why couldn't they get to it. They could all see if from the corner of their eyes, but something kept them from getting close to it. "We were all touching it the first time. The first loop, we all touched it." Stephanie said as she glanced at it. 

It looked like a creepy item you would find in a fortune teller's shop. A hand holding up a crystal ball. It didn't seem too threatening when they took it from the league, but now they wished they hadn't. "What about Constantine? Before we all passed out, he was talking to...it." Jason said then shivered. That voice was bone chilling. It was nothing like they've heard before. 

"The only way we will know is if we summon him again." Damian said and went to get the paint that was in the same spot as it was the previous day. As usual, you were oblivious to what was happening in the Batcave. 

After they quickly drew the symbol, John wasn't far behind. Instead of his previous attire, he was wearing nothing but his underwear and bunny slippers. "Now what the hell is this? You couldn't wait for me to put on my coat?" John asked as he tapped his foot. Each tap caused the slipper to make a little squeak. 

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After briefing John on what's happening, Bruce led him over to the computer where they watched you move around the kitchen for what felt like the millionth time, "So she has no clue at all. She's the only one besides Alfred who is unaware of this loop?" John asked as he tightened the robe that he was given. 

"She figured it out the third time, but it didn't help." Bruce said and painfully relived the nightmare of watching his plane explode with his wife inside of it. He didn't think he would ever be able to get over this. 

Unlike the Batfamily, John was able to look directly at the object. He knew what it was, and he knew what was real and what wasn't. He's seen this kind of object before. In Hell, "Well what you have here is a demon, mate." He explained, and walked over to the object, "This bastard is trying to kill you by making you relive your most terrible fear. It seems you all share the same fear." He said with a small smirk.

"How is making us witness Ummi's death going to kill us?" Damian asked while crossing his arms. This should have been impossible to believe, but after everything they've been through...it was quite easy to believe. 

"That's the fun part, you should all be dead by now. After seeing her get killed the first time, you would have slowly lost your minds and..." John ran his finger across his throat then winced, "Someone else is making you relive this day over and over." John knew it was possibly him doing. He just didn't know how. 

"Tell me more about this music box." 

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Upstairs, you were humming softly while setting up the dining table. As you set the plate of pancakes down, you let out a soft scream when you  saw your hands covered in blood. Then you felt sharp pains in your chest. As if you were being stabbed. 

"Ummi?" You turned around quickly thinking Damian was behind you, but you saw nothing but a wall. What the hell was that? You looked back down to your hands and saw nothing. You slowly backed away from the table and hugged yourself. That felt too real. You could feel the wetness of the blood, and how warm it was. You heard Damian's voice as if he was right behind you. He had to have been...

Then a sickening laugh echoed through your head, and you felt your entire body tense up. 

"Mrs. Wayne? Are you alright? You are as pale as a ghost." Alfred said as he walked into the dining room to join the family for breakfast. He made his way over to your side, and rested a hand on your back in case you lost your footing, "Would you like me to fetch Master Wayne?" He asked, growing more and more worried for you. 

"N-No. I'm fine. I guess all the cooking made me feel a little warm." You said and gave him a small smile. Alfred looked at you unsure, but helped you sit down in your seat at the dining table, "Give me a minute, I'll be alright." You mumbled and let Alfred pour you a glass of water. Alfred wasn't paying attention or he would have seen your head drop for a moment before you sat up...oddly straight.

"I'm going to get Bruce, and the children." You said and stood up. It felt like something was guiding you to the Batcave. 

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"My darlings, it's time for breakfast." 

John was the first to make eye contact with you, and he could tell something was off. Your posture was too...perfect, and the smile on your face wasn't a normal smile, "No one leaves this cave." He said and held his arms out to stop anyone from getting close to you, "They're not hungry love. Why don't you pack it up for later?" He said, and watched your smile drop. 

"It's time for breakfast, they need to eat. You need to leave." You said and stepped closer to the group. John kept himself between you and your family, "Leave John, there's nothing for you here." John chuckled and his hands started to glow softly. 

"Why don't you let Mrs. Wayne go, and show us your ugly face? Or are you too afraid? They know what they have to do to stop you. I know I'm the one keeping them in this loop. It must piss you off." John could see your face contort into one of anger. 

"They'll never get the chance!" Your body then dropped...and you were dead. No stab wounds, or bullet holes. No signs of heart attack. You were just gone. 

"Listen, you have to destroy the crystal. That demon will take her body again, and the next loop, she'll stop you from getting to that ball." John said and made his way over to a table where the music box had suddenly appeared, "Whatever you do, don't let her stop you. Stop this madness." John said as he started winding up the music box. He watched each Batfamily member drop to the ground. 

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"Again, you lost them again?" 

"This time was intentional. It's pissed." 

"Duke, make sure we're ready to handle any medical emergencies." 

"On it." 

"Once more. Once more..."

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TAGLIST

@justafanficsreader @seaweed-orchid @0-n-1-x @jared-oranges @cumbermovels @theautisticduck @theroyalmanatee @animegirlfromvietnam @sunshinesetsstuff @lumalesa-kadichizho @amandachrystinallc @blarba-girl @devilchicc @bbiaa420 @scarlettels @lovely-maryj @warsaur @xlittlebubx-blog @sweetheartlizze07 @godknows-shetried @itsmadamehydra @enretrogue @saltedcoffeescotch @heatwavesbeenfakingme0ut @boom-panda-boy @zennezii @tulipmagnoliaisme @american-idiot21 @sugarrush-blush @mini-shower @cookiezxx @edgycatx @merishfit @gwephen

[sguidwards-bestfriend]

New Dimension, Who's This?

honestly writing this cuz I saw @gin2212 's comment and made me teary, so were gunna finish this bad boy! not today but you know... it will happen

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, part 5, part 6

Explicit mentions of death (but of characters that are currently living) Kind of OG version of their deaths

Danny had only walked through the Wayne’s home adjacent gardens once, in a direct route to the barn. Batcow was a highlight of that little excersion.

Now, however, they were actually looking at the shrubbery shaped like boring spheres and rectangles.

He felt Jason become distant and floated back a bit, he’d turned left into a very small opening.

Inside were three unmovable cement benches that curved slightly into one circle. The well cut bushes were wilder in here, making it cramped and impossible to see over the hedge.

“This spot used to be my favorite, when the weather was nice. I’d come out here with a book and whatever drink Alfred had decided to make that day.” Jason looked down at a square of cement in the middle, probably where a table had been. The indents on the side of the seats, likely from the mold it was made from, had moss growing in it.

“This seems like the perfect hideout.” Danny smiled and sat on the bench opposite Jason.

Jason hummed in agreement, he coughed awkwardly even for Danny’s standards and spoke up again. “So, you’re the god of death?” Jason was probably really good at looking casual and intimidating to most people, but Danny could sense the tension emanating from his core as he sat near a branch mere inches from his face with his hands in his pockets, probably wishing he could lean against something to look nonchalant.

“Nope, I’m the king of the dead. They aren’t the same thing.”

“So, you’re not Hades?”

“I hope not, I’ve met him and he’s kind of a dick.”

Jason laughed softly, he liked how it sounded “Okay, cool, so the Greek gods exist.”

“All of the gods do, technically.” He waited for Jason to look at him. “I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, but the infinite realms isn’t really a dimension on its own. It’s the space between all dimensions. When you die you have to pass through it to get to your destination. Some people don’t have a place and they end up part of my realm, some get lost, some sell their soul, others forget their lives entirely and are part of my people from the second they pass over. Then there are the never-borns: souls that form from pure will of the infinite realms. All that is part of my domain.” Danny floated up a bit to try and catch a glimpse of the stars, the smog from Gotham blocking everything. He looked back at Jason and his stomach did a little flip that he decidedly did nothing about. “But just so were clear; hell, the underworld, and all those other things are in the infinite zone. They aren’t all the same thing.”

“Okay. So, you rule over those too?”

“Again no, once a soul gets into the correct dimension, I don’t really have anything to do with it.”

“Wait so if someone who believes in an afterlife sells their soul what happens?”

Danny slouched in the air and grunts, “That’s where all the fucking paperwork comes in. I really want you to imagine the most bureaucratic way to possibly move to a new country, but you have none of your documents. Being stuck in this dimension was a fun break at first, but now all I can think of are the stacks of A-13 forms that are probably covering the castle floors.”

Jason shifted and with it came a wave of uncertainty. “If someone was killed and brought back, what then?”

Danny has seen how ghosts in the zone get when they talk about their deaths. For many it’s all they remember of their life. If a ghost with years to think it through reacts explosively he’s not sure how it will go with a newbie. “Well, a few things. The soul could come back to a place without a body in which case you have a true haunting. If the death was quick, it could have flash formed a core, that’s like a soul that has died fully, and then shoved back into the living body. That’s how you get halfas like me.”

Jason still looked cool and collected on the outside but there was unbelievable turmoil seeping out of him. “What if the body was dead for a while? What if a soul or core was shoved back into a body on purpose?”

“I’ve only seen one revival before, but there was a lot of time warping there. The necromancers I’ve met who were trying to bring someone back didn’t have access to ectoplasm which had results that are very different to… having it.” Danny breathed out to calm himself, letting that calm wave wash over Jason as well. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.” Jason shuffled his leather jacket, “You call it ectoplasm.”

“Yeah.” Danny answered with a lilt in his voice.

“The green goop filled pools you said you emptied, you mentioned they were corrupted.”

“I did yeah.”

“What would happen if someone was exposed to that?”

“Honestly, it’s not the first time I’ve come across it but never that much. For ghosts it can leave them sick and weak for days. Not like polluted water, more like if you switched out the water a healthy person drank for soda exclusively. It won’t kill them, but it will have a negative effect.” Danny thought for a second and remembered the one-time Sam got covered in a mix of good and contaminated ecto during a fight with Undergrowth. “I saw how a diluted version of it affected a living person, her mind was warped and she had the same sort of tunnel vision a ghost has if they have a particularly strong obsession.”

Jason took a breath, he’d been going strong so far. Danny may come to regret this, but he put a hand on his shoulder and floated where they’d be face to face, letting his bottom half fade away into the ghostly tail. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to, but I can subdue your emotions a bit if you want to talk about it.” Jason looked up quickly and Danny scrambled to correct himself. “I haven’t been doing that! Well, like not in a controlling way, more like the ghost version of calming down a friend who’s freaking out. If you pushed past it I wouldn’t hold you back.”

“You should.” Danny couldn’t help the questioning noise that came out of him, “The first year I came back, I don’t remember it well, but I tried to kill Tim… and possibly Damian. If I do go too far hold me back.”

Danny nodded, “Back in the hall, when Tim was taking an unorthodox amount of coffee cups out of his room,” Jason snorted a bit and smiled, “you didn’t fight me stopping your emotions from bubbling over. I think, with even a little help, you do in fact make the right decisions.”

Jason’s hand came up to hold on to Danny’s forearm, “I went out to stop the top villain at the time, the Joker. I really did think I could beat him so I turned off my coms. He… He beat me to an inch of my life and left me to die in the explosion he’d rigged up.” Jason’s body was hot to the touch and he was obviously timing his breaths. “I can still feel the damn crowbar he used whenever I fall asleep. Batman had never been late before; he’d never let something like that go past him. My plan B was him, and he didn’t make it.”

Danny hummed. A benefit of their shared ghostliness in needing not to use his words, he pushed through waves of camaraderie and understanding.

“I had dug myself out of my own grave. I don’t remember much other than pain for months. Then Talia, Damian’s genetic mother, threw me into a Lazarus pit. The first thing I remember seeing was looking up at her terrified face, tinted in green.”

There was anger as he spoke her name, Danny controlled the waves of corrupted ecto that were threating to turn those emotions against Jason’s true wishes.

“I was fifteen, how does someone let a child do that. I was a kid!” Jason’s emotions were switching around and Danny could hear the forming core start too fuss. “I was just a kid.”

Danny came closer and wrapped all four of his arms around Jason, squeezing him just enough to feel a weight on him, but not so much it was restrictive.

Jason still seemed tense so, Danny did the only thing he could think of, he talked of his own death.

“My parents built the first ever physical portal to the realms. I was messing around with friends and they dared me to walk into the useless frame. My parents always had a tendency of forgetting lab safety and making just one mistake in every build. I’m not sure how they managed to put the on button inside it, but I tripped, hitting it on my way down. I could feel every bolt of electricity ripping me apart as the link between worlds opened directly on top of me. I died separate to my body and ended up like this.” Danny moved back and looked down at himself without letting go of Jason. “I tried to tell my parents at first, but they were always busy.

They spent the day I finally gave up trying to trap my sister; thinking she was the ghost their devices we’re picking up.”

Jason rested his forehead on Danny’s, sighing against the cold touch. “How old we-“

“Fourteen.”

“We were kids.”

“Yeah,” Danny kept his forehead against Jason’s. Two arms he left at Jason’s shoulders, the other two caressing his arms.

With a wave of confidence and fear Jason grabbed Danny by the waist and pulled him in for a real hug.

They held each other there, hidden amongst the foliage, until it started to drizzle.

“We should-“

Danny cut him off, pulling back to show the tears running down his face. “Can we go to your room?”

“Yeah, come on.”

They didn’t touch on the walk through the garden, or at the entrance, or in the hall. No, it wasn’t until the door was closed behind them that Danny came forward and just barely touched his arm.

Jason grabs him and pulls him in again, this time resting his chin on the top of Danny’s head. The attempt to calm Danny down just as he had for Jason made him start to cry again, this time much happier.

The surge pushed his kingly nature to shift into something more human. His arms went back to only two, his skin became that of a pale human’s (for the most part), his ears shrank down and his pointy teeth rounded out. And, surprisingly, his form gave him pajamas.

The ecto the change required didn’t accept the contaminated ecto that Jason had sent and Danny sagged into Jason, his knees buckling.

“Hey, hey.” Jason hushed, “I’ve got you.”

He sat Danny on the bed and went to get pajamas for himself. Once changed he laid down beside Danny and curled around him.

Danny was laying on his back, his legs bent over Jason’s thighs, who was laying on his side up against Danny. Creating a cocoon to hold Danny in.

They fell asleep quickly, Danny held Jason's hand on his chest throughout the rest of the night.

Neither of them had nightmares.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

@bjurnberg, @skulld3mort-1fan, @akikkobara @undead-bi-dinosaur, @amyheart19, @phoenixdemonqueen, @not-your-average-url, @seraphinedemort, @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant,  @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @kyrianclawraith, @i-always-say-yea, @gin2212

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

TimKonBartCassie Clone Baby AU

Part 2

He jolts awake from if you call weird dream's about a gun slinging toddler with a flying a dog a restful sleep, to awake in a second.

It takes about ten more seconds for him to realize he is in his room at Titans Tower, his kid is gone which he is not currently too worried about once he remembers the conversation from last night.

He's already heading back to the lounge figuring it a good place to hunt down a secret keeping Impulse and everyone else.

Kon is holding him the baby asleep, while Bart rests in Cassie's lap. Various baby items from bibs, diapers, and clothes are neatly placed to the side of the couch.

Kon greets him with a soft smile that he can't help but return before sliding down next to Bart.

It's comfortable and he's grateful that's no one's mad, that they all just accepted Luci once again he's surprised by how family just goes with it no matter what.

He loves them so much.

It's only been about two minutes before Cassie breaks the silence.

"Alright, we don't know how much you remember but you passed out, we figured the sleep deprivation caught up, Kon carried you to bed, we wanted to wait until you were awake to finish the discussion about everything."

Tim breathes he wants to know everything Bart knows but logically this doesn't just concern them if Jason has a kid he has to inform him. Nevermind that he needs to get back to Gotham and talk to everybody.

"Ok, I think we all should head to Gotham, I can call a family meeting, Bart can finish saying whatever he knows to everyone, because I don't think it's fair that we sit with information that could effect everyone, but I don't just want to decided or do anything I already did, something pretty big without talking to you guys."

"I agree mostly the cave would be the best place, I'm not exactly ecstatic about talking to everyone. I think Rob's right, also I want Jon to meet his nephew."

Kon brings up a point that he hadn't factored in Bruce is a grandfather now Dick is a uncle so is Jason and Damian. He also kinda really wants to show off his baby he finally understands why Bruce keeps photos of them all in his wallet.

"I agree Diana is gonna be all over our little hellraiser and it's a lot easier if we just gather everyone up and do one giant explanation, than doing it a million times. Also I don't know about anyone else but free babysitting is a perk, kiddo didn't want to sleep at all most likely cause Mom passed out on the floor but who knows?"

Tim can't disagree other than, wait why is he mom?

"Tim you talked in your sleep and were very offended that Dad has baby memorie before Mom cause you created him."

Kon laughs distracting him with his sparkly eyes, how unfair.

"I didn't mean to say that out loud and yes I did all the complicated stuff so I will be Mom if I want to although I will share with Cassie if I have to." He pouts. 

It's surreal that he really does mean that and for some reason mom or dad it doesn't matter one bit he has a little baby, his own baby bird.

"Alright boys I think we should get a move on, Tim send out a message and have Batman gather everyone up, he will probably have an easier time then we would."

He grabs his phone he didn't even realize that he had it luckly it's late enough in the day that work and school for everyone shouldn't be a problem.

He texts both Bruce and Alfred that something happened no one is hurt, but he needs everyone in the cave from Supers, Bats, Titans, Outlaws, Wonder Woman's essentially if we would want them to know something important they need to be there as fast as possible.

Not even ten seconds later his phone rings which he expected.

"Tim what's happening?"

He's terrified it's really setting in that he has a a kid.

That he has to tell Bruce.

Yet he's relieved it's Batman, It's Bruce, it's Dad.

He fix anything and hopefully teach him how to change a diaper.

He can't stop the sob that follows.

"I just need you to do this, please Dad it's... I did something stupid, but so amazing and just please I need you ok. I am coming with Young Justice it involves all of us and make sure our family's there, just please. I can't explain over the phone."

"Ok sweetheart I don't know what's going on but it will be ok. Anything can be figured out. Alfred is calling everyone will be here in about an hour. Are you ok? Injuried?"

"No I'm ok just make sure everyone's there Dick, Alfred just we need them. I'll be there in about an hour and a half. I love you."

He hangs up.

-

Bruce is terrified he never dialed so quickly in his life and his son sounds well upset doesn't even begin to cover it, but he knows it's important he only had to look at Alfred before he was calling Jason who was already with Roy picking up Lian.

Dick, Damian, Duke, Cass already are waiting in the cave he practically screamed for them to get down here.

Alfred quietly informing them that something happened and that everyone needs to get to the cave.

Bruce can't move he hears Jason come in but he can't greet him.

Soon the Titans arrive conversing with mainly Roy and Dick.

Clark, Diana and Barry arrive soon after.

He sees Jon talking quietly with Damian finally he gets up.

Looks at his children, teammates and everyone he could possible think of might need to know about a catastrophic event.

He clears his throat.

"I received a message from Young Justice, I don't know what happened, all I know is it's something major apperently no one is injured but they need us I expect whatever is going on is upsetting they will need our support."

He looks at his boys and Cass trying to push reassurance but he doesn't succeed.

Clark and Diana look two seconds away from flying to Titans Tower only stopped by Alfred.

It's been a little over an hour and Bruce wants nothing more than to hunt down his son, and wrap him in his cape but he's stopped by Zeta Tube turning on.

Everyone turns.

Out steps an exhausted looking Connor Kent, followed by Cassie Sandsmark who shoot a quick smile at Bruce which immediately confuses him.

They both block the zeta glaring at everyone until Bart Allen appears holding up a clearly exhausted Tim who still has tear tracks on his face.

He looks like he is gonna drop at any minute but before Bruce can rush to his son.

Tim steps away from all three wrapped in Superboy's Jacket.

The leather falls.

There's a baby.

A exhausted grin comes across Tim's face before he speaks.

"I had a baby, these are the parents also Bart has a story to share...... Surprise?"

Before Bruce can even blink Dick is across the room followed by Jason.

Jason who quickly steals the bundle with a soft coo.

Dick kisses Tim's forehead before picking him up

"I gotcha little brother, to the med bay we go."

Jason follows a step behind purposefully keeping the baby in sight of his third son.

It takes less than a minute before Alfred is checking over Tim only to be quickly interrupted by Kon who is laughing.

"Rob, that phasing could use some work, yes we have a baby, he did not however give birth to it in the traditional sense. Not that I don't agree with the coddling he deserves it. What I want to know is why exactly did you people just steal our kid, if Mom needs a break he's got three Dads over here."

Dick interrupts from his place by Tim's side.

"My little brother is my priority he will be taken care of by me. I assume little brother goes where baby goes so baby will also be taken care of by me. I also could care less of how Littlest Bird came to be, all that matters is my brother and the baby are healthy and ok."

He glares straight at Connor which Bruce quickly joins him how dare that boy. His baby had a baby. He needs his family.

Everyone is still frozen other than his boys.

He walks over to Jason to get a closer look at his granddaughter based off the pink blanket.

He wants to hold her and keep her safe until Tim can but Jason looks two seconds away from shooting anyone who gets to close so she will be perfectly safe.

He will check on his baby instead.

He kisses Tim on the forehead who is being prescribed rest and fluids by Alfred. He will also not be walking anywhere for the foreseeable future he is assuming that there wasn't an actual birth but any excuse to carry his children he will take it.

Damian, and Cass have joined around Tim. Clearly both on guard with their brother so clearly vulnerable. 

"I am really glad you guys are taking it so well, but Bart has important information for us all, and Jay, I would like my baby and maybe a hug from Dick in that order."

Quickly she is given back to Tim and Dick joins wrapping around them a soft smile directed at them both.

"Yeah it might be best if I start talking, cause I think Rob is gonna kill me if I don't."

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXIX. “uncanny valley”

parts: previous / next

plot: you and Bruce dance around the horrors of the weekend, desperate to make things right—or, at least, better.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, angst, mental health issues, descriptions of violence, descriptions of injury, grief, anxiety

words: 6.1k

prev. chapter summary (XXVIII): You go to Wayne Tower on Saturday night to talk to Alfred about ways to get Bruce help. Alfred is hopeless. Bruce intercepts, bitter at your intrusiveness, and storms off. You call Dr. Crane, who tells you to refrain from following him for fear of escalating the argument. On your walk home, you run into a panicked, horrified Bruce in an abandoned alley near his house. He does not recognize you, and after calling Alfred for him to be picked up, Bruce begs Alfred not to tell his parents about him being out so late. After a brief heartfelt (and teary) conversation with Alfred, where he expressed thanks and reassured you were not making things worse (as you thought, and still think), you went home. The next day, Bruce has no recollection of the night before, brought up to speed by Alfred. At Alfred’s urging, Bruce visits your apartment on Sunday, begging you to see his side. The argument becomes heated, and, convinced by Dr. Crane’s horrifying prognosis for Bruce and his own erratic, dangerous behavior, you do a last hail-mary to get him help: you lie about being the person who saw Bruce jump, expressing how terrified you were at thinking you’d watched him die. This immediately triggers Bruce to his childhood, and he does a hard reset on his denial, horrified he’s repeating the cycle, reassuring you he will accept help.

Outside of receiving some calls, you hadn't checked your phone since Thursday night. Texts, socials, it had all been abandoned trying to remove the noose snaking Bruce's neck. After the phone call with Alfred you were able to relax into bed and pull out your phone—immediately smacked by a bazillion texts from Mar, a few from your parents, and some mentions on Scypher. You clicked on Mar's texts first.

Thursday, 11:50pm: OMGGG just now seeing thissss i got so lit tonight. sorry!! idk if i can make it to help you move. def can't drive in the morning tho!!! ttys!!!

Friday, 1:20am: ok lolz i went to a second club 2nite and yahhh i don't think i can make it 2morrowww

Friday, 12:30pm: if ur still in town i could help, i just got a massive headache hahaha have you left yet

Friday, 1:22pm: ur prob on the road byeee

Friday, 1:30pm: wait ur still in Gotham??

Today, 12:58pm: BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!! you didn't tell me you did the interview with him!! like actually!!!!!!! okayyyy too famous to respond to me I see? i'll make sure to visit to get your autograph lol.

Today, 2:15pm: bro i got so many more friend requests already today???? some are Bruce Wayne fan accounts. wtf!!!??? this is like blowing up

Today, 6:15pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:16pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:18pm: LOOK !!!!

She'd attached a Buzzfeed article titled: Bruce Wayne's First Interview Came Out Today, and Our Jaws (and Clothes) are on the Floor

You couldn't read any further though, seeing as you had a handful of texts from your parents to sort through.

Friday, 1:45pm: Hey hunny! Your mother and I are home from the second shot. She told me to text you 'I am fine'. We will call you this evening after I finish up the deck.

Friday, 6:37pm: MISSED CALL FROM DAD.

Friday, 6:40pm: Deck done. When you visit next I'll show you. Walter likes it. Love you

Today, 3:13pm: MISSED CALL FROM MOM.

Today, 3:20pm: Hi kiddo. Wow! Congratulations on the article! Debbie showed it to us when she visited earlier. I thought you said you were done with that guy. Love you sweety!

You responded to your dad about your mom, and your mom about the article. You refused to comment on her mention of Bruce, wanting to purge your mind as much as you were able to after the weekend you'd had. You resigned to calling her first thing in the morning, miserable over forgetting about her second shot. After responding to Mar to update her on staying (and to express faux excitement about the article's release), you stayed up a few more minutes to see if your parents might still be awake and responsive. Sleep.

You woke up late that day, around two in the afternoon; the only reason you hadn't slept even longer was a phone call from Dr. Vry startling you awake. "Y/N! Have you seen your article? I can't believe it. Over a hundred applications just TODAY to the journalism program!"

You fought your way through the conversation, the gears in your head finally harnessing enough energy to start worrying again. The call ended quickly, as she 'had a lot of applications to get through', and you called your mom without a second glance at your phone notifications.

"Hey sweetie. I saw your text last night, but I couldn't respond. Walter was finally curled up in my lap, you know how sensitive he is." She sounded fine, neither ecstatic nor miserable. Her energy picked up when she started talking about your article. "Your dad was looking into that Wayne guy, and ran across that article of yours. He didn't know it was you that wrote it until Debbie brought it over!"

You'd padded out to your kitchen to make some toast with the butt of the bread. "Since when is dad researching things about Gotham?"

"He's been very intrigued ever since graduation. He—"

Your dad sounded off in the background. "Hun? Hey! I saw that article of yours! His first interview ever. That's a big family, you know. The Waynes. It's a big deal sweetie!"

He continued without leaving space for you to change the topic. "You know about his parents, right? God, poor kid. Seems to have recovered from it well enough."

You stifled a laugh at him delivering the most famous lore of Gotham city like it was breaking news. "Yeah, I know about his parents."

"You know, I knew I sensed something between you two. When's he coming to visit?" You heard a meow in the background, and you could only imagine your dad was munching on some sandwich he desperately wanted.

"Dad,"

"People don't give their first interviews to just anyone. Must've really impressed him."

"He's never coming over, dad."

"You don't have to be embarrassed honey. He seems like a stand-up guy! Next visit, bring him."

"It sounds like you want to meet him." You rubbed your temples, having temporarily abandoned your peanut butter spreading. You didn't know if you were right, but you could've sworn you heard him shaking his head. Walter meowed again. He definitely had some sort of food in his hand.

"What kind of dad would I be if I weren't excited to meet my daughter's boyfriend?"

The juxtaposition of the past few days to his chipper, nonchalant demeanor was stark, reducing you to a teary mess. No, you wanted to snap at him. I actually visited him in a psych ward. Had to stop his future from becoming a funeral.

"Hey, whoa now..." Your mom spoke in a hushed, frustrated tone in the background. "I'm sorry sweetie. I get it. I won't talk about him anymore."

You continued to cry, unable to get any words out. It was like you were finally able to feel the weight of what had been placed on you, feel the piercing stab of the fear it instilled. Your sobs were so pathetic and deep that your mom kept asking if you could breathe. It took much longer than you were comfortable with to even begin steadying, and when you did you knew it wouldn't last. You told them you had to get back to work, and that you'd see them in two weeks.

Vanity Fair. Vogue. People. Cosmopolitan. Us Weekly. Elle. Glamour. Seventeen. Marie Claire. Your eyes had fuzzed over as anxiety nestled into your gut. So this had been... this had been huge. 600 followers had turned into 13,000, and that was just on Scypher. Instagram had 300, now 6,500. So many mentions, so many comments, you started to panic even more. You tossed the phone across the bed and wrapped your arms around your body, rocking slowly back and forth, squeezing your arms so hard they began to ache. Flashbacks to Saturday night pulsed between your eardrums, projected on the back wall of your mind. You'd never seen someone so out of their element before. The image of him in the fetal position on the ground. The screaming. The nearly incomprehensible rattle in his voice. The stitches that bulged, the skin sloughed off his fingers. The blood. The sweat. The panic. Dread. Fear. Hysteria.

Your hands shook just the same as they fought to text Alfred. Your fingers garbled the message, but you couldn't handle another second without knowing if he was alive or dead. What if he'd taken the whole fucking bottle? What if he was on the floor of his bedroom, the last dregs of his functioning body procuring foamy spit out of his mouth for him to choke on? What if he flung himself off another building? His house was so fucking tall. So empty. So huge. So many places he wouldn't be seen, he wouldn't be found, so many places someone could hide if they needed, or wanted. What if he was strung up by his neck on a ceiling bar?

You shrieked in pain as waves of fear ravaged you. If it were real water you'd be swept under, and you wouldn't even fight it. The water would take away all your troubles, your worries, your fears. But he couldn't know that. They couldn't know what this was doing to you.

You set the phone down.

If he knew, he'd feel guilty. He couldn't feel guilty. Guilt would hurt him more. Guilt could push him over the edge.

Instead, you dialed Dr. Crane. He answered on the second ring, always so quick. "Y/N. I was about to call you. Before we get into it, why did you call?"

Anxiety lurched up into your chest, eager to overwhelm and incapacitate. "Get into what?"

Dr. Crane laughed, a discordant sound that chilled you. "To thank you. Whatever you did, it was successful. This is strictly confidential, but he is accepting treatment."

So he's alive? "I wanted to talk to you about that." You swallowed hard, yanking at a loose thread in your comforter. "I uh, he wasn't going to get help until I, until I lied."

"About what?" Dr. Crane's composure was always strictly maintained, and this time was no different. He never gave away his feelings. "I had to tell him I was the witness. I said I saw him jump."

"Oh."

That was quite possibly the worst thing he could've said.

"Well, that changes things."

"What things?"

"For one, that's a secret you must keep. Glad you clued me in." You heard a rustling of papers, a hushing of his tone. "Usually that would be unacceptable, but if we're both being honest," His candor was unsettling. "I have yet to see someone as deeply in denial as him accept treatment. I went to sleep fully anticipating waking to news of his passing." His tone was suddenly lighter, almost singsongy. "I can't say I'm disappointed in you."

You had no concept of how to respond to that. Guilt ulcerated your stomach and strangled your chest, but at least Bruce was breathing. After a silence that was too long, long enough you were surprised he hadn't yet hung up, you spoke. "Are we, are you, sure?" Words were having trouble finding you. "About the lying? I didn't see it, and what if the real witness,”

"There is nothing to be concerned about regarding the witness. Mr. Wayne has begun treatment, and will soon be stable. Incredible work."

"I—"

"You saved Bruce Wayne’s life, Y/N. It's only a shame it's a badge you can’t share." You could hear the smile in his tone, but you weren't happy. The reassurance you’d been seeking was far from assuring, leaving you situated in an uncanny valley of suspicion. How could he be so joyful? Why wasn't he drilling you about going to such lengths? Had it… had it really been that fucking hopeless? Anger boiled in you at the prospect of Dr. Crane knowingly sending you on a suicide mission. Before you burnt the bridge, you thanked him for the update and hung up. It took everything in you not to throw the phone against the wall.

The shower was scalding. You barely felt it. He must have thought he wouldn't make it. He seemed so fucking resolved to Bruce's death. Fully anticipating waking up to news of his passing? But there was 'nothing he could do'? Not a word of tangible advice besides 'don't go after him'. If I listened to him, who knows who would have found him out there! Would he have attempted again? You also wrestled with the uncomfortable reality that Dr. Crane had been correct; you had played a vital role in him accepting treatment. Had Dr. Crane psychoanalyzed you, deemed you the sort of person to lie if needed? Someone he could push to do things outside of personal liability? A sort of reverse hitman?

As you toweled off, your anxious mind continued its rumination. So he took meds. But did he take just one? Alfred will watch him, right? Hold onto his meds, only give him them as needed? Is he employing a system, making sure he checks under Bruce's tongue, locks the bathrooms, listens for retching, making sure the medication is accurately and genuinely consumed, as prescribed? You needed a break, but you couldn't find one. Sitting on the edge of your bed you knew you wouldn't be able to rest until you knew he was alive right now. And the next day. And the next day. And the next. A boulder jammed down your shoulders knowing you wouldn't be satisfied unless he personally slept on your couch so you could monitor him like a newborn. His attempt and general discontent were affecting you far more than you'd initially internalized.

Bruce sat in Alfred's study by the fireplace, staring out the window towards the grounds. Over breakfast with Alfred he took the first dose of the medication, and only a few hours later he swore he could feel the effects. He'd done some quick googling on olanzapine, and it appeared he was having a placebo effect. At minimum he'd feel effects in a few days, more likely after a week or two. He had to stop researching after that, too freaked out about having to be on antipsychotics, too much still in disbelief about how he'd done something so drastic yet had no memory of it. Alfred convinced him to stay 'home' from Batman for the rest of the week, which was an unusually easy feat considering how he hadn't taken a voluntary night off since beginning the project years ago. It broke him how upset you'd been, and he knew he wouldn't be able to see Alfred cry again. That was unbearable.

He didn't have much to do; he quickly realized he had been living only for the night. There really wasn't anything to do in the tower; no games (outside of a dusty chess board in Alfred's study), one old television (also in Alfred's study, off to an adjacent corner), no gym (he overextended himself enough as Batman), and the house was generally kempt from Dory's attentive cleaning in a house that didn't need more than dusting anyway.

Alfred told him to skip the meeting this week; Bruce initially hadn’t cared much either way, but realized that wasn't an option after misery frayed his nerves with just half a day of sitting around. In order to go in public, he needed to not be scarred and scabbed to hell; he wanted to walk the grounds, but worried about doing it in the daytime in the state he was in. Your article’s release had also prompted a patch of reporters to hang around his house, increasing his surveillance. Give an inch, they’ll take a mile. He and Alfred briefly discussed the contingency plan they kept at the ready: staged police photos of a nasty car crash on the edge of the grounds, but he couldn't share them yet—he wanted to leave you as much time as possible to soak up the success of the interview. You deserved that much, you deserved more after what he'd put you through. At least once an hour he thought about calling you, and he very nearly did a few times. He worried about you. Were you safe? Did you need anything?

On some level, he theorized focusing so much on you was a coping mechanism to escape his failing mental capacity. The more he focused on you, the less real estate his panic had. Last night had been miserable. He'd stayed awake staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with shock and fear. He’d wondered if this is what his mom had endured, but he didn’t have the mental fortitude yet to go digging through Arkham Asylum records. He didn’t know if he ever would again, so he simply sat. Watched the clouds move along the skyline. Watched the shrubs sway in the backyard. Followed the occasional crow floating past the windows.

As soon as darkness fell he couldn't contain himself any longer. The nagging feeling of someone he traumatized being alone in it was too much. He grabbed a hoodie and walked to the elevator, sure he could make a free escape through the old subway route. His hand hesitated before pressing the button. What if you didn't want him to visit? What if it was too stressful? He couldn't keep coming over unannounced, it was weird. Not normal. Alfred had heard the metal rustling and walked into the kitchen. His brow furrowed. "I thought you were taking a break from him?"

"I am." He stared at the ground, lost in thought. "Would you call her?"

"Miss Y/N?" Alfred's voice was soft, concerned. "Sure, why?"

Bruce had conveniently kept to himself that you'd been the one to watch him jump. That you were the witness, that you'd called 911. "I want to give her an update."

Alfred pulled out his phone and Bruce walked closer, bridging the gap between them. "Ask if I could talk to her." He didn't blink until you picked up, hiding a wince at how you'd done so before the end of the first ring. You were scared. Desperate.

"Miss Y/N, I hope this isn't a bad time." Alfred paused with the phone to his ear, his expression faltering before he let out a small chuckle. It was hollow. "No, he's alright. He wanted to see if he could speak to you now."

He handed the phone to Bruce, who quickly scurried up the stairs and into his room. He only put the phone to his ear once the door was closed behind him. "Y/N?"

"Bruce." It was so nice to hear your voice when it wasn't panicked. You sounded a bit tired, breathy, but miles better than yesterday. A sigh of relief heaved out of him, to which you had a reflexive response. "Are you okay?" Your voice rose, both in volume and octave.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"I really don't think it matters,"

He bit back a part of him that wanted to say you were the only thing that mattered. He'd broken you. "Are you?"

You sighed. "Yes. Did you uh,"

"I got the meds."

"Good. Did you take them? Or, one, or, whatever the dose,"

"Yeah." He could hear how clouded your mind was, and it was excruciating being so limited to the phone. He remembered the first week after the murder. His mind had been a hazy minefield, everything running on autopilot. The tears, his limbs, his voice, nothing had been a conscious decision for weeks. Sure, he hadn't died, but you'd thought he had. If… his parents had survived, he figured he would've been in a similar state regardless. He wanted to help you, but he didn't know how.

"How long does it take the medication to work?"

"A few days. Maybe a few weeks." After his parents died, everyone brought him food. Random strangers had brought flowers, and food, and even stuffed toys for him to cuddle with. He'd only kept one, a stuffed dinosaur, now tucked into the back of his linen closet. Alfred checked on him constantly. No longer did he have to do his chores; Dory and Alfred picked up the slack. No longer did he have to deal with hearing his mom demand he eat his veggies and sides before getting another helping of soup, he only had soup. And juice, and soda, and warm blankets fresh out of the dryer. He remembered the warmth. Of the blanket, the soup. Those, paired with the scraggly dino in his arms, were the only things that made a decimal of impact on his devastation. "Do you need anything?"

"No. Do you?"

"Do you want anything?"

"I'm good. What about you?"

He didn't believe it. You were trying to spare him, just like you had by making yourself anonymous. Would it be wrong of him to come over? This late in the evening... probably. But he remembered the nights were the worst part. Alone in the empty darkness. Less cars, less lights, even the reruns on tv were stale at that time. It left no room for distraction. And honestly, he worried if he didn't distract you from your pain, he'd be gridlocked by his.

"Can I stop by?"

Onion, celery, carrots, butter, flour, curry powder, chicken broth, an apple, rice, chicken breast, thyme, and heavy cream. He didn't know how to make much, and Alfred didn't keep much variety around, but you hadn't balked at mulligatawny the first night you'd stayed here, and it was one of the few things he knew how to make without a recipe. It was also one of the few things the old man always kept fresh and stocked, especially now that Bruce was in recovery mode. Most importantly, it was warm. It was only nine, he could get this done before ten, and be gone before midnight. Just in time for you to get tired and go to sleep, without hours spent tossing and turning alone in bed. It was the least he could do for you.

He'd never felt more ridiculous than he did when he opened your door. The backpack was heavy and a reminder that he hadn't asked if he could cook, but assumed he would waltz into your kitchen and work some magic. You invited him in and he went straight to the island, setting down his pack and taking out the supplies. Your face scrunched with confusion. "What are you doing?"

He kept taking out food while he thought of how to phrase it. It was like his mind was slowed down, your apartment a pool of tv static. "I wanted to cook." Pause. "For you." Another pause, and he took out the apple. "It's warm." Fuck, could he have explained it any worse?

He paused and you watched him slowly move to meet your eyes. "Can I?" His hand was hovering above one of the drawers, ready to get to work. "Sure." You didn't understand why he couldn't cook at his house, but you couldn’t complain; still coming down from the nauseating blend of relief and guilt that gnawed at you when you finally saw him in the flesh. Like being attacked by a wave on a hot day; soothing, but bitterly cold at the same time.

You had reassembled the chairs today, and the table. You'd anticipated calling Mar later tonight if she weren’t already at a club, offering to order some takeout and have a movie night. When thinking up a distraction, you certainly hadn't anticipated Chef Bruce appearing with fixings for a mystery meal. Did billionaires even know how to cook? Did billionaire Bruce Wayne ever have to fend for himself in the kitchen? A brief image of him staring confusedly at a box of cereal made your mouth twitch into a grin.

Good. Your humor was still there, thank god. With his back turned to you, facing the burner, you could finally, finally, finally, finally unclench your jaw and drop your shoulders. He was here. It was weird, and uncomfortable, but undeniable. He was here, not hanging from a rafter or god knows where doing god knows what in the city. He was putting butter in a pan, and grabbing a wooden spoon. He was alive.

But... this was still out of character, which raised an orange flag. You waited for him to reach an impasse before speaking, tapping his fingers on the countertop while he watched the rice cook. An apple sat cubed to the left, the chicken sizzling on the back burner. "How are you? Really?"

Bruce needed to toe the line. Too honest and it would shift the focus to him, further distressing you; too dishonest and you'd dismiss it before he finished speaking. His body didn't just ache, it screamed at him. Every step, even every time he spoke, felt like torture. He'd teared up at multiple points between the lobby and your unit. His spirit was entirely crushed, shattered into irredeemable smithereens. He hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs, letting his weight fall into his wrists as he leaned over the stove. "Not great."

It should've pained you to hear that, instead it felt like wind in your sails. He was being honest. You could work with that. Honesty didn't need to be interrogated or sleuthed upon. "How can I help?"

He wanted to say you've done enough and don't want your pity, but it felt too real. You didn't need that tonight, not so close to the event. "Taste the soup and tell me if it needs anything." He prayed you wouldn’t keep asking.

"How would I know?"

"I want it to suit your taste."

"I don't know what it's supposed to taste like." You were hyperaware he hadn't answered you, not in the way you wanted. Maybe it was too close for comfort right now. Maybe all you needed to do was focus on him being here, and ask questions later.

"Pepper, curry flavor. Creamy." He stirred something fragrant on the stovetop.

"What's the apple doing?"

"It's necessary." It felt good talking about something else with you. Something normal. Not Batman, not his legacy, not the attempt. Still, all of it clouded and constricted the conversation, a constant tension you both wittingly ignored. "Smooths the spice."

I barely tasted it that night. Too scary being trapped in the house of one of the most powerful men in the world. You watched as he stirred, chopped, and fluffed. You were brought back home with your parents, watching them make dinner while you sat at the dining table and talked at them. He glanced around and looked at the can of heavy cream. In an instant you were up and grabbing a can opener, desperate to do your part. He instructed you to pour it into the pan, and for a half second he was just another guy; an acquaintance, someone passing through; someone regular, unassuming.

After a few more minutes of sitting around, you grabbed some bowls and spoons. After a quick taste he required you take ("Need to know if I missed something"), he ladled the bowls full, and you both walked slowly, carefully over to the table to set down the steaming soup. Bruce dug in without waiting, while you blowed on a single spoonful until every bit of steam hesitated to rise from it.

He watched you apprehensively. Your eyes widened a bit, and he could see your jaw moving like you were savoring it. "How is it?" It tasted fairly similar to how Alfred made it, which was fairly similar to how his mom had made it. At the very least he hadn't royally fucked up. Who knows, maybe olanzapine changes tastebuds.

You nodded, blowing on another bite. "Mulling it over."

God, that was so droll... it tugged a whispering grin to his lips, his bite slipping back into the bowl at the gentle movement of his dry chuckle.

He was laughing. Not really. Kind of. Weird, but yay! "I've never tasted anything like it. It's good."

"Don't have to placate me."

"It's peppery. Curry. Creamy."

He rolled his eyes and tossed another spoonful into his mouth. "Creative. What's the apple for?"

The tension never left, though you both did your best to selfishly soothe it through dry humor. The most either of you did was grin, breathe a little extra air through your nose. When he wasn't looking your eyes wandered to his purple and green bruises, and the complementary crusting scabs along his neck and hands. You wondered if he was suicidal right now, but wasn't saying anything. When you weren't looking, he studied your body language, hoping it would betray you. Were you scared right now? Did you think this was the weirdest thing ever, like he did? Did you think this was creepy? Was it creepy? Was it helping? Was he helping you?

You both finished and walked your bowls to the sink. He started rinsing them and reached for the dish soap, and you let him for a little. After he pat dry the first bowl, you couldn't sit with this worry on your chest any longer. The food had been warm and energizing, the mood made less intimidating with the joking, and all of it together held your hand as you broached the topic. It made you sick how concerned he was about your wellbeing; yes, he scared you, images of his frenzied, panicked face waking you up in the dead of night, but you hadn't watched him nearly die like he thought. His worry felt like rain on a hundred degree day: unsettling and unwelcome. You inhaled fully, hoping enough oxygen would get to some brave neurons and force the words past your teeth. They caught in your chest and by then he'd finished the second bowl; anxiety palpated your heart, bullying it into silence. You overrode it. "Bruce."

At once he abandoned the silverware and turned toward you. His analytical gaze peppered your face and the fingers that annihilated your cuticles. The stench of something burning singed your nostrils, your eyes tracking the source to the hem of his sweatshirt draped over the hot stove, smoking as small flames burnt through the cotton. Perhaps waiting to be seen, it erupted into a blazing ball of flame. You yelped and jumped toward the sink, grabbing the adjustable faucet and spraying him down. The flames went out, he turned off the burner, and you looked around for some magazines or papers to fan away the tendrils of smoke wafting toward the fire alarm.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

You glanced back and saw Bruce sopping wet, his hair having gotten in the mix too, draped over his eyes; the singed, ripped edges of his shirt that he clutched between his hands. You bit your lip to reign in your laugh. He started hurrying the shirt off his back, and gently shook it out to see if it had juice left in it. That was the kicker, sending you bolting toward your bedroom. You couldn't be laughing at him all the time. Get it together! He's hurting! But the laughs escaped your tight-lipped prison, and soon his shadow was in the doorway. As quickly as you'd laughed, you began to cry. You dropped to your knees at the whiplash; what once was dead, was now making soup in your apartment. Dancing around it wasn't helping, it was exacerbating the pain. He didn't hesitate to walk over, his long legs getting him across the room in only a few strides.

He didn't think you were crying about the fire. He stood helplessly beside you, unable to make a decision on what to do next. Guilt bloomed angry, self-flagellating thoughts, wishing he hadn't ran with his ego and coddled his denial. He placed a light touch to your shoulder and you jumped up. "I'm fine." He didn't say anything, only sat and watched as you struggled to reign in your barrage of tears. Your fingers threatened to go numb, and you attempted to shake the tingles away. "My body just needs to cry and then, then I'm done." You turned away from him and pressed your clammy palms to your cheeks, trying to physically shove the tears back into hiding.

After what seemed like an extended period of sniffling tears, you looked back at him. He was sat on the edge of your bed, his sweatshirt draped over his forearm. You could see more of the deeper wounds on his arms now, which was a viscerally surreal feeling. It was impossible not to be aware of his reputation; it preceded him at every turn, he was correct about that. Something entirely new though was seeing the fallibility so transparently.

Before graduation—and honestly, before seeing him breaking down in the alley—you had practically thought he was immortal. You wouldn't have done such ridiculous, dangerous bullshit as walking through an active crime scene at night if you hadn't internalized his heroism. Until this moment you hadn't realized how much you'd relied on that story; the subconscious reassurance that the Batman provided to Gotham's citizens. The mythical creature unfazed by bullets, incapacitating anyone in its wake. Batman's neutralizing force was so accepted it went unquestioned; now you knew it was because no one truly knew him. You and Alfred were the only people who had. Suddenly, the world felt a lot more intimidating. If you were any less shaken up, you might've laughed at the unmasking of Santa; but even children mourned the loss of magic, and here you were muzzling yourself.

"Can I help?"

You needed to nip this in the bud. It was going to come out however it was going to come out, and you needed to be okay with that. "I, appreciate the effort." It wasn't coming out so easily. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. "But I want this to stop." I didn't watch you. "You don't want my pity, and I don't want yours." Too harsh, scale back. "The only thing I need is for you to be safe. Alive."

You sounded so much like Alfred that Bruce bit back a snarky retort. Not the time nor the place. Your bed creaked as he stood up. He hated how your words sat in his chest, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it. "Okay."

No argument, no fighting. Like you requested something he already vowed to do. He walked past you into the kitchen, and you followed on his heel. You had never been so close to him alone, and never from behind. His back was broad, making his already impressive height even more menacing. Veins bulged under his skin. Swore a tendon twitched in his forearm every time he stepped on his left foot. If he had turned for the door you might have yelped, but he just finished the dishes in silence while you lingered, then sat on the couch. If someone walked in right now, and was one of the few humans who didn't know about Bruce Wayne, they might think this looked normal. It couldn't feel more foreign.

You didn't wait half a second after the sink turned off to fill the space. From your perch on the end of the couch, across the room. "Will you be safe once you leave?"

Like a knife scraping under his fingernails. So scared he wouldn't be alive the next morning. Skittish. "Yes." He wasn't looking back at you, wishing he hadn't already put down the dish towel so he'd have something to wring. "I promise."

What good's a promise if he's six feet under? Your life had become so singular so quickly, and you were anxious for it to get back to its usual painful mediocrity. "Really?"

Ugh. He turned to face you and followed your eyes searching the carpet. He sighed away his animosity, knowing the rage seeping into his chest was directed at himself; it was nothing greater than embellished fear. He knew this, was well acquainted with it. Maybe he did need to go back to therapy. He leaned his hip against the counter and winced, jamming straight into a blackened, split bruise. He grabbed his hoodie from where it was slung across the edge of the counter, grimacing at the effort only when his face was obscured. “Really.” Within seconds he was at the door, his hand on the handle. He noticed your eyes flash in his periphery, and his entire body constricted at the sight. He forced himself to meet your eyes. It was strenuous. He figured he needed to warn you. "Alfred and I have emergency plans for times like these. Whatever you read in the news, it's a cover-up." He popped open the door, hesitating on the departure. The air was thick with emotional exhaust. "I'll see you on Thursday?"

You nodded, relieved he was being more covert with his concern. Sugaring the medicine. "See you on Thursday."

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Snowdrop - Bruce Wayne x Reader (Aka Snapdragon Pt 2)

Snowdrop (Galanthus) - Meaning: Consolation, Hope

Summary: Following your accusation of cheating, Bruce shares his biggest secret with you. Read Part 1 Here (but can be read on its own)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Angsty, mix of Nolan/2022 The Batman universes, kisses, lots of lingering touches but Bruce is nervous as hell, Alfred being a bit of a mother hen, mentions of Bruce's parents' death, mentions of danger

So this is my apology for cutting my 30 days down to 25 and leaving y'all hanging. I got sick and started a new job at the end of April so I've been busy! I'm thinking this might turn into a mini series or a bunch of headcanons because I just watched The Batman again and I want to love all over this sad, wet cat.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are SUPER appreciated! <3

The private car pulled up outside Wayne Manor, Bruce having sent it to your office. You thanked the driver — noticeably not Alfred, much to your dismay — when he opened your door and helped you out. 

You looked up at the Gothic mansion. The weather perfectly complimented the sharp finials and fanciful turrets, dark clouds threatening rain looming behind it.

You couldn’t help but feel it was an omen of some kind. 

‘We need to talk.’

Bruce’s text from that morning (five thirty to be precise, who even gets up that early?) had your stomach in knots all day while you obsessed over the meaning behind his vagueness. Would it be a Good Talk? The kind that meant he was surprising you with a two-week-no-phones trip to a private tropical island so you could reconnect with each other? Part apology trip, part reassurance. 

Or was this a Bad Talk? He was stunned last night when you’d asked if he was cheating but he never actually answered the question. Maybe tonight he would explain that yes, he was cheating but not because he didn’t love you — he was just not cut out for monogamy. In which case you would be okay, but you’d definitely need to talk about boundaries and expectations. Or maybe he was so rankled by your accusation he would sulk all through dinner, then hand you a bag of all the things you’d left at his place and send you on your way. 

Due to the earliness of the text, you’d had all day to prepare for the worst case scenario. Squaring your shoulders, you walked up the stone steps to the front door. Before you could knock, Alfred had whipped the tall wooden doors open and ushered you inside. 

“Come in, come in, Miss! Don’t want to get caught in the rain, do we?” He took your coat and work bag, tucking them over his arm. “Master Wayne is waiting for you in the study while I finish up dinner. You can go on up, third door on the left, remember?” 

“Thanks, Alfred,” you replied, the butler disappearing as you mounted the massive main staircase. In no particular rush, you sauntered down the long spacious corridor, lined on both sides by paintings that cost more than you made in five years. The value of this hallway alone was more money than you’d probably ever see in your lifetime. Just outside the study, you paused in front of one of your favorites. 

A 19th-century piece by Turner, it depicted a ship lost in a storm. Thick swaths of violent black and blue, a shocking splash of amber in the center around the only recognizable part of the ship — the mast — which dipped at a dangerous angle. You felt like that boat right now. Tossed and turned about, a helpless casualty to an apathetic universe.

But calm seas never did make skilled sailors, and a skilled sailor knew that the only way out was through. With a steadying breath, you continued your way toward the study and entered. 

An Ella Fitzgerald song played lowly on the speakers, the fire was lit and cast a warm, comforting glow on the dark furniture. Across from you, silhouetted in the giant picture window, Bruce stood with his back to you. The urge to go over and wrap your arms around his waist, hug him from behind and bury your face between his shoulders was almost overwhelming until you remembered why you were there. 

“Bruce,” you said by way of announcing yourself. He turned then, blue eyes finding you instantaneously and he set down the whiskey glass he’d been holding. He looked tense, broad shoulders rigid atop a ramrod-straight spine, his gaze unwavering and unreadable. 

“I haven’t been cheating on you,” he said, glancing away before continuing, “but I haven’t been honest with you either. 

“Oh,” you breathed, unsure of what to do. This was strange — he was acting strange. He hadn’t offered you a drink, hadn’t greeted you, hadn’t even said your name. Your hands fidgeted restlessly — should you demand an explanation or keep your cool, wait for him to tell you? 

Bruce answered your unasked question for you. 

“Before I tell you I need you to know some things. First and foremost, I love you. I know my reputation as a playboy, but that’s…never really been me. And I know the press thinks we’re mismatched but they couldn’t be more wrong, okay? You are incredible and I wake up more and more in love with you. Even if —” he paused, gathered himself, “even if after I tell you, you never want to see me again. I will always love you.” 

Your knees shook — your entire body felt like jello. What he was going to tell you must be really, really bad. “I-I love you too, Bruce.”

He approached you then, apparently noticing the tremor in your voice. You let him take your trembling hand and lead you to the long leather couch by the fireplace. He looked so unlike himself — humbled and insecure where he was always calm and confident. Whatever he had to tell you, it was life-changing big.

The silver lining was that he wasn’t cheating on you. 

“Secondly,” he said, his tone quieter now that you sat side-by-side, him angling to face you, “is that this secret is…it’s dangerous. It could potentially put a target on your back if it ever came to light, so I’m giving you a choice. I will tell you if you want to know, or we can forget about it and move on. Pretend this never happened.” 

What could be so dangerous? You wracked your brain for an answer. Was he a drug kingpin? A mob boss? Mercenary? You doubted all those options given how much money he donated to GCPD and legal advocacy groups — but what if that was just a smoke screen to cover his heinous crimes? 

On the other hand, this was Bruce. Thoughtful, kind, generous Bruce who held you so gently when you lay in bed at night, who pulled out chairs and opened doors and walked on the street side of you wherever you went. The man who loved you so fiercely he’d made you believe in the concept again. 

You couldn’t languish in the storm any longer. You had to know. 

“Tell me, Bruce,” you said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I want to know.” 

He nodded solemnly, some of his hair falling into his face. He led you off the couch and toward a corner of the library where he gently tilted a nondescript leatherbound book off the shelf, which opened a hidden door. “It’s easier if I show you first.” 

When he’d first brought you to the Manor, you’d asked if he had any secret doors or hidden passages, to which he said no. You’d then teased him about it, expressing your disappointment. “How do you not? Isn’t that the point of a house like this? Damn, rich people are so bad at being rich!” 

If you weren’t currently trying to keep your insides from completely liquefying, you would’ve rubbed his face in the fact that you’d been right after all. 

An old-fashioned cage elevator opened, and Bruce gestured you inside. He followed and pushed a lever down. The door creaked shut and you began your descent. Into what or where, you had no idea. 

Sensing your trepidation, Bruce rested a hand on your lower back.

You relaxed a little at his touch, leaning back into it but still needing to break the taut line of tension between you. “Oh god, this isn’t the secret entrance to your illegal blood diamond mine, is it?” 

Bruce chuckled mirthlessly, “No, it’s not an illegal blood diamond mine.” 

“Hm,” you replied, “Would’ve explained the boatloads of cash.” 

By the time you finished your comment, you’d arrived at the bottom of the elevator shaft. The door opened with a whine, and you stepped into a place you never thought you’d see. A place you hadn’t really thought about existing but made sense. 

The space around you was cavernous — literally. Craggy walls with stalactites hanging down forty feet above your heads. The fluttering of some sort of winged creature echoed off of every surface. The setting was completely incongruous to all the high tech monitors, gadgets, and surveillance gear strewn about the numerous surfaces. 

Directly in front of you, a mannequin wearing a black suit of armor that any Gothamite would recognize stared at you. 

Batman. 

You wandered closer to the suit, seeing it up close for the first time, utterly gobsmacked. You couldn’t ignore the numerous scars that littered Bruce’s torso, a few of the larger ones lined up with areas in the suit that had been repaired. Moving further into the room, you let your eyes travel over the various in-progress projects, folders with papers and news articles spilling out of them, a stack of journals. The top of which was labeled with the current month and year on the front. Organized chaos — you were surprised Alfred let this mess stand. 

You looked back over your shoulder, searching for confirmation from Bruce who hadn’t moved out of the elevator. Giving you time to roam, explore, take it all in. 

“You’re Batman,” you said. The look on Bruce’s face said it all and slowly, certain things began to make sense. Late night texts, oddly placed scars and bruises with vague or strange explanations, how good he was at not waking you when he left your apartment. How Batman had all the cool criminal-catching tech and gadgets that the Gotham police couldn’t afford. The nigh-on-impossible-to-scale walls Bruce had built around himself, his playboy persona, all of it. 

He wasn’t kidding when he’d told you this secret was dangerous. How easily all of this could unravel.

You didn’t know what to say. So many questions buzzed through your mind it made you dizzy. 

“Are you…okay? What do you think?” he asked, taking a few cautious steps out of the elevator toward you.

“I’m okay,” you said, fixing your eyes on a batarang on the table beside you, absentmindedly tracing the sharp edge with one finger. “It’s a lot to take in. I mean, I almost wish you had been cheating. At least that way I could be mad, but this?” You gestured around the cave. “I don’t know how to react. I’m…shocked, obviously, but it makes so much sense and explains so much more that I’m overwhelmed by it.” 

You didn’t know when the tears started, but Bruce was in front of you, wiping them away with his thumbs before gently tilting your face up to his. 

“Do you want to go back upstairs? Alfred’s probably got dinner all set, you can have some time to process, ask questions…” he trailed off. 

You nodded, “Yeah, upstairs sounds good.” 

The ride back up to the manor was silent except for the creaking and groaning of the elevator. Bruce’s arm was around your shoulder, providing warmth and comfort to your increasingly numb body and mind. 

You had no idea what to feel. What to think. What to say. Maybe Bruce was right and you needed to process — yeah, that felt right, process. 

Process the fact that the man you love went around Gotham at night beating the snot out of evildoers. Spent the nights he wasn’t with you hunting down corrupt cops and serial killers and masked madmen who only wanted to watch the city — your city — burn itself to ashes. 

The lengths men will go to to avoid therapy.

Bruce led you through the study and down the hall to the dining room, where Alfred had set up a romantic candlelight dinner for two at the far end of the extravagantly long table. 

Like the gentleman he was raised to be, Bruce pulled out your chair and pushed it in as you sat, leaning forward to place a tender kiss at the crown of your head before taking his seat. 

Hope flickered in his eyes as he looked at you, and you looked away. 

Alfred entered the room pushing a cart of silver-domed trays. One by one he pulled the domes off to reveal all of your favorite comfort foods. No doubt this was Bruce’s idea. He was thoughtful like that; figuring that you would want comfort food after learning his secret. 

That hopeful flicker lingered over every bite you took as you dug in. You hadn’t realized how famished you were, having skipped lunch due to the unease caused by his cryptic text.

While you ate, your mind kept mulling over the information you’d learned. With how intelligent and thoughtful he was, you knew Bruce had gone over every possible outcome of tonight, which is why you suspected he left the choice up to you on whether you wanted to know or not. He had laid his cards on the table, trusted you with his most life-shattering secret, and the next move was up to you. He wouldn’t force a reaction or response and would respect and accept whatever you decided to do.

But really, what was there to do? You loved him, possibly more so after this incredible display of trust. Vulnerability like this wasn’t easy for either of you, so really your reaction was already determined. 

When you finished eating, you put your napkin on your plate and stood up. You crossed to Bruce’s seat and curled yourself on his lap. Automatically, his arms encircled you and you rested your head on his chest, noting how quickly his heart beat. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you said, burrowing a little further into his well-worn t-shirt. “I’m not going anywhere, though. I love you too much to let you keep doing this alone.” 

You could feel the tension you’d noticed earlier leave his body even as his arms tightened around you, pulling you somehow closer. 

“You realize the risk you’re putting yourself in, right? I…if anything happened to you because of—”

You pulled your head up and looked him square in the eye. “I know the risk. You’re worth the risk. And if anything happens to me, I’ll just haunt the batcave and the manor so it’ll be like I never left.” You were half-joking, smiling at him as you ran a hand through his long raven locks. He leaned into your touch, eyes closed. 

“I just can’t lose you like I lost…” My parents. 

It was unsaid, but the meaning was there. In that moment it was impossible not to see him as a young boy, newly orphaned, wandering this enormous house alone, looking for his mother and father. 

You pulled his head toward yours and rested your forehead on his temple while you continued to stroke his hair. 

“You’ll never lose me, Bruce,” you vowed.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Internal Conflict (Part 3 of 3)

Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin Part 1 here | Part 2 here

Summary - In the aftermath of Harley's ambush, you and Batman actually have a civil conversation with each other. Could this be a fresh start for the two of you?

Warnings -Potential medical inaccuracies. Injury mentions. I think that's it?

A/N - This is getting posted a lot later than I had wanted, but life happened and kept getting in the way. But it's here now and, as always, hope you all enjoy 💜

Taglist - At the end of the fic. Please message me if you would like to be added/removed.

The first thing that Bruce was aware of was the dull throb in the side of his head. He groaned as he opened his eyes only for him to immediately shut them again as the light assaulted them. His first thought was a concussion. Which made sense since the last thing he remembered was Harley and her damn mallet.

He opened his eyes again, this time slower. Giving them time to adjust to the bright lights of the batcave’s medbay so he didn’t overwhelm them again. Slowly, and certainly against what he should be doing, he began to move to sit up. He groaned again as he rested against the back of the bed. Fuck, it had been a while since he had last felt this bad.

Since he was still alive, it was safe for him to conclude that you had managed to deal with Harley. Not that he had doubted it, but he was mad. At you. At Harley. At himself. The fact that it had happened at all and only because you hadn’t listened to him to begin with. He exhaled slowly. Getting worked up was making the tension in his head worse. Besides, maybe if he tried to calm his anger before he saw you next, there might be a chance for the two of you to start over.

“Finally decided to rejoin us I see.” Alfred walked over to the medbay, silver tray in hand. A glass of water and a couple of slices of toast sat on the tray.

“How long was I out for?” he asked, reaching over for the water.

“Several days,” he replied. “Mr Kent brought you back to the cave.”

Clark had brought him back here? Then what had happened to you? Were you okay? Since Alfred was unable to tell him, having been focused on assessing just how badly injured Bruce was, he texted the last person he knew to have seen you.

“You could have just texted back,” Bruce grumbled as the Kryptonian approached his medical bed. He shrugged.

“I was going to come by anyway so I figured I’d just tell you in person,” Clark replied.

“So what happened? How is she?” he asked again, slowly getting more frustrated.

“She was shot and she needed surgery, but she’s wake and doing well.”

Some of the tension faded at hearing that you were doing well. Though his brow furrowed a the thought of you being shot. There was no doubt in his mind that you were pissed off yourself at everything that had happened. If he approached his future conversation with you with his own anger, he was sure that the distance that had already painfully grown between the two of you, would grow further. And that could put the entire team in jeopardy. 

This could be his chance to fix things, but only if he managed to keep the conversation civil. Which meant swallowing his anger and doing his best to be more open and forthcoming. It was going to go against every instinct that he had, but it was likely the only way that was going to work to try and bridge this gap.

Now all he had to was wait for his opportunity to get out of here and back to the Watchtower.

The lights of the medbay were fluorescent and were making your eyes and head hurt. They had been since you had woken up here a few days ago. By all accounts you had got lucky. Very lucky. The worst of your injuries had been the bullet wound. You had needed surgery to remove it and repair the damage it caused. While your arm and ribs had been bruised down to the bone from the force and strength behind the throw and hitting the hard ground. You had been told that if you had landed just a little bit wrong, your arm likely would have snapped. Again, you were very lucky.

You don’t remember much of what happened after getting shot and triggering your SOS beacon. A lot of it blurring into one as shock settled in and you quickly lost blood.

You had yet to see or even hear from Batman yet. According to Dinah and Oliver, when they had come to visit you, Superman had taken him back to the batcave to recover there whilst Wonder Woman had made sure that Harley Quin was returned back behind bars.

As far as you knew, he had yet to return to the Watchtower. You were sure if he had by now, you would definitely know about it since you were sure he blamed you for the entire situation happening to begin with. Hell, you blamed yourself. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to become distracted like that. If you hadn’t managed to take on the hyenas and Harley, your mistake would have got the both of you killed.

Since there were no complications following your injury and, other than the pain that radiated from your ribs that the painkillers you were on barely touched, you were good to go home and rest there.

It was a slow process for you to get your suit on, your body protesting every movement, making you curse under your breath. If you’d had any other clothing on the Watchtower you would have chosen those instead, but you didn’t. Your ruined suit was all that you had. You made a mental note to bring some the next time you came back. You were already dreading removing it again once you were finally home.

“You were shot, you should be resting.”

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Not here to shout? Blame me for what happened?” There was no bite in your words. Between the pain and the lack of energy you couldn’t be bothered.

“No. I’m not.” 

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him. What? Was he feeling alright? You scoffed. “Damn, she must have really hit you hard in your head huh?” You turned away again, returning your focus back on making sure all of your equipment was there.

You heard him sigh softly. “It’s not like that…”

“Then what is it like?” 

It was a fair question, you thought. Considering he currently had you cornered in the medbay right now. And all you wanted was to get home.

“We really need to talk.”

You sighed, but nodded. For once, he wasn’t wrong and you had known from the moment you woke up that this was coming.

“About how I fucked up? About how I almost got both of us killed?” The anger in your voice, for once, wasn’t for him. The longer you had to dwell over all of if, the more mad you had got at yourself.

“About everything.”

“Everything?” 

You looked at him again, an eyebrow raised. If he was anyone else, you would have assumed it was a joke. But you knew he was dead serious. Batman didn’t know how to joke.

“Really? Everything? Right here where anyone can overhear us?” You gestured to the wide open space of the medbay around you. Batman looked around and then gestured with his head for you to follow him.

You followed him through the Watchtower at a pace that didn’t aggravate your injuries too much. You were sure he noticed because he adjusted his own pace to match yours, while still staying ahead of you. He led you into his laboratory. As soon as you both entered the room, he locked the door. Now the only concern was Superman, though something told you that he likely already knew so what the hell did it matter anyway?

You didn’t wait for him to offer you a seat, instead grabbing the nearest chair and carefully lowering yourself onto it. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time.

“I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot.” 

“Doesn’t matter if it’s the first time or the hundredth time, that’s still a severe injury. Not to forget the amount of bruising you have,”  he replied.

“Thought medical records were supposed to be confidential? Even here?”

“Superman told me about you needing surgery for the bullet and, taking my strength into account and the hard flooring, it would make sense that you either broke something or ended up badly bruised,” he said very matter of factly.

You nodded. “So where are we even supposed to start after months of bullshit started by both of us?”

He hummed, but didn’t say anything. Which made you scoff as you realised.

“Really? You tell me I should be resting, considering I was shot, then you say we need to talk and you don’t even know where to start? Fuck me.” Your pain killers were starting to wear off and your patience for him was wearing thin. 

“In my defence, with how you’ve been ignoring me, I didn’t think we would even get this far.” His voice remained calm, as did his body language. There was no sign of him becoming agitated despite the fact that you had snapped.

“Then how about we start with Star City?”

The conversation between the two of you was a long one. The longest that you both had had without it ending in a yelling match or sex. It certainly came as a surprise. As did his honesty.

“I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did. I let my emotions take over and I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

“Was any of what you said true?”

He nodded. He had meant what he said about making sure you could handle the burden that came with saving the world on a semi regular basis. But he had come to the conclusion that you could handle it just fine within the first couple of months. His aim had been to try and hurt you and he had no excuse for it.

You never thought you would see the day that he actually held himself responsible for his own actions. It was also likely as close to a “sorry” as you were going to get. Which was fine as it was more than you had been expecting to begin with anyway.

“I didn’t have to yell like that, could have just walked away instead. But that doesn’t mean I regret what I said.”

“Most people don’t.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine why,” you replied, a small smile forming on your lips. I wasn’t hard to imagine the amount of people who must have yelled at him in a similar way because of what a dick he was being. 

It felt good to not need to have your guard up around him all the time, waiting for him to start on you. It was clear to you that this was his try at a do over between the two of you and you agreed. It was needed. It didn’t mean you had to be best friends with each other. With all that had transpired you doubted that would possible, but if you could be on friendly terms, it would benefit the rest of the League a lot more. 

By now your pain killers had fully worn off. Batman noticed before you could even say anything. He was up and out of his chair and left the room, without even a word to you. Which had left you wondering “”what the hell?”. Your confusion was answered when he returned with pills and a bottle of water in hand. 

“I could’ve got them myself. I’m not completely helpless,” you said as he handed them both over. He shrugged and took his seat again. You muttered a thank you before chasing the pills down with the water. 

Whilst you were waiting for the medication to kick in, he decided to keep the conversation going. Making sure that there was no chance for an uncomfortable silence.

“I never should have dragged you into that storage room to begin with. Clearly it made everything between us worse.”

His words almost had you choking on your water as you snorted.

“I could have escaped your grip and told you to go fuck yourself,” you replied, with a small shrug. “We’re both to blame for the way that escalated.” 

It was the truth. You didn’t have to go along with him any time it had happened. You could have easily walked away whenever and you hadn’t until you had finally hit your breaking point. Things never should have been allowed to escalate that far, but both of you had let it. You knew that. As you were sure that he did as well.

Batman nodded in agreement. “Are we good now?” he asked. 

“I mean, we’re better than we were. I think at least. Definitely not bestie though,” you replied.

“Of course not. That would be too far.”

You looked at him like he had just turned into his name sake. Had he just tried to joke? Today was just filled with firsts, it seemed. And it took you off guard enough for a small chuckle, which you immediately regretted as pain flared through you.

“You should get home and rest,” he said, standing up and he offered you his hand. You decided to take it. Anything to make your life just a little bit easier right now. 

“I was trying to, you know, until you decided that you wanted to talk.” Your tone is lighthearted, making sure that there is no malice within it. He scoffed softly.

Batman walked with you toward the zeta tubes. Which you were sure the others would deem a strange sight if they saw it considering your past with each other. You activated the console and selected your destination. As the machine powered up, you felt his hand on your shoulder, prompting you to look at him.

“Since you’re already involved now, and the way you handled Harley, when you’re fully healed, I want your continued help on my current case.”

“You haven’t told anyone else yet?” 

He shook his head. “I still need some to time to go through everything from the funhouse. Once I’m finished then I’ll inform the rest of the team, but since I involved you first, I thought I would ask for your help before going to anyone else.”

You nodded. You were sure it was taking him a lot to be so open. Hell, even asking for help, again, probably went against everything within him. 

“Yeah, of course. You can count on me.”

*

Taglist - @the-last-twin-of-krypton @bakugous-bakahoe @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople @little-rivers @callalily2000 @geminicinderella @warsaur @theclassicvinyldragon @aniya7 @bluebear19 @jdream55 @x-ratedhimbo

[wolfjackle-creates]

Ghost!Robin Part 9

First, Previous

I'm posting early this Wednesday! I've down time at work as I wait for the centrifuge to stop spinning my antibodies (48 minutes left of 2 hours). And I have plans after work. So it's either now or at 11 pm my time.

Story Summary: Danny was invited to dinner at Wayne Manor to meet Jazz's boyfriend and his family for the first time. He worked hard to make sure no ghost business would interrupt the evening. But when he arrived, all he could focus on was the ghost of the dead Robin that seemed to haunt Jason.

Word Count: 1.2k

----------

Jason’s voice was low and threatening. “It’s an ice duck made of Lazarus water.”

More alarming than his voice was the way his eyes glowed ecto-green and the fear-anger that filled the room.

Thank the ancients for Jazz, because he had no idea how to respond to that. She was the one who placed a hand on Jason’s arm and asked, “What’s Lazarus water?”

Meanwhile, Danny focused on sending out calm, no danger, safe feelings to counteract Jason’s projections.

It seemed to work slightly as Jason lowered his gun, but he didn’t put it away. “Just green, bubbling liquid that collects in pits and will kill the healthy but return the mortally wounded to life with a side dose of uncontrollable rage.” His eyes were glued to the duck in Danny’s hands.

That sounded like the opposite of good, Pariah curse it. “Jazz, why do your in-laws keep giving me more work to do?” Danny groaned as he mentally moved a few things around his to-do list.

He handed the duck to Robin who gave a thanks trill as he took it.

Danny continued, “And, Jason, can you tell me where these pits are so I can get rid of them? Sounds like there’s some leaks between the Infinite Realms and the moral realms that were never dealt with because Pariah was the worst.”

“Who is this ‘Pariah’ person?” asked Damian. “You have mentioned them before.”

Danny was going to reply when Alfred cleared his throat and the table went silent to look at him. “I understand there’s a lot of information everyone wants to know from our guests, however I believe it has been recognized that they wish us no harm. So perhaps we might allow them to at least taste the pie Master Jason and I worked hard on? We also have ice cream, Mr. Danny.”

Jazz took the excuse to tug on Jason’s arm. He hesitated a moment, still looking uncertainly at his ghost playing with the duck, but obediently sat down without saying anything more.

“I haven’t had ice cream in ages,” admitted Danny. “Haven’t even been on Earth for months my-time. Only been a few weeks Earth-time, though.” Taking his fork in hand, he tried a bite of the pie. It had at least four different types of fruit from what he could see—cherries, raspberries, strawberries, and peaches. It was amazing. Over the time they’d been talking, it had cooled slightly, but was still warm. “Holy shit, you two made this? It’s so good!” Without waiting for a response he took another bite. “Ancients, I miss Earth food when I’m gone so long. Jazz, can we get burgers tomorrow?”

“Of course, Danny. Has it really been that long for you? When was the last time you saw Sam and Tucker?”

Danny shrugged as he swallowed. “I’ve been out of contact with anyone for a month my-time. Grandpa had me on another planet doing time-stream stuff. But Sam and Tuck were with me in the Realms before that. We had about a week together and they saw me off.”

“I have so many questions based off that statement,” said Dick.

“I’m compiling a list, Dick,” said Tim from the other side of the table.

Alfred cleared his throat again and about half the table muttered a “sorry.”

“Now, Mr. Danny, for ice cream, I’ve made French vanilla and chocolate. Would you like to try one or both?”

“You made the ice cream? I don’t think I’ve ever had homemade ice cream before. Can I take some of both?”

“Of course. Master Jason, could you pass the ice cream to Mr. Danny?”

The wave of annoyance that radiated out of Jason told Danny exactly what he thought of that suggestion. Robin clucked his tongue in reproach. But out loud, Jason just said, “Of course.” He grabbed a covered bucket which must hold the ice cream and passed it to Jazz who gave it to Danny.

“Thanks, dead boyfriend number two!” With a grin, Danny sent back friends, gratitude, happiness to Jason. Just to be contrary.

Jason’s projections morphed into confusion, frustration.

Danny and Robin looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Mind explaining what’s so funny to the class?” asked Jazz with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Rather than answer her directly, Danny spoke to Jason. “Hey, Jay, can I call you Jay? Well, we’re gonna be brothers-in-law so I’m gonna. You really need to work on controlling what emotions you’re projecting. Otherwise I might get hurt by how much you don’t trust me.” He pouted and played up the offense, but only held it for a second before opening the ice cream and giving himself a large scoop of each flavor. “Oh, Robin, you can eat the duck, by the way. Like a popsicle. Have dessert with us.”

“What do you mean projecting? And brothers-in-law?” demanded Jason.

Danny ignored him in favor of Robin who grinned widely and licked the head of the duck. Outwardly, he projected tasty, gratitude. To really push the point home, he popped the head of the duck in his mouth and used his now-free hands to sign something.

Dick translated, “He says it’s good.”

“Of course it is. He’s a baby ghost, needs his ecto!” Danny took a bite of ice cream.

Jazz cleared her throat and said in a conversational tone, “Danny, remember the conversation we had about spoilers?”

“Hmmm?” asked Danny around a spoonful of pie. It was so good.

“Spoilers, Danny. You’ve let some slip.”

“I have?” Danny thought back over the things he’d said recently and froze. “You and Jason aren’t engaged yet.”

Jazz closed her eyes and looked up. “No, Danny. We’re not.”

Danny flushed and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry! Honest mistake. At least I haven’t told you how—”

Jazz slammed a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare, Daniel James! No spoilers!”

Danny grinned into her hand and licked her palm.

“Danny! Gross!” she cried as she pulled her hand away. “I know you have hand sanitizer in that bottomless pit of yours. Pass it over.”

As he was reaching into his bag, he noticed Robin had left his spot in front of Danny and moved until he was floating in front of Bruce where he seemed to be signing something. Cass stood up and took her plate, moving to sit next to Steph and Robin took her seat. The ghost smiled up at Bruce who looked back at him with a frown.

Danny sent out a pulse of concern, you okay?

Robin nodded. Happy, comfortable.

Ghosts couldn’t lie when they communicated with core-feelings, so Danny nodded and went back to searching for the hand sanitizer which he handed to Jazz.

Jason was back to staring at him, though. “Hey, Alfie? Can I ask Danny a question?”

Alfred let out a put-upon sigh. “You, and you alone”—he gave a look to everyone at the table—“may ask Mr. Danny a single question. All other questions must wait until Mr. Danny has finished his dessert and informs you he is willing to answer more of them.”

----------

Next

I just want to tell all of you how much I loved every comment demanding Danny get to eat his pie. You all really made my week.

Over the weekend, I shared a bit more of the fic where Danny and Tim were online childhood friends. Check it out if that's something you're interested in!

And I guess I didn't include line I shared as part of the tag game in this update. I'm trying to give myself more of a buffer in case I can't get as much writing done in the upcoming weeks, so the segments I share might by somewhat shorter.

Tag List Part 1

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew, @rowanaway-fromthisbs, @vythika96, @tired-yet-awaken, @themirrorghost, @emeraldcorpral, @all-mights-asscheeks, @darkhinauniverse, @blep-23, @phandomhyperfixationblog, @larkcoe1, @thegatorsgoose, @job-ross-the-second, @britcision, @lenacraft, @bubblemixer, @androgynouslordofescapism, @purefrickingspite, @leftmiraclechaos, @lizisipancardo, @starlight-sparks, @miraculousandmore, @gildedphoenix, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @letmesayfuxk, @phoenixcatch7, @skulld3mort-1fan, @abaowo, @dhampir-princess, @idkmrpianoman, @sarina-elais, @ballzfrog-blog, @undead-essence, @spookytragedyshark, @flyingpansaurus, @akintoabitch, @marivictal, @8-29pm, @justreadingthefanfics, @happybear135, @kisatamao, @spoopyspoony, @adorablechaos, @sara0055, @screamingtofillthevoid

[phantom-dc]

Dad Hood - part 7

It’s been a few days since Jason brought Tim some of Danny’s hair. He’d checked on Tim’s coffee stash and agreed with Alfred.

‘Goddamn, Tim! I said you could hide your coffee in that safehouse, not fill it!’

Oh well, it would be worth it. In those few days he’d been waiting, Danny’s list of powers had only grown. He took another look at his notebook:

Invisibility

Cryokinesis

Flight

Soul-pulling-out-powers???

Destructive scream

Lasers

Super strength

(Flying) Superspeed

Photokineses

Shields

Jason was getting worried. Thank god Tim was done with his research. He was confused as to why Tim insisted on meeting him instead of just sending him the list of people Danny was made up off. Jason did NOT want to think that the list was so big Tim wanted to give it himself.

Thank goodness Tim landed on the roof. Jason didn’t think he could wait any longer. Before Jason could say anything, Tim cut him off.

‘You have some explaining to do.’

Jason rolled his eyes. ‘I already told you, RR. I’m investigating a possible Respawn clone. Do you have the list I asked for? I need to kno-‘

‘Oh, don’t start with that bullshit. I know you’re lying!’

Jason was confused. ‘What? Why do you think I’m lying? Do you have the results or not?’

Tim looks angry. ‘Hood, you know full well there’s only 2 people on that list.’

Jason gets annoyed at Tim’s attitude: ‘Fine, so it’s Slade and who? Killer Frost? Superman? Give me details, man!’

‘It’s not Slade. It matches partially with Talia and you.’

Jason’s blood goes cold. ‘Tim, what do you mean?’

Tim rolls his eyes. ‘Look man, if you have a kid that’s one thing. But if you needed a paternity test you could’ve-‘

Jason grabs Tim by the arms. ‘TIM, WHAT DO YOU MEAN: MY KID!?!’

Tim finally realizes Jason honestly has no clue. ‘Wait, you didn’t know?’

‘NO, TIM! I DIDN’T! WTF YOU MEAN HE’S MY KID!?!’

Tim shakes Jason off. ‘Ok, easy man! Calm down! Deep breaths!’

Jason slumps down. Tim takes pity on him.

‘Ok, let’s take a step back, J. I need to know where you got this sample.’

Jason looks at him, and motions for Tim to follow him. As he climbs through Jason’s window, he wonders why they’re there.

‘So, did you have some files you wanted to show me, or-‘

‘INTRUDER ALERT!’

Tim is tackled from the side, sending him into the couch.

‘OH MY GOD!’

Tim tries to wrangle the kid off, but he can’t get a grip.

‘Get off me!’

Jason comes over and picks Danny up.

‘Jason! There’s a stranger here!’

Jason ruffles Danny’s hair.

‘Good job, kiddo. Never trust strangers that climb through your windows. But you can calm down. This is my brother, Red Robin.’

Danny tilts his head sideways. ‘Yum?’

Jason laughs. ‘No, not that Red Robin!’

Pulling Tim up, he introduced him.

‘RR, this is Danny, my… kid.’

Tim sees Jason having some more panic, and takes over. Kneeling down he talks to Danny.

‘Hi Danny! You’re a friend of Jason, right? You can call me Tim!’

Danny is hiding behind Jason’s leg. Tim says Jason asked him some help in figuring out where Danny came from. Danny becomes curious.

‘Did you find out?’

Jason picks Danny of the ground, so he’s on eye level with Tim.

‘Well, no. But I did find out something interesting? Turns out, Jason’s your daddy! Did you know that?’

Danny looks at Jason, and he looks amazed.

‘You are? That’s awesome! I always wanted to meet you!’

This surprises Jason. ‘Wait, you knew that I was your dad?’

Danny shakes his head.

‘No, not that. But mom and dad always said I wasn’t their bo…bia…’

Tim helps out: ‘Their biological child?’

Danny nods. ‘Yeah! So I was wondering who my mommy and daddy are!’

Jason is very tired and needs sleep, so he decides to cut this short.

‘It’s great to find out, but it’s very late. How about we go to sleep now, and tomorrow we’ll celebrate with cake?’

Danny cheers. ‘YAY, CAKE! Goodnight Daddy!’

He climbs out of Jason’s arms and goes to bed, wanting to sleep so he can get cake quicker. Jason head is spinning from being called daddy so quickly. Tim just looks at Jason.

‘You need to tell me everything. NOW.’

First - Previous - Next - AO3

[rapz-rites]

Goldfish

Damon's Wayne x Reader established relationship

You and Damian go grocery shopping together for the first time.

A/N: This was requested. I very much appreciate any feedback and criticism so let me have it.

Word Count: 4.3k +

Warnings: Kissing, Damian arguing with a child 😭

It’s been almost a month since you and Damian moved in together. You didn’t expect him to, knowing about his nightlife. You thought it would be easier for him if he lived at the manor, and it was. He had everything he would need at the manor. But not you.

He wanted to move in with you to show you he was committed. And he was. He was there for the entire process. He was right by your side from picking a condo to buying it (yes buy not rent) to picking out the decoration. He even gave his input, unlike some batboys cough cough that would be like “whatever you like babe”.

You didn’t know that Damian had paid the condo off. Every time you gave him money for bills or anything he would put it into a fund for the future, for retirement, a bigger place, or an emergency… or kids.

Since you two moved in you would just buy groceries as you needed them. But this was going to change. For the past week, you had come up with a list of foods needed. You even went to Alfred for the ingredients needed for some dishes.

Now you and Damian are at the grocery store. You both agreed to go by ONLY what’s on the list. So, when he wasn’t looking you added a few snacks to the list.

Grocery shopping with Damian was a bit more difficult than you thought. You thought you would be able to get whatever you wanted from the list and not too much input from him unless you asked. You were wrong.

There was something that both you and Damian got different brands of. Either something was better quality or we grew up using it. So with you got your brand or Damian’s brand or both. Relationships are about compromise.

“I got the parmesan cheese,” you say looking at the list as you put the cheese in the cart.

“Beloved you got the wrong one,” Damian quips.

“No, I didn’t. This is the one I’ve always gotten” you reply.

“Alfred always gets Kraft,” says Damian.

You turn to Damian with a look of shock. Luckily for Damian, he's known you long enough to know the next words out of your mouth were going to be pure sarcasm.

“Wait! You guys don't get it imported straight from a little old couple that runs a cheese farm in Europe every day?”

“'Let's just get both. You love pasta enough to eat it every day so you'll always need cheese.” You chuckled at Damian's comment. You patted his shoulder and moved on to get the next ingredient on the list.

You were at the end of the list, the best part: the snacks. Damian saw the last snack on the list, your favorite: Goldfish. So, Damian decided to be an amazing boyfriend and get them for you.

Damian went to the next aisle over and stood in front of the store’s Goldfish selection. He didn't want to get you a small bag. You would finish it in a day, 2 max.

That's when he saw it. The largest bag of goldfish they had, and the last one too. He knew he could score brownie points for this. All the kisses and cuddles you would give him. He would NEVER ask for it though. Then a girl came by him asking him for the same box of Goldfish.

“Hey, mister. Can you get me that box of Goldfish please?” she looked at him.

“Sorry but it's mine.”

“Aren't you too old for that?” Damian looked at her with much offense.

“Excuse you. I'm only 22. How old are you? Where are your parents?”

“Listen here old-”

When you noticed Damian wasn't by your side anymore, you went into the next aisle to find him talking to a teen girl.

“Hey! What's going on?”

They both started talking at once.

“Hey hey hey! One at a time please.”

The girl spoke up first.

“I just wanted Goldfish. But your boyfriend here won't let me.”

You understood what was going on. You walked up to Damian, took the big carton of Goldfish, and gave it to her. Her eyes lit up at the site of the catron in her hands.

“That you miss. By the way you're way too good for him” she whispers the last part, but loud enough for Damian to hear. He grunts, and with that the girl treads off happily with her goldfish.

“You like me so much that you would argue with a teenage girl to get me Goldfish,” you say, hugging him. You looked up at him and he hugged you back.

You checked to make sure no one else was in the aisle before you kissed him, and he kissed you back.

“I'll give you unlimited kisses and attention and…” you look at him flirtatiously.

“Mhmm. Can't wait” he says kissing you back.

You lightly push him away from you. He looked offended and confused.

“Come on Mister Wayne, we need to finish shopping.”

I actually really like this one, I hope you guys do too

[knullanon]

Platonic Batfamily growing attached to a competent civillian informant. Grown up, like late 20s and attached to their community, they have picked up and nursed vigilantes from bloody battlefields and had quite few grazes with death over their years in Gotham

headcannons for this one! sorry for taking so long!

words: 897

warnings: blood, injuries, stalking, lmk if I missed any!

the first time that they were introduced to you was when you helped out Dick with a leg injury. It was in the middle of the night, and he was just about to pass out, when you showed up. while he originally thought it was someone to finish him off, when you pulled out medical equipment from seemingly nowhere.

he was really confused. did Bruce send for you? did you just spot him and so happened to have bandages? while he had a bunch of questions, after you were finished you just waved at him and then walked away. he didn't remember much as soon afterward Cass found him, but he told her about the strange experience.

she was also a a little confused, and worried. they both looked into it, and found out about who you were. when they told Bruce, he decided to ask around, to see if anyone else knew anything. apparently, you would just go up to injured heroes, patch them up, say goodbye and then walk off. on a regular occurrence.

while Bruce was intrigued, he also knew that maybe appearing before you to thank you wouldn't be a good idea, so he really left it alone. and then his other kids started meeting you.

Tim had a dislocated arm. duke was bleeding from a stab wound. even Damian, however reluctant to accept the help, had to be fixed up by you once in a while.

and then, one day it was Bruce who you found. he was suffering from a cut on his side, one that was a little too painful to just walk away from. he was leaning against a wall, already trying to contact Alfred for a hand, when you just appeared.

you two just stared at each other for a minute, before he decided "fuck it" and let you do your thing. this was also the turning point where he decided to get some answers.

"who are you?" "_____." "why do you do this?" "because I am good at it."

after you were done, you just left. again.

Bruce already had your info and who you were, he had known about it since you first appeared. but it after his encounter with you, he actually decided to do some stalking of his own.

he soon realized that it wasn't just some occurrence that you were more often in Gotham than other cities: you preferred helping the family, often going out of your way to find them in case they needed a medic.

eventually, it was a regular occurrence to see you around the batfamily or even just hanging out with them while they're on patrol.

at some point, Bruce just decided to give you access to the cave because 1, you pretty much only go out as your 'medic' persona with the rest of the family, and 2, he realized you were almost like Dick.

this new promotion also made you officially part of the batfam. while beforehand, they couldn't do much about you or how you thought because of your independence from them. however, after you're given access, they will try to convince you to become a "base medic", or basically only stay at the cave on duty.

at first, you think it was a joke by the kids because you really only wait for someone to be injured, and then you can do your job. but then the whole family starts to get in on it, telling you the perks of not having to prowl the streets all night or day looking for trouble.

you point out that they do almost the same thing, but your arguments are ignored. it's only when Alfred sits you down to ask if you would become the medic is when you realize you probably should consider it.

if you do accept the idea, then there wouldn't be any other issues. they'll set you up probably with your own little area, for you to patch them up and make sure they're alright. eventually, you won't really need to go outside that much, as everything you need is provided by them, so why would you leave?

if you don't, it will only be a matter of time before you do. your apartment suddenly got destroyed or you're being evicted for no reason? they have (many) spare rooms at the manor! your income isn't making ends meet for supplies? they have plenty of them in the cave!

even if for some reason you avoid or fix every scheme of theirs to somehow "ruin" your life, they will just tell you "get in the cave or we'll drag you there."

while sometimes it's lonely in the cave, Alfred is almost always there. he likes to just sit down and talk to you, like a grandparent asking their kid how their school is going.

the rest of the family always avoids topics that relate to the outside all the time. even if you ask, they'll try to redirect the conversation to something else, usually someone's injuries to try and distract you.

while they understand that you want to leave, or that you want to help other people, they tell you that a lot has changed in Gotham, or that you don't know what it's really like. basically anything that will keep you from getting curious about the outside.

they will never let you outside again.

~~~

love you guys! ヾ(￣▽￣)

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XV. “mutually-assured destruction”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce elicits your help in a desperate bid to validate his sanity, but the both of you reach a permanent standstill.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, arguing, anger, fear, hopelessness

words: 2.6k

a/n: I love when they bicker lmfaooooo, here’s a lil scene for the enemies to lovers crowd 😌

You tried to be subtle with your double-take. His hair was so much darker when it was soaked from rain, and he was nearly unrecognizable in such oversized, bulky clothing. Your eyes wandered to a notebook clutched tightly in his hand. Is it slippery? His knuckles are white.

He pulled you quickly toward him and the gentle spray of what would have been an outfit-ruining tsunami grazed your ankles. As quickly as the car passed he let go and began walking across the street. "Follow me." Too curious for your own good, you followed. Only when you reached three blocks from the hotel did you stop and question the affair. He gave a gruff response to asking where you were headed. "It's only a few more blocks." He continued walking until he realized your footsteps weren't following, and hesitated to peek over his shoulder. Of course you wouldn't follow him. Of course you had to make this difficult. He very nearly pressed on without you out of spite.

He was unrecognizable to you from behind. His wet hair splayed in a haphazard frame around his face, this wasn't what a billionaire looked like. A glimmer of curiosity captured you. Why would a billionaire want to dress himself down like this? It was decidedly less glamorous when he was outside of the suit, and less pathetic than when he wore baggy black clothes to walk around his empty home. You remembered you were in seclusion in downtown Gotham with a rich man, a man so rich he could ruin you without a second thought; and even though you knew his secret, you didn’t know him. He could do anything to me and the world would let him. The possibility alone petrified you and you resigned to stay back.

He picked up on that resolution (though he thought it wasn't self-preservation but resolution to his dissolution) and turned around, glowering at you. He noted that your feet were particularly dug into the gravel, your arms stiff to your sides. The chill of the evening air outside of your lips was the only evidence you weren't a statue. "It's just a few more blocks."

"I heard you." You crossed your arms to protect your chest and you saw his eyes track the movement. Heat rose in your chest. So fucking perceptive. It's like I'm prey.

"Are you coming?"

"No. My parents are expecting me back." He was just a random guy. Your mother was sick, your dad was probably unable to figure out how to work the remote and move from HDMI 1 to HDMI 2. You grit your teeth and he, of course, noted the subtle movement in your jaw.

What are you, twelve? He bit down on his tongue with a sliver of shame. You were just a random woman. Someone who had parents to get back to, parents that were waiting on you, parents who would be concerned if you were back too late, parents to spend time with, parents to see you, to know you...

A story was flashing across his eyes, even in the dark, but you weren't staying to figure it out. "I'm sure Alfred is waiting on you." You spun on your heel but didn't make it two steps before he retorted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should spend time with him instead of stalking girls on street corners."

He didn't need you. You didn't know what you were talking about. "Don't act like you know anything about him." He wasn't letting you get out of earshot before defending himself. You don't know a thing about Alfred. A possessiveness snuck into his tone.

You spun around, your hands lazily following until they slapped against your thighs. "I got a good sense of your hospitality while I was there, you're ridiculously antisocial." You emphasized your eyeroll.

He huffed so firmly clouds of warm air obscured his face, making him for a moment a total shadow. "My apologies for not wanting a stranger loitering in my house that just threatened to blackmail me!" His voice had risen, but it wasn't quite enough for you to call him out yet.

You put your hands up in the air, dressing your words in as much syrupy sarcasm as they could hold. "God forbid someone stay in the giant empty mansion of the person hoarding all the city's resources for three days."

He turned around swiftly, menacingly. "I'm doing more for this city than anyone else."

You didn't bother to temper your scoff. It echoed off the wet brick. "Your ego is fucking insane."

He barked back. "What has anyone else done?"

You thought of your father who had so many aches and pains he couldn't count from his endless career work. The farm workers working in nearly inhumane conditions for meager paychecks, paychecks the Wayne family spent in a day even with just one man and a butler, the people putting food on Gotham's table. You thought of all the houseless people you'd walked past on your way here and couldn't help but laugh, but it was filled with so much tension it was painful. "You picked up a voluntary night shift, congrats, what cookie do you want?"

His chest constricted like his ribs had been welded together. "This is ridiculous. I don't know why I thought you'd be any help." He moved to turn but you ensnared him with another biting accusation.

"You are sitting on a mountain of wealth while people rot in the streets."

He rolled his eyes and committed to the full turn of his back to yours. "I'm not talking about this."

You scoffed again, your chest constricting with the beginning of adrenaline. "I made a point that you don't know how to respond to because you can't. And you're just leaving! Some fucking savior!"

God, who did you think you were? He spat the words out on the pavement with his back turned, eyes narrowed to slits. "You came here just to shit on my city and—"

"It is not your city. You are just a rich kid whose parents happened to live here. And you've done nothing besides saving counterfeit checks and people who have no other choice—"

"Oh, not this again." His smugness brought you right back to running to the city hall bathroom. He didn't know how easily he could massacre someone with his tongue. "Some of the people you take so much pride in scaring the shit out of are already scared. I guarantee if you just gave everyone food, shelter,"

"Money doesn't save everything." You. Didn't. Get. It.

"How can you possibly know even a fraction of the value of a single fucking dollar when you have billions in your bank acc—"

"I'm already allocating." He increased the distance between you two.

You snapped at him, seething at his audacity. "Don't you dare interrupt me."

"Money gets you shot dead on the streets." He continued without a care in the world.

"Don't fucking interrupt me."

He turned his head to peek a touch over his shoulder. Your sharpness has rustled him. He wanted to speak up again but your chest was heaving and splotchy red. Your hands were in trembling fists at your side. He averted his gaze and looked over at the wall while you both stood in silence. His heart was racing, but it wasn't showing—blood making a racket in his ears and practically drowning out all sound. He waited, and waited, and waited more, the adrenaline steadying him and giving him clarity. No one had ever been this mad at him outside of the suit... it was weird. It felt like he should be in armor, ready to dodge a punch and land one square in the jaw. He hated the way his eyes lingered on your jaw, nose, and the bottom of your ribcage. An enchantingly strong sensation of shame erupted from it. More combatant than human.

You noted his features softening, and with it yours slowed to simmer. It was impossible not to notice how sad he looked, and that pissed you off. Why do I give a shit what he's feeling? It was like there was a small box sitting in the corner of your chest, a slim panel hidden in the back of your mind. It contained something you couldn't reach. Every time you were around him it began to glow, but it was too hot. It burned your eyes if you ever tried to look right at it. Frustration had created a mist in your mind to try and distract you, convince you he was nothing of importance; Bruce Wayne could go fuck himself. Another part leapt out and tried to tell you, right then, your empathy was pure socialization. It's a woman's job to soothe, after all. Be easy, after all. The world catered to men, and here was the stereotype and living idol to the alpha male archetype. It repulsed you. Your eyes flit down to his journal as it slipped ever so slightly on the pads of his fingers. You squinted. Curiosity. That's what's coming up. You recalled Dr. Vry on the first day of your first journalism class. She'd opened the class with a speech.

You are all here because you were curious. Curious about this class, curious about writing, and curious about interviewing. I want you to hone in on that feeling; if you have a curiosity about something, anything, anyone, this unintelligible itch to figure it out, it's the sign of a story. A truth needs to be witnessed that you might be the only one capable of seeing. A truth you need to share with the world.

His eyes were the story; it elicited such a feeling of curiosity, his eyes. They were angry, and dark, and sad, and in a position unique to one in 8 billion. You were curious. You were curious about Bruce Wayne, and you hated him. You hated his clothes, his voice, his face, his gait, his position, his quiet arrogance. It clashed so hard with the embers of sympathy for his emotional darkness you felt you could burst. Still, you weren't about to follow him into the black abyss. "Why do you need to talk to me?"

Bruce's reaction didn't quite help you feel safe; he bristled at the question. There was something he wasn't telling you, that was obvious enough, but he refused to give any of it away. "I can't talk about it right here."

"I don't trust you."

He sighed. It made sense, as much as he hated to admit it. He wouldn't follow just anyone out into the corners of Gotham at night either. He shrugged over at you, opening his arms to flap them back down. "Want to check for weapons again?"

Again. You'd been genuinely petrified back in his basement; up until Alfred had arrived, you were certain you would have been meat to string along the ceiling for the bats to feed off of. It still didn't feel quite right, and you didn't feel quite safe, but you felt safer. Safe enough to not be agreeable, safe enough to not run away the second you saw him, but not safe enough to revoke suspicion. The thing on top of your mind now, taking up so much space it hurt, was hypervigilance. Every movement of his hand, his eyes, even the rhythm of his breathing was being tracked and gauged. You didn't know why this question came up, but it fell out of your mouth when it opened. "Do you really trust I won't tell anyone?"

Damn. He didn't, in truth. He'd said so back at the airport because it hadn't fully sunk in that someone knew. Now that he'd had to begin constructing this new persona, now that he had realized how someone could see past it, he was terrified. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head. "No."

It made you a bit afraid hearing that, not that him saying yes would've made you believe him. How could he trust you? If the roles were reversed, you wouldn't. "I don't trust that you won't hurt me."

"How can I convince you?"

Before you could answer your phone buzzed. It was your dad.

"Hey hun, everything good down there?" He sounded like he was munching on the hideously expensive bag of chips that had been provided by hospitality. You nodded before realizing he couldn't see you and your cheeks burned with heat at Bruce having seen it. "Yeah, I just got caught up."

"Caught up? Is that code for something? Do you need me to come down there?"

You glanced over at Bruce who was staring down at his shoes. He slowly looked up at you and lingered in eye contact briefly before looking down to kick at a pebble. Bruce Wayne kicking pebbles on the sidewalk. Get the paparazzi over here. "It's fine, dad. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He didn't miss a beat before a small shuffling and you heard him whisper. "She must have met up with that Wayne guy. Probably doesn't want to tell me." He came back to the line and you thanked god your speaker was off. "No it's, I'll be back soon. Bye." You hung up even though you could tell he didn't quite buy it, which made you have to hurry your exit even more. You plunged your phone in your pocket, avoiding eye contact. You answered him. "You can't convince me."

You both stood there in total silence, not even a car driving in background noise. Finally an ambulance mauled past and he let out a deep sigh. "How do we level the playing field?"

You shrugged, your mouth drying up. You rolled your eyes and sighed out some tension. "Mutually assured destruction, I guess." You didn't particularly like that, the threat of violence from him ever-present in your mind. He didn't like that either, in fact, he felt like he could vomit the second you said that. "I won't hurt you."

"I don't believe it."

"We're at a standstill, then." He straightened his back. "You could say we're even." God, it made him ill that he saw no route to convince you. Another reminder of his status, another reminder of how inhuman he was. You probably looked at him like his veins were thick with gold. He felt the need to give you another reminder, not wanting to hide behind the cloak of assumed violence for another second. "Even if you wrote that, I wouldn't hurt you."

Playing the nice guy, huh? You crossed your arms and shook your head vigorously, the cold chill starting to get to you. You needed to get home and couldn't have this conversation much longer. "You can't convince me, you just can't."

You still felt a twist in your stomach at how much privilege he didn't even realize he held, so much wasted opportunity and ignorance, but you nodded. How could you explain to someone that was born into it how much power he held? Was he actually ignorant of it, or did he just want people to think he was so they would get comfortable and let their guard down for him to strike? It still felt uneven, massively so, but you reassured yourself that you would be out of his reach soon enough. Your parents were waiting, your mom was sick, and you'd be gone in the morning for good. You spun around on your heel without a look back and sped on back to the hotel. Bruce glanced down at the journal that was nearly melted into a puddle in his hand and groaned. Whatever. Mutually-assured destruction.