you guys are checking in on me so much omg 😭😭😭 im doing a little better, trying to finish up an update bc i feel bad ive kept everyone waiting this long haha :)
hi lol, im . well. not alright but im alive! :) irl has taken over and im financially struggling rn so unfortunately this has fell on the BACK back burner, but i didn't abandon this acc! i had updates and scenes planned in my notes and i havent had time (or energy, when i have time) to sit down and upload anything. i'm sorry lol rent comes first rn 😭
Getting Older Looks Good On You, But…
(Die Your Daughter - Chapter Four. 1.4k wc.)
🦴 neglected fem!reader x batfam. (platonic, batsis!reader)
🦴 TWs and CWs. implied past emotional abuse, implied past dysfunctional family dynamics/unhealthy family dynamics.
🦴 You can't sleep, so you decided to explore the Wayne Manor. Little did you know, it'd be a nail in your proverbial coffin. What was that saying? The one about... curiosity and the cat?
< prev | masterlist | next >
🦴 A/N; this one was long awaited for but... it's here!!! <3
There are three things you’ve taken note of since moving into the Wayne Manor.
One: You know very little about your family. They’re an incredibly social yet closed-off bunch.
(Honestly, it’s impressive— they could talk for days, and every topic would encompass everything but themselves.)
Two: The Waynes are night owls. Fitting, you suppose, as you are too. You guess you really are your father’s daughter.
Three: The Waynes are night owls, but… they’re never home at night.
You noticed it intermittently, but only decided to properly pay attention towards the end of your second month at the manor. You couldn’t sleep— a constant, since moving in— and you decided to go down to the kitchen to get a drink. While walking down, the entire house was… eerily silent. Of course, it’s a large space, so you won’t hear everything, but—
—It’s a large, empty space. Noises echo. Sound bounces. And yet, the only thing you could tune into was the soft beep when the heat came on, and its accompanying airflow. When you made it to the big staircase, you squinted in the dark, looking around slowly.
Well, if anyone’s home, hopefully they’ll chalk up your odd behavior to… a trauma response or something. Who knows.
“Dick?” You call out first. No response. “Tim? Damian?” Quieter, because you’re not really sure you want them to be home, much less, to be the ones that you wake up. Damian’s particularly cranky at odd things. No doubt, being awoken by his new half-sister would set him off.
“Mr. Wayne!” You call this time, slowly making your way down the staircase, feet hitting the marble steps softly. Again, no response. You inhale deeply, then exhale. Worst case, they all went on some family dinner outing and forgot to invite you, at— you glance at the time…
…Two in the morning.
Right. Family outing. Once on the ground floor, you make your way to the kitchen. Instead of water, you decide a cup of tea is probably better for the state of your nerves right now. You get to work boiling the water, searching around for a cup and spoon. After you finish your first cup, you glance at the time again.
Two-thirty. Hm. You decide to make another cup and take it to the drawing room. You haven’t explored the manor too much, but there are a few places you’ve become partial to, the drawing room being one of them. Maybe it’s because the concept of a drawing room in itself is a bit crazy to you. It feels like a second living room— but this is one of many things about the Wayne Manor that mystifies you. You wonder, what is it like to grow up in a house like this? To have a second living room so ornate it demands its own name?
You set your tea cup down on the coffee table right as something against the wall starts to move. Your head whips around to the bookcase— one of the shelves starts to pull back, before sliding to the side, opening to some sort of… entrance. You can faintly hear voices emitting from whatever’s behind it.
Your eyes widen as you look around, deciding on what to do. It’ll be obvious someone was here if you make for the door— your tea will spill, and you have no time to chug and run. You decide to hurriedly turn into the couch, burying your face into the crevice between the seat cushion and back as you curl up and close your eyes, pretending to be asleep. It’s not the best— in fact, this is objectively dumb— but it’s something.
“…It was suspiciously quiet tonight, that’s all I’m saying.” Dick. That’s Dick’s voice.
“You just have to take a good thing and make it bad, don’t you?” Tim’s voice now. What the hell!?
“I’m inclined to agree with Grayson, it’s all too—“ Damian— you’re sure it’s Damian— abruptly cuts himself off, and you force your breathing to remain calm, steady. You force yourself to relax, and imagine something as if you were actually dreaming. You think of dance, the fluid movements you used to enjoy practicing. Nights spent on the roofs of your favorite buildings, overlooking Gotham. That one time you stole a car with your old best friend and nearly drove it into a laon center on accident.
“She’s asleep,” Dick finally concludes.
“Why is she down here?” Tim whisper-yells. You can practically feel his eyes on you, burning through your skull.
“I’m assuming because she couldn’t sleep,” Bruce, finally— where was Bruce— points out. You assume he must point to your tea, or something, and you’re all of a sudden glad you hadn’t tried to run with it. The Waynes seem to notice the small things. Things that most wouldn’t.
“We need to be more careful,” Bruce settles on, “We almost risked all of our identities.”
“We’re still risking them the more we stand here talking,” Dick says. You can hear some faint shifting around before he speaks again, “Do you want her to wake up?”
“Everyone, head to your rooms. Shower, change. You know the drill. Once we’re in Pajamas, someone will come down to wake her,” Bruce says, and you decide to shift slighty— just to make it all a little more realistic. The entire room seems to still and you can feel their eyes on you. Well, shit.
Level breathing. Think of dancing, of your favorite places to overlook Gotham.
“Batman—“ Tim hisses, only for him to be immediately shut down by Dick.
“Red Robin, go.”
They all shuffle out of the room, silence nearly suffocating as you’re not sure whether or not it’s safe enough to open your eyes yet. You think at one point, you really do fall asleep— because you startle awake when Dick gently pushes your shoulder.
“Fuck,” You gasp, sitting upright on the sofa.
He’s particularly good at seeming like he’s been here the whole time. His hair is completely dry and there’s no hint he’s taken a shower— or, that he’s been out at all.
“Sorry,” Dick chuckles, “I didn’t want to startle you.”
“What time is it?” You feign ignorance, yawning as you contort your face in confusion, eyebrows furrowing.
“It’s almost four,” Dick answers, helping you off of the couch, “I have a hard time sleeping, and noticed the light was on.”
“Hm,” you noncommittally respond, nodding.
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Dick doesn’t leave room for argument. You simply nod sleepily, shoving your hands into your pajama pants pockets.
You two are silent as you journey back to your room, Dick eyeing you curiously.
“What were you doing down there anyway?” He asks, eyeing you carefully. You try to keep calm as you answer.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I walked around. I kinda felt ill by how big everything is so…” You shrug, the two of you stopping in front of your bedroom door, “I made tea. Had a cup, made a second cup, decided to explore a little, but I was tired.” It’s the truth. You just feel anxious recounting it because now you know.
You know that—
Well, one of your family members is Batman. Which means one of them is Robin. One of them is Red Robin, and if you really pull through your memory, that leaves—
—Nightwing, right? The first robin? While you want to dismiss it, the conclusions your brain jumps to are a little too accurate for three men and a child.
(Damian’s role, at least, is obvious. But at the same time you put two and two together, something pangs in your chest. No child should be fighting crime.)
“You’re exhausted, man,” Dick comments with a snort, raising his brows. Your head snaps up as you fall out of a trance, blinking. You hadn’t even noticed you zoned out.
“Yeah,” You say, swallowing anxiously, “I’m gonna go to bed now.”
“Probably for the best,” Dick waves you off like he’s traveling for, before… heading for the other end of the particularly long hallway, “Sleep well, (Y/N)!”
“Thanks, Dick!” You call, “You too! Sleep well!”
You waited until you heard his bedroom door close to let out the breath you’d been holding.
You don’t think you’d be getting any sleep at all tonight.
Sorry everyone! My schedule has been so hectic! On top of that, I’ve had to open semi-emergent writing commissions for funds on my main so writing this has unfortunately kind of dropped to the bottom of my priority list ;). I’ll try to update either today or within the next few days. Thank you so much for your patience!
I hope to release something semi-soon, but I’ll be honest, I really didn’t expect Die Your Daughter to get so big! I’m a full time student with a job (which… it’s a long story but their turnover rate is high and all of my old co-workers have either found new jobs and quit or were suddenly fired with no explanation. I’m in a situation where I’m all of a sudden “on thin ice” despite this never having been an issue before, and so I’m now desperately job searching 🥲). Due to all of this, I have to focus on irl stuff first before I can even think about a possible update unfortunately. I have drafts in my notes and a loose plot written up, so I know what I have planned writing wise— I unfortunately just have no time to sit down and write.
I’m so sorry, I wish I could give you a more concrete answer. It means a lot that so many people want an update though! And at some point I have to set aside time to make that taglist, every day I see a new comment of someone asking to be added to it— I’m truly honored 😭🙏
Pairing: Arab Knight! Jason Todd x Greek (Spartan) Maid! Reader
Tropes: Royal AU, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, too much tension, dagger to throat
Synopsis: Following your princess and old friend to a different country, your work is to make sure she has everything she needs, take care of her, and offer her your friendship in this hard time. But what happens in this new world when you meet a knight who seems to be made of steel, with no feelings or compassion?
Warnings: Blood, bad words (curses), sexism, violence, probably will have +18 scene, but I'll say at the beginning of the chapter (I'll add more as I write)
MASTERLIST
★━━━━━━✩━━━━━━★
“I will count from one to twenty, okay?” Maryam giggled, waiting just for you to turn your back to her before he could run to hide herself.
Ali was trying to keep you away from the kitchen as much as he could, saying that you needed to rest.
So, today, Maryam was the excuse.
‘She is feeling too lonely here. Can you play with her just a bit, please? I am too busy right now, and the servant that usually babysits her is cleaning the hall.’
You knew it was a lie, but you wouldn’t complain.
“Eighteen, nineteen... twenty!” You turned around, chuckling.
The gardens were the only place she could hide, it was the rule. You passed by some knights, Samir was guarding the east wall today, and Jason was nowhere to be seen for now.
But you saw some dark curls behind the stone bench, next to the flowers.
“Oh my, she is so good at hiding.” You huffed, sitting on the bench, leaning your elbow on your knees. “I will never find her!” Soft giggles sounded behind you, muffled, but a sign that she was enjoying the game.
You gasped in a fake act as you looked behind. “Maryam! You are here!”
“How was I? I hid really well, right?” She laughed when you held her hand, helping her to get up.
“Yes. I thought I would never find you.”
You didn’t know how many times you found her just this afternoon, but when she yawned and held you hand, looking at you, it was too hard to not smile.
“Are you tired?” You chuckled.
“No...” She yawned again. “Maybe?”
A small smile appeared on your lips, and you started walking while holding her hand. “You need to sleep.”
She followed you. “Where is your room?”
“It’s next to the kitchen.” Her eyes were almost closing, sleepy. “My father and I have the same room.”
You nodded, looking at her. When you turned right in the corner, your body bumped against someone. “Sorry, I... Oh, it’s you.”
Jason looked at you, curious. “What are you doing here?”
“Excuse me? I work here.” You saw Jason sighing. “I mean in this hall. Here is where the Sultan’s study is located.”
Your eyes widened. “I think I am a bit lost.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He said, and the memory of that night almost made you flinch. “How is it?” You frowned, confused, before he pointed at your side.
But you just looked away. “Still hurt.”
You didn’t see his expression, preferring to look at Maryam instead. “I need to take her to her room.”
Jason looked down, seeing the little girl. “Ali’s daughter. I know where their chambers are. Follow me.”
During all the way, you kept Maryam behind you, while Jason walked leading the way. When you arrived, Maryam opened the door and you saw a simple but cozy room, with lots of cushions, blankets and some dry flowers that you remember seeing in the gardens.
Jason waited at the door, leaning against the frame as he saw the little girl pulling you with her. “Can you tell me a bedtime story?”
You looked at her, surprised. “A bedtime story?”
“Yes, my father always tells me one.”
You smiled, and Maryam laid on the bed, hugging a pillow with an embroidered rabbit on it. “Okay. Ready?”
She nodded, looking at you.
“There was a bad king who once imprisoned a master craftsman and his son in a prison...”
“Are you sure this is a kid’s story?” Jason muttered, and you looked at him. “Do you want to tell her a story?”
“What is a master craftsman?” Maryam yawned, looking at you as he asked.
You ignored Jason, caressing her hair as your attention was on her again. “It’s someone who can create a lot of things.” You smiled. “As I was saying, this bad king imprisoned this man, Daedalus, and his son, Icarus. Both of them wanted to escape. They were in a prison that was built on an island.”
You heard Jason shifting a bit, but ignored.
“The only way to escape was flying, so Daedalus made wings for him and his son, wings made of feathers and glued together with wax.”
“Daedalus taught Icarus how to fly, deciding that the best way to escape would be flying over the walls. The only thing that Icarus shouldn’t do is fly too close to the sun, otherwise the wax would melt, or fly too low, which would cause the feathers to get wet with seawater.”
Maryam’s eyes were slowly closing it, but as you stopped talking, she opened her eyes again, waiting. So you kept telling her the story.
“Together, they flew out of the prison towards freedom, but Icarus was too excited, and he started flying too close to the sun.”
Maryam gasped, worried. “What happened to them? He didn’t fall, did he? His father saved him?”
You smile, gently caressing her head. “Icarus listened to his father, then he started flying next to Daedalus and both of them escaped. That’s why you have to listen to your father, okay?”
“Okay.” Maryam smiled, closing her eyes and falling asleep quietly. You walked away from the bedroom, listening to the doors being closed by Jason. Then, when you were ready to go to your own chamber, Jason asked:
”What really happened to Icarus?”
You stopped, your back to him and your chin lifted, looking ahead.
“Icarus was so amazed by the sun, and believing that nothing would happen, that he ignored his father’s warnings. The wax melted, and Icarus fell in the ocean and drowned.” Jason’s breath hitched, but he kept silent. “It’s a story about pride and arrogance.”
And like this, you started walking away again.
But Jason didn’t call you this time.
★━━━━━━✩━━━━━━★
⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆taglist: @fromrory @demigod-jack-hearth @maaaahhhiii @cosmosdeus @mruizsworld @gayblagajpewpew @misdollie @seiirene @autumn2534 @shuukkii @tikitsune @senatorpadmeamidala @nathalieeee @strawbrysapphic @softgirlspring @rae-akarui @1abi @flockoff-featherface @marinefreaakk @pu5ssyfairy @dearestdaffodils (if you want to be added, let me know in the comments!💕)
𓂃𑁍 Do NOT repost, copy, translate or use my texts on AI!
𓂃𑁍 Here is the main story! @fromrory Spartan kisses from the desert !!! please, check out! Is the Sultana's POV!
OHMYGOE I LOVE FHE NEW TWO PARTS OF DIE YOYR DAUGHTER. THANK YOU FOR FEEDING US!!
im so glad you enjoyed!! thank you for reading!!! idk when ill update next, i wish i could promise its soonish but im very busy 😭😭 i also have other aus in the works i might post on main so we will see 😭🙏 i think im still like woah. ppl read this fic this is crazy
i have this headcanon that Jason's alley subordinates get their first real impression of the latest Robin when during an important strategy meeting to deal with whatever bullshit Black Mask is pumping out onto Hood's territory, one of them notices him sneaking in through the ceiling and watching from the rafters.
there's an instant uproar based on the assumption that Batman is with him and this is a recon/attack mission. those assumptions are frozen in their tracks when Hood demands they drop their weapons.
"Little shit clearly snuck away- the big bat doesn't even know he's here." Hood declares, as, eyeing them all warily, Robin slinks down from the rafters to stand at his side, borderline hiding behind him. "Right brat?"
Robin nods. "He kept blabbering on about things that weren't interesting. I got bored and wanted to see you."
Hood ruffles his hair and continues the meeting, uncaring of the enemy listening to every word. The goons are baffled.
it keeps happening, too. on patrol, Hood doesn't blink an eye at Robin's existence, acting as if they've never spoken before, and the kid vice versa does the same. and yet it's a weekly occurrence that while dealing with confidential Red Hood-business, the goons will spot the little fucker seeping into their bases to act like he lives amongst them-and suddenly Hood's all soft words and hair ruffles and jokes that make it seem like the two have known each other their whole lives.
"I want a new katana." The kid stormed in at one point, interrupting the interrogation of the leader of a neighbouring cartel. He didn't blink at the multiple men holding down limbs, or the rag of water that Hood himself was holding, about to continue the waterboarding. Hood's shoulders slumped inwards out of exasperation.
"I'm sure you do," He chuckled, turning to give the kid a fond (they could tell, even through the helmet) glare. "But I'm kinda busy right now, so lets talk later?"
"With obsidian and emerald in the hilt, like my old one." Robin continues. "Batman confiscated it."
"Ask your mother and see what she says," Hood calls out casually, drenching the rag in a bucket of water and preparing to continue. "I'm not shelling out on a new one if it's just gonna get taken back by that asshole."
Robin groans, throwing his head back. "Fine. By the way, I stole a copy of all of Batman's information on that man's gang for you." He points casually at the half-conscious man being borderline tortured.
"God, I taught you well." Hood laughs. The goons exchanged knowing looks.
the thing was, it all added up--the familiarity, the fondness, the whining banter exchanged between the two and begrudging way that Robin listened to every order Hood gave him, the incredible loyalty that the kid showed one of Batman's current most influential enemies, and the protective nature Hood showed the kid in turn.
it all made sense
"So we're all in agreement, right?" Goon 1 turned to the others after they'd both left. "The Bossman is Robin's dad, and he's sent his son undercover to work for the Bat to gain information?"
the rest of the goons nodded instantly.
it was obvious.
(meanwhile, Hood has no idea this is what his subordinates think, he's just trying to be a supportive big brother, helping provide a safe space for Damian while he deals with the ridiculous culture shock of moving from the league's compound to going it alone at Wayne manor. Damian knows this is what everybody at Hood's work thinks. he doesn't think it's worth correcting--Hood raised him more than anybody else did, so it's not entirely inaccurate, right? Plus the scary dog privilege he gets in the alley for being Red Hood's son is funnier than any kind of perk he's ever gotten for being Bruce's kid.)
Synopsis: Your father was a detective who suddenly disappeared in Gotham. It's been four months, and you haven't heard about him since then, the GCPD ignored your messages and calls, leaving you in the dark. After months of nothing, you started to write a noir novel, using your father notes as an inspiration, till one day, when you were going home, you saw in an alley the same symbol you saw in your father's notebook. Deciding to investigate, you met Red Robin, who was also investigating the symbol you saw.
Warnings: Violence, blood, death mention,
Divider by @hyuneskkami
(COMING SOON)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
(...)
⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆taglist: @fromrory @demigod-jack-hearth @maaaahhhiii (if you want to be added, let me know in the comments!💕)
𓂃𑁍 Do NOT repost, copy, translate or use my texts on AI!
TW/CWs; CPTSD/PTSD mentions, toxic family dynamics, unhealthy relationships, daddy AND mommy issues, emotional self-harm
I’ve been thinking about Jason being unable to express his want for affection, and because he’s already emotionally stunted (both because… all the bats are, but he also has to Catch Up mentally) he also has a hard time dissecting his more complex emotions, and it leads to a borderline self-harming cycle when it comes to his family dynamics. More specifically, any parental relationship he has.
Is he hurt by his dad? Absolutely, yes. The hurt Bruce caused will never go away. Does he love him? Obviously, that’s how the hurt happened and stung for so long, how it still stings. Can Jason differentiate self-harm from seeking out affection he craves from his father in a co-dependent/toxic kind of way? Well. No.
I think it also makes sense for him to be like a kid when it comes to his trauma and maybe re-enact specifically a lot of the moments initially surrounding his mother and when he was captured + the hurt of finding out what Bruce did/didn’t do when it came to the Joker. Instead of eventual selflessness being the thing that leads him straight into danger now, though (like with his mom), it might literally just be the fact that he misses Bruce. And Bruce blames himself for it all— but he also can’t remember the old Jason. Maybe I can recton the stupid ‘Jason was always going to turn out this way’ bullshit and blame this on Bruce’s personal thoughts. He’s trying to cope really fucking poorly, and Jason’s allowing it at the cost of his character because inadvertently, it means Bruce cares. Even if, so far, it’s the only proof Jason has that he was ever properly mourned.
(Bonus - Literally everyone else in the family can see how badly this dynamic is affecting both of them. Bruce feels like he’s failed as a parent both in what happened to his son, and what his son ended up becoming. He’s playing the blame game and Jason has become the unfortunate target of his own doing. Jason is willing to take it on because, hey, B remembered. B cares. He’ll never be enough for him, never fall in line enough for him— but he can be the bait. He’s been the bait before.
…and Dick watches this with a rooftop view, grimacing at the way they’ve been slowly spiraling together. No one wants to risk making it all worse by pointing out how fucked this is to Bruce and Jason, so they don’t. The best Dick can do is just… observe. Give everyone quiet updates where they hope some sort of change will be made. So far, it’s only gotten worse.)
holy shit guys thanks for 100 followers already?? its legit only been a few days omg 😭😭🙏🙏
idk what to say this blog has brought me nothing but shock (in a good way c:) i really did not think my x reader fic would get more than like… a few notes 😭. welp.
I'll Stick Around If You Will
(Die Your Daughter - Chapter Three, Part Two. 1.4k wc.)
🦴 neglected fem!reader x batfam. (platonic, batsis!reader)
🦴 TWs and CWs. mentions of past death, socioeconomic status dynamic, implied PTSD/CPTSD, mentions of abuse and neglect, small physical altercation (small fight on the roof), smoking
🦴 You need a break from it all, so you escape to one of your favorite hideaway spots- the roof of a quaint building in your old neighborhood. An unexpected visitor scares the shit out of you, and then listens to your frustrations...
< prev | masterlist | next >
🦴 A/N; Ch3 pt 2, Jason's back :3
The sun’s already set, but you decide to spend some time on one of your favorite roofs. You can’t stand it there, back at the manor. It’s so big yet… so suffocating. You feel stupid for complaining about your new living situation, even to yourself, in your head. You should be grateful. Your mother said that a lot, you should be grateful. It always set something off, triggered that anger you tried to get a grip on.
You take a drag of a cigarette you lit about a minute ago, exhaling smoke. You quit when you were freshly seventeen, but… well. Everyone needs a vice every once in awhile.
The building you sit on rents out to multiple places. The top level is a couple of apartments, nicer than your complex, the bottom level home to a small corner store and cafe. It sits right across from where your old apartment building used to be, which is now a lot of debris and ash, sectioned off with caution tape.
You stare at it emptily and take another drag, about to lay on your back, but before you can— you feel a presence behind you.
You act on instinct, stubbing your cigarette out on the leg of whoever was behind you and using the distraction to grab their shoulder and use it as leverage to flip up and land behind the stranger— effectively changing who had the upper hand.
“Ow! Fuck—!” That voice sounds familiar— wait—
“Jesus fucking christ,” You gasp, covering your mouth while your eyes widen, horrified. “Why would you sneak up on me like that!?”
You just stubbed out your cigarette on the Red Hood.
“I didn’t fucking think you’d do that!” He retaliates, stubbing out the cigarette with the heel of his boot while patting his thigh in mild pain, “Seriously what the fuck!? Where’d you learn that!?”
“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You immediately start apologizing, reaching out and then covering your mouth again. You’re not sure if helping would make it worse.
“No you’re—“ He pauses, standing straight as he looks down at his leg and the offending cigarette. Then he laughs. He laughs, and it catches you off guard.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m just—“ He tries to pause for breath, but hunches over, gasping for air. It all sounds a bit uncanny with his voice being distorted through his mask, “—I never get caught off guard like that. You’re good, (Y/N).”
“How do you know my name?” You ask, squinting, “I don’t think I ever got the chance to tell you.”
“I checked up on you when you were still out of it,” Red Hood says once he’s finally calmed down, “To make sure you survived. All that jazz.”
“Red Hood walked into a hospital?” You raised your eyebrows.
“Obviously, I wasn’t wearing the mask,” Red hood rolls his eyes— you can’t see it under the domino mask, but he says it in the tone of a man who’s rolling his eyes while speaking.
“That’s even worse,” You scoff, “What if I was awake?”
“Then I wouldn’t have walked in, duh,” He clicks his tongue groaning as he tries to stand up straight. He has a bit of a natural hunch, you notice, but you don’t ask why. You slowly go back to where you were sitting, and he joins you, his legs swinging off the side of the roof.
“Rooftops are dangerous you know,” Red Hood eventually breaks the silence.
“I can handle myself,” You say.
“I can tell.” You let out a small huff at his witty reply before you fall into comfortable silence again. Then, he speaks;
“How can you do all that anyway?” He asks.
“I’m a dancer,” You reply, “Since birth. I know all the fun holds and jumps and tricks. You’re my partner for a few seconds until I can run off.”
“You were ready to fight me,” He points out, “You didn’t look like you were going to run off.”
“Hm.” You don’t give him a straight response to that either, “My parents weren’t the best. I know a thing or two. That’s all.”
“Ah.” Another comfortable silence. Then, he continues, “I hear you’re a Wayne now.” You let out a strained laugh. The kind that bubbles up involuntarily.
“Most people are happy to find out they’re involuntary rich,” Red Hood snorts at your response, “but you don’t?”
“I hate change.” You reply. It’s the easiest response.
“Most do.” He agrees.
“I never knew him.” It spills out before you can stop yourself, “and I’m not sure if I want to, and it doesn’t seem like he wants to. And I think I should be okay with that, because I kind of am, but… I’m not. I don’t know.”
“Hm.” He doesn’t push, just acknowledges. Somehow, it allows you to keep going. You finally feel like you’re being listened to throughout all of this. You can’t believe Red Hood is the guy you’re spilling your guts to. You’ve always liked him best out of all the vigilantes, though. Not that you’d admit that.
“—And he’s just so… absent, but controlling already, like he raised me— even though I’m an adult. And he doesn’t know me, and he hasn’t tried to get to know me. His version of making me feel comfortable is throwing money at me to replace my shit, and it’s… it’s awful.” You start, hugging your knees to your chest as you look at the sectioned off lot again, “I want my things back, and… and I can’t even get them. And I didn’t like my life but…” You pause, “It was mine. I thought he was dead, and I finally reached a point where I was comfortable with that.”
“Nothing in your new life feels like yours?” Red Hood asks, leaning back against his arms.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” You sigh, before chewing your lip, “God, and my new family are so crazy weird too.”
That makes Red Hood burst out laughing, tilting his head. “Really? How so?”
“Well, okay, first of all I looked them up and my eldest brother was a cop— this isn’t him being weird, that’s just me having personal gripes—“ Red Hood snorts, but nods in solidarity, “—but they’re so… secretive. No conversation with me feels real. I don’t think they know a single thing about me personality wise, but they’ve started asking about my family, my parents. In a weird way, I don’t know how to explain it. At dinner, my younger brother Tim brought up my parent’s incarceration.”
“Jesus,” Red Hood raises his eyebrows, “Tell him to go fuck himself.”
“I should’ve.” You chewed on your lip, “And… okay, I don’t know why, but my dad’s lying to me. And my new brothers are covering for him.”
Red Hood pauses at that, seems to tense up. “That’s… odd.”
“Right?” You don’t take notice, still starting at your apartments, “He doesn’t drink. I honestly don’t think he ever has, but they used some shitty excuse, like he slipped up on accident. But all I see on the news is billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne being… messy.”
“You’re scary smart, you know that?” Red Hood says, “You’ve been with them less than a month, haven’t you?”
“Like, two weeks? Maybe three?” You say, waving him off, “That’s not important. Why’s that important?”
“Nothing,” Red Hood shrugs, “Just noticing.”
“I don’t think I’m that smart,” You shrug, “I never really went to school.”
“Give yourself some credit,” He says, “I don’t think the average person would notice these things. And not every smart person thrives in school anyway.”
“Eh,” You sigh, closing your eyes. “I can’t believe the Red Hood is giving me a guidance counselor talk.”
Red Hood properly laughs at that— not out of disbelief or shock— he just… he’s enjoying himself. He’s enjoying hanging out with you. You feel like you’ve made a friend throughout all of this, and you feel a bit crazy that you consider someone like Red Hood a friend. He’s supposed to be a villain, you’re pretty sure. Definitely one of the more morally grey vigilantes. Possibly an anti-hero— although The Hill’s residents have always thought of him as a hero since he first appeared.
“You should head home.” He groans as he stretches, sighing, “I can’t be your rooftop buddy the whole night.”
Hesitantly, you listen. You let him help you up, giving him a small smile before he takes a step back.
“Thanks for listening, anyway,” You say.
“I needed the break,” He jokes. “Next time I’ll bring snacks.”
“Nice.” You grin, “I like sugary foods by the way. The straight up disgusting, honey glazed buns and RC Cola kind of shi—“ You turn around to face him properly and say your goodbyes but…
I'll Stick Around If You Will
(Die Your Daughter - Chapter Three, Part One. 1.8k wc.)
🦴 neglected fem!reader x batfam. (platonic, batsis!reader)
🦴 TWs and CWs. mentions of death, socioeconomic status dynamic, implied PTSD/CPTSD, mentions of abuse and neglect, mentioned alcoholism (not implied), manipulation tactics
🦴 You decide to do more research on your family, feeling like things just aren't adding up. After a family dinner (insisted upon by Alfred), your suspicions seem to be only further validated...
< prev | masterlist | next >
🦴 A/N; sorry i dumped like the first four posts and then dipped LMFOAOAOA i have an extremely busy life so expect that a lot. another two parter! this part alone is 1.8k im so sorry im a yapper. my thoughts are that y/n looks a lot like bruce (and is mad about it) but also has inherited some of his intelligence and detective skills, but it shows more as street smarts than a formal education kind of deal. wat do you think?
unrelated, can you please rec some possible supervillain names for Y/N's mom and step-dad? i'm incredibly uncreative right now lmfaoao i cant come up with anything...
Your suspicion starts because they’re suspicious of you.
You can’t place it. Dick immediately treats you like you’re family, like it’s normal for another sibling to randomly just… happen (although from what you know about the Waynes, that does in fact, seem to be the case), but there’s still something there. It’s the way he slides into a routine a little too comfortably with you, but a silent distance still exists. Conversations feel more like silent interrogations, and a small google search on a library computer confirms that, yes, Richard Grayson used to be a cop. But what about you makes a cop want to ask questions?
The only mildly incriminating thing you have under your belt is a minimal criminal record from your younger years; theft out of survival (a skill which you got better at over time, but didn’t need to rely on as much nowadays), vandalism because you were angry and acting out. A few police reports made about your home life, but nothing that could actually be followed up on— all in all, normal for someone from your neighborhood. Nothing special. Nothing Cop-Grayson-Interrogation noteworthy, anyway.
You spend your time outside the manor in your old neighborhood. When asked why by Dick and Bruce, your answer is simple; it’s your home. You’re job searching and recovering. Until you have a solid plan, you see no reason to leave your community behind permanently. You weren’t a staple of any sort, but you did have people who relied on you, and people you relied on. You want to keep those relationships intact.
… but it was more than that. You also don’t trust your new family. Your ‘father’ doesn’t seem to have much time for you, and even though Dick seemed to come back to the manor because of you, something seemed… off. Like there was another reason he was there.
The whole family’s secretive, suddenly leaving mid-conversation with poor excuses, all various levels of fit but sleep-deprived. All various levels of genius, but not in a rich people way. In a genuine, high IQ kind of way— although you think that test is kind of bullshit. You noticed Dick’s reflexes have consistently been weirdly fast, which you and he both blamed on his childhood— but then Damian, your younger half-brother, caught a cup that slipped from your fingers in mid-air without looking.
The craziest part is, he caught it a second before you did. An anomaly to him, as your own ability is above average. For a moment, you both stared at each other, unsure of what just happened. And then… he just… stalked off. It seems to be a Damian classic. He’s the only sibling you have blood related to you, but you talk to him the least out of everyone who actively lives at the manor.
Anyway, you definitely didn’t trust them enough to use the manor wifi, so— library computers it was. You searched up every name, did a thorough deep dive into your family. Bruce’s at home personality was such a stark contrast from what was plastered on magazines and newspapers, which all sums up your previous impression of the man you now call your father. There’s even a video of him drunk dancing at the Iceberg Lounge, but you’ve seen the manor’s kitchen— there’s not a drop of alcohol around. Your first assumption would be alcoholism, but you know intimately what that looks like, and so you immediately cross it off of your imaginary list. Your next guess is that this was a one-off incident. He drank a little too much that night, let himself go crazy… but overall, it doesn’t make sense.
Yes, Bruce is the prince of Gotham, and borderline untouchable— but surely your father isn’t that dumb? Besides, he has so many enemies. Sure, he’s done a lot for Gotham, but there will always be someone. And in your research of your father, every fifth article has been about some sort of hostage situation involving him or one of his kids— or a break-in.
So, he might’ve been faking it. But why?
You write this down in your banged-up, sticker covered notebook you’ve had since you went to high school for a single semester of what was supposed to be your freshman year. You decorated it and everything, but it remained mostly empty besides some notes.
Well, at least it’s getting some use now.
You lean back in your chair and stretch, yawning as you glance at the time. You can feel your bones crack, groaning at the relief of pressure. You leave the library with more questions than answers, but… it’s a start.
🦴.
That night, Alfred insists on family dinner— well… dinner of everyone who’s currently taking residence in the house. Apparently you have a sister, a not-sister, and two other brothers that can’t make it. A Jason keeps being mentioned in relation to you, and all you’ve picked up on is that you’re from the same neighborhood. You think Alfred notices how little time you’ve spent with your new father, and he’s hoping to rectify it. However…
…The first ten minutes are spent in painful silence. You sit across from Damian, and both of you sit next to Bruce, who’s at the head of the table. Tim and Dick are the only ones making any noise at the moment— but it’s just the sound of forks scraping plates.
“Wow, she really is his daughter,” Tim whispers dramatically. “She even broods like him.”
“I can hear you,” You say.
“I wasn’t being particularly quiet.” He makes eye contact with you this time, to which you just click your teeth disapprovingly before turning back to your food.
“Don’t scare (Y/N) off,” Dick jokes, “She’s lovely, you’re just hard to warm up to.”
“Of course you’re vouching for her,” Tim scoffs, “Everyone warms up to you. It’s like if the human race were all moths and you were the one campfire in existence.”
“Thank you…” Dick hesitates, squinting, “I think.”
You already took note of the lack of alcohol in the kitchen, but you notice Bruce has no wine with his meal. You decide to take the mental bait, eyebrows raising, “You’re not the kind of guy to have a little something with dinner?”
“I don’t drink.” Bruce answers easily, sipping at his water instead. You feign surprise at the answer, furrowing your brows.
“At home, anyway,” Dick cuts in suddenly, giving Bruce a look, “It’s a recent rule. We have too much blackmail of him.”
Bruce seems to pause, before glancing down at you. You feign confusion, even though it confirms your suspicions. Odd. All of it is so odd.
“I was about to say…” You laugh, “From what I see on the news and everything…”
“His humor is dry,” Tim lazily adds.
“You don’t get what’s rightfully mine just because you’re older than me,” Damian blurts out, grabbing your attention. Maybe it’s a distraction, maybe he’s seriously upset about it— who knows.
‘I’m sorry?” Your head whips over to him, focus zeroing in.
“The fortune. The Wayne name. It’s my rightful claim,” He speaks so matter-of-factly. It feels like he wants to say more, but he holds back. Dick’s eyes narrow like he’s watching the conversation, and you feel… weird. Like your reaction is being gauged.
You take a particularly long time to chew the piece of steak you’d just started on, staring at your plate. Then, after you swallow, you speak.
“Are you done?” You ask, meeting his eyes, “What makes you think I want any of that?” There’s so much vitriol in your tone you surprise everyone in the room, even yourself.
“…Hey, (Y/N),” Dick changed the topic entirely, you glancing over to him, “You really care about your old place, how was it there?”
“Not nice, or anything,” You shrug, “Honestly, I planned on moving out right about…” You try to remember the date, “Two weeks from now, if everything went well. If not, I’d have to wait until I was twenty.”
“That’s a massive gap between narrow windows,” Tim says, “Why would you have to wait?”
“Because my parents would’ve found out,” You state simply.
“Were they not nice people?” He presses.
You scoff, not even sure if you should justify that with a reply, “That’s the understatement of the year.”
The table falls into a small, uncomfortable silence, no one really sure what to say.
“You know, Tim’s parents forgot his birthday once,” Dick unhelpfully tries to dispel the tension, Tim kicking him under the table.
“Dude!” He yells.
“What? I’m just saying, she’s not the only one with bad parents!” Dick waved his hands around to justify himself, frowning.
“Yeah, but mine didn’t go to prison!” Tim retaliates.
“How do you know that?” You halted in action completely, narrowing your eyes as your head whips around.
Tim stares at you, tensing up with a grimace before relaxing. Like he remembers something. Where he is, or something about himself— you don’t know. Maybe he was in martial arts. He’s suddenly got a sort of confidence you don’t like, and it puts you on guard. Maybe he’s just cocky.
“Google. Of course I’m gonna google you,” Tim says, “I’m nosy and you’re new. For all I know you could’ve faked the blood test results—“
“—Why in the ever-loving fuck would I fake results!?” You retaliate, standing from your chair. He does at the same time, Dick rising with his arms outstretched to calm you both— but a look from Bruce has him awkwardly hunched over— not quite standing, not quite sitting.
“Do you think I want to be here? I’m a legal adult. Technically, I could leave at any time—“
“The door’s that way,” Damian grumbles quietly.
“—But I have nothing, and I’m not fucking stupid,” You ignore him, lip curling in disgust. “You’re treating me like I’ve got some sort of ulterior motive, when my fucking home burned down, Tim! Fuck you.”
“—and you!” You turn to face your father, full of rage. “You’ve said nothing, you’ve done nothing. Your butler had to organize this dinner for you to be in the same room as me for longer than fifteen minutes, your sons have been nothing but mean, and you haven’t said. A. Single. Word.”
When the silence stretches on for longer than thirty seconds, you decide to take your leave. You scoot your chair back rather harshly, the sound echoing throughout the hall. You’re shaking, you realize, on the verge of tears as you force yourself to be calm in front of everyone. Bruce can’t even look at you, staring at the table. You hope it’s out of shame.
“Thank you for the dinner, Alfred,” You manage, “It was lovely.”
On the way out, you hear someone’s voice float through the door.
jacobvanloon
kaledo-art
prguitarman
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
