masterlist | this smau includes: roy harper and talia al ghul
!! Lian is five years old for the sake of plot, reader is mentioned to be a maid in Talia’s part, power imbalance is slightly mentioned, angst, couldnt find a name for this one
m. masterlist | clark kent masterlist | wayne!reader
part two for trauma dumping
this was on my drafts, waiting to be finished for so long and i finally found the inspiration and finished it. i have so many scenes on my mind for now. it’s not perfect and it is silly but i love them 😭
It was early when you woke up that day. Your head was dizzy from last night, but you remembered everything. The night. Your birthday. The guests. Bruce leaving without anyone, including you, knowing. Dick being a cutie. Him.
The cute journalist man with strong arms and a muscular chest.
He was a bit blurry in your mind, still, he was all fine.
God, he was so fine that you had to see him again. That Clark Kent man, you just had to.
Your hand caressed the bandage on your hand. He helped and listened to you. Nobody did that, even your friends. They pretended to listen but never cared. Other than that, you were scared that they’d create a scandal out of your words. Anything was possible around you. Bruce hated drama, and you caused too much of it.
You threw the sheets off of you. As you got up, your head started to ache. You cursed yourself for drinking that much. Hungover mornings were harder to cope with, and with your luck, you were sure that your brother was still in the manor, probably having breakfast.
After changing your dress to a more comfortable cloth, you were ready to go upstairs. You looked around in your room. It was one of the biggest bedrooms in the manor. Also, it was one of the furthest rooms from Bruce’s room. You did everything in your power not to meet him. Not that you hated him. It was just anytime you two talked, you ended up in a fight that Alfred had to interrupt and send you both to another room. It was like this ever since you were children. It had been like that when you were still a kid, and he was a teenager, when you were both teenagers, and now, when you were both adults.
He always complained about how you created scandals nonstop. It wasn’t your fault that Gotham followed your ass everywhere. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t known as a Playboy. You weren’t sure why it was a problem when you were the one who did it.
As you anticipated, he was at the breakfast table, eating without making a sound. He was so organized that he always followed his schedule— even for eating, which was weird to you. He sometimes felt like a machine. You were suspicious that he had been (somehow) turned into a robot when he was away. You were messy, he was tidy. Even though siblings, you two were far away from each other.
Bruce didn’t look at you as he said, “Good morning.” He continued eating as you sat on the chair you usually did. Something so close to a “morning” came out of your mouth. Bruce pushed the jug of water toward you. You filled a glass with water and drank most of it.
“Where’s Dick?”
“Upstairs. He should be here with Alfred.”
“He’s skipping school.” You said the obvious. Bruce stopped waiting for a second, thinking about what you said. And then continued to eat his meal.
“I am aware.”
That was it? He took a kid as a ward and took care of him like this? Your brother was such a dick, and no one in the media would believe you if you said this to them. There was a time when you said that “he was such a whore” in a drunken situation, and you were harassed in the media for months. Sometimes, hate pages still talked about it.
“You know that he’s a kid, right?”
“What do you mean?” Bruce stopped eating and looked at you.
“Are you unconnected with this world, Bruce? He needs school, friends, playing outside… He just started to talk, do you want to ruin it?”
“Hearing these words from someone who got drunk and embarrassed herself is such an honor.”
Your cheeks burned as you turned your head to your breakfast. You didn’t say anything, but you heard Alfred’s careful voice that always came when you two were fighting. “Master Bruce!” He didn’t shout, he just warned. “Stop acting like children, you two.”
He helped Dick sit on his chair. The kid was smiling, and he was shining like the sun. “Good morning!” he nearly shouted. You winced as your headache grew, but still you pulled a smile that tried to reach your eyes.
“Morning, chum.”
“Bruce, are we gonna train like acrobats this weekend?”
You were confused. You had a whole schedule for the weekend with Dick, and you planned everything. You were going to take him shopping to buy toys, maybe some clothes that he liked, and then to the cinema to watch the upcoming kids movie, and then you’d go to the amusement park where both of you would have fun.
Seems like he forgot.
“Dickie, I thought we were going to hang out this weekend.”
All of them looked at you, movements still. Bruce, once again, stopped eating, and Alfred’s hands stopped pouring the apple juice for the kid.
“Oh,” Dick said. He started thinking. He looked at Bruce, who turned his head to an empty place to overthink. “Can we rain check, Y/N? I am so excited to train with Bruce.”
Of course, he didn’t mean any harm. He was a kid. You wanted the best for him. He, finally, felt safe in this manor. It shouldn’t have bothered you. But why did it?
“Of course. Maybe next weekend. Why not..”
You didn’t listen to the next sentences, and the other next ones. You just ate in silence. Alfred poured you a cup of tea, saying that it would help your headache. You thanked him and took your tea. Your chair made a grimacing sound when you pushed it back to get up.
“Miss, you haven’t even eaten.”
“I’m full.”
You didn’t want to give the old man the cold shoulder, but you couldn't help yourself as you climbed the stairs up to your room. On your way, you sipped your tea; it was delicious. The moment you entered your room, you put the cup somewhere (you would forget about it in a second, and it would go cold). As always, you felt stressed, so you started picking clothes, trying them on, and throwing them somewhere else. After picking the outfit of the day, which was a mini skirt and a blouse, both of which you didn’t even know you bought, you picked nail polish (which was harder than your outfit somehow). And after everything was ready to be worn, you decided to hop into the bathtub that you filled while choosing your outfit.
The moment your body touched the hot water, you felt your muscles relax. The bubbles hugged your body and hid it under the water. As your body sank into the water, your mind drifted to the man once again. He was blurry in your mind, but you remembered his voice crystal clear. He sounded so fine. And he was so nice to you. God, how could you even forget someone like him? Impossible.
You wanted to see him again…
And since your weekend was free now, why not?
With sudden joy filling your body, you got up and cleaned yourself. With a robe around your body, you grabbed your laptop and lay on your bed. With a smile only a high school girl could have, you typed his name on browser. Clark Kent. A few gazette news that he must have written appeared in front of you, but before diving into them, you entered his LinkedIn account.
He was working at the Daily Planet, Metropolis. He was as old as your brother. He always shared his works here, too. You checked the titles of the articles. Most of them were about Superman. He must be a fan. He even managed to pull an interview from him. There were some about Metropolis, such as the demolition of a natural park to build a hotel that was pursued by Lex Luthor, the elections, zoos… And then, there were some about Bruce Wayne.
“Bruce Wayne Donates Billions of Dollars to Orphanages” , “Bruce Wayne Established Women Shelthers in Gotham” , “Bruce Wayne—”
You scrolled. Never about the drama…
And there was only one about you. “Young Miss Wayne Gets Harassed on Social Media”
Ugh, why did he choose to write about this?
You opened the article. It was from the magazine articles of the gazettes, the ones they put to make the sales improve (and it does)... You didn’t take him as someone who had written for magazine papers, but here you were.
The article opened with a photo of you, taken at a Wayne Gala. You liked this photo of you. Your black dress emphasized your breasts the way you wanted them to. It was a long dress, but the way it hugged your body… You had never seen the dress again, though.
“Young Miss Wayne Gets Harassed on Social Media,
According to the media, after an interview with the Paparazzi, Miss Wayne told unspeakable words about his brother, Bruce Wayne. People expected her to apologize to her brother, but she never talked about it again. After a while, Bruce Wayne—”
You stopped reading after that moment. He was going to say that Bruce Wayne came up and told the audience that it was a sibling joke between them. You two never talked about this, but you knew that he was mad about all of this.
And you had no absolute idea why Clark Kent would write this? No news worthy. Seemed like a filler article to you.
“This is bullshit.” But you were gonna see him anyway.
You closed the laptop and started to get dressed for your little trip to Metropolis. You decided to have your nails done in Metropolis, since it would give you more reasons to pass the day there. Dressing up, you completed your outfit with a faux fur coat. Your makeup looked so amazing that even though you didn’t have any plans, you would go out.
After preparing a small suitcase for the weekend, you went out of your room to find Alfred. You were sure that he was in the kitchen (and he was). He seemed to be preparing dinner.
“Miss Y/N,” He said, “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes, Alfred. Can you have someone to be my chauffeur?”
As always, he didn’t question you. “Of course,”
And like that, you were out of the manor.
Metropolis was warm, sunny, and full of enthusiastic people. So, unlike Gotham. But you, still, could hardly imagine living out of Gotham. Guess that was one of the many common features you shared with your brother.
You easily found a hotel to stay, had your nails done, and were on your way to Daily Planet. You knew your charms and name had you easily get into places and Daily Planet was one of them.
“I wanted to see Clark Kent,” you said to one of the secretaries. She looked at you with wide eyes and then nodded. As you followed her, you looked everywhere and at everyone. They seemed to be curious about why a deadly rich person who ran away from interviews all the time was here. You loved curious eyes, especially when they were right on you.
“Clark,” The secretary called. You saw him right there and then. How could you not see him? His massive body was screaming for people to realize. He fixed his glasses and looked at you.
“Miss Wayne?”
“Hi, Mister Kent.” You waved your hand at him. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”
You saw him gulp down. He nodded, “Of course,” he said. “Come with me.”
He led you to an office that was empty. You figured it was for meetings. He showed an empty chair, and also pulled it for you. “Thank you,” you said. He was such a gentleman. “You can sit, too. I don’t bite.”
“Uhh,” he was so awkward. Cute. “Okay.” He sat on the opposite side, maybe to face you or maybe he saw it as more professional, you couldn’t say.
“I wanted to thank you for yesterday.” You held out your hand to show the bandages. “You were so polite and didn’t cross any border. And I wanted to thank you properly… Because nobody would have done that. In fact, I would have been on the newspapers and magazine covers, not for my beauty but for my stupid, drunk self.”
“I… You’re welcome. It was the right thing to do.”
He was sincere, and so were you. You meant every word. You weren’t here just because you thought he was cute and all; you also felt in debt.
“I would like to have an interview with you, if that’s possible.”
He looked perplexed by your proposal, and he started coughing. You pushed a water bottle that was standing on the table towards him. He took it and drank three huge sips. “Thanks,” he said, putting the bottle on the table. “It’s really nice of you, but you don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I want to.” You smiled at him. “But, unfortunately, I don’t know when I will be free.”
“Here,” he pulled a card from his pocket and gave it to you. It had his photo, his name, his number, and e-mail… “You can use this to contact me. And it is okay if you decide not to do it.”
“Thanks, Mister Kent, but I am one hundred percent sure that I want you to interview me. Come with hard questions. I like a challenge.” You winked at him and saw the redness on his cheeks. “Now, if you allow me… I have a spa session in an hour.”
“Of course,” He got up. “Thanks for this opportunity. I know that it will have so many reactions.”
“I merely hope people won’t confuse you with a Paparazzi.” You laughed. “Bruce always says I lack the seriousness of our family because of that.” You were doing it again… You hoped this interview wouldn’t be as traumatic as yesterday. “Anyways, thank you again, Mister Kent. I will contact you. It's a date."
With that, you left the room. When you opened the door, many people were waiting and looking at the room, as if it were explosive. You smiled at them as you kept walking.
You were so excited for that interview.
The card inside your palm made your whole arm tingle. You had his number, and he was the one to give it to you. You didn’t do a deep search, you didn’t have to arrange someone to get his number or e-mail (not that you’d do it, but…) You implied, and he gave it.
