#neglected!reader

[starvales]

salted pretzels

batfamily and de-aged!estranged!batsib (platonic)

summary: “You have reached Wayne manor. Who may be calling?” “Alfred? It's me. Can you come pick me up, please? I’ve been de-aged.”

or: batsib gets de-aged and doesn’t know what to do with their family’s meagre attempts to form a bond.

contents: crack turned serious, concept fic, angst, de-aged!batsib, batsib is gender neutral, reader is 23-ish in present-self, sassy batsib apocalypse, highly intelligent batsib, dialogue-heavy, teacher!reader, no beta we die like batsib’s interest in being involved with the batfam.

a/n: this is a concept fic, meaning i might expand on this or i might not touch this at all, so please don't get your hopes up for a part two 💀💀

word count: 2.3k

"Watch out! There's a banana peel on the floor!"

"Huh? Why would there be a—" Slip. "W-Woah!"

As if the world slowed down, you observe, frame by frame, as the liquid of a beaker comes hurtling towards your face. It's a dazzling, deep shade of purple, and bubbling.

Gods above, why is it bubbling?

You do not know what could possibly be in this mystery concoction your less-than-stellar student has attempted to secretly dispose of behind your back, or how he did it without you noticing. It's commendable, you'll give him that, but you also would have thought that university students would have more common sense by now.

You can dodge this, just a half-step to the right.

But there's another student adjacent to you.

If you dodge this, they'll get hit instead.

Upon that realisation, you sigh, close your eyes, and brace.

Of course this happens to you on a Tuesday morning.

Splash.

Floating. Drifting. Drowning. Somewhere in between.

At first, you find that you’re almost ten years into the future.

Although, this was quickly proven wrong when you ran tests. Apparently, according to a quick google search, you’re supposed to be twenty-three years old. You’re not in the future. You’re in the present, just not... your present.

10/10 explanation. No notes!

You didn't time travel, you’ve been de-aged. (Supposedly)

ring ring ring

“You have reached Wayne manor. Who may be calling?”

“Alfred? It's me. Can you come pick me up, please? I’ve been de-aged.”

And it’s nauseating how fast everything seems to be going from there, because you suddenly become everything and anything negative in such a short amount of time.

You’re dizzy. You’re confused.

You were in a laboratory, belonging to Gotham University. You were in an office. (Your office! Isn’t that exciting?). You were in a car, courtesy of Alfred.

And now you're in a cave.

You're in the Batcave.

The very last place you would ever want to find yourself in. Though, you suppose you don’t have much of a choice.

“We need to make sure that this calls for the de-ageing protocol, or if the past and present versions have switched places."

"If it is the latter, then we risk the integrity of the timeline. They need to be monitored.”

"The tech we normally use is to confirm a situation like this is being updated by Cyborg, he said we won't get it back until next week."

Even when you stand here, clothes a little too baggy, and wearing a face far too young than what it's supposed to be, even then, they are talking as if you are not there.

"Maybe we can contact a speedster to confirm?"

"Last time we relied on a Flash, they ate our entire pantry."

"Wally even ate my limited edition cheerios, the one with chocolate, marshmallows, and sprinkles. I had that imported!"

None of them are even looking at you anymore and the conversation is being steered to something different altogether. They don't care, not really. It is a little disappointing, but you did not expect anything less from them.

Typical, really.

“It’s the former," you chime, your voice cutting all chatter. Everybody is staring at you now. Good. Maybe some progress will actually be made today.

“How are you so sure?” Bruce asks, taking the time to actually look at you now. It's weird having his attention, you think.

After years of yearning for it, begging for a glance, you feel nothing short of indifference. Nonetheless, that doesn’t cover the fact that he sounds doubtful of your declaration. Because why would you, the civilian, know anything?

“I collected a sample of the leftover substance I was hit with and analysed it during the time it took for Alfred to arrive." You fish out an eppendorf tube from your pocket, filled with what substance you could salvage from the scene.

"Judging by the results, it seemed that it had residual magic properties that match similar cases of de-ageing, rather than those of time travel.”

The cave is so silent that a distant squeak from a bat echoes around you, but still, you plough through.

“As a result of being raised in a house where one of the two adults dress like a bat at night and has clinical paranoia, I had guessed that my ‘present’ self had protocols put in place if an event such as this one were to occur.”

Someone whistles lowly. “I don't remember you being a nerd before I died.”

Your eye twitches.

Jason Todd-Wayne, for you, died almost a year and a half ago. Instead of in a casket, he's leaning against the meeting table, arms crossed, and you can tell that he's much taller now. Shorter than Bruce but beats Dick by at least two inches. According to the files, he should be around twenty-four now, give or take.

You're happy for him, truly. He did not deserve the death that had befallen him. But, it would be too far to say that you liked him, let alone miss him.

How do you miss someone you didn’t know?

The thought alone leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. Maybe that's why you couldn't stop yourself from blurting out something you wouldn't normally say out loud.

“Hello, Jason. Alfred has already informed me of your reanimation. You talk an awful lot for a zombie.”

You will be the bigger person and admit that what you said is most likely uncalled for, but nothing could stop the sick satisfaction that fills your chest at the way he almost snarls at you.

Just like a rabid dog.

His resurrection must be a sore spot, you snicker to yourself.

“Lotta mouth on you for being a middle schooler—”

“What does your protocol state?” Bruce, seemingly dismissing Jason's outburst, instead raised a brow.

"Three things." You shrug, unperturbed. "One, confirm that this is a time-body swap or a de-ageing. Two, confirm whether the de-ageing is temporary. Three, confirm if the age I have turned is that of a child or adult. Given the circumstances, protocol stated to contact the Wayne manor and hope for the best.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeahhh, it got sloppy at the end but that’s mostly because present-me didn’t think this would actually happen to us.”

When the bell signals for the end of the school day, Damian is notified of your presence and your circumstance by Alfred on the drive back to the manor.

He would not be the blood son of the 'World's Greatest Detective' if he were to say that he wasn't curious about you.

You, who had next to no portraits on the walls. The only ones being of you holding your degrees and a polite smile. All of which are contained in a measly frame atop an antique ornament table at the end of the corridor.

You, who supposedly packed up everything they owned and moved out at eighteen, a year before he arrived.

You, who no longer has an assigned bedroom at the manor.

He's done research about you before.

You are single. Graduated with first class honours in all your degrees. You live in a studio apartment, despite being a lecturer and research scientist at Gotham University, and could definitely afford something more substantial. You tutor snotty Gotham Academy students on Saturdays. You are older than Drake but younger than Todd, and have lived in the manor the longest amongst the siblings, up until you moved out. You are allergic to paracetamol and strawberries. Your mother is dead.

But those are all mindless, meaningless things, things you can look up on the internet or from the latest gossip magazines (though the word ‘latest’ was a stretch, Damian thinks, seeing as the most recent magazine of you dates to before your leaving).

He knocks twice at the door. Sharp. Precise.

“Enter.”

Damian had been informed that this office used to belong to you, way back then. An office on the top floor that overlooked the garden.

Despite knowing that, when you glance up from the sprawl of pages across the long oak desk, Damian deems it far too large for somebody of your stature. Somebody of your age. His age. No matter what de-ageing situation has befallen you.

“Damian, right?”

The room is dusty from years of disuse. Even Pennyworth knows it is pointless to constantly maintain a room nobody will occupy.

“Correct.”

The shelves are lined with scripture and history. Books are even stacked on top of each other as a result of there being no more room, piles that almost reach his own height.

“Do you need something?”

Damian glances at the untouched dinner placed carefully at the edge of the desk. It is bound to be cold now.

“Why do you insist on acting like an outsider?” He is quick. Straight to the point. Efficient.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” You tilt your head to the side. You're not offended, it seems.

It's nice to know that you are not overly sensitive compared to the other emotionally driven residents of the manor.

“You are a child of this manor, yet, why do you go to such lengths to not appear as such?” There is no accusation, just interest. After all, Robin is no less a detective than Batman. He craves knowledge.

“It’s best to ask the older version of myself, Damian. What they believe and what I believe could be different.” Honest. Lackadaisical.

“What is it that you believe, then?” He prods.

“I believe that I am not a child of this manor. I am nobody’s child. I do not act like an outsider. I am an outsider. Simple as that.”

Damian does not have a reply to that. He let's the information stew in his head for a second while also asking himself questions.

Why are you dismissing his connection with you? You, his older sibling, denying your link that ties you to him. How long have you had this mindset that you do not belong here? "Father loves you, so why is it that—"

It is at that moment where it all changes.

When you change.

It's abrupt and unexpected.

Because you're laughing.

Loudly. Unabashed. Uncaring.

Damian watches your lips curl upwards. A smile so cruel and so cold does not belong on the face of a teenager. Did he once look like that when he first arrived?

“Pfft— Damian, you cannot possibly believe that Bruce loves me like everybody else in this manor.” Your laugh is empty, as if incredulous to the very concept of such a thing. It almost sends a shiver down Damian's spine.

You practically read his mind like a book. How did you know what he was thinking? Had he asked that last thought out loud?

"You bear Father’s crest, his name. That should be enough proof." Damian sputters.

"What are you talking about, Damian? Being Bruce's son, I thought you would have read my file already?" Genuine confusion.

“I have.” He has. He's read anything and everything he could about you.

“Then you should know that Bruce didn't formally adopt me, and after reading articles about my present-self, it seems that he never did.”

Oh. He had overlooked that. Like a rookie, he assumed. But Father was so quick to give Damian his surname, has Father never offered you the same? He has formally adopted every one of Damian's siblings, all of them hyphenating their former surnames with Wayne.

Why not you?

Maybe because of his baffled expression, your face finally softens again. "I watched some videos of myself earlier, of interviews and speeches. I look… satisfied. It’s nice to know that I didn’t end up dead in a ditch, or in Metropolis." You say gently, rounding the corner of the desk, and now standing in front of him.

"Damian."

He looks at you. You're the same height as he is. The same age. It was like looking into a mirror.

Yet, why do you feel so far away?

"Don't dwell on things that are out of your control. It seems to me that I've made my peace with it years ago."

And with that finishing statement, he can tell that he is being politely asked to leave.

[ EXTRA ]

You're curious about Damian. You can see Bruce in the way Damian holds himself, the way he walks, his inflection, even his eyebrows.

You've done brief research into his character. Talia al Ghul's lab grown child. Raised within the League of Assassins. Raised to be an assassin. Kept a secret from Bruce until Talia brought Damian to the manor at ten years old. A year after present-you left.

He is now Robin.

Judging by the reports and security footage, Damian is brash, and is quick to threaten violence, especially towards Tim. He does not call anybody by their first name, most likely to put emotional distance between himself and others. He is spoiled relentlessly by Dick. He is frustrated, more often than not. He is overconfident. He views everything as a competition. He smirks. He scoffs. He jeers.

But, he is kind, in a complicated sort of way.

He is vegetarian because he cares and loves any and all animals. He enjoys and appreciates the arts, and is willing to discuss its portrayal and meaning. He helps Alfred in the garden, occasionally. He aids his classmates that do not understand the material. He likes reading manga and comics. He is patient. He does not judge without reason. He does not underestimate.

Damian is not perfect by any means, but he... he is willing to learn, and you respect that.

You wonder if he would be interested in having your collection of manga you no longer read.

[glazed-ink-well]

Legally A Wayne

Lawyer Y/N

The start | Next

Growing up in Gotham was as well as any dumpster fire could go. The manor was just as cold as it looked on the outside. No matter how many fires were set in each room, there was still a chill in the Manor. To a lone child it made it all the more freezing

If you think about your mother and the chill air in manor for more than a second. All you can feel is anger for being placed in this fucked up home.

Alfred was enough, but you still felt the professional distance that he had with you.

"You know this would be so much easier if you didn't take such good care of me Alfred" you glared at the kitchen door that Bruce had taken his breakfast through. "Pardon, Young Miss/Master?" Alfred turned to you with a fresh tray of scones. "Nothing Alfred, I was mentioning something about my debate and lacrosse matches, no worries if you cannot attend." Grabbed a fresh blueberry scone, scalding your hand but you paid it no mind with a scowl. "I'm able to attend those events, clotted cream?" Alfred placed an array of sauces. You grinned.

You spent the most time out of the manor in dorms of prestigious schools that you researched and thought would give you a jumpstart in life something to achieve that would be yours and not tied to the Wayne name.

At 18 y/o, you don't really remember if Bruce or Alfred told you that you were going to have a sibling, all you remember is coming home and seeing a boy 5 years younger than you, very sad and angry 13 year old Dick Grayson. A heads up would've been nice

On a different visit, there came Jason. The family was pretty tight lipped about each adoption, but that didn't really affect you in any significant way. Jason did trip up once in a while when talking to you, it was amusing in a way.

You really only met Dick and Jason on holidays where you absolutely couldn't be at the dorm. They're little kids compared to you, but you did give into their requests to talk and play on occasions. Those request lessen with time. 

You really only came back to get funding for school. But every time you did, the manor had seemed all the much warmer, even Alfred seemed to warm up to his new wards.

Standing in the foyer covered in snow, holding a suitcase for your holiday stay. You could hear laughter in the house and actually feel the warmth in the air. Did they finally install updated electric heater in here?

"Are you alright Young Master/Miss" Alfred taking your coat. His tone is different than what you were used to, affectionate. You smiled without any emotion

"Of course, why wouldn't I be" You straighten your back and squared your shoulders, and walked up the stairs to a room you claimed as yours.

You're angry, you have been for a long time. At Bruce, at Gotham, every attachment you formed in that god forsaken manor all turned sour. Why the fuck did they get to have Bruce look at them the way he does... It's not like it matters to you anymore.

Just because this man had the genetic key, the money, and the means; he has to take care of a charity case, he clearly didn't have the emotional capacity for? Reader can't even claim child neglect because Alfred is right there. And just fucking great, there's another one. Great fucking job Bruce.

You knew that Dick was just as angry as you and he was a liar when he said he wasn't. And because you knew he was a liar he hated you for it. But you didn't know how to help another drowning kid so you planned to drown in a different area than him.

Dick and Jason hated that you didn't have any whimsy of any kind and found you ungrateful. Your life was just fine before you came to this shit museum they called home. You and Dick know what was traded in order to be standing in this vast Manor, and yet he claims to be content with this new life.

You did honestly try to connect with the boys, but the difference was too vast. Strangers passing in the halls, it was practically a dorm already. Dick had his chin held too high and Jason's bright demeanor and devotion was your complete polar opposite

You always thought that Jason never deserved to end the way he did… a delicate vase filled with white roses and lilies sits on a grave too small; changed from time to time.

Bruce and Dick must think that you are absolutely cripplingly stupid if they thought that you wouldn't know what they do at night, and frankly you'd have been insulted and pushed the both of them down the stairs if you cared enough.

It shouldn't take a genius to decipher their strange habits and behaviors… but who cares. Certainly not you.

Choosing a path to dedicate your life to was hard, but why not do something that is an abundance in this shit city. 

You dabbled in some college classes not really committing to anything, but you remembered a great man. One of Bruce's friends that you thought truly cared about you. You haven't seen him in a while, but you hope that he's doing okay. You think he's busy at work or something, you can't really recall Bruce and Harvey being the types to share lunch without Alfred mentioning it offhandedly. Hm weird, you gotta see if he's doing alright soon.

Regardless, the idea struck you, a lawyer. You could be a lawyer, and a good one. With a goal in mind you set out to study for the LSATS and anything that could get you to Harvey Dent's level, an angel.

Pursuing a law degree at Gotham University had been a bout of fresh air amongst the smell of rotting flowers, but it wasn't easy. There's so many choices: entertainment, copyright and contract lawyers, family lawyers, public defence, criminal, immigration, corporate, divorce, there were so many to choose from.

Life had just seemed to open up away from that miserable manor, getting to know the people on campus, your professors, and the Gothamites that wander on campus. You finally knew that there was a brighter world in this city, and you grew to love Gotham and its people.

The apartment flat dorm was an amazing breather filled with three roommates that you would come to know as close friends and consider your family.The two guys and girl roommates that you had were hilarious, and got up to so many shenanigans.

Cooking was something that none of you really considered so after many youtube videos, presentations, and getting to know each other's food preferences over the week, it was decided that group shopping was a must. It also didn't help seeing that only half of you had a meal plan to eat at the dorm cafeteria, so there was that.

The classes you had were easy enough, bullshit but interesting classes that had nothing to do with being a lawyer, but everything to do with being a person and a student.

Life continued to be good as long as you weren't home. University was an oasis filled with love and color despite Gotham, you didn't want to leave it to go back home to the manor. The absence and disinterest of Bruce didn't hurt as much as it did when you were a kid, and it didn't fill you with as much hatred as it did when you were a teenager; it just felt hollow and uncomfortable. You didn't hate it, it was just uncomfortable, you swear that you didn't hate it. It just sucked being there, you absolutely swear that you didn't hate the manor or Bruce, Alfred, or any of the new kids that you see everywhere on the news and your phone…

…Who were you kidding? Of course you hated everyone at that Manor. They left you alone in this world, this city, with no one to turn to or ask for help. Do they even talk about you? Do they know you exist? Of course you were able to figure out how to live and apply yourself to life, college, and your goals. You had to, all by yourself with no help whatsoever from the Wayne family

Not one of your friends thought to ask you more detail about your family, they knew that you didn't like talking about them when you never said it. All they knew was that you were pretty well off with a wealthy family background in Gotham. And that's how it remained, and it wasn't until your 3rd year in University when it all came to a head.

The week before Christmas you asked to be able to stay on campus for the holidays ever since you came to University, claiming that classes were starting to pick up and you needed the library and constant internet access. You didn't really need the excuses, just talking with your RA and filling out an application on the university dorm's website would have been sufficient, but you wanted to be safe rather than sorry. You were gonna be a lawyer, sue you. 

You'll fill Alfred in later, you deserve a nice long break from school. It's not like he reaches out to you without you texting first...

You stayed in your dorm flat, enjoying and fearing the new found freedom you had. You didn't have to go back to Wayne manor anymore… you didn't have to go back to Wayne manor anymore… Why didn't that make you happy? And why did nothing feel real? You had all of the things that mattered to you here, so didn't you technically not have a home? Was that ever a home to you? You just ruined your own mood, but nothing like driving around to cafes and reading up on recent lawsuits that the city has going against various superheroes and their villain counterparts.

Having a good drink and a sweet treat was bound to improve your mood and coming out of the cafe back to the street and the bustling city helped until you heard screaming.

A building had exploded in downtown Gotham, villains never attacked during this time a day much less this part of Gotham? Your mind thought a million things, but more screaming filled the air urging your body to run away from danger until you saw a lone little girl pulling at her mothers hand.

You urged your body to run towards them, helping the lady from the concrete slab she was trapped under with all the strength you could muster, and helping her onto your back with the little girl in tow. And there you saw an elderly couple falling over themselves trying to get the man back into his wheelchair, you hurried and ran to the cafe you were at and deposited the mother and daughter there and asked the staff to watch after them. Running back to the elderly couple throwing the elderly woman onto your back and another person helped you  wheel the elderly man back to the cafe where there were more people collecting. You waved at the staff again and headed back out to the dust. It was stupid and reckless but you just needed to know if there was anyone else trapped.

As you walked through the dust and smoke with the sound of buildings still collapsing, there was a small clearing where you saw closest to you the back of the Joker and him holding someone hostage. A bit further you saw Batman and Robin at a stalemate, henchmen laying all about the ground, and by your foot there was a giant rock. You slowly picked it up and crept towards them in the dust, and with Joker monologuing it made it all the more easier to get closer. You lifted up the rock and brought it down on the back of the Joker's head, grabbing the hostage's arm as the Joker crumpled down and running with the hostage into the smoke in the direction of the cafe away from the costumed freaks. You didn't look back.

Getting closer to the cafe, you could see a police line and emergency vehicles waiting. Relief filled your body, as you and the man stopped running with safety in view. You can feel the dust in your mouth, eyes, and lungs but you were alive. There was a group of guys calling out to the man beside you behind the police tape. He smiled back at you and took off into a jog to them, but there was another explosion and you felt your body moving towards him. Above more debris fell, you didn't know why you had to shove him but you did, and then everything went black.

You woke up in the hospital a few days later on Christmas day, alone and hurting. A couple of broken ribs, collapsed and dust filled lungs, and a killer concussion. You were dug up by the hostage guy and his group of friends with the help of police. You were happy the guy was still alive, but pissed that you were here because of it. This city was a fucking looney bin. The nurse informed you that you didn't have a wallet and your phone was fucked all to hell, so there was that. You closed your eyes again, losing yourself to the void of sleep.

A couple days later you were discharged, you used the hospital phone to tell your roommates what happened and why you weren't back home yet. You provided a mailing address to your school mailroom and other healthcare details to the hospital, leaving emergency contacts blank. Your roommates all came to pick you up and took you back downtown to get your car. Your car on campus was fine, thank fuck. Got a used phone from a friend and began the process of getting new IDs, but first you should call Alfred.

You called him, but he didn't pick up. You called a fourth time, and he finally picks up. "Hello Alfred?" your face scrunches up and your friends pull up right next to your car a little too fast for your ribs.

"Oh Young Miss/Master, I was wondering when you'd be calling. You missed Christmas." He sounded miffed which kind of pissed you off considering the week you had.

"Yeah, I was a little busy-" he cuts you off

"Too busy to come back on Christmas? Do you understand how hard it is to get everyone in this house sitting in one place for hours at a time? And you missed it, all for your wallet to end up being handed to me by the police?! What have you been getting into that you would have the police coming to the manor hm?" Okay, wow what the fuck. You felt a little guilty not putting Alfred down as an emergency contact, but now you had second thoughts.

Alfred never used to scold you, sure he was critical of the things you did giving you a learned helplessness complex, but he was never one to raise his voice at you. Your friends could even hear him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, "You ever been crushed by a building, Alfred?"

"What are you-"

"I asked if you've ever been crushed by a building Alfred."

"...No, I'm afraid not recently, Young Miss/Master."

"... Keep the fucking wallet, Alfred."

"Now, Young Miss/Master, lets not be-" You hang up the phone.

The air in the car is tense. You get out of the car, at least try to, the girl roommate helps you out and into the passenger side of your car and starts to drive you back to the dorm before you stop her.

"Let's sell this shit." It was a luxury car, enough to get another year and a half, but you bluffed your way into selling it for enough to get your bachelors in law. It was custom and your baby, but it had served you well. Food was taken care of already by your meal plan, if your budgeting was the same next year. After years of neglect, and just the right person to give the last push was all you needed. And all you need to do now is dismantle yourself from the Wayne family further.

You got home with everyone in one vehicle after selling your car. Your roommates were at least considerate that you didn't want to talk, so you all sat in the living room with the TV on, and there you saw it. The Wayne family's newest portrait that was two stories tall, something that Brucie Wayne commissioned and was showing off to the press. You thought that the painting could fit on the velvet draped wall going up the massive staircase, maybe even the library, one of them at least. And you could see that you weren't on it. You really weren't a Wayne, were you ever? No texts, no calls, nothing.

"Oh… that's what he was talking about." You started to cry. Your roommates surrounded you, not really knowing the reason why, but their warmth soothed and broke your heart.

You sobbed for a good half an hour before you started to tell them who your family was, what led you here, and that damn painting that the family was so proud of enough to show for a news segment. Excluding the family's extra curricular activities, of course. It turned into a cathartic and emotional bonding session with the four of you, and you supported each other growing closer than you had ever been. They knew who you were, who you are, and what it took to become you.

This was a new life, and you were gonna treat it as such, but you weren't gonna squander the things that helped you in the past. Your phone bill and coverage was automated under Bruce, and he did not give a shit about managing what was coming out of his account to you so you absolutely didn't mind letting him continue to pay for the automatic and still linked stuff. Streaming services especially. But other than that you're on your own.

Your friends had to teach you certain things like bus routes, credit card limits and credit, and services to help with welfare. They drove you places to get your name changed to your mother's maiden name, creating a new bank account, job interviews, and internships.

Just like that your school life passed by, you struggled for sure, but you wanted this. You were damaged but happy. You passed your classes with flying colors, earning scholarships and grants furthering yourself into your law education. Generous donors like Lex Corp., Queen Industries, and Big Bellies Burger.

Seven years later, passing the Bar Exam and other exams, licensing tests, and your right in the middle of your internship at a big law firm thanks to one of your many friendly connections that you made in Gotham Academy.

There was little to no praise nor thanks in work, but given that people have problems and you've made it your career in dealing with their problems

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A/N: Maybe I'll add another after some more rough drafts, but for now it's ok. Thanks for reading

[nyniiiii]

Sweet Thing, Lost Cause (LMG)

★ Wayne!Reader

Part 1 (here!) Part 2

CW: A lil touchy at the start with a stranger, hints to a troubled past (please let me know if there’s anything else I should include if there is any)

You’ve never fit the Bat mold, too drawn to the glow of Gotham to live in its shadows. But one reckless choice drags you back into their world, where every glance dares you to prove you’re more than the socialite they’ve believe you are

A/N: Helloooo, there’s a longer note at the end that explains a bit more of what’s going on. This was the fic I was talking about out here when procrastinating the pt 2 of the Roy fic :P. I stayed up all night to finish this instead of studying 💗. That being said, I’m gonna be MIA for the next few weeks to get through my midterms. I get a week off at the end of October so I’ll make sure to spend a day just writing :)

This is 1 of 2 versions of Wayne!Reader. This one is version where she wants nothing to do with the hero life but the mask follows her. Anywhooo, enjoy!

———————————————————————

You’d always been more of a Wayne than a Bat.

Your brothers never let you forget it. They wore the masks, the mission, the unspoken burden of being Batman’s soldiers like a second skin. Meanwhile, you wore pearls, practiced smiles, and a laugh that sounded better at galas than on rooftops. 

You and your family lived in completely different worlds, with each side using the other as a means to an end. Both crafted to reflect your father’s confusing makeup of an identity. Only yours felt like the one your father looked past.

It didn’t help that the only time you ever felt close to your father was when he was playing someone else. When he was Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s playboy billionaire, the man who could shake hands, flash cameras a grin, and pretend to belong to the world he’d built a fortress against. 

That version of him was the only one you knew how to talk to. You never found a way to reach the man behind the mask, and he never seemed interested in showing you. 

That hollow truth sat heavy in your chest, and every time the cape came first, it reminded you that even your best smiles couldn’t make you feel like you belonged in the their family. Make you belong with The Bats.

Your family saw you as spoiled, too much of a socialite to be taken seriously. They weren’t entirely wrong.

You lived for the banquets, spending your dad’s money, the dizzy blur of Gotham nightlife— it was easy to vanish in that world, easier than trying to keep pace with heroes who measured worth in bruises and broken bones. 

Though there was your occasional reminiscing on how you used to be close, how you used to put on your own tiny mask and trail after them like they were the only source of light through Gotham’s smog.

But that was before. Before Jason died, and before they sent you away.

You told yourself you didn’t want that life anyway. You told yourself you only wanted Gotham on your terms, not the team missions, not the world-saving. Just your city, your rules.

So here you were, proving the point.

The club was pulsing around you, sweat and neon dripping down the walls, bass rattling through your ribs like a second heartbeat. You weren’t the Bats daughter tonight, not the polished darling Wayne who smiled too bright for cameras. 

You were just another body on the floor, letting an older stranger’s hand rest heavy on your waist, his grin promising exactly the kind of trouble you craved. 

You felt extra bold tonight with your dad out of Gotham, both he and Alfred gone for the weekend doing something that they didn’t bother to tell you about.

Whatever, like you’d care either way. This just meant you could party in the city and not worry about fucking Batman dropping down at the club entrance to drag your ass home.

Sneaking out was second nature to you at this point out. They may play you as a stuck-up, stupid socialite, but you had to have skill to actually get away with all you did.

A simple footage loop of the surveillance tapes from last week, and bam! It'll seem like you were in your bedroom the whoooole night.

Youve used this trick at least five hundred times. It got to the point where you genuinely wondered if your family knew and just didn’t give a shit.

But no, you soon realized they simply didnt bothered because they never expected anything from you.

They never considered you capable of anything but acting like Regina George. Even Alfred who you spent the most time with, hadn’t even put the effort to at least dust the security cameras in the hall down to your room.

So when you threw your fit about some girl drama, they believed you and your dramatics without batting an eye. More than happy to have you be sulking while online shopping alone in your room, and nothing more.

HA. As if you’d throw away being completely unsupervised on a Friday night.

You’re brought back to the momet when the guy presses closer. His cologne burned your nose, but you didn’t pull away. You laughed, as he turns you around and goes to kiss at your neck. 

Sighing into the touch, you let him grip your hand to tip your drink into your mouth, letting the burn of liquor convince you this was exactly what you wanted.

You loved that burn. The buzz it left you with when you lost yourself like this. 

You hum swaying your hips to the song letting whatever this guys name is paw at you. He was cute. Hot even. But you’d never let it blossom into anything meaningful.

He was yours for the night you’ve decided, but you’d sneak off after you got your fix. (you were your fathers daughter afterall).

Your free hand slide to his hair to grip and pull his face back. There was the slight graze of stubble against your jaw when as leans closer.

The stranger grins, his eyes were half-lidded trailing over you, one of his hands slip from your hip over your behind to tug at the hem of your dress. You let him, despite the small pit that forms in your gut at the action.

His lips hovered a breath from yours, a reckless, dangerous dare you leaned into—

“Unbelievable.”

The word cut sharper than the music, slicing straight through the haze. You froze, not because you didn’t recognize the voice, but because you always would.

A hand seized your wrist before the kiss could land. The stranger swore as he’s shoved, stumbling back, but one glare from Dick Grayson sent him vanishing into the crowd like smoke. 

Fucking coward, you seethe to yourself as you’re essentially left to the wolves. You slowly lift your head. The strobe lights painted his anger in harsh whites and shadows, and you hated that it made him look more like a Bat than a brother.

“Are you insane?” he snapped, dragging you off the floor as if the walls might cave in if he let go. The music thundered on, but the grip of his hand was louder.

“You shouldn’t even be here!” Dick’s voice cracked like a whip, low enough not to draw attention but sharp enough to make you flinch. “Do you even realize how old—”

“Let me go,” you hissed, tugging against him. Heads were starting to turn, and the last thing you needed was a scene

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Not when you twisted, not when you dug your nails into his wrist, not even when you hissed his name through clenched teeth. 

He hauled you off the dance floor like a crook in cuffs, weaving through the crowd until you realized he wasn’t heading for the door.

Instead, he beelined deeper into the club, much to your confusion, before eventually stopping at a booth tucked in the corner, and your stomach plummeted.

….

Oh, great. What was this? A reunion tour?

Artemis leaned back in her seat, arms folded, sharp eyes flicking between you and your brother, her brows furrowed. Roy lounged with his usual smirk, though it faltered when his gaze really settled on you. And then there was Conner, who sat stiff as stone, arms crossed, and jaw tight, but his eyes softened.

You froze, caught like a spotlight had slammed onto you. These weren’t just heroes. These were people who’d once adored you almost as much as you adored them. For years, you’d wanted nothing more than to be one of them.

But that was before.

Before Bruce had sent you away. Boarding school, miles away with entitled classmates who measured worth in money and power instead of scars; and teachers who completely crushed any faith you had in adults protecting you.

By the time you came back, you weren’t the same and neither was their image of you. 

You’d traded training for galas, patrols for paparazzi, and every glimpse they caught of you was in a tabloid headline or splashed across some social media page. Gotham’s glittering Wayne, the spoiled socialite with the city wrapped around her pinkie finger.

You knew they thought you were rebelling, but not like this.

Dick shoved you into the booth before you could find your footing, the drink in your hand spilling a bit, which you fumblingly placed on the table. 

Geez, what a dick. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, fury barely leashed. “You’re underage, drinking, and— God! Him!? Do you have any idea how bad that could’ve gone?”

Dick’s hand was still clamped around your wrist, anchoring you to the booth like you might bolt if he let go. His voice came low, sharp enough to slice through the music.

You jerked your wrist, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Ugh, calm down. You being over dramatic!” you snapped, sinking into the booth like you owned it. “I was just having fun, Dick. It’s not the end of the world!”

You reached for your glass with your free hand, ready to dig your grave deeper with another sip only for it to be snatched from your hand. 

You blinked, and Roy was already holding it out of reach, his jaw tight in a way you weren’t used to seeing.

“Seriously?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He shook his head. “You don’t need this. You’re already in enough trouble.” His voice wasn’t angry, not like Dick’s, but the quiet disappointment behind it somehow landed harder. You just scoff, looking back at Dick with a glare.

Artemis exhaled, sharp and low, the sound cutting through the thrum of bass. “This isn’t having  fun, it’s being reckless. You know better.”

You didn’t look at her. You kept your eyes on Dick, lips curling in a smirk you didn’t really feel. Ignoring Artemis was easier than hearing her tone, easier than letting it sting the way it always did.

Having not had a mother of your own, you tended to latch onto Dick’s female friends. Artemis was no exception. You used to adore her, even despite her finding you a bit annoying at first, but you grew on her.

How could you not? With the way you clung to her; wide-eyed and adoring, waiting for the smallest scrap of approval. But that was then, when you were younger, sweeter, different.

Artemis didn’t comment on how you blatantly ignored her. Instead, she just snagged Dick’s jacket from the booth and snapped it around your shoulders, tugging the collar up. “Cover up,” she said, clipped and firm.

You scoffed instantly, shoving the jacket off your shoulders and onto the seat beside you. “Why would I? It’s hot in here.” Your voice dripped with indifference, though heat still burned in your cheeks.

Your dress was short, showed a lot more than it should. You knew that. You picked it out for that reason. But now in front of them, you felt more uncomfortable than you did all night.

Dick’s jaw locked as your scoff rang in the heavy air. The jacket you’d shoved aside slid half off the booth, its dark fabric pooling like a shadow you refused to claim. 

For a second, he just stared at you— at the defiance in your chin tilt, the burn still clinging to your cheeks, the expression that screamed untouchable. 

Then, without warning, his hand shot out, fingers fisting the jacket with the same precision he’d use on a grapple line. 

In one rough motion, he hauled it up and over your shoulders again, not giving you the chance to shrug it off this time. His grip was unyielding, pinning the collar in place as though he could anchor you to the fabric by sheer force of will.

“Dick—” you snapped, trying to twist away, but he was already zipping it up, the sound loud and final. The zipper caught at your throat with a sharp click, sealing the jacket up to your chin. 

You were trapped in the heavy folds of his jacket, the scent of him and leather pressing close. You felt your heart squeeze for a moment as you realized you didn’t recognize his smell anymore.

He leaned in, bracing one hand flat on the table beside you, the other still gripping the jacket at your collar. His eyes burned under the strobing lights, catching every flicker of your stubborn defiance and daring you to meet it.

“You think this is a game?” His voice was low, sharp enough to cut through the thrum of bass, steady enough to drown it out. “Sneaking drinks, letting strangers try to kiss you, laughing like it’s nothing— what the hell is wrong with you?”

The words weren’t shouted, but they landed harsher than any scream could have. For a moment, the rest of the booth didn’t exist; all of it faded under the weight of Dick’s fury.

“You’re not walking out of here half-dressed and drunk,” he continued, voice dropping lower still, almost a growl. “Not while I’m around. You want to make bad choices, fine. But you don’t get to make yourself a target and call it freedom.”

The collar of the jacket pressed tight against your chin, his hand still holding it like a lock, and you hated that for a flicker of a second, you felt safer for it.

That moment of safety didn’t last because the expression he gave you reminded you of someone you knew Dick tried so hard to be different from. Someone you knew who he’d tell everything about tonight to.

Bruce.

Your stomach knotted so hard it almost hurt.

You could handle Dick’s disapproval. You could even handle the team staring at you like you were some reckless kid instead of the sweet, wide-eyed Wayne they’d once adored.

But your dad? You’d built an image for him, a careful facade of being the polished socialite who at least pretended to act with some restraint.

He was fine with you at those posh parties, fine with the charities, the galas; his indifference was something you’d learned to survive. But this? You were spoiled, sure, but not drunk in a club, letting some guy paw at you. He’d lose his mind over this.

Especially since he still believed you were the “soft” one. The one with limited skills, hesitant to get their hands dirty, the one who wouldn’t dare do anything that could break a nail. The one who couldn’t protect herself against something as simple as petty theft, where a pool noodle was the weapon.

What would he even do once he found out?

Would he finally turn a quarter of his attention back onto you?

Would he cut the tree you use to get in and out of your window, the one thing you have that lets you slip past the manor’s walls?

Or would he see this as one more mess he doesn’t have time to deal with and send you away again?

Your stomach lurched. You couldn’t go back there.

Not back there.

Not to that place— that school, that exile disguised as a safe haven.

No.

The thought alone made your throat close. For one dizzy second, the club spun with it. Neon and sweat and bass dissolving into the image of your father’s voice in your head.

You had to think fast. What could you do to outsmart Nightwing? You mind races for a moment before you decide to do what you do best.

Fake it until you make it.

Taking a quick breath you swallowed it down, hard, forcing your mouth into a smirk you didn’t feel.

Your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and brittle all at once. “I can handle myself,” you spat, your nails digging crescent moons into your palms before a hand moved to shove his hands off of you. He let his hands fall away but it didn’t slip past you how his hands clenched into fists.

“I had everything under control until you came.” You tried to make the words sound solid, unshakable, but they rang thin in your own ears. 

Dick’s laugh was humourless, jagged as broken glass. He leaned close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw, the irritation etched into the corners of his eyes. 

“Control?” he echoed, voice low, dangerous in its restraint. “You call letting some creep twice your age put his hands on you control?”

Your chest tightened, and God, you hated that his words made you flinch. You rolled your eyes to cover it, pressing your back harder into the booth. “He wasn’t dangerous. He just wanted—”

“Exactly,” Dick cut in, the word like a blade. His hand slammed down on the table, making the half-empty glasses rattle. “He just wanted. And you have no idea how quickly that could’ve turned into something you couldn’t laugh your way out of.”

For a second, no one breathed. Then Roy cleared his throat, muttering, “He’s not wrong.” His tone lacked its usual edge, more uneasy than mocking.

Conner’s arms remained folded, but his brow furrowed, the tight set of his jaw softening. “You don’t always see danger until it’s already too late,” he said quietly, not a lecture, not an accusation, just a fact.

You scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut through the weight in the air. “Please,” you snapped, tossing your hair back with a defiance you didn’t quite feel. “I could’ve gotten away any second I wanted. I can even get away from this.”

Shit, you actually said that— why don’t you go find an actual shovel to dig your grave deeper?

The words hit hard as their reactions settle around you: Dick’s jaw tightening, Roy leaning back with that sharp smirk barely hiding annoyance, Artemis’s eyes narrowing into calculated lines.

For a second, you let the panic flutter, the rush of being cornered—

Get away from heroes, yeah right!

You’re screwed. Completely fucked. You could start crying thinking about seeing the headmaster again—

Suddenly you pause, letting the world sink in. Why the hell are you underselling yourself?

Sure, you haven’t been swinging across rooftops or cracking criminals’ heads in years, but you’ve had your own missions.

Not flashy, not public, not exactly heroic in the traditional sense but ones that showed you were precise and at your core, effective.

Slipping past surveillance cameras without leaving a trace. Dodging paparazzi that track your every move. Even crafting a mask so perfect that even your father, the master of reading nanoexpressions, couldn’t tell the smallest twitch away from the real you.

These were missions of skill and calculation. Skills that had you staying one step ahead while the world thought you were nothing but a socialite.

Above all, you’ve mastered the art to get away. Not with brute force. Not with muscle. But with patience, stealth, and sheer nerve.

And despite them being seasoned heroes who have faced mind manipulation, endured the sharpest verbal assaults from the most irritating villains

you had one advantage; their overconfidence when it came to you. They thought they knew you. Thought the years away, the tabloids, the gossip, and the glittering public persona had stripped away whatever edge you once had.

They thought the little girl who used to have potential was gone, replaced by a reckless, spoiled socialite who couldn’t survive a night without their intervention.

And they loved believing that. Loved it the way heroes love being right, loved it like it gave them certainty in a chaotic world. They relished the idea that your wide-eyed, reckless reputation was all you had become.

For once, knowing they thought that if you made you gleam. Their certainty became your weapon. Their dismissal became your leverage.

You could work with that. You just had to push them, bait them, let their egos convince them they were in control.

The thought coils in your chest like fire, reckless and alive, making your grin sharper, more deliberate.

This wasn’t just defiance anymore. This was strategy. Dangerous, delicious strategy.

You wore a cocky grin as your glare swept across the table, daring anyone to challenge you. 

Roy’s smirk reappeared, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back, shaking his head. “If you really believe that,” he said, voice dry but tinged with unease, “then you’re dumber than the tabloids make you out to be.”

“Roy,” Artemis warned, her tone sharp as her gaze flicked toward him. But she didn’t look at you with softness either. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, unflinching, like she could see straight through the brittle walls you kept throwing up.

You rolled your eyes, flicking your hair back with a deliberate snap, letting the defiance taste sharper than it felt. “I’m not some stupid socialite,” you spat, voice clipped, snapping at the silence around the table. “I know I can get away.”

The words hung there like a challenge, and you saw it immediately. Shared looks darting between them, quick and subtle, the way people who’ve faced real danger recognize a taunt the second they hear it. 

Cmon.

Roy’s smirk faltered, just slightly, though the corner of his mouth tugged in that familiar, warning way. Dick’s jaw tightened, the set of it rigid, restrained, like he was calculating how far he’d let you push before it snapped. 

Conner’s arms folded a fraction more rigidly, shoulders squared, eyes narrowing at the challenge your words had planted. Even Artemis’s gaze sharpened, cold and precise, tracking every small movement, every flicker of expression, scanning you like a hawk weighing prey.

For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the table, to the unspoken challenge vibrating in the space between your words and their reactions. You let it linger, tasting the silence like it belonged to you. 

They’d expect arrogance. They’d expect recklessness. Let them. Because deep down, you weren’t reckless. Not really. You were raised by the fucking Batman. You were smart. 

Roy cleared his throat, slow, deliberate, leaning forward just enough that his eyes caught yours across the table. “You’re… really sure about that?” 

His tone was casual, almost teasing but the slight edge underneath made it clear he wasn’t joking. “Because, we catch a lot bigger and scarier on daily basis.”

You knew he’d bite first.

“You mean people who don’t know better,” you snap back, each word clipped and uniterested, your tone carrying the same effortless bite you used on Gotham’s elite when you wanted them to squirm. “They’re easy. Predictable. They fall for the same tricks, every single time.”

Your eyes lingered on him, narrowing in mock pity before you let the smirk return, sharper now. “Catching me would take actual skill.”

The words hung in the air like Gotham smog, heavy and poisonous, curling around the table until even the music thumping outside the booth seemed distant. 

You leaned back in your seat with studied nonchalance, one leg crossing over the other, your too tall heels tapping the leg of the table.

It’s as if you’d already dismissed the whole conversation as beneath you. The defiance in your posture was unmistakable, radiating arrogance like a second skin.

Roy’s jaw ticked, his smirk faltering for the barest fraction of a second before he covered it with a sharp exhale and a swirl of his glass. His mutter was low, almost to himself, but the edge in his voice carried easily across the table.

“You’re crazy,” Roy muttered, almost to himself, though his voice carried.

He tipped his glass, watching the liquid swirl as if it could distract him from the itch to say something he shouldn’t to his friend's little sister. “Little Miss Gotham thinks she can just get away. I almost wanna see her try.”

“Roy,” Dick warned again, sharper now, but even he didn’t sound entirely convinced. His voice had that clipped edge it got when he was losing his grip on the reins.

Artemis arched a brow, mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “She’s taunting us”

Conner shifted, heavy arms unfolding as he leaned in. His voice was steady, but quieter, almost like a verdict. “You’re in over your head, kid.”

You only grinned, sharp and unshaken, revelling in the weight of all their eyes pressing down on you. “Maybe I am,” you said, lifting your chin like you owned the table, the booth, the whole damn club. “But you all look like you’re too scared to find out.”

That broke them, just like you knew it would. Nothing sets someone off like an arrogant little sibling afterall. It didn’t help that they were all more than a bit tipsy, save for Mr. Easily Aggravated.  

Dick’s jaw flexed as you smirked at him. The silence at the booth had become suffocating, thick with judgment, tension, and something sharper beneath the surface, something personal.

Everyone else had said their piece to your challange, but he hadn’t let up, hadn’t even blinked. He was watching you too closely, and you hated how exposed it made you feel.

Then he leans forward with an ease that grates on your nerves. His voice came low, dangerous, with that clipped edge he only ever used when he’d run out of patience.

“What's your game here, huh?” he demanded. “I know it's not just to piss us off.”

Your smirk faltered, but you masked it quickly, chin tilting higher, posture sharpened into defiance. You tried to play it off, but his stare pinned you, heavy and relentless. 

For a beat, you almost said nothing but you shift to raise your chin to look down at him— you so close. You can do this.

“You’re right,” you said, low, measured, like admitting it on your terms would keep you in control. “It’s not just about pissing you off. It’s a bet.”

That got everyone’s attention. Chairs shifted. Brows furrowed. “A bet?” Roy scoffed. “With who?”

“With all of you.” Your words were steady, though your heartbeat was climbing fast. You let your gaze sweep across the table, meeting each of theirs like you were calling them out one by one. 

“If I can get away— if I can slip out from under your watch, even with all your training,  you don’t say a single word to my Dad about tonight.”

The table went still. Even the thrum of the club seemed to fade, the bass swallowed by the gravity of what you’d just put on the table.

“And if you lose?” Artemis asked, voice sharp, cutting straight through the tension. Her eyes were locked on you like an arrow aimed at a target.

Your jaw tightened. You wanted to smirk, wanted to shrug it off, but the stakes demanded more than bravado.

So you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, your eyes never wavering. “If I lose, I’ll tell him myself. Every detail. Underage drinking. The creep. This club. All of it. Straight from me.”

That broke the silence.

Roy let out a low whistle, leaning back against the booth with an exaggerated shake of his head. “Damn, I think all those parties scrambled her brain.”

Conner’s brow furrowed deeper, his eyes looked over your expression as if trying to read your mind and pick it apart. 

Artemis’s lips pressed into a line, her gaze sharp as ever. She wasn’t impressed, but she wasn’t dismissing you either. Her silence said enough; she was weighing you, measuring the steel in your words against the reckless heat in your eyes.

Dick leaned closer, his voice low and sharp enough to sting. “You'd better think real hard before you commit to this, because once it starts, there’s no halfway. No excuses. You either win, or you face Bruce yourself.”

Your smirk sharpened into something steadier this time, no longer the flimsy mask you’d been wearing all night but a deliberate curve of your lips, a smile that settled like a blade being drawn. 

The weight of Dick’s words didn’t scare you— it lit something in your chest, dangerous and alive.

You leaned forward, letting the dim light catch in your eyes, “I’m all in.”

The smile lingered, sharp and unyielding, and the air around the booth seemed to crack under it. You weren’t bluffing anymore. You weren’t performing. You had committed, and they could all see it.

Roy straightened, eyebrows rising, a disbelieving laugh escaping him before he tipped his glass again. “Well, shit. Guess the princess wants to play for real.”

Artemis’s eyes narrowed, calculating, her mouth curving just enough to show the challenge wasn’t lost on her.

Dick didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just let the silence hang for a long, punishing second, before leaning back with a sharp exhale, like he’d resigned himself to the storm you’d invited.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered.

Your grin only widened as you leaned back into the booth, satisfaction radiating off you like heat. The tension that had hung over the table cracked, shifted— no longer suffocating, but coiling into something electric. A challenge. A game.

You lifted a hand, gesturing lazily toward the door like the outcome was already sealed. “As long as I can get away and make it back to the manor before I’m caught, I win. Deal?”

That made them pause. The manor. Not a block away, not ducking into some alley around the corner. You were talking about crossing the entire goddamn city with the team’s finest breathing down your neck.

Roy let out a bark of laughter, smacking the table once. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re insane, kid. You really think you’re making it across the city?”

Artemis arched a brow, unimpressed but faintly amused, like a cat watching a mouse step into a trap. “You won’t even make it out of the booth.”

Conner frowned, his arms unfolding as he leaned forward. “This isn’t running away from a drunk in a club. This is running from us.” His tone was flat, final, like he thought he could give you some common sense.

But it only made your smile grow sharper. “Exactly,” you said, leaning back with an air of smug confidence that made your point sting sharper than any retort. “If I can slip past all of you and make it back home… then you’ll have no excuse left not to admit I’m capable. And if not— well, my dad finds out, doesn’t he?”

Dick rubbed a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a prayer for patience. “You’ve officially lost your damn mind. " He murmurs

When his hand dropped, his eyes were blazing. "But fine. You already screwed up our night, we should at least get some entertainment from this." 

You ignore his comment about you screwing up, focusing more on the fact that you got exactly what you wanted.

It was game on.

And the cruellest part? They were relaxed now. Easing back into their seats, trading skeptical glances, even smirks. They thought you’d never make it. 

They were so confident, so certain that you’d fumble before you even left the booth. After all, why wouldn’t they be? They had training, experience, and powers. They had a half-Kryptonian, archers, and Gotham’s golden boy wonder.

And you were a socialite princess— the one they’d seen in last week’s tabloids, with your security guard carrying you up the stairs because you simply couldn’t be bothered.

They thought you were doomed from the start.

You hold back your grin as you lean back, more than content with yourself than ever, because underestimating you was the very first mistake they’d made tonight.

————————————————————————

A/N: The other version (If I ever get around to it) is the reverse where she wants nothing more than to just be a hero and forget who she is under the mask :P.

Both runs involve Bart as the love interest but I’m thinking to do one-shots on the side for some scenes with other characters if you guys wanna request it later on :).

Some of the characters will come off as OOC, but they are described how ★Wayne!Reader perceives them! Also so sorry for how my A/N’s take up so much space but I wanna talk to yall about what’s going on in my brain when it comes to my fics </3

If you’d like to be tagged please leave a comment on the series masterlist! It’ll be easier for me to not miss anyone that way :)) LMG Series masterlist, you can find it in my pinned post>>> masterlist>>> nyni’s series :D

(Also I have no idea how to tag this story, so please excuse the mess below)

[uzuisbatsib]

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PROLOGUE WORD COUNT: 869 WORDS

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Bruce Wayne loves his children, of this he is certain. 

He had taken them all under his wing. He’d trained them and taught them self-defense. He attended parent-teacher meetings and stayed by their sides after nightmares. 

Bruce Wayne was a good father. 

But Bruce Wayne was also Batman. The dark knight who had protected Gotham every nightfall for several moons– and who would do so for many years to come. 

He had tried, Gods he had tried so hard. But somehow, someway, he had failed you. His firstborn child. Dick Grayson’s anchor when he and Bruce fell out, Jason Todd’s younger sibling, the one who stayed with him in the library when nightmares had chased sleep away. 

Dick had just donned the Robin mantle when you arrived at the gates of Wayne manor. 

Only three years old, and curious about everything you were able to lay your big eyes upon. Not once did you let go of Bruce’s hands.  

Back then, your eyes carried an innocence the way only children can do– children who had not yet been tainted by the destructive nature of Gotham City. 

This had been why he’d chosen to leave you out of the vigilante world. His only wish for you was to grant you the ability to grow up like a child. One who did not understand the meaning of bruised knuckles and ungodly sleep schedules. He would don the cowl so that you would never have to. 

That is what he had told Dick when he asked, and what he told every child that joined the cause in the years to come. 

But then, Dick and Bruce started to fall apart. Your big brother– the one who’d taught you everything you knew– was leaving. By then he’d been dividing time between Batman and The Titans, so his absence was not unknown to you, but this was different. As young as you might have been, you understood this decision was final. Jason loved spending time with you. The two of you spent hours in the library, and played silly games in the living room with you whenever he could. He stayed with you when nobody else did. 

But then he’d left. In search of his real mother is what he had told you– his real family, were the words that stayed unspoken.  

And he never came back. 

This only solidified Bruce’s decision in not telling you about their secret identities. Because he knew what you would say. And he could not afford to lose another one of his children. 

Bruce believed that he had made the right choice in not telling you. That you would stay the safest this way. But he never considered what this would do to you.

You who had never felt so alone in the manor. You, who had to find out from some random child with too much time on his hands, that your father was the Dark Knight. That your big brother was Nightwing. That Barbara used to be Batgirl, and that Jason used to be Robin. 

Just as Bruce had predicted– and feared– you had begged him to join, wanting to take revenge for your brother and get justice for what had been done to Barbara. Barbara who had been nothing but kind to you. Who had fought so hard and had paid the ultimate price. 

But Bruce refused. He refused to accept the risk of any of that happening again, not to his child, not to you. The problem? He never properly communicated this to you. To you it sounded like your father simply did not want you there, that your presence was unneeded, weak. He could accept your siblings, but not you. Never you.

He had taught you self-defense at first, in case something were to happen. But higher duties and his desire to be the one to keep you safe himself had overpowered him. 

So you tried helping in other ways. You learned basic medical procedures. You learned how to mend clothes in case their suits ripped, and you learned how to bake in case they needed snacks while debriefing missions. All taught to you by Alfred of course. 

But in the end, it didn’t really matter did it? Because once you put the suit back on the mannequin, or once you placed the delicate plate of sweets on the desk, you had no reason to be in the cave. You added no extra information to briefings and could not offer any insights on investigations. If you did decide to wait around a bit longer? An awkward silence would build up. What could they talk about with you? You wouldn’t understand the weight of it all anyway.

It wasn’t on purpose, you know this very well. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. You understood that their relationship was different. That they were different. The others had a silent understanding between each other, their own way of communicating. You weren’t a part of that. Not a part of that world. 

Your family loves you, of this you are certain. But they do not like you. Maybe they did once– maybe they will again. They could have once, but they’re much too late now.

Oh em gee! That’s the prologue everybody! I am very excited but also scared to start this fanfic, but let’s fight through it together HAHAH

If you have any questions or idea’s for this fic, please let me know! My dm’s and asks are open. 

EDIT : this chapter has been edited and rewritten

TAGLIST! @067lawfulwife @humeysaga @chaosandcandies @plsfckmedxddy @lettucel0ver @itsmossy @starsvxv @bluey0petal @miss-bee08 @shinning-stars @demis2955 @cocopuffs1450 @luffypixie @iloveescara @natllo @theworldscalamity @amandjslpz @twistedwondrland06 @myjumper @animegamerfox @sbrewer21 @yarieun @kitkatkristal1020 @cssammyyarts @thatbitchanna27

[sleepn0tfound]

Death of a Star || Chap. I

[DC x Neglected!Fem!Super/Kent!Reader]

Word count: 8.2k

Previous <- - - || - - -> Next

It was liberating. The feeling of the wind blowing against his body as he revved his black and red motorcycle.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Superstar."

He sped up, the wind was cool, there was no sun to emit any heat due to it being night and the winds got stronger the nearer he got to the sea.

He drifted to a stop, getting off his bike when he was in a two hundred meter range of the warehouse. He used his grappling hook to get to the shabby wooden roof. It was near the docks, he could basically smell the salt from the ocean.

"Can you confirm it's the League of Assassins and Luthor's goons?"

"Well from the looks of it, yeah." The lenses of his red helmet scanned the people below him, purple profiles of the people soon appeared, confirming their identities.

"I can't believe they're actually in Gotham." The girl was typing on her side, looking through the lenses of Jason's helmet on her screen.

Meanwhile Jason was looking around, scanning for something, anything that would give them a clue as to what those two factions were meeting up for. Not long after, his lenses locked in on a container that was kept frozen, a purple outline with exclamation marks signifying that it was something important.

"Should I just blast in and take them out or just grab that container and run for it?"

"90 percent success rate for the former and 99 for the latter. Might as well just shoot, try and get some info while you're at it."

"Aight." He was about to takedown somebody from above but was interrupted by someone bursting in from the door, "What the—" His lenses zoomed in to spot a Superman and Batman.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me." The pair said in unison over the comms.

"Okay change of plans." Typing could be heard on the other side once more, "I've stalled the Batmobile for five minutes. Just grab the container and ride back to HQ. You got five minutes since the goons have stopped icing it when those two appeared. Probably thought if they weren't going to make it, they might as well destroy the evidence."

"FIVE minutes— You have a lot of faith in me."

"Since day one. You don't even have to worry about Superman's super hearing, the suit I made you ensures that you don't make any sound."

"Yeah yeah I'll get the damn container of who knows what."

"Good boy."

He turned as red as the helmet he was hiding underneath, truth be told he doesn't know why he still gets flustered by the flirting, he should've been used to it by now. They've known each other for how many years already? Seven? Eight? And counting.

He grappled down, silently taking the container and grappling back to his motorcycle, "Got it."

"Well you have 3 minutes to reach back to HQ."

"Damnit!" Jason immediately got on his motorcycle and started to speed back to one of the teleport pads that would lead back to HQ.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Now tell us what you're meeting for." Batman was gripping one of Luthor's goon by his collar, lifting him up and speaking with his signature Bat tone, the tone that would make a grown man scream like a little girl.

"T-that container—" The goon choked his words out.

"What container." The bat growled.

"The one that's iced o-over there!" They both turned to look at it but there was nothing there. "W-wait that can't be! It was right there just a moment ago I swear—!"

He knocked the goon out before letting him fall to the ground and went to the spot he pointed at, it still felt cold, he raised his forearm and scanned the area using his high tech glove, "Superman. It seems like someone took something important from here." The bat said as the results stated that something used to be there not long ago.

"I'll fly around and survey—"

"Cover north of this area, I'll go south. The reader says something was here less than 5 minutes ago. The person who took it can't be that far."

"On it." Was all the meta said before he disappeared, flying off.

Batman pressed the call button for the Batmobile.

Click.

Strange. It didn't work.

Click.

Once more.

Click.

He sighed and grappled back to the Batmobile instead, getting inside only to see a four-sided star surrounded by swirls of energy on the Batmobile's screen, the Star of Themis, a notable signature of a well known hacker.

"Damnit, Supernova!"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jason skidded to a stop, on top of one of the many teleport pads across the cities, his body glitched out before glitching back into a very advanced technological looking base. Though he looked completely unfazed by the tingly sensation it left on his body, he was used to it by now, having used these teleport pads to get out of so many sticky situations in the past.

"Hurry now. Before it defrosts completely." It seemed like she was already ready, gloves on her hands as she took the container from Jason, placing it in a tube, before letting it close. Instantly the tube frosted up, ensuring that the specimen is cold, she allowed the tube to scan and analyze it.

"What do you think it is?" Jason watched the girl glitch around her lab to different screens.

"No idea. For all we know it could be a Luthor and Al Ghul tube baby."

Jason shuddered at the thought, "No way."

"We never know. The Al Ghuls are crazy with their lazarus pit and Luthor was crazy enough to babytrap Superman so who knows what those madmen are planning."

The tube beeped, signifying the scan was complete, immediately the girl glitched in front of the screen, looking at the results, "You're joking."

Jason raised a brow, walking to stand next to the girl to look at the results as well.

"What the fuck."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“And where are you going?” The girl was stopped just as her hand touched the door handle. When did you care. "Out."

Clark raised an eyebrow, "Out where?"

"With my friends." She kept her responses short.

"In... That outfit?"

"What's wrong with my outfit?'

The girl was wearing a cropped black sleeveless top, showing off her toned abs, with long navy green cargo pants. Her shoes were a nice pair of black and white Air Forces. She had a nice bracelet stack on her right arm, her watch on her left, though she also had multiple rings on both hands. Her nails had extensions and a beautiful black and purple design.

He really didn't know when his little girl grew up.

"I don't know if that's a good idea honey. It's just that Lex Luthor was—"

"When is Lex Luthor not up to something. I'll be fine. I always am."

The only thing that came after that was the sound of the front door closing.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Clark's hand was mid-raise about to call out her name when he heard the door closing. He sighed, putting his arm down and shaking his head, "When was she... like that?"

Clark never really did have that much time with her, not after Jon was born, having to take care of a baby was exhausting you know? And not long after he got out of his toddler stage he got his powers.

Could you blame the man for getting excited? His first born, a daughter, never inherited his powers, never even showed any signs of being even half Kryptonian, but Jon, he hadn't even reached his teen years before he discovered his powers, so of course the man had to focus more on his son, right?

She was always a sweet girl, never disrespectful so he never had to worry about her. And her grades... She did well, he thinks. He never really asked and she never told him, did she?

She tried but she gave up once she realised he would never listen.

He took one look at the front door before going back to writing his article, he decided that he was going to ask her about school when she came back. She should be in college now, right?

Wrong, she had already graduted as the youngest graduate of MIT while being valedictorian of her graduate year.

He'll ask her which college she went to and if she hadn't, he would help her decide. Yes, that seems like a good idea.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The girl sighed as walked out to a nearby abandoned parking lot, looking around to see if there was anybody close by. Seeing that there was nobody she threw a small cube to the floor, causing her black and purple convertible to glitch in front of her.

In her vigilante form she would have her iconic black and purple motorcycle, the one that she's matching with Jason, whose motorcycle was black and red, but she couldn't risk getting recognised by some people who are a bit too perceptive. Cough. Cough. Batman.

She got in and started the car, changing the song on the audio player to play "Whiplash" by Aespa while putting on her sunglasses before driving off. The open roof allowed the music to be heard as she drove past multiple cars.

She drove for a short while before parking in front of a cafe, a cybercafe to be specific. Walking in, she heard the bell jingle.

"Welcome! May I take your order— Oh not you again."

"You wound me, my friend." She placed her sunglasses on her head as she walked in.

"Let me guess. A death wish iced coffee with 8 extra shots of espresso."

"You know me too well." Our main character flashed a foxy smile at the barista.

The girl had been coming here since her days at MIT, basically made this her second home with how much time she spent in here, sitting in the area where it was just a normal cybercore aesthetic cafe instead of where the PCs were and grinding for her exams. Spent so much time in the cafe that she got to know every single worker there, especially the barista who owned the cafe. Y/n was running on pure spite and caffeine, still is to this day.

She payed for her drink and walked to the table, seeing her very recognisable partner in crime at a table in the section without the PCs, waiting for her, "Remind me why we always come here again?"

She went to take the seat in front of him, "You know this is the only place that sells this amount of caffeine to me."

"Yeah you even drink more than Tim. And that says a lot." He had a hint of teasing in his voice as he looked at his girl.

The girl rolled her eyes in response, "Haha. Very funny."

Jason sipped on his frappuccino, "So are we not gonna talk about that tube—"

All of a sudden he was interrupted by the sound of everyone's phone pinging.

A flash flood warning.

The pair looked out of the window, suddenly seeing a wave of water coming towards the cafe.

"What the fuck. That can't be natural."

The girl simply looked at her nails with an odd amount of calmness, “Yeah, it’s probably not.”

Jason pushed his chair and stood up, “We have to evacuate the citizens to the roof.”

“What. I haven’t even gotten my daily coffee intake yet–” 

“Y/n!” 

“Ugh! Fine!” The sound of her chair scraping and falling to the ground was agonising. 

The duo helped the bartender guide everyone to the roof before quietly slipping away into the shadows, jumping over to another rooftop.

"Any luck contacting your family?" She stood at the roof's edge, looking down to see the water flooding the city.

Jason slipped on his iconic red helmet, instantly his suit started to glitch in place of his civvies, "Nope. Comms are completely down."

He toyed with his built in communication device before tuning into their duo channel, "Ours still work though."

"Of course it still works. It'll take a lot more than water to disrupt my tech. I would think you of all people would know that." The girl had an expression of mock offense, "You know how much shit you put your suit into and it's still perfectly functional? Who's to thank for that?"

“Sorry, princess. You just never cease to amaze me.” Jason shrugged as he tilted his head down to look at the girl standing next to him, who scoffed in response.

The girl rolled her eyes, sliding on her signature purple and black kitsune mask, her outfit glitching into her vigilante suit, a rare thing for the public eye to see. Supernova was usually never seen out on the field unless it was serious. 

"Oh? This flood is serious enough for you to come out of hiding?" Jason teased, she could almost see the shit eating grin he had on his face behind that helmet.

With a flick of her wrist, a purple holographic screen appeared in front of her, paired with a matching purple holographic keyboard, "I'm more concerned if this is happening all over the States and not just Gotham.

Her hands typed quickly on the keyboard effortlessly, "Because it's one thing for Gotham to go against mother nature but it's another if it affects the entirety of the States."

Jason leaned over to see the screen over her shoulder, "What are you planning now?"

"Well first of all I'm going to make sure that none of the security measures around Arkham Asylum were deactivated and if they were I'm getting them back up."

Jason nodded as he heard her words, that was a smart first move.

"And... Done." Y/n quickly changed her screen, "Now I'm connecting all of the heroes' comms with ours."

Jason blinked once, then twice, before finally speaking, though only one word came out from him, "What."

Her eyes were focused on her screen, "If your comms are down with the Bats and this is happening all over the States that means the League are all disconnected and everything will go to shit. And sure the old bat could have a contingency plan for this but better safe than sorry."

Jason raised an eyebrow under his helmet, "Won't they track it back to you?"

"If they could they would've done it ages ago." Her hands finally stopped typing, screens everywhere around the states lit up, the Star of Themis appearing as her voice echoed into the what should have been disrupted comms of the Justice League, Teen Titans and Young Justice, “That should do it.”

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave Barbara, Tim and Bruce were huddled around the Batcomputer, trying to get comms back up or at least get the Batcomputer to turn back on. Duke was on the dayshift alone when suddenly their comms were cut off and an anomaly was detected before everything shut off completely.

All of a sudden the screens of the Batcomputer lit up, “Oh that must’ve done it–...” Barbara’s words trailed off as she noticed the familiar star symbol, feeling defeated. Just at that moment that husky voice that they knew all too well echoed in the Batcave.

“Hiya~ Supernova here. Couldn’t help but notice that a flood has taken over Gotham, I don’t suppose it’s the same for the rest right? Please say that it isn’t happening in other places because if it is that's so much more work for me.”

“Supernova–” The name was essentially growled out.

Y/n immediately cut him off. “Ah ah. Now’s not the time for your usual hostility, Superman. Answer my question first.” 

“...Metroplisis is flooded too.”

“Coast city too.”

“Same at Central city.“

"Star City as well."

"Gateway city is."

"Midway City is also flooded."

"Here in Jump City too."

As she heard the rest of the heroes slowly confirm, she let out a deep sigh, “Okay so the plan is—”

“And why would we listen to you?” The unshakeable voice of the man of steel could be heard through the communication route. 

“Well for starters I’m the only reason everyone can even communicate with each other now so be grateful. And second of all you wouldn’t want your family to drown would you?” The girl paused and tilted her head, tone snarky, “Oh wait, it’s not like you care all that much about them anyways.”

The silence in the communication route after that comment was suffocating.

A sudden growl was heard, “What do you know about my family? You have no right to speak about them like that–”

“Oh yeah because you're such a happy family of four." Her words were laced with thick sarcasm.

"Yes we are actually."

It was silent for a good minute before a shocked and amused laugh echoed through the communication route, "You didn't even realise what was wrong with that sentence."

Her laugh continued for some time, after that she wiped a tear from the side of her eye, "Oh man. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time."

"What do you mean–"

"Enough! We don't have time for this." The deep voice from the original bat was heard, "What was your plan, Supernova?"

“Of course. Now before I was so rudely interrupted.” Her words clearly targeted, “A metal ball looking gadget is materialising in front of each of you right now.” 

As she said that, true to her words, each hero and vigilante had a metal ball glitch in front of them, even Jason who was right next to our main character. 

“These gadgets can capture and contain huge amounts of water. Simply place them at the centrals of your respective cities and that should solve the problem.”

“...That’s all?”

It seemed like everyone was expecting something more complicated. 

“What were you expecting? For me to connect the entire US draining system to drain the flood?" She paused, "Well I could. But I’m abit too lazy for that, yeah?” Her voice was was too casual for the words she just spoke but they had more pressing matters to attend to right now.

In front of her she had a holographic 3D map of each city, “A holographic 3D map of your respective cities have appeared infront of you. I have used your individual symbols to mark a central location of your cities. Just press the button on the gadget and our problem will be solved. Once you’re at your designated location wait for my signal, coordination is key here. Though the solution is simple, a single mistake can mess everything up. So be patient, yeah?” 

“Totally not stressful, princess.”

The sarcastic voice sounded out from beside her making Y/n give him a playful shove, "I try my best, darling."

“Flirting so shamelessly in front of so many, how utterly disgraceful.” A boy that was exactly three apples tall hissed out.

“Speaking like a victorian child as always, demon spawn.” Jason shot back towards his little brother. 

"Okay okay enough. We got a job to do. Let's go." With that Y/n muted herself and was about to jump off, her mechanical wings, one black, one white, unfurled from her suit.

Jason grabbed her arm and spun her towards him, pulling her closer to him, "Not so fast, princess. Trying to leave without giving me a goodbye kiss?"

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, "You'll live."

"Oh c'mon please?" Jason said in a teasing voice, "Or you can make it up with me tonight–"

Dick had to interrupt, "Woah woah there are children in the comms."

"I am not a child–!" Damian growled out before his comms got cut off.

Y/n turned to Jason, "You didn't mute yourself?"

Jason took off his helmet for a split second, "Never planned to, princess." He winked and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his touch lingering before he reluctantly pulled away, placing his helmet back on.

"See you on the other side." He gave a two finger salute as he jumped to another roof and another until he became a small black blob in Y/n's vision.

The girl sighed, a small smile hidden underneath her kitsune mask as she set off in the opposite direction, away from her partner.

Meanwhile the younger heroes(and some of the Justice League) were all listening into the comms to hopefully hear more of the duo's interaction to gossip about later, they ended up disappointed when they realised the two had went in opposite directions.

As she flew around the skies of Gotham, surveying to see if any citizens needed help she saw a small black blob floating in the water, thinking it was a black kitten in need of help she activated the lenses of her mask and zoomed in to take a closer look and to her surprise what she saw wasn't a kitten, it was in fact a stray Robin!

Y/n giggled as she saw the Robin bobbing up and down the water, his suit had seemingly deployed it's emergency flotation device. She flew down and picked him up from his cape akin to a mother cat picking up her kitten by the scruff.

She saw the Robin panicking before realising it was her, his cheeks reddened instantly, "Unhand me you heathen!"

The girl simply chuckled as the boy made no attempt to escape despite his words, she landed safely on the skyscraper Damian was supposed to be on and placed him down.

The poor boy probably didn't alert anyone of his predicament due to embarrassment, Y/n chuckled at the thought but coughed to hide it once Damian hissed, "What are you laughing at?"

While Damian tried to look scary all she saw was a wet angry kitten hissing at her, the boy was basically the same colour as Jason's helmet, out of anger or embarrassment she didn't know, probably a mix of both.

Y/n waved her hand dismissively, "Who's laughing? I don't hear any laughter." The boy growled and was about to retort before our main character stopped him, "C'mon demon spawn, I'll help you with the device."

"I don't need help–"

"Yes yes, you're very capable. I'll just lend a helping hand." Somehow the metal ball device in his utility belt ended up in her hands as she beckoned the Robin over.

She threw the ball in the air a few times before kneeling down and handing it to the child that was three apples tall, his eye twitched as he snatched the ball back from the girl, "You dare to mock my height when you're not much taller."

"Your words are as sharp as ever, demon spawn." The boy's hand was itching to grab his katana, he's been waiting for a rematch ever since that night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The Robin was panting as he held his katanas, his body shaking with exhaustion. He couldn't see a way to best his opponent. He had been trained by the best assassins in the world and he couldn't even beat a hacker that hides behind a screen all the time! His mother and grandfather didn't train him just to lose against this.

A masked figure barely looked back at him, her katanas glinting in the moonlight, "Not bad demon spawn. Come back when you're stronger, you have so much potential to unlock. Unfortunately I'm quite busy tonight, so I'll have to take my leave."

He wasn't even bleeding, she purposely avoided making him bleed, she didn't even treat him seriously!

He had been bested with his own weapon that night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"No retort this time? How odd."

Her teasing voice snapped him back to reality, he realised that he zoned out with a dangerous variable next to him. Was he losing it?

He snarled, "Just tell me what I have to do with this device." He was scrutinising the small device in his hand.

"Okay okay. To be honest all you have to do is press that purple button–" She immediately covered the button on the metal ball after seeing his finger almost press the button instantly, "Once I give the signal."

Damian scoffed, "Could've started with that." He swatted her hand away from the gadget and started to inspect it once more.

Y/n let out a small chuckle before tuning back into the comms, the boy could hear her husky voice in his comms and from the source, right next to him, "Hey. Everybody in position?"

She waited for everybody to confirm their positions before speaking again, "Okay. On the count of three, you press the purple button."

She didn't have to hear their response before counting down, the instruction was as simple as it could get.

1.

They each felt the weight of the metal ball in their hand as they waited for the count.

2.

Some had smiles on their face, some were serious, some were curious, some were interested, but they all shared one emotion, anticipation.

3.

They all pressed the purple button, watching as the metal ball suddenly flew into the sky with great speed but what happened next was something that made the entire communication route silent, words truly couldn't justify the beauty of the scene.

The water beneath them started to tremble, droplets, instead of falling from the sky, seemed to be defying gravity and going up instead, before being pulled towards the metal ball, as if it was being magnetised. The liquid started to form a hypnotic spiral pattern, the water catching the light, causing it to seem as though it was sparkling. It was jaw dropping to see the laws of nature being defied right before their eyes.

Damian looked up at the sky in awe, his eyes wide as he saw the scene which could only be described as a scene right out of a comic. Similar to the ones he has been secretly reading.

Y/n gave the boy a side glance, not moving her head away from the direction of the scene, "It's quite a sight, isn't it?"

The boy could only nod, he couldn't bare himself to take his eyes of the scene for one second, not until the gadget had seemingly finished it's job of containing all the surrounding water, falling out of the sky and back to it's owner's hands.

"Looks like my job is done." Her voiced echoed through the communication route once more, breaking the silence as she tossed the metal ball into the air and it glitched away midair.

At the same time all the metal ball devices with the rest of the heroes glitched away as well.

"Thank you for your service. Ah. Just in time too. I rebooted the electrical plant. Your own comms should be working now. And don't worry about any escapees from Arkham Asylum, Bat, that was the first thing i took care of. Until next time, my dear heroes." Was all she said before she deactivated the comms she had set up for the heroes.

.

.

.

"Were we just used–”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

She turned to look at the Robin that just stared at her. When did she even reboot the electrical plant? Was it when he was looking at the water being collected? Damnit he was distracted twice now when he was right next to her. He clenched his fists. This shouldn't be happening.

Y/n stepped closer towards the edge of the building, giving her signature two finger salute before jumping off, "See you around, demon spawn."

The boy couldn't run fast enough to stop her, when he reached the edge himself and looked down there was already no trace of her left. Damnit. He didn't even have the chance to challenge her to another duel.

"Robin. Robin come in." Damian heard his father's voice through their own communication line now, seems like she wasn't lying and it was back up already, not that he ever doubted her, well not her, just her abilities, he would never trust her. Right?

"Robin here." Damian responded in a gruff voice.

"Why didn't you confirm your position just now?"

Ah right. The boy was right next to her so he didn't have to confirm his position, not that he would ever admit that to his father.

"I didn't need to. She probably knew all of our positions anyways." He grumbled out as he jumped away from the current rooftop he was on.

Bruce didn't question him any further but he knew. And Damian knew that he knew.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

As Clark and the two Superboys flew back home, his two boys were talking about random things before he suddenly spoke, thinking about the words the hacker had spoke, "I just don't get it. What did she mean..." He questioned, mostly speaking to himself.

“Oh yeah because you're such a happy family of four."

Conner shrugged, "Maybe she's just salty that she doesn't have a family."

"You shouldn't say that! That's mean... Even if she's a little bit mean sometimes..." Jon muttered the last part as he continued to fly.

There was a silence that ensued between the three of them as they were left to their own thoughts.

What could that mean? They were a happy family of four. Him, Lois, Conner, Jon... Why did it feel like he was forgetting someone?

.

.

.

Y/n!

All of them came to the same realisation at the same time.

First thing that hit them was guilt for forgetting her, the second was fear. How did Supernova know how many people were in they're family? That, at the very least, meant that she knew their real identities.

Clark immediately contacted Bruce, explaining the situation quickly. Bruce raised his eyebrows as he heard the new information, he was concerned of course but... Since when did Clark have a daughter? And why didn't he know about her at all? A Kryptonian he had no information on or contingency plan at all? That was concerning. He had to get that fixed but before he could ask for more information on her Clark disconnected the call.

It didn't help that Clark didn't even mention what her name was before he disconnected the call, saying he has to go check up on his daughter.

Bruce didn't have much things to work with here. The only thing he could think of was calling the one person who's in contact with the hacker herself so that he could make sure that the Kryptonian family was at least not in danger.

Bruce sighed as the entered the communication line with him.

"I need your help."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Y/n sighed as she finally reached back to the Kent's home. She took off her kitsune mask prior to avoid suspicion and decided to drive her black and purple convertible back to the nearby abandoned parking lot once more.

She usually would return to her own penthouse but she left a really nice mini dress here that she wanted to wear, not that it really mattered since she would be wearing her vigilante outfit the whole night but it's the thought that counts, you know?

She was ready to take a long well deserved shower. She took off her make up, grabbed her towel and entered her bathroom.

Once she stepped out of the shower, the mirror fogged up with steam, she dried herself off with her towel before going to grab the tight black mini dress she simply adored that showed off her body and exposes a little bit of her cleavage.

She wasn't afraid to wear things like this, she could fight. Not that she had to with Jason by her side like a loyal guard dog that isn't afraid to bite.

She was putting on her lip gloss when Jon bursts into her room, Y/n was a bit surprised and confused as she looked at him through the mirror. First, he just came back from the whole flood fiasco, so he should be resting right now and second, he came to her? That's a first.

He seemed to frown for a second as he saw her outfit before returning to his usual sunny smile as he waved a piece of paper in the air, "Hey sis! Can you help me with my homework?"

'Sis?' Y/n could barely hold back the cringe as she decided not to look towards him and continued to put her lip gloss on at her vanity, barely even acknowledging him causing him to pout.

"Sis~" The boy whined from the lack of attention as he came closer to the girl.

"I'm sure you can ask someone else for help, Jonathan." Y/n said as she pressed her lips together as she finished her lip combo, closing the lip gloss and placed it back on her vanity.

Jon froze as he heard that. 'Jonathan'? His sister calling him that made them feel so... distant. He continued to follow her as she walked around her room, putting on some jewellery, "But I want you to help me!"

"I'm a bit busy tonight, Jonathan. I'm sure Clark wouldn't mind helping you."

'You even call dad by his name?' Jon's thoughts made him lose track of his original purpose as he didn't even notice that she had already left her room, leaving him alone standing in the middle of her room that smelled like vanilla from her perfume with only his thoughts.

"Why was she so... cold? Was she always like that?" Jon questioned out loud, looking around her room that was kind of empty. It didn't hold any warmth, like it wasn't actually being lived in, there were only a few things left here and there, it looked like an older sibling’s room when they leave for college.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When was the last he even stepped foot in this room? Jon was currently standing in front of the closed door, contemplating whether he should go in or not. He finally pushed himself to just do it, if he stood there any longer he knew he would chicken out, it was such a spur of the moment decision that he even forgot to knock.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

He sighed as he left the room without his desired results, even worse actually. She barely even acknowledged him! After all that courage he built up to even enter her room in the first place. There was no way she used to be that... He tried to find a different word than cold to describe that but all he could think of was how she dismissed him like he was a stranger.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Y/n shrugged off the interaction with Jon and walked in the hallway, beelining for the door, before she got stopped by a certain leather jacket wearing teenager, calling out her name as he leaned against the doorframe of his room, "Yo."

The boy looked her up and down with a raised brow, "I'm guessing you're going to the club? Or maybe a bar?" He was purely guessing off her outfit.

Y/n was wearing a tight black mini dress, with a pair of red bottom heels, a small designer handbag hanging off her shoulder. Along with a nice bracelet stack on her right arm with matching simple silver earrings that shined when the light hit it just right, and her nails with extensions that were sharp enough to do enough damage if scratched.

"I'm going out with my friend." She kept her answer short and curt, trying to walk past him but he blocked her.

The boy let out a teasing remark, "Do you even have friends?"

He was expecting a retort from her but all he got in return was a deadpan stare, he raised both his hands up as if to show that he meant no harm, "I'm just joking~"

He tried backtracking, "So is it just a friend or…?"

"It's none of your business." Her tone was icy, she said as crossed her arms waiting for him to move out of the way.

Conner let out a strained chuckle as he tried to navigate his way around her aloofness, "Well if it's nothing then there should be no problem with me tagging along–"

Before Conner could finish his sentence, Y/n cut him off, "Yeah no sorry. I don't hang out with kids."

"K-kid? I'm not a kid–!" Conner stuttered over his words as he turned red.

"You're a minor. That mean's you're a kid." She waved her hand dismissively as she simply walked past the now stunlocked boy.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Conner blinked a few times, trying to process what just happened. She wasn't like this before. He knew she wasn't. She used to be the type of person that gave off the older sister vibes, the one that would roll her eyes when he asked if he could buy something but would buy it for him anyways, the one that would banter with him, the one who would drive him to get some takeout at 3 in the morning.

His fists were clenched, when was the last time that actually happened? He couldn't seem to remember. He tried(keyword: tried) to shrug off her detached behaviour, perhaps he would try asking her to take him to get some food again soon, it's been too long since the last time after all.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

She continued to walk to the front door, this time she started speed walking, hoping that she wouldn't have to run into another person trying to talk to her.

She turned the key to unlock the door, 'Finally I can leave–'

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing his throat. Of course she just had to jinx herself. At this point she started to regret not going out by her window, she turned around to face the man who has stopped her just as she was about to escape, not just once but twice today.

"Sweetheart." The man started, Y/n almost gagged as she heard that nickname come out from his mouth, a nickname she hasn't heard in years.

"A-Are you going to the bar? Don't you think you should be focusing on your studies?" The man felt awkward as he stood infront of her, his words stuttering as he looked at her, were her eyes always purple? He could've sworn they were the same bright blue as his or at least the same light blue eyes he had fallen in love with.

"I mean you're around the age where you should be in college. Are you in one yet? If you’re not it’s fine! I-I don't want to stress you but if you need help you could always ask me–" It seemed as though Clark didn't see how her jaw clenched as he continued to talk with a slight stutter. Like how he didn't see her for years.

The more that man said the more she felt her blood boil, is he seriously acting like he cares now? After years of neglect? Of not showing a hint of interest in what she says? Of ignoring her in favour of the son who had actually shown signs of being half Kryptonian?

Now it's not like she actually held anything against Jon, she'd grown out of that hateful stage years ago. She just didn't want anything with him, well not specifically him, she wanted to distance herself from that family in general.

Having enough of hearing the original Super's voice she found the words coming out of her mouth before she could think it through, something that hasn't happened in years, "I already graduated college. As a valedictorian."

The air around changed, it was almost as if the air was filled with more electricity than normal. Clark opened his mouth, before closing it again, the words stuck in his throat. When did she graduate? His only daughter, his first born. Then why was she never a priority, Clark?

Did she ever tell him about that? No... There's no way she did. He would've remembered if she did, right? Or was he not listening? How could he not listen to such important information?

Her graduation ceremony! Did anyone go? Did she have to walk the stage with no one watching her? He didn't go to her graduation ceremony.

He didn't go.

He didn't go.

He didn't go.

He was only pulled out of his spiral when he heard Lois calling out his name concerningly. He looked up at the door, only to find it closed and locked once more. She left. She left.

Clark slowly walked to the couch and sat down, burying his face in his hands, "Lois... I... I think we really messed up."

It seemed as though the man was far too distracted with his own thoughts to realise that her eyes had glowed slightly purple during that conversation.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Y/n let out a sigh of relief, now that she was actually out of there she started to think about what she said, "I probably shouldn't have exposed myself."

She looked around the abandoned parking lot to make sure nobody would see her, once it was clear she put on her kitsune mask, her vigilante outfit glitching onto her, "Well what's done is done. I'm not returning to that house for a good while."

"Don't even know why they kept bothering me one after another." She muttered as she threw a small cube to the floor, her black and purple convertible glitched into existence once more. All she had to do was press a button that made it change it's form, turning into her vigilante persona's iconic black and purple motorcycle that was matching with Jason, she had specially created these motorcycles just for them. They were unique, faster, more resilient than the usual motorcycles you would see.

A smirk slowly creeped up behind her mask as she got on the motorcycle, "It's time to have some fun." She revved her engine before speeding out of the abandoned parking lot, leaving a trail of purple behind her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jason sped through the roads, Bruce had called him and usually he would pick then hang up almost instantly just to annoy him but before he could even reach for the hang up button, Bruce had asked him directly, that he needed help.

As soon as the call connected Jason got a, "I need your help." Spoken in his signature deep, rough Bat tone.

So now he was speeding to the Batcave. I mean c'mon, it's not everday that you hear THE Batman asking for help. He wasn't going to miss the opportunity to rub this in the old man’s face in the future. Though he hoped that it would be quick, he had to accompany Y/n later to the information club so no creeps would dare come close.

Of course he knew that she could handle herself just fine, but he didn't want her to have to do that. He wants her to feel protected.

He drove into one of the many secret tunnels leading into the Batcave, parking his black and red motorcycle before getting off it and taking off his red helmet.

He saw Tim and Barbara huddled near the Batcomputer while Bruce standed behind them, Tim and Bruce still in their costumes, they were likely trying to make sure that all systems were back up again.

Though his loud entrance made them turn over to him, he saw Bruce looking at his motorcycle, his eyes narrowing as he saw the small mark on the side of the motorcycle; the Star of Themis. That mark could only mean one thing, it was the work of Supernova.

Jason gave a wolfy grin as he got off his vehicle, "It's pretty, isn't it?"

Bruce wasn't sure whether he was talking about the motorcycle or the mark, maybe both, but either way he knew that he wasn't just complimenting the inanimate object but also the creator of said object.

"I've literally been begging for you to let me take a look at it." Tim said as he tried getting closer to the motorcycle only for Jason to block him.

"Yeah no way am I letting you touch my motorcycle, replacement." Jason said as he flicked Tim's forehead, making the shorter boy groan and soothe his now red forehead.

"You can't just brag about having a motorcycle made by THE Supernova and not let me take a closer look!" Tim said the hacker's name with a tone of admiration and curiousity, "That's like dangling a carrot right infront of a bunny!"

Jason rose a brow at Tim's choice of words, "So you're a bunny now?"

"You know that's not what I meant–"

The two brothers continued their childish bickering with Bruce sighing at the back. But it seemed as though Bruce wasn't the only one that seemed upset by the sight of that mark.

The ginger sitting in front of the Batcomputer pushed up her glasses and spoke, breaking the two brothers’ banter, "I don't even understand why you're all so worked up over her. It's not like she's anything special."

Instantly, the temperature in the Batcave increased by a ton, sweat began to form on Barbara's forehead as she looked at the source. Jason had the look in his eyes that said he was not against launching himself at the person who tried to talk down his girl.

Despite that Barbara continued, "The only reason why she's so successful is because of her powers. She doesn't actually have any skill."

The only warning was the single twitch of his eye before he lunged himself at Barbara, holding her up by her shirt with just his right hand, lifting her from her wheelchair, his eyes glowing a dangerous green, "You want to repeat that again?"

Before he could continue a familiar husky voice sounded from his helmet that is being held by his free hand, "Anger spike detected. Step back and take a breath, my love."

It seemed like it was a pre-recorded message Y/n had programmed into his helmet that senses the change in the Lazarus levels in his body. And she had purposely used her own voice since she knew it would calm him down.

Jason scoffed as he let go of Barbara, uncaring where she lands as he placed his helmet back on and started walking back to his motorcycle.

"Wait Jason I still need to–" Bruce said as he followed his son for a few steps, trying to reason with him.

"I'm not staying another second in a place where my girl isn't respected." Jason growled, giving him the finger before he got back on his motorcycle, purposely revving his engine loudly before taking off.

Bruce sighed as his only source of information was gone now, he looked at the ginger who luckily, landed safely in her wheelchair, "Did you have to provoke him?"

Barbara looked turned away, refusing to say anything, she simply fixed her shirt before going back to looking at the screens of the Batcomputer.

Tim side eyed the ginger in question, "Why do you even dislike Supernova that much anyways?"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

As he stormed out of the Batcave he heard the familiar husky voice that instantly calms his nerves, coming through his comms, "Hey darling~ You on your way yet?"

Jason let his lips twitch up slightly underneath his helmet, "Of course I am, princess. I'll be there before you know it."

She always knew exactly how to calm him down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

.

.

.

Bonus scene:

Tim crushed the can of another monster and threw it into the concerningly big pile of other finished energy drinks. He had been up for hours, scouring through security cams all over Gotham to see if he could figure out what caused the mystery flood.

It had been hours and hours of boring sped up footage until he finally came across something interesting. Now he didn't say it was useful, just very interesting.

He had an evil grin as he downloaded the footage and transferred the short clip to his tablet.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Damian could see Tim from the corner of his eyes while he was sharpening his katana, he didn't like the smug smile that Tim had on his face.

Damian finally addressed the older boy, "What do you want, Drake."

Tim hummed out, "Hmm nothing... Just wondering how good of a look did you get of Supernova's wings."

Damian turned around, his katana now glinting in the light, his teeth gritting against each other, "What do you mean Drake?"

All Tim had to do was wave the tablet he had in his hands, showing a video of Supernova picking Damian up by his cape.

Once Tim saw Damian move even an inch he took that as his sign to book it, with Damian hot on his trail screaming out his last name with katana in hand.

Bruce sighed as he sipped his coffee, being able to hear Tim being chased all throughout the manor from the dining room, it was far too early for this.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Did any of you catch that I already teased reader's "vigilante" alias in the prologue🤭🤭 You'll find out the backstory on how the name "Supernova" came to be in future chapters. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JASON TODD! yes i definitely planned to release this on his birthday... definitely... also sorry for disappearing LOL i'm not dead guys

📷: sleep._.n0tfound

[astraeasworld]

I'm currently OBSESSED with the idea of a neglected!reader in the Batfam, but imagine this—what if the reader is petty and looks like Martha or Thomas Wayne? And she uses that to her full advantage.

Like—

"Oh, you missed my event?"

Or,

"Oh, you forgot my birthday?"

No problem—she just grabs a string of pearls, perfectly styles herself like Martha, and slips into character to a T. Add in a piercing glare that’s an exact copy of Thomas Wayne’s—you know, the kind that settles on you and sends shivers straight to your soul.

And to really amp up the pettiness? Imagine she shares one of Martha’s old hobbies, like gardening. So she deliberately gardens right in front of the window that Bruce’s office overlooks. And even though she can feel his stare? She never flinches. Never looks up. Just keeps pruning those roses like a ghost of the past.

Let her haunt Bruce’s mind.

[snappingturt3ls]

Popstar Neglected!Reader Idea

TW: neglect, underaged sex, underaged prostitution, criminal activity

Reader joins the batfamily at some point, but it too young to join in on the vigilanting and so is kept in the dark about it. Over time this would cause a disconnect between her and the rest of the family where she eventually fades into the background.

After however many years of this, reader decided to say fuck it and leave on her 15th birthday. Deciding ti make a clean break she pack up all her things and brings them to the dump, leaving her room looking like an empty guest room. Then, with nothing but the clothes on her back, walks into Gotham proper. She manages to find someone whos willing to let her stay in an apartment for free if, twice a week, she comes to his apartment and spends the night in his bed.

Naturally she hates this, but its a free apartment, utilites included, and when she does especially well he'll even tip her.

That's not enough to put food on the table however, so she manages to get a job as one of two faces goons. She knows that her family are the bats, having figured it out before she left, and so she wears a mask and sticks to low level gooning, mostly moving boxes and such.

This works very well and while she does have the occasional run in with the bats, she usually manages to come out with nothing more than some nasty bruises.

Over time she discovers a love for music, and song writing in particular. It becomes her passion, she throws everything into it and, on her 18th birthday, after about a year of work, releases her first album. Anonymously of course.

It was an instant hit, breaking all the charts. Globally it was the number one most listened to album for a month and a half, and had at least one song stay in the top ten for six months.

She got approached by a big producing company and asked to sign on, it was her big break! She could quit working for criminals, move out of her shitty apartment, and focus just on her passion!

Of course, one does not just quit working for a Gotham rouge, but she chose two face for a reason. When one of two faces goons wants to leave, he flips a coin. If it lands on tails, he kills them on the spot. If it lands on heads though? He let's them go with a very nice severance package and a promise to make sure their employment under him never reaches the light of day.

It landed on heads, she was free.

She threw herself into her new job, the producers understood her need for privacy and as such allowed her to work under a pseudonym while she got to work changing her legal name. Technically she was working for free, but her pay was being put into an account that would be transfered to her once she had her new name.

Years passed like this, and she loved her life. Sure showbiz had its darksides, but shes been selling her body since she was 15, shes used to it.

Eventually though, she made a mistake. She wrote a three songs, one about a girl who was forgotten, one about running away at fifteen, and one on selling her body for shelter and committed crimes for food. It was a hit yes, but it was very different in tone to all her previous work. In an interview, she was asked what this short album was inspired by and she just said that its the story of her life, that the girl in the story was her.

Her fans rioted, they loved their reader, she was always so honest and kind and sweet to everyone. To hear what she had gone through was a punch in the gut. They wanted blood. But she was still anonymous, she still worked under a pseudonym and wore a mask. Plus even if they doxxed her, something they were loath to do, all they would find was her new name.

Reader had somehow managed to cultivate the single least toxic and most welcoming fanbase in the entire world, and because of that lack of toxicity very few were willing to take the steps needed fo find out who it was that hurt reader.

Eventually though, someone did it. Someone managed to link Readers public identity to who they were born as. Someone realized that she was a Wayne.

Safe to say, readers fans were not happy.

[spinstertheuncommon]

Take me to war. Come on, I dare you - Batfam x Neglected!fem!Reader

(Oneshot)

Inspired by this post by @astraeasworld !!

Reader looks and acts deathly like Martha Wayne, and it scares Bruce into avoiding and neglecting his daughter.

I did only use the 4 robins in this story, cause I kinda made Bruce a sexist dad so Cass isn't here cause I ain't doing that to her ƪ(ツ)∫ .

Title is in reference to the Crane Wives song of the same name, and it influenced the story heavily as well as the rest of their discography.

Cw: implications of unprotected sex (readers conception), neglect, postpartum depression, physically absent parent and emotionally absent parent, emotional distress and abuse, tropes of avoidant personality disorder from both reader and Bruce, tropes of paranoia from Bruce, grief, one swear.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You were the product of a lapse in judgement. A trust in a pill, a lack of rubber, and a restless night.

Now, you’ve grown to embrace your status of a regret, no matter how that title is gifted. It’s never really your fault, is it?

Your mother didn’t hide the pregnancy from your father, instead informing him of practically every aspect. Monitoring your growth, health, gender, complication’s; practically everything tangible to a baby. Your mother even asked if he wanted to gift you your middle name.

A gift he’ll say he gave irresponsibly, yet one you brandish with petty pride.

Neither of your parents desired shared custody. Your mother wished to raise her baby herself, and your father merely requested annual updates on you, masking his indifference. He had no intention to claim custody rights, and preferred to keep to himself. Said he had no intentions to raise a kid, to busy for it.

A month prior to your birth, he publicly adopted a son.

It's only so much a neighbour could offer, especially when she hardly knew them. Instead, she’d put you in your crib, and hide in her closet, wailing and trying to outcry you.

A year after that, your mother was at her boiling point. She would say that she wasn’t informed, that no one prepared her for how hard single parenting is. But the truth was that she lacked support. Her parents were to busy to just move across country from the west coast to Gotham, and her brother was unprepared to uproot his life and move from Star City, already settled down with his own partner and child. Sure they helped the best that they could, but no one, not even your mother, was prepared to move.

So she was alone.

Eventually your uncle reached out to child services to aid your mum, after she called him, weeping at her inability to parent. Due to your cousin, born with a low independence disability, your uncle couldn't house more children without concerning child services. So, you were filed, and put in a foster home until they could get a hold of your father.

8 months later, he returned their calls.

♧♧♧♧

Growing up, you learned to not ask of much from the man you called your father. Don’t expect his yes, don’t expect his time, and never expect him to remember anything.

You tended to inform Alfred of things. School trips, fund raisers, teacher-parent conferences, birthday parties you were invited to, company at dinner, extracurricular, ect. He’d set up whatever you need, get you there and back, and would even ask you questions about your well-being.

Bruce funded all these acts, courtesy of pressure from the family law court. He can't have you taken away, for he'd loose Dick too, so he let you do near everything with a wave of his credit card and an absent glance.

With this freedom, you became the golden child of the city. Using every spare second of your time to stay out of your father's way, you did every sport, from tennis to dirt biking. You were a girl scout, volunteering to sell with any troupe. You went to spelling bees and language competitions. To art groups, museums, local gigs, band practice. You volunteered at shelters, at theatre departments as a usher or techie, at soup kitchens and clothing drives. Every parent, teacher, political figure, event planner and sports player in the city knew your name. Yet you were known for being humble about it. You were shy about status and kind to a fault, not someone anyone could bully or argue with. Even when asked about how your father never showed up for awards, you took it on the chin with the grace of someone much older. 'He's just busy,' you'd say, 'I know he loves me.'

You became a brilliant liar.

♧♧♧♧

Bruce wasn’t aware of any of it. Sure he had a calendar with every single event in there, courtesy of Alfred, but he never bothered to look at it. His job was to keep you alive, not entertain you. The sand of your life kept running through the timer, yet he never bothered to know each grain.

Never bothered to know your birthday.

To the press, however, he was the dream. The father to every orphan, the money man of every hospital, the dreamy breeze under Gotham's wings, to lift them high, high above their troubles.

Never to touch the solid ground of lies below.

♧♧♧♧

You respected your brothers, as they came along. Didn't ask them anything, didn't approach for nothing. Gave them space, and occupied yourself with anything. But that distance may have aided you.

While being only a year younger than Tim, as you got older, forced to be wiser beyond your years, your older brothers would come to you with their troubles; of mind or of heart, you were the mediator.

They knew your troubles with your father, and while they never helped you through them, you helped them with their issues.

With the countless seeds of doubt and hate you've unearthed from them, Bruce should owe you limb and life. Too bad he never respected you, despite what he tells the press.

He talks big game of absolute bullshit.

♧♧♧♧

Years passed, and you got over it.

Well... not really.

You more grew a habit of biting your tongue, the worst truths bubble bitterly like bile so they hurt nobody but you.

You don't want your brothers to get wrapped up in your loose ends, so you don't acknowledge the fraying.

Instead, you graduated high school a valedictorian, went to college with a full ride scholarship paid by the Hamilton Foundation,- thank you, Great Aunt Catherine- and moved out into your own home at 22, all with money you earned in college and highschool from awards and spare jobs. You still show face at the manor, not wanting to ghost the rest of your family just because your dad didn’t like you.

You worked hard, graduating with your PhD and a research placement in England, all lined up for after graduation season ends.

And the season ends tonight.

♧♧♧♧

All scholarship programs in Gotham come together at the end of the season and host a gala, each host on rotation. This year the world decided that dramatic irony would be your greatest adversary, as your father would be hosting in honour of the Thomas Wayne scholarship.

Your father found it distressing that you'll enter with your class instead of with him. He, however unbothered he claimed to be, was aware of how much the Gotham public love you. So if he was seen beside you, as a father shaped man, then he could leech that pride of you to be his own.

How terrible is it that unfortune favours the ugly souls.

Instead, he gave you a job, one you had taken upon yourself years ago.

Be quiet.

Fine.

I can be quiet.

♧♧♧♧

You sit in your room at the manor, all members aside Alfred already left to go organise the party. Facing the dressor, one your grandmother used to use, you run your index finger around your lower lip, to rub off any excess lipstick that may have dodged your liner.

Your other hand follows the curves of the faux marble, the ivory leaves and roses smoothed out with years of embrace. You used to daydream of your grandmother sitting there, on the same poof, brushing out her pin curls before going out on the town for the night, your grandfather chasing her wild fervour.

Many a times have you been told you are the spitting image of her, a face you’ve grown into. You started following her makeup rituals she would publish for the press, writing your letters with the same flick she did. Maybe you were selfish, but seeing how your father’s shoulders would tense at your signature always gave you a little pep in your step.

You fiddle with the knobby surface of the dresser a bit more, pulling at the bud along the side.

Click

The draw drops down from underneath, revealing the secret compartment. You've known about this for years, but never shared it with anyone, for it was your little secret.

Yours, and Marthas.

Inside it held three things: a diary with a canvas cover and well loved corners, one you would read yourself to sleep to, a pen etched with Martha's name, and a long box, containing what you felt was emotional dynamite.

You never sought a need for the context of the box, but tonight, a night before you leave the country, is a night to never forget.

♧♧♧♧

You drift through the crowd, your black, sweetheart dress glides around you. A simple look. Your evening gloves land just below your armpits, each side seam dripping with pearls, to compliment the strings around your neck. The same strings that haunt Bruces dreams; his nightmares of crushing reality.

Your grandmother's prized pearls.

His mother's lost pearls.

Or, assumed lost.

But instead of retreating into the confines of the Bat-suit, he instead has to bear the reality that the ghost of his mother haunts him through you.

He is tonight's host after all.

And he hates it. Forced to beside himself with your little revenge act in front of all eyes of power. He is meant to be the beloved, single, socialite dad of Gotham, not a neglectful father. And he’s not… is he?

You take pride in yourself that night, something you were uncommon to do. But with a final lap, you soak in every stare, every congratulations, every kiss on the cheek as stamps of victory.

Never would you let your status claim you, but god, you smiled like a rich snake.

♧♧♧♧

In the morning, as you boarded the plane to England, your full name will be plastered over the Gotham news-

“Y/n Martha Wayne-L/n stuns crowds in her grandmother’s wedding pearls at the Gotham Scholars Graduate gala!”

You’re beloved Gotham, always singing your prayers as you make the public appearances that your father butchered and ignored. While he kissed babies and sponsored orphans, you volunteer at shelters and escort patients into clinics, with welcome baskets for all.

You pride yourself on the war you’ve brought; to be the constant torment to Bruces suffering.

A tourniquet to his grief, locking down all the worst parts of Bruce, never letting him let go.

The city will haunt him with you. With your image.

With his mother's face, reincarnate.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ehehehehe i had fun with this one

Gonna be posting a few more oneshots b4 getting back to the Gotham sewist chapters

Byeeee!!

Do not copy, steal, or repost my works!