I just realised how convenient it would be for Damian to become a doctor, because you can't convince me his siblings wouldn't use that fact for their own fun. They don't even need his medical services, unless it's something serious enough, they just barge into his workplace. They wait a few months for the sake of decency, just to make sure Damian has a solid reputation and the hospital administration isn't stupid enough to throw out a specialist like him, but then.
Jason, bursting into the hospital lobby, falling to his knees, screaming in agony with tears in his eyes: I NEED A DOCTOR.
The closest doctor, landing next to him, five nurses already pushing a gurney from afar: sir, how can i help you?
Jason, immediately stopping the infernal howls: not you. where's damian?
Doctor, flabbergasted: dr. wayne is unavailable right now. sir, let me assist you—
Jason, already getting to his feet: nah don't bother
Doctor:
—
LPN, opening the door to Damian's office: dr. wayne, I came to inform you that your last patient for today is ready for examinati—
Tim, putting packages of sterile scalpels from a glass cabinet into a comically large bag:
LPN:
Tim: ...you can deduct it from his salary
LPN:
—
Dick, lounging on a hospital couch: you still haven't told me how your date with Jon went
Damian, finishing his work day: because there's nothing to tell. i don't owe you anything, and i'm going home.
Dick, gasping: but you can't leave until your last patient is healed!
Damian: and i assume you're the patient in this case?
Dick: of course! a patient suffering from dreadful disease — a lack of information about the love life of his dear young brother! i need the best medicine at your disposal, dr. wayne
Yall know the posts that are like "you can usually tell who little sister is bc she'll be the taller one", lets test that theory
sibling height check!!!
oldest sibling and taller/youngest sibling and shorter
oldest sibling and shorter/youngest sibling and taller
same height/same height
I have too many sibling to tell/too many different heights
only child/bald/results
Voting ended onSep 24, 2024
if you need an example, my sister is older than me by 3 years and I'm taller by a few inches
Edit: 1) sorry to all the middle children out there!! I didn't mean to forget yall on purpose it slipped my mind when I made this poll, take a cookie as an apology 🍪🍪🍪. Just choose whatever option fits best and explain in the tags if you feel like it.
2) the formatting of the polls are like that bc it was late asl when I made this poll and it made sense to me at the time, so sorry again if yall have trouble understanding the poll
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)
Decided to doodle and share my fave kinda dynamic to ever exist
This is peak for me. You just can't go wrong with it. It works for any kind of relationship: lovers, parent and child, siblings - just the whole "I'm going to show you what love is and I hope you'll never get tired of it" and "I don't see love very much; I'll never get tired of your version" just. Gets me man. There's nothing better.
Except for this alternative:
Pretty much the same dynamic but different personality types and funnier lmao
A/n: I haad to write a sibling fluff piece about Aegon bragging to the others.
You weren’t trying to eavesdrop.It just… happened.
You were walking the long corridor near the armory when you heard Egg’s voice, loud, proud, and unmistakably smug.
“I’m telling you,” Egg said, sounding like a boy who had already planned the wedding. “He’s going to be my brother soon.”
You slow your steps.
One of the squires snorts. “Your brother? Ser Duncan’s just a hedge knight.”
Egg scoffs like they’ve said something incredibly stupid.
{ though according to him they did }
“Not for long.”
You press closer to the stone pillar, hiding a smile.
“My sister always gets what she wants,” Egg continues confidently. “Always. If she decides she likes you, you’re basically already hers.”
There’s a small pause, someone hesitant to ask as if they knew the answer already.
Someone whispers, “Does she really like him that much?"
Egg doesn’t even hesitate.“She holds his hand.”
Collective gasps around.
“That’s serious,” another boy says.
“I know,” Egg replies solemnly. “She doesn’t even hold Father’s hand that long.”
You bite your lip to keep from laughing.
Egg goes on, warming up like a bard telling a heroic tale.“He’s huge, you know. Like a tower with legs. And very kind. And he blushes every time she smiles at him. It’s embarrassing but also very romantic.”
“Do you think he knows?”
“Oh, he knows,” Egg says confidently. “He’s just too knightly to admit it.” Then, proudly“But it doesn’t matter. She’ll win him. She always wins.”
Another squire whispers, “So you’ll really be brothers?”
Egg beams.
“Yep. Tall brother. Best brother. The kind that could punch Aerion into next week.”
Respectful silence follows.
You finally step out from behind the pillar.
Egg turns and freezes. The others scatter.
“…Oh.”
Your eyebrow lifts.
“So,” you say lightly. “I always get what I want?”
Egg recovers instantly.“Yes,” he nods seriously. “You do.”
“And Ser Duncan is already mine?”
“Basically married,” Egg confirms.
You laugh softly.“You’re impossible.”
He grins.“You love me.”
You do.
You place your hand on his head gently. “You’re very confident about my future.”
Egg shrugs.“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
You glance toward the courtyard where Duncan is training.
Huge. Focused. Gentle. A true knight.
“Besides,” Egg adds proudly, “he makes you happy.”
Your smile softens.“That he does.”
Egg smirks.“Told you. Brother soon....then I'll get to be an Uncle!"
Hello lovely!! I just wanted to say I missed you! And your work ofc! And also to say thank you for answering so many reqs! I get notifs when you post and I makes my day!!
I did have a req for Skz! And sibling reader. I just find the dynamic soo fun. Like Lee Knows little sister and he’s introducing her to the rest for the first time and she has a crush on Chan or hyunjin and Lee knows a bit over protective
pairing: Leeknowssister!reader x Hyunjin
warnings: Leeknow being a big brother, overprotectiveness, brothers best friend trope hehehe
disclaimer: not my pic but I wish it was
Okay but why was this so much fun? Lee Know is my Bias but now I want him as my overprotective brother....
You dragged your suitcase through the airport doors, the December air biting your cheeks. It had been almost a year since you’d been home, and it felt unreal to finally be back in Seoul. You scanned the crowd, tugging your scarf tighter, until a familiar voice called your name.
“Yah, you still walk that slow?”
You turned to see your brother, Lee Know—hood pulled up, mask on, hands in his pockets like he was trying to blend in. You rolled your eyes, but the grin came easily.
“Nice disguise,” you said. “You look like Forest Gump"
He smirked behind his mask. “Bitchy. Guess studying abroad didn’t teach you manners.”
“Guess being an idol didn’t teach you how to text your sister back,” you shot back, stepping into his open arms.
He hugged you tight—one of those quick, silent hugs that said more than words. When he pulled back, he grabbed your suitcase handle without asking and started walking toward the parking lot.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got cats waiting and too much kimchi in the fridge.”
The drive back was mostly teasing and updates between traffic lights. You told him about your classes and how your roommate talked in her sleep. He told you about long practice days, new choreographies, and how Felix had started baking like his life depended on it.
When you reached their dorm building, you hesitated. “You’re sure it’s okay I’m coming by? I don’t wanna intrude.”
Minho gave you a side-eye. “Please. They’ve been talking about meeting you since you booked your flight. You’re basically a myth at this point.”
You grinned. “A legend, huh?”
He snorted. “More like a cautionary tale.”
The dorm was warm and loud, even before you took off your shoes. Music leaked from somewhere down the hall, and laughter carried from the living room. The moment Minho opened the door, Felix’s voice rang out.
“She’s here?”
You barely had time to blink before Felix came running, bright-eyed and smiling. “Hi! You’re Minnie’s sister, right? I’ve heard so much about you!”
You laughed, surprised by the enthusiasm. “All lies, I hope.”
Changbin appeared next, handing you a bottle of water. “Welcome home. You look like you need hydration.”
“Do I look that bad?”
“Plane face,” he said seriously. “Everyone gets it.”
“Wow, thanks for the honesty,” you said, earning a chorus of laughter.
Seungmin and I.N waved from the couch, and Han leaned over the backrest, eyeing you curiously. “So you’re the famous little sister,” he said. “You don’t look that scary.”
“Give me five minutes,” you said, and Han cracked up.
Even Chan, emerging from the kitchen with a mug of tea, gave you a kind smile. “We’ve only heard good things. Welcome.”
You relaxed almost immediately. They were exactly how you imagined them from all the clips and behind-the-scenes you’d secretly watched in your dorm room. Still, you were painfully aware of the one person you hadn’t seen yet.
And then he walked in.
Hyunjin entered from the hall, hair half-dry, sleeves pushed up, like a painting that had wandered into real life. He stopped when he saw you, eyes wide for just a second.
You had prepared for this moment—really, you had—but your brain chose that exact second to short-circuit. “Uh—hi,” you said, immediately hating how breathless it sounded.
“Hi,” he echoed, smiling nervously. His voice was softer than you expected. “I’m Hyunjin.”
“I know,” you said before your brain could intervene. “I mean—obviously I know, not like, weirdly—uh—”
He laughed, and the sound loosened something in your chest. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same,” you said, trying to sound like someone who hadn’t just embarrassed herself in front of her crush.
Across the room, Minho’s eyebrow twitched. “Okay, everyone calm down,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let her breathe before you all start an interview.”
“I’m fine,” you said, shooting him a look. “They’re not scary.”
“Give it time,” he muttered.
Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Takeout boxes covered the table, and conversation bounced between Korean and English so fast you lost track. Felix kept refilling your plate, and Seungmin quizzed you about your major until Han told him to stop “being such a Boomer”
You and Minho slipped easily into your old rhythm—bickering one minute, laughing the next. Every time he said something sarcastic, you matched it instantly, which earned you approving nods from the others.
“You two really are siblings,” Chan said, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” Changbin added. “Same attitude, double the volume.”
“I’m the nicer one,” you said.
“No, you’re just louder,” Minho corrected, and you kicked him under the table.
“See? Violence,” he deadpanned.
Felix nearly choked laughing.
Somewhere between dessert and cleaning up, you caught Hyunjin looking at you again. He wasn’t obvious about it, but you felt it—the curious glances, the half-smile when you laughed at something dumb Han said. And okay, maybe you were looking back more than you realized.
When you caught each other’s eyes, he looked away quickly, cheeks pink. You hid your smile behind your drink.
Minho noticed. Of course he did.
He cleared his throat and stood abruptly. “Okay. Let's get you back to your hotel. You must be tired."
You blinked. “Actually I'm fine—”
“Awesome,” he said, already grabbing his keys. “Let’s go before you fall asleep on Felix.”
Felix pouted. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
You hugged them all goodbye, promising to see them again before you left. When you reached Hyunjin, you smiled and said, “Nice meeting you. For real.”
He smiled back, a little shy. “You too. Sleep well.”
The ride back was quiet at first, the city sliding by in streaks of light. You could feel your brother glancing at you occasionally.
“What is it?” you finally asked.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’ve got that look.”
He kept one hand on the wheel. “What look?”
“The one where you’re pretending not to overthink something.”
He exhaled through his nose. “You and Hyunjin seemed… chatty.”
You smirked. “Jealous?”
“Disgusted,” he corrected.
“Sure,” you said. “Whatever helps you sleep.”
He shot you a side-eye, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re not allowed to date any of my members, you know that right?”
“Oh wow...what the actual fuck Minho.”
“I'm just saying. They are not a good match for a girl like you.”
You laughed. “You sound like Dad.”
He grimaced. “Don’t say that.”
You checked into your hotel, hugged him one more time, and promised to text when you woke up. He lingered like he wanted to say something else, but only said, “Goodnight, brat.”
“Night, old man.”
You waved him off, unaware that the moment he got back to the dorm, your name was the first thing that came up.
When Minho returned, the others were sprawled in the living room—some gaming, some scrolling through their phones. Chan looked up as the door clicked shut.
“She get to the hotel okay?”
“Yeah,” Minho said, dropping his keys onto the counter. “Finally asleep, I hope.”
“Your sister’s cool,” Felix said. “She fits right in.”
“Too well,” Minho muttered.
Changbin raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a problem.”
Minho leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “No problem at all....”
Han glanced between them. “He’s doing the thing.”
“What thing?” Minho asked flatly.
“The overprotective brother thing,” Han said. “You’ve got the stance and everything.”
“I’m not being overprotective,” Minho argued. “I’m being realistic.”
Seungmin smirked from the couch. “Here we go.”
“I’m serious,” Minho continued. “I don’t see her that often anymore, so yeah, I keep tabs. I know when she’s got exams, when she’s sick, when she posts about running out of coffee. She always supported me—even when I was too busy to be around. So I’m gonna support her. And protect her from… idiots.”
The room went quiet for a beat.
Then Han whispered, “Like Hyunjin.”
Minho’s head turned sharply. “What?”
Hyunjin, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the couch, froze mid-sip of his tea. “Huh??!!!?”
Felix snorted. “Bro, you were looking at her like she was the last cookie on the plate.”
“I was not,” Hyunjin said, ears turning pink.
“You totally were,” I.N added, trying—and failing—to hide a grin.
Hyunjin groaned. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed. “Are they, tho?”
“Come on,” Chan cut in gently, “they were just talking. Don’t make it weird.”
Minho’s voice stayed calm, but his jaw tightened. “I’m not making it weird. I’m just saying—no one is good enough for her. Period.”
That earned a few snickers. Changbin muttered, “Classic brother move.”
Minho shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “You think I’m joking?”
Hyunjin met his eyes cautiously. “Of course not."
“Good,” Minho said, tone lighter now but still edged. “Then we understand each other.”
Felix nudged Hyunjin. “You’ve been warned.”
Hyunjin sighed and leaned back. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Hands off the sister.”
“Exactly,” Minho said, walking toward his room.
Just before he disappeared down the hallway, Chan called after him. “Hey, she really is great, Min. You did a good job being a brother.”
Minho stopped, half-turned, and his expression softened. “She did the hard part,” he said quietly. Then, after a pause, he added, “But thanks.”
When his door clicked shut, the room exhaled.
Han grinned at Hyunjin. “So, guess you’re doomed.”
“Shut up,” Hyunjin said, throwing a cushion at him.
Felix caught it midair, laughing. “You could always win him over with cat treats.”
Hyunjin groaned again. “I’d rather fight an actual cat.”
“Same energy,” Seungmin said, smirking.
The teasing went on, good-natured and relentless, until Chan finally told them all to sleep. The dorm lights dimmed, and the noise faded into quiet.
The next morning, your phone buzzed before you were even awake.
Minho: Don’t forget brunch at 11. The guys want to see you again.
You smiled into your pillow, thumbs flying as you replied:
You: Even Hyunjin? ;)
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then reappeared. Finally:
Minho: Don’t start.
You laughed, tossing your phone onto the nightstand.
Maybe you’d tease him more later. Maybe you’d talk to Hyunjin again—maybe even without tripping over your words this time. Either way, being home already felt exactly how it was supposed to: noisy, warm, and just a little bit chaotic.
That night, Lee Know fell asleep on the couch surrounded by his cats, phone buzzing softly beside him with your new message:
“Thanks for picking me up, loser. I missed you.”
He smiled in his sleep. Protective or not, it felt good to have you home again.
And somewhere across town, Hyunjin looked at a half-finished sketch—a bright-eyed girl in a winter scarf—and smiled too.
: Formula 1 (2025 grid)
Characters: Y/N Leclerc, Charles Leclerc, Arthur Leclerc, Lorenzo Leclerc, Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman
Genre: Platonic, slice of life, humor, fluff, family dynamics
WC: 1,267
Warnings: light language, overprotective brothers, mischief
[📸: image of Monaco paddock with a caption]
“Y/N Leclerc spotted in the paddock for the first time?? 👀 Baby Leclerc causing chaos???”
#monacogp #f1gridchaos #charlesisnotokay
Y/N Leclerc was eighteen and tired of being babied.
It was cute when she was thirteen. Still manageable when she was fifteen. But now? Now that she was legally an adult, could vote in elections, and was literally filling out university applications? She was done being told she wasn’t allowed in the paddock because it was “too chaotic.”
Chaotic was her default setting.
And she was a Leclerc — practically raised trackside.
So when the Monaco Grand Prix rolled around and Charles and Arthur casually told her, again, that she wasn’t going, she decided to do what any self-respecting youngest sibling would do.
She lied.
“Oui, maman, I’ll stay home. Don’t worry, I’m just going to hang out with Léa and revise for my Spanish exam.”
Pascale Leclerc had squinted at her, suspicious. “You swear?”
“Swear. Hand on my future degree,” Y/N said, grinning. The moment her mother turned away, she shoved her tote bag full of paddock-appropriate outfits into the backseat of her friend’s car and was gone.
The Monaco paddock on Saturday morning was already buzzing with media, engineers, and drivers brushing past each other in fireproof gear. Everyone had somewhere to be.
Y/N had nowhere to be.
Which made it ten times more fun.
She slipped through the barriers using the guest pass she “borrowed” from Lorenzo — her oldest brother and, thank the heavens, her #1 accomplice — and made a beeline for the Ferrari garage like she owned the place.
Honestly? She basically did.
Until—
“Hey! You dropped this!”
She turned just as someone jogged up behind her, a discarded lanyard in hand.
Tall. Blonde. Bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile.
Ollie Bearman.
And trailing behind him was none other than Kimi Antonelli, eyebrows raised like he already knew this was going to be a problem.
“Oh my god, thanks!” she beamed, taking the lanyard back. “I didn’t even notice.”
“Are you… Charles’ little sister?” Ollie asked, eyes narrowing.
“Y/N,” she nodded, sticking out her hand like they were in a business meeting and not two chaotic teens about to derail the paddock’s peace.
Kimi snorted. “You’re the one who always sends him cursed memes before quali, right?”
“Guilty,” she laughed. “Wait — how do you know that?”
“I was sitting next to him in the driver’s briefing once. He opened one and choked on his water.”
“Classic,” she said proudly.
And just like that — instant friendship.
[🎥: video post]
🎤 "Y/N Leclerc, what are you doing with Ollie Bearman and Kimi Antonelli near the Red Bull garage??"
🗣️ “Strategizing,” she deadpans. “For what?” “World domination.”
#chaoscrew #ferrarikids #babyLeclerc #olliekimiyn
By the time Charles found her, she had commandeered a golf cart, was halfway to the hospitality suite, and Ollie was driving it like they were escaping a heist.
“Y/N?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
Her eyes widened. “Abort mission. Charles has spotted us.”
Ollie slammed the brakes. “Bail?”
“Bail.”
Kimi tumbled out the side with a dramatic roll like he was in a Bond film, and Y/N hopped off and sprinted behind a stack of tire warmers.
Unfortunately for her, Charles was faster. And angrier.
He caught her by the elbow with the strength of an older brother who had been dealing with this exact behavior since 2008.
“Tu es sérieuse?!”
“Oh, come on, Charles,” she whined. “I’m an adult!”
“Adults don’t hijack golf carts!”
“Then clearly I’m redefining adulthood,” she snapped.
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you not to come to the paddock.”
“And I told you I’m done being bossed around.”
They glared at each other until—
“I warned you,” Arthur said, strolling up behind Charles, arms crossed. “I knew she was going to sneak in.”
“You could’ve stopped her,” Charles hissed.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “She threatened to leak my old TikToks if I snitched.”
Y/N beamed. “And don’t forget it.”
Charles looked like he aged ten years. “Maman is going to kill me.”
Meanwhile, across the paddock, Kimi and Ollie regrouped behind a merch booth.
“Do you think she’s grounded?” Kimi asked.
“Definitely,” Ollie said. “But like… she deserved that joyride.”
“She’s cooler than both her brothers combined.”
“I’m going to DM her a meme about Charles losing his mind.”
“Do it.”
Back in the Ferrari motorhome, Lorenzo had his feet propped on a table when Y/N burst in, flanked by her furious siblings.
“She’s your responsibility now!” Charles shouted.
“She’s an adult!” Y/N shouted back.
“She’s my baby sister!”
Lorenzo barely looked up from his phone. “So dramatic.”
Charles looked ready to combust. “She hijacked a golf cart—”
“It was more of a joy cruise,” Y/N muttered.
“—and was hanging around with Bearman and Antonelli, of all people!”
Lorenzo finally looked up. “So? They’re her age.”
“She shouldn’t be causing chaos with—”
“She’s a Leclerc,” Lorenzo said. “Chaos is in her DNA.”
Arthur snorted. “Facts.”
Charles looked between them like he had been betrayed by his own bloodline.
“Maman is going to have an aneurysm.”
“She doesn’t need to know,” Y/N said sweetly, flopping onto the couch.
“You’re going home.”
“Nope.”
“Y/N.”
“I’ll leave when Ollie and Kimi leave.”
“YOU’RE FRIENDS WITH THEM NOW?!”
[📱: group chat screenshot]
“Chaos Trio 🏎️🔥”
Ollie: yo u alive
Kimi: charles didn’t actually murder you right
Y/N: alive and grounded but lorenzo gave me his paddock pass for tomorrow 😈
Ollie: LEGEND
Kimi: the streets won
Y/N: see you boys tmrw 8am. golf cart round 2?
Sunday. Race Day. Monaco.
Y/N showed up in a Ferrari jacket three sizes too big, sunglasses on her head, and coffee in her hand like she was the one racing that day.
Ollie and Kimi spotted her from across the paddock and high-fived her like she just returned from war.
“You got through Charles?” Kimi asked.
“Lorenzo ran interference,” Y/N replied.
“And Arthur?”
“Still pretending he doesn’t know me.”
“Nice.”
They didn’t even make it twenty minutes before someone handed them a water gun.
“Want to start a grid-wide water fight?” Y/N asked.
“Say less,” Ollie said.
“Bet,” Kimi grinned.
It was chaos. Pure, unfiltered, high-school-graduation-level chaos. No one was safe. Not drivers. Not team principals. Not even Lando Norris, who got a direct shot to the back of the head and turned around like a wet cat.
But when Charles heard the shouting and walked out of the garage to see his little sister ambushing a world champion with a water gun, he almost cried.
“Y/N!” he yelled.
“OH NO—”
Kimi grabbed her hand. “RUN!”
Later, after the race, Charles sat with a towel over his head, fully done with life.
Arthur stood next to him, handing him a water bottle. “You can’t stop her, you know.”
“She’s eighteen,” Charles muttered.
Arthur shrugged. “So were we, once.”
“I don’t like it.”
“She has friends.”
“They’re delinquents.”
“Okay true, but she’s happy.”
Charles looked across the room, where Y/N was laughing with Ollie and Kimi, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
She looked alive.
He sighed.
“She’s still my baby sister.”
Arthur clapped him on the back. “Forever and always.”
[📸: Charles Leclerc IG story]
[photo of Y/N fast asleep on the motorhome couch, Kimi and Ollie passed out beside her, surrounded by snack wrappers]
caption: “chaos crew: powered by espresso and bad decisions ☕️🔥”
[📱: text from Pascale Leclerc]
Maman 👩🍳: I saw the water gun clip. We’re talking when you get home.
Y/N: …love u?
Maman 👩🍳: You’re grounded.
Y/N: worth it.
