"They said there's too much caffiene in your bloodstream and a lack of real spice in your life.
I said, 'Leave me alone!'"
college student so updates are kinda slow sorry!
Hi! I'm Zippy and I'm an aspiring writer out here, trying to brave the new horizons of Tumblr. I would love it if you guys could send me some asks! I write for:
DC (Batman & Co, Superman & *selective* Co, Main Justice League, other teams))
Marvel
JJK
JJBA
Genshin Impact
MHA
Crackfics & rarepairs
Original Asks
x readers
yandere asks
Masterlist
Why are you so obsessed with me?! Reader x Platonic!Yan!Bats
not an ask and u dont have to respond but i found ur platonic batfam series recently and oh my goodness, it has just the right amount of everything i didnt even know i liked in a batfam fic. i love how non-cringy the reader is and i love the right amount of mystery there is and im genuinely at the edge of my seat to see what happens next! anyway, absolutely amazing story, loved it so much! the only regret i have is finding it earlier and unfinished 😭
awww thank you so much anon, I'm really happy you like WAYSOWM
I try my best not to make scenes cringy, mostly because i'm defo my own biggest critic and absolutely HATE re-reading old scenes (No really, i just recently uploaded the whole series onto Ao3 and omg i was mortified re-reading the earlier chapters TT)
And don't worry, as of now, this series will have an end, after many more chapters that I aim to make longer in length.
He was at your window again, tap-tap-tapping on the glass like it wasn't absolutely insane for him to be hovering outside your Gotham penthouse at 5 in the morning.
"Hellooo? Sweetie honey baby-pie, open up!"
You groaned, turning your back to the floor-to-ceiling windows, pulling your pillow up over the back of your head, trying to block out the noise and go back to sleep.
"I see you, love-bug! I'll shatter the glass, Daddy-bats doesn't scare me!"
Oh fuck this. He knew the excessive pet names pissed you off, it was why he did it, just to rile you up.
The asshole was just itching to get on your nerves.
Last time he'd broken into your apartment, Bruce had threatened to shove kryptonite up his ass (in less crude language, but the threat still stood).
But of course, there was no threat strong enough to keep this perverted version of Superman away from you
~~~~~
"He's...volatile," Bruce had explained, "we've done our best to keep him calm, but- well, he's not cooperative in the slightest."
You'd both been sat on the small couch in his office at the manor, him wrapping his arms around you securely, pressing his cheek to the back of your head.
You knew he felt bad about the whole thing, you'd seen the guilt on his face when him and the rest of the senior Justice League members approached you earlier that day, pleading for your help to keep their 'little problem' under control.
Apparently, Superboy Prime had become infatuated with you the day he arrived in your universe, after you chewed him out for bumping into you on the sidewalk outside your workplace.
In his own words it was your "tenacity" that drew him in, but you knew it was really the fact that you spoke to him how most people wouldn't. Not just him, most civilians avoided speaking to any caped hero unless necessary, scared of any bad juju.
But you'd grown up in the lap of the Dark Knight and his allies in the League, so when you saw a vaguely familiar face walking around Gotham in broad daylight, unfamiliar hero suit on display for all to see, you really tore into him.
Somewhere between your third and fourth time calling him a 'goofy looking idiot', he'd fallen for you, and fallen hard.
So when his (much nicer and more mature) counterpart, actual Superman, showed up to drag him to the Watchtower by the scruff, he'd been flailing after you, begging for your name.
You gave your Uncle Clark a long suffering sigh, telling him to keep the new recruits under a tighter leash, never bothering to look too closely at the man wriggling around in his hand.
(Both of you were mortified when Prime, disgruntled at the lapse in attention, barked obnoxiously in midair. Superman seemed to age decades in a split second, and you really couldn't blame him.)
Later, you'd been approached by the people you most respected, your father leading the group with his head hung low, and asked if you would please just speak to Prime for a moment. Supposedly, he'd been threatening to "ret-con" the universe if they didn't at least let him see you.
No one wanted to find out if he was serious about following through, so you shot Bruce a dirty look and walked into his holding cell, a snarl building on your lips.
It was a shock to both yourself and onlookers when Prime immediately shot to his knees in front of you, wrapping his hands around your abdomen and laughing excitedly into your stomach.
You'd spent the next hour talking to him while the rest of the League (and your family) watched from behind a wall of one-way glass.
When he wasn't trying to be a douche, he wasn't even bad company, just a little awkward at actually having someone converse with him. You could even find it in you to feel bad at the fact that he'd been so isolated for so long.
He was honest with you, almost apologetic at the way he'd lost it in your absence. His humor matched your's and you found it fun keeping him on his toes.
When it was time for you to leave, you made the impulsive decision to hug him, whispering that you wished him the best and to please stop threatening your loved ones.
Bad move.
The next deal he struck was to be able to properly court you in exchange for playing nice and following the rules.
Thus, your family looked distinctly guilty every time Prime sought you out, his promise of good behavior earning him the privilege of leaving the Watchtower at will.
More realistically, they could no longer hold him against his will, but tomato-tomahto.
He'd started showing up occasionally, flitting in and out of your periphery, usually catching you on your walk to work, linking an arm through yours and tugging you around the city.
He was sweet with it, bringing you your coffee at the door and cracking jokes that had you doubled over and wheezing. When he walked you back home after work, he'd spin stories of other worlds, other realities of your most precious people, as the two of you rested on a park bench.
You didn't mind most of those moments, almost enjoying the feeling of him properly trying to take you out, a rowdy excuse of a god sniveling after you.
What you dreaded was the visits he'd make at night, clad in his hero suit, banging on your window, and hollering humiliating pet names at the top of his lungs.
~~~~~
"For god's sake, Clark, I'm sleeping, I have work tomorrow, go away." You said, muffled into your mattress.
The next second, he was beside your bed, clicking his tongue and shoving you to the side, "You really ought to get the latches checked, baby, I didn't even have to break in this time."
Of course the latches didn't lock properly, you lived on the 81st floor, the assumption was that no one would get in via window anyway.
You wrenched your head out of your pillow stack, glaring at him blearily, "Clark, if you're not going to sleep then seriously leave."
There was no mistaking what the asshole wanted...
No it wasn't sex.
It was emotional connection.
Dork.
~~~~~
The last time he'd come over around this hour, he'd spoken hushed whispers into your ear about his biggest insecurities, his most haunting fears.
He was deathly afraid of being alone. His powers left him isolated, even beyond any other version of Superman. He couldn't stand the feeling of being disliked and was desperate for something to call his own.
Apparently, that thing was you.
That same night, Clark had run a fingernail down the side of your neck where the two of you were tangled in your sheets, you trying desperately to both be an active listener and get your rest in. He confessed that he "claimed" you, you were now his "MacGuffin" or whatever the hell.
Okay it was 4 AM, you couldn't be bothered to listen too closely.
You did, however, catch his feverish ramblings of how he'd follow you wherever you went, he'd take you to any world you desired, and he'd do anything just for you to stay with him.
He tried to make you mumble out some odd promise to stick by his side no matter what, but you just pushed his head to the side and muffled a scream into your pillow. No matter how much you tried to buck him off your bed, he wouldn't budge, a deadweight against your back.
Finally about to drift off, you heard just one more promise as he nosed incessantly at your neck like a big, clingy cat.
He promised that he would do his best by you, that he would take it slow, be what you needed. He'd behave. But only so long as you stayed yourself.
He'd be good for you, as long as you kept knocking him upside the head and cussing him out.
You, only you.
Now, when he was back with the clear intention to repeat that night, you could only curse your unlucky stars for sticking you with a masochist for a crazy boyfriend.
Something about you made him feel human, and something about him made you feel like a chew toy. It wasn't a great match, but as long as he stayed smushed under your thumb, no longer threatening the universe, it would have to do.
~~~~~
This time, he yanked your head into his lap while he sat back against your headboard. He stroked a hand idly through your hair while keeping his face turned toward the window.
Through one bleary eye, you thought he almost looked rather handsome, bathed in the moonlight like this.
Until he shifted his eyes down to you where you were sprawled out across your bed.
"The day you saw me...I was only stopping over in this world, actually. 'was planning to ret-con you all on my way out, too much discontinuity from canon, y'know?"
Even when you stiffened, he continued on, voice barely above a whisper, "I mean, all of Batman's children keeping so close to the big Bat? This whole "Justice League family" thing you guys have going on? It was so OOC, I was about to tear my hair out. Felt more like some teenager's shitty fanfiction than actual lore-accurate writing."
OOC? Canon? These were terms he'd thrown around before when telling you about the other worlds he'd ended, but he'd never bothered to really explain what they meant. Now you wished you'd pushed a little harder for details.
"But you...at first I thought you were just some dumb author's new reader-insert or OC."
You tried to push up off his lap, but his hands just forced you back down, never stopping their gentle scrapes on your scalp.
"I know better now. You're unique to this world. That makes you uniquely mine. You wanna hear a secret sweetheart? You're the only version of you in any universe I've ever been to. And I'm the only version of me. Aren't we just perfect together?"
He sighed, turning back towards the moonlight, harsh shadows visible along his jawline and on the other side of his nose. His blue eyes seemed to glow lowly in your dim room.
"A match made outside the lore."
He chuckled to himself.
"That saves us from any idiot writer fucking us up for a few decades. You'll always be you, and I'll always be me. The two of us don't exist anywhere outside of this room. I don't exist anywhere except for right here next to you. And for the first time ever...I'm not alone in that."
You let out a sound of discomfort, the parts of him you'd been warned about rearing their ugly heads.
He sighed again, "Go to sleep, baby. I'll be here when you wake up. You've got to be up early, don't you? Have to clock in for Big Bat. Don't worry, you can tell Bruce whatever I said, there are no secrets between us."
And for just a second his form seemed to blur around the edges, eyes glowing a much brighter electric blue.
When he next spoke, it sounded both distorted and absolutely clear at the same time, like he telegraphed it directly into your head.
"And you, cut the cameras already, it's rude to eavesdrop."
~~~~~~~~~~
(A/n: Freaky little man. I'm still on the fence about whether or not I like him, but he's real fun to write about.)
(A/n: She's BAAAAACKKKK! didja miss me? I missed you guys TT, but I'm back now, and so is the next installation of WAYSOWM, enjoy! ;) a little late, but dang was this one hard to write.)
Why's your family trying to connect so hard with you after so many years of neglect? Well . . . I guess its not all that bad- why are they staring so hard???
(Masterlist)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"From the top, no bullshit, no lies, what happened? Who are 'they'? And what do you mean lose me?"
No one answered, but you only had your eyes on one person.
Bruce met your stare head-on.
You kept your gaze on Bruce, mouth set in a firm line. You'd be getting your answers tonight, no matter what it took.
"So? You all were so loud just a second ago, what happened?"
Dick cleared his throat,"(Name), calm down, you're gonna strain yourself and push back recovery if you don't breathe. We'll explain," he swept a look across the table, "promise, but not at the expense of your health."
Your patience was wearing thin, "Okay then explain, fuckface." It was clipped, just as short as your current sanity.
Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise, you didn't often speak like this to anyone, let alone your family. But most people didn't irk you like they currently were either, so you felt like you had a pass.
Jason snorted, looking at you with…was that pride? Tim just furrowed his brows, eyes flicking between your own, scanning for fog or fatigue. Damian scowled, but didn't lose the appraising gleam in his eyes.
And Dick just winced, continuing on, "Okay, do you remember anything from a few days ago? Around Thursday night? You might not have been awake, but your lights were on when I came around so…"
He came around your room on Thursday night?
Why?
Your room was out of the way, there was no reason for him to be around there. But there was also no apparent reason for anything that had happened recently so you pushed that question to the side and probed hard for anything that stood out from a few nights ago.
The concussion definitely wasn't helping you with your search, and neither was the stubborn silence from the others while you thought, eyes fixed to the basket of rolls at the center of the table.
You sighed, irate and impatient, "No Dick, I don't. Why don't you enlighten me?"
Sue you, your head hurt, no one was making any sense, maybe you were getting a little cranky, it was your right.
Tim jumped in now, so you would either get the most convoluted or dumbed down explanation possible. For your sake, you hoped he chose the latter.
"You don't remember any loud sounds? Maybe some loud whirring or a mechanical clang?"
You shook your head slightly, frowning. You did hear some thumps, but that wasn't any cause for concern in this madhouse.
Tim pursed his lips, "Okay, that's fine, maybe something to check out if its related to the concussion but…"
Now the fucker was mumbling to himself. Why couldn't these people just give you straight answers, honestly?
Bruce finally opened his big mouth, "That night, we were visited by versions of ourselves."
You pulled a face, "Like clones? Or like ideal versions of yourselves? Or is this more like a metaphorical thing where you all just had really similar dreams….I'm not following what that has to do with me."
Bruce didn't show any signs of annoyance at the interruption, instead continuing to just stare at you, tense.
"Versions of us from other worlds. They had been sent here by a rogue from their world, and needed our help getting back and catching the man. The inter-verse transport machine made a fair bit of noise while charging, I'm slightly concerned that you don't remember hearing it."
You remembered suddenly that you had been watching something that night, headphones in and sobbing into your pillow when the main character's dad started taking drugs to understand his son better.
There were layers to that you didn't want to unpack, but the main point was that even if you should have heard something, it was plausible that you just missed it.
So you nodded, following along with his story thus far.
"I was doing something, move on."
He just paused for a second, clearly filing that away for later.
"Alfred had come down to check injuries for the group before we sent them back and I'd asked him if we'd woken you up from the sound of the machine. At that…."
Bruce didn't often leave his sentences unfinished, but here he left space for one of the others to fill in.
Surprisingly, it was Damian that stepped up to bat. Perhaps not so surprising, since Damian had never shied away from the harsher truths.
"At that, they stopped completely—even the other me." From the way he said it, you got the idea it was specifically his own reaction to the news that had stuck with him.
"Their world runs slightly ahead of ours. Eight days, to be exact. When the rogue sent them to another world, the idiot messed up and sent them backwards in time, too."
Tim piped up again, "It's an easy mistake, one we had to be careful about when making our own version of the transporter. We had to figure out sending them back not only to the right world, but also to the right time."
Why did they always choose to go on every tangent except the one you were interested in?
"That's great, what does that have to do with me?"
Jason sighed to you right, sounding just as exhausted with the conversation as you felt. But his voice had a different quality to it, something much more hushed than you'd heard in years.
"In their world, you died on Friday."
Oh.
Well that sucked.
You sat there, stunned, letting the scene at the table just wash over you.
You were meant to die on Friday? The Friday that just passed? The Friday you had plans to go get a haircut and visit the park again afterschool?
If you died on Friday how could you study for finals next week? How could you beat the Enderdragon or finally gotten better at Ultrakill like you'd promised yourself months ago?
You still had so much to do, how could you have died on Friday?
And with that you drifted, mind reeling, trying to grapple with the idea of your life cut so short. Death was scary, and to think that it had grabbed you in another world, when you had so many hopes to fulfill and regrets left to settle…
Bruce was snapping his fingers in front of your face when you finally connected your body and mind again. He had knelt down next to your chair, face pulled into something distinctly concerned.
His voice came back to you like waves crashing on a beach.
"(Name)…."
"(Name) sweetheart…."
"back to me…."
"care of you…."
"(Name)?"
"(Name)?"
You came back to yourself with the last call of your name, slightly louder than the others, only one question on your tongue.
"H-How did I die?" It was quiet, wavering so unlike the tone you'd had before.
You felt Jason's solid palm on your shoulder, a grounding weight as he answered somewhere above you.
"Scarecrow attack on the subway, you were one of the casualties. You were on your way to school when it happened."
Now things started to make sense—the impromptu breakfast, Bruce's insistence that you miss school, the whole family coming together that night for dinner.
"But I didn't see it on the news?"
Dick's voice, so gentle, so forlorn, from across the table, "Nightwing and Red Hood managed to capture Scarecrow before sunrise. We had enough evidence of his plans to put him away before he could really hurt anyone."
Oh, well that made sense too.
The only thing that didn't make sense was why they were still taking care of you like this. Stopping the attack was one thing, and you could find it in you to be grateful that they saved your life. But then what was with the museum visit and the special dinner from Alfred and the careful nursing you back to health?
Maybe if they'd cared about you before, you'd understand, but they didn't.
Did you have to die for them to start caring?
That thought was devastating, like a big black hole opened up in the bottom of your ribcage and pulled your heart down down down. Your throat was tight, your eyes started to burn, your food churned uncomfortably in your stomach.
"I don't understand." God you felt like a little kid again, so far out of your depth, unable to keep up with the family you'd once considered your own.
Bruce was rubbing circles on the back of your hand, another grounding point.
"What don't you understand, sweetheart"
He'd called you sweetheart as a child. Among other pet names—honey, darling, bug—god was it weird to hear them again.
"So what?" you really wished you could project confidence into your voice, desperate not to bear your neck to the world so easily.
Bruce's face contorted again, and your father looked so, so sad.
"Ask, honey, ask me what it is you're thinking. Let me in, let me fix what I've broken."
The others shuffled out of the room silently as you shook in your seat, leaving you and Bruce alone in the dining room. Later you'd appreciate it, but currently it felt like being trapped in the bullpen.
"You don't care. You never cared," you were parroting what you'd already said, but they meant something different now, something less cynical and more raw.
"Why is it that I had to die for you to speak to me. I-I don't know you anymore, not since you left me." The tears were flowing freely now, headache pounding at the pressure of your emotions, cascading over your cheeks.
"You left me! I was so young, and I needed you, and you left me! Why wasn't I enough? I would have done anything for you. I would have gone anywhere, worn any cape, been anything if it meant that you would just look at me."
Bruce was crestfallen, and it was with shocking clarity that you realized you could read him. You still knew him and after all these years you'd never forgotten what it felt like to understand him.
"I've been so alone in this house. I don't know anyone here. I fill the gaps myself, but god, Dad, I'm so tired. And I'm so alone."
Not many people could read Bruce Wayne, and you thought you'd left that club long ago, but evidently not.
It was in the pull of his brows, so alike your own.
It was the open grief in his eyes, ones you'd seen in another color in the mirror.
It was in the slump of his shoulders, the same ones you used to fall asleep on after galas.
"(Name)…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for a hundred things. I wish I could go back in time and beat some sense into myself. I wish I'd listened to Alfred when he told me I was doing the wrong thing."
Alfred? Alfred knew? Alfred cared? Another thing to unpack later.
Bruce continued on, determined, "But I have the rest of my life to offer you apologies, tonight I'm going to give you promises, ones I intend to keep."
You just kept sniffling, focusing on a spot on his collar instead of meeting his eyes.
"I promise I'm going to be there for you from now on. I'm going to fulfill my responsibilities as your father, and I will never let you go again."
Pause. Never? What an odd thought.
His words were constricting instead of comforting.
You wanted a father, but not one born out of guilt.
Your death had been thwarted, so why was there still the feeling of a collar tightening around your neck? You wanted to rebuild your relationship with Bruce, not be thrust into whatever echo of the past he saw when he looked at you.
"You're mine, not in the way that the others are, but in the way that you are. Do you understand, sweetheart? It's okay if you don't right now, it's been a long night."
No you didn't understand. What did that mean 'not in the way the others were'? It was a little strong for a promise made so easily.
You shook your head, uneasy with the 'promises' you'd been made.
He just pulled you into his chest, cradling you with one large hand on your neck, "Lets get you to bed, you're due for another round of painkillers soon."
"Don' want them," you groaned, the few times you'd woken up after taking Bruce's meds you'd felt a syrupy tug at the corners of your brain, hard to shake off.
A thought struck you, one you kicked yourself for not realizing before. And then you kicked yourself again because there was absolutely no way you were right about what you were thinking.
Bruce held you tighter, almost trying to fuse the two of you together, "I promised I'd take care of you, didn't I? That means not letting you neglect your health. You're taking medication tonight, and tomorrow when you wake up, we'll have a long conversation about certain changes that need to be made. But that's for when you're a little more up to it."
Medication schedule, huh? Two little pink pills that made you oh so sleepy? Blame it on the concussion addled haze in your head, but that was real fishy.
But Batman? Bruce Wayne? Doing what you thought he was doing?
No…right?
And changes? What changes?
Warning bells, the same ones that rang when you'd first gone to brunch with your father, started ringing again, cutting through the rest of your thoughts.
Yes, you wanted changes, but not like this. Yes you wanted to reconnect with your family, but not like this. You didn't want to die. You didn't want to be concussed. You didn't want to feel like you couldn't breathe, caged in Bruce's arms.
"No more pink pills," you rasped out against his sternum, testing at the hold of your new restraints, "make me feel gross."
You might not be a Bat, but it was common sense not to willingly take sedatives, no matter how carefully presented to you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(A/n: Again, in all honesty, this chapter gave me a newfound appreciation for angst writers because omg is it hard to write a scene where a character's bearing open their heart without squirming uncomfortably in your seat. Anyway, as always, all feedback is appreciated and well loved!!!)
Loving the idea of a sassy!reader with superboy prime, like just them actively ragebaiting him 24/7, the bats clawing out their eyes as they watch (because oh my fucking god) but it turns out he actually likes them fsr so he tolerates it even though they act like a massive POS 😭
LOOLLLLLLL I do think that a reader that matches SPB's freak would be so fun to write
like he's canonically a little bitch, so when he goes low, we go low-ER
...unfortuanately the more you act like a brat to him, the more he's into it, so buckle in
Back again with another idea from the little noodle in my head—WAYSOWM, reader doesn't know that the family are vigilantes yet and the topic comes up during family dinner. Bruce forces reader to eat dinner with everyone after the museum incident its cannon I swear
Dick asks reader who their favorite vigilante is, and suddenly the whole table is quiet. No more clicking of utensils or the usual casual chatter, just everybody staring. Reader, understandably confused, answers without realizing the chaos they're unfolding.
Batman
I mean, of course you'd say Batman—he's Batman. It doesn't get much better than that! The batboys, while disappointed, ultimately understand it. They know what it's like to admire Gotham's personal protector, and they aren't too salty about it. Thats a lie, Jason is a little butthurt and Dick is hiding his jealousy behind a smile. Bruce, meanwhile, only continues to eat his dinner, no reaction outwardly showing. Inside, he's relieved. Relieved that you see the dark knight as a protector, and not someone to be feared. There's still some rivalry between the boys, but since none of them where picked, there's really no conflicts caused. Tim and Damian take it pretty well; Tim being a long time stalker fan and Damian witnessing his father's capabilities first hand while also just being content with none of his siblings being picked.
Nightwing
Christmas just came early—Dick is ecstatic, unable to hide his grin. Of course he'd be his baby sibling's favorite, he's so damn happy that Jason has to kick him under the table before you notice. He's immediately asking questions, fishing for compliments and beaming brighter than the sun when you answer. Jason just rolls his eyes, Bruce and Tim nod along, and Damian just scoffs under his breath. The conversation drifts after that, but later that night in the batcave? Dick is being such a smug little shit.
Redhood
If you thought Dick was bad, than Jason is even worse. He's rubbing it in everyone's faces the second you leave, being more of a dick than Dick is. Jason is actually a bit caught off guard, not expecting you to pick a killer. He can't stop his chest from puffing out a little bit in pride, soaking up your words like a sponge. Dick is actually pretty chill about it—sure, he'd prefer if you said Nightwing, but he's proud of how far Jason has come! Just don't go saying how it's cool that Redhood kills people, 'kay? Tim is neutral, flatly pointing out that Redhood isn't actually a vigilante and earning a sharp glare from Jason in response. Damian very obviously disapproves, but Bruce gives him a look before he starts an argument. Jason is 100% using the 'I'm the favorite' card after that.
Red Robin
Tim already knew he was your favorite, so he isn't surprised. Still, seeing both Jason and Damian huff and puff is a win he'll happily take. After dinner, he'll seamlessly sneak some Red Robin merchandise into your wardrobe, along with a plushie or two. Overall, Tim is the calmest, right besides Bruce. He knows all your interests, has memorized every like and dislike. He'll make a point to appear more flashy during missions when in front of cameras, just to make sure he continues to hold the title of your favorite.
Robin
Spiderman pointing meme moment. Everyone is trying to figure out which Robin you're talking about, considering they all once held that title. Upon confirming that you're talking about the current Robin, Damian immediately tilts his chin up as if he just won a medal. He shoots a glance at the others, practically daring them to start something at the dinner table. Bruce is mentally preparing for the inevitable 'I'm the best' speech that they'll all be witness to once you leave, and he isn't going to enjoy the petty arguments. You bet your ass Damian is doing the same thing as Jason, bragging and constantly pulling out the 'I'm the favorite' card. He's more discreet about it, but he's still a little gremlin either way.
(Bonus) Superman
Awkward silence. Everyone but Bruce just sits there, expecting you to name one of them, not Superman. Bruce nods, actually approving—Clark is a good man, and he doesn't mind that you look up to the journalist's hero persona. The batboys, on the other hand, are a bit bitter. Why Superman? He doesn't even live in Gotham! Dick's smile is tight, Jason pokes at his broccoli while grumbling, Tim is already trying to find some dirt on the poor guy, and Damian is definitely gonna complain to Jon. Clark, meanwhile, is busy doing farm work before he's interrupted by a barrage of sneezes.
oh I LOVE THIS and completely agree with what you've said, but I raise you—you tell them that your favorite is someone they DONT approve of
I propose: GREEN ARROW
I LOVE GREEN ARROW, ollie (along with the rest of the arrowfam (?)) is my absolute GOAT, so imagine you tell Bruce that your favorite hero is the man who's been an absolute pain in his ass since they were kids.
I also fully believe that of all the billions of people on the planet, no one makes Bruce act more immature then Oliver Queen, immediately reverts him back to being 12 years old and bickering with him at boarding school.
I imagine he'd go quiet quick and just mutter "...what? Why, what has he even-? I mean, honestly Star City is a cakewalk compared to Goth-"
The others aren't much better. Dick's sputtering about how "But Green Arrow doesn't even do anything that cool! He pulled a muscle the other night trying to scale a building and all he has is his BOW! Think, (Name)!"
Jason's amused, happy that if it wasn't him, at least it wasn't one of the others, although he does wish you'd chosen someone like Wonder Woman or Martian Manhunter instead, someone who actually deserves a little more respect in his eyes. Roy's told him enough dumb (and less dumb) stories about Green Arrow for him to have no respect for the man.
Tim's just muttering about how "you couldn't have at least chosen Black Canary? Green Arrow's way less cool."
And Damian agrees with Tim on the principle, but he'd never admit it out loud, so he just scowls into his dinner, mumbling that you needed to get your eyes checked.
OMG WE GOT STEPHANIE BROWN FIC!!! You don't know how fast I got in the app when I saw my girls name on the screen, please 🥺 I'm begging never stop writing about her. We for sure need more 💞💞
awww yes, steph is one of my favorite characters and defo top 2 robins. I feel like people don't do her justice sometimes
Like she's SMART AND STRONG ASF, she was literally on her OWN BEFORE BECOMING ROBIN, she's just not doom and gloom like some of the others.
People act like she's a ditz just because she's funny
and while I firmly believe that Bruce is NOT her dad, I love when they have a more complicated relationship, where the fact that he was cruel and unnecessarily harsh towards her is acknowledged, but also the fact that Steph is GOOD, she doesn't want to hate him, she admires him as a hero, but Bruce Wayne has disappointed her so many times that she trusts herself before she trusts him or most of the others, THAT'S what sets her apart from the other robins
bruce and her care for each other, and maybe he's the closest most complicated next thing, but he's NOT HER DAD
also the way she's constantly forgotten makes me so sad
AND FFS PLEASE DON'T MAKE STEPH ONLY AN ACCESSORY TO TIM OR ANYONE ELSE 😭🙏 SHE DESERVES HER OWN FEATS AND TO BE ABLE TO DO COOL THINGS WITHOUT THE HELP OF ANY TRIFLING MEN
(A/n: Hello again :) hope you enjoy this chapter, I know you guys have been waiting for reader to stand up for themself and here it is! also, some of the big reveals you've been wondering about are in the works, so please bear with me as I try to get them to you quickly and thoroughly)
Why's your family trying to connect so hard with you after so many years of neglect? Well . . . I guess its not all that bad- why are they staring so hard???
(Masterlist)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The family settled into their designated spots at the table: Jason to your right, Bruce at the head, Dick across from Jason, and Damian to the other side of Tim.
The setup mirrored your awkward family dinner from Friday night, the only difference being the subtle buzz in your nerves, both from the painkillers and your bubbling frustration.
You didn't probe the topic right away, instead waiting until dinner was starting to wrap up before poking the bear.
This time around, Jason didn't do any of that weird bullshit about serving you food, only because Alfred had taken that responsibility beforehand.
Well, kinda. Your worries about upsetting your already unhappy stomach with a heavy Sunday roast turned out to be unnecessary, since Alfred had made you an entirely separate meal.
Your food consisted of warm miso soup and a side of some kind of seasoned tofu. For a second, you couldn't believe that Alfred had taken the time to make you something separate from the others, it was out of character for the man.
For the gang of vigilantes, Alfred regularly made specialized meals, but since you weren't usually recovering from massive injuries, you just went along with whatever was on the table that day. Regardless of the dish, the food was always high-quality and delicious.
You'd never complained, and he'd never deviated, until today.
You supposed that a concussion was reason enough to get a different meal, but it was still odd to have that kind of direct attention on you, doubly so from Alfred.
Whatever, at least it saved you from Jason playing Jenga with your food again.
You still felt intensely watched by the people around the table, but kept your head buried firmly down at your plate until it was time for dessert. Only after Alfred had set out the Bread Pudding (you got a platter of cut fruit) did you clear your throat and look up at Bruce, who was already looking straight at you.
This was it. You'd had the craziest three days of your life. Your boundaries (built over years of careful movement through a house that wasn't yours) had been violated repeatedly, you'd had not a smidge of autonomy (upon reflection), the people you'd come to accept as unfortunate constants had completely flipped their personalities, and you'd been kidnapped by the fucking Riddler because he thought that Bruce would come for you.
And craziest of all was that he was right.
You'd put up with it only because you had to, it wasn't like these fuckers let you get a word in edgewise, instead dragging you along like a passenger on the rollercoaster of your life.
And now, they were essentially threatening to isolate you entirely, after 3 days of completely insane behavioral changes.
You weren't quite sure if you were the one going through psychosis or they were.
Inhale, exhale.
You cleared your throat again and started slowly, "Tim said you had my phone? That the doctors gave it to you at the hospital or something?"
Bruce answered back just as calmly, cutting into his dessert as he responded, "Yes, that's right."
This asshole really wanted you to spell it out, huh? World's greatest detective my ass.
"Could I have it back?" No please, no explaining yourself. You didn't need to, the request was perfectly reasonable. Somewhere inside you knew Bruce didn't care much about reasonable. This was the same man that dressed up as a Bat and beat the shit out of criminals every night.
"No."
Like father like son.
Inhale, exhale.
"Why not?"
The rest of the table was quiet, watching the exchange carefully.
Bruce lifted his bite toward his mouth, "No screens, remember? That's what the doctor said." He frowned, "You do remember that, correct?"
Funny how Tim had said the same thing, huh? These people either thought you were stupid or were banking on you not to question them.
"I do. I also remember her saying that I could have them back after 48 hours."
"Ah and therein lies the problem. It hasn't been 2 days yet, sweetheart, you're not cleared for screens."
Sweetheart?
Inhale, exhale.
"Yeah, funny, Tim said the same thing." You pretended not to notice the withering glare the others sent his way. "He also said that you're not planning to give me my phone back even after the time's up, so uh what's the deal there?"
Bruce continued to fix his icy blue eyes at a point through you. "For smoothest recovery, we'll be increasing your screentime slowly. It wouldn't do you any good if you immediately went back to the numbers you had before, and- hours a day? Really? It'll be good for you to find some other hobbies."
At that you had to laugh, something disbelieving and forced.
"You know, its not even really about the phone, it's..." You trailed off, waving your hands around towards the table.
Your father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and bringing his hands into a clasp in front of his face. Terrible manners and a guarded pose, he was gearing up for something and while you couldn't put a name to it, so were you.
He raised a brow, "It's what, exactly?"
Inhale, exhale.
Maybe when you were younger, still licking your wounds from being tossed to the side, you would have lost your bravado there, clamming up and holing back up in your room.
But you'd worked hard to get away from that, becoming someone who wasn't deathly afraid of confrontation. You wouldn't start the fight, but that didn't mean you'd let someone walk all over you.
That said, when it came to Bruce, phrasing was important. You'd been a silent bystander to many of his fights with the others, slinking around the manor and listening in to them play mental gymnastics.
The second any of them heard something that could be twisted in their favor, they would take it and twist, you knew that.
So you paused a second to think about how you could say this. Again, he'd find some way somehow to misconstrue anything you could possibly say, but from your side, you had to be smart about this. You didn't have years of experience fighting Bruce like the others, but he'd never had the chance to study you the way that you had been doing to him.
You were, at the end of the day, his child.
"You tell me, Bruce. for the past three days, you've been...like a whole different person. Is that what this is? Are you dosed with something? Are all of you doused with something? Because you have to recognize none of this is normal."
"What part exactly isn't normal?"
"The part where you care."
At that, Bruce worked his jaw.
"I care more than you think."
"Really?"
Jason had given up part way through the conversation and lounged back in his seat, slowly working through his dessert with a smug set to his lips. Tim's eyes were wide, bouncing between yourself and Bruce, the gears in his head visibly at work. Damian was still perfectly poised, his stance coiled up in preparation for a fight you wouldn't be having.
Dick, ever the martyr, stepped in to diffuse the palpable tension around the table. Or maybe he was just an attention whore who lived for the fantasy of trying to stitch his broken family together every time.
Probably the second.
"Wait. Both of you, calm down. (Name), of course Bruce cares, we all care-"
Inhale, exhale.
"Really? I mean, sure, fine, I concede, maybe you think you care, but that doesn't change the fact that you nothing you've done has been normal since Friday!"
"Friday? You mentioned you thought that was a PR stunt, is that was this is all about? You believe that any intention to be a father must be because of some external influence? Or that I have to be dosed in order to want to spend time with my child?"
Bruce's volume didn't get any louder, a dangerous illusion of calm, even though by the end he was practically hissing through his teeth, eyes narrowed into something sharp.
"Yes." The words slipped out before you could stop them, quiet but they seemed to echo around the room.
You continued, "I do think there has to be something foul at play for you to talk to me because why wouldn't I? I can count on two hands the amount of times we've had a conversation over the last 8 years!"
"You don't care about me! And I was fine with that! I was finally fine with that! I made my peace with it. With you. But then you come back, demanding to—what, get breakfast, sit through family dinners, follow medication schedules? For fucks sake, Bruce! Why couldn't you just let me live in peace?"
"You threw me to the side, you gave up on me. But why'd you have to come back."
The words weren't stopping, not even as you watched, tunnel vision on your father, as Bruce's face turned shades paler (no small feat), his knuckles white around his utensils.
"Now that's not fair, (Name)." Dick again butted in, hands raised with his palms up, staring intently at you, cornflower blue eyes unblinking. "This is family, and that means understanding that-"
You were tired of this conversation already, head starting to pound a steady thrum in the back of your skull, but you'd tussle the verbal 5v1 if needed, no going back now.
Inhale, exhale.
But it wasn't you that responded. It was Jason, hands scrubbing over his face, grin gone, looking more exhausted than he was a minute ago.
"No, they're right. They're right, Dickie, you know that. We knew this was going to happen, and you can try to pull as much bullshit as you want around them, but the little bird's smart. Always has been."
"Jason-" Tim started, urgency in his tone.
But Jason never listened once he got started.
"No, Timbers, I'm not-" he exhaled harshly, clearly frustrated, "I put up with this shit because you all said it would work out. That (Name) wouldn't ask questions, and when I said that this would blow up in our faces, you told me that we'd come clean. "
You felt frozen, like the room was revolving around you, time becoming syrupy and slipping right through your fingers.
"What? Come clean? Come clean about what? Jason-"
"Jason. Stop." Bruce this time, barking sharply at Jason from the head of the table. "This is not how we agreed to tell-"
Dick looked pissed, glaring daggers into Jason from across the table, "Wow, Little Wing, well done. Now they're even more confused, you were the one harping on about a gentle appr-"
Inhale, exhale.
Jason cut them both off, "You heard them! You heard what happens when (Name) slips through our hands, you know this! Right now, concussed, sitting at a table with people that are practically strangers, is this a gentle approach? You want to lose ours too, you fuckheads!"
Lose...you? And who was 'them'? And why was the room starting to spin even faster?
Tim was looking straight at you, the only one at the table that was still focusing on you, Damian watching the exchange between the three oldest, still bickering, with clear disgust and disbelief.
"(Name), listen to me, I know you're confused, but you need to stop and breathe, you're panicking. Stop-"
Oh. He was right, you weren't breathing properly anymore.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
While you tried to suck down some actual air, head pounding, Tim just continued to say something at you, words too quiet to be heard over the thump in your ears and Dick, Jason, and Bruce's fighting.
"(Name) is on the verge of passing out. Congratulations to all of you, we've done exactly what we most feared. Now if you could stop acting like imbeciles for ONE SECOND, you'd see that they're swaying in their seat."
Damian, making a stunning debut in the ring.
But he was right, get yourself together, you have shit to do.
Inhale, exhale.
You were going to get your answers, no taking the easy way out and passing out this time.
"From the top, no bullshit, no lies, what happened? Who are 'they'? And what do you mean lose me?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(A/n: OMG WE'RE HERE, WE FINALLY MADE IT, the (so far) climax of the series, where I get to deliver to you my rendition of "the big one", the fight that gets you some answers. Answers that are coming....next time, YAY! (sorry i wanted to answer them in this chapter, but I'm not happy with how that went, and you guys deserve a better draft than I currently have) so until we meet again!
Also, I hope I've redeemed myself with reader finally gaining a backbone! I've heard the people, I know you guys have wanted to see reader stand up for themself and so have I! This is how I see it going down, but as always all feedback is more than appreciated! <3)
Yandere Stephanie Brown who's smitten with you, one of Tim's exes. (GN reader, but panties are mentioned, feel free to swap that out with something else in your mind)
Also heavily implied Yandere TimSteph x Reader at the end
(stay with me here)
~~~~~~~~~~~
She met you for the first time while you and Tim were still dating.
He was infatuated with you, and since Steph was his "best friend", insisted that you two had to meet. He sung your praises the whole way to the cafe where you were waiting for the two of them.
He'd said that when he was with you all the weight that seemed to cling onto his bones went away and he could finally breathe.
Steph just scoffed at first, but in due time, she understood exactly what he meant.
You'd been sweet to her, never once acting like a bitter partner—insecure over how close he was to his ex. Instead, you'd embraced every time she tagged along on your dates with him, making sure she felt included at all times, even if it was something as small as sitting with her on a ride at an amusement park. (Tim wasn't the happiest at having to sit in the row behind you two, but you made it up to him easily enough with a peck on the lips.)
You were good.
Full stop, no more discussion.
Tim knew it. Steph knew it. Hell, even Tim's family knew it, studying you with an almost hopeful gleam in their eyes when you came over for dinner, hoping that finally somebody untainted would enter their orbit and stay there.
But you didn't, breaking up with Tim after half a year of being together. Tim was heartbroken, spending long nights crying in Steph's apartment while her mom was working the night shift.
He wasn't the only one. Bruce had looked visibly disapointed when he'd asked Tim about you after patrol once, only to be met with a stiff "webrokeup". Neither the father nor any of his sons seemed to be very good at holding down a relationship, but the whole family had hope for this one.
Of course, Steph was also heartbroken, since after her 5th time tagging along with the two of you, she'd identified that familiar warmth inside her heart that told her she'd fallen hard.
When Tim first told her the two of you were finished, she was selfishly happy, assuming that she was clear to make a move now. The two of you had become close friends, it wouldn't be weird, right?
But no, apparently things hadn't ended on good terms. You'd sent Tim a text, asking him to meet you at the park where you told him in no uncertain words that what you had wasn't working out.
You didn't offer him much other than a gentle parting kiss, patting his hair one last time and telling him to take care of himself.
Of course, Tim had broken down then, yanking you back by a hand and begging you to tell him what was wrong, overall starting to cause quite a scene.
You cracked, begging him to please leave you alone and that it was because you couldn't stand how overbearing he was, constant interrogations and a lack of boundaries starting to suffocate you. Apparently it was the fourth tracker you'd found in your shoes that pushed you over the edge.
So when she sent Tim away for the night, after two weeks of him moping around her apartment, she made a plan to at least secure her spot on your good side (and hopefully in your bed if everything worked out).
She'd texted you, asking if you wanted to swing by her apartment, writing a heartfelt message about how much she still wanted to be your friend despite what had happened between you and Tim.
You took the bait—hook, line, and sinker.
She waited for you to come over that Friday night, a pack of beer in one hand and takeout in the other.
A few hour into the night and suddenly you were ranting, drunk and loose-lipped, about how much your relationship with Tim had upset you.
He was perfect at first, you'd wined at her, tears in those pretty eyes, but then you found the photos he'd taken of you from before you were dating and the eyes of the teddy bear he'd given you turned out to be cameras, so you knew you had to break it off.
Steph only listened, nodding along at the right times, and agreeing with you when you'd said that it was just too much. Inwardly, she couldn't help but scold Tim for getting greedy, soft things needed gentle hands, and Tim was always a little too rough with what he considered his. He'd put his own urges before you, and she's make sure to smack him upside the head for it next time.
It wasn't until you'd woken up the next morning, very much not on the couch you'd passed out on last night, instead in one of Tim's familiar high-rises somewhere in the city, that you began to panic.
Because while you thought you were safe getting drunk with a friend, Steph had never touched the alcohol, instead nursing a can of Zesti.
Zesti was Tim's favorite.
~~~~~~
Steph was ecstatic, watching you struggle against your restraints on the cameras. Tim would figure out where you were soon enough, but she wasn't worried.
He'd given her the key to this apartment a little while ago, since it was closer to Gotham U and she wouldn't have to pay for utilities.
He was sweet like that.
She'd let you out of the restraints when you calmed down, for now content to let you tire yourself out.
She couldn't wait until you realized that it was just her, and Steph would never hurt you.
You must know that, right?
Anyway, taking care of a whole person was hard enough, but juggling your adjustment period (inevitably messy) and her coursework at Gotham University? That would be quite a bit of work, especially considering her night job as Spoiler.
....Well you said Tim was perfect at one point right? And no matter the label they had on their relationship, Steph and him were a little closer than friends, anyway.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have some help with this.
God knew how much Tim had missed you, and she'd be sure to keep him in line this time (no more sneaky panty-huffing, she'd be making sure he took care of you first and foremost.)
When the familiar number flashed across her home screen, she picked up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
yum yum yum yum timsteph x reader yum steph x reader yum
This one's really sticking with me, might expand on this (also I do see and appreciate all the love on the other blurbs, trust, I'm coming around to working on them as well 😉)
forced superboy prime x reader has the possibility to be the greatest crack scenerio of all times think about it. it gives reader the opportunity to be the biggest "i hate my bf" trooper known to man. ignores his calls for two days and is just like oh sorry i was asleep lol. they have a whole separate tiktok account dedicated to making edits abt how the "real" superman moggs him
LMFAO, exactly what I was thinking.
Like sbp is so funny as a character that the opportunities for a crack fic are endless
Zippy, I'm afraid I need more of the superboy prime idea...hehehehe
You are so creative tho! So shout out to you!!!!
-💐
ooooo trust its coming, I'm infected with the brainworms and now they won't leave, I'm planning to write longer one shots, or maybe a mini series about it, still on the fence there
