Batfam X Reader - Blog Posts

Y/n, kidnapped by Mr. Freeze and tied up to a chair at the edge of a deep ice-filled pool: what do you want!?

Mr. Freeze, jokingly: lets make this easy. You jump into that pool or I leak your wattpad history-

Y/n, without missing a beat, leans back and falls into the pool

Mr. Freeze: OH SHI-

⎯⎯ㅤSay you'll never leave me

Batfam Yan! × Negleted Idol! Reader

| Platonic |

Note / English is not my first language / Inspired by the anime "Oshi No Ko"

TW / Yandere behaviors, Toxic relationships, emotional dependency, neglect, violence, blood, death, murder, mentions of sex (not explicit), abandonment, stalking, harassment, daddy issues, Dark themes

What is love?

That's what you've always wondered: was it really as good as people said it was?

Is true love the same as fake love? You didn't know

You never experienced any kind of love from your family

The people who were supposed to care for you and protect you just treated you like garbage

The people who were supposed to be there for you when you needed them most abandoned you as soon as they could

Since you were little, you knew none of them liked you, but you could pretend they loved you

You could lie, lie about your life, lie about your feelings

Lies tasted better than the truth, because lying made you look better in people's eyes

Lies didn't hurt, truths did

You are the perfect liar

And those lies got you to where you were now, everyone loved (name)

The perfect idol, you were in a small group of idols, but your charisma and affection for your fans took you to the top

Your face was everywhere, there wasn't a single person on the planet who didn't know your name or face

And even when you were still alive You foolishly wanted your family to notice you, you became an idol out of spite.

You thought if you became famous they would be proud of you.

That he would be proud of you.

For as long as you can remember, you fought for your father's acceptance.

You wanted him to notice that you existed, to look at you with the same affection you looked at your other siblings.

But it never happened that way. You thought it was because you were weak.

Everyone else was so unique and talented.

And you were just (name). The only thing that stood out about you was the fact that you had the last name 'Wayne'.

But then you were a nobody.

But on stage, you could forget all your worries. You could feel that people loved you.

They praised you, loved you, and supported you.

Even though you knew it was fake, it was all always fake.

They only loved the perfect (name), the one who never made mistakes and was always smiling.

You should be perfect. Your job as an idol was to give the fans what they wanted.

Your feelings didn't matter; you had to give people what they wanted, even if it killed you.

You knew all the admiration was only superficial, but it still felt so good.

For the first time, you felt loved, even if it was fake.

You made bad decisions throughout your life, from personal to romantic.

You ended up pregnant after sleeping with a stranger. You thought you'd finally found the love of your life.

But all he did was use your body for pleasure.

And even though you knew he never loved you and only used you, you knew there was a little bit of love in it.

Or so you wanted to think, so you wouldn't feel stupid.

But being an idol and being pregnant wasn't easy.

Your agency decided to hide everything. It would be terrible if one of their idols was pregnant.

It would ruin your entire reputation.

They couldn't allow that. One of they best idols was hated.

You wanted to call Bruce, tell him everything that happened.

But you were too cowardly.

What if he was disappointed?

Maybe he'd think you called him to take advantage of him.

Maybe he'd tell you you were an idiot for the things you did; you were too young.

You knew it was a risky decision, but you decided to keep the baby.

Although apparently it wasn't a baby, but twins.

You were happy because you felt that after so much time, you wouldn't be alone anymore.

You would be able to start a family; that was what you always wanted.

Months later, your babies were born. You had never felt so happy in your life.

That day, you swore you would protect them with your life.

For the first time, you experienced what love was, and this time, it wasn't fake.

You're so cute, Aqua!"

You said laughing, squeezing one of he chubby cheeks.

You decided to retire from show business for a while; you wanted to dedicate all your time to your children.

You didn't want them to feel the same way you did.

You would be a better version of them.

"Oh!" You felt a small push on your arm and could see Ruby looking at you with those eyes of hers. They were so similar, yet so different from you. "You're very pretty too, Ruby. The cutest girl in the world!"

You hugged them both with all your strength. Everything you'd ever dreamed of was now yours.

For the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to feel loved.

This love wasn't fake; it was real.

Here, you didn't need to lie or pretend.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Uh? I don't remember ordering anything..."

You said, getting up from the couch.

You left Aqua and Ruby in the living room as you headed for the door.

But Aqua was too stubborn and decided to follow you. he felt something wasn't right.

You opened the door and found a strange man standing there, but you were surprised when you saw the flowers he was carrying. Perhaps it was a gift from your manager.

It wasn't uncommon for someone from your company to send you gifts to let them know you were okay.

But you could barely react when you felt something sharp enter your abdomen.

"M-Mom..."

Was all he could say when he saw the whole The blood in the hallway and the man with the knife in his hand

Apparently, one of your fans had found out you had children, that you had a family

And he couldn't stand that his 'innocent and tender' (name) had some kind of boyfriend or husband

So he decided to kill you as revenge

The man ran out of your apartment; you barely had the strength to close the door, and your body collapsed right there

Aqua ran to hug you even though he knew your blood was staining his body

You could only hug him tighter as you tried to reach the phone on the wall

Aqua saw you dial a number and how the brightness of your eyes grew dimmer when the voicemail rang

It seemed like not even in the midst of death could you count on your family

"Dad...?" You said, barely trying not to choke on your own blood. "I know you probably d-don't want to talk to me... and I understand, but..."

You could feel Aqua squeezing you tighter, trying to keep your blood from spilling out. You could see Ruby from the other side of the glass.

Her look of terror hurt you. It hurt to see how scared she looked.

And you understood. No child should see their mother die.

You barely gave her a weak smile. You wanted to go over and hug her, but your body could barely hold the phone.

"Please... take care of Aqua and Ruby. They're all I have." A long silence fell over the room, and only small sobs could be heard in the hallway. For the first time in your life, you were afraid of dying. "Dad... I'm scared... please take care of them."

Your voice grew fainter and fainter, the brightness in your eyes dimmed, and tears streamed down your face.

A small "I love you" was heard, but Aqua couldn't tell if you were saying it to him, Ruby, or the man you were talking to.

The phone fell to the floor, and Aqua could feel the soft beat of your heart stop.

Your body felt as cold as snow.

He see his mother die before his eyes, and he couldn't do anything.

That day, Aqua promised himself he would kill the man who did this to you.

And maybe he would seek revenge. Your own father didn't answer your call when you asked for help. What kind of family was that?!

The message was sent, and the only noise left in the room was Aqua's frantic breathing and Ruby's crying from the other side of the glass.

Bruce could only repeat the voicemail over and over again. All he had left of you was your voice pleading for help.

He was supposed to be Batman, a hero.

But he wasn't even able to save his own daughter. Maybe if he answered that call, you'd still be alive.

He thought if he pushed you away, you wouldn't have to suffer anything. Being a vigilante wasn't easy, and he thought if he kept you away from him, he wouldn't have to put you in danger.

But even so, now you were dead.

When you mentioned Aqua and Ruby, he didn't know what you meant, but when he found out you were pregnant and had children, he felt worse.

You were pregnant and you never told him!? It sounded so hypocritical, and he knew it, but he couldn't stand that you decided to hide something as important as that.

Why didn't you ever call him? Even though I knew he didn't call you, it was for a good reason.

He wanted to keep you away from any danger, and he was too cowardly to call you.

After so many years, what could I say to you?

He ignored you your whole life. Would you let him back into your life?

Would you still consider him family after all this time?

He was a coward, and he knew it.

He wanted to have you back in his arms and make up for lost time.

But now you were just a memory, a blurry memory because he couldn't even remember the sound of your laughter or your gaze.

Your voice was the only true sound of you he could remember now.

But he swore he'd make the guy who did this to you pay. Maybe this time he'd let go of the no-kill rule.

Meanwhile, the sound of the television in the living room filled the room.

There was no sound, just the reporter's voice as she said you'd been found dead in your apartment.

Your face appeared on the screen; no one could believe you were dead.

In everyone's head, they had different ways to make the man who did this suffer and torture him.

They knew it was hypocritical to worry about you now, but they loved you!

In their own way...

But there was still a little bit of affection for you.

Damian thought about using the Lazarus Pit to revive you. He knew the consequences, but he couldn't allow his older sister to be dead.

You were supposed to stay alive!

He and you are Wayne by blood, you can't die!

You can't leave him alone. You were so stupid to leave the mansion and become an idol.

But it's okay. He'll find the signature to revive you, and this time he won't let you go.

Jason thought about crushing that man's skull with his bare hands. He wasn't the best brother to you, and he knows it.

You used to get along, before the Joker killed him and then he was revived.

At that moment, he was filled with rage and felt like everyone had betrayed him.

And he pushed you away, thinking it was for the best.

He was afraid of breaking you. He had broken many things in his life, and you were the only thing he hadn't broken.

So he pushed you away out of fear and rejection, and right now, he regrets it so much.

He'll avenge his sister and kill anyone who dares to say anything about you.

Dick couldn't even process it. He was the older brother who held the family together.

But it was always very different. with you, ignoring your needs or forgetting you.

It wasn't on purpose! He swears.

He was just too caught up in his responsibilities that he put you aside.

He wanted to pretend it didn't affect him so much, but inside, he was devastated.

But he was going to make amends for his mistakes, but first, he had to take care of the bitch who dared to touch you.

Tim barely found out you died; his whole world fell apart. He wasn't even prepared for that.

Your death?

This couldn't be possible. How? When?

He had a plan for everything, but this?

This was simply out of his hands.

But he pushed himself and began to investigate more than any other detective. Your killer was good at hiding, but he was much smarter.

It wouldn't surprise anyone that he was the first to discover the culprit.

He liked psychological torture more than physical torture, so he knew he could have fun with it as soon as he got his hands on it.

They were a bad family, but they got better!

It wasn't easy for Aqua and Ruby to adapt to their new family either.

For them, Aqua and Ruby were the only thing closest to you.

They were so similar to you.

Although Ruby accepted the overprotectiveness and affection, Aqua denied it.

He knew their intentions, Aqua still hated them for all the harm they caused.

He was going to get revenge on the man who did this to you and on your family.

They didn't deserve you; they're all hypocrites and manipulators.

Aqua knew your whole family was crazy.

I just hoped they weren't crazy enough to revive you.

They would never do that, right?

Right...?

After a long time, I decided to post something again.

Artist's block was the worst thing that could have happened to me.

I don't know if I'll do a second part; I'm too lazy to do any kind of series. So, it's an open ending

:vvv

The mother of the ocean

Batfam Yan! × Batmom Selkie! Reader

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error

the ocean

That's where you belonged, you had arrived at the coast a few months ago everything was so new to you

It was the first time you left the sea on your own all you knew about this new world were relationships that the other selkies told you.

But you were brave and decided to go out.

This whole new world was too new for someone as inexperienced as you, you knew that selkies in their human form were too attractive for ordinary humans.

So it was not strange that no one could take their eyes off you, in the eyes of ordinary humans you were an angel fallen from heaven.

And then you met him

bruce wayne

He fell for you as soon as his eyes fell on you, you were the most beautiful and charming woman he had ever met

For you he was not Bruce Wayne, the multimillionaire playboy of Gotham

Just Bruce, the kind man who deep down cared for others, although he will not show it

Some time later he told you his big secret, he was Batman and he introduced you to Richard who was his adopted son and also Robin.

You were like a mother figure Richard at that time, it had been a short time since the death of the little boy's parents leaving a big mark on him

But since you arrived everything had changed, forming a family was not in Bruce's plans.

But he didn't regret having met you, you were the only thing he needed

And he wasn't going to let you leave his side

_

The waves were getting bigger and bigger, a big storm was about to start

It was time to go back to the ocean, to your home.

Even if you wanted to stay you couldn't, a part of you said you would stay with him but another part said you should leave.

That very day Bruce had proposed to you, he had only known you for a few months but he was sure you were the love of his life.

But all you did was give him a confused look and then you ran away.

He thought he had pushed you too hard, didn't you love him?

He chased you to the coast, a few weeks ago you had started to behave strangely

He asked you if something was happening to you and you just said it wasn't important, he knew you were lying.

"Bruce I...I haven't been completely honest with you"

"What do you mean?"

You asked Bruce confused, he didn't understand what you meant, was it something so serious that you weren't even able to tell him

"I...I'm not the person you think I am"

You said as you turned to look at him, at that moment you didn't know what to do, if you stayed with him you were betraying your home, your family and culture.

But if you were going to betray him, you loved him more than anything and you knew that he loved you too

At that moment you were too stupid and you didn't know what you wanted

"I love you Bruce, but you're not mine"

You said for the last time before a great wave consumed your body, Bruce tried to stop you but it was too late.

He watched as your presence disappeared among the waves of the sea

That day I felt like I had lost again what I loved the most

And again he couldn't do anything about it

For years he went to that beach looking for you, hoping that one day you would come back

But you never did, you disappeared from his life like dust.

But he swore that if one day you came back he wouldn't let you leave him again

Never again

_

After a year you went back out to the coast, the summer sun hitting your shiny skin

Your old skin fell off your shoulders

You had to get clothes as soon as possible, you weren't going to be naked on the beach, you had manners!

You just had to wait for your collaboration to peel off your body and you could finally walk again

You thought you were alone, you chose the most desolate place without people on the entire beach

You were so distracted that you didn't even notice the dark-skinned boy who looked at you in amazement

As soon as you looked up your eyes met his emerald eyes

At that moment you felt your body filled with nervousness

You greeted him awkwardly while giving him a nervous smile

"Are you a mermaid?"

The younger one asked, it was the first time Damian had seen a creature like you

"No, I'm a selkie" you quickly denied, it was the first time a human had seen you before you completely transformed "besides mermaids and salkies are different because-"

Before you could finish speaking you heard a distant voice calling the young man

"Damian! I was looking for you all over the beach, you can't-"

Bruce's eyes widened in surprise when he saw you, after so many years you had returned?

He had waited for you for more than 20 years and now he was back

"(Name)..."

Your name came out of Bruce's lips, you could barely react when you felt Bruce lunge at you to hug you

Damian frowned confused, because his father was hugging a strange woman

You felt like your body was about to break from the force of Bruce's hug

After so many years he had you in his arms again

And this time he wasn't going to let you leave his side

_

He had taken you to the mansion as soon as possible, he wasn't going to let you stay on that beach alone

Bruce had introduced you to all the members of the family, apparently he had adopted many more children than you imagined

You felt a little bad for having missed so many things

Your relationship with them was pretty good, well with almost everyone

Richard was still as sweet as when he was a child, when he saw you again he didn't know He took off from you

It seems that he was still a mommy's boy

With Jason it was a little difficult, you found out that he had died and then revived, leaving the poor guy with a lot of trauma and problems

You tried to understand him and show him that you were always going to support him, it was difficult but you managed to gain his trust

You knew that deep down he wanted that support that they could never give him when he was little

Sometimes you had your doubts about Tim, how is it possible that someone as young as him could survive with so few hours of sleep!?

The first time you found out you asked him to improve his sleep schedule, you couldn't let him stay up so late

It made you happy that he listened to you, well almost

He still had horrible sleep schedules but he tried to take some breaks

It was quite difficult to get along with Damian, maybe your first meeting with him was calm

But after he found out about your history with Bruce he completely hated you, so you were the one to blame for Bruce looking at the sea all the time in a melancholy way

You tried to have a good relationship with him but nothing worked, he ignored you or said that you could never be his mother

You understood that he was angry because his life had changed, it wasn't easy to get used to something

So you gave him his space and didn't pressure him, even so you were kind to him

Over time you started to get along better, you told him about your adventures in the sea and facts about marine animals that he had never heard

He would never admit but he liked spending time With you, something in him wanted you to never leave

Barbara was someone quite kind, you got along well since the first time you met her

You used to go out with her and the other girls to walk and talk

Cass was someone quite quiet but she still liked being with you, it was a little difficult to have a conversation with her but even so she was the sweetest girl you had ever met

Stehp was someone quite good, she spent most of her time with cass

You could tell they were good friends, and you used to bring cookies for them

In stehp's words your little streets were the best in the world

All this was so perfect, but you knew you shouldn't get attached

You knew it was wrong to abandon them but you couldn't stay

The day was approaching when you had to return to the coast

But what you didn't know is that none of them were going to allow you to leave

_

"You can't go (name)! After all this you're going to leave me again!?"

Bruce said trying to get you to see reason, you couldn't leave him again, didn't you love him enough?

"You don't understand Bruce..."

You tried to back away but he ended up grabbing your wrists and pulling you closer to him

"Understand that (name)!?"

His grip on your wrists tightened and made you let out a sound of pain, you were sure that would leave a mark there

"Let me go, it hurts!"

You tried to get out of his grip but it was impossible, in your human form you were too weak, maybe you should have listened to the other selkies and never returned to the surface

"I didn't want to do this, (name), but you leave me no other choice"

You could barely do anything when you felt something embedded in your neck

It was a sedative, your vision became blurry, and you could only feel Bruce's arms wrap around your almost unconscious body

You could see a cynical smile forming on his face

Who would have thought that at that moment your nightmare would begin

_

Every day was worse than the last, you spent all day locked up in the mansion

Bruce had told everyone your secret and from that moment on everyone had become more possessive

All the time you felt watched, plus the whole family had become more clingy with you, they were not going to allow their mother to abandon them

You should be happy that they are with you! They only want the best for you

Not only did you have to spend all fucking day with kids who wouldn't leave you alone

You also had to put up with a "husband" who wouldn't even let you go to the bathroom alone

Every day that passed you hated Bruce more, because he was the one who put those ideas in the heads of others

You were very stupid to trust a man like him

Bruce started to think that maybe he should get you pregnant, so you could never leave his side

But the first time he approached you with ulterior motives you hit him

And during that whole week you didn't say a word to him, maybe when he regains your trust he could get closer to you again

But you weren't going to allow it, you hated Bruce with all your being, sometimes you wanted to kill him but you knew that would only cause more problems

For now you will have to learn to live like this

Who knows, maybe at some point you'll get used to it!

Or maybe you'll live the rest of your life miserably locked up in a mansion.

You just hoped that this nightmare would end one day.

I finished this pretty quickly, I really liked the concept of this story

I was thinking of making it a bit romantic but I'm better at writing angst than romance

Request made by @writing-flower

I hope you like the result🙏

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)

A fic that I would recommend! Great short read, 3 works in the series, only 17.5 k words. The plot isn't actually like this, its one that i think you will enjoy! it's one that I really love❤️

Family Values by SoriSeeraKyra!

- Be kind to your daughters (4.3 k words)

- Honour your father, love your mother (4.3 k words)

- Family isn't all its cracked up to be, but it's still nice ( 8.7 k words)

All of these instalments are single chapters.

Y no link? Because I am on my tablet and can't figure anything out rn.

Additional heads up? It's neglected batsis, family fluff in the end, reader is a metahuman (not OP, just plot relevant). Fic may burrow itself into the recesses of your brain. Good fic, great fic.

Trying to find a fic

I read this a long time ago so if you know of a similar fic but the details don't fully match please send anyway! I'm also just looking for fics similar to this premise in general lol

So basically reader is the only member of the batfamily who is kept out of all the vigilante stuff. This might have been from another fic but I think the reader was Damian's twin or just his sister, and they had a tense relationship (mostly because of him being himself lolllll). They end up being ignored/neglected by everyone except Alfred. Their relationship with the others isn't hostile, it's just nonexistent.

The fic starts with the reader being a senior, they go to Gotham Academy and I believe Alfred remarks that it's their eighteenth birthday at some point in the limo to school. Bruce develops an interest in developing a relationship with them for some reason, and joins the reader on the limo ride to school. Either during this ride or during a conversation with Alfred it comes up he doesn't know the reader is a senior/turning eighteen and thought they had some more years of school yet. I believe this ride also takes places during the last day of school for the reader which may be what prompts this comment.

Fast forward to reader moving out/attending college or something (once again Bruce isn't aware until he's like "hey where's Y/N" and Alfred reminds him). Reader is kind of hanging out with one of the batboys and spends a lot of time at the library. I'm 70% sure it's Jason but it could possibly be Dick. Reader asks him to drop them off at the library at one scene.

Switch to the batboys during their vigilante activities trying to solve a string of crimes (robberies I believe?). They don't know it at the moment but the villain they're hunting is the reader and the reason they've been at the library so often is they're researching these crimes. There's some kind of event like a homecoming or prom or something where you dress up and during the reveal the reader is all dressed up and steals some kind of crown I believe? I'm gonna be honest I don't 100% remember what the context is but they definitely dress up and definitely steal something. Later when trying to figure it out the reader gets brought up and Jason/the batboy they've sort of befriended is like "y/n? i took them/have been taking them to the library a lot" or something.

The chapter comes to a close and they find out its the reader and everyone is like 'wtf'. I believe this is a multi chapter series and I also remember the writer's blog being dark themed.

Masterlist

Hiii Welcome to my blog! I will mostly write anything that you want, just please don't be weird with the requests. I don't have that many stories out yet but please send me your requests! Alsooo, if you guys want me to make a tag list, I can, just let me know!

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{~Charmed (1998)~}

{~House of the Dragon~}

{~Narnia~}

{~Supernatural~}

{~Twilight~}

ABOUT MYSELF

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My name is Nessie!! I am a 21+ afab bisexual female <3. Welcome to my corner of the internet! Coffee addict, book lover, and gacha game enthusiast! Cat Lover!!!!! Engineering Major, even though I enjoy literature much more. I will write anything under the sun!!!! (As long as it's reasonable of course :3)

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Requests are OPEN!!

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The fandoms I will/might write for:

Hoyoverse games (HSR, Genshin, ZZZ)

Wuthering Waves

DC (Mostly BatFam and Teen Titans)

Love and Deepspace

May add more stuff as I discover my interests!!

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Rules for my lil' elves!!!

I write fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort. Most of my fanfics will be x fem!reader or gn!reader, but I also write for fandom ships ✮⋆˙

All the characters I write for are 18+ and above ✮⋆˙

May write yandere upon request, but I am not into it that very much ✮⋆˙

MINORS DNI, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CONSUME ON THE INTERNET ✮⋆˙

Please be respectful of everybody in the community ✮⋆˙

All Rights Reserved ©. These works are mine and mine alone.

PS: This blog may also feature reblogs from other creators—all rights belong to their respective owners ✮⋆˙

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Well that's all for now!! I will start posting from tomorrow onwards and gradually take in requests ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

I will be looking forward to see what everyone comes up with in the requests box!! ฅ/ᐠ˶> ﻌ<˶ᐟ\ฅ

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Another doodle for my fellow Spider. This is about how they decide to use and design the voice changer they using in the future.

"It's heavier then i remember..." "if i keep wearing this i might break my neck..." *thinks about how to solve this* "but this means a lot of sleepless nights" "they started with a sketch"

Batfamily X Batmom!Reader

⁺‧₊˚My Sons Boyfriend⁺‧₊˚

Continuing my tim appreciation, Have a silly overprotective parents to one of their youngest kid

masterlist

Jason tattles that his younger brother has a boy over.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The TV played some noir film neither of you were paying attention to black and white shadows flickering across the screen, the occasional husky voice of a detective muttering something about dames and danger. It was background noise. Everything was background noise right now.

Your back arched against the couch as Bruce’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, tangled up in him, your knees bracketing his hips while his large hands gripped your thighs beneath the hem of your oversized shirt.

His tongue slid against yours again, deep and slow, and the kiss had long since lost any sense of restraint. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skimming up beneath it, palms exploring every inch of familiar skin. Bruce growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your lips as he leaned further into you, pressing you back until your spine met the couch cushions with a soft thump.

There were no patrols, no emergency calls, no villains trying to blow up the city and a damn good excuse to indulge in weeks of pent up affection with no one around to ruin it.

“What the fuck?!”

A voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, and both of you froze mid kiss, mouths still a breath apart, panting and flushed. Well no one around to ruin might not work if you have a Jason Todd for a child (even though hes an adult it still applies).

You didn’t even turn around.

“It’s a lazy day,” you said flatly, lips still swollen, one hand still fisted in Bruce’s shirt. “Go away.”

Jason’s voice rose another octave, and you could hear the trauma in it. “Are you two seriously making out like that on the living room couch? In the middle of the day?! seriously making out like teenagers right now?! I’ve seen less tongue in French films!”

You rolled your eyes and finally sat up, sliding off Bruce’s lap with a groan and adjusting your shirt though it didn’t help much. Bruce just rubbed at his face with one hand, exhaling through his nose like a man trying not to start swearing. Jason stormed around the couch, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. “You were all over each other! That was full on pre bedroom behavior!”

“Which we would’ve moved to,” you muttered, “we only do stuff out here when you guys for sure aren’t.”

“TMI LADY!! I live here!”

“So do we.”

“I grew up here! Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk in on emotionally scarring things? And now I have to add this to the list?”

You gave him a pointed look and gestured vaguely to Bruce, who was still slouched and half hard under the sweatpants. “You’re twenty something and you’ve walked in on worse. Remember the time you accidentally opened the panic room during our anniversary trip?”

Jason gagged. “Why would you bring that up?! I had finally repressed it!”

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “That’s why I didn’t jump out of my skin when you yelled. You’re one of the oldest. You’re basically numb to it by now.”

“That’s not how trauma works!”

“You’ll live.”

Bruce finally stood, setting a firm hand on your lower back as he stepped forward. “Did you interrupt just to complain, or is there a point?”

“Oh, there’s a point,” Jason said, smirking now, even as he pointedly avoided making eye contact with either of you. “Tim’s upstairs. With Conner. Door closed. Voices low. Lots of awkward pauses and ‘I dunno, what do you wanna do?’s. Figured someone with authority should stop it before I need a bleach rinse for my brain again.”

You and Bruce exchanged a glance. You raised a brow. “You think they’re…?”

“I’m just saying, I’m not doing the awkward sex talk with either of them. That’s your job.”

Bruce sighed through his nose again, rubbing his temples. “We should’ve eloped in Fiji.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You should’ve invested in a deadbolt and soundproof walls. You’ve got like fifty rooms. Go be gross in literally any other one.”

Bruce groaned, sitting up with the pained weariness of a man who just wanted five uninterrupted minutes with his partner. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he muttered. “You barging in, or the fact that you’re tattling like a six year old.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You can ground me later. But someone needs to knock before that kid goes full hormonal teenager with Superman’s clone.”

You rubbed your temples and slid off Bruce’s lap. “Can’t we just go one day without something weird happening in this house?”

“Nope,” Jason chirped.

Bruce stood, adjusting his shirt and shooting Jason a tired glare. “You’re not getting a thank you for this.”

Jason grinned. “I’ll settle for watching the fallout.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The carpet was soft beneath your knees as you crouched near the top of the staircase, one hand gripping the railing and the other latched around your husband’s wrist. Bruce was not thrilled. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, towering behind you in full grumpy dad form.

You shushed him. “Shh. This is important. Our son is dating.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “He’s not a child anymore.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, a feeling attune like he’d just slapped you with a divorce paper. “How dare you say that to a mother’s face.”

“I feel like as a mother you should be letting him have space” he whispered dryly.

“It’s anything and everything for my baby,” you whispered back, “heartbroken.”

Bruce sighed, letting you pull him forward like some six foot tall human leash. He followed behind you, slouched and sulking like a teenager being dragged into a parent teacher conference. But he didn’t resist. Not really. At the end of the hallway, just far enough not to be heard but perfectly in view, Tim was standing awkwardly with his shoulder slightly bumping against the wall, halfway through some rambling sentence that didn’t seem to have an end. Across from him leaned Conner Kent Superboy himself smiling with the easy, confident charm of someone who knew exactly how good he looked.

You gasped again, softer this time. “He’s so nervous. Look at him. Our baby…”

“Don’t start crying,” Bruce warned.

“He’s got no game, Bruce.”

Bruce squinted. “…This is objectively better than his brothers.”

You nearly cackled. “Low bar, sweetheart.”

Tim fumbled again, scratching the back of his neck while trying to not look directly at Conner. Conner leaned in just slightly, arms crossed as he nodded along, totally relaxed. He said something with a grin, and Tim laughed clearly too loud, then looked down at the floor in horror.

You sniffled, eyes shimmering. “Look at our baby flirting…”

“He’s not a baby,” Bruce said, though his voice was quieter now. “He’s nearly eighteen.” And yet, he leaned a little more over your shoulder.

You smirked. “You’re watching.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re parenting.”

Bruce sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, crossing his arms as he stared harder at the two teens.

“What’s Kent’s clone doing here alone with him anyways?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

“Ohhh,” you grinned, “now you care.”

“Of course I care,” Bruce snapped, more defensive than he meant to be. “That’s my kid.”

You nudged him with your elbow, whispering proudly, “Our kid.”

He didn’t respond to that but the corner of his mouth twitched. Down the hall, Conner leaned in and brushed something off Tim’s shirt something that wasn’t there. Tim went red, practically short circuiting.

Bruce straightened immediately. “Okay. That’s enough recon.”

“Oh, now it’s enough?”

“I’m getting my Batarangs.”

You caught his wrist before he could march off. “No. No Batarangs. No Bat glare. You said he’s not a baby, remember?”

“He wasn’t getting flirted with then.”

You snorted, still holding his arm. “I think your overprotective thing is hot.”

He paused. “That a fact?”

You smirked, glancing back toward your bedroom door. “Yes. Now let’s go back to our room lights off, no clothes, door locked this time and let the kids be kids.”

Bruce gave Tim and Conner one last skeptical look, then sighed. “If they start kissing, I’m interrupting.”

“No you won’t,” you said, dragging him back down the hall by the wrist again. “Because I’ll be too busy making out with you to let you get up.”

Despite that, the minute you headed to the room. Conner and Tim were happily walking towards the kitchen. making you drag your husband again to watch your boy. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only real noise coming from the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of snack bags. You and Bruce had found your new favorite spot behind the kitchen island, crouching low and trying your best not to make a sound, despite the undeniable excitement of spying on your son.

You had your phone held up, recording through the cabinet doors like a proud wildlife documentarian. Tim and Conner were in the next room, chattering nervously while they raided the pantry for snacks.

Bruce was less than impressed with the situation. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, glaring at you as if you were the one causing trouble.

You smirked, eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in the next room. “I practically raised him. I have the right to witness his first love.”

He grunted, his voice tinged with mild exasperation. “You’re literally crouched next to the coffee machine whispering commentary like it’s National Geographic.”

You held your phone at a slightly different angle, zooming in on Tim as he fumbled with a bag of chips. “And you’re crouched next to me, so what does that make you?”

Bruce looked at you, deadpan. “An unwilling accomplice.”

You shot him a look, trying not to giggle as you saw Tim’s hand hover uncertainly over a box of cookies while Conner casually leaned against the counter, looking way too smooth for someone who was probably still a teenager.

“Conner’s definitely a pro at this,” you whispered, shaking your head in amused disbelief. “Look at him, just leaning there. Like it’s nothing what if he just wants to play woth out boys feelings.”

Bruce sighed dramatically but didn’t move. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“This is serious, Bruce. It’s parental responsibility.”

Bruce looked at you, his eyes softening. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Yeah, well, you love me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve got a lot of regrets today,” he muttered, but his hand brushed against yours in the dim light, soft and reassuring. Just as you were about to comment on Tim’s awkward attempt at getting a cookie into his mouth without looking too desperate, the kitchen door swung open with a familiar creak.

“Are you spying on Tim?” Dick’s voice rang through the space, sharp and amused.

Both you and Bruce froze, immediately making eye contact in a way that could only be described as a guilty deer caught in headlights moment.

Bruce was the first to recover. He straightened up quickly, stepping away from the island and crossing his arms like he was trying to physically distance himself from the ridiculousness of it all. “No,” he said instantly, as if the word would somehow erase the whole scene.

You, on the other hand, didn’t try to hide it. You looked up at Dick with wide, unapologetic eyes. “Yes,” you said, shrugging as though this was completely normal behavior for a concerned parent.

Dick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe with a smug grin. “You guys are so lame.”

You grinned back, unbothered by his teasing. “You think we’re lame, but when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

Bruce, clearly not keen on the whole ordeal, shot a look at Tim and Conner through the kitchen entryway. “I’m just making sure he’s not making any… stupid decisions.”

“Right.” Dick’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Because you’re both really qualified for that.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey, we did the best we could. And this is where you come in. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak a peek when you thought we weren’t looking.”

Dick’s eyes widened for a second before he cracked a grin. “You two are hopeless.” He turned his attention back to the other room. “What are they even doing, anyway?”

You and Bruce both turned to look through the cabinets again, slightly distracted now that Dick was standing right there. Tim was holding a cookie out to Conner, his fingers trembling slightly, and Conner took it with a grin that could melt even the iciest heart.

“He’s handing Conner a cookie,” you said, your voice dripping with awe and mild concern. “A cookie. They’re not even talking about something deep or meaningful, like… I don’t know, saving Gotham or discussing conspiracy theories. It’s literally just this.”

Dick raised an eyebrow again, his grin widening. “You’re really invested in this?”

Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck, clearly torn between indulging your parental instincts and the embarrassment of being caught in such an absurd situation. “Yeah, we’re not stalking them. Just… observing.”

Dick snorted. “Sure, sure. Watching them like they’re some rare, endangered species.”

You looked at him deadpan. “They are.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Look, we’ll stop when they stop… getting… weird.”

Dick gave the two of you an incredulous look. “You two are so ridiculous. Seriously.”

And with that, Dick pushed past you both to head upstairs, but not before he paused to make one last comment.

“If I ever catch you two creeping on me like this, I’ll start a family group chat called ‘Creepy Parents.’”

You and Bruce exchanged an amused glance. “We’ll take that risk,” you said,

Dick groaned, clearly not interested in sticking around for the ridiculousness, and disappeared upstairs.

You looked back at Bruce, who was still watching Tim and Conner, now in full parental protective mode. His brows were furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“I guess we’re just going to wait this out?” you asked softly, leaning against the island.

Bruce nodded, but his tone was softer now, full of that deep, unspoken love only a parent could understand. “Yeah. But we need to be the ones to have that talk when they’re ready.”

You smiled, leaning into him, the whole world feeling a little less chaotic, even if the kids’ drama would never stop.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim and Conner were sitting at the kitchen table now, their snack raid completed, with Conner casually leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the seat across from him. Tim, on the other hand, was picking at his cookie, his eyes occasionally flicking nervously around the room.

Conner noticed Tim’s unease and raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Drake?”

Tim cleared his throat, his gaze shifting quickly toward the hallway, and then back to Conner, hoping his casual demeanor would mask the slight panic he felt. “Uh, no, everything’s fine.”

Conner smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I can’t help but notice your… parents have been acting a little weird.”

Tim froze. His heart rate quickened as the words hit him. He blinked at Conner, unsure if he’d heard him right. “What?”

“You know, they’ve been hanging around for a while,” Conner said, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “I can’t believe they’re still hiding behind the kitchen island.”

Tim’s face went white, of course he noticed it. his eyes darted toward the kitchen counter, his heart sinking into his stomach. His parents… They had been watching this whole time. He quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, his eyes shifting uncomfortably as if he could pretend that the observation had never been made. “You’re imagining things.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Maybe I am.”

But before Tim could settle into any sense of relief, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes glanced toward the cabinets, toward the hidden space behind the island where his parents had been crouched like secret agents, but the moment he saw something shift in the shadows, he quickly turned his head away. A blush spread across his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside him.

He heard a muffled whisper coming from the kitchen, the faintest sound of your voice saying, “Do you think they noticed?”

His heart skipped. He knew they were there. He immediately looked back at Conner, who was now wearing an almost triumphant smirk, clearly enjoying this entire awkward exchange.

Tim’s face reddened even further. “Ugh, I hate you.”

Conner’s grin widened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying the chaos Tim was going through. “your family is so weird”

Tim just buried his face in his hands for a second, trying to collect himself. It didn’t help that he could hear the whispering getting louder, still faint, but unmistakable. “No way. I think they didn’t notice. Maybe we can sneak away after they leave…”

“We?” Tim thought he heard Bruce’s voice this time. It made him stiffen.

His face was now a bright red, and he buried his face further into his arms, hoping it might all just go away. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his pulse racing. This was so embarrassing. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? Why did his parents have to be so… so overly protective?

As his embarrassment grew, Tim stole another quick glance at the kitchen, only to see a shadow dart behind the cabinets. His stomach flipped, and he quickly turned away, biting his lip to keep from saying something he’d regret.

Conner’s eyes were sharp. “Yeah… they totally noticed,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I’m cool with this. You’re lucky I didn’t go tell them they’ve been caught. That would’ve been funny.”

“Conner, shut up!” Tim hissed, but the laughter that followed didn’t make it any better.

Somewhere from behind the cabinets, you whispered again, louder this time, “Maybe they’ll pretend they didn’t see us.”

Bruce’s voice was closer to a growl. “We’re being subtle, right?”

Tim’s body stiffened again, but this time he was ready. He shot up from his chair and took a deep breath. There was no going back now. “I’m going upstairs. You’re all insane.”

Conner chuckled, watching him go, clearly having the time of his life while Tim fumbled his way toward the hallway.

As Tim rushed out of the room, trying to hide the heat in his cheeks, you and Bruce exchanged a glance from your hiding spot, then reluctantly peeked around the corner to make sure your son had left the kitchen.

“We should’ve just went in our room,” you muttered, sounding almost defeated.

Bruce nodded, glancing up at you. “This is why I wanted to go back to the room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t let that go?”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’ve been caught so many times.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” You flashed a teasing grin at him, clearly finding amusement in the awkwardness.

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t move either. He just kept watching the empty kitchen, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Finally, he said, “I’d still rather be making out with you right now.”

You grinned. “One thing at a time, Bruce. One thing at a time.”

Bruce didn’t waste a second. The moment the last of Tim’s and conner’s footsteps faded up the stairs, he was on his feet, his usual quiet intensity shifting into something more playful albeit with a touch of authority.

Without a word, he moved toward you, his hand reaching for your wrist. Before you could even fully register his intent, he pulled you into his chest, his other hand gently cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips were almost on yours, just inches apart, but he hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if savoring the moment.

“As much fun as that was,” he said in a low, husky tone, his voice thick with amusement, “it’s time for mommy and daddy time.”

Your heart skipped. You had to admit, despite the awkwardness of everything that just happened, the sudden shift in Bruce’s demeanor made your pulse spike. The playful tension in the air was thick enough to cut through. You could see the flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“Bruce…” you whispered, half trying to resist, half already giving in.

“Our boy will be fine” His voice was low, but there was a firm edge to it, a reminder that your playful surveillance time had come to an end. “You and me. Upstairs. Now.”

Before you could protest or offer some sarcastic response, he was already guiding you away from the kitchen island, his hand firm around your wrist. The way his grip tightened made it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer not that you really wanted to resist.

“Bruce, we can’t just…” you started to say, but you were quickly cut off as he kissed you, his lips catching yours in a brief, but intense press that stole your breath away.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “No more distractions. No more spying. Just us.”

You were about to make a snarky comment, but all the words caught in your throat when he pulled you against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his strong frame seemed to draw you in closer.

“I’m not letting you get away that easily,” he said with a grin, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Your breath caught as you felt his touch, suddenly aware of how much you’d been craving this intimate moment. The tension that had been building throughout the entire day between your kids, the spying, the ridiculousness was finally going to melt away, leaving just the two of you.

With a final, teasing smile, Bruce began leading you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours. The world outside your bedroom had faded into the background there was only him and you, and the quiet promise of some much needed time alone.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim was lying face down on his bed, groaning into the sheets. If he could dig a hole and disappear into it, he would. He’d half expected his parents to hover maybe ask a few awkward questions. But full on mission mode surveillance? That was next level.

The door creaked open, and Tim didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“I knew they were weird,” Conner’s voice came, all smug and sing songy. “But hiding behind the cabinets? thats weird.”

Tim rolled over with a groan, face still half buried in a pillow. “Can we not talk about it?”

Conner stepped in like he owned the place, casually flopping onto Tim’s bed with zero regard for personal space. “Dude, your mom was crouched like it was recon. I think she even whispered something about your ‘game.’ I’m emotionally scarred.”

Conner, of course, wasn’t far behind. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into the room, his usual easygoing grin plastered across his face. But there was something different in his eyes something softer. Maybe he was trying to ease the tension Tim was still feeling.

“You good?” Conner asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tim turned his head just slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I dunno, everything’s just kinda weird today.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Conner chuckled, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was more of an understanding one. “Your parents… they’re something else.”

Tim groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t think they’d go full surveillance mode.”

Conner moved further into the room, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Well, they’re just looking out for you, you know? They’re probably a little overprotective, but… I mean, I guess I’d do the same thing if I were them.”

Tim half smiled at that, finally sitting up. “Yeah, but it’s a little much. I’m almost eighteen, not, like, seven.”

Conner gave him a side glance, his smile still there. “Right. You’re allowed to… y’know, have a life outside of your parents’ radar.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Tim muttered, but it wasn’t with annoyance more like he appreciated Conner’s effort to lighten the mood. Tim glanced at Conner, his mind wandering as it often did when he was around him. Something about the way Conner carried himself, the way he was always so relaxed, so at ease it was easy to get lost in.

Conner seemed to sense it, his voice dropping a little lower. “So, uh… are you sure it’s just your parents that’s got you flustered? Or is it… something else?”

Tim blinked at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Conner leaned back against the headboard, looking over at him with a teasing smile. “I don’t know, just seems like you’ve got a lot going on in your head. And I mean, I did see how red your face was back there, so”

Tim immediately turned even more red. “Conner, I swear to God”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Conner laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t make it worse. But, uh… you do know you can talk to me, right?”

Tim let out a soft exhale, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t even realize how much he’d needed to hear that until now. “Yeah. I guess I just… didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Making it weird is kind of my thing,” Conner joked, but there was something reassuring about the way he said it like he wasn’t trying to force the conversation, but also wasn’t afraid to be open with him. Tim’s heart skipped a little at the casual warmth in Conner’s voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Conner was looking at him now, or just the comfort of knowing someone actually cared, but he found himself letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m definitely not the best at this… flirting thing. I’m just… I don’t know, overthinking it all.”

Conner’s eyes softened, and before Tim could protest, Conner slid closer on the bed. He nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. I think you’re doing just fine.”

Tim froze, his pulse racing at the sudden closeness. “Wait, really?”

Conner smirked, but there was something genuine in his smile now. “Really. You’ve just gotta stop trying to be all… cool about it. Just be yourself. If someone can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss.”

Tim swallowed, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re… you’re the worst, you know that?”

But Conner just laughed, the sound light and effortless. “I know. But you like me anyway.”

Tim bit his lip, trying not to smile too much, but there was no denying the way his heart was beating faster now. Conner had always been the one to tease him, to make him laugh when things were tough. But this this felt different. The way they were sitting there, so close, the unspoken understanding between them it was the kind of connection Tim hadn’t realized he was craving.

“Alright, alright,” Conner said, standing up and giving Tim a teasing grin, “I’ll leave you to think about that. But you know I’m here, if you wanna… talk or whatever.”

Tim nodded, his throat a little tight, but he didn’t know what to say. Conner’s easygoing presence had a way of putting him at ease, and for the first time in a while, Tim felt like he was starting to understand what it meant to really be seen by someone.

“Thanks, Conner,” Tim muttered, his voice soft.

Conner winked as he walked toward the door. “Anytime, small bird. Anytime.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tim sank back against the bed, his heart still racing, but now for a different reason.

Conner: So…

Tim: Please don’t.

Conner: Your parents have been following us for like… an hour. I swear I saw your mom dive behind a trash bin.

Tim: If I ignore it, maybe it’ll go away.

Reader, whispering from the kitchen: They didn’t see us.

Bruce, deadpan: They definitely saw us.

Batfamily X Batmom! Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Someone Thought Of Meཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

I feel like Tim has very little love. So how does he feel in a family thats so weird?

masterlist

Timmy timothy tim likes to journal his problems

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Journal entry- Shes always there. Written from the point of view of Tim Drake. In Tim Drakes Journal. Which Is my journal… Tim Drake… because it’s my journal?

When people think of Bruce Wayne, they think of Gotham’s crowned prince brooding, rich, charming in a suit. Maybe they even think of Batman if you’re one of the few people that actually know him, the knight in Kevlar, Gotham’s relentless protector. They forget, more often than not, that behind the cowl is just a guy made of jagged edges. The kind that can cut even the people he cares about most.

But her?

She was warmth. A reporter with fire in her blood and sharp questions at her lips. That’s how Bruce met her chasing down a story she didn’t know he was part of yet. She wasn’t intimidated by his name or the shadows that followed him. And when she found out he was Batman, she didn’t run. She pivoted. She didn’t want to be used by the Gotham Gazette to milk a headline about their relationship. So she left. Started something new. Told the stories of villains not to glorify them, but to show their truth. The people they used to be. The cracks that made them break. That was her power.

I didn’t meet her until later, of course. But I always knew of her. I still stayed with my parents at the time and since she stayed at the mansion i never really saw her. she was the one everyone talked about. Not just in passing, but with reverence. Even Bruce, in his own quiet way, would drop her name like it meant safety. And to Dick and Jason? She wasn’t just a stepmom, or “Bruce’s wife.” She was Mom.

Dick talks about her like she’s the sun. When he visits he always visits, at least once a week no matter where he is you can see it. How his whole face lights up just stepping into the manor and hearing her voice from the kitchen. You’d think he was back in the circus and just found his net again.

“She used to stay up for me, no matter what time patrol ended,” he told me once. “I’d come in through the balcony, boots muddy, bruised up, sometimes bleeding and she’d be in the kitchen heating soup. Always that look on her face like I’d just come back from war. Never lectured me like Bruce. Never told me to be more careful. Just… held me. Like that fixed everything.”

Dick never stopped calling her “Mom.” Not even during the rough years when Bruce pushed him too hard. Not when he moved out. Not when the Batcave felt colder than the Gotham River in winter. If anything, she was the reason he kept coming back.

When she got that small publishing deal to write about Harvey Dent’s past, Dick flew back from Blüdhaven just to take her out to dinner. No press, no big celebration. Just a booth by the window at her favorite Thai place and a bouquet that barely fit through the door. He said he owed her everything. “I don’t care if I’m not hers by blood,” he told me once. “That woman taught me how to hold on to who I am, even when everything else was falling apart.”

Then theres my other older brother. Jason’s love is different. It’s quieter.

Harder to see unless you’re looking close. He’s not good at the soft stuff. Not anymore. But with her, he tries. He never says “I love you.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words leave his mouth. But he’s always fixing stuff around her house. Not the manor her place, the little brownstone Bruce bought her because she hated the echo of the mansion. The place with the bookshelf she filled herself, the mismatched mugs, the heavy desk where she does her interviews. Jason comes by when she’s out running errands. Patches the leaky sink. Replaces the light in the hallway. Leaves a bag of her favorite tea on the counter. No note. No credit. But she always knows it’s him.

“She used to sit on the fire escape with me,” he told me once, when we were staking out some arms deal in the Narrows. “I’d be pissed off at Bruce, just raging. And she’d just sit there. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t talk me out of it. Just sat and sometimes smoked a cigarette. One time I cried. Don’t remember why. But she didn’t flinch. Just put her hand on my back. Stayed until I fell asleep.”

He’d die before saying it out loud, but I think in a way… he’s more hers than he ever was Bruce’s. And when he came back when he was the Red Hood and he was full of grief and rage and bullets she was the only one who hugged him. Everyone else flinched. Even Bruce. But she opened the door, saw what he’d become, and said, “You look like hell, baby. Come inside.” And he did.

I remember the first time I met her. Bruce had just taken me in. I was still flinching every time he walked into the room, still unsure if I belonged in this broken, stitched up family. And then she walked in breezy and fierce, like she’d just come off a battlefield with coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “You must be Tim,” she said, giving me a once over like she could see right through to my spine. “You eat?”

I hadn’t. She fixed a plate, sat with me, asked me about everything except my parents. I had just lost them at the time and that’s when I got it. Why Dick lights up around her. Why Jason will move heaven and earth to fix her sink. She’s home. Not the kind with walls and Wi-Fi. The kind with presence. With knowing how to say just the right thing without ever saying too much. With safety, and warmth, and late night soup and hair ruffles and sitting on fire escapes even when the kid next to you’s got blood on his boots. I think that’s why even Bruce… softens around her. She’s the one person who makes him feel safe.

When she got her first daughter, you can tell something changed in her. Cass didn’t talk much. Not in the early days. She was quiet in the way shadows were quiet always there, always watching, always slipping through cracks without a sound. Most people assumed she just didn’t want to talk. Or couldn’t. But I saw it different.

Cass spoke just not with her mouth. She spoke with her hands, her eyes, the way she’d tense or soften when you entered a room. But with her? With Mom?

Cass bloomed.

She’d lean on her shoulder when they sat on the couch. She’d grab her hand subtle, small, but full of meaning and lead her to the garden out back just to sit in the sun. I watched Cass laugh once, like actually laugh, cheeks lifted and eyes crinkled. I didn’t even know she could laugh like that. But it was because Mom had made some dumb joke about a rogue penguin at the zoo stealing someone’s purse. Cas used to flinch at affection. Now, she hugged her. Without hesitation. Leaned into her side. Signed things with soft smiles and the rare, quiet “Love you,” if no one else was around. She didn’t even say that to Bruce. Not really. But Mom? Mom got everything.

She knew how to talk to her. Never pressed. Never coddled. Just existed beside her with a kind of understanding that didn’t require words. I think Cass clung to that someone who didn’t need her to be anything but herself. Someone who didn’t treat her like a porcelain weapon. I’d never seen Cass so… safe. So full.

Then there was Damian. God. When Bruce brought him to the manor, I thought maybe we’d finally seen the worst of it. Turns out a ten year old assassin with an ego the size of Arkham was the cherry on top.

From the minute Damian showed up, he was a walking migraine. Arrogant. Condescending. Entitled in the way only someone born and bred to believe they were superior could be. But the worst part? He was cruel to her.

Not in the loud, tantrum way kids can be cruel. No. Damian was sharp. Precise. Calculated. His insults were surgical targeted and clean like a blade to the gut. “I don’t see the point in you,” he said once, arms crossed in the foyer, looking her dead in the eye. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be her. Father had real women in his life before you.”

It wasn’t the first time he said it. Wouldn’t be the last. she….God, she just took it. Not because she agreed. Not because she was weak. But because that’s who she is. She let him be angry. Let him lash out. Let him burn himself on her because she knew what was underneath it all. But I saw it. I saw the way her shoulders slumped when she turned away. The way she stirred her tea a little too long in the kitchen. The way she lingered in front of Bruce’s old pictures of Talia that he put up for Damien. didn’t touch them, didn’t say anything, but looked like someone standing in a war zone, wondering if the ruins were prettier than she’d ever be. She never said it aloud. Never asked if she measured up. But we all knew the weight she carried. Bruce’s past wasn’t just shadows it was legacies. Legacies she was never meant to compete with. And Damian made sure she felt that.

I don’t know when that started to change. Maybe when she helped patch him up after his first solo patrol and didn’t say a word about the busted ribs. Maybe when she sat in the library and helped him with his handwriting because even deadly assassins have messy cursive. Or maybe it was when she found his sketchbook. hid it from everyone else, never mentioned it, just left him new pencils on his desk with a quiet, “You’re very talented.”

He stopped being so sharp after that. Still rude. Still Damian. But less… venomous. Like the poison had burned itself out and he was left kind of confused by the fact that she was still there. Because she always was. For all of us.

And then there’s me. The extra. The late one. I was never brought in because Bruce wanted to be a father. I was brought in because I figured out his secrets and then wormed my way into the cave, into the suit, into the family. I don’t know if I was ever really meant to be here. Not the way the others were. Me? I had parents. Not great ones. But they were there… until they weren’t. I didn’t grow up in an alley, or a pit, or the League. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I feel so… replaceable. But she never made me feel that way. She saw me. She knew I overworked myself. Knew I never slept. Knew I spiraled when I wasn’t useful. And instead of pushing me to be better or telling me to slow down, she just… met me where I was. Once, I found a note in my backpack. Folded between mission plans.

“Youre the most amazing boy that i know, You my boy are going to do amazing things. I love you so much!!”

I never told her I found it. But I kept it. Still have it, tucked into my journal like armor.

I don’t know if any of us would’ve survived this family without her. Bruce taught us how to fight. How to fall and get back up. But she taught us how to rest. How to breathe. How to love without blood and history binding us. She fixed all of us. Bit by bit. Even when we didn’t know we were breaking. I don’t feel broken enough to deserve that kind of care. But she gave it anyway. Because that’s who she is. Because she was always there.

I heard her once, talking on the phone to someone. Maybe a friend. Maybe a source. “They’re not mine by blood,” she said. “But God help the world if they ever needed me. I’d burn down Gotham to protect any one of them.” That’s when I knew she meant me, too. if I had to tell this story about the Batfamily, about the ones who wear masks and hide pain and throw themselves into the fire night after night I’d start with her. Because Batman might have saved Gotham but she saved us.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Tim closes the journal with a soft thump, fingers lingering on the worn leather cover. His hand hovers just a second longer before pulling away. The room feels too quiet now like his thoughts are echoing louder without the scratch of his pen to distract him.

He pushes the chair back, the legs creaking on the old hardwood floors, and stands. His back cracks. How long had he been writing? Hours maybe. It’s dark out, the kind of heavy Gotham dark that presses against the windows like it wants in. The manor groans quietly in the silence, pipes murmuring and the wind brushing tree branches against the windows like fingers tapping to be let inside.

He walks out of his room, bare feet soft on the carpet as he pads through the hallway. The air feels heavier at night in the manor. Like all the ghosts that live in the walls are finally breathing.

I turned the corner after walking mindlessly and stared. There you were.

Back facing towards me, wearing one of those oversized, faded shirts Bruce always swore he didn’t miss. Standing in front of the stove, hair pulled up, humming something under your breath as you stirred with a wooden spoon like you were crafting alchemy and not just soup. And beside you, leaning against the counter, arms folded but eyes softer than I’d seen in weeks. Jason. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Which was rare. His boots were off. Rarer. And he was smiling. Not the cocky half grin he used when he was about to pick a fight, but something quieter. Warmer. Something like a son sitting in the only place in the world where he felt safe.

You said something to him I couldn’t hear what but you reached up on your toes and smoothed his hair out of his eyes like he was five. He rolled his eyes, said something sarcastic, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it. that was when Alfred walked by, hands behind his back, chin tilted slightly in amusement as he passed me. “You know the rule, Master Timothy,” he said, low enough not to disturb the moment in the kitchen. “She is the only one allowed in there. The rest of you have forfeited that right after the last… incident.”

I groaned.

“That was Damian’s fault,” I hissed back.

He raised a brow. “Was it Damian’s idea to flambé a Pop Tart?”

“Okay. Fine. That part might’ve been me.”

It was one of our dumbest ideas maybe not the dumbest, but it’s a crowded race. It started with a challenge. Damian, fresh off a smug streak and newly obsessed with culinary documentaries, claimed that my “American palate” had “eroded my taste and motor skills.” I told him I could cook circles around him. Neither of us could cook.

It escalated quickly. An Iron Chef style duel. Secret ingredient: eggs. Only, I dropped mine. Three times. Damian misread the baking powder as flour. Then I panicked and tried to “smoke” the scrambled eggs for flavor using a packet of incense from the guest room and a lighter.

Within ten minutes, the fire alarm was going off, Alfred had activated the emergency sprinklers, and the kitchen looked like something between a crime scene and a culinary apocalypse. Mom was the one to find us.

Standing soaked, flour covered, blinking through smoke. Damian holding a spatula like a sword. Me covered in what I hoped was yolk. You didn’t yell. That’s the worst part. You just… looked at us. Long and hard. Then let out a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and said, “Alfred, I assume this is why you told me to ban them from the kitchen.”

“Indeed, madam,” he replied grimly.

And that was that. Kitchen rights revoked. Except for you. Always you.

Now I stood there in the hallway, watching you and Jason from the doorway, unseen. He was telling you about something he saw on patrol a gang trying to smuggle rare books, of all things. You were laughing, that full body laugh that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes close, like the world could still be beautiful if you just tried hard enough. And Jason?

He was drinking it in. Like he’d been starved of this kind of love for years. Ever since he came back, you were different around him. Not overly careful like Bruce. Not tense like some of us had been. You just loved him. Loudly. Freely. kisses to the temple, touching his shoulders like you had to convince yourself he was still solid. Like you had to remind him that he was still wanted. Jason never said it but he melted under it. His edges dulled. His anger slipped. When you held him, when you gave him that smile that said “you’re home,” he softened. He belonged.

I swallowed hard. Stepped back, just a bit. Let the shadows take me. Because I’d never had that. Not in the same way. You loved me I knew that. But it wasn’t the same kind of fierce, smothering love. And maybe that was fair. I wasn’t broken in the way Jason was. Not born in blood like Damian. Not carved out of grief like Dick. Not silenced like Cass.

I was just… me. Smart. Quiet. Stable, mostly. I’d always felt like a thread sewn into someone else’s tapestry. Useful. Strong, even. But not the reason anyone stayed warm. in moments like this seeing Jason melt under your hands, seeing you pour every ounce of your soul into making him feel alive I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ever going to fit here. So I stepped away from the kitchen door.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only happens after everyone’s gone to bed or pretended to. I was curled up in the corner of the library, one leg slung over the arm of the chair, a thick old book cracked open across my lap. It wasn’t for patrol or mission planning. Just something to read. Something to fill the quiet so I didn’t have to think too much.

It was peaceful, until muffled voices filled the room. I blinked, tilting my head just enough to catch the low murmur threading in from the hallway. At first, I thought maybe Bruce had wandered into the Batcave again, but then I heard my moms voice. Whispering like someone trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Bruce responded, and you both laughed, low and secretive. I rolled my eyes and went back to my page.

I stopped caring about that kind of thing a long time ago. You and Bruce were always, in a word, gross about each other. Not the clingy, PDA gross… well yes the clingy PDA way but the kind where he’d brush your cheek mid conversation like it was instinct. Or the way you’d make him coffee without asking, and he’d pass you reports to look at because he trusted your opinion more than the board’s. It was… sincere. Intimate. Kind of annoying, honestly, when you were trying to eat cereal and Bruce kissed your temple like it was some kind of reflex.

But it was comforting too. Something solid. I was just starting to lose myself in the book again when

“Boo.”

“GAH!”

I launched the book about a foot into the air and nearly twisted my entire spine trying to figure out what demon had possessed the room. My heart rocketed into my throat as I whipped around, hand halfway to a batarang that wasn’t even on me. You stood there, grinning ear to ear.

“Tim,” you cooed, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh, “you should’ve seen your face oh my god, I think you levitated.”

“I almost hit you with Tolstoy!” I hissed, breath still catching up to my body. “Don’t sneak up on a guy in this house! I was ready to throw hands with a ghost.”

“Well,” you teased, “if it was a ghost, you’d be the only one I’d trust to outsmart it.”

I gave you a flat look, still massaging my neck. You sobered a little, stepping forward and tapping the top of my head gently. “Come on, kiddo. There’s something we want to show you. In the dining room.”

I blinked. “We?”

“I’m here too,” came Bruce’s voice from the hallway, in that terrible deep gravel whisper he clearly thought was somehow sneaky. You and I both turned to look at him as he peeked around the corner, trying very hard and failing to look inconspicuous.

I squinted at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

You sighed and gently smacked his chest. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m building intrigue,” Bruce said with what I assumed was supposed to be a straight face. “It’s part of the plan”

“You’re ruining the surprise,” you whispered, dragging a hand down your face.

“There’s a surprise?” I asked slowly, eyes darting between the two of you.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but I could see the micro tension in his brow. He was lying. For the world’s greatest detective, the man couldn’t lie to his children to save his life. Every time he tried, he got this weird stiffness, like someone who’d never used human emotions before. You groaned again and took my wrist gently. “Come on. Just come to the dining room. Please?”

I stood up slowly, abandoning my book on the chair. “What’s going on?” I asked again, warier now. “Is this, like… an intervention? Did Damian break into the Tower again?”

“Nope.”

“Did Jason get arrested for vigilante loitering?”

“Not this week.”

“Are you going to make me touch grass?”

You snorted. “God, no.”

I sighed. “Alright. But if this is a trap, I want it on record that i died saying my parents were weird.”

Bruce just grunted. So I followed them. These two weird, overly affectionate, semi cryptic parents of mine one with crows’ feet from smiling too much and the other still pretending he didn’t smile at all. Down the hallway. Toward the dining room. Still completely, utterly confused.

The hallway to the dining room wasn’t long. It just felt long. Partially because Bruce was still trying to act like this wasn’t suspicious at all, and you kept elbowing him in the ribs every few steps. Partially because my nerves were starting to twitch under my skin. mostly because I could hear whisper yelling coming from the dining room.

“I said put the banner up, not strangle the chandelier with it!”

“That wasn’t me! It was Damian! He climbed up there!”

“I was fixing your poor attempt at symmetry, Grayson!”

“Why is the pie we made lopsided Jason what did you do to the pie?”

“It’s good. Shut up.”

“You burned it.”

“I call it caramelized flavor.”

“…It smells like regret.”

“Can someone…. Cass, what are you doing with the glitter glue?!”

“Decoration.”

I paused just outside the door and looked up at Bruce and you with raised eyebrows. You just smiled softly and gave a little shrug, while Bruce tried to maintain whatever shred of dignity he had left. It wasn’t working.

You both looked so stupidly in love standing like that his arm around your waist, yours looped casually around his. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was normal. Like this whatever chaos was waiting behind the doors was ours.

Bruce leaned in toward the doorframe like he was assessing a mission room, and I swear I saw his eye twitch.

“I gave them very simple instructions,” he muttered.

You patted his chest. “Your children are as smart and emotionally constipated as their dad”

The door swung open before anyone could knock. Dick stood there with his usual too big grin and remnants of glitter on his cheek like war paint. “Timmy! You’re late to your own surprise party!”

“It’s not my birthday?”

“Not that kind of surprise party!” he said, reaching out to drag me in with too much enthusiasm. “It’s Appreciation Day!”

“That’s… not a real holiday.”

“Sure it is,” said Jason, appearing from behind a mess of mismatched plates and aluminum foil wrapped disasters. “We just made it real. Sit down, Nerd Boy.”

Cass waved from the head of the table with a little toothy smile. Damian was on a chair next to her, arms crossed, already pouting like he hadn’t been helping just ten minutes ago.

The table was atrocious like someone had thrown a home economics final exam and a kindergarten arts and crafts project into a blender. The centerpiece was a crooked sign that said “WE APPRECIATE YOU” in bold, messy handwriting (clearly Dick’s). There was glitter on everything. The cups didn’t match. The pie looked like it’d been in a fight. it was perfect. All of it.

Dishes were stacked, uneven and mismatched. Cookies were slightly burnt on one side. Jason’s so called “caramelized” pie was visibly cracked. Cass had made what looked like finger sandwiches shaped into little bats. Even Damian had contributed begrudgingly with a plate of sliced fruit that had been carved into vaguely threatening shapes.

And in the middle of it all was a small card in your handwriting.

Tim,

We know things have been hard.

We know it sometimes feels like you’re overlooked.

But you’re not. Not here.

You’re brilliant. You’re loved. You’re ours.

Love,

Your Family (a bunch of idiots, but yours)

I couldn’t speak. Not really. Because what was there to say? This… this wasn’t some big show. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. it was for me. I glanced down the table.

Dick was beaming and already scooting over to make room for me. Jason was pretending not to look at me too hard, but his expression was softer than usual. Cass gave me a small nod, the kind that said more than words. Damian looked away when our eyes met but I could see the tiniest hint of awkward approval in the way he pushed a napkin toward the empty seat beside him. I took it. Quietly. Still blinking a little too fast. I didn’t cry. I didn’t. But I felt it thick in my chest. That weight. That feeling. Because my biological parents had never done anything like this. They didn’t see me, not really. I was a project. A prodigy. An obligation. But you and Bruce, in his awkward gruff way you saw me. You made this happen. I looked up once more and saw you and Bruce still standing near the door. Arms still around each other. Watching. Bruce’s eyes met mine. He gave the smallest nod. You just smiled. I mattered here. not always loudly. not in the same way the others did. But I mattered. And this this was home.

Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader

ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼

I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?

masterlist

You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.

ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.

“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.

“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”

The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.

“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”

A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”

“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”

There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.

“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”

You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”

“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”

You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”

“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”

You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.

“Alright, you two cut it.”

You both froze.

“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”

You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”

“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”

“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”

“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”

“You remember that?” you teased.

“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”

Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”

“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”

Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”

Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”

“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”

“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.

You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”

“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”

You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”

Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”

But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.

He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”

You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”

“You do call me every night.”

“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”

Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.

Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.

“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”

“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”

“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.

You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.

“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”

You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”

“Unlikely.”

“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”

Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”

“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”

“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”

Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”

“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”

There was a long pause.

“…I’m turning off my comm.”

“You won’t,” you sang.

Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.

“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”

“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”

Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.

“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You absolute menace.”

“See you then, Sweetheart.”

Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.

“God, you’re both exhausting.”

You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”

He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The room was quiet now.

The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.

You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.

It always did, when the room emptied.

He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.

The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?

You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.

And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.

You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.

Would he be disappointed?

You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?

Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.

You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.

You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”

Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.

But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.

So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.

“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”

A pause.

“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”

Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.

He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.

Comms girl <3: You sure about this?

Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.

bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.

Your reply came within seconds.

Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.

He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.

blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.

Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.

He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”

You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.

He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.

Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.

bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?

he typed.

bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.

Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.

Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.

Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:

bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.

Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.

For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.

The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.

He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.

bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.

Nothing.

He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.

Not her.Not yet.

And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.

He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.

His phone buzzed again.

Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.

He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.

bluebird: You nervous?l

Comms Girl: Maybe. You?

He smiled.

bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.

You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.

You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.

Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The drink was starting to sweat on the table.

Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.

He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?

He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.

And he looked.

She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.

Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.

Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.

Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.

Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.

He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.

Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.

bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”

The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.

Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.

Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.

His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.

Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.

Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.

bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.

Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out

He huffed a quiet laugh.

bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.

You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.

He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.

“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.

“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”

You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”

Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”

You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”

“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”

That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.

“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”

You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Better or worse?”

You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”

“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”

You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.

“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.

“Then let’s even it out.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”

You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”

“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”

A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.

“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”

“Tragic.”

Another moment of quiet, then

“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.

You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.

Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.

You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.

But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.

“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”

Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”

“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”

His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.

Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.

So he gave you more of them.

“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”

You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”

“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.

You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.

After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”

“Hit me.”

“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”

He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”

He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”

You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”

He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”

“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”

“She must’ve been so mad.”

“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”

Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”

“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”

His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”

You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”

“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.

“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”

You blinked. “Grandpa?”

“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”

“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”

“I stand corrected.”

The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.

Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.

“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.

You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.

“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”

The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.

Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”

You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”

He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”

Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”

“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”

You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.

He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:

“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”

You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”

He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”

You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.

“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”

“I do not!”

He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”

You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.

“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”

Your heart thudded hard.

He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.

You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”

Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ You’re Weird ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

masterlist

Check it, Bruce sees you’re drowning and wants to make sure you’re ok. Gotham gazette has a few other ideas.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Your fingers curled around the warm ceramic mug, the heat soothing your skin. “It’s weird,” you mused, glancing around at the clean streets, the laughter of children in a nearby park, the general lack of sirens. “Being here makes Gotham feel like a fever dream. Like I blinked and woke up in a world that doesn’t smell like wet concrete and cigarette smoke.”

The scent of freshly ground coffee beans swirled in the crisp Metropolis air, rich and inviting. You sat across from Bruce Wayne at a quiet café tucked on the corner of Hyperion Avenue, the kind of place that prided itself on being “low key millennial vibe,” though the exposed brick walls and imported furniture suggested otherwise. Still, it was a breath of fresh air from Gotham’s perpetual gloom.

Bruce smiled over the rim of his espresso, the smallest curve of his lips. “I told you Metropolis would be good for you. A different pace. Safer.”

“Definitely safer,” you nodded, chuckling softly. “Though a little… unnerving? Like it’s too perfect. No edge.”

“You miss the unnerving…ness?”

“I feel like Gotham just might have more personality?” You grinned, teasing. “Besides, there’s no challenge in writing about Metropolis. They treat their criminals like punchlines.”

Bruce looked at you then. That quiet intensity in his eyes, the one you always caught glimpses of in rare, unguarded moments. “You like the challenge. That’s what makes you different.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Different?”

“Just different, you don’t have to think too hard on it”

You looked down, the compliment sinking into your chest a little deeper than you were prepared for. “ahhhh okok whatever mister cryptic. What are we doing in metropolis anyways? you havent even done any work while here”

A pause.

“thats true,” Bruce said softly. “Maybe I wanted to see what it’d be like. Sharing coffee somewhere bright for once.”

Your heart did a little pirouette in your chest. It was nothing nothing, right? Just a moment. A shared breath.

But before you could say anything, a familiar voice called out from the sidewalk.

“Bruce! Well, I’ll be damned!”

Bruce’s smile flattened like someone had stepped on it. You turned in your chair to see a tall man in glasses and a warm beige trench coat strolling up, the sun glinting off his dark hair. Clark Kent. You’d seen him in bylines, youre pretty sure youve seen him carrying a camera around. Mild mannered, curious, somehow always in the right place at the right time. And right now, he looked delighted.

“Clark,” Bruce greeted, standing only because etiquette demanded it. His handshake was brief. You noticed the way his jaw ticked as Clark’s gaze immediately shifted to you.

“And you must be the [Y/N] [L/N],” Clark said, eyes lighting up. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

You blinked. “You… are?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. That piece you did on Clayface? Incredible. All your stories go into so much depth and extremely captivating.”

You felt yourself flush. “That means a lot. It’s mice to meet you.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, his cup suddenly very uninteresting as he picked it up for a sip he didn’t take.

Clark pulled out the empty chair beside you and sat before you could protest. “Oh! Im Clark by the way! I’ve always believed there’s more to every story than just the ‘bad guy’ angle. But the way you frame it, like… you make people care. You make them wonder if these villains could’ve been something else in a different world.”

You smiled, glowing under the praise. “That’s exactly what I try to do. Gotham’s complicated. Everyone wants to point fingers, but no one wants to understand the systems that failed them.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Clark nodded. “You ever think of working in Metropolis?”

Bruce’s cup hit the table a little harder than necessary.

“I like Gotham,” you said, glancing at Bruce. “It’s home. And having a indepth understanding makes for good copy.”

Clark laughed. “Fair enough. Still, if you ever need a second pair of eyes or someone to bounce drafts off, I’d be happy to.”

Bruce cleared his throat.

You turned to see him leaning back in his chair, expression unreadable, but his fingers were drumming a silent rhythm on the armrest.

“So, Clark,” Bruce said coolly, “I’m sure the Daily Planet is keeping you busy.”

“Oh, always,” Clark chuckled. “But it’s not every day I bump into old friends… and get to meet such impressive company.”

You smiled politely, but you couldn’t miss the faint twitch in Bruce’s brow. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked rattled. It was almost adorable.

“So, Bruce,” you teased, turning your gaze back to him, “you were telling me about that time you nearly got arrested in Paris for what was it again?”

Bruce straightened. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Clark’s eyebrows rose, amused. “Arrested? Now this sounds like a story.”

“No,” Bruce said flatly.

You laughed and shook your head, the tension easing around the edges. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Something had shifted. Bruce had invited you to Metropolis under the guise of research, but his eyes said more than that. His gaze lingered when Clark made you laugh, and his mouth set into a thin line every time you and Clark found common ground. You weren’t sure what to do with that yet. But you knew one thing for certain… You kind of liked it.

And Bruce? He looked like he was very much not enjoying sharing the spotlight not when it came to you. Especially not with someone like Clark Kent.

The conversation had drifted into the realm of old journalism war stories. Clark was on his third anecdote about chasing down Luthor’s motorcade on foot in attempt to get an interview completely glossing over how that was physically possible and you were laughing, your eyes crinkled with amusement.

Bruce, meanwhile, was over it.

He had tried. Really, he had. Tried to play nice, tried to keep the conversation moving without outright snarling, tried not to look like a man seconds away from flipping the café table over. But watching you laugh, that genuine, radiant smile that he didn’t get nearly enough of not when you were in Gotham, buried in crime reports and late night stakeouts and watching Clark soak it in like it was sunshine?

It was starting to itch beneath his skin. So, Bruce did what he did best. He weaponized polite.

“You know, Clark,” Bruce said, smoothly interrupting whatever story he was about to launch into next, “as fascinating as your insight is, I’m sure the Daily Planet is wondering where their star reporter has wandered off to.”

Clark blinked. “Oh I’ve got the rest of the day off. Lois has it covered.”

“Of course,” Bruce replied, tone light but laced with something sharper. “But I imagine someone like you never really stops working. Especially with… so many rooftops to jump between.”

There was a beat. Clark’s smile faltered for just a second, and you blinked, confused at the oddly specific phrasing.

Bruce leaned forward, resting an arm casually on the table, expression carved from cool stone. “Besides, I’m sure [Y/N] wouldn’t want to be distracted from the purpose of her visit. Research, remember?”

Clark chuckled, though this time it came out tight. “Right. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

You arched a brow. Something was going on between them something that felt like more than old friends catching up. A subtle chess game you weren’t meant to notice. But you did notice. Especially when Clark stood with an exaggerated sigh and adjusted his coat.

“Well,” he said, flashing you another warm smile, “it really was a pleasure meeting you, [Y/N]. Let’s chat sometime professional to professional.”

“Definitely,” you said, nodding.

He gave Bruce a weird glance. “Always a pleasure, Bruce.”

“Likewise,” Bruce said, not even pretending to mean it.

Once Clark was gone, Bruce leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly like the air was finally breathable again. His jaw relaxed. His shoulders dropped an inch. He reached for his espresso and finally took the sip he’d been pretending to take all afternoon.

You watched him with an amused smirk.

“Well, well,” you said, folding your arms over the table. “I wasn’t expecting Gotham’s golden boy to be so antsy.”

Bruce didn’t look at you right away, choosing instead to swirl the contents of his cup. “I’m not antsy.”

“You absolutely are,” you said, grinning now. “Clark was lovely, by the way. Very sweet. You could learn something from him.”

“I’d rather not,” Bruce said flatly.

You laughed, tilting your head at him. “rich boy your spoiledness is coming out.”

He finally met your eyes. There it was again that quiet, smoldering honesty buried beneath the billionaire’s mask.

“I just don’t like sharing good coffee,” he said coolly. “Especially when I invited you here.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was electric.

You leaned in just a little, your voice softer now. “Then maybe you shouldn’t hide behind excuses like ‘research.’ Maybe next time, just say you want my attention.”

Bruce’s lips curved ever so slightly. Not a smirk, not quite a smile something just for you.

“ill hold you too it”

And this time, it was your heart doing pirouettes.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Wayne Tower loomed as it always did, cold steel and glass slicing through Gotham’s ashen sky like a blade. Rain tapped against the windows in soft percussion, blurring the gray city below, but Bruce barely registered it. He sat alone in his office, the lights low, his chair turned just slightly away from the sprawling skyline.

He hadn’t moved in the last ten minutes. Not since that morning paper landed on his desk.

The Gotham Gazette, bold font screaming at him like a damn siren:

“WAYNE WINES AND DINES MYSTERY REPORTER IN METROPOLIS”

Right beneath the headline was a photo of you laughing at something Clark said, sunlight catching in your hair, your posture turned comfortably toward Bruce. Another photo showed the two of you walking side by side, your elbow lightly brushing against his as you reached for your coffee. And, of course, the pièce de résistance: a wide shot of the table, Bruce leaning forward, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Goddammit,” he muttered.

It wasn’t the paparazzi he was used to them, expected them. It was Metropolis that caught him off guard. He thought, stupidly, that the clean air and cheerful streets made people less nosy. Less likely to shove a camera lens into his business.

Clearly, he had underestimated how rabid Gotham media could be. Even there, even with you.

And you.

You hadn’t brought it up. Hadn’t mentioned the paper or the photos or the wild headlines speculating you were Gotham’s newest It Girl, or that the elusive Bruce Wayne had finally found someone to tame him.

That was what was killing him. Not the photos. Not the gossip. Not even the implication that the two of you were something more. It was the not knowing how you felt about it.

Bruce rose from his desk, the chair scraping quietly behind him. He paced the room like a caged animal, the newspaper still clutched in one hand, wrinkled from how tightly he’d been gripping it.

He read the headline again and immediately hated himself for how warm it made him feel. Wayne Wines and Dines. He could hear your voice in his head, laughing. God, Bruce, that sounds like a sleazy rom com title.

He wanted you.

He wanted you in the most undignified, unbillionaire like way possible. Wanted to kiss you until the words stopped working in his brain. Wanted to sit next to you again in some sunshine drenched café and actually enjoy your laugh instead of being consumed by it.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing faster now. He hated this. Hated that he was in a thousand meetings a week with CEOs and board members and city officials, but the second you walked into a room or in this case, a newspaper he felt like a goddamn teenage girl.

What if you didn’t want people thinking you were involved with him?

That’s what haunted him. Not the story. Not the photos. You. Would you hate it? Would you laugh it off? Would you roll your eyes and say, “God, Bruce, you’re so dramatic”?

Or worse would you tell him it was all a misunderstanding, that you didn’t see him that way? The thought made him pause mid step, one hand on the window frame, staring at his own reflection in the glass. His jaw was tense. His eyes darker than usual.

He hadn’t felt this unsure of himself in years. Batman never hesitated. But Bruce Wayne? He was a mess. He looked back at the paper. Back at you.

Back at the way you looked when you laughed, when your eyes crinkled, when you let your guard down just enough for him to wonder what it’d be like to really have you.

He sighed, resting his forehead against the glass.

“Get it together.”

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

it started out very simple. He became fascinated with you. It had been one of those Gotham nights long, bone tired, the kind of quiet that was never actually silent. Just… tired. The flicker of neon through you ur tiny apartment windows painted the walls in restless color, but inside, it was dim, peaceful.

You were curled up on the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing your form, mug of something warm and sweet nestled in your hands. Bruce sat across from you in an armchair, undone just enough to tell you he wasn’t working anymore tie loosened, cuffs rolled. He was watching you. He always watched you. Not in a creepy way but in fascination.

“You ever get that feeling like everything’s just… pressing in all at once?” you asked, voice quieter than usual.

Bruce blinked. “All the time.”

You gave him a weak smile. “Right. Stupid question.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said immediately. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. I’ve noticed.”

You looked away, exhaling through your nose. “Yeah, well. Work’s getting heavy. Not just deadlines or research like, the stories themselves. I think its hard knowing so much about someone’s hurt. Its addicting I cant stop. I know I’m good at telling those stories. I know it matters. But lately, I feel like I’m drowning in it.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure you wanted him to not with solutions. You pressed the edge of your mug to your lips, then lowered it without drinking. “And Gotham never stops, you know? Never lets you breathe. I love it. But sometimes, I think it’s eating me alive.”

The silence between you stretched. Then Bruce leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice gentle.

“I’m going on a trip.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Business,” he clarified. “Metropolis. Just a few days. Meetings, some board schmoozing. Normally I wouldn’t bring anyone but” He paused, almost like it hurt to admit. “I don’t want to go alone. And I think you need a break.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You… want me to come with you?”

He nodded once, deliberately. “You need sunlight. Coffee that isn’t brewed by a street vendor in the Narrows. Air that doesn’t taste like exhaust. And I think…” He hesitated again, then met your eyes. “I think it’d be good for both of us.”

You stared at him. “You’re sure this is a work trip?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Mostly.”

You snorted softly, your lips twitching upward. “What, you trying to whisk me away like some overworked intern in a workplace romance?”

“Do you want to be whisked?” he asked, and you knew he was being dry, but the way his eyes softened made it an excellent argument.

You set your mug down, heart thudding a little faster than you were ready for. “Okay.”

He tilted his head.

“I’ll go,” you said, quieter now. “To Metropolis. Maybe a change of pace will help.”

His gaze lingered. “Good.”

You nodded, your smile ghosting. “Good.”

the city outside could rage and howl all it wanted but inside your apartment it was quiet.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

There was no such thing as privacy in the Gotham Gazette bullpen. Not when your desk was sandwiched between the copy editor who played music a little too loud and the sports columnist who smelled like energy drinks and cheap cologne. Not when cubicles had walls barely higher than your shoulders. And definitely not when you’d just come back from a suspiciously timed “business trip” with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.

You hadn’t even set your bag down before the vultures descended.

“So?” came a voice before you even logged into your computer.

You blinked. “So… what?”

“Oh, come on,” groaned Jamie from Features, leaning over your cubicle wall like a hungry hyena. “You and Bruce Wayne disappear to Metropolis for a weekend, and you come back looking relaxed. In Gotham. What did he do, buy you a new nervous system?”

You rolled your eyes. “It was a work trip. You know those things some of us actually do?”

“Honey, you haven’t even opened your email,” Jamie said. “I opened your email. You’re in the email. You’re trending.”

You stopped, staring at him. “What?”

“You haven’t seen the photos?” asked Liz from Editorial, practically hopping in place as she slid around the corner, tablet in hand. “You two at the hotel. At the gala. At the rooftop bar. Looking suspiciously cozy. Very hands on.”

Your blood ran cold. “There were photographers?”

“Babe, there are always photographers. Bruce Wayne doesn’t sneeze without a hundred flashbulbs going off,” Liz said, flipping the tablet around so you could see the image in question.

And there it was.

You and Bruce, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now. His hand was on the small of your back. Yours lingered on his arm like it belonged there. The skyline glittered behind you like it was painted in.

It looked… intimate. Too intimate.

“Great,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s just great.”

“You’re front page gossip,” Jamie sang. “You made Page Six, babe! That’s legacy status!”

You slumped into your chair, praying for spontaneous combustion.

But the hits kept coming.

“Did he fly you out first class or private?”

“Is he as brooding behind closed doors as he is on TV?”

“Do you think he’s going to propose?”

“Oh my God, please shut up!” you snapped.

That earned a few snickers, but also a hush. You didn’t snap often. You never snapped. Which was why every nosy reporter in hearing range immediately began whispering twice as loud.

You opened your inbox to find a stack of notifications you didn’t want: tabloid alerts, social media mentions, subject lines like BRUCE WAYNE: WHO’S THE GIRL? and MYSTERY WRITER GETS WAYNE’S ATTENTION.

Someone even sent a meme of the two of you photoshopped in wedding attire. Wedding attire.

You nearly threw your monitor out the window.

And to make matters worse someone literally just took a picture of you. You turned so fast your chair creaked.

“Did you just?”

“Noooo,” muttered one of the interns, tucking their phone away and walking very quickly in the opposite direction.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “This is a nightmare.”

Liz leaned closer. “Okay, but like… is anything happening?”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Do you really think Bruce Wayne would date someone whose cubicle doesn’t even have walls?”

Liz paused. “You make a fair point. Still. You’d be the first tabloid rumor I’d actually root for.”

You sighed. It was hard to tell if that made you feel better or worse.

The truth? You didn’t know what was happening between you and Bruce. Not really. There had been stolen glances. Quiet words. An almost moment by the elevator that hadn’t turned into a kiss only because you’d chickened out.

And now this circus.

You opened a blank document, willing yourself to work.

But your mind wasn’t on the story. It was on Bruce on how quiet he’d gone since the trip. On how he hadn’t returned your last message.

You were halfway through typing a sentence that didn’t make sense when the crowd got worse.

“I swear, if another person breathes in my direction”

“Hey, superstar!”

You winced.

It was this random guy from Politics loud, nosy, and the worst kind of gossip. He strutted into the bullpen like he owned it, carrying a mug that read ‘World’s Best Journalist’ (he bought it for himself, no one doubted it). Behind him trailed two junior reporters and someone from the digital team, all of them making a beeline for your desk.

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered under your breath.

“Come on, just a few words!” Mark leaned against the edge of your cubicle, grinning like the devil himself. “You know the public’s eating it up Wayne’s mystery date turns out to be a journalist?”

“I didn’t agree to be anyone’s date.”

“That’s not what the pictures say,” someone behind him chimed in.

“I hate the pictures,” you snapped. “And I hate this office.”

“You say that every Monday,” Liz said, now openly eating popcorn like this was her entertainment for the day.

Mark held up a recorder. “I’m just saying, give me the exclusive before the others twist your words. I can paint you as the brilliant writer who stole Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.”

“I didn’t steal anything.”

“Fine, borrowed.”

You stared at him. “Mark, put that recorder down or I’ll throw it in your coffee.”

“I’ll fish it out,” he said without hesitation.

“Oh my God”

Before you could finish, two interns popped up on either side of you like synchronized jack in the boxes.

“Do you like him?”

“What was he like off camera?”

“Did he smell rich?”

“Can you get him to donate to our fundraiser?”

“I’m stopping all of you right there” you said, spinning in your chair and standing, your hands up in surrender. “I’m not answering questions. I’m not giving an exclusive. And I’m not I repeat, not dating Bruce Wayne.”

“But you went with him to Metropolis”

“And it was work! Professional! Boring!”

Liz muttered, “You don’t look like someone who had a boring weekend.”

You grabbed your half finished coffee and nearly spilled it as you tried to retreat.

Mark followed. “Look, I get it, privacy and all, but you’re sitting on a gold mine. Just one quote. Something classy. Like ‘He’s not what I expected’ or ‘Billionaires they’re just like us.’”

You whipped around so fast Mark almost tripped over himself.

“If I give you a quote, will you leave me alone?”

He perked up instantly. “Depends on the quote.”

You leaned in, voice low.

“Here it is: ‘I’d rather be trapped in Arkham with the Joker than give you an interview.’ Print that, Mark.”

The entire bullpen howled. Even Liz nearly choked on her popcorn. Mark gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. No quote. But if he shows up at the office, I’m interviewing him.”

You sat back down, muttering to yourself. “Not unless I strangle him first.”

And then, as if on cue because the universe had a sense of humor you did not appreciate your phone buzzed.

One name. One message.

Bruce Wayne: “Are you free for lunch?”

You groaned. Loudly.

Liz leaned over again, peeking at your screen. “So…nothing happened eh?”

Your phone buzzed again before you could finish your dramatic groan.

Bruce Wayne: “Already here. Back entrance.”

Your heart did a little flip.

You looked up. Mark was still hovering. Liz was now showing your photo to someone from the tech team, pointing directly at your face and whispering like you were a zoo animal. Someone in the far corner had definitely just snapped another picture of you, and the interns were forming a human wall.

You slid your phone into your pocket, stood up quietly, grabbed your jacket, and turned to Liz. “Tell them I died.”

Liz blinked. “Wait, wha”

You were already moving. Fast. Ducking behind cubicles, practically army crawling past the coffee station, then booking it down the hallway like a fugitive. when you finally slipped out the back entrance of the Gotham Gazette into the cool alley behind the building, there he was.

Bruce Wayne.

Leaning against a sleek black car, sleeves rolled up, looking wildly out of place in the grime of downtown Gotham. He looked up the moment the door opened, concern flickering across his features the second he saw your expression.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t have to come all the way here. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he said gently. “You looked like you are going to strangle someone.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was just Mark.”

“Should I be worried about Mark?”

“Only if you want to see a grown man cry because I didn’t give him a quote about your cologne.”

Bruce huffed a quiet laugh and opened the passenger door for you. You hesitated.

“This isn’t a ‘kidnap the journalist’ situation, right?”

“Not unless you want it to be,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You shot him a look, but the tension eased just a bit. You slid into the seat.

He climbed in next to you. The car was quiet. Luxuriously quiet, compared to the zoo you’d just escaped. It smelled like leather and some subtle, expensive cologne that did make you want to punch Mark for being right.

Bruce glanced over at you. “I really just wanted to check in. I didn’t mean to… make your day worse.”

“You didn’t,” you said, voice softer than expected. “It’s not you. It’s them. People. Eyes. Phones. I feel like I can’t move without being… watched.”

“I know the feeling.”

You turned slightly to look at him. There was something in his tone that made you pause like he meant it more than most.

“You get used to it,” he added. “Eventually.”

You didn’t respond right away. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was still, almost warm.

“I didn’t expect you to actually check in,” you admitted after a moment. “Most people would’ve just texted a thumbs up and disappeared.”

He looked at you then, eyes searching. “I’m not most people.”

You were about to respond, something snarky on your tongue to break the intensity but then it happened.

Click.

It was faint, but unmistakable. A camera shutter. Right outside the alley.

Your head fell back against the seat with a loud groan.

Bruce sighed. “is it ok for you to be out of work?.”

“I told Liz to say I died,” you muttered.

“Not sure that’s going to help now.”

You closed your eyes. “God, I’m going to be on some gossip site by noon.”

He hesitated, then reached over and gently touched your hand where it rested on your knee. Just a soft brush of fingers.

“You want me to drive around for a bit?” he asked. “No press. No phones. Just quiet.”

You looked down at where his hand had been, the ghost of the touch lingering.

“…Yeah,” you said quietly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And with no more words, he pulled the car out of the alley, away from the flashing camera, and into a city that for once felt just a little quieter.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

The city passed in a blur of gray and gold as Bruce drove. He didn’t put on music. He didn’t speak. He just let the silence stretch, calm and easy, giving you room to breathe. The engine was barely a hum beneath your feet, and the windows were tinted enough that no one could see you inside. For once, you weren’t on display.

You leaned back against the seat, letting your eyes drift toward the city you loved and cursed in equal measure.

“I used to think about leaving,” you said finally, your voice barely above the sound of tires on pavement. “When I was younger. Before I really understood Gotham. Before I knew I couldn’t.”

Bruce glanced over at you. “Why couldn’t you?”

You smiled faintly. “Because people like us don’t get to run. Not when we know how broken the system is. Not when we can do something about it. We stay. We try.”

He didn’t answer right away. You saw his grip tighten slightly on the steering wheel, like he understood more than you knew.

Then, casually almost too casually he said, “And what if you weren’t trying alone?”

You blinked, turning your head toward him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I mean… all of well… this. The gossip. The whispers. The headlines. What if it didn’t have to be something to run from? What if it wasn’t such a bad idea?”

You blinked again.

It took you a second to process what he was saying. Then your heart stuttered. Oh.

“Bruce,” you said slowly, cautiously, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He faltered. You didn’t need to see his face to feel it. The way his jaw tightened just a fraction. The way the next turn came a little too fast.

And maybe that was what made you soften.

“I would,” you added quietly. “God, I would. I would love it. So much.”

You felt him glance your way again.

“But my whole life… I believed I needed to tell people’s stories. I thought I was supposed to keep myself out of them. Be the one behind the scenes. Not the subject.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be in the public eye like that. I don’t know how to be that kind of person.”

Another beat of silence.

Then his voice, low and steady: “I can be quiet.”

You looked up.

He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice stayed soft, sincere. “I don’t need headlines. I don’t need public. I just need you. However you’ll let me have you.”

It was a crazy thing, the way your heart reacted. Quick and eager and warm. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, caught between laughing and crying.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said.

The car slowed to a red light. He finally turned to look at you, and the honesty in his gaze hit you like a punch to the ribs. There was no pressure. No expectations. Just him, offering.

“I can wait,” he said. “I’ve waited longer for less.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you reached out and put your hand over his on the gearshift, quiet and certain.

“I’ll get there,” you said.

You watched his profile as the light turned green again. Something about him had shifted softer now, more open. You’d never seen Bruce Wayne so weird. The suit was stripped away, even if the one he wore now was more expensive than your rent.

And then, slowly, a grin curled at the edge of your lips as a realization hit.

“Oh my god,” you said, trying not to laugh. “You were jealous.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t deny it.

You let out a small laugh, more delighted than you expected. “Clark. That’s what that was about, wasn’t it? You were so sulky that I was talking to him”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“You’re such a child,” you said, but it was affectionate. “Sulking in your tower, giving moody interviews, and then crashing the Gotham Gazette like a bat out of hell…. wait a second…”

You turned in your seat, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re weird. You vanish without notice. And God you could be Batman with how weird you are.”

Silence.

Your laugh trailed off. You stared at him.

“…Wait.”

Bruce didn’t look at you.

He didn’t say anything.

“Bruce?” Your voice dropped into something halfway between suspicion and awe. “You aren’t Batman. Right?”

Still nothing.

You squinted. “Oh my god.”

“Let’s not do this here,” he said finally, quietly.

You opened your mouth to fire off something a question, a scream, anything but he cut in, almost abruptly.

“Why don’t you write about heroes?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone. “What?”

“In your pieces,” he clarified. “You always follow the criminals. The corruption. Why not write about the ones stopping it?”

You leaned back in your seat, chewing on the thought. “Because that’s not my job.”

“That sounds like a choice.”

“It is,” you said honestly. “Heroes don’t need a microphone. It feels like they feed off it. They’re already being celebrated, idolized, plastered across news stations and cereal boxes. But the ones slipping between the cracks the ones getting hurt, the ones no one’s looking at they need a voice. The ones who don’t make it out. The ones who get silenced.”

You paused, watching the streets pass.

“The heroes are doing the saving. I’m doing the remembering.”

He didn’t interrupt. So you kept going.

“And besides,” you added, your voice softening, “most of the heroes I’ve met… they don’t feel real. They feel like gods pretending to be human. Or humans pretending to be something else.”

Another beat passed.

“But Batman…” you murmured.

Bruce’s hand flexed on the steering wheel.

“I don’t know. He feels different. Gritty. Angry. Sad. The city chews him up and spits him out just like the rest of us, but he stays. Every night, he stays. I think…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“I think Batman might be the only hero I really like.”

You looked over at him.

“He feels the most human.”

And that’s when Bruce Wayne flawless billionaire, effortless playboy, Gotham’s golden son turned his head just slightly. The streetlights hit his jaw, shadowing his eyes. And in the flicker of the red glow, he looked haunted.

Bruce turned down a quiet side street, one that wound along Gotham’s upper overlook, where the city glittered like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t say a word as he parked the car.

The engine cut off. The silence wrapped around you like a heavy coat.

You turned to him, half expecting a denial. A smirk. Something to backpedal the idea that he might actually be.

“I’m not going to deny it,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”

Your breath caught.

He looked over at you, eyes tired but so present not a billionaire mask, not a cowl, just a man. And you could see it now, clear as the sky wasn’t: the bruised silence, the late nights, the way he disappeared.

“I meant what I said,” he added, voice low. “I love the way you… make a difference.”

Your brows rose, skeptical. “By being a little shit to the richest man in Gotham?”

He let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.

“The way you dig in, ask the questions no one wants to answer. The way you walk into a room like you don’t care if you don’t belong like you’re going to own it anyway. You’re stubborn.”

You raised a brow. “You’re doing a terrible job at complimenting me.”

Bruce half smiled, glancing down, then back up. There was a flush of pink at his neck, almost like embarrassment.

“And since that gala,” he continued, “when you showed up in a dress that didnt match you at all and tried to sneak out after five minutes…” He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I saw you and… I felt it.”

“Felt what?” you asked quietly.

“That pull. That connection.” He stumbled a little, like the word sat wrong in his mouth. “I’m not good at… this.”

“No shit.”

“I mean it,” he said, tone a little sharper. “I don’t talk about things. I work. I disappear. I do what I have to. And maybe it’s selfish, but I just”

His jaw tensed. You could see him trying to make the words work.

“I want to,” he said finally. “I want to try. With you.”

You sat there, frozen, heart thudding like thunder against your ribs. The man next to you was Batman. And somehow, more terrifyingly, he was Bruce. Vulnerable. Honest. Looking at you like you were the only person in the city worth telling the truth to.

The silence stretched long between you. The kind that didn’t beg to be filled.

You stared ahead for a while, letting the lights of Gotham blur at the edges of your vision. Your heart hadn’t calmed down since the moment he parked the car, and now it was beating so loud you were almost sure he could hear it.

Finally, you tilted your head toward him, the corner of your mouth tugging up.

“So… as much as you basically just called me a little shit…” you murmured, trying to ease the tension with a smirk. “I’ll try. With you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, something soft blooming there.

You added, quieter now, “But it has to be secret. Just let me keep some part of me mine.”

There was no hesitation.

Bruce reached out slowly, his hand closing gently over yours like he was afraid you’d pull away. And then, without a word, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

It was soft. Earnest. You swallowed thickly, eyes locked on his. Something warm and unfamiliar settled in your chest.

“…You really are weird, you know that?” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t let go. And he didn’t disagree.

You: “Bruce, you’re emotionally constipated.”

Bruce: “That is absolutely not true.”

You: “Then say one feeling.”

Bruce: ”…Vengeance.”

You: ”…Try again, but like, a normal human.”

Bruce: ”…Mild affection…?”

You: ”…You’re lucky you’re rich and weirdly hot.”

Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Gotham Socialite ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

masterlist

I want to make some batman themed oneshots where it explores a relationship between you and him.

EDITED- changed a bit of dialogue and description because I want the reader to be super cool and amazing

High society, meet the reporter reader. Reporter reader, meet Bruce Wayne

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Gotham’s elite are as gaudy as the chandeliers hanging above them. expensive, bright, and utterly useless. The grand ballroom of the Gotham City Opera House is filled with them, men and women draped in designer gowns and tailored suits, sipping champagne as if their wealth isn’t built on the backs of the people suffering outside these marble walls.

You move through the crowd like a ghost, unseen despite being one of the few people here actually worth listening to. They invited you because of your work because your name is attached to articles Gotham’s wealthy pretend not to read but secretly obsess over. You don’t write puff pieces about Gotham’s heroes; you write about its monsters. You dig into their minds, their motivations. Why does Edward Nygma need to prove he’s the smartest man in the room? Why does the Joker turn his suffering into a performance? What makes a villain tick? That’s what you care about.

Not this.

Not the empty smiles. Not the soulless small talk. Not the way these people clutch their designer purses like they contain anything of real value.

You exhale sharply through your nose, taking another sip of your drink just to give yourself something to do. It tastes expensive but meaningless, like everything else here.

As you turn to leave, you accidentally bump into someone a woman in a tight, sequined dress that probably costs more than you’ve made in the last six months.

“Oh, my God,” she snaps, stepping back as if you just assaulted her. “Are you serious?”

Your brows lift. “Oh, relax. You’ll live.”

Her expression twists in outrage, but before she can respond, a man approaches tall, broad shouldered, with a perfectly practiced smile. And just like that, she flips a switch.

“Oh my God, Bruce!” she gasps, laughing like she wasn’t just seconds away from throwing a fit. She rests a hand on his arm the same arm she previously flung up in disgust when you bumped into her. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up tonight! You never come to these things anymore.” You watch with mild disgust as she transforms in real time. It’s like watching an AI desperately try to mimic human emotion.

“Yeah,” you mutter, just loud enough to be heard. “hmmm I might see myself out”

Bruce Wayne glances at you then, his interest piqued. You don’t fawn over him. Don’t preen or attempt to charm your way into his good graces. No, you just look at him like you’re wholly unimpressed. Its not that he wasn’t appealing. Of course you found him attractive. Though finding him attractive felt a little like betraying the people you grew up around. Just because you escaped the extremely poor doesn’t mean you want to abide by it.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “for a guy whose while company is built on working with the community , you don’t seem to have much of a grip on reality.”

The woman beside him gasps in horror, clutching Bruce’s arm even tighter, but you’re not done.

“This whole act,” you gesture vaguely at him, “isn’t cute. I mean no disrespect though, go party and go crazy.” Your eyes lock onto his with something sharper than hatred indifference. “I don’t know how you stomach it. It’s honestly an insult to humans.” Silence settles over you like a fog. The woman looks scandalized, staring at you as if you just spit in her drink.

Bruce, on the other hand, just looks intrigued. His usual mask of carefree billionaire playboy falters just for a second. His blue eyes search yours, something thoughtful flickering behind them. Then, just as quickly as it had cracked, the mask slides back into place. He lets out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in feigned sheepishness. “Well,” he says, flashing that same easygoing smile he always wears in public, “can’t please everyone, I guess.”

The woman beside him giggles like an idiot, but you just roll your eyes. Bruce Wayne is a good actor, you’ll give him that and judging by the look in his eye, he looks a little off put.

You don’t give Bruce another glance as you turn on your heel, moving toward the exit with the same single minded determination as a prisoner inching toward an open cell door. You’ve had enough of this place enough of the fake smiles, the rehearsed laughter, the suffocating air of money and ego pressing in on you from all sides.

Bruce watches you go.

He should just let you leave. He should turn his attention back to whatever mindless conversation he was meant to be entertaining tonight. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze follows you, his interest snaring on something he hadn’t expected.

You very evidently don’t belong here. Not in the way these people do, with their polished exteriors and empty souls. He mentally jokes that press training might be on a to do list for your manager.

No, you move like someone who doesn’t care to belong. Which from his relationship woth selina, Its definitely evident that women from the narrows dont care. You weave through the room with an awkwardness that’s both endearing and painfully obvious dodging trays of champagne like they’re landmines, sidestepping small talk with barely concealed irritation. Your distaste is written all over you, from the way your fingers tighten around your glass to the way your shoulders hunch slightly, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable.

But that’s the thing. You are noticeable. More than anyone here. Bruce takes in the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way you mutter something under your breath when a socialite nearly clips you with a careless turn. He watches as you catch your footing after bumping into a server, your apology quick and sincere so different from the sneering entitlement of the rest of the room.

A quiet chuckle leaves his mouth as he watches you finally get to a corner. Bruce’s lips press together, something flickering in his chest that he doesn’t have time to name.

He should let you go. Instead, he steps forward, slipping through the crowd with the kind of practiced ease that only someone used to wearing masks can manage. You don’t notice him until he’s beside you, his voice cutting through the noise of the room like a knife.

“You’re not very good at this,” he says, amusement lacing his words.

You glance up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “At what?”

Bruce gestures vaguely to the room. “Blending in.”

A scoff leaves your lips as you finally reach the exit, one hand already pushing against the heavy door. “Yeah, well,” you say, sparing him one last glance, “I’m used to this kind of thing.” And then you’re gone.

Bruce watches the door swing shut behind you, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. For the first time all night, he finds himself smiling.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce barely makes it through the front doors of Wayne Manor before he’s pulling at his bow tie, loosening the suffocating knot that had been pressing against his throat all evening. The moment the silk slides free, he exhales, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the night along with it.

The grand doors swing shut behind him, the quiet of the manor swallowing the distant hum of Gotham’s high society. The transition is immediate, like stepping out of a suffocatingly bright stage and into the cool embrace of shadow. The mask the one made of careless grins and charmingly vague conversation falls away as effortlessly as the jacket he shrugs off, tossing it onto the nearest chair without care.

From the hall, Alfred watches the display with an arched brow, ever the picture of poised amusement. “Welcome home, Master Wayne. I see the evening was as eventful as anticipated.”

Bruce sighs, running a hand down his face. “That might be an understatement.”

Alfred steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “I assume you spent the night ok though master wayne?”

“Something like that.” Bruce rolls his neck, loosening the last remnants of his socialite persona. “A lot of people talking without actually saying anything. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

“The inevitable I hear,” Alfred muses, “you always seem equally miserable every time you return.”

Bruce lets out a humorless chuckle, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. “That’s because it never gets any less exhausting.”

Alfred gives him a knowing look before stepping toward the chair where Bruce had carelessly discarded his jacket. He picks it up with practiced ease, shaking his head. “One of these days, you might consider hanging these properly.”

“I consider it every time,” Bruce remarks, already making his way toward the hidden entrance to the Batcave. “Just never quite get around to it.”

Alfred merely sighs, following him with a well worn patience. “Shall I prepare something for you to eat? Or will you be brooding on an empty stomach this evening?”

“Not brooding,” Bruce corrects as he reaches the hidden panel in the wall. The mechanism clicks, revealing the passage leading down into the cave. “Just… following a curiosity.”

Alfred hums, ever perceptive. “Would this curiosity have anything to do with the young woman who managed to offend half the room tonight?”

Bruce pauses mid step, glancing back at him. “You heard about that?”

Alfred gives him a pointed look. “Master Wayne, the moment someone dares to tell off a socialite at an event like that, it becomes the only thing worth discussing. I’d be surprised if her picture isn’t already pinned on some poor soul’s dartboard.”

Bruce huffs out a short laugh before shaking his head. “I’ll be in the cave.”

Alfred merely nods, already knowing there will be no convincing him otherwise.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The Batcave hums softly with the sounds of running water and flickering monitors, a stark contrast to the suffocating luxury of the ballroom he had left behind. Here, Bruce is no longer Gotham’s golden boy. No longer the playboy billionaire.

Here, he is himself.

He settles into the chair before the Batcomputer, fingers swiftly typing as he pulls up a search. He hadn’t planned on looking you up. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But there was something about you something about the way you moved through that room, awkward yet unyielding. You didn’t belong there, and you didn’t care to. The way you had looked at him, unimpressed and disinterested, had been a rarity in a world where everyone was either too enamored by his wealth or too busy trying to figure out what game he was playing.

His fingers move with purpose, bringing up your name, your records. The first thing he finds is that, unlike many of the people who had surrounded you that night, your life had been anything but privileged.

You were born and raised in the Narrows Gotham’s forgotten underbelly. A place where opportunities were scarce, and survival was a skill honed from childhood. Your record is clean remarkably so, for someone who grew up in the part of Gotham where crime wasn’t a choice but a necessity. No arrests, no notable scandals. You had gone to school, worked through college, and carved out a place for yourself in a city that did everything it could to swallow people whole.

But what catches his attention the most are your writings. Articles. Interviews. Pieces dissecting the minds of Gotham’s most notorious criminals. Not in the sensationalized way tabloids did, but with an analytical depth that spoke of genuine understanding. You weren’t interested in painting them as mere villains or glorifying their crimes you wanted to understand them.

Your work focused not on the spectacle of their actions, but on the why. The motivations. The cracks in Gotham’s system that had allowed them to exist in the first place. You had interviewed ex gang members, street level criminals, and even those who had managed to escape Gotham’s cycle of violence. You wrote about the lives that high society ignored the people who lived in the shadows cast by the city’s towering skyscrapers.

You gave them voices.

Bruce leans back in his chair, studying the screen. You had lived a normal life at least, as normal as someone from the Narrows could. You had no connections to the criminal underworld beyond your work. No secret vendettas, no affiliations.

And yet, your writing showed a perspective that very few people in Gotham ever took the time to understand. You weren’t just observing Gotham’s worst. You were showing that they had stories worth telling.

Bruce’s eyes flicker over the last article on the screen, the words settling in his mind.

“Society has already decided who deserves redemption and who doesn’t. But if you never listen to someone’s story, how do you know they weren’t doomed from the start?”

His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before he finally leans forward again, exiting the search.

Curiosity, he tells himself. That’s all this is and yet, as the screen fades back to black, he can’t shake the feeling that you might be someone worth paying attention to.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you wanted your stories to be heard, you had to be seen. That’s what your publicist told you. That’s what you repeated to yourself as you stepped through the towering entrance of yet another Gotham high society event, where old money mingled with new power, and influence dripped from every word spoken between sips of champagne.

You didn’t belong here. You never did. But belonging wasn’t the point.

This was the price of being heard. If you wanted your work to matter if you wanted people to actually read what you wrote, to listen to the stories Gotham’s forgotten had to tell you had to stand in rooms like this. Not because you cared about these people or their whispered scandals, but because they had the power to shape the city’s narrative, whether they deserved that power or not.

And so, despite the suffocating air of wealth and self importance, you showed up.

The ballroom was an exhibition of excess. A long, lavish table stretched the length of the room, set with gold rimmed plates, crystal glasses, and floral centerpieces so elaborate they could have easily funded an entire year’s worth of rent for a struggling Gotham family. Conversations bubbled up around you hollow laughter, polite murmurs, the occasional hushed gossip passed between sculpted lips.

You found your seat. And nearly laughed. Right beside Bruce Wayne. Of course.

You weren’t sure if this was some kind of twisted joke or if the hosts had simply thrown darts at a seating chart, but there it was your name card placed neatly next to Gotham’s most beloved. Maybe they thought you were more important than you actually were. Maybe they thought Bruce had the patience of a saint. Though you have a feeling after your last stunt, they were trying to see if another PR disaster would come from this. Maybe more publicity for them. Any publicity is good publicity you guess.

Either way, it was too late to change it now. Sighing, you pulled out your chair and sat down, reveling in the last few moments of solitude before the night officially began.

And then, the atmosphere shifted. Even before you turned your head, you knew. Gothams golden boy had arrived.

The energy in the room changed, as if the very air had been pulled toward him. Conversations faltered just slightly, eyes flickered in his direction, and there was a quiet ripple of interest that passed through the gathering like an unspoken current. It was always like this.

The city’s most eligible bachelor. The name that sent tabloids into a frenzy and made socialites tilt their heads just so, hoping to catch his attention. He was power wrapped in effortless charm, an untouchable figure who played the role of the careless heir so well that even the most cynical couldn’t help but watch him.

You risked a glance. Of course, he looked perfect. Dressed in a dark, tailored suit that cost more than your entire apartment’s worth of furniture, he moved through the crowd with the kind of casual grace that made it seem like he belonged everywhere. A relaxed smile curved his lips, and the people surrounding him whether they were whispering behind their glasses or outright gushing were captivated.

It was almost infuriating, how easy it was for him. Why can’t beautiful people feel more im reach?

When then he reached his seat and saw you. For the briefest moment, the mask slipped. Not much just a flicker of something sharp in his eyes before it smoothed over, replaced with something unreadable.

He barely acknowledged the lingering hands on his arm, the voices vying for just another second of his time. His attention had already shifted. To you. You on the other hand are practically clutching your pearls to remain calm. Your publicist told you to absolutely DO NOT fuck up again.

Bruce had been willing to chalk that first encounter up to chance. A passing curiosity. Now he was beginning to think fate had a sense of humor.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured as he sank into his chair, his voice carrying the warmth of amusement.

You exhaled through your nose, already bracing yourself. “Yeah, well. maybe i won the lottery to be seated next to Gotham’s golden boy.”

His lips twitched. “I doubt im anything that special”

You gave him a dry look. “Didn’t take you for a masochist, Wayne.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Only selectively.”

You sighed, picking up your menu just to give yourself something to do. “I do want to apologize for last time, I swear im more civilized. I guess that I kinda got thrown off a bit?” Bruce leaned in slightly, his voice dipping just enough that only you could hear.

“Acting all fancy? Where’s the fun in that?”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you had to endure one more second of this sanctimonious drivel, you were going to jam your fork into the back of your hand just to feel something.

The dinner had been dragging on for what felt like an eternity, and the conversation at the table was as unbearable as expected. The hosts, a couple who clearly thought themselves Gotham’s greatest benefactors, were speaking at length about their so called “generosity” and the many ways they had given back to the community. It was all so painfully rehearsed.

“We simply couldn’t sit idly by while Gotham suffered,” the woman declared, holding her glass delicately between her fingers. “Which is why we’ve dedicated ourselves to philanthropy.”

Her husband gave a solemn nod. “Yes. Our foundation has put millions into rehabilitating Gotham’s most… unfortunate areas.”

Unfortunate areas. You took a slow sip of your wine, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting something you’d regret. They were talking about the Narrows. Where you had grown up. Where people still fought to survive every single day, no thanks to the people in this very room.

They spoke as if their generosity was some grand solution to the city’s suffering. As if they had single handedly saved Gotham. You exhaled through your nose, already feeling your patience fraying. It was then that you felt someone shift beside you.

“Did you hear that?”

The words were spoken so casually, so smoothly, that at first, you weren’t sure you had heard them at all. You turned your head slightly, finding Bruce Wayne sitting beside you, his face the perfect picture of polite interest. His voice was quiet, just low enough that only you could hear him.

“Hear what?” you muttered, confused.

He took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “The sound of Gotham being saved.”

You blinked. “what?”

Bruce gestured subtly toward the hosts. “Between the Restoration Project and last week’s fundraiser, I think we can safely say Gotham’s problems have been solved.”

For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, absolutely,” you whispered back. “Crime? Poverty? Completely eradicated. I bet even the Joker is rethinking his entire life’s work.”

Bruce tilted his head, considering it. “Maybe he’ll go into finance. Become a hedge fund manager.”

You snorted. “I’d pay to see that.”

Bruce hummed, pretending to ponder it. “Or accounting. Something low risk. Maybe he’d be great at tax fraud.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to laugh.

“Honestly?” you whispered, leaning slightly closer. “A few more dinner parties and we might even get Two Face to start a nonprofit.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched. “And I hear Penguin’s investing in an animal conservation project.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head. How had this happened?You had been so close to losing your mind just minutes ago, and now here you were, whispering snide remarks with Bruce Wayne of all people. The absurdity of it hit you all at once.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous.”

Bruce arched a brow. “What is?”

You glanced at him, lips twitching. “Didn’t think you were so much of a hater.”

Bruce leaned slightly closer, his voice amused. “Isnt that your job? you haven’t stopped being one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smirk. “I think it’s a little more nuanced than that. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

He chuckled, his blue eyes sharp with something unreadable. “Funny. Me too.”

Bruce wasn’t sure when it happened. When the night had gone from something exhausting to something… bearable. Enjoyable, even.

He had sat down at this table expecting the usual the same empty conversations, the same mindless flattery, the same performance he had perfected over the years.

You, who had spent the first half of the evening looking like you wanted to crawl out of your skin. You, who had made no attempt to charm him, who had barely acknowledged his presence at all until he had decided to push you just a little. when you had responded, it had been effortless. Natural.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had felt that. Since he had been able to talk to someone like this without posturing, without pretending. It reminded him of something. Something old. Something familiar. A woman in a black catsuit, teasing him from the edge of a rooftop. Bruce’s fingers curled slightly against his knee.

Selina had been one of the first people to remind him what it felt like to be real. To be alive and now, somehow, you were doing the exact same thing and you didn’t even realize it.

Bruce glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You were still trying to suppress a smile, still glancing around the table like you couldn’t believe you were actually enjoying yourself. He found himself studying you really studying you. You didn’t belong here, that much was obvious. The way you sat stiffly in your chair, the way your fingers tapped lightly against your wine glass when you were irritated, the way you watched the room rather than participated in it.

You were observing. Just like him. Just like he had been doing since he was a boy, since he had first learned how to read a room, how to pick apart every detail, every lie. for all your sharp observations, you had completely missed the fact that you had captivated him.

Bruce Wayne was staring at you like you were a puzzle he needed to solve.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Your voice cut through the air softly, and Bruce blinked, pulled from his thoughts. You had caught him looking. For a brief moment, he considered deflecting, playing it off with a practiced joke. But he didn’t want to.

So instead, he simply shrugged. “I was just thinking,” he said, voice low, “that this might be the first time I’ve actually enjoyed one of these things.”

You frowned, clearly skeptical. “Bullshit. You go to these all the time.”

Bruce smirked. “Doesn’t mean I like them.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still not quite believing him. “And I’m supposed to believe this dinner is different?”

His smirk deepened. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

You blinked, and Bruce almost laughed at the way you processed his words, as if you weren’t quite sure what to do with them. But then, slowly, you shook your head, exhaling a quiet laugh.

“You’re so full of shit, Wayne.”

Bruce grinned. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

For the first time that night, he didn’t feel like the billionaire playboy. Didn’t feel like Batman. He just felt like Bruce. Which wouldn’t that feel weird? He always believed that Batman was the real him. Right now feeling like a teenage boy meeting a girl.

&&&&

The second the speeches ended, you were on your feet. Not rudely just quickly. The second round of self congratulation had begun, and if you had to listen to one more person pat themselves on the back for “saving” Gotham, you were going to lose your mind.

You made your way toward one of the grand patios, slipping past gilded columns and chandeliers that cost more than your entire apartment complex. The doors were open, the cool night air seeping in just enough to make you crave the quiet outside. The moment you stepped onto the patio, you exhaled.

It was massive of course it was. Probably bigger than some of the city blocks you had grown up on. A perfect marble terrace with pristine railings, overlooking the twinkling skyline of Gotham. You leaned against the stone railing, closing your eyes for a moment. Peace. Finally. But, of course, peace never lasted long in Gotham.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t like high society events, you sure end up at a lot of them.”

You opened your eyes, lips already twitching into a smirk before you even turned around. Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking at you with that same insufferably amused expression. A short, incredulous laugh escaped you. “stalking me now rich boy?”

Bruce stepped further onto the patio, shaking his head. “Just wanted the air, cant blame me”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the skyline. “Mhm. Right. Sure. Just a coincidence you keep popping up wherever I am.”

Bruce leaned against the railing beside you, his voice casual. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be sure to keep a three foot distance from now on.”

You smirked. “Six, just to be safe.”

“Ten, and I might start getting offended.”

You shook your head, biting back a grin. There was something so easy about talking to him. Too easy. The thought was unsettling. “I have to admit,” Bruce mused, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t expect you to show up tonight.”

You sighed, toying with the rim of your glass. “Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I would have.”

“you can say that again”

You exhaled through your nose, staring out over the city. “Yeah, well. If I want my stories to actually matter, I have to be seen.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, watching you. Then, his voice softened. “Is that why you do it?”

You turned to him, brow furrowing. “Do what?”

“Write the stories you do.” His blue eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. “Why villains? Why not the heroes? You’d probably get a lot more recognition if you did.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Because the heroes don’t need me.”

Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. “And the villains do?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “The people who get thrown into Arkham, who are labeled as ‘monsters’ and ‘freaks’ and just written off most of them have stories no one ever hears.” You exhaled. “I want people to understand them. Or at least see them. Even if they don’t deserve sympathy, they at least deserve to be known.”

Bruce didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at you. Not in an uncomfortable way, not in the way men at these events usually did. No, Bruce was really looking at you. And for some reason, it made you shift under his gaze.

“…What?” you muttered.

Bruce just smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Nothing. I just didn’t expect that answer.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint. I know the usual arm candy around here doesn’t have thoughts.”

Bruce snorted. “You really think that’s all I see you as?”

You arched a brow. “What else would I be?”

His expression turned thoughtful. “I dont really know”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re looking for something interesting, you should probably set your sights somewhere else. I have no interest in being one of the people you “help” from the sidelines”

Bruce’s lips quirked. “help from the sidelines?”

You gestured vaguely. “I want to respect the people in there. the ones who have influence. Though when you’re on the other side of the spectrum its a little rough. The rich like to be seen and not heard.” You turned to him, meeting his gaze directly. “I have no intention of being a footnote in the pretend of gotham.”

Bruce watched you for a long moment, his smirk slowly fading into something softer. Then, finally, he spoke. “I have no intention of making you just a fling or to discard your work.”

The words were said so smoothly, so matter of factly, that they took a second to register. You blinked. Your mind blanked. Your entire brain shut down for a solid five seconds. Because what…what did he mean by that? You weren’t sure what part of the sentence flustered you more.

The fact that he wasn’t denying wanting you, or the fact that he had just so casually implied that you are going to be something more than a just a thought. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Bruce just smirked, watching you flounder. Then, slowly, he leaned in just a fraction.

“Speechless?” he murmured, voice low.

You snapped out of it, your pride kicking back in. “Please.” You scoffed, turning away. “You wish.”

Bruce chuckled, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And as much as you hated to admit it… You kind of loved that he had caught you off guard.

The soft breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against the stone railing, trying to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had left you this disoriented. Bruce’s smirk only deepened as he studied your reaction, clearly enjoying the fact that he had thrown you off balance. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of cool air could wipe the warmth from your face.

“So…” he began, his voice far too smooth for your liking. “I take it that wasn’t exactly the response you were expecting?”

You forced yourself to look at him, swallowing back the knot in your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” His gaze darkened just a little, and for a moment, there was no teasing, just something more genuine. “I think you do.”

The way he said it made your stomach flutter uncomfortably. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to laugh or slap him so you did neither. Instead, you stepped back from the railing, trying to put some distance between you and the overwhelming presence that was Bruce Wayne.

“fucking rich people,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from him.

Bruce didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, his lips slightly curled. “Is that a no?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “A no?” you echoed, unsure if you had heard him right.

Bruce gave you that damnable, knowing look again. “You know, you don’t have to act all tough. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, despite your nerves. “I just I don’t even know what you’re asking me.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “I’m asking you if you’d like to go out with me.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait. What?”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “Yes. That.”

You stared at him, utterly baffled, before glancing at the ground as if it might have the answers to everything you had just heard. You couldn’t tell if you were about to burst out laughing, slap him, or just walk away and pretend none of this happened.

“…You’re serious?” you managed to croak out after what felt like an eternity.

Bruce simply gave you a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dead serious.”

For a long, torturous moment, all you could do was blink at him, trying to make sense of the situation. Bruce Wayne Gotham’s richest, most infamous playboy was asking you, the rebellious daughter of the shadows, on a date and you couldn’t even think of a single coherent response.

Finally, you let out a frustrated breath and turned your head away. “You’re insane.”

Bruce’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile. “I try.”

You shook your head, not knowing whether to feel mortified or weirdly elated. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well, you could say yes,” Bruce offered casually, his voice now a little more sincere.

You looked back at him, your heart still racing from the unexpected turn of events. “…I’m going to need a lot more time to process this.”

Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll give you time. But just so you know… I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension between you two was still there, thick in the air. But for some reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. More like the beginning of something unexpected. Something that might change everything. And just like that, you were thrown back into the whirlwind that was Bruce Wayne.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ It was a quiet night as you walked home, the cool breeze against your face, your mind lost in thought. It had been a long day at work reporting, editing, and finalizing a piece about Gotham’s growing underbelly, a story that seemed to sink deeper with every layer you uncovered. You were used to it. You thrived on it. The truth was your domain, and you’d learned how to swim in the darkness long ago. It was something that made you feel connected to your roots, to the people you came from.

The streets of Gotham felt familiar, in a way. No matter how much money flowed into this city or how many pretty buildings sprang up in the skyline, you couldn’t forget the parts of it you grew up in. The darker corners, the alleys, the people who had nothing but each other to survive. They were your people, the ones you understood more than you ever could the high society types you’d been forced to mingle with.

You rounded the corner onto a familiar street, just a few more blocks before you were home. Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you slowed your pace. Gotham had a way of making you hyper aware, and tonight was no exception.

You felt it before you saw them. The footfalls behind you, too quiet, too steady. Your pulse quickened.

Before you could even react, two men emerged from the shadows, blocking your path. The dark shapes loomed over you, the threat in their eyes clear. One was holding a sharp looking knife, the other a crowbar. The older, taller man grinned, a twisted, unsettling look that made your stomach churn.

“Give us your bag, sweetheart,” he sneered, a rough, gravelly voice edging the threat. “We don’t want any trouble, but we will make it happen if you don’t cooperate.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t back down.

“Sorry, I don’t have time for this,” you muttered, trying to side step the bigger man, but he was quick, grabbing your arm with a vice like grip.

“Not so fast,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere until we get what we want.”

You spun around quickly, your elbow connecting with his ribs in a sharp strike. He grunted, but it didn’t stop him from tightening his grip. The other man stepped forward, the crowbar raised as if to swing.

That was when you knew you were in trouble. But only for a second. You kicked back, slamming your foot into the first man’s knee, hearing the sickening crack as he stumbled backward. He swore, holding his leg in pain. You used the opening to break free, turning to face both men. The one with the crowbar swung at you wildly, but you ducked under his reach and used his momentum against him, redirecting his strike into the side of the nearby wall. Your movements were quick, practiced clean, precise. You didn’t need to fight dirty. You didn’t need to be anything other than efficient. All you needed was enough of an excuse to escape. Within seconds, the two men were on the ground, groaning in pain, incapacitated by your calculated strikes.

Breathing hard, you exhaled slowly, dusting yourself off. That was easy. But when you looked up to check for any more threats, the air around you grew heavy.

Batman was standing at the edge of the alley, his towering form almost blending with the shadows. His cape fluttered slightly in the wind, the symbol of the bat glaring on his chest, and those piercing eyes those damn eyes locked onto yours.

You froze. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down. It was him. Batman. The dark vigilante, the city’s protector, who had always hovered over Gotham’s criminal world like a myth, now staring at you with an unreadable expression.

His eyes narrowed. Recognition flashed across his face, though his expression remained carefully controlled.

You stared at him, blinking rapidly, confusion clouding your mind. You knew him. But how? But you hadn’t had you really? You were too caught up in your own world to truly pay attention to the rumors and gossip. He was, after all, just the Batman to you. That was all you cared about. But in that moment, you realized with an unsettling clarity: He knew who you were.

You laughed awkwardly, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Oh great, just what I needed tonight,” you muttered under your breath. You quickly brushed a hand through your hair, trying to act like this wasn’t the most bizarre encounter you’d had in a while. “Listen, don’t worry about me. I appreciate what you do for the community though.”

Batman didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His posture remained rigid, intimidating, but his eyes… his eyes seemed to soften for a split second. There was something in them something that spoke volumes. You couldn’t place it, but it felt like something more than just the bat.

“No,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His words were firm, but there was a thread of concern beneath it. “Gotham isn’t safe.”

“Yeah, well, Gotham doesn’t care about safe,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s just me out here. If I want to get home, I’ll get home.” You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about the way he said that it made you feel smaller. But you didn’t let it show. You lifted your chin, defiant. “I can take care of myself. Just like I did with them.”

You gestured to the two men still groaning on the ground, the earlier tension dissipating into the night air. But Batman didn’t reply. His eyes swept over you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. His body language shifted just slightly, enough for you to notice, but before you could say anything more, he was moving.

“Get inside,” he said abruptly, his voice unwavering. “I’m not letting you walk home like this.”

There it was again. The command in his voice. You narrowed your eyes, a little defiant but feeling a strange pull toward the urgency in his tone. “It’s very courteous of you but please. I told you, I’ve got it. I’m fine.”

Batman didn’t even blink, his tone now sharpened. “Get inside, now.”

His words left no room for argument. You were tempted to push back tempted to keep up your independence. But there was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze hardened, that made you swallow your pride. With a small, frustrated sigh, you turned and started walking towards the street, heading home. You could feel his presence lingering behind you, watching, making sure you weren’t followed.

For a split second, you almost wanted to ask him more. But you stopped yourself. You didn’t need him. Not really. He was just Batman, after all. You shook your head. No need to think about it. Sometimes you want to find and interview him for why he punches first and asks later. Though the bias for your work might be interfering with those thoughts.

But somehow, you couldn’t ignore the tight knot in your chest. The tension in the air between you and him felt like more than just a confrontation. It felt like something else. And that something else… well, it lingered.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, his back pressed against the cool stone wall, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the Batcomputer. His cape hung loosely behind him, still damp from the rain soaked night. The adrenaline of his patrol had long since faded, but an odd unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn’t quite shake.

He’d spent countless hours in this cave, fighting Gotham’s worst and dealing with the city’s many challenges. His mission had always been clear: protect the innocent, bring justice, and make Gotham a better place. But tonight, something was different. Something about the encounter with you had stayed with him in a way he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you had handled yourself, standing tall despite the danger.

He had seen countless people fight back, but there was something unique about the way you did it. You weren’t just trying to survive you were alive in the moment, every move deliberate, confident, and unapologetic. You weren’t waiting for someone to come save you; you were saving yourself. It was rare in Gotham, a city where people often needed help just to make it through the day.

And yet, there was a sadness to it all.

Bruce knew that the city had a way of wearing people down, turning them into something else something bitter or broken. People like you, who had grown up in the shadows, had learned to fend for themselves because Gotham didn’t make it easy. He couldn’t help but wish that you hadn’t had to be so strong. You shouldn’t have had to fight alone.

His thoughts wandered back to the moment he’d seen you in the slums. Despite your strength, despite the control you’d taken of the situation, Bruce felt a pang of sympathy. The city had failed you, just as it had failed so many others. Gotham had a way of demanding too much from its people, and it had never been kind to those who were already struggling.

It was clear you weren’t someone who needed saving. You had made your own way, fought for your own space in a world that hadn’t always welcomed you. Bruce couldn’t help but admire that. It was something he understood well carving out a place for yourself in a city that tried to break you. But it still frustrated him that Gotham had forced you into a corner like that.

He pushed away from the computer, rubbing his eyes as he tried to clear his thoughts. He had a duty to the city, a duty that didn’t leave room for distractions or feelings. Yet, something about the way you carried yourself, how you didn’t let Gotham’s grime get the best of you, lingered in his mind. You were a reminder of the resilience he’d always admired in this city, but also a stark reminder of how much still needed to be done.

Bruce had always seen Gotham as a city to fix, a place in desperate need of change. He’d dedicated himself to that cause, but seeing you, standing strong in the face of everything this city threw at you, made him think what if there were more people like you?

But you shouldn’t have to be like that. You shouldn’t have to fight for your survival in a city that was supposed to be your home. And yet, you had.

Bruce exhaled deeply, leaning back against the stone wall again. It was moments like these that reminded him of how complex Gotham truly was. People like you weren’t just victims or criminals. They were the heart of the city, the ones who kept going even when the world seemed determined to make them quit.

He didn’t have the answers, but seeing you hold your own, standing up to those men like it was just another day, reminded him why he kept doing this. Gotham wasn’t just about fighting crime it was about protecting the people who refused to be broken. People like you.

Bruce let out a slow breath, turning back toward the Batcomputer, but his thoughts were still on you. He wasn’t sure where this would lead, or if it would lead anywhere at all. But for the first time in a long while, he found himself hoping that, somehow, Gotham would be a little less lonely for you.

For all of them.

Alfred: So, how did the gala go, Master Wayne?

Bruce: I think it went well. There was a very pretty woman. She didn’t say no when I asked her out

Alfred: Fascinating. Like watching a car crash in slow motion and calling it a graceful landing.

Bruce: …I’m sensing sarcasm.

Alfred: No, no. I’m very impressed. You managed to express interest without brooding in a corner or vanishing mid conversation. Progress.

Bruce: I hate it when you bully me.

Alfred: And yet, I persist.

Kon-el | Connor Kent X readerbatsis!

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° Batblood ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ °

uhhh self indulgent bat family stuff

masterlist

This is mostly Batfamily X Batsis. Though I think I had enough Conner Kent X Reader to classify this as a thing.

GUYS I WROTE DAMIENS NAME WRONG THROUGHOUT THIS WAIT

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩ The first thing you learn about your parents is that they are fundamentally incompatible. The second thing you learn is that they will never stop trying anyway.

You don’t remember a time when Bruce and Selina were ever something as simple as together. They exist in contradictions she flirts, he broods; she steals, he stops her; she leaves, he waits. You used to think they would eventually find a middle ground, but you’ve long since given up on that idea.

Bruce and Selina have always been on and off, a constant push and pull. He loves her, but he can’t accept her choices. She loves him, but she refuses to change for him. You grew up watching them dance around their feelings. One moment, she’s draped over his desk in the Batcave, teasing him, and the next, she’s gone without a trace, leaving only a cryptic note behind.

Still, they make sense, in a way that defies logic. And despite all their back and forth, they both love you just in completely different ways. The truth is, Bruce and Selina will never be able to give you the same kind of love.

⸻

“Again.”

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as Bruce circles you in the Batcave’s training area. You’ve already gone through this drill a dozen times. Your muscles ache, your ribs are sore from earlier blows, but he’s relentless.

You feint left, then pivot sharply, throwing a kick at his side. He blocks it easily. Too easily. His expression remains unreadable, but you can feel his disapproval.

“Sloppy,” he says, stepping back. “You’re letting yourself get tired.”

“That’s because I am tired,” you snap. “We’ve been doing this for over an hour.”

He crosses his arms. “On the field, you don’t get to decide when you’re done.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, but Tim does? Jason does? Even Damian doesn’t get this much micromanaging.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about them. It’s about you.”

“No, it’s about me being your daughter.”

His silence confirms it.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You trained all of them, let them fight their own battles. You trusted them to figure it out. But me? You’re scared to let me.”

Bruce’s expression darkens. “I’m not scared.”

“Then what is it?” you challenge, stepping closer. “You push me harder than you ever pushed them, but you still won’t let me prove myself. What’s the point of all this if you’re just going to hold me back?”

His voice is quiet when he finally answers. “Because I can’t lose you.”

The weight of those words presses against your chest. You want to be angry, to keep fighting him on this, but the raw emotion in his voice makes it impossible.

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for the only truth you have.

“You won’t,” you murmur. “But you have to let me go.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. He just exhales slowly, tension still radiating from his stance. You don’t expect him to change overnight, but at the very least, he doesn’t call for another round. That’s something.

⸻

Selina finds you hours later, sprawled out on the balcony of her penthouse. You weren’t planning on coming here tonight, but after your fight with Bruce, you needed air. And if there’s one thing Selina understands, it’s the need to escape.

She slides the glass door open, stepping onto the rooftop with effortless grace. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You don’t turn to face her. “Bruce is being impossible.”

She chuckles, settling beside you. “He’s still your dad don’t call him bruce, though when isn’t he?”

You sigh, tilting your head back against the cool metal railing. “I just… I don’t know how to make him see me as more than just his kid. He acts like I’ll break if I take one wrong step.”

Selina hums thoughtfully. “That’s what he does. He builds walls around the things he loves, convinces himself it’s the only way to keep them safe.”

You glance at her. “And you?”

She smirks. “Oh, I’d never keep a bird in a cage. I’d teach her to fly.”

There’s something appealing about that. With Selina, there are no rules, no suffocating restrictions. Just a quiet, unwavering confidence in your abilities. Even if you don’t approve of the way she lives, you can’t deny that she makes you feel free.

She pulls a small velvet pouch from her pocket and tosses it into your lap.

You raise a brow. “Do I want to know?”

She grins. “Just a little something I picked up.”

You groan, shoving it back at her. “I told you to stop giving me stolen jewelry.”

Selina only laughs. “It’s not stolen technically. I swapped it for something better.”

“That’s still stealing.”

“Details, darling.”

You can’t help but laugh. She winks, ruffling your hair before standing. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat before you let your father’s brooding ruin your whole night.”

You shake your head but follow her anyway.

For all their differences, Bruce and Selina have one thing in common: they both love you, fiercely.

Your dad will always try to protect you from the world. Your mom will always remind you that it’s yours to take. You exist in the space between them.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Patrol had been standard until it wasn’t. You and Tim had been watching an arms deal go down from the rooftops of Gotham’s East End. The intel from Oracle suggested this was a simple exchange one that didn’t require much interference. The plan was to observe, gather intel, and report back if things escalated. But you weren’t convinced.

Something felt off. You crouched beside Tim, scanning the warehouse below. The deal was happening inside, but your eyes were locked on a figure slipping through a side entrance, unnoticed by the others.

“Tim, we’ve got movement,” you whispered.

He barely glanced at the figure before shaking his head. “Not our priority. We wait and”

“I’m going after them,” you interrupted, already moving.

Tim grabbed your arm. “That’s not the plan.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you insisted, shaking him off. “Cover me.”

And before he could protest, you were already gone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The side entrance led you through a narrow corridor, crates stacked high along the walls. You moved quietly, using the shadows to your advantage.

The man you were following a mercenary by the look of his armor spoke softly into an earpiece. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the urgency in his tone sent a chill down your spine.

You pressed closer, peering around a crate. Then you saw it.

This wasn’t just an arms deal. There were bombs. Crates of them. Military grade explosives, lined up and ready to be moved.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oracle,” you whispered, touching your comm. “We have a problem.”

“I see it,” her voice came through your earpiece. “I’m running facial recognition on the men inside. This isn’t just some street gang these guys are mercenaries.”

“Figures.”

Tim’s voice suddenly crackled through. “You were supposed to wait.”

“I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but I’m a little busy.”

A movement caught your eye. The mercenary was reaching for a detonator.

Shit.

You sprang from cover, knocking him back with a swift kick to the ribs. The detonator clattered across the floor.

“Got company,” you muttered.

“On my way,” Tim responded.

But it was already too late.

The other mercenaries had heard the commotion, and within seconds, you were surrounded.

⸻

Fighting in the Fire

You moved on instinct, blocking the first blow aimed at your head and countering with a knee to the gut. The second merc swung at you with a baton, but you ducked, sweeping his legs out from under him.

The fight was brutal there were too many of them, and you were alone.

A blade sliced across your side, and you hissed, twisting to avoid a deeper wound. Blood soaked into your suit, but you ignored it, focusing on staying alive.

Then the explosion hit.

A grenade thrown from somewhere behind you detonated against one of the stacked crates. The force sent you flying, crashing through a pile of debris. Your ears rang, and your vision blurred.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard Tim’s voice in your earpiece. “Hold on I’m almost there!”

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to move.

You weren’t dying here.

When the dust settled, the mercenaries were either unconscious or retreating. The explosives were still intact, and Tim arrived just in time to secure them.

But you were wrecked.

He looked at you, taking in the blood seeping from your side. “You’re an idiot.”

You gave a weak smirk. “Yeah. But at least I was right.”

Tim muttered something under his breath before helping you out of the warehouse.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The moment you step off the platform, you feel him before you see him.

Bruce is waiting. Arms crossed. Silent.

He’s still in the Batsuit, the cowl pulled back, his expression unreadable but you know better. You’ve seen that look before.

Tim doesn’t say a word. He just gives you one final glance and walks off, leaving you alone with the inevitable.

You brace yourself, but Bruce doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. His disappointment is a physical weight in the air.

“You abandoned your partner,” he says, voice like stone.

“I chased a lead.”

“You disobeyed orders.”

You grit your teeth. “It was the right call.”

He steps forward, and suddenly, you feel small. Not because you’re afraid Bruce would never hurt you but because his presence alone is suffocating.

“The right call?” His tone sharpens. “You were injured. You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t,” you argue, though the sting in your side says otherwise.

Bruce exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “You’re reckless.”

“You don’t say that when literally anyone else is on a mission,” you snap.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence stings. Because you already know the truth. You’re different. You’re his daughter. And that changes everything. but it doesn’t Damien is younger than you. You don’t get it.

“You’re dismissed,” he finally says, voice cold.

You hesitate, fists clenched, but there’s no point in arguing. Not when his mind is already made up.

You turn and head toward the med bay, fuming the entire way.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You’re half out of your suit, sitting on the medical table while Alfred patches up your side, when Jason storms into the Batcave like a force of nature.

“The hell happened tonight?”

You groan. Of course he found out.

Bruce, still near the Batcomputer, barely glances up. “Jason”

Jason ignores him, turning straight to you. His eyes flick to the bloodstained bandages, and his expression darkens. “Who did this?”

“Relax,” you sigh. “It’s just a scratch.”

Jason scoffs. “A scratch?” He turns to Bruce, eyes blazing. “What the hell was she doing in a situation where she could end up like this?”

“I made the call,” you interject. “It was my decision.”

Jason looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “That’s not a good thing, dumbass.”

You scowl. “It’s part of the job.”

Jason shakes his head, pacing. “Nah. No. You shouldn’t be out there like this. He shouldn’t be letting you”

“I let her do nothing,” Bruce interrupts, his voice a low warning.

Jason laughs humorless, sharp. “Oh, really? Because it looks to me like you’re putting her through the same damn cycle we all went through. How long before she ends up dead in an alley too?”

“Jason”

“No, screw that,” Jason snaps. “You’re just letting her walk into this life like it’s fine. Like it’s not gonna chew her up and spit her out like the rest of us.”

You push yourself up from the table, ignoring the sharp sting in your side. “I chose this, Jason. No one forced me.”

Jason turns his glare on you. “You don’t get it, do you? You think this is just about being a hero, about doing good?” He scoffs. “It’s a death sentence.”

You clench your jaw. “So what, you expect me to just sit at home and do nothing?”

“I expect you to be smarter than this,” he snaps.

Before you can fire back, his eyes narrow, and suddenly, the conversation takes a sharp turn.

“Speaking of dumb decisions,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms. “You’re still with Superboy, right?”

Your frustration spikes. “Oh my godseriously?”

Jason gives you a deadpan look. “knock off superman? Really? You could do better.”

You throw your hands up. “Why does everyone have a problem with me dating Conner?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Because he’s a walking red flag wrapped in blue spandex.”

You glare. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Jason scowls. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

He doesn’t deny it.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’m tired, I’m injured, and I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

Jason studies you for a moment, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. His anger hasn’t faded completely, but the sharp edge of it has dulled.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if he ever screws up, I will break his face.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of something warmer underneath the annoyance. Jason will never say it outright, but you know what this is.

It’s not just anger. It’s fear.

Bruce was right about one thing losing people leaves scars. And Jason? He has more than most. He won’t stop you from fighting your battles. But he’ll sure as hell be there when you fall.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Dating in the Batfamily was a challenge. Dating Conner Kent? That was practically a declaration of war.

You weren’t an idiot you knew what your family thought of him. Bruce didn’t trust him. Superman’s clone, an unpredictable force of power, a boy with too much strength and too little control. That’s how your father saw him, at least. Jason didn’t respect him. “A knock off in a leather jacket? Come on, you can do so much better.”

Tim was wary. Conner was his best friend, but even he had his doubts when it came to you.

And your mother? Selina raised a delicate brow when she first caught wind of your relationship, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “Oh, darling,” she had purred. “You know how your father’s going to react, right?”

You had sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yes, Mother, I know.”

She had hummed in amusement. “Well, Im starting to think i’m a bad influence, at least try not to be like me and your dad.”

“Mom.”

She had only laughed.

At first, it was easier to keep it hidden. You and Conner met in the shadows, in places no one else would look.

Abandoned rooftops, dimly lit diners on the outskirts of the city, quiet parks in the dead of night where he could float just above the ground, keeping you wrapped in the warmth of his presence.

He wasn’t like Superman and you weren’t just Batman’s daughter.

That’s what you loved about being with him. When he looked at you, he didn’t see the vigilante, the heir to Gotham’s dark legacy. He didn’t see someone who had to be perfect. He saw you. Your flaws, your fears, your messy, complicated emotions. And he never tried to change them.

“I don’t care about what your dad thinks,” he had told you once, leaning back against the fire escape outside your window. “Or your brothers. Or your mom, even.”

You raised a brow. “Not even a little?”

He grinned. “Okay, maybe a little. But it doesn’t change anything.”

You had smirked. “You are stubborn.”

“Says the girl who won’t admit she likes me.”

You scoffed, but he had been right. Liking him had been the easy part. Accepting that he was yours? That had been harder.

Gotham was a city of ghosts.

Your life had been built on shadows, on silent movements, on always thinking five steps ahead. Mistakes had consequences, emotions were weaknesses, and attachments?

They got you killed.

But Conner… Conner made you feel like you were alive.

He never cared about the weight of your family name. He never expected you to be perfect. He let you be wrong, and he still stood by you.

One night, after a brutal mission, you had been exhausted, bruised, and pissed at your father for another round of overprotection.

Conner had found you on the rooftop of your shared apartment, sitting at the edge, staring out at the skyline.

He had landed softly beside you, his presence warm against the cold night.

“You okay?”

You hadn’t answered right away.

Then, quietly, you had admitted, “Sometimes I think its much more worth it to leave this place”

Conner had been silent for a moment before he shifted closer. “Yeah. I get that.”

And you knew he did. Superman saw him as something broken. A project. An accident to be controlled. Bruce saw you as something fragile. Something not ready.

You had glanced at Conner then, at the way he looked at you not as something to fix, but as someone whole. You had leaned into him, and he had let you.

That was the thing about Conner.

He didn’t just love you. He trusted you to be exactly who you were.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Your father was the last to acknowledge it.

Bruce had spent months pretending you weren’t sneaking out to see Conner, pretending he didn’t know why your patrol routes started conveniently lining up with the edge of the city.

But Bruce noticed everything. eventually, he noticed him. It started with the little things.

Conner was always near you in battle, always the first to shield you from an explosion, always ready to catch you if you fell.

Bruce watched the way Conner would take the hit for you not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because he could. Conner was powerful, but he never used that strength to control you. He never underestimated you.

One night, after a particularly nasty fight against a group of assassins, you had ended up battered and bloody, a knife wound deep in your side.

Conner had carried you back to the Cave.

Bruce had been waiting.

The air had been tense as Conner laid you gently on the med bay table, his jaw tight, eyes burning with barely contained fury.

“She shouldn’t have been alone,” Conner had said, voice sharp.

Bruce had met his glare, unreadable. “Yeah she shouldn’t have.”

“Then act right on this and she wouldn’t have been alone,” Conner snapped. “shes strong but I don’t care like assholes like you neither does she.”

Silence.

Then Bruce had simply turned and walked away. It wasn’t approval. But it wasn’t rejection, either. You supposed, in his way, Bruce was starting to understand.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Looking back now, lying in the med bay once again, you let out a slow breath.

The room was empty.

The cave was silent.

Your body ached, your side still throbbing from the mission gone wrong. You stared at the ceiling, letting exhaustion creep in.

Jason’s words still echoed in your head.

“Tights and a cape? Really?”

You sighed.

They’d never understand.

when Conner held you, when he saw you, when he treated you like something more than just Batman’s daughter… It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Gotham was different when Dick was in town. Maybe it was the way he carried himself loose, easy, like the city didn’t weigh on his shoulders the way it did on everyone else’s. Maybe it was because he didn’t live here anymore, so Gotham’s shadows didn’t cling to him the way they clung to you, to Jason, to Bruce.

Either way, his presence always changed the air. Right now, though? It just made the tension in the Batcave feel even heavier.

Dick had barely been back for a full twenty four hours before he noticed. The way Bruce’s jaw was tighter than usual, how Jason was avoiding both of you, how Tim kept smirking behind his coffee cup like he was enjoying the chaos. And you?

You were just done.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

Watched as Bruce checked your gear three times before your patrol. Watched as Jason kept throwing pointed glances your way, muttering curses under his breath like you were the idiot. Watched as Tim leaned back against the Batcomputer with the most entertained expression, like this was his own personal sitcom.

Eventually, Dick just sighed.

“Alright, kid,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Burgers. Let’s go.”

Bruce barely looked up. “She has patrol.”

Dick raised a brow. “No, she has burgers with her favorite brother.”

Jason scoffed from across the room. “Favorite? Yeah, okay, Nightwing.”

Tim sipped his coffee. “I don’t know, Jay. He is also my favourite.”

You didn’t argue. You just grabbed your jacket and followed Dick out before Bruce could protest.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The diner was a little hole in the wall place, tucked between two crumbling buildings. Greasy food, crappy lighting, the kind of place that felt like Gotham to its core. You slumped into the booth, arms crossed as Dick slid in across from you.

He didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just casually unwrapped his burger and took a bite, waiting. It didn’t take long for you to break.

“He treats me like a soldier,” you said suddenly, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not even a good one. Just one he doesn’t trust to make their own decisions.”

Dick chewed, nodding. “Bruce?”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously Bruce.”

You picked at your fries. “he’s such an ass, i know he’s had this tough love thing since Jason but god why cant he let me be? Every move I make, he second guesses. Every mission, he reroutes my patrol to keep me ‘safer.’ He acts like I’m some reckless idiot who’s one bad decision away from getting killed.”

Dick hummed. “Jason probably isn’t helping.”

You huffed. “Oh, he’s worse. At least Bruce lets me fight Jason acts like I’m made of glass. Like I need protecting, like I can’t handle myself.”

Dick smirked. “Well, you did almost get blown up yesterday.”

You scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“Mmhmm.”

You ignored him and kept going.

“And then there’s Tim. Who just smirks. Like he enjoys watching me get lectured by dad and chewed out by Jason. Like this is all some kind of entertainment to him.”

Dick laughed. “It is entertaining.”

You threw a fry at him. He caught it without looking.

“It’s just” You exhaled sharply. “Bruce doesn’t trust me, Jason coddles me, and Tim thinks it’s all a joke. And yet Damian gets to do whatever the hell he wants.”

Dick raised a brow. “Ah. So this is about Damian.”

You stabbed your fork into your fries. “It’s not. It’s about all of it. But also? Yeah. It’s about Damian.”

Dick took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “Bruce would let him get away with murder?”

“Literally,” you muttered. “Meanwhile, I take one risk one calculated risk and suddenly I’m ‘not ready.’”

Dick sighed, setting his burger down. “Okay. So, what’s the actual problem?”

You frowned. “I just told you”

“No, I mean the real problem. You don’t actually care that Bruce is strict. You expect that. You don’t even care that Jason’s overprotective he does that to everyone he loves.”

You looked away. “…So?”

“So,” he said, smirking, “what you actually hate is that they don’t see you as an equal.”

You frowned.

Dick leaned back, crossing his arms. “They see you as their little sister. Their daughter. They see someone they have to protect, not someone they can trust.”

Your grip on your fork tightened. “And that’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed easily. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, casually, Dick added, “But hey, at least Conner treats you like an equal.”

You froze mid bite.

Slowly, you looked up at him.

He grinned.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “You could’ve gone for someone normal, but nooo. You had to pick another dark, broody, overpowered meathead”

“Dick, I swear”

“You surround yourself with annoying guys”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Never speak again.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting mischievously. “In fact, I think I should speak more. Maybe bring this up at family dinner. Hey, Bruce, did you know your daughter has a thing for emotionally constipated guys in leather?”

You threw another fry at him.

He dodged it effortlessly, laughing.

“Dick. I will kill you.”

“I kinda want to meet this guy.”

You glared.

He just smiled. But despite your annoyance, despite everything Bruce’s overprotection, Jason’s coddling, Tim’s smirking something about the conversation helped. Because at least one of your brothers saw you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You regretted ever telling your family now. Dick knowing about Conner means you’ve been introduced to hell.

oh satan over there? yeah he’s on the body of your bug brother.

Not because he was mad not even because he was disapproving but because he was Dick.

Which meant relentless teasing.

Which meant grinning at you like he had the world’s juiciest blackmail material. Which meant the exact sentence that had been haunting you ever since your burger night.

“I want to meet my younger sister’s hero.”

It had been two days. Two. And he would not let it go.

You tried to avoid it. Tried to make excuses. But Dick was persistent.

So now here you were on a Gotham rooftop, arms crossed, glaring at him as he sat on the ledge like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m interested,” he corrected. “I mean, c’mon. I’ve only ever heard about this guy from our brothers, and none of them have anything nice to say.” He smirked. “Figured I should form my own opinion.”

You groaned. “Can you not?”

“Oh, I definitely can,” he said. “I just won’t.”

Before you could argue further, a gust of wind swept through the air, and There he was.

Conner landed a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, red cape billowing slightly behind him. His gaze flickered between you and Dick, brows furrowed in mild suspicion.

“You okay?” he asked you first, like he always did.

You exhaled. “Yeah. I just ” You shot Dick a look. “Had a situation to handle.”

Conner raised an eyebrow.

Dick, meanwhile, was grinning.

“Well, well, well,” he said, standing up and brushing off his suit. “The infamous Superboy.”

Conner’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’re…?”

Dicks mouth dropped glancing to you “Oh, wow. That actually hurt.” Then he extended a hand. “Dick Grayson. Also known as Nightwing. Also known as best older brother. Nice to finally meet you.”

Conner eyed him for a second before shaking his hand. “…Right.”

Dick’s smirk widened. “So. You’re the little guy my little sister’s been sneaking around with, huh?”

You instantly regretted your entire life.

Conner’s gaze flickered to you before he answered, clearly unsure how to respond. “Guess so…?”

“Oh, I like him already,” Dick laughed. “Got that classic ‘brooding hero’ energy. I see the appeal.”

You glared. “Dick”

“I mean, you do have a type,” he continued, grinning at you. “The whole ‘dark, broody, overpowered’ thing? Classic. keep the family values. I respect it.”

Conner glanced at you, fidgeting slightly as if trying to hold back a laugh. “its not a wrong point.”

You smacked his arm. “Not you too.”

Dick just laughed. “So. How’s the Super life treating you?”

Conner shrugged awkwardly, clearly not sure how to navigate the conversation. “Could be worse.”

“Dealing with my family yet?”

“All the time.”

Dick nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’s rough, buddy.”

Conner gave a quiet, awkward chuckle. “It’s not that bad.” His gaze softened slightly when he looked at you. “She makes it easier.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. Then slowly he grinned.

“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re down bad.”

You groaned. “Dick. it’s gross when you say that. Shut up.”

“I love this,” he continued, delighted. “This is so much better than I imagined.”

Conner crossed his arms and tried to lean against the ledge nonchalantly, but there was a slight stiff tension in his posture. “I wont stop her if she starts fighting”

Dick gasped, hand over his heart. “You’d turn her against me?”

“mmmmm i’m in a Y/n wrongs and right are rights morality,” Conner pointed out with a soft, awkward chuckle.

Dick sighed. “ew you sound like me with women.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We’re done here.”

But before you could drag Conner away, Dick clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, all jokes aside,” he said, suddenly more serious, “I get why Bruce and Jason are… difficult about this. You’re powerful. You’re dangerous. You’re not one of us.”

Conner tensed slightly, glancing over at you like he didn’t know how to respond.

Dick met his gaze. “But I see how you look at her. And I see how she looks at you.” His expression softened. “So, for what it’s worth? You’ve got my approval.”

Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard. He cleared his throat, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Wasn’t asking.”

Dick grinned. “Oh, I really like you.”

You groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Conner just took your hand, squeezing lightly, trying to brush off the awkwardness that had started to settle in. “You love me.” he whispered

You muttered something under your breath. Dick slung an arm around your shoulders, still grinning.

“Alright, Superboy. Don’t break her heart. Or I will break you.”

Conner didn’t flinch. “You could try.”

“Ohhh, I really really like him.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The gala was everything you dreaded about Gotham’s elite. The high end designers. The glittering chandeliers. The fake smiles and empty conversations about stock markets and charities you knew were just tax write offs. You were dreading it. But you had no choice. Your dad had insisted.

“You’re going with me,” Bruce had said, his tone one you couldn’t argue with. “Damien’s going too.”

Damien.

You rolled your eyes. If there was one silver lining, it was that Damien would make the night more bearable. Sure, he was insufferable, but deep down, he was your favorite… well one of them.

You didn’t know when it started, but you couldn’t deny it. Every time someone made a comment about you, something snide about being Bruce Wayne’s daughter or how you’d grown up in a world of privilege, Damien was right there. He might have been a bratty little boy, but he had a surprisingly soft spot for you.

He’d bark back at anyone who dared talk down to you. And that always made you smile.

Still, you hated the galas. The whole act of pretending to be someone you weren’t, of feigning interest in the people who rubbed elbows with the most corrupt figures in Gotham. It made you feel like you were just another part of Bruce Wayne’s PR machine, just another Wayne for the rich to admire, the perfect daughter.

You weren’t. At least not in the way they thought you were.

⸻

You stood in front of the mirror in your dress, adjusting the neckline slightly. It wasn’t too flashy. Not as tight or revealing as some of the other dresses you’d seen at these events. It wasn’t your style to try and look like you were above everyone else. There was an elegance to it, sure, but it wasn’t over the top.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. You were almost late. You had not been in the mood to get dressed up and pretend you weren’t itching to leave this stupid party as soon as you walked in.

The door to your room creaked open just a bit, and you turned to see Damien standing in the doorway, his usual scowl plastered on his face.

“Are you done yet?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

You blinked at him. “Are you done yet? You look like a little mini Bruce.”

He shot you a glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m a Wayne too, and I’m far superior to Father in many ways.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Mm. Sure, Damien. If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed in the way they always did when he was being stubborn. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass the family again.”

“Again?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

You chuckled. “Whatever, Damien. Just don’t get in my way.”

He huffed, but his expression softened for a second. “You know, you don’t have to act like you don’t belong there. It’s your place.”

The rare kindness from Damien caught you off guard. You almost wanted to tease him about it, but something in the way he said it made you pause.

Before you could respond, Bruce’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Damien, [Y/N], let’s go.”

You rolled your eyes. No escape.

⸻

The gala was in full swing when you arrived, the grand ballroom filled with well dressed Gotham’s elite, all laughing, talking, and pretending to be better than they really were. As you walked in behind Bruce and Damien, you couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water.

Damien, ever the mini Bruce, stepped confidently beside you, his posture straight, eyes sharp. He barely even looked at anyone around him, already ready to shoot down any attempts at conversation. You, on the other hand, put on your best poker face, walking with your head high, but your mind already halfway to escaping.

Bruce was already surrounded by some of the usual suspects, but it didn’t take long for the first person to notice you.

“You know,” a woman with a glass of champagne in hand said, smiling in that way people did when they thought they were better than you. “It’s nice to see the Wayne family so well represented. A fine, upstanding family, despite… well, you know…”

The pause was intentional, like she wanted to see if you’d react to the snide remark. It was a comment about your family’s history, a little jab that no one dared speak out loud but always found a way to slip into their conversations. Isnt being a woman supposed to be about supporting other women? Damien arguably had the same history as you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Damien beat you to it.

“That’s quite enough.” He said it flatly, stepping forward with a warning glare. “I’m sure if you don’t have anything productive to say, you’d be better off leaving.”

The woman blinked, surprised by the bluntness, but Damien was already walking away, his weird little aura behind him like he was some miniature Dark Knight.

You couldn’t help but smile at him. You were right. He was your favorite.

Bruce glanced at you both, an eyebrow arched. He had seen the whole exchange. You could practically feel him holding back a smirk.

“Damien,” Bruce said, his voice a little too controlled. “You don’t have to go picking fights.”

Damien didn’t back down. “I’m simply defending Y/n. Some of these people need to remember their place.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but the faintest glimmer of approval passed through his gaze, and it was enough.

⸻

The night dragged on, but you found yourself less uncomfortable with Damien by your side. His quiet protectiveness, the way he always seemed to catch the smallest slight before you did, made it easier to navigate the pretentious conversations. Every time someone made a comment about your family, you could feel Damien’s posture tense and his eyes narrow. And each time, he defended you.

Despite everything, despite how much you complained about his bratty tendencies, Damien was your brat. the weight of the night began to settle. The glittering lights of the gala still flickered in your mind, but the presence of your father and Damien beside you made the ride back almost bearable. Damien, as usual, sat stiffly, his posture perfect even in the backseat of the car, while Bruce remained uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze focused out the window.

You couldn’t help but glance over at Damien, who was looking out his own window, seemingly lost in thought. There had been a moment earlier when Bruce had shared a look with him, something small but meaningful a look you couldn’t quite place. But it was enough to make you feel something unspoken between the two of them. It wasn’t often you saw your father show a soft spot for anyone, let alone his own kids.

The car pulled up to the Manor, and as it came to a stop, you turned to Damien, the words already spilling out before you could stop them.

“You know, you’re not as bad as you pretend to be,” you said, voice teasing but soft. “I might just like you after all.”

Damien scoffed. “You shouldn’t like me. I’m better than you, after all.”

“Pfft, whatever,” you grinned, ignoring his words. The sudden burst of affection you felt in that moment made you throw all your self control out the window. Without thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

Damien let out an exaggerated, dramatic gasp, his body going stiff in shock. “Unhand me, woman,” he hissed, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden outburst of affection.

You ignored his protests, squeezing him tighter. “Nope! Not until you admit that you love me.”

Damien scowled, his face flushing just slightly. “I do not love you, you foolish girl.” But there was no hiding the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he tried unsuccessfully to push you away.

Bruce, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, cleared his throat from the front seat, as though reminding you both that you weren’t exactly alone. But it was too late to stop now.

You pulled back just enough to look Damien in the eye, still grinning like a cat. “Come on, admit it. I know you love me.”

Damien tried to glare at you, but there was no hiding the slight curve of his lips. “I tolerate you,” he said begrudgingly.

You held him tighter. “Close enough!”

He growled, finally breaking free from your grip. “This is not over,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his suit with a dramatic flair.

You leaned back, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure, sure, Damien. You can pretend all you want.”

Bruce finally spoke up, his tone surprisingly light. “Alright, break it up, you two. We’ve still got a whole night to get through.”

Damien shot a glare at Bruce. “I’m not the one causing disruptions here.”

You and Bruce shared a look, and for just a brief second, you saw it, something rare and almost tender between the two of them. Damien wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. he had his own way of showing care.

Damien, still grumbling, marched ahead toward the front door, muttering something about how he was going to “train” and “get away from these ridiculous people.” But you knew better. Underneath the bravado, Damien was just like everyone else in this family he cared.

As you stepped out of the car and onto the front porch of Wayne Manor, the cool night air hit your face, carrying the faint scent of rain. You were exhausted, mentally drained from the fake smiles and shallow conversations of the gala, and the weight of the night hung heavy on your shoulders. You couldn’t wait to retreat to your room, get out of this damn dress, and let your thoughts settle.

But as you walked toward the front door, something or rather someone caught your eye. Standing by the door, just under the archway of the Manor, was a familiar silhouette. The figure straightened when he saw you approach, a soft smile appearing on his face.

Conner.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be here, but there he was, waiting for you, like he always did.

“Hey,” you said softly, as you run over to him. your exhaustion suddenly lifting at the sight of him.

He tilted his head, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You look… very beautiful tonight.”

You let out a small, tired chuckle. “Beautiful? someone is learning how to express his emotions”

Conner’s brow furrowed, his eyes scanning you like he could see the exhaustion beneath your calm exterior. He stepped forward, his large frame nearly blocking the door. “You okay?”

You nodded, but only half heartedly. “Yeah, just… tired of it all. Tired of pretending.”

Conner didn’t say anything at first, but his gaze softened. His next words were simple, but they always meant more than you expected. “you’re done now, don’t have to think about it now.”

You stepped closer to him, letting the tension in your body melt just a little. “Thanks, Conner. It means a lot. I don’t think I could stand much more of these stupid galas if I didn’t know you’d be waiting for me.”

He smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your heart flutter in your chest, as he stepped aside to let you in. “Always. You know I’ve got your back.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You’re the best.”

Conner chuckled, stepping back as you passed him. “I’m just doing my job, keeping you out of trouble.”

You shot him a playful look over your shoulder. “Really? Keeping me out of trouble?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you seem to find it even when I’m not around.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but the moment you passed him, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, a soft but firm hold that pulled you back toward him.

“What?” you asked, confused.

Conner was staring at you, his blue eyes intense but gentle. “You looked like you needed someone tonight. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You stared at him for a moment, letting his words settle. But instead of saying anything, you simply let out a long sigh and let your shoulders relax. You didn’t need to talk about it now. Not when Conner was here, offering comfort without the need for words.

Instead, you smiled softly, stepping into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I think… I think I just need this right now.”

Conner wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if to shield you from everything outside this moment. “I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the familiar warmth of his embrace wrap around you.

The moment of quiet was shattered by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You tensed slightly, already knowing exactly who it was before you even turned your head.

Bruce stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable but his presence alone was enough to make the warmth in your chest falter just a bit.

“It’s late,” he said, voice even, but carrying that weight of authority only he could manage. “You should be inside now.”

You sighed, pulling back slightly from Conner but keeping your hand locked around his wrist. Of course, Bruce had impeccable timing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” you muttered, turning toward the door but you didn’t let go of Conner. Instead, you tugged him along with you, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bruce’s eyes flicked down to your hand still gripping Conner’s, his expression barely changing, but you knew he noticed.

Conner hesitated for half a second, casting a glance between you and your father, as if gauging whether it was a terrible idea to follow you inside. But you weren’t giving him a choice.

Bruce let out the tiniest sigh, stepping aside to let you both in, but not without a warning glance at Conner.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Bruce said evenly.

Conner just glared at him, tight lipped smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

You definitely caught the way Bruce’s brow twitched ever so slightly at the sir, but you didn’t dwell on it. You just smirked to yourself and pulled Conner further into the Manor, past your father, past all the unspoken tension, and straight toward the one place you could finally relax.

Conner leaned in as you walked, voice low and teasing. “You dragged me in here.”

You grinned up at him. “What, scared of my dad?”

Conner huffed. “No. But I am scared of what your brothers are gonna say when they see me here.”

You just laughed. “Oh, you should be.”

As you pulled Conner deeper into the Manor, you moved quickly, knowing full well that the longer you lingered, the higher the chance of getting ambushed by one of your loving brothers.

You practically speed walked through the grand hall, past the dimly lit corridors.

“Ah, welcome home, Miss.”

You skidded to a stop as Alfred appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing near the bottom of the staircase with his usual composed demeanor.

Conner tensed beside you, standing up straighter like he was about to get scolded. Clearly, even he wasn’t immune to Alfred’s presence.

You shot the butler a quick smile, still keeping a tight grip on Conner’s wrist. “Hey, Alfred. Gala was awful, as expected. Goodnight!”

And before he could reply, you dragged Conner up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Miss. Goodnight, Mister Conner,” Alfred called after you, voice laced with mild amusement.

Conner barely managed to glance over his shoulder to offer a polite, “Uh goodnight, sir,” before he was pulled around the corner and out of sight.

When you finally made it to your room, you threw the door open and all but shoved Conner inside before shutting it behind you with a sigh of relief.

“Okay, safe,” you muttered, leaning against the door.

Conner raised a brow. “You act like we just broke into the White House.”

You pointed a finger at him. “This house probably has better security than the white house.”

Conner snorted, shaking his head as he glanced around your room. He’d been here before, but it was still surreal for him standing in Wayne Manor.

You walked over to your bed, flopping onto it dramatically. “I swear, I love Alfred, but he always pops up at the worst moments. It’s like a sixth sense.”

Conner smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe he was just making sure I wasn’t sneaking in to corrupt his favorite Wayne.”

You peeked up at him through your arms. “Bold of you to assume I’m his favorite.”

He sat down beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. “You definitely are.”

You grinned, nudging him lightly with your foot. “Flatter me more, Superboy.”

Conner just chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need flattery. You already know how great you are.”

You huffed, rolling onto your side. “Tell that to my dad.”

Conner didn’t say anything right away, just let his hand rest on yours, grounding you. You let out a slow breath, the exhaustion of the day finally settling in.

“Get some sleep,” Conner murmured. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

You didn’t even think about it before squeezing his hand. “Stay.”

And he did.

Conner sat beside you on the bed, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your wrist. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows across his face, making his blue eyes stand out even more than usual. He was warm, solid, grounding in a way you desperately needed after the night you’d had.

You shifted closer, tilting your head up toward him. He caught the movement instantly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before he leaned in, closing the space between you.

The kiss was gentle at first, unhurried. His lips pressed against yours in a way that made your chest tighten not with nerves, but with something softer, something steady. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before cradling your face, pulling you just a little closer.

You sighed against him, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. He kissed you again, deeper this time, as if memorizing the shape of your lips, as if reminding himself that you were here, that you were his.

A loud noise from the window, followed by the distinct sound of fabric rustling, and then.

THUD.

Conner barely had time to pull back before a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh, come on I just ate.”

You both snapped your heads toward the window, where Tim stood, looking absolutely horrified, like he’d just walked in on the worst crime imaginable.

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Jesus Christ, Tim”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing actual pain. “You know I tolerate this relationship for your sake, right? Doesn’t mean I need to see it.”

“Theres a reason we’re in my room with the door closed. what did you even want anyways”

“Ok miss shitbag, I was gonna see if you brought any food from the gala”

Conner, looking far too smug for someone just caught making out, leaned back on his hands. “You could’ve knocked.”

Tim made a disgusted face. “Knocked? On her window? I didn’t think I needed a warning before coming in.” He gestured wildly between the two of you. “I thought I was safe! But no, I have to live with the trauma of seeing my best friend all over my sister.”

You threw a pillow at him. “We weren’t even doing anything!”

Tim caught it with one hand, unimpressed. “There was face touching. That’s enough.”

Conner just shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I think she’s a better kisser than you.”

Tim immediately gagged, doubling over like he’d been physically attacked. “WHY WOULD THAT MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?!”

You burst out laughing, while Conner grinned like he’d won something.

Tim groaned dramatically, shaking his head as he turned toward the window. “I hate this. I hate both of you. I’m leaving.”

“Goodnight, Tim,” you called sweetly.

“I hope you both stub your toes,” he shot back before disappearing out the window.

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Conner, still grinning. “You did that on purpose.”

Conner smirked. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling him back down into another kiss because if Tim was gonna be dramatic about it, you might as well make it worth it.

Batsis as Craig

Bruce: why can’t you behave

Batsis: idk

Bruce: better behave if you don’t no cookie for you

Batsis:…

Batsis: 🖕

Batfam: 0o0

Bruce: