#batsis reader

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Bruce: what do you want to be when you grow up?

Girlscout reader without missing a beat: A doctor!

*The rest of the batfam smiling*

Tim: oh, so you got it all planned out huh?

Jason: And how much are you gonna make?

Girlscout reader with the cutest smile: Im....I'm gonna make people feel better......

[echo-exco]

❝DOCTOR, I FEEL LIKE NO ONE WANTS ME, AND I HATE THE WAY I’M PERCEIVED.❞

୨⎯ ┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱

✰ ৎ──────SYPNOPSIS: all you ever wanted was a purpose. something that would give meaning to your existence, your power. healing others was the only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed… until you ended up in that awful place.

✰ ৎ────── masterlist. | prev. | next.

“I always forget you’re here, Y/N. You’re so quiet, sometimes it’s like you’re a ghost. You should hang out with us more!”

Stephanie was walking down the hallway with a bag of popcorn in her hand, looking for someone to join her impromptu bad movie marathon. But Damian had locked himself in to train (and honestly, she didn’t want to risk being the target of his weapons), Tim wasn’t answering, Barbara was busy with Bruce, Cass had gone out... and Dick, of course, already had plans. Typical.

That’s when she saw you in person for the first time.

There, sitting on the edge of the couch, legs together, hands resting on your knees like you were waiting for someone to give you permission to move.

Y/N.

Stephanie wasn’t the first to find out. Not the last either. But she was the only one who pretended not to care.

When Bruce said you were coming, his daughter, with that distant tone he used when talking about things that were too human, Stephanie hadn’t known what to think. She just hoped you weren’t going to be another Damian case.

“Another sister.” Stephanie said to Tim with a smile. “The collection just keeps growing, huh?”

It was a joke. No one laughed. Not even her.

The truth was, she didn’t know how to feel. And that annoyed her. Deep down, Stephanie doubted Bruce adopted children out of love, at least not at first. All those Robins and Batgirls who, in some way, only reflected parts of Bruce’s past and the personal identity struggles of each one. Bruce picked them up like unfinished projects. And Stephanie definitely felt like one that had never truly been completed. She didn’t have the Wayne name. She didn’t have the status. She hadn’t even had a permanent bed in the mansion until recently.

But at least she knew where she fit and who she could call family.

What about you?

From her point of view, you were always just... too quiet.

Stephanie paused for a moment, watching you.

You looked up. Your eyes held no shine, but also no obvious sadness. Just a kind of silence that seemed permanent, like you didn’t truly belong anywhere.

Stephanie just assumed it was because of your complicated family background. Nothing to worry too much about. She smiled automatically. “Oh, didn’t see you there. You’re so quiet, sometimes it’s like you’re a ghost.” She laughed lightly, not thinking too hard about the words.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just looked back at the floor.

That made her a bit uncomfortable.

Stephanie ran a hand through her hair and added in that cheery tone she used with all the quiet kids at the shelter when helping Bruce or dealing with a similar case, “You should hang out with us more, you know? Do something fun. You could join the next game night! I think Tim has a console in his room no one touches.”

“...”

Stephanie shifted, more uncomfortable now. She chewed on some popcorn.

What was she even supposed to say to you? You weren’t like the others. You didn’t argue, you didn’t laugh with sarcasm, you didn’t ask for things, you didn’t try to stab her.

You were just there. And maybe Stephanie wasn’t as good at reading people as Cassandra, or as ridiculously smart as Tim or Barbara, or the best hand-to-hand fighter like Damian, but even someone like her could tell something was off with you.

She just didn’t know what exactly. Or maybe she was just overthinking something that wasn’t worth it.

Part of Stephanie felt bad for your situation, of course she did. But another part, deeper, more childish maybe, couldn’t help but think... she didn’t know what to do with you. Being alone with you made her feel something strange.

“Well...” She said with a soft, forced smile, “if you need anything, I’m in the living room. With popcorn. Bad movie guaranteed.”

Stephanie left quickly. She wasn’t in any rush... but staying there, in that silence, with someone as... absent as you were, gave her a small knot in her chest she didn’t know how to untangle.

Because Stephanie didn’t think too much about her place in the family.

It didn’t suit her. It wasn’t her style.

It was easier to move through them with a canned smile and a joke at the tip of her tongue than to stop and wonder if she actually had roots here. If someone, in some corner of the house, said her name when she wasn’t around. If they included her out of habit or affection.

She had learned not to make the distinction.

When Bruce called her for patrol, she didn’t ask why he didn’t do it more often. When Alfred treated her with the same courtesy as always, she didn’t ask whether that was affection or routine. When the others surrounded her, she let herself go with the flow. When they left her out of missions at the beginning, she told herself it was about logistics, not worth.

She got it. It wasn’t a mistake. She just wasn’t essential.

And then one day, you just showed up out of nowhere.

You, with that way of being in a room without really being there. Of watching others without asking for anything. Of moving like you didn’t weigh anything at all.

At first, Stephanie didn’t know what to make of you. You weren’t annoying. You didn’t take up space. You didn’t cause trouble.

But there was something about you… something uncomfortable. Something that said nothing and yet said everything.

She watched you a couple of times crossing the hallways. Always light. Always with your shoulders tight, like you were carrying something that couldn’t be put down. Your eyes didn’t seek anyone. They didn’t flee either. They just… lingered, if that makes any kind of sense.

Watching. Registering. Enduring.

Stephanie thought you weren’t like other girls. Not in a special or tragic way. None of that.

You were something else. Something hard to categorize.

That threw her off.

She tried to do what she knew best: offer a movie, a silly joke, some surface-level conversation. But you didn’t take the bait.

Because you didn’t fit into the usual categories of “sad girl,” “weird girl,” or “shy girl”… and honestly, she didn’t even know how to approach you.

Then again, has anything in this family ever been easy or normal?

But since Stephanie simply didn’t know how to reach you, she wasn’t going to try too hard. It’s not like you specifically needed her company, right? You could survive without a bit of her attention.

Did she greet you in passing? Sure. But she didn’t ask beyond that.

She saw you, but she didn’t know how to carry the weight of seeing you.

You didn’t make noise. You didn’t cry. You didn’t talk about what hurt.

That made her feel guilty. Because she knew something was wrong with you, something was bothering you.

But that wasn’t significant enough for Stephanie to want to stay.

So she left you behind. With a brief smile and empty promises about seeing you later, a “you should hang out more,” said more out of routine than genuine intent.

Not to mention the uncomfortable thought that maybe… you were more like her than she wanted to admit.

Because maybe you didn’t ask if they were including you out of affection or pity either.

You pretended not to notice anything too.

You also wished your father could be an actual father, not some powerless figure to his own daughter.

And that, more than anything else, made Stephanie look away.

Richard always liked to believe he was doing his best.

He was the oldest. The first. The one who had gone through everything before everyone else. The one who understood the invisible rules of that house.

He knew when Bruce had nothing more to give.

He knew when Alfred needed someone else to say something funny.

He knew how to put out a fire without raising his voice.

And for a long time, he believed that was enough to be the glue of the family.

It wasn’t just about smiling. It was about being consistent. About being there. About filling the space with something that didn’t weigh too much.

When the others arrived, Damian, Cass, Steph, even Duke, Richard adapted to each and every one of them.

He spread the affection. The jokes. The support. He had long arms for everyone.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Then you came along.

You were different.

Not because of your past. not because of your behavior. Because of the way you looked, because of the kind of silence you left in the rooms.

Richard first saw you in the kitchen, waiting for Alfred to offer you something. You didn’t ask. You didn’t speak. You were just there, like someone had pressed pause on you.

You didn’t seem scared. Not exactly sad either.

But there was a tension in your shoulders. Like you were always on alert, even when nothing was happening.

Richard treated you like he did the others. He smiled at you, cracked a light joke. Gave you a soft pat on the head.

When you nodded with a faint grimace that almost resembled a smile, he thought in that moment: “She’s okay. She’s adjusting.”

He didn’t think much more of it.

Richard had always carried the weight in his life, most of the time. He carried Bruce’s gaze, the silent expectations from Alfred, the unspoken comparisons that he felt on his shoulders every time he opened his mouth. Being the first meant there was no trail before him, everything he did was a model for others, but also a warning. That weighed on him. Not in a tragic or melodramatic way.

It was just... a strange constant in his life. Like a light that never turned off.

He learned to be there for everyone. To be dependable. To know when to step in and when to back off. With Tim he was patient. With Damian, firm. With Cass, it was enough to just look and nod, never overwhelm her, but never underestimate her either. Stephanie, Duke, even Jason in his worst moods… Richard was there. He wasn’t perfect, but he was the one who knew how to move through the family, as if each person spoke a different language and he spoke them all fluently. Being the older brother wasn’t just a role, it was a way of being for Richard. A responsibility he’d taken on without anyone ever asking.

That’s why, when you arrived, Richard thought he could handle it.

He didn’t say it out loud, of course, but in his mind it was automatic: “It’s fine. I’ve got this too.”

And your case wasn’t something he saw as a burden or an obligation either. He thought it with the same instinctive warmth he felt whenever someone new entered the orbit of his family. You were small, quiet, you didn’t make a mess, didn’t argue. You didn’t demand attention, didn’t appear in conversations with urgency. Bruce didn’t say much about you, but it was enough to watch how you walked through the mansion, almost without touching the ground, to know you were carrying something. Something you didn’t want to show. And that was okay. Richard respected everyone’s pace.

The first time you spoke to him was in the dining room. A short exchange, almost nothing. But your eyes stayed with him. There was something restrained in them, like you were always on the verge of saying something, and at the same time completely resigned to never saying it. That caught his attention. He thought it was sweet. He thought it was adorable that you looked for his opinion above the others’. He thought you were manageable.

So, with his best smile, he told you: “Hey, one of these days, you and I are hanging out. You owe me a chess match or a walk, whatever you want.”

And you nodded, as if you already knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Richard didn’t notice at the time. Not that time, or the second, or the third. He kept promising moments that never came. Not because he wanted to lie, absolutely not! He genuinely believed he would make good on those promises eventually. It was just that something always came up. A patrol. A mission. Someone who needed his help more urgently.

You, so quiet, so calm, so seemingly content... you were easy to postpone. Easy to put on hold.

You understand why he left you behind, right? You won’t blame him for all that, will you?

He never stopped to think how much time had passed since those empty promises. Every time he saw you, he told himself he should talk to you, that he should invite you this time, that today would be the day. But then Damian showed up angry, or Cass needed to train, or Bruce asked him to cover a sector, and you were still there, in the same place, with that same neutral expression. Richard, who was so good at reading others’ emotions, got used to not reading you. Because your behavior didn’t make him feel like there was anything to worry about.

And if there’s nothing concerning about you, then there’s no reason to worry. Right?

Sometimes he justified it to himself, thinking that maybe you preferred being alone. That you didn’t need all the noise, all the interaction. That it was enough for you not to be rejected. In that, without meaning to, he reduced you. He put you in a box, like you were a different kind of creature. Not fragile, but distant. Not sad, just reserved. He never asked himself if your stillness wasn’t comfort, but resignation.

The truth is, he did love you. From the very first moment. Like a little sister who had shown up unannounced, without explanation, but who still deserved her space. He truly believed that.

But that same certainty became the perfect excuse not to show up. As if love felt but not practiced was enough to fill the space between you.

Now, sometimes, when he walks through the hallways and sees you sitting on the couch, hands folded in your lap, eyes lost in something no one else can see, he feels a sharp pinch in his chest.

He thinks. “I should say something.”

Then he thinks. “I’ll do it later. I just need to finish this first.”

But it never finishes. There’s always something before you. Not out of malice. Just because he thought you could wait. That you were fine.

That’s what hurts the most.

That he never meant to hurt you.

But he did anyway.

Jason hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks. Not because of nightmares, those had lost their grip on him years ago, but because of what was left when there were no dreams at all. An unsettling silence that seemed to mock him, as if the city, for the first time, refused to scream.

Crime Alley had always been a ruthless hell. People screamed just enough, bled constantly, survived on instinct. But lately, something felt off. The streets were still dirty, the air still heavy, the alleys still reeked of desperation… but something had changed.

Too much silence.

Jason noticed it when the familiar faces stopped showing up. That old man who always collected cans. The dreadlocked kid who sold stolen watches. The woman who shouted insults at streetlights. Two boys from one corner. An older woman. Then three more. Then a little girl whose name he actually knew. That’s when it became a pattern. A growing horror.

As if someone was emptying the streets little by little, plucking the invisible people one by one. One by one, they started to vanish.

No sound. No scene. Just… absences.

At first, he thought it was arrests or turf wars. Then maybe someone was sweeping zones they didn’t belong to. But the disappearances increased.

Five.

Eight.

Twelve.

Not even bodies turned up. There was nothing left behind. No sign of the victims. As if the city had swallowed them whole without leaving a trace.

Jason couldn’t do anything.

Bruce was busy. Nothing new there. But this time it wasn’t just his usual emotional detachment mixed with that uncomfortable stagnation that weighed down the house.

This time, it was something else. Apparently, a new villain, nameless, faceless, with no records. Just vague reports, broken cameras, blocked sensors, awkward silences. Jason knew it wasn’t coincidence.

None of it was. The whole situation was too clean to be random. The disappearances were too precise. No one in Gotham operated like that, not without leaving some kind of trace.

Whoever this person was, Jason could tell Bruce was chasing them harder than usual.

Jason didn’t know the name of this faceless figure. Only that they had swallowed all of the Bat’s attention.

Meanwhile, out there, people were vanishing.

People Jason knew.

People he had protected.

People who had trusted him.

Sometimes he came back to the manor with blood still on his knuckles. Alfred said nothing, just offered him water and a silence even heavier than his own. Bruce didn’t look at him. Damian avoided him. Dick got lost in another conversation.

And you… You were there.

Sitting in the corner of the couch. Sometimes reading. Sometimes drawing. Sometimes just existing, as if your very presence didn’t need to justify itself. You didn’t speak, you didn’t interrupt, you didn’t demand.

To Jason, it was a damn trap.

He didn’t know you.

Barely remembered your voice. Maybe he’d heard it two or three times, in passing, almost unintentionally. He’d seen you once in the hallway, clutching a notebook. Another time in the kitchen, taking milk from the fridge and leaving everything as neatly as you’d found it.

You were too still.

Too careful.

Too quiet.

Because you were, as far as everyone knew, a normal girl. A girl with a murky past, a last name Bruce didn’t say aloud, and a way of walking like you were afraid to step too hard.

Jason could handle weapons, wounds, blood, screams, fire.

But not you.

Because you didn’t know who he really was, not truly. You hadn’t seen what he became when his emotions slipped. You hadn’t heard his voice when it rose. You didn’t know how close he always was to snapping, to lashing out at whoever happened to be nearby.

Jason didn’t want to be the reason you stopped feeling safe.

Sometimes he told himself it was out of respect. That he didn’t want to invade your space. That there was already enough chaos in the house without adding his presence to the mix.

But he knew that wasn’t entirely true.

The truth was, he was afraid.

Afraid to speak to you and have you see something in him you weren’t meant to see. Afraid to break something fragile without meaning to. Afraid to promise you safety when he couldn’t even protect the people already depending on him.

So he avoided you.

He only went into the kitchen when the lights were off. Took the back staircase to the second floor. If he saw you in the living room, he turned around. If he crossed paths with you in the hallway, he gave you a nod, a near-smile… and kept walking.

Avoiding any kind of contact, conversation, or opening.

There were nights when he stood in front of your bedroom door without knocking. Just hoping to hear nothing from inside, because silence meant you were safe. And when he didn’t hear a thing, he told himself everything was okay.

Jason knows that’s a lie.

But it worked.

One night, while watching the alleys from a rooftop, alleys that now felt like unmarked graves, he thought of you again.

Not with tenderness, with contrast.

You, sitting in your corner, unaware of how many bodies were missing.

You, untouched by the fear he breathed every single day. You, the only person in that house he hadn’t dragged through the mud.

And that’s when he understood: That’s why he avoided you.

Because as long as he didn’t get close, you could stay that way.

A possible beginning.

Jason Todd had broken a lot of things in his life. He’d ruined too much with his own decisions, choices that still gnawed at him.

First himself. Then others. But he hadn’t hurt you.

Yet.

In a city that tainted everything, in his own way, it was the only thing that felt like protecting you.

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[athenalvss]

Omg I just stumbled onto your page after reading your “Flashancy” fic. It was so cute! If you don’t mind me asking could I ask for a follow up after that? Like the months of bat!sis pregnancy, how everyone helps, Damian glaring daggers at Wally if she even so much as sniffles, and how Wally through his panic steps up when it’s time for the baby to be born? 💕💕

DONT BE WALLY PLEASE (Wally west! )

summary: Everyone accompanies the young couple during your pregnancy.

pairing: Wally west x batsis reader

1 part - open request - Wally masterlist

Month 3

After the announcement, the initial chaos gave way to a tense calm, like the silence that comes after a storm... although everyone knew that the worst, or the best, was yet to come.

The mansion felt different. Not in any specific way, but in the small details. Conversations lowered their volume when you entered a room, as if everyone was trying to size you up. There were constant glances, some concerned, others simply curious. And a silent care in the air. As if everyone, subconsciously, knew there was now something fragile between you, something precious.

Now you were spending more time with your family when you weren't with Wally, because none of them wanted to miss the progress of your pregnancy; it was the first time they had experienced it so closely.

Coffee disappeared from your cup and was replaced by mild infusions. Training was replaced by short walks. Nights on patrol became quiet dinners with Wally, who went out of his way to learn how to accompany you, even though he still forgot basic things like how strong smells now made you nauseous.

No one talked much about the baby because, well, they don't know much about pregnancies. But someone was always nearby. There was always a hand extended if they saw you hesitate on a step, an excuse to stop by to "check on you," even if it was just to sit in silence for five minutes.

Your father said almost nothing, but it was clear he was always attentive and looking after you in every way, from the reinforced security reports, to the health analyses reviewed with double attention, to how his gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual when he thought you weren't looking.

Wally, for his part, was on his own emotional roller coaster, but he was always there, worried and caring for you and his baby. He was there for every ultrasound, every appointment, every discomfort. He spoke to you tenderly even when you were irritable. He held your back when everything hurt. And he held you tight every night, as if that way he could protect you from everything.

Sometimes you cried, over small things like a song, an old photo from when you were a child, a smell. Sometimes you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. Your hormones were a mess, and you really hoped it would all pass quickly, but someone in your family was always willing to try different methods to ease everything you were going through.

And that was the greatest show of love you could ask for.

Month 6

By month five, pregnancy was no longer "news" or a "surprise." The whole situation had become normalized, or at least for you, because while you remained calm and didn't have to put up with anything, those around you seemed to be going through the pregnancy for you.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass, with slow hugs and gentle steps, as if you were about to shatter at any second. Tim filled the refrigerator with meals scheduled by calories and nutrients, having Alfred prepare the recipes he'd found.

Jason didn't say much. But he came by more often. Always with some other excuse: bringing you a soft blanket, a romance novel, and a box of homemade cookies. "Don't ask who made them, just eat them."

He didn't ask any questions. He just put his things down, leaned against the door frame, and said, "Is everything okay?"

And you nodded, and that was enough for him. But one night, as you shared ice cream in the kitchen, he looked at you sideways and murmured, "You're going to do just fine. And that baby... that baby is going to be lucky to have you for a mom."

"Thanks Jay"

And Damian...

Damian followed you like a hawk. He didn't say much, but he took note of everything. He checked your sleep schedule, your posture, what you ate, the room temperature. If you frowned, he'd already call Alfred.

More than once you found him standing in the middle of the hallway, fully dressed in his training robes, in the dark.

"Dami, you know I don't mind you coming to my house, but what are you doing there in the dark?"

"I'm keeping watch. If you get hungry at midnight, I'll be ready. And if that useless ginger falls asleep, someone has to be awake."

You rolled your eyes with a smile and closed the door, already accustomed to his Operation-like vigilance. But when you turned around, you found Wally lying next to you, face down, his head on your stomach and his eyes closed as if waiting for the universe to speak to him directly.

"Did you know the baby can already hear voices?" she asked suddenly, her voice filled with restrained excitement.

"Yes, I read that. And they can kick too."

"Kicking? Already?" he asked, sitting up slightly, excited. "Did you feel anything?"

"Sometimes. it's like... little bubbles. But I don't think you can see them from the outside yet."

Wally went completely still. He rested his cheek against your belly again and placed a hand gently on your skin, as if it were something fragile. "Hi, little one... it's me, Daddy, the one who's going to run by your side until you get tired of me. I promise."

And the first time the baby kicked him in the face, he froze. Then, with his eyes wide open and a mixture of shock and overwhelming love, he screamed at you. "He kicked me in the face! A kick! Right here!" He pointed to his forehead, completely overwhelmed.

"You sure?"

"Yes! Yes! It was real. It was… it was like, 'You silly old man, I heard you, let me sleep.' Do you understand what this means?"

"Were you beaten before they were born?"

"He recognizes me! My son recognizes me! I'm his favorite!"

You laughed so hard your tears flowed. Wally stared at you, grinning from ear to ear, then pressed his ear back against your tummy, hoping for another little kick, like a secret code between the two of you.

he stood there, whispering to them as you stroked his hair, your heart in knots and the absolute certainty that this baby was already loved. Deeply. Ridiculously.

Wally, with all his nerves, his clumsiness, and his uncontrollable enthusiasm, was ready. Or rather: he was learning to be ready. Step by step. Kick by kick.

And that night, as he fell asleep with his head on your belly, his arms wrapped around you with protective tenderness, you thought there was no safer place in the world than that.

Month 9

It was early in the morning. Of course it was early in the morning. You were in the kitchen, eating cereal straight from the carton because you didn't have the patience to find a bowl, when you felt the first contraction.

It didn't hurt that much. Yet. It was just a strange, uncomfortable pressure, like something big was about to happen. You knew right away.

"Wally..." you said calmly, as if you were letting us know you were out of milk. "I think it's time."

Wally, who was half asleep on the couch with a ridiculous duck blanket, raised his head, blinked, and paused. His face went from sleepy to completely panicked in a matter of seconds.

"Time? Time like 'we're going to the hospital' or 'just a little longer' or 'he's coming out now'?"

"Time to say 'grab your stuff and take me now.'"

Wally disappeared in the blink of an eye, running through the house. You heard him shout unintelligibly, stomp up the stairs, throw something that sounded very expensive, and then return with three bags. "We're ready!" he announced, his eyes wide, as if he'd just completed a level impossible mission.

"Wally… "you said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Don't be nervous."

"Me? Nervous? No! I'm perfectly calm. Absolute control. Total serenity."

"One of his eyebrows was twitching."

"Wally. I'm fine. Nothing hurts yet."

"But it could hurt at any moment! That's what terrifies me! This can escalate in seconds! One minute you're eating cereal, and the next...!" he made an exaggerated gesture with her arms" BOOM! Baby!"

"Wally," you cut him off, grabbing him by the shirt. "Breathe."

He stood still. He looked at you. He took a deep breath. Again. And little by little, the color returned to his face. Then he hugged you, quickly, clumsily, with a kiss on your forehead that was more an apology than anything else. And then, with a flash and a gentle whirlwind, they shot off toward the hospital.

In less than half an hour, the hospital waiting room looked like a crime scene.

Alfred was at their side, with a folded blanket, a diaper bag, and a face that looked like he was going to take control of the situation if someone else panicked.

Bruce stood, serious, arms crossed, pacing. Every five minutes he asked for the doctor. "Have they said anything yet?"

And Dick and Damian… well.

"I'm just saying, if the baby has red hair, we're going to have to dye it," Damian said, his tone serious.

"We're not dyeing the baby, Damian. It's a baby," Dick replied with a sigh. "There's always the option of leaving it on the Kents' doorstep."

Wally, who had just gone back inside to get some water, froze in the doorway. He looked at them, offended, one hand on his chest. "Excuse me?!" he exclaimed. "What's with me today? I'm the father! You should want them to look like me!"

Damian didn't bother to look up. "That's precisely what we're all trying to avoid."

"I'm just saying," Dick repeated seriously, "that I appreciate your friendship very much despite everything, but I don't know if I want another Wally."

Just as he opened his mouth to continue complaining, the door opened with a subtle creak. The doctor came out into the hallway, his gown wrinkled, his mask hanging around his neck, his expression tired but warm.

"Miss Wayne's relatives?"

Everyone stood up instantly.

Even Bruce, who until that moment had remained in sentinel mode, motionless and silent.

The doctor nodded gently. "Everything went well. Mom and baby are healthy. It's a little boy."

The silence that followed was absolute. The only sound was Wally's glass falling to the floor.

And then Alfred sighed and smiled, his eyes moist. "Welcome, little West," he murmured. "We've been waiting for you."

Wally blinked. Once. Twice.

And suddenly, he burst into tears. he wiped his eyes with her sleeve without even realizing it. "Can I...?" hhe asked, his voice breaking. "Can I see them?"

The doctor nodded with a smile. "They're waiting for you."

Wally went out first. He didn't even run. He just walked quickly, as if he didn't trust his legs, as if the excitement was too heavy to move at his speed.

The others followed behind him, one by one, leaving the tension and nervousness behind, entering as a family.

And in the background, Damian murmured softly, not looking at anyone. "If he has his smile… he can stay too."

Dick patted him on the head. "Don't act tough, you'll spoil him in less than a week."

Damian didn't answer, but he smiled a little, just a little, as they walked toward the room where a new life had just begun.

[unreasonablerobin]

Oh...this one's got a kick to it😢

Webs of Pain. chapter four: a familiar face

summary | roy harper brings lots of old memories to you. the batfamily finally finds out the truth. you have a furious visit on your apartment.

pairing | platonic batfam x spider!batsis!reader. roy harper x reader. platonic! lian harper x reader

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female. literal death, experimentation, consequences of being brought back to life. reader has a severe depression and many scars of what joker and scarecrow did to her. mentions of torture because she has a backstory of how did she end up like that.

reader has fangs, is quite literally half spider while looking completely human. there is an age gap between roy and her. he is very much a flirt

word count | 5.4k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) i plan on making this a series. please vote <3

this is NOT a yandere series, but it has dark themes that you already saw on warnings.

bruce is 45. dick is 26. cass is 22. jason is 21. reader is 21. tim and steph are 19. duke is 18. damian is 14. roy is 29

taglist | @fanficeatsandenjoys @p1nkh3artz @oliemolliever @totallynotuseful @astraeasworld @lettucel0ver @lorosette @diseasedclitoris @c4xcocoa @wisefuncherryblossom @1abi @fennecspage @cxcilla @oliviaewl @shqyou @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @mei-simp @ihavenomuse @iminlovewithjasontodd @dr7girl @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @astro-girly4 @ren1sawesome @wpdarlingpan @strabunny @tiffyisme3760 @hanbee41 @jsi8d8f9foewnsn @notfuntimes @iglb12 @po55um @coffeemin @nisarelle @mazixxss @chiizuluvr @bbmgirll @homeless-clown @jjoppees @frogwizard13 @jeshomie @amandjslpz @marinefreaakk @invinciblewaffles @krys0210 @snake-in-a-flower-crown @mosseetrees @bogioto @dubidumzy @radiozerohead @fire-0-lily @wendee-go @drenix004 @inayouboo @prettyjay103 @luffypixie

previous. next.

YOU SPEND MORE THAN ONE NIGHT AT THE HARPER'S APARTMENT.

In your defense, the food was warm and not so bad. The kid was sweet as hell . . . And Roy Harper had always been a favorite personal of yours —loud, golden, painfully charming, older and completely off-limits. 

It’s not like you meant to stay, not really. That wasn’t the plan. The plan had been simple—drop in from the rooftop after patrol, warn him off your part of the Narrows (gently, maybe with a smirk), check on the girl because she liked you and you liked her, and then leave again into the shadows like you always do. 

But then there was food. Then there was laughter. Then there was quiet. Then there was the ache in your legs. The throb in your spine. Your web-shooters were low. You were low. He offered the couch.

You didn't say no.

Now it’s four nights later, a morning coming. And you’re still here.

Your scarf is draped over the back of a kitchen chair. Your boots are by the door. You haven’t worn the mask since the first hour you walked through his window. Your web shooters sat beside a crumpled napkin on the coffee table.

You sit cross-legged on his worn couch, wearing sweatpants too big for you and a black tank top clinging to your ribs. You’re combing out your hair with your fingers, a movement done more to soothe your nerves than anything else.

You didn’t sleep well. You never do. Too many things beneath your skin. Muscles that twitch when they shouldn’t. A nervous system built for war. Your spider sense flickers even in stillness. But here, it was quieter. Not silent, not safe—but… gentler.

Roy walks in from the kitchen with two mugs. One’s chipped, the other’s one of those novelty mugs that reads I WORK OUT (I Take Naps). He gives that one to you with a grin like it’s a private joke.

You take it in both hands, warm ceramic grounding you, and murmur, “You always this domestic?”

Roy sinks onto the couch beside you with a grunt, legs spread wide, one arm slung over the backrest. He’s in loose jeans and a dark T-shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His forearms flex just enough to remind you that he was trained, too. That he knows how to kill and charm in the same breath.

“Only when I’ve got spider-girls crashing in my place like it’s a bed and breakfast,” he says. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it. Something aware. Something watching you carefully.

You arch an eyebrow over your mug. “You got a lot of spider-girls visiting lately?”

“Not enough,” he says. Then, quieter, “But one seems to be taking up all the space anyway.”

You look away, lips twitching against the rim of the cup. You could say something back. Something coy, or deflective, or just cruel enough to push him away. But the silence that follows is not uncomfortable. Not tonight. The room is dimly lit, shadows soft. You can hear Lian’s little snores from her bedroom. The hum of the fridge. Your heartbeat.

Roy’s head tilts to study you, his voice gentle but teasing. “You always this quiet when you’re not threatening mob bosses?”

You let out a slow breath. “You always this chatty when there’s clearly a monster on your couch?”

His brow furrows. Not angry. Just… surprised. “You’re not a monster.”

You meet his eyes then. Hold them. “Don’t lie to me, Roy.”

Your fangs press lightly into your lower lip as you say it. He sees them. You don’t bother to hide them anymore, not in here. They’ve never looked more obvious than now—two delicate, slightly curved tips, pearl white, unnaturally clean. You don’t think Roy has ever flinched at the sight. Not even once.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low but clear. “I don’t lie to people I let crash in my home. I don’t lie to six-year-olds who call you Silky and think you’re a bedtime story brought to life. And I sure as hell don’t lie to a woman who could web me to the ceiling and drop me out the window in two seconds flat if she really wanted to.”

You smirk. “One second, actually.”

That gets a breath of laughter out of him. The tension eases. For now.

You take another sip of your drink, letting the warmth pool in your stomach. It doesn’t quite reach the cold lodged behind your ribs, but it helps.

That’s the danger with Roy Harper. He doesn’t pretend. Not like others do around you now. Most people walk on eggshells, waiting for you to flinch, for your fangs to protrude. They say you’re not human anymore. Say it with their silences. Their stares. But Roy looks at you like you’re still you. Scarred, mutated, venomous—but you.

He watches you for another second and then sets down the mug with a quiet clink. “You sleep at all?”

You shake your head slowly. “Bits and pieces. You?”

Roy shrugs. “I’m a single dad. I haven’t known what sleep is since Lian was born.”

There’s a quiet between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. The TV flickers low in the background—some rerun of a cartoon with too many explosions and colors. The scent of coffee lingers in the air. Your fangs ache just slightly from beneath your gums, like they always do when you’re hungry. You could probably eat enough for three people and still need more. Your metabolism chews through calories like a furnace.

Roy’s eyes wander toward your legs, then flick back to your face—not lewd, just… noticing. Always noticing.

“You’re different,” he says finally.

You tilt your head. “Yeah. I grew venom glands and fangs. Real glow-up.”

He smiles softly. “That’s not what I meant. You’re quieter. Still got that fire in you, but… it’s colder now.”

You don’t answer. There’s nothing to say. Of course it is. Of course you are. You died. You came back. You changed. The spider in your veins never sleeps.

“You used to talk with your hands,” he continues, looking down at his own. “Always moving. Now it’s like you only move if you have to.”

“Movement costs energy,” you murmur. “I save it for things that matter.”

“Does this matter?”

You look at him. Really look. The golden boy turned tired, calloused, kinder. Still sharp, still fast, still flirty—but there’s a weight behind his eyes that wasn’t there when you were fifteen and he was shouting jokes across rooftops. And maybe… maybe you like him more now.

You answer quietly, “Yeah. It does.”

Roy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You used to follow me around like a duckling, you know.”

Your face heats despite yourself. “I did not.”

“Oh, you absolutely did. You even tried mimicking my arrow form once—Jason caught you.”

“He promised never to tell anyone.”

“Jason lies.”

Roy leaned back, eyes scanning you in that way that always made you feel seen and exposed, like a specimen on a glass slide—but gentle, too. Not like Crane’s eyes. Not like the Joker’s.

“I liked you,” he said after a beat. “You were always buzzing around, hugging the hell out of everyone, dragging your brothers into some rooftop mess. You were light.”

You scoffed softly, bitter. “That was another life.”

“I know.”

He looked away, but you didn’t. You studied the curve of his cheek, the stubble growing in uneven patches. The scar slicing his right eyebrow. You remembered being fourteen and staring too long. Remembered brushing past him in the Manor, hoping he’d look back. He never did.

But he was looking now.

“You had heart eyes,” he said suddenly, smirking again. “Back then. It was adorable.”

You blinked. Your lips twitched, involuntarily. A tiny smile.

“You were older,” you muttered. “Untouchable.”

“And you were a tornado in combat boots.”

The silence stretched. You felt the weight of his thigh pressed lightly against yours. Your fingers brushed the soft fabric of his couch, picking at a loose thread.

Your eyes met his. It wasn’t the first time. But this one stuck. His gaze was molten, and yours, intense. His hand reached for your jaw. His thumb grazed your cheek. You didn’t pull back.

“You’re not untouchable anymore,” you murmured.

He leaned in, just a little. Enough that you could smell the warmth of him. Coffee. Toothpaste. Pinewood and aftershave.

“I’m not,” he said, barely audible. “So touch me.”

Your fingers trembled. You tilted your face toward him.

And just as his lips grazed yours—

“Daddy?”

Both of you froze.

Lian’s voice was small, muffled by the half-open bedroom door. Then came the soft pad of feet on the floor, the hiccup of a yawn.

You pulled back just as she rounded the corner. Her tangled hair puffed out around her sleepy face. She was still in her blue cat pajamas, hair wild, a stuffed animal clutched in one hand. She climbs onto the couch with practiced ease and presses a kiss to her father’s stubbled cheek.

Then she flops directly into your lap.

Sprawled like a starfish. Arms wide. Face against your hoodie. Her small weight presses against you, soft and warm and sticky with a slight night sweat.

Your spider-sense doesn’t even twitch.

You blink down at her. She looks up at you and smiles sleepily. “You didn’t leave.”

“No,” you whisper, voice caught in your throat. “Didn’t.”

She beams and stretches again, wriggling like a cat making herself comfortable. Then she sighs and shuts her eyes, like your lap is the softest bed in the world.

You glance at Roy.

He’s grinning. “It is what it is, huh?”

You nod, barely breathing. The sun’s risen higher now, casting gentle gold over the apartment. Over you. Over the child in your arms. Over the man watching you like you’re a new chapter in a book he wants to read carefully, completely.

You don’t know what this is. Not yet. Not fully. But you don’t run.

Roy reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You don’t have to leave today,” he said quietly.

You looked at him.

“You’ve got somewhere else to be?” he added.

Your voice cracked slightly. “I always have somewhere else to be.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No,” you admitted. “Not right now.”

But you had to be.

The words hung in your chest like webbed stones as you slipped out of Roy’s building hours later, mask pulled low and scarf knotted around your neck like a promise you didn’t know how to keep. Lian was at school, yet her warmth clung to your arms. 

Roy hadn’t said anything when you stood. He just watched, eyes heavy, arms crossed over his chest like if he reached for you, he might not let go.

He didn’t try. You didn’t ask him to.

“Come back tonight,” he said, just before the door closed behind you.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t promise that.

You were Crimson Silk, after all. And Crimson Silk had obligations that didn’t wait for warmth, or safety, or kisses never made. She had people to protect. Promises to burn through. Scars to bleed for.

Your boots hit wet pavement with a dull sound as you dropped down into the Narrows from a five-story perch, silent and spider-sure, landing behind a dumpster between two sleeping dogs and a half-rotted crate of produce. You didn’t flinch when the dogs barked. You didn’t look twice when someone yelled down the street. You were home.

Crime Alley never changed. The Narrows adapted around it like vines gripping a dead tree—thin alleyways laced with smoke, buildings that leaned like bad teeth, wires hanging low and mean, and people that watched you with careful eyes. Some hopeful. Some tired. But they knew you.

You webbed a purse-snatcher to a lamppost at 11:17 AM. By 11:30, you were crouched in the crawlspace of a half-collapsed tenement building, pulling out three kids who’d hidden there after their mother collapsed from dehydration. The heat was unbearable. You carried her to the church on Brenton Street, left a note pinned to her shirt with her vitals and the words “DEHYDRATION. CAREFUL WITH IV RATE.” 

You didn’t sign it. You didn’t need to.

Your stomach twisted with hunger by the time you landed behind Cecilia’s Diner.

It was just past twelve.

You peeled your suit off slowly, carefully, still sweating through your back. The cloth clung to your skin, torn at the side where a lucky blade had grazed your ribs. You healed fast. But not perfectly. Not always. You changed into something you had grabbed from your apartment.

The diner smelled like grease and old arguments. Like black coffee and too many cigarettes. The bell over the door rang out sharp as you stepped inside.

“You,” barked Cecilia from behind the counter. “You’re late again.”

“I’m early,” you muttered, tying your apron on with practiced fingers. “Ten minutes early.”

“You’re still late in spirit.”

You didn’t argue.

Cecilia was nearly sixty, all hips and heavy hands, wearing a flour-dusted apron and a frown that could peel paint. But she fed the Narrows. Fed you, too. Sometimes even for free.

She eyed you. “You look like you’ve been dragging through hell.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Mhm. Wash your hands, Silky.”

You smiled. The name didn’t belong to you here, but she used it anyway. She was one of the few who could. One of the few who saw you in both lives and chose not to flinch at either.

You grabbed a coffee pot and started pouring without being asked. Booth seven wanted sugar. Table four liked it black. Table nine—expecting, again, twins this time—needed decaf.

“Silk helped me last night,” murmured the pregnant woman at table nine, eyes tired but fond. “Told that perv to back off. Had webs on his mouth before he could blink.”

You didn’t say anything. Just poured her coffee.

She squeezed your hand. You smiled a bit.

A few kids pressed their faces to the window outside and waved. You waved back. They’d seen you an hour ago, half masked, flipping off rooftops. Now you were pouring syrup and wiping ketchup off a booth.

You were Silk. You were Y/N. You were tired. 

You spent the next four hours in a rhythm you didn’t hate. Spatulas clattered. Plates slammed. Children cried. Adults lied. And somewhere in it, you felt almost present. The kind of present that didn’t come with blood under your nails or your brother’s voice echoing in your skull like a ghost. Jason. Dick. Bruce. Tim. The whole Batclan. You hadn’t said a word to any of them since the rooftop fight with Bruce.

Maybe they’d gotten the message.

Maybe they hadn’t.

Didn’t matter.

Your shift ended just past six. Cecilia tossed you a wrapped sandwich on your way out, and you ate it walking toward the Iceberg.

The club was already buzzing.

You didn’t go through the front. You ducked through the alley entrance beside the dumpsters and tapped twice on the steel door. The bouncer recognized you now. He didn’t bother with words. Just opened it and let you in.

The smell hit first—sweat, cheap beer, blood, leather, gun oil.

The fight ring beneath the Iceberg Lounge wasn’t legal. Wasn’t subtle, either. It was made of concrete and cage wire and broken men. And tonight, you were back for your next round.

“You’re late,” said a squat man with a buzz cut and teeth like coins. “Penguin said you’d be here an hour ago.”

“Penguin can eat shit,” you replied.

The man chuckled. “Ballsy. You sure you wanna do this again? Last one nearly tore your arm out of socket.”

You showed him your arm. Flexed it. Let your veins bulge just enough to scare him.

“Try me.”

The ring wasn’t glamorous. Bare floor. Stale crowd. A flickering bulb that swung like a pendulum overhead. The men watching were criminals, dealers, killers, sadists with bloody knuckles. And they cheered for you.

They didn’t know who you were. Not really. Just that you won. Every time.

Tonight’s opponent was nearly seven feet tall. Half Bane, half meat grinder. His fists were the size of your skull, and his breath fogged the cage before the bell even rang.

You didn’t flinch. You never did.

The bell cracked through the basement.

He rushed you immediately.

You ducked, side-flipped, used your flexibility like a weapon. Slid under his punch. Cracked your elbow into his spine. His grunt shook the ground.

“Cute,” he said. “Fast little bug.”

“I’m not a bug,” you muttered. “I’m the thing that eats them.”

He caught your ankle on the next turn. Slammed you down hard enough to shake your skull. Pain flared behind your eyes. But you didn’t scream.

You kicked off his wrist, vaulted backward, landed in a crouch. Your fingers twitched. Webs spun from your wrists—but you didn’t shoot yet. The crowd was wild. Money was flying.

He lunged again.

This time, you let him. At the last second, you drove your knee into his throat, webbed his face, used his own body weight to swing him into the wall of the cage. His skull cracked metal.

The crowd howled.

You moved like instinct, like hunger. You were faster. You had to be. You dodged his final swing and bit down. Just enough. Just the tip of your fang.

His body locked mid-motion. Paralyzed. Your venom slid like heat through his bloodstream. Temporary. Controlled. 

He collapsed. You stood over him, chest heaving, blood on your lip.

“Winner,” someone shouted. “The Crimson girl.”

Not a name, but close.

You didn’t bow. You didn’t smile. You just walked away, muscles stiff, blood drying under your ribs, eyes heavy with exhaustion. The part of the map was handed to you in a dirty envelope. You didn’t open it.

“Same time tomorrow?” the man asked as you passed.

You looked over your shoulder.

“If Oswald wants another fight,” you said, voice like static, “he better have a big lead on Crane next time.”

The man nodded, sober now. “He will.”

You left the ring with your scarf wrapped around your face, your limbs trembling with fatigue and leftover adrenaline. Your web shooters felt light. Your bones ached. Your heart… you weren’t sure.

Outside, the night felt colder.

But somewhere in Gotham, a little girl was probably brushing her teeth, humming a tune that sounded like your name. And maybe Roy was leaning on the balcony, waiting for a shadow to crawl back over his roof. Just maybe.

You didn’t head right away.

The billboard was cool beneath you, wind brushing strands of hair across your cheek where your mask had slipped back just enough to let the night air kiss your scars. You sat there a long time. Long enough to count the sirens. Long enough for your fangs to retract, for the pounding in your skull to dull into a low, familiar throb.

But eventually, the ache in your gut—the spider-hunger that never really left—forced you down. You needed calories. Carbs. Sugar. Salt. Whatever was left in the cabinets. And the cats needed feeding too.

You swung low, across the rooftops of your territory like muscle memory. The webs came out slower than usual, your wrists sore, your bones jangling under the skin like broken keys. It was almost four in the morning by the time you landed lightly on the fire escape outside your apartment.

But something was wrong.

Your spider sense didn’t scream. It didn’t roar. But it hummed, low and sharp, like the subtle pluck of a single violin string in a cathedral. 

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Far too quiet.

The cats should’ve been mewling by now. Crawling over the inside window ledge. Pawing at the glass, crying for food like they always did when you were even a second late.

But you didn’t hear anything. Not a single sound.

You stopped, crouching low. Every muscle in your back coiled. You blinked, slowly. The moon hit the side of your building, lighting the bricks in silver.

And then you saw it. The window wide open.

The webs—your webs—that always lined the cracks in the glass, sticky and near-invisible, keeping out the worst of Gotham’s filth—gone. Cut away.

Your head turned slightly, a small tilt of instinct. The corners of the window frame had been lined in silver silk just this morning—thick enough to catch a fly, subtle enough to hide from human eyes. You weaved it with care every time you left, a living lock no key could pick.

And just like that, the apartment wasn’t yours anymore.

You stood up slowly. Didn’t draw a weapon. Didn’t prepare a web. Didn’t breathe.

You stepped through the window with a careful foot, toes first, heel soft. Your body moved like liquid shadow. You said nothing.

The cats were still inside. All three of them. Pressed into the farthest corners—silent, eating.

And then—

“Finally,” said a voice, low, sharp, furious.

You didn’t turn.  You already knew who it was. You could feel him.

Half your size, twice your rage.

“Demon Spawn,” you whispered, quietly.

That was enough.

The air split as Damian launched himself across the floor, a blur of righteous fury and grief and broken, bottled-up violence. His sword was gone, but his fists came fast. You dodged left. Then right. His boot missed your ribs by a breath. You slipped under the blow, crouched low, hands never rising. Not even once.

“Fight me!” he screamed, voice cracking, young and ancient and shattered all at once. “FIGHT ME, YOU COWARD!”

He spun, faster than most adults could follow. You ducked, rolled. His elbow came toward your neck. You leaned back, your spine arching in an impossible curve. The blow passed over you like wind.

Damian fought like a soldier. He was trained for war. But you weren’t just trained anymore—you were built for this. Engineered. Your reflexes were faster than thought, your body a machine of uncanny speed and precision. You evaded him with inhuman grace, not once retaliating.

You didn’t hit him. You couldn’t.

He was your baby brother. Even now. Especially now.

“You lied,” he spat, landing across from you in a crouch, breathing hard, sweat on his brow. His green eyes glared like acid. “You died, and you lied. And we grieved. We burned for you!”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t come back!”

“I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t want to!”

Damian surged again, fists wild. You let him. You let him graze your cheek, barely enough to sting. You let his foot land on your thigh. You didn’t retaliate. Didn’t move.

And then he froze. Shaking.

“Damian—”

“NO!” he screamed. “Stop! You don’t get to say my name! You don’t get to—You DIED! You DIED and we buried you, and then—then you just—”

His voice broke, and his knees hit the floor. You stood there, still, as his fists struck the tile. Again and again.

“I waited,” he growled, voice breaking now. “I looked. I begged. I told Father—told everyone—that you were out there, that they had to keep searching, but no one—no one listened—”

Your fingers curled.

“I needed you,” he sobbed. “I needed you.”

You stepped forward, quiet as a ghost.

He flinched.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t touch me.”

You didn’t. You crouched nearby instead, keeping a full feet between you.

“I couldn’t come back,” you said, voice low. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” Damian shrieked. “You were my sister! You were the only one who ever really—”

“I was gone,” you said after a long pause. “Really gone. Joker cut my throat. I bled out. I was—dead.”

“I know!” he cried, turning to you, eyes red and furious. “I know, I watched it happen on the footage. We found your blood, we found—You were everything to us and then—then you were gone.”

Your fangs twitched behind your lips.

“Then I woke up,” you said. “In a river. Drowning. Injected with venom. Gene-therapy. Mutation. Regeneration cycles. Web sacs, venom glands, artificial neural boosting—I’m not what I was, Damian.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re still you.”

You shook your head. “Not the same.”

“You’re still mine,” he whispered.

Your chest cracked. You didn’t know what part. Maybe all of it.

He lunged again—but this time, not to fight.

His fists hit your shoulders, useless and weak, and he sobbed into the fabric of your suit, arms trembling. He was just a boy. Just your little brother. The one who used to cling to your arm during Wayne gala nights and ask how to sneak dessert past Alfred. 

A soft, broken child curled into your lap like he used to, so many years ago, when the nightmares were still new and your arms felt like safety.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“You should’ve come back.”

“I couldn’t.”

His fists hit your back again, then stilled.

You sat there for a long time. Just the two of you, in a broken room with silent cats and torn-up webs and too much grief for one floor to hold.

“Do the others know you’re here?” you asked.

“Only Tim,” Damian said. “He made me promise I wouldn’t engage. So, naturally, I engaged.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

“He’s been… worried. We all have.”

You didn’t answer that.

Damian sat cross-legged on the couch now, hands in his lap, watching you like you might vanish again. Like if he blinked, you’d disappear into silk.

You didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed your telephone, screen a little broken —robbed, you had to admit. You sent Roy a single message:

“Couldn't make it. Damian appeared. Tomorrow at 13. Kisses”

And after that, you sat by your brother's side again.

The weight of everything you are—everything you became—settled in the silence between you both like thick smog. 

He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you. The silence wasn’t the calm kind, either —it was static-filled, tense. The air between you crackled with everything that had been screamed and spat and still hadn’t left either of your bodies. 

You could feel it in your fingertips, in your shoulders, your jaw. Your spider-sense kept pinging faintly, not out of danger, but emotion. Guilt. His. Yours. Someone’s.

Damian’s knees were tucked to his chest now, arms around them. His hood was off, cowl halfway peeled and hanging off his shoulders, hair disheveled from where he’d been clawing at it. His knuckles were red —from hitting walls, maybe. From trying to land a punch you never let connect.

You didn’t know how long you sat like that, just breathing in the scent of dust and stray fur, cold ash and your own too-thin blood. The cats still didn’t make noise. They watched you both from various corners, tails flicking, understanding something primal had shifted in the room.

Eventually, his voice came. Hoarse.

“Do you hate us?”

It wasn’t what you expected. Not do you hate me. Not why didn’t you come home —he’d already screamed that one at the top of his lungs. No. It was us now. All of them. The family.

You let the question hang for a long while, staring at a crack in the wall near the window. Your voice, when it finally came, wasn’t soft. It wasn’t cruel either. Just… honest. Raw.

“No.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“I don’t hate any of you,” you said again, lower. “I just didn’t know if I could come back and still be me.”

You finally looked at him, and he was staring forward, not at you, not at anything in particular. Just… trying not to cry again. But it lived on his lashes. In the way his chest shook a little even when still.

“I remembered the Manor,” you continued. “I remembered your voice. Your stupid sarcasm. Your swords. Your smugness. I remembered hugging you. Like— it was real. I had that. But it didn’t feel like mine anymore.”

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. “I died, Damian.”

He flinched, hard.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, your voice turning colder without intending to. “Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. I stopped breathing. I bled out on the floor of a clown’s hellhole. And when I came back—”

Your voice choked off. You swallowed hard.

“When I came back, I wasn’t sure I was… me. They changed me. Spliced me. Injected me with so much crap I can’t even remember the shape of my DNA anymore. I had to learn how to eat again. What food I needed. I have to track how much venom I use just so I don’t pass out in the street. I get so hungry some days it makes me nauseous.”

Damian still didn’t look at you, but he was listening. You knew he was. The kind of stillness he had wasn’t ignorance —it was bracing. Like he was holding a sword between his ribs and daring it to move.

“I didn’t know if coming home would fix me. Or kill what little part of me still remembered being your sister.”

“You are my sister,” he finally said. Quiet. Fierce.

You glanced at him.

He turned to look at you now, red eyes narrowing. “I don’t care what they did to you. You’re still you. And you were supposed to come back.”

You scoffed, not mocking him, just bitter. “And do what? Eat dinner with Alfred like I’m not half-feral? Train with Bruce and pretend I don’t hear my own bones re-breaking when I move too fast?”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to come back different?” Damian snapped, pushing to his feet suddenly. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to not fit the same mold you left behind?!”

Your body tensed reflexively, but you didn’t rise.

“I killed people,” he hissed. “I killed before I could even write cursive. I was a weapon. Talia’s little prince of death. And when I came to Gotham, I had to figure out how to exist without stabbing everything that moved.”

You raised an eyebrow faintly. “You still stab some things.”

“That’s not the point!” he snapped, cheeks flushed.

You gave a weak shrug. “Then what is?”

“The point is, you were my light,” he exploded. “You were the only one who didn’t treat me like a freak when I first arrived! You used to kiss my hair when I was sick, even when I bitched about it. You used to laugh at my drawings, even the bloody ones.”

You gave a weak laugh despite yourself. “They were pretty bloody.”

“I’m still me,” he said. “You always told me I could be. That I didn’t have to be my father’s weapon or my mother’s trophy. That I could just be Damian.”

You were quiet.

“So what the hell made you think you didn’t get to be you anymore just because you mutated a little?!” he shouted, voice cracking.

Tears sprang to his eyes again. He turned away from you, shoulders tight, fists clenched. And then, in a whisper: “Why didn’t you come back for me?”

It shattered you. Something inside you curled and died all over again.

“You think being enhanced makes you less human? That it makes you unworthy of being loved?”

“I don’t know what it makes me!” you barked. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day and hear your own heart pumping in your ears like a drumline? To smell every rat in the sewer two floors below? To know that if I miscalculate even slightly in a fight, I could snap someone in two without trying?”

“You were always dangerous,” Damian said. “You were always strong. You just had more smiles back then.”

You blinked. Your breath caught.

He looked at you again, eyes brimming. “You think I don’t notice you still hold back? You didn’t touch me once. You haven’t used your webs. You didn’t even hiss.”

You winced, glancing away.

“I see you,” he whispered. “You still care. You still protect people. Even when you hate yourself.”

You said nothing, but something flickered in your chest. A twitch. A movement. An old ache that had calcified now trying to beat again.

Damian took a shaky breath. “Don’t leave again.”

“Dami…”

He grabbed your sleeve. His hand was small, but the grip was strong. “Please. Just don’t.”

He shifted closer instead. Just enough to press his shoulder against yours. 

You reached out, slow and uncertain, and placed a hand on his knee. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s what you used to do when he was a boy. When you were his older sister and not some monster crawling through Gotham's underbelly.

He covered your hand with both of his. “I waited for you,” he mumbled. “Every night. I left the window open.”

You laughed, a broken sound. “I didn’t even have skin the first year.”

Damian stiffened. “That doesn't mean you were gone to me.”

He shifted to face you fully.

“I didn't get to tell you goodbye. You don't get to vanish and come back and pretend that it's not a war in my chest every time I look at you.”

Your throat tightened. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say you missed us! I want you to say that it hurt to leave! I want you to say you came back still loving us, not just because you wanted Crane's blood!”

He stood up suddenly, slamming his fist into the wall hard enough to rattle the frame above it. You stayed still.

“I—I looked up to you,” Damian said. “I loved you. I love you. You were the first one to treat me like I wasn't a weapon.”

Your voice is barely audible. “You aren't.”

He breathed hard through his nose, eyes glassy. Then, with the quietest voice he's used all night: “I don't care what they did to you. You're still my sister.”

Something in you cracked. Something deep.

You stood, slow, silent, and step over. For the first time in years, you wrapped your arms around him. Not like a ghost. Not like a memory.

Like a sister.

And he didn’t pull away.

He held back at first, fists tight in your shirt. And finally, finally, you felt his tears on your neck before it was a full sob, clinging to you.

“You are my sister, you don't get to leave me. Not again. You don't— never again.”

[sassatoru]

lovebat

pairing. batfamily x batsis!reader (platonic).

warnings. reader is a demi-god, child of aphrodite, pjo x dc crossover, bruce screwed a goddess and doesn’t even know, mentions of war, canon typical violence mentioned, set during hoo (heroes of olympus), i definitely messed the timeline up a bit, one use of y/n, you end up in a coma, unresolved familial issues, mommy diana, gaia’s dumbass, platonic percy bc percabeth is better than you, i’m fucking tired so rushes ending, no beta sorry,

request. yes / no

a/n. i’m really really sorry for how late this came, i’ve been busy with school crap and exams, and happy birthday lovely. might rewrite after i do part two bc i’m lazy.

You hated Gotham. The stinking streets and the annoying howl of the unnaturally chilly wind. And you hated him, your dad. sure you stayed with him right up until you were old enough to go leave for camp.

Well that was the plan.

You ran. You hated running but you did it, maybe because your dad hadn’t ever been a dad to you, probably because your could see the things that he never could. the strange creatures lingering in alleyways, weird looks you’d get from strangers at you primary school — mostly teachers. They probably thought it was because your big brother had just left you behind because he was mad at your dad. But in truth? You’d been attacked, and like any self preserving ‘human’ being, naturally you ran until you couldn’t run anymore. You were scared, there were things from storybooks and monsters straight out of a fantasy novel coming for you, and you had no idea what to do.

You weren’t really sure how far you’d ran, your only indicator that it was time to stop was the weakness in your knees and the way your nose struggled to get any air into your lungs. You were tired, so so tired, you ran right into a wall, or what you assumed was a wall. That thing chasing you? Definitely not human, had the city been infected with scarecrow’s fear toxin again? No. That was the least of your worries when the wall you bumped into chuckled softly, you shrieked in surprise turning to run the other way, only to be halted by a strong hand on your shoulder.

“Easy now, young one.” A woman’s voice speaks, the leaves crunching as she kneels down to your level, you gawk, recognising the voice of the tv. Wonder Woman. “Where are you off to, hm?” She asks, gently speaking to you, sensing your panic.

“Monsters,” you whisper, on guard again, eyes flicking around to look for them. Diana raises a brow. She’d come by a monster before she found you, but you had seen it, which definitely meant… demigod. No doubt about it.

“Oh really?” She hums curiously.

“You think I’m crazy,” you mutter defensively. She shakes her head, a definite no.

“Never, I saw it too.” She smiles as you light up at the thought of someone actually believing you, of Wonder Woman believing you. “I think I might know a place you’ll be safer at… If you want to go?”

An immediate yes, coming out in the form of a quick nod.

The rest of your journey was accompanied by your hero. ensuring that your trip was safe and successful, and you’d shared many secrets with her over that time too.

Namely? The identity of your father.

It was a bit awkward at first. Diana wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Bruce? as in…?” she trailed off, her silent question following.

You nod and huff, “yeah, the very same.”

Nonetheless Diana did her duty, explained to you the life of a demigod, or why you might’ve struggled with things other kids would assume simple were easy. Things to reassure you that there was indeed nothing wrong with you. She felt guilty though, knowing Bruce was likely searching for his missing kid but this was the best option for you, not him.

You missed Dick. how does anyone expect a ten year old to just understand that her brother wasn’t coming home because of their dad? Answer, they shouldn’t.

You did your best to never think about them. Not Alfred, not Jason, not your big brother, and not thinking about how your dad hurt you was easy.

Especially when you met Percy, those four years of adventure and probably too many near death experiences were awesome. Percy called you ditzy for thinking so though, something about children of aphrodite being completely blind when it came to anything but love and make up.

He was joking of course, you’d saved his ass too many times for him to think that.

Back to the present though.

You needed away from camp for a bit, and not wanting to burden Percy’s family, especially with all the worrying the woman did about percy alone on — you’d made sally a beautiful gift she kept on her counter top to see everyday and you opted to return to the manor. And hopefully to ease some guilt that’d been eating at you for abandoning your family.

So you returned to the only place you knew. Gotham, not home, but just… Gotham.

Diana, ever the saviour, offered to escort you back, hoping to make it easier for you and Bruce without giving the full story. Mortals, especially sceptics like Bruce shouldn’t know the full existence of a place like camp half-blood, or maybe that was her father’s made up reason. But it was for the safety of those children, they were always in a state of unease, that didn’t need to be multiplied because the Batman is a paranoid freak.

Either way she feels terrible asking you to lie and leaving you stranded in that cursed mansion, Bruce should really get someone to make sure the place wasn’t actually haunted.

The days are quiet and the nights are awkward, with no around at the normal hours of the day and everyone bustling around at sundown.

Any interaction you have with the family is strained and short, though better than being subjected to long and awkward silences though and tough conversations.

Alfred is always as welcoming, just glad to have you back after so many years, even if you gave a rather confusing explanation to where you’d been.

And Duke, a the new guy, he hadn’t been here when you were living at the manor or maybe he was and you were just that out of touch with your father.

No matter, you could appreciate being able to talk to somebody during the day, someone with a normal schedule like yours.

But oh gods, Damian. the little bastard, you swear to Hera you’d have murdered the little bastard if it weren’t for your incredible patience you definitely had not inherited from either of your parents.

The little shit had the audacity to tell you that you were normal, just a civilian who contributed nothing to saving lives, as if you didn’t fight in a war — multiple if you counted the internal war you were constantly having.

But you couldn’t exactly share that. No, that’d be far too easy and life was never easy for demi-gods.

You thought you were making slow progress with your new and old siblings, before that was all interrupted with a iris message from annabeth informing you about Percy’s disappearance and the sudden appearance of a child of Zeus.

And you’re gone again, like the wind, no note or explanation, just an empty room you hadn’t ever really moved into.

You didn’t care though, not when Percy was gone and something was definitely wrong again.

And like a vicious cycle you’re sucked back into your godly parent’s war that no child should ever have to fight for but unfortunately gods are just as childish as lovesick fools.

War is hungry and desperate, eating away at everyone you love until it takes you too.

Percy’s shouts filled your ears, the last sight you’d been given was one of the closest thing you had to a brother rushing towards you before being launched backwards into the ground as you were flung the opposite way, into the ocean.

By the end you’re laid out on the dirt of your mother’s first home, Apollo kids and rookie (barely) healers run around trying to save people. Some don’t make it, and others like you end up unconscious for weeks.

Dionysus, or Mr D as you call him, doesn’t let many things slide, he’s already ready serving eternal punishment with the brats at camp, what’s a couple more years on eternity?

He sends Nico to inform your mortal family of the travesty that occurred and your condition. Diana is far too late to intervene anyways, plus if she really cared she’d have been there with the kids fighting.

So the bat’s are in for the shock of their lives when the scrawny pale Italian boy pops up out of literally nowhere, staring into their souls eerily, in a way that even sets Bruce off.

“Who the hell are you?” Damian hisses first, always the first to recklessly start a fight. Nico barely spares him a glance.

“Y/N is in a coma,” Nico says, eyes trained solely on Bruce. “I’ve been asked to… give you the details.” So he did, offering a vague and cryptic explanation of whatever he could, your demigod status, your role in camp, the war you fought in at 15 and the one you just fought in. The details of your injury and any other detail he could spare before disappearing through the shadows again.

They weren’t given details to find you though, Nico assumed from what you’d shared about your family during the trip across the globe to find Athena Parthenos, that you didn’t want them to find you.

[tsuvvy]

Oh Sister of Mine - Chapter 1

Your Chance

The Batfamily is getting intel and weapons back from a dangerous villain. But he had a bodyguard. A child bodyguard who didn't really seem interested in their task of guarding the villain. You seemed more interested in killing Cassandra.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, talk of killing, talk of weapons, use of weapons, use of electricity in fighting, cussing, ik Jason and Damian are skilled and can adapt to many different types of fighters, but for the sake of this, they were caught extremely off guard..

Word Count: 3.1k

You looked down at your palms, letting the volts of electricity flicker and surge around your hands. You let out a breath.

This was your one chance. Your one chance to prove to your dad that you weren't a failure. You could kill. You could kill more efficiently and quickly than Cassandra ever could. And you could do it in cold blood, unlike Cassandra who was left disgusted with her first kill.

And you would prove it by killing her.

The moon was bright in the sky, just as the bat symbol was. You stared at it through the window with a kind of hope most didn't have. The hope that you would kill someone that answers to the bat symbol in the sky.

You struggled with speech. You grew up sheltered, only being taught to kill from the moment you were put on the ground to crawl. You were a lot alike to Cassandra. But you were a quick learner. You could quickly pick up on the speech of others, and the body language to decipher a little bit of what the words might mean in different situations.

The words you knew were a small amount that you couldn't get out of your mouth without a bit of struggle.

“No, that Cain guy sent this kid,” you glanced over your shoulder to look at the desk behind you where a man in a nice suit sat. He was lazing around in his chair, his legs kicked up on the desk as he looked at you. You remember your dad calling him Kerrim. Kerrim didn't realize you were looking back, “one creepy ass kid,” he added the remark onto his statement from before. “He said they're one of the best, but I won't buy it till I see it.” He smirked in doubtful amusement.

Orphan, Red Hood, and Robin worked diligently to avoid the cameras of the building and avoid guards that walked around.

Though it wasn't easy.

“I wasn't expecting the guard to be so high up..” Red Hood grumbled, peeking around the corner at a few guards that were speaking in the hallway.

“And what did you expect?” Robin grumbled back, looking up at the man, “That this guy was dumb? No. Someone can't make it this high up into the drug business by being dumb.” He sent a scowl at Red Hood from behind his domino mask.

“Aww, did you just call me smart?” Red Hood smirked from behind his helmet, looking down at Robin.

“Focus.” Orphan reminded the two, “We have to take the guards out, we can't get past them any other way..”

“On it.” Red Hood said.

“Wait-” Red Hood was already turning the corner, immediately alerting the guards to his presence.

“Huh.. Guess someone can get up the drug business by being dumb.” Robin remarked as he watched around the corner with Orphan.

“Intruder!” One of the guards had yelled into his walkie talkie clipped to the breast pocket of his vest. “Intruder in sector G!”

Red Hood was fighting with the other guard. Knocking him off of his feet by kicking under his legs and knocking him unconscious by kicking him in the head.

“Shit!” Red Hood yelled when alarms started going off and red lights started flashing everywhere.

Orphan and Robin looked to the camera above their head they had been in the blind spot of. It was now angled directly towards them.

‘What did you idiots do!?’ Tim yelled through the coms in their ears.

Red Hood had started fighting with the other guard, having a bit of trouble before Orphan rushed forward.

“‘You idiots?’ It was Red Hood!” Robin retorted back into the coms as he too moved around the corner.

Orphan had rushed past Red Hood and landed a flurry of well calculated hits and kicks to the guard. One of the kicks that sent him colliding into the wall knocked him out as well. He slid against the wall falling to the floor.

The three looked down the hall at the sounds of footsteps. Many of them.

“You are an imbecile. An imbecile!” Robin yelled at Red Hood before he turned around the corner again, already running down the hall before Red Hood and Orphan followed.

“Well sorry I was taking initiative!” Red Hood yelled at the kid in annoyance.

“In here!” Orphan called, beckoning the two into a room that looked to be for something like storage. It was big and barren enough to hear an echo.

“They went this way!” The three stopped in the middle of the room, turning to look at the door in anticipation when the guard had yelled that. They expected anyone to walk in at any moment. But they heard a group of bounding footsteps pass the door.

Your head whipped around at the flashing red lights and the alarms sounding throughout the whole building.

“Shit!” Kerrim screamed, jumping out of his seat in an instant, his hands on the desk. “How the hell did they get in without getting noticed!?”

You were practically already at the door. “Hey!” He screamed at you, “Where the hell are you going!!?” But you didn’t respond. You didn’t even acknowledge you. “Get back here, you little rat!!” And you were out the door.

“Damnit!” Kerrim slammed his hands against the desk before whipping around and kicking his swivel chair, which went rolling. His kick barely did anything to the chair. “Cain said you were one of the best!” He yelled after you. Or.. More at the door you had just exited through. “But the best know how to follow orders!”

Kerrim started pacing around the room, grumbling and screaming frustrated curses that also held anxiety for the situation with intruders in the building.

All you could think about was the chance you had just gained. You knew it was her. Or at least someone from the accursed Batman vigilante group. But even if it wasn’t Cassandra. You could get her attention by killing another she cared for.

This is your chance

You have to take it while you have it.

You can't pass this up.

Despite not expecting to meet the intruders almost right outside Kerrim’s office, just down the wide hall. Neither looked to be Cassandra to your disappointment. But you recognized them to be Robin and Red Hood. People affiliated with her.

The three had taken a moment to regroup and catch their breaths before they had slipped out of the storage room door and listened to Tim’s directions to get to Kerrim's office.

Red Hood and Robin froze at the sight of you, but you had already unsheathed your sword with the swiftness and speed equivalent to that of a bird's. They weren't expecting a kid to come out of Kerrim’s office. Especially not a kid that looked to be the same age or younger than Robin.

“What the hell!!?” He screamed, just barely dodging the slashes of your swords. Robin had unsheathed his own sword, raising it and bringing it down to attack you. But you ricocheted the attack, blocking it and throwing the direction of his sword in another before you raised your leg, kicking him in the side and sending him colliding with a wall.

“Who in the hell is this kid!?” Red Hood shrieked, dodging slice after slice of your attacks. For a little kid, you were extremely strong, agile, and obviously professionally trained in fighting. Well enough to be able to have a chance at winning a fight with a grown man twice your size and a boy trained to be an assassin since birth.

‘Their fighting style's familiar..’ Tim muttered into the com. ‘Wait, where did Orphan go?’

You let the electricity conduct into the grip of the sword. It didn’t take too long for it to travel up into the blade, starting to wrap around it. Red Hood raised his gun up, having the intention to use it to block the slice of your sword. But he hadn't expected it to cut through. He felt a shock in his arm, and soon it went numb and tingly for a moment. The half of his gun he still held fell from his hand and collided to the ground.

He jumped back, staring at you from behind his helmet in shock.

The electricity in your sword had traveled into his gun and then his hand to produce the effect that it did.

“Red Hood, are you okay!?” He heard through the coms in his ears.

“Cassandra..” You spoke in a somewhat shaky and strained voice, like you were struggling to speak. “Where.. Is she?” Your voice, apart from the struggle it took to find the words, was somewhat muffled due to the cloth of the mask you wore over your mouth.

“What..?” Red Hood asked, confused. The struggle you had with your speech took him aback.

“Where..” You swallowed, “where is Cassandra.”

Red Hood was at a loss for words. He was confused on how a kid like you that appeared out of nowhere was so skilled with a sword and a power as adept as electricity. He knew children could be good fighters, Cassandra and Robin being prime examples. But you? Something was different about you. Your fighting style was familiar, just like Tim had noticed. But the other thing was.

“How do you know Cassandra?” Robin spoke coldly behind you. Yeah.. That was what Red Hood had been getting to.

You didn't respond, which caused Robin’s brows to furrow and his eyes to narrow on you behind his domino mask.

“Fine, I'll say it again. How do you know who Cassandra is?” His voice was more stern, growing a venom in it that could kill like a Cobra’s.

“Where is she?” Your voice still held that shake and struggle in it.

Something about you reminded Robin of someone. But he couldn't place his finger on who.

Neither of the two watching you noticed the way you were charging up a surge of electricity within your hand. Neither noticed it before you were throwing your arm out towards Robin, shooting it at him.

Robin was caught off guard. He hadn't been expecting you to be able to charge up your ability so quickly. He couldn't move quick enough to dodge it.

Just before it touched his middle, he was being tackled from the side. He looked up in surprise at Orphan.

She was already standing up, directing her attention to you.

“I’m right here,” She told you.

Your eyes widened somewhat, and you turned to look at her better. You couldn’t believe it. There she is. And not in some old picture or low quality one your father had managed to get someone to take. It was her in front of you in the flesh.

You’re taking your chance.

Red Hood lurched forward, thinking your attention was fully on Orphan. Though it wasn’t. You had made sure to keep both Robin and Red Hood in your peripheral vision. A surge of electricity started to travel through your arm before getting to your hand. The surging light seemed to wrap around your arm and now your hand as it traveled. Your palm collided with his stomach. Your touch seemed more gentle, but the powerful shock that seemed equivalent to a defibrillator shocked Red Hood’s insides. He stumbled backward.

His limbs felt numb, the room was spinning, he couldn’t focus and his whole body was in pain.

“Red Hood!” Robin and Cassandra cried, so did Tim within the coms. Red Hood stumbled a bit more.

Your attention was already back on Cassandra. You held your sword in both hands, rushing forward and slicing at the black haired vigilante. She moved quickly, you couldn’t deny it. Quicker than the first two did. Though you could tell you had only caught Robin off guard, you knew he could fight better. But that didn’t matter. Now Cassandra is here. Now she is your priority.

Again, she was quick. She dodged your countless attacks you threw at her with your sword. Robin had gone to Red Hood’s side, checking his pulse.

You swung your sword, but Cassandra slipped under it and rushed forward. Your eyes widened as you saw her hand was going for a pressure point in your wrist, crap. No.. It’s okay. You’re fine. You were trained just like her, if not better. And you have an advantage.

You threw your sword to the side, it was the only option so you could keep control of your hands. If you held onto it, she would have paralyzed your wrists for as long as she felt necessary. Electricity surged and wrapped around your calf, traveling down to your foot. You pushed backwards with that foot, putting your weight on the leg you didn’t have electricity rushing through. You raised your foot, kicking Cassandra with a strength that could knock down one of the heavier training dummies at the Manor’s gym.

Cassandra couched, stumbling backwards for a moment while holding her side you had kicked. She had winced in pain, closing an eye tightly to somehow deal with it. Her side was throbbing, and she knew the electricity had traveled into her arms and legs because she could feel her fingertips throbbing, and her legs had felt weak for a second. But, she recovered quickly. The two of you looked at each other, in some sort of a stand off like you see in those western movies. But two of you were now fighting hand to hand.

“Orphan,” Robin called from the side, Red Hood had recovered some, being able to stand now. But he still looked a bit disoriented.

“Go,” Cassandra said, “I can handle this.”

Robin and Red Hood listened, heading towards the door behind them. You didn’t care. Again, Cassandra is your priority, not them.

“Right.” Robin said, going towards the door. You didn't care about protecting Kerrim. It's not like he meant anything to you. Plus, your father will be proud when you kill Cassandra. Far prouder than if you kept some random drug lord alive.

You lurched forward, immediately catching her attention again. You threw a kick at her which she had dogged and you ducked under the punch she sent at you. You winced when she kicked your side and you caught her leg. You pulled it forward roughly, also pulling Cassandra towards you and let go of her leg; you punched her in the face. Your fist collided with her jaw.

Cassandra ignored the slight pain radiating within her cheek and threw her arms out forward and around you. She wrapped her arms around your middle tightly. You tried to push against her, but she was strong. Stronger than you were really expecting. She pushed you forward until your back hit against the wall of the wide hallway roughly. It hurt and knocked the wind out of you, but you recovered quickly. You raised up your own leg and kicked the heel of the boot you wore into Cassandra’s abdomen. She stumbled backwards, holding her abdomen with one arm, and the other arm was at her side.

She looked at you with a wince on her face, her jaw clenched. You rushed forward and started sending electrified punches and kicks at her, but she dodged them all, some just barely. But she dodged them all.

You were growing more and more frustrated. And with that, your attacks just grew more and more aggressive.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked as she blocked a kick of your’s with her forearm. She couldn’t see your whole face because of the mask you were wearing to at least hide the bottom half of your face. But she could see your eyes. And she saw the way your brows furrowed. She recognized it. She recognized the dim look on your face. She realized it was the one she used to have when she was about your age.

She realized you couldn't understand what she was saying. She felt a pain of empathy fall through her body, landing in her stomach.

You had no idea what she was saying. It sounded like gibberish. But you could tell she was holding back. She wasn’t fighting as well as she could have. Your father made you watch videos of how Cassandra fought when she was your age. She was incredibly skilled, you knew that. And how she was fighting now was that you’ve seen from a novice from the League of Assassins.

Your father realized not long after you grew more of a consciousness for yourself that you had a short temper. You get frustrated easily. And he also realized your meta human ability might be tied with your emotions. You and your electricity got stronger, more relentless, and faster.

And Cassandra had noticed this too. She was amazed with you. You were so young, no older than 14 or maybe 13 and you were already so in control of your abilities. And you were quick. Very quick.

You were about to high kick her in the side of her head, but you made a mistake. You slipped. The foot you put all of your weight on slipped on the ground. Your eyes widened. Cassandra grabbed your wrists and decided on falling with you.

You winced when your back hit the ground roughly. You felt your head knock against the ground roughly as well. Her forearm was against your neck, and she had both of your wrists pinned to the ground above your head. You felt one of her knees pressing firmly against your abdomen, and her other foot was on the ground next to you both, holding her up.

You felt your head pounding, and your eyes grew heavy, no doubt because of it’s collision with the ground. You looked around. Your vision was mixed with spots of different sizes as you looked at the walls and dim lights on the cieling that seemed greatly bright now. Soon, your gaze landed on the woman above you.

Cassandra. Crap.. Cassandra had you pinned to the ground. You need to get up. You need to fight. You need to kill her. You can’t lose, not like this when you’re so close to your mission.

You tried to push against her grip on your wrists, and you tried to push your abdomen up to maybe push her knee off of you, but it wasn’t any use. You were too weak, and you were too tired.

The most you could was charge up a weak volt of electricity into your arms and send them up to your wrists. All Cassandra felt was a tiny shock like static shock from a door or clothing.

Then everything went black..

Chapter Two ->

[brawberryz]

Little Demon

Batfam Yan! × Neglected Nezuko! Reader

Note:English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / M.list

You were normal

You weren't the monster you've become, before everything you were just an ordinary high school student

Everything had happened so fast that you didn't even have time to process it

A few hours ago everything was normal

You woke up as usual adding yourself to go to class, you greeted alfred while you were having breakfast

Breakfast felt as lonely as always your family was never present not even in things as common as having breakfast together as a family

No one ever had time for you, everyone was so busy with their responsibilities and you understood it, you always understood

They were vigilant and you knew they had a lot of responsibilities on their shoulders but sometimes you would like them to look at you or ask you how your day was

If someone in the family turned to look at you or talk to you it was a miracle, the only person you had by your side was alfred

He was a father figure more than your real father could be

Bruce, as you called him because father was too big a name for someone like him, maybe he wasn't even worthy of being called father

You saw his relationship with the rest of your siblings and how he treated them with so much respect and affection

At some point you felt jealous, why was he so good to them? Why couldn't you feel that affection

Why?

Why!?

Nobody took care of you or protected you, since you were little you understood that if you didn't protect yourself nobody would

Everyone had talents and they were amazing

You were just (name), the shadow of the family because the only thing that was important was having the last name Wayne, but then you were nobody

You were never anybody

You stopped thinking so much and picked up your bag and walked out the door of the mansion giving Alfred a last goodbye

_

Classes went by faster than you would like, school was a safe place for you, there you could be yourself with your friends

To your friends you weren't (name) Wayne, the daughter of a billionaire playboy, you were just a (name) L/N a girl full of energy and eager to help others

You lazily got up from your seat grabbing your bag heading to the classroom door

There was Aoi waiting for you as usual, you were grateful to have such a good friend like her

"You look more tired than usual, is something wrong (name)?"

The black-haired girl asks worriedly, walking with you to the exit. You just nodded, giving her a fake smile.

"Yeah, don't worry, I just didn't sleep well today."

That's a lie. You had slept more than well, but since this morning you had felt that something was wrong, as if something bad was about to happen.

You couldn't shake that feeling off after hours. You decided to ignore it, but that feeling still remained.

Aoi just nodded, unsure of your answer. She had been your friend for years and she knew you too well to know when something was bothering you.

"Hey, today me and shinobu are going to a new cafe that opened. Do you want to go?"

You stayed quiet for a few seconds thinking about the proposal, you liked going out with your friends but this time you felt like you shouldn't go

"I'm sorry aoi but... I'm really busy today I have homework to do"

You politely apologized to her

Aoi raised an eyebrow, there was something she didn't like, she knew something was happening to you but she wasn't going to force you to tell her, she didn't want it to seem like she was someone insistent

She simply gave you a nod and then looked ahead, this was where your paths separated as you lived on totally opposite streets

She gave you a big hug as a farewell and then separated from you with a smile on her face

"See you tomorrow (name), take care!"

She said as she shook her hand and her presence disappeared more and more as she walked away

You let out a tired sigh before turning on your heels and taking the path home

You walked with your head down, your thoughts consumed your head that you didn't even notice the imminent danger that was approaching you

You didn't understand why your family seemed to hate you, you were always obedient, good and polite

You were the best in your class and you had great intelligence but you were still invisible to all of them

Sometimes you just wanted to disappear, being someone else didn't matter you just wanted to leave

But you knew that until you turned 18 it would be impossible to get out of that house

You were so distracted in your thoughts that you didn't even have time to react before something too strong pushed you into a dirty alley

You tried to get up and defend yourself but that strange man grabbed you by the neck cutting off your breathing and not being able to get up

As your vision blurred you could see his red eyes and a cynical smile forming on his lips

The last thing you felt was something embedded in your neck causing you to lose consciousness

Everything was black, you couldn't move or feel anything

So you died?

Is this how it all ended? Dying in a dirty alley full of trash and rats?

Maybe this is what you deserved, you were never anything important just trash

And trash should stay with trash, right?

Alfred ran at full speed through the mansion towards Bruce's office, he couldn't believe that this had happened

He slammed open the door to Bruce's office causing Bruce to stop concentrating on the paperwork to look at his butler

It was too strange for Alfred to enter without knocking, and he was also struck by Alfred's worried and disheveled attitude

Only something too important or serious would have to happen to break Alfred's impeccable personality

"Master Bruce...Miss (name)..."

The old man struggled to find air in his lungs, having run all over the mansion had left him exhausted

"What's wrong with her? Don't tell me she got into trouble-"

Alfred interrupted Bruce in the middle of his sentence to speak again

"No...she...she's dead"

Those words hit Bruce hard

Dead?

Your death couldn't be true, it had to be some kind of joke

"What?"

It was the only thing he could say in shock, he knew that Alfred would never lie to him, much less about a subject as serious as death

But his brain simply couldn't process it

_

The entire batfam was at the police station, the news of your death shook the entire family in a bad way

Now they were here to identify your body, they found it in an alley according to the police record a woman who was passing by found your body covered in blood that was supposed to have been yours

According to the police it was a very crude and bloody crime scene

They couldn't believe that someone would be capable of doing that to a being as innocent as you

The simple fact that someone had done all those things to you made everyone's blood boil with rage

Richard felt terrible, remembering all the times you asked him to spend time together and he simply made the excuse that he was busy or that he didn't have time

He was the worst brother, he was supposed to be the oldest one who should have protected you but all he did was push you away and cause your premature death

Jason could barely handle all the emotions he felt at that moment, he felt rage, sadness and regret

He still remembered the times he had insulted you and told you not to interfere in his life

No matter what he had to do, he was going to avenge his little sister and he was going to make the person who had done that to you suffer

In Tim's head he tried to find some possible suspect for your death, maybe the joker had already killed Jason once, it was just a matter of time before he did it again

He could still remember the times he had ignored you, that moment when you made cupcakes was still in his mind and you had the brightest smile of all

You had prepared them especially for your family but all you received was their rejection telling you that they were busy

Remember the rude way in which I refused your food and asked you to leave, right now, anything to be able to be with you and try your desserts

Damian was burning with fury, who was the bastard who dared to kill his sister!?

He, unlike the rest, didn't want to accept his guilt. He firmly believed that the times he had hit you, humiliated you, and insulted you were for your own good.

You should know well that you were too weak for this world, that he was your protector.

Cass could barely process everything. She had lost another important person to her again, and this time it was her fault again.

She leaned against a corner and let her thoughts consume her. She felt the worst. Maybe if she had paid attention to you, you would be alive now.

Barbara felt the same way as Richard. She still remembered the times you begged for her attention, wanting to spend time with her, but she only pushed you away more and more each day.

Steph could only stare at the floor. It was her fault for ignoring you. She thought that at some point you would adapt to the mansion, but it never happened. All she did was make you feel more like a burden and a nuisance.

But the one who felt the worst was Bruce. He was supposed to be your father, he was supposed to be the first to protect you. But he didn't. All he did was ignore you

He was the worst father ever, now because of him you were dead

They took him to a room to identify your body and left him there alone for a few minutes

Right there he collapsed, his serious and unwavering facade broke

His daughter, his baby is now dead because of him, he would do anything to revive you, he would even use the Lazarus pit even knowing the consequences that caused

But suddenly he felt like something lunged at him

And there was you

Alive

You were alive in some way, but he saw that it wasn't you...

Your eyes had that wild look, your teeth were sharp and long nails that you had never had before

He grabbed a metal pipe he found on the floor and tried to fight you by putting it in your mouth so that you wouldn't bite him or disfigure his face with your claws or teeth

Your strength was superhuman, as if you were no longer the (name) that he knew

Now you had become something wilder

But he felt small tears falling on his face, he was crying

It seemed as if a part of you was trying to control your instincts, he noticed your distressed and scared look

Suddenly Richard entered the room with Jason

They had heard a loud noise coming from the room

The men's faces were surprised when they saw you alive

Or rather, you didn't look human and your skin looked paler

Also, your hair had changed, the tips that were completely black before were now orange

The two quickly came out of their trance and helped Bruce get you off of them, you were still struggling and trying to get out of their grip

Then Damian and Tim appeared through the door when they heard all the commotion

Before either of them could speak, Richard interrupted them

"There's no time for explanations, distract the police now!"

He said trying to keep you from getting out of the grip, Tim and Damian just nodded confused as they went with the others to distract the guards

Meanwhile Jason decided that the best idea was to knock you out so he did, but he earned a scolding from Bruce for hitting you so hard

"Stop complaining so much and be thankful we didn't let her kill you"

He said dryly, he saw how you fell surrendered to his arms, for now they should find a way to get you out of here without anyone noticing

_

The days passed quickly in the mansion, they had you with a kind of muzzle on your mouth to prevent any incident

Although after having "revived" you were only aggressive once, to tell the truth this version of you was much calmer and less energetic than the previous one

After Bruce asked Constantine for help he told him that most likely you had been turned into a demon and that if they wanted you to be human again the person that turned you into a demon was supposed to turn you back into a human

For days the batfam spent their time investigating and trying to find information about the person who did that to you but they found almost nothing

But almost nothing was that bad, it seemed you rejected human flesh and blood and you recovered energy by sleeping, you didn't need to eat or drink water just sleep

Most of the day (not to say all day) you spent somewhere in the mansion sleeping

Everyone fought over who would cuddle with you during your morning nap, they agreed on a deal that every day of the week it would be a family member's turn to sleep with you and take care of you

And after everything worked, most of your memories disappeared so they didn't have to worry about you remembering what horrible siblings they were

They also found out that you can't be in the sun unless you want to disintegrate and die

Tim thought it was a good idea to open the windows so you could see the sun after so long

Tim's expression The horror on his face was great when he saw how your skin began to burn and how you screamed in pain

He quickly closed the windows and approached you to see your condition

Luckily your regenerative abilities were very helpful, but Tim still didn't escape Bruce's scolding and you think Damian almost killed Tim that day

You could say that the days in the mansion were good, of course sometimes you would like to go out and see other places but you knew it would be impossible

The batfam preferred to die rather than let you wander alone through the streets of Gotham again, in their eyes you were still that weak little girl even knowing that you could easily kill them all

For now you should get used to this life until they find a cure

But you shouldn't worry, when you are cured they will never let you go again

Never

I finished this quicker than I thought

I hope you like it because I probably won't upload anything for 3 or 4 days

byeee

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

The adults are talking

Damian couldn't understand why Bruce and Dick were so obsessed all of a sudden.

They were obsessed.

with you.

If it wasn't for your little tantrum making you storm out of the house, no one would've noticed you leaving.

And he knew Jason and Tim thought the same.

The day you were forced here Dick had insisted that they'd talk to you.

The first day you came, Dick interrupted him taking care of Batcow to tell him to invite you to hang out.

During movie night, it was obvious your mind was somewhere else.

He just didn't understand why they had to interact with you, you were okay with just living with Miguel, why were you forced to be with them?

He decided to investigate further.

He made his way to the kitchen, passing by the hallway.

He noticed the newly placed pictures of you.

They were very clearly from your and your friend's social media, he recognized them from when he stalked stumbled upon you and your friend's socials.

In one photo in which Miguel was next to you, he was edited out, leaving an awkward space next to you.

As he got closer to the kitchen, he could hear you and Dick arguing.

He looked over the corner of the doorway in order to not get caught by either of you.

Your spidey senses went slightly off at that, but you ignored it, assuming it was coming from Dick.

Dick held the guitar, which was coated in stickers "Who's is this?"

You glared at him and put your hands on your hips "It's my friend's."

Dick raised an eyebrow at that "why did he even come here yesterday?"

"nunya." you tried reaching for the guitar, only for him to put it in the air, making it impossible for you to grab it

"c'mon birdie, I know you can do better than that!" Dick teased, swaying the guitar back and forth

"Don't call me that." you jumped to try and reach it and accidentally hit the counter, which made a stack of books hit the vase, domino-style.

Which in turn made a vase start to fall.

Stupid spidey-luck.

Before Damian could process it, the vase hit him on the head and shattered.

"watch it!" Damian exclaimed.

You and dick turned your heads to look at him.

You watched as Dick opened his mouth to speak, and quickly took your chance.

You kicked the back of his knees, which made him fall, and grabbed the guitar swiftly.

"bitch." you walked away, holding the guitar triumphantly

Dick sat down in shock for a moment before checking up on Damian.

"Are you alright?" Dick helped Damian up from the floor.

Damian dusted himself off "I'm fine."

Dick kept talking to him, but his voice faded out as Damian got an idea.

if he couldn't tell why Dick and Bruce were obsessed with you, he'll go straight to the source.

Damian burst into your room.

You were blasting music while journaling.

It was then he took a look at your clothes.

You were wearing an outfit he distinctly remembers you not owning.

You were wearing a red sweater, one that showed up in one of your friend's social media posts.

After a minute or two of awkward silence, you finally spoke up. "do you need anything?"

"you hurt me. Apologize." he crossed his arms in a sort of way that reminded you of Bruce

"alright. I'm sorry. Happy?" you stared at him blankly

"I'll forgive you if we socialize together." he had a poker face on, but you could tell he was slightly nervous.

You closed your journal "All alright, I'll hang out with you."

Damian looked confused like he didn't expect you to agree so fast

"I'm bored anyways, might as well. Where do you wanna go?" you got up from your bed and leaned against the wall, staring at Damian.

"Well, if you insist on this, we could go out to shop," Damian smirked

You stretched and started making your way towards your closet "All alright, just give me like 30 minutes to get ready.

"He made his way out your door.

You took a good 10 minutes choosing an outfit before deciding on one you wore once when you went to Peni's birthday, along with a friendship bracelet she made you.

You got started on your hair and makeup, not caring about the time you were taking.

You knew Damian was very punctual about time, but you didn't care.

As you were mid-way through, the door banged open and Damian barged in.

"hurry up." he glared at you

"hold on, I'm almost done." you lied

He grew impatient and started looking around your room. You couldn't fully blame him; it's a household full of detectives, obviously, they were all nosey.

He looked at one of your walls, which had a lot of pictures of you and your friends.

In one of them, you were carrying a sleeping girl. She looked around his age and was wearing a sweater of yours. Her black short hair was braided, like how yours was in the picture.

In another frame, you and all your friends were at a birthday party. He assumed it was yours, the way you had a party hat on and everyone was around you.

In some pictures you weren't even in them.

There was a couple where they were centered around a blonde-haired girl and a boy with the biggest doe eyes.

In one picture, you were all playing in a band someplace where Bruce would never let you step foot in.

"Those are my friends," you spoke, still doing your hair "I feel like you'd get along with them."

"TT as if." he scoffed, moving onto a jewelry box on the side of your vanity.

He opened it and saw a lot of themed jewelry, mostly based on spider people.

Some weren't themed, like a pair of earrings he was now holding in his hands.

You spoke up, still sitting at the vanity "Oh Can you pass me those? I feel like it's gonna complete my outfit."

He walked up to you and handed you the earrings and watched as you put them on.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

A bunch of crochet plushes on your bed.

They were themed, yet again.

You saw him staring at them"They were based on some people I know. If you want I can ask Gwen to make you one?"

Damian looked at you, slightly confused "Why would I need a plush? That is highly immature. especially since-"

You cut him off. "if this is about them being spider people I could ask her to make a robin plush."

Damian nodded at you, in a way that was so serious it made you chuckle.

Damian was growing impatient. You were taking a long time to get ready.

He walked up to you "Are you done?" he was cartoonishly thumping the floor with his foot like a certain cartoon rabbit.

"Almost, I swear!" you grabbed the perfume on your vanity and sprayed yourself.

Damian was standing next to where you were sitting, and you took that as a sign to put some of your perfume on him.

As soon as you did, he started having a coughing fit.

"what was that?!" he kept coughing and trying to wave the smell away.

You tilted your head in confusion "I thought you wanted some?"

"why would I want some of your perfume?!" his coughing fit slowed down, he was obviously dramatizing it

"oh c'mon, it wasn't that serious!" you got up and grabbed your keys.

You started making your way out your door before remembering you didn't have your purse, which had your phone and wallet.

"Dami," you said in a sing-songy voice "could you grab my purse? It's on my nightstand."

He made sure you didn't see his smile at the nickname as he made his way to your nightstand and took note of the picture frame next to your bed.

It was of all your friends + you huddled up together. You all had a birthday hat on and you had a sash that said "birthday girl".

He knew it was probably from the same birthday he saw in another picture frame earlier.

He grabbed your bag and handed it to you, relieved he was finally gonna make his way to the mall with you.

You guys made your way to the parking garage with all the cars anyone could ask for.

You picked a car, one of which you bought yourself and picked out with Miguel.

It was your favorite color.

"All alright Damian, I'll grab the car seat for you." you joked and tried to look as serious as possible

"wait what?" he watched as you went into the trunk and grabbed a princess car seat fit for a toddler.

You bought it a while ago for car rides with Mayday.

"Alright, get on." you pat the car seat, indicating for Damian to get on.

Damian pouted "I'm much too old for that"

"Are you sure? The car seat says it works until the kid is 8, you're 7 so it's fine." you tried to hide your smirk

Damian glared at you, obviously annoyed. "I am not 7! I'm 14!"

"right....." it was getting harder for you to not laugh

"I'm serious!" his voice cracked midway through the sentence, making you burst out laughing.

His face turned a little red "It's not funny!"

"You're right, I'm sorry." you were trying to calm yourself down, only to laugh out loud really loud again.

Damian tried to suppress his laughter as well, only to let out a chuckle.

"get in loser, we're going shopping." you sat down in the driver's seat and he sat down in the passenger seat.

It was silent for a moment...until you looked at Damian and started laughing for no reason.

Damian looked around confused "What's so funny?"

You tried to calm yourself down and failed "I don't know!"

You only stopped when Alfred heard what sounded to him like a hyena laughing, and went to check out the garage.

As soon as he heard the laughter coming from the car, he made his way to your windows.

As soon as you noticed him, you stopped laughing.

"master damian and mistress Y/N, where are you going?"

You glared at him, annoyed. "out to do errands."

"May I tag along? I too have errands to run. I have to-" You cut him off by pulling up the window and turning on your music.

You could see Alfred trying to talk to you, but you just put on your sunglasses and drove out.

Damian was shocked, he couldn't believe you would do that.

You blasted your music and sang and danced along, to him it felt like a scene straight out of a girly 2000s movie.

He noticed how your keys had an Araña-themed keychain.

The fuzzy dice on the driver's mirror.

The bedazzled steering wheel.

There was some trash on the floor of the passenger seat.

He could see that in the backseats there was a coloring book and random stray crayons.

The car door next to him had a bunch of stickers everywhere.

In the back seat, there was half a broken drumstick.

There was a broken guitar string somehow tied up in a bow and left on the other seat.

There were random traces of paint everywhere.

"why is it so dirty in here?" he looked at you, slightly concerned about how you were driving so well despite putting on lipgloss at the same time.

"I wouldn't call it dirty, it's just chaos. Controlled chaos." you put away your lipgloss and kept driving "Put in a new CD, I'm bored of this album."

He reached into the glove compartment and immediately noticed a ton of snacks falling out of the compartment.

"oh yeah, just ignore that. I keep those just in case," you said

"In case of what?" Damian asked, still somewhat shocked at the amount of snacks and drinks that somehow fit in there

"in case anyone wants some. If you want you can have some. There are some vegan options in there, I think." you pulled out a mascara tube and started doing your lashes.

Damian then pulled out a bag of veggie chips and started eating them.

"well? are you going to get the CD or not?" you questioned, nudging him playfully.

"I can't see them." he pointed out

You waved your hand at him "You have to dig in deep, you'll find it somewhere."

He hesitated before digging and trying to look for it.

Inside he found:

A portable DVD player, a bunch of DVDs, at least 16 business cards from random small businesses, 7 types of nail polish, 2 iPods, an iPad, 4 random band shirts, a deflated soccer ball, an empty wallet, 6 different chargers (4 of which were broken beyond repair), 5 lipglosses, 2 friendship bracelets, and finally some CDs.

"how does all of this fit in this tiny compartment?" he looked at you, concerned yet again.

"hammerspace." you said, casually

Damian looked at you blankly "What?"

"don't even worry about it." you went back to driving.

He pulled out a random one and handed it to you.

"oh, awesome! I love this album!" you placed it in the CD player.

"Why do you even use CDs? I'm sure Father could get you a new car with a working music player." Damian said, putting everything back in the glove compartment.

"I like it better like this. This car has memories and I've owned some of those cd's since I was in elementary. I just think they're neat!" you took a sip of a random drink you found in your car.

Damian raised an eyebrow at that. He didn't remember you bringing that into the car.

"I found this random water bottle here. It's either me or Margos, and it's probably 4 weeks old," you said, as if you read his mind.

you took another sip. "on second thought, this is probably Gwens."

Everything was a mess.

Yet he felt so at home.

When you guys finally got to the mall, you got to work on your errands.

You grabbed your crumpled-up paper shopping list "Alright, first we need to go to a craft store."

"Why do we need to go to a craft store?" he asked, still eating the veggie chips from earlier

"Because," you grabbed a shopping cart "I need to grab a couple of things."

As you guys made it to the crafts store, you got an idea.

"Damian," you pointed to the cart "get in the cart."

"What?" he raised an eyebrow

"get in." you smiled

"Are you serious? I can't do that!" he argued

You put your hands on your hips "I don't care. Get in the cart."

"I will not! This is foolish behavior!" he stomped

You ignored him and picked him up like a cat and placed him in the cart.

You ignored his protests and kept shopping.

After a minute or two he calmed down.

You went to the art aisle and didn't know what supplies to get Miles.

"it was a good thing I brought you, I know basically nothing about what types of markers there are." You handed Damian two options.

"well don't know, I don't use those types of materials." he handed them back

"shit. Well, I'll just get all of them." you put one of each type of marker and strolled away, cart in hand.

You made your way to the sticker aisle and immediately put a ton of stickers in the cart as well.

"Why do you need so many?" Damian asked, picking up one of the sticker packs which was Vocaloid-themed.

"Because you can never have too many stickers!" you put more in the cart and strolled away again.

By the time you got to the checkout aisle, all the things you bought made you look like one of the people from the math problems.

The cashier looked at you a bit crazy but stopped when he saw you pull out a black card.

As soon as you both made your way out the door, you dragged Damian towards a music store.

You picked out some more CDs for you and some albums for your friends.

a Babymetal album for Peni, a Frank Ocean one for Miles, the Ramones one for Hobie, Daisy and the Scouts for Gwen, and a Sza album for Margo.

You dragged Damian to other stores, most of which he hated.

To cheer him up, you decided to take him to a store you knew most 14-year-old boys liked.

A comic book store.

"Damian look at these!" you handed him an invincible comic

"TT. they're just books." he put it back in its place.

You scoffed and kept looking at the comics

"Oh my gosh! They have a limited edition Gwenpool comic! I've been looking for this everywhere!" you held it up in the air dramatically

You could tell he was pretending to be unamused. He kept looking around.You placed your Gwenpool comic in the cart

"Is this an X-Men comic? I've seen Miles read them, he says they're good."

You saw Damian perk up immediately and grab it out of your hands.

Usually, you'd be upset at his bad manners, but he looked at the comic with such childlike wonder he looked 7 years old again.

Sure, back when both of you were younger he'd threaten you and go out of his way to ignore you, but who didn't?You felt a weird sort of nostalgia.

You shook that thought away and kept looking at the comics.

By the time you guys left the bookstore, you guys had a lifetime supply of manga and comics.

"Okay, we should head back to the manor."

"it's still early? It's not even lunchtime?"

"you need your naptime, you keep yawning"

"I am not," he said, suppressing a yawn

You held his hand while making your way to the car, a force of habit from holding Peni's.

He stared at your hands" Why are you holding my hand?"

You chuckled, letting go "Sorry, force of habit."

He ignored how he missed that small sign of affection.

You both put your things in the trunk. You guys ran out of space and had to put some things in the backseat.

You guys sat down and you played your music.

After a couple of moments, Damian fell asleep.

When you guys finally got to the manor, Damian was half asleep, pretending to be fully asleep.

You smiled and started grabbing all the bags.

You picked him up and carried him out of the passenger seat princess-style and made your way to his room, ignoring Alfred trying to ask about your day.

You ran into Alfred the cat, remembering how you completely forgot he existed.

The last time you saw him, you were around 14 and Damian taught him to avoid you.

Despite how many times you'd try to pet the cat, it'd run away.

You continued to place Damian in his bed and tuck him in.

You kissed him on the forehead, accidentally leaving a lipgloss stain.

You started placing down the bags full of the things he bought, not realizing you accidentally left one of your bags in his room.

You walked out of his room, not noticing his small smile.

Now he understood why dick and Bruce liked you.

You were in your room putting your things away.

You were also putting the things you bought for your friends into gift bags.

It took a while for you to notice you were missing your Gwenpool comics and the manga you bought for Peni.

By the time you noticed, Damian barged into your room yet again.

"you forgot something." he handed you the bag, it had the things you were looking for.

"oh thank you!" you skimmed through the comic, taking in the new book smell.

He hopped onto your bed and looked at one of the plushes on your bed.

It was different from the other ones, which were all different variations of spider people, this one was a red robot.

It sort of reminded him of the robots from Evangelion.

He rolled around in your bed for a bit before sitting up.

He was bored.

You spoke up, finishing up folding your laundry "We should do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Oh my gosh! We should go picnicking!"

"what."

"we can cook and bake! I'm kinda hungry anyways."

"..fine."

You guys made your way to the kitchen, you grabbed your cookbook.

It was badly covered in glitter and decorated like a burn book.

As soon as you placed it down on the counter, Damian looked at you confused.

"what is it?" you asked, opening the book.

"why is it covered in glitter?"

"can a girl not be filled with joy and whimsy?"

"fair enough."

"I have an idea! We both make dishes and share them at the park."

"okay?"

Damian then started making his meal, and you made one of your own.

After an hour or two, you both had everything prepared.

You made a few drinks and meals for you and Damian. You also packed some chips just incase he didn't want the food you made.

You both got in your car and left for the park

You lay on the blanket, admiring the bright blue sky.

You pointed to a random cloud "that cloud kind of looks like a butt."

"You're childish." he laid down next to you.

"what do you think it looks like then?" you asked

"...I think it looks like a cat." he pointed out

You laughed "There's no way you see that."

A moment of silence passed through and Damian thought back to the moment with you and Alfred.

Lately, you have been acting strangely rude to him.

"Why don't you like Pennyworth?"

"what do you mean?" you asked, sitting up

"what has he done for you to treat him like that?" he sat up as well

You wanted to tell him.

You wanted to tell him about all those nights you spent sobbing to him asking why no one loved you.

You wanted to tell him about how he'd always defend the people that hurt you.

You wanted to tell him about how you could tell that he only pitied you, and didn't care.

You wanted to tell him about how you knew since the beginning he never cared about you.

You wanted to tell him about Julia, Alfred's daughter, and how he abandoned her.

You decided to stay quiet about those things.

You guys had just now started to get along, it'd be strange of you to randomly dump all your problems onto him.

"I just have a bad feeling about him," you replied

"That's all? No support to that claim or anything?"

"I mean, I am a spider-person, most of us have great intuition."

"you do?"

"yeah!"

It went silent and you decided to change the topic. You didn't wanna keep talking about Alfred

"Well, we should start eating now, right?" you asked, pulling out some Dal you had prepared earlier.

Damian pulled out some dolma he had also made.

You took a bite out of the food you prepared "This Dal is so bomb. Look, try it!"

"no. I have no idea what you could done to that food," he said, backing away from the food as if it was going to bite him

"oh, c'mon! its not that bad. look, I'll eat some so you know it's good." you took another bite of it, basically melting at the taste.

"here comes the choo choo train. Choo choo" You brought a piece to his mouth

"stop this madness at once!" he snatched the piece out of your hand and looked at it.

He hesitated before taking a bite.

"TT. This is acceptable, I suppose."

You smiled and picked him up, "he's alive! he's alive! The food didn't kill him!" Everyone around you started staring at you.

Damian tried to shut up your yelling by putting a hand over your mouth and failed.

You let him down and started laughing.

"You're embarrassing me!" he said, trying to cover up his reddened face.

After a moment of comfortable silence, he spoke up "I'm shocked you can cook."

You gasped dramatically and flopped onto the ground, holding your heart as if you were dying "You're so mean."

Damian took another bite of his dolma "Where did you learn to cook that?"

"Pav and his auntie showed me, it took a lot of trial and error but now I basically know it like the back of my hand." you sat up and took a bite of his food.

He glared at you, but you knew it had a playful undertone.

"I think I burned down his kitchen at least twice. I love his auntie." you took a sip of your drink, which was a horchata.

He looked at your drink "What's that?"

"This is horchata, I learned it from Miguel. He taught me, it's pretty good, have a sip." you handed him your drink

He hesitated a little less than last time

".. I suppose it's fine."

"Prince Damian liking my cooking? It's a miracle!" you clapped and he hit you on the shoulder, making you fall dramatically yet again.

While you both were talking, a brunette little boy came up to you both.

He looked no older than 5, and he had tears in his big black eyes.

He came up to you "Hi, I am Elijah, and I can't find my mommy. She said not to talk to strangers but I don't know what to do!"

He started bawling his eyes out, and in an attempt to calm him down, you handed him a juice box.

"Look, we'll help you find your mom, okay?" you stood up and picked up Ellijah on your hip.

Elijah was starting to calm down.

That was until Damian glared at Elijah, making him cry even harder.

You glared back at Damian, knowing that this was gonna make it harder to find his mom.

You had to make him stop crying, stat.

So, you did the only thing you knew worked for you. The things your friends did when you cried.

"..do you want a piggyback ride?"

That shut up Ellijah really quickly.

After the piggyback ride, you put him down and decided to keep chatting with Elijah.

Damian spaced out both of you talking in order to not get too mad that your time together was being interrupted.

That was until Elijah insulted Damian.

"he's a butthead!" he pointed at Damian

"if you don’t shut it, I’m going to give you a new set of holes to breathe out of." Damian said glaring at Elijah again.

"Damian," you said sternly, bringing Elijah closer to you just in case.

After half an hour his mom finally came."oh I'm so glad I found him!" his mom said, hugging Ellijah close

"Mommy!" Elijah hugged her back, making you smile.

"oh I have to pay you back!" the woman spoke, pulling out a wad of cash from her wallet

"no thank you, ma'am, I'm fine I swear," you said, refusing

"no, I insist!" she tried handing it to you, only for you to push it away.

You backed off a little "It's completely free! he's a sweet guy!"

The woman finally gave up "Do you babysit?"

"Sometimes, yeah! Do you need my business card?" you started pulling one out of your purse

You guys fell into conversation, and Damian was growing impatient.

After another 30 minutes, you both packed up everything and went home.

The car ride was silent, unlike the other times when it was filled with laughter, chatting, and music.

Once you both got to the manor, you spoke up "What was that about?!"

Damian flinched at your sudden anger "What was what about?"

"Why did you threaten a 5-year-old?" you looked him in the eyes

He crossed his arms "he insulted me."

"he called you a buttface." You pointed out

"I stand by my point," Damian said

You put your hands on your hips "Why did you get so mad over a kid? he doesn't even know his numbers!"

"I don't see your point," Damian argued

"youre insuffuerable! I get why everyone calls you a demon." you grew angrier by the second.

"You an annoyance!" Damian stomped"why are you so stubborn, Peni?!" you yelled.

You both froze at the mention of her name.

You awkwardly made your way to your room, avoiding Damian's eyes.

You didn't notice how despite his angry face, there was a tint of sadness in his eyes.

you were in your room, processing what happened after a nice everything shower.

you were doing your skincare when you got a call from Noir.

"hey doll, do you mind taking care of peni for a bit?"

"of course! did anything happen?" you said, putting the call on speaker

"no, its just that peni's been asking to hang out with you for quite a while. plus, it'd be less worrying to go out on patrol and not be scared for her." in the backround, you could make out the sound of peni getting her things ready

"No problem, peni's an angel! what time will you be getting here?"

"is 15 minutes fine?"

"of course! is it a sleepover or just like a hangout?"

"sleepover."

"alright, ill see you both later."

you spent the next 15 minutes putting on your pjs and getting everything ready.

you prepared snacks and a movie night.

you were so ready for her to come over!

15 minutes had gone by when you heard the doorbell ring.

you ran through the dark, haunted looking walls.you pushed back Dick, who was also trying to get to the door.

"I'll get it!" you basically slammed yourself against the door.

you quickly recovered and opened the door.

"Noir!" you noticed how peni wasnt next to him like she usually was "wheres peni?"

"shes getting her stuff from the car."

"thats fine, come in!" you invited him in

"thanks."

alfred and noir made conversation, and you didnt notice damian basically stalking you all

you saw through the window that peni was on her way in. you jumped from your seat on the floor you will never be worthy enough for the family couch and opened the door for her.you spun peni into a hug

"Hi angel!"

Peni laughed, smiling at how tightly ypu were hugging her.

you didnt notice damian sneaking into your room.

As soon as he got there, he ran to your plushies.

Uour stupid plushies.

He pulled out his katana and started ripping them.

He had no idea why he'd done it, he just wanted to.

He made sure to focus on the Miguel plush, he was so mad that man took you away from them.

by the time you got back to your room with Peni not that far behind, you froze looking at the plusihies.

Damian didnt look guilty.

You dragged him away from the plushies, and dodging his kicks and punches as much as you could you scolded Damian "Why would you do that?"

he stayed silent, avoiding your eyes.

you slammed the door on his face and made your way to the plushies.

you held the now mangled miguel plush in your hands, and tried to not let out any tears.

Peni picked up your Miles plushie, which was now missing an eye and got an idea:

"I can probably fix this up, if youd like?"

"Actually?"

"Yeah! noir taught me how to sew a while ago."

She started fixing them and you finished setting up everything, still angry at Damian.

Why would he do this? He was the one who started all of this.everything started off great with him, what happened?

the more you thought of it, the more angry you got.

Meanwhile, Damian was in his room processing what he had done.

He didnt know why he did it exactly.

Could it be the jealousy?

Seeing you treat others that arent related to you like family?

Seeing you treat the little boy like the baby brother you never had?

Seeing you hold Peni and Peni not resisting?seeing how happy you were with her?

He's never felt so humiliated being kicked out of your room while companies over!

He had to apologize before peni could replace him before you hated him like you hated Alfred.

He made his way to your room and heard you and peni talking.

"She said i walk like a bitch, what does that even mean?!" a high pitched voice spoke, damian assumed came from the younger girl.

"Shes so annoying. i dont even know her and she sounds stupid." you said

"She is!" the high pitched voice spoke

Damian barged in.

He saw you painting peni's nails, and a movie playing in the background.

It was legally blonde, a movie he once caught Jason watching in his apartment.

an awkward silence passed by

You looked up at him "do you need something?"

"yes." he spoke up

"..well what is it?"

"i insist she leaves." Damian pointed to Peni

you quickly hid her behind you "She is not leaving."

"Y/n-" peni tried to interject, only to be cut off by you.

"Listen, damian, she isnt leaving. whatever you have to say, you can say it to my face."

"..Fine."he took a deep breath "i apologize." he muttered, ever so quietly.

"what was that?" you said, squatting down a bit to get to his level

"I apologize!" he put his head down in embarrassment

"Was that so hard?" You put you hands on your hipsyou took a deep breath "Okay, its whatever."

you continued "Im also sorry for getting so mad at you. and for calling you by Peni's name."

"You did what now?" Peni said, suprised.

"It's a long story." you started kicking damian out of your room.

The last thing he saw in your room was the now stitched up plushies.

As soon as he got out, you started talking to peni.

"Peni, please be careful around him."

Peni looked at you, confused "What do you mean?"

You opened a nail polish "He threatened a literal 5 year old."

Peni looked at you, bewildered "what?"

it was 3 in the morning when Peni got thirsty.

She knew that most likely, every one of your family members would be on patrol.

She started making her way out your room, making sure you didnt wake up.

Even though you were a heavy sleeper, she didnt wanna wake you up.

She knew her way around the manor, you've prevously hosted small get togethers with the spider-gang without anyone noticing.

As soon as she got to the kitchen, she noticed how damian was there.

She knew you had told her to be careful around him.

She tried sneaking around him, only for him to sneak up on her.

"Boo." Peni jumped at Damian scaring her.

"You scared me."

As she was about to yell at him, she felt something brush past her leg.

a little black and white cat.

"Awww, what a cutie!" She picked him up.

Damian was about to protest, knowing that alfred the cat usually would attack when picked up.

It caught him off guard how calm the cat was.

She put her hand out to him "I'm Peni."

He shook her hand "I know. Im Damian."

"He usually doesnt tolerate newcomers." He spoke

"Well, he can probably sense how i have a cat." Peni pet Alfred.

Damian's eyes lit up at her words "You do?"

"Yep! noir has a cat named Ding Ding, she's so sweet." Peni's eyes also lit up at being able to talk about it.

They both started talking about little cat facts, sitting on the kitchen floor.

They only stopped when they heard a certan voice.

"Can you guys shut up? It's literally 3 am." you rubbed your eyes, half asleep.

"Y-yeah, we'll be quiet, sorry." Peni prayed youd forget the warning you gave her to be careful around Damian.

You turned around to go back to bed, only to walk back when you remembered.

You started lightly scolding Peni about not hearing your warning, with Damian trying not to laugh.

Peni glared at Damian and spoke up "listen, im fully unharmed, see?"

You realised you were overreacting and took a deep breath. "youre right, im sorry. i just got all worried."

you quickly bear hugged her "Im so sorry angel, I wont do this again!"

"Y/n!" Peni laughed as quietly as she could.

"C'mon guys, lets head to bed." You picked them both up by the scruff of the neck, suprising Damian

"Put me down at once! Stop this nonsense!" He tried thrashing around.

He looked at Peni to see if she was doing the same thing, only to see her acting like this was normal between them.

You dropped Damian off at his room and brought peni to yours.

Damian ended up sneaking into your room an hour later

oh my god this is ass lmfao

if it feels rushed thats cause it was i was loosing motavation to finish this

im sososo sorry for the mistakes its like 3 am rn

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[batsis-reader]

Batsis: Hey Jason Jason: Yes? Batsis: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on? Jason: Jason: Where’s Damian?

[4mrplumi]

crow choir: seven minutes

min. one - the egg (batfam x neglected!reader)

ms. 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08

the world’s become buttery and thick, only bits of your vision slipping through drooping eyes, the otherwise strong smell of wet cement and bad paint strangely muted, and somebody crying weakly near your legs. 

you hate this bathtub. been meaning to get it checked for weeks, there must be a crack or something, letting mold grow through the bits. but rent’s so hard already… and you guys don’t even use this for anything. the shower works just fine.

your side starts to hurt, it’s difficult to put a hand on it, the action taking too, too much effort. you want to say something, tell whoever’s crying to shut up, but your words die in your throat, coming out like a whimper. the person starts crying louder. gosh… what’s wrong with her?

on the dirty, tub base, your phone pings, the screen lighting up to a picture too bright for your eyes to register it. you stare at it, hoping it’ll dull out, let you catch a sneak of what’s showed up so suddenly. the girl near your legs hiccups, picking up your phone to check. you don’t feel uneasy. she’s done this before, you can tell. you wait patiently, for her to talk, talk for you and to you.

she stifled a sob, voice dry from crying. “it’s your brother,” she mewled, tapping on the message, “he’s sent a voice mail. do i play it?” you can’t say yes. and your eyes are so, so heavy. you wait for her to understand. so she understands, a long, painted nail tapping at the screen.

geez. this phone’s audio’s terrible. you can barely hear a thing through the buzzing. the guy’s voice is terrible too, airy but squeaky, long drawling words that he says too quick. or is that your ears?

“hey (name)! it’s tim,” it’s tim, “it’s been… a while, since we talked-” a while, “any of us talked, um, with you, actually,” with you, in particular, “me and the others were wondering, y’know, with dick coming to visit this weekend, do you want to-” the audio buzzes out for a second, and comes back quickly,

“-hang out?”

your mouth, that’s been a little open this whole time, for breathing, closes quietly. you can’t answer, to him, or the way the girl near your legs seems to let out a pitiful whine of a noise, seemingly sadder about this than you.

tim… your brother… brothers? want to hang out. you look at your hand, now motionless at your side, and try to flex fingers that won’t move. they’re kind of mean aren’t they? calling you to hang out the one time you can’t. you take a breath, a wheeze, a sorry attempt by your throat to push in mucky, no-good air. you should tell them that you can’t hang out, not this weekend. you look at the girl, the edges of her image blurred, difficult to look at. but they become sharp, and clear for a fraction of a second, and she’s looking back at you, eyes pink and puffy.

your voice, your throat, so difficult to use only a second before, is a little lighter. you can say something. something, but… you have to be fast. blink once, “you’ve got to leave,” you murmur, the girl’s head jutting up sharply, “turn the tap on when you go,” her lip wobbles, you feel bad for making her cry, “none of your stuff should be in this apartment.” she nods. you consider, raising a brow with some difficulty, the muscles in your face falling asleep.

“get rid of that old hag downstairs,” the girl gasps, you hiss at her to shut up, “he doesn’t get to know you were here.” everything will be fine. you’re just a little sad you couldn’t hang out with your family, only just a little, since they were so mean and you didn’t much like them. still. 

you look at your phone, the girl gets up and turns the tap on, water starts wetting your hair. you’d like to hang out, even if they were mean the whole time, just once. you thought you had more time, really, much more time. water starts pooling at your body, your back turning wet and cold. the girl, your friend, looks down at you, sad. she says something, sorry? i love you? i’ll miss you? you ruined my life? you don’t know. tim’s voice plays again in your head, as water blankets your body, still not too close to your head. 

why’d he ask to hang out, the one time you couldn’t? the water’s at your chin. so mean. water covers your face, kissing your head. you’re not scared of drowning. you’ve already stopped breathing. you wish you had one more minute. the blurry colours of the girl leave the bathroom in a rush, muted sounds of clattering and wailing coming from outside the bathroom door. one more minute.

the world goes dark.

people say gotham is a city of secrets, but that’s not true at all. people know, they gossip, they sneer and giggle behind their fingers. there are no secrets in gotham, only things left undiscovered. 

like that prickly pair of kids on the second floor of ms. jone’s place. people whisper that they only share the same last name, and their mother. bastard children looping their arms together and trying to make ends meet. but that’s all they know. everything else is undiscovered.

they don’t know about the older girl selling bad booze and messy powders for scrap money, using it on the little food they could afford, skipping over bills and all-that-nonsense. they don’t know how the younger kid’s almost eight, and still hasn’t started to talk, eerily quiet for most of the day, making troubled noises only in their sleep. they don’t know about (name)’s big sister wiping their tears and singing them terrible lullabies, after yelling herself hoarse and going into hysterics wild enough to call for a month at arkham. no one hears, no one discovers.

they only know that the lady living in that house got into bad trouble last year, went missing with not a single person reporting her absence. her kids didn’t have anyone come for them, but who cares? the eldest was of age, there are far more unfortunate children in gotham. they’ll manage. 

they discover you in november, small hands curled around limp, cold fingers poking out of the tub. the polluted waters of gotham did good for once, you couldn’t see her glassy eyes or swelling lips, her face submerged in water. the cops had picked up your sleeping body, only one of them shaken from discovering you. “odd smell” complaints were hardly issues for the GCPD, gotham smelt like muck. isn’t it so lucky that the one time they bother, there’s something to feel bad about? the smell of flesh? of bad water?

just like they were surprised when they discovered you, you were surprised to discover you weren’t at home anymore, your fingers curled around some stranger police officer’s sleeve. you’d let go of it sharply, eyeing her suspiciously. your sister said the cops weren’t good, that they’d taken her friends and would take her too. did you do something bad? is that why you’re here? you can’t help it; your chin wobbles.

you were left a secret, discovered, but not understood. the police couldn’t get you to talk, not with candy you’d refused or gentle voices unfit for their jobs. the foster homes you’d been put in- perhaps made you quieter, more bitter. you’d snatch away toys the other children tried to take from you, and got relocated quite a lot on complaints of “violent behaviour”. they tried, your caretakers, your “siblings”, the secretariats with their uneasy and frankly irritated smiles, really did try to get you to settle. but you never really did. a poet might’ve been kinder and called you a jumble of rogue waves, with a storm in you that never really seemed to calm. everyone else thought you were a freak.

you can only imagine the desk-lady’s surprise, when she told you your father, your real father, was coming to pick you up, and all those waves suddenly ebbed away. eery, she whispered to her colleagues later, i’d expected surprise, shock, happiness or even anger, but the kid went still! yeah, you must’ve been a freak.

bruce wayne did not come to pick you up, to nearly no one’s surprise. the man was so dreadfully busy, it’d be alot to expect him to come pick up his child! no, the butler came instead, letting you eye his graying hair and polished suit with some level of blunt distaste. but still, you said nothing. you said nothing the whole car-ride, nothing when you hesitantly took the man’s hand and waddled up to the manor in uneven, uneasy steps, nothing when you entered the large, large, empty house.

everything made your head spin. from the too-high ceilings, the too-long corridors, the too-strong scent of something, and bright lights that seemed to engulf you. this was a complete one-eighty from your previous living conditions, and probably sent you into more shock than finding our about your dad.

right, your dad. you’d asked you sister about him once, assuming she’d know. she always knew just about everything, she’d know your dad too, right? 

she didn’t. she’d pinched your cheeks and shoved a spoon of gray oats into your mouth, her voice a mocking sing-song; “my father doesn’t come get me because he can’t,” she’d said, “your father doesn’t get you because he doesn’t want you!” 

so why’d he want you now? maybe he didn’t- that’s why he didn’t pick you up, or show his face even after you’d sat in the living room for nearly two hours, waiting. the butler, his name was “alfred” as you learnt a little later, careened you to your room, leaving you to your few things and many questions left unasked. 

this was your life. would be- your life, for years to come. company served by a desk, a bed, a cupboard and a window in place of your father, your brothers, and your sister. you’re not sure what was so irredeemable, so different, so other about you, that you couldn’t ever manage to sit with them without stiffening in the tension.

they could accept assassins and circus boys, but maybe, you were just too ordinary to fit in with them. it was easier to stay in your room, easier to take up a dozen after-school responsibilities, than it was to stay at home and have to listen to conversations you weren’t privy to. this is just how it is, you’d gone without a fight, it’s just how it’s meant to be.

bruce did speak to you, quite a few times after you’d come to the manor. he’d asked how your mother was, initiating a long stare-off that ended with him nodding and leaving. the next conversations were just as awkward, miserable and weird. strained discussions about your old homes, stories about your mom you really didn’t care about, promises of events where you’d get to know your family, and maybe other children your age. you despised him, really, you did.

but this is how it’s meant to be. you assume, accept, this is your new life, this is punishment. for what? who knows. there are far more unfortunate children in gotham, you can’t complain, you accept this new life. this punishment; your brothers’ eyes turning away from your dark, gleaming ones, your sister pursing her lips and avoiding you quietly, all while you try to manage some behaviour of yours, some atmosphere around you that you don't know how to get rid of, barely even know exists. this is punishment, you have to accept it.

the first minute passes quietly.

˖ 𑣲 a/n: much has happened since i last uploaded anything on tumblr, my writing style too, definitely. i guess this marks the official discontinuation of the original crow choir series, which despite the love it got and the ideas i initially had for it, were really draining me, and going nowhere. thank you to everyone who's supported my writing, and for 600 followers ❤️ stay safe and well!

tag list: @lettucel0ver @marsmabe @alishii @1abi @c4xcocoa @bbmgirll @sirenetheblogger @privatebumblebee

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Hi! I'm a new follower and let me tell you that your Platonic yandere batfam x girl scout reader is just *chef kiss*. I really, really, REALLY love it!!

Can I please be added to the tag list, pretty please with cherry on top?

Definitely! I appreciate all your love and support and I'll ofc be tagging you in the next chapter! 💓

[echo-exco]

Omg literally the new chapter for the healer’reader series is just so peak 😍😍😍 we get to see three povs on reader who all think they are doing what’s best for her- honestly I can’t fully blame them for neglecting reader but at the same time I do. Honestly though they all think reader is the most normal one of the dynamic, especially with Jason’s pov he things by ignoring them he can protect them from this life meanwhile reader has been part of it for a while. Like the family means well and that’s what crushes me because they want what they think is best for this kid who clearly has something always on her mind she doesn’t speak off- but they don’t know how to do it without drawing her in to their lives like idk it’s crushing me and it’s all cuz ur writing is so good

Awww 🥺❤️ Thank you, dear! Your words are so kind <3

I really enjoy writing everyone’s perspective in the batfam about healer!reader before the tragedy happens. No one in the family truly hates her! It’s just that, for several of them, healer!reader came at a really bad time.

I won’t go into detail so I don’t spoil the plot, and I also hope to explain that point better in the next part ^^ (with Tim’s and Barbara’s perspectives, and a bit more)

Of course, all those actions will have consequences, no one is safe :)

Writing everyone’s perspective is a bit difficult for me, I won’t lie.

But it was definitely fun to explore the thoughts of Stephanie, Richard, and Jason.

All of them think they’re doing the right thing and that there’s nothing wrong with healer!reader—they don’t want to overwhelm or hurt her (at least not with any true intention to do so). Healer!reader herself is afraid of her family and of forming a close relationship with them, a fear and insecurity instilled by someone else (we all know I’m talking about Masashi 😔)

Jason won’t be happy with anything that’s coming in the future, no one will.

[athenalvss]

WHO DO I WRITE FOR?

clarifications:

○ I only write for fem readers, bc i don't feel comfortable writing any other way and I feel that not knowing certain things can cause discomfort or hurt other people's feelings, so since I don't want to hurt anyone, I stay in my comfort zone.

○ This list can change constantly, the characters I write for have to be liked in some way or be attracted to (weirdo) so it changes all the time. (also maybe I forget someone so you still can ask)

masterlist - let your request here

DC COMICS

✰ Bruce wayne (cómics, bale, affleck)

✰ Dick grayson

✰ Jason todd

✰ Wally west

✰ Barry allen

☆ Clark kent

☆ Hal Jordan

more soon...

TV SHOWS

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[neellscapsule]

Ok I love the spider sister and I am so curious how it’s going to go down when she reunites with Jason and the others but I really want to see if Bruce fights for her and have be like “THAT’S MY BABY GIRL!”

Because I really think Spider sister really needs her dad right now and just needs him to hold and tell her how she’s not a monster and that she’s still his baby girl. And I think Bruce can help because no one hates themselves more than Bruce and I believe Bruce can help with that.

i think it's all a very complicated situation. do you know "vienna" by billy joel? there's a part that goes "slow down, you crazy child. you're so ambitious for a juvenile. but then if you're so smart, tell me why are you still so afraid?" and i think it goes perfectly with spider!reader

she knows she would be comforted. she knows they will look at her in the eye and say "yes, you are who i remember" because they will not see the spider, they just want her back. bruce will not see the mutation. bruce will see her, will see himself, and it terrifies her even more

but yeah, she totally needs it. she needs her dad, needs a lot of therapy, perhaps a chat with jason because he's the only one who would get the whole dead and being brought back alive thing.

[unhinged-insomniac]

How a neglected story goes.

Platonic Yandere! Batfam x Neglected! Reader

You knew what it's like to be loved.

You grew up with a famous actress for a mother, hidden away in your grandparent's home. Although you see your mother on the screen of your television more than in person your grandparents would always remind you that she deeply loves you. And sweet little you believed them. Because when your mother takes off her wig and all that flashy clothes to come home to your humble house in the countryside, she'd shower you with gifts and kisses. At night she'll spend what little time you have together, sleeping in your bed whispering I love you's to your sleeping form. She'd cry and hug you tightly when she had to leave you behind for her Gothamite Socialite life.

The void left behind by your mother would be filled by your grandparents. With pillow forts, tea parties, picnics and little cheers for your dances. You never knew what it was like to be unloved.

One night after your Grandpa tucks you in and gives you your kiss goodnight, deep in your slumber you never knew how your mother came home crying that night.

Your beloved mother cried about missing you. About how much she can no longer take leaving you behind just to keep her career. Of how much she wanted to bring you to Gotham and raise you there instead.

The next day you were happily surprised by your mother's presence. Your grandparents told you about how you will all be living together from now on, and oh how happy you were with that news.

The next month you had to blow a kiss goodbye to your old house, thanking it for all the memories it gave you.

It took some time to adjust. Gotham was much too crowded and much too busy than you were used to. Always too noisy too dark and just too much for sweet little you. Of course, your guardians noticed. No attentive parents would ever not notice your change of behavior.

One day your mother suggested a little outing, to show you how pretty Gotham can be.

If only you knew what a horrible idea that was.

Running people filled your vision as screams filled the air. Your grandfather picks you up to move faster together with the crowd. Then an explosion went off, shaking the ground and replacing the screams.

Gotham police had to dig you out from under the dead bodies of your family

You the sole survivor, was only saved by being shielded by the people that loved you most.

That's why half-hearted attempts will never be enough.

An old man dressed in black picked you up at the police station that day. Commissioner Gordon told you your father will be picking you up. You didn't know the man. Your grandfather made sure you'd never longed for fatherly love.

"Are you my father?" you asked

"No young master," the man replied "I'm Alfred unfortunately Master Bruce is unable to be here today, but you will be meeting him later"

Your humble quiet house in the countryside now replaced with a city, a mansion, cold and dark. Your loving mother that you rarely saw now replaced by a father that not only do you barely see despite the fact that you live together, but the only affection he'd give you are material things. No more hugs and kisses, no more sweet I love you's.

Your beloved grandparents now replaced by two older brothers. One introduces himself as Dick who no longer lives in the lonely Wayne manor. While the other, Jason was it? Doesn't have enough time to spare.

At least Alfred was there, but you were not a priority in his eyes. You don't come home bloodied, bruised, needing stitches or dying. You try to understand, but you can't help but miss your grandfather's goodnight kiss.

No more building pillow forts, no one to attend your tea parties, no picnics would be had on the garden, and not a single pair of eyes to watch you dance.

All you have are toys absentmindedly bought, apologies and promises of next times that never comes.

Jason for example promised to one day take you shopping just you and him. His funeral came before that outing.

Bruce have even less time to think of you for he's busy mourning his son.

You mourned the what if's and what could've been. You've wondered if you were closer, would you have cried harder that day?

You wanted to comfort your father, you've lost loved ones too. However before you could even try to reach out, there your father was, attending to a new member of the house.

"This is Tim," he said "he'll be living with us from now on."

Since your father is distracting his grief by taking care of Tim instead, you've set your sights on your new older brother.

"No offense but everything you wanna do is boring," Tim said when you suggested watching a movie together "watch it if you want just stop bothering me already."

You were a child filled with so much love, that you have much to give.

You strive to make your father proud, you excelled in academics and an exceptional ballerina. None of which your father ever cared enough to pay attention to.

You would talk to Dick every time he visits, trying to make him agree to just one sibling bonding you could think of. Only to be brushed aside with an apology and a promise of a next time that he's just too busy to ever fulfill.

You would clean after Tim, check on him and make sure he'd get some sleep or have fresh coffee. You'd try your best to not be a bother to him.

You would help Alfred around the house, with cooking most of the time. To which you'd received a thank you for and sometimes a headpat that makes your heart giddy. Small affection that you used to have in abundance.

When Alfred is too busy attending to his priorities you'd find yourself sitting on the grave of Jason. Telling his headstone little stories. Most of the time it's about what if's and maybe's, it's sad to think that you spend more time with him dead than when he was alive.

'Well maybe it's not too late'

Lightning cracked across the sky that night, illuminating the man that broke one of the kitchen windows. There he stood soaking wet, older and bigger than you remembered. Thunder followed making your heart beat faster, were you being haunted or was studying so much making you hallucinate?

"Jason?" You called

As if the name was a curse he was trying to run away from, the man vanished as suddenly as he appeared.

You ran to Bruce that night. Telling him what you saw, but instead of looking into it, you were only scolded, the only attention he'd given you in years. It was insensitive he'd claimed. And even when you were proven right your father never apologized.

When all that love runs out, you are left with deep longing

You were eventually introduced to your half-brother. Oh how excited you were to finally have your own younger sibling. Poor naive you, not knowing that the only thing you'll receive from Damian is a broken arm.

"It would be better if you avoid Master Damian for now." Alfred said by your bedside "Please understand that he's been through a lot"

All you were able to do was nod your head.

You would sometimes catch the family fussing over Damian, it hurts to think that Dick suddenly has all the time in the world for him.

You could never hate Damian for that but you can't stop a broken heart. So once just once.

'Please, please just have time for this one thing'

You sent everyone an invitation to a recital. 'Ugly Duckling Ballet' it said. The day came, and you did such a masterful performance, yet not one of the people clapping were your family.

Tears fell from your eyes as you ran away from the school auditorium.

You ran and ran, not knowing where your legs would take you. Until you stumble upon the art club room. You didn't know why you would run to this specific place, but you didn't care. The next thing you did made you question who you inherited such a destructive temper from.

Canvases ruined, broken easels and paintbrushes lay on the ground. Cans of paint spilled from the wall to the floor. Your hair a mess and your tutu ruined by paint. Every part of you was marred with paint. Your hair and hands splattered with every color paint the art club has available when you went and forcebly opened every single one of them. But those were nothing compared to your shoes. Your ballet shoes now ruined by the layers of paint. You didn't care, it's not like you'll ever wear a pair of ballet shoes ever again.

The next day was nerve-wracking, now that you come to your senses you are filled with guilt and nervousness. You feel bad for the art club members and now you are waiting outside the principal's office.

Well at least you'll see your father today.

But even that wish won't be fulfilled.

"You're better than this," the principal started "Just because your father can afford the damages and then some, doesn't mean you can go around destroying school property."

You can only sit there being eaten by guilt and look down at your hands.

"I understand that your father is a busy man, so we've talked to him on the phone for a compromise for now you'll be temporarily removed from the ballet club, but anymore of this behavior and expect a suspension."

You guessed having a Goody two-shoes reputation is a good thing, but guilt is still eating at you. You eventually find yourself in the art clubroom, now with students that you assumed are part of the art club cleaning up and trying to salvage what they can. It's not long until one of them notices you.

"Are you here to break more stuff again?" one of them angrily asked

Another student calmed them down, redirecting their attention to cleaning up before approaching you and closing the door behind them.

Now it's just you two in the empty hallway of the school.

"I'm sorry," you started "my family will be replacing everything and-and I'll help clean up too I'm just--I'm sorry I didn't mean to---"

"Hey calm down," they cut you off "besides the cleaning we'd be happy to get brand new stuff." they said attempting to lighten the mood.

You feel tears falling from your eyes again, and you went to wipe them off with your hands

'You shouldn't be crying you're not the victim here'

"I'm sorry I-- god I'm such a horrible person."

"Hey it's ok," they tried calming you down "I uhm-- we still have your painting, I know you're temporarily banned from ballet so do you wanna join the art club?"

"..what?"

"I mean just while you're waiting for the ban to be lifted."

And when even all that longing runs out, hate is the only thing left behind.

You never ended up going back to ballet, your family seems to be uninterested with dances anyway. But you knew they liked art, they went to so many galas about art or whatever after all. You even started taking home your paintings now, for the whole family to enjoy. And it seems that you were right, after all here you are busily preparing for an exhibit that Dick promised to come to. So you made sure to make the painting of Nightwing the biggest and most detailed among all of them.

Oh poor poor you, the day came and ended and here you were in a now empty gallery. Where your paintings are now carted to a vacant store room, to be sent back to you're school because dear old you refused to sell any of them until Dick sees it.

But where is dear big brother Dick now you wonder? Well when you went to check up on him to make sure nothing bad happened to him making him unable to come, there was a little notification that popped on your screen.

Oh was it Dick telling you he couldn't make it? Or an explanation that he had an accident or at least an apology? No none of that.

It was a notification that Dick posted, a picture of him and all of the family, in what looks like a theater-like setting. With dear Cassandra on a pretty white tutu. Tears welled up in your eyes as you read the caption filled with nothing but pride and congratulations for Cassandra for her performance.

It seems you were wrong after all. Ballet was never the issue.

You threw your phone at the paintings. At least this time the only stuff ruined would be the ones you made.

The unappreciated one.

Uncelebrated.

Unloved.

It is only when you hit a sewing kit spilling ribbons and beads onto the broken painting on the floor, did you snap out of your blind rage.

You ruined Nightwing's painting the most that night because at least everyone else had the decency to not give you false hope.

Once all that hate for them runs dry, where else would your feelings take you?

You went to college early, you made sure that the art school you're going to would get you away from the cold Wayne manor for awhile. The first step in moving on is literally moving in your opinion.

Now here you are busily working on your project. You've set up a mirror, you've never made a self-portrait before so you wanted to make sure it's perfect.

You started a sketch, planning out the position, the hair and the proportion, however, the more you worked on it the more it feels like you're more familiar with what you're working on than you originally thought.

You stopped sketching, unceremoniously dropping the pencil onto the floor as you went to grab the mirror.

You've never done self-portraits before, it's not something you were ever interested in painting. You stared hard at your own face, searching and scanning for answers on what made it so familiar to you, other than the fact that it's the face you see in the mirror every day.

And oh dear you, you went and wounded yourself breaking that mirror when you found out.

You have his face.

Bruce's face

I mean yes you have the color of your mother's eyes and hair, but the shape of your face and eyes, your nose and lips, all Bruce's.

It's so so sad to know that you were so focused on painting him that you are only now noticing this fact.

You have a long way to go from moving on it seems.

When all emotions through the years left nothing but a forgettable aftertaste you realize that the opposite of love isn't hate

"Young master what are you doing!?" A panicked Alfred called as he came running with a fire extinguisher for the currently on-fire pile you have going on the back of Wayne Manor.

"Relax Alfred," you said "just doing a little bit of cleanup is all"

"You can't just start a fire!" He exclaimed as he put out the fire "I will dispose of these myself young master."

"Oh come on Alfie I know you have so much on your plate as it is"

"Nonsense, I'll be taking care of this and that is final."

You laughed "If you say so, Alfred."

You never truly let go until you understand that indifference is what makes you happy

You packed what few remaining things you wanted to keep. You've said goodbye to Alfred (and him alone). You graduated top of your class, now it's time for you to continue your life elsewhere.

You looked back one final time.

You blew a kiss goodbye to the cold Wayne Manor that raised you.

[itheunknown]

odi et amo - (03) i, ghostly

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

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(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

you can't tell what's louder, the thumping in your chest or the ringing in your ears.

your breath comes out shaky, the smoke curling out your nose and mouth, caressing your face.

it's hard to grasp reality. you don't know how you ended up here, nothing feels certain.

nothing feels real.

the sting on your now dried tear streaked cheek is the only feeling you grasp, a reminder.

and it's haunting.

did it hurt? fuck yes. but you're used to it.

you've been hurt your whole life.

you are nothing more than a body that hurts.

you never expected anything from that family, a family that isn't yours. but, perhaps, it was wishful thinking that if you made yourself forgettable enough, they would leave you alone. it didn't matter anymore, the fact that they were never there - you've done this before, you've been alone before. the heart could only grow brutal from feeding on fantasies.

fantasies of loving arms, fantasies of warmth and peace.

fantasies of being seen. fantasies of being wanted.

but you're never seen.

and you're never wanted.

expectations only lead to disappointment.

you're staring down at the deep drop, somehow finding yourself back at the same abandoned building years ago. the sharp sting of the wind barely felt through the thick of the hoodie engulfing your form, the hood protecting your identity. the pack of the nearly empty cigarettes you had burned through along with your lighter layed scattered besides you, mixing with the discarded butts.

"didn't take you for the rebellious type."

a sense of déjà vu, a voice, a similar scenario and the same setting - recognition washes over you - the voice of the vigilante that stopped you from jumping. and now, now you just can't seem to find the same sense of finality and courage to do it again.

you didn't even flinch, no signs of making a move to acknowledge his presence, the burning cigarette still in hand as it nears your lips once more. a sigh and footsteps were heard before he was seated next to you, plucking the half-smoked cigarette out of your trembling hands and flicking it out the building.

"that's littering", you mutter, and he let out a surprised laugh despite your deadpan tone and the depressing atmosphere.

you're grateful that the hood makes you unidentifiable, thanks to the shadow it casts upon your face, further assisted by the blanket of the night: you don’t want to be seen right now, you just need to be heard.

he looks at you, a moment of prolonged silence as his laughter dies out. you didn't even stir, defeated.

your voice was more mature, your stature taller but despite your unseen features, he can still sense how hollow you were - just like the first time he saw you.

despite everything, it was still you.

he's thankful that, at the very least, you weren't making a move to jump off this time, the memory of it still unnerves him everytime he revisits it. although admittedly, smoking is just another way to achieve what you had come here to do before.

"… do you want to talk about it? ", he hesitates.

a beat passes. he desperately wants to help you, but also wishes not to overstep.

you asked your own question, one that had lingered at the back of your mind ever since that day:

"why did you stop me?"

he's surprised.

you're waiting.

your head tilted slightly, the moon light barely illuminated the edges of your face.

"because your life has value. i couldn't watch you, just, throw it away like it meant nothing.”

"it does mean nothing, i have nothing to live for", you reply, your tone grim and finalized.

his heart aches, the burden heavy in your voice - you sounded tired. broken.

his hand finds its way on your shoulder and pats awkwardly. "i'm sure that's not true. you may think that now, but you don't have to carry this weight alone."

"but i am alone."

“that’s not true, i’m sure there are people who care about you!”

he nudges your arm lightly, a light and reassuring smile on his face. you stare at him, at how the moon perfectly encapsulates his presence, at the tender warmth and genuine care radiating from him - the personification of life. the opposite of you, who's haunted by the idea of death.

you, who’d always remain in the shadows, remained in the desolated and dark corners of everyone’s mind, ignored, forgotten. dead to them.

“you don’t even know me,” you breathe out, “nobody knows me.”

the weight of your words weigh heavy on his soul. “that may be true, but that doesn’t mean i can’t care,” he offers. “you know, kid, you actually remind me of one of my siblings. around the same age, actually.”

your curiosity peaked as you silently urged for him to continue.

“but they came around eventually, i think. the hurt doesn’t go away, but you have to reach out for help.”

“…have you talked to your family about it?”

you scoff and stood up, making your way out of the building. he hurriedly follows you, frustration tainting his carefully crafted positivity. “you can’t just push people away like this. why won’t you let anyone in?”

you’re annoyed, it’s not like you did so deliberately, had anyone ever tried to get to know you? let alone care about you? you had abandoned that wishful thinking long ago, especially after today’s events.

“what’s the use,” you snarled. “nothing ever changes.”

“nothing can change if you don’t try!”

“sure, whatever.”

you paced hurriedly to where you left your bicycle, his presence hot on your trail.

“don’t dismiss me. your life matters, damn it.” he grabs your wrist.

you exhale sharply, yanking your arm out of his grasp. he falters back a bit, sensing that he crossed a line, trying to tone down how aggressive he was coming onto you.

“just- just remember that people care about you.”

“sure, like you do?”

“yes!”

you still for a bit, looking at him skeptically. you both awkwardly stood there, the situation almost comical in a sense, especially since his eyes can't remain trained on any visible feature of your face.

“hmm, thanks. i guess.” you trailed, hopping on your bicycle.

“be safe, alright?” he watches you, unsure if he should follow you to assure your safety.

“i will.”

he watched you ride off into the night, unable to shake the feeling of helplessness. he wanted to help, but also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and scare you off. he stood there contemplating before he dashed off to continue the rest of his patrol.

the distance between you both grows larger, moving in opposite directions, but your thoughts lingered on each other's words.

despite continuing his patrol, he couldn't shake off the feeling of responsibility: for you - the mystery person tonight, and then, his mentioned sibling. he recalls how they were when they first entered the manor, and how they quietly adapted to the new lifestyle, growing up with the habit of concealing their emotions behind the facade of indifference, thinking that he didn’t notice. but he did, he was just never confronted with the drastic measure it would lead to if everyone in that manor just let that feeling of hopelessness fester within them. in a way, he's thankful to you: you gave him a wake-up call.

that sense of urgency nagging him to check on his family as he made a mental note to visit them after his patrol, your words lingering at the back of his head.

you retreat to the bathroom of the manor, the storm in your mind temporarily tamed. the cold water trickling down your arms, the soapy smell in the air to wash away the smoke clinging on your skin. the hoodie you wore hanging in the shower after you'd hand wash it, not wanting to expose yourself in case alfred gets a whiff of it.

despite what had happened, you can't help but want his approval - the only person who actually gave you the time of day in this manor.

your expression focused, your eyebrows knitted, lips sucked in as you scrubbed your arms raw. you feel more grounded. your eyes dart to the reflection in the mirror, reminding yourself to keep it together.

keep it together.

keep it together.

keep it together.

subliminally. consciously. repeatedly

keep. it. together.

you release the death grip and push yourself off the sink, sighing harshly.

keeping it together, you made way to the kitchen, planning to get some tea.

and then, you see him.

richard grayson.

in the same vigilante suit, mask off.

your breath lodged in your throat, you stand frozen watching him wait for the coffee while seemingly deep in thought, troubled. anxious.

you can't believe it. richard grayson, the oldest sibling, the vigilante, was the person who pulled you off the ledge, was the person who actually listened to you.

you can't describe this feeling in your chest, gripping your heart like a vice.

he was here all along.

you recall the mention of the sibling, was it you? did he actually… notice your struggles? maybe he had good intentions all along, trying not to overstep, hoping you'd come to him?

you don't know why you're trying to make excuses for him, but the mere fact that he saw you was enough.

you finally let out a noise, snapping him out of his trance and his eyes snapped to you.

he looked a little caught off guard, surprised he didn't sense your presence.

you. hoodie off.

“oh. hey.”

he rubs the back of his head. maybe he felt embarrassed that this was how you found out? but it's alright, because now he’ll finally notice you-

“have you seen tim?”

“what?”

he sighs and grabs the finished coffee, settled on a tray with a dish holding an assortment of cookies.

“i’m a little worried about him. i mean, since the cat's out of the bag, you should know he does a lot of work to contribute to us keeping the city safe- actually, you wouldn't understand.”

he cuts himself off, deeming it not important enough to explain, and completely overlooks the horrified expression that now settles on your features.

your vision starts to swim, your neck feels hot - unsure if it was embarrassment or rage.

embarrassed at the fact that you were deluded enough into thinking anyone in this house would ever give a shit about you, that anyone would care about what you're going through.

angry at the fact that you are never the person who gets asked for, never the sibling whose struggles are acknowledged.

dick had left the kitchen in search for tim, deciding to check out his room first. you absent-mindedly trailed behind him like a kicked dog, not saying a heap.

you didn't register him knocking on tim's door.

you didn't register how dick affectionately asked a tired tim to spend some time together.

you didn't register them conversing while walking inside.

you didn't register tim giving you an odd look and closing the door to give them more privacy.

now, you sit in your room once more, alone, back against your bed, the torn shirt bundled in your hands. the grip on the fabric tightens, your knuckles whitens, and your shoulder starts shaking.

tears made its way down your face as you silently sobbed once more, occasionally chuckling at how pathetic your situation was.

you give up.

you can't keep it together anymore.

expectations only lead to disappointment.

despite your lethargy, you somehow made it through another school day. time started to bleed into each other, you resorted to going on auto-pilot.

so it didn't matter when onlookers would sneakily glance at you and the hand print on your cheek, resting under your red rimmed eyes and heavy eyebags that no one thought could get worse.

you had to keep moving. at the very least, you still had something that defined your worth - your intelligence.

so what if you had no family, no friends. your grades would never betray you, you'll continue your plan: study hard, get into a good university and then get the fuck away from here, from everyone.

no one will miss you.

no one would even notice.

“hey that's a bit much. what are we, chopped liver?”

the deafening ring of the bell signalling the end of school somehow went unheard, but the sound of your friends somehow pierced through the barrier of your haze, jolting you back to reality. your eyes flickered to them, trying your hardest to offer a weak smile, but somehow failing.

they offer you a sympathetic smile, their face painted with worry. that alone almost sent you into crying again. you find yourself in their embrace, soothing you while you try to hold it together, shielding you from the world.

yes, you're not entirely alone.

you still have your friends.

they would miss you.

they would notice.

so it didn't matter when the students gave you an odd look, putting some distance while you stood to the side engulfed in the arms of your friends. it didn't matter.

you had them.

you had someone.

the path back to manor somehow the sky looked clearer, the grass looked greener, and the lush bushes of wildflowers were glowing - noticing the little things that you usually disregard, walking your bicycle while chatting away with your friends.

they never pried on why you were upset. they knew you, they knew. they knew because you knew. and that was enough, a wordless understanding, unconditional. they had insisted to keep you company, maybe spend some time together in your room.

you really needed the company, but despite being too ashamed to communicate it, they knew. so now, even if you arrived home later than usual, the sky turned dark and cold, you felt warm. that's the safety and comfort that no one else has been able to provide you, and you're so grateful that you at least had them - your precious friends, your reason to stay.

so when you opened the door to the manor, still chattering and giggling with your friend, alfred had heard from the other room.

he felt somewhat relieved, the guilt over his actions had started to consume him, and so he had waited impatiently for your arrival that had been later than usual; but before he could fuss over you, the sound of your laughter had effectively calmed him down knowing you were safe and happy. he'd never heard you this happy before, and it hurts knowing that you had never been able to find joy while surrounded by the walls of this house.

he straightened his shirt, cleared his throat, and put on a kind smile while making his way out of the room to greet you in the doorway, your smile that could light up a stormy day, contrasting the gloomy room.

your friends shrunk back a bit, seemingly nervous of the tall and poised butler, feeling out of place.

you grabbed their hands and gave a reassuring squeeze, telling them it's alright.

“oh, hey alfred! i know this wasn't informed but my friends were wondering if they could stay for dinner?” you turn to him, “we won't be much trouble, i promise!”

you beam at him, waiting expectantly for alfred to welcome your friends.

while alfred could only stare in horror at the empty space next to you.

howdy skibbidis, i am not feeling very sigma :pained_heh:

lowk work has been ass and so has everything else but hey we move. i appreciate every single one of your comments and reblogs yall are so funny lol, but fr the support has been like saving my ass from burning out. grassy ass my skibbidi sigmas.

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