Blue_Axolote

X

One-shots

Batfam x neglected reader

Gotham's tea club

Ace and his Youngling

Gotham's Devils (John Constantine x Reader)

Bruce Wayne x Reader

An old love from his youth whose music still keeps playing in Bruce’s life

DP X DC

Goliath is the bridge between mourning brothers

Martha and Thomas Wayne are King Phantom's regent

Prompts

Batfam x neglected reader

Taken in by the old ladies of high society.

Neglected reader is adopted by Talia and Ra’s al Ghul

DP x DC

Being a Green Lantern’s ghost is quite different from being one in life.

Ghost King of Slay (Spirit Halloween)

Injustice Superman makes Dan

Bruce Wayne x reader

Raising the kids together but aren’t in a relationship

DC

How Jason outed himself by dancing in the sluttier way

Invincible

Conquest has never been a husband or a father, but he is a grandfather, and the Grand Regent was taking that from him.

House of the Dragon

But make it Helaena x Thranduil

I can almost taste the “opposites attract each other.” The things that make Helaena seem “weak” in Westeros would be cherished by the elves.

Thranduil is bitter, but even when he is rude, she can see he cares. Maybe Helaena is the doppelgänger of his wife, and he loathes it—hates that some mortal wears his wife’s face.

Yet she makes her way by being her strange self: speaking in riddles, pointing out that some insect doesn’t belong in that tree, saving an old oak without meaning to. The other elves indulge her odd speech; they like her kind but sweet voice. It’s hard not to like her when she is so happy tending to animals… but they begin to notice that sometimes her strange words turn out to be true.

She isn’t mad, just disappointed that her son is buying into Bruce’s dramatics. She respects that he can’t kill criminals, but he completely loses his mind because her family does. She should have known he was like all Americans... preaching respect until it doesn’t fit his standards.

She’s about to leave when she sees Bruce’s daughter—the civilian one, the one her beloved left outside his inner circle.

Her reserve is for two people, and two people will go.

"Child, come. We are going to have dinner."

"What?"

"And then we are going to the opera to see Madame Butterfly."

"I’m sold."

Reader had asked for tickets, but Bruce forgot.

Talia was ready to be tolerant, but she ends up setting another date and calling her beloved’s daughter almost every week.

She loves Damian, but she finds herself enjoying being a mom’s girl very much. Damian’s sister has a sensitivity her son lacks.

Some of Talia’s old clothes end up in her dresser. When summer comes, Talia invites her to Nepal; her beloved thinks she’s going to a summer camp, but Talia starts training their daughter. She can bear that she’s a civilian, but not that she’s defenseless.

Still, they take time to do a mini tour all around Asia, tasting local cuisine and shopping for clothes that actually fit her daughter.

Ra’s is curious but not really interested at first.

"So you are the detective’s runt."

"Unwanted, you mean."

"And that doesn’t bother you?" he asks, intrigued.

"I’ve decided my best vengeance is being unbothered by it."

He smiles briefly.

"What would the detective say if he knew you lingered with my daughter?"

"Sir, if you want a video reaction when he finds out, just pay me."

He sends her $10,000 when she ends up sending him high-resolution footage.

To everyone’s confusion—except Talia—Ra’s al Ghul acts like a normal grandpa when he’s around reader.

When Damian finds out, he accuses her of trying to steal his position as heir (he knows he’s already lost it, but he’s jealous). She looks at him like he’s dumb.

"Why would I be the heir when I’m the favorite grandchild?" she asks. "The heir thing is just some game gramps plays for fun. Why would he need one when he’s basically immortal with no plans of dying?"

That pretty much silences Damian for a long time.

No one understands their relationship. She’s welcome to join the League of Assassins, but it’s okay if she doesn’t, they still want her around.

Neglected Reader x John Constantine

Solitude can be a sickness, loss damnation, and faith salvation.

Trigger warning: sacrifice, murder, possession, and unwanted touch. Loosely based on Nosferatu (2024)

She was not a wanted child; she knew that much at eight years old. Her father wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t warm either. Her whole life had been the mansion, Alfred, and Father. At first, she didn’t understand the absence of love he gave her. 

That changed when twelve-year-old Richard Grayson came into their lives. It didn’t matter how angry Richard got; Father was there for him. And so, her chest ached at the sight, her heart beating fast and painfully against her ribcage. 

She didn’t know how to ask to be seen, and she was afraid Father would never learn how to look at her. 

She couldn’t count how many times she had sat alone in the little chapel behind the mansion, praying, finding comfort in the chirping birds and the breeze blowing through the leaves. 

Since childhood, she had prayed for the city, never feeling close enough to Alfred or Father to pray for them. But solitude was devouring her, and it had never felt as big as it did in the twilight when a heavy storm hit while she was in the chapel. There was no light, so night fell while she surrounded herself with dozens of candles. It was a horrible night: the stained glass trembled under the heavy wind, and the thunder was so powerful that she was afraid one of the big trees outside the chapel could crush the structure. 

No one came for her, not Alfred, not Father. She had begged someone, anyone, to love her. She cried, she pleaded, while the storm drowned her voice. 

She walked alone the next morning to the mansion.  

"It’s quite early to go pray, don’t you think?" 

While Richard’s words were not unkind, it still made her feel ashamed, to be so unimportant that no one noticed her missing all night.  

She was fourteen when Father and Richard fought, and Jason came into their lives. Richard had never been her brother. But Jason? Jason was. He was her little brother, the one who would seek her out, who whispered in a small voice that he loved her. 

Jason was her whole heart, her true first family. His night activity sometimes made it impossible to keep in touch daily, but they put letters in each other’s rooms; reminders of how much the other meant, wishes of good luck, or even simple good mornings or good nights. 

About a month before her eighteenth birthday, Jason died while she was away visiting colleges. Bruce said he was in the wrong place at the wrong time; still, she knew it was his fault.  

"He chose this," it was barely a whisper from Bruce, but she heard it. "He didn’t hear me." 

Rage filled her mind. 

"He was a kid," maybe it was the venomous voice that surprised him; maybe it was that she didn’t keep her usual silence. "He wanted to make you proud, and you pushed him over and over to be better, to do better." Bruce looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "He wanted your love, and all you gave him was your disappointment." 

That was the last time they saw each other for a long time. She walked away the next morning and never looked back.  

Jason was gone, her family was gone. And once again, she was all by herself.  

The grief was so overwhelming that she couldn’t even bear to be in the States, where the Justice League were news at least once a day, where Bruce Wayne or Batman was mentioned without fail. She moved to England, started college in English literature, and used her free time to help in a nearby church.  

She graduated with few friends by her side, so the loneliness that had feasted on her since youth came back with full revenge; deeper than before, scratching over the scar Jason’s absence left in her heart. 

It was only while she kneeled before God that she felt she could breathe. She asked the reverend mother to join, to let her pledge her life to God. 

She didn’t say yes, but she let her stay and help the other novices. 

At first, John Constantine was just another congregant, who didn’t stay for long but kept coming back for holy water. One unlucky day, he came just when she was cleaning the stoup. He looked aggravated at her sight and demanded she make him more holy water.  

"Just pray!" He demanded, putting a bottle of water in her hands. "Come on, sister. I don’t have all day." 

She wanted to say she wasn’t a sister but decided it couldn’t hurt to bear with him just this time. She made a quick prayer, enough to see the man mutter a short thanks and run out.  

"You are not a sister," he said a week later.  

"Never said I was," she replied.  

"I could have died." 

His statement confused her. 

"Because I gave you back the water you told me to pray at?" 

"No, because I need real holy water to do my job," he said. "And somehow your fake water was better than my usual holy water." 

She looked bewildered at him. He didn’t wait for her reply before putting his palm over her forehead. 

"A priestess," he confirmed in seconds. "Who do you pray to?" 

"What?" This man had only confused her with each interaction. 

"You must be a favorite if they marked you without your knowledge." 

"Sir, if you are drunk, we have coffee next to the confessional." 

He laughed at her words. 

"I’m tipsy, love. Not drunk." The deep smell of cheap perfume and whiskey hit her nose. "You’re American; it’s more common to find priestesses in Asia," he replied like that meant something to her. "Don’t go around praying for anyone. You’re lucky I’m not that greedy." He warned her before he left. 

She hoped not to see him again. 

And that hope held true for a while, until a chilly evening in November a somber group came upon the church. There was something wrong in the way they walked or spoke, but the reverend mother received them anyway. Just like her, the other sisters felt nervous around the group, but they followed orders and started to serve bowls of soup. 

The food fell to the floor before anyone could taste it; in a moment, sweet Bethany laid on the floor in a pool of blood. Before the blink of an eye, three other sisters fell, and for a moment she comforted herself thinking of Jason. 

She had never searched for death, but she was not afraid of it. There was little she held dear in this world, so she thought of how she could hold her little brother again if she held on through a glimpse of pain.  

The pain came, but it was not her end.  

"Tie her up in the middle," a familiar voice said. "I have kept the little lamb pure; this works better when they are free of vows." 

Her vision was blurry. They laid her on the cold floor, and with the tips of her fingers she touched the sticky, clotted blood under her. Her voice was barely a whisper, begging them to stop; they ignored her in favor of drawing some runes on her head and arms. 

A cacophony of voices started to rise. The words were confusing, like a bastard version of Latin, full of wrongness, and before she could start to decipher them, an overwhelming heat started to burn her. She could barely hear her own scream over the pain that clouded her mind. It didn’t stop; this pain was not over. It lasted so long she believed herself in hell. 

She wanted it to stop. 

She had been good. 

She had been good all her life. 

Was that not enough? 

But she was not strong as Bruce. 

Or smart enough to follow her instinct. 

She trusted these people needed help. 

She was a fool. 

But she wasn’t bad. 

She wasn’t deserving of this pain. 

The fire was festering inside her, like a sickness, almost near her heart... a whisper was all she heard, and all she needed. 

"Pray," it said. 

Her scream ceased, and with a hoarse voice she started to pray; not like she had learned in that place, but how she used to pray in the small chapel behind Wayne Manor. The fire inside her persisted, but it was tolerable; it faded with each word out of her mouth.  

"She is blessed," a voice rose in panic. "Fuck! Fuck!" 

"So that means she has even greater power! Keep the ritual! 

"And risk being cursed myself? You know what happens when someone kills a favored priestess?" A bitter laugh left one of the men’s lips. "I’m out." 

"Come back coward!" 

It must have been desperation; they hit her with something heavy on the head. She lost consciousness, and while her mind was far away in darkness, near the veil of death, an entity that had been lurking around her since childhood entered her body. 

Her eyes opened; there was no sclera, only deep blackness. Her face was full of joy, and a wide smile bloomed from her lips as her face turned to her captors. 

"Oh, reverend mother, I must thank you for opening the path to my beloved." The voice that sprouted from her mouth was masculine, with a roughness like he had been screaming for a long time; it sounded decayed. "Let me pay you," the voice hissed with a delighted laugh. 

The shock of this presence was forgotten when the body of the woman they had tried to sacrifice lifted into the air... the possessed body rose first with her chest, like a broken doll lifted by a hand; the smile never left the creature’s face. They screamed, because the entity that had opened its way to her was rotten, and smiling so sweetly that not even fear was enough to describe their horror. 

Those who tried to run were the first to break, their ribs opening like a flower and piercing through flesh in a grotesque painting. 

"Ah, I fear I’m quite a jealous creature," it laughed. "This little lamb is mine, mother." Her hands traveled from her ribcage to her breast. "And you dared to touch it, but I thank you for bringing her closer to me," it said, while her hands kept traveling to her neck. "So, I will be merciful." 

The smile grew so impossibly big that the skin looked about to rip open. Black fire surrounded the reverend mother, turning her to ash in a few seconds. The rest of the attendants looked in fear; the last thing they saw was the creature’s smile while it kept touching its host body.  

"Alright, mate, it’s time to go." 

The creature turned to see a blond man in a trench coat, his hand glowing with golden energy before he summoned a ball that impacted its beloved’s chest. It burned their connection; he let out a raw scream before cutting himself out of her body. It didn’t matter; he had marked her. All he had to do was wait, and so he would, patiently. 

. . . 

Her first instinct was to bolt out and scream for help. 

"Shhhh, it’s alright, love. You got yourself in quite a mess." 

She recognized him as the man who had called her a priestess, and before that night she had called him a crazy drunk. 

"A voice," she barely whispered. "A voice told me to pray." 

The man studied her in silence. 

"Did they hit you when you were praying?" He asked before drinking from the flask hidden in his pocket. 

"I think so." 

"Then you left a door open to intruders. Untrained priestesses are prone to possession, and one quite powerful like you are even worse. The more power you have, the bigger the risk." 

"You didn’t tell me that last time." 

"You didn’t believe it, and it’s not my problem." 

"No, is not" 

Her reply surprised him; more people would have used the opportunity to blame him.  

"I could teach you how to close the door, with a lock and everything, but you would have to make lots of holy water, now that my favorite church is a crime scene." 

"No money?" 

"Got any?" 

Maybe it was the skeptical tone, but it made her laugh. She wasn’t in the public scene like the rest of the Waynes, but she had a big trust fund. 

She found out his name was John Constantine. He was quite rude, a heavy smoker, and kind of a functional drunk, but weeks later she found herself enjoying his snarky remarks, his bratty attitude over “demon assholes” who didn’t know how to stay in hell, and his rogue, handsome face that looked one blink away from sleeping in the streets. 

"Well, I would say your soul is heavily guarded," John said. "Congratulations, love." 

He expected her to say goodbye; he had never been very good at keeping friends. 

"I would like to stay," she replied. "I want to use this power to help, but more than anything, I wish to stay with you, John." 

John knew that if she stayed, he would not be capable of letting her go ever again. He had given her a way out, and he was not a saint, just a functional drunk magician who was way too selfish... so he kissed her, tame at first, but when she replied, he let his arms hold all of her while he deepened the kiss. 

He had never liked to do good girls; he had been happier with messy relationships, doomed to fail —quick affairs from job to job— and he couldn’t even remember the last lover who had been human.  

But it had been such a long time since he’d had a partner; not just a lover, but someone steady with whom he could be vulnerable. Because she had his back, just like he had hers. Maybe this was his sweet tooth, making its way into his taste in partners. 

Who would have thought about it? The Hellblazer suddenly was a force of two people. His love not only had a knack for praying and making holy water, she was quite good at sealing and tying... God, she really was quite good at tying, and he got jealous of the few demons who had gotten the pleasure of feeling her binding them. 

And his good girl got quite cheeky over time. At her core she was goodness incarnated, but she and he had lots of fun traveling from city to city before returning to their home in the House of Mystery. The house made sure to show who was its favorite, and it was not John, but he could not blame the sentient property. His sweet love was his favorite too.  

So, when he told her that Batman had contacted him, the silence that followed made him worried. 

"Are you okay, love?" 

"Are you going to accept?" 

"It sounds like a drag," he confessed.  

"You could do good work." 

"Not we?" He asked, confused.  

"I have not seen my father in a long time, and I don’t wish to change that." He gasped at her words. 

"B-Batman?" He stuttered. 

He heard her sigh. 

"Yes, but I know him better as Bruce Wayne." 

He laughs at that. 

"The dumbest millionaire is a facade? Damn, he is good." He halted for a moment. "Love, are you rich?" 

"No, I should have some sort of relation with my father for that," she told him. "I have a trust fund, wealthy enough, but not rich." 

"Wealthy is fine for me." He lit a cigarette between his lips. "Then we hate the Waynes? And fuck Batman and his justice dummies?" 

She laughed at his way to comfort her. John was loyal, at his core he was a good man, but he was egoistic enough to choose her over duty.  

"It’s not that deep. I was not a wanted child," she confessed. "I could have lived with his apathy, but I resented him when my younger brother died. Jason was everything." Her voice was barely a whisper, but the deep emotion in her eyes showed her sadness. "He was a bright boy, my only brother, with a love for books and a need for Father’s approval." She had not talked about Jason since leaving Gotham. "I was searching for colleges in New York, far away from Gotham but near enough to visit him. I planned a whole life where my brother would even stay the weekend with me. I was going to rent an apartment with two bedrooms. We would have hit all the big bookstores so he could choose all the books he wanted, have fun without the pressure of being in Gotham... so for a moment he could be a kid and not Robin." 

John studied her for a moment. 

"Maybe all that life died with him, but not his older sister," he said. "And I’ve got the feeling you lived like a ghost for a long time. You will always love your brother, sweetheart, but it doesn’t make you a bad person choosing happiness." 

"I know." Her eyes were red with unfailing tears. "But I couldn’t accept living while my brother was gone." A whimper broke out of her mouth. "But since I started to help you, I have been thinking how terribly happy he would have been to see all the magic, my power as a priestess." 

“A fan of magic, uh?” He blows a smoke cloud “My love, you're a priestess, even if death his soul would cherish your blessing” 

That got her attention. 

“It would reach him?”  

“Sure, people underestimated a blessing, but It soak you in good luck. If he was alive, it could help him miss a stray bullet. While it would not avoid death, it can improve the chance to get out from a bad situation” he explains “I imagine your brother must be in heaven, so it would help him feel you near, even get some nice candy”  

A shrine got a permanent spot on their home. One day Constantine found himself talking to Jason’s photo. 

“I love your sister, so while I can’t ask you, I think the less I can do is informing you that...” He opened the box in his hand “I’m about to commit myself to her, for ever and ever and all that chit chat” he hides the box once again “Wish me luck, Kid” 

She says yes, they have a long night of love making, and John starts his own ritual of asking Jason for “luck” on his way to a job.  

The years are good for them; danger comes and goes, but they overcome it together.  

Sometimes John lends a hand to Justice Dark, Batman grunts his disapproval every time he rejects to form part of it; and while he can be a prick, he is a loyal husband. 

No life is perfect, but together the days feel quite unforgettable. 

Then, little towns around New Jersey started to get sick, and all clues pointed to Gotham, the city his wife avoided for the longest time becomes hell in a matter of a few days.  

Sickness spreads, fog torrent by the streets, and at night electricity wither leaving people turning their desperation to candles. 

They have been there for two days when his wife notices her power is getting weak. All these years they have never searched for the source of them but is not hard to figure out they are tied to Gotham.  They go to the first place she has ever prayed, to the mansion that never felt like home. 

Bruce Wayne’s affairs are very public; they know of his flock of children but when they arrive is made very clear they ignore he had an older daughter.  

The reunion is awkward.  

Alfred has to take the kids away.  

“Constantine, what are you doing here with my daughter?” 

“Not surprised to know I know you are Batman?” 

“I noticed the second you came here” his sight turned to his daughter “this a dangerous breach of information, I hope you don’t have a tendency of trust everyone you know” 

She sent him a dirty look. 

“Relax, mate” Constantine pulls himself in front of his women "or would you like if I called father-in-law? She didn’t tell me right away you were Batman, but when you invite me to your super prudes club she had to told me, I’m not down to do business without my wife” 

For the first time in his life, he sees Batman gape 

“What?” 

 “Don’t concern yourself with our presence, we are here for a job, not some unwanted family reunion” she told him trying to hide her rage.  

His wife's word appears to do the trick; Wayne looks gutted and guilty. Constantine knows he was never the best father to his wife, but to never told any of his other kids she existed? And let's not forget the little entitled Robin believing himself as the only blood kid and trying to stab his wife while calling her a liar.  

Yeah, family reunion sucks.  

So, they make themself scarce and go straight to the chapel behind the manor.  

They step in an every candle light up in seconds. 

In the middle a dark form rise, veil hiding her factions. 

“I’m Gotham” she tells them “an entity formed by the hopes and fears of the citizens, while my streets are dangerous there is a pride for those than survive the hardness on it, I held dear my people, even those than hurt others, is my nature to love all of you” she confess “Of course I have those that I like more; like my knights, but is you whose I love the most” she smile serene “you were young, but I heard your prayers for the city, I think you believed you prayed for the people on it, but in a way I’m the people of Gotham” 

“So, you made her a priestess” spoke Constantine “untrained, by the way” 

“It was my mistake; I have never got one before” she walks to them “in my need to soak you in my love, I fear you gained unwanted attention" 

“Whose?” she asks 

“Unintentionally or not, the city lies on top of an old curse. A being than have been prisoned for centuries; I don’t know if it was insane before or ages of solitude has made them fall in madness, but when you prayed to me, the creature heard you” her voice lower an octave “He couldn’t reach you while you were under my protection, but that night when you were possessed a fracture was created, so tiny that I didn’t feel it waiting there” 

“And now he acts” Johns hear his wife speaking “but he spread sickness through towns, why not through me?” 

“He fancies himself in love with you” Gotham reveals. 

“Oh, fuck no!” curses John “I already put a ring on it, she is taken! Very taken!” 

“Please tell me he didn’t fall in love with me when I was a kid, oh my god” his wife made a sound of disgust “It was bad enough I got one possession, but this is way creepier” 

“We must act with haste before he regains his full power” Gotham told them “I tried to hold him, but he has acquired help, and something rotten is poisoning me. You must have feel it already, my priestess, our power is fading” she warns “I can’t keep this form for long, call for me if you are in need” 

The candles blow out with Gotham leave.  

John pulls his wife to him and hugs her desperately. 

“We can quit this job” he told her “That horrible family reunion must have been our final warning that this was a bad idea” 

“If he breaks free, he will follow me”  

He hates that she is right but can’t stop feeling they are at the edge of the cliff.  

She takes his face between her hands; they kiss briefly.  

“You and me, all that matters” 

“You and me” repeat John in a whisper. 

All goes to hell in few days.  

.

.

.

I have plans for a second part, but I’m a little stuck with my ideas, so any suggestion is welcome. I’m thinking of doing a POV from Jason, but it’s possible this might end like Nosferatu—yeah, not a happy ending. This is the calm before the storm.

And I’m thinking of using Barbatos instead of Nosferatu, or just leaving the monster nameless

Today, when I was told that my dog has cancer, I didn’t feel bad. My strongest emotion was figuring out how to cover the cost of tests and treatment.

But I think my reaction is a lesson learned from having 11 dogs—16 if I count the ones who have already passed. Having so many pets is a continuous adventure. I have 4 with heart disease, we recently got through a leptospirosis outbreak; even though only one tested positive, we decided to medicate all of them—and ourselves.

Sometimes I wonder what karma I’m paying for, to be constantly faced with these situations. But then I remember my vet’s words: “They come to you for a reason.” Because it is easy to rid yourself of a sick dog, but harder to stay.

I think my lack of sadness even confused my doctor, but from my perspective my dog looks happy. More than anything, I asked how beneficial treatment would be for her. In the end, I don’t want to treat her just to please myself. She’s already a senior dog, and it’s more important that she be comfortable than to put her through treatments just because I want to hold on to her.

Fortunately, my vet says treating her is the best option, since it was detected at a middle stage.

But it made me reflect that my absence of sadness is not apathy toward her. It’s that I’ve already gone through so many diagnoses, illnesses, and having to watch several of my dogs pass away, that my mind now decides there’s no need to cry if we’re not yet at the end.

The first times I lost dogs were horrible. But the last farewell, which happened last year—even though I cried, I was also able to laugh remembering all the silly things my dog used to do that brightened my heart.

Pain falls silent before the love that endures in memories.

Bruce Wayne X Reader

An old love from his youth whose music still keeps playing in Bruce’s life

Inspired by movies like Begin Again, Sing Street, La La Land, and more.

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.

.

Bruce was a man of few hobbies, but since the kids could remember he had favored the music of a Gotham native, a singer that has gain fame later, but whom Bruce hear it even when she was unknown.

They completely ignored the story behind his love for play worn out vinyls while enjoying a glass of liquor; most of the time alone. But like all children, their father's taste started to grow in them. Hearing a song that could throw them back to childhood would make them drive back to the mansion.

Bruce’s music would become the family's music. On weekends, they would have dinner while listening to the songs in the background. They all had a favorite era, so upon Cass and Stephanie’s insistence they prepared a karaoke night.

Dick made a spectacle of his song, a catchy but romantic piece.

Jason favored an indie rock flavor that talked about deceiving yourself until waking up and seeing the relationship was long dead.

Tim went for something less dramatic but uplifting, about finding reward in an uncertain chase, even if it comes late.

Stephanie sang about not hiding your feelings just to make another happy, while Cass joined in, signing the song and doing a basic dance interpretation. They both ended up throwing colorful papers in the air, making everyone laugh.

Duke admitted that his mother used to listen to her, but he had never found himself attracted to that kind of music until he heard it once again in the mansion. The old song made him remember his mom baking while humming along, and in rediscovering his mom’s artist, he found the newer songs helped him keep moving after his parents’ accident.

Damian, whom they waited to skip the activity, surprises them not only with the fact he sang really well, but a song about happiness. It was the most emotion he had ever exhibited to them, a carefree moment to show he loved them even if they annoyed him.

Still the stellar of the night end being Bruce, whom they had heard sing in whispers, never in full voice. He ignored the monitor and put a CD in the sound system; then a melody that once filled him with bittersweet sentiment started to play.

So here we are

We've got another chance for life

It's what you want

I can see it in your eyes

You see so clear

It's coming into light

Go on, be wrong

'Cause tomorrow you'll be right

Don't sit around and talk it over

You're running out of time

Just face ahead

No going back now

He glimpses the boy who once was ready to let it all go, to take his bag and travel far away, discarding the Wayne name.

With his hesitance the smile on his girlfriend died, confusion turning to sad comprehension. The last time he reached out for her hand.

You've come so far

Now see, you're cutting all the ties

You're right, go on

Keep running for your life

Made up your mind

No going back now

See it all come falling down

You've tried so hard to figure out

Just what it's all about

You're fighting on and on and on

For what you know is true

And now say go on and on and on

Do all that you can do

A last kiss before he saw her go on the last train.

For a long time, he did not know what stopped him. A year later, she sent a copy of her first published album, he heard himself in the background on most of the songs, on track eight in a duet with her. But it was the last song (unreleased) that broke him.

He left Gotham that day, not to follow her, but to find himself.

Hey

We're never gonna go if we don't go now

You're never gonna know if you don't find out

You're never going back, never turning around

You're never gonna go if don't go now

You're never gonna grow if you don't grow now

You're never gonna know if you don't find out

You're never going back, never turning around

You're never gonna go if you don't go now

He could never forget his days of youth at her side. They have met by chance; she ran Bruce over while sprinting away from the cops, apologized, and made him hide her behind a trash can while he stood awkwardly in front of it.

When asked why she was running, she confessed she had been playing music with an improvised band in Leyton Alley. He asked what kind of music, and she invited him to the next session with a teasing smile.

He went expecting a chaotic sound with no coordination.

There was chaos, but beauty too. A random alley has never felt more alive than in that moment, with a bunch of teenagers playing music, another filming in a worn cassette recorder while holding a microphone over the band.

He was so enthralled by them that he was barely conscious of his voice making its way onto the track. Another would have kicked him out, but they said they actually liked the cadence he added to it.

On song number two, Bruce was on it by accident; by song number three, he started to feel part of the group; and by song number five, he was completely in love with Y/N.

His last name came up once and never again.

That year was like an oasis between his constant sorrow; he could remember eating cheap pizza and sugary milkshakes in an old booth while throwing his arm over Y/N’s shoulders, both conspiring to win a poker game.

Still, reality ended up catching them.

His girlfriend and friends had nothing attaching them to Gotham—they wanted to record while traveling and had used every penny earned in bad jobs to buy tickets to Europe.

And Bruce, who for a long time thought he had nothing there either, in the end could not follow them.

Years later, when he found his way back to Gotham, his first stop was a music store where he bought her last two albums. She was not a household name, but an underground jewel that stayed strong for those persistent enough to search for new music and find something wonderful..

Bruce was grateful for his youth; his first love would always have a special place in his heart. Even after all these years apart, she found a way to touch his life through her music. Tonight, it showed him how much closer he had become to his children.

He really believed they would never meet again.

But his kids, with all their intelligence, never thought of asking him where he got that song. They decided to post a clip on social media and ask if someone knew what album it was from.

It was mayhem in a few hours.

People’s shock didn’t stop at finding out billionaire himbo Bruce Wayne could sing and perform like a pro, but someone pointed out that he sounded very similar to the unknown voice on Y/N’s first album. A voice that had sparked many theories but had never been confirmed by anyone involved in the project.

No confirmation of the new theory, just a short statement of why the song wasn’t found on music platforms.

But people talked, noticed how she didn’t deny the voice in her iconic duet of youth being Bruce Wayne, so they started to dig even more. The places where her first album was recorded became tourist attractions all around Gotham; not overly famous, but enough people would want to do the route if they ever found themself in the city, even Gotham’s native will do it once in their lifetime.

Bruce knew that it was never his kids’ intention to cause that much chaos online, but they were shameless enough to enjoy all of it. He ignored their relentless questions about how he got that song, if he really was on Y/N’s first album; they asked and asked but never found more clues than his special CD.

Rumors were starting to die when everything came out again. A random fan found an old article about a pizza-eating contest in Park Row, in a restaurant that Y/N had mentioned as her favorite in interviews. There was no way to deny it when they posted a picture showing him and Y/N being quite cozy in the background.

The mayhem came back.

But he admitted to himself he had enjoyed the wild ride of people finding out he wasn’t as aloof as newspapers portrayed him in his teens

So far, it was his kids’ reaction that made him laugh at random moments.

“YOU were in a band?!”

“I almost eloped with Y/N, to be honest”

“WHAT?!”

“She was almost Mrs. Wayne?!”

“No, I was almost Mr. L/N”

They were so shocked that he decided not to tell them how almost Batman never came to be—or how it was Y/N’s song that pushed him to find this path.

He was grateful for her, but he had never sought to reconnect, even if he could admit he missed her. They had lived such different lives all these years that he didn’t know if they could work out again.

It was a text from Barbara that made him take the risk.

He wore casual clothes and drove to Crime Alley. It was quite early in the morning—not a popular hour to eat pizza—so it was easy to find her in their old booth.

It wasn’t like old times; they were older, worn out by life.

But when they smiled at each other, it was like falling into place once again.