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Okay but I cannot stop thinking about a Neglected!Batfamily Reader in a Project Hail Mary AU after just watching the movie last night and specifically the Batfamily finding out everything through the mission recordings years later.
Because imagine Reader leaving Gotham and eventually changing their last name. Not out of spite or anger or some huge dramatic fight.
They just... stop being a Wayne. They take their mother's maiden name, move on with their life, and nobody notices. Dick thinks Bruce is still in contact with them. Bruce thinks one of the others is. Jason assumes they're gone no contact but still in gotham and are doing fine somewhere. Tim thinks they're busy with Highschool. Damian doesn't even care because he thought they're useless and beneath him.
And meanwhile Reader becomes a middle school science teacher, earns multiple degrees, becomes one of the world's leading experts on astrophage, and somehow the Batfamily never learns any of it.
Then the astrophage crisis happens and Reader gets recruited for Project Hail Mary.
Except they don't want to go. They want to stay on Earth. They want to keep teaching. They want to stay with their students and live a normal life.
and you know that scene in the movie when they're discussing who should go after the explosion and they tell grace that why would he stay? he has nothing tying him to earth. so imagine that during the recruitment process there are background checks, psychological evaluations, investigations into every part of Reader's life, and one of the things that absolutely destroys me is the idea of the investigators concluding that Reader has no immediate family. No close relatives. No spouse. No partner. No dependents. No loved ones that would complicate deployment. Because when they search for family, they search for the surname Reader legally carries. They search for emergency contacts. Next of kin. People Reader keeps in contact with. And they find absolutely nothing.
Reader doesn't correct them either.
Because technically they're right.
The Batfamily hasn't been part of Reader's life for years.
And there are probably recordings somewhere of officials discussing how Reader is uniquely suited for the mission because there are no significant personal attachments keeping them on Earth. No family waiting for them. No loved ones who need a goodbye.
And years later Bruce is sitting in a League briefing room reading those reports and realizing that when they conducted one of the most thorough background investigations, it never connected the raeder to the Waynes at all. Reader had erased them so completely from their records that the people deciding the fate of humanity genuinely believed they had nobody.
And then Reader goes into space.
And then Reader meets Rocky.
And suddenly the recordings stop being about science and start being about family.
Because the Batfamily watches Reader learn Rocky's language. Watches Rocky learn theirs. Watches them struggle to communicate and then slowly understand each other. Watches them study astrophage together. Collect samples together. Capture live taumoeba together. Watch the reader risk their life to get the life sample. Make discoveries that save two entire worlds together. They watch Reader become happier and happier every time Rocky appears on screen and it slowly dawns on them that this alien knows Reader better than they do.
And what really hurts is how easy it is.
Rocky doesn't need years.
Rocky doesn't need reminders.
Rocky doesn't need effort from the reader.
Rocky doesn't need someone else to tell him Reader matters.
He just decides Reader is important and never looks back.
The recordings are full of moments where they choose each other over and over again. Reader getting injured and Rocky risking his life to save them. Rocky needing help and Reader immediately dropping everything to help him. Reader waking up after almost dying and the first thing they search for is Rocky. Rocky in danger and Reader immediately putting themselves at risk. Neither of them ever hesitates.
And then the Batfamily reaches the part where Reader is finally going home.
Humanity is saved. Earth is safe. Reader has spent years alone in space and now they're finally returning. And for a brief moment everyone watching thinks this is it. This is where Reader comes back. This is where they return to Earth.
Then Reader learns about the leak.
discovers that Rocky is going to die.
And they turn around.
Immediately.
No debate. No discussion. Not even thinking thing through. No overthinking.
They just go back.
Because Rocky needs them.
Because Rocky is family.
Because leaving him behind feels like betrayal and agonizing pain.
And I think that's the moment that completely breaks the Batfamily because Reader never once talks about earth the way they talk about Rocky. They never fought for earth the way they fought for Rocky. They never looked at earth or them the way they look at Rocky. They cross the stars without hesitation for someone they love while Gotham barely gets a second thought.
Then years later the Green Lantern Corps finally finds them by chance after everyone assumed they died and everyone assumed Reader will want to come home. Why wouldn't they? Earth is their planet. But Reader doesn't want to come back. Not because they're trying to punish anyone. They just genuinely don't want to leave.
Because they have a life now.
They have a home on Erid.
They teach young Eridians. They help them understand human science. They explain radiation and astronomy and biology. They have students who adore them. They have people who rely on them. They have a community. They have Rocky.
They have a family.
And I love the idea that when the Justice League finally makes contact after green corp gave them the report, reader is completely at peace. They absentmindedly trace the scar on their forearm, the one they got when rocky saved them, the one that resembles his hand, and talk about their students the same way other people talk about their children. They talk about Erid with affection. About Rocky with fondness. About their life with happiness. And for the first time, the Batfamily realizes that Reader isn't surviving out there.
They're thriving and living and taken care of in a way they never did on earth.
So eventually Batman asks for a private conversation because surely there has to be something left tying Reader to Earth, to them.
Surely there has to be something left tying Reader to him.
And after years of regret and guilt and wishing for another chance, Bruce finally tells Reader to come home.
And Reader just looks confused.
Not angry or bitter.
Just confused.
Because they glance behind them at the city they've spent years living in. At the students waiting for their lesson. At Rocky standing nearby.
Then they look back at Bruce and ask,
"Why?"
And I think that's the worst part.
Because Reader isn't rejecting them.
They genuinely don't understand the question.
Because from Reader's perspective, they're already home.
And after watching years of recordings, after seeing Rocky choose Reader every single day without fail, after seeing an entire alien civilization embrace them, Batfamily finally understands something devastating, they where always worth the effort they dismmised and that they lost something of great value but realized to late. and now the reader is living happily on a different planet adn that they dont need them at all, they never did.
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I'm sorry, but I've drawn a character outfit concept again, and to see it, you'll have to read the story that my feverish brain came up with.
---
So, you see, one day, Ra's tortured a seer a little bit (man, the old man can have hobbies, you know?) to find out that at a certain time on a certain day, the king of the dead might appear right at his Lazarus pit. After a couple more hundred years of contemplation, Ra's comes up with the perfect solution — it's the perfect moment to ally with the most powerful being in the multiverse.
But Ra's is not an option for marriage. There are reasons. Even he understands that the king may be a little offended.
Word of mouth, as time goes on, he realizes that he has a grandson. He betrayed Ra's to play hero anyway. He can always make a new heir, and this one can benefit him. (Here, you can decide whether this is an omegaverse or not. I prefer yes)
---
You see, when CW told Danny that, among other things, as a ghost prince, he would have to get married, Danny thought it was, well… like a long-term thing. It should have been a hint. One day, he gets a note that he should remember to wear a clean T-shirt and finally use the hair gel that Jazz bought him, because today he's going to meet his wife. He tells his friends, and they panic all morning. In the end, Sam suggests that CW is hinting that Danny will meet someone today who he will decide to fool around with in the future.
*music from the comedy plays as they try to determine if Danny has met anyone new during the day and what he thinks of that person*
And then Danny trips and falls into a natural portal. Damn, that's not lucky.
He immediately takes on a menacing form (who knows what's on the other side?). But there's, uh… A bunch of weird ninjas led by an old man, weird mages, and… a magic circle lights up. Oh, a forced afterlife marriage. That sucks.
Danny sees a fight going on somewhere outside and decides to stop it, but CW stops time and says that if the ritual is interrupted at this stage, the potential bride dies. But there's always a way out! He can simply dissolve the afterlife marriage when he reaches the age of majority, as it is something that the king has control over.
So, Danny sees that his fiancée is here against her will, and they're literally the same age, so he takes him away to talk in private. And then he'll bring him back, of course, to the people who are fighting for him. It should work.
(To be honest, I'm assuming that Danny will immediately reveal that he's a teenage boy in an attempt to win his fiancée over. His fiancée must be so scared! There's no need to make things worse)
(By the way, I'm assuming that Danny's intimidating form is some kind of huge space thing with a bunch of creepy eyes. I like to imagine that Damian could be sitting in his palms 🥺)
---
Mr. Lancer introduces a new student to the class. Danny sees his wife's expression and decides it's best to escape. He can do it through the window.
---
To be honest, Damian thinks his husband is the most ridiculous person in the world. Well, he's just going to have to do something about it. Divorce? What kind of divorce? There's no one who can just go and get divorced from Damian, lol
Congratulations, you've reached the sketch
Guys, if it's awkward for anyone, I like to think that they're like a month away from turning 18, lol. It would be even more fun if they were already 18, but CW was like, "lol no, you're a baby until you're at least 50." You can interpret it however you want, but please don't think about the younger characters.
I just wanted to say that I apologize if this post caused anyone to feel negatively, as it was not my intention. I am glad that you are expressing your feelings in the comments.
I noticed it wasn’t popping up in general tags and felt bad for the other young Nolan enjoyers. Context: this post.
I have another Bsf’s Older Brother AU in the works with Nolan, like 10k words worth of smut, so this is an introduction to the dynamic. this needs to be proofread. I’ll come back and fix any mistakes.
and I tried out a new theme?? I’ll try to make it Acheron based soon
warnings: none… I really wanted to write smut but I’m not horny enough to do it.
Word count: 5k
The living room is quiet as the warmth of the baby bottle heats up your palm while you watch Mark. Currently, he sits on the carpet while changing the babbling baby Oliver on a towel, a new diaper and wipes in hand.
His face is pulled into a grimace the entire time while you sit on the couch, covering your nose. Even with it becoming a daily chore, nothing will ever make the half-Viltrumite get used to the process of baby changing nor you, the regular civilian.
The dark-haired male sighs in relief as he tosses the used wipes in a small plastic bag beside him along with the used diaper, finally finished with the daunting task. The brown-eyed hero rises to his feet while you protect your nose still, palm pressed against your nostrils. He whistles idly while trudging around the couch into the kitchen, dirty bag in hand, and he casually tosses it in the trash.
You then immediately point at the sink, disgruntled, and he grins at the silent message for him to wash his hands; there's no way you're letting your best friend touch anything after dealing with baby waste.
All the while, the giggling infant still lies on his back on the fluffy towel. Oliver effortlessly sits up without any assistance and turns on his side, chubby arms raised, and a small smile on his face. His round eyes shine with mirth as he silently begs to be picked up.
He’s so darn cute, you can’t take it.
The adorable baby already has your heart captured when you lean forward and grab him, babbling incoherent nonsense—the kind of baby talk Mark seems to be the only one who understands.
The soft pressure of Oliver’s tiny finger pokes and prods at your cheek, a habit he usually does to Mark, and it makes you giggle as well.
You finally lift the warm milk to his lips, but he’s already taking the bottle from your hands eagerly. The purple-skinned baby easily holds the bottle with both hands and enthusiastically drinks his milk while relaxed in your hold.
The couch dips with extra weight, and Mark is already by your side again as he laughs at the adorable sight. He then slowly pulls the bottle from Oliver’s eager mouth, and the poor baby lets out a disappointed whine.
He stares up at his brother with sad eyes at having his yummy nutrients abruptly taken, and your heart melts even more.
Mark boops Oliver’s nose, then slowly takes the baby out of your grip, mildly offending you because you just got to shower him in love and feed him; the older brother is obviously obsessed with caring for his little brother.
The male holds Oliver with one arm as he gently returns the bottle with a smile, keeping an eye on how much Oliver is drinking as he eagerly takes the bottle back. “You gotta slow down with the Milk, tiger. We don’t want you to choke, y’know?”
You automatically huff, and Mark lifts his head with a sheepish smile; he'll return him in a minute...
Or a couple.
Oliver is his baby brother, at the end of the day. Let him be obsessed, okay?
You point at him spitefully, making sure the next words sting in the harshest way.
“I hope his first full sentence is saying you suck."
He fakes a gasp with all his dramatic flair, as if you swore, and cups the side of Oliver's head, shielding one ear to his chest as well. The dark-eyed male leans closer to you with a growing smile, "Careful! He'll actually do that!"
You snort, "And I hope he does!"
Mark laughs. Oliver, sensing the joyous atmosphere, lets go of his bottle and laughs excitedly as well, cooing and clapping his hands. The near-empty bottle plops onto his tummy and bounces off, almost touching the ground, yet you intercept the timed event by grabbing it midair.
Mark continues bouncing the giggling baby in his arms, and his eyes crinkle as he smiles at your reflexes. "Instead of having him say his big bro sucks as a full sentence, how about saying your name and how you're the best?"
You triumphantly wave the bottle as you back next to them waving the bottle, "Damn right I am-"
"Language." He gets the nagging from his mother, definitely.
You snort again as Mark takes the bottle from you, "Darn right I am."
You peer down at the smiling baby who raises his hands to poke his big brother's face. The little guy tugs Mark's cheek, and Mark winces with shaky laughter. "Is the milk making him stronger or is it his genes?"
You give the bottle back to Oliver for him to fiddle with instead of his brother's face, "The milk."
He snorts in turn as he watches Oliver automatically latch onto the bottle. His gaze softens as a relaxed smile grows on his face at the sight.
The air soothes into a peaceful silence as the both of you fondly watch the giggling baby hold the bottle effortlessly and drink the last of its contents.
Your cheek finds his shoulder, and Mark leans more into your warmth as you pipe up quietly.
"...you'd make a great dad."
Mark immediately chokes on his spit looks at you as if you swore again. Heat rises to his face as he stutters out a repsonse, failing actually, and you cut him off with a laugh.
"I don’t mean thinking about having babies right now, doofus. I meant because of how well you naturally take care of Oliver," you look down at the baby, who tosses the emptied bottle away this round. It actually hits the floor this time, and you automatically laugh.
You crouch down in front of him as Mark smiles down at the giggly baby, content with the small havoc he's reigning. "I, uh... never thought about having a kid of my own," he readjusts Oliver, and his little head lies on his shoulder rather than his bicep.
"Eve and I didn't really think that far into the future," your grip on the bottle accidentally increases at the mention of his girlfriend.
You almost forgot he was taken.
Mark silently watches as you stand up and walk towards the kitchen to clean the used bottle, back facing him so your grim expression isn't readable.
You turn on the faucet as you stare at your distorted reflection on the knob, "I get it, I get it. Superhero on call and whatnot." You glance over your shoulder with a teasing smile as you rinse the bottle, "That dorky little Invcible Inc. got you in a chokehold too."
He raises a brow with a grin, pretending to be offended.
"Hey, we both decided on that name." Eve and him.
"And you're both dorks, so now what?" Which is true, two adorable dorks—one goofier than the other.
Mark laughs in response, and Oliver joins in, sleepily giggling as you turn off the faucet and dry off the bottle with a small shake. "And you're not?"
You open one of the cabinets stationed with the baby’s utensils, as if you yourself are part of the family as well with how it flows to you naturally, then shelf the now-cleaned bottle upside down on a paper towel. "Hell-“ you immediately correct yourself, “Heck no, I'm not."
Almost forgot to watch your language again.
Mark lets out a small laugh through his nose as he rises with the dozing off baby in his arms, "Not a dork, but equally as cringey.” An indirect jab at your self-censor in front of the baby.
You roll your eyes as you close the cabinet; even his comebacks suck. You then watch as Mark walks towards the stairs carefully, watching his step and also checking if his pace hasn’t woken up the napping baby. Your eyes follow him as he disappears with quiet footsteps.
A sigh the breaks from your mouth.
You love Eve, you truly do, but a strong part of you wishes you had gotten to him before she did.
Just a passing thought… or maybe one that’s been festering for a couple months. Who knows?
Mark returns and leans over the railing playfully with a finger to his lips, shushing you as if you were loud the seconds he had been gone—mirth in his cute eyes and a grin painting his features. "He's fast asleep. That milk really did him in."
You walk up towards him with crossed arms and a brow raised, and he smiles down at you more. "Or it was you hogging him and playing with him the entire time I was here that did him in."
The dark-haired male descends the last few steps with a snort, "Hey, I wasn't hogging him."
"You wouldn't even let me feed him."
He rounds the railing with a shrug, still smiling. "Not the entire time, no."
You uncross your arms with a smile and squint your eyes at him as he approaches you, "But enough time to say it was hogging."
The hero snorts again in humor with a shake of his head. A couple of hairs get displaced, and he pushes them back, "He's my brother. It's not hogging when I do it."
You roll your eyes and walk past him, and he follows you to the living room. You pick up the remote as you sit down, and he plops right beside you, closer than he should, but you never minded how affectionate he could be.
With flair, you place your free hand to your chest as you wave the remote. "So it's classified as hogging when I do it?"
He outstretches his arms wide and plops one behind you, muscles rippling under his shirt and shirt stretching around his broad shoulders. You avert your gaze from the sight flusteredly annoyed; you hate how easy it is for him to be hot with the face of a kicked puppy.
God, you hate him.
He hums and stares at the TV. "Pretty much."
You tap the remote on the armrest with a small rhythm, trying to distract yourself from the warmth of the guy next to you—a guy you have a small, very teensy attraction to. "Ugly much."
His eyes shine as he immediately laughs, perturbed. "Are you calling me ugly? What kind of counter even is that?"
You flip through channels without sparing him a glance. "The kind that I use," you turn your head with a smug smile, "because there's nothing pretty about hogging your adorable brother to yourself."
"In fact,” you twirl the remote, acting as if you’re lost in thought, when you scrunch your face, eyebrows dramatically furrowed, “he's a thousand times cuter than you."
The boy looks at you in disbelief and laughs, leaning towards you with a grin, "What?” He then tries to correct you as he grips the back of the couch, “You mean we're on the same level."
You lift one hand high, giving him a visible example of what’s in your thoughts; a measuring medium between the cuteness of the two.
”Oliver is this cute," hand outstretched over the both of your heads. Then you point at the carpet with the remote in your other hand as the ultimatum decorates your tone—no room left for argument, "Aaand you're that cute."
The dark-eyed hero scoffs through his nose, laughing as crosses his arms in defeat. "Wow. Can't believe you said that—demonstrated that too."
You go back to flipping through channels with a grin, cheeky and self-satisfied. "You're welcome. You never would've known how cute you are thanks to me."
Mark shakes his head wryly—yes, he should be so thankful to the person who called him ugly. "Cute as the carpet, you mean."
You lift a finger in correction.
"I was actually pointing at the floor-"
An unexpected laugh immediately breaks itself from your lips as Mark plops his head on your shoulder and snakes his arms around you, squeezing you consequently after such an insult.
His warm eyes stare at the flashing colors across the screen, his expression one of amusement rather than offense. "Now you're saying all that to be a dick," he then expresses a pout, yet the delight at the banter decorates his tone.
And you don’t disagree; you’re such a mean best friend to him. "Oh, no. I definitely am."
He laughs through his nose in agreement as more of his weight relaxes on you. "Oh, yeah. You definitely are."
You lean on the armrest, not minding how warm and heavy his body is on yours. "And if I'm a dick, then that makes you what?"
"The bestest friend you've ever had, actually."
With every little bit of conversation, the hero instinctively pulls you closer to his lap as to not deal with the strain of leaning over your shoulder. The both of you barely notice the change in position, you fully sitting on his lap, as the banter continues.
You hum with a tilt of your head, playfully keen on not agreeing. "Maybe second at best."
Something worthy of watching almost flashes onto the screen until you pass the News channel—the sounds of roaring debris falling and guttural screams. Mark perks up and immediately cups his hand over yours, bigger and hot, forcing your thumb to go back to the Breaking News.
Well, what do you know. Another crisis.
You turn your head to him in expectation, and his brows furrow as he burrows his face into your shoulder, keen on wanting to keep his brief moment of peace for a second.
He closes his eyes. “Cecil’s people will deal with it.”
Your eyes soften, already detecting the creeping exhaustion in his voice, then nod. The dark-eyed boy buries his face more into your shoulder, almost trying to drown out the sounds emitted from the television.
Looking back at the screen, the News Broadcast seemed as if it were something out of an action movie—the worst thing real life could be compared to.
An explosion of orange and yellow, black smoke whirling into the air… an indiscernible limb flying into the air. Right as that happened, you feel the pressure of Mark’s thumb pressing on the TV’s power button; he doesn’t want to see or hear anything at all.
It’s quiet for a moment, and you can see him internally debating whether he should leave or not.
Before you open your mouth to reassure him, his phone rings. The dark-haired male loosens his hold around your waist, and you’re finally aware that you’re perched on his thighs—embarrassingly.
Silently, you slide off. Mark has always been too affectionate with you for his own good, and there were times where you had to warn him about the implications of being so touchy, best friend regardless.
Yet, it takes two to tango; you’re partially in fault for letting it happen—for liking it.
You give him the space he needs as you settle beside him; the caller ID has him furrowing his eyebrows.
“It’s Eve.”
You watch a he picks up the phone then sigh, a weight perching itself on his shoulders as he hunches over. He confirms over the phone he’ll be coming to the location soon—a client that’s no doubt in the happening of that News Broadcast.
You go back to leaning on the armrest with a small, sympathetic smile. “Sorry, Mark. Invincible Inc. is calling your name.”
He already looks done when he places his hands on his thighs, sighing while getting up from the couch. “Yeah. I’ll be back.”
And with that, a gust of wind hits your face as he zips through the door with a slam and a shut.
You sigh and stand up.
Right when you do so, Mark’s older brother is coming down the stairs with a fussy Oliver on his hip. He’s dressed comfortably, and his muscles casually flex as he pushes his hair back—clearly tired from being woken up.
The whimpering baby on his hip desperately surveys the living room in search for Mark then starts sniffling, hands raised to you as Nolan reaches the last step.
You coo at the baby as you walk up towards the two. You crouch a little to meet Oliver’s gaze as you take one his hands, the small fingers wrapping around your index as he stares at you with his lower lip wobbling. “I’m sorry, Oliver. He just left.”
You glance up at the taller male with a confused smile as you stand upright—bigger frame and baggy pants sitting low on his hips. “Mark just put him to bed too. He started crying already?”
Nolan looks down at you, his light eyes still caked with sleep, then looks around the living room. “He was making that noise in his sleep.”
The older male walks past you while rubbing the whimpering baby’s back, almost ignoring your presence. “I’m presuming it was a nightmare.”
You nod and watch as he sits on the couch. Staring at him from behind, he looks exactly as if Mark spontaneously grew a couple inches—it’s like the family only knows one haircut.
The older male places Oliver on his knee and gently bounces him while observing the whimpering baby’s expression—trying to discern as much as he could from a little being that could barely speak, really. You soon follow right after but lean over the back of the couch instead, elbows on the edge while staring over his shoulder.
Playfully, you stick your tongue while staring down at Oliver, and his watery eyes instantly lighten up. You then act as if you’re eating his brother’s hair, hands scooping up air fills with makeshift utensils, and he giggles in response, raising his hands to you.
Nolan averts his eyes and turns his head frowning, and you immediately look away with an innocent smile, propping your chin on your wrist.
“With that expression, I’m guessing you did something crude behind my head?” Accusation in his voice.
Your hand reaches out to touch his head, a similar petting you do to Mark at times, and he easily snatches your wrist, the grip iron tight as his fingers wrap around your wrist wholly.
He’s not touchy like Mark—party killer.
You hum, “If sticking my tongue out is, then yes.”
The light-eyed male’s grip lessens. “Taunting, is what that’s considered to be.”
You gradually pull your hand out of his grip and lean over his shoulder more, voice higher and cooing, as you stare down at the now happy, giggling baby, “Yet Oliver liked it.”
And his pitched, happy coos agree with you!
You flit your eyes to him, voice normal again with a teasing smile. “What does that say about you, huh?”
The male raises an eyebrow, confused at how easily entertained a baby could be from a stupid gesture, then he closes his eyes in reluctance—it’s a baby after all; they’re entertained by anything.
He readjusts the giggling toddler as he sits up straighter, possibly to distance himself from you. “I don’t find stupidity funny.”
“What if I laughed at you then?”
He promptly opens his eyes to glare daggers into you, but you’re already walking around the couch to plop beside him. The light-eyed older brother huffs through his nose, and you grin more at seeing how his shoulders tense—either holding back from shoving you or containing his annoyance.
Nolan never liked you that much… or any of Mark’s friends for that matter; he’s only natural with his family.
Oliver giggles as you wiggle your fingers over his tummy and kicks his feet. The older brother watches with an impassive face, yet his natural frown begins to soften at the sight.
His baby brother is happy again, at least.
And yet a vein immediately pops in his neck at feeling you lean towards him with a smug smile, casually taking a jab at him. “Oh, so you can smile.”
He can’t do this; you’re effortlessly annoying. Mark can’t come back quick enough, can he?
…
Both you and the older brother stand over the sleeping baby’s cradle, lying on his back and tucked in tightly. The mobile slowly spins above him as you watch Nolan’s knuckles brush across the napping baby’s cheek.
You had to cover your mouth from such gap moe; big scary older brother caressing his baby brother?
You could die from adorableness on the spot.
The taller male detaches his hand slowly, as if he’s hesitant to leave the infant alone, then stands upright. He walks towards the dresser and immediately starts playing with the baby monitor, tinkering and adjusting the volume to test if it’s set correctly and can display the crib wholly in its viewpoint.
You uncover your mouth with a grin, eyes crinkling as you stare at his back. Your voice is a hushed whisper as you walk towards the preoccupied male.
“You’re so cute. All dad-like just like how Mark is.”
Nolan’s ears become pink as you stare at the back of his head. His broad shoulders stiffen then his eye twitches as his thoughts run.
Mark is long gone, so why the hell are you still here?
The male glares over his shoulder as he slowly places the baby monitor back on the dresser gently, “When are you leaving?”
You cover your mouth to shield your snort at his quick dismissal—wouldn’t wanna wake up baby Oliver.
You point at him as you step to be beside him, discreetly eyeing how thick his arms are. “Ouch? I’m Mark’s bestie. We’re friends by default then.”
Ignoring your presence again, he smoothly walks past you and towards the door. A creeping exhaustion mixes with the annoyed lilt in his tone. “That’s not how friendship works.”
You shrug as you watch him, “Okay. Acquaintances.”
He scoffs. “I don’t want to get acquainted with you neither.”
You follow him into the hall and tilt your head, faking hurt as your voice drips with disappointment, “You’re so mean.” You shake your head with a playful sigh, acting as if the next words pain you. “Mark and Oliver clearly won the friendly department, so heartbreaking the gene passed over you.”
You point at him with a grin as he descends the stairs with silent creaks, leaning over the balcony with your index raised high, “You won the HR department—cold and ruthless.”
The older brother holds himself back from rolling his eyes as he departs from the last step, rubbing his chin in thought of your stupid quip. “That’s a great win. Actually,” he turns around and looks up at you as he nears the door, “it’s relevant too.”
The annoyed male crosses his arms as he glares up at you from the lower floor. “I’m HR, yes? Employees are given advice for their performance.”
He gestures to the door with his head, “I’m giving you this piece of advice: leave my house and don’t come back.”
You immediately laugh at his comment.
He is such an asshole.
You slowly descend the stairs while holding onto the railing, and part of him hopes you fall. Would he ever catch you? That’s up to how harsh his mother is going to scold him if he doesn’t.
Your voice melts into a singsong cadence as your eyes sparkle with amusement. “It’s your head when Mark comes back, and I’m not here, you know.”
He unlocks the door and watches as your foot finally touches the last step—as if he’s waited eons for you to be on your way.
The light-eyed male bites back a sneer as he leans his shoulder on the doorframe after your comment. “You act as if he can actually do something against me.” His younger brother, who always holds back, pitted against him? Please.
You stop in front of him and place your hands on your hips as you stare into his eyes, grinning. “Well, he has something you don’t, and it’s clearly amicableness.”
Nolan raises an eyebrow with that usual frown, “Amicable?”
You gesture to yourself with a smile, as if you’re the best example for the word. “Very friendly, barely starts shit-“
“I know what it means.” Immediately he cuts you off, no hesitation. His brow twitches; you still don’t take the invitation to leave, and he’s close to picking you up and tossing you out.
You gesture to him with a confused expression, “Okay, so why do you sound confused?”
He uncrosses his arms with a neutral tone. “Since you’re anything but that adjective. An instigator is more accurate.”
You cross your arms instead with an amused smile, “You’re such an asshole.” You then turn around and face the house’s interior, back facing the open door and a resolution shinning in your eyes, “And just for that I’m not leaving.”
He huffs through his nose and leans his head back to the stare ceiling, internally groaning.
Amazing. Who knew he could actually catch headaches this fast, headaches at all, from just conversing with his brother’s best friend?
You turn around and place a hand on his tensed arm, veins striking across his biceps and arms. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing you. I’ll go, I’ll go.”
Good riddance, is his first thought.
He then ignores how his heart flutters when you playfully squeeze his firm muscles right before you step out of the door.
And when you came back the next day, it was the same situation again: Mark leaves, he’s left alone with you, and you continuously bother him.
Though this time it’s a bit more personal… and he’s trying his hardest to say he doesn’t care about your ramblings. He’s said it multiple times, but you obviously like hearing the sound of your own voice with how you run your mouth.
He’s definitely going to throw you out of his house one day.
You lazily lie on your back on his couch, back in the same place as yesterday, as if you’ve lived here for years, legs absentmindedly draped over his thighs. He would’ve shoved them off if he had the energy, but he honestly stopped caring after the nth time he tried to make you shut up.
Your head rests on the armrest as you stare at the ceiling. “You think they’re made for each other?”
He scrolls on his phone, susceptible to doomscrolling like any other earthling, and barely catches what you said. His tone is one of boredom as his thick fingers rub against your thighs wordlessly. “It would help if you said who the ‘they’ are.”
You sit up with a small frown, pursing your lips, then huff irritated. “You were ignoring me this whole time?”
Of course he was.
The older brother doesn’t look up from his phone, white light reflected in his light eyes. “Of course I was.”
You go back to laying on your back with a huff as you cross your arms, peeved at having to repeat yourself after rambling for nearly a half hour. “Mark and Eve, dingbat.”
The dark-haired male snorts at how you dare to insult him and grips one of your thighs, ready to swing them off his lap; you are the last person to be calling someone a dingbat.
“My input doesn’t mater. If he likes her and she likes him, then it’s none of my business.”
You nearly pout at how quickly he shuts the conversation down, yet you continue. A confession then melts out of your chest as you uncross your arms with a groan. “Don’t tell him… but I liked him before he was even dating Amber, man.”
He doesn’t lift his gaze from his phone, not giving a damn to spare you any of his attention. “Is this where I’m supposed to be shocked at the confession?”
You quirk a brow, almost feeling exposed. “Oh. So you always knew?”
His thumb swipes on some short form content, searching for something relevant to his interests as his fingers absentmindedly knead your thighs just to have something to play with. “I’m actually more surprised you two aren’t doing anything behind everyone’s backs.”
You furrow your brows.
What?
Oh. Ohhh.
Wow, he thinks he’s sooo funny.
You nearly lift your foot to kick him, offended. “Do I look like a cheap, friends with benefits person to you?”
He continues scrolling, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his tone despite his face showing no emotion.
“My brother touches you like you are.”
You actually raise your leg to kick him, and, instead of shoving you off to the floor, he immediately wraps an arm under your waist, and effortlessly pulls you to sit up on his lap. You stare at him unamused while he stares at you equally unamused, hand gripping your side.
You don’t back down as you squint him, a hint of challenge shining in your depths. “You can let go of me now.”
The older male clicks off his phone while glaring back at you, half annoyed and half biting into the challenge. “You’re playing this card after trying to get violent?”
You shrug, acting nonchalant as his hand readjusts its hold on your side to keep you balanced—how sweet, you think.
Yes, that’s sarcasm ringing through your head, but, undeniably, part of you feels a spark of heat blossoming from him being this intimate for once.
You stare down at him from over your nose, head haughtily tilted back as your voice melts into a tease. “What card?”
His fingers flex into your side more, and you want to get mad at how easily you feel yourself heat up when his thumb runs circles onto the area—he knows what he’s doing to you, there’s no way he isn’t.
“Pretending to be unaffected.”
You change your position to settle on his lap more, and he doesn’t protest when you readjust yourself to straddle his lap. The warmth of your thighs heat up his body as your legs prop on either side of his.
You and sitting on the Grayson’s laps, huh?
You hum as you lower your head. “By your comments or sitting on your lap?”
The light-eyed male tosses his phone on the couch and places his hands on your hips, staring deeply into your eyes intent on not wavering from the heat sparking between you two. “Both.”
You stare at him for a moment.
And he stares back with the same fever.
He is such an asshole, but he’s such a hot asshole. Having his father’s name and looking as if he’s an older version of Mark? You hate him so bad.
He hates you too—genuinely. You’re annoying. You come to his house uninvited. You always insult him.
He can’t stand you.
And the next thing you know is that the muscles of his arms dig into your back when they’re wrapped tightly around you as you’re feverishly kissing one another. He smells good, like clean laundry, he’s big and overpowering, and his lips feel way better than you expected.
More reasons to hate this dude.
The light-eyed male’s hands, big and strength beyond comprehension, squeeze the fat of your hips and wander to your thighs as the both of you meet peck after peck. The temperature rises as you feel in real time his body heat increase, and there was something else gradually increasing down south as well.
Your fingers cup his cheeks, and he pulls you even closer against him, any scant between you now nonexistent.
Every time you pull away for another breath, he pulls your foggy mind back down to kiss him—your mind barely functioning from how shallow each break between is.
The veins across his arms ripple as he effortlessly picks you up and manhandles your legs to wrap around his waist. Your arms wrap around his neck and tug on the shorts hairs at the back of his head as he rounds to the stairs without breaking a sweat, urgent kisses just as consistent.
And when you come out of his room the next day in nothing but hickies and his shirt hanging off your sore frame, hair wild, Mark drops his bowl of cereal and stares at you as if his father came back.
All the while his older brother emerges from the room and disappears down the hall to check up on Oliver.
Hello :3 can I request a story or one shot about an evil invincible(prefer sinister makr) try to kidnap reader from the mainstream dimension, bc the reader of their dimensions dead :3 (platonic yandere ofc)
Sorry if this long, I just have this scenario in my head for days and I need someone to write it 😭🙏🙏
Take your time, and your work is amazing 💟💟💟
Hun, the Requests are Closed, but honestly? I can do this just bc My obsesión with Invincible isn't over yet(and will LAST) and honestly i NEED to write something (just the nex time wait until the Requests are Open again thank You very much)
This would be more a Drabble, aaaand i decide to use Mohawk Mark(1- i already have a work of Yandere Sinister Mark with a Sibiling and GOD i wanted to use this idea for so long 😭)
Platonic Yandere Mohawk Mark Grayson/Invincible x Sibiling Reader: You..
Mark had to take a second look as he passed by them.
Being surrounded by chaos, hurt people, buildings burning and falling down, he could only focus on them.
that was reader.
Mark knew that they were not His reader, not only because of the clear physical differences (his reader would have to be bigger, less soft and not even that small) but because he knew that in his universe there was no longer a reader who would wait for him back.
He had taken care of that himself.
It was when he began to question everything, when he accepted that he was part of the Viltrumite empire, that he realized that he could not bring his Sibiling with him. They were too weak for the empire, Nolan said.
Mark didn't want to see how they conquered the only being that made him feel genuinely happy, genuinely understood, he didn't want reader to live to be afraid of him, to hate him.
so he took the only measure that he thought would be the most merciful.
It was easy to put sedatives in Reader's food, they trusted him so easily, even after everything that was happening at that moment, what he had already done, Reader felt safe with him. Mark loved them so much.
which made what he had to do next even more painful.
reader fell asleep in a matter of minutes, leaning on him while they watched something, he doesn't remember what. Mark moved to rest their head where they were, mentally preparing himself for what he was going to do.
And he did.
a quick turn of their head and reader was gone.
quickly, while they slept, without pain. without knowing it was him. it was perfect.
Except it wasn't.
When they were making preparations for a funeral for his sibiling (they were one of the children of the new Viltrumite emperor after all), a quick analysis determined that Reader, like Mark, was just a late bloomer.
reader was about to awaken their powers. of being a complete viltrumite. they were not human, they could have been saved from seeing the horrors of the planet.
and Mark killed them.
and the feeling that remained in him was the only thing he felt since then. pure, agonizing and desperate Guilt.
Mark couldn't bring himself to try to replace the void Reader left like he had done with Eve, he just couldn't even think about it. It felt like tarnishing their memory, taking away the weight of what he had done.
It was as if the image of his sibiling now resonated both to give him comfort and to reproach him for all the horrible acts he committed.
So seeing that face that tormented him again, that face that in a way kept him alive, was creepy, but he needed more.
Mark caught up with them very quickly, as he got closer, he saw the similarities that this reader had with his own. someone young, inexperienced, fearful, weak...
But he was not prepared for what happened when he approached them. God, after so many years without them, with the guilt of what he did to them, Mark just wanted to hug them and ask for their forgiveness, he had the opportunity.
But the closer he got to the reader, the more they retreated, and then he realized that, indeed, one of his greatest insecurities had been fulfilled, even in another universe.
reader was afraid of him.
But I could tell I didn't hate him. His gestures, his blood pressure, the way he spoke to him so as not to have to fight, everything indicated a certain familiarity despite the tension in the atmosphere. This reader was like a blank slate from its original version.
a second chance. He could do things right with this reader, protect him properly, give him the opportunity he deserved within the empire, have his sibiling back...
but it would be very difficult to do that with this good-natured Mark on his heels every time he was around reader. Mark saw RED every time reader showed the closeness he had with said alternative version of him (which to make matters worse, it seemed like they were from the same universe).
Well, if this Mark is so good and heroic, he wouldn't mind handing over his sibiling willingly, right?
Even if not, Mohawk doesn't mind going over him to get to the reader, even if he scares then, even if they hates him, he won't lose sight of them anymore, he won't lose them again.
They're going home together, whether they like it or not.
Not the comfortable warmth of a blanket pulled too tight, not the dry bite of a heater left on overnight.
This was living heat, thick and amber, pressing against your skin like a second layer you hadn't asked for. The second thing you noticed was the ceiling. Lacquered wood. Red silk hangings. An oil lamp swaying on a chain of hammered bronze.
Not your apartment, the room looks like it's from a completely different time era.
You sat up so fast the room tilted, and the silk sheets pooled around your waist.
A room materialized around you in pieces, a carved vanity, a screen painted with twin phoenixes, shuttered windows bleeding gold light through their slats. A tray of food sat on the low table nearby. Someone had been anticipating your consciousness.
The door opened before you could fully panic.
He was younger than you expected, given the room. Given everything. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than you, but the way he carried himself, straight spine, measured steps, one hand clasped behind his back, made the space rearrange itself around him like the room itself was paying attention. A scar pulled at the left side of his face, pink and permanent.
He looked at you the way someone looks at a problem they have already decided to solve.
"You're awake," he stated with a small smile.
"Where am I?" Your voice came out rougher than you intended.
"The Fire Nation Capital." He moved to stand near the window, not approaching, not retreating. "The palace, specifically. You were found unconscious near the outer gates three days ago. The guards assumed you were a threat." A pause, something flickering through his expression. "You were not a threat."
Fire Nation Capital? You have never heard of a palace like this before in geography.
Three days. You touched your own face, half-expecting to find something different.
"I don't... I'm not from here. I don't know how I got here. I don't know where here is, exactly, I mean I've never heard of..." You stopped. That sentence had no safe ending.
He watched you flounder with patience that didn't quite look like kindness. "You'll stay in the palace," he said, as if the matter had been considered and settled long before this conversation. "Until we understand how you arrived and where you belong."
"You don't have to do that."
The sentence was said with a desperate voice which sounded like 'Please don't throw me out!'
"I know. But it is not honorable to leave a lady in need."
He left before you could find the words for the particular feeling that sentence left behind.
--------
Weeks became a month.
The palace was enormous and you were given a corner of it: the room, an adjoining bathing chamber, a small garden terrace that looked out over red rooftops cascading down toward the harbor.
You were not a prisoner. No one said you were a prisoner. But the world outside those walls was entirely illegible to you, the currency, the customs, the way people spoke around you like you were something fragile that had arrived without instructions.
Also people bended elements like Zuko who bends fire, and bending is something you are unable to do in any way or form.
And so you stayed.
Fire Lord Zuko or simple Zuko, you kept having to remind yourself, which felt absurd and then slowly stopped feeling absurd, checked on you with a regularity that was either conscientious or deliberate.
You hadn't yet decided which. He answered your questions about the world with the directness of someone who had run out of patience for anything indirect, and you found that, unexpectedly, you preferred it. He didn't soften things. He didn't perform warmth.
When he sat across from you at dinner and told you the history of the war like it was something he needed to say out loud to someone who had no prior judgment about it, you understood it was a different kind of intimacy than most people offered.
You thought, sometimes, that you were beginning to understand this world and it might not be that different from the world you came from.
But mostly you understood Zuko.
Or at least you thought you understood him.
-----
He came to your terrace one evening near the end of your second month.
The sun was going down and taking the heat with it, and the harbor below had gone from silver to copper to something deeper, and you were watching it with the specific pleasure of someone who has learned not to take anything for granted.
You heard his footsteps before you saw him, as you had learned his footsteps patterns.
"You look like you're thinking," he said.
"I'm always thinking."
He came to stand beside you at the railing. For a while he said nothing, which was one of the things about him you had come to understand.
The silences were never empty with Zuko. They were weighted, working.
"There is something I need to discuss with you." He said it to the harbor.
"Okay."
"The servants talk." He paused. "The court notices things. You've been living in the palace for two months. You eat with me. You walk the grounds with me." Another pause, shorter. "They have come to certain conclusions about the nature of your stay."
You turned to look at him. "What kind of conclusions?"
His jaw moved. "The kind that have become difficult to ignore. Word travels fast in the capital. There are rumors in the city now about a woman living in the Fire Lord's wing." He finally turned to look at you. In the low gold light, the scar looked less like damage and more like topography, just part of the landscape of him. "It puts you in a complicated position. Without status and protection."
Your stomach did something uncomfortable. "Zuko..."
"I've thought about this carefully." He said it with the clipped certainty of someone who had, in fact, thought about it carefully, and did not want to be interrupted mid-conclusion. "The most practical solution, the one that resolves the problem entirely, is marriage."
The word landed in the warm air between you and just sat there.
"Marriage," you repeated.
"You don't know the outer city. You don't know how things work here. If you were to leave the palace without status, you would be..." He stopped. Looked back at the harbor. "Vulnerable. People would take advantage. The simplest way to protect you, to make it impossible for anyone to use your position against you, is to give you a position that cannot be questioned."
You stared at the side of his face. He stared at the harbor.
"If you don't want that," he said, and something in his voice changed register very slightly, "I'll find another solution. But it would be more complicated."
You thought about the city below, which you didn't know. You thought about the currency you didn't have, the language you were still learning at the edges, the fact that you had arrived here with nothing and been handed warmth and silk and someone's careful, unasked-for attention.
"Okay," you said.
He finally looked at you. Something moved behind his good eye and vanished before you could name it.
"Okay," he repeated, quieter.
The sun went below the harbor. Somewhere in the city below, lanterns were beginning to come on.
----------
There were no rumors.
His head secretary, would have mentioned it. His advisors, who watched the city's pulse like old men watching weather, would have brought it to council.
The servants' gossip ran through the palace like water through stone and none of it, none of it, had ever surfaced in any report about a woman in the Fire Lord's east wing.
Zuko knew this.
He had known it when he rehearsed the conversation on his terrace the night before, parsing the words until they sat right.
He had known you would agree because you had the faith of someone who did not yet understand how the world here worked, who was relying on the one person in it she knew.
He stood at the window of his own chamber long after you'd retired for the evening.
It wasn't something he was proud of, exactly.
But you had arrived with nothing, out of nowhere, and the palace was the only world you knew, and he had watched you for two months learning to trust this place, learning to trust him, and the thought of you leaving, of someone else finding you first, of you being out in the city where he couldn't...
He stopped that thought, it's already decided that you would become his wife.
He was the Fire Lord. He had spent enough of his life doing things he wasn't proud of for reasons that seemed, at the time, like the only available reasons.
Zuko went to his desk and began drafting the announcement.
He was not his father. Zuko had told himself this so many times it had become something close to prayer. He was not his father. He had ended the war, burned the war councils and rebuilt the ministries and sat across from Aang in rooms full of people who had every reason to hate him and done the work anyway, year after year, because that was what it meant to not be his father.
Zuko also promised himself he would find a way to deserve being your husband. He told himself he would spend however long it took making the cage into something that didn't feel like one. He told himself this was different.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Bruce: I wish I could stay away but I can't deny the grip your secret sauce has on me.
Danny: I'm glad you like it so much. Your regular order of fries and chicken strips smothered in green chili sauce?
Bruce: Please and thank you. Say, Danny, how are you?
Danny: I'm 22.
Bruce: Are you single?
Danny: Er...I am?
Bruce: Lovely, I have children near your age. I would be mighty proud if you dated one. What are you into, girls? Boys? Both?
Danny: Oh, Mr. Wayne, I'm flattered really but I'm not looking for a relationship right now.
Bruce leaning over the coutner: I will have that Fenton Family sauce recipe boy, even if I have to pay for the wedding myself.
Danny: I'm sorry Mr Wayne but I wouldn't give my spouse the recipe either. Only my children can have it as per the family tradition.
Bruce: Blood or adopted?
Danny: Both are acceptable
Bruce: My children can either birth you a child or help you adopt one. Just say the word. I have on speed dial a guy that can make ward placements like that *snaps*
Danny: .....No Mr.Wayne. If you excuse me I have to cook your food
Bruce desperately: MY CHILDREN ARE GORGEOUS! THEY'VE BEEN ON SO MANY MAGAZINE COVERS. JUST LET ME SET IT UP. YOU CAN GIVE ME SO MANY GRANDBABIES! PLEASE!
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Welcome to the masterlist of my DC series Into the Batverse! A Platonic! Yandere! Batfam x Spider venom! Reader series! This will contain links to all chapters + anything related to the series, including the taglist and asks! <3
TAGLIST IS CLOSED
Pairings: Platonic! Yandere! Batfamily x Spider Venom! Reader
Summary: Let's do this one more time! Your name is Y/N Wayne, and you were bitten by a radioactive spider, which then gave you powers that may include the ability to stick to any surface, shooting webs front your wrists, and super senses! You also may have accidently attached an alien life form to yourself. All of this is turning you from the confident Wayne kid everyone knew you as to a self-deprecating and self-conscious young adult who carries the weight of both the superhero world and civilian world on your shoulders, leaving the Wayne family shouldn't have been an issue, nobody ever saw you anyway too busy to ever notice you, but it seems as you try and start a new life your family has a change of heart.
Warnings: Neglect | Self doubt/Self worth Self-consciousness | Self Harm | Talks of mental issues/disorders | Stalking | Spying | Talks of death | Torture | Kidnapping | Fighting | Sex mentioned a few times mainly just one night stands | (will be updated)
TAGS:
Into the Batverse - Chapters / Extra side stories
Into the Batverse: Extra - Asks / Anything that isn't canon most likely
Original Blurb - 10/6/2025
Season One: Before the Storm
Chapter One: Worst Day Ever - 10-17-2025
Chapter Two: Changed Person - 10-24-2025
Chapter Three: Life Changing - 11-11-2025
Chapter Four: Family Dynamic - 01-02-2026
Chapter Five: Stranger In My Own Home - 01-17-2026
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germansingergirl
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