Justalittletipsy

You haven’t attended school in two weeks now. You were just laying in your room all day, scrolling on your phone and envying everyone’s social life.

You didn’t have any friends. The two people you hung out with all of high school had moved to other cities. Sure, it was good for them but now you were always sitting alone in the cafeteria.

You were never good at talking to people. Your mother didn’t talk to you a lot growing up. She spent most of her time in her bedroom, practicing scripts and lines for gas station commercials.

She always wanted to be an actress. So when you were six she decided to abandon you. Drop you off at your biological father’s house.

The change was drastic. You went from living in a two bedroom, downtown apartment to living in a giant, cold mansion.

You know Bruce didn’t love you. Probably didn’t even like you. But you don’t blame him, most of the time.. After all, out of all the kids in the manor, you resembled him the least.

He was quiet, calculated yet somehow had a natural charisma. You on the other hand were clumsy and sucked at talking to new people.

The oldest memory, the one that stings the most, is from when you were seven years old. You weren’t aware of his nightly activities yet and simply assumed he was a workaholic, as he was never home at night. You wanted to be a good daughter. You always saw him spend time with Dick (who was 16 at the time) and you studied them. What they talked about, what they did for fun.

When you saw them watch a movie without you, you learned Bruce’s movie tastes. So one night you popped some popcorn (with Alfred’s help), put out some Dr Pepper and turned on some old, French film.

You had even asked Alfred to personally invite Bruce.

Oh, the joy you felt when Alfred came back and told you Bruce was free that night and would think about it.

Of course, you spent the rest of the night waiting on the couch. The popcorn had turned stale and room temperature, the Mountain Dew had stopped fizzing.

If only you knew then that this wasn’t gonna be the first time you were sidelined..

I’ve always been fascinated by clocks. If you don’t look at a clock time will fly past you. But as soon as you see one, it’s as if time stops.

It felt like just yesterday you were at the hospital, pushing out your 9lb 11oz daughter. Getting teared vagina to anus. But what’s even stranger is that despite the hemorrhaging and stitches I still remember it as the happiest day ever.

Women’s hormones are so strange.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been fourteen years. Hell, in my eyes that fourteen year old infront of me was just a baby. A big baby named Minou complaining about me embarrassing her infront of her friends.

When I look at her I see myself. I see my years as a teenager. Out of place.

I was tall, I’ve always been tall. But I wasn’t tall enough to complain about being tall. My daughter’s dad is tall. So of course, she is as well, and blames me for it.

I know the feeling, every girl treating you like a guy. Getting the usual “wow, you make me look like a dwarf!!” from some 5’3 chick who secretly loves the feeling of femininity.

My daughter will never feel feminine, just like how I will never feel feminine.

“Mom, are you even listening to me? You can’t just.. come into my room when I have friends over!” she complains. I look over at my husband. Her step-father, Romeo. He’s just enjoying his meal.

I envy that. I envy him. I hate him. He’s such a bum and doesn’t do any of the parenting to our son, Brady. He’s eight now so he obviously prefers his dad over me.

I look at my pissed-off daughter and then at the table. I couldn’t even enjoy the meal I cooked, all I saw was the dishes I had to do, the laundry that needed to be washed and the kitchen that needed to be dusted.

Whatever. I’ll binge some snacks later then cry when I look at the scale. But I’ve been good today. I haven’t eaten, I deserve a reward.

I hate how this is my role, my duty. But the man who put some lousy semen in me gets to just live his life and achieve his dreams.

It’s not like I don’t work, hell, I work ten hours at the hospital on a good day. And what does Romeo do while I bust my ass with patients? He stays home, working on programming mediocre video games he will get awards for.

I dream of running away or just killing myself. They would all miss me. Then they’d all be sorry. That’s would be-

“The kids are asleep.” Romeo whispers in my ear. How long have I disassociated? All of the sudden I was in bed, wet from a shower.

Romeo has this smirk on his face. He wanted a reward. He didn’t want intimacy, no. He wanted plain old pleasure on my behalf.

“I’m tired today, hun..” I whisper and lay my head down against the pillows. I don’t care for his groaning and whining. It’s not like I don’t know about his mistress, she’ll take care of him.

Maybe she’ll care for the kids when I go. If I go.

I hope I soon do.

Lmk if you want to be on the tag list! I tag everyone on the tag list for every fic I write!

You say infront of Bruce in his study. His index finger and thumb were pinching the bridge of his nose as Jason put the trash bag filled with empty liquor bottles on his desk.

Bruce had all of the absence letter the school sent him in his hand. A whole stack of them.

On the other side of the desk were your past report cards. Straight F’s.

They had stripped your room, found a bunch of ashtrays, burnt weed vapes and of course — exactly sixty-two empty bottles.

There it was. Evidence.

Jason stayed for a moment too long until Bruce just shoo’d him away.

The walls shook as Jason slammed the door on the way out.

You look down at the desk, your heart pumping way too fast.

“I don’t understand where I went wrong.” Bruce starts off with. “You-.. You used to be a decent student, (name).”

“I’m just a bit burnt out..” you murmur and he glares at you with his piercing blue eyes.

“From what?” His voice had dropped a few octaves. “Living in a stable home? Having a good allowance? Being surrounded by family?”

Your face burnt, tears threatened to spill.

“Sixty two bottles, almost half are from my cellar.” He sighs and pinches his nose bridge again. His brow furrow. “Those thirty one bottles add up to 104,367 dollars and 35 cents. You’ve stolen that. From me, your father.”

He pauses and glares at you.

“I also noticed a thousand dollars missing from my wallet this morning. Where did that end up?”

You just shrug.

“In your mother’s pocket.” He sighs.

You wipe away some spilled tears.

He studies your face and reaches into his pocket.

The color drains from your face when he pulls out the blood-stained razor blade. The one that was hidden under your plant.

“You should have seen the horror on Alfred’s face when he saw this.” he murmurs.

You stare at the blade, trying to dissociate but failing.

“Where do you do it?” he asks, almost gently.

You shrug once again.

“Show me.”

You look at the man that’s supposed to be your father. The man who slept with some downtown trash bag and had the unfortunate happen. The man who had you.

You sniffle and feel all the rage that’s been pent up inside you for a very, very long time.

“Like you fucking care.” you wipe away some tears with your shirts sleeve, only for more to spill.

He glares at you. His face remaining stoic.

“I do care. You’re my child.”

“Im not your child.” you were full on sobbing, humiliated and angry. “You don’t even like me!”

He sighs, just sighs. He couldn’t admit that he loved you, cherished you. He didn’t find the words.

Before you could think your legs were straightening. As if on autopilot, you walked out of that study.

Bruce didn’t call after you.

You needed to get out of here, you only needed your jacket. The pockets were filled with cash and a cigarette pack. That was enough.

____________________________________________

Jason and Dick were still searching your room. Just in case there were other stuff you’ve been hiding.

“Found something.” Dick shouts and holds up a small, plastic bag with about ten white tablets inside.

Jason takes one look at the bag.

“That’s just spit up antidepressants, dumbass!” Jason says gruffly and lifts up your mattress. It’s awful but it was kind of fun searching your room. Though none of them would ever admit it.

Damian was standing by the doorway, a bit confused by the scene.

“Is (name) in trouble?” he almost grins. He overheard Bruce yelling at you in the study and assumed you did something bad. Which was kind of correct.

“No.” Both brothers say in unison. “Just get.” Dick adds and looks through your drawers.

Damian huffs and leaves, making sure they hear his stomps across the hallway.

“How can someone just hide fimps under the bed and not have the decency to get an ashtray?” Jason murmurs. “I swear if I knew I wouldn’t have bought anything..”

“YOU bought her the alcohol?” Dick glares at his brother.

“No! Just the cigarettes.. and the occasional beer.”

“Jesus!”

All they found was a bunch of old beer and behind your closet, a whole ton of cigarette fimps and two old lighters.

____________________________________________

It was pouring outside. The rain hit hard against the glass. You sitting on the bench inside the bus queue, just needing to escape the pouring rain.

Cars practically fly past you and the familiar sound of sirens was blocking out the noice of the rain.

It’s so stupid that a manor that big could suffocate a person like that.

You reach into your pocket and take out the cigarette pack. You use your thumb to slide up the hinged lid. The smell of tobacco overrode the smell of rain and straight up sewage.

Seventeen years. That family had seventeen years to acknowledge you, love you or even just treat you like a living, breathing person.

How come you only matter when you smoke, drink, slit your wrists?

The smoke filled your throat. Sometimes you liked to think of it as the smoke killing that lump in your airway.

You hear the splash of shoes stepping on puddles and the weight of someone heavy sitting down next to you on the bench.

“Where are you planning on going?” Bruce asks.

“I don’t know.” you murmur. “Maybe to mom.”

He sighs and grips the wooden bench.

“So the airport?” he asks.

“She’s still in that motel downtown..” you take a deep inhale of smoke to drown out the anxiety.

“You know what I think of you going downtown.”

“No, I don’t. You’ve never spoken to me about downtown. You’ve never spoken to me at all.” You flick the cigarette.

He stays silent for a bit but he reaches into his pocket and hands you a cut out newspaper clip and a photo.

It was your mom and Bruce, though much younger. The text under it was just gossip about Bruce’s playboy years and scandals. Nothing new.

“I saw this today.” he murmurs. “Thought you should have it.”

“Why?”

“It’s a nice photo. She was.. is.. pretty in it.”

You look at the photo. Yeah, she was. You had her nose and eye color but nothing else.

“And the gossip?” you ask.

“That’s not me, you know? It’s just a mask, (name).” he confesses. But it wasn’t like you didn’t know that.

“Your mother fell for the parts of me that are wrong. The parts I want to surpress. I never met a woman like that.”

“I thought she was just a hookup.” you murmur bitterly. After all, that’s what everyone said.

“That’s what I told the media. I couldn’t let them know that I was dating a drug-user. They would tip me to shreds.”

You look at him and if you squinted you could almost see the tiniest smile.

“I knew about you. I knew she was pregnant and.. I was there when you were born.” he admits.

If the tobacco didn’t numb you the way it did your jaw would be on the floor.

“When she started using again.. I knew I had to protect you. So I secured an acting role for her and sent her on her way.”

He looks back at you.

“I didn’t want to realize that you were like her. I couldn’t-.. I don’t want you to fall down that path. You’re my baby. You will always be.”

Either the rain had hit his face or there were tears running down his face. That you would never know.

“Then why am I always kept in the dark? What did you think was gonna happen?” You ask gruffly and inhale some more smoke.

“I was scared. I am scared. I’m constantly afraid.” he takes a deep breath. His coat was wrinkled, his expensive shoes practically destroyed. “But I want to help. I want to-.. to help you.”

“I don’t need help, dad.”

“You do. I’m sorry for not realizing it earlier.”

It turned silent after that. But somehow, just sitting there with your father, was enough. For the first time you were seen.

You didn’t need to explain to Bruce why you were the way you were, because he knew. He was the same way, just in a different form.

Rehab helped you realize that you only have one life. When you’re gone, you’re gone. There is no coming back. There is no return button. And instead of being afraid, you should enjoy life to the fullest, and that meant not living for a quick fix or a tiny moment of euphoria. But instead die knowing you lived as who you are.

A/N: I want to thank you guys so much for the support! My most popular fic, wow🥹 Check out @bunniebrains fic “Part time daughter, full time party girl” !!!

You were in a daze. The streets just flew by as the bus driver made a bee line to get out of downtown Gotham as soon as he could.

God, you were hungover.

You were heading central. You just had to buy some cigarettes first and the downtown boutiques had it really cheap! (Bruce could be stingy with his allowance)

You get of the bus smelling like gasoline and cigarettes, the streets were loud even in daytime.

You hear a loud, ear-piercing voice to the right of you. Your mother. Waving at running up to you.

Just like Bruce, your relationship with your mother was best when you didn’t reciprocate her affection. It made her try more. It made you a challenge.

She gave you a tight hug. Her faux coat smelling like beer. Really, really cheap beer.

So there you were. Cheap beer and cheap cigarette. What a mother-daughter duo.

“My sweet baby, you’re all grown up!” she pinched your cheek. “We need to get that acne under control.”

Of course. Typical.

“It’s fine mom.” you murmur.

She hooked her arm to yours. You try to ignore the stinging as her tight grip burned the scars under your hoodie.

You two walk to a burger joint. Looking over the very short menus.

Eating with your mother was probably one of the most exhausting things on the planet but it beats being paparazzi’d on a beach.

“Oh, can’t have that.” She starts off with. “Oh, too much fat.” “Can’t eat carbs!” “I just get so full from just the smell of this.”

She going keeps on and on.

The worst part was that you couldn’t order the things she turned her nose up to. Because then she would moan about not being “full” and then ask for a bite, which then leaves with you eating nothing.

“Maybe we should get lemons..” you murmur, obviously sarcastic but she claps.

“Good girl! Watching your figure?”

You clear your throat and just look down at the table when she orders two sides of lemons.

“So.. got a boyfriend, baby?” she asks with a small smirk.

“No, mom.”

“Well you’re seventeen now.” she lowers her tone “have you even lost your virginity?”

“Jesus, mom!” your face reddens. As if it wasn’t red enough from your pimples.

She shakes her head. You know what she’s thinking. How could a beauty like her and Bruce create such a loser?

“Well.. whatever works for you.” she murmurs.

You clear your throat and take a sip of the large cup of Mountain Dew.

“How’s LA?” you ask.

Then the monologue starts. Shitty managers and agents, bad boyfriends, expensive weed and so on.

“I’m telling you, (name). Hollywood doesn’t appreciate older women. But older men is a whole other story!”

You chuckle, for the first time in a while. Your mom just had this time when she complained. Like Mickey Mouse.

“It’s not better here.” You remind her. The few times she tried to stay in Gotham she always ended up in some scandal with Bruce, and you didn’t want to go through that again.

Suddenly she takes your hand.

“Come with me. Move to LA.”

Silence.

“What?” you murmur.

“Come on, baby. I never see you on the quest list for the Wayne galas. Hell, when was the last time you hung out with Bruce?”

“He’s busy, mom.”

“But you’re his only biological daughter.”

“I’m your only daughter, too..”

“I know.. but I’m a changed woman.”

You wanted to believe that, you really did. But all you saw was the women who made it known all your childhood that you were a burden. A freak.

____________________________________________

You gave your mom a thousand bucks you had stolen from Bruce before you got on the bus. She didn’t need to ask and you didn’t need a thank you.

What you didn’t know was that Red Hood was monitoring you two.

He followed your bus, jumping rooftop to rooftop. Confusion set in when he realized you were going downtown and not up.

You get off by the stores and head into the shop. Jason had to think fast so he quickly took off his helmet and zipped up his jacket so no one would see the red symbol.

Just as you were picking out some liquor you feel a tap on your shoulder. You jump and turn around.

“Hey, kid. Whatya doing here?” Jason asks with slight concern in his eyes.

“Just.. eyeing.”

“Then what’s that in your hand?” He points at the Absolut Raspberry in your hand.

You didn’t know what to say.

You were startled. When was the last time Jason talked to you?

“I’m gonna call Bruce.”

“I don’t think he’ll care..”

He gets this sad look on his face. He knew that feeling. At least he thought he did.

He takes the bottle and puts it back on the shelf.

“There are people who care about you.”

Sure there were..

Now you were forced to sit on the back of Jason’s motorcycle as he drove you home.

The next chapter will be the last one. I already have an ending in mind but DM if you want some small details in!

At what age do most people gain consciousness? Some say that they gained it at a random time when they were five. Other overachievers (like Damian) claim that they were conscious right at birth.

You remember your awakening clearly. At six years old.

Your mother had an audition to play as a clumsy waitress for a local Hooters commercial. Now, at that time, it seemed much bigger than it was.

Of course, the day before the audition, your mother had lost her script-book. Her most treasured item.

All day she was fuming, snapping at everything that moved while she frantically rummaged through your tiny apartment.

She had locked you in her bedroom so you wouldn’t “disturb her searching”. And while in there you saw a blue book under her bed, coincidentally by the Konjak bottles.

Once you got her to open the door after a good minute of shouting, you handed her the book with the proudest smile on your face.

After all that trouble, after all that yelling, she muttered a small “thanks” and closed the door again.

That was the day you learned that doing nothing felt safe.

So when you got that text from your mother, your first instinct was to ignore it, pretend you never got the notification. But then you looked at the date. It was Friday.

Tomorrow Alfred wanted you to join the family to the beach.

You knew it was a pity invite, you overheard Alfred and Bruce talking about the “press possibly showing up” and that it would look bad if the whole family came except you.

But now you had an excuse not to come.

Besides, how were you gonna cover your scars on the beach?

You respond to your mom

Sure. We can hang out tomorrow.

She responded in under ten seconds, just a bunch of hearts and stuff.

____________________________________________

You were forced by Alfred to eat at the dinner table for once since Dick and Jason had decided to come over.

You were seated by the far end of the table, next to Dick and infront of Damian. You poke at the lamb chops while Dick was filled with chatter.

You were jealous of him. His charm. His looks. Sometimes you wondered how easy life would’ve been if you were like Dick.

Would Bruce love you like he loves Dick?

Tim was groggy. The sleepless nights had caught up to him.

Damian was a bit moody as well, but only because he lost a sparring match with Dick.

Jason was the only other one at the table who was allowed to skip the beach tomorrow. But that was only because the world had yet to know that Bruce’s second ward was resurrected.

Dick gently nudged your arm with his shoulder.

“Excited about the beach tomorrow?” he asks with the most charming smile.

You look at him, then Bruce, and then back to the lamb chops.

“My mom is visiting. I was planning on hanging out with her.” You whisper.

Bruce freezes, only momentarily though. The sounds of chewing stops.

Nobody really liked your mom despite not knowing you. Despite only being Bruce’s fling turned baby mom, she had told a lot of lies to the press just to get attention and press coverage.

“Why?” Damian asks kind of rudely.

“Why what?” you respond.

“Why hang out with that woman?” Jason chimes in.

“Cuz she’s my mom.” your murmur but then speak a bit louder. “It’s just for the weekend.”

Bruce finally puts his fork down but he doesn’t look at you.

“Is she short on money?” he asks gruffly.

You shrug, the possibility was high.

____________________________________________

In your room, while drinking Bruce’s 26 year old bottle of whiskey, you couldn’t help but lose yourself in your train of thoughts.

Maybe your mother wasn’t the best mother on earth, but come on now.. She tried when she had the energy.

You also couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce wasn’t your biological father. Maybe the DNA tests were false or something.

Personality wise you weren’t like any of them. Both of your parents were smart in their own ways. They could charm. They knew how to live.

You hear a knock on the door. Shoot. You hide the whiskey under the table, drown yourself in perfume to hide the alcoholic scent and quietly move to the door.

“It’s Dick.” you hear calling from behind the door.

You open up, the door creaking loudly.

“I didn’t know there were rooms in this wing of the mansion.” he murmurs. “Thought this was some sort of storage room.”

You shake your head and look down. This was embarrassing. You and Dick never talked after all if it wasn’t at the dinner table.

“I wanted to talk.” before even inviting him in he just shoved his way in and plops down on your bed. Dangerously close to the pillow with the whiskey under and his feet were inches from the empty bottles under your bed.

“You’re hurting your father’s feelings.” he murmurs. “He might not show it well but-“

“Bruce doesn’t have a say in me and my mother’s relationship.” you interrupt. The father thing didn’t feel right to hear.

Dick sighs and keeps on talking.

“Your mother doesn’t care for you, you know that right?” he knew his words stung but someone had to say it. “I mean, whenever she’s around she’s just looking for money or press coverage to boost her amateur acting career.”

You felt your face heat up. It’s true. But how could he say this about your mom?

If only you had the guts to say anything.

“I know you love her. But I care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” he stands up and pats your shoulder.

“Just think about it, yeah? It could be fun hanging out tomorrow.”

…

When he leaves you cry, silently though. His words felt so empty. Yet they stung.

Only the razor blade in the plant on your bedside table could soothe your feelings that night.

Whew, lots of writing this week. Well I pose the question since I want to hear your opinions. Should we deep dive into readers mind (suicidal thoughts and past trauma) or are we going straight to the plot?

You wake up still feeling drunk (better than feeling hungover) and craving to just stay in bed all day. Another day couldn’t hurt, right?

But then you remember the sad look on Alfred’s face. You couldn’t do that to him.

Your legs felt heavy as you threw them over the bed and placed your feet on the floor.

For the first time in weeks you comb your hair, do your make up and put on some of that expensive perfume you got 50% off at a Black Friday sale.

You didn’t have anyone to impress, really. Making yourself look decent felt more like a shield from the teasing.

Yeah, Bruce Wayne’s daughter got bullied. Your leg was bouncing up and down from anxiety while Alfred was driving you to school.

There was a group of girls, not even popular ones, that always seemed to have something to say. About your hair, teeth, body and much more. You learnt to make yourself look decent ears ring whenever you sensed their prescense, just in case they said something mean.

Alfred gave you a heartfelt goodbye as you left the car, and as soon as you stepped out you already wanted to go home.

The hallway was packed, people rushing to their classes and couples making out by their lockers.

Once you get to class, biology class, you sit down in the back corner by the window. Secluded enough to not get stared at and the window was great for zoning out.

The classroom got quiet once the teacher arrived.

Though you could hear the boys snicker and look back at you. A limp would form in your throat if the Smirnoff didn’t calm your nerves.

Maybe you were still drunk, but the day just kind of flew past you. And maybe the tiny bottles of jäger didn’t help.

You would sit in the classroom, blink and then suddenly you were outside waiting for Alfred.

While you were sitting on a bench outside the schools walls, Joshua, a classmate of yours, sat down next to you while his friends snickered a few yards away.

“Hey, Y/N.” he tries to hide his laugh. Your gaze remains on the pavement.

“Hi.”

“All alone? Where are your friends?” He let out a snort. God, his voice was irritating. So many voice cracks.

You don’t respond, hoping he would just go away.

“You know. My friend really likes you.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe you should ask him out. He’s too afraid to do it himself.” He points at the new kid. A short, blonde guy with a whole lot of zits.

You shake your head. His laughter dies down when he realizes you weren’t gonna play along.

“Weirdo.” He says quietly but loud enough for you to hear. He leaves and joins his friends who laugh and say a bunch of cruel stuff about you that they think you wouldn’t hear.

Back home you sit by your desk, doodling on your homework when you hear your phone buzzing. You guessed it was Alfred telling you to come down with your pile of dishes.

You take your phone and in a black font you see the notification from SMS. Mom.

Mom

Hey, baby! Sorry I haven’t texted in a while. It’s been crazy this past year. I’m coming to Gotham soon, meet you up?

Your hand shakes. Why is your mom coming to Gotham?

Tonight was gonna be a long night of overthinking.

Short chapter, I know. I wanted more of reader in this one but I promise the next one will have more Batfam in it!

You pick up the silver fork and poke at the meatballs on your porcelain plate.

Alfred was starting to worry. You hadn’t left your room for weeks, not even for school. You didn’t even open the door when someone knocked so he simply had to leave your tray of food outside.

You sit there in your hoodie. Hair freshly washed. Wrists covered in fresh bandages.

You started with self harm around the age of fourteen. It just.. happened. Nothing major went on, there was no drama in the house. You just felt your chest clench and needed some way to release it.

You leave your food on your desk, not having the appetite to eat. You needed something strong, something to numb yourself with.

You kneel down under the floor, lifting the blanket and seeing only empty bottles.

Goddamnit, you forgot that you ran out last night.

Well now you had to leave the room. You couldn’t spend all night sober.

You let out a deep sigh and put on some jeans.

You swallow the lump in your throat. How was your family going to react seeing you for the first time in three weeks? Were they going to freak out?

Okay, one foot infront of the other and focus on your breathing.

The door creaks open and you look around the hallway. Okay, it was clear.

You grab your backpack and practically sprint down the hallway towards the stairs.

When reaching the front door you start to put on your jacket which was on the coat hanger. As your hand reaches for the doorknob you hear a familiar, pre-adolescent voice.

”Where are you going?” Damian stands on the top of the stairwell, arms crossed.

“To the gas station.” You answer shortly, as you had learned Damian didn’t like small talk or you for that matter.

“Get me an ice tea, earl grey, and I won’t tattle to father.”

You thought to yourself that Bruce wouldn’t care anyway, but you still nod and head out.

An hour later you return with a plastic bag. Inside were two bottles of Smirnoff, one Absolut Raspberry, a six-pack of jägermeister shots and Damian’s precious ice tea.

After putting the bottles under your bed you head towards Damian’s room by the end of the hall, knocking three times yet no answer.

A sigh escapes your lips and you put the can of ice tea outside his door.

Just as you were about to head towards your bedroom Alfred greets you.

“Miss.”

“Hey, Alfred.”

“I prepared some brownies. Thought you would like a taste.”

Honestly, who says no to brownies? You follow him downstairs to the kitchen.

It smelled and tasted great. The crust was perfectly crunchy and the inside was perfectly doughy. But Alfred’s disappointed look made you lose your appetite quickly.

“You haven’t been attending school. You’re lucky I caught the letters before your father did.” Alfred says gruffly.

You nod and chew slowly.

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Can I trust you to do that?” he asks, looking more worried. “I don’t want to see you retake a year.”

You just.. nod.

Alfred sighs but puts on that wary smile.

“Bruce is taking everyone swimming on Saturday. He wanted you to join them!”

You look at him, swallowing that familiar lump song with the brownie. You knew that wasn’t the whole story.

“And by that you mean you had to convince Bruce to tag me along?”

Alfred scratches his neck. He didn’t want to lie but he didn’t want to tell the whole truth either.

“Just think about it, will you?” he almost pleads. It was hard to say no when he had such a sad look in his eyes.

You spend the rest of the night in your room, drinking your thoughts and regrets away.

Taglist: @stormnightingale @swthngs

Comment if you want to be tagged for chapter two aswell!!

A/N: So I have two ideas to write. One being that reader attends school or simply skips again.

You looked over your shoulder and see those dashing, blue eyes and perfect black locks. He looks right into your soul, you reeked of alcohol and he could smell it all away from across the room.

Maybe it was all the shots but as you look at him all you could feel was that deeply buried longing. Longing for what you used to have.

The cute bartender was no longer on your mind or lips, all you could think of was kissing your estranged ex. You wanted to erase Kory from his memory, you wanted to feel his hand on more places than your waist.

He leans down, one hand on your waist and the other moves to your lap as he whispers in your ear.

“Need some air?” He asks gently, and that pulls you out of your train of thoughts. How could he always know exactly what you wanted?

You nod. It’s almost like a reflex.

You sweep and dodge and then you successively pull your way out of the crowd, Dick keeping a steady hand on your arm as to not lose you. The cold air hits your face and you get goosebumps all over your exposed legs.

He pulls you in and hooks his arm around yours just so you wouldn’t trip over. Wow, standing up made the alcohol really hit.

Your words slurred a bit but he could still make out what you were saying somehow.

“Why.. why you at clerb?..” you murmur, your gaze on him.

“Club?” He corrects “I was on a mission.” He says shortly, he no longer trusted you enough to tell you all about his plans or missions.

“Oh..” you stumble but catch yourself and just keep on walking. “Where.. where we going?..” you ask.

“My place.”

Your drunk brain couldn’t believe it, he was taking you home.

“Why?” You ask.

“I don’t trust you to get home by yourself, or be able to say your address in words I can understand.”

“You know where I live.. I-.. I sometimes see you follow me at night in that costu-“ he cuts you off by pressing his palms to your lips. You were about to spill a big secret in the middle of a busy street, for crying out loud!

God, did that move bring back memories. Suddenly your drunken brain recalled all the times he would fuck you so hard you would shriek, and he had to press his hand against your mouth or around your throat.

His hand presses loosely against your lips all the way back to his apartment. Sure, some stranger would give him strange looks but who cares?

When you finally step inside the building and enter the newly installed elevator, he lets go of your mouth. He notices the redness on your cheeks and makes an awkward cough. How could he forget one of your biggest kinks?

The elevator door dings and the doors open, and as a gentleman he felt the need to hold your waist and help you walk out steadily.

You-.. I mean his apartment looked almost the exact same as it did when you left. Same furniture, same decor, hell even the same laundry lying around!

Of course, it lacked that famous “woman’s touch”, the apartment lacked plants, even plastic ones and candles. It made you feel relieved, at least he didn’t have a girlfriend, though why should you care? You’re broken up.

“So.. no girlfriend?” Your murmur as you look around the place.

He leaned against a wall with his hands in his jeans pockets.

“No.”

You nod and take off your heels, the relief for your ankles were euphoric.

“I did fuck Kory though.”

You look back at him. Despite being drunk you still saw the challenge and anger in his eyes.

“Multiple times.” he adds.

Your heart was in your throat. Maybe it was just puke? No way you’re feeling jealous right now.

He looks you up and down with disgust. That makes you look down subconsciously.

Then, like a fire, rage surges through you.

He was the one that always worked. He was the one who avoided intimacy. He was the one who pushed you to the edge.

You take a deep breath through your nose to calm your screaming nerves.

“Where am I sleeping?” you ask with a shaky voice.

He points to the couch. Great. Can’t even offer the guest room you know he has.

You just take the defeat. At least he was kind enough to let you stay the night.

You walk over to the living room and sit down on the couch. No way you were stripping so sleeping in a short dress had to do.

Dick turns off the lights, not even bothering to say goodnight.

You lay there on the couch, hands on your belly and trying to surpress your rollercoaster of emotions.

He was your ex-husband for Christ sake. The same man who you dreamt of punching in the face.

So why did you feel this way? Why were you still horny?

Your apartment was starting to look halfway decent with the plastic flowers decorating the tiny space. The white paint couldn’t hide the giant cracks in the wall though but who cares? At least all of this is your own.

You let out a sigh of relief and decide you’ve earned yourself a smoke. The best part of this divorce is that you don’t have a nagging husband telling you off every time you even breathed around the crisp smoke from a cigarette.

As you stand there on that tiny balcony, barefoot and only wearing your hollister pajamas, you couldn’t help but think of what Dick is doing right now..

Even worse, you couldn’t get your mind off the image of him wearing that tight, black and blue spandex he wore every night saving lives. Gosh, you needed to get laid.

The morning comes with surprising warmth and sunshine, not the usual spring morning you’d expect in BludHaven. Maybe this was the universe telling you to go pick up a guy, maybe that cute bartender who gave you his number two nights ago at the club.

You get dressed with a new found determination, no more of this moping around and feeling sorry for yourself.

Is 26 too old to be wearing low rise? Maybe, but you’d be damned if anyone saw you covering your bellybutton with denim. You wear a pair of low rise true religions that force you to walk straight, just so nobody would see the red thong you’re wearing. You pair these expensive jeans with a white, off shoulder, knitted sweater that makes the whole outfit a bit more appropriate for your age.

Walking down the streets of Bludhaven, black Balenziaga city bag on your shoulder, gave you a kind of confidence you had when you were 23 and a fiancée to that blob.

You pass a kiosk, newspapers were stacked to the brim and you couldn’t help but take a look. If you know the basics of journaling then you know that the headlines are only there to catch the readers interest, and what appeals to Bludhavens youth more than the sexy superheroes?

Dick, or better yet Nightwing, was on the cover with the familiar face of Starfire right next to him. They were kissing. Your ex was kissing the one girl he told you not to worry about. His ex.

Your heart was in your throat, it was getting hard to breathe. You couldn’t bring yourself to read the headline and just put the paper back.

Why? Why did you feel this way? You left him. You couldn’t stand him. So why did seeing him kiss another girl make you want to bury yourself alive?

As the day went on the image of your ex was burning deeper and deeper into your head. When you went to IKEA to find some decent posters to hang up on your wall, you looked at the large, black couch. Dick had that couch, you used to fool around on a couch like that.

The sun travels through the sky, the moon rises up to replace it and finally it was an appropriate time to drink. It hadn’t been the most productive day but at least you have some new posters to cover the cracks on your wall.

A club, a cold drink and a hot guy was all you needed to get out of your head. So after nailing the Swedish beach posters on your wall you get dressed up.

Slutty was the theme of the night. A short, black dress, a pair of 2 inch white heels (wanna be friendly for the tall girls reading this) and eyeshadow that screamed “do me”.

The club was packed to the brim, the only reason you even got in was because the bouncer liked your cleavage. The music was loud and awful but your motive wasn’t to dance.

You find that cute bartender from two nights ago, he was mixing drinks with ease and his blonde curls were sticking to his forehead from sweat.

You sit down by the bar and shout over the music to get his attention.

“Can I have a shot of Smirnoff?”

He looks at you and smiles, all pearly whites on show. He fixes two shots and shouts back.

“On the house.”

You grin ear to ear, if only Dick could see you now.

Well, apparently he did see you. He had gone to that exact club to investigate a case when he recognized you from across the dance floor.

While you chat up with that cute bartender, flirting and what not, Dick was in between ignoring you or saying hello.

It seems he settled on the hello because right as your about to order you fifth shot you feel a familiar, calloused hand on your waist.

Part two?