Batfam x (Slightly)Neglected!Miraculous Holder!Reader
(Context: Reader is a year older than Lady Bug and Cat Noir. Reader is g/n in this, and will use they/them pronouns. This is a more 'realistic' version of MLB. There is physical trauma, death, and PTSD which affects how characters act. Reader is traumatized and both Cat Noir and Lady Bug are pretty dependent on reader because reader is so good at fitting into whatever role Ladybug needs them to. Reader has died multiple times due to Hawk Moth recognizing them as Ladybug and Cat Noir's support system and trying to target them in order to make the taking of the Miraculous of Creation and Destruction easier. Reader can be read as slightly or severely neglected by Batfam. )
W.C: ~4.3k Imperfect grammar, no TWs otherwise besides profanity.
You watched with apathetic eyes as, for the fourth time this week, Ladybug used her powers to reverse all the damage one of Paris's villains had caused once more.
You've been in Paris three years at this point.
And most days were, well, fine, but some were borderline hell. How the JLA hadn't intervened and already taken Hawk Moth into custody, you didn't know, though your current theory was that the damage was reversed so quickly, and as a result, action was never taken.
Either way, at this point, you'd been in Paris for a while, and knew the ins and outs.
You knew who LadyBug and Cat Noir were under their masks, and you knew who most of the other holders were too, given how often you used the Snake Miraculous and as a result, knew more than you should have.
You've probably used nearly every miraculous Ladybug had at this point, besides the Cat, the Ladybug, and the ones Hawk Moth possessed, of course.
"Pollen, Buzz Off!" You said with just enough force in your voice to deactivate the clip in your hair.
Ladybug blinked at you as you tossed the hairclip of the Bee back to her. "Stinger? You... deactivated your miraculous."
"Why? You still need it to get back home, don't you? Its late, and-"
"Ladybug. How many years have I been helping you and Chat?"
Both miraculous holders looked at you, being more concerned than skeptical. You sighed, exhausted.
"Listen. I will be fine. If you're dying to be concerned, one of you can accompany me home. But either way," You yawned, checking the time and groaning once you saw it was 2 in the morning, "I have to go to bed, lest I want to murder someone 2 days before my senior year ends and I go back to the states."
"Mademoiselle, you aren't... staying in Paris? Or France?"
You looked at both teens fondly as you stretched, joints popping. Ladybug's reversal of all the damage during fights did reverse major trauma during fights, but even so, your body hurt like hell.
"No, Chat, I'm not. I'm taking my Miraculous and getting out of here. If thats allowed, of course." You murmured, turning to Ladybug, one eyebrow raised.
"Of course it is! You made it yourself, I don't see why you wouldn't have ownership of it."
You sighed, seeing the way both teens seemed uneasy at your imminent departure. "Listen. You need anything, anything at all, you use Kalki to grab me from Gotham, and I'm here. Got it?"
After that, the next few days were relatively peaceful. You weren't called by either heroes to help with any akumas, got great grades on all your final projects, and were back on the plane the morning after your graduation ceremony.
Your father's arrangement, you believed. At least now, you're done with Paris and Hawk Moth and all that absolute bullshit.
The first thing Bruce noticed when you came back is how much more... toned you were.
You were fragile when you left. The type of person who spent all day inside, concerned more with grades and getting into all the academic programs than getting into sports, who looked like it'd take ages to heal anything broken.
But now? You had muscle. A decent amount. The kind that came from actually doing something instead of just lifting weights at the gym. The kind that came from vigilante work.
The second thing he noticed was how tired you seemed.
Not in a literal sense, but the kind of exhaustion that seeps into one's bones from countless sleepless nights, pressure beyond imagination, and being done with everything.
Not that it was that obvious on the first few days you came back, no, what really set alarm bells off in his head was how you reacted to that spider choker of nearly being touched.
Dick was asking you questions, to which you had been responding with flat answers.
Do you speak French now?"
"You think I would have been able to get the grades I did if I didn't understand French?"
"You look like you go stronger?"
Jason, who was sitting next to you, went for the obviously too tight choker on your neck.
"This something you got in Paris? Its too tight. You're going to-"
You'd grabbed Jason's fingers. Tightly. Tight enough that if you applied more pressure, they would break.
"Don't touch it." You said once, coldly, before dropping his fingers and going back to your food, as if nothing happened.
Silence filled the air for a moment, before Dick had laughed nervously, trying to dispel the tension that was clearly mounting.
"Alright, how about we don't touch each other's stuff? Where did you get that, by the way? Looks really well made. Did someone-"
"MDC made it for me. Yes, that MDC. The one who lives in Paris and makes clothes for popstars and political figures and whatever. They were one of my classmates, who I will not be disclosing the name of for privacy reasons. Its custom made. Now can I please finish my meal because I haven't had homemade food in over four years besides my friends inviting me over to their homes and I haven't eaten in over twelve hours?"
You ignored it, ignored Jason's muttering, and Dick's careful nod and Tim's raised eyebrows and Damian's click of the tongue and Bruce's own questioning gaze.
MDC? That MDC? The one who made wear for Jagged Stone, who was a direct competitor to the Agreste Brand, whose designs were practically the signature of anyone important in France.
Sure, you carried the Wayne name, which was decently recognized around the world, more so in the New England area of the United States than anywhere else, but that wouldn't warrant getting anything from MDC themselves, would it?
The choker itself looked like it was made of good material, something firm, not leather, but similar enough. It was a sort of dark, rusty color, with a spider burned into it, the mark of the arachnid coated in white.
He'd have scans run on it later, when you eventually took it off to sleep. For now... he'll let you have this.
He'd assumed your choker would take a day for you to take off, maybe three if you were attached to it.
You weren't going to shower with the thing on, right? That was just disgusting.
And you didn't. Thankfully.
But the moment it was in your room, you stuck it in a jewelry box that took not only your finger print, but retinal scan and a vocal identifier to actually unlock.
Which was weird. Sure, he knows people would take your stuff without asking all the time, back when you lived here, but wasn't this a bit overkill?
He tried the entire hour you were soaking in the bathroom with those new bath bombs Steph had given you, which Tim suspected were actually ones she just had and was giving you as a sort of welcome back gift, with no luck.
The system wasn't online at all, didn't operate on anything but its own self contained grid, so he couldn't hack it whatever, it was built so airtight that there weren't any gaps to pry open, and-
"Why are you trying to open my shit."
Tim nearly jumped out of his skin.
You had... snuck up. On him.
How the hell had you done that. He hadn't even heard you coming, despite your body being soaked and your feet being bare against the floor. You absolutely should have made noise. He absolutely should have heard you get out of the tub, drain it, and open the bathroom door. He should have heard you breathing, at least. But you'd made no sound.
"I asked you a question, Drake. Why are you trying to open my jewelry box." Your voice was flat. Sure, Tim hadn't known you the best before you'd left for France for all of high school, but you weren't this cold and serious when you left.
"I just wanted to see it up close." He muttered, hoping the excuse would placate you.
It didn't. If anything, it seemed to make you more upset.
"You heard me, Drake. Out of my damn room."
That is how long it took for you to somehow strategically back him up, keeping him distracted and unaware of his space just enough that you could push him out, until he was already out your door, which you were able to slam in his face.
What the hell was up with you.
Cass didn't interact with you.
It wasn't out of spite or hurt or any real reason. She had nothing against you, and you seemed like a nice kid. It was just any accident, really.
Your worlds didn't overlap in any way. She did ballet, her vigilante work, and was at the manor at times when you weren't. You focused solely on academics when you were in middle school, and were constantly out in clubs or sports or on the decathlon team or debate club or whatever you were doing that month.
You had always seemed lonely, but lonely in a way that didn't invite company.
Which is why it took her off guard, when, less than a week after you'd finally gotten back, you asked to spar with her.
You probably didn't know what you were getting into.
The family had never revealed any of the vigilante aspects or rough pasts to you, besides what the public also knew, so she assumed you didn't know anything about where she came from or where she trained or how good she was.
She would humor you with a spar. Though she wouldn't go easy on you. You wanted a spar, you were going to get a spar.
"Sure then. Just tap our whenever it gets to hard for you."
You matched her pretty well, all things considered.
You weren't on her level, of course. Not even close. She assumed you'd picked this up after being in France for four years or so, while she'd been training since she could remember. Four years of casual martial arts didn't compare to a lifetime of bloodthirsty combat training.
Scarily good. Enough to take out most rogues in Gotham, at least.
You did everything right too. You were aware of your surroundings, you used those surroundings to your advantage, you dodged, you blocked hits, most of your rare punches, when you threw him, landed with a good amount of force. Enough that if this was an actual fight, Cass had absolutely no doubt you could hold out for a decent amount of time, until you either overpowered your opponent, or until backup arrived.
Though oddly enough, you didn't seem used to punching and fighting barehanded. Judging by your stance, you seemed used to fighting with some sort of weapon.
A long ranged one, given how you favored your dominant side and you were constantly moving out of the way. If you had whatever weapon you were used to, you might have had a pretty good chance of winning this.
But even then, you were more than capable of fighting hand to hand.
Finally knocked you down, foot on your chest, staring at you.
You stared at her back for a long moment, before sighing and turning your head to the side. "I yield." You muttered before letting her help you up.
She watched as you stretched your limbs, massaging your now bruised limbs, then your joints in a way that one would attempt to relieve chronic aches instead of temporary pains.
You seemed surprised she spoke to you at all, nodding slowly. "Yeah."
She glanced at one of your sore joints that you were massaging in an attempt to alleviate the apparent pain. "I didn't hit you there." She all but thought to herself, muttering the words under her breath, barely a murmur.
"Nah, you didn't. Just some chronic pain. Don't worry about it. And yeah, before you ask, I did hear you. I've heard a lot more than people think."
Cass stared at you for a moment more, processing both statements. Chronic pain implied you'd been straining your joints to an extent they weren't equipped to handle, and not only that, you acknowledged it was chronic. In her experience, most people only acknowledged pain was chronic after nearly a year or more of the same places aching.
And you hearing more than people think... that much wasn't surprising. She'd always known you were observant, much more than everyone else treated you. She just didn't realize it was to that extent.
"I'm going on a run in a bit. See you later, Cass." You said, rolling your shoulders before leaving the sparring room, with that same choker around your neck.
She hadn't even noticed, given your collar was so high. She hadn't noticed it at all this week. Figured it wasn't anything to pay attention to. But...
You never took that thing off.
Damian didn't have many strong feelings about you returning.
You were back. So what? It didn't change anything.
You still stayed out of his way, and Damian never found any reason to go after you.
He never bothered you, you never bothered him. He figured it was a fair relationship.
"No, Arakniis, I promise you, it tastes the exact same as it would in Paris."
It was late. Too late for you to be up. Damian had just gone down to the kitchen to get a glass of water when he realized something.
The kitchen light was on. Odd. Odder still, you were in the kitchen, talking to yourself. Or at least, that is what Damian assumed, given how your phone was across the counter, your headphones weren't in sight, and you were talking to thin air.
Well, until a voice answered you back.
"I don't believe you! Gotham stinks of pollution! There's not a chance in the universe this tastes the exact same!"
The voice was high pitched, too squeaky and high to be human without a modifier, and even then, it was late. You haven't had anyone over since you got back. And you didn't seem capable whatever of sneaking someone into the manor.
And what kind of name was Arakniis?
"Arakniss, they're bug gummies I made with dye and whatever juice I have in the fridge. I promise you, these ones will taste the same. You haven't eaten since we left Paris. These were literally made with strawberry juice. Your favorite."
Well, whoever this Arakniss was, they were a petulant brat.
"Who are you talking to?"
Damian watched you practically jump out of your skin, slamming the pink plastic cup you'd finished drinking onto the counter, both hands over it.
You exhaled shakily, glaring at him. "Don't scare me like that."
"Who are you talking to?" Damian simply repeated his question, eyeing the cup that you were desperately holding down with both hands.
"I had a friend from France on the line." Your lie was flimsy. Likely given how late it was and how badly he caught you off guard.
"Your phone is on the counter, your headphones are in your room, and you were speaking English, not French. Who were you talking to?" He asked, firmer this time. If you were hiding something that could be a potential danger to the family, he needed to know.
You groaned, seemingly swallowing your pride. "An imaginary friend, okay. I-"
"That's a lie. You never had them before you left, and none of your teachers mentioned imaginary friends or you seeming lonely whatsoever when they sent Father emails on your progress. If anything, you seemed overly social and there were worried it would take away from your school work."
"Wait... did you go through Bruce's emails from my teachers?!"
You groaned, running one hand over your face and keeping one over the cup. "Fine! I'm talking to a magical creature that I created with the amount of magic inside of me back in Paris because I was one of its superheroes. My hero name was Raignée, short for araignée, which means spider, and this creature, Arakniis, is a kwami, the embodiment of entanglement and connection. Happy?"
Damian studied you for a moment. There was no sign of deceit or lies on your face, and as much as this seemed like a children's tale, the color draining from your face told him that this was, in fact, a truth that you, in your current exasperation, had just shared with him that you should absolutely have not shared with him.
"Very well. May I see this Arakniis?"
"Your story is clearly truthful. I wish to see this creature."
You looked at him like he was asking the impossible of you, however, given you had already revealed so much tonight, you had apparently decided to screw it all, and lifted up the cup.
The creature under the cup was small enough to fit into his palm, 3 inches tall at most. It squeaked the moment the cup was lifted, flying behind you as if to shield itself.
"Arakniis. It's fine. This is Damian. And I've told you this for two years now. No need to call me master."
"What is it." Damian asked, eyes flicking between you and this... creature.
"Its a Kwami. They're divine beings that entrust themselves to humans. And God, I actually don't know much about them, nor should I be telling you anything I do know."
"I could tell Father about this." He said quietly, partially a warning, partially a threat of what could come.
And instead you laughed. You braced yourself on the counter and laughed.
"You think Bruce would believe you? That I'm some secret hero and that I have a creature that is the embodiment of entrapment and all the shit I've told you tonight."
"The footage which my magical energy literally disables? The footage in which Arakniis literally cannot appear? Already thought of that, kid. Try again."
"Magical energy?" You were more open than you had been all week. Obviously, Damian was going to take advantage and prompt you continuously. It was the most information he was probably going to get out of you about this ever.
"Yeah, turns out, when you use magical artifacts continuously with no rhyme or reason over and over again and overload yourself using them, you tend to suck up magical energy. Unfortunately, because I've used so many, mine is unstable as hell. Allowed me to create Arakniis. And disable the tech all over the house."
"So I can't prove this interaction ever happened."
"Nope." You popped the 'p' as you said the word, putting the little baggie of gummies in your pocket, before walking past Damian, though not before ruffling his hair.
Damian froze. "Tt. Touch me again and your hand will be gone."
And you had the audacity to, once again, laugh. "Whatever you say, little bird. Whatever you say." You glanced back at him, warmth gone from your expression. "But try it next time. See what happens."
And then, once more, you disappeared into the darkness of the manor, silent as a spider spinning its web.
It had been two weeks since you'd gotten back.
And for some reason, you family felt entitled to already go through your stuff.
Your jewelry box that held the Spider Choker? Gone.
You had torn apart your room looking for it, bed moved, carpet dragged out, floorboards literally pulled up, every single inch of your room torn apart to look for the damn thing.
Arakniis was gone, vanished inside of his charm, meaning you couldn't ask the kwami for help, and no one was speaking to you when you asked them about it.
It didn't take these apparent geniuses to piece together what had happened.
You'd been in the shower, Tim had probably taken the box for God knows why, and put it somewhere you couldn't find it. Maybe you'd given Damien too much information, or shown Cass too much of your actual skill during sparring, or maybe Tim realized how strange your protectiveness over the item was.
Either way, you found motive didn't matter.
You were getting your damn choker back.
You didn't bother waiting until the house was empty of everyone else was out and about doing school or asleep or patrolling. Nor did you bother cleaning up your room.
Perhaps it was petty, yes, but you could fix everything later. After you got your stuff back.
It wasn't hard to figure out that the box containing your miraculous, which you crafted with blood and tears and a piece of your very soul, was absolutely in the cave.
The BatCave, which, contrary to what the rest of the house thought, you very much knew about, and you very much knew every entrance to. Most of the household was probably down there at this point.
Not that you cared enough to even try to be discreet today.
Your footsteps were very much loud enough to signal your arrival into this nearly sacred space, and the eyes that turned to you were all met with an ice cold glare.
"My choker. Where is it."
You figured it was likely at the fact that you were both down in this area, and that you weren't freaking out. You didn't bother with an explanation, simply turning towards Tim, who sat at the nearly comically large BatComputer.
"Bull. Shit. You were snooping around in my room last week. You were trying to open the box. You know where it is."
Bruce sighed, looking at you through the cowl, expression unreadable.
On one hand, he did understand you. That was your choker, something clearly sentimental, something that you clearly held dear. A custom made luxury item that would probably sell for a fortune. It was obvious why you wanted it back.
On the other, it was flowing with unstable, magical energy. When Drake finally scanned the box, readings were off the charts. Unstable, with extreme power, the sort that could turn a person into a meta with one wear.
And you were wearing it every day. The effects it could be having on you concerned him.
"Bruce. I want my choker back. I want my jewelry box back. Or am I going to have to search the entire cave to get the damn thing back."
You could see it hurt him to have you call him by his first name, though years of neglect then seperation would do that to a person.
"Can we speak about this in the morning? There's something we need to discuss with just us, and-"
"Are you insane?!" You cut him off, that cold expression suddenly breaking into fury. "First you're just letting Drake take my shit, then you brush me off about it?! What's next, I won't get it back in a month, and by then, every single thing that made it mine will have worn off?! I'm getting that damn box back whether you like it or not."
"Oh fuck being dangerous! You're an aging billionaire playing hero every night. You do not get to talk to me about danger when every single person in this room risks their life every night trying not to die because they want to play heroes!"
The silence that filled the room was only cut off my your breathing, rough, angry and quickening.
"I am going to get my box back. I don't care if you want me to or not. I don't care if you think its dangerous or not. I am getting my jewelry back voluntarily, or I will tear apart Gotham to find it, and you will never see my face on this damn continent again."
"Here." Damien practically tossed you the small black and brown box, seemingly uncaring of the actual situation. His brow furrowed upon seeing the confusion on your face. "It is your property. Drake stole it from you. You are entitled to having it back."
You stared at the felt box in your hands, opening it with all three codes, the fingerprint, the vocal recognition, and retinal scan, humming in pleasant surprise to see that the choker was indeed in the box.
"Damien. We still had scans to run on that thing. You can't just-"
"Tt. You stole their property, Drake. You cannot possibly expect them to not want it back. They told me about it a few nights ago. The item is harmless. It simply has a slight energy that interferes greatly with any sort of technology. That is why your readings were wrong."
You closed the box, letting them bicker, walking up to Damian and Damian alone, ruffling his hair, more roughly this time than before. "Movie night's on Friday. We're watching shitty Disney movies. Be there." Then, clutching the box to your chest, you walked back upstairs, uncaring the cave, the bats, or the robins inside.
Though you pretended not to notice Damian's slight smile at your final words as you ascended the stairs, holding the physical piece of your soul to your chest.
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Y'all ain't getting a pt2 unless someone gives me a really, really good idea.
EDIT: Okay someone once more gave me a really fucked up idea for part two.
Taglist for that coming out soon.
