As a bat shifter, you were relatively small to your 'cousins,' or whatever you called other bat shifters. You could fit comfortably in a human hand, let's just say that.
That being said, you also clung to your teammates whenever you were sleepy.
One dull afternoon, after Price had finished making recruits on base run laps or whatever involved punishment because someone drew a dick on the captain's door, the team had met up in the rec room to lounge. Every Wednesday after training was your dedicated relax time you all agreed on. Yet - you were nowhere to be seen.
"Where's our sarge?" Price had asked, looking at Johnny and Kyle - the two other sergeants shrugging in return. Only when Price turned his gaze to Simon was when he had the answer.
Simon, in response, turned around. There you were, on his back with your little hooks dug into the fabric of his hoodie. Your eyes were closed and your little body shifted with each soft breath of slumber. You were the perfect picture of content.
Johnny may or may not have snapped a picture for the blackmail folder he has against you.
Kyle already began prepping your little corner dedicated to you with soft blankets to help with warmth while Price carefully pried you off of Simon's back. Your captain then set you in the little nest Kyle prepared for you, and the team migrated to the opposite corner as to not disturb you.
You were a great soldier, and that was enough to look past the fact you sleep around twenty hours a day. They would take care of you anyways, they always do.
Plus, they can't deny the fact they love tucking you in.
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thinking of babybat!reader who at four years old decided to cut their hair off in the bathroom before bruce comes back from patrol. but the reason for cutting it is really sweet.
“dada look!” you grin proudly, bouncing up and down on the heels of your feet as you show of your new haircut done by you in the bathroom mirror with kitchen scissors.
bruce freezes right where he is at the sight of the long hair you’d had growing all gone —probably in a messy heap on one of the bathroom floors.
now you’re cut short, with a proud grin that makes bruce want to melt into the ground instead of scold you.
“sweetheart,” bruce kneels to your level, pulling the scissors from your hand’s carefully. “honey, why did you cut your hair?” he tries gently, brushing some cut hair off your cheek.
you light up like you’ve been waiting for that question. “so we match!” you answer like it’s the obvious answer.
and bruce has to admit your hair was cut like his, shorter on the sides, longer on the top, a little choppy and uneven but you look really happy with yourself, so excited to match with your dad, that bruce cannot find it in himself to lecture you.
“oh, i should’ve known,” bruce hums amused, “but uh.. maybe next time you want a cut i’ll take you to the professionals.”
you only nod along, not actually planning to listen but he doesn’t know that, does he?
“cmon, sweetheart. let’s get this fixed.” bruce smiles, his heart melting when you add.
“but like yours?”
“yeah, honey. like mine.”
BONUS:
“woah, where’d your hair go?” dick snorts, looking down at you, running his hand over your short hair.
“it’s always been like this,” you reply, gaslighting.
“very funny, brat. it hasn’t.”
you don’t reply, just stare at him in a way that makes himself second guess himself. dick looks to tim who merely nods along, “she’s right. it’s always like that.” tim also gaslights.
summary: a small drabble of you and conner’s relationship as a super and a bat.
pairings: conner kent/kon el x wayne!reader (readers gender is not specified)
warnings: just fluff!
a/n: this is mostly comic based, but there are elements from young justice in here. my first time writing for kon el! requested by anon! dividers by @cafekitsune
MASTERLIST. dc masterlist
- conner doesn’t always feel seen.
lex never viewed him as a son, but rather a tool. clark and kara are nice, but he often feels like he’s living in their shadows. everytime he tries to help people, one of them always takes over, claiming that they “got it.” he likes ma and pa kent, but conner’s convinced they only look after him because clark asked them to.
- but you? you’re so observant, it’d be impossible for anyone to not feel seen by you.
- you help him without meaning to after he escapes cadmus.
he hates when people walk on eggshells around him, and that’s the exact opposite of what you do. he suspects you simply don’t have the time to consider feelings when you meet him.
“so, you’re the clone?” you ask, your eyebrows slightly raised.
conner grits his teeth. he hates being called that. “my name is conner.”
you seem to have caught on. “(name).” you respond.
- you two clash sometimes. he’s impulsive, whereas you have a plan. he can be rash, whereas you tend to map out your decisions.
- the stubbornness from the two of you can get insane. both in and out of costume.
“(name), i’m literally begging you. please go to the doctor.”
“oh, i’m sorry, conner. is this our stab wound?”
- you meet him outside of costume. you’re the epitome of class, having been raised in the upper class of society. conner is . . . not.
he wears fingerless gloves and a leather jacket that makes you scoff. he annoys you on purpose by stretching out his arms to shove the gloves into your face. you stare back at him unamused. he smirks.
clark thinks you might help conner with social interaction, since you’re no stranger to being in front of cameras and navigating your way through a room full of people.
- even when you two annoy each other endlessly, he never brings up the fact that he hears your heart rate pick up when you’re together. maybe because he’s ignoring how his does too.
he doesn’t know why he wants to fix his hair when he sees you, or why he feels a little warmer in his shirt. he tells himself he enjoys teasing you because you’re fun to pester, but it’s really just because he wants your eyes on him. he needs you to notice him.
- you two spend extra time together and do open up to each other. slowly. you both are guarded people, who don’t show vulnerability with just anyone.
if he gets angry or bothered about his whole situation, being a combination of two people that hate each other, and belonging to neither of them, you sit with him.
“why not talk to clark about this?” you ask gently.
“i don’t want to.” he says, looking away. “i dont think he’d take much notice, anyway. i’m just a problem for him. nothing but a lab experiment.”
it’s silent for a moment before your fingers touch his. carefully. he has space to pull away if he wanted, but he doesn’t. he wouldn’t pull away from you.
“i don’t view you as that.” you tell him. his eyes meet yours, automatically seeing if you’re lying.
you continue, “i mean, i view you as annoying. and a little incompetent. and perhaps slightly-“
“you aren’t helping.” he gives you a look.
you start again. “what i’m trying to say is that i don’t think you should confine yourself to that lab. you’re a lot more than that. to me, at least.”
and for some reason, he feels better.
- both of you understand what it’s like to have expectations that can feel impossible to live up to. you’ve been exposed to the vigilante lifestyle since birth, becoming robin as soon as you could, and then your own name. conner was created to be a weapon, nothing more than another piece in lex’s artillery.
you’ve worked for years to stay outside of batman’s shadow, like how he’s working to stay outside of superman’s.
so you subconsciously stick together. there’s no verbal announcement that you two are close, just the knowing that you both have.
- and when you two do start dating, he’s always racing off to gotham with an excuse.
“slow down, conner, or you’ll get the hiccups,” ma reminds him as he wolfs down his breakfast.
pa looks up from his newspaper, raising his eyebrows. “what’s the big rush, kid?”
“just going to gotham,” conner shrugs. martha smiles at him, which makes him look at his food.
“yeah?” she asks with a knowing look. “why’s that?”
he mumbles a few words about helping out batman and a few things that clark asked him to do. something about the looks martha and jonathan exchange stops him from his usual arrogance.
- the idea of keeping it out of the cameras doesn’t last long. if you ever get kidnapped because of your status, and you have just wait for someone to get you because you can’t reveal your alter ego, best believe conner is making a show of it.
he’ll carry you in his arms with a cocky look, bragging to journalists. he’ll literally flirt with you while the interview is happening.
“i always have time for my favourite billionaire, even if it means saving them all the time.”
“superboy, is this you announcing a relationship with (name)?”
“can’t confirm nor deny.” he grins. “but i think they’re totally into me.”
- NEVER stops flirting with you. it’s just second nature to him, a reflex.
a mission in a museum? conner looks at you, “i already see a work of art.” tops each one off with a wink.
stopping a robbery? he will announce to the burglars that you’ve already “stolen his heart.”
could literally be in the middle of fighting someone and would say “hey babe, if bring gorgeous was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged.”
- if you ever help him with training, he will turn it into a date.
you put your hand on his back to help him with his stance, and he’ll lean close to you with a grin. “you know, if you want to just skip training for today-“ “shut up.”
during missions, he shows off for you. he does a dodging move that you taught him, and checks if you were watching. “see that, pretty? i was listening to you.” you give him a look, but appear amused, “well done, conner.”
- even though he’s overconfident, he desires approval.
- you two definitely come up with your own moves. your favourite is when you jump off rooftops without looking, knowing that he’ll catch you. he always does.
always says “just fell from heaven?” when he catches you. or another favourite is “can’t stop falling for me, huh?”
- during intimate moments, like the first “i love you”, or sharing vulnerable parts with each other, you don’t call him ‘conner’. you don’t even notice it. but during those times, “kon el” just slips off your tongue. you’ll never know how much it means to him.
- he’s the type of boyfriend to act nonchalant, but will literally not let go of you. when you’re sitting next to him, he has his hand on your arm, thigh, or around your shoulders. his fingers curl around your sleeve like he’s afraid someone’s going to snatch you away.
he hates not being paired with you on missions. if you’re not in his eyesight, there’s a voice in the back of his head nagging him to check on you. his teammates are constantly telling him to stop clogging up the comm line by asking about you.
- lets you stitch your initials into the inside of his jacket. pretends he doesn’t look at them everytime he puts it on and off. DEFINITELY pretends he doesn’t sneakily open it every so often to get a glance.
also has a polaroid of you in the inside pocket of his jacket. he’s stared at it so often that it’s wonder he hasn’t burned holes into it.
- he isn’t huge on pda, but he LOVES sneaky touches. he’ll let his hand wander down just an inch too low when passing you, planting a kiss on your cheek before walking away. during briefings, his fingers will trace your skin under the desk, and nobody is none the wiser.
if you swat his hand away, he’ll keep them to himself for maybe two seconds (if you’re lucky), before reaching out again.
it’s partly because you’re so composed, and he loves being your opposite.
- when he’s in your room, he will jump onto the bed in the most exaggerated way. literally flop onto it backwards. spreads himself out like a starfish.
- can be a massive dork? but the things he’s a dork about aren’t typically ‘nerd’ topics. for instance, he literally knows every part to any car. probably has to restrain himself from opening the hood of the batmobile anytime he’s around it.
he also claims that it’s his “duty” to show you rock bands that aren’t mainstream. he’s probably into metal as well, and will share playlists with you. if you have a record player (bc it’s wayne manor duh) he will ABUSE it. constantly shows you vinyls, because he really believes that his music taste is the best. no questions asked.
- firm believer in he shows you music, you show him films. you have a home theatre, after all. you and him watch a range of action, thriller, and comedies. rom-coms in february, and horrors in october, and of course christmas movies in december.
he’ll watch each one and discuss them with you afterwards. he probably won’t really pay much attention to the ‘cinematography’ or the usage of colours and symbolism, but if you love it, he does too.
- he loves the fact that you’re his friend as well as his partner. he wants to hang out with you! if you hope for a quiet day in, you’re severely disappointed.
when you’re reading, he’ll drape himself around your shoulders, whining about you not paying him attention. you flick his forehead and tell him to be patient, he’ll say “but babe, i’m bored and you’re so pretty!”
- damian is shocked that his sibling is dating a kent.
“first grayson dates a tamaranean, and now you’re dating a half-kryptonian.”
you smile, raising your eyebrows. “and you’re friends with jon.”
he tuts. “that is completely different. i can’t seem to shake him.”
jon is over the moon that his relative is dating damian’s sibling. he claims that means they’re “basically family”. damian rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to protest.
- i can see conner and jason getting along though. it isn’t a loud friendship, or one that people really notice. but it’s there.
- conner takes you to the farm. he wants you to meet ma and pa, and to see the first place he felt somewhat comfortable.
its unpolluted and quiet, which is a stark contrast to gotham. you’re convinced your lungs actually expanded to breathe in more of the clean air.
however, conner spots the slight nose scrunch from you when you smell the cows. he teases you about your lack of skill and experience when you help milk the cows, and walks past you holding fence pieces with a smug look.
when you arrive, martha greets you with a hug before bringing you inside. jonathan gives you silent approval with a nod before offering you tea. the farm has a certain coziness that wayne manor can sometimes lack.
- when you two lay together, he will grumble when you put your arm around him, but he’ll tuck himself into you. he isn’t as loud during those moments. he isn’t making a cocky remark. he likes to just soak in the moment of being next to you, knowing that you care about him.
- he doesn’t know how he got here, or what he did to deserve you, but he knows he doesn’t want to leave. he’d go up against anyone, as long as you were on his side.
Beta-reader: @vee08, who also made the banner and encouraged every little thing that came Readers way :)
A/N: Hello, lovely people!!! I am officially free from my evil exams. I spent the last 4 days typing this up. A big 20 pages on my Google Docs and 7K words to make up for my absence.
Before you guys read a few things to note: 1) Characters may come off as OOC. This is all through the POV of the reader, who is far from a relable narator with one too many grudges. 2) I LOVE Tim Drake. Any Tim slander in this chapter is purely for plot and... maybe not entirely warranted. [I have another fic idea I will post soon that features him as a love interest :P]. 3) You guys will probably hate the outfit and name reveal near the end of the chapter :) @vee08, and I were talking, and all I wanted was pink, but she added the final detail to make it so much worse, so blame her <3. The name, unfortunately, was my idea </3. I hope you guys enjoy the read :) I'll respond to everything I wasn't able to before my exams before I get started on that Mark fic >:)
---------
A week passes, and nothing changes. No texts. No calls. No dramatic “we need to talk” ambush at breakfast. Dick didn’t stop by the manor and to your knowledge, he didn't call Alfred or Bruce to snitch.
You still check your phone anyway. Once in the morning, once at night, thumb hovering over recent calls and checking your voicemail in case you missed it.
Every time you check your phone, you see nothing but random texts from people you couldn't care less about. Nothing from Dick.
You decide not to dwell on it too much, instead putting your effort and time into being a model citizen in the most irritating way possible.
You attend two charity lunches in one week. You smile for the photographers and let your name trend for something boring, like donating a crazy amount of money to a women’s shelter or an orphanage.
You don’t bother reading fine print or whatever tragic backstory the cause is for, you just sign the cheque.
To rub salt into the golden boy’s wounds, you post exactly one tasteful photo— soft lighting, expensive perfume bottle in frame. Your hair is done up flawlessly in a Y/N style messy bun. [I’ve been seeing a lot of memes about YN and CEO].
As soon as you hit post, you know it’ll end up where he’ll inevitably see it. You always make headlines; the lack of attention you get from the family is nothing compared to how much this city adores you.
And then you spend the rest of your time doing what you do best: buying yourself little trophies. You kick back over your bed in silk, fresh out of an everything shower smelling of rich body oils and body butter.
You prop your laptop on your thighs and start scrolling past things you don’t even want, mindlessly adding them to your cart just because you can.
You order heels that would probably make you taller than Dick. Jewelry with enough karats to feed a small town. A few dozen dresses to justify your soon-to-come request to turn another one of the spare bedrooms into your own personal closet– and finally, a new clutch to match the nails you were going to get next Tuesday.
You feel a giggle bubble through your chest the more you add. The satisfication wasnt just materialistic, there was meaning to the building thousands in your cart.
It was all proof that you can do whatever you want and still land on your feet. More so, you didn’t need Bruce’s fancy training to beat his most prized sidekick.
…
His sidekick, Dick.
A tight squeezing feeling starts to build in your chest as your mind latches onto your older brother. It’s annoying, really, how he keeps slipping into your head when you don’t want him there.
You’d expected something after that night. Another call. A few dozen texts. Hell, even him storming into the manor ready to tear into you for being reckless and stupid, because even you can admit you were.
But he didn’t. There was nothing.
At first you told yourself you were only annoyed because you’d been robbed of the chance to laugh directly in his face. You won. You humiliated him. The least he could do was show up so you could enjoy it properly.
You scoff to yourself, shaking your head before rolling onto your side to bury your face into your pillow. This is stupid. Really fucking stupid.
You and Dick aren’t close like that anymore. Haven’t been in years. You don’t call each other to check in. He doesn’t drop by just because. You exist only when it’s necessary, and you’re hardly necessary.
So why would you expect him to come running?
Why would you assume he’d physically check on you like you’re still the kid who used to trail after him through the manor halls, desperate not to be left behind?
He only chased after you that night because you turned it into a competition. Because you poked at that infuriating, deeply ingrained need of his to be in control. Why would he call after you won. You’d only rub it in–
Oh.
Of course.
He didn’t call on purpose.
You sit up a little, energized by the idea, irritation sharpening into something more manageable. Yeah– he knew it would mess with you. This was his way of getting back at you without breaking the deal.
Emotional warfare! Classic petty Dick Grayson move. You’ve seen him do this countless times with your dad. Why wouldn’t it extend to you?
He never had many words to say to you anyway, you sigh to yourself, like just few months ago at that one gala, he barely even looked your way too occupied talking with–
Tim.
Nope. Absolutely not.
You shut that spiral down hard, mentally slamming a door on it before it can open any wider. You do not want to think about fucking Tim Drake. You could spend days going on and on about exactly how much you hate your other older “brother”.
His smug competence, his not-so-quiet confidence. The way he slid into a space that always felt just out of your reach and made it look effortless. No– You’re not letting him butt his way into your head too.
Right now, it's about you and how you beat Nightwing at a cat-and-mouse game. You sigh, looking back to your screen as you rub at your eyes for no reason, adding something blue to your cart before checking out.
The day comes for your Dad and Alfred’s scheduled return. You get a ping on your phone from the front door house surveillance camera and watch as they step in before swiping out of the app.
You don’t bother moving from your vanity, continuing to do your morning routine, rubbing the serum gently into your skin.
A few minutes later, the phone rings.
Not the ugly intercom buzzer system built into the walls, nope. Your pretty one. The antique-style wire phone you insisted on having installed, because at least it matches the manor’s aesthetic. (like geez, your dad’s mom dies, and suddenly he wants to go full beige sad baby?)
You answer on the fourth ring, taking your time walking over with a dramatic sigh, and you plop down and lie on your bed to lazily pick up the phone and bring it to your ear.
“Hi, Alfred,” you sing sweet as sugar, already smiling because you can picture him on the other end being all composed and quietly amused by you no matter how much you pretend you’re not still his soft spot.
There’s a pause.
Then a voice you do not expect fills your ear. “I need you to come down to the cave.”
You sit up fast enough for your bubble headband to come flying off. For one dizzy second, you can only blink at the wall like maybe you misheard.
Your dad doesn’t call you.
Not for anything that isn’t a charity appearance or a public-facing “Wayne family” performance where you’re expected to smile, look pretty and not ask questions. And he definitely doesn’t call you to the cave.
“Okay,” you answer sweetly. Like you aren’t instantly on the edge of panic. “I’ll be down in a sec.”
There’s another pause before he makes that irritating “Hrn” sound and line clicks dead.
You stare at the phone for half a second longer than normal, then slowly set it back into its place.
Dick must have told.
And if Bruce knows—
Your feet hit the floor cold, and the adrenaline makes your hands shake just slightly as you start moving. You quickly slip on some slippers, a random hoodie and put on some lip gloss just to stall some time to hopefully calm your heart that's currently trying to beat out of your chest.
You just reach your doorknob when your phone pings, stopping you in your tracks. You reach for your pocket, praying its one of your socialite friends with a last-minute stupid emergency that you can use to escape this conversation for at least a few hours, but no. Your luck has run out.
One message. Dick.
No greeting or explanation. Just two words sitting there with the addition of an irritating fucking period.
Just agree.
Your brows furrow instantly. Agree to what? To whatever punishment Bruce and he giggled over? You also can’t let go of the stupid little period he added. No one adds periods to texts unless they want to make a point.
You’re about to type out a message cussing him out when another ping from him comes through– A video.
An unsettling feeling crawls over your body like little bugs. That... That can’t be good. You don’t open it right away, letting your thumb hover over the screen before you take a deep breath.
You tap the video, and the screen lights up.
It’s you.
Not a distant grainy or even blurry shitty security footage you could dismiss with a scoff and even blame on deepfake app. This is close, clear and filmed by no other than yourself.
You’re met with your beautifully messy face as you sit in the booth, Dick’s phone raised as you huff over your makeup.
You watch yourself lean in closer, eyes narrowing as you inspect your reflection. You see your fingers come up toward your mouth, adjusting your smudged lipstick thats dragged past the edges of your lips in a way that screams exactly what you’d been doing before Dick dragged you away.
You watch your head turn just enough for the bruises on your neck to come fully into view. The hickeys are blatantly clear, made even worse by the contrast of smeared lipstick and gleaming skin. The video has everything.
You stare at the screen. When–
You try to wrack your brain through the events of that night. You remember him handing you the phone and the camera app already open. There was no glaring red button, no flashing warning that would have set off every alarm in your head.
You would have noticed that, how did he get the recording? You look at the video looking for a sign to explain this mess when you see it. The little red bar at the top corner.
A screen recording.
You felt a rush of heat shoot up from your chest as you slowly piece it all together. The screen recording icon was small and easy to miss.
Especially in the club’s lighting, with your attention split between fixing your smeared lipstick, trying to hide the bruises on your neck, and being aware of everyone watching you. Your nail must have covered the tiny red dot at the top of the screen.
Your hand trembles slightly as you slide back through the video, replaying it, pausing it, searching desperately for something you can use. Anything that might give you an opening to call it fake.
But the recording is flawless, and catches every little mumble you made to the point that its undeniably you. He captured exactly what he needed, clean and undeniable. Proof that shows you holding the phone yourself, presenting all the evidence anyone could possibly need.
A sharp breath leaves you, half laugh/half curse. “Fuck,” you mutter. Then, louder, “Fuck him. Fuck him.”
Just agree.
Rage bubbles in your chest, drowning out the panic for a moment. You feel outplayed and humiliated in a way that makes your skin itch. He handed you the phone right after you made that bet– how early had he plotted on doing this?
You shove the phone into your pocket with more force than necessary, breathing hard as you stare at the floor. You hate him. You decided as you forced your feet to move.
You hate Dick Grayson and his stupid foresight and his stupid ability to know you well enough to ruin everything. You despise the way he backed you into a corner and then had the nerve to text you and add stupid punctuation at the end.
You walk down the long hallway trying to soothe yourself. You smooth your hoodie and clear your throat, pausing to rub your eyes and nose slightly to irritate them to prepare yourself. You can do fake tears if you need to, better to be prepared to play dirty.
The elevator down felt longer than it did all those years ago. The hum of the cables and gears fills the space and gives you something to focus on besides the video looping in your brain.
Smeared lipstick, hickies, your own hand adjusting the camera to get a better view of the mess you made yourself. You swallow hard as the elevator stops and the doors open.
The cave greets you like it always does, cold and weirdly humid. Your footsteps echo as you step out, and immediately your eyes find him.
Your father stands at the Batcomputer with his back to you, already geared up for patrol. Less than an hour home and he’s halfway out the door again. Typical.
The screen in front of him is filled with scrolling text and diagrams you don’t recognize, some of it is definitely not English… it looks Dutch? Or maybe German… You can’t tell, and you dont care enough to ask.
You straighten before clearing your throat to catch his attention. The sound barely echos but he hears it immediately. He turns and his expression shifts the seconds his eyes land on you. His gaze focused and attentive.
“You came quickly,” He notes turning back to the screen to start some sort of update before turning back to you.
You bite back the snarky comment that automatically bubbles up in your throat at his nonchalance. Instead, you just give him a lil shrug and smile, “You called, figured it must be important.”
Bruce studies you for a moment, and his expression softens just a fraction into just… your dad. “You look tired”
You shrug, tilting your head and give a lazy hum. “Busy week.”
“I heard,” he replies, and there’s no accusation in it. If anything, there’s a faint trace of pride. “The shelter donation made an impact. Alfred showed me.”
You blink, thrown for half a second… Shelter? Oh! Yeah, you forgot that you even did that. “Oh. thats good! I’m happy.”
There’s an awkward pause, the kind that always lingered when there wasn’t a camera in front of the two of you. You shift in place, lifting a hand to toy with your hair.
Watching your fingers, Bruce exhales slowly and straightens, folding his hands behind his back in that familiar way that means he’s about to say something important… or something he knows will upset you.
“I wanted to let you know,” he begins, “I’ll be leaving Earth for a while.”
“Leaving… Earth?” You stare at him for a moment.
“Yes,” he says calmly, like he’s talking about a business trip to Metropolis, where he used to bring you back little knick-knacks paired with gentle kisses when he came home. “There’s a situation off-world. League-related. I don’t have a firm timeline yet.”
“Oh,” you try to sound a little crestfallen and give him a small smile. You don’t really care if he leaves, more freedom for you to do whatever you want afterall. “Space sounds fun at least.”
He almost smiles back, just barely. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
You nod mentall mulling over his words. That’s it? That’s why he called you down here? Relief slams into you enough to make you drop your shoulders a bit.
Okay. No confrontation. No grounding, no packing your bags to get shipped away. “Right. Thanks for telling me, Dad.”
You shift to step away, assuming the conversation is over, but he continues, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Dick mentioned something to me.”
You snap your gaze back up at him a bit too fast, and you can tell he took notice with how his gaze flickers all over your face.
“He said you confided in him,” Bruce continues, “that you’ve been feeling lonely while I’ve been away. That the manor’s been… quiet.”
Lonely?
You never said that. Not to anyone, much less Dick. You open your mouth to correct him, then stop, because he isn’t looking at you like he’s caught you in a lie. He looks… concerned, apologetic even.
“I didn’t realize how much my absences were affecting you,” he says quietly. “That’s on me.”
Your chest tightens, confusion bleeding into your words. “Dad, I—”
“And,” he adds, lifting a hand gently to keep you from interrupting, “Dick told me you asked him to talk to me. About staying with him for a while. Get out of Gotham for a bit.”
“What?” You barely let his words register, immediately baffled by what you're hearing. What the fuck is Dick playing at?
Bruce sighs, looking down as he adjusts his cowl in his hands. Leave talking to his teenage daughter to be the one thing that makes him awkward. “He said you didn’t want to bring it up directly. That you felt a bit embarrassed. Which I understand, but I wanted us to talk about it.”
A thousand thoughts collide in your head at once, none of them making any sense. Stay with Dick? You couldn't fathom any world where you'd want that.
Bruce watches you, misreading your silence completely. “You don’t have to decide anything now,” he says quickly. “I wanted you to know I’m open to it. I don’t want you feeling isolated here.”
Just agree.
Dick’s annoyingly grating voice echoes in your head. This was his master fucking plan wasn't it? The worst part is you don’t even know what will happen if you don’t listen. But given how your dad is looking at you, you don’t want to find out.
So you swallow hard, looking at the ground as uou force away the violent urges in you to scream that Dick is a fucking liar and a straight-up cunt at that. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make it sound like that,” you say carefully. “I was just… venting, I guess.”
Bruce nods, accepting that without question. “That’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own.”
The irony almost makes you choke.
Because you have handled everything on your own. You handled being shipped off like an inconvenience wrapped in good intentions. You handled learning how to survive rooms full of people who smiled while they hurt you.
You handled coming back to a life that had fixed itself without you. You handled becoming a version of yourself everyone could tolerate but never liked enough to want around.
And now Bruce is looking at you like he’s finally noticed your silent struggles and wants to soothe your aches.
Dick is playing you both.
You can feel it in the way the conversation has been laid out. Bruce didn’t call you down here to punish you. He called you down here to talk– which is so much worse, because it means he thinks he’s doing the right thing. Which by default means you can’t fight him without looking like a brat throwing a tantrum for fun.
You force yourself to inhale slowly, to pull your shoulders back, to put your face into something soft. Something that says overwhelmed, a lil uncertain and maybe a little ashamed.
“I just…” You start, then let your voice waver on purpose. Bruce’s posture shifts immediately as he steps half a step closer. Geez, world’s greatest detective right here.
“You can tell me,” he says. You can’t remember the last time he said something like that to you, but it only makes you angrier.
You don’t want to say yes.
Saying yes means letting Dick win. It means letting him rearrange your life with two words and a video.
It means leaving Gotham.
And still– your mind flashes to boarding school, to the polished cruelty, to the headmaster’s smile, to that hell of a life. You can’t go back to any version of that.
Accepting that you have no choice, you lift your gaze slowly. Not all the way to his eyes, you couldn’t pretend if you looked at them. You aim for his chest instead, meeting the gleam of the dark plates of armour, the symbol that hasn’t made you feel safe in years.
“I don’t like… being here alone,” you say meekly, just wanting this conversation to be over. It’s been far too long, and it's rather cold in here.
Bruce’s expression softens instantly. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low. “I thought you preferred space– to do your own thing.”
Theres a million things you want to say in response to that. You want to tell him you didn’t want distance, you wanted a father. You wanted him to spend as much effort as he did with your brothers on you. To care when you were sent away. You wanted him to notice the way you came back different.
Instead, you let your mouth press into a small line as if you were feeling overwhelmed by the conversation, lifting a sleeve to wipe at your face.
Bruce exhales and looks down for a moment before looking back at you, “I didn’t handle things well,” he admits. “With you. After… after everything.”
The pause between “after” and “everything” is loaded with words neither of you says: Jason. The exile. The few years that changed everything.
Bruce shifts, cowl still in his hands, the weight of it pulling at his fingers. “I don’t want to leave you alone, especially after what Dick told me.” He hesitates, and his eyes flick back to yours. “I don’t want you feeling… abandoned.”
Abandoned.
Like he knows. Like he almost understands what he did. What they all did. You let your eyes lower again, voice softer when you speak. “And Dick was okay with it?”
Bruce nods. “He insisted. He said he wanted you to have… someone. Someone you trust.”
The urge to snort is almost violent. You think about the screen recording. Think about the way he’s blatantly blackmailing you in this given moment.
But you swallow it down. You remind yourself of the proof that could turn this whole moment into something uglier if you fight too hard.
You could blow it up.
You could say no, spit the truth, watch Bruce’s expression harden, watch the conversation shift from care to control. You could risk being sent away again.
…
Who are you kidding? You have no choice here. You take a breath and let your lashes flutter. While your voice wobbles just enough to sell the act. “Okay”
Bruce’s shoulders relax the moment the word leaves your lips. “Okay?”
You nod, forcing yourself to meet his eyes this time for the briefest second. “Yeah,” you repeat, steadier. “I’ll… I’ll go with Dick.”
There’s relief on his face so immediate it’s almost jarring. He steps forward and, for the first time in what feels like forever, he reaches out and rests a hand gently on your shoulder.
“Okay– then that’s that,” he says, seemingly relieved that all it took to deal with your feelings was a mere 10-minute conversation.
“Alfred will help you pack,” Bruce adds, already shifting into logistics. “I’ll speak with Dick tonight, and Alfred can drop you off tomorrow.”
Tomorrow?
You look up to him and quickly understand that the outcome of this conversation was long decided before you even agreed. But you keep your face calm. You nod again.“Okay,”
Bruce’s expression softens again, something warm and familiar flickering across his face. After a brief hesitation, he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to the top of your head before pulling away.
As much as it feels unnatural, it’s the kind of affection that reminds you he really does still see you as his baby girl, no matter how much distance has grown between you. Maybe it's a way to convince himself that things are okay.
He picks up his cowl, gaze flicking over the screen again. “I have to go,” he murmurs.
Of course, he’s leaving.
You stand there for a moment, feeling the old ache bloom again– He just confirmed he’d be sending you away and that he’s leaving the fucking planet for who knows how long. You should know better than to feel hurt.
You turn on your heel to head back to your room without further comment as he walks to the Batmobile.
As you head back toward the elevator, your phone vibrates once more in your pocket.
You already know it’s Dick.
—-----
Later hits you all at once.
Alfred helps you unpack with the same quiet efficiency he’s always had, folding your clothes and putting them away as you basically just sit on the bed, not helping whatsoever.
He doesn’t comment on the size of the room or the fact that it isn’t Dick’s apartment, like you were led to believe. Nor does he comment on the way your jaw stays clenched the entire time, or how your answers are clipped and tight.
When he’s done, he pauses before turning to you and pulling you into a hug. His hand rests at the back of your head, fingers gentle, grounding, and for a split second, you let yourself lean into it. Just for a second.
Because Alfred has always been the one constant, though you're not even sure he was a willing participant. With the others gone, you naturally followed him around the manor.
When he leaves, you finally have a moment to let everything that's happened in the past few hours hit you all at once.
You’re in some hero base– somewhere far enough that getting home to the manor unnoticed or unkidnapped was near impossible.
A place with security cameras in every corner and access codes to everything you're sure. The kind of place designed for people who expect attacks, not teenagers who were lied to and want to strangle their brother(s).
“Oh, you absolute fucking liar,” you mutter as you flop back into the bed, dragging a hand over your face, nails scraping lightly along your cheek as you mutter a string of curses into the empty room.
You don’t even care that someone might hear, in fact, you want someone to. You can barely breathe with how pissed you are.
You’re trapped in a building full of people who are a part of a world you couldn’t be further from. And on top of all that, you’re expected to meet them!
You groan and roll onto your side, burying your face in a pillow. “Is it too late to fake my own death?” you mumble to yourself. “...Or jump out a window.”
…hm
You swing your legs off the bed and walk to the window, hands already reaching for the latch. You don’t have a plan. You never had one when you’re angry, you like immediate results, and this window could–
Knock. Knock.
You freeze before slowly turning your head toward the door.
Another knock follows, firmer this time, like whoever’s on the other side lacks common decency to give you a minute.
You exhale through your nose and drop your hand from the window and you turn and cross the room. You fumble for a moment, trying to figure out the door before it slides open.
Artemis.
Of course, it’s Artemis.
She stands there with her arms crossed, weight settled comfortably into one hip as her eyes flicker over you in a way that feels far too knowing.
There’s a curve to her mouth that’s clearly in reference to your little getaway a week ago, and that alone is enough to make your teeth grind together.
“Well,” you say flatly, leaning against the doorframe. “If it isn’t the welcome committee.”
Her brow arches. “Wow. And here I was hoping you’d be thrilled to see me.”
You snort humourlessly, “Let me guess. This is where you all sit me down and hold my hand to explain how this was for my own good.”
Her eyes flick briefly past you into the room before settling back on your face. “Relax,” she says. “No speeches. We’re not going to rub this in your face more than you’re already doing yourself.”
You don’t relax. You wonder when DIck told her about the screen recording, did they all talk about how they’d use it against you?
“Oh,” you reply with a mix of sweetness and bitterness. “So this wasn’t a group effort? Because it’s really starting to feel like you all got together and decided I needed to be humbled.”
That earns you a real smile, and you know hit the nail right on its head. “Trust me,” Artemis says, stepping closer, “If this were about humbling you, you’d know.”
You straighten, irritated. “Then what is it about?”
“You scared us,” she says plainly. You let out an immediate laugh in response, scared them? “Please–.”
“I’m serious,” Artemis continues unfazed. “You think that little stunt was just about pride? You disappearing? Getting on a stranger’s bike? You had Dick ready to tear the city apart.”
The words land harder than you expect but you don’t pay mind to it. Did she think she could throw themselves a pity party and you’d be all compliant?
“You’re being dramatic,” you say, a little too quickly. “If he lost his mind over it, that’s a him issue. He agreed to the bet, it's not my fault he– AND all of you lost.”
Artemis rolls her eyes before fixing you with an amused stare. “Oh, sure,” she says casually. “We lost.”
She takes another step toward you, eyes flicking over your tense posture, the way your jaw slenches, and the snobby tilt of your chin that makes you seem like youre looking down on her despite being a solid few inches shorter.
“But you’re not exactly standing here like a winner, are you?”
Your silence stretches as anger flares up in your chest, but your glare does all the talking. You’re daring her to keep pushing, to really give you a reason to throw a fit. Instead, her expression shifts into a more neutral face.
“Regardless of what you think this is,” Artemis says, voice firm now, “this is happening. You don’t get to opt out just because you don’t like how it feels.”
You scoff under your breath, but she’s already turning away. She doesn’t look back as she pivots on her heel, moving down the hall. No command or explanation, just the loud assumption that you’ll follow.
And after a stubborn second of standing there alone, you do.
You trail after her, keeping a deliberate few steps back but not far enough to give her an excuse to call you out.
Your slippers are silent against the floor as you walk while you mutter under your breath; petty comments, half-curses, sharp little remarks meant more for your own satisfaction.
Artemis doesn’t react or even acknowledge that you’re there. That irritates you more than if she had snapped back.
You assume Dick will be there.
Of course he will be. Waiting, probably smug as ever, ready to greet you with a stupid play on words.
You rehearse exactly what you’ll say in your head, from accusations to creative cuss word combos. You imagine chewing him out in front of everyone and watching him fumble over his words.
Artemis stops abruptly in front of a set of reinforced double doors. You barely get to stare at the design before she presses her palm to the scanner making the doors slide open silently.
You roll your eyes at the dramatic security measures before stepping in behind her, only to immediately clock that Dick isn’t there.
The disappointment punches you right in your stomach. Did he really plan this whole thing and then coincidentally not be here at the last moment? Great, now you're here with no outlet for your anger.
Your eyes sweep the room automatically, taking in the faces Dick deemed more suited to greet you after your entire life was uprooted.
Connor stands near the center and he meets your gaze without flinching. You remember him from that night and the way he watched you disappear, he looks a lot less pissed at least.
M’gann stands beside him.
And– ugh.
She’s smiling. Not polite-smiling or even cautious, but a soft, genuinely welcoming smile that makes your skin crawl with the awful pressure of pity. You tear your gaze away before she can speak.
The Outsiders are scattered around the room.
Wonder Girl stands tall as her eyes rake over you silently
Kid Flash stands a little off to the side, rocking faintly on his heels. His eyes snap to you immediately, bright and openly interested, before he falters.
Blue Beetle stands nearby, his mask/helmet(?) Off so you can watch his gaze flick between you and the others. Beast Boy leans against the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. Whatever, you thought his TV show was cringey.
There’s also a brunette girl with freckles lingering near the edge of the room, fingers twisting nervously in her sleeves, glancing at you in a way like she’s worried to meet your gaze.
A guy with dreads stands farther back; he looks more unsure compared to the others. There are a few others, too, faces you don’t bother paying much mind to.
And then—
Oh.
You actually stop walking as your irritation sharpens instantly, twisting into something bitter.
Tim.
Your other brother.
Your jaw tightens so hard it hurts as something ugly coils in your chest. Of all the people to be standing here. Of all the faces you could’ve been forced to deal with today.
Tim.
He stands near the edge of the table, arms crossed and relaxed like he’s got all the time in the world. When you meet his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulls up.
He looks downright giddy.
Like your sudden stop, your stiff shoulders, and the way your eyes lock onto him despite yourself– is playing out exactly how he expected.
You don’t miss the looks the others shoot his way– Quick glances, subtle shifts, the way gazes linger on Tim a beat longer than necessary before sliding back to you..
He definitely said something.
You can practically hear it– Tim’s voice pitched just enough to sound harmless. Carefully framing you as a manipulative problem. An evil little sister wrapped in logic and concern, delivered gently enough that everyone would believe him.
You break eye contact first to stop yourself from giving him a sour look. Your gaze drifts across the room once more, posture loosening into something cool and unimpressed. Fuck this, fuck him, and fuck your life.
Artemis steps forward, finally breaking the tension. “This is the team,” she says, voice steady. “You’ll be staying with them for the timebeing.”
A few of them shift at that. Kid Flash glances at you again and you're close to asking if he's got a staring problem. M’gann’s smile softens further, and you have to bite back the urge to snap at her just to stop fuckign smiling.
You hum lightly, eyes flicking back to Tim for half a second before looking to Artemis. “Yeah,” you say. “I figured.”
M’gann steps forward first, “Okay,” she says, bright and gentle, hands clasped in front of her “I know this is… a lot. But we’re going to do introductions. Just so it doesn’t feel like you’re walking into a group of strangers.”
M’gann turns to the group, still smiling like she hasn’t clocked how tense everyone is. “Everyone– real names, please.”
Wonder Girl goes first, of course, she does, you're pretty sure it’s an Amazon thing, “I’m Cassie,” she says, matter-of-fact and gives you a polite smile.
Kid Flash shifts a little on his heels, “Bart,” he says with a lopsided grin, before clearing his throat and adding, “Uh. Nice to meet you.”
His eyes meet yours again before flickering over you. He’s curious about you; you can tell that as much. Is he the future guy your dad was mumbling about a few years back? You give him a look that clearly reads ‘what are you looking at’ and he’s quick to snap his gaze away.
“Jaime” Blue Beetle goes next– he’s the one that nearly took over the world, right? All that alien apocalypse shit you're pretty sure.
Beast Boy doesn’t move from where he’s leaning. He just tips his chin, voice casual in a way that rivals your PR politleness “Garfield.”
Then the brunette girl with freckles goes, “Traci.”
The guy with dreads follows, “Virgil.”
A couple of others mumble their names too. But you tuned out pretty early on.
M’gann finally looks at you again expectantly, “And you?”
You hold her gaze for a beat too long before you give her your name. A quiet stretch follows, and some share looks at your curt reply.
clearly someone told them that you were loud-mouthed and extra apparently. Just as you give Tim a pointed look, he steps forward like he’s been waiting for that exact cue.
“Hey,” he says, “It’s been a while.”
You hold back the urge to roll your eyes. You want to hit him. Not even in a dramatic way, just a clean, satisfying smack to wipe that faint smirk off his face.
Instead, you lift one shoulder in the smallest shrug possible and turn away to take a seat. You cross one leg over the other, slowly and neatly fold your hands in your lap.
Across the room, Bart shifts his weight again, eyes flicking between you and Tim while Cassie’s stare sharpens slightly as she takes in your display of arrogance.
“Dick isn’t here,” Connor adds calmly, as if knowing the main question clouding your mind. “He had to deal with something and couldn’t make it.”
This time, you don’t hide your eye roll. Whatever you don't care–
Connor shifts slightly, then adds, “But he left something for you.”
Your head snaps up to look at Conner confused. Was it a physical copy of the video he coded into a little hologram display? You scoff looking to Conner expectantly for hm to pull it out.
Connor reaches down to a table near him and picks up a long package. It’s plain… and pink? You make a face of distaste... you weren't some little girl anymore. Was this supposed to mock you?
Why would he go out of his way to get a baby pink and somewhat sparkly box? You immediately sense another setup and narrow your eyes.
Connor walks it over and places it on the table in front of you but you don’t move to open it. You just look at Connor, blatantly suspicious. “What is it.”
Connor’s gaze stays steady. “Your uniform.”
For half a second, your brain does not process the words.
Your uniform.
Your—
“No,” you say automatically. But Conner doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look surprised. He just stands there with that irritating neutral expression, like he expected this exact response and already decided it wouldn’t matter.
“I’m not putting that on.” you continue, leaning back slightly in your chair, “I’m not joining your little sidekick club. I don’t want to be a hero. I don’t care about your missions. I’m here because I was forced here. That’s it.”
A grumble of disapproval spreads through the room. You immediately recgonize exactly what it is– judgment. Like you’re being ungrateful for something you never asked for.
Cassie’s stare hardens as she rolls her eyes. Virgils expression shifts into something uncomfortable, like he’s trying to decide whether to feel bad for you or annoyed with you.
Meanwhile, Bart’s restless energy stutters. His eyebrows lift, and for a second he looks like he wants to say something impulsivly honest before his gaze flicks toward Tim again.
Always fucking Tim
Connor glances sideways toward Artemis. It’s a look that says Here we go. Artemis doesn’t react. Her expression is unimpressed, like she’s watching a tantrum unfold in slow motion.
M’gann again is the one who steps forward like she’s approaching a cornered animal. She says your name like it’s meant to soothe you. “No one is trying to–” she hesitates, choosing her words carefully, “--indoctrinate you.”
You let out a short laugh that has no humor in it. “That’s literally what this is.”
M’gann’s smile falters ever so slightly before she schools it back into place. “You’re staying here,” she says, “and the team has protocols. Training. Safety. Accountability. A uniform is part of that.”
“Safety,” you repeat. “Right.”
Connor finally speaks again, voice level, like he’s trying to keep this from escalating. “It’s not optional.”
There it is. The part they weren’t going to say out loud until they had to.
“Who decided that?” you ask softly.
M’gann’s eyes flicker. Just a tiny hesitation. “Your father.”
Your dad agreed to this, without telling you jackshit.
Your fingers tighten in your lap, nails pressing hard into your palms. You can feel your pulse in your throat. Your face stays composed because you can’t afford to look hurt in front of them. Not in front of a room full of teenagers your age who already don’t like you.
“That’s…” Your voice catches on the first attempt. You clear your throat and try again, forcing it steady. “He never told me.”
M’gann’s expression softens, and the pity in her eyes spikes so sharply you almost gag. “He didn’t want to overwhelm you,” she says. “It was a lot at once– moving and adjusting.”
“I don’t care,” you interrupt, sharper than before. You force yourself to unclench your hands, even though your palms sting from where your nails dug in. “He should’ve told me.”
Her expression falters, and god you hate the look she gives you.
“It was a lot,” she says gently, doubling down. “A move, a new environment, being away from your dad while he’s off-world–”
“You know what,” you're quick to dismiss a fake caring act. You don’t want to hear anymore, in fact, you want to leave this roo,m and you’ll do just about anything to get into your new bed. "I don't care anymore, on the team great, yay. Woo."
You ignore M'gann's offended expression at being cut off and instead turn your attention to the box that you just know is going to be the final nail in your coffin for today.
“So what,” you ask flatly, nodding toward the box without touching it. “You guys pick out a stupid name for me, too?”
The question hangs in the air. A few of them shift uncomfortably but you swear you hear a faint snicker. Artemis’s posture stiffens, her gaze flicking briefly to Connor like she’s bracing for something to go sideways… This cant be good.
Tim, unfortunately, looks like he’s having the time of his life.
“No,” he says, and there it is– that tone he gets smug. He uncrosses his arms, steps forward just enough to put himself squarely in your line of sight, hands casually slipping into his pockets.
“This is a name you picked,” he continues lightly. You stare at him the least unamused that you’ve been in weeks. “Excuse me?”
Tim’s mouth twitches. “Your name,” he repeats. “The hero name. You made it.”
Your brows knit together despite yourself. “I never made shit.”
Tim grins looking to the box then back at you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your face, waiting for you to piece it together. “You did. You were six I think? I forgot what Dick told me exactly.”
Six? What the hell did you do at si– Your stomach drops.
Oh.
Oh no.
Your mind backtracks violently, ripping through years you keep carefully locked away. Tiny gloved hands that could only wrap around a few of your father's fingers. Oversized boots that you insisted on making tall. Back when the Batcave felt daunting and magical all at once.
You were sat on the hood of the Batmobile, swinging your legs as you chatted away to Dick and Jason. You remember being asked what you’d call yourself if you ever went out there.
You remember thinking it had to sound cool, but also given that you were six and a very spoiled princess, you wanted it to be girly.
You'd whispered it like a secret, beaming at the way everyone around you praised you for the name. A name fitting for a fucking SIX-year-old.
You close your eyes for half a second.
Fuck.
You reach for the box before you can talk yourself out of it, fingers curling around the lid with a mix of dread and anger. You’re extremely aware of everyone watching now.
Please, you think. Please tell me its not the same.
You lift the lid.
Pink.
Saturated and bordering on ridiculous. Fabric folded neatly inside, sleek and expensive, and of the best quality despite the colour.
There’s shimmer woven into it, subtle as it slightly catches the light like it’s mocking you.
Your old suit. Only slightly redesigned– but not enough to deny it being the same suit you sat on your father's lap designing all those years ago.
For a moment, you can’t speak or look away.
The only thing that brings you back to the moment is Tim’s voice.
“Welcome to the team,” he says, clearly enjoying himself.
“Shadowheart.”
—-------
If you guys want a better visual of what your suit looks like, look right below (I think I'm hilarious). Also, I know the name is incredibly cheesy and borderline lame... y'all should've been more creative at 6 smh. :P
Tags: @Hearts4mica @1abi @Welpthisisboring @Unclearblur @Aetherdott @miakxn @Blueberry-ovaries @Degenerates-posts @K-tsuyuri @Swag13r @Jasmine2105 @nessielovesfood @kamabapoko @Cupid73 @mfv-777 @jsprien213 @01bored @philhoesophy @a-taken-url @stickyricewithmangosauce @innherworld @cupid73 [SO sorry if I missed you, plzz yell at me if i did]
If you’d like to be tagged please leave a comment on the series masterlist! It’ll be easier for me to not miss anyone that way :)) LMG Series masterlist, you can find it in my pinned post>>> masterlist>>> nyni’s series :D
I'm also gonna include this in here if anyone else noticed my made up words. I am aware </3 [Vee's name is blurred cuz its her full legal name for some reason]
I'll come back and fix the tags later, I'm posting this at the front desk of my job :P
You know what would be funny??? Reader batkid that dies and then comes back as a ghost, kinda like Jason Todd but they now have superpowers.
And it's like: *everyone sad Infront of the casket*
Ooooouuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Bruce: not now yn, this is serious
Oooooooooooooooooouuuuhhh
Damian: what is wrong with y- holy shit
Bruce: Damian, language *Turns to where Damian is pointing and just sees a translucent YN floating there with a big ass grin...
Now they go as "spooky" or something like that
Ooo Spooky Ghost!
[Batfam & Batkid!Reader]
[Warnings: Character Death, obviously.]
[Fic Genre: Headcanons and Oneshots, Fluff, Slight Angst, Crack]
[Notes: CHAOTIC GHOST TIME HEHEHEHE!]
[Part Two]
———————————————
[Bruce Wayne]
Bruce, like everyone in the family, was completely devastated when they discovered you had died. They held a funeral and memorial, everything, but only a short few days later they were shocked, and mildly horrified, when you appeared in the manor…as a ghost. It was definitely something they had to adjust to, and it did bring back memories from Jason’s death, but you were back.
Bruce was happy he could still see his child, he was not happy they were dead, but they were back to their usual self, albeit, a bit more chaotic thanks to being a ghost, but what was new?
He’s used to them hovering over his shoulder when he’s working, they did it while alive, they’re doing it as a ghost as well. He can always feel that chill on his side when he’s working in the Batcave or doing something in his office for Wayne Enterprise. He doesn’t mind it, he’s glad they’re content with being a ghost, but he sure would like it if they’d stop making rooms cold just to make him shiver.
Though he does secretly want to revive them, he knows he shouldn’t, it should be their choice, not one forced upon them, and he’s seen the consequences of the Lazarus Pit, so he is not particularly willing to put them through such a traumatic event after dying so soon.
[Oneshot] [Wc: 209]
Bruce was sitting at his desk, rubbing his chin, his stubble scratching the palm of his hand as his eyes narrowed at the screen of his computer. He was focused on his computer and the emails he’s been reading for over an hour when a chill ran down his spine, he looked up and over his shoulder, finding the semitransparent face of his child.
“Y/N…do you mind?” Bruce sighs, looking at them with a raised brow, questioning what they could need, but he doesn’t mind their presence.
“I’m bored, thought I’d bother you instead.” They grin with a laugh, hovering over his shoulder to look at his computer. “Whatcha doing, old man?”
“Of course you’re bored, ghostly powers and you’re somehow still bored.” Bruce shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “And I’m answering emails.”
They hum, hovering by his side as he returns his gaze to his computer, continuing to answer the impressive amount of emails his work has left him, and now he has his child watching him just like old times, like nothing changed, and he is happy they remained the same even in death. Though he won’t say anything about the cold chill that always seemed to follow them, he’s dealt with colder environments.
———————————————
[Dick Grayson]
Dick was heartbroken when they died, but his heart shattered even more when they returned as a ghost, he almost thought it was him hallucinating out of guilt again, like he did after Jason died, but no, this time, they were very real. And still a little prankster.
Dick helped them prank the family, it was fun, they had always pranked them together, nothing would change just because they were a ghost now, besides, it means they can play more mischievous pranks thanks to their newfound powers, they both enjoy jumpscaring their siblings.
He does respect that they may not even want to be revived, he knew it was traumatizing for Jason and Damian, and he doesn’t want them to go through that too. Though, while he’ll support you if you decide to resurrect, he'll warn you about the consequences.
Dick does miss hugging them though, he wishes he could touch them again, but he’s happy to hear their voice and at least see them, he’ll make do with that.
[Oneshot] [Wc: 328]
His fists collide with the punching bag before him, hands wrapped in bandages as his chest heaves, sweat building up on his skin in a thin sheen, focused on his training, the Batcave was empty outside of his presence, everyone else either out doing their own things or dealing with threats during the daytime, at least he hasn’t been called in yet to help.
But his solitude didn't last long.
“Dick~” He heard their voice before he saw them, phasing through the floor with a mischievous grin on their ghostly features, he already knew they wanted to get up to some type of mischief.
“Hey, ghosty,” Dick chuckles, looking over at them as they settle to be hovering in the air beside him. “I know that look, you’ve got a prank on the mind.” He shared their grin, more than happy to assist them with pranking their family, something they bond over.
“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.” They snicker as they float around him, his head turning to follow them as they hover closer to him. “Because I’ll need some help with this prank, someone that can touch things for a prolonged period.”
“And what would this prank happen to be?” Dick’s grin widens, following along their mischief filled mind, clearly on board with the thought of pranking someone.
“Wrapping dad’s office in tinfoil.” So that’s why they were recruiting him for this prank. Well then, who’s he to deny them that? “You in?”
“Absolutely!” Dick quickly started to make his way to the stairs, making sure they were following behind him. “Let’s go raid the kitchen for tinfoil.” He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Their father is not going to suspect their mischief in the slightest, they can’t wait to see Bruce’s reaction when he gets home from work at Wayne Enterprise, probably wanting to rest only to find his office wrapped in chrome. It’ll be hilarious hearing that yell of surprise from downstairs!
———————————————
[Jason Todd]
Jason knows what it was like to do, he knew the coldness that would follow, he knew how much it hurt. He was very willing to talk to them when they returned as a ghost, to help comfort them through the sudden change from life to death.
But if being mischievous helped make them happy, then who is he to deny them? They want to switch the hand soap for temporary dye? Whoops, suddenly everyone’s hands are blue! Who could’ve done that? Not Jason or them.
Jason finds it hilarious when they grumble and pout when he calls them out for trying to sneak up on him and inevitably fail because he could sense them. He laughs when they shout in annoyance and pout, telling them to stop, they'll never spook him.
Jason absolutely tells them “Do not revive through the Lazarus Pit”, it’s a horrible experience, they'll find a different way if they can, he’s not letting them do something stupid.
[Oneshot] [Wc: 312]
Jason was relaxing in his room with a good book in his hand, legs crossed as his eyes roamed the pages of words, headphones over his ears to block out any chaos happening in the manor when he felt the feeling of being watched. He glanced up from his book, noticing the air starting to cool, which could only mean one thing.
“Told you to not sneak up on me, kid.” Jason looked back down at his book, acknowledging their presence before he even saw them, but he couldn’t help but smirk, knowing they were likely already pouting at being noticed.
He heard them groan before they flop down on his bed, laying on their back. “How do you always know when I’m here!” They grumble, pouting at their older brother.
“Because you make the room cold every time you enter.” Jason chuckles, smirking as they glare at him, watching their transparent form shift on his bed. “Now why were you trying to sneak up on me, little ghost?”
“Because I’ve never been able to! I thought I’d catch you off guard this time…” They huff, admitting their reason with a grumpy tone, their arms crossing over their chest as they look away from him.
“You’ll never be able to, I can sense when you try.” Jason snickers, grinning at their continuous miserable attempts at sneaking up on him like they do with the rest of their family. “You’re not going to sneak up on me, ever, little ghost.”
They groan, making him snicker again as he watched them sink through his bed, likely to go pout about their failure to one of their many siblings, leaving Jason to continue reading his book. He chuckles under his breath, muttering about their silly game of sneaking up on him as he settles back in to continue where he left off in his book.
———————————————
[Tim Drake]
Tim was very confused and concerned on why they suddenly returned as a ghost, honestly he was happy! But he was sorta expecting them to get resurrected like Jason, but hey, they’re back as a ghost and it’s better than constantly visiting their gravestone.
Tim is the one getting pranked the most, he just wants to get his work done but they will not stop moving his coffee or his papers, he really wants them to stop, they won't.
He also advises against using the Lazarus Pit to resurrect them, one, it causes pit madness, two, it’s guarded by the League of Assassins. It's probably not worth the hassle, and if they’re content as a ghost, then let them be a ghost.
[Oneshot] [Wc: 337]
Tim was working on a case assigned to him, his eyes felt heavy as he stared at his computer screen, hand subconsciously seeking the mug of coffee on his desk, yet his hand didn't make contact, confusing him as he looked up to try and grab his coffee again, assuming he just missed in his tired daze.
But that’s when the mug scooted away from him, sliding across his desk, away from his hand. Tim groaned as he tried to swipe the mug before it slid away again, his tired voice practically echoing in his dark room. “Y/N…stop.”
Tim heard their giggle as the cup slid away from him again, confirming that they were merely invisible and messing with him. Again.
“No~” They snicker, he could practically sense their grin as they kept the cup from his reach.
“Y/N…I really need coffee right now, I’m trying to work on a case.” Tim sighs, watching as they appear, midway through the wall, hand nudging his cup of coffee.
“And you also need sleep to work on a case.” They hum with a smug smile, watching Tim’s face fall into a tired frown, clearly not fond of being called out on his insomniac tendencies.
“I need to finish this-“ Tim started to speak but they cut him off by holding up their hand.
“You’ve been awake for two days straight, doing patrol and cases without a break.” They continued to call him out, making him glance away awkwardly. “So, go to bed. Or I’m tossing the coffee on the floor.”
“How mature. Threatening me.” Tim grumbles, narrowing his eyes but seeing that they’re in fact serious, he sighs, relenting. “Fine, I’ll sleep.” He mumbles, shutting his computer off and getting up from his desk.
“Good night, Tim.” They murmur as he gets into his bed, practically melting into his blankets and mattress. He’ll probably be asleep for hours, if not a full day. They leave his room, letting it fall into silence as his coffee grows cold.
———————————————
[Damian Wayne]
Damian does not like that they’re a ghost. He doesn’t want to think that you are unable to move on, that something keeps you here besides your family. He’d rather you move onto the afterlife, he doesn’t want you to be stuck here, which is why he constantly brings up resurrection.
Damian does not appreciate being jumpscared all the time too, he can’t even fight back! They’re a ghost, how does someone fight that!? It’s annoying when he’s on the receiving end of your pranks.
But at the same time, they’re the only one that is awake at night when he’s having a bad dream, they don’t sleep, and he appreciates the company, it’s better than being alone after a nightmare.
He does wish they were back in a physical form though, he misses when they would comfort him after a bad dream.
[Oneshot] [Wc: 316]
Late into the night, the manor was silent, Damian’s room dark, yet he was restless in his bed, moving around as his heart began to race, his mind going haywire in his sleep with a nightmare. He shot up in his bed with a yelp, his heart hammering in his chest as he heaved with pants and gasps, his mind unable to grasp that he’s awake.
They seemingly appear in his room by his bed, making Damian nearly jump out of his bed in fear, his head snapping to the side to stare at them with wide eyes. They frown softly, noticing his panicking state as they quietly take a seat on the edge of his bed, the air chilling around him, helping shock his system back into reality.
“Bad dream?” Their voice was quiet, trying not to startle him as he nodded noncommittally, not wanting to speak at the moment, which they accept, it happens each time he has a bad dream. “Want me to stay until you fall asleep?”
Damian nods quietly, looking down at the death grip he has on his blankets. He could feel the coldness beside him, their presence comforting him even throughout his silence as his heart slowly began to calm down, his chest shaking with each breath he took, his body trembling as he worked to calm down, reassured that he was awake.
“Thanks…” Damian mutters quietly as he slowly lays back down in his bed, pulling his blankets to his chin as they look down at him, ghostly form giving off a soft glow.
“No problem, baby bird.” They smile softly, watching his eyes slowly flutter shut, listening to his breathing as it evens out. “Get some rest, Dami…” They remained in his room as he slept, just in case he has another bad dream, they'll at least be there to comfort him if that happens once more.
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now that Alastor and Carmine reader are parents, we need her playing with the baby while she’s in her bat form!
like she flies around her and does peekaboo while hiding behind her wings, etc.
Dahlia lay sprawled on the rug in the sitting room of her parents' suite, her tiny limbs splayed, eyes fixed on the ceiling with rapt attention.
Because above her...was a bat, a very small, very round bat with glossy black wings and bright, intelligent eyes that flitted lazily through the air, looping and gliding with exaggerated care.
“Eeeee!” Dahlia squealed, flailing her little hands in her mother's direction.
Bat-Y/N chirped back and swooped lower, deliberately slow, wings fluttering just enough to stir Dahlia’s hair. She looped once around the chandelier, then dipped down again, hovering upside-down just out of reach.
Dahlia giggled herself breathless, arms reaching up. Y/N chirped warmly and drifted closer, letting Dahlia’s fingers brush her soft fur for just a second before darting away again.
From the doorway, Alastor leaned against the frame, watching with an expression that could only be described as ruined. “Oh, this is painfully adorable. Absolutely criminal!”
Y/N landed on the edge of the armchair and folded her wings neatly around herself, head tilting as she watched Dahlia crawl toward her with determined little grunts. The baby stopped inches away, staring.
Y/N stared back. Then she hid her face behind her wings.
Dahlia cooed questionably, possibly wondering what her mother was doing, maybe even wondering where she had gone.
Suddenly, Y/N's wings opened wide as she squeaked playfully loudly.
Peekaboo!
Dahlia shrieked with laughter and promptly fell onto her back.
Y/N chirped in triumph as she scuttled closer, climbing onto Dahlia’s tummy and settling there lightly, wings tucked, warm and fuzzy. Dahlia froze, eyes wide, then surprisingly gently placed a hand on Y/N’s back, who practically purred at her touch. A real, content little purr that vibrated faintly against Dahlia’s chest.
Alastor made a sound that might’ve been a choked laugh as he dramatically clutched his chest. “My heart, completely obliterated.”
Y/N lifted her head and chirped at him pointedly.
“Oh, hush,” he replied, his teasing carrying a note of fondness. “You know how precious you two are.”
Before she could retort again, Dahlia leaned closer, pressing her forehead against Y/N’s tiny bat head.
“Mama...” she said softly.
Y/N and Alastor paused at what she said, then each smiled. Y/N unfolded one wing just enough to wrap it around Dahlia like a little blanket. She and Dahlia stayed cuddling on the rug for several minutes—no movement, no tricks—just warmth and quiet comfort. Eventually, Dahlia’s eyelids drooped, the peace making her content enough for a nap.
Y/N looked up, then nodded. She lifted off gently, circling once before landing on Alastor’s antlers, hanging upside down with practiced ease. He started to move towards their daughter, ready to place her in her crib for a proper rest.
But then, as though sensing her mother's disappearing presence while she slept, Dahlia whined softly in protest. Y/N chirped reassuringly and fluttered back down, shifting mid-air—bat form melting away into her usual shape just in time to scoop Dahlia into her arms.
“Mi chiquita hermosa,” she murmured softly. “Mama’s here.”
Dahlia cuddled in instantly, returning to a peaceful slumber.
Alastor watched them both, eyes warm, smile impossibly soft.
Bat or demon. Assassin or mother.
Y/N Carmine entertained her child the same way she did everything else: with powerful devotion.
CHARACTERS Platonic! Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader (Father/Daughter relationship)
SYNOPSIS You felt again, the massive weight in your chest, too close to where your heart is, the pain on your shoulders and the desire to go to bed and stay there forever. Good thing your father was there to save your day again and make you remember that home is where your heart is.
WARNINGS Anxiety, crisis, lack of confidence, selfdoubt, low self esteem
DIVIDER @uzmacchiato
A/N: I am sorry that I am kinda venting in this note, just felt really heavy tonight and I needed to talk a bit. Had a bad crisis in the middle of the college, and went back home right away. My father and I don't have a close relationship, I can't talk about my anxiety with him, and he never helps me in that, (alexa, please play Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood). So I usually like to think how it would be Bruce being a good father and helping with a crisis, I am sorry, probably gonna delete this tomorrow, but I just needed to talk.
Not proofread
The bedroom was a mess again.
Shirts over your desk, a pair of jeans and white socks on the chair, four different pairs of shoes fallen on the floor, abandoned.
Your backpack was in a corner, books falling from it.
You couldn't care less.
Your stomach stopped asking for food after breakfast, well, you didn't really eat today, and you ignored Stephanie calling you to have dinner together some minutes ago.
Lying down on bed, embraced by the pillows and blankets, almost being swallowed by the dark space between the dreams and the numbness when your door opens slowly, announcing heavy steps that invade your private cave again.
The left part of your bed suddenly sinks, and a bare hand finds your hair, slowly caressing the daze away.
Not a judgement, not an angry voice, not a blame.
“I am sorry…” You start, being interrupted.
“For what?” He says, calm, while still caressing your head. “You don't need to carry all the weight of the world, I hope you know that.”
Something in your eyes burns, and you try hard to blink the sensation away.
“I am just tired.”
Bruce stays silent, waiting for you to talk to him.
“Sometimes I feel like I am no one, like everything I do is in vain.” You murmur. “What's wrong with me?”
You gently hug the pillow, fingers squeezing the fabric in so much despair you thought it would probably tear apart.
“I don't know what to do… In a moment I think I know everything about myself, and then I don't know who I am. There's so many things I want to do, and at the same time I am afraid I will never be able to reach my dreams, I don't even know where I can start.”
His hand never stops caressing your hair, the soothing movement keeping your breathing a bit steady.
“Sometimes I think it would be better if I just…”
“No.”
You stop talking for a moment, then your eyes find him.
“I didn't even…”
“Would it be better if you give up your dreams? If you disappear? Not if it makes you feel miserable.” He says, but his voice never raises. “Not if it makes you leave your dreams behind.”
“I am afraid to fail.”
“All of us.” Bruce murmurs. “I am terrified, but I can't let this bring me down.” His hand stops. “I have important things to protect, you can't give up as well.”
You look at your father, his eyes, always serious, looking at you like you were the most precious thing for him.
“You can be afraid, terrified even, but you can't stop fighting.” He murmurs. “However, you must rest sometimes.”
You blink, confused, when he keeps going.
“It doesn't matter how many days, or months, or years you take to reach your goal, you can rest, you just can't give up.” Bruce cups your face in his hands. “You can always ask for help, you can always talk to me. I am here to listen to you.”
“Dad… I…” Your voice wavered, and then disappeared when he hugged you, protecting your body with his arms.
“When you were a kid, you used to steal your siblings' flashlights and draw a little bat in the middle of it, to mimic the Bat-signal and get my attention.”
You remembered, every single time.
“But you don't need any of it, you can always talk to me, I promise to listen to you.” His hand finds your hair again, and the burning sensation in your eyes came back in a wave. “I will always be the home where you can rest in your stormy days.”
“Promise?” You whispered against his shirt, hiding your face against the dark fabric.
“Promise.”
And just like that, a part of that weight that was squeezing your heart so bad suddenly… started to ease.
Because you knew that Bruce would be there to take the pain away.
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Do NOT repost, copy, translate or use my texts on AI!
