#nyniiiii

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 :))

Series: Little Miss Gotham (LMG) << here!

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]

Your fingers flex, tapping your perfectly manicured nails against the table to the beat of whatever song was playing, trying to mask the fluttering panic with a posture that screams, I’m untouchable. 

Glancing around you take notes, the club’s pretty packed if you could just get out of this seat you could probably manage something… but the booth’s layout isn’t exactly built to allow a graceful exit.

There’s a wall to your right, and the nearest exit… well, Dick’s body is effectively blocking the straightest path.

You swallow hard, heart hammering so hard you consider zipping down your dress a bit to breathe better. Think, think, think.

A distraction? You’re tempted to just start screaming to get a bouncer to help you, but something tells you that you’ll end up in a deeper grave.

Your mind races through every potential escape route, anything that could give you an advantage. 

Jumping over the table? Conner would probably slam you into the table trying to stop you. Fake a left, then vault over the seat back? In this short dress? You’re getting desperate, but not enough to flash them. Under it? Maybe.

​​“Dicky, can I borrow your phone to check my makeup?” you ask smoothly, letting the words roll off your tongue like silk.

Under works, you can drop his phone, make a dramatic show about going to get it and then immediately dart out.

You ignore the voice in your head that’s yelling at you that it definitely won’t work, because c’mon.

Dick freezes mid-scowl, eyes narrowing  already calculating how dumb you’ve been tonight.

“Your phone’s dead, isn’t it?” he asks sharply, the exasperation in his voice more than evident. “Not only did you sneak out, make stupid decisions, and— oh, right! Let some creep get close enough to you to be a problem, but you didn’t even have the common sense to charge your phone fully?”

You roll your eyes, tilting your chin defiantly. “Whatever, Dick. C’mon, let me use your phone.” You try to keep the smirk intact, but your fingers twitch against the edge of the booth

After a moment of glaring, Dick grudgingly fishes his phone from his pocket, tapping something on the screen before thrusting it at you with a warning glare. “Make it quick,” he mutters.

You take it with a flourish, you don’t pay mind to how the camera is already left open for you as you turn it over ready to put on a show. This is just to you give yourself more time to think afterall— oh god. 

Your lips part slightly, and you freeze. The smudge of lipstick on your lips, the faint streaks along your jawline.

How is there more lipstick on your cheeks than your actual lips??

“Oh fuck,” you murmur. You lean in, adjusting the angle of the camera and your stomach twists. Hickies. Several, from the base of your neck to your jaw.

Ugh, you told what’s his face not to! No wonder Dick and the others gave you those looks when you were first dragged over.

You’d looked like… well, you looked like the tabloids' dream cover page scandal.

You pull out your little lip combo from your clutch, fumbling slightly as you open it. You try to focus on fixing the mess of lipstick, trying to clean up the smudges.

Your hands are shaking just slightly, and your pulse races as you dab and press, trying to make yourself look like someone in control again. 

For a moment, you genuinely forget that you made a bet against four seasoned heroes, more concerned with your appearance. 

The booth falls silent except for the loud throb of the music and the occasional clink of a glass. The others watch you in stunned bafflement.

Roy’s smirk falters into confusion, Artemis’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and Conner leans forward slightly, arms still folded but face tilted like he’s trying to decode your logic. They can’t tell if you’re stalling or if you’re being genuine.

You tilt the phone camera just a little, checking the lighting, and— okay, the marks are worse than you thought.

There’s not much you can do right now, you shift to grab your tiny conceler stick, it won’t help with the discolouration, but it’ll do something at least.

With one final streak of concealer over the worst of the bruises you adjust your tragically low neckline slightly to cover the rest.

A deep breath, a smooth flick of your hair, and suddenly you’re leaning back again as you start to reach for your items to put away, the same cocky grin from before plastered across your face.

Your grin falters soon after putting away your plethora of items when your eyes catch the tiny movement.

Your precious lip pencil, the one you just pried from your clutch with painstaking care, is rolling across the table like it’s mocking you. Time seems to stretch as it teeters on the edge before it clatters down under the booth with a soft, pitiful thunk. 

You click your tongue, the sharp sound barely audible over the bass, and shoot a pointed glance at Dick, expecting, almost demanding, that he reach under and hand it back like the perfect older brother he’s supposed to be.

His face is unreadable for a beat, then a faint twitch of a smirk appears, like he’s savouring the moment.

“You’re kidding,” he says flatly, voice dry, each word dripping with irritation and mild amusement. “I'm not picking it up for you.” 

You give him a scandalized look of offence before you snap your head towards Roy immediately, your eyebrows arching in exaggerated woe.

“Surely you’d be nicer than my dick of a brother?” you say with faux hurt.

Roy raises an eyebrow, leaning back lazily in his chair, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

“C’mon, how are you going to have your big escape if you can’t even pick that up?” he chuckles, casual as ever, though there’s a glimmer of humour in his eyes that suggests he’s enjoying watching you squirm just a bit.

You don’t bother looking at the other two, you know better.

You scrunch your nose, muttering under your breath something about “heroes” and how they clearly have zero interest in performing basic rescues, and it comes out as more of a frustrated growl than words. 

Your eyes dart toward the under-table space where your precious lip pencil has settled.

Oh god, ew, no—no no no, your brain shrieks as the reality of having to actually reach down and get it yourself sinks in.

Thank god you didn’t go through with dropping Dick’s phone, it woud’ve landed in that weird-looking goo. 

You groan, pushing your hair out of your face and letting your fingers twitch against the edge of the seat. Your mind scrambles for solutions.

Maybe you could ask that guy who keeps looking your way to get it for you?

You shift to look at him and catch his eye, but the way Dick clears his throat makes you reconsider with a huff.

Finally, you let out a dramatic sigh, tilting your chin toward the ceiling as if to appeal to some higher, cosmic sense being.

“Fine,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to them, your voice thick with resignation, “I’ll do it myself.” You pause, glaring pointedly at Dick.

You lower yourself an inch, then freeze as your eyes take in the disgustingly revolting mess under that booth— gum, spilled drinks, a sticky graveyard— is that a sock??? 

No way are you kneeling down on the ground. Your eyes flick toward Dick’s feet. He’s in those expensive, polished shoes, black and sharp, probably the cleanest surface in a three-foot radius. Perfect.

Before Dick can even blink, you plant one knee directly on the toe of his left shoe, balancing delicately as your other hand grips his pant leg for stability.

The look on his face is priceless, a mix of confusion, disbelief, and pure silent horror.

“Are you— what the hell are you doing?” he asks, baffled.

You don’t look up, focusing instead on maneuvering your body in the narrow space, one hand still clinging to his leg as you stretch to peek around under the booth.

“Relax,” you mumble. “You wanted me to pick it up myself, didn’t you? Congratulations, I’m doing it.”

“Get off my shoe,” Dick says sharply, voice somewhere between a hiss and a growl.

“Not until I get it,” you shoot back.

Roy makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh. When you risk a glance his way, he’s grinning, one hand covering his mouth like he’s trying not to choke on amusement. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, voice thick with disbelief.

“Unbelievably resourceful,” you correct through gritted teeth, trying to keep your balance as your fingers reach into the darkness.

You squint, stretching your arm farther, your grip on Dick’s leg tightening as your fingers brush the cool metal of a table then— finally the smooth edge of your lip pencil. 

You’re just about to grab it when Roy’s foot makes contact. The pencil slides just out of reach, moved farther underneath the booth. You freeze before your head snaps up with enough force to give you whiplash.

“Roy!” you hiss under your breath, trying to keep your tone low while simultaneously daring him to meet your glare. “Really? What the hell?!” Your free hand flails slightly as if the motion could somehow summon the pencil back to you. 

Roy just shrugs, the picture of innocence though the corner of his mouth twitches. “What? Just making it a little more interesting,” he murmurs, voice teasing, eyes sparkling with amusement.

You bite back a string of curses, you hate redheaded men, all of them. The pencil has rolled deep under the shadow of the seat, which means you’re going to have to bend even further and probably get really close to the floor. 

Your stomach twists at the thought. You shift your weight carefully, pressing even harder against Dick’s leg, trying to reach without falling forward.

Your dress rides up just a fraction as you shift lower, contorting awkwardly under the booth, but you’re too far gone in irritation to care. Though your new state makes them look away, at least they have some common courtesy.

Your fingers brush the grimy floor, skirting around the inevitable sticky patches, and just as you start to stretch toward the pencil again, Dick jolts his feet suddenly— a stomp, just enough to startle you.

You yelp, loosening your grip on his pant leg and in panic, you grab the first thing you could— his shoelaces.

You grip tightly, your body wobbles for balance. Dick’s laugh, deep and amused, fills the small space under the booth.

“Whoa, careful down there,” he says, eyes glinting with mischief. “You just messed up my shoes. Tie them before you try to get back up, yeah?”

Bullies. All of them. Maybe it was the fact that most of them were tipsy, but you had half the mind to smack both him and Roy now.

You scowl, tugging at his laces with deliberate force, undoing the slightly messy knots in a rush of irritation.

You mutter under your breath, “Whatever,” the word dripping with annoyance.

You had no intention of actually fixing them, why should you? He’d put you through this ridiculous under-the-booth ordeal, after all. You hope that he trips on—

Wait.

As you sit there crouched awkwardly, a lightbuld goes off in your head. You glance around, checking that none of the others are paying close attention, and shift your posture just enough to make it look like you’re carefully trying to fix his shoes. 

You let the noise around you fade, eyes narrowing on your new target.

Fingers ghosting over the laces again. If you just loop this one through the other… a little pull here… another twist there…

Your grin grows slow and dangerous. The idea is ridiculous, completely stupid even, but god, is it funny. And if it works? Even better. 

You take a slow, steadying breath, heart pounding as you weigh your odds. The image of Dick toppling over flashes in your mind again, and it almost makes you snort— but no, focus.

You glance at the faint shimmer of your lip pencil, still lying abandoned beneath the booth, and spot the dangling strap of your clutch hanging just within reach. Perfect for what comes next.

You tug the sleeve of Dick’s coat that he made you wear to cover your hand and fully place it down on the gross floor as you reach to grab both.

You hold back your gag as the sleeve takes a moment to unstick from the ground, thank god it isn't your jacket. 

Gathering the lip pencil and the strap of your bag, you feel the grin tugging at your lips, but you press it down, forcing your face into a mask of startled revulsion. 

Showtime.

Then, channelling every ounce of your best high-society drama queen energy, you let out a piercing screech.

“OH MY GOD—EW!” The sound slices clean through the loud hum of conversation and bass, sharp and shrill enough to make the booth jolt.

You fling yourself backward with theatrical horror, scrambling out from under the table like something just tried to bite you. One hand clutches your lip pencil and purse strap like evidence of a crime; the other fans dramatically at your chest.

“Ew— ew— ew— oh my god, that was disgusting!” you shriek, hopping back another step as though the floor itself might infect you.

The effect is immediate chaos. Roy nearly chokes on his drink, his laughter bursting out before he can stop it. Artemis jerks back instinctively, one eyebrow arched high but her lips twitching, clearly fighting off a grin. Conner’s eyes go wide for a half second before he sighs, muttering something that sounds like, “Seriously?”

Dicks hands are planted on the table as if ready to spring up to help you. But when he realizes what’s happened, when he actually processes the sight of you standing there in a designer dress, shrieking about god-knows-what under the table and more importantly unharmed, his expression flattens into exasperation. “You have got to be kidding me.”

You don’t look at him right away,  because if you do, you’ll break. You keep your eyes wide and glassy, shaking your hands as if brushing off invisible filth. “There was something under there! It— moved!” you declare, your tone a perfect mix of disgust and distress.

Before anyone can question you, or worse, you laugh, you spin on your heel, clutching your purse and lip pencil like your life depends on it, and bolt straight into the pulsing chaos of the crowd. But then—

Thump.

A sharp sound cuts through the noise, followed by another.. You freeze mid-step for half a second, just long enough to register the unmistakable cascade of chaos behind you. There’s a muffled curse, definitely Roy’s voice,

Oh. My. God.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh that threatens to bubble up, your shoulders trembling with the effort.

Your stupid, desperate little plan actually worked— maybe too well. You’d only meant to trip Dick, slow him down a bit. But from the sound of things, at least someone went down with him.

You don’t dare look back. The image alone is glorious enough in your head— Dick toppling first, Roy tripping over him, maybe Artemis catching herself just in time but swearing loud enough to shake the booth. 

And then, cutting through the laughter and the music, comes the sound that makes your grin stretch wide and wicked—

“Go after her!”

Dick’s voice, sharp and commanding, half fury and half disbelief. Oh, he’s mad. He’s so mad.

You duck your head lower, hair falling across your face as you weave through the crowd, the adrenaline fizzing through your veins like champagne.

The music swells, the lights flicker, and every step feels like victory. You don’t stop moving— not even when you hear someone curse your name, or the faint shuffle of pursuit starting behind you.

You’ve escaped the booth, outsmarted Gotham’s most overprotective boy wonder, and managed to turn your own clumsiness into a tactical advantage. You’re so doing some online shopping to congratulate yourself when you’re home. 

You moved quickly, weaving through the crowd with all the quiet confidence you’d built over years of slipping past trained reflexes, every motion deliberate and calculated.

You knew they probably expected you to make a beeline for the obvious exits— the ones lined with bouncers, the flashing neon “EXIT” signs.

So, you steered sharply away from them, your heels clicking softly against the floor, and angled toward the men’s bathroom instead.

What? The women’s bathroom would be the next place they’d look. You couldn’t imagine any world where they’d think to check the men's room for you— and there was a decent chance of a window somewhere

You paused when you pushed the door open, immediately freezing at the sight before you.

A couple were tangled together in the corner, lips locked, hands roaming. 

Barf. God, was this what your brother had almost caught you in?

You rolled your eyes slightly and paid them no mind, letting your attention slide past them. To the window that was at the back, okay, perfect, you could totally reach that—

…Wait. 

The girl was about your size, with a build close enough to yours that an idea began to bloom in your mind.

A smirk touched your lips as you stepped fully inside, approaching the couple without the shame any normal person would have approaching a couple making out.

You didn’t bother looking at the man—your gaze went straight to the girl as you shrugged off Dick’s jacket and dropped it on the sink.

“Oh my God, how did you get your hair to do that?” you gushed, hands fluttering in the air. “It looks like you just stepped out of a magazine.”

She broke away from the kiss, glancing at you with mild surprise. Her boyfriend made a noise of confusion, his lips chasing hers as his brows knit together.

“Uh… babe?” he murmured, clearly caught off guard by her attention shift. He glanced at you doing a double take. “Wait— why are you in the men’s bathroom?”

You ignored him entirely, letting the small moment of confusion work in your favour. You stepped closer to her, smiling faintly, the warmth in your voice pulling her back toward you.

“Like, holy shit, your hair— I had to say something.” You tilted your head, tone softening with a hint of admiration. “It’s just… perfect. How do you even get it to fall like that?”

She blinked, startled for half a second before breaking into uncontrollable giggles. “Oh my God, stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” she laughed, reaching out like you were already best friends. “No one ever says that about my hair!”.

You leaned forward, catching her hands in yours, eyes wide with exaggerated awe. “Shut up! Girl— your hair is perfect. You're perfect!” you exclaimed, nodding like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “But… you’d look even better if you were wearing my dress. It’s a designer, and seriously, you need to wear it. We should totally switch— like, right now.”

She blinked at you, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief, but the corners of her mouth twitched with a smile, clearly intrigued by your enthusiasm.

Moments later, the two of you step out of a stall, giggling as if you've been friends for years, both wearing the other's dress.

She practically glowed, her face bright with delight as she ran her hands over the sleek lines of your designer dress, marvelling at the way it felt against her skin. 

Her eyes met yours, wide and sparkling, and before she could contain herself, she threw her arms around you in a tight hug. “I love you!” she said, voice muffled against your shoulder, squeezing you.

Pulling back, she grinned, her excitement uncontainable. She spun once, then twice before darting toward her boyfriend.

“Look!” she called over her shoulder, arms out as if she were on a runway. The fabric shimmered under the cheap fluorescent lights, hugging her curves perfectly. Her boyfriend froze, jaw slack, eyes wide with awe, completely captivated. 

You chuckled softly to yourself, shaking your head as you made your way toward the open bathroom window. But when you turned to glance back, intending to give her a thank you, you paused.

They were already locked in each other’s arms. He’d clearly liked the sight of her in that dress a little too much, tugging her in for a kiss that quickly deepened, all urgency and awe. She melted into him, laughing against his lips before kissing him back.

You turned back to the window with a soft laugh under your breath, letting them have their moment while you slipped toward your own escape. You plant your hands firmly on the window frme, the cool metal biting against your palms as you brace yourself.  

With a soft grunt, you hoist yourself upward, dress snagging briefly on a jagged edge before you wiggle it free.

Your heels scrape against the tile wall then the frame, and for a second, you balance there half inside the bathroom’s stale light, half in the shadowed unknown of the outside.

Finally, you release your grip and drop down. Your heels hit the uneven pavement with a soft click, knees bending to absorb the impact.

The alley greets you with damp stone, the faint reek of trash from an overturned bin, and the lingering smoke of someone’s forgotten cigarette. 

You brush dust off your hands and straighten, pulling your shoulders back as though stepping onto a stage rather than into a dark cut of the city.

The window swings shut behind you with a dull thud. Alone now, it’s not exactly welcoming, but it’s freedom.

You smooth down your new dress, fingers brushing over the fabric. Dick and the others weren’t idiots, after scouring the club, they’d be forced to fan out. Figuring that you've somehow managed to get out. 

Any minute now, one of them could step outside, sharp eyes sweeping. Walking aimlessly into the open streets was practically begging to be spotted, and calling a ride? Impossible, thanks to your actually dead phone.

You curse yourself silently— why hadn’t you just asked that girl in the washroom to order you an Uber?

Your heels click softly against the uneven pavement as you move, wary of every echo bouncing off the brick walls as you walk to what you assume is the parking area for the club.

You pause mid-step when you catch sight of a man— broad shoulders outlined by dim outdoor lights, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dark.

He leans casually against a polished black motorbike, all leather jacket, boots planted wide, an image straight out of your old Wattpad mafia fanfics.

You're quick to size him up. Not the safest-looking option, but beggars can’t be choosers!

You tug the hem of the already short dress just a touch higher, enough to make it seem intentional but not desperate.

Your stride shifts subtly, hips swaying with an ease you’d practiced at too many galas and charity dinners.

The sound of your heels was an announcement for all your glory as you approch him. He glances up at the noise, lingering where you wanted it to before climbing to your face. You answer with that flirty grin that’s half mischief and half invitation.

The smoke curls lazily from his lips as he watches you approach, and you let your eyes flick briefly to the gleaming motorbike he leans against.

A low hum escapes you as though you’re impressed, like the sight of the machine alone is enough to make you stop and alter your path. 

Then your attention drifts back to him, the sparkle in your expression saying you’re curious about him, about the bike and the trouble the two of you could get into if he takes the bait.

By the time you’re standing close enough for him to catch the faint trace of your perfume over the scent of smoke and leather, you tilt your head, giving him the same effortless expression that’s carried you through countless rooms filled with hungry-eyed men. 

The air between you feels electric as you give him a soft, measured grin and let your voice drop into that perfect tone that feels both teasing and casual.

“Hi there,” you say, drawing it out just enough to make it sound spontaneous. “You out here on your own?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in the dress, the way you carry yourself and the confident tilt of your head. There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression followed by a slow smirk.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice low. “Just needed a break… thought I’d get some air. You?” His gaze shifts briefly to your dress, then back to your face, his tone carrying both guarded interest and a hint of something like bemusement.

“Me?..” you murmur, the sound low and teasing, “just got bored in there.” Your eyes flick toward the cigarette dangling from his fingers, the tip glowing faintly in the night. You let your gaze linger playfully.

He follows your eyes to the cigarette, his brow arching in a subtle mixture of surprise and curiosity. There’s a brief pause as he studies you, as if trying to figure out whether your approach is flirty or just mischief. 

“Want one?” he asks. 

“Mmm…” you murmur, letting him wait just a heartbeat too long. Then you shake your head, brushing the cigarette lightly with your fingertips without taking it. “I don’t smoke… I just like how it looks,” you add, giving his mouth a pointed look. “I like to get my… fix in other ways.”

As you speak, your fingers trail lightly along the sleek curve of his motorbike. He leans more against it casually, one hip pressed to the frame, eyes following your movements as your finger glides over the metal, tracing its lines with exaggerated care. 

Stepping back slowly, you create a small space between the two of you before looking up at him with feigned awe.. “That’s… a nice bike,” you hum.

“Would you mind giving me a ride?” you ask, letting your voice drop just slightly, widening your eyes a bit in mock worry.  “I’m trying to get home without some people following after me…” 

Your eyes flick to his briefly, then back to the bike, letting the pause hang. “And you look like you could keep me… safe.” The last word is just a teasing whisper.

There is a slow shift in his posture with his shoulders relaxing and the spark of eagerness in his gaze. He exhales, a mix of amusement as he flicks the cigarette to the ground and uses his boot to put it out before closing the gap you’d left.

“You know…” he says, “I think I could make that happen.” His tone carries that subtle weight of a man pleased to be trusted with something he perceives as special. His fingers twitch slightly toward the bike, but his eyes never leave yours.

“Thank you,” you murmur letting the simple words carry the weight of both appreciation and playful invitation.

He moves with purpose now, pulling the helmet from the bike and offering it to you. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says, his voice taking on a hint of protectiveness.

The way he says it, like this, is his idea makes you grin to yourself. 

You slip the helmet over your head, adjusting the strap as the roar of the engine fills your ears when he starts it, and you can’t help but let a small laugh slip through.

“Guess I owe you one,” you murmur, climbing onto the bike behind him, the cool metal pressing against your legs. The air hums with a quiet promise as he leans forward, his hands steady on the handles.

You rest your chin lightly against his shoulder, letting the words linger in a way that makes him glance back with a half-smile.

He revs the engine as the bike moves forward, the low rumble vibrating under your thighs. You lean forward slightly, pressing your body closer to him, letting the scent of his leather jacket and the faint tang of smoke drift over you.

A small, triumphant smile curls on your lips. Yes, yes, yes, you think to yourself, feeling that rush of mischievous victory.

He eases the bike out of the shadowy back parking lot of the club, the tires crunching softly against gravel, then pulls smoothly onto the street.

The air is cooler here, carrying the faint hum of distant traffic, and for a second, it feels like you’ve escaped completely.

But then… voices.

Low but unmistakable.

It seems like they finally left the inside of the club, now gathered at the entrance, which the bike had to pass on the way to the main intersection. 

A spike of dread runs down your spine, but you force yourself to ignore it. Instead, you turn your face sharply toward the opposite side of the street, pressing your cheek and shoulder more against the man in front of you. You settle on pretending you’re just some random girl enjoying a ride.

The streetlight above catches your swapped dress in patches of light and shadow— a new texture, a differnt colour. It fit your frame differently— basically a new identity.

It is fine. No one will see your face well enough in the dark to make the connection.

You force yourself to relax as the bike hums past the cluster of voices. You tense for a moment anyway, muscles coiling as the sound of boots crunching gravel fades behind you. Then, as naturally as you can, you let yourself exhale when you pass them.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a flicker of movement in the bike's rear-view mirror— Conner’s head turning ever so slightly in your direction. His brow furrows for a split second, but then his attention slips away. 

He doesn’t recognize you, not from the back of a speeding bike. Relief floods through you, and your shoulders loosen just a fraction. Yes! Okay, good.

A quiet laugh escapes you, though you keep your voice low so it doesn’t draw attention. Maybe you should try your luck with gambling if your luck is— The bike slows. You glance up, confused.

A red light.

Today has been nothing but ups and downs for you, hasn’t it?

The faint glow of the traffic signal gleams back at you, and your stomach twists as you realize you’re still within sight of Dick and the others.

Great. Just great.

Your fingers tighten unconsciously on the man’s jacket. You shift your weight forward, peeking more at the rear-view mirrors.

They’re still there, hovering near the entrance of the bar and the alley to the parking area. Still talking in hush whispers, but it gradually gets louder.

You catch it before you even realize you’re listening. Conner’s voice, carried faintly through the night air, drifted to you over the hum of the idling bike. “We could check surveillance,” he suggests, his voice measured with a smidge of panic.

Roy’s voice follows, “shell probably just get tired of walking in those heels and take a break somewhere.” The comment doesn’t seem to carry mockery this time, if anything… it seems reassuring? 

Then Artemis chimes in, her voice low but direct. “We could grab the car, check the streets— She’ll be fine Dick.” It’s a practical option, but the way her words seem more comforting than plotting catches your attention.

You don’t fully process your confusion at their apparent 180 in attitude until you catch Dick words. His tone is different. Not the clipped, sharp annoyance you’ve grown used to in the past years.

This time, it’s worry. Genuine worry. You strain to catch his words. “Her phone’s dead…” he mutters, voice low, tight with concern. “She’s out there by herself… anyone could just—” He trails off. 

“She’s… she’s too young to be left alone like this.” The usual edge in his tone is gone, replaced by something softer and protective, like he can’t stand the thought of you being in danger.

The sound of his voice hits you in a way you didn’t expect. And even though you’ve spent the night plotting your own escape a pang settles in your chest.

For a moment, your mind drifts, a quiet, uncomfortable thought threading through your relief at having escaped. He’s worried. I made him worry.

You make the small mistake of glancing back, curiosity and something else stabbing into your chest,  almost as if you needed to physically see him to confirm that the worry and care really came from him. 

Your eyes find his, and for a suspended moment, it feels as though the world has narrowed down to just the two of you. Every other sound and movement around you blurs into nothing.

In that instant, you see it all— recognition sparking in his gaze, the subtle easing of tension in his shoulders, the rush of relief flooding across his face as if he’s just been allowed to breathe again. That rare, unguarded expression so fast and genuine that it catches you off guard. 

But then his eyes shift. Just a flicker at first, a subtle widening that makes your stomach clench.

They sweep over the older man your fingers have latched onto, the chrome of the motorbike, the way you’re perched on the back with no real protection between you and the street besides the helmet that you hadnt even swiped the visor down. 

His relief twists sharply into disbelief, and then anger— boiling, explosive, and immediate.

Oh shit. The words don’t escape your mouth, but they hammer in your mind as you realize just how fast he switched up.

Your eyes flick back to the street ahead, to the red light pausing you, and back at Dick in panic now. His expression, that mix of shock and fury, is burned into your mind.

The thrill is still there— but so is the undeniable pulse of terror, knowing that your older brother, protector and fucking Nightwing, has now fully registered just how careless you are with your life.

The shout of your name rips through the night air, carrying the kind of weight that makes your stomach drop straight to your ass. The moment it leaves his mouth, you know you’re as good as dead if he catches you now.

Your heart stutters painfully in your chest, a cold rush of dread prickling along your skin. Oh no. Oh no, oh shit, I’m so screwed.

You freeze, like a deer caught in headlights, every ounce of bravado you’d been wearing like armour stripped away in an instant.

All at once, Artemis, Roy, and Conner snap their heads toward you, their eyes locking on the bike and on you.

Their expressions mirror Dick’s— shock first, then realization, then a storm of emotions you don’t even want to name. 

For a heartbeat, the only thing you feel is raw, genuine terror. Your lungs seize up, your mind races, if you get off now and start crying, maybe you can—

The traffic light above changes, casting its green glow across the pavement, and it’s like the world throws you a lifeline. The engine beneath you growls as the man eases the bike forward, oblivious to the vigilantes planning your murder.

Relief slams into your chest so hard it almost hurts, and you press yourself closer against his back, clinging as if physical contact can shield you from the burning eyes still locked on your retreating form.

The city rushes past in a blur of neon and shadow, but all you can think is how close you came to being dragged off this bike.

Your heart pounds, torn between the giddy adrenaline of the escape and the suffocating knowledge that Dick and all of them saw you.

They’ll be on you in minutes— Artemis mentioned a car, Dick’s look was pure hunter, and the thought of the surveillance cameras Conner mentioned already maps your route.

Every intersection you pass flashes red or green like a countdown; you can practically hear the way they’ll be catching up.

Keeping on the road is stupid and roofs are out of the question. Your brain scrabbles through every reckless, glamorous, ridiculous thing you’ve done to avoid capture.

Then it lands on something older, secret, and useful— the sewer tunnels. You’ve used them before to sneak into wild underground parties, where socialites let loose— hell, you’ve even thrown your own parties there. A grin, small and feral, crawls up your face.

You scan the sides of the street for an area with limited cameras. Ahead, under the long span of a bridge, a drainage tunnel. Perfect. 

“Hey,” you purr, leaning forward so your whisper lands close to the guy’s ear, breath warm against his neck.

“Can you pull down that tunnel? I think the long way through would be… quieter.” You keep your hand casual on his shoulder as you say it, the motion half-flirt, half-command.

He hesitates, but the gleam in his eye at the idea of being the one to get alone with someone like you wins out. The bike’s handlebars turn as he shifts the bikes path off the main road. 

As you settle into the tunnel, you let yourself relax for just a fraction of a second. You had to act fast. Squeezing him again as a subtle signal, you nudge him toward the side for him to pull over. You have to pull this right, knowing exactly what he’s thinking— that you’ll be having some fun together.

When he slows and stops, you slip off the bike with grace, heels hitting concrete with a click and you take off the helmet and toss it to him. 

Without hesitation, you dig into your purse and pull out a wad of cash, thick and uncounted. It isn’t even half of your weekly allowance, but it’s enough to keep him from doing too much.

“Here,” you say softly, pressing the bills into his palm. “For your trouble.”

His gaze flickers over you, completely baffled as if this has never happened to him. Leaning forward, you press a quick kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger just enough to make him blink.

Then, without another word, you pivot and stride toward the sewer manhole just a few feet away.

His gaze follows, brow furrowed. “What the hell are you—?” he starts, stepping off the bike.

You ignore him, already bending at your knees to hook your fingers under the heavy metal edge of the grate. It’s cold, damp, and rough under your fingers, but you move with precision, muscles flexing under the dress.

The metal groans as you lift it just enough to slip inside. His voice calls out behind you, muffled and uncertain. “Wait— are you serious?”

Without looking back, you pause at the tunnel entrance just long enough to flash a quick, confident smile. “Oh, very serious,” you murmur, slipping into the darkness. The grate clangs shut behind you.

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Wrapped in the warmth of your bed, the steam from your shower still clinging faintly to your skin, you pull your phone from the nightstand. It lights up instantly, and you smirk as your thumb hovers over your contacts.

You tap it with deliberate ease, calling Dick, but your tone as you greet him is a melody of mock innocence.

“Hi, Dick! Been a while since we talked,” you say sweetly, leaning back against your silk pillows, letting your voice stretch lazily as if you’ve just stumbled out of bed from a normal night. Your tone doesn’t carry an ounce of guilt— only amusement.

Dick’s voice cuts through, low and controlled. “Where the hell are you?”

You let out a small laugh. “Dick, what are you talking about? I’ve been at home all night,” you say, the words coated in enough innocence to sound believable. You draw out the “all night” just enough to add to the performance.

A sigh escapes him, one that you can almost picture as exasperated, followed by a hint of something deeper– worry, maybe frustration.

You hear footsteps in the background, Roy’s voice grumbling, clearly ready to chime in, but you cut him off before he can start.

“Oh, hi, Roy,” you say softly, eyes twinkling despite the distance. “You keeping my brother out of trouble?” 

Dick’s sharp inhale and a muttered curse from the redhead fill your speaker before rustling from what you assume is him having to physically move away from the others to continue the conversation. 

You shift slightly on the bed, pulling the blankets around your shoulders. Your lips curve into that familiar, calculated smile.

“Anyway,” you begin, voice light and teasing, “just thought I’d check in… in case you wanted to give Dad an update. Can’t have him worrying for no reason, can we?”

Through the faint static of the call, you hear him finally exhale, the sort of controlled breath that signals he’s trying to balance irritation with reluctant acknowledgment.

“You–” he starts, but you cut him off with a small laugh, letting it linger just enough to disarm him further.

You sink deeper against the pillows, letting your hand trace lazily along the edge of the blanket. “I mean,” you continue, “you’re not going to break our little deal, are you? You’ve broken enough promises, don’t you think?” 

Silence fills the line for a heartbeat. You picture Dick’s brow furrowed, lips pressed in thought, searching for some way to assert control. He lets out a low breath before speaking. “You’re unbelievable.” And you grin, knowing exactly how true that is.

“And you’re a loser.” The words tumble out of you with a laugh, light and teasing. God, you wish you could see his face.

“Anyway, night, Dicky!” you chirp, the nickname dripping with mock sweetness. You don’t give him time to respond before hitting the end call button.

The sharp click echoes slightly in your quiet room. For a moment, you just sit there, the glow of the phone fading into the dim light of your bedroom.

Then you throw your head back and laugh to yourself— a breathless, satisfied laugh that carries the weight of winning something far bigger than a simple bet.

------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Hi guys... Firstly, I am so sorry </3 I'm posting wayyyy later than I said I would. My midterms were horrid, but it's okay, I'm getting my marks back and guess who's getting straight 90s B). Anyway, my lovely friend whom I have forced to become my beta reader @vee08 (who also came up with the title + made the banner for this post) requested I post ★ Wayne!Reader first, so here we are :P. I realized after posting the first part, I actually had to come up with a plausible way for the Reader to escape... so I apologize if it's absolutely ridiculous. Also! I will get to everyone's messages and replies. I skimmed through it to grab anyone who wanted to be tagged for this, and omg thank you guys so much for all your sweet words mwah mwah mwah! (I'll continue the mom!reader later this week... I have a mid-term on Wednesday to survive first.)

Taglist: @aetherdott @unclearblur @welpthisisboring @1abi @miakxn @hearts4mica

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

Unfortunately, as much as you wished you responded violently, all you could manage was a freeze response.

Your hands stayed frozen on either side of the box, just staring down at the pink monstrosity sitting in front of you.

Fucking Shadowheart.

The name alone made something slimy and humiliating crawl up the back of your neck.

In a room full of people around your age with names that should have been objectively worse: Wonder Girl, Kid Flash, Blue Beetle, Robin–

Ridiculous names, honestly, not an ounce of creativity besides being literal knock-offs, or being so literal it was stupid.

Yet, yours still managed to make you feel like the biggest loser alive.

Through the corner of your eye, you see Conner give Tim a quick look, but he only shrugs in response before he steps away from you.

Just enough for Artemis to shift closer into the space he left behind. You want to call her out for it; she basically stepped in front of Tim to shield him from you.

It’s not just her waiting in anticipation; they all are waiting for you to prove them right.

Maybe shoving yourself up from the chair with enough force to knock it over, screaming and cussing. Or even a spoiled stomp of your foot.

There are so many things that try to claw their way out of your throat but they all clot at your lips, and a sort of strangled hum escapes you.

You decide against saying something in this moment, even when you see your new teammates start exchanging looks.

Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced your face into a scowl. Your fingers moved stiffly as you pushed the box away, but a firm hand on your shoulder stopped you from continuing. 

You flinched, snapping your gaze up to see M’gann looking down at you, her expression kind, and it barely changed when you jerked your shoulder out from under her touch.

“I think that’s enough excitement for now” she said softly, the words leaving her with a quiet sigh.

She reached forward and closed the box properly, smoothing her hands over the lid before nudging it closer to you.

“How about we call it a night?” she offerd “You can take it back with you and see how it fits.”

You stared at her for a moment as the urge to grab the box and beat it into Tim’s face was immediately redirected to the person closest to you. 

Your fingers twitched against the box, subtly adjusting your grip on it. You see her eyes glance down at your hands before you suddenly hear her voice.

“Take some time for yourself,” She spoke softer. “I know this is a lot.”

Your brows drew together, and you instinctively leaned away from her, confused because M’gann hadn’t spoken. Her lips did not move at all, besides giving you a gentle smile. 

For a second, all you could do was blink at her, trying to make sense of it. You had heard her clearly, as if she’d whispered right beside your ear, but the room had stayed completely silent.

It took another moment for the realization to settle in.

M’gann was a Martian, even though she wasn’t green; you’re pretty sure she had similar powers to that one guy your dad was on the Justice League with. 

So that means… she’s in your fucking head.

The thought made your face sour, and unfortunately, before you can think of the most disgusting and foul things ever, she “speaks” again.

“Please. I’ll make sure no one comes by for the rest of the day.”

That made your scowl falter as you thought it over. No one coming by for the rest of the day sounded… good.

Gives you enough time to take this stupid box back to your room, open it, and decide whether you’d be sprinkling its cut up fabric or ashes around the base.

You pulled away from M’gann as you stood, dragging the box toward yourself with more force than necessary.

“...Fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, but you narrowed your eyes at her, “And get out of my head.”

You picked up the box before anyone else could say anything. As you turned with your chin tilted up, your shoulder bumped sharply against M’gann’s. 

You heard Garfield start to say something behind you, his voice sounding defensive and annoyed, but M’gann cut him off with a low whisper you could not quite catch.

You didn’t look back as you hurried toward the sliding doors. The second they opened, you slipped through them and turned down the hallway desperate to get to your room.

As soon as you got back and the door slide shut, you ripped the suit out of its packaging with shaking hands, tossing the box aside scattering a few items you don’t bother checking and rushed straight to your bathroom drawer for a pair of scissors.

You finally manage to grab the scissors and dug the blades into the suit. But unfortunately, the satisfying sound of fabric being snipped never came.

You squeezed harder but the scissors didn’t even pull a thread. “Come on,” you hissed. “Come on, you fucking piece of–.”

But to your utter dismay, the only thing that ended up damaged was you.

Your fingers ached from how hard they squeezed before you threw the scissors into the sink, making it clatter loudly as you grabbed your lighter next. 

Your thumb fumbled over the button before the tiny flame finally sparked to life. You put it right against the fabric and stared waiting for the fabric to blacken, melt, or do fucking anything.

But it stayed the same blinding pink. 

You trembled slightly as you pressed the lighter closer, but you didn’t angle it properly, and the flame ended up grazing your finger, and you jerked back with a sharp, pained gasp.

“Motherfucker–!”

Waving your hand, you accidentally whip the lighter to the ground, your other hand dropping the suit into the counter before you bring the side of your finger into your mouth to soothe it. 

Your eyes start to sting as you let out a small whimper slowly pulling the finger from your mouth. You run your thumb over it, the area was tender to the touch making you hiss.

You swallow dryly trying to calm down but you barely manage a shaky breath in.

The lights were too bright, making you turn your gaze down into the counter only to be greeted by pink, the tiles were too cold, and fucking hell your shirt was sticking to your back.

Everything felt so wrong and all you could focus on was the suit. 

A sound ripped out of you before you could stop it, a big ugly sob as you threw the suit against the counter.

Your breath hitched as you kept slamming it harder. You needed one visible mark, at least a fucking scratch in that stupid symbol. 

The second your eyes started to burn more painfully with frustration you all but collapsed to the floor.

And that brought you to now.

With you, lying on the cold bathroom floor with the seemingly indestructible fucking suit clenched in your hand.

Why couldn’t Dick just stay out of your life the way he had for the past few years?

And why couldn’t he have been there today?

Anger surged through you again enough for you to sit up, but it just sent the tears gathered in your eyes spilling over, as another sob tore out of you.

When could he have told Tim about the name?

You were sure it had been that morning. Probably over text with stupid emojis and no punctuation, like the close, tight-knit brothers they were.  

How could he do that to you? That memory had been yours.

Yours with your family, before everything turned to shit. And now it was ruined the second that name left Tim’s mouth.

You let out a sharp scream as you swung your hand back, your fist slamming hard into the cabinet behind you.

The impact sent a painful jolt through your finger, so sharp it punched the air from your lungs.

For a second, everything stopped as you let out a pained sound and looked at your hands. Your beautifully manicured pinkie nail was ruined.

The crack cut through the side into the nail bed, making the whole finger pulse with a deep throb.

“No,” you gasp. “No, no, no– fuck.”

You stumbled to your feet and rushed to the sink, shoving your finger under cold water. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck– ugh!”

You turned off the water and grabbed a towel, dabbing at it carefully even though every touch made you grimace.

The nail caught slightly against the fabric, stray threads getting under the crack and pulling, sending another flash of pain through your finger.

You stared at it for one miserable second… There was no hope in saving it.

You sniffled hard as you opened your bathroom drawer to pull out your nail kit. You closed the toilet seat and took a seat, your fingers still trembling as you clipped the broken nail first.

You stared at your pinkie, then the rest of your fingers and the unevenness made your skin prickle.

You obviously couldn’t leave it like that. With a frustrated little sound, you started on the next nail.

By the time you finished, your long, gorgeous nails were gone. You stared at both hands numbly as you tried to see if there was anything left to make them look prettier. 

Finding nothing left, you let out a sigh, your shoulders sagging as it all drained out of you all at once.

Your hands lowered into your lap, and you leaned back into the toilet tank, tilting your head back as you closed your eyes. 

How long had you even been in here?

You let out a deep exhale that makes your ears pop, making you open your eyes with a hard blink.

The lightning in the bathroom suddenly seemed much more dull, the room more mellow. You drop your head forward and took a moment to just breathe.

… Your eyes dart around taking note of the shower’s frosted glass doors.

It was probably cold to the touch, you wondered if it was one of those showers that eventually ran out of hot water if you stayed inside for too long. 

Swallowing dryly you blink hard again squeezing your eyes shut for a moment already feeling the ache settle in before you open and look at the floor, you eye the lighter that had fallen earlier.

Without thinking, you press your thumb into the burn you gave yourself by accident. This time you don’t hiss in pain but just sigh, the feeling grounding you.

Finally you look towards the door, where your bed lays and exhaustion hits you with full force.

You stand up slowly, the suit falling to the floor with a pathetic and taunting thump. You almost make it past the mirror but habit pulls you to look.

A face with puffy, red-rimmed eyes, cheeks streaked with dried tears, and lips bitten raw stares back.

You dragged your fingers beneath your eyes, rubbing the leftover wetness into your skin, and sniffed hard, trying to clear your nose. 

You hardly recognized the girl in the mirror, and that made your stomach twist with fresh disgust.

You looked like a fucking mess.

You couldn’t possibly go to bed like this, you’d wake up even more of a disaster.

You yanked open the drawer back open and started digging for your skincare, bottles clattering too loudly in the quiet bathroom. 

“Fuck my life”

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Dick remembers how tiny you were.

Barely six years old, perched on the hood of the Batmobile with your legs swinging back and forth, proudly showing off the gap where your front tooth had been.

Jason sat behind you, still wearing his Robin uniform after patrol. You'd practically tackled him the second he stepped out of the car, squealing even louder when Dick appeared a second later.

Now Jason was painstakingly trying to wrestle your hair into two braids. His fingers fumbled more as strands escaped every few seconds while he muttered under his breath, determined to get it right. 

You sat perfectly still only occasionally squirming, utterly convinced your brother was creating a masterpiece while you carried the conversation for all three of you all by yourself. 

Somewhere between the day Dick left the manor and now, you'd blossomed into the most talkative little thing imaginable, and he adored every second of it. 

"Duck..."Your dragged whine pulled him back to the present.

He blinked, realizing you'd stopped talking because you'd noticed he'd drifted off, and immediately, a dramatic pout settled onto your face. "You're not listening!"

The nickname still made him smile. It was ridiculous, but you loved the name, and it also protected you without you even realizing it. 

Bruce was the one to advise him that it wasn't the greatest idea for Gotham's youngest and only Wayne daughter to be loudly squealing out the unfortunate name Dick had decided to go by.

With all the cameras and creeps out there, nobody wanted audio clips of you up online for the wrong people to obsess over.

So, after a very serious brainstorming session, all it ended up taking was a short break to watch an episode of Wild Kratts featuring a feathered little friend, and the two of you settled on Duck.

"I am listening." He tries lifting his hands like hes innocent, shooting Jason a look when he stifles a laugh at his lie.

"Nooo." You huff before making that familiar little grabby motion with your hand, fingers opening and closing impatiently. "C’mere!"

"Coming, bossypants," Dick teased, finally making his way over. The second he was within reach, your entire face lit up.

You grabbed his gloved hand with both of yours without hesitation, carefully turning it over, inspecting it.

Your tiny fingers traced the thick, dark blue material of his arm before moving to the lighter blue gloves of his discowling suit. 

“Whoa," you murmured to yourself, completely fascinated. He let you toy around, you were one of the select few who actually loved his new suit, his #1 defender when Jason tried to roast him over it. 

Speak of the devil, finally finishing with your hair he leaned back with a satisfied grin. "There."

He gave one of your uneven braids an approving nod before giving it a little tug which of course made you let out a dramatic gasp.

"Hey!" You squawk, doing your best to twist around and smack his shin with all the strength you could manage before looking back to Dick as if you didn’t just assault him. 

"Duck!" you cried, pulling on his hand urgently. "Jay pulled my hair!"

"I barely touched it," Jason protested not bothering to hide his grin.  

"You did!" You shriek back defensively, enraged by Jason trying to downplay his crimes.

Before Jason could defend himself again, Dick leaned down and scooped you up with practiced ease.

You happily welcome the change of brothers, wrap your arms around his neck with a delighted little smile. 

"There we go," Dick said, giving your back a gentle pat. "Much better."

You nodded very seriously. "Jay's mean."

Jason let out the most dramatic sigh imaginable, folding his arms across his chest. "You always baby her, Dick."

Dick raised an eyebrow, bouncing your much smaller frame in his arms, making you giggle like the very spoiled princess you were, “She’s 6, Jason” 

"Exactly!" Jason threw a hand into the air. "She's gonna grow up thinking she can get away with anything because you'll just–"

Without even looking at him, Dick casually reached out with his free hand, grabbed Jason by the ankle and yanked.

He slid clean off the Batmobile's hood with an undignified yelp before landing flat on his ass.

A burst of giggles escaped you so suddenly you nearly folded in half against Dick's shoulder as you pointed and laughed in Jason’s face.

Dick only smiled, entirely unapologetic when Jason let out a cuss at him. "What? You slipped."

Jason narrowed his eyes in a way Dick was all too familiar with. It was the exact expression Jason got right before doing something especially stupid.

Dick immediately shifted you off his hip, setting you safely back onto the Batmobile's hood.

The moment he got you settled, Jason launched forward straight into Dick's stomach, nearly knocking the air from his lungs as the two of them stumbled backward across the cave floor.

"Oh, you little–" Dick caught himself just before they both toppled over completely, wrapping an arm around Jason's shoulders and dragging him into a headlock instead. 

They both bursted into laughter as they shoved each other back and forth, neither putting any real strength behind it, more wrestling than fighting as boots squeaked across the polished concrete.

From your spot on the Batmobile came the loudest, happiest squeal imaginable, your little hands clapping together as you cheered on whoever looked like they were winning.

“Go, Duck! Yay, Jay!! 

The brothers were laughing too hard to care which one you were rooting for anymore, shoving each other back and forth. 

That was until a throat cleared, and the cave went silent almost instantly. Dick and Jason froze mid-scuffle, hands still fisted in each other’s suits, while your clapping stopped midair. 

All three of you slowly turned your heads toward the entrance, where Bruce stood with his cowl off and tucked beneath one arm, looking between his sons with the flattest, most unimpressed expression imaginable.

He had been gone for twenty minutes to make a few calls upstairs, and somehow he’d come back to find the Batcave turned into a wrestling ring. 

Jason immediately stepped away from Dick at the exact same time Dick let go of Jason, both of them standing apart like they hadn’t been seconds away from dragging each other to the cave floor.

Before Bruce could say anything, your voice cut through the silence. “Daddy!” you basically sang, smiling ever so innocently.

His gaze softened despite himself as you lifted both hands and made the same graby motion you had given Dick earlier, opening and closing your little fists until he finally sighed and walked over.

The second Bruce was close enough, you reached up to tug his face down toward yours, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

He closed his eyes for half a second, the tension in his shoulders easing before he returned one to your forehead. 

“Are the boys bugging you, angel?” he asked, though his eyes drifted to your uneven braids with faint amusement.

Of course, Dick and Jason had been the ones fighting, but Bruce was still more concerned about whether you had been bothered. 

You only smiled and shook your head, giving his arm a gentle little pat. “No, Daddy. They were just being silly,” you said. “But it’s okay now.”

"Hm." Bruce studied your face for another moment before giving a small nod. "If you say so."

He leaned down to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, earning an immediate fit of giggles before he finally straightened again.

His attention drifted back to Dick and Jason, though whatever annoyance he'd been feeling had all but disappeared.

"Try not to be a bad influence on your sister," he said dryly. "She's very impressionable."

"Ya!" you agreed immediately, as you puffed your little chest out proudly. "I'm very... impeshional."

Dick had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Jason, meanwhile, rolls his eyes with a joking scoff. 

"Actually," he began, already opening his mouth to make some smartass comment, "I think she's already–"

Dick didn't even spare him a glance as his elbow found his ribs. 

"Ow." Jason shot him a glare through grit teeth while Dick just looked at Bruce.

"Yep," he said casually, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders even despite the younget boys squirms, "Don't worry about it, B. We got her."

"I'll hold you to that," he said, pointing a finger between Dick and Jason, letting out a sigh. "If I come back and she's learned any new words she shouldn't know..."

The boys shared a look over, both silently thanking whatever god that you were far too busy sounding out impressionable to proudly inform your father about the word “fuck” that Dick had accidentally taught you the week before.

Eventually, seemingly satisfied, Bruce returned to the Batcomputer. His cape swept behind him as he disappeared back into work, though not before sending his sons one last warning glance over his shoulder.

Jason quickly shoves Dick away and hopped back onto the Batmobile beside you, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked you over

"So..." he began with a grin, "please tell me you've come up with something better than Princess Batgirl."

Your face scrunched into the fiercest scowl you could manage, though on your little face it came out more like an offended pout. 

“I did!” you insisted throwing your hands up exasperated. “But…” You frowned slowly lowering your arms. “I forgot it.”

Dick couldn't help snorting as he leaned against the Batmobile. “Well, until you remember, what about Nightwing Junior?”

Your nose wrinkled immediately, shaking your head hard enough for the braids to thrash a little. “No! 

“No?” Dick echoed, in faux surprise. “What's wrong with Nightwing Jr.?”

“That’s a boy's name,” you declared like it was obvious, looking at him as though he should've known better. “I'm a girl.”

Dick rolled his eyes before looking back at you. “Fine. No Nightwing Jr.”

Jason, who'd been watching the exchange, tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well... how about Shadow Girl?”

You turned to him curiously, though the annoyed furrow in your eyebrows made it very clear you didn’t like it. “Why!?”

He shrugged. “'Cause you're always following one of us around like a little shadow. Every time I turn around, you're just...there.”

“I don’t follow you!” you huffed, sounding genuinely offended, crossing your arms making both brother chuckle in your face.

“I just like being close.” Your voice softened as you tried to explain it properly, little fingers fiddling with your sleeve. “It makes my heart feel happy.”

The teasing faded from both their faces almost immediately, Dick’s expression going soft first, something fond settling over him, while Jason’s mouth opened slightly, stunned.

Before either of them could find their way back to a proper response, your eyes suddenly widened like you had been struck with the greatest idea in the world.

“Shadowheart!” you squeal, sitting up straighter on the Batmobile.

They both blinked at you, confused for a second before Jason tilted his head. “Shadowheart?”

“Ya!” you beamed, pressing one little hand to your chest as the idea came together. “Shadow ’cause I’ll always be there to save people, even when they don’t see me yet.” 

You nodded seriously, proud of how cool that sounded. “And heart because helping people will make my heart happy too!”

Dick went quiet for a moment, sharing a look with Jason didn’t bother holding back a soft smile your way.

Then Dick smiled, reaching over to gently fix one of your crooked braids. “Shadowheart,” he repeated softly. “Yeah, kiddo. I think that one’s perfect.”

The colourful memory fades into the dull present as Dick let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair, the footage paused on the monitor in front of him.

He had watched the recording more times than he cared to admit.

At first he'd been trying to see what had gone wrong with the introduction, M’gann told him she even had to use a mindlink with you.

Now he barely noticed anyone else in the frame, his eyes stayed fixed entirely on you.

He keeps replaying the look of pure bewilderment on your face when you see the suit and hear the name Shadowheart.

But what he’s most focused on is the small movement of hurt.

Dick scrubbed a hand down his face, replaying the memory from years ago instead. You had been six, proudly sitting on the Batmobile while you explained why Shadowheart was yours.

A sharp hiss escaped him as something burned against his side. He instinctively tried to twist away before a firm hand shoved him right back into place.

Barbara didn't even glance up from the wound as she dabbed another alcohol-soaked pad against the deep blade wound Slade had left across his ribs hours earlier.

"If you move again," she says, "I'm sedating you.”

"But it stings." He retorted half-heartedly, which earned him a look from Barbara reaching for fresh gauze.

"You've barely said a word since we got back," she observed, ignoring his whines. "Which is concerning, because usually I can't get you to stop talking."

He stays quiet for a moment longer knowing Bab’s was trying to prompt him to let it spills. Sometimes she hates how well she can read him.

But at the same time he adores her for it. Eventually the silence gets to him and he sighs pitifully, “I should’ve been there.” 

"You didn't have a choice," she reminded him softly without missing a beat, adjusting her wheelchair to lean closer. "Slade was literally trying to kill you."

"I know." He sighs hard. "Doesn't really change the fact that I wasn't there today."

“Dick–” Babs began, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He managed a tired smile and lifted her hand before she could say anything else, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Then he held it against his chest, right over his heart, and Barbara trailed off with a quiet sigh.

“You don’t have to reassure me, Babs,” he said softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I know my sister, and she’s definitely pissed I wasn’t there after all the shit I pulled to get her here.”

Barbara’s expression softened before gently pulling her hand free, only to rest it on his thigh instead.

“Well it was for good reason honey,” she said carefully, “from what you explained, it was the fastest and most practical option. With Bruce leaving and Alfred having to figure out all the Wayne logistics…”

She trails off, closing her eyes for a moment, a flash of uneasy darting over her face before she opens her eyes. “She was bound to get into some kind of trouble if she stayed in Gotham. Especially with the trafficking rings operating right now.”

Dick’s jaw tightened at the reminder. Gotham had been bad enough before, but the current case made the current situation feel so much worse. 

Every missing girl, every piece of human remains found, and all the dead ends of an active open case was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

And then there was you, furious, alone and reckless enough to walk yourself straight into danger just to prove nobody could control you.

“Yes, but she doesn’t know that,” he muttered, sinking back into the chair. His gaze dragged back to the monitor. “Not that she’d listen anyway.”

Dick continues letting out a humourless laugh. “I can already hear her. ‘Oh, so you blackmailed me for my own good? She’d call me fucking insane”

Barbara hummed, not quite disagreeing. “She wouldn’t be wrong about how it looks.”

“No,” he admitted, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye. “She wouldn’t.”

Dick let out another tired sigh before reaching for the keyboard, the paused footage still frozen on your face.

With the League heading toward the sub-galaxy and communication was going to be sparse.

Bruce had wanted regular updates on how you were settling in and dick was supposed to forward footage whenever a transmission window opened.

Dick wasn't about to send him this, there was no point in sending him footage of one of the worst moments of your first day.

Plus, he knew there was a chance Bruce would think it was too much for you and make you go back to the manor.

He could deal with this himself. He wanted to do this himself. He has to.

With one final click, he archived the recording into the League's secure database rather than flagging it for Bruce's next transmission package. .

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Just as M'gann had promised, no one came to bother you for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to agree that it ended the very next morning

Still, you'd managed to barricade yourself in your room for the next day even despite the voices from the hall.

You laid there acting as though you couldn't hear Artemis calling your name through the door or M'gann's gentle attempts to coax you into coming out for breakfast, insisting you had to eat something eventually.

Instead, you stayed stubbornly beneath your blankets with your phone clutched in one hand.

The pink suit had been kicked beneath your bed sometime after your bathroom breakdown, shoved as far back as your foot could reach so you wouldn't have to look at it.

After a while, boredom won and you unlocked your phone, expecting the usual flood of notifications. But there was concerningly… nothing.

You frowned, that... wasn't right, it was the most unnerving thing about this whole ordeal.

There was always something. A friend sending you a stupid TikTok at three in the morning, someone replying to one of your stories, tumblr notifications, instagram comments.

(…or an ex-situationship deciding they were over their little tantrum with how you played in their face and wanted you back.)

You refreshed your notifications, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping as absolutely nothing loads. "...What the fuck?"

You connected the dots very quickly that there had to be some kind of block on your socials and just like that the pleasantness of your room vanished.

You stared at the screen for a full ten seconds before letting out a laugh that sounded a little too close to a scream.

“Oh, that’s great,” you muttered, sitting up in bed. “That’s so fucking great.”

Your mind races for a way to protest this without going out of your way to find one of them and you land on an idea.

If they were going to block your socials, then they could also enjoy your search history. There was no way they weren’t monitoring it..

You opened your browser, hands trembling slightly as you started typing.

Outsiders flop compilation. Outsiders embarrassing losses. Nightwing fails. Nightwing being overrated. Nightwing hate pages. Nightwing getting his ass beat. Nightwing losing fights for ten minutes straight. Nightwing eating shit on concrete.

It was completely childish, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had just moved on to videos making fun of Nightwing's haircuts over the years when another knock came.

You didn’t move at first, just stared at the door, hoping your silence could make whoever give up. For a second, it seemed like it would work, but the knock came again, louder this time.

You rolled onto your back with a quiet groan, dragging your free hand over your face. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Conner said from the other side. 

Grumbling, you lowered your hand and stared at the ceiling. “Well, what do you want then?”

“Dick’s here, he wants to see you.” The words were enough to make you shoot upright, the phone nearly slipping from your hand as your eyes snapped toward the door.

So the asshole finally decided to show his face.

You were on your feet before you could stop yourself, slipping into your soft slippers and stomping to the door.

You opened it to find Conner leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes moving over you once before stopping for half a second on your hands.

You lifted your chin, feeling your normal confidence flood back into you. “Take me to him.”

One of his eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but whatever observation had crossed his mind stayed there.

Instead, he pushed himself off the wall with a small nod and turned toward the hallway.“This way.”

You followed without complaint, which was probably the most obedient you had been since stepping foot in this building.

The whole walk was quiet, your slippers barely making a sound against the polished floor as you kept your arms folded tightly across your chest.

Your mind was already racing ahead to the conversation. Good. He'd finally shown up. It had only taken him fucking forever.

You were already mentally drafting every insult you could think of.

‘Fuck you. Where the hell have you been? What the fuck did you do to my phone? You fucking prick. Stupid cunt.’

Ugh, you should've grabbed something to throw at him.

Your eyes briefly wandered down the hallway, searching for anything remotely throwable. But find nothing of substance and your scowl deepens. 

Whatever. You'd find something in the room. Hell, you’d throw yourself at him if you had to, head to his stupid fucking nose.

Conner glanced back over his shoulder, catching the way your eyes were darting around. "...Looking for something?"

You jolted slightly, not expecting him to look back, let alone comment. Then you recovered just as quickly, flashing him the sweetest smile you could manage. "No."

Conner’s eyes narrowed faintly, not looking convinced at all but he wisely decided not to ask another question and just turned his gaze back forward.

Eventually he stopped outside the door and glanced back at you.

You caught him looking and answered with a small, almost smug smile before lifting your chin, carefully schooling your features into practiced arrogance.

Conner let out a short huff that was suspiciously close to a laugh before the doors slid open. Stepping aside, he gestured for you to go in first.

You rolled your eyes, squared your shoulders, and walked inside without another word.

Dick stood beside one of the consoles, the blue glow of the holographic displays casting shifting light across the black and blue of his Nightwing suit. 

He turned fully as you stepped through the doorway, and the second your eyes met, his entire expression softened into an unmistakable smile. "Hey, you made it."

Your attention barely registered his greeting. Instead, it snagged on the phone still resting loosely in his hand and uour confidence faltered for the briefest moment.

Right, the recording.

Your stomach gave an unpleasant little twist as the memory resurfaced.

You'd spent the few minutes convincing yourself that you were going to tear into him, demand answers, maybe throw something if the opportunity presented itself.

But Dick Grayson wasn't exactly defenceless.

He'd been a vigilante longer than you'd been alive. If he had managed to get a recording of you at the club without you realizing it until afterward, who knew what else he had tucked away?

Your hesitation lasted less than a heartbeat– Whatever, you already made it this fucking far and you might implode if you don’t cuss at him soon.

Instead, your gaze lifted from the phone to his face, one brow arching as your lips curled into a petty smile that didn't reach your eyes.

"Wow," you said sweetly. "You finally remembered I exist."

Dick let out a slow breath, and the smile he’d greeted you with faded almost immediately.

"Come on..." he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't be like this. If you'll just let me explain, this if for–"

“For my own good?” you cut in, a bitter laugh escaping you before he could finish. “Go on. You have any more bullshit left in you, Grayson?”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with a measured breath. You could see him trying to be patient. "Look, I know you're angry–"

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "What fucking gave it away?"

He opened his mouth again, but you laughed before he could get a word in. 

"Tell me something, Dick. Do you ever get tired of turning your siblings into sidekicks?" Your smile grew mean. "Or is that just the family business?"

“You aren’t a sidekick–” Dick started, but the strain in his voice had visibly thinned as you cut him off again.

"You find another kid, slap a mask on them, tell them they're doing something good..." You gestured vaguely around the room. "Then send them out to get the shit kicked out of them every night."

His jaw tightened, the phone in his hand shifted slightly as his grip grew firmer around it.

For half a second, you swore you heard the faintest crack coming from the phone, he’s going to snap. Just what you wanted. 

"Is that what this is?" You basically cooed going for the kill. "You got tired of waiting for the next one to die, so you figured you'd speed things along with me?"

"Enough!"

The word boomed through the room so suddenly that you flinched before you could stop yourself.

Your shoulders jerked instinctively, your breath catching as your body took a small, involuntary step backward.

For a moment he no longer was your older brother stadnign in front of you, but Nightwing.

His chest rose and fell with one sharp breath, his eyes widening almost immediately as the anger drained from his face.

Regret replaced it just as quickly before it settled into a haunting, flat casual look.

The change was so abrupt it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, whatever mask Dick had just put on was basically a brick wall.

“Pretty cool base, right?” Dick starts, making your brows knit together, you nearly got whiplash at the speed of his topic change.

“...huh?”

He glanced around the comm room as though he were giving you the grand tour instead of standing in the wreckage of whatever the fuck this conversation had just become.

"State-of-the-art systems," he continued casual as ever. "Reinforced walls, multiple exits, motion sensors in most corridors."

Your mouth remained slightly open, the next insult dying somewhere on your tongue. What the fuck was he doing?

His eyes found yours again, that same unsettlingly composed expression never wavering.

Then almost too quickly to catch, his gaze flicked toward the upper corner of the room. "High-quality security cameras, too."

Your stomach dropped following his gaze and there it was, a small, dark, nearly invisible against the ceiling panel. 

Your eyes moved to another corner, then another, then– yeah, they were fucking everywhere and you knew exactly what he was threatening.

You grit your teeth thinking it over, a clip of you screaming at Bruce’s golden child, cussing him out right after your father had trusted him with you, would be perfect. 

(Wow blackmail really seemed to be Dicks new specialty.)

You closed your mouth slowly and for a second, all you could do was stare at him before you let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “You’re insane.” 

Dick's shoulders rose in an almost lazy shrug as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “I’m just saying. You might want to be aware of your surroundings.” 

“You are actually insane,” you said again, quieter this time. Dick held your gaze for another second, his expression softening.

“No,” he said. “I’m just your older brother.”

You just glared at him with as much hatred as you could physically force into your face.

Dick didn’t even flinch, he only raised his brows slightly, like he understood the look perfectly and knew it wasn’t going to do shit.

Then, just like that, he clapped his hands together once, the tension disappearing from his posture completely.

“Alright,” he said, his voice suddenly far too cheerful. “Get changed. We're running training drills with the team in 20.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“You heard me.” He started toward the door as if the conversation had been perfectly normal, pausing with one hand resting against the frame before glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes dropped to your hands. 

“Oh.” A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You already cut your nails.”

Your stomach lurched, and that familiar heat exploded from your chest all over.

“Good thinking ahead, kiddo,” Dick said with an approving nod. “Makes training a lot easier. Long nails and hand-to-hand combat don't exactly mix.”

He just smiled at you as if mocking you. Before you could think of something venomous to throw back at him, he simply turned and walked out. 

Conner fell into step beside him without so much as glancing your way, and a second later the doors slid shut behind them with a quiet hiss.

For exactly three seconds, you didn’t move. You just stared after them, baffled. Then a violent flood of offence hit you all at once.

You turned toward the nearest wall, lifted your fist to your mouth, and bit down hard on the side of your hand to stop yourself from screaming.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

Oh my God, fuck him.

Your teeth pressed harder into your skin, you wanted to punch something, but you couldn't. Because every inch of this stupid base had cameras, and Dick had made sure you knew.

You pulled your hand away slowly, breathing through your nose until the first wave of rage settled into something less violent.

You could always not put on the suit, you shift in place but your gaze instinctively finds the camera again.

Did you really have a choice? You show up to whatever shit Dick has planned which is probably in front of other people because of course it will be.

He’d just embarrass you more sending you back to change. God, fuck him.

Now you had to put on that shitty suit, walk back into a room full of loser sidekicks, and play teammate like you did not want to claw your way through the nearest wall.

“Stupid fucking Dick,” you hiss under your breath, walking quickly. “Big brother my ass.”

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Apparently, you'd kicked the suit so far beneath your bed that it had disappeared into the depths of hell. Which, honestly was exactly where it belonged.

You dropped onto your stomach and reached under the frame, your fingers blindly touching around. "...Come here, you little bitch."

Your fingertips finally snagged the edge of the fabric and you dragged it out like a dead animal.

The stupid heart-shaped bat emblem stares up at you with the same infuriating cheerfulness as yesterday.

The first problem was that you had absolutely no idea what you were supposed to wear under the thing.

Your only point of reference came from years of tabloids and paparazzi shots, most of which seemed far more interested in what Catwoman was, or more specifically wasn't wearing under it when with… Batman. 

You physically grimaced. Barf.

As far as the media was concerned, the answer appeared to be "underwear and little else.".

But you assumed there had to be some other reason that was less about sex and more about getting to wounds quicker.

With a resigned sigh, you wandered over to your dresser and pulled open the top drawer but then you paused.

Everything inside was pretty, expensive, and unfortunately, all gorgeous matching sets of lace, little bows, and too many straps to barely anything at all. 

You had not packed athletic underwear, sports bras, or anything that suggested you might suddenly need to fight crime or do more than an intense Pilates session where you’re more focused on getting good pictures.

Eventually, you picked the bra least likely to stab you with underwire and the underwear least likely to give you an astronomical wedgie later. 

Getting the suit on was considerably worse. You had to hop twice to get it past your thighs, then again to pull it over your hips, muttering curses at the fabric as it could hear you.

You’re sure there were zippers somewhere, but you genuinely could not find them for the life of you. 

Once you finally got it up properly, you paused mentally comparing it to the childish drawing you made years ago as you looked down at yourself. 

The tutu was gone, instead a loose skirt layered over the leotard and plated tights.

It moved when you shifted, less ballerina and more… tactical, maybe even for modesty, because this suit did wonders for your butt under it.

You sigh, tugging at the edges of the suit before you glance around the room for the actual box.

Near where you had tossed it earlier, the accessories were scattered across the floor: A utility belt, mask, gloves, and other little pieces you had no idea how to attach.

The utility belt alone looked like it had six different compartments, while the gloves had reinforced knuckles, and the mask looked like it was taunting you.

Of course, everything was some sort of pink with the occasional emo black.

“Fucking extra,” you muttered, deciding against torturing yourself more, stepping over the belt as you moved to the tall mirror.

You adjusted the skirt one last time, rolled your shoulders back, and headed for the door to get this shit over with.

You walked absentmindedly down the hallway, your bare hand skimming lazily along the cool metal wall as you tried very hard not to think about how ridiculous you felt.

You rounded another corner, still brewing up your hatred and rage for Dick the next time you saw him, when your footsteps abruptly stopped.

The hallway split into two identical paths. It was only then that you realized you had absolutely no idea where you were supposed to be going.

You looked down one hallway, then the other, then back toward your room.

Then repeat, as if the answer might magically appear as your chest starts throbbing with hot irritation.

Your scowl deepened, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

With an irritated huff, you spun on your heel, fully prepared to march back to your room, call Dick, and ask him whether he was a fucking idiot or if he was just making a hobby out of pissing you off.

But much to your absolute horror, there was a face leaning into yours as soon as you turned

You let out the most ridiculous shriek, stumbling backward so violently your shoulder smacked into the wall.

One hand flew to your chest while the clawed helplessly at the wall.

The boy in front of you jumped just as badly. His own hands shot into the air in surrender, eyes wide and cautious.

"Whoa!" he blurted. "Sorry! Sorry– I didn't mean to scare you!"

Your chest heaved as you stared, taking him in.

He looked around your age, maybe a little older, with messy auburn hair that looked like he’d just gotten out of bed and bright amber-green eyes stared back at you with a curious fascination.

His skin dusted with freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks and seemed to dip down his neck. He was lean, all long limbs and restless movement. Even now, after scaring the shit out of you

Ben.

No.

Barry?

No, Barry was the older hot one.

This one was…

Bart.

You lowered your hand from your chest as your breathing finally began to steady. You straighten before glaring at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Bart blinked, his hands still held in surrender, but his sheepish expression shifted into something more defensive, his apologetic smile disappearing.

"Hey," he snapped back, "you don't have to bite my head off. I was just gonna ask if you wanted help."

You scoffed, immediately pointing a finger at him. "Well, maybe don't sneak up on people like a fucking creep and shove your face three inches from mine."

"I didn't shove my face anywhere!" Bart protested, gesturing wildly to himself. "I was running by, saw you standing here looking completely lost, and stopped!"

You rolled your eyes and lifted your chin. “I know where I’m going.”

Bart gave you a thoroughly unimpressed look, one eyebrow lifting. “Okay,” he said after a beat, “Then forget I asked.” 

You crossed your arms, matching his look with one of your own. “Fine.”

Bart stared at you for a second, then exhaled hard through his nose, glancing briefly down the hallway, “Yeah, I’m starting to get why Tim told me not to take anything personally.”

Even though the words were whispered under his breath, you heard them clear as day. 

Tim. Always fucking Tim. 

“Oh,” You scoffed, the sound loud enough to make Bart’s eyes flick back to you. “You’re one of his little friends, then?”

His brows knitted together in confusion. “Excuse me?”

You just flash him a taunting smile. “Cute.”

His mouth opened immediately, probably to snap back, but he clearly thinks better of it. His jaw worked for half a second before he rolled his eyes, stepping away from you.

He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. When he looked at you again, his expression had changed into something much more polite. 

“Look,” he said carefully. “We got off on the wrong foot there. I’m Bart and–.”

“Can you get to the point?” The interruption cut him clean off.

“I really don't want to do the whole small-talk thing.” You folded your arms tighter across your chest. “I'm not here to make friends.”

Bart took a sharp breath in, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a second, you thought he might actually lose patience with you. Instead, he just nodded stiffly.

“Right.” He squeezed out, it sounded like he was holding his breath as he spat those words out. “Are you on your way to the training room? I’m headed that way, so–”

His gaze dropped as he spoke, a quick glance at most, with his eyes flicking over your suit.

(Honestly, it was the longest a guy had gone without immediately looking at your body.)

Still, your arms crossed tighter over your chest, your upper body angling away from him. “My eyes are up here.”

Bart’s head snapped back up so fast it would’ve been funny if you weren’t already pissed off.

“I wasn’t–” He stopped himself, then let out a short baffled laugh. “I wasn’t checking you out.”

You gave him an unamused look. “Right.”

“I wasn’t,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I was looking at the suit.”

“Mhm.”

Bart’s eyebrows pulled together, his hands raising higher in front of him as he spoke. “No, seriously. You’re missing half the gear.”

You glanced down at yourself, wondering how the hell he knew what parts your suit was supposed to have before you looked back at him. “And?”

You watch him swallow hard, his hands dropping back to his sides. “And most people usually bring the gear when they’re going to train.”

You gave him a bored look, one of your fingers tapping your arm to emphasize your disinterest. “Good for them.”

Bart stared at you for a second, and you felt a spike of satisfaction at getting under his skin. But that feeling doesn’t last long because he laughs. 

You frowned, your look of nonchalance dropping for a split second before you brought it back. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, say it.” You stepped closer, and he took one step back, like the two of you had started some stupid little game. “You clearly found something funny.”

He shook his head, glancing down the hallway like the wall had suddenly become fascinating. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed as you scowled, fresh irritation washing over you in waves. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Bart looked back at you with an amused, irritating smile that made you want to slap it clean off his face.

“My problem,” he said, already turning on his heel, “is that I don’t want to be late for training. So, bye”

You stood there for a second, watching him walk away. Your mouth parted, then snapped shut, because God, you wanted him dead.

Actually, no, fuck that. You wanted to kill him yourself. He was going on the list after Dick and Tim.

“Wow,” you called after him, voice dripping with disbelief and ridicule, trying to rile him back up. “Real mature.”

Bart lifted one hand without looking back, giving a lazy little wave clearly dismissing you. “Thanks.”

Your jaw tightened as you glared holes into the back of his head, trying to will the heat of your hatred to set his stupid hair on fire.

You shifted on your feet for a small moment, watching him walk at an idle pace, like he had all the time in the world. 

But then he got closer to a bend in the hallway, and your irritation faltered.

Unfortunately, he was probably your only chance of getting to the training room without having to call Dick, which you now realized would mean having your dear older brother escort you into training. 

Fuck.

“Wait.”

Bart kept walking for half a second before slowing near the corner. He turned his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. “What?” 

You drop your hands to your hips, trying to regain control of this conversation. “I’m going that way.”

Bart’s eyebrows lifted his stupid smile back on his face. “Really?”

You have to stop your face from twisting into a sneer. “Is that an issue?”

“Nope.” He popped the word lightly, turning back toward the bend. “Just didn’t realize you were also headed to the place you didn’t know how to get to.”

Your face warmed instantly, which only made you angrier. “I know how to get there.”

“Mhm.”

You scoff as you stalked toward him, each step harder than the last. “You’re really smug for someone named Bart.”

You briefly see him raise a brow, but he looks far from offended. You pushed past him, ignoring the look, brushing his shoulder with yours on purpose. “Move.”

Bart moved back half a step before catching himself, watching you march confidently past with your head held high. He’s still smiling like you were the funniest thing he’s seen all day. 

Your shoulders relaxed the tiniest as you continued marching forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

He let you make it a solid 4 steps before calling out to you lazily. “Training room’s the other way.”

You feel your body lock up, your foot hovered awkwardly in the air before planting itself on the floor as you came to a complete stop.

You turned slowly to see he hadn’t moved from the spot where you passed him. “...What?”

Hos arms were now folded across his chest as he just nodded toward the opposite hallway. “It’s that way.”

Your face burned in embarrassment and anger. Did he seriously walk down the wrong hallway just to do this stupid little joke?

Did he actually waste both of your time so he could watch you be wrong for three seconds?

Your body slowly turns fully toward him, mouth already opening, ready to start cussing at him until he cried.

But before you could get a word out, he laughs yet again, and you find that you never want to hear that sound again.

“Ha!” Bart finally managed between laughs, straightening enough to wipe at the corner of one eye. “I'm kidding!”

You just stared at him blankly, truly wordless feeling more murderous by the second.

He had the audacity to pat your shoulder as he walked past, though he noticeably picked up his pace the second he did.

Probably realizing there was a very real chance you’d kick him. “You shouldve seen the look on your face.”

You watched him continue down the hallway, shoulders still bouncing slightly with his laughter and clench your fists so hard you feel your pinkie start to throb again.

You have to count 5 things you could see, feel and hear to avoid strangling him as you followed him silently. 

But in your head, you kicked the back of his knees in. Then, when he dropped, you elbowed him down on the back of the head.

The rest of the walk was silent. Or at least it was on your end. Bart, apparently, had never learned how to shut the fuck up.

He hummed under his breath as he walked. Then he muttered something to himself, too fast for you to catch. 

The cherry on top was that every once in a while, he let out the smallest chuckle, probably replaying how he had just played in your fucking face.

You hated him.

Of course he was Tim’s friend. It made perfect sense for Tim to be friends with someone this annoying.

You really should have worn the belt, maybe then you could have used it to whip the back of his stupid fucking–

Bart stopped abruptly, making you walk straight into his back. Your hands shot out on instinct, catching yourself against his back before you fully collided with him.

For one traitorous, deeply disgusting second, your brain noticed something it had absolutely no business noticing.

His back was nice. 

Solid muscle beneath the fabric of his suit and under the smell of what you think is shawarma poutine that he likely just stuffed in his mouth… You smell a really nice citrus-y scent you couldn’t place. 

Your hands jerked away like you had been burned, and you took one sharp step back, putting as much space between you as possible.

Absolutely fucking not. You stabbed the thought to death before it could turn into anything worse.

(You made a mental note to find someone to make out with the first chance you got, because you were obviously going through withdrawals.)

Bart turned at the same time, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes flicked over you. “Sorry,” he said, his voice much softer than before. “That’s my bad.”

You crossed your arms immediately, taking another deliberate step back and rolled your eyes hard enough that it almost hurt. “Whatever.”

His eyes flicked over your face, then away again as he sighed and gestured toward a set of double doors ahead. “This is the training room. Everyone’s probably already inside.”

“No shit.” You grumbled, avoiding looking at him.

Bart sighed again, louder this time, but didn’t take your bait. He took a few steps forward and pressed the side panel and the double doors slid open with a soft hiss.

You moved to follow him, already bracing yourself for whatever fresh humiliation was waiting on the other side, but of course, he had to pause midway through the doorway.

This time, you caught yourself before you could walk into him again. You looked up at him, confused and, of course, annoyed. “What now?”

Bart glanced toward the open room, then back at you. His voice was lower when he spoke, almost casual.

“For the record,” he said, “the suit looks nice on you.”

Your brows pinched together immediately, annoyance flashing across your face. Was that supposed to make up for the last fifteen minutes?

You narrowed your eyes at him, was it pity? Or worse, he thought you looked insecure in the suit and was trying to make you feel better.

The thought alone made you scowl, you didn’t need his fucking reassurance.

Bart seemed to realize he had said enough. He cleared his throat, stepping fully through the doorway and leaving it open for you to follow.

“Anyway,” he said, the teasing note returning just enough to piss you off all over again, “try not to kill anyone.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A/N: Hello again First, I am so, so sorry for the long wait. I was supposed to post this a few days ago like I said, but I ended up getting my period after almost a whole year without it and was hit with the most evil cramps ever </3

On another note, please let me know if the braiding scene felt vague enough for different hair types. From what I know, braids can be interpreted in many different ways across hair textures and cultures, so I really hope you were able to imagine it in a way that matched you. I’m always open to feedback, so please don’t hold back!

Taglist (plz yell at me if i missed you): @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 @fennecspage @x-vadon @v10l3tst4tqc @daiyanomochi @heloixe @sarah-luz @byvenomdollz @yoyogirl67 @lanesraaaaa @hotgirlslikemax @w1rele55 @lilaclesia @alelapulema @suvivve @ziyaexe @httydfreakbaby @starlight100 @venomsvl @trawbbyblnde @seistrawberrie @bunniotomia @ustanotherweeb666 @qianette-sanzusgirl @esposadomd @novasilvae @swag13r @iamaunknownsecret @jealouscupcake @trashybunny2018 @wisefuncherryblossom @coconutx-o @acreativeusername @hearts4mica @mimi-sanisanidiot @noone1233nobody @ghastolyn @wendee-go @juninnyxriddle @sukunassidechick @lyuuu88 @barn-troll @wisefuncherryblossom @savagelysevereassassin @maferisa-7 @thewitchesofart @e-dollly @reiluvr @miuangel @coconutx-o @x-vadon

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 :))

That hollow truth sat heavy in your chest, and every time the cape came first, it reminded you that even your best smiles couldn’t make you feel like you belonged in the their family. Make you belong with The Bats.

Your family saw you as spoiled, too much of a socialite to be taken seriously. They weren’t entirely wrong.

You lived for the banquets, spending your dad’s money, the dizzy blur of Gotham nightlife— it was easy to vanish in that world, easier than trying to keep pace with heroes who measured worth in bruises and broken bones. 

Though there was your occasional reminiscing on how you used to be close, how you used to put on your own tiny mask and trail after them like they were the only source of light through Gotham’s smog.

But that was before. Before Jason died, and before they sent you away.

You told yourself you didn’t want that life anyway. You told yourself you only wanted Gotham on your terms, not the team missions, not the world-saving. Just your city, your rules.

So here you were, proving the point.

The club was pulsing around you, sweat and neon dripping down the walls, bass rattling through your ribs like a second heartbeat. You weren’t the Bats daughter tonight, not the polished darling Wayne who smiled too bright for cameras. 

You were just another body on the floor, letting an older stranger’s hand rest heavy on your waist, his grin promising exactly the kind of trouble you craved. 

You felt extra bold tonight with your dad out of Gotham, both he and Alfred gone for the weekend doing something that they didn’t bother to tell you about.

Whatever, like you’d care either way. This just meant you could party in the city and not worry about fucking Batman dropping down at the club entrance to drag your ass home.

Sneaking out was second nature to you at this point out. They may play you as a stuck-up, stupid socialite, but you had to have skill to actually get away with all you did.

A simple footage loop of the surveillance tapes from last week, and bam! It'll seem like you were in your bedroom the whoooole night.

Youve used this trick at least five hundred times. It got to the point where you genuinely wondered if your family knew and just didn’t give a shit.

But no, you soon realized they simply didnt bothered because they never expected anything from you.

They never considered you capable of anything but acting like Regina George. Even Alfred who you spent the most time with, hadn’t even put the effort to at least dust the security cameras in the hall down to your room.

So when you threw your fit about some girl drama, they believed you and your dramatics without batting an eye. More than happy to have you be sulking while online shopping alone in your room, and nothing more.

HA. As if you’d throw away being completely unsupervised on a Friday night.

You’re brought back to the momet when the guy presses closer. His cologne burned your nose, but you didn’t pull away. You laughed, as he turns you around and goes to kiss at your neck. 

Sighing into the touch, you let him grip your hand to tip your drink into your mouth, letting the burn of liquor convince you this was exactly what you wanted.

You loved that burn. The buzz it left you with when you lost yourself like this. 

You hum swaying your hips to the song letting whatever this guys name is paw at you. He was cute. Hot even. But you’d never let it blossom into anything meaningful.

He was yours for the night you’ve decided, but you’d sneak off after you got your fix. (you were your fathers daughter afterall).

Your free hand slide to his hair to grip and pull his face back. There was the slight graze of stubble against your jaw when as leans closer.

The stranger grins, his eyes were half-lidded trailing over you, one of his hands slip from your hip over your behind to tug at the hem of your dress. You let him, despite the small pit that forms in your gut at the action.

His lips hovered a breath from yours, a reckless, dangerous dare you leaned into—

“Unbelievable.”

The word cut sharper than the music, slicing straight through the haze. You froze, not because you didn’t recognize the voice, but because you always would.

A hand seized your wrist before the kiss could land. The stranger swore as he’s shoved, stumbling back, but one glare from Dick Grayson sent him vanishing into the crowd like smoke. 

Fucking coward, you seethe to yourself as you’re essentially left to the wolves. You slowly lift your head. The strobe lights painted his anger in harsh whites and shadows, and you hated that it made him look more like a Bat than a brother.

“Are you insane?” he snapped, dragging you off the floor as if the walls might cave in if he let go. The music thundered on, but the grip of his hand was louder.

“You shouldn’t even be here!” Dick’s voice cracked like a whip, low enough not to draw attention but sharp enough to make you flinch. “Do you even realize how old—”

“Let me go,” you hissed, tugging against him. Heads were starting to turn, and the last thing you needed was a scene

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Not when you twisted, not when you dug your nails into his wrist, not even when you hissed his name through clenched teeth. 

He hauled you off the dance floor like a crook in cuffs, weaving through the crowd until you realized he wasn’t heading for the door.

Instead, he beelined deeper into the club, much to your confusion, before eventually stopping at a booth tucked in the corner, and your stomach plummeted.

….

Oh, great. What was this? A reunion tour?

Artemis leaned back in her seat, arms folded, sharp eyes flicking between you and your brother, her brows furrowed. Roy lounged with his usual smirk, though it faltered when his gaze really settled on you. And then there was Conner, who sat stiff as stone, arms crossed, and jaw tight, but his eyes softened.

You froze, caught like a spotlight had slammed onto you. These weren’t just heroes. These were people who’d once adored you almost as much as you adored them. For years, you’d wanted nothing more than to be one of them.

But that was before.

Before Bruce had sent you away. Boarding school, miles away with entitled classmates who measured worth in money and power instead of scars; and teachers who completely crushed any faith you had in adults protecting you.

By the time you came back, you weren’t the same and neither was their image of you. 

You’d traded training for galas, patrols for paparazzi, and every glimpse they caught of you was in a tabloid headline or splashed across some social media page. Gotham’s glittering Wayne, the spoiled socialite with the city wrapped around her pinkie finger.

You knew they thought you were rebelling, but not like this.

Dick shoved you into the booth before you could find your footing, the drink in your hand spilling a bit, which you fumblingly placed on the table. 

Geez, what a dick. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, fury barely leashed. “You’re underage, drinking, and— God! Him!? Do you have any idea how bad that could’ve gone?”

Dick’s hand was still clamped around your wrist, anchoring you to the booth like you might bolt if he let go. His voice came low, sharp enough to slice through the music.

You jerked your wrist, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Ugh, calm down. You being over dramatic!” you snapped, sinking into the booth like you owned it. “I was just having fun, Dick. It’s not the end of the world!”

You reached for your glass with your free hand, ready to dig your grave deeper with another sip only for it to be snatched from your hand. 

You blinked, and Roy was already holding it out of reach, his jaw tight in a way you weren’t used to seeing.

“Seriously?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He shook his head. “You don’t need this. You’re already in enough trouble.” His voice wasn’t angry, not like Dick’s, but the quiet disappointment behind it somehow landed harder. You just scoff, looking back at Dick with a glare.

Artemis exhaled, sharp and low, the sound cutting through the thrum of bass. “This isn’t having  fun, it’s being reckless. You know better.”

You didn’t look at her. You kept your eyes on Dick, lips curling in a smirk you didn’t really feel. Ignoring Artemis was easier than hearing her tone, easier than letting it sting the way it always did.

Having not had a mother of your own, you tended to latch onto Dick’s female friends. Artemis was no exception. You used to adore her, even despite her finding you a bit annoying at first, but you grew on her.

How could you not? With the way you clung to her; wide-eyed and adoring, waiting for the smallest scrap of approval. But that was then, when you were younger, sweeter, different.

Artemis didn’t comment on how you blatantly ignored her. Instead, she just snagged Dick’s jacket from the booth and snapped it around your shoulders, tugging the collar up. “Cover up,” she said, clipped and firm.

You scoffed instantly, shoving the jacket off your shoulders and onto the seat beside you. “Why would I? It’s hot in here.” Your voice dripped with indifference, though heat still burned in your cheeks.

Your dress was short, showed a lot more than it should. You knew that. You picked it out for that reason. But now in front of them, you felt more uncomfortable than you did all night.

Dick’s jaw locked as your scoff rang in the heavy air. The jacket you’d shoved aside slid half off the booth, its dark fabric pooling like a shadow you refused to claim. 

For a second, he just stared at you— at the defiance in your chin tilt, the burn still clinging to your cheeks, the expression that screamed untouchable. 

Then, without warning, his hand shot out, fingers fisting the jacket with the same precision he’d use on a grapple line. 

In one rough motion, he hauled it up and over your shoulders again, not giving you the chance to shrug it off this time. His grip was unyielding, pinning the collar in place as though he could anchor you to the fabric by sheer force of will.

“Dick—” you snapped, trying to twist away, but he was already zipping it up, the sound loud and final. The zipper caught at your throat with a sharp click, sealing the jacket up to your chin. 

You were trapped in the heavy folds of his jacket, the scent of him and leather pressing close. You felt your heart squeeze for a moment as you realized you didn’t recognize his smell anymore.

He leaned in, bracing one hand flat on the table beside you, the other still gripping the jacket at your collar. His eyes burned under the strobing lights, catching every flicker of your stubborn defiance and daring you to meet it.

“You think this is a game?” His voice was low, sharp enough to cut through the thrum of bass, steady enough to drown it out. “Sneaking drinks, letting strangers try to kiss you, laughing like it’s nothing— what the hell is wrong with you?”

The words weren’t shouted, but they landed harsher than any scream could have. For a moment, the rest of the booth didn’t exist; all of it faded under the weight of Dick’s fury.

“You’re not walking out of here half-dressed and drunk,” he continued, voice dropping lower still, almost a growl. “Not while I’m around."

The collar of the jacket pressed tight against your chin, his hand still holding it like a lock, and you hated that for a flicker of a second, you felt safer for it.

That moment of safety didn’t last because the expression he gave you reminded you of someone you knew Dick tried so hard to be different from. Someone you knew who he’d tell everything about tonight to.

Bruce.

Your stomach knotted so hard it almost hurt.

You could handle Dick’s disapproval. You could even handle the team staring at you like you were some reckless kid instead of the sweet, wide-eyed Wayne they’d once adored.

But your dad? You’d built an image for him, a careful facade of being the polished socialite who at least pretended to act with some restraint.

He was fine with you at those posh parties, fine with the charities, the galas; his indifference was something you’d learned to survive. But this? You were spoiled, sure, but not drunk in a club, letting some guy paw at you. He’d lose his mind over this.

Especially since he still believed you were the “soft” one. The one with limited skills, hesitant to get their hands dirty, the one who wouldn’t dare do anything that could break a nail. The one who couldn’t protect herself against something as simple as petty theft, where a pool noodle was the weapon.

What would he even do once he found out?

Would he finally turn a quarter of his attention back onto you?

Would he cut the tree you use to get in and out of your window, the one thing you have that lets you slip past the manor’s walls?

Or would he see this as one more mess he doesn’t have time to deal with and send you away again?

Your stomach lurched. You couldn’t go back there.

Not back there.

Not to that place— that school, that exile disguised as a safe haven.

No.

The thought alone made your throat close. For one dizzy second, the club spun with it. Neon and sweat and bass dissolving into the image of your father’s voice in your head.

You had to think fast. What could you do to outsmart Nightwing? You mind races for a moment before you decide to do what you do best.

Fake it until you make it.

Taking a quick breath you swallowed it down, hard, forcing your mouth into a smirk you didn’t feel.

Your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and brittle all at once. “I can handle myself,” you spat, your nails digging crescent moons into your palms before a hand moved to shove his hands off of you. He let his hands fall away but it didn’t slip past you how his hands clenched into fists.

“I had everything under control until you came.” You tried to make the words sound solid, unshakable, but they rang thin in your own ears. 

Dick’s laugh was humourless, jagged as broken glass. He leaned close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw, the irritation etched into the corners of his eyes. 

“Control?” he echoed, voice low, dangerous in its restraint. “You call letting some creep twice your age put his hands on you control?”

Your chest tightened, and God, you hated that his words made you flinch. You rolled your eyes to cover it, pressing your back harder into the booth. “He wasn’t dangerous. He just wanted—”

“Exactly,” Dick cut in, the word like a blade. His hand slammed down on the table, making the half-empty glasses rattle. “He just wanted. And you have no idea how quickly that could’ve turned into something you couldn’t laugh your way out of.”

For a second, no one breathed. Then Roy cleared his throat, muttering, “He’s not wrong.” His tone lacked its usual edge, more uneasy than mocking.

Conner’s arms remained folded, but his brow furrowed, the tight set of his jaw softening. “You don’t always see danger until it’s already too late,” he said quietly, not a lecture, not an accusation, just a fact.

You scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut through the weight in the air. “Please,” you snapped, tossing your hair back with a defiance you didn’t quite feel. “I could’ve gotten away any second I wanted. I can even get away from this.”

Shit, you actually said that— why don’t you go find an actual shovel to dig your grave deeper?

The words hit hard as their reactions settle around you: Dick’s jaw tightening, Roy leaning back with that sharp smirk barely hiding annoyance, Artemis’s eyes narrowing into calculated lines.

For a second, you let the panic flutter, the rush of being cornered—

Get away from heroes, yeah right!

You’re screwed. Completely fucked. You could start crying thinking about seeing the headmaster again—

Suddenly you pause, letting the world sink in. Why the hell are you underselling yourself?

Sure, you haven’t been swinging across rooftops or cracking criminals’ heads in years, but you’ve had your own missions.

Not flashy, not public, not exactly heroic in the traditional sense but ones that showed you were precise and at your core, effective.

Slipping past surveillance cameras without leaving a trace. Dodging paparazzi that track your every move. Even crafting a mask so perfect that even your father, the master of reading nanoexpressions, couldn’t tell the smallest twitch away from the real you.

These were missions of skill and calculation. Skills that had you staying one step ahead while the world thought you were nothing but a socialite.

Above all, you’ve mastered the art to get away. Not with brute force. Not with muscle. But with patience, stealth, and sheer nerve.

And despite them being seasoned heroes who have faced mind manipulation, endured the sharpest verbal assaults from the most irritating villains

you had one advantage; their overconfidence when it came to you. They thought they knew you. Thought the years away, the tabloids, the gossip, and the glittering public persona had stripped away whatever edge you once had.

They thought the little girl who used to have potential was gone, replaced by a reckless, spoiled socialite who couldn’t survive a night without their intervention.

And they loved believing that. Loved it the way heroes love being right, loved it like it gave them certainty in a chaotic world. They relished the idea that your wide-eyed, reckless reputation was all you had become.

For once, knowing they thought that if you made you gleam. Their certainty became your weapon. Their dismissal became your leverage.

You could work with that. You just had to push them, bait them, let their egos convince them they were in control.

The thought coils in your chest like fire, reckless and alive, making your grin sharper, more deliberate.

This wasn’t just defiance anymore. This was strategy. Dangerous, delicious strategy.

You wore a cocky grin as your glare swept across the table, daring anyone to challenge you. 

Roy’s smirk reappeared, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back, shaking his head. “If you really believe that,” he said, voice dry but tinged with unease, “then you’re dumber than the tabloids make you out to be.”

“Roy,” Artemis warned, her tone sharp as her gaze flicked toward him. But she didn’t look at you with softness either. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, unflinching, like she could see straight through the brittle walls you kept throwing up.

You rolled your eyes, flicking your hair back with a deliberate snap, letting the defiance taste sharper than it felt. “I’m not some stupid socialite,” you spat, voice clipped, snapping at the silence around the table. “I know I can get away.”

The words hung there like a challenge, and you saw it immediately. Shared looks darting between them, quick and subtle, the way people who’ve faced real danger recognize a taunt the second they hear it. 

Cmon.

Roy’s smirk faltered, just slightly, though the corner of his mouth tugged in that familiar, warning way. Dick’s jaw tightened, the set of it rigid, restrained, like he was calculating how far he’d let you push before it snapped. 

Conner’s arms folded a fraction more rigidly, shoulders squared, eyes narrowing at the challenge your words had planted. Even Artemis’s gaze sharpened, cold and precise, tracking every small movement, every flicker of expression, scanning you like a hawk weighing prey.

For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the table, to the unspoken challenge vibrating in the space between your words and their reactions. You let it linger, tasting the silence like it belonged to you. 

They’d expect arrogance. They’d expect recklessness. Let them. Because deep down, you weren’t reckless. Not really. You were raised by the fucking Batman. You were smart. 

Roy cleared his throat, slow, deliberate, leaning forward just enough that his eyes caught yours across the table. “You’re… really sure about that?” 

His tone was casual, almost teasing but the slight edge underneath made it clear he wasn’t joking. “Because, we catch a lot bigger and scarier on daily basis.”

You knew he’d bite first.

“You mean people who don’t know better,” you snap back, each word clipped and uniterested, your tone carrying the same effortless bite you used on Gotham’s elite when you wanted them to squirm. “They’re easy. Predictable. They fall for the same tricks, every single time.”

Your eyes lingered on him, narrowing in mock pity before you let the smirk return, sharper now. “Catching me would take actual skill.”

The words hung in the air like Gotham smog, heavy and poisonous, curling around the table until even the music thumping outside the booth seemed distant. 

You leaned back in your seat with studied nonchalance, one leg crossing over the other, your too tall heels tapping the leg of the table.

It’s as if you’d already dismissed the whole conversation as beneath you. The defiance in your posture was unmistakable, radiating arrogance like a second skin.

Roy’s jaw ticked, his smirk faltering for the barest fraction of a second before he covered it with a sharp exhale and a swirl of his glass. His mutter was low, almost to himself, but the edge in his voice carried easily across the table.

“You’re crazy,” Roy muttered, almost to himself, though his voice carried.

He tipped his glass, watching the liquid swirl as if it could distract him from the itch to say something he shouldn’t to his friend's little sister. “Little Miss Gotham thinks she can just get away. I almost wanna see her try.”

“Roy,” Dick warned again, sharper now, but even he didn’t sound entirely convinced. His voice had that clipped edge it got when he was losing his grip on the reins.

Artemis arched a brow, mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “She’s taunting us”

Conner shifted, heavy arms unfolding as he leaned in. His voice was steady, but quieter, almost like a verdict. “You’re in over your head, kid.”

You only grinned, sharp and unshaken, revelling in the weight of all their eyes pressing down on you. “Maybe I am,” you said, lifting your chin like you owned the table, the booth, the whole damn club. “But you all look like you’re too scared to find out.”

That broke them, just like you knew it would. Nothing sets someone off like an arrogant little sibling afterall. It didn’t help that they were all more than a bit tipsy, save for Mr. Easily Aggravated.  

Dick’s jaw flexed as you smirked at him. The silence at the booth had become suffocating, thick with judgment, tension, and something sharper beneath the surface, something personal.

Everyone else had said their piece to your challange, but he hadn’t let up, hadn’t even blinked. He was watching you too closely, and you hated how exposed it made you feel.

Then he leans forward with an ease that grates on your nerves. His voice came low, dangerous, with that clipped edge he only ever used when he’d run out of patience.

“What's your game here, huh?” he demanded. “I know it's not just to piss us off.”

Your smirk faltered, but you masked it quickly, chin tilting higher, posture sharpened into defiance. You tried to play it off, but his stare pinned you, heavy and relentless. 

For a beat, you almost said nothing but you shift to raise your chin to look down at him— you so close. You can do this.

“You’re right,” you said, low, measured, like admitting it on your terms would keep you in control. “It’s not just about pissing you off. It’s a bet.”

That got everyone’s attention. Chairs shifted. Brows furrowed. “A bet?” Roy scoffed. “With who?”

“With all of you.” Your words were steady, though your heartbeat was climbing fast. You let your gaze sweep across the table, meeting each of theirs like you were calling them out one by one. 

“If I can get away— if I can slip out from under your watch, even with all your training,  you don’t say a single word to my Dad about tonight.”

The table went still. Even the thrum of the club seemed to fade, the bass swallowed by the gravity of what you’d just put on the table.

“And if you lose?” Artemis asked, voice sharp, cutting straight through the tension. Her eyes were locked on you like an arrow aimed at a target.

Your jaw tightened. You wanted to smirk, wanted to shrug it off, but the stakes demanded more than bravado.

So you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, your eyes never wavering. “If I lose, I’ll tell him myself. Every detail. Underage drinking. The creep. This club. All of it. Straight from me.”

That broke the silence.

Roy let out a low whistle, leaning back against the booth with an exaggerated shake of his head. “Damn, I think all those parties scrambled her brain.”

Conner’s brow furrowed deeper, his eyes looked over your expression as if trying to read your mind and pick it apart. 

Artemis’s lips pressed into a line, her gaze sharp as ever. She wasn’t impressed, but she wasn’t dismissing you either. Her silence said enough; she was weighing you, measuring the steel in your words against the reckless heat in your eyes.

Dick leaned closer, his voice low and sharp enough to sting. “You'd better think real hard before you commit to this, because once it starts, there’s no halfway. No excuses. You either win, or you face Bruce yourself.”

Your smirk sharpened into something steadier this time, no longer the flimsy mask you’d been wearing all night but a deliberate curve of your lips, a smile that settled like a blade being drawn. 

The weight of Dick’s words didn’t scare you— it lit something in your chest, dangerous and alive.

You leaned forward, letting the dim light catch in your eyes, “I’m all in.”

The smile lingered, sharp and unyielding, and the air around the booth seemed to crack under it. You weren’t bluffing anymore. You weren’t performing. You had committed, and they could all see it.

Roy straightened, eyebrows rising, a disbelieving laugh escaping him before he tipped his glass again. “Well, shit. Guess the princess wants to play for real.”

Artemis’s eyes narrowed, calculating, her mouth curving just enough to show the challenge wasn’t lost on her.

Dick didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just let the silence hang for a long, punishing second, before leaning back with a sharp exhale, like he’d resigned himself to the storm you’d invited.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered.

Your grin only widened as you leaned back into the booth, satisfaction radiating off you like heat. The tension that had hung over the table cracked, shifted— no longer suffocating, but coiling into something electric. A challenge. A game.

You lifted a hand, gesturing lazily toward the door like the outcome was already sealed. “As long as I can get away and make it back to the manor before I’m caught, I win. Deal?”

That made them pause. The manor. Not a block away, not ducking into some alley around the corner. You were talking about crossing the entire goddamn city with the team’s finest breathing down your neck.

Roy let out a bark of laughter, smacking the table once. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re insane, kid. You really think you’re making it across the city?”

Artemis arched a brow, unimpressed but faintly amused, like a cat watching a mouse step into a trap. “You won’t even make it out of the booth.”

Conner frowned, his arms unfolding as he leaned forward. “This isn’t running away from a drunk in a club. This is running from us.” His tone was flat, final, like he thought he could give you some common sense.

But it only made your smile grow sharper. “Exactly,” you said, leaning back with an air of smug confidence that made your point sting sharper than any retort. “If I can slip past all of you and make it back home… then you’ll have no excuse left not to admit I’m capable. And if not— well, my dad finds out, doesn’t he?”

Dick rubbed a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a prayer for patience. “You’ve officially lost your damn mind. " He murmurs

When his hand dropped, his eyes were blazing. "But fine. You already screwed up our night, we should at least get some entertainment from this." 

You ignore his comment about you screwing up, focusing more on the fact that you got exactly what you wanted.

It was game on.

And the cruellest part? They were relaxed now. Easing back into their seats, trading skeptical glances, even smirks. They thought you’d never make it. 

They were so confident, so certain that you’d fumble before you even left the booth. After all, why wouldn’t they be? They had training, experience, and powers. They had a half-Kryptonian, archers, and Gotham’s golden boy wonder.

And you were a socialite princess— the one they’d seen in last week’s tabloids, with your security guard carrying you up the stairs because you simply couldn’t be bothered.

They thought you were doomed from the start.

You hold back your grin as you lean back, more than content with yourself than ever, because underestimating you was the very first mistake they’d made tonight.

————————————————————————

A/N: The other version (If I ever get around to it) is the reverse where she wants nothing more than to just be a hero and forget who she is under the mask :P.

Both runs involve Bart as the love interest but I’m thinking to do one-shots on the side for some scenes with other characters if you guys wanna request it later on :).

Some of the characters will come off as OOC, but they are described how ★Wayne!Reader perceives them! Also so sorry for how my A/N’s take up so much space but I wanna talk to yall about what’s going on in my brain when it comes to my fics </3

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

You hum along to the music as you move through the club, squinting slightly as you try to make way of where exactly you’re going.

The lights are low, washing everyone in blues and purple hues with the occasional strobes of white light catching the shimmer of your dress. 

The urge to fan yourself is overwhelming as you squeeze through the center of the club, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, air almost as thick as Bludhaven’s smog, but instead of its usual stench its more of a mix of perfume, too much cologne, sweat and alcohol. 

It almost burns your nose hard enough to make your eyes sting– but you push on, narrowly stepping out of the way of two girls stumbling toward you, arms tangled around each other, both loudly singing along to whatever song is blasting through the speakers.

They’re horribly off-key and rivalling the volume of the music itself, but they are laughing so hard you can’t help but smile as well.

They’re somehow managing to hold each other upright, swaying but at least standing as they giggle and gasp on their way to what you assume are the bathrooms.

A laugh bubbles up and escapes you as you finally make it out of the main crowd turning to look where the two disappeared. They look like they’re having fun, and you’re not used to seeing girls live and have let loose so freely. 

The bit of worry for them eases when you see a pair of exasperated but smiling guys follow after, each holding an incredibly stylish purse that doesn’t go with their outfits. 

You hope your night can turn out like that, tipsy, having fun and pulling a man around with an invisible leash.

Your fingers drift to the your neckline of your dress, adjusting it, only slightly self-consious of your choice to ditch a bra for the night. The dress’s colour compliments your make-up perfectly and the fabric fits your body to accentuate your best features.

It’s shorter than what you usually wear, riding up your thighs slightly with every step and you have to stop yourself from pulling it down every other second. As you walk a few glances are thrown your way, some lasting far longer than others. 

Normally, you’d fumble under that attention but the feeling of a certain pair of eyes watching you makes you tilt your chin up high. Tonight, you’ll let it happen, you’re here to pretend a little after all.

The bar finally comes into view and your focus narrows instantly. Just what you were looking for! You eyes catch the deep navy blue cushioned stool at the counter and you barely register the throbbing music and endless chatter around you as you sit down. 

You feel almost giddy as you tuck your heels on the footrest of the stool leaning forward against the cool marble counter, a welcomed sensation after pushing your way through that crowd. The bottles are a mix of neon and browns that you have trouble reading from where you’re sat. 

You catch the bartender glance your way and you give a polite smile in greeting but make no move to call him over as you look back at the selection seemingly trying very hard to decide on your first drink of the night. 

Or more so official terms, your first legal drink! You’d turned 21 a few days ago and this was a birthday treat for yourself to cross some firsts off your bucket list. You of course conveniently ignore that trip you took down to Canada where you could drink at 19.

You look around the club curiously, trying to catch a familiar eye somewhere but sigh in slight frustration when only the blur of movement from meaningless faces and bodies move about.

You tap your freshly manicured nails against the marble counter to ease your nerves a bit. You have nothing to be nervous about! Except going home alone–

Your slight spiral is rudely cut off when you feel someone lean against your counterspace, too close to be accidental and just close enough that you can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your dress.

A voice cuts through the music and your thoughts clean, warm and crisp, “Two–”

Whatever comes out of his mouth after goes in one ear and out the next, lost completely as your eyes instinctively flutters before you can stop yourself. Warmth spreads from your chest outwards and you feel yourself relax ever so slightly. 

And then you make the conscious choice to pivot in your seat to look at him, and god does the sight piss you off.

He’s ridicoulously gorgeous, a kind of handsome that makes you want to scoff before grabbing him by his collar and kiss him all over. Men aren’t supposed to be this attractive and they definitely aren’t supposed to be this close to you.

He’s tall, well tall enough to make you have to crane your neck up– even with the bar stool leaving your feet dangling. He’s casually leaning against the bar, relaxed with an easy confidence that radiates off of him. 

Broad shoulders, a stupid evil little waist from what you can peak through his open jacket, toned and muscular forearms that you know are purposely on display with how he has his sleeves bunched up.

Immediately the warmth from earlier turns into a hot flash that travels straight between your thighs.

Fuck him– his face is worse. He had a strong jaw line, tanned skin and a beautifully curved nose. And just great! Stupid pitch-black hair that falls just slightly out of place.

Evil. This man is evil and you know it.

His eyes catch the light when he turns his head, and there’s something thats clearly a mix of interest and trouble when they lock onto you.

They rake over you slowly, taking you in from head to heeled toes before dragging their way back up without an ounce of shame. 

When his gaze finally lifts back to your face, it lingers there only dropping for a moment to catch you shifting your thighs to press against each other.

A rush of embarrassment floods you when you realize he noticed your action, you’re about to snap at him and ask where the hell he’s been when–

“Now why’s a beautiful girl like you sitting all alone?” he asks as he leans one arm against the counter clearly shifting his body so you can have a better view of his body– and also to block some other drunken guy from stumbling into you but you don’t pay mind to that. 

You have to hold back your eye roll, but despite yourself, a smile slips onto your face. You shrug slightly, deciding to play uninterested.

“Oh, I’m not,” you gesture vaguely around you as if the person you’re referring to would materialize out of nowhere. “I’m here with someone. He just went off to use the bathroom or something.”

You expected him falter, show soem shame and huff himself away but of course it doesn’t. If anything it eggs him on as you watch his smile widen, slow and teasingly as in leans in even closer.

“Oh,” he says dragging it out in mock thoughtfulness, “A boyfriend, huh?’ His eyes flicker over you again before giving you a knowingly look, “And he thought it was okay to leave a pretty lady like you all by herself?”

He clicks his tongue playfully, shaking his head as if genuinely disappointed. “He sounds like a fucking idiot if he thinks he can walk away and every other guy here wouldn’t take their shot.” 

You laugh as you shake your head at him, “You somehow seem more amused now that I mentioned I’m here with someone.”

There’s a teasing touch to your tone, more playful than judgmental. You tap your nail against the counter before shifting your body to face him better; you ignore the way his face lights up.

You tilt your head, leaning in to mock whisper, “But for the record, he’s not my boyfriend… We’re just feeling it out.”

He raises his brows like he’s savouring the information, “Ah,” he says, even adding a slight nod to his head. “So its not serious? Good–” He stops himself midway as his brain catches up with his words. “Oh shit– I mean–”

You can only let out giggles as he clears his throat, shifting his weight as he makes some excuse to fix what he said.

Something about a guy leaving you alone not deserving serious… blah blah blah, you tune him out letting the club music wash over you.

You instead eye the blatant marks on his neck, scattered but clearly left purposely for any woman or man, for that matter, to catch sight of. You faintly process Rihanna's voice in the background, singing about something in the air…

You blink out of it when he asks for you name, and you quickly tell him to play off your staring. “Pretty name.” His eyes crinkle slightly with a smile that tells you he definitely noticed, “suits you.”

This time you do roll your eyes, “Thank you. I’m guessing this is where you tell me your name?”

He chuckles straightening a bit as he runs a hand through his hair, “Mhm, you can call me Dick.”

You raise your brows immediately, “Dick…” You repeat waiting for him to possibly expand, you obviously knew it was short for Richard, but nonetheless wanted to stretch this conversation for as long as it could go. 

He takes your bait, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes,” he nods in mock exhaustion. “The exact same Dick you’re thinking about. Not short for anything.”

He drops his woe-is-me act as a smirk tugs at his mouth, “Though it sounds better once you get used to saying it.” 

Before you can reply, the bartender sets two drinks down in front of you, the glasses making a soft clink sound against the marble. Dick reaches for one without breaking eye contact, then slides the other towards you.

“Thought you might like this,” he says, “You look like you’d be a fan of Nightwing. Ordered you the drink named after him.”

You lift a brow, smiling as you wrap your fingers around the glass, “Oh yeah?” you huff out a laugh roating the liquid in the glass and watch as the ice inside catch the lights of the club. “What makes you say that?”

He chuckles, lifting his drink, taking a sip before answering. “You just look like someone with great taste.”

His eyes flick down to your dress appreciatively, before lifting back to your face. “I mean just look at you, that dress was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You preen without shame, shoulders lifting slightly as you grin. “It’s a fan favourite.”

​​He nods, taking another drink, eyes still on you over the rim of the glass. “Oh really?” he prompts, leaning back against the counter. “You mean your little situationship likes it?”

You nod a little shy under his gaze, fingers drifting up to toy with the thin strap of your dress.

His gaze follows the movement instinctively, tracing the line of your shoulder to the curve of your neckline, definitely appreciating the finer details and nothing else before meeting your eyes again.

“Yes… um–” You falter, blinking as you scramble for a name. “--Ric,” you grin as you commit to the name. “Ric loves it on me.”

Dick raises a brow, clearly amused. “Ric, huh?” he says. “Finally got a name for the guy who gets you all to himself…”

He pauses before giving you a cheekily curious look. “Unless ‘not serious’ means you’re still open to… exploring?”

You swallow dryly brushing off his comment with a giggle as you lift your drink to take a sip. It only takes a second for the taste to hit and you immediately pull it away, blinking at the horridly sour taste. 

Your nose scrunches in confusion and disgust before you lick your lips staring back down at the drink as if it could explain itself before you hear a stifled chuckle.

When you look up, Dick looks far too pleased with himself.

You break character completely, reaching out to smack his arm with a scoff. “You’re a fucking prick,” you say, “I hope you know that, Ric.”

The stupid annoying character your boyfriend had been putting on breaks apart almost immediately.

The teasing smirk softens into a chuckle and the exaggerated cockiness melts away as he steps closer, crowding into your space.

His hands settle at your hips without hesitation thumbs brushing the fabric of your dress and if anything hikes it up further.

“Oh, come on,” he laughs obviously lying out his ass. “I genuinely thought you’d like it.”

Before you can let out your complaints, he dips his head and presses a quick kiss to your temple.

You grumble under your breath, reaching for his drink, wanting to wash the taste from your mouth and– Yeah. He only messed with your drink.

You scoff, swallowing before shoving the glass back toward him. “Yeah– yeah, whatever,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Fuck you. I don’t even want to do this anymore.” You try to push him away, but it’s half-hearted at best.

He doesn’t budge, of course. Instead, his grip on your hips tightens just enough to keep you close.

“Aw, come on, birthday girl,” Dick laughs, “You know I’m just messing with you.”

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours for a moment, but he’s close enough that his eyes morph into just one weird-looking eye, so you know he’s not being serious at all. “I wanted to see that cute little scowl you get when you’re pretending to be mad at me.”

You try to maintain the annoyed act, but you can feel the corners of your mouth twitching. “You’re the worst,” you mutter, but the words come out softer than you hoped.

 “Yeah,” he agrees easily, not denying it for a second. “But I’m your worst.”

Okay, yeah whatevr the hell that means, you roll your eyes, pushing at his chest, trying to squirm out of the hold he had on your hips to no avail. He just laughs, the sound vibrating against you as he pulls away.

“No– no, come on,” he says, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “We were just getting to the fun part.” His voice drops playful and bribing. “We can continue right where we left off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die before they can form when he squeezes your hips. You end up huffing, raising your brows for him to keep talking, and watch as his grin grows in response.

“Let me keep hitting on you,” he says, his voice dropping into a persuasive tone that always gets under your skin and, more specifically, under your clothes. “Let me convince you to ditch your shitty date.”

—-------

When you finally step through the door of your shared apartment, the contrast is immediate.

Gone is the thrumming bass and the thick, perfumed air of the club. Instead, there's the familiar, clean scent of home– something like vanilla and fresh laundry, with a hint of the lemon cleaner you used yesterday.

The space is quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.

You don't make it far past the entryway, moments after you kick off your heels his hands are on you, turning you gently to face him. There's no audience now, you’re left to the wolves now.

Before you can speak, he's guiding you backward until the back of your thighs hit the show table, only a few feet away from the now thankfully closed apartment door.

Dicks hands slide under your dress, hiking the fabric up to your waist as he sinks to his knees between your legs. He does this without saying a word, his mind clearly set on one thing, and one thing only.

You blink down at him in surprise, squeaking his name when he pulls your panties down and lifts a leg to step out of it before taking the other leg with the pair still hanging off it to hike over his shoulder, "Hey–!" you lose balance and nearly slip off the table.

Of course, he doesn't let you fall. He lets out a chuckle as he readjusts you. His hand grips your hip to keep you propped up, his other arm wrapping around the leg draped over his shoulder to keep you steady. 

He doesn't waste time. Dick's mouth finds your cunt almost immediately, and the first touch of his tongue makes you gasp, your fingers flying to tangle in his hair.

He hums against you, the vibration sending a shiver up your spine, and you can feel the way he's grinning before even looking down.

You know exactly why he’s smiling, you’ve been soaked the moment you he stepped up next to you at the bar counter and he’s clearly tasting it now.

There's nothing in you to be embarrassed when his gaze meets yours; his blue eyes are bright with amusement and affection, peering up at you through unfairly long lashes. 

He licks slowly over your clit, watching your reaction with obvious delight before diving back in with even more enthusiasm somehow.

"Dick–" You moan, the leg over his shoulder jerking slightly at a particularly mean suck. He pulls back to nip at your inner thigh, his teeth grazing sensitive skin. 

"Easy there," he chuckles. "You're gonna kick me in the head if you're not careful." 

The words make your pussy throb and clench around nothing, which given that what he said wasn’t sexy at all was stupid.

But though youd never admit it, you’re sure he could even turn you on by talking about his inspiration for his discowling suit.

The tragic part of it all its that he knows it– and saw it too from where his fingers had moved to spread you open, his gaze drops between your legs, and a smug smile spreads across his face. 

Dick doesn't comment on it for once. Instead, he leans back in, his tongue flattening against you in a broad, wet lick that has your hips liftng off the table.

The messy, wet sounds fill the quiet apartment, mixing with your soft whines and his own muffled groans. Every so often, he glances up, his eyes meeting yours as he licks and sucks, as if checking to make sure you're watching him being a good boyfriend.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging gently as you try to guide his movements. He responds immediately to what you want. You can faintly process his mutters as his eyes flutter as he uses your hip to pull you firmer against his mouth. 

His tongue circles your bundle of nerves then moves lower, glancing up again, his eyes dark with pleasure and you’re sure he’s spend hours just like this and not let out a single complaint. 

His hands leaves your hip to slide up your body, to settle on your lower stomach, pressing down lightly and intensifying your pleasure. (or may you gotta pee, we'll find out soon enough.) 

Your back arches off the table, a soft cry escaping your lips as the pleasure starts to overwhelm you, and you start to tug more roughly on his hair.

Dick moans into your cunt, but his mouth slows in response, his tongue lapping at you with lighter licks before he pulls back just enough to look up at you again.

His lips are slick and shiny, his chin damp, and the sight of him like that made you want to drown him between your legs (in like a sexy way, not a murder way.)

“Getting close?” he asks, his head shifts to press a soft kiss just below your navel. His fingers slip to replace his mouth, rubbing firm, tight circles over your sensitive but making you gasp and squirm.

"Ugh, why– why'd you stop!?" you huff and tug his hair to get back to it, but he tsks, rubbing down firmer, making you jolt with a gasp.

“Think your date would eat your pussy as good as I do?” he asks, his voice low and a little rough from use. The question makes your entire body flush with heat, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing again– you can barely think straight.

Only shaky pleading noise escapes you in response as his fingers continue their relentless circles. When you don’t answer, he lightly pinches your clit, making you jolt and whine.

“No– only you,” you manage to gasp out. “Only you eat me out this good– Please Dick”

He grins, clearly happy about beating out the imaginary competition. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is back on you, his tongue replacing his fingers.

His fingers don't go far as they move to push into you, starting with two off the bat. They slide in without much resistance, thanks to how soaked you are, and you arch your back into his mouth with a sharp gasp.

He uses that as his chance to angle his fingers upward, curling them until they find that spongy, sensitive spot inside you.

“Please– Fuck-… don’t stop!” you plea, your voice breaking into a whimper as his fingers curl just right and his tongue flicks over your clit in relentless.

You feel him grin against you as he doubles down, his movements becoming more firm. The pressure builds inside you until you’re trembling all over, the hand in his hair pressing him in further. 

You cry out as the pleasure peaks, the orgasm hits you hard, and you feel yourself clenching around his fingers as you squirt, soaking his hand and chin. 

Dick moans into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you as he licks you through it, drinking you down with greedy sounds. 

For a moment, your mind is blissfully blank. When you finally come back to yourself, you have to pull him away by his hair, and he actually resists for a moment to keep licking, but you whimper, tugging rougher until he lifts his head with a protesting whine.

He moves back, but not without nipping at your thigh, adding to the already growing collection of marks he’s left there, little reminders for you later when he’s out on patrol. 

The lower half of his face is soaked as he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied as he looks up at you.

He gently places down your leg, fully throwing the panties that remained somewhere behind him. You look down, still panting taking in how his pupils more blown than ever, and how his grin is downright famished. Fuck. 

He starts to hike up your dress further, kissing your clit again and making you jolt with a whine about it being too much.

He ignores you, though, his mouth moving upward instead, leaving you whining harder because why did he stop kissing your clit??? 

He kisses his way up your stomach, pushing your dress further as he goes until he peels it off completely and tosses it aside. You reach for him, your hands sliding over his shoulders as you pull him up for a proper kiss.

Dick meets you half-way leaning in and bracing himself with one hand on the table beside your hip. You moan into it, letting his tongue slip past your lips, tasting yourself on him.

The kiss deepens, one of his hands sliding up into your hair, pulling your mouth closer against his.

The other moves to your hip, pressing into you, and you feel the hard outline of his cock straining against your thigh through his jeans.

Before you can react to that, he suddenly jolts, and you gasp, startled by the movement. You look down to where his arm jerked away from you and– oh! 

He caught your bamboo plant that was sitting next to your butt on the show table, nearly knocking it over with both your enthusiasm. Your poor plant had to witness all that. 

The sex-muddled brain fog wears off for a moment, and you find yourself giggling. You giggle even harder when you feel his cock twitch against your thigh in response.

He grins shamelessly, pressing a kiss to your neck as he carefully places the plant back where it belongs.

“Distracted?” you tease, your voice still a little shaky.

“By you? Always,” he replies, breath tickling your ear as his hands settle on your hips again. “Though I rather be distracted by just you so–”

Before you can reply, Dick uses one arm to sweep you up off the table, holding you against his chest as if you weigh nothing. You let out a surprised squeak, your arms looping around his neck as he carries you toward your shared bedroom. 

As he makes his way, your lips pressed to the bruises you left on his neck just last night– darkening the existing marks, adding fresh ones for him to flaunt later. He places you gently on the bed before leaning back to strip away his jacket. 

After, he uses one hand to grab his shirt from the back and pull it over his head in one go, and fuck– you instinctively press your thighs together at the sight, gripping the sheets under you but not bothering to move an inch. 

You know exactly who you are, and that includes not doing work and looking pretty.

The whole time, his eyes are tracing over you, taking in every inch of your naked body against the dark sheets. You mentally thank Roy for taking Haley for the weekend for whatever reason, you can’t remember. 

“You’re taking too long,” you complain playfully, letting your head fall back against the pillows as you watch him. Your voice comes out a little whiny, and you don’t even try to hide it.

He laughs in response, one hand reaching out to push your thighs apart by your knee, his palm warm against your damp skin as he kneels with one knee on the bed.

The hand he used to part your legs slides down your thigh to rub over your clit again, his touch already knowing exactly where to go.

His free hand works his belt open and off, the leather sliding free with a soft click before he kicks off his pants.

His boxers soon follow, joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor. His actions are slightly awkward since he’s committed to staying partly kneeling on your bed while touching you.

His cock is already hard and leaking, the tip glistening with pre-cum. It’s beautifully familiar sight with a slight curve, your eyes greedly drink in the the way the veins stand out against his skin.

Fuck, your pussy aches with need just looking at it. Your mouth waters instinctively; he’s got you Pavloved at this point, conditioned to want him in every way possible at the simple sight of him. 

You reach for him this time, and he gives you a cockly look, cooing at you lightly as he crawls fully onto the bed over you, settling himself between your thighs. “Awe– alright, I’m coming don’’t start whining.”

You feel the sharp retort bubble up your throat at his taunt but it doesn’t make it out when you feel the tip of his cock against your leg, wet with pre-cum that you’d rather be going into your mouth.

You arch your hips up, trying to guide him inside, but he just holds you still with a hand on your stomach.

“Patience, birthday girl,” he taunts, leaning down to kiss you slowly despite your clear impatience, his tongue sliding against yours as he settles more fully between your thighs.

The tip of his cock nudges against your entrance, but he doesn’t push in yet. Instead, he breaks the kiss to look down at you, his eyes tracing over your face like he’s memorizing every detail.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, his voice rough with want. His fingers drift up to toy with your nipples, rolling them gently between his thumb and indexfinger until you gasp, your back arching off the bed. 

He kisses you once more, softer this time, before leaning back to admire the way your body responds to him.

“God, I love how these fit in my hands,” he murmurs, his thumbs circling your nipples as he pushes your breasts together, his gaze fascinated. “They looked so fucking good in that dress earlier.”

He kisses down your chest, leaving marks in his wake before finally reaching your breasts. He leans down, his breath warm against your skin.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, guiding his mouth to your breast and he's more than happy to follow your demands. His lips closing around one nipple, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak before he begins to suck. 

His free hand continues to knead your other breast, his thumb brushing over that nipple to match the pace of his mouth. He’s taking his time, spoiling attention on each side until you squirm and while his name.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until his cock slides more roughly against your folds, the tip catching at your sensitive bud. He groans, his forehead dropping to yours as he stills for a moment, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice strained. “You feel so good.”

His hands slide down to grip your hips, holding you still as he continues to rock against you, the wet sound of his actions filling the room. 

He’s being mean, what was it you mentioned about him being evil again?

“Dick,” you whine, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please…” 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark with want. “Please what, sweetheart?” he asks. “Tell me what you want.”

“Just fuck me already,” you snap shifting your hips up, you'll deal with him later for playing in your face... well, more so pussy, but for now you want him in.

But he just pulls his cock away fully, making your brows furrow together as you actually scowl at him in confusion. He tilts his head at you thoughtfully with a hum.

“I dunno… don’t wanna make Ric jealous,” he teases. But your gaze hardens at him with a look that makes him sheepish immediately– enough to make him duck his head.

He’s quick to apologize, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Sorry, sorry, baby,” Dick murmurs against your mouth. “No more teasing.”

He shifts one of his hands, going to pump himself as he guides himself back to your entrance. His other hand moves to grip the back of your thigh to push it towards your chest.

The head of his cock presses against you, and this time he doesn’t tease as he pushes inside in one smooth, deep stroke that makes you gasp.

You could nearly sob as the throbbing feeling is replaced by a slight burn from the stretch of him.

He fills you completely before he pauses for to look down at where your cunt spreads around him with a type of bliss you’ll mock him for later. 

But it’s the last thing on your mid when he leans back to kiss you once more pressing the front of his body onto yours. Your hands are quick to trace up his arms to his shoulders to mold him impossibly closer. 

Then he begins to move, setting a slow and deep pace that has you gasping and moaning into his mouth. His lips leaves yours to drop to kiss along your jaw and your throat,  Every thrust is targetted, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

You wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper with every thrust. He groans, his forehead dropping to yours as he picks up the pace, his hips moving faster, harder.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mingling with your soft gasps and his raggedy breathing. 

“Fuck,” he whispers strained. “Youre so fucking tight”.

One of his hand slides up your body, before he finally cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple before pinching and rolling it.

Dick's other hand stays on your thigh, guiding your movements as he fucks you. When he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide. “Look at you,” he praises, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “So fucking beautiful.”

You dont even process what he says as you let your head fall back, lost in the sensation. Your eyes drift shut, and you can only moan and whimper to the pleasure building in your lower tummy.

He kisses your throat, his lips soft against your skin. “That’s it, baby,” he coos. “Just feel it.”

You can feel your orgasm building with every thrust. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, indenting his skin with your nails that he paid for.

You force urself to open your eyes to look at him, wanting to see his face. Seeing his face flush and twisted in his own pleasure, you suddenly feel overwhelmed with the urge to say something.

"Dick–" You whimper as he thrusts in a particularly good strength, "I– I love you." You barely manage to whimper it out, brain fogging over again.

He stills for a moment, buried deep inside you as his gaze snaps to your face, but his words follow without hesitation. “I love you too,” he groans before resuming his thrusts.

A hand moves to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looks down at you. “So much,” he whispers against your lips. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

The words shoot trait to your cunt, and you moan in response, and your hips shift trying to change the angle, the current position no longer doing it for you, and that makes him chuckle. “There?” he asks breathlessly against your ear.

You can only nod, your breath catching in your throat as he’s quick to adjust to your wants. His hands slide under you, gripping your ass to angle you just right, and suddenly he’s hitting that spot inside you with every thrust. 

His lips find your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there, and you can feel the marks he’s leaving.

“You’re so perfect,” Dick whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “So fucking perfect for me.” 

His words only add to your pleasure. You’re close, so close, and you can feel him trembling with the effort of holding back himself. You whine, “I’m gonna cum… Dick please” 

He groans, his hips stuttering for a moment before he picks up the pace, to exactly what it was before and you mentally praise whatever God that he knows exactly what you need.

“Come for me, baby,” he says, his forehead pressed to yours. “Let me feel you.”

His words are all it takes apparently, as pleasure crashes over you, and you cry out, your body arching off the bed as you come, squeezing around him.

He fucks you through it, his movements growing more frantic as he chases his own release, his breath hot against your neck.

Dick follows you over the edge moments later, his hips stuttering as he cums with a low groan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, you both just breathe with his body pressed flush against yours, before he sighs into your neck, kissing it right over your racing pulse, and following it by lifting his head to kiss you.

He gives one final, gentle roll of his hips into you before pulling out slowly, his hands instinctively moving to rub over your hips.

 “I love you,” he murmurs again, looking up to your face, giving you a look that you'd expect walking down an aisle from a man, not one who just unloaded his load into you.

You mumble something back, too blissed out to form proper words, but you squeeze his arms, wanting to be held close still.

He seems to understand immediately, shifting to gather you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. His skin is damp with sweat, his heartbeat still fast against your ear.

He kisses your temple, his lips lingering there for a long moment. “Shower?” he asks softly. “Or do you wanna stay like this for a while?”

You don’t even have to think about it, “cuddle,” you manage to mumble, the word slurred with exhaustion and satisfaction.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Okay,” he sighs contentedly, his hand stroking up and down your back. “We can cuddle.” 

He shifts, pulling the blanket up over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before settling back against the pillows. The room is quiet, the only sounds your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

You sigh contentedly, the post-sex haze kicking in as you grow a little drowsy in his warmth. You nuzzle closer, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.

After a moment, you whisper, only now a bit shy, “Thanks for playing into my silly request earlier.”

He laughs softly, his arms tightening around you. “I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of my life,” he says, his voice warm with affection. “Though I’m surprised you wanted to try roleplay. Who knew you liked being stolen from another man?”

You roll your eyes and pinch him, your fingers finding his side. He just snickers, squirming away half-heartedly before pulling you closer again.

“Shut up,” you grumble. “You’re the one that added Ric to the storyline.” You pause, wrinkling your nose. “Ugh, what was he, your alter ego?”

He nods seriously,. “Yeah, my evil clone– like if I ever got shot in the head or something, I think I’d go by Ric.”

You immediately groan, pushing him away. “Okay, no– get out, you ruined pillow talk.” You try to shove him off the bed, but he’s too fucking heavy,

Dick just laughs, his arms tightening around you “I didn’t mean it,” he says, pulling you back to his chest. “Come on, don’t be mad.”

You squirm more, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Too bad, you ruined my post-nut with visions of you getting shot in the head.”

Dick whines, playfully before giving up his act of letting you get away by pulling you back to his chest– a bit too easily tragically.

“Okay, okay,” his lips brush your ear. “I”ll make it up to you.” He shifts, his hand sliding down your body. “How about I give you more head? Head for a head type situation.”

You push him away playfully, he’s ridiculous no better word for it really. “Head for a head?” you repeat, your voice laced with amused disbelief. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He grins clearly not bothered by your words. “What? It’s a fair trade,” he insists, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I ruin your afterglow, I make it up to you. Seems logical to me.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling now. “You’re impossible,” you tell him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“Yeah, but you love me,” his voice softens as he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss. “So? Do I get to make it up to you, or are you gonna hold a grudge?”

He’s looking at you with that familiar mix of affection and playfulness, and you can feel your resolve crumbling.

Still, you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin dramatically. “Hmm… I don’t know. I think I might need some convincing.”

Dick laughs and moves his head to kiss your temple. “I can be very convincing,” he hums against your skin.

You just laugh, shaking your head as you lean into his chest. “This… is the most freaky birthday present I ever got,” your voice muffled against his skin but full of affection.

His chest rumbles under you as he laughs, a hand coming up to comb gently through your damp hair. “Your friend literally got you a vibrating dil–”

You just reach to pinch him and shut him up.

—----------

In other news, Uni has started up, and it’s hell, but I am trying to write at least an hour a day. Also, I must come clean, I have written smut before [throughout quarantine with friends, but we just swapped stories,) and was on Amino back in the day. I genuinely reached stateflow once the undies came off-- I’ve just never posted smut before so bear with me because I could only find so many other words for clit without going crazy.

I have a few things I wanna post but am not sure which to do first: Half-Kyrptonian reader, another silly one-shot with Roy [based off stupid-ass texts I’ve had with Vee], Bart Allen one-shots, and a stand-alone one-shot with Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader involving a cryptic pregnancy. 

I’ll most likely do Bart, ½ Kryp-reader, Bruce, maybe round about with Constatine!Reader again… and god I need to see which of my main series I haven't updated in a while!

The landing jolts through your ankles, making you wobble, and your arms shoot out for balance to steady yourself.  Moving quickly to brace your hands against the tree trunk, leaning into it.

The bark is rough enough to catch slightly at your skin as you run your fingers over it, instinctively searching for the carving.

It doesn’t take long to find. M.G sits messily carved next to your much neater initials. Your grin softens when your fingers trace on the newer addition. 

The small heart holding both sets of initials together was added a few months ago after he finally stopped overthinking everything and kissed you.

Speaking of Mark… you can barely hide your smirk as you move around the trunk to the other side, closer to where his house waits just beyond the branches. 

You’d seen the light in his room flick on only minutes ago, warm yellow spilling through the open blinds. Signalling he’d made it home from his shift at BurgerMart.

Which, obviously, meant the only logical next step was getting out your window and getting to him.

You cross the rest of the tree without much thought, the bark shifting slightly under your feet before you step onto the Grayson roof.

You take a second to glance at his driveway for what you know is already not there.

His driveway is empty, exactly as expected on a Friday night.

His parents are out on one of their overly lovey-dovey date nights, meaning you have Markus Sebastian Grayson all to yourself once you get your hands on him :D

You can’t help the small giggle that slips out as you inch closer to his window, kneeling down as you peer inside.

Mark has already changed out of his BurgerMart uniform, the red fabric tossed carelessly toward the foot of his bed while his work pants are on the floor, barely a foot from his door as if he couldn't wait to get out of them.

He’s in that stupid Green Lanterned-themed pyjama set you got him (you have the matching Flash one, obviously). The back of his shirt faces you, the fabric wrinkled from who knows how long of not washing it. 

You make a quiet disappointed sound to yourself for being just a few minutes too late, but it cuts short at his next movements.

Mark leans over his bedside table, the soft glow of his phone screen lighting his face as he checks it. No doubt trying to see if it had enough charge to unplug it. 

Your gaze drifts over his back naturally as you try to ignore the slightly creepy vibe you're giving off as you study him

Hmm, for a guy who barely works out, he has really nice back muscles. Your eyes, very innocently, start to dip lower and you immediately wish you had brought your phone with you.

Mark doesn’t let you stand behind him anymore, especially when he bends over.

This was all due to that one phase you had three years ago, when he’d go up the stairs and your hands would without fail gravitate straight to his butt. (In your defence though, he had a really nice ass.)

He unplugs his phone and drops onto his bed, already typing away, with that stupid dopey smile tugging at his face.

Your smile widens, knowing that look without even seeing what’s on his screen..

He’s texting you.

You watch him a moment longer than you mean to. Just long enough to see his brows start to knit together when you don’t respond right away, his thumb pausing mid-text before he brings his phone closer to his face.

It’s a known thing between you where he’d come home tired, smelling like fryer oil and a bit sweaty on the brink of death after dealing with customers for hours, only to get revived with your attention. 

You see him bite his lip and quickly duck out of view when he glances at your window, which you had left only your bedside lap on. A sign that you were supposedly awake. 

A moment passes before you peek back inside and you watch him sigh leaning back into his bed his phone held to his chest as he stares up at the ceiling dramatically.

Aw, okay, you can’t let your needy boyfriend get too pouty.

You press your palm flat against the glass with a smack and watch as Mark jolts so hard he nearly drops his phone, shoulders snapping upright as his head whips toward the window. 

For a second, he just stares. His pretty brown eyes wide with a hand clutching his chest. Absolutely a deer in headlights with no survival instincts.

You can’t hold in your laugh, watching his expression flip from confusion to that familiar, exasperated disbelief as he pushes himself off his bed, making his way to you.

He opens the window immediately, the latch snapping up with more force than necessary. The warm air of his room and vanilla candle you got him hits your face and you feel the rush of comfort it always brings you.

You’re already opening your mouth, ready with something teasing to bully him about his dramatic reaction.

He acted like you were a villain instead of his very normal, very reasonable girlfriend–

“Puss–”

But you don’t get to finish the word.

Mark just grabs your face.

Both hands cupping your cheeks and squishing them together. He pulls you closer to the window frame, giving your face a small but firm shake.

Your lips push out awkwardly from the pressure as you squirm in complaint.

“You’re so fucking weird–” he blurts, voice cracking slightly. “What the fuck.”

Your brows lift as best they can under his grip, a hand uselessly gripping his wrist while the other holds onto the window frame to stop yourself from falling face-first into his room. 

“Ecfuse meh?” you mumble, barely getting the words out.

His expression twitches before he shakes you again, gentler this time. “I was literally texting you,” he mutters. “I thought I was hallucinating for a second.”

You blink up at him, still slightly distorted by his hands and also very distracted because wow, he has a nice grip–

Which tragically loosens the moment you want to enjoy it. You huff immediately putting on an annoyed front.

“Let go of my face, you dick.”

“No.” 

“Mark, I swear to god–”

He leans in and cuts you off with a kiss, still squishing your cheeks slightly making the kiss land a little awkwardly at first.

Its almost impossible for you to take it seriously but your eyes still flutter shut as you lean into it. 

Mark pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes flicking over your face like he’s double-checking again that you’re actually here and annoying him in person.

“…Yeah,” he mutters, “Not hallucinating.”

You roll you eyes as you finally manage to pry one of his hands off your cheeks. “You just wanted to kiss me, perv.”

His expression changes instantly. “Me? Perv?” he says, pointing at himself then you with all the dramatics you've seen from a man. “You’re the one outside my window at night like– like a peeing Tom!”

You squint at him.

“…Peeping Tom??”

“Yes.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he keeps going, getting more worked up, but you can tell he’s amused by the small crinkle near his eye.

“Did you watch me change, too?” he demands, narrowing his eyes.

“What? No!” you say immediately, and unfortunately, too fast to be casual.

“Really?” he says leaning closer. “That sounded suspicious.”

“I came too late to watch that,” you snap back.

The silence thaty follows is loud as he just stares at you before raising a brow, and you see the smirk he’s holding back. (He’d never admit it, but he lives off the fact that you find him hot.)

“…That is not better,” he says flatly.

You shrug. “Just bein’ honest, babe.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you are genuinely going to take years off his life. He then reaches for your arm, trying to tug you properly into the room through the window.

“Come in,” he says. “Before you fall off the roof and I have to explain to your mom why you died cuz you’re obsessed with me.”

You dig your heels in lightly, resisting just enough to be annoying but also enough to get your point across that you were not budging. 

“Nope,” you say, tugging your arm back with a small grin. “The stars are too nice to be inside.”

His grip loosens slightly as his eyes flick past you to the night sky, dotted with scattered stars.

“…You came all the way over here,” he says slowly, “to drag me outside to look at stars?”

You nod, smiling at him. “And to make out under them.”

Whatever reluctant, exhausted, mildly responsible boyfriend energy he was holding onto just… disappears as his face breaks into an immediate grin.

“I love your fucking brain,” he says instantly. “Best idea you’ve ever had.”

You beam at that, already shifting back so he can climb out through the window too. He pulls himself out onto the roof with practiced ease.

“Yeah?” you tease, tilting your head at him. “Tell me more about what you love about me.”

That earns you a small laugh from him. He takes a inches closer, hands already reaching for you

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says, voice softer now but still smug. “I’ve got a list.”

“A list?” you perk up immediately eyes widen with interest and his eyebrows lift a little amused

“Of course you’re excited about that part,” he says, rolling his eyes

You crawl closer to him. “I want explicit detail.”

He studies you for a second, considering it. Then his expression shifts into something mischievous immediately making you cautious. 

“Fine,” he says. “But–”

You groan without letting him finish. “Ugh, what now.”

He clearly chooses to ignire your attitude as he gestures between the two of you like its obvious.

“I want one kiss per thing,” he says way too pleased with himself.

“…That is so manipulative.”

Mark dramatically drops his gaze to his hands like he is somehow the reasonable one in this conversation.

It would probably work better if the corners of his mouth were not twitching so hard from the grin he is trying and failing to suppress.

“That’s your opinion,” he says lightly, even adding a fake uninterested glance at the streets below. But you see him side eye you to gauge your reaction.

Your eyes narrow at him suspiciously as you point a finger at him as you shift closer despite yourself “You’re just trying to scam more kisses out of me!”

Mark’s grin only widens, completely unashamed. One hand grabbing your finger to pull you closer while the other goes to your waist, as he tilts his head at you.

“And?” he asks simply, like that should end the argument entirely.

And… and nothing.

You don’t say another word as you grab the front of his shirt roughly, tugging him to you making a pleased sound as your mouth meets his.

The kiss is messy and a little sticky from the remaining lipgloss you applied before stepping out of your own window.

The hand gripping your finger drops to join the other at your waist as he tugs you into his lap, kissing you back without hesitation.

For a moment, you lose yourself in him. The warmth of his hands at your sides, the faint sound of him breathing out against you like youre stealing his breath

… But then you remember that he owes you a list.

You try to pull back just slightly, just enough to remind him, but his lips chase yours immediately, refusing to let the distance happen. 

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and you feel him smile against your mouth in response.

Oh.

This asshole.

This was his plan all along. Distract you with kisses so he can get away with keeping that list to himself. 

Fuck no.

You shift your hand up into the hair at the nape of his neck and tug firmly. Mark makes a low sound into the kiss, half protest, half groan, and finally gives you what you want.

His eyes are a little unfocused when he looks at you, pupils blown wider than they were a second ago, lips already forming a pout.  

“…Nice try Grayson” you grumble

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, immediately avoiding your gaze a tell tale sign he’s lying out his ass.

You raise your brows unamused, shifting to slide off his lap. But before you even fully commit to moving your back somehow meets the roof tiles with a soft oof.

The impact isn’t hard, just sudden enough to jolt the air out of you making Mark freeze. 

“Oh– shit,” he blurts, pulling back. “Are you okay? Was that too rough? I’m sorry–”

You laugh immediately, cutting through his spiralling as you reach a hand to cup his face. 

“Relax,” you say, still grinning up at him. “It just surprised me. But if you don’t hold up your side of the bargain, I am going home.”

He leans into your palm immediately, eyes closing for half a second beofre he turns his head slightly and presses a quick kiss to your hand.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters. “I’ll tell you”

He sits back just a little and your palm drops back to your chest with the distance. He still hovering over you, then squints like he’s suddenly having a really hard time recalling what to say.

“…Okay,” he says slowly. “Give me a second. I’m thinking really hard right now.”

You narrow your eyes. “You look constipated–” 

He holds up a finger shushing you, “I need full concentration for this.”

You exhale through your nose, shifting slightly on the roof tile as you look past him at the night sky. The cold seeps through your tank top now that you’re actually still for a second, and you regret everything briefly.

You couldv’e been reading xReader fanfiction about Red Robin. Yet here you were under your stupid boyfriend– 

Then Mark lets out a quiet “ah.”

You look back at him expecting a stupid grin on his face but he’s got that dopey look on his face again.

You raise a brow curiously as he shifts a bit where he’s hovering over you, suddenly less confident 

“I love how you show up,” he says making your lips part slightly as you soften, but you stay silent to prompt him to continue.

“Like, you just– appear. Anywhere. Anytime. Like it’s nothing, just when I need you.” A shy smile tugs at his mouth. 

“And I love that I never have to wonder if you’re actually gonna be there,” he adds, quieter. “Because you always are.”

For a moment, the teasing energy between you both thins out completely, replaced by something a little too intimate for how late it is and how high up you are on a roof.

“…Anyway,” he mutters clearing his throat, attempting to recover the mood, “that’s one. So you owe me a kiss now.”

You don’t call him out on the fact that you already gave him the kiss. Instead, you reach up, grab the front of his shirt again.

Mark barely has time to react before you’re shifting under him. You end up straddling his waist. He makes a small, surprised sound, hands instinctively gripping your hips.

“Hey–” he starts, but it dies immediately when you kiss him again. His grip tighten slightly before it relaxes as he melts

Your fingers curl into his shirt, the roof suddenly feeling a lot less cold when he’s pressed against you like this.

He lets out a small whine that he absolutely will deny if you bring it up as your tongue swipes across his bottom lip before deepening the kiss.

When you finally pull back, it’s only enough to move to press kisses to his jaw, then his cheek, then back to his mouth again, smothering his face.

After a loud obnoxious kiss to his mouth that your sure wouldv’e woken up his parents if they were home, you pause just long enough to look at him properly.

You hair falling forward slightly as you tilt your head. If you thought he was a mess the first time you pulled away, he was wrecked now.

His cheeks are flushed, chest rising a little unevenly as he catches his breath, eyes half-lidded unfocused, and his lips are slightly glossy and reddened. 

God.

You could just eat him… but you decided on just kissing him more

“You–” kiss

 “are–” kiss

 “so fucking–” kiss

 “cute!” kiss

He lets out a small defeated whimper, hands tightening slightly at your waist like he’s trying to decide whether to pull you closer or hide his face entirely.

“I’m not–” he starts, but you kiss him again and his words turn into a content sigh. You’re both smiling into it now, which makes it almost impossible to actually kiss properly.

When you finally pull away for real this time, it’s slow and almost reluctant. You press your forehead to his, as you both catch your breath.

For a second, neither of you says anything. 

The only sound is Mark’s breathing and crickets chirping in the night. The faint glow from his window behind him makes him look etheral. 

There he is.

Mark Grayson. Best friend turned boyfriend, but still and always the dorky boy youve loved all your life.

“I’ll always be there for you Mark.”

His eyes flick over your face. “…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say cupping his face, thumb brushing his cheek.

You feel any remaining tension in him vanish, his expression softening completely as he presses into your touch. 

“…Good,” he murmurs after a moment “Cuz I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Then he tilts his head and you recognize the shift before he even moves properly. His hands slide a little more securely around your waist

You don’t resist when he moves you, you naturally go slightly slack under him as he kisses you.

Neither of you notices how much you’ve moved from his window– or how close you’ve gotten to the edge of his roof.

Mark’s hand slides more firmly to your hips, intent on laying you onto the roof tiles properly this time. But when he presses you back, expecting the solid roof beneath you…

There’s nothing but air.

For half a second, your body doesn’t understand what’s happening too caught up in Mark. But out of no where your stomach drops violently like suddenly plunging down on a rollercoaster. 

“Shit–”

Your grip on him tightens instantly, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood as instinct takes over. A shriek escaping you as you both go over.

Wind whips around you, the roof disappears above in an instant, and you’re greeted with the sight of the night sky alongside Mark’s horrified face which you’d laugh at if you weren’t about to break your neck

Mark’s arms lock around you hard, one hand snapping to the back of your head and pulling you into the crook of his neck.

The other clamps around your back, practically moulding you to his body. Your legs wrap around him without thinking, clinging out of pure instinct.

You screw your eyes shut waiting for the searing pain and sound of breaking bones… but it never comes. Instead you feel the wind start moving in the opposite direction.

“…Uh,” Mark says.

You lift your head slightly, still panicked. “Are we dead?”

“No,” he answers hesitantly “...I don’t think so.”

You twist slightly in his hold just enough to look past him.

The roof is… far below, shrinking quickly, as if you are moving away from it rather than falling from it. That realization makes your stomach turn again.

“…Mark,” you say slowly, voice cracking as fear fully sets in. “Why the fuck are we going up?”

“What do you mean why are we going up?” he snaps, too fast, too panicked to process it properly.

Mark looks… worse than you feel. Hair completely messed up, eyes wide and his legs dangle slightly in the open air.

“…You can fly?” he blurts.

You gap at him for a full second, your stress making you kind of mad that he’s putting this on you.

“What???”

“I don’t know!” he says cracking into pure panic and confusion. “We’re flying. I’m not doing it. I thought– I thought it was me for a second but it’s not me, I’m not– I don’t–”

He looks down again and then looks like he immediately regrets it closing his eyes for a second before opening them again to look at you.

“I don’t have powers!” he continues, words spilling faster now. “I mean, I wish I did, that would actually explain this, but I don’t! I’m just– I’m just Mark!”

“Then why are we going up?” you ask, voice small

“I don’t know!!” he snaps again but more harshly, then softens right after when you flinch slightly. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.”

His arms adjust again without thinking, pulling you closer against his chest. You feel him shift slightly, like he’s slipping from you

You react too, clinging harder with your arms and legs locking around him as your core strains with the effort.

“Mark– make us go down,” you say quickly, it comes out sharper than you meant it to.

The ground is getting smaller. The air is getting colder. The world is stretching out beneath you into a dark nothing.

You feel your eyes start to sting and theres nothing you can do to stop them from watering as panic overwhelms you

“Mark–” you try again, but your voice breaks halfway through.

A small, involuntary sob slips out. Your grip on his hoodie tightens until your fingers ache.

Everything in Mark changes instantly. “…Hey,” he says. “Hey– no, no, baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you– fuck–” 

“I’ve got you,” he repeats quieter. “Just– just stay with me, okay? Don’t look down.”

Mark’s grip shifts again, one hand still desperately gripping you to his chest, the other cupping the side of your head and pulling you back in so your face is in the crook of his neck. He’s not able to hide the tremble in his body though.

A new voice cuts through the air behind you.

“Mark.”

Your head snaps around on instinct and you let out a sharp, involuntary shriek. The motion makes Mark tightens his hold on you immediately to keep you from shifting too much.

Your vision is still blurred with tears, but the figure next to you both comes into focus.

A man effortlessly in the air, completely stable, arms relaxed at his sides like he’s been flying since birth.

Mark’s entire posture changes the second he sees him. “…Dad,” he gasps, “Oh, thank god.”

Your head jerks back toward Mark, confusion cutting through the fear for half a second, before you look again.

Nolan Grayson.

And he’s flying.

“Dad,” Mark says quickly, still holding you tightly. “I don’t know what’s going on. We were on the roof, and then we just started–”

Nolan’s gaze flicks to you, and you miss the subtle shift in his expression, too overwhelmed to breathe at this point.

“--she started flying,” Nolan corrects calmly.

“I– please,” you cut in. “I don’t care who is flying or why, just please get us down.”

He just studies you for a moment while you look down at the literal black abyss of the night before up at what you swear is space.

“Are you sure?” he asks Mark, flying closer. "That it wasn't you?"

“Yes!” Mark blurts. “Pretty sure!”

The shortest moment passes as Nolan’s eyes shift back to you again. His shoulders relax slightly, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders at Mark’s words.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says, voice steady “I’m going to bring you two down, okay? Once we get to the bottom you have to let Mark go, but don’t worry– I’ll hold onto you.”

You blink hard at him. “I– I don’t– what–”

Mark cuts in immediately, still clinging to you. “Dad, she’s freaking out, just– just do it slow, okay?”

Nolan nods once, and then his hand comes forward, gripping the back of Mark’s shirt and like you both weigh nothing he starts guiding you both down.

At first, there’s resistance. A invisible push under your skin to stay moving up. Your stomach twists again as you realize it really was you flying.

Nolan meets your gaze over Mark’s shoulder, expression calm and patient. He gives you a smile.

“Listen to me,” he says. “Nothing is going to happen to either of you. I won’t let anything hurt either of you.”

A pause.

“You trust me, right?”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

And you did.

That was almost a year ago now, and you are glad you did. From that day forward, you placed your trust in Nolan completely, just as he placed his trust in you.

He told you about Viltrum, how his planet had been destroyed, and he came to Earth as a refugee, much like Superman.

But unlike him, after meeting Debbie, he chose to stay. To dedicate his life to being a father and a husband. 

You remember how mournful he looked he said it. His eyes looking to the night sky for a moment before returning to you and you felt your heart ache for him. 

At the time, Nolan had joked that he expected to have this conversation with Mark when he got his powers, but it just went to show that you really were his kid too, family.

You remember the faint lift of his mouth when he said it, the way his eyes flicked to you for just a moment longer than usual

And that brings you to now.

The air that once made your shiver felt amazing as you cut through it. Wind roars past your ears, loud enough to drown out everything except your own laughter.

The ground far below is a blur of colours and shapes, you’re not even sure where you are and you don’t care.

Slightly below, Nolan hovers in place perfectly still with his crossed. His eyes track you with pride all over his face.

You let out giggle as you go around him, faster this time before coming to a stop in front of him. Cheeks warm and slightly aching from how much you’re smiling.

Nolan watches you complete the loop and gives a nod. “You are a natural, kiddo.”

“You think so?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the grin on your face gives you away.

Nolan tilts his head, a fatherly smile, one that’s been in your life for as long as you can remember. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

A gust of wind rolls past, tugging at your clothes making you instinctively adjust your balance.. 

“You are already correcting mid-air,” he says nodding again studying you “Most people would still be crash landing.”

You duck your head at the praise. He’s been yo father figure ever since you moved in next to the Graysons at a few months old.

He and Debbie had treated you like their own and were thrilled when you and Mark started dating.

“Any more… pop-up powers?” he asks after a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

The question makes you huff a laugh. You remember how he had reacted when you came over one afternoon and accidentally ripped the sliding backyard door clean off its frame.

He had not been upset at all, just… impressed even in the face of your frantic apologizes and embarrassing attempts to fix it before Debbie saw it.

And then there was the sneezing incident, which had left the Grayons with a destroyed dining table and shattered dishes.

Of course, Mark had been there for most of it, too. He had been excited for you, even cheering you on and marvelling at you every chance he got.

But you also remember overhearing him talking to Debbie when he thought no one was listening. 

His voice was quieter than usual. Saying he felt a little left out and more like a failure for not having his powers yet. After all, he was Nolan’s son.

The memory lingers just long enough to make your expression soften.

Nolan is still watching you, waiting for your answer, unaware of what just crossed your mind.

“So?” he prompts gently, bringing you back.

“Uh… no, nothing else,” you say, letting out a small sigh licking your lips.

You make a mental note to bring some lip balm next time as your mind wonders yet again to someone else this time.

Your mom.

A year ago, you told her Nolan was teaching you how to fix a car out of all things. She laughed and then laughed harder when you pouted.

Thankfully, your mother adored the Graysons, so she made no attempt to pry for more information. Just told you to let her know when you’re leaving and what time you’d be home so she wouldn’t worry.

Speaking of… shit you forgot to tell her you were leaving this morning. You’d slept through your alarm and just rushed out of your window.

You hesitate, glancing down toward the world far below. “It’s getting a bit harder to hide all this from my mom.”

The doctor had been clear that her heart was weak, and stress was something to avoid at all costs. 

And seeing her daughter hundreds of meters in the air like it is the most natural thing in the world would probably make her heart implode.

So you lied.

You sigh, “She already worries enough. I do not want to make it worse.”

For a moment, Nolan does not respond. He just watches you as his shoulders drop slightly.

“I see,” he says at last, voice low like he’s choosing his words carefully

He looks past you for a moment, toward the horizon, then back again. “You are doing the right thing by being cautious with her. Humans are delicate.”

Human.

Something you no longer were. Not 100% at least.

Nolan moves before you fully register it, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder. Then he pulls you into quick side hug.

“C’mon,” he says, voice easing back into something lighter. “You must have built up an appetite.”

You let out a small laugh “Yeah, I’m starving”

“Let’s go down for dinner, huh?” he hums letting you go. “You and Mark can go grab your mom and bring her over.”

You grin as you picture it immediately. The Graysons dinning table, the smell of food drifting through the kitchen.

Your mom sitting next to Debbie and Nolan laughing, enjoying herself as you try to force Mark to eat all your tomatoes without either mother noticing.

Nolan starts to drift downward, expecting you to follow and of course, you do.

Like always Mark is already waiting.

The moment he sees you, his face lights up with excitement like a cute puppy after being left home alone all day.

“There you are,” he says as he reaches up without hesitation.

His hand finds yours mid way steadying you as you drop the last bit of distance.

A little tradition now that he’s done every single time without fail. Like he is responsible for making sure you land safely even though you are both very aware you can absolutely handle yourself.

His eyes flick over you quickly with curiosity. “Did my Dad show you anything new?”

Behind him, Nolan lands a moment later. He takes one look at the two of you and he chuckles.

“Mark,” Nolan says, voice calm but distinctly entertained, “don’t hog her too long.”

Mark tenses, his cheeks flushing as he snaps his gaze to his father. “I’m not hogging anyone.”

Nolan’s eyebrow lifts just slightly. “You are physically attached to her.”

“I’m just holding her hand!” Mark snaps back a bit too defensively making you giggle. Which earns you a betrayed look from your boyfriend.

Nolan lets out a quiet hum that is very clearly a suppressed laugh. “Mhmm. Sure son”

Mark pulls back a fraction, give him a look that your pretend not to see. “Dad.”

Nolan turns as he laughs heading toward the house, you see Debbie moving around in the kitchen clearly his next target.

“Just make sure to have her mom over here,” he adds lightly over his shoulder. “Don’t want to eat cold dinner.”

Mark exhales through his nose, still holding your hand. “Yeah, yeah, we’re going.”

Nolan pauses after he opens the sliding door, glancing back at the two of you. His eyes flick briefly to your joined hands, then to Mark’s face and the corner of his mouth lifts again.

“Good,” he says simply, and steps inside sitting the door behind him.

Mark exhales through his nose closing his eyes cheeks still adorably red. He glances at the house then looks back at you, expression shifting into something more openly pouty.

“So,” he says, squeezing your hand lightly like he is trying to reclaim your attention fully, “did you learn anything new?”

He tilts his head. “I tried to watch, but you guys went way too high.” His mouth twists a little. “Could barely see anything. Kinda unfair, actually.”

“No, nothing new,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Just worked on some turns.”

“Coo;, cool…,” he hums, looking at your held hands.

“Yeah.” You squeeze his hands back, “very cool”

You gently tug toward the back gate, and he follows, stepping out of the and into the street.

The two of you fall into easy conversation as you walk, words drifting between plans for the after dinner, little jokes, and cheesy flirting.

After a few steps, Mark goes a bit quieter. Watching you fondly as you laugh a lil too hard at your own joke.

“Hey…” he blurts abruptly, “can I steal you for a bit later?”

You glance at him, curious but interested. “Steal me?”

He scratches the back of his neck, a sheepishly look crossing his face as he avoids eye contact. “Yeah. Like… just us. A date or something.”

It comes out rushed, like he is worried it might sound stupid. “We just… haven’t really hung out properly in a while. Since Dad started training you more and stuff. I miss you, I guess.”

Your expression softens immediately.

“Yeah,” you smile leaning to catch his gaze, his eyes meet yours and you watch the worry bleed into affection “Of course. I’d love to.”

He grins and before you can even reach the front door keypad, he stops you making you face him and kisses you softly,

When he pulls back, he is still smiling, “Yeah, okay,” he tilts his head “it’s a date.”

You give him a flustered laugh and gently push him back by the shoulders.

“Ugh,” you mutter fondly, trying and failing to sound normal as you turn back toward the door. “Enough kissing, my mom can probably see on the ring camera.”

Mark just laughs, clearly pleased with himself, and follows right behind you.

You punch in the passcode and the keypad beeping softly before the lock clicks open. Mark reaches past you to put the door open, and the smell of home drifts out to meet you.

“Mom?” you call as you step inside.

Your voice echoes lightly through the hallway. Walls framed with pictures of you throughout the years.

Some alone, many with your cheek pressed close to your mom’s and even a few embarrassing ones with Mark.

You get no answer to your call. Which isn’t out of the ordinary at this point.

You try again, a little louder this time. “Mom?”

…

Still nothing.

You exhale, shoulders dropping slightly as you glance back at Mark.

“She’s probably just sleeping,” you say, kicking off your shoes near the entrance. “Let me go wake her. I’ll be right back with her.”

“Gotcha” Mark nods. “Call me if you need help getting her down the stairs or anything”

You give him a grateful smile and an acknowledging hum as you make your way up the stairs.

You were excited to have dinner with the Graysons and your mom. You guys were basically one family at this point. They were always there for you two afterall.

When your mom’s health first started to decline Debbie was right there. Taking you in when your mom had appointments and over night stays at hospitals.

She’d do your hair when your mom’s hands trembled too hard to hold a comb. Letting your mom talk to you with sweet stories while she worked through knots.

Nolan filled in any gap not having a father left you. Carrying you on his shoulders to reacher higher than you could ever on your own.

And of course there was Mark. Always by your side no matter the Nonesense you’d drag him into.

You sigh reaching the top of the stairs. The house feels… off with each step you take. When you reach her room, the door is slightly open.

“Mom?” you say again as you push it open

The room is dim, curtains pulled closed only letting in a sliver of light. She is in bed, back turned toward you curled into herself.

On the nightstand, you notice her open medication bottle, a glass of water half-finished beside it.

Right. A small wave of relief moves through you as you step inside. The doctor said the meds could make her drowsy. She probably took them and drifted off.

You smile a little to yourself, careful not to make too much noise as you move closer, reaching for the bottle to close it properly.

Your fingers brush the label as you turn it, a force of habit taking over. You always wanted to to stay up to date on her treatments and progress.

A bit of guilt fills you, you hadn’t been the most attentive as of late with your new powers but she never complained.

If anything you knew she was happy that you weren’t waiting foot and hand for her.

You sigh taking a moment to clear the nightstand to give her a few more moments of rest before turning back to her.

You reach out and gently rub her arm, the same way she used to wake you when you were younger.

“Hey,” you murmur. “We’re going to the Graysons’ for dinner, remember?”

You wait for the familiar half-awake grumble she makes when she is being pulled out of sleep when she really doesn’t want to.

But nothing comes. Her arm stays exactly where it is beneath your hand. The silence is wrong in a way that makes your skin crawl and nausea build in your throat. 

Your hand pauses mid-rub.

“Mom, come on,” you say, forcing a small laugh. “You’re gonna sleep through everything if you keep–”

The words cut off before you finish them when you pull her onto her back so you can see her face properly.

Her face is there, peaceful in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, even during sleep. There is no tension in her expression at all, none of the usual faint lines of exhaustion that you are used to seeing.

Your eyes flick down next, and that is when the feeling in your chest drops sharply.

Her chest is not moving.

You stare, unblinking, waiting for your eyes to start working properly.

Nothing happens.

You try to breathe in, and it catches halfway like your lungs forgot what they are supposed to do.

Your fingers dig into the blanket at her side, then her shoulder, harder this time as you try to grasp reality. 

You shake her once, small at first, then again, stronger.

“Mom– no, no, no, wake up– please, please, wake up–”

Your strength gives out all at once, your knees give out, and you all but collapse forward into her.

Your forehead presses against her shoulder as the sob breaks fully loose.

The sound is ugly and painful, almost loud enough to cover the sound of feet stomping up the stairs in panic. 

The doorframe fills behind you.

Mark stands there his brain refuses to process what he sees but it catches up all at once.

“Hey– shit– hey, what’s going on?!” His voice cracks with panic.

He crosses the room fast, almost stumbling as he drops to his knees beside you. His hands come out instinctively, reaching for you.

“Look at me,” he whispers “Come on, move back a bit… just- just let me look please.”

You don’t move. You can’t.

Mark tries again. “Hey... Please, c’mon—“

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head your face pressed against her. Her too grows damp under your face.

Mark freezes, and you feel him shift anxiously, leaning closer to peer at your mom before he exhales shakily.

“Okay,” he says kissing his teeth in stress. His hand stays on you, but he stops trying to pull you away. “Okay, okay.—”

“I’ll call my parents,” he murmurs more to himself, already fumbling for his phone, eyes still flicking between you and your mom. “They’ll know what to do– we’ll get your mom to the hospital, okay? She’ll be okay–”

But his voice and everything else in the world fade into something muffled and far away.

All you can hear is the silence where her heartbeat should be.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Taglist :D @missmillivanilli @r-u-s-s-i-a-h @chibitronxoxo @lmrwriter @m4ngo15 @bunniotomia

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