#platonic!reader

“So, what’s the verdict?” Angela asks, leaning over her desk.

“Guilty,” Tim answers without looking up. “Always guilty.”

Angela sighs, then snaps directly in front of Tim’s nose.

“She’s fine,” he murmurs then. “She’s a rookie. Like every rookie before her.”

“Timothy!” Angela exclaims, straightening. “You like her!”

“What part of anything I just said led you to that assumption?”

“It’s called deductive reasoning. Were they teaching that in the academy way back when you joined?”

“Did you seriously just make an age joke? Should we look at your ID?”

“Excuse me?” you interrupt, standing a few feet away with your backpack pulled over your shoulders. You rock back on your heels until Officer Bradford turns toward you. “I just wanted to say thank you for being patient with me today, and I’m looking forward to improving.”

“That’s really nice,” Angela muses.

“What did I tell you, boot?” Tim sighs.

“Oh, right.” You straighten your shoulders and correct, “Night, sir.”

“Don’t do that,” Angela tells you. “He’s trying to intimidate you.”

“No, I’m trying to protect you,” Tim admits, setting his paper aside and looking at you with his hands on his hips. “You can’t be this nice to everyone. Life isn’t all bubbles and butterflies and not everyone wants you to say please and thank you.”

“I understand,” you reply, nodding once. “Thanks, Officer Bradford.”

You wave to a fellow rookie on your way out, hold the door for Smitty, and yield to a parking car that doesn’t have the right of way. Tim pinches his eyes closed, exhaling a long breath.

“I’ll ask one more time,” Angela says. “What’s the verdict?”

“She has too much compassion, empathy,” Tim answers.

“Not always a bad thing.”

“It is when it’s the result of something someone took from you,” Tim snaps. “She… She needs more than a T.O.”

“Ah, I see.” Angela taps the desk, mumbling, “Congrats on the puppy.”

“Not a puppy!” Tim calls over his shoulder. “And don’t let her be so nice to Smitty!”

Three weeks into being a rookie, you get invited to dinner at your dad’s house. You consider simply saying no or lying and saying that you have to work a late shift. But you get nauseous at the thought, so you promise to be there.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asks from the driver’s seat.

“Huh? Oh, no- nothing, sir,” you reply carefully. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. If you want to talk, there are plenty of people you can talk to. Say the word.”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him. “Was just thinking.”

Three hours later, sitting at your dad’s table, you realize that your own father has never asked What’s wrong? But Tim Bradford — your T.O., your superior officer — did.

“Look at me!” your dad demands, bringing his fist down on the table. “You are hopeless!”

“I’m not,” you argue without thinking. It’s been years since you last spoke back to him. The kindness, the sunny disposition that you cling so tightly to is a defense mechanism, an attempt to stay on everyone’s good side so you never end up here ever again.

“Give up before you embarrass yourself,” he scoffs. “Or worse, us.”

You look down at your hands, whisper, “Like you’ve ever noticed what I do,” and don’t see him move before his ring scrapes across your cheek.

The moment you step out of the locker room the morning after dinner with your dad, Tim steps in front of you.

“Grey’s office,” he says flatly. “Now.”

You nod, swallowing as you lead him through the glass door. Tim closes it behind himself, then perches on the desk and crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the bandage covering your cheekbone.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he invites.

“I’m sorry?” you ask, lifting your eyes and immediately regretting it.

“Whenever you’re ready, tell me what happened.”

“It’s not relevant to the job,” you admit.

“Everything is relevant to the job. You fall down the stairs after work; you can’t chase someone the next day. So, talk.”

Looking at your shoes again, you link your fingers together. “I, uh, I went to my dad’s last night. He invited me over for dinner, which was weird. I couldn’t find the courage to say no, so I went.”

Tim drags his hand over his jaw. “You’re too nice, kid.”

“Kid?” you repeat with a smile. “What happened to boot?”

“We’re talking about you. What happened at dinner?”

You hesitate. If you don’t tell your T.O., he might decide you’re untrustworthy. At the same time, there’s a chance that Tim might be asking as more than a police officer.

“He reminded me of how much of a disappointment I am,” you say softly. “Tried to convince me to drop out of the program… Didn’t like that I talked back.”

“You?” Tim asks, shifting forward as he drops his arms.

“Me what?”

“You talked back? What could you have possibly said that made him- wait, did he hit you?”

Your lack of answer is enough for Tim. He pushes off the desk, careful as he peels the bandage away from your cheek to survey the damage done by your father.

“Don’t go over there again,” Tim says, straightening the bandage.

“I- What am I supposed to do, say no to my dad?”

“Yes. Because he’s a terrible person.”

“How would you know? This could’ve been a fluke.”

“I know,” Tim insists. “I can see the damage he did before last night.”

“How-”

“I have some of the same scars. Look, dads are supposed to be a lot — confidants, teachers, protectors. But some of them- some of them suck. Yours does. Mine did, too. At some point, you have to admit to yourself that he won’ t be any of those things for you, no matter how nice you try to be.”

“Then where do I go for all that?” you question. Brushing your fingers over your bandage, you remember, “Sorry, this isn’t appropriate for the station.”

Tim pushes your hand away from the bandage, sighing as he re-adheres the corner you pulled at. “You can come to me,” he offers. “Yes, I’m your T.O., but I care about you beyond the uniform, okay?”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you nod. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get back out there,” Tim decides, stepping back.

“Yes, sir.” You’re a step behind him when you ask, “Could I call you Pops?”

“Not if you want to keep your job.”

“Understood.”

Tim stops by the door, meeting your eyes to promise, “I’m here, okay?”

You nod, and his jaw tightens before he demands, “And get that cheek checked.” He hesitates, then asks, “Your dad have the same last name as you?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

It girl! reader who's actively an influencer. IG, Tiktok, Tumblr, Youtube, if the people want content from her she is 100% gonna give it. Who is she to deny the world of her?

It girl! reader who her siblings love and are so protective of-- even though they know well enough that she can handle herself.

It girl! reader who's the only non-vigilante batfam member (until Damian becomes an adult) and yet the most intimidating and sweet of them all.

It girl! reader who's siblings confide in her with anything and everything no matter how far away she is.

It girl! reader who actually started as a study influencer, and gradually morphed into the fashion/lifestyle/beauty guru that she is today!

It girl! reader who takes everything she does incredibly seriously, with an intensity that could only be inherited from her father, Bruce Wayne.

It girl! reader, who ends up taking on a big role in the Wayne Foundation as director of special events, making her in charge of who, what, where, and when for every single gala.

It girl! reader who doesn't entertain the press's attempts to get her to shit talk her family or siblings.

It girl! reader who actually doesn't play about her family whatsoever despite any and all misgivings.

It girl! reader who is jet set. Invited to every major gala, party, runway, and charity organization on behalf of the Wayne Foundation.

It girl! reader who helps to decide what cause the foundation benefits, locally, nationally, and internationally.

It girl! reader who personally advocates for the rights of women, children, POC, and queer folk alike.

It girl! reader who is just a baddie that people can't help but love!

“So.. you choose not to attend the gala?” Thea was currently pouring popcorn into a bowl. The kitchen was already overflowing with snacks, but you had recovered mostly.

“Yeah.” You answer the nachos you're taking care of slowly overflowing the bowl. “I mean, I have no reason to. It's been years.”

Thea scoffs. “I think that was pretty brazen.” And you had to agree with her. You had come clean to the two about your relationship to the Wayne family. You almost would've told them about their superhero identities on top of it, but that was.. None of your business anymore.

“Yeah, it was.” You answer. “But hey, it led to us finally making that movie night.” Thea laughs. “Yeah. But what better way to celebrate your recovery than giving you a heart attack eating a bunch of unhealthy foods!” She cheers, brushing past you. You feel her hands on your shoulder as she carefully moves you to the side.

Back then, you had no idea how to handle the casual touches she handed out. Hugs that didn't feel like getting brushed off. The way she made.. caring about you look so easy. And she met you when you were deep diving into depression.

“Do you think Elena will like the stuff we prepared?” You ask. You watch Thea's eyes narrow as she thinks about it, after a moment she shrugs. “Eh, we are watching at least one Twilight movie, she's happy.” “Yeah, honestly I don't know how she can do that.” You reach out, shoving one of the snacks into your mouth. “I mean, let's be honest, the movies are a shit show! A dumpsterfire!”

Thea playfully nudges you. “Hey! Eyes on Fire is our jam.”

You chuckle, before leaning closer and beginning to sing the song. “Hoa, hoa, hoa!” You sing and Thea joins in. The door opens. “How dare you two start without me!” She huffs, crossing her arms. Thea and you stretch out your arms at the same time, pulling her into your middle

The couch is warm, blankets that ended up being shared three minutes into the movie. You could say about Bella what you wanted, but.. there was a moment in life where you stared out the window for months as well. So, to some extent you understood. The pain that swallowed you up so badly you couldn't do anything.

For as long as you remember, grief has been a part of your life. But your mother's death? It didn't cause the worst. Your mother had made sure you knew what death was. That it was permanent.

For most of your life, it was just you and her. For 10 whole years she was your one and only teether to the world. Your apartment was small, but warm. All questions you had were met with acceptance and age appropriate but truthful answers.

The first time you saw death was in the street. A man passed out by the road. You had asked your mother about it. She told you it was permanent and that different people choose to believe in different things. 

As a child you didn't understand what permanent meant. But you learned it didn't have to be a bad thing. 

Your mother's death.. came slow. Not because of sickness, but rather because your mother always knew when something was coming. Something bad. Or she was sick, and that day made her life just a bit shorter. 

Your mother has taught you about different practices. So in the end? You had a doll and she had a lock of your mothers hair. Your mother had told you that this doll would keep her soul close to you until you were ready to move on.

When she died you were sad, but not devastated. Because your mother was there. The doll was your most prized possession during your time in the orphanage. You missed her. Her warmth, her love.. so you kept the doll close. 

Despite the fact you were alone, her death wasn't the one that hit you the hardest, because she loved you enough to prepare you for that moment.

Jason's death broke your heart. You and him had finally become a family, he was your brother, you his sister.. and all was well. And then Ethiopia happened. He died and Bruce didn't even allow you to attend his funeral. 

Dick? He wasn't there. It wasn't his fault, but Dick wasn't there! And god, you tried to be so goddamn mature. But this wasn't like your mothers death. You had.. absolutely nothing? Absolutely no one. Alfred? He was more quiet. Dick? Ended up getting mad. And Bruce?

Kept brooding. 

A piece of you died back then. And it did so quietly. Because no one prepared you for that grief. No one held gentle words for you. There was no puppet with a locket of hair. You weren't even allowed to say goodbye.

Tim joined the family next. Jason's death was fresh, but you tried. You tried making Tim's stay as comfortable as you could. But that was the moment you started hating the idea of Robin. Not because Tim suddenly took on the mantle, but because wasn't it enough that Jason died? 

But no one understood your concerns, so you bottled them up and put them on a shelf. 

Stephanie never officially joined. At least not back then. But Tim talked about her. Even to you. You met her, once or twice. But you weren't close until she became Robin. 

Tim had to give up being Robin due to his father's wishes. You could no longer see him, another person lost. But you never had to mourn him. You were lonely but relieved, this meant that he couldn't be killed.

She and you had a bond that was hard to explain. Feral stray cats. You were the older sister she didn't know she needed.

She was the third death you had to mourn. And you were there. Witnessing her last words.. her final breath..

You spend quite some time hating the family doctor. 

Bruce was next, but by then.. you had already lost most of your emotional stability to deal with that shit. 

Damian was next on the list. Though you had become so emotionally passive you couldn't even cry. Just stare into the distance.

You.. drifted. Passive depression is a funny thing. Not really, but for you? You were functioning. Barely. You woke up, got dressed, did your shit.. but you weren't all there. Just drifting from one place to the other.

The worst thing about the others coming back was that they didn't even notice what their death did to you. You were just.. sidelined. Because you functioned, and that meant you weren't a priority. You didn't have to be watched. You didn't have to be cared for. Not at all. They had their own problems. Their own stuff to deal with. You didn't need their comfort.

But you did need it. Because you had no will to live, because you felt so alone

…so terribly alone.

Deciding to leave.. was passive. You didn't even think about it for long. You didn't tell Alfred, you just applied for vocational training on the other side of the world. 

”[____], don't be so difficult.” 

Dick's voice had cut through your fig like a knife and wretched itself so deep in your lungs you couldn't breathe for a moment. But there were no tears that followed that feeling. Just.. a void. 

”Dick.. just leave me alone.” You answer, grabbing your suitcase. Duke, the newest addition to the family looks at you with sympathy. He entered the family, the moment you left. 

“No, you can't just leave. Not without talking to us!” Dick scoffs, grabbing your wrist. “Please, you can't just leave. Not now.” 

Damian narrows his eyes watching you with an intensive stare. “You are abandoning the family. That is unacceptable.” He stands in your way pettily. 

“Damian, get out of my way.” You free your arm out of Dicks grip, about to brush past the youngest Wayne. 

“Stop being so selfish!” 

Dick's voice cuts through the air and you stop. “Selfish?” You whisper. This draws the attention of other members. Tim is coming down the stairs, Cass is standing at the side, you hadn't even heard her. Some part of you is glad that the other Batgirls aren't present and that Jason isn't here to make it worse… another is just annoyed.

“I am selfish for wanting to leave?” You ask with a scoff. “You're gone most of the time too!” Your grip on the suitcase tightens, your eyes trying to avoid those of Dick. 

“That's different. I have responsibilities in Blüdhaven, you're packing your bags without telling anyone. You're leaving us.” Dick looks at you as if you've personally offended him. 

“What about that makes me selfish?” You argue back. 

Dick throws his hands up in the air. “You have to ask? You have the best life here! So stop acting like-” He can't finish his sentence, your fist collided with his face with a loud thud. 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

“[____]?” 

You don't look back to see who is asking. You just grab your suitcase and walk out.

Your chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself. Eyes watering. You couldn't breath, every inhale was stopped by choking up wheezing as tears streamed down your face. It has been exactly one year since you left the family. You felt like a 10 year old again. 

With shaky hands you reach for your phone, you need to call someone, anyone… no, not anyone. You don't even think of your family. The years of standing in the background as you slowly suffocated..

”Theodora?” You ask into the phone. No one called her that. It was Thea.. or Theo if you felt particularly silly. 

The second she hears her full name her voice drops. “[___], where are you?” She asks. Your breathing hitches. “I'm sorry. I am home. It's just.. I don't want to be alone.” You whisper, “I can't breathe. I'm sorry.” 

“I'll be there. Don't apologise.” 

She doesn't waste any time. But she also doesn't hang up the phone. You hear her drive. And this time she is driving halfway safely, just for you. Through the phone you hear the faint sound of Eyes on fire playing in the car.

”Urgh.” You grumble, waking up. You hadn't had a dream like that in a while. The TV had turned off on its own, Elena was asleep, sprawled over the couch. Thea asleep on her shoulder and you? Had sprawled over both of their laps like a very bothersome cat. You sit up blinking once in order to focus your eyes.

You didn't even remember when you had fallen asleep. Just that you were watching the movie and somewhere along the line it became a footnote of your messed up mind. 

Careful not to wake either of the two you shuffle out the small living room without switching on the light. Elena would yell at you at that. You would yell at both of them for that. Thea would take it as a challenge to race through the entire apartment before the light is switched on because she needs five minutes to get used to the light. 

For a second you feel awfully reminded of your.. siblings. Though you can no longer tell who would do what and.. you aren't sure if you're sad about that or relieved. 

When you reach the kitchen you do finally turn on the lights, mainly because handling glasses was dangerous enough with the lights on and you really didn't feel like handling messes today. 

You grab a water bottle from the fridge. It was hard getting used to the fact that tab water in Gotham was more often than not undrinkable, but it was even harder for Thea and Elena. You had to remind them multiple times a day to not just hold their glasses under the kitchen faucet. It had gotten better though. 

As you down the water you notice a figure in the window and freeze. Who in their right mind would stare into this apartment's window? It was on the second floor! No normal person could get up here unless they were a trained vigilante-

You turn your head. “Cassandra?”

The Manor was silent. The Gala had gone over smoothly even though Bruce was bummed. [____] hadn't taken up his invite. He understood why, but it didn't change the fact that he was disappointed. The others were too, even if they didn't state it explicitly. 

“Uh, Bruce?” It's Tim shuffling into the room, holding some papers, his eyes narrowed. “I think there's a bigger problem brewing than we thought.” He points out. “The red crystals we found, that wasn't just some powder. It's red kryptonite, ground in a way that makes it easy to sneak into drinking water.” 

Bruce's eyes narrow. The red powder had been found near [____] car. “That's concerning.” He starts. “Because that criminal had nothing to do with krypton… or Lexcorp.” Tim nods slowly, “I know. It shouldn't be possible to just smuggle this in and out of Gotham either without anyone noticing.” 

Bruce crosses his arms. “I don't think the person carrying it.. smuggled it. If you look at it a certain way it could be mistaken for a blush. And if someone isn't smuggling it, but using it-” 

“They'd be able to stay under the radar.”

You’d only been working at the video store for a few months when Steve and Robin got hired. You and her became fast friends - bonding over shared classes in school, making fun of Steve, and the fact that you both liked women.

Given who you remember Steve being in high school, you were shocked to learn how close him and Robin were. And even more so surprised when you found yourself becoming friends with him.

He let’s out a frustrated sigh and drags a hand across his face. “Well I’ll just keep a mental list of all the customers that pause Fast Times at 53 minutes and 5 seconds for you both then.”

His shift started an hour ago and he’s already sick of you all’s shit. Choosing rather to focus his attention on reorganizing the ‘New Releases’ section.

You and Robin smirk at one another, knowing that he can never be mad at you two.

Robin leans back in her chair, taking his annoyance as an invitation to tease him further. “Can you have that on my desk by the end of the day?”

Your mind wanders to a certain redhead who Robin’s recently been head over heals for.

“Right now we only know of one lucky lady.” You smile, raising your eyebrows at her.

Robin rolls her eyes, silently regretting ever telling you about her crush on Vickie because you’re constantly offering mediocre, unsolicited advice.

“I can try and find out if she’s interested?” You offer, ignoring Steve’s scoff from across the room.

“As tempting as the sounds,” Robin pauses, trying to politely decline the offer. “You’re not very subtle.”

Your eyes widen, mouth hanging slightly agape as you inhale sharply. “I am to subtle. Subtler than him.” You defend, pointing at Steve, who’s full attention in now on you two as he reluctantly walks over to the counter.

Robin follows your line of sight and shrugs as if to confirm that you’re right about the latter.

He leans his elbows on the empty counter space beside you. “Yesterday, you practically ran me over on your way to help a girl clean up a rack of tapes she knocked over.” Poking fun at your temporary insanity with a smirk.

“I was providing excellent customer service.” You quickly defend, furrowing your brow.

“Yeah.” Steve huffs underneath his breath. “You’re almost more hopeless than me.”

“Almost.” You clarify, narrowing your eyes at him before adding, “Pretty hard to have worse luck than someone who always strikes out.”

Even though it’s harmless, you sometimes feel bad for teasing Steve so much. But damn it - he makes it so entertaining.

He immediately snaps back, not missing a beat. “I do not always strike out.”

“Yeah, only if you scared off the boys more often.” Robin joins in. “We’d actually prefer that.” She gestures between you two while trying to suppress a small laugh.

“I can’t help it that I have a higher success rate there.” Steve fends off smugly, making you and Robin let out a collective sigh.