Yandere Red Robin - Blog Posts

"This is me trying"

Prologue.

ok yall!! so i'm in a bit of writers block for IBDL and the older AU after tumblr deleted the chpaters I spent days writing. Butttt I did come up with this, reader is still neglected bc she can never be happy, but it's a darker Mafia Au. This also sucks bc it also got deleted but i really wanted to post something and get feeback on this concept. This is the prologue! Hope yall enjoy! Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments make my day and encourage me to write more. Send in aks!!

TW: BRIEF SA, IF IT TRIGGERS YOU, DONT READ!

The Wayne Manor was a sprawling gothic monstrosity perched on the edge of the Gotham skyline, a dark and looming silhouette against the backdrop of a city that never truly slept. It was a place where secrets festered, where power and control were everything, and where the lives of the people within its walls revolved around wealth, influence, and fear. For the people who lived in it, this was home. For you? It was a prison.The Wayne family was Gotham's most powerful mafia family, maybe even in all of North America, an empire built on crime, manipulation, and ruthless control. At the top of it all was Bruce Wayne, the cold and calculating godfather. Your actual father. Beneath him, each of his children had their role to play. But you, his biological daughter, were no more than a ghost within the house. You were a byproduct of a two-night stand with a whore, as your family called her, that had long since faded into shadows, and your presence was barely tolerated by the very people who were supposed to be your family.

At least, that’s how it felt after nearly a decade of living here.

You had arrived at Wayne Manor when you were just seven years old, dragged from the wreckage of your mother’s overdose by a man who was nothing more than a stranger. Bruce Wayne—cold, distant, and unforgiving. A man who ruled over the city with an iron fist and a heart as cold as the marble floors beneath your feet. He wasn’t your father, he never had been. He had simply become the man who was tasked with your care, but that wasn’t much of a care at all. Bruce’s love had always been reserved for the empire he had built, not you. You were merely another complication in his already fractured world. He told you that your mother had left you, that you were his responsibility now, and that you needed to prove you were worthy of the Wayne name. A name that, for the longest time, had been nothing but an empty echo in your mind.

Your mother was your hero, a military hero who realized how fucked up America was and retired. She, like most veterans, got hooked on drugs but that didn't mean she loved you any less. When she died, she took your happiest parts with her.

“Prove you deserve the last name Wayne,” Bruce had said when you were first brought into the manor, his eyes hard, his tone colder than the mansion’s marble floors. He’d looked at you like you were nothing but another part of the vast empire he controlled, a problem to be solved, a name to be earned.

And that’s what you did. You worked. You tried to prove yourself, to be a part of this family—this business. But it didn’t matter. You were invisible to them, a shadow in the background of the Wayne Empire. A ghost that haunted the halls of a mansion that never felt like home.

The moment he had taken you in, he’d told you to keep your head down. "Wayne’s don’t cry. Wayne’s don’t show weakness," he had said, his tone dead and devoid of any warmth. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to you unless it was to reprimand or scold you for something minor. You learned quickly that to Bruce, you didn’t exist.

He was the head of the Wayne Mafia and Wayne enterprise, the mastermind who controlled everything from the shadows. He was feared, respected, and never showed weakness. He wasn't your father. He was your boss, distant, cold, and authoritarian. To him, you were nothing. He barely acknowledged you unless you were needed for some mafia-related task, which was almost never. You were neglected in the deepest way possible, emotionally invisible, yet physically present only when it was required.

You learned early on that any attempt to gain his affection was futile. He was too busy running his empire, and any sign of weakness—like wanting to be close to him—was met with disdain. His affection was reserved for his empire and all his other children.

At 15, you had spent eight years in the mansion without a single ounce of affection from him. You were a tool to him, nothing more. And yet, despite his coldness, you still wanted to earn his approval. You knew it was futile, but there was still something inside you that clung to the hope that one day, maybe, he’d look at you like he did the others. You became top of your class, played volleyball, did cheer, ballet, theatre, became student council president, won every award under the sun hoping he’d notice, that one day he’d show up at your award ceremony and bring your siblings. They’d all be grinning at you proudly, they’d make sure everyone knew you were part of the family, they’d let you sit with them at dinner and let you tell them about your most recent tennis match. But that was always a fantasy.

And maybe that was what broke you the most: knowing that he would never see you as a true part of the family.

Earning the Wayne name felt like a distant dream, like something only the others could ever attain. Bruce made it clear when you arrived at Wayne Manor was that you didn’t belong here yet. His blood ran cold when he looked at you, as though you were a mistake he’d have to clean up. There was no room for kindness, no words of comfort. Just a cold gaze, and then the hollow command to stay out of his way.

As you grew older, the cruelty only deepened, and it wasn’t just Bruce.

When Dick Grayson entered the scene, you were still just a child, struggling to make sense of your place in the mansion. He was everything Bruce wasn’t, charming, always smiling, and the golden boy of the family. The way he spoke to you, with that practiced air of kindness, made your skin crawl.

But the smile he wore to the rest of the world was never the one he gave you. The moment the doors closed behind you two, that smile would disappear, replaced with a smirk that spoke volumes. His jokes about you, his casual jabs, it was like nothing you did would ever be good enough. He was always pushing you, always finding ways to make you feel small.

“You know, if you weren’t so weak, Bruce might actually notice you,” Dick would say as he walked by, his eyes flicking over you like you were nothing more than a nuisance. "But don’t worry. Maybe you’ll prove yourself one day. Maybe.”

His words, though they came with a laugh, always carried the sharp edge of cruelty.

The eldest of the children, the perfect golden boy, the one who could do no wrong in Bruce’s eyes. Dick was no different than the rest. As a leader of a section of the family’s operations, he was a busy man. He had his own goals and ambitions, and when it came to you, he cruel.

To Dick, you were a lost cause, someone who wasn't worth the effort, the butt of the joke. While he didn't mock you as often as Damian or Jason, he certainly didn’t love you, he didn't even like you. He was more likely to ignore you entirely, but if you caught him in a bad mood.........He never tried to be a big brother, and in moments when you needed comfort, he’d either brush you off or simply laugh at you and make you feel worse.

Damian—Bruce’s biological son. Your little brother who seemed to have it all. The heir to the throne, groomed for greatness, your father's love. It wasn’t hard to see the resentment and hatred in his eyes whenever you crossed paths. At 13, Damian was already a lethal force, training under the most dangerous men in the world. But what you hated most about him was that, despite the bitterness, he always seemed to find ways to put you down.

your younger half-brother, was the perfect assassin in training, and he hated you. He hated how you existed in his space, how you took up time and energy that could have been spent on his training. To him, you were a nuisance, a shadow in his way. He didn't care about family bonds or affection. You were just the member of the household that didn’t belong.

Damian's cold demeanor was the product of years of indoctrination into the Wayne family’s brutal world. He was protective of the family, of Bruce’s approval, so any sign of weakness or attachment from you only made him more disgusted. He’d learned to use violence as a way to control people, but when it came to you, he was especially harsh, never lifting a finger to defend you, but constantly mocking, hurting, and ridiculing you, making you feel small and insignificant.

Damian never missed a chance to make cruel remarks about you, as though any attempt at closeness with you would be seen as weakness.

"You're nothing more than a distraction," Damian would sneer as he walked past you, his green eyes glowing with disdain. "Father is wasting time on you. You’ll never be one of us."

His words sliced through you like a blade, and it only made the ache of rejection burn deeper.

Tim was the one who ignored you the most. He had a sharp intellect, a mind for strategy, and an indifference to almost everyone around him, including you. You had tried to talk to him once, hoping for some sort of connection, you were around the same age after all, but he just stared through you as though you weren’t there.

When he did speak, it was never pleasant.

"Could you be quieter for once?" he snapped one evening, his gaze never leaving his laptop screen. "Some of us are trying to work."

It was a pattern, one that left you feeling invisible, like you didn’t even exist in his world. On rare occasions, when he was in a particularly bad mood, he’d throw a cutting remark your way, something meant to remind you that you were just a nuisance in his eyes.

"You think you’re important just because you’re here?" Tim would sneer. "Get over yourself. You’ll never be more than a side character."

The family’s strategist, and tech genius, was the quietest of the bunch. Tim was obsessed with perfection, everything had to be meticulously planned. When it came to you, he was condescending. He believed you were too naïve, too soft for the harsh world they lived in. It was clear that he didn’t consider you part of the family in a meaningful way. To him, you were just another piece in the game, and you were never treated like an equal.

Tim would lecture you about what you should be doing, constantly putting you down in subtle ways that made you question your worth.

Jason was the worst of all, next to Damian of course. Where the others merely ignored you or made snide comments, Jason was outright cruel. He made it clear that he didn’t want you here from the moment you arrived. He’d watch you with a sneer on his face, like you were something he had to tolerate rather than a part of the family.

“Do you ever stop being pathetic?” Jason growled one night, cornering you in the hallway. He was older than you—by eight years—and his presence was always overwhelming, his anger like a shadow that clung to him wherever he went. “You’re nothing but a waste of space. Bruce should’ve left you on the streets where you belong.”

You could never forget that night. The venom in his words, the way he towered over you with that sick, twisted smile that barely concealed the disgust he felt for you—it stayed with you, festering in your mind.

Your older brother, was once a wild and rebellious soul, but after his brutal experience with the Joker, he became even more distant. He had built walls around himself, and those walls excluded you. To him, you were nothing more than a symbol of the dysfunction that ran through the Wayne family. He didn’t care about you, he resented you for simply existing.

Whenever he interacted with you, it was laced with sarcasm and cruelty. He would always mock you in front of the others, tearing down your self-esteem at every opportunity. Your attempts to reach out to him were met with disgust, and sometimes even attacks. If you tried to talk to him about anything personal, he’d brush you off with an eye roll or sarcastic comment.

He was a silent witness to your pain, and he didn't care to acknowledge it.

The girls—Steph, Cass, and Barbara—were no better.

Stephanie would occasionally feign interest in you, only to turn it into a mocking session. "You really think Bruce cares about you?" she’d ask with a smirk. "He just likes having more bodies around to do his bidding. And you? You’re nothing but a backup plan, a mistake."

Cass, though quieter, was no less cruel. She had a way of looking at you as if you were beneath her, like you didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air. Her silence was more suffocating than any words could be.

Barbara, though, was the most calculating. She used her intelligence to manipulate, twisting everything into a game of control. She’d often mock you in front of the others, making it feel like you were a joke.

“Do you really think you’ll ever be anything but Bruce’s charity case?” she asked one day, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You’ll never be one of us. Don’t kid yourself.”

They were mean in every sense of the word, they made fun of your looks, your weight, your height, they gave you insecurities you never would’ve thought of.

Alfred, the Wayne family’s butler, was perhaps the only one who ever showed any genuine care, but even that was limited. Alfred's soft-spoken nature meant he was there for you, but he was more like a caretaker than a father figure. He was more interested in making sure you were fed, safe, and well taken care of, but he never pushed against Bruce or the others to make sure you were emotionally okay. Alfred was loyal to the family and followed Bruce’s commands, no matter how cruel they were.

And then there was Duke.

Duke, the one who never even seemed to acknowledge your existence. He was polite—always saying "hello" when he passed by, but that was the extent of it. He didn’t hate you. He didn’t love you. He just… ignored you. It was almost worse than anything the others did. At least when they made fun of you, you existed to them.

But Duke? He acted as if you weren’t even in the room.

In the end, you were just a shadow in Wayne Manor. There was no love here, no family. Just a constant, searing reminder that you didn’t belong.

You were nothing. You were nobody.

But you’d change that. You had to. You had to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name. Even if it meant enduring their cruelty.

Because deep down, you knew that in a family built on power and fear, only the strongest survived.

And maybe, just maybe, you could become something more.

At Gotham Academy, you were untouchable.

There was no other way to put it. You were awkward and lonely in middle school but that changed as soon as you hit puberty in high school. Suddenly you were the girl everyone wanted to be or be with. Effortless grace and charm, the kind of girl who seemed to have it all together. You were the captain of the cheer team, the student body president, the girl who could throw a party, lead a project, and still ace every test. The guys chased after you with varying levels of persistence, but none of them knew who you really were. They didn’t know you were a Wayne.

They didn’t know you were just a forgotten child in the massive, shadowed halls of Wayne Manor.

At school, you were alive. Teachers fawned over you, praising your work ethic, your achievements, and your positive attitude. "Your essays are brilliant," Mrs. Summers would say, always raising her eyebrow in surprise when she saw your name at the top of the page. "You never fail to impress, your parents must be proud." You smiled, the words coming easily, just as they always did. The praise felt good, almost like an escape from the emptiness that waited for you when you returned to Wayne Manor.

But the truth was, you were dying for something real, something that made you feel seen at home.

When school let out, you gathered your things, avoiding the usual parade of admirers by slipping through the back doors of the school to your waiting car. Today, there was no stopping the swarm of boys who followed you from class to class. Josh from the football team had been practically suffocating you all day with his relentless compliments, while Lucas, the track star, was constantly finding excuses to "study" with you. Both of them seemed to think your "no" was just another challenge. But despite their attention, you were still the one who didn’t belong.

Because once you left Gotham Academy, once you stepped into Wayne Manor, you were nobody.

Bruce never cared to acknowledge your presence, let alone make you feel like part of the family. He was always wrapped up in his business empire or his “other life,” never bothering to check in on you. The closest thing you had to a father was Alfred, the ever-loyal butler, who was the only one who seemed to care about you. But even his affection was distant, a courtesy reserved for a child who didn’t quite fit.

Damian, Tim, Stephanie, and Duke all attended Gotham Prep, the elite school for Gotham’s privileged. Bruce had never bothered enrolling you there, and you wondered, sometimes, if it was because you weren’t good enough, weren’t worth the effort.

And yet, despite their indifference, you longed to be seen by them. Maybe if you earned their respect, earned Bruce’s approval, they would start noticing you.

But it was always the same: emptiness.

The one place you could truly escape to was Grace's house. Grace was your best friend, your sister in every way that mattered. She was the one who saw the real you, the one who didn’t care about your last name or your family’s wealth. She was the only one who knew you were the unwanted daughter of Gothams most infamous mobster. She accepted you as you were: a girl who was as talented as she was misunderstood.

At Grace’s house, you felt alive. It was a normal, cozy home, filled with laughter and love, the kind of place that had never been offered to you at Wayne Manor. Her parents treated you like their own daughter, and her two older brothers—Isaac and Nathan—had taken to protecting you like you were their little sister. Her youngest brother, James annoyed you as much as he did Grace and somehow, you loved him for it. It was nice being a big sister to someone who was actually normal and didn't try to kill you all the time.

Grace’s oldest brother, Daniel, was another story, he treated you like a sister even though you've had a crush on him since you were 10.

You flirted with him constantly. It wasn’t anything serious, but Daniel had a way of making your heart race in a way that the boys at Gotham Academy never could. He was a older than you, maybe 21, with a confident charm that made him irresistible. Tall, blonde, jacked, he was the perfect All-American boy. You knew he wasn’t ever going to see you as anything more that a little sister but that didn’t stop you from trying. Every time he walked into the room, your heart did a little skip, and you couldn’t help but turn into a blushing mess. Grace teased you endlessly for it. Daniel was your first ever crush and that feeling would never really go away, no matter how much you saw him or how sisterly he treated you.

Most nights, you stayed over at Grace's. It became a regular tradition—weekends spent in her house, sprawled out on her couch for movie marathons, stealing her clothes, gossiping about school, and stealing snacks from her kitchen. You loved it there. You could forget about Wayne Manor, forget about the neglect and the loneliness, and just be a normal teenager. You came over for Thanksgiving, your birthday, and for Christmas they even had a stocking with your name on it.

One night, after a particularly grueling practice, Grace invited you to another sleepover at her house. As usual, you packed a bag with the essentials, pajamas, a change of clothes, and your phone, just in case. You already had most things at her house, you practically lived with her at this point. The moment you arrived, Grace’s dad, Thomas, greeted you with a warm hug, his hearty laugh filling the room. “Here comes trouble!” he said, ruffling your hair in that easy-going way he did every time you showed up.

You felt the pang of longing for a real family, but you pushed it away, embracing the warmth of the moment. You wanted to be part of this family, a normal family.

Grace’s siblings were equally welcoming. Nathan tossed you a snack and winked. “You ready to get your ass kicked at Mario Kart again?” he teased, knowing full well that you were unbeatable.

James groaned "I knew I smelled another loser walk in" You gasped dramatically and put him into a headlock, ruffling his hair till he apologized.

As the night went on, and you all sat around Grace’s kitchen table, laughing and joking, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life at Wayne Manor, and the family that barely looked at you, was a shadow that still loomed over your heart.

But then, as if to prove that life couldn’t just be simple for you, the front door of Grace’s house swung open, and your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced at it, your stomach dropping as you saw the name.

Alfred.

You knew what it meant. You couldn't sleep over tonight. Bruce was having people over and you had to be there in case the guests asked about you. Another night where you'd sit at the table in the maids kitchen, listening to your family get along without you. Pretending that Bruce’s absence didn’t eat away at you, didn't make you feel less than. You ignored his message. You didn't want to go home, really the guests never even knew Bruce had a biological daughter, they wouldn't ask about you. This was just Alfred's way of trying to make the family bond with you.

It was always the same. Bruce only ever reached out when he needed you for something, when his empire demanded your presence. But never for the reason you truly needed. Not for affection. Not for love.

You stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the laughter and warmth of Grace’s home. You didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go back to the place that always made you feel so… alone. But you had to. You had no choice. You already ignored Alfred's text long enough, you missed dinner so you had to get home or else Bruce might actually kill you, if he even noticed you weren't there.

No matter how far you ran, how many awards you won, or how many boys followed you around at school, the question remained: when would you finally be seen by the ones who mattered most?

That night, your prayers were answered, your bravery caught the entire family's attention just when you had gotten okay with their negligence, began to enjoy doing whatever you wanted from the shadows.

The rain was fucking relentless.

It hammered down from the heavens, soaking you to the bone as you walked through the backstreets of Gotham. The kind of rain that made you feel like you were being baptized in cold, dirty water. You pulled the hood of your jacket up, not that it did a damn thing to keep you dry. The city’s grimy streets were slick with water, reflecting the neon lights like a damn funhouse mirror. You kept your head down, trying to ignore the chill creeping through your clothes.

Grace’s house had been a brief escape from the cold, suffocating grip of Wayne Manor. For a few hours, you’d felt like a person again. Like someone who could actually live, instead of just existing as a piece of forgotten furniture in the mansion. But that was before Alfred had texted. Before you saw his name flash across your screen, making your stomach twist in a knot.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, shoving the phone back into your pocket. Not today. Not now. You needed more time before you went back to that suffocating place. But you knew it wasn’t a choice. Bruce would be pissed, and when Bruce Wayne was pissed? Everyone knew about it.

Still, you had to push forward. It was Gotham, after all. A rainstorm in this city could mean anything from a mugging to a full-on shootout. Every step felt heavier as you neared the looming silhouette of Wayne Manor. The mansion stood there like some kind of ancient titan, always watching, always waiting, and never giving a damn about who you were.

The door creaked open, and you slipped inside, trying to make as little noise as possible. Maybe you’d get lucky and Bruce would be too busy with whatever the hell was going on to notice you sneaking in.

Fat chance.

The foyer was dark, and the mansion smelled like dust and expensive wood polish. You should have felt comforted by the familiarity, but instead, all you could feel was that gnawing sense of isolation. The Manor had always felt like a prison to you, and not the kind you could escape with a couple of well-timed sprints or clever words. This was a cage built with stone and glass, and you were stuck inside it.

You started down the hallway, the faint sound of voices growing louder as you passed the dining room.

And then you stopped. Something in the air changed. The hairs on your neck stood up. You were too close to the dining hall, and the moment you looked in through the door, your breath hitched in your chest.

There, at the long grand dining table, sat your family—or, well, what was left of them. Every one of them was slumped forward, tied to their chairs with ropes, blood trickling from their ears, noses, and mouths. The first thing you noticed was that no one was moving. No one was breathing. They all looked... dead.

Bruce. Damian. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Duke. Steph. Barbra, even Alfred was slumped over in the corner where he usually kept watch. All of them.

Your stomach dropped to your feet as you backed away slowly. This was not happening.

“No fucking way,” you breathed out, stepping back, trying to backpedal before anyone heard you. But your mind was already working overtime. Who did this? Why?

The answer came quickly. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. The guests, it had to be them. The rich assholes who had “business” with Bruce. Except now, you were figuring out that the business they were conducting didn’t involve any stock markets or deals. It was murder.

And then the realization hit: whoever these people were, they weren’t here for some petty robbery. They’d been in the house long enough to take down the entire family without a sound.

Fuck.

Your mind went blank. For a second, you thought you were dreaming. But no, this was real. And this was not happening.

You were about to turn on your heel and haul ass out of there, but that’s when you heard it. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Two of them, moving fast, and definitely not the quiet kind. The air around you felt thicker. The kind of thick that made your skin crawl.

You darted to the side, taking cover behind a marble pillar. From the sound of it, someone was coming this way. Your heart pounded in your chest as you held your breath, praying to God they didn’t notice you.

You needed to leave. Now. Run. Go.

But just as you turned, desperate to bolt before anyone saw you, you froze.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and moving fast.

There was no time to think, you stayed hidden watching them walk around the room. They were wearing crisp black suits, and all three looked like they shopped in the"Big and tall" section. There was no way you could fight off all three, yeah you had some muscle but nothing like Jason or even Tim. Even Bruce would break a sweat facing these guys. They seemed to be checking Bruce's pockets right now, looking for something.

While they were distracted, you took deep breathes, trying to calm down. Who the fuck were these people? How did they manage to trick the infamous Wayne Family? What did they want? How could you get out of this and save your family?

Did you even want to save your family?

You shook the thought away quickly; of course you wanted to save them, they were cruel and horrible but who were you to decide their fate without trying to help them? Who made you judge, jury, and executioner?

Then you saw it, Bruce's emergency button, hidden on the wall. Only noticeable to someone who's wandered these halls for years. You almost fell to your knees in relief as you sneakily crawled over to it and pressed it.

Help was on the way and the intruders didn't know you were here! You smiled feeling pure relief at your quick thinking.

How's that for useless huh Damian? You wanted to taunt him as you looked at his unconsious form. He was so much better this way, they all were. They were silent.

Then, you heard it, the loud blaring of alarms and sirens. "Emergency." "Emergency." Alfred's voice rang through the whole manor and the sirens alerted the men that you were in the dining room.

You groaned, eyes burning with tears, "Who's the fucking dumbass that made the silent alarm LOUD?"

The men came rushing into the dining room yet it seemed to be your lucky-unlucky day. Only one of them had a gun.

Time seemed to slow as he aimed it at Bruce's soon to be lifeless head. You don't know what came over you as you tackled Bruce's unconscious body out of the bullets way.

You regretted it as soon as you did it, your vision went white with pain as the bullet hit you shoulder.

You pushed through the pain and grabbed a butter knife as one of the unarmed men approached you. You punched and ducked but the pain slowed you down. He hit you hard right in the ribs, so you did him one better and gouged his right eye out with your butter knife. Those boxing classes really did do some good, no wonder your mom insisted on them.

More shots rang out and it was out of pure adreneline that you were able to pull almost each and every member of your family under the table. Damian was the only one left and as you stood to pull him down too, you saw the armed man pull the trigger of his gun. He was going to kill your baby brother, he was aiming at the 14 year old's head. No matter how cruel or vicious Damian was, he's still a child, still your little brother.

You couldn't let him die. Maybe that's why you threw your self on top of his body, protecting him from the two bullets aimed at him.

Fuck.

This hurt. No wonder people hated being shot. This hurt more than cheer warm ups, did you think you were bulletproof?

You decided that you would just allow the next person to be shot. The man's footsteps were coming closer and you were getting more light headed from the pain. You turned to Jason's unconscious body and punched him. "Wake up you fucking loser! I can't fight this guy."

Obviously, Jason didn't wake up, why did you even think anyone in this family would ever try and help you?

As you shook him and panicked even more, you noticed something shining in Bruce's pocket. So much for "No weapons at the dinner table."

A sleek black gun, any other day you would've marveled at the custom design on it and focused on the monograming, but right now all that mattered was getting it before you bled out and the man killed you. You crawled and those five steps felt like eternity and when you finally grabbed the gun out of Bruce's armani suit pocket, the scary man was standing above you with a cruel grin.

Your heart dropped as he knelt next to you and stroked your hair, "Hey, pretty." He breathed out as he knelt next to you, his hands wandering around your body and up your skirt. Bile rose to your mouth and your heart dropped. No. This isn't happening. "If I had know Bruce had such a pretty thing, I would've been come here. You're certainly the looker compared to your sisters." He said as he began smelling your hair.

You don't know how it happened, but suddenly he was laying on the floor with blood coming out his throat. You looked between your hand holding the gun and his now lifeless body in horror. The last thing you heard before passing out was a flurry of boots and gunshots and a man that sounded like your father yelling for a doctor. The last thing you saw was a tall boy lifting you up, his eyes as blue as the sky, and you genuinely believed you died and went to heaven.

The room was cold, sterile, a sharp contrast to the emotional storm raging inside you. The pain in your shoulder and stomach was nothing compared to the weight on your chest, the realization that no matter what, you couldn’t escape this life anymore. You had made your choice, whether you liked it or not.

You woke to the soft beeping of machines and the scent of antiseptic in the air, your vision still blurry. It didn’t take long for the footsteps to reach you—slow, deliberate. The door creaked open, and one by one, they walked in.

Dick entered first, his expression calm but unreadable. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and instead of his usual mocking smile, there was something more restrained about him now. The newfound respect he had for you was obvious, but there was a subtle weight behind it. He didn’t say much, just gave you a nod.

“You’re still breathing, that's good,” he said softly, his voice low, a simple acknowledgment. “We all owe you for that. For what you did.” The words weren’t a compliment, they were recognition, quiet and heavy. The respect was there, but so was the unspoken truth: You were one of them now.

You expected to feel happier. You imagined this day so many times before, you prayed for it, so why were you sick to your stomach now that it's happened? Why didn't you want it anymore and why hadn't you realized it till now?

Damian was next, stepping in with his usual, stoic expression. His eyes flicked over you briefly, but there was no anger in his gaze, only a quiet understanding, maybe even admiration, hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Your actions saved all of us,” he said, voice flat. “You’ve earned your place here. Just don’t forget it.” His words weren’t harsh, but there was no room for doubt. You had proved yourself. And that meant something far more permanent than any spoken affirmation could express.

Ungrateful brat. You took a bullet for him and he couldn't even thank you. God, you hated him. You were starting to wish you weren't a good person and let them all die. The inheritance would've been insane.

Jason followed suit, and though his rough edges remained, there was a faint softness in his expression as he looked at you.

“Damn, princess,” he muttered, his eyes scanning you with quiet intensity. “You really pulled through. You did what most of us couldn’t.” His gaze softened for just a moment, and then he leaned against the doorframe. “Didn't realize I had such a badass as a little sister. The knife move, the way you ducked and punched? Sick."

Jason, of all people, was praising you. Treating you like his sister rather than dirt at the bottom of his shoe. The nickname, princess, he once used to ridicule you, was said with a quiet revrance; like he actually thought you were a princess now. You couldn't help but feel good, this was all you wanted all these years. And in that moment, you would get shot again without hesitation if it meant you would get that everyday.

Tim entered next, and though his face was stoic, his eyes betrayed the flicker of respect, maybe even admiration. “We all saw it,” he said, his voice steady, but tinged with something quieter. “What you did… It wasn’t just about surviving. It was about protecting us. You earned the right to stand beside us. We all thank you.”

Well, it's not great but at least someone is appreciative. None of them would've done the same for you.

Cass entered, silent as always, but the look she gave you spoke volumes. She didn’t need to say anything—her eyes, sharp and understanding, told you that she saw your sacrifice, saw what you had done for them. She gave you a slight nod, acknowledging your place among them.

Then Duke and Stephanie stepped in.

Duke’s eyes were calm, but you could see the flicker of something more behind his gaze. The weight of what had happened didn’t escape him. His voice was steady as he spoke.

“You did what we couldn’t,” he said, his tone quiet but unshakable. “You kept us alive. All of us. And that means something. You’ve earned your place in this family.” His eyes softened, just the slightest bit. “Just don’t forget... that this family doesn’t leave anyone behind. Not anymore.”

And then there was Stephanie. Her usual energy was gone, replaced with something more somber. She didn’t crack a joke or make a snide remark. Her eyes scanned you with something like respect, but more than that, a quiet understanding that you’d been forced to prove yourself in ways none of them had ever been asked you to.

“Guess you really are one of us now,” she said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, but it wasn’t lighthearted. It was tired. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad you’re still here.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pulled herself together quickly. “You’ve got our backs. We’ve got yours.”

Barbra stood next to her in agreement, looking hesitant to say something. She was the only one who noticed how much you resented them even though you were desperate for their love and approval.

What. The. Fuck.

No way this is happening. This is not real. Who knew saving someone's life could have them do a complete 180. Stephanie said she had your back. Duke acknowledged your existence. Jason didn't make you cry. Damian didn't attempt to kill or maim you. It's like the sky turned pink.

Finally, Bruce.

He stepped into the room, his presence overwhelming. The familiar weight of his gaze was on you immediately, but today there was something different—something almost proud in the way he looked at you, as if he finally saw you as more than just a forgotten name in the Wayne family history.

He was quiet for a moment, his hands folded in front of him. And then he spoke, his voice steady, unyielding, but carrying an undertone of something that almost felt like respect. “You did more than survive. You saved our lives. Every single one of us.” His eyes didn’t leave you. “You’re part of this family now. You’ve earned it. You earned the name Wayne.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. Part of the family.

It was like a weight dropping onto your chest—something heavy, something that couldn’t be easily brushed away. There was no turning back. You were one of them now, and that scared you, you hadn’t anticipated that.

Bruce’s eyes softened, just slightly, but his voice remained firm. “From this moment forward, you have a curfew. Midnight. You may have earned your place here, but you’ll follow the rules, just like the rest of us.”

You didn’t say anything. How could you? His words settled into your chest like stone, the finality of them carving out any space for protest. There was no choice in the matter. You were in this life now, whether you wanted to be or not. Midnight was late for a curfew anyway, Grace had to be home by 9.

“We all owe you our lives,” Bruce continued, but there was no gratitude in his tone, only a recognition of the debt. “But that doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the responsibilities we carry. Understand?”

You nodded once, slowly, the words caught in your throat. You wanted to speak, wanted to scream, to tell him that you weren’t sure you could do this, that you didn’t know if you were ready to live this life—the life of a Wayne, the life of this family.

What did a mafia family even do? Did you run around being Bruce's useless henchman, or did you have to go around trying to kill people? Could they be more specific about the pros and cons?

But nothing came out. There was nothing you could say that would change anything now.

Jason gave you a crooked grin,“Guess you’ve got to start following the rules now, huh? Welcome to the real family business.”

Tim’s gaze lingered for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “We’re all in this together,” he said quietly. “Whether you like it or not.”

Damian’s face softened, but only slightly. “I expect you to keep up,” he added, before turning to leave. “No slacking. We all carry our weight in this family.”

Cass’s presence remained, her silent approval almost suffocating in its quiet intensity.

Duke gave you one last nod before he turned, the weight of his gaze a reminder that you couldn’t slip out of this, no matter how much you might want to. He wasn’t angry—just silently resolute in his understanding. “You’re one of us now. That means something.”

And Stephanie? Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, before she gave you a small, tired smile. “We’re with you. All the way.”

Bruce? He gave you one last look, his eyes still holding that rare spark of approval—but it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t warm. It was measured, like a general overseeing a soldier. You were part of the mission now.

“We’ll train,” he said, his voice unwavering. “We’ll teach you everything you need to know. But it’s clear you’ve already proven yourself.”

You lay back against the pillows, the silence that followed hanging heavy in the air.

This is so weird. Why are they all being nice? How do you react to it? How do you interact with them? Is it genuine gratitude for saving their lives or is it a cruel joke to make you feel like you're important.

As they left, one by one, you stayed there, immobilized by the weight of it all. You’d earned your place here. But what did that mean now? What did it mean to be part of this family? You weren’t sure you even wanted it. But it was too late to turn back now.

OK YALL HERES THE PROLOGUE!! LMK WHAT YALL THINK AND HOW I SHOULD/ IF I SHOULD CONTINUE THIS FIC!!! HOPE YALL ENJOYED!! SEND IN ASKS! SORRY IF IT SUCKS LEAVE ME ALONE!!

"Waking Up in Vegas"

Prologue, Chapter one:, Chapter 2,Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

ok guys! we're back and reader's hot girl summer has started! Sorry I was gonna put this chapter out earlier today but i've just been so busy today plus i'm cooking up a 3rd part for "older" I got my period AND i have a math test and english essay coming up. If some parts don't make sense, its on purpose. Reader is disoriented and drunk half the time, the days blur together for her. Lmk what yall think of readers hot girl summer and what you want/think will happen in the next chapter .Sorry for any mistakes! Comments, reblogs and ASKS make my dayyyy and encourage me.

Saint-Tropez wasn’t just a place, it was a playground, a haven for those who didn’t care about consequences or anyone else’s rules.

And you? Well, you were done with rules.

For the last two weeks, you’d been living like this, untouchable, free, and completely lying to your family.

You had told Bruce you were staying with Ariel and her father, which was true, for the first two days anyway.

Ariel's father is a busy man, he couldn't take 2 and a half months off work to babysit two 16 year olds who would do what they wanted anyway. As soon as he left, Ariel began calling your two other close friends, Claire and Rory. Together, all four of you were unstoppable at school though it was an unspoken rule that you and Ariel were the dynamic duo. All four of you stayed in Ariel's ocean front villa, relaxing, tanning, and just getting settled.

God, let's not even start on how drastically everything changed while you were at boarding school and the family found out Tiffany's true colors. They were all so.....protective now. You got calls everyday, from each of your 'siblings' separately, dozens of texts asking you what you ate, who you were with, and what you were doing. You didn't entertain them. The only person you replied to was Bruce, and that's only because you knew if he wanted to, he could call off this whole trip.

You didn't answer Tim's random, vague questions like, "Who's that on your story? Do you know them? Are you sure they're safe to be with?" He was asking about a simple sunset dinner picture you posted with Ariel, so you blocked him. He's way too nosy.

You didn't reply to the groupchat the girls, Barbra, Steph, and Cass added you in called "The girls!!"

What a creative name!

You left after you saw 'Tiffany was removed from this conversation'. Maybe you were being petty but they obviously had this chat before and didn't bother to add you to it before Tiffany was exposed. It was your turn to ignore them.

You definitely didn't reply to Damian's outright threatening messages that he sent almost every other day, they all sounded something along the lines of "You will regret this. You cannot simply leave and run away from your family. Come home or else."

He's such a strange little boy, he spoke and acted like an angry Victorian prince. He texted you like you were close before, like it wasn't him who pushed you away. You were coming back in two months and yet he acted like ran away and changed your name.

Jason, Bruce, and Dick were the most consistent and annoying, in that order exactly.

Jason texted you every morning at 8 and every night 11, like clockwork. His texts were daily updates what he was planning on doing that day, asking you the same, and reminding you that he's sorry and that he loves you. It tugged at your heart not to answer him, and sometimes, you gave in and you could feel the joy in his response when you replied. You and Jason's conversations went like this, on the odd occasion you replied,

"Good morning." - Jason

"How are you? No trouble in paradise I hope."- Jason

"My days gonna be pretty dull today, nothing much except patrol. Might go to that bookstore you used to like." - Jason

Your cold heart would melt when he said things like that and you would reply,

"awww! jason, thats so sweet." and follow with "I'm good!! how bout you??? staying out of trouble?"

Jason was your softest spot and he knew it.

Bruce texted you three times a day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. His messages were dry and authorative, demanding answers. He wanted to know who you were with, what you were doing, if you left the house, and if you were okay. The fatherly care and authority isn't something your used to, it was strange. You weren't sure if you felt cared for or suffocated. You answered Bruce once a day, your tone straight to the point, answering only what he asked, nothing more.

Dick is by far the worst. He texted you constantly, as if trying to make up for 11 years of not texting you at all. He texted you when he woke up, when he slept, when he ate, what he ate, and sent you pictures of everything. Once he sent you a picture of a tiny bird saying it reminded him of you. You nearly blocked him after that, the only reason you didn't was because you liked how desperate he was. Not long ago, it was you spamming him like that. Plus he can be funny most of the time. You don't even want to think of the constant selfies he sent. You only ever replied once.

Dick sent a selfie of him hanging with some of the Titans, you forgot why or what he said along with it, but you do remember seeing Connor Kent shirtless in the background. You giggled and showed Ariel how hot he is. You replied to Dick almost instantly hearting the picture, screen shotting it, and drawing a heart around Connor saying something like, "WHO DAT IN THE BACK????" and "Tell superboy to hmu".

Dick was not happy about that, that was the last group selfie he ever sent. He got more frequent with his texts after that. He must've snitched to Jason because not even five minutes after you got a text from him.

"Remember what I said. No boys, i'll kick his ass." - Jason

You ignored him of course.

The sun beat down in the south of France, but you were far from concerned with the blistering heat. Not when there was a private yacht at your disposal, a poolside filled with strangers and familiar faces alike, and the soundtrack of Drake keeping your pulse racing. You felt the vibration of your phone against your palm for the third time in ten minutes. Another text from Bruce. He was becoming more insistent you answer him the longer you were gone. It's only been two weeks! Another "where are you?" or "be careful." As if you were gonna listen. Or reply to him.

Bruce. The man who'd ignored you for the better part of your life, suddenly acting like a worried father because Tiffany, the perfect sister, had betrayed them all. Tiffany, the adopted daughter who had somehow replaced you in their world. Now, she was the enemy, the traitor, the spy, and she was gone. That meant you had all the freedom you could ever want.

The more you thought about Tiffany the angrier you got. She had everything. How many summers has she spent on yatchs partying? How many times has she blown thousands of Bruce's dollars? Why were you forgiving them so easily? Why were you even listening to him?

Just because he apologized and said he'd change?

Why should you forgive Jason so easily and respect his rules, he ignored you for years and replaced you with Tiffany. The more you drank, the more you thought and the angrier you got. Who do they think they are? You've always been too nice, too obedient, and they're still taking advantage of it. You'd show them, show them what its like to be ignored and forgotten and made fun of.

For the next two months, you were going to ignore them. Bruce and jason included. You've been too nice, too good these two weeks, your friends were begging to party but you didn't want to, you were scared of disappointing them.

You were so angry nothing changed in you that you finally caved and decided to do what Claire and Rory were doing, give your phone to a worker here and have them turn the location on and send updates to Bruce. You still used the same icloud so you could read their messages and make sure they weren't suspicous.

He'd think you were always at the villa or just going into town, they won't know what hit them.

You turn to Ariel and grin, "I'm free. What are we doing tonight?" You were done obeying their rules and living your life for them. Who knows when you'd be alone in Europe with your best friends again.

Ariel hopped off her chair and squealed, her dark skin glowing from the sun, she grabbed you and twirled you around, your giggles echoing through the yacht and drawing Claire and Rory's attention.

Ariel grinned and explained to Rory and Claire, "Little Miss good girl finally came to her senses and went M.I.A with her dad. Now we can finally party! Hot girl summer starts now."

All three girls start squealing and join Ariel in her celebration.

You rolled your eyes feeling guilty, "I told you, you could've gone without me!"

Ariel wrapped her arm around you, "Nonsense, it's not a party without you. Now, come on we gotta go shopping if we're going out tonight. It's lucky that we both have daddy's black cards. It's really lucky that they have Dior, Hermes, and YSL down the street."

You weren't sure how much you spent and the drinks kept you from feeling guilty. Bruce is like, a bajilionaire, what you spent won't make a dent.

Somehow, you ended up on an even bigger yacht filled with guys, in your brand new Dior bikini with a matching bag.

By the time night fell, the yacht was buzzing, the VIP lounge overrun by people who hadn’t even been invited. The bass was so loud you felt it in your bones. You didn’t care. You've never felt so alive.

Your new phone wasn't getting any messages except DMs, and the woman you hired confirming Bruce thought you were sound asleep in the villa.

You can practically taste the summer air as you step onto the deck of the boat, laughing with Ariel and your friends and the others you’ve met along the way. No one cares about where you’ve been, where you’re going, or who your family is.

As the DJ cranks up the volume, a cute guy with long blonde hair catches your eye. You wink at him and saunter over. This summer is all about freedom, and you’re ready for it. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you close, and suddenly you’re lost in the rhythm, spinning and laughing, his lips brushing against your ear.

The night wears on, you drink more, laugh louder, flirt harder. The yacht turns into a blur of lights, drinks, and music. As midnight rolls around, the party shows no signs of slowing. You could stay here forever, with no rules but your own.

But then it happens. You wake up in a completely different city.

London.

You’re sprawled on a plush couch in a ridiculously luxurious flat, a half-empty bottle of champagne next to you. The room smells like expensive perfume, and the decor is all sleek lines and minimalist chic. You sit up slowly, your head pounding from last night.

You sit up straighter, rubbing your eyes.You vaguely remember a private jet, but it’s all blurry. One moment, you were on the deck of the yacht, living it up, and the next, you're waking up in an entirely new country.

You look around the room in panic and spot Ariel sleeping on the couch and a random guy, butt naked on the floor next to her. You sigh in relief at Ariel being okay and the fact you weren't kidnapped.

There’s a knock at the room door, and when you answer, it's a random guy from last night, British accent, disheveled hair, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He grins at you sheepishly. “Hey, you good?”

You, Ariel, the naked boy named Christian, and the Brit named Thomas, have breakfast and exchange stories of what you remember from last night. It was fun, but you and Ariel flew back to St. Tropez where a jealous Claire and a worried Rory were waiting.

Last night was fun, but it couldn't happen again. It was dangerous and if anything happened Bruce wouldn't know.

Except it did happen again, and again, all summer long.

The next weeks were a blur, Venice, Monaco, and Madrid, with stops in Dubai and Los Angeles along the way. Each city more vibrant and intoxicating than the last. Every place you went, you had the freedom to be whoever you wanted to be. There was always a fresh crop of people, and you reveled in not having to answer to anyone. No father, no brothers, no sisters, just you and your friends against the world.

You and Ariel lived your lives like you were gonna die tomorrow. You were unstoppable, no family, no rules, no responsibility. Your abilities weren't acting up at all, everything was perfect. Bruce and the family were off your back, being made to think you were at the villa all day.

The “No Boys Rule” was completely disregarded, though. It seemed that whenever you let your guard down for just a moment, you’d end up surrounded by someone new. Whether it was a guy from a club in Monaco or a guy you met on a private yacht in Venice, you were always finding someone new

Despite all the parties, the alcohol, and the private Instagram posts, and funny Tik Toks, there was still a growing sense that you weren’t living this life for you, you were living it for the rebellion, to spite Bruce.

It wasn’t just about freedom anymore. It was about finally being seen, even if that meant drifting away from everyone you once called family.

You only had one month left of absolute freedom, and you were gonna make the most of it. With Ariel, Rory, and Claire by your side, you partied in just about every city.

The final month of your wild European escapade had arrived, and things were only getting wilder.

The clock had no meaning anymore. Days and nights blended into each other as you danced from one city to the next, your world a whirlwind of music, champagne, and endless laughter. Ariel, Rory, and Claire had become your partners in crime, literally when you got arrested, but thats not important.

Each morning you woke up in a new place, groggy and confused, only to remember the night before—flashing lights, pounding beats, and the promise of more. Cannes, Monte Carlo, Paris, or Dubai, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the freedom you’d found in them, and in yourself. You were more than the neglected, ignored girl from Gotham; now, you were the life of the party.

there was always someone waiting to whisk you away to the next nightclub, the next gala, the next beach party where the world’s richest men tried to get your attention.

First, it was Paris. You could feel the eyes on you as soon as you entered the hotel lobby. The air smelled of expensive perfume, freshly polished marble, and the faintest trace of guilt, because in some corner of your mind, you could still hear Bruce’s voice echoing in your ears. But it quickly faded as the first private yacht rolled up to the dock. The deck was crowded with Parisian socialites and half-drunk billionaires, but it wasn’t about the crowd, it was about the feeling of being wanted. Being worshipped.

It was in Paris that you really started feeling the distance between you and the life you’d left behind. The champagne flowed easily, the laughter came effortlessly, but there was an ache you hadn’t anticipated. A pang that struck at the edges of your satisfaction, the kind you couldn’t drink away.

You thought about Bruce. His pleading words, his desperation, and how, for a moment, you almost felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. You couldn’t let him win. Couldn’t let them see that you’d needed them. Because that would mean giving up everything you had now, the freedom, the endless nights, the city hopping, the boys who adored you.

You let it all sink in, just for a second, how much control you had over them now. How much they wanted you back, how much they needed you back. It felt good, knowing that you could walk away and have them chase after you, like you used to chase them.

Maybe it was the brief, fleeting moments when you thought about Gotham, about Bruce, about your family, and how none of it felt real anymore. They’d played their games, ignored you, and now it was your turn.

Meanwhile, your phone was a constant buzz of messages. Tim had sent at least five texts, each one more urgent than the last. Jason called twice, his voice sharp and filled with that annoying overprotectiveness he just developed. And Bruce… well, Bruce sent you one long, pleading message, something about understanding, about giving him another chance, and answering his calls. You didn’t even bother reading it all. You didn’t need to. You didn’t care enough to respond.

You had no intention of being tied down by anyone, but when a French prince with dark, tousled hair and eyes that burned through your soul offered you a glass of champagne and a seat next to him, you took it.

You didn’t even have to look for him, he found you. He was the one with the perfect jawline, the one who could be a model if he wasn’t already a prince. His eyes, blue locked onto yours the second you entered the VIP area. A raised brow, a subtle smirk, and you knew that for tonight, he was yours.

You didn’t speak much. He didn’t ask questions, and that was the kind of energy you craved. A few words, some flirting, fleeting touches, and then you were in his Lambo, the leather seats smooth under your skin as the city sped by. He went as fast as you wanted, loving the thrill and impressed look in your eyes.

The thrill was intoxicating, the feeling of being someone else, someone free. The kind of person who didn’t have to answer to anyone. A few hours later, you were standing on a balcony, watching the sunrise, your lips tingling from the kiss he’d stolen.

Your mind was a haze of laughter and the aftertaste of expensive whiskey. The view of the French Riviera was far too beautiful to appreciate right now, and your thoughts wandered back to Gotham, to the family you’d abandoned, the ones who had never cared for you.

But as the days wore on, it was harder to ignore the hollow feeling creeping in. The message from Dick, the one where he told you that he loved you, stayed in your mind longer than it should have. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You didn’t owe him anything. But you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a second, what it would have been like if things were different.

You turned away from those thoughts quickly. You couldn’t afford to get attached. Not now. Not when you were on the verge of something bigger. The freedom you had now was everything you wanted. No one could take that from you.

You couldn’t let them control you. You wouldn’t let them.

You and Ariel were inseparable now, pulling Claire and Rory into your whirlwind of recklessness. You all had your roles, Ariel was the carefree partier, Claire the quiet one who always managed to keep ya'll out of trouble, and Rory was the one always ready with a camera and a new Tik Tok idea. You were the star, the one they all gravitated toward.

Each day was a new city, a new set of challenges, a new set of eyes who wanted to be close to you. You knew the game, knew how to play it. You knew how to keep them guessing, how to make them want you more.

So, you danced. You partied. You lived in the moment and let your life spiral further from Gotham’s grasp.

From there, it was off to the next city.

Las Vegas; Sin City, there was no place like it. You couldn’t even remember how you got there, your mind fuzzy with a mix of adrenaline and whatever was in that last glass of tequila. The strip was lit up like daylight, people everywhere, the air thick with smoke and the sound of slot machines ringing through the night.

You woke up in a penthouse suite that could have been mistaken for an entire floor of the Bellagio, the morning sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there he was, a prince. The same French prince, draped in a robe embroidered with gold thread, a fresh glass of mimosas on the table beside him. He was smirking, lounging on the couch like this was all part of his daily routine. You couldn’t even remember how you got to the suite. What had happened between the bar and now? You didn’t care.

He didn’t seem to care either, his hand casually tracing the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving you. You laughed, feeling the surrealness of it all wash over you, the weight of your last 48 hours in Ibiza and Monaco still fresh on your skin. One minute, you were dancing at a celebrity’s secret after-party in Monaco, and the next, you were here, on the other side of the world with some mysterious prince who had probably already forgotten your name.

The rest of the night was spent taking private jet rides to exclusive clubs, partying with people whose names you couldn’t even pronounce, and waking up to the flashing lights of a casino floor. Vegas was the kind of place where everything felt fake, but that didn’t matter. You really are Brucie Wayne's daughter.

Next stop, Ibiza, the heart of Europe’s clubbing scene. Ariel and you slipped into the club, stepping past the velvet ropes like it was second nature. The security guard practically bowed as you walked by. The crowd parted for you, the clinking of champagne glasses and the hum of expensive conversations filling the air.

This was where you belonged. The heat of the island, the night that stretched into forever. You and Ariel danced on top of the table at Pacha, popping bottles like they were nothing, the music vibrating in your bones, the crowd chanting your name like you were the star of the show. It was your second night there, and you had already met a Spanish duke who was more interested in buying you a yacht than actually getting to know you. There was white powder everywhere, tempting you to try but you didn't give in. Who knows what could be in it. Your friends and most people at the club didn't share the same idea.

You just wanted to enjoy the view and keep the party going but you were worried, maybe this was too much.

“we’ve got to live for the moment,” Ariel grinned, taking a shot of something that made her eyes water. “Who cares if we’re in a foreign country surrounded by dangerous people? It’s the best kind of chaos. When else are we gonna do this?”

Somehow you ended up on a private yacht again, this time surrounded by Ibiza’s elite. You weren’t sure how many shots of tequila you’d had, but you knew that the man at your side had given you a diamond bracelet to match your dress. You accepted with a grin asking him to put it on for you, your hair wild, your makeup smudged from hours of dancing, but it didn’t matter. You were untouchable.

It was getting close to 3 AM, and the music hadn’t stopped. The drinks kept flowing, and the Duke’s yacht you somehow ended up on was finally leaving the dock. You couldn’t remember how you ended up on the boat, but you were there now, floating on a million-dollar boat with peopl you’d only seen on TV. One of the men from the night before was already making eye contact, his glass of sangria in hand.

It was hard to be shy in a setting like this. Rory, who’d never been afraid of attention, was deep in conversation with a couple of supermodels who were likely on their third or fourth drink. Claire was wrapped up in a flirtation with the duke who owned this yacht, and Arie was in her own world, laughing with a group of guys who were definitely not short on cash.

The next morning, you woke up on the yacht, the sun blazing over the Mediterranean. You stretched lazily, your body still buzzing from the night before, and found yourself face-to-face with the man from last night.

He smirked, “Care for another round?” he asked, his accent thick, the sound of the waves crashing against the boat providing an oddly peaceful background.

You laughed and agreed. It was all so easy, this life. This endless, carefree abandon. No rules, no family to answer to, no obligations. It was just you, your friends, and a bunch of gorgeous strangers who only saw you for the party girl you had become. And for now, that was enough.

Next, Monaco, the grandest of them all. You didn’t just go to Monaco, you ruled it. You, Ariel, Claire and Rory crashing the most exclusive gala in the world; rich industrialists, F1 drivers ,tech moguls, the faces that appeared on the front of every magazine. But to you, it was just another game to play. Every conversation was a carefully curated performance, everyone vying for your attention, for your approval.

The days blurred together. Each city more beautiful, each party more decadent than the last. Monaco was wild, filled with the world’s elite and their very bored children. The private yacht parties were nothing short of a movie set, jet skis, champagne, drugs, and the sun beating down relentlessly. The thrill of it all never left, and every night you found a new billionaire, actor, or race car driver to distract you. It wasn’t about them, not really, it was about keeping the power in your hands, it was about feeling good. Taking away the pain that came with your powers, fortunately, men were jumping into your bed.

You didn’t even have to try. One wink, one smile, and suddenly you were in a Bentley, whisked away to a private after-party in a hidden corner of Monaco’s coastline. The prince of some oil-rich kingdom was at your side, and the night was long, filled with laughter and stolen kisses under the stars. You didn’t care what his name was, where he came from, or who he was, he was just another prince who could buy you anything you wanted.

You met guy, almost as rich as Bruce, who you beat at poker, he was more than happy to throw a yacht party in your honor. The invitation was clear: “Come party with us. No rules. No limits.”

Ariel had already decided to make a game of seeing how many men she could flirt before sunset, while Rory was doing her usual thing, charming people with her wit. You, on the other hand, had become the center of attention, as if the whole event was designed around you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a conversation that didn’t involve someone trying to buy you a drink, or a private island.

As the weeks stretched on, you could barely keep track of all the cities you had visited. You spent one night in Berlin, dancing until dawn in one of the city’s most infamous clubs. The next, you were in Milan, draped in designer clothing and laughing with the most influential fashion people in the world. Every day felt like a new chapter, filled with new people, new parties, and a new sense of power.

It was intoxicating. Everyone loved you here, you were the life of every party. You had so many friends, you'd never be alone again.

There was something so exhilarating about being surrounded by people who knew your last name, who were used to rubbing elbows with people like Bruce Wayne, but didn’t realize you were his daughter.

You felt it in your bones now, the distance between you and Gotham was growing wider. The weight of the past, the guilt that had once threatened to crush you, was nothing more than a distant memory. Each city, each new face, each new party was a reminder that you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

But deep down, something shifted. Maybe it was the late-night conversations with Ariel on the balcony of a villa in Santorini, the wine flowing freely as you discussed the future, her dreams, your dreams, how you’d never go back to the way things were. Maybe it was the quiet moments alone on the edge of some private infinity pool, staring out at a horizon that seemed endless and just… empty.

You didn’t know when you started to feel it, but you knew one thing for sure: when you finally did come back to Gotham, you weren’t going to be the same person who had left.

The Final Stop, St. Tropez. You did a full circle. Your last hurrah before you returned home, or where your family assumed you were all this time. The private beach parties, the yachts that lined the harbor, the whispers of billionaires in their private jets. You danced in the sand, surrounded by flashes from cameras and jealous glares from women who had no idea who you were, but wanted to be you all the same.

A private villa awaited you, and there, amidst the most extravagant décor, you found yourself facing yet another prince, yet another man eager to claim you as his own.

You turned to find a prince—probably from denmark—standing next to you. You immediately recognized his face from magazines. He was the one who was always pictured at galas with his equally famous family. He was beautiful, dark-haired and dangerous, with a body like chiseled stone. But the only thing you could think about was how long it would take before you got bored of him, before you moved on to the next.

His thick accented voice cut through your thoughts, "Well, if it isn't the infamous party girl." He smirked eyeing you up and down.

"Oh, so you've heard of me" You said smiling. You had no idea how he knew you, all your socials were private and theres no way you had mutual friends. You froze for a second, just how far has your reputation proceeded you, did Bruce hear?

You brushed the thought away as soon as it came, Bruce didn't exist. Not tonight, your last actual night of freedom. Not when you were boarding the flight to gotham after tomorrow.

"Hard not to. You've been everywhere. Paris, London, Ibiza, Monaco, Dubai, Vegas. You're practically the princess of Europe." He grinned leaning closer.

After two months you were finally starting to feel the rush of it all catching up to you. But for now? Who cared? You were a 16-year-old filled with confidence, chaos, and fun. The world was yours, and there was no one who could stop you, least of all, your father, who were still clueless about your whereabouts and secretly obsessing over your every move. You were too busy living in the moment to care about that.

You were officially the European Party Girl, the one everyone wanted to be friends with, the one they all wanted to take selfies with.

Ariel once called you a prince magnet, she wasn't wrong. You woke up next to him the next morning, his strong arms around your waist.

When you went back to Gotham, you weren’t just going to show up. You were going to treat them like they treated you all these years, you were going to laugh in their faces, ignore them like they ignored you.

As you and Ariel spent your last night together packing, you couldn't help but smile. In these two months with her, you lived more than you had in your entire life.

When you boarded the plane back to Gotham, you were different. You were someone new, someone who had tasted freedom and wasn’t sure if she could ever go back. The Waynes had no idea what was coming for them, but you were ready. The game had shifted, and you were about to play it all the way to the end.

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"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Prologue: hapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5 Chapter 6:

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"