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klemen-tine · 3 months

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Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 2

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

First Part

Part 3

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking

This is more of the family side than it is of Bruce. Next part will be everyone.

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“Young Master Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, opening their arms and sagging in relief once they hugged the butler. The three hour car ride had been tense, with everyone asking questions and Y/N trying their hardest to be polite while not losing it. The fashion show still fresh in their mind, and the clothing Francesca had given them was gently folded and placed in the trunk of the car.

“It is good to see you, Alfred. It’s been too long.” The old man huffed, “Indeed. A year of only phone calls and cards does make it seem like it was a century ago since I last saw your face… in person.” Y/N smiled, giving Alfred a playful look before remembering where they are and how they got here.

The smile on their face became practiced, expression smoothening out as they turned to face the rest of the family who were all waiting patiently. Dick was smiling brightly, unraveling his scarf and walking forward, “Hey Alfie, you should have seen our Y/N walk. They really made the show.”

“I find it insulting they made you walk last,” Damian chimed and crossed his arms. Y/N gave him a small smile, “Being a closer is as much of a compliment as being the opener.” The young boy scrunched his nose, “I preferred the show in Paris.”

“Francesca Gabbana designed the piece, Alfred you’ll have to see it.” Tim was the one carrying the case that had the piece in it. The old man hummed, “I saw it on the television, but perhaps seeing it in person will be better.” Jason shrugged, walking in and gently nudging Y/N with his larger shoulders, “Although, did she have to make the Bat symbol just the front piece? It barely covered anything.” Y/N could see his jaw clench like the very thought of other people seeing Y/N’s stomach.

Bruce was the last to walk in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over his arm, “Fashion designers do not care about function, only beauty.” Y/N smiled tensely, “It is a form of art.” The older man smiled at Y/N, and the model couldn’t get rid of the image of the Bruce they saw backstage.

“Of course it is. One of the most demanding forms of art as well.” Y/N couldn’t place the tone, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alfred shuffled, “Well, dinner is almost ready. Young Master Y/N, if you want you can wash up in one of the guest bathrooms. Your room is currently being used as a trophy room.” Y/N chuckled, “Oh dear, you’re not hanging up my photos are you?”

“I did tell you I would be.” Y/N shook their head, “Thanks Alfred, but I don’t have any clothes here.” An arm swung around their shoulder, and Y/N stiffened under the sudden touch. Jason was smiling at them, “C’mon Y/N, we have some clothes for you.” Y/N felt the sudden spike again in their spine, alerting them that something was amiss and only bad things would happen if they asked questions. From how everyone was looking at them, Y/N specifically, it was like they were waiting for Y/N to ask. Impatiently waiting for that landmine to explode in front of them.

“How kind of you, I wasn’t expecting that.” Y/N jumped over it.

“Of course! How could we not have clothes ready for when our younger sibling comes home. Even though it’s been almost three years, I hope everything still fits right.” Just to land on another landmine. Y/N kept the smile on, years of being talked down to by photographers have helped them create the perfect mask of politeness.

“So, which bathroom in which guest room?” Tim stepped forward and gently guided Y/N out from under Jason’s arm and further into the manor. Y/N stayed half a step behind, taking in the gothic manor and the decorations littering the hallway.

Out of all the siblings, Y/N is closest with Tim. Not really siblings, and not really even friends, but if his relationship could be described as a length rope attached to each person, Tim’s would be the second shortest. Right after Alfred. They are close in age, and Tim was the first one to comment on Y/N’s photo when Y/N had first started modeling.

It was only once, and it may have been in passing, but Y/N had held that interaction close to their heart. The first and last comment from a sibling about their modeling. An acknowledgement of sorts, that made Y/N momentarily believe that they were noticeable, only for that to be squished that same day.

“You’re photo in the Cosmetology magazine, it looks really good. Red suits you.”

The way that color looked on Y/N was the same as how a red rose looked on a green stem; like it was always meant to be. Y/N has seen the comparisons between them and their mother. M/N L/N was a beautiful woman, with large eyes and pouty lips, the very definition of innocence. A puppy-dog look that fit so naturally on her face.

A white rose.

While Y/N had a more sultry tone, a more powerful presence, one that demanded attention.

A red rose. Not so innocent, or pure, but who can be when you see your own mother dead in the bathtub. Drug allegations and the loss of her popularity caused her downfall, and she loved her popularity more than she loved her child. Y/N finds it hard to blame her, because after they have gotten a taste of what beauty can get them, they can see why their mother got addicted to the camera flashes.

The assurance that yes, they are beautiful. They are beautiful and worthy of the cameras.

But with every camera flash, is a terrible comment. A terrible blog, highlighting their faults and insecurities. Someone dissecting every motion they made, every microexpression, ever comment.

“Here you are, Y/N.” Y/N’s attention snapped back and sure enough they were in front of the door. Tim waited patiently for Y/N to enter, “Thank you, Tim.” The young man shrugged, “Sure. Clothes can be found in the dresser and shoes in the closet.” Y/N nodded, waiting for the other to leave. Instead Tim turned around and faced Y/N, waiting for the other with a raised brow, “You’re not going to ask about the clothes?”

Y/N gulped, “I feel like if I ask, I won’t like the answer. I’d rather live in ignorance for now.” They walked past Tim, opening and closing the door, but before they saw Tim grin and a smile played out on his lips, “Smart.”

They locked the door, and when they turned around Y/N nearly collapsed. They pressed their back into the door as they stared at the room in mild terror. Their room from their condo, fully paid off condo, was present in front of Y/N. The same color palette, the same furniture, hell even the bookshelves are the same. Gulping, Y/N walked further in and when they opened the dresser, their jaw clenched and fingers shook.

The exact same clothes.

The bathroom was their saving grace, or so they thought. It didn’t look like their bathroom in the condo, save for the same colored towels. That was until they opened the shower and saw full bottles of the same brand soap, shampoo, conditioner, masks, everything.

“Just like home. It is just like home, Y/N. Only in the Manor.” They mumbled to themselves, stripping in front of the shower stall and jumping in and not even waiting for the water to get hot. They wanted in and out as quickly as possible. Washing their hair, their body, and not even bothering to do the usual masks and scrubs.

Jumping out, they quickly towel dried themselves and threw on the robe that was so familiar.

“Routine… keep to the routine…” Body lotion, while the skin is still damp so it can absorb into the skin better, followed by an oil. For the face it was a double cleanse, first an oil based then water-based, followed by toner, retinol, serums, hyaluronic acid, moisturizer, and face oil. Teeth will be after the meal, but hair…

“Moisturizer, blow dry, and then oil.” Y/N continued to mutter, trying desperately to not go crazy as the familiar brands flashed across their face and they had to use it like normal. They had too. Cause if they don’t, then Y/N knows that they will go crazy.

They don’t bother to look in the dresser again, already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and instead they opted to flop onto the bed. Y/N buried their face in the pillow, and tried to not think about anything. They tried to force their mind blank, just how they did on the runway.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Only it wasn’t working. Sitting up, Y/N stared at the door and contemplated answering. The carefully crafted facade was cracking and Y/N doesn’t know if they can keep the mask on any longer. From the multiple shows this week, to the shows earlier today, then this, the mask had outworn its use and now it is slowly begging to be taken off.

“One minute please.” Only they can’t. Not here. Definitely not here.

Peeling themselves off of the bed, Y/N stripped out of the robe and grabbed the first shirt they saw, underwear, and jeans. Their house slippers were right next to the dresser, and Y/N wanted to cry. All of it was getting too much and they're not sure how much longer they can be doing this.

Opening the door, Dick and Jason were the ones waiting for them. Dick grinned, “How insulting of you to look so great in only jeans and a crew neck, making the rest of us look like toads.” Y/N chuckled, closing the door behind them, “I am a model, its my job to look good in every style of clothing.”

Dick laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder he pulled the other close. Close enough that Y/N could smell the detergent used on Dick’s clothes, and body heat radiating off of the other. They started walking, Jason keeping silent while Dick chatted to Y/N, catching the other up on the past year.

“There are more to the family now, but they won’t be at dinner today. Cass is with Steph, Duke is studying, and Barbara has dinner with her own family to join.” Y/N nodded, ignoring the small sting that others can be welcomed in while they couldn’t be. Instead, they kept the conversation polite, “How nice! It must be worthwhile to have so many people here.” Dick grinned, and there was a type of sharpness to it that had Y/N squirming.

“Yeah, but it was never really a full house because not everyone was here.” A jab at Y/N, who muscled through it, “Well, modeling is a travel-heavy job. There was no time to come back.” The brothers stayed quiet, leading Y/N to the dining room table where everything and everyone was sitting and waiting patiently.

Bruce caught their eyes, and motioned for them to sit at the empty seat next to him, Tim on the other side. Y/N walked over, and took the seat graciously, trying to ignore the weight in their stomach that was making their throat close. Alfred emerged, and like the true butler he was, he began setting their plates in front of them. Perfectly made and being presented beautifully on the white ceramic plates with gold leaf designs.

Their favorite meal, one that always had Y/N running down the stairs when Alfred would announce his plans to make it, sat perfectly in the center of the plate. Its been so long since Y/N had it, no one quite makes it like Alfred does, and plus its just not really in Y/N’s diet.

But Alfred made it. Alfred put his time and effort into making it, and Y/N is not going to spit on that. Once everyone had their plate, the dinner table became loud with chatter. Just like hoow it used to be. Dick would carry the conversation for the entire table, Jason would make sarcastic remarks, Tim intelligent ones, Damian’s would be snide, and Bruce would look exhausted the entire time. However, he still partook in them, letting his kids have the family moment of conversing with their parental figure. Smiling and chuckling as he did so, Bruce tried to be that good father figure.

And Y/N just sits there. They eat quietly and think about their next photo shoot, the next trends that they need to hop on, the workout routine they need to adhere by. Questions do not get thrown their way–

“Now that fashion season is over, what are your plans Y/N?” E/C eyes blink owlishly, staring at Dick in wonder as all eyes focus on them.

“Oh, uh, um, well its normally rest season for us, but I have plans to schedule a few photoshoots, commercials, and I know Maya has been talking about me becoming a brand ambassador.” Y/N wants to keep the momentum. Y/N wants to be kept busy to get and stay away from here.

“You’re not going to rest?” Jason questioned, raising a brow and Y/N shrugged, “I plan to take a few weeks off, but modeling doesn’t really have a set time.” It isn’t a 9-5 job, or vigilante job. Y/N will have to make public appearances, showing up to Galas, grand openings, other fashion shows, fashion shoots, and a lot of traveling.

Bruce hummed, “Sounds like you’re running yourself thin.” Y/N gulped, “It sounds like a lot, but most of it is traveling and getting ready. Besides, I like being busy.” In high school, Y/N would go from school the the modeling agency where they would schedule photo shoots and commercials. Then it would be meeting with dieticians, personal trainers, estheticians, and then more meeting for future goals. The next steps.

Y/N was always busy, but so was their mother and she managed. She was a single mother and a high end fashion model. If she can do it, then there is no reason Y/N can’t.

“But there are other stuff right? Like you need to get facials to make sure your skin looks nice, and working out,” Damian chimed in, and Y/N blinked in surprise at the youngest contributing to the conversation. They smiled, “That’s not really tiring, it’s just time consuming.”

Alfred walked back into the dining room, a dessert platter in his hands, “Then it is good you will be resting here. Take a few days to enjoy being free.” A cheesecake was set down in front of Y/N, and Alfred pointedly stared at the half eaten meal. He gave Y/N a raised brow, and while the model would normally smile and reassure the man that they would eat later, their face was full of shock, “What do you mean a ‘few days?’”

Bruce wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin, “A few days. Rest here for a few days, it’ll be good for you and for everyone else.” Y/N gulped, “Why is it good for everyone else if I stay?”

“Of course it’s good for us. Family sticks together obviously, and with you running off, it really sent things haywire.” There it was again. The phrase ‘running off’ as if it was something Y/N actually did. They smiled, “You’re sounding like Tim. I did not run off, I moved out.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, “ ‘Moved out,’ huh. I didn’t realize moving out meant leaving without so much as a goodbye.”

“The things you left behind, you scheduled people to grab them and throw them out. Alfred was the one to stop them from touching your room,” Dick stated. Those blue eyes keep Y/N locked in their seat. The smile on the oldest sibling’s face was anything but kind, “It’s like you wanted to erase yourself from this manor. You left behind almost nothing that would trace you to us.”

“Not a number to call. We had to get it from Alfred,” Jason chimed, taking a bite of the chocolate mousse cake.

“Or a letter explaining where you went.” Damian took a sip of the tea.

“Or an address.” Tim gulped his cup of coffee, all of them watching Y/N. They way their sibling’s shoulders tensed and that fake smile became more and more downturned. Bruce spoke once more, “It seems like you don’t even want to be a Wayne. Taking your mother’s last name despite the controversies.”

Y/N’s smile turned bitter, “I took her last name because Wayne is more influential and I wanted to start with as little influence as possible. Plus, legally my last name is still L/N.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, “And look how many speculations you got for drug use.”

“...Since when did you read gossip?”

“The moment my kid’s photo is attached to that piece of gossip.” Y/N is still aware of all the blogs accusing them of drug-use, the same blogs that accused M/N. People using her photos to compare their features and just cause more drama.

Y/N took a bite of the cheesecake, and the tension at the table was thick. Usually it was between Dick and Bruce, or Jason and Bruce. Never between Y/N though. Although, Y/N never spoke at the table so maybe that is why they were arguing? Can this even be considered an argument?

Alfred cleared his throat, “While talking is appreciated, arguments stay away from the dinner table.” So it was an argument. Y/N apologized to the man and took another bite of the cheesecake. Their mind filled with the workout they are going to have to do to burn this off.

++++

Alfred watched the child he considered a grandchild drink their tea, brewed in the darkness of the kitchen and now sitting at the dinner table again. While a year may not seem long, for Alfred it was. Y/N, who had been there for half a decade, had been glued to Alfred’s side. The man always taking the teen to and from school, and then sometimes to their gigs.

It was Alfred that took Y/N to their first audition to be a model, and it seems like it was only a few days before he received a call from a woman claiming to be M/N L/N’s manager, and while she may not be Y/N’s manager, her daughter will be. Alfred liked Maya. The young woman always let him know of Y/N’s gigs, she would pick the young teen up and drop him off, and she tried to be as helpful as she could. Maya was a woman born to manage models and their busy and demanding schedules.

What Alfred didn’t like, was that Maya still had the old school model critiques. Alfred gaped at the woman when she handed him a list of diets for Y/N to ‘lose weight.’ A 15 year old Y/N, who was already slender, now being told they had to be skinny but toned. A child being told that ice cream was no longer an option, and their favorite burgers were banned.

He furrowed at the training regime, wondering how agencies can expect a teenager to be toned like their already full adult models. Nonstop cardio, ab workouts, and toning exercises. Then strut practice, because if Y/N was M/N’s child, then they were made for the runway. Born to walk in front of cameras and audiences.

“If Y/N wants to be a model, then sacrifices have to be made,” Was Maya’s response to Alfred's inquiries. She assured him that Y/N would still be eating, and she encouraged Y/N to eat, but now those meals were restricted to certain foods.

Alfred watched as Y/N struggled at first, their own plate different from the others, and how the blisters on their toes and heels bled through their socks and bandaids. The old man watched as the training and strut practice became an everyday routine. Y/N walked on the wobbling plyboard, barely wide enough for one foot, and the amount of times they fell off of it. The books stacked on their head for good posture and balance, followed by walking on an incline in those uncomfortable shoes, then training the muscles to the point of exhaustion.

He had watched the child-like baby fat on Y/N’s cheeks melt off and expose cheekbones that looked tight against the skin. Y/N still looked beautiful, not more or less, but Alfred could see the exhaustion in those young eyes and how Y/N juggles modeling and being a student.

Y/N didn’t even go to their high school graduation, choosing instead to head to Paris for their first ever abroad photoshoot. That kickstarted the traveling and runway model career. Once Y/N got their highschool diploma, they were out the door and becoming busier and busier.

“I see you still drink onion skin tea so late at night.” Y/N smiled up at Alfred, “Of course. I was shocked to see that you still keep the skins.” The older man sat across from Y/N, nursing his own cup of tea “Of course. In case you ever visited, I thought it would be great to have some in stock.” Y/N gave Alfred a ‘really?’ look, continuing to sip on the still hot tea.

“I saw the piece you wore today,” Alfred started the conversation.

“It truly is a beautiful piece of work.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Did you know about-” Y/N waved a hand in the air, “- about Bruce calling to commission a piece?” The old man took a sip of the earl gray. Y/N shook their head, unable to be upset, “Alfred, a call about that would have been appreciated.”

“An address would also be appreciated but seeing as you have withheld that information, I saw no harm in sharing Master Bruce’s commission.” Y/N deflated, rubbing their forehead with their fingers, “Alfie-”

“You only use that name when you know you’re about to be in trouble, so you might as well just say it, Young Master Y/N.” Y/N’s cheeks blushed and their lips pouted, “Alfie, I told you that the reason I didn’t tell you my address is because I am always traveling. I’d feel awful if you showed up and I wasn’t there.”

“There’s a wonderful contraption called a cellphone, Young Master Y/N. I would call before making that trek over.” Y/N groaned, setting his cup down and trying not to crumble in front of the grandfather figure. Answering to Alfred was always harder than answering to Bruce.

“Alfie–”

“Young Master Y/N, I understand your hesitancy is sharing in your life with others. Life was lonely here, and I understand wanting to forget that. However, having only a number to call you is terrifying. What if something happens and I cannot help you?” Y/N gazed sadly at Alfred, “Life wasn’t lonely, Alfie. I had you, right?”

Alfred Pennyworth, Y/N’s saving grace and lifeline. The person who is proof that Y/N was not alone in the Wayne Manor. The butler always willing to lend an ear when Y/N vented their frustrations, and when tears escaped their E/C eyes. He is Y/N’s biggest supporter. Always buying a magazine that had Y/N in it, and he would listen to Y/N critique the pose and the facial expression. Then he would give Y/N a slice of cheesecake and compliment Y/N, in both the photo and in person.

Always reassuring the other that a cheat day will not set him back, and rest is what the body needs the most. Reassuring Y/N that their mother would be proud, that Bruce notices them, and that Y/N’s siblings do in fact love them.

“Besides, why would you even want to visit? My place wouldn’t be as grand as this–”

“It would be to make sure your fridge is stocked and that you are eating. You have always been the worst when it comes to eating, and I worry that your fridge and pantry are empty.” Alfred doesn’t have to guess that Y/N’s fridge is empty, because he knows it is.

He knows that Y/N’s fridge is empty besides some drinks, and that the pantry is only snacks. While Y/N may have the excuse of being gone for so long, traveling and whatnot, Alfred knows that Y/N does not spend a lot of money on food. Y/N spends more money on clothes, jewlery, facial and hair care products, than they do on groceries.

Y/N doesn’t even look ashamed. Nervous, yeah, but not ashamed. They sip their tea without making eye contact. Time to change the subject.

“Why is Bruce, and all the boys, all of a sudden interested in what I do?” Alfred didn’t Y/N out on the obvious change in conversation, but he let it slide. The old man sighed, “Why would a parent not be interested in what their child is doing?”

“Alfred.”

“Young Master Y/N, you have worked tirelessly to get to the position you are now. With no help from the family, you had spent your late mother’s money to audition, then to pay your managers, and now you are making it big within the industry. Is it wrong for a parent to congratulate their child?” Y/N bit their lip, “So its because I’m finally someone now? Was I not worth attention because I chose not to be Robin?”

“Young Master Y/N–”

“I don’t care about that. Like I told Bruce, it wasn’t abuse or anything, he just simply didn’t have time for me and that’s fine. I’m not mad about that.” Alfred watched Y/N get worked up, and E/C begin to shift in nervousness, “What I am talking about is why did Bruce pay off my Condo, and why does he have access to my bank account?”

Silence fell across the table. Y/N staring at Alfred expectantly, while the butler finished his tea. Once done, he grabbed his and Y/N’s tea cup and headed towards the kitchen.

“Perhaps, that is a Master Bruce question.” Y/N made a sound of annoyance, throwing themselves back into the chair and scrunching their nose. Standing up from the table, Y/N said goodnight to Alfred, and proceeded up that stairs and into dark hallways. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the guest room, feeling their heart rate spike whenever they thought of the replicated room.

Instead, they walked down familiar halls towards a room-now-turned-trophy room. They reached for the doorknob, but found themselves unable to open it. Y/N didn’t want to see all the photos Alfred had kept throughout the years. Rather, what caught Y/N’s attention was the lacking of doors in the hallway. There used to be two more doors on their left, but instead there was now one. The area where the second door was, was perfectly sealed and now blended into the wall.

Y/N took a deep breath, and opened the door. They used to be guest rooms as well. The two rooms had queen-sized beds and armoires for the unexpected guests that popped up. Y/N’s room used to be a guest-room, but they ended up liking the privacy because no one else’s room was around their’s. In fact, it was the guest room across from Y/N’s room that they had turned into the practice room, seeing that no one came down this hallway.

However, clearly people were not because of the renovation done.

When the door opened, Y/N sought out the light switch. The room was pitch black, and the last thing Y/N wanted to do was trip over something. Feeling around the wall, Y/N rejoiced when they felt the familiar switch and flicked it on. Once the bright light filled the room, Y/N took a deep breath. They were expecting a game room, or an indoor swimming people because that seems like something a rich person would do. Turning two guest rooms into a pool despite it being on the second floor.

Something not exactly normal, but expected.

Y/N didn’t expect this. Gone was the wall that separated the two bedrooms, making it one long room, and all the furniture was absent. No more beds, armoires, and it looks like even the bathrooms were gutted and turned into part of the room. All the tables, rugs, sofas, everything that was once in those rooms, were now gone besides the chandeliers that hung on the ceiling. Filling the room with a bright light, that didn’t fit the manor aesthetic at all, and illuminating everything that was in the room.

While the furniture was gone, the room was not empty. Mannequins lined the walls, on their own podiums and glass cases. While seeing them bare would have been scary, seeing them dressed in the clothes that Y/N had worn on the runways was more terrifying. Y/N, in the runway season alone, walked 86 shows. That is the runways season alone, not including the other smaller shows they have done since graduating high school almost a year ago.

These weren’t all of the clothes they have worn, there was still a large amount and they were the most iconic pieces. Pieces that a designer would never want to give someone.

Y/N walked further in, taking in the first mannequin on the right, and they noted that the mannequin looked eerily similar to Y/N. Only missing the facial features and hair, but it looked like the proportions were almost spot on.

The plastic doll had on the outfit from a runway show earlier in the year, when Y/N walked for Versace. A simple long blazer with deep V cut, stopping mid-thighs where only an inch of skin was shown before thigh boots bedazzled in gold, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious jewels took over the rest of the legs. The earrings they wore were poked into the mannequin's own ears and the bracelets hung off the dainty wrists. In the glass case, next to the mannequin, was the photo taken of Y/N when they were walking.

The next case was a piece they wore when walking for a newer fashion-designer, one that Y/N did for free just to get to their name out there, and the piece was a gorgeous suit, dyed a beautiful vermillion red that had the slighted shimmer of gold in it. Y/N’s runway photo was once again next to the mannequin.

The entire room was full of these iconic runway looks, with Y/N’s photo right next to them, and they surrounded all sides of the room and some of them in the middle. Almost like an art gallery of sorts, and Y/N looked at every single one of them. Not in amazement or judgment, but more of horror.

Y/N knows some of these fashion designers. They have known some of them since they were a child and watching their mom get fitted by these exact same designers. No matter how much she begged, they would never let her take one of their creations home. These clothes were meant to be either safe-guarded in a museum, in their own collection, or in some cases bought by a celebrity and worn to an award ceremony as advertisement.

In other words, Y/N knows that some of these designers would rather gnaw off an arm then give away their precious creations. Yet, here some of those precious creations were, hanging on the mannequin shaped like the model.

In the center of the room, like it was the main show, was the Batman-inspired piece. All that was missing was the photo, which wouldn’t be published for another few weeks.

Taking a deep breath, they stared at the reflection in the gold-plated bat. They were trying to process all of this. It’s one thing to have photos, because Y/N is a model and photos are expected, but to have the actual clothes they wore. Clothes that Y/N knows the designers would kill for, dressed on mannequins that looked almost exactly like Y/N was another thing.

Y/N backed out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door silently. They stared at their own door, sweat beginning to break out on their forehead, and they went against their instincts and opened that door.

A trophy room, Alfred had said. The walls are decorated in their photos, and the bed is still as immaculate as the day they left. Turning the lights on, Y/N couldn’t help but to smile as the time capsule in front of them. From their very first photoshoot, when Y/N was a gangly 15-year-old with still chubby cheeks, to the most recent photoshoot of a now 18 almost 19-year-old Y/N. Their confidence can be seen in their pose and gaze, something their younger self lacked.

Y/N walked closer to the walls and looked at all the different photos. Some candid, some posed, some in the water, and there’s one where they are in Greece. Some had Y/N fully clothed with barely and inch of skin, and some were of Y/N with barely an inch of clothes. From makeup, to shoes, to perfume, to clothes, Y/N’s photo was pinned on the wall or framed.

A photo caught their attention though. It wasn’t one from a website, or a magazine, but an actual photo. Y/N looked closer, and they recognized the set from when they were 16-years-old posing for an editorial magazine.

However, the angle in which this photo was taken from, Y/N knows there were no cameras there. All the cameras were in front or on the side, not behind. Another photo caught their eyes, and it was the same thing. A photo from behind.

Once they started looking for them, Y/N could begin to spot them all. Photos that they know no photographer took. There was one that had their blood chilling and fear rising in their chest. It was a photo, taken at night and through one of the windows in Y/N’s condo. Y/N had one wall in the living room that was basically all windows, letting in the morning sun and led out onto the gated terrace. It was high enough that they had no neighbors that could look through those windows.

In the photo, Y/N was wearing their pajamas and their hair still looked wet. They were sitting on the counter of the island in their kitchen, eating raspberries and watching Youtube on their TV. It was such a close photo, close enough that the reflection can be seen in the glass.

Y/N recognizes the blue and black, and when Y/N’s eyes drifted to another photo of them in their home, bile rose into their throats. The morning sun illuminated the warm neutral color palette in the living room, and Y/N was out on the terrace sitting at the patio table they had set up out there drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. They had their shirt off, exposing ribs pulled tightly against skin and abs that remained toned even when Y/N wasn’t flexing. The shorts they had on exposing soft skin and pedicured feet, their slipped laid forgotten under the chair they were sitting in.

They recognize that book. It was a book they read in the height of summer, meaning that this photo was taken half a year ago, when it was okay to sit outside in the warm summer mornings and let the skin begin to circulate.

What chilled Y/N even more was that whoever took this photo was on their terrace with them. They were on Y/N’s terrace, and Y/N didn’t even know. The Wayne family has known Y/N’s address the entire time. They knew where Y/N was staying, they knew Y/N’s photoshoot schedules, and they knew Y/N better than Y/N thought they did.

“I didn’t think you’d come in here.” Y/N’s head whipped around and there was Dick, or Nightwing, still in costume and smiling at them.

“The hell is this?” Y/N held up the photo of them on the terrace, and Dick shrugged, “I’ll admit, those photos we took. But we didn’t take the other ones.”

“What other ones?” “The ones of you at the photoshoots. I know you saw them, but we didn’t take those.” Y/N glared at Dick, and pushed themselves close to the wall as Dick walked in. Damian was right behind him. The oldest brother walked to the photo that originally caught Y/N’s attention, “You had a stalker, can you believe that? He took hundreds of photos of you, and all we did was make him stop.”

Y/N’s lips pursed, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Dick unpinned the photo, and with Damian’s help, trapped Y/N against the wall next to the photo of them outside. He held up the photo, “Because, Y/N, as you can see we prefer more… candid photos then staged.”

Y/N snapped, “There is nothing candid about that photo! That is an invasion of privacy! Trespassing! So is that one!” They pointed to one of them sitting on the counter. Damian grabbed their arm, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to shove the kid off.

“And so is that one.” Dick pointed to one of Y/N wearing only a large shirt, a towel around their shoulders as they walked into their kitchen.

“And that one.”

“That one there.”

“There’s that one too.” Y/N looked at all the photos, hidden next to the magazine photos, and they were all of them in their home. Horror morphed on Y/N’s face when there was one photo of Y/N in the bedroom, in the midst of taking their shirt off.

Dick continued to smile, and Y/N could see Jason and Tim peeking in from the doorway.

“You did a lot on your own, Y/N. You built a name for yourself, became a highly sought after model, it really is amazing.” Dick walked closer, “But you know what all of those photos have in common?” Y/N stared into blue eyes, terror swimming in those E/C eyes of theirs.

“You aren’t even aware of your photo being taken.” The truth unsettled Y/N enough to try and squirm out of Damian’s grip and to get away from Dick. They didn’t need to be pointed out. Y/N is aware that in every photo taken without their permission, they were not once aware of it. Even when they looked like they would be only a few feet away, Y/N not once looked bothered. Y/N doesn’t even remember that feeling of being watched.

Tim and Jason stepped in the room, making it seem crowded and even if Y/N got out of Damian’s grip, there was no way they were getting past all of them.

Large hands gripped Y/N’s forearms, feeling like they would bruise the skin if Y/N struggled.

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?”

________________________________________________________

Part 3 is coming soon....

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