Switched at Birth
A/N: I wrote this all in one setting don't at me if it sucks. Okay? I wrote this with @luludeluluramblings Switched at Birth concept in mind. Give her some love cause she's awesome! I'll probably write more if you guys like this one. I also gave Reader a lastname cause (Lastname) felt too awkward.
Yandere!Batfam x Switched!Fem!Reader x Yandere!Wayne!OC
You like to think you were an ordinary girl.
You grew up in a sleepy suburb, on a street where all of the houses looked the same. Two parents and a handful of siblings, the quintessential nuclear family. Your father worked an office 9-to-5 while your mother tended to the house. Every morning began the same, with you being pulled from your sleep by the clamor of your family starting a new day. Breakfast, a routine affair around the kitchen table before you hurried to catch the school bus.
You attended public school your entire life, going through its monotonous rhythms with your siblings. Your highschool, never exceeding 850 students, was unremarkable, known - just barely - for its sports teams than for any academic prestige . But you only had a passing interest in sports. You had average grades across the board, from athletics to chemistry, and a comfortable but modest group of friends. This year was your final, with graduation looming in the future.
Each evening, you returned home the same way you always had: stepping off the school bus to the scent of a home-cooked meal and the familiar chatter of your family.
Yes, you were an ordinary girl.
Even with your striking features—sharp angles and piercing eyes that none of your family shared. Even with your demeanor—calm, composed, distant, no matter how warmly you tried to act. Even with the strange, invisible wall that always seemed to separate you from those you loved.
Despite everything, you were ordinary.
She introduced herself to you one Saturday evening. You were the only one home to answer the door. Your father was working overtime in the office and your mother had coaxed your siblings into running errands with her. You barely managed to avoid the chore by claiming you had to study for an upcoming exam. Instead, you were halfheartedly flipping through notes when you heard the chime of the doorbell.
Your mother always said you had a scarily keen eye. In the split second that followed you opening the door, you absorbed every detail.
A girl, no older than you, stood poised on your porch. She wore a pristine school uniform, her hands folded neatly over a leather messenger bag. Her blazer was buttoned to perfection, her tie knotted with precision. A plaid skirt fell modestly just above her knees, and polished loafers gleamed against the weathered wood of the porch.
It was immaculate, almost, how out of place she was.
“Hello” Her voice was soft, cautious – as if she wasn’t entirely sure why she was here either.
“Yes…hello?” You sounded more like you were asking a question rather than greeting a visitor.
“I’m looking for Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Is this their house?”
“Yes, it is. They aren’t here though. Sorry” You replied
She blinked at you slowly. She didn’t seem perturbed, as if she expected this.
“Then.. you must be their daughter?”
You leaned against the door frame. The setting sun’s rays hurt your eyes.
“Yes, I am. Can I help you?”
The girl studied you. You studied her back. A slight breeze whistled between you two, tussling her hair.
“My name is Melissa Wayne. May I come in?”
It would have been perfectly reasonable to say no.
She wasn’t here for you—she wanted your parents. You didn’t know her. The logical thing would have been to ask her to come back another time.
Logically speaking, at least.
But something about her made you pause.
Despite the crisp uniform and air of sophistication, Melissa Wayne looked… lost. Unsure. Almost like she expected to be brushed aside. Like a stray left in the rain, having been passed by one too many times.
So, you gave her a courteous smile and welcomed her in.
Your mother always taught you to be polite to strangers, so you asked her if she wanted some tea or coffee.
“Tea would be nice” She murmured standing just outside the kitchen’s doorway, watching as you began to boil some water.
You rummaged through the pantry as you asked over your shoulder “What’d you like? We have green tea, chamomile… I think there’s some black tea left.”
Silence. You couldn’t see her, but you could feel her gaze on your back—heavy, contemplative.
“...Any is fine” She finally settled on, as if that was the safe answer.
By the time you turned around, the kettle was set to boil. She was still standing. You gestured for her to sit, and she did, carefully smoothing out her skirt before reaching into her leather messenger bag.
She pulled out a stack of documents, setting them on the table between you. You picked them up and scanned the pages.
Hospital records. Gotham City. Over a decade ago.
Two baby girls, born on the same day to their respective mothers. One, the daughter of an office worker and a housewife. The other, the daughter of a supermodel and a well-known billionaire. Both babies went home that night—
But not with their rightful parents.
Slowly, you placed the papers face-down on the table. Your gaze lifted to Melissa Wayne, taking her in with fresh eyes.
At first glance, she had the refinement expected of an esteemed philanthropist’s daughter. But now, looking past the polished exterior—
Her large, round eyes carried a watery sadness—the same quiet grief your "mother" wore when speaking of her late cousin. Her shoulders were drawn tight, her hair brushing against them with every subtle shift, much like the way your "father" held himself after a long, weary day at work.
Looking closely, you saw the quiet and innocuous nature of your parents, yet weighed down with years of burden.
Melissa opened her mouth and began to speak.
She spoke of her mother, consumed by vices—alcohol, drugs, sex—and how they ultimately overtook her. She spoke of her father, a distant and cold man, who reserved his affection for his menagerie of adopted children rather than for her. She spoke of lonely manor halls, cold glances, and missed events. Isolation and loneliness.
“I-I always knew I was different from them,” Mellissa stammered with an air of defeat, “I know this is your life, but please, please, I just want to know my parents—”
As the kettle began to whistle, you suddenly embraced her, cutting off any more words. Tears trickled down your face, but you held your composure.
“You’re incredible” You whispered softly into her hair as you held her close.
Melissa, mystified, stayed silent.
If it were you in that lonely place, you're not sure if you would have fared well. And thinking of someone like your parents, so soft and harmless, being forced to endure such hardships left your chest aching in grief. You gently patted her tousled locks of hair.
“You’ve done so well,” You whispered to her. “ You didn’t deserve that. You’re so strong and wonderful and…”
Meliisa Wayne was well prepared to hate you. The girl that had taken her rightful place. The girl who had all of her parents' love.
She was well prepared for that.
She wasn’t prepared for this warmth. This kindness from the one who shared blood with those who left her to rot.
Years a loneliness have left her warped and twisted, beneath her soft demeanor. She had no qualms coming into our life with the intent to take back what was hers. Why she told you her life story, she doesn't know. Maybe it felt right to air out her grievances to the one who made her suffer.
And yet you held her-- when no one else would.
You called her wonderful and strong an cried for her sake.
Melissa Wayne was prepared to hate you.
She was never prepared to love you.
