#Batfamily x Reader

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH3

8111 words, 45803 characters, 534 sentences, 197 paragraphs, 38 pages. Previous chapter -> First Chapter

The boy’s footsteps echoed between the empty buildings, their rhythmic pattern navigating the uneven bricks on the sidewalk’s edge with practised ease, each step a silent, steady dance against the rough textured concrete. A pang of disappointment tugging at his heart as he turned his head, meeting your gaze. His voice breaking the silence. "You're... seriously leaving?" The older boy muttered bitterly, a tinge of disbelief on his tongue.

Your throat constricted, your eyes unable to meet his pained, searching gaze. You halted in your tracks, your fingers instinctively reaching out to grasp the fabric of the back of his shirt weakly, hesitating for just a moment. Your chest tightened with mixed emotions as you felt the rough material in your palm.

"It's not... my decision to make. You know that, Jay." You rest your head against his back, a choked breath escaping your lungs. "She's... She's back."

The boy’s shoulders tensed under your touch, his breath hitching as your head rested against his back, the fabric of his shirt dampening slightly from the tears forming in your eyes. "...I know." He whispered hoarsely, his voice catching in his throat. "But it's not fair."

Frustration and helplessness rose in Jason’s chest, his hands clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to release the tangled emotions swirling within. "It's not fair. Why does she get to decide everything? What about... what about what I want?"

“Jay..”

“No.” He snapped suddenly, the raw frustration in his voice catching you off guard. "You always take her side." The anger in his words stung you as he shrugged off your touch on his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

The sharp edge in his voice cut through the air, making you recoil as if you'd been struck. You clutched your hand against your chest, your body going rigid as a wave of hurt washed over you. "She's my mother." Your jaw tightened, the words escaping through clenched teeth as pain stung your eyes.

The silence that settled over them was a heavy, uncomfortable one, filled with unsaid words and emotions too complicated to articulate. You met his gaze again, the hurt in your eyes betraying the turmoil within. "She's all I have left, Jay." You whispered, your voice softer now, laced with a hint of vulnerability.

The sound of your whispered words broke what little composure he had left, a pang of guilt shooting through him at the sight of the hurt in your eyes. He could feel his anger dissipating, replaced by a mix of regret and shame. "I know," he muttered, his voice softer now, lacking the edge it held earlier.

Jason’s tone shifted, losing the defensiveness of before as a hint of pleading entered his voice. "God- Of course I know." He muttered, his tone a mixture of frustration and resignation. "But... what about me?" His jaw clenched as he spoke, his eyes flickering up to your form before darting away again. He chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you grit your teeth, your hand dropping from his shirt back down to your side. You focused your gaze on the ominous-looking sky above, the clouds dark and threatening in the distance. "I can't lose her again," the words slipped out, quiet and pained. “I.. I can’t let her leave me again..”

You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze back to his figure. Taking a hesitant step forward, your hand reaching out as if to touch him, but stopping as your knuckles brushed against the fabric of his shirt. A mixture of pain and helplessness etched your face, your voice breaking as you spoke. "You understand that, right? Even if it hurts, you get why this has to happen.."

His eyes flickered to your hand, his heart clenching at the aborted gesture. He could feel the tension in your body, the pain in your voice. The pain of his own anger faded as he met your gaze, seeing the hurt mirrored in your eyes. He let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. "... Yeah. I get it."

You woke up with a startled start, your ears laid back against your head as your gaze darted around the lavish space. A staggered breath leaving your lips. What happened?

The young Wayne’s eyes were piercing, watching your every move as you darted towards the door, making a break for it. You could feel his gaze burning into you, the mixture of anger and tension still present in his expression, not at all focused on the older man's words.

The billionaire speaks up again in an attempt to intervene, his voice smooth and calm, "Damian, that's not necessary." But his words fall on deaf ears, his son not acknowledging his attempt to diffuse the situation.

The boy's focus was fixated solely on you, as if Bruce's words had no effect. Watching you intensely. You could sense the tenseness in his body, coiled up like a spring ready to snap at any moment.

He takes a single stride forward, his hand held out in front of him. Your breath hitches involuntarily, anticipating some sort of attack. But instead, you watch as he drops the object in his hands onto the floor. It falls with a loud thud on the ground, a weapon of some sort. You eye it warily, suspicious of his intentions.

Your body tenses as he steps towards you, your heart beating fast in your chest. His actions are slow and controlled, but there's something dangerous about his movements. He continues on, keeping his hand extended, his palm facing upwards. He's still staring at you intently, assessing the situation. From the way you avoid stepping on one of your front paws, to the way you’re swaying. Still clearly affected by the sedatives they’d had to use on you.

He moves forward, closing the space between the two of you. Standing only a few feet away now, his height making him loom over you. Your claws dig into the ground beneath you, ready to run away at the first sign of danger, but he stays in your line of sight. His hand remains extended, palm open and empty.

You find yourself hesitating, nose twitching as you take in his scent. You stand your ground for a moment longer, your tails movements slowing down to a moderate sway as you lean forward to sniff at his outstretched arm. Watching as he slowly lowers himself onto one knee in front of you.

His expression is hard to decipher, waiting patiently for you to approach on your own terms. His body language is careful and non-threatening, despite the obvious anger and tension that still simmers just beneath the surface. You cautiously inhale, taking in the Robin’s scent. It's a mix of fresh linen and some sort of woodsy aroma, with hints of something warm and familiar, likely belonging to the billionaire standing behind him. You catch a whiff of something else there too, something sharp and dangerous, like steel. As your nose moves, you could see him watching you intently, his expression still intense but somewhat more patient now. He doesn't move, simply kneeling down in front of you calmly.

You take a small step, tilting your head upwards to present your fluffy little chin to him. Your tail swaying languidly behind you. His expression softens slightly as he sees your action, the small step forward and the way you present your neck. His eyes widened a miniscule amount, his expression shifting from intense to something more vulnerable, more open. He lifts up his arm a bit, as if to move forward to grab at you, his hand pausing just a few inches away from your scruff. For a moment, he appears conflicted, torn even. His eyes darting to his father unsurely for a moment before moving back to you.

You brush up against his arm, moving forward to his extended hand. Nudging against his arm, silently coaxing him to move his fingers along your spine. It's instinctual, an unconscious action used to convince him to pet you. Your thoughts beginning to blur as the lines between your human brain trying to run and block out the pain clashes with your cat side that just wants comfort and rest.

His calm demeanour wavers for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek to keep from letting a soft smile form on his lips. It's a strange reaction, one he can't quite explain, but something about your actions make him feel all warm inside. Seeing you brush up against him willingly, moving closer and nudging your head along his skin, silently coaxing him to just touch you.

And then, his thumb slips beneath your collar, causing a brief pinch before you go limp, sinking into his awaiting arms. Your vision starts to blur, the world around you fading into a hazy blur of colours. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you closely to his chest as you start to feel the sedation taking hold of you again, the world around you fading into nothingness.

You let out a deep, guttural hiss, your muscles feeling tense and worn out from all the shifting and stretching. Your joints ache with every little pop and squeal that escapes. Your ears flex back against your head, and your tail sways in lazy circles behind you. This shit is getting repetitive.

Your mind briefly drifts back to the dream you had, before quickly pushing those memories away. The last thing you needed to be doing was get all sappy and nostalgic over your past when you’re stuck in some deranged psycho families manor.

You transform back, feeling your limbs stretch out as you shift from cat to human. A deep, disgusted sneer passes your lips as you take note of the tacky clothes you're now wearing, an obviously well worn, tacky sweater that's a bit too big hanging off your shoulders and a pair of tight-fitted shorts. It's a clear display of vulnerability to be seen so exposed and in a state where they'd strip away your autonomy. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth just thinking about it. You're pissed, the anger bubbling up inside of you like a hot flame. Your teeth gritting in frustration.

You slowly climb off of the bed, feeling like a newborn foal trying to walk for the first time. Your legs heavy and unbalanced as you take tentative steps towards the door. The large wooden framing stands wide open, completely unguarded. They hadn't bothered locking it.

You poke your head out cautiously, your eyes darting around the hall for any signs of life. Seeing nothing but empty halls and closed doors, you slowly creep out of the room, moving towards the exit at the end of the hallway. Your gaze flickering between every door you pass, on high alert for any movement.

The large foyer of Wayne manor stretches out in front of you, the dim lights casting long shadows across the floor. At the far end, the grand staircase leading up to the second floor loomed in the distance. It's eerily silent here, the only sound being the gentle tapping of your feet against the floor. You take a few steps towards the staircase, feeling the weight of the silence that fills the grand foyer. There's a sense of dread surrounding the entire area.

The heavy wood of the staircase groans under your feet as you begin to ascend. It creaks and wobbles slightly, but doesn't break or give way. It's been there for years, the weight of centuries of people passing through. The top of the staircase leads into the second floor hallway, a long stretch of wood and plaster that you can't see all the way down. Your ears strain, listening closely for any sound.

Your heart beats loudly against your chest. The thump of it pounding in your ears, like it was trying to escape the confinements of your unrelenting ribcage. Loud enough that you were sure the entire mansion must've been able to hear it.

Yet everything else was dead quiet. The hallway, the floors, the air. The silence was almost deafening. Your ears strained to hear even the smallest movement, your eyes darting across every corner and every shadow.

You straighten up, a relieved smile stretching across your face when you notice a familiar figure. Red Robin. He's here, investigating the Waynes. He must be. Without thinking, you sprint over to his hunched over form, your bare feet tapping against the wooden floor as you cover the distance between you two in moments.

Finally. Someone here in the manor who might, hopefully, not be involved in all this insanity. You speak up, your voice a strained whisper as you approach him, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. "Red Robin." The name rings out in the stillness as you finally reach him.

He turns towards you, his brow raising under the mask as a dark grin spreads out across his face. His hand shot out, steadying you by the hips, his grip firm but not painful. He was being careful.

“You have–” Your voice croaks, rough from disuse. You reach out, your fingers grabbing at the edge of his cape, your hands trembling. “You have to help me.” You plead, your eyes darting around, watching for any sign of someone lurking in the halls.

“Help you…?” He echoed, his voice low and controlled. Head tilting to the side as he fully turned to face you. There was something about his expression that you couldn’t place - a hint of something amused, perhaps.

“Help you with what, exactly?”

You swallow, your tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper in your mouth. You grip his cape tighter, using it as support as you try to speak. Your eyes are locked firmly on his cowl-covered face, searching for any hint of emotion.

“The Waynes…” you whisper, your voice hoarse and broken. “I need your help. Please. They– they kidnapped me!”

The vigilante is silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he speaks, his voice still controlled but different somehow. There’s a faint edge to it now, his eyes fixated on you like nothing else in the world mattered.

“The Waynes?” He pauses, his voice deceptively casual. There’s a strange note in his tone, almost like he was humoring a distressed child. “Why do you think they kidnapped you?”

You grit your teeth, frustration sparking in your chest. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, his words like a slap in the face. Did he not believe you?

“What do you think?!” You whisper back harshly, your grip on the thick material of his cape so tight your knuckles begin to turn white. The tone of his voice was riling you up, like he was making a joke of your situation. As if this was all some sick game.

His head tilts to the side again, like he’s observing you closely. Studying you, almost. There’s an edge to his expression, a spark of something unreadable in his eyes.

You shift under his gaze, your heart beating loudly in your chest. His sudden intense studying of you was making you uncomfortable, his eyes scanning up and down your body from head to toe. Like you were being dissected, broken down like a specimen under a lens.

“Where did they keep you?” The vigilante continues, his eyes lingering on your bare feet. Clicking his tongue disapprovingly. There was something about the way he spoke that felt… off. Like he already knew some of the answers to his own questions.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, your mind racing for a response. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything around you, flinching as your eyes follow his gaze down to your own bare feet. The cold hardwood floor against the tender skin of your soles suddenly feels icy and unpleasant. You can’t help the slight involuntary shiver that wracks your body as he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“In… in some room,” you finally respond, your voice a whisper. Your eyes glued to his face, trying to decipher the strange look in his eyes. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up. “A nice room, sure, but a prison all the same.”

“They-“ you start, your voice shaking. Your hands trembling as you release the grip you had on his cape. You have to force the words from your mouth like poison, your voice wavering as you try and keep it together. “They drugged me.. they put.. they put these things,” you pause, blinking rapidly to clear the tears gathering in your eyes. You were starting to feel phantom pains where they’d incisioned the trackers under your skin. “In my body. Fuck— they undressed me, they—“ your voice falters, your throat suddenly tight with emotion. “They have me in a bloody collar!”

The vigilante’s face remains impassive as you tell him your story, the strange look in his eyes never wavering. He nods along, his expression showing little to no emotion besides the occasional tightening of his jaw. Despite his calm demeanor, there’s something dark in his expression, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

He listens intently, his gaze never leaving your face. His eyes are fixated on you, intense. Like he’s searching for something in your expression, something missing.

He bites the tip of his glove, tugging the material loose before pulling it off completely. He gently moves his hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing delicately against your skin. His eyes are intense, deep like a frozen lake. You can see the mixture of emotions swirling in their depths - anger, something resembling possessiveness, and a strange sort of affection, almost.

His voice is low when he speaks, quiet and steady. “All of that is for you, darling.”

“To keep you safe, protected,” he continued, running his thumb across the flesh of your cheek. The motion is gentle, almost soothing. “To make sure you finally feel loved.”

His soft, almost soothing actions suddenly feel like they’re suffocating you, his words sending a cold shiver down your spine. You stumble back, trying to get away from his touch. Your eyes widen as the realization of what he’s saying sinks in.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is to you, how close he’s been standing the entire time. You can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of your neck, your heart hammering against your chest. It’s hard to breathe, for some reason, and your vision momentarily swims as you continue to stumble backwards. He was supposed to be a vigilante. A hero to the people of Gotham.

You stumble back, your feet moving before your brain does. Without thinking, you turn around, spinning on your heel and breaking into a run. Your bare soles slap loudly against the hardwood floors, the sound reverberating throughout the entire mansion. Your heart is in your throat as you try to put as much distance between you and the vigilante as you can.

You managed to take a good few steps before you suddenly buckled, falling to your knees with a hard thud. A strangled gasp leaving your lips as your hands shot up to claw at the collar around your throat, your heart racing even faster. It felt like you were running out of oxygen, the collar suddenly constricting your airways. You feel like you’re choking, like you can’t breathe, the sudden pain making tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

Despite your efforts to attempt to breathe calmly and slowly, you just couldn’t manage it. Every gasp, every breath, was painful, like your airway had been forcibly closed up by a cruel fist. Your vision began to swim from the lack of air, fuzzy and unfocused. Your fingers clawing desperately at the hooks of the soft collars edges, gasping desperately as it doesn’t budge.

You were on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of your own panicked gasps filling your ears. It’s all consuming - your panic, your utter fear.

He approached you slowly, each measured step he took echoing throughout the empty hall. He kneels down next to you, his movements deliberate and smooth. Tim coos softly, gently shushing your trembling form as you curled up into a tight ball on the cold floor, shaking.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sickenly tender as he caressed you. “Shhh… It’s okay..” he murmured, his voice deceptively low and soft. “You’re alright. It’s okay, kitten.”

You’re suddenly able to breathe, air rushing into your lungs like a tidal wave. Even though the collar still firmly encircles around your neck, the pressure around your airways loosened up. Your body greedily sucking in mouthfuls of air, your mind swimming and dizzy with both lack of oxygen and a hazy relief.

You can feel Tim staring down at you, his gaze intense. A smile on his lips as he watches you gasp for air. His thumb hovering over the release button on the remote in his palm.

“There you go..” he whispers, his voice a low hum of satisfaction as he watches you take in shuddering gasps of air. He continues to pet your hair, his fingers carding through your locks softly. “That’s it. Nice and easy, sweetheart.”

“Do you understand now?” His tone is sickly sweet. It felt like your skin was crawling every time he touched you, your body cringing and flinching away almost involuntarily.

His hand continues stroking, the motion gentle but somehow threatening. Like every soft caress was an attempt to coax you into submission, his touch a strange sort of warning.

“Hm?” he prompts, his head tilting to the side. He looks expectant, like he’s waiting for a certain answer.

Your eyes glare up at him, your lips fluttering desperately as you try to speak. Every word you try to say is cut short by another deep gasp of air, your throat raw and sore from the crushing pressure applied earlier.

You want to scream at him, to yell and thrash in his grip. But your body feels weak and shaky, the adrenaline coursing through your veins still thrumming with panic and fear.

This wasn’t the same boy you’d rubbed your body up against on that apartment’s balcony. The same young man who’d smiled at you as you weaved around his feet, begging for his attention.

That Robin was kind, warm. Gentle. This man… wasn’t. Not even remotely. There was something dark in his eyes. Something feral and predatory.

His grip on the remote in his hand is so tight that his knuckles are turning white. It was like he was claiming some sort of disgusting ownership over you, like he believed you belonged to him in every sense of the word.

Something cold and terrible curls in your stomach as you watch his expression, a quiet horror slowly setting in as it sinks in just how dangerous the situation you’ve gotten yourself into is.

You should’ve trusted your instincts, should’ve listened when something felt off. You should’ve run. But you didn’t, thinking it was all the strange circumstance, that you were just overreacting.

Now, you’re pinned like a specimen under the grip of an unstable hero. At his mercy. At all of their mercy.

You feel your thoughts swirling in your mind, like a maelstrom of confusion and fear. Was it not just the Waynes…? Had every hero been in on it? Were you never going to be safe?

Your heart races as the realisation dawns on you that Batman himself might be part of this. The most powerful man in all of Gotham, the one who was supposed to be the symbol of good.

You were feeling lightheaded, your thoughts swirling in a hazy panic. How could this be happening? How was this real? You were nobody. You lived day to day struggling, how could somebody like you ever catch the attention of so many people? And why?

Tim continues to stare down at you, his smile turning almost unnervingly sweet. It was like he knew exactly what you were thinking, like he could see the questions swirling around in your head.

He chuckles softly, his voice disturbingly casual as he speaks. “You’re wondering why, right?” his words carry a hint of amusement. But his tone is almost pitying, like he was comforting a child about to be told a bad truth.

He pauses, a small hum leaving his lips. He looks like he’s thinking, like he’s contemplating something. Then he reaches out to gently brush a sweaty lock of hair from your face, his touch strangely tender.

“It’s because we’re family.” he states firmly, his tone so casual it chilled you to the bone. There was no hint of doubt in his voice, like he fully believed it. Like he knew that it was the hard truth.

He leans down closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek again. He watches your expression closely, a strange sort of affection behind his eyes. Something bordering on possessive.

You couldn’t help but shiver at the sheer intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes felt like they were boring into your soul. “You’re ours." His words are low and firm. Definitive.

“You’d do well to remember that. You’re family, whether you like it or not.”

“We take care of family,” he continues, his thumb rubbing against your skin in a gesture that’s almost soothing. Or it would be if you didn’t know the meaning behind his words. “We take care of each other. Family protects each other. Family makes sure nobody can hurt each other.” His voice takes on a colder, darker tone. Which contrasts the gentle way in which his thumb strokes your cheek. “This manor is the safest place for a little kitten like you in Gotham. Where we can protect you.”

His fingers travel from your cheek down to your chin, his grip gentle but firm as he tilts your head up. Making you look into his eyes.

They’re so blue. Not in a gentle, calming way, but in a piercing way. Like staring into the depths of an ice-cold river. The look he gives you is intense, his gaze unblinking.

“You’re safe here,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Where you belong.”

Safe? He says the word with such conviction. As if he truly, wholeheartedly believed it. Like he wasn’t the one holding the switch in control of the collar locked around your throat.

The word makes a bitter, dark laugh bubble up from your chest, the sound harsh and rough. “Safe?” You manage to rasp out through your ragged throat. “You fucking kidnapped me. Yo–you’re treating me as if I’m not a prisoner here.”

Tim’s eyes flash at your harsh words. There’s a hint of anger there for a brief moment, a shadow flickering through his gaze as his jaw clenches tightly. He looks like he’s having a hard time keeping himself in check.

“You aren’t a prisoner.” he grinds out, his voice still controlled, if a bit tighter than before. “You can do anything you want, go anywhere you want. Do anything to please us.”

He pauses for a moment, seeming to rein in his anger before continuing. “You’re being provided for, given anything you ask for. You’re protected, in a beautiful home, and kept away from the harshness of the streets. I’d say that sounds like a pretty good deal…”

His grip on your chin tightens, the smile on his face turning almost sickly sweet. “But since you want to be so ungrateful about it,” he drawls, his voice dripping in saccharine sweetness. “Maybe you’d like to go back to the streets, hm? To your cold apartment, your lonely existence, the struggle to find your next meal?”

His words are cold and calculated, like he’s reminding you of the harsher realities of your life. “Because you have nothing, you know. No one. No safety. You’re completely vulnerable like that.”

He bends down to your level, his face uncomfortably close. “You’re a stray, little one. A feral, scared, little stray, with no one to look after you. And the streets of Gotham aren’t kind to strays.”

Your eyes glare up at him, your teeth gritted as you rasp out your response. "Fuck. You.”

Tim’s expression darkens at your words, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his glare deepens. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just staring at you with an intense glare. It feels like he’s trying to decide if he should punish you for your harsh words or not.

You feel the familiar prickling sensation of transformation overcome your body, your bones shifting and compressing as you shift forms.

In an instant, you’re on all fours, your now-furred body feeling surprisingly agile and light, your claws scratching against the hardwood floor. You shift backwards, your tail lashing as you release a low growl up at Tim.

His expression seems to soften for a moment as he watches you transform, it was a familiar sight that he’s grown used to watching over the cameras. But the look is gone in a flash, his frown returning as he looks down at you with disapproval. His hand shooting out to grab you before you get the chance to dart off.

Your front paws circle around his wrist, grasping for purchase as you begin clawing and scratching at his arm. Your hind legs kicking and scraping against his skin, your body writhing violently in his grip. Sharp teeth digging viciously into his thumb.

Tim lets out a loud shrill of pain as your teeth dig into his skin, your sharp canines puncturing his flesh. He hisses out a curse, his hold on your scruff tightening unconsciously in response.

You feel him almost frantically throw you away, the shove hard enough to make you stumble backwards. You land on your paws as you look back up at Tim, your head tilted as you watch him cradle his arm.

His limb is bleeding heavily from the deep cuts you’ve inflicted on his skin, multiple long puncture wounds and slashes littering his wrist and forearm. A string of curses leaves his lips, his hand coming up to grasp at his torn skin in an effort to slow the bleeding. The blood gushing out all around and onto the floor.

The scream that came from Tim’s lips echoed loudly down the long hallways of the manor, the sound carrying through the air sharply. Within moments, the sound of hurried footsteps and hushed voices filled the air as the inhabitants of the manor seemed to gravitate towards the source.

You were preparing to make a run for it, your body tensing and preparing to bolt, when a sudden sharp sting went through the back of your neck, the sharp prick from the collar’s latches lodged in your skin.

Your legs buckled under you, your mind hazy and your vision starting to swim with an all-consuming blackness just as a pair of heavy duty black boots entered your field of vision. Your head felt so heavy.

You vaguely managed to glance up, your eyes registering the sight of Bruce Wayne towering over you before you finally lost consciousness.

For plot purposes, Alfred is Vet trained. TW for the following. If you are uncomfortable with animal cruelty or non consensual body modification, then either skip to the next banner or click off.

Once you slowly come back to, your head feels foggy and your thoughts sluggish. You blink your eyes open, your vision slowly refocusing as you try to take in your surroundings.

The first thing that you notice is that you can barely move. Your entire body felt immobilized, your limbs strapped down to a large, padded table. You attempt to yell, to cry out... but you couldn’t move your mouth. It’s as if your jaw is glued shut by some invisible force.

The more you struggle in your bonds, the quicker it becomes painfully apparent that you couldn’t seem to move anything. Your arms, legs, head, tail, ears. Nothing.

The only thing you could move was your eyes, your pupils darting around the room as you desperately tried to take in your surroundings through a haze of panic and confusion.

You watched as a tall, older man enters the room directly in front of you, his unmistakable white mustache and suit immediately recognisable. He was the Wayne family’s butler.

He was dressed in a pair of sterile scrubs on top of his usual outfit, an air of professional seriousness surrounding him as he stared down at you.

“I apologise for the predicament you find yourself in, young master,” the butler's deep voice rings out around the room, his tone gentle and comforting. "But now that you are awake, we can begin the procedure."

He pauses for a moment, eyes locking with yours. “Just try and stay calm, the faster we get this done the better.” The words are said sincerely, as if he's trying to reassure you.

However his words did nothing to calm your mounting panic, if you could, your body would be trembling against the bonds that held you fast to the table.

You wanted to scream, to protest to whatever it was that he was talking about. But you couldn’t even speak, your jaw stubbornly refusing to move despite how desperately you tried to open your mouth. Not even one pitiful mew left your lips.

“I understand that this situation may not be the most comfortable for you,” the butler continues, his tone lowering in an attempt to sooth you as he speaks. “So I’ll explain the procedure as we go along."

He takes a moment to glance at the various machines stationed around the room as he speaks, before turning his attention back to you. “Just try and remain calm. It will all be over shortly."

The butler’s words wash over you like a cold wave of horror, his voice strangely calm as he explains the medical procedure that’s about to take place.

“I’m going to perform what is called laser onychectomy,” he informs, his footsteps echoing slowly as he disappears from your line of sight.

Your heart plummets at the loss of visual once he moves behind you, fear making your heart drop in your chest.

“This involves using a laser,” the butler continues bluntly as he moves around. “Instead of a scalpel or clipper,” the sound of something metallic being picked up sounding from behind you. “Which is more commonly, or rather outdatedly, used when performing this surgery.”

“This technique targets the bone and tissue,” the butler explains clinically as he works. “Which provides a more precise and controlled removal. Unlike traditional methods," he says with a tone of distaste. “That can be more invasive and painful.”

The sound of a switch being flicked on rings in your ears.

“It aims to minimise discomfort and improve recovery.”

The butler reenters your field of sight, now standing by the table you’re strapped down against. You can see a pair of white latex gloves now covering his hands, along with a sterile face shield now covering his face as he continues to speak.

“I assure you that you won’t feel a thing. It’s completely painless. With the sedation you’re under, the only thing you should feel is a slight heat against your paws."

He hums softly as he adjusts the face shield, “The laser will cauterise your blood vessels and nerve endings,” he continues, a hand diligently peeling back the fur surrounding your claws. “Minimising any bleeding and significantly reducing the post-operative pain.”

His hands move out towards the nearby machine placed beside the operating table, adjusting it to come closer before turning it on. You could hear the faint hum of the machine’s mechanics as it starts up.

“Because the laser sterilises as it cuts, there is no risk of infection."

The elder man uses an instrument similar to tweezers to take ahold of the base of your first front claw, and with his other hand he brings close a U-shaped metal device, which you can safely assume is the laser by how warm it is against your fur as he brings it close. You try desperately to move away, to struggle, but the sedatives leave your body unresponsive.

“It will take less than a second,” he reassures, the soft hum of the laser steadily getting louder as he brings it ever closer to your paw. “I promise,” he murmurs softly.

He works in a methodical and efficient manner, his hand steady as he places the end of the laser against the base of your claw. The device hums louder, a low buzz sounding as it warms up. Seconds later, he wordlessly turns over your paw to make another incision on the underneath of your nail. Using the forcep to pull out your claw. As a string of muscle and tendons follows, he uses the laser to burn it off completely.

Throughout the entire process, the butler remains cool, efficient and collected, his movements precise and his voice professional. Choosing to ignore the way you’ve closed your eyes tightly, as the only thing you could actually control, the rest of your body remaining completely helpless and unresponsive to your mental struggles. You laid there limp, unable to reign in the tears that well up in your eyes.

You only break out of your dissociative state once he's cleaned out any blood that had dripped from your paws onto the table, your eyes weakly fluttering open as he turns the machine off and sets it down next to you. His hands moving to release the straps around your limbs, your body remaining immobile even as he frees you from the bonds.

“As the laser seals up the incisions, there is no need to apply any bandages.” he assures, his voice controlled and monotone as he tugs off the surgical gloves.

“You must rest,” is all the butler says as he turns away to clean up, tidying the used instruments and tools before disposing of any blood-soaked tissues into the bin and gathering the used sheets into a basket.

You manage to open your eyes wide enough to watch him work, your whole body feeling heavy and weak from the effects of the sedatives still working through your system. Your limbs remaining unresponsive to your attempts at movement, your body feeling like lead.

The butler finally comes back into your line of sight once he's finished, his hands now empty and his face clear of the protective shield. He crouches down in front of you as he gives you a gentle, almost fatherly look.

“You will probably still experience some nausea and weakness for a short while," he comments. “The effects of the sedatives will need to take a few hours to wear off. But other than that, young master, the procedure was a complete success."

He watches you quietly for moment, his hand reaching out to gently pat you on the head between your soft ears.

“Rest now, little one…” he whispers with a gentle smile, a hint of pity in his eyes as he watches the way your small form trembled. “Just rest. It’s all over."

With that, you could feel the butler release a soft sigh as he straightens back up, before turning and quietly leaving the operating room, abandoning you on the cold, metal table. Your ears twitching softly, listening intently as his footsteps echoed out, the sound of the heavy door closing behind him being the only sign that he’d left.

Alfred met Bruce’s eyes through the two-way mirror, his expression solemn and professional despite the pang of sympathy in his chest. He nodded his head wordlessly in a silent report of a job well done.

With that, he leaves the room, the door closing heavily behind him as he exits back into the hallway. His bottom lip trembling as he digs his nails into his palm. Schooling the resentful look in his eyes.

Your eyes slowly flutter open, groggy and disoriented as you regain consciousness. You vaguely notice the comforting feeling of a warm palm gently running through your fur, the comforting sensation bringing a small, gentle purr from your chest despite yourself.

You lean into his touch subconsciously, finding it strangely comforting in the moment. A small part of you screaming at you to remember the situation - to remember that you’re trying to get away from these people, not into their arms. But another part of you craves that comfort, the tender touches and unwavering attention. Especially now, with your instincts going haywire.

“You’re going to be alright…” a low, gentle voice mumbles quietly, the tone strangely pained.

As you grew more aware of your surroundings, you recognise that you’re lying on some type of bed, a firm yet comfortable mattress beneath your small form. You took note of how Damian’s voice had lowered, as he continued to run his warm palm soothingly through your fur. How his head had dipped down, resting against your fluffy stomach as his hand continued to stroke your ears tenderly with each gentle caress.

Your eyes slowly opened wider, your pupils adjusting to the brightness as you realise that you’re not in the medical room anymore. You’re somewhere that you can’t recognise. You let out a low, confused mew, unsure of how much time had passed since the procedure. Your body feeling strangely weak and lethargic, a small ache still evident in your wrists and the pads of your little toe beans.

Your gaze trails down your limbs, your ears folding backwards as you stretch out your front paws. You whine pitifully, suddenly and painfully reminded by the absence of your claws by the aches in your paws, the dull, phantom throb at the base of where your nails were causing a pitiful whine to leave your throat.

Damian makes a soft shushing noise, his nose nuzzling against your stomach once you whine. You watch as he moves his hand down to gently cover your front paws, hiding them from your view.

“It’s okay.. It’s okay..” he whispers softly, his voice dropping into a gentle pained plea. “I’m.. I’m so sorry…” His voice is ridden with guilt as he apologises.

He continues to rub your stomach softly with his other hand, his head still buried against you, his shoulders hunched forwards. You can feel him trembling as he apologises again, his breath tickling against your stomach as he mumbles words of regret against your soft fur.

His quiet apology was a stark contrast to his usual sternness. The vulnerability behind his words present in his voice. You could feel the tremors running through his shoulders, your heightened senses picking up on the way his muscles tense and tremble as he continues to quietly mutter his apology against you.

He shifts you closer, his hands gently pulling you up to sit in his lap, until you’re lying against his chest, tucked against his front. One hand wrapped around your back to rub gently between your shoulder blades, his other still rubbing your stomach gently with the occasional apology mumbled against your ears.

You feel your body relax against his front as he readjusts you in his lap, your senses being engulfed by his familiar scent. You felt comforted by the sound of his racing heart beating against your sensitive ears, the steady thump of the organ lulling you into a state of comfort despite yourself.

Damian adjusts his waist to accommodate you more comfortably, bringing your form flush against his body, both of his arms now wrapped around you as he continues to rub you gently, one hand trailing along your back, the other perched on the start of your tail.

“I should have stopped them…” Damian mutters out in a pained mumble, his arms wrapping tighter around your body as he continues to hold you against him.

You can feel how tense he becomes. His chest rising and falling heavily as he struggles to reign in his breathing. His heart beating against you as he quietly whispers more and more apologies, his voice cracking slightly with each one.

But even in his attempt to comfort you, you felt nothing. No sympathy, no anything. It was as if you were watching a play, viewing everything from behind a blurry lens.

He was no different. He was still a kidnapper. Still dangerous, despite his apologies. You could hear yourself breathing, but it felt distant, almost like a low buzz in the back of your ears.

Everything was wrong. Your head was spinning from whatever was still pumping through your system. Your instincts felt like they were in a frenzy. It was like your brain couldn’t even recognise you as being alive anymore. Like you were watching yourself through the screen of a TV.

You could register Damian’s arms wrapped around you. The way his heart frantically beats out of his chest. The heat coming off of his body in waves, seeping into your own small form.

You watched the ceiling lights above through your half-lidded eyes, their brightness burning into your dilated pupils. Your ears twitch every few seconds as small, pitiful whines leave your throat. Your body was tense yet still trembling harshly, shuddering as your whole world seemed like it was tipping upside down, your heartbeat too loud in your ears and your mind too distant to feel the way the boy was squeezing you. You wanted to scream.

The young Wayne’s voice sounded distant, as if he was calling out to you through a tunnel. You don’t understand what he’s saying, but you can feel the way his fingers keep running through your fur, his other hand running up and down your back in a way that would be calming, if you were able to comprehend it properly.

You wanted to feel safe. But you just felt scared. Your instincts screaming for you to run, to fight, to get away. While you just laid there, motionless.

What did I do? The thought was a painful one, the question playing on repeat in your head as you lie limp. Your paws stretching out, phantom claws dragging across his shirt. You whine pathetically, your eyes squeezing shut from the emotions welling behind your eyes.

It was a simple question. What did you do to deserve this?

You didn’t ask for any of this.

You just wanted to get back to your home, your life.

You had finally adjusted to being alone. To being free. And they’d taken that from you.

They had no right to kidnap you, to experiment on you, to change you. But they did. And they didn’t even care. They didn’t think of you as a person, a living thing with a mind and a soul. To them, your soul purpose was to be theirs. Someone to keep; something to own.

Bullshit. You think to yourself bitterly. They’re NOT your family. This is just some sick and twisted mind game. A weird obsessive tactic to feel in control.

Family does not experiment on each other. Family does not hurt each other. You’d already learnt that the hard way. This, this is bullshit.

You lie against Damian’s chest, feeling his heartbeat through your own. You were aware that he was still apologising. Could hear the way his voice shook as he tried to console you, his hands caressing through your fur. But it was like the sound was being filtered through a heavy wall of cotton. You could hear him, but you couldn’t process his words. You could feel the effects of the procedure still working through your system. Your mind too scrambled to fully realise what had been done to you, too overwhelmed by the wrong, unnatural feelings going through your body. Damian’s arms did nothing but help you stay put and stationary.

Family. The thought made bile rise in your throat.

Never. Your paws dug into Damian’s chest. A small amount of pain seeping through the cotton filter surrounding your mind.

You would never consider them your family.

This chap goes out to @acid-ixx

Merry Christmas🍀

All reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated and encouraged!!

I fr got no clue if anyone likes this, so I really really appreciate all my anons and commenters who go out of their way to say literally anything. Hope you all enjoyed🦖🦖🦖

I apologise for the extremely long delay. I kept rewriting and editing this cause I fucking hated it. Like I’m genuinely disappointed in this you have no idea. I had to watch SO MANY declawing demonstrations and procedures and went trough like four articles to make this as accurate as possible🙏🙏 So if you don’t like it I might cry🥰

[yandere-wishes]

OMG OMG OMG !!! How did this hit 1,000??? OMG YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST 🩷💖💞💘💖🩷💞💘 THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!!!

⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡ ゜

​𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

You hold you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

🎀𖹭🎀 : @your-yandere-kiss @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @nxdxsworld @lilyalone @neverano @natsukicookies @googeecat44 @starrydollita @mune-writes @a4g3lstarfire @yourhornysister @froggy-voidd @rissareader @6helpneeded9

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

[venuslarkspur]

Some more Batfam x Sanamancer!Reader incorrect quotes because it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow.

Warning: Mentions of injuries and blood

Sanamancy: A magic user whose magic is life and healing based.

Sanamancer!Reader can also heal wounds through lip contact.

——————

*Sanamancer!Reader going on patrol with Damian*

Sanamancer!Reader: Hi!

Damian: Hmph bet you are. 🙄

Sanamancer!Reader: …

———————

*Jason walking in and seeing Sanamancer!Reader pulling a bunch of kittens out of top hat*

Damian: …

Jason: …

Sanamancer!Reader: I can explain this-

Jason: I’m not even gonna ask.

Damian: Yes please don’t.

———————

*Dick walking in and seeing Jason bleeding out on the floor*

Dick: What are you doing on the floor Jason?

Jason: Jeez can I not just have a lie down because I feel like it?

Dick: Who got you?

Jason: …

Dick: Jason?

Jason: doesn’t matter, can you get Sanamancer!Reader please?

———————

*Sanamancer!Reader just relaxing in their room*

Jason walking in: hey I need help my lip is bleed-

*Locks eyes with Steph with a bleeding forehead who is getting a forehead kiss from you whilst you use your magic*

Steph: …

Sanamancer!Reader: Can you wait just a second? I’m just helping Steph :)

Steph: I don’t regret anything-

Jason: I do.

———————

Have a Merry Christmas everyone <3

[luludeluluramblings]

Multiverse!Reader Blurb

A/N: Soooooo, y’all remember when I had that multiverse!Reader idea? Cause here’s something from it I found in my notes app that I wrote forever ago. (I use a different app when writing now.)

Context: This is Reader’s breakdown and traveling to the other universe bit. GN!Reader

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

It tasted good. Delicious. The best Burger they’d ever had. They could help but eat as if it was their last meal. Their only meal.

And, something in them cracked. Be it the bite of the burger. The seasoning. The silence. The sounds of the cook in the back. Something cracked and the dam burst. Leaving them a sobbing pathetic mess at the empty dinner table.

Outside the window the sky seemed open up with their tears. Flashes of lightning in the sky. One striking so close by that the dinner shook. Too broken and tired to care as the sobs racked through their form. The half eaten food falling from their plate as tears and snot streamed down their face.

Without warning, a gentle hand was placed on their back. A large warm and unfamiliar hand. It had been so long since they had been comforted that the touch startled them into looking up at the figure.

Only for them to jerk away. Their watery eyes widening in horror when they saw who was touching them. Who was looking at them with such a concerned look.

Bruce. Standing next to him was none other than Dick. Both their eyes widening in surprise when Reader jerked up and looked at them with shock, recognition, anger and devastation.

For a moment, they tried to recall if they knew this person. They had literally appeared out of nowhere at the table behind them practically wailing with heartbroken cries.

Already the two men were on edge, but weirder things had happened in Gotham.

However, Bruce’s breath caught when he saw their eyes.

He didn’t know this person, this bawling child. But, those eyes he knew. He recognized. He saw them almost every night in his nightmares. The life fading from with the memory of a bullet making the life from them fade.

To see them now looking up at him with so many negative emotions, but filled with life made his heart stutter.

“Leave me alone, Bruce.” Comes their wobbly voice as they stand and push past him.

It stund him further. They know him. But, he doesn’t know them. Instantly, his mind is in detective mode. Trying to piece together this situation.

Giving Dick a quick glance with a silent order to let him handle this as he rushes after the distraught child. Because that was a child. A child that had his mother’s eyes and looks at him with desolation and apprehension. They knew him. He didn’t know him.

As he ran after them, he could concluded they knew Gotham. At least somewhat. They knew where they were going. More pieces to an unknown puzzle. They finally made it to the Gotham park, rain pelting both of them soaking them up the bone when he watch the child collapse on to a park bench under a tree.

Bruce didn’t hesitate, resting on his knees in front of them. Reaching out a warm hand to rest against their shaking shoulders.

As the looked up at him and he studied their face, he could tell that this was his child. The way their nose wrinkled the same way Damian’s does, the way those eyes shown like his late mother’s, the furrowed brows that he saw often in the mirror. He knew this was his and his heart ached at the way they looked at him.

“What’s your name?” He whispers. Wanting to know who this mystery child of his was.

“….” They replied. Confusion filling their trembling voice. The recognition clear in their eyes. They studied each other in the cold Gotham rain for minutes. Long minutes with multiple things being unsaid.

“You’re not the Bruce I know, are you?” They break the silence first. Interrupting Bruce’s study of them.

“No.” More puzzle pieces coming to light and being added to the ever growing pile. He is starting to get a rough idea of the image they’ll form though.

Silence falls over the two again. The rain not lighting up. But the thunder and lightning fading.

“What now?” They asks with a hopeless voice.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Did I cook? Or, should I scrap it? It’s GN!Reader, but I kinda wanna make it Fem!Reader. (I enjoy writing those more, but I’m willing to change some bits.)

Link to the idea page!

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

But even though your killing me I need you like the air I breathe.

These lyrics will always be Mortal kombat reader and her mother coded. Because nomatter how many times readers mother pushes them away or ignores them they'll always want their mothers approval, and love.....

___________________________________________

Btw these lyrics are from The cut that always bleeds by Conan Gray

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld @bat1212 @skepvids @sirenetheblogger @Nervousalpacalady @118gremlin @darktrashpoetry @bitternsweet @kksmush @awawage @coffeemin @feral-childs-word @cens0r3d @sweetprincesscomputer @exactlynumberonekryptonite @rosy-myhouse34 @hebaoffside @sheep-from-rad @time-shardz @vanessa-boo @jellyedkazoo @chinxinsomnia @sillysealsies @nervousalpacalady @gwyneveire @simpingpandas

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Oh my god

I finally found the perfect plot and inspiration to make a batfam version of The Judas Contract (yes, THAT judas contract, from the New Teen Titans)

I'm literally obsessed with that comic, my favorite portray of Deathstroke (I don't understand How people can't accept that you can like a villain even if you know they're a horrible person, like, maybe Just watch The Boys sometime, you'll love to hate some characters.)

I hope you guys like it!! Although I think it might flop...

[arjudy224]

Teachers Pet

Intern x Batfamily

Part 2 of Outreach Gala

The bartender flashes me an incredulous glance.

"Is that a no then?" I inquire with a half smile.

Before he can respond, a vine slithers up his leg, immobilizing him. I roll my eyes. Typical. Eyeing Dick's drink, I ask

"You gonna drink that?"

He shakes his head before sliding the drink down the bar.

Preparing to down the glass, I wince a little in preparation. A wave of artificial sweeteners flood my senses, but no alcohol. That bastard... It's Diet Coke.

"You should really get out of here." I whisper in his direction, "Get some help.

When no one responds, I stifle my laughter. I should have known better. From the corner of my eye, I spot Dr. Harris sneaking out the back door to grab reinforcements. His dark brown eyes meet mine. An understanding passes between us. He needs time. I nod in agreement. Marching through the party, I carefully avoid the eager vines trying to wrap around my legs.

The room falls into silence as I stumble past the poor partygoers. Comissioner Gordan's eyes grow wide in warning. I flash him my most reassuring smile.

"Dr. Isley," I call out weaving through the dozens of guests, "It's not very polite to show up two hours into the gala. We've been waiting for you."

Poison Ivy's glowing green eyes regard me curiously.

Before I can react, 4 stray vines wrap around my limbs rendering me motionless. Her eyes narrow in recognition.

"Ms. L/N, you've grown into yourself quite nicely."

I consider our history. 4 years is a considerably long time in adolescence.

"Well, that's a relief. I was afraid that I peaked with braces."

A small forms in response.

"Are you still picking fights with those boneheads in your class?"

I laugh. Some things never change.

"In some ways, "I respond with a grin, "Now, I mostly try to convince them of their errors through diplomacy."

One of the loose hanging vines carefully caresses my cheek. Peeling through my memories, I struggle to remember Dr. Isley as a Professor. Most mornings, I rolled into class like a zombie. Her labs were interesting though. Halfway through the semester, a group of police officers raided the lecture during an exam. I woke up quickly once her vines began strangling the police force.

"The plants speak of your kindness."

A string of followers blossom at my feet. My face gets hot.

"That's nice to hear. I haven't been able to grow anything since moving back to Gotham.” I joke awkwardly, “I was about to sample the water treatment plant again.”

More vines reach my waist. I shift uncomfortably,

"Don’t you see? Kindness isn't enough."

A few manage to wrap around my neck. The slow restriction around my airway causes me to start panicking.

"Dr. Isley...." I choke out, "You are hurting me."

The room starts to spin. Gasping, I struggle pathetically against the brick wall of vegetation.

"You have so much potential,” She mutters in my ear, “I could use someone with your talents.”

Red spots my vision. No. No. No. A pink flower grows out of a vine. A cascade of glittering aerosol sprinkles down from it. For a moment, my body goes limp. A wave of serotonin replaces my panic. She chose me. Imagine the change we could create. I smile- a real genuine smile.

Her hair.... Has it always been this silky? And her eyes... I've never seen that shade of green before. Everything about this woman feels wonderfully comforting and exciting all at once. In the natural world, when things are this potent they usually warn of poison.... but how could something so beautiful be bad?

When she kisses me, I don't protest. My knees go weak. A yearning, unlike anything I've ever felt, courses through my veins. A loud crash echoes across the gala. Dr. Isley pulls away too soon. I collapse in a wave of sorrow. Why would she leave me so soon? The rejection floods back painful memories of past lovers. Several vines hug me in support. Crouching, Pamela brushes my hair back before facing her foe.

"We'll finish this later. The adults are talking."

Tag list- @nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie, @epicyOn, @gaychaosgremlin, @rory-cakes, @luna-zendra-star, @b4tm4nn, @anuttellaa

[nosyrobin]

You: I’m not that pretty/handsome….

Damian who busted through your door: BLASPHEMY! WHO SHALL I END THE LIVES THAT TOLD BLATANT LIES!

Jason who came out from under your bed: I second on what the demon said.

Tim who was suddenly disguised as a giant teddy unzipping the suit: me three, what’s their name?

Dick who bursted through your windows: My Y/N distress signal alerted me! Who said that to you!!?

You: WHERE TF DID YALL COME FROM?!!

All of them: THAT DOESNT MATTER!

[shortnsweetsposts]

Child!Damian: *Trying to hug Bat!reader*

Bat!reader: Leave alone, baby.

Child!Damian: *Looked up at Bat!reader with them big ol'eyes*

Bat!reader: ...

Bat!reader, starts ugly sobbing and hugged child!Damian back: YOU'RE MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Batfam: Oh wow

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

"DAD!"

Bruce sighed at the familiar call, instantly recognizing the voice. It was you, the child he never intended to have, thrust into his life by forces beyond his control. He still wasn't ready for this—wasn't ready to be a father.

In the early days, you’d tried calling him "father" or "dad," hoping for a connection. But he’d ignore you every time, barely acknowledging the title. Frustrated, you’d started calling him "Mr. Wayne" out of spite. And to your surprise, he responded. Since then, you'd settled into calling him as if he were just another public figure, like some distant acquaintance. You learned quickly that Bruce Wayne didn't want to be publicly labeled as your father, that he wasn’t comfortable with the label at all.

But now, hearing that word—"Dad"—from you in public, his irritation rose. He’d told you ages ago not to call him that outside the manor. Yet, there was also a sliver of satisfaction; he finally had a reason to confront you over it, something he’d oddly wanted since you’d moved in.

Turning around to find you, Bruce stopped short. There you were, arms around Harvey Dent, laughing in a way that sent a pang through him. It was the kind of bright, easy laughter he’d never heard from you in his presence. The warmth in your eyes, the carefree lightness in your smile—it all seemed reserved for Dent, a scene that felt oddly father-child-like.

His grip tightened unconsciously, fingers curling around the grass he’d been holding. Harvey looked back at you with an almost fatherly pride, and it stung in a way Bruce couldn’t have anticipated. In that moment, the crowd faded around him, and all he could focus on was the two of you, bonded in a way he hadn’t managed to be with you.

Your laughter rang in his ears like a melody he’d never noticed before, something beautiful and elusive. And for the first time, Bruce felt something new—a desire to be the one to make you laugh like that, a yearning to hear it directed at him. He wanted all of it for himself.

Bruce’s hands clenched involuntarily, his fingers digging into his palms. He told himself that he was better than Dent in every way that mattered—stronger, more capable, more disciplined. But in this, seeing how effortlessly Dent could make you feel safe and valued, he felt an unsettling flicker of doubt. Bruce could face any enemy, any challenge, but standing here, watching someone else make you feel what he couldn’t, he felt almost... inadequate.

The feeling was absurd. Jealousy wasn’t supposed to affect him; he’d trained himself to be above such things. But he couldn’t stop the bitterness gnawing at him as he watched Dent with you, a man whose easy warmth contrasted so painfully with Bruce’s own guarded nature. It stung to realize that, for all his power and reputation, he was losing you to his own friend. Dent looked at you with pride and affection, the kind that came naturally to him—and Bruce hated that Dent could offer you what he hadn’t even known you needed.

And then, through the murmur of the crowd, your voice rang out again—“Dad!”—directed at Dent, not him. Something twisted painfully in Bruce’s chest, his vision blurring as he watched you lean into Dent’s embrace, trusting and relaxed. The sight was a punch to his pride, yes, but more than that, it was a revelation of all he’d pushed away, all the moments he’d let slip by because he hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable.

For the first time, Bruce felt an unfamiliar desperation creep in, a fear he’d never faced even in the darkest moments of his life. Losing you to Dent seemed almost absurd, yet it was becoming a reality before his eyes. He was starting to see the damage his own indifference had caused, each unspoken word and dismissed gesture now cutting him deeper than he would ever admit aloud.

If only he’d turned around that first time you called him "Dada." If only he’d been there, shown you warmth instead of distance. Now someone else was in the place he’d abandoned, and he feared—truly feared—that you were already too far out of his reach to bring back.

(A/n: feel free to use this idea to make a story! Though you needa tag me too😼)

[mostly-imagines]

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes while Tim has sat atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges into the room, past them and onto the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

But it’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He secretly wouldn’t really mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stayed behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out,” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason keeps his head down as he blindly reaches for the spoon in his cereal and chucks it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work,” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think,” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

✨ reblog fics or face the block button ✨

[book-place-incorrect-quotes]

*The Batfamily: hiding to try to throw a surprise party for Y/N*

Jason: *from behind a chair* Stop moving, Dickie-Bird, you’re louder than a bulldozer!

Dick: *from behind the couch* Well, sorry that Steph won’t move out of my way!

Steph: *kicking him* This is my hiding spot! Find your own!

Damian: *rolling his eyes* You imbeciles are acting like children

Tim: Everyone shut up- I think Y/N’s walking into the house!

Jason: Oh, really? Because I couldn’t hear anything over your loud ass breathing, replacement!

Dick: *whining* Why can’t anything ever be easy?

Tim: You guys are all going to ruin the surprise, shut up!

Y/N: *crouching beside Dick* Who are we waiting for?

Batfamily: *all let out high pitched screams*

[venuslarkspur]

Batsis And The Concerning Dating History

Summary: Some incorrect quotes of Batfam finding out about Batsis!Reader’s dating history.

Warning: Minor NSFW.

————————

Bruce: Are we gonna talk about it?

Batsis: about my date with Diana? Yeah it went well.

Damian: No sister, your peculiar dating history.

Dick: Yeah, remember when you dated the Green Lantern?

Batsis: Wait before we get into it, which one?

Jason: Tf you mean which one?

Damian: I agree with Todd, what do you mean by that sister?

Batsis: Which Green Lantern?

Batfam: …

Bruce: Y/n how many Green Lanterns have you been with?!

Batsis: Well technically, two.

Jason: I'm sorry, technically?

Batsis: Well yeah, I dated Hal Jordan, hooked up with-

Jason: YOU SLEPT WITH KYLE!?

Batsis: I was about to say Guy but sure Kyle was coming next anyway.

Bruce: I am appalled.

Batsis: And don't ask about John, I still think about him sometimes.. *literally starts tearing up*

Dick: Awh you miss him that bad? :(

Damian: What's even happening anymore?

————————

Dick: How was your date with Diana?

Batsis: Good thank you! It's nice to have a supportive person in the house. It went good but I think we are just gonna keep it platonic.

Dick: Okay, fair enough.

Batsis: But on a serious note I think Roy and I are going to give it another go. 

Dick: Did he bait you with Lian?

Batsis: No but it doesn’t hurt that she already sees me as her mother, no to mention Roy and I do this crazy posit-

Dick: Too much information!

———————

Tim: Why is this in your room? *holding up a dusty, button up shirt.*

Batsis: Oh shit, I think it’s from when I was dating John Constantine, you know him right? He must of left it here.

Tim: I would ask but you’ll probably go into too much detail for my liking.

Batsis: Oh my gosh the things we got up to in here Tim-

Tim literally traumatised: I’m leaving now, *plugs his ears*

Batsis: … Good I thought he would never leave. *starts messaging Roy asking when she can come over*

———————

Goodnight everyone <3

[issdisgrace]

Batdad Y/n: When I was like 18 I did coke off a stripper’s abs

Jason, Dick, Tim and Damian: WhAT

Cue Bruce shaking his head because he was there when you did it

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH1

12609 words, 71519 characters, 719 sentences, 224 paragraphs, 50.4 pages Next chapter

You can't recall exactly when or how you first came into contact with the billionaire and his sons, but if you could, you would go back in time and prevent that meeting from ever taking place. In a heartbeat.

Sitting obediently on a glass table tucked in the center of a crowded Wayne Enterprises boardroom, you find yourself ensnared as Bruce Wayne diligently delivers a familiar presentation, each sentence having been painstakingly practiced during the car ride over. Having overheard his repeated rehearsal with Alfred, you find yourself unconsciously mouthing along to every word. The tight black and green collar around your neck only worsening your discomfort, its stiffness constricting your movements and snagging on your freshly groomed fur.

The man continues on with his presentation, his polished demeanour and authoritative tone captivating the attention of the surrounding investors and executives. However, you find it difficult to focus on his words, the ridiculous knitted Nightwing sweater pressing against your back causing an uncomfortable itch. You shift slightly, wincing as your freshly combed coat brushes against the stiff fabric.

The weight of Bruce's unwavering gaze lands on you like a furnace, and you can almost picture that infuriatingly fond smile plastering his face. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with disgust. Your tail swishing side to side in distaste.

He continues to drone on and on; and you find yourself struggling to stay still, the uncomfortable position, itchy sweater, and the heavy weight of Bruce's stare making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything he's saying. The only thing you want to do is scratch the infuriating itch, but the tight collar around your neck and Bruce's looming presence ensure that you remain obediently still. You know better than to cross them. How willing they are to punish you, so you stay still.

Your thoughts drift to a time when you were still unburdened by this enforced domestication. A pang of longing and bitterness settles in your chest as memories of your previous life come flooding back. You remember the simple freedom of being able to move about unmonitored, the comfort of lounging in the sun, unbothered by the Wayne families suffocating grasps.

Your paws effortlessly propel you across the icy rooftops, leaping and bounding with a careless grace. The cool night air brushes through your untamed, unhindered fur, the wind whistling past your ears. A bag is clenched between your sharp teeth, the fabric muffling your breathing slightly as you scale each building with purpose.

The city's neon glow stretches out beneath your paws, the distant lights casting a soft, surreal hue on the urban canvas. Free to go wherever you please. You could spend minutes, hours or even days just wandering under Gotham’s starry sky, with no one to tell you what to do or where to be.

You pause your journey and arrive at the edge of a dark alley, peering down at the scene below. A woman holds two teens hostage, a pistol pressed against their shivering frames. Your tail involuntarily fluffs up, matching the tension in your body as your slitted eyes dart to each potential escape route. A hiss escapes past your teeth, and you set the package down at your side before delicately pawing at a loose brick in the wall. You slide it from its position just enough to create a domino effect, the brick falling directly onto the woman's gun-holding hand.

A small, satisfied mewl leaves your throat as the woman wails in pain, her broken wrist cradled protectively in her grip. The two teens immediately seize the opportunity to make their escape, scrambling out of the alleyway. The gun slips from the woman's grasp, and she drops to her knees clutching her wounded hand. Your ears fold back and a low hiss escapes your lips at the sight, but you remain perched on the roof-top, unmoving. You slowly lower back down to take your package, then turn away. Your paws hitting the nearest rooftop with a small thump.

Your paws carry you further and further away from the robbery, the events replaying in your mind like a vivid, disjointed dream. You launch yourself from roof-to-roof in a series of quick dashes and leaps, your body seemingly on autopilot as you weave through the city's darkened backstreets. The silence of the rooftops envelops you like a comforting blanket, the city below finally at rest. A cool night breeze caresses your untamed fur, rustling its unkempt strands. Balancing the package carefully in your mouth, you bound toward your home’s familiarly cluttered balcony.

Your eyes scan over the cluttered balcony, taking in the random assortment of books, clothes, and trinkets strewn across the small space. Your padded paws land quietly on the rough wood, a subtle thump breaking the silence. Your muscles relax ever so slightly as the familiar surroundings wash over you. Without a second thought, you make your way to the edge of the balcony, lowering the package with your paws before curling up beside it, your ears folding back in an almost contented manner.

Your eyes had just shuttered closed as you basked in the soothing midnight breeze, when the sudden crash of metal yanks you from your reverie. Your ears perking up and pivoting towards the source of the disturbance. A low, frustrated huff escapes your snout. You stretch out your limbs, your tail flicking in annoyance as you lower yourself from the edge of the balcony and peer over the side.

Peering down from your perch on the balcony, your eyes widen in surprise. It’s...a boy? Wearing a skin-tight red and black bodysuit with a vibrant yellow cape. A flicker of familiarity sparks in your brain; you’ve seen this one before. Red Robin.

You observe him silently from your vantage point, tilting your head to the side as your eyes rove over his frame. He lets out an exaggerated groan, grappling awkwardly with an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry. A low, scoffing hum leaves your throat and your tail lightly thwaps against the wood, twitching in amusement. You had only seen him in pictures before, but damn, they didn’t lie. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

You lower yourself with a single, fluid motion onto the metal stairwell, feeling the rough surface scraping against your little paws. A small hiss of displeasure escapes your throat, but you brush it off and continue. You approach him curiously, taking a moment to inspect him. Your nose twitches as you sniff at his cape before finding a comfortable spot to sit and look up at him expectantly.

He doesn’t immediately notice your approach, his mind seemingly occupied by the malfunctioning gadget in his hands. You watch as he fiddles with the device for a few moments before his attention finally snaps to you. He visibly jumps, startled by your sudden proximity. He lets out a startled breath, eyes widening. You had gone to him.

You let out a snort of derision. Him, a vigilante? A detective? Unlikely. The thought of him trying to solve a case or outwit a criminal is absolutely absurd. You let your gaze wander over his costume once more, imagining how differently he would react if you were in your human form right now.

He slowly lowers the gadget, his eyes fixed upon you as you recline before him, behaving like an awaiting house cat. He observes you with quiet, analytical interest, his gaze roaming over your small form, taking in your twitching tail and reasonably-groomed fur. He seems to ponder the sight of you, weighing in on your not-quite stray, yet not-quite pampered appearance.

You gingerly shift closer, standing on your hind legs before pawing at his pants. A small indignant huff of disappointment escapes your lips as the material refuses to tear, the tightly-woven fabric holding firmly against your claws, unable to even tear the slightest thread, but you mask it with a small, almost cute "mew". Nevertheless, you are determined to make the most out of this situation. Planning on coaxing all the pets you possibly can out of this man.

He shoots you a curious look, tilting his head to the side. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. He then slowly reaches out a gloved hand, hovering it over your head hesitantly, waiting for your response.

The end of your tail gives a happy flick, betraying your eagerness for his touch. You press your cheek against his knuckles, enjoying the sensation of his fingers against your fur. Instinctively, your ears fold back, granting him better access to run his fingers further through your soft fur. Sucker.

A soft, delighted purring sound fills the air as your eyes flutter closed, your purrs becoming a constant, steady low rumble in your chest as he continues to gently stroke your head and down your neck. Oh, this is heavenly. Your tail swishes contentedly, and you lean into his touch, almost shamelessly seeking out more.

His gloved hand is much bigger than your entire head, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against your fur. Yet, his touch was gentle and deliberate, slowly tracing the outline of your ears and down your spine, causing a blissful shiver to run through your small body. Your eyelids droop further, nearly closing completely, your purring becoming louder as you relax into his touch. You don’t notice the pleased knowing grin that crosses his face.

The weight and warmth of his gloved hand was almost soothing, his fingers weaving between your fur with a sort of rhythmic motion. You let your body go limp, your head rolling back to further expose the underside of your chin, silently begging for more of those slow, careful caresses. Your eyes are almost completely closed now, a small rumble in your chest the only sound you remember how to make. God, you haven’t been pet in weeks.

His hand moves from your spine to the base of your tail, and a low sigh of pure contentment leaves your mouth. He seems to sense your delight and focuses his attention there, running his fingers through the base of your tail, causing you to involuntarily arch your body towards him, purring in approval.

He seems to know exactly what to do, his touch deliberate yet tender. A little too well. It's as if he's somehow mapped out each and every spot that you secretly adore and is now exploiting it to great effect. The constant caresses, pets, and scrabbles have worked you into a sort of euphoric, almost trancelike state, your mind becoming blissfully devoid of conscious thought. All you can focus on is the warm, firm touch of his gloved hand.

The moment is shattered, however, as deep voice from his comms shatters the sweet, blissful moment. Your little pointed ears perk up, instinctively responding to the sudden intrusion of sound. “Tim? Why does it say you’ve stood still?”

You pull yourself from your blissful state with a reluctant huff, the sound of the deep voice in his comm jarring you back to reality. Your ears flick back, annoyed at the interruption. Tim– Red Robin seems to tense up, his hand frozen in mid-pet. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, looking down at you. "Sorry, I got…distracted."

Your tail lazily swishes against the stairwell, silently expressing your irritation at having been interrupted. You can practically hear his sheepish, nervous chuckle, can practically sense the tension in his frame. "Distracted?" The voice in the comm questions, but you huff, tuning out the conversation.

You let out a small, frustrated huff before turning your focus back onto Tim's still form. Ignoring the man's comm conversation, you push your little, fluffy face against his leg, letting out a needy demanding mewl to regain his attention. You're not done yet, damn it.

His eyes flick back over to you, a mix of apology and amusement evident in his gaze. He resumes his prior motions, sliding his hand down your spine with a soft, comforting caress, tracing the same path he'd followed before. All the while, his other hand is fiddling with the comms device, probably replying to the man on the other end. Good. As long as his hands are still touching you, you don't particularly care what he's doing. “You found them?”

You sigh and let yourself relax once again, the soothing motions of his fingers against your fur quickly working you back into blissful indifference. You let your eyelids flutter closed, sinking back into the soothing rhythm of his touch. The only sounds you can focus on are his breathing, the soothing rasp of his glove against your fur, and the low hum of the comm conversation. This is nice.

He continues this motion for what feels like an eternity, the blissful sensation of being pet taking over your senses and dulling your brain into a euphoric, mindless state. You find yourself leaning heavily against his leg, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the low rumble of his voice against the comms acting as an oddly soothing background noise. Damn, you could get used to this....

Gradually, you become aware of him shifting, his hand leaving your spine. A low whine escapes your throat, your eyes opening to look up at him with a mixture of annoyance and pleading. Come back. You meow, demanding.

You let out a low grumble of complaint as he stands and picks up the device once more. Irritated at the interruption of your moment, you bat at his leg with your small paw, then quickly scamper away, leaping back onto the balcony from before. Now alone, you let out a sigh and circle the small space multiple times. The wood scraping against your claws sharply.

With a quick shift, you transform back into your human form, the small package clutched delicately in your hands. Turning, you slide open the door to the balcony and step through, the cool night air rustling against your clothes.

Tossing the small package onto the countertop, you drag yourself over to the couch. Your limbs ache with exhaustion as you collapse into the cushions with a thud. You bring the well worn blanket with you, wrapping your tired body in its familiar comfort. Your muscles are screaming out for rest. Which you happily oblige.

You're wrenched out of a fitful sleep, eyes fluttering open as the familiar, infuriating sound of construction greets you. Fuck. A loud, frustrated groan escapes your chapped lips. You pull a nearby couch pillow over your head, desperately trying to muffle the noise. With bleary eyes, you squint at the digital clock reading 5:42. You want to die.

The relentless hammering, banging, and drilling outside the thin walls of the apartment pierce your eardrums. You swear you can feel each blow of the hammer, every screech of the drill, deep in your bones. Make it stop. You press the pillow more firmly against your ears, trying in vain to block out the incessant din. You silently promise yourself that if you ever meet the city planner responsible for approving this construction, you'll kick him square in the nuts... Or right in the vagina– whatever. Now is not the time to debate over this.

With a groan of irritation and an abundance of hissing, you force your tired body into a sitting position as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You take a moment to rub your temples for some relief from the dull ache forming behind your eyes.

You open your red rimmed eyes and swing your legs over the side of the couch. The exhaustion from last night feels ten times worse now after being woken up prematurely by the construction racket. You mentally curse whoever’s in charge here, and their entire bloodline. Silently wishing for the noise to stop. Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub later...

You brace one hand against the side of the couch as you use it as support to rise to your feet. A series of satisfying cracks and pops resonate down your spine. By the sound of it you’re a chiropractors wet dream.

You let out a low sigh of relief as you straighten, your back now less taut than it was a few moments ago. Small mercies, right?

With your hands clamped tightly over your tender, sensitive ears, you stumble into the kitchen. You begin searching through each cabinet with a desperation that borders on violent. Your mission? Find the strongest headache pills you have.

After hastily flinging open each cupboard and shelf, you finally find what you’re looking for. A small, white bottle filled half way with little white tabs. With a quick twist, you pop the lid open and pour two pills out into your palm, before downing them dry.

You lean against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut as you press the heels of your hands firmly into your temples. Come on. Work already..

You wait in silence, only the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasional hammering outside filling the air. You press your palms against your temples, as if physically willing the pills to work faster. The tension between your shoulders tight as piano wire.

You let out a frustrated groan, turning the tap on, lowering your head under the rushing water. You gulp down a few mouthfuls, letting the water run over, through, and past your lips. The noise of the tap muffling the sounds of the construction. The coolness of the water temporarily soothes the ache behind your eyes.

You let the water slide past your lips, closing them to savor the cool sensation. Your mind grows blank as you lose track of time, lost in tranquility despite the racket outside. Then, with a shaky hand, you turn off the tap, stepping back as you reach for a tea towel to dry your face and neck. The cloth rough against your tender skin, but the motion is calming, and your shoulders loosen the slightest bit.

You lean back against the counter, the cold marble seeping through your shirt, almost numbing any sensation on your skin. You take another moment to towel dry your hair, the rough material scraping against your scalp, and sending a pleasant shiver down your back. The small action temporarily distracting you from the pounding in your head.

You drop the towel, letting it fall onto the counter behind you. A long exhale escapes your mouth, your shoulders dropping as you relax. For a moment, the water seems to have worked. Unfortunately, the relief is short lived as the headache slowly creeps back in. A low growl escapes your lips. Ugh.

You scan over the bottle, reading the small print. Only twenty minutes before the damn things start to kick in. Shit. You shove the container back inside the cupboard, a frustrated huff leaving your lips. You drag your body over to your room, every step a tedious task.

You stumble into the room and collapse onto your bed, face first. You let out a low groan as your body lands on the soft, fluffy mattress. It welcomes you with open arms. You let yourself go limp, letting the comfort and softness of your bed lull you into a quiet state of half numbness. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of rest, or the pills finally starting to work, but you’re suddenly feeling incredibly woozy.

With a sluggish effort, you shift your head up, wincing at the sharp, persistent thrum in your skull. Despite the throbbing, you slowly extend your arm to reach for the pair of shorts laying on the edge of the bed.

With a weary sigh, you shuck off yesterday’s cargo pants and pull the new shorts up your legs. The simple motion feels like climbing a mountain. Deciding that the headache pounding through your mind was too much to change your shirt, you collapse back onto your bed. The sheets cool against your overheated skin.

You lay there for a moment, letting the comfort of your bed take hold. Despite the headache still pounding through your head, exhaustion slowly starts to take hold of you. Your eye lids flutter as sleep slowly creeps in. But just as you’re about to doze off, your stomach lets out an obnoxious gurgle, the sound piercing the silence. Great.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you shift up from the bed, grimacing as you do so. Your untamed hair sticking up in random directions. You rub your temple, as your stomach lets out another loud grumble. You let out an annoyed whine as the realisation sinks in. You’re out of groceries.

With a disgruntled huff, you haul yourself up for the second time. Reaching for your jacket as you quickly make your way towards the front door. This time choosing to forego the balcony and just walk like a normal person. You swing open the front door and step out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly overhead.

You step into the hallway, your shoes slapping softly against the tiled floor. The sound of the construction is no longer muffled, the endless banging and grinding now clear as day. You wince as the onslaught suddenly becomes unbearable. You quickly make your way to the staircase instead of the elevator. You can’t handle being jammed into that tiny space with the sounds of hell right now.

You take the steps of the staircase two at a time, just wanting to get out of this damn building as soon as possible. Each step echoes with a rhythmic thudding against the cold concrete as you make your way to the ground floor. The headache pills have finally started to work, but the pounding construction outside is slowly undoing their efforts.

You stride past the workers, shooting each of them a murderous glare. It’s not their fault they’re just doing their job. But goddamn it, the headache is worsening and it’s all you can do to not snap at them. Instead, you settle for shooting them a glare that could rival Batman himself.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the angry words building within you. Just keep walking. It’s fine. They’re not at fault here. It’s stupid to be angry at them. You repeat the mantra in your head like a broken record as your legs carry you further down the street. Further away from that blasted construction noise.

You keep walking, your shoes thumping against the concrete as you go. The further away you get from the construction, the more the headache starts to abate. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath of relief as you glance around at your surroundings. Barely anyone was out at this hour, the streets still mostly asleep.

After walking another ten minutes or so, you pause in the middle of the street and let out a string of quiet curses under your breath. The stores won’t be open for at least another four hours, and your stomach is starting to demand sustenance again.

Frustration builds inside of you, your teeth clenched tight together as you shuffle in place. You can’t go back to your apartment because of that goddamn noise, and all the stores that aren’t run by mobsters are closed.

You sigh, resting your tired body against the graffiti-filled wall behind you. There was another option you could try. But whether or not you were desperate enough to do it was something else.

You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. You hadn't eaten much more than a small yogurt cup yesterday, and your stomach was protesting it's emptiness in a loud, gurgling complaint. You release a long sigh, doing a quick glance around to ensure no one was nearby before shifting into a cat.

The transformation is swift and graceful as you shift into the form of a sleek cat. Your body shrinks, limbs elongating and changing shape as soft multicoloured fur sprouts from your body. You stand on four paws, tail swaying languidly. You give yourself a quick shake, licking your little paws for good measure before looking around again.

You take a moment to get used to the new body you’ve assumed. Everything felt a tad bit more sensitive in this form. Your ears swivel around at minuscule sounds as you sniff the air with your sensitive nose, picking up on the various scents floating through the street.

You decide to try your hand at pity first, before resorting to thievery if your first plan fails. You slink down the street, your paws silent against the pavement beneath you as you search for some poor unsuspecting soul to assist you.

You stalk down the street, ears pricked and head tilted as you listen for the sounds of anyone making their way through the quiet street. You make yourself as adorable as possible: wide, begging eyes and sticking out your chest. A pitiful meow leaving your little cat mouth every so often, just for good measure.

You make your way through the city, heading towards the more upscale side of Gotham. You sway your tail idly behind you, the appendage brushing against the concrete and gathering the dirt that sticks to your fur. You make sure to rub up against some objects, gathering enough dirt and debris to make yourself appear slightly disheveled, but not enough to set off your instincts to want to groom yourself immediately.

You reach a neighbourhood of opulent high rises and well manicured lawns, plush houses and gated communities starting to become more frequent, a stark contrast to the graffiti-filled blocks you had passed before. Your fur is dusted with enough dirt to look untidy without feeling uncomfortable, and you let out a small meow as you glance down the street, scouting for a likely target.

You spot a man of considerable height, around 6 foot tall, with an intimidatingly built physique. His shirt clings just slightly too tightly against his chest, leaving little to the imagination. A scar mars the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. But you’ve seen far scarier looking men loitering at the end of your street. Saying that, doesn’t mean you’re any less scared of his imposing figure. So you quickly duck under the nearest parked car, attempting to conceal yourself beneath it.

You watch in trepidation as the man begins strutting towards the vehicle you’ve hidden yourself beneath. He kneels down in an unhurried, smooth motion, and peers right under the car. His gaze instantly locks onto you, your eyes widening in response to his intense stare. For the briefest of moments, you could have sworn there was a look of softness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see you.

“A cat?” The man lets out a small huff, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief. His gaze drifts to your disheveled appearance, taking in the dirt that clings to your fur. He lets out a low hum, continuing to watch you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His muscles slowly relax. A smirk appearing on his face as he studies you closer.

Your tail sways behind you, your ears perking up at his relaxed gaze. A sly little grin of satisfaction threatens to rise to your face, but you hold it back, instead letting out a pitiful meow as you slowly shuffle closer to him. He doesn’t move away, watching your every movement with unwavering eyes.

You lower your head, slowly moving towards his boots. You let your body press against the soles of his shoes, a soft purring sound escaping your little feline mouth. The dirt from your fur slowly coats the previously clean material of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess.

You continue to press your body against the hard leather of his boots, leaving behind a dusting of dirt. He crouches down, gently reaching out a big hand, careful not to scare you off. You can see the muscles in his arms flex with the action, the veins prominent on his knuckles. He gently runs a finger over your head, scratching just behind your ears.

The feel of his big hand against your head is gentle, his touch unexpectedly tender as he lightly scratches at the skin behind your ear. You let out a rumbling purr, unable to fight the comforting sensation that slowly starts to take over. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s surprisingly sweet towards you.

He’s a hard-looking man, his appearance disheveled and weathered, a white streak through his jet black hair. His wide physique is almost intimidating, but you can see his heart already start to soften after a few moments. It seems even he isn’t immune to the charm of a pitiful stray cat begging for food and affection.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" The man's deep, slightly grating voice calls out as he continues to gently scratch behind your ear. He's staring down at your small form with an odd expression of concern on his face, his eyes drifting over your disheveled fur.

Your ears perk up at the sound of his voice. Something suddenly seems terribly familiar about it. You tilt your head, glancing up to get a clearer look at the man’s face as you try and place where exactly you’ve heard his voice before.

You look closer at the man, studying his features with a furrowed brow. There’s no mistaking it now, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere before. You’re sure of it. But there’s no way you’d ever know anyone this big and intimidating before… right?

The man stands, gently scooping you up into his arms. He gives you a light pat on the head before he starts to move. “Come along then, I don’t need that little shit on my ass for leaving their little obsession stranded so far from home,” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself and not you.

You’re left blinking in surprise as you’re lifted from the ground, cradled in the man’s arms. You look up at him as he starts walking down the street with you, a bewildered look on your face. Obsession? Stranded? What the hell is this dude on?

The man continues walking, his stride even and unhurried. He glances down at you and scoffs, as if he’s amused by the sight of you. He mutters something under his breath as he walks, something that sounds like “God dammit, B.” He brings his hand up to give you a gentle scratch under your chin, the gesture almost affectionate.

Your stomach chooses the perfect moment to let out a loud grumble, the sound amplified by being so close to the man’s hand. You can feel his hand twitch against your belly slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Hungry, huh?” The man drawls out. He stops his stride for a moment, pulling out his phone as he keeps you cradled in one arm. You can’t see anything from this angle, but you can hear the sound of him making a phone call.

It’s only a few rings before someone picks up on the other end. You can faintly hear a voice chatting softly on the other line, even though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The man lets out a small huff of annoyance before holding the phone up to his ear, shifting you in his arms to keep you comfortably balanced against his chest.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker, his voice gruff but surprisingly soft. “Yeah, I’m out on the east side. I found something.” There’s a pause as the person on the other line responds, and you can faintly hear them say something, although it’s muffled and indistinct. The man snorts, his eyes drifting down to you for a moment before he continues.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing ‘em back. Relax,” The man responds to the person on the other side of the line, rolling his eyes. You watch the side of his face as he talks, your ears pricked, ears catching snippets of the conversation. Relax? What do they mean by that? Are they talking about me?

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” the man says, shifting you around again as he begins to resume walking. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The person on the other end says a few more words before there’s a beep signifying the call’s been cut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket before bringing his hand back to keep you cradled against his chest.

You huff softly, feeling a strange mix of irritation and intrigue swirling inside of you. In an attempt to distract yourself, you reach your small paw up, lightly tapping it against the man’s cheek.

It’s a small action, intended to be nothing more than a curious little jab. But against the rough, scarred skin of the man’s cheek, your tiny little paw seems almost affectionate. He glances down at you at the contact, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

He studies you for a moment, a look of almost curiosity on his face. It’s a far cry from the gruff, hardened exterior he had been portraying up until now. He stops his stride for a moment, lifting you closer to his face to look at you more closely.

He seems almost… fascinated by you. His eyes rove over your soft fur and little face, taking in every detail. He lets out a low hum, slowly reaching out a hand and gently stroking your back. “The kid’s is gonna kill me for letting you get all dirty.”

The hand stroking gently down your back is surprisingly soft, despite the callouses and ridges of his fingertips. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, probably trying to deduce what to do. “You’re a mess,” he mutters, his gaze drifting over your disheveled coat.

You can feel the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s words, the comment practically begging for a sarcastic reaction. But you hold it back, reminding yourself of the delicious meal you’re hoping to get out of him. Better hold back on the sass, for now.

Instead, you let your tail flick idly, trying to appear as innocent and pitiful as possible. Come on, man. Have a heart. Feed me.

The dude glances down as your tail continues to flick against his arm, almost as if you’re trying to lure him into doing something for you. A light snort escapes his mouth, his fingers trailing down to give you a little scratch on the head. “You’re a sly little bastard, ain’t ya?”

His statement is more of an off-handed comment rather than an actual critique. He continues to scratch behind your ear, seemingly unable to resist giving you a little affection. His gaze drifts over your disheveled form, taking in the dirt-matted fur and slight exhaustion in your eyes.

He lets out a soft grunt, his touch gentle as he runs his hands through your fur. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, his eyes never leaving your disheveled appearance. “How long you been out here all alone, huh?” he mutters, his voice gruff but strangely sympathetic.

The man lets out a low huff, glancing down at you with an almost sympathetic look on his face. “It’s earlier than we planned,” the man mutters, a hint of regret coating his words. His hand still softly stroking through your fur. “But the renovations are nearly ready,” his eyes taking in your exhausted form. It’s hard to say if he’s talking to you or to himself, a note of assurance in his voice. “So soon, kid.”

You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face, your little mind still trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about? Renovations? Who’s he talking to? Who are the people he keeps mentioning? What is even happening right now? But you quickly cover it up and let out a tired-sounding meow, hoping he won’t notice the hint of confusion in your little feline face. He glances down at you, his hand slowly rubbing a soothing circle on your back.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still gruff but the tone softer this time. “You’ll be safe soon enough.” He gives you a gentle pat on the head before resuming his stride. You can feel his arms cradling you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Even as your mind races with unanswered questions, the beat of the man’s heartbeat seems to soothe you, acting as a strange form of comfort. His warm arms keep you tucked against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. It’s an almost reassuring presence.

The man carries you down the street, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and steady rhythm of his heart slowly lulling you into a trance-like state. The exhaustion from the past few days is finally catching up to you, a small yawn escaping your little mouth before you can try to fight it.

You can feel your eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion taking over your small body. The steady rhythm of the man’s heart combined with the gentle rocking of his arms as he walks send a wave of fatigue through you. You try to fight back the overwhelming tiredness, but another small, squeaky yawn escapes your little mouth.

With a soft contented sigh, you stretch out your little paws, making yourself comfortable in his arms. The man lets out a low chuckle as he watches your little legs extend, giving you a gentle pat on the back.

It’s strangely comforting, being held in the man’s strong arms. The sound of his laughter rumbles through his chest, and you can almost hear a hint of affection in the gesture. You feel the weight of your fatigue start to increase, your eyes slowly blinking shut against your will.

You blearily blink your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself lying on a soft cushion. The fabric feels luxurious against your fur, the plush material enveloping you in a comfortable embrace. You dazedly look around, trying to recall how you ended up on this soft surface.

Your little ears fold back as you look around, slowly taking in your surroundings. A brief moment of confusion washes over you as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the man’s arms. But seeing him still here, you let out a relieved sigh, your entire fluffy body moving up and down in the process. Thank everything that he didn’t leave me on the side of the road.

He glances over at you, noticing that you’re now awake. “You finally back with the living?” he says gruffly, his voice tinged with amusement. You can see a hint of a smile on the man’s face, betraying his hard exterior.

You lift your chin up in a defiant huff, letting your tail flick against the soft cushion as an additional statement of irritation. The man lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at your small act of feigned irritation.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters, his voice taking on a slightly amused tone. He reaches a hand out to give you a small pat on the head, his rough fingers gently stroking your fur.

Your chest lets out a soft rumble, purring at the feeling of his hand stroking through your fur. Your gaze drifts around the room, your nose twitching as you pick up on a delicious scent. Food, your stomach rumbles. Please, be food.

The aroma is tantalizing, making your little stomach grumble loudly in response. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if the man actually has food nearby. The man lets out another amused huff as he notices your nose twitching and your stomach rumbling. “Impatient little thing, eh?” he mutters, lifting his hand from your head to look at you with a slightly entertained expression. Your little paws twitch slightly, as if you’re preparing to go searching for where the wonderful scent is coming from.

He chuckles at your eagerness, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Calm down, bud,” he says gruffly. “Food’s coming in a minute. Ain’t gonna starve ya.’” He gives you another gentle pat on the head, his hand large enough to practically cover your entire body.

You let out a dissatisfied huff, your gaze still darting around to try and find the source of the delicious scent. You want to rush out and find the food immediately, but the man's large hand keeps you pressed firmly on the soft cushion. You squirm a little impatiently, your tail flicking idly against the fabric. Your cat instincts taking over.

He lets out an amused laugh at your squirming, your restlessness making it hard for him to keep you in place. “Hold still,” he says gruffly. “You're making it hard to keep you in one place.” He reaches his hands out again and gently holds you down, preventing you from moving around any further.

You’re not a fan of this guy keeping you down, your instincts flaring up in defiance. Despite the delicious promise of food in the air, you’re tempted to lash out and scratch him just for holding you in one spot. Release me, your inner self growls.

You pause in your struggle, your little ears perking up and your whiskers twitching as the clink of dishes and the soft sound of footsteps approaching comes from nearby. Your nose twitches with anticipation, the delicious smells in the air becoming more concentrated. Food.

You crane your head to get a better look at the approaching figure, your little body shifting slightly on the cushion. The man holding you down also looks up, watching as someone walks into the room carrying a tray of food. Your little mouth starts to salivate, the enticing scents wafting over to you and making your stomach rumble loudly.

The guy releases his grip once you stop squirming, letting you move freely again. You can feel your instincts taking over your little body, your tail curling around your side as you focus your attention on the tray of food being presented in front of you. “Here you are, Master Jason.”

Your eyes are almost glued to the tray, filled with the most tantalizing smells that you've come across. The man– Jason watches you quietly, amused by your little display. The person holding the tray sets the food down in front of you, the various dishes arranged in an almost tempting manner.

You want to purr in delight as you look at the food laid before you. Thank god there’s none of that dreadful cat food in sight. You've had your fair share of people trying to feed you that horrible kibble in the past, and you're definitely not a fan. This food smells a million times better than anything that ever came out of a can. Meat.

You shoot him a glance of appreciation before hopping onto the table, greedily pouncing on the food in front of you. You dive right in, devouring the food with gusto, your little tongue lapping at the meat hungrily.

You pay no mind to him as you feast on the delicious meal laid out in front of you. The smells, the texture, the taste; it’s all absolutely heavenly. You eat like you've never eaten before, your little body almost shaking with contentment. This might just be the best meal you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.

Meanwhile, Jason watches your little display with a slight smirk on his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watching as you devour the food on the plate in front of you with relish. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly taking a picture of you digging into the food to send to the family in case they ask how you're doing. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at your behavior, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You're so lost in the food, you don't even notice the older man taking a picture of you. All your focus is singular, eating as much as you can before it’s taken away. The man watches you with a mix of amusement and something else that you can’t quite place. Too absorbed in your meal to notice his reaction.

Once you’ve practically licked the plate clean, you finally feel a sense of fullness, your little belly pleasantly satisfying. You give yourself a little shake, a little bit of food still stuck to your whiskers. Jason chuckles slightly, watching your little satisfied display. He breaks the silence as you finish cleaning yourself off.

“Had enough?” he asks in a gruff voice. His words are gruff and blunt, but you can sense the touch of amusement within them. You let out a little huff, feeling satisfied but also a little bit embarrassed at how fast you had eaten. Too much food, you think, your little stomach feeling a bit bloated.

The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur, your mind fuzzy and filled with the sensation of being inside Jason’s leather jacket as he mounts his bike. He doesn't have a bag or carrier to keep you secure, so you cling onto his shirt for dear life, your little claws digging tightly into the fabric. The wind whips through your fur as the bike roars to life, the force of the breeze making you instinctively cling even harder.

You had assumed that Jason was simply taking you back to the spot where he had found you under the car. After all, there was no chance in hell that you were going to poke your head out of the top of his jacket to check yourself. However, as he stops the bike and unzips the jacket, revealing your familiar surroundings, your tail begins to fluff up in surprise. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re at home, as in, right outside your apartment. The fur on your back bristles, ears folding back. You’re quick to jump off of the vehicle, backing away. What the fuck?

You scramble off Jason's lap and onto the sidewalk, your little paws almost slipping in your haste. The moment you land on the pavement, you take a few stumbling steps back, your tail puffed up and your fur standing on end. How could he possibly know where you live? You hadn’t given away any indication that you lived here, or anywhere for that matter. You had been so careful to stay out of sight, blending into the shadows. There was no way he could have known. And yet… here you are, outside your home. You take a tentative step back, your little feet moving instinctively. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to get away from this guy who seemingly knew too much about you.

Your eyes dart from the man to the building behind you, your mind racing. Everything inside you is telling you to run, to flee and go hide. You were supposed to be so careful, so cautious about keeping your identity a secret. And now this man standing in front of you, this guy you barely knew, had just pulled up right outside your home. How the hell did he know where you lived? Run, your instincts yell. Run, run, run.

You take another jerky step back, your little paws almost slipping on the rough pavement. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You almost trip over your own feet, your mind flooded with a mix of fear and confusion. How does he know? How the fuck does he know!? You’ve been so careful, covering your tracks, making sure no one followed you home. But here he is, standing in front of you, looking all too calm and collected. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows where you live or how calm he seems about it.

You don't waste another second, your little feet moving as fast as they can. Your instincts are screaming at you to run and get away as fast as possible. So that's what you do. You take off like a shot, darting away from the bike, from the man, from everything. Your focus is on nothing except getting away, getting somewhere safe, somewhere away from this guy who apparently knew more than he should. You dart upstairs faster than you thought physically possible, breath coming out laboured as you panic, not bothering to check if anyone’s nearby as you shift back to human, unlocking your door and slamming it closed behind you.

Jason let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he watches you scamper off. "Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, watching as your small form quickly disappears from sight. "I didn’t think that through." He scowls, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to panic quite that much.

Your knees suddenly give way, and you collapse to the floor with a thump. Your hand instinctively moves to press against your chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. Your mind is racing, your body shaking from the adrenaline and panic of the situation. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing, your chest heaving as you gasp in sharp breaths.

You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making it feel like it’s about to explode. You can barely breathe, your gasps for air coming in quick, sharp pants. Your head is swimming, the world around you seeming to spin and tilt with each jerky movement. You can’t think straight, your mind filled with a swirling mix of panic and confusion. It feels like everything is closing in on you, the walls of your apartment suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

You try to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths come out ragged and uneven, each one feeling like a struggle. Your chest is heaving, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you’re starting to wonder if it’ll burst. You drop your head down, resting your forehead against your knees, trying to steady yourself. Your mind is racing, thoughts and questions and doubts swirling in a confusing mess.

You desperately try to calm down, to ease the frantic beating of your heart. But nothing seems to work, the panic and confusion making it nearly impossible to think straight. Your head spins as you struggle to take deep breaths, each one catching in your throat like a lump. You can feel your body trembling, your muscles tense and coiled like a spring about to snap. The thought of the man outside your door, the man that knew where you lived, makes your stomach twist in knots.

It feels like your privacy has been invaded, your safe sanctuary no longer feeling so safe. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a small, trapped animal. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of solution to this messed up situation. But you’re too lost in your own head, too focused on calming your panicked breathing to come up with anything coherent.

You feel like you’re drowning, your body overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and the physical response. You need to get yourself under control, to get your thoughts sorted out and figure out what the hell to do. But it feels like your mind and your body are in a constant tug-of-war with each other, neither one willing to give in. It’s like being stuck in a nightmare that you can’t wake up from.

You’re suddenly aware of the silence in your apartment. It’s an eerie stillness that seems to echo the chaos in your mind. The only sound is the soft rush of your own breathing, the beat of your heart a steady drum in your ears. It’s too quiet, and yet it’s almost deafening at the same time. You stay slumped on the floor, your head still against your knees, too overwhelmed to even think about getting up. You can’t breathe.

Your lungs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a struggle against the tight feeling in your chest. Your body is shaking, the adrenaline and panic having physical effects that you’re powerless to stop. You try to focus on calming yourself down, to get your breathing under control, but it’s like trying to hold onto water. Your lungs seizing up with each gasping breath. You try to focus on your breathing, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. But it’s like your body won’t obey, each inhale sharp and uneven, each exhale ragged. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your temples, echoing the desperate rhythm of your heart. You need to get yourself together, to calm down. You need to calm down.

You try to mentally force yourself to calm, to slow down your breathing, but it’s like every part of your body is working against you. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, swirling around in your head like a storm. Your heart is still racing, the panic and fear making it almost impossible to concentrate. You try to focus on something, anything to try and control the chaotic mess that is your mind. But your thoughts keep slipping away, dancing just out of reach every time you try to grasp them. You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't move.

You’re trapped in your own mind, your own body. You feel so small, so helpless, so utterly alone. The silence in your apartment is deafening, adding to the feeling of isolation. You try to will yourself to move, but you’re stuck, paralyzed by your own fear and panic. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, the erratic beats echoing in your ears as you try to force your lungs to take slow, steady breaths. You need to calm down. You need to.

You force your shoulders to relax, your eyes fluttering open. Okay, okay… You can do this. You try to remember the steps you learned for managing panic attacks. Breathe in for four, hold for… You can’t think. Your brain is fuzzy, filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. You try to remember the proper way to do it but your mind refuses to cooperate. Four or seven? Or was it nine? Exhale for eight. Fuck, I can’t think.

Your mind is a blur, your thoughts chaotic and tangled. You can’t remember the step-by-step process. Something about breathing in for a certain number of seconds, holding it, and exhaling for another number of seconds. But the details are a hazy mess, your panic making it impossible to remember clearly. You try your best, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it for what you think is the right amount of time. But your heart is still racing, your hands still trembling. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?

Jason stands against his bike, his gaze fixed on the window of your apartment. He's on the phone with Bruce, his voice low and filled with frustration. "I know, I know…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admits, grimacing at his own carelessness.

He listens as Bruce responds, his eyes never leaving the window. He can feel the weight of his mistake sitting heavily on his shoulders. He should have known that you'd react the way you did, and he should have stuck to the plan. But he didn’t. He just acted, without thinking. Just like always, his conscience needles him.

Jason sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as Bruce continues to speak. He knows Bruce is right, he always is. He’s good at saying the things that are hard to hear but desperately needed to be said. It’s part of what makes him great, but it also makes him irritating sometimes. Like right now.

"I know," Jason replies, his voice slightly sharp. "I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?"

There’s a pause as Bruce replies, his voice muffled over the phone. Jason’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as he listens. Yeah, yeah. Be patient. Easy for you to say.

"I know,” he repeats, his voice strained. "But the kid bolted before I could even get a word in. Now they’re probably scared shitless in there."

There's another pause. Jason can hear the steady timbre of Bruce’s voice on the other end, his words blending in a stream of low, soothing murmurs. He rolls his eyes, bristling at the older man's calm, steady tone. It always makes him feel like a kid being lectured, even though a part of him knows it’s not entirely untrue.

He lets out another sigh, his body sagging against his bike. "I’m trying," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up, alright? I’ll give ‘em time to cool off." He glances back at your apartment, a pang of something he can’t quite identify tugging at his chest.

He nods along to whatever Bruce is saying, his eyes flickering back to your apartment window. He wonders if you're watching him from behind those blinds, if you’re scared, angry, confused. Probably all three, his mind supplies.

He winces at the thought, his hand tightening around his phone. He hates the thought that he might have screwed this up before it even really started. Bruce is probably right, he should give you space. But the thought of just leaving you alone and confused chafes at him, makes him want to just go in there and fix things already. He knows Bruce can feel his tension, can sense the turmoil roiling beneath his stoic exterior. Damn Batman and his stupid emotional intuition.

"Yeah, I get it," he mutters into the phone, his voice tight. "I’ll back off, give them space. But I don’t like it." There's another pause as Bruce responds, his voice low and steady.

It soothes something in him, a part of him that still yearns for guidance and approval, even though he knows he’ll never admit it. It’s a part of him that he usually denies, pushes down, but moments like these have a way of bringing it to the surface.

He's silent for a moment, letting Bruce speak. The older man's voice is steady, a low, grounding murmur that somehow manages to both soothe and irritate him at the same time. He's always been good at that, somehow finding the exact words needed to either calm him down or piss him off even more.

Jason clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’s torn. Part of him wants to just march up there, kick down the door and force you to talk to him. But he also knows that would just make things worse. He’s not good at the whole patience thing, but he knows that just charging in like a bull in a china shop is only going to make things more difficult. Damn it. He swings his leg over his bike, settling onto the seat. He takes one final look up at your window, his gaze lingering there for a moment. He can almost feel the weight of your fear and confusion from here, like a tangible thing. It makes his stomach twist into knots, his hands clenching on the grips.

But he knows he needs to let you be, to give you the space you clearly need. So, with a heavy sigh, he revs the engine and pulls away.

You wake up with a start, your body jerking out of a fitful sleep. Your body is covered in a cold sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin in an unpleasant way. You sit there in the darkness, your breathing heavy and your heart thumping hard in your chest.

Your room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft sounds of the city outside your window.

Three long weeks have passed since you last saw Jason. The days have slipped by in a blur of routine and monotony. You go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It's like you're living your life on autopilot, your thoughts often drifting to the man who showed up at your door that night.

Since that night, you haven’t shifted. Something deep inside you, some instinctual feeling, tells you that it’s not safe to do so. So you stay human, your animal form buried deep within you, a constant low hum of unease. The feeling of something bad happening if you shift is a constant nagging in the back of your mind, a feeling you can’t shake despite your attempts to dismiss it as paranoia.

The longer you stay human, the stronger your instincts become. You catch yourself acting cat-like in subtle ways: tilting your head to the side when you're listening, twitching at sharp noises, even finding yourself kneading at your shirt when you’re frustrated. It’s a constant internal struggle, your instincts demanding to be let out while your rational mind tells you to keep them contained. You know it’s not healthy, not sustainable, but you can’t shake the feeling that shifting is just too risky right now.

You’re acutely aware of how unhealthy this is. You can feel the tension building within you, the constant battle between your human side and your animal side wearing you down mentally and emotionally. Your thoughts are constantly consumed with the need to shift, the need to be in your animal form, the need to let your instincts take over. But something inside you is holding you back, some primal fear that won’t let you let go. It’s a constant struggle you can’t escape, a constant mental strain that's slowly but surely eating away at your sanity.

You groggily stumble out of bed, the cool night air hitting your skin like a refreshing splash of water. It’s late, the digital clock on your bedside table reading 2:47 AM. You shiver slightly, your muscles tight and cramped from your restless sleep. Despite the chill in the air, you can’t help the feeling of relief as you step out onto your balcony. The city is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced with a soothing, almost eerie calm.

In a moment of clarity, you realize you’re being ridiculous. You’re tired, you’re frustrated, and damn it you’re tired of living in constant fear. You’ve been tormenting yourself for weeks over this, letting your instincts fester and your body ache from the strain. And for what? What's going to happen in the middle of the night on a Wednesday? Nothing, that’s what. And you’re not going to keep making yourself ill over some bastard stalker.

With a rush of determination, you finally give in. You let your instincts take over, your body shifting and contorting into your animal form. The relief is immediate, the tension in your body melting away as you shed your human skin. The cool night air is even more refreshing in this form, your senses heightened as you take in the night around you. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again, the weight of your human anxieties falling away like a heavy coat. You felt free.

The world looks different through your animal eyes, the details sharper and more defined. Your ears twitch, picking up sounds you'd never notice in your human form. Your muscles twitch as your animal instincts kick in, a low purring sound rumbling through your chest. It's been so long since you've let yourself be like this, since you've just been. It's exhilarating, freeing, like coming up for air after being stranded underwater for too long.

You pad over to the edge of the balcony, your paws making almost no sound on the wood. You look out at the city, the glittering lights and silent streets a stark contrast to the chaotic hum during the day. It’s quieter, calmer, a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in ages. You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and making your fur stand on end. You feel more alive here, more yourself, than you have in weeks.

Your muscles ripple under your fur as you stretch, arching your back and tilting your head back. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in your chest, the contentment filling you almost overwhelming. You close your eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the city wash over you. You’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you’re going to stay like this and enjoy the freedom.

You sit there for a while, enjoying the cool night air and the sensation of being so deeply in tune with your instincts. The city sounds become a soothing background noise, a comforting hum in the air. You roll onto your back, stretching out your body and letting your limbs go limp. Your tail swishes lazily back and forth.

You roll onto your stomach, your muscles coiling as you prepare to spring. With a powerful leap, you propel yourself onto the nearby roof. Your paws touch down silently, the soft pads muting any sound. Your heart is racing now, the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you break into a run. Running as an animal is different than running as a human. It’s more instinctual, more right. You can feel the ground underneath your paws, the muscles in your legs bunching and releasing with every step. You tear across the rooftops, feeling more alive than you have in weeks. The night air whistles in your ears, the city passing by in a blur.

Your stride is effortless, muscles straining as you push yourself faster, the wind ruffling your fur and making your tail fan out behind you. You leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, your body a blur of motion. You’re not even thinking about where you’re going, your only focus is on the sensation of speed, the feeling of freedom. Gotham flashes past you in a dizzying array of lights and shadows, your world narrowing down to your heartbeat and the rhythm of your paws hitting the roof.

Time seems to blur together as you run, the hours flying by like seconds. The city blurs past you in a wash of colors and sounds, the lights of Gotham like stars in a night sky. You don’t focus on how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, or even where you’re going. For once, none of that matters. All that matters is the wind in your fur and the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins. Your body is sore and your heart is racing, but you feel alive.

You're so focused on the run that you don't notice the black boots in your path until you're upon them. You slam on the brakes, your body slipping and sliding as you come to an undignified halt in front of a pair of long, outstretched legs. You hiss in surprise and frustration, your heart racing from the sudden stop. You glare up at the figure towering above you, tail lashing.

Nightwing chuckles, a soft, amused sound that you can hear clearly even over the pounding of your heart. He lowers his eskrima sticks, holding them loosely by his side as he kneels down to your level. The hero's eyes are sparkling with mirth, his smile slightly crooked.

"Well, hello there." he says, his voice smooth and rich.

He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a curious gaze. You're still panting from your run, your body tense and braced for a fight. Nightwing's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"You're pretty fast," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He extends his hand towards you, the black, latex covering his fingers gleaming in the low light. He stops just millimeters from your face, allowing you to sniff and inspect him for a moment. His scent is clean and crisp, a hint of something sweet mixed in.

After a few seconds, he starts gently petting you, his gloved hand scratching behind your ears in a soothing motion. “You’re even prettier in person, kitten.”

A wave of unexpected pleasure washes over you as he starts petting you. His touch is firm yet gentle, just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tension in your body. His hand moves from behind your ears to scratching behind your chin, the soft hiss of latex against your fur the only sound in the quiet night. The petting feels ten times better after not shifting after such a long time. You lean heavily into his palm.

“You’re a runner, huh?” Nightwing murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. “Bruce isn’t gonna like that.”

His words are casual, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to them. He continues to pet you, his hand moving in a slow, soothing rhythm.

“Running around Gotham like this,” he continues, his tone dropping lower. “It’s dangerous. You should stick to the rooftops, little one. Makes it harder for the baddies to get to you.”

As your attention is occupied with looking up at Nightwing, you don’t recognise the second pair of boots that approach. You’re jolted out of your thoughts as another pair of warm hands suddenly scoop you up, grabbing your stomach and lifting you off the ground. The sensation is so sudden and unexpected that you don’t even have time to react. A startled yowl escapes you as you’re lifted off the roof and held against a broad chest.

Your body stiffens in surprise, a low hiss escaping your clenched teeth. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to lash out, to fight, but the hands have you in an unbreakable grip.

Nightwing straightens up, sliding his eskrima sticks into their holsters with a practiced flick of his wrists. He casts you a glance, his eyes softened with concern as he looks at your tense form in Robin’s arms.

"Careful, Little D," he says, a slight edge to his voice. "The kitty hasn’t been out in a long time."

Damian just scoffs in response, his grip on you tightening. His body is tense, his hands clenching in your fur, but there’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his indifference. His voice is as haughty as ever, a touch of impatience in his tone. "I know that, Grayson. I'm not a child."

Nightwing hums at Robin’s attitude, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby AC unit with a slight sigh.

"Sure you're not,” he responds back to Robin with a playful tone of annoyance.

Damian just huffs, tightening his grip on you, causing you to let out a surprised, muffled meow in response. His eyes dart down to you, a slight flicker of fascination in his cold, calculated gaze. He loosens his hold subconsciously. Petting your head in a silent apology.

The younger boy doesn’t respond to Dick’s remark, motioning for him to hurry up already.

With a grin, Dick holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. He reaches into his utility belt and procures a small, emerald green and black collar. A symbol you can’t recognise embroidered onto the back where the latch is.

This isn't any average collar that you can find at a pet store. This is high-tech, bordering extravagant. There's a small, golden bell hanging from the front, jingling softly with every little movement made, and there’s a silver, gold-edged tag already attached with some information you can't see yet. But what catches your eye, and fills you with a sense of dread, is the blinking red light on the centre, where it latches onto your neck. With these hook-like latches all around the inside that look all too much like they’ll pierce into you.

Before you can even think to react, Nightwing's already moving. He's faster than you can even register, the collar snatching around your neck in the blink of an eye. It tightens automatically, locking into place with a soft click. You can feel the hooks pierce into your fur and you let out a strangled whine.

As the collar locks into place, the bell on the front gleams in the low light, a soft jingle sounding as you jerk your head back in surprise.

Nightwing steps back, taking in the sight of you in the collar with a critical eye. He reaches forward and gives the bell a couple of light taps, the sound chiming softly in the night air.

"Looks good," he comments, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Tim did good."

Damian hums in agreeance with a slight nod, his grip on you still firm and unrelenting. He casts a scrutinising glance over your form, his eyes lingering on the collar for a moment before moving back to you. He brings his thumb to the latch, pushing into the embroidered symbol. “What was the cast?”

As Damian brings his thumb to the latch, pressing into the embroidered symbol, you hear a soft click, followed by a low chime. You feel the collar loosen around your neck, but it still stays in place. For a moment, you consider trying to tear it off, but a warning tug from the collar's hooks and a glare from Damian stop you short.

Dick grins. “It’s our kittens name, D.”

Damian scowls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes studying your form intently. It's almost unnerving, the intensity of his gaze.

He presses his thumb against the seal harder, his voice a murmur as he utters your name. When you feel the collar tighten around your neck, you try to jerk your head back out of the way, but the collar holds fast, the hooks attaching themselves deeper into your fur. You try to resist, but the more you struggle, the more your mind grows fuzzy. An intense drowsiness rushes over you, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Your vision starts to swim, the world around you growing dark at the edges. As the collar locks into place, the hooks latching more snugly into you, you suddenly feel trapped. Your legs buckle underneath you, sending you sprawling into Damian's arms. The latch on the collar is gone, replaced by a solid, unbreakable ring. There is no way to take it off.

The collar appears deceptively normal, made of a thick dark green leather-like material with a simple golden buckle to secure it. The only thing that gives away its high-tech design is the absence of a latch to clip it open. Most people would overlook it, mistaking it for a regular, ordinary collar.

As you black out and lay heavily in Damian's arms, Dick coos softly, bringing a hand out to rub along your fur. His touch is gentle, his tone affectionate.

"Aren't they so cute asleep?" he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks at your unconscious form.

Damian nods silently in response, his embrace around you tightening just slightly, tugging you closer against his chest. He brings his face down, gently nuzzling his chin into your soft, multicoloured fur, hiding the hint of a smile on his lips.

Dick steps forward, a smile on his face as he watches his younger brother hold you close. He reaches out to ruffle Damian's hair affectionately, before speaking up.

"Let's go home."

Guess who spent three days working on this

Anyway, it’s finally out! Send a comment or msg if you would like to be @ in chapter two and for any anon answers that I do for the fic

I had milk and warm cookies while making this, like a child.

[kitkatscabinet]

SNUGGLE BUG

Summary: The boys try to get out of bed, their partner has other plans.

Pairing(s): Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, x reader

A/N: unedited

DICK GRAYSON

Dick's always been a physically affectionate person, far more so than the rest of his family. It's why he'd been so ecstatic when he'd found you, a partner that was just as, if not more affectionate than him.

On more than one occasion his siblings had been given front-row seats to the snuggle show when they broke into his apartment, served them right really.

What Dick hadn't accounted for, was just how difficult it was to peel himself from your arms in the morning. Torture would hurt less he's sure.

"Ten more minutes," you whined childishly, burrowing your face into Dick's bare shoulder, tightening your arms around his torso.

"We've already said that three times." Your partner laughed, wriggling out of your hold but with far less strength than you knew he was capable of.

Both of you were fully aware just how quickly he could extracate himself from your arms should the neccessity rise. Technically speaking he did have to go to work, but surely it couldn't hurt to be a little late?

Though a quick glance at the hello kitty alarm clock on the bedside table confirmed he was already late.

"Dickie, can't you just call in? I wanna cuddle."

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

It wasn't like he really needed the money anyway.

His boss's ire is worth it to feel the way you smile into the skin of his neck, your warm breaths and little laughs as you lay tangled together.

So worth it.

JASON TODD

"You planning on letting me go anytime soon?" Jason grunted, though you know him well enough to hear the smile he's attempting to hide.

"Never," you mumble into the skin between his broad shoulder blades, the mattress slouching beneath the combined weight of you and your boyfriend.

Jason, undeterred by your attempts to drag him down, stands with a grunt. A cracking noise you know to be his knees rings out, and though you feel a little bad, you're unwilling to back down in your quest to get him back into bed.

Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is built like a brick shithouse and is just as stubborn as you. Slowly, he manouevers around your small apartment all the while you hang off his back like a drunken Koala.

"Babyyyy," you whine petulantly into his ear, arms tightening around his neck in an attempt to only slightly choke him into submission.

Sighing, Jason starts to wander back into the bedroom. Just when you think you've won, he spins around, falling backwards onto the mattress and crushing you beneath his bulk.

In the minutes you spend winded, recovering, from being squished like an ant, Jason makes his escape. When you finally manage to come back to yourself you notice something incredibly distressing.

"Clothes! Why are you wearing clothes!" you wailed, sliding off the mattress and onto the floor in a pathetic slump.

Despite himself, Jason smiles at the sight, bundling you up in his arms before hopping back into bed with you. "Ok, you big dramatic baby."

Hey may have sounded put out, but the both of you knew he wanted to cuddle just as much. Besides, nothing was as important to him as you.

TIM DRAKE

He’d tried to be quiet. Truly, with years of training in the art of stealth Tim had intended to simply slip out of the bed and leave you to the sleep you needed.

He’d almost made it, both feet on the floor and the mattress no longer bearing most of his weight when all of a sudden a hand darted out, grasping his wrist.

Tim froze, slowly turning to look down at you with wide, guilty eyes. You're glaring up at him, sleep-addled face far more adorable than threatening, not that he'd ever tell you that, for fear of getting his ass beat.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" your voice is hoarse and gravelly from sleep but the threat is evident.

Mouth suddenly dry, Tim awkwardly chuckles, "Oh, babe, you're awake."

"Thanks to you," you grumbled sleepily, guilt and fear in equal measurements settling heavily in his chest.

"M'sorry, tried not to wake you but I gotta get to work on this case."

"No." You grunted, wrapping your arms around Tim's waist with freakish speed, nuzzling your face into his side.

He can't help the way his heart skips several beats at your casual affection. Tim's always been starved for touch, for the soft loving touch that you've always provided as if its as natural as breathing.

He should be used to it but despite the years worth of love and affection you've poured into Tim in the time you've spent together he still hasn't acclimated.

Tim knows, that you know, just how weak to your touch he is. It still doesn't prevent his resolve from crumbling when you refuse to let him budge, tugging him back down into your warm embrace.

"Good boy," you murmur against the skin of his neck, wrapping around his back like an octopus and trapping him against the expanse of your chest.

His skin runs hot at your words, mind numb to anything that's not your touch as he's eventually lulled back to sleep to the soothing sounds of your breathing.