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jaythes1mp · 11 hours ago

Text

Hehehehheheheehehhehehehehheheheheehhe

Fr tho thank you for rebloging, your responses were literally perfectly how I wanted those lines to be depicted.

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🥰

#here kitty #please go read it #please 🙏#it’s good #trust 🙏#gn reader #yandere family #platonic yandere #dark batfamily #dark batfam #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batboys #cat hybrid #cat reader

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