#Jason Todd x reader platonic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

book-place · 2 years ago

Text

Never Grow Up

Warnings: slight mentions of child abandonment, violence, cursing, gunshot wound, weapons, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Batfamily x batsis!reader

*not my gif*

Summary: Your family might have grown over the years, but your bond always stayed the same

A/N: Welcome to book place’s one year event!!

Inspired by: Never Grow Up by Taylor Swift

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

Your little hands wrapped around my finger

Bruce looked down at you, only a couple weeks old, so tiny. So fragile. So innocent and unknowing to the horrors of the world.

You had woken up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying, so of course he had gotten up with you, especially after Jason threatened to throw you out of the window if you woke him up again.

Bruce couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Finally, after what felt like hours of crying and screaming, you seemed to calm down and you looked up at Bruce in an innocent wonder.

He reached down and began to adjust your shirt that had moved to an awkward angle with all of your squirming.

He paused when you reached up slowly and wrapped your hand around his index finger.

Ever since your mother had dropped you off here, claiming to Bruce that you were his daughter and she didn’t want to take care of you anymore, he had vowed he would do anything to protect you.

As he looked down at you with soft features, he couldn’t help but smile softly, “Hi, honey.” He whispered.

And it’s so quiet in the world tonight

It was weird.

All night you had been completely silent, no screaming, no crying.

While Alfred, Dick, and Bruce were all gratefully taking this opportunity to sleep without worrying about having to get up every five minutes, Jason on the other hand, didn’t like how quiet it was, it felt as if something was wrong.

As silently as he could, he snuck through the halls and into the nursery that Bruce had immediately had put in as soon as you showed up.

Don’t get him wrong, Jason didn’t like you at all. Nope. No way, no how. You were just an annoying baby that moved right into the manor not too long after him, which was only about a month ago.

He had still been in the process of adjusting to his new life, and then a baby was thrown into the mix, so if anything, he hated you.

As he opened the door and crept into your room, he didn’t really know what he was expecting. But he certainly wasn’t expecting you to be wide awake, just staring at the ceiling, not screaming and not crying like you always did whenever you were awake.

Even as you watched Jason approach you, you didn’t scream out and begin the waterworks that he was inevitably waiting for.

Pretty soon, Jason was standing right over you, staring down at you with just as much curiosity as you were to him.

Jason hesitated before slowly reaching down and gently picking you up.

All you did was stare up at him, and he continued to stare down at you.

Your little eyelids flutter cause your dreaming

Jason sat with four year old you on his lap, bouncing his knees up and down as you giggled every time you went up, almost flying in the air if it weren’t for his hands holding your sides, keeping you from going airborne.

Dick sat on the other side of Jason, secretly snapping a picture on his phone before turning his head back to the cartoon that the two had put on the tv for you. Though it seemed that they were enjoying it more than you were.

Bruce was out for the day with Alfred and they hesitantly trusted the boys to watch you, after a whole lot of begging on the younger ones' parts.

“Higher, Jay!” You called suddenly, still giggled.

The boy smiled slightly before bouncing you higher, causing Dick to look at the two of you nervously.

“You know, Jay, I think she’s going high enough.” He said, not taking his nervous gaze off of you, ready to leap forward at any moment if you were to fly out of his younger brother's arms.

He just shrugged, continuing to bounce you higher.

Fifteen minutes, and almost a heart attack, later, your giggled stopped and Jason’s leg slowed, and he looked down to see if you were okay, only to see you leaning against his chest with closed eyes and even breathing.

“Dickie,” Jason hissed, trying to get his older brother's attention.

He hummed in return, not looking away from the new cartoon.

“She’s asleep.”

That made Dick look over and he cooed over you in adoration.

“I think she’s dreaming.” Jason continued softly, watching you.

Dick nodded in return, snapping another photo.

So I tuck you in, turn on your favorite night light

“No, daddy!” You screamed, running away from an exhausted looking Bruce.

“It’s way past your bedtime, honey.” He practically begged, just wanting to go and get a nap in before he had to go on patrol.

You ran around the dining room table again, forcing Bruce to try and go after you.

Jason walked into the room calmly sipping a cup of coffee, “Wow, B. The five year old is faster than you.”

“Shut up.” The order man grunted in return, “Or help me get her to bed.”

His adopted son pretended to think about it, “Nah, I’m good.” Before turning on his heel and going back the way he came.

Bruce grumbled under his breath, promising himself that he would give Jason an earful later about respect.

He stopped running when an idea came to his mind, “Hey, n/n. If you get ready for bed then I’ll give you a surprise.”

You slowed your running in curiosity and looked at your father, “What kind of surprise?”

Bruce shrugged, “Guess you're going to have to see.”

The curiosity that you were feeling got the best of you and you quickly ran up the many stairs and got into your pj’s and hopped in bed.

A couple seconds after, Bruce walked in with something behind his back, which made you crane your neck to try and see what he was holding.

He bent down at one of your outlets without saying anything, plugging something in with his back covering what he was doing, then stood up and flicked off the lights.

You looked at him in confusion before he said, “Look up.”

So you did.

The sight above you made you gasp, it was the bat symbol on your ceiling, from the nightlight that Bruce had just placed in.

Batman had always been your favorite Gotham vigilante and you told your family about it all of the time, though your two brothers constantly tried to tell you that Nightwing and Robin were way better.

Bruce was able to slip out of the room unnoticed as you continued to stare up at your ceiling, not taking your eyes off of it until they started to droop.

And pretty soon, you were peacefully asleep.

To you, everything’s funny

You waddled down the stairs, scurrying into the dining room with a large grin on your face, following the delicious smell of Alfred’s pancakes.

When you got there, you were greeted with the sight of your father, Alfred, your brothers, and even your new brother, Tim, who just joined you guys at the manor about two months ago.

Six year old you had been ecstatic to gain a new brother, thinking that you could get away with more than you could with your other brothers.

“Good morning, n/n!” Dick called cheerfully, rushing over and scooping you up in his arms before plopping you down into the seat next to his and across from Tim.

“Morning, Timmy!” You exclaimed excitedly, still in the phase of becoming joyful whenever you would see the new face.

He hummed lazily in return, head in his hand as if he was putting his entire weight into it against the table. There were dark circles under his eyes that insinuated yet another restless night for him.

Sitting in front of him was a bowl of cereal, barely touched, with a spoon resting in it.

Just as you were about to turn to your own breakfast, Tim’s arm fell under the weight of his head and his eyes were closed, making him fall face first into his bowl.

Everyone looked up in surprise as the boy shot straight up in his seat, now fully awake.

Before anyone could even ask if he was okay, you let out a loud laugh. You laughed and laughed and laughed.

You were laughing so hard that you had doubled over slightly against the table with your arms wrapped around your stomach, “Silly Timmy!” You exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in between giggles.

He grumbled under his breath, taking a napkin and harshly wiping milk off his face, “Glad someone finds it funny.”

You’ve got nothing to regret

Bruce stood before you with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised so high that they were lost in his hair.

“Care fo explain?” He asked sternly.

You shook your head back and forth quickly, trying to put your hand over your mouth as if it would hide your giggles, “No, daddy!” You cheered back, trying to keep up your innocent act.

“You’re six now, Y/n,” He reminded you, “You should start taking responsibility for your actions.”

“But I didn’t do it!” You protested, though your wide grin told a whole different story.

“I suppose the vase just fell over on its own then,” Your father said sarcastically.

You jumped on that story, nodding your head vigorously, “Yeah! It fell over on its own, daddy!”

He sighed, bending down and scooping you up into his arms, playfully poking your stomach, “You’re too stubborn for your own good…” He trailed off before snickering slightly, “I suppose you get that from me.”

I’d give all I have honey, if you could stay like that

“Jay Jay!” You cheered, immediately hopping into your elder brother's arms as soon as he exited the batmobile.

With a small chuckle, he caught you effortlessly before bringing you to a tight hug to his chest, “And how’s my favorite little sister doing this evening?” He asked jokingly.

You laughed loudly, shaking your head at his silly actions, “I’m your only sister!” You accused.

He pretended to think, “Hmm, is that so?”

Before you could try and reinforce that, Tim and Dick exited the vehicle as well, “Timmy! Dickie!” You cheered, causing Jason to scowl at the pair for pulling your attention away.

Dick squealed excitedly, rushing over and ripping you out of his grip and into his own, “N/n!”

Tim reached over and ruffled your hair slightly in affection.

“Daddy! Daddy!” If it was possible, your face lit up even more as your father appeared, shedding off his cowl and striding over to you.

“Hey there, honey.” He greeted with a small chuckle, gently removing you from his eldest sons grip and bringing you into his own, “Isn’t it a little past your bedtime?” He teased, playfully rubbing his nose against yours.

You giggled at the tickling feeling and pull back slightly, “Nuh uh, daddy! Grandpa said I can stay up to see you!”

“Is that so?” Bruce threw a playfully accusing glare to Alfred in the corner of the room, who held his hands up in surrender with a small smile, “Come on,” He huffed teasingly, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Dickie!” You exclaimed, straining to look over your shoulder at the boy, “Airplane! Airplane!”

With a wide grin, the boy skipped over and carefully removed you from your fathers arms and laid you horizontally so that you could spread out your wingspan and pretend you were flying.

“We should call it the batplane,” Tim snickered.

“Batplane! Batplane!” You chanted in return.

Everyone’s eyes softened as they watched you laugh loudly.

Oh, darlin’, don’t you ever grow up

“Go fish!” You exclaimed sassily, giggling wildly at the feigned expressions of horror that your entire family wore all around the table.

Dick let out a fake groan, dropping his head into his hands, “How do you always win this game?”

You shrugged happily, humming slightly as you picked up the cards, “I’m awesome.” You giggled again.

“Who wants cookies?” Alfred entered the room with a soft smile, it widening slightly at the sound of all the children’s excited squeals.

Dick, Tim, and Jason all shot up out of their seats and began shoving and tackling each other to get to the tray of desserts first while Bruce just ran a hand down his face tiredly.

“Uh, uh, uh,” The older man calmly sidestepped the herd of boys, “Miss. Y/n gets the first one because she is not acting inappropriately.”

You giggled again at their groans of protest, happily reaching for a cookie and leaning up to plant a quick kiss on Alfred’s cheek, “Thank you!” You chirpped, plopping back down into your seat and munching on the treat.

Don't you ever grow up

“What is this thing?” Damian asked in disgust, looking down at your grinning form.

Bruce sighed, bending down and picking you up, you automatically wrapping your arms around his neck in return, “She is your little sister.” He introduced, “Y/n, this is your brother, Damian.”

“More brothers!” You cheered.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “That thing is not my sister.” He declared stubbornly, turning a harsh glare your way.

“Don’t talk or look at her like that,” Your father scolded with a scowl, but your smile didn’t drop.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dami!” You giggled a little bit, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

“Damian.” He corrected through gritted teeth, “My name is Damian.”

“She’s your sister,” Bruce hissed at him, “You have to learn to deal with that.”

“Dami!” You giggled wildly, making Bruce tighten his grip on you so you didn’t slip out by mistake.

The boy glared at you in a way that promised danger until your father had to step away with you in fear of something actually happening.

“I know you don’t like it,” The man said softly, “But you’re gonna be staying with me at the manor now, and you’re going to have to get used to her.”

The young boy crossed his arms over his chest and began grumbling under his breath. Though, his glare did lessen a bit after those words.

Just stay this little

“What do you think you are doing?” It had been four weeks since Damian moved into the manor, and he had avoided you at all costs.

You whipped around with wide eyes, “Dami!” You squeaked in shock, looking up at your elder brother nervously, “I was just-“

“Have I not specifically informed you not to touch Titus?” He seethed, standing in his bedroom door menacingly.

You looked down guiltily and began shuffling your feet, dropping your hand that had been softly stroking the dog's soft fur from where he was perched on the bed, “I’m sorry,” You mumbled.

The boy scoffed with a roll of his eyes, “I do not want your pathetic apology.” He told you matter of factly.

“Titus is just such a sweet puppy,” You sadly looked up at the dog that had perked up in wonderment as to why you stopped giving him attention.

That made Damian pause, “Oh… yes. He is a good dog.” He replied hesitantly.

“Sorry for bothering you,” You mumbled again, trying to make your way past him.

“Wait,” He surprised both you and himself with his word, but you froze nonetheless, “I suppose it would not hurt for you to pet him for a few more moments.”

A wide grin broke out and your face and you automatically dashed back to the creature and began rubbing behind his ears excitedly.

“I love animals,” You began rambling happily, “They’re so adorable and sweet. I would like to have more pets, I need to tell daddy that we don’t have enough. Maybe I’ll get Jay Jay a snake, I think he’ll like one-“

For the first time, Damian looked at you in a different light. Instead of just seeing some eight year old nuisance, he finally saw a kid only a couple years younger than him that might possibly share some common interests. Maybe having you as a sister wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up

“Where are you?” Jason called in a sing-song voice, fighting off a smile as he pretended not to be able to hear your poorly muffled giggles.

He stalked down the long aisles of the bookcases in the library, where he had heard your little feet scamper off into during the beginning of the hide-and-go seek game.

Even though you were now ten years old, you weren’t any better at the game than you were at four years old, but Jason never had the heart to tell you that.

“Are you... over here?” He dramatically rounded one of the corners, raising his voice as he spoke even though he knew full well that you wouldn’t be there.

The sound of your laughter only increased at his failure and the smile grew on his lips as he strode closer and closer to your ‘hiding spot’.

“Now,” He mockingly thought out loud, “I wonder where she could be…”

Right on cue, he threw open a small closet that was tucked in between two bookcases, emitting a shrill shriek from your lips at the sudden brightness and your brother's face grinning down at you.

“Found ya,” He teased.

You laughed, “I wanna do it again, Jay!” You eagerly jumped up and skirted past him, “Count again!”

He chuckled, but placed his hands over his eyes and followed your instructions.

Don't you ever grow up

“And how was your day today, Miss. Y/n?” Alfred asked with a small smile, glancing over his shoulder to where you sat propped up on the counter, kicking your legs back and forth.

“It was good, I saw a puppy today!” You exclaimed excitedly, seemingly having waited for that very question so that you could share the good news.

“Did this puppy happen to live in this manor?” The man hummed in curiosity.

You shook your head back and forth, getting even more excited, “Nope! My teacher brought it into school today and his name is…”

Alfred just listened and nodded along with your joyful rambling, loving the way you got so excited about small things, even as you got older.

It could stay this simple

Many years ago, a tradition had started between you and your siblings that every Friday night before they went on patrol you would all have a movie night in your at-home theater.

Bruce had joined you that night and you were all lounged around on various different couches and chairs comfortably, watching whatever movie Damian had insisted upon watching.

Your father leaned back in his seat with a contempt sigh, grateful for some time to relax after a long day and what would surely turn into a long night.

The credits began rolling, and instead of hearing you and your siblings begin to chat loudly amongst yourselves, it stayed dead silent.

He quickly snapped his head over in alarm, only for his eyes to soften.

You were leaning your head against Dicks shoulder with his head on top of yours, sleeping soundly on a nearby couch. Tim, Damian, and Jason were also asleep on their nearby pieces of furniture.

A small smile tugged at the ends of the man’s lips and he stood up silently, he would let them all rest. He could survive one night without them.

I won't let nobody hurt you

“I’m gonna kill you!” Your classmate roared, reeling his fist back and getting ready to release it in your face.

Unwavering, you stood your ground with your arms in front of yourself protectively as you stared him down, completely unafraid.

He was a stereotypical mean boy jock that just so happened to make the wrong comment in front of you. And when you called him out on it, he had been less than happy. Everything quickly escalated from there into a full out fist fight outside after school.

Easily, you ducked and side stepped his pathetic attempt at a punch, sending him stumbling forward because he made the rookie mistake of putting all his weight behind it.

Reaching over, you socked him in the face in one swift motion, sending him flying back down.

“You bitch!” He cried, emitting some laughs from the onlooking crowd due to his embarrassed state.

Quickly, he got up and went to lunge at you.

“What is happening?” Damian’s voice made everyone freeze, your older brother having been able to intimidate everyone in the school.

The boy froze at the sound of the older boy and slowly turned towards him with wide eyes, paling even further at the sight of his glare.

“Sh-she-“ He tried to stutter out.

Damian paid him no mind, calmly turning to face you, “What happened?”

“He tried to hit me after I called him out for being an asshole,” You spit out.

Menacingly, your brother turned to said boy and the onlooking crowd held their breath in preparation for what was to come.

A fury seemed to set in the already embarrassed boys gut, because he let out a scream of rage and went to lunge at both of you this time.

“What the hell is going on here?” Yet another booming voice stopped all further action as none other than Jason Todd came stomping angrily through the crowd towards you and Damian.

If everyone was scared of Damian, then they were down right petrified of Jason.

Everyone in the school had heard the horror stories of when your brother ran amok in the halls and reeking havoc during his high school years.

Quickly, everyone scrambled away from the scene, except for the boy, whose collar Damian was holding onto.

“He tried to fight our sister.” The boy informed your older brother calmly.

“Is that so?” Jason turned to him with his eyebrows raised mockingly before he smiled in a similar manner, “We can’t have that, now can we?”

Won't let no one break your heart

“Where are you going?” It was an innocent question, simple even, but it still made you freeze in your steps nonetheless.

Slowly, you turned on your heel to face your brothers, who all now looked up from whatever they were doing in the living room to stare at you in curiosity.

“You look nice!” Dick chirped.

“Thanks,” You tried your best to keep your voice from wavering, failing.

Jason however, wasn’t as easily distracted as your eldest brother, “Where are you going looking so nice?”

From beside him, Tim raised an eyebrow, piecing it together pretty quickly. Unlike the rest of your brothers, who for the most part were slowly but surely getting it.

It was silent for a moment before Dicks eyes widened in horror and he shot to his feet, “You’re going on a date?” He shrieked in horror.

You blew out a huff of air, “It’s no big deal.”

“I beg to differ!” He had begun dramatically doubling over and hyperventilating.

Jason narrowed his eyes, “Who are you going on a date with?”

“A date?” Damian looked back and forth between everyone in confusion, “You all told me that she was only fourteen and therefore not allowed to go on one until she was much older.”

You threw your head back with a groan, “That’s not true! I am more than old enough!”

“We just don’t want you getting hurt,” Tim tried to reason calmly.

“You’re too young to date!” Dick sobbed, stumbling over and throwing his arms around you in a tight bear hug.

Jason stood, crossing the room and looking down at you sternly, “I agree with Dickie-Bird, I don’t think you should go on this date.”

“What do you even know about them?” Tim offered, “Probably not enough to risk going on a date.”

“I do too know enough about them,” You grumbled, prying Dicks arms off of you.

“Tell me their address right this minute and I will judge if they are worthy enough!” Your youngest older brother declared.

Everyone ignored him.

Jason sighed through his nose, “We just want what’s best for you,”

You softened at that, relaxing in Dicks death grip that was intended to keep you from leaving the manor, “I get that,” You reassured them, “But you also have to realize that I’m growing up. And with that comes different things. Like dates.”

All four of them hesitated, “I still don’t like this,” Tim said after a moment, “But youre right.”

“I want you to text me every five minutes so I know that you’re alright.” Jason said, immediately followed by sounds of agreement from the other three.

“No,” You groaned.

“Fine… every ten minutes.” Tim reasoned.

You stood there for a moment, contemplating his words before ultimately deciding that the only way you would be getting out of there anytime soon was to agree to their terms.

“Fine,” You sighed, “Dick. You have to let go of me.”

He just stood there for a moment, sniffling slightly, before hesitantly pulling away with a look for complete sadness overtaking his features.

“Guys, I’ll be fine,” You reassured them with a small smile before slowly backing away and walking out the door.

“She’s growing up,” Tim stated after a moment with a frown pulling at the ends of his lips.

And no one will desert you

“Hands in the air!” A voice boomed through the building, causing all festivities to halt in their places automatically, “We’re robbing this damn joint!”

Immediately, everyone in the room went to the ground with their hands raised, Jason dragging you down alongside him with a soft curse, “I told Bruce this charity gala wasn’t a good idea.” He muttered.

You locked eyes with your father and Damian, the only other two there, from across the room and he silently begged you with his eyes to do as the people said and stay down.

Multiple figures with masks and guns moved up and down the room, shoving anything expensive- looking enough into some sacks that they carried.

Your entire body tensed when one of the people froze in front of you, slowly looking down at you and your brother.

With wide eyes full of fear, you allowed your hand to latch onto your brother's wrist as he shifted his body to be between you and the man.

“Hey, get a load of this!” He called in a mocking way, “These are those Wayne kids!” Clearly he hadn’t noticed your father and other brother on the other side of the room.

A couple of his friends glanced over at him with nods, not stopping what they were doing.

“You reckon they’re worth anything if we take ‘em?” Another one called out, and you had to physically restrain yourself from letting out a whimper, all other gala guests smartly choosing to stay silent.

The first one shrugged and moved as if to grab you, causing Jason to immediately shoot to his feet with a glare that could put everyone in the room six feet under, “Don’t you dare touch her,” He warned dangerously despite the gun pointed to his chest.

Right on cue, the doors slammed open and in rushed none other than Dick and Tim, suited up as Nightwing and Red Robin, quickly taking over the situation and knocking out all the robbers.

Jason turned to you as guests began to scramble out, “Are you alright?” He asked quietly.

All you could do was nod, throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. You had never been in as much danger as you had just been in that day. And it terrified you.

“You’re alright,” He whispered softly, rubbing your back comfortingly, “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

Just try to never grow up

“Shut up!” Jason snapped, elbowing Tim harder than necessary, making the boy stumble a bit from where he stood.

The younger of the two whipped around and glared at his brother, “Elbow me one more time.” He challenged through gritted teeth.

“You wanna go-“

“Alright, alright,” You got between the two with a huff, giving them each a small push apart, “Break it up, we have bigger things to worry about then you two breaking each other's faces.”

“Yes.” Damian agreed with narrowed eyes, “Wait until after we have surprised Pennyworth, like civil beings.”

Dick just kept on humming happily and mixing the ingredients for cookies in a large bowl that rested on the counter, “I can't wait to see the look on his face! Oh, this was such a good idea to surprise him for his birthday!” He gushed.

“Well, n/n is pretty good at coming up with plans,” Jason momentarily let his fight go and walked back to the bowl and carefully watched it.

“Here,” Tim walked over and picked up the bowl, “Let's bring this over here so we can-“

He cut himself off when his foot caught on the edge of the counter and he was sent stumbling forward, making the bowl tip over and land right on none other than Jason.

Silence rang through the kitchen as everyone froze in pace, mortified at what they had just witnessed.

Jason slowly turned his head up, “Why, you little-“

“Hey! Hey!” Dick scrambled forward and grabbed the arm Jason had begun winding up to punch Tim, “Let’s not get into this again. We can remake the dough-“

Using his other hand, Jason took a large handful of dough off of his shirt and flung it straight into Tim’s face, your eyes widening even more at the sight.

Next thing you knew, dough began flying every which way, hitting everyone in its path. Less than a minute passed before you were all covered head to toe with chocolate chips and unbaked cookie dough.

“What is-“

You all froze at the sound of Alfred’s voice, pausing a moment before all whipping in his direction. The older man was looking back and forth between all of you with slightly parted lips.

“Surprise?” You squeaked out.

Never grow up

You yawned, “This is more boring then the time we had to sit through dads speech about the importance of sleep.”

“Agreed,” Damian grumbled from beside you, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning down further into his seat, “I suppose father has a knack for talking for obnoxious amounts of time and not once making it of any interest to us.”

The two of you continued to stare at Bruce up on stage, giving a speech about one thing or another and trying not to fall asleep.

“If he tired dragging us to one more of these things,” You mumbled, eyes dropping slightly, “I say we pull a Jason and steal the tires off of his car.”

“Agreed.” Your brother grunted.

You're in the car on the way to the movies

“Movies! Movies! Movies! Movies!” You and your siblings all chanted in sync.

Bruce let out a tired groan, running a hand down his face as he pretended not to notice the way Alfred was chuckling slightly from the driver's seat.

“If you all keep being this loud, you’re going to get us kicked out of the theater again.” He reminded you tiredly.

Jason scoffed, “Don’t act like you can’t just buy the theater so that they can’t kick us out!”

“I can't keep doing that everytime one of you messes up.” Bruce stressed.

It was silent for a moment, then the chanting started again, twice as loud this time.

“Movies! Movies! Movies! Movies!”

And you're mortified your mom's droppin' you off

“Dad,” You grumbled, dropping your head into your hands, “I told you not to drop me off!”

Bruce looked over at you sternly, “Is this still about us being billionaires?” He questioned.

“I just don’t want people treating me any differently if they know!” You insisted.

Somehow, you had been able to keep it away from your new, out of school friends that you were the daughter of the Bruce Wayne. And you planned on keeping it that way.

“There’s no reason to be ashamed of who you are.”

“It’s not that I’m ashamed, dad,” You told him, “I just don’t want them being nice to me just because we have a lot of money.”

That made him pause, and after a moment, he pulled over to the side of the road.

You show him an appreciative look and quickly leaned over and placed a quick kiss on his cheek before hopping out of the car, “Thanks, dad! I love you!”

He smiled softly, “I love you too, sweetie. Have fun.”

At fourteen, there's just so much you can't do

You threw your head back with a groan, causing Tim to glance over at you sympathetically, “This is so stupid!” You complied with a grumble.

“I know,” He agreed.

“Why do I even have to do this?” You crossed your arms tightly over your chest and sunk farther down into the chair you sat in at a desk in the batcave.

“Cause it’s homework and getting an education is good for you,” The boy hummed.

“Easy for you to say,” You scoffed, “You’re naturally smart. You don’t have to worry about this.”

He sighed, moving his chair over next to yours, “Alright, what do you need help with?”

You perked up immediately, face lighting up like a Christmas tree, “Yes, yes, yes! You’re the best brother ever!” You gushed.

“I said I would help you, not do it for you.” He warned and you waved a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, yeah, same difference.”

And you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots

You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest, “Don’t act as if they didn’t start when they were way younger than me!”

Bruce rubbed his hands down his face in frustration, “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to be like them.”

“I don’t!” You protested angrily, “I want to be like them! I want to help people!”

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, “This is not up for discussion, Y/n.” He told you firmly, “It’s too dangerous.”

Your mouth dropped open and you gaped at him, “Too- too dangerous?” You seethed, “So it’s alright for my brothers to go out every night fighting crime as this city vigilantes with you, but not if I do it?”

“Yes!” He finally snapped, “Yes, alright? I don’t want you getting hurt! I will not let you go out there and risk your life every night. The- the boys have their reasons for doing it, but you don’t have any reason. I need you to stay here. Safe.”

You recoiled slightly at his words, “You think I can't handle it?” You whispered.

His head shook back and forth again, “That's not what I said, and you know it. You can handle yourself, I just don’t want you to need to.”

“I want to help people!” You insisted desperately.

“Help them in a different way.” His tone was final, leaving no more room for discussion, “Because I will not let you fall into this life. I couldn’t stop them from joining, but I sure as hell will stop you.”

You stared at him for a moment in an eerie silence before turning on your heel and storming out of the room, slamming the door shut harshly behind you.

Bruce flinched slightly at the noise and dropped his head into his hands.

But don't make her drop you off around the block

“I just don’t want them seeing the car.” You tried to reason, using your fathers excessive amount of money as an excuse.

“You sure about that?” Jason turned his head from the passenger seat with a smirk, “Sure you’re not just embarrassed of me and Dickie-Bird?”

You groaned, sinking further into the backseat and burying your head in your hands, “Please just drop me off around the corner.”

Your brother feigned worry, “But how will we know that you got to the movies safe, then?”

Dick snickered slightly, but pulled over where you asked nonetheless, “Come on, Little Bird. I know you used to hate this just as much as she does.”

“But we love you!” Jason teasingly called as you hurriedly exited the vehicle and slammed the door with more force than necessary, fear of someone hearing him taking over.

Their laughter did follow you all the way through the doors of the cinema, though.

Remember that she's gettin' older too

“What is it- what happened?” A look of complete horror and desperation painted your features.

You had just been getting ready to turn in for the night when you had heard a lot of commotion coming from the batcave, which was rare considering your family wasn’t normally back from patrol for at least another four hours. And even then, they always stayed as quiet as they could as to not wake you.

Alfred sighed immediately moving to gently grasp onto your arms, “Master. Bruce was shot, but-“

“Dad was shot?” You looked like you were about to throw up, but you tried to stumble past Alfred to go farther into the cave, nonetheless, shaking off his grip.

He gently reached out and grabbed you by the shoulders, trying to halt all further movements from you, “But he’ll be fine,” He continued his previous sentence reassuringly, “And I don’t think it’s wise for you to have to see him like that. He wouldn’t want you to see him like that.”

“B-but-dad-he-“ You began to become overwhelmed as you frantically stuttered things out, trying and failing to form a coherent thought.

“He’s right, n/n,” You hadn’t even noticed Dick approach the two of you until he was right in front of you and speaking.

Your head snapped over to your oldest brother, taking in his soft expression as he gently tried to urge you to calm down.

Vigorously, you shook your head back and forth and pushed away from both of them, heading straight for the room you knew they all went to whenever one of them was injured.

You pushed the door open, ignoring the way Tim shot out of his seat beside Bruce’s bed as you did so, your breathing becoming a shaky and uneven pace.

Bruce slowly moved his head to look at you, and when he did, his eyes turned sad in a way you grew to despise, “N/n-“

“Are you okay?” You asked in a panic-filled tone, rushing over to his side.

A blanket lay over his body so you couldn’t see where he was shot, “Yes, I’m fine.” He had the audacity to chuckle.

“This isn’t funny.” You snapped, “How is this at all funny?”

He quieted for a moment, neither of you paying any kind of attention as Tim slipped out of the room after giving you a small squeeze on the shoulder.

“You’re right, it’s not. I’m sorry.”

For the first time in your life, your father looked small to you, weak. He was always strong and determined, sure. But never had you seen him look like he did now. And it scared you.

“Dad-“ You hadn’t even realized when tears had began to roll down your cheeks, but they did and you tried to bite your bottom lip to stop sobs from slipping through.

“Come here,” He prompted softly, and you didn’t hesitate.

You rushed over to his side and fell into the chair Tim had previously been sitting in, your hand shooting out and holding onto his tightly.

“I-I don’t want to see you hurt,” You admitted tearfully.

“I know, I know.” He reached his other hand over and softly moved a piece of fallen hair out of your face, “I hate having you see me like this.” He paused, “But I would hate seeing you like this even more.”

Your eyes shot up, “Dad-“

“You know how you feel about me being like this?” He continued, “I would feel ten times worse if it was you out there instead of me, that’s the reason I don’t want you out there. Because I wouldn’t be able to handle it if something were to happen to you.”

Silence fell over the two of you like an uncomfortable blanket for a minute before you slowly nodded your head, “Okay,” You whispered, “Okay, I’ll stop trying to go out with you guys. But only if you promise that all of you will be safe. That’s the only reason I ever wanted to go in the first place, to make sure you guys were all alright.”

He squeezed your hand in appreciation, “I promise you, n/n, we’ll all be safe.”

And don't lose the way that you dance around in your PJs getting ready for school

You sang loudly to the song playing over the speaker as you spun back and forth along the kitchen floor, packing your lunch for the day.

Perhaps the music was too loud, or you were too much in your own world, because you didn’t even notice the way your brothers all crowded in the doorway, laughing quietly at your antics.

Naturally, Dick had his phone out and was recording the moment that no doubt would be used as blackmail later, but none of them could shake the soft smiles they felt unconsciously growing on their faces at the sight of it.

You looked so young and carefree, like you were five again.

Oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up

“They’re really beautiful,” You admitted with a dreamy sigh, leaning further back into your seat to look up at the sky filled with thousands of stars in complete wonder.

Your father hummed in agreement from beside you, “They are.”

About a week ago, you had been complaining to him that you were hardly ever able to see any stars at night due to the bright city lights, so he decided to surprise you by taking a night off of patrol and bringing you up, over the clouds in the batplane to see them. Just the two of you.

“I can’t believe that I’m seeing them this close,” Your wide, full of wonder, eyes were yet to tear away from the devastatingly beautiful scene.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, each observing the various constellations at your own pace.

“Dad?” The man’s head lulled to the side to find you already looking at him, “Thank you.”

He smiled softly, leaning over and gently kissing your temple, “No need to thank me. I’m glad we did this.”

Don't you ever grow up

They were the loudest in the audience by far. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to be even slightly embarrassed. If anything, your grin only widened at their proud features.

Their claps and cheers of your name were enough to make your legs move across the stage as you graciously accepted your diploma before waving it in the air excitedly at them.

All in the front row, your father, honorary grandfather, and brothers all jumped up to keep their clapping, even Damian didn’t pretend not to care.

Tears shone in each and every one of their eyes as they watched you were about to take your final steps off the stage, officially having graduated high school.

Of course, there was an immense amount of pride and joy in their hearts, but there was also a sinking feeling inside that made the tears keep rolling.

The second you stepped off of that stage, you would no longer be a child. You would be off to college. You would have grown up.

Deep down, they all knew they had been dreading this very moment for as long as they could remember, but they never really anticipated what would happen when the day actually came.

But instead of voicing these thoughts and ruining your day, they continued to let their applause boom through the auditorium.

The Superior Robin ❤️- @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @i-writes-things @ladyagagaslefttoe @xbergiex @kiyomi-uchiha777

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nyxoxoxoxo · 9 months ago

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Bamf!Bruce wayne x gn!reader platonic

Reader who is closed off and distant at first but when they come out of their shell they turn out to be an out spoken anarchyst, anti capitalist, proud to be woke, possibly queer, possibly disabled and ofc traumatized asf

Bruce who thought he was taking in a sweet shy kid who turned out to be a baddie who just needed a safe place

Bruce: surprised, impressed and quite pleased reader feels safe and has a good time with the rest of the batfam

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red-phantom-0 · 12 days ago

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New Beginings

-> Arlecchino (genshin) inspired reader ( reader is also addressed as arlecchino) aka ur basically arlecchino in this imagine

-> Jason todd wakes up in a forest , abandoned and confused as he comes to terms with his painful resurrection until he's adopted by someone named 'father' . All goes well until his adopted family finds him and wants him back.

Platonic relationship!!

Jason’s POV

Blood . Blood and the smell of burnt flesh sticks to me like a plague , it follows me like a predator and tightens its sharp fangs around me . I feel utterly hopeless and I wander around aimlessly. Trees as tall as the sky surround me and the only living creature here is myself and death himself . Twigs and leaves stick to my bare feet as I trudge through the greenage . I roamed for god’s know how long but my swollen feet carried me to a lake. I collapse onto the ground and hover above the water - and that's it

That's when I saw him. Dead green eyes stare right back at me , his skin is pale like the dead and his hair - his bloody hair had a mocking white tuff at the front . He - no I scream , filled with pain , anger , confusion , frustration . That is not me - he is not me . My once boyish innocence was robbed and replaced with more manlier features , chubby cheeks replaced for high cheekbones that could surely put any male model to shame but he looks so dead .

His eyes and his complexion are that of the dead maybe because he was supposed to be . In his screaming agony he slammed his hands into the water resulting in him recoiling , the excruciating pain practically ate him alive . He looks down at his hands and he almost vomits . His palms were covered in a deep purplish bruise that practically stung . He lets out another scream mixed with a cry , why - why must it be him ? What did he ever do to deserve such a cruel faith , a faith meant for those condemned to hell ? Maybe this is hell - his own personal living hell . He cries into the grass like a pathetic child as he recalls the distant yet agonizing memory of a bomb ticking and the overwhelming feeling of fire consuming him .

So why - when he was finally put out of his misery did nature drag him back from the depths of the abyssal darkness into this hell . He was just angry - at himself , at the world and at batman. Why must only he suffer ?

He continues crying until he hears a twig snap . Like a wounded animal , he immediately seized his movement and began looking around frantically . The air around him grew cold and quiet . His frantic eyes scanned everywhere until it landed on the figure in the distance . He watches as she approaches him with deliberate steps . He could feel his own anxiousness bubble up within him but still - he gets up , relentless in backing down now . He stalks her , shooting her a glare yet she gives away nothing wearing a blank face.

She stops at an arm length poised. Her white hair dances in the blowing wind yet her eyes - piercing black eyes with a haunting red ‘x’ for an iris - a promise of a terrifying demise . Silence envelopes them both as they observe one another . “ You’re hurt, “ she says with a deadpan tone . Anger consumes him , she is just like him - just like bloody Bruce Wayne , his so-called father , cold and unmoving as if they were above everyone else.

He snarls and lunges at her but she swiftly kicks him in his chest , her sharp heel digging into the sensitive flesh of his back. “ Let go of me you bloody wrench” he curses as he squirms - he couldn’t give up not yet , not ever - he refused to give in. “ Stand down child you are hurt “ she says and to push her point further she presses her heel further into his back. He lets out a cry but manages to grab ahold of her leg and throw her into a nearby tree.

She manages to balance herself by using her heels to ground herself . Jason , seeing this, starts running in her opposite direction . He weaves in and out of the prickling branches - not minding the way they claw into his back and face leaving behind raw marks . He huffs as he jumps over a fallen log but is cut off guard when he hears footsteps behind him . He risks a peak and no doubt - she is following after him .

He huffs - frustrated , tired and frankly done with this ordeal but he continues to dart in and out between the trees . Jason makes a move to dart behind another tree when she leaps in front of him - absolutely startling him to death . He attempts to turn around but she delivers a swift kick to his head and suddenly , he feels himself go under.

Arlecchino's POV

She watches Jason’s crumbled form laid out on the red velvet cushions of the car through the rear mirror . She has no shadow of a doubt that the young boy is a mess but that doesn’t deter the parental instinct of protecting him . This wasn’t her first time meeting a child in such a roughed up state - her orphanage is filled with them but she has never ever heard a child scream in such agony . Before all of this - she was simply driving back home - her children eagerly awaiting her return to start dinner but something in her gut told her to pull aside and investigate . It was highly irrational and utterly dangerous but she was glad she did it because when she stared at the sweet boy laying in her backseat - she knew that she had to take care of him.

It wasn’t too long after Arlecchino arrived at the house of hearth - a mansion carefully tucked away into a tall mountain , vines practically climbed on the limestone walls of the castle-like mansion and its black gates while the black roof wore crow trimmings . Arlecchino carefully manoeuvres her car around the fountain , parking the car in front of a sea of cobblestone steps . She steps out , carefully fixing her coat as a crow flew down and landed on her shoulder .

“ Inform the children that we have a new guest” she says calmly . The crow nods at her before flying off . Moments pass before Arlecchino opens the back door and carefully picks Jason up bridal style . She leaned his head into the crook of her neck and began ascending the stairs . Despite the dreary , abandoned look the House of Hearth adorned outside - the inside was filled with laughter and warmth.

As soon as she stepped into the threshold , she can hear plates and chairs being rummaged around and the sound of children laughing and talking . She ascends another flight of stairs before stopping in front of a door . She lets out a gentle hum and the door is opened by another crow , wordlessly , she enters the room and lays Jason onto the bed . The crow perches on the bed post as it eyes her tucking a blanket over him .

“ Watch over him and summon a healer to treat his wounds ….. When he wakes up please alert me immediately “ she orders . The crow croons as it watches her leave .

Jason’s POV

He grumbles as he sinks further into the warm , soft feeling under him - he feels ease for some reason and then that's when the memories of last night jolts him awake . He sits up - still groggy from sleep as he examines his area . He determines he’s in a bedroom as he observes the dark green wallpaper that covers his room , an antique wooden desk and chair is tucked away in a corner and a matching antique wardrobe and vanity sit opposite the room . The room had wide , white windows that were framed by golden curtains - this was definitely something from those dark academia books he used to read in his youth and he hates to admit it but it's all nice .

Jason examines himself - his arms and torso were wrapped in bandages and he was only dressed in grey sweats . So this wasn’t some sick concoction of his mind - all of yesterday did happen. Jason felt lost - he felt so unsure of what to make of the situation anymore , of his feelings anymore - he’s now stuck in a body that doesn’t even feel like his - nothing doesn’t feel like his anymore - he feels like a puppet just being stringed on by his cruel master .

His inner turmoil is suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door . Jason holds his breath for a moment as the door opens and the same person from last night walks in - Jason observes her , she’s dressed down in a black work shirt and black slacks but her white hair cascades down her face and he finally realizes that she has streaks of black and red peaking through , her hands were black as if they were stained with ink but something tells him it’s more to it , he observes that she wears minimal jewelry and makeup not like she needed any - the woman before him looked ethereal .

“ Good Morning “ she greets him as she sits at the edge of his bed . Jason straightens but makes no move to attack her “ My name is Arlecchino or The Knave but the children of the Hearth call me Father “ She introduced herself . Jason nods , he’s heard of the Hearth , an orphanage for children determined to have no hope or home . “ Jason Todd but I …..used to be Robin “ he trails off . Arlecchino nods . “ I figured you were a vigilante with those reflexes last night “ she says. Jason just nods .

Silence envelopes them. “ Look if you’re going to pawn me off to Batman -” but she cuts him off , “ I’m not pawning you off anywhere Jason , if you choose to stay here or go back to him that’s fine with me , all I ask is that you recover “ Arlecchino says with finality. Jason stills - he feels everything crumble around him - she’s supposed to be fighting no ? supposed to already be gutting him open and delivering him to batman or holding him hostage or hell experimenting on him . Arlecchino stares at him . “ If you are wondering why you’re not in a body bag or what not - that's because mother is no longer in charge of the hearth anymore , although I am not better person but I would not harm a child - albeit enemy or not “ Arlecchino says as she plays around with the singular ring on her hand.

Jason gives her a perplex look , he remembers back in his old Robin days - Arlecchino’s name was #4 on Gothams most wanted - her gruesome murders kept the media buzzing all month around especially when she was allegedly suspected of killing a wealthy pharmaceutical president . He eyed her wearily - she could kill him , he could run away - run away where ? Bruce thinks he’s dead - he was dead - now he's alive and suddenly all he feels is anger.

“ Jason “ Arlecchino calls out as she senses his unease . Jason glares at her . “ What do you want from me - you people resurrect me to do what threatens Batman ? He wouldn’t bloody buy into it because he is a monster that leaves children to die “ he spits out in distaste . Arlecchino looks at him . “ I didn’t resurrect you Jason , I don’t know who or why they resurrected you but I found you and I intend to take care of you until you can take care of yourself .” Arlecchino says firmly .

Jason stares at her . Moments of silence passed between them until he finally asked , “ Why ? Why care so much ?” .

“ Because that's what a good father does , he cares, “ Arlecchino explains . Those words hung heavy in the air . “ Breakfast would be served to you , you are free to explore though it is advised you rest , if you do need me ask one of the crows and I shall come to you “ Arlecchino says before walking out and closing the door to his room softly.

True to her word - food did arrive to him , by a crow , the little guy squeaked before he curled up next to Jason while he ate - he would admit it’s very Harry Potter and it shouldn’t be making him happy . Jason reminisces over Dick , Bruce and Alfred - does his family miss him ? Do they look for him ? Think about him anymore ? All questions but no answers . He munches on his sandwich as he also ponders on the earlier conservations . Does she care about him ? Why should she when he’s a nobody ?

Jason gives up but decides to take a walk . He opens the door and is greeted by a hallway , decorated in an off -white wallpaper and covered in vintage paintings . He carefully walks into the hallway , observing through the same white , wide windows that showcase the delicate greenery outside . The crow eagerly follows him , landing on his shoulder and affectionately rubs against his cheek.

Jason wandered off a bit but ultimately sat on a windowsill and admired the outside for a while - he was just contempt with being alone . He didn't know how long he’d been but the crow began to squawk at him and flew down an opposite hall . Jason follows after the crow down the hall and is introduced to a dining room . A large chandelier hung above them , the room had large open windows that let in light , there were rows and rows of tables filled with kids ranging from all ages eating lunch .

Jason awkwardly walks in . People stopped eating to wave at him or even smile , some even greeted him with a ‘ good afternoon ‘ . Jason approaches a table at the front of the room and there , Arlecchino sits at the head table enjoying a sandwich while being surrounded by a bunch of crows . , his own crow landed next to her and squawked . Arlecchino looks up from the crow , to him and beacons him over . “ Jason, come eat with me “ she invites him . Jason walked over to her and sat in the seat directly next to hers . A plate of pasta appeared before him and Arlecchino beaconed him to eat. Jason eyes it but eats it anyways and god did it taste good .

Arlecchino allows a little smile to show on her face before she resumes to her own meal . “ Jason , this is my son Lyney , Lyney this is Jason our esteemed guest “ Arlecchino introduces Jason to the boy opposite him . He flashes Jason a toothy smile and throws him a card of red 8 hearts . “ Welcome Jason it’s an honour to have you here “ Lyney says animatedly. Jason smiled and nodded . “ Likewise “ he responded.

“ So Jason, what are your plans after recovery ?” Lyney inquires . Jason stills and glances at Arlecchino’s way . “ I plan to stay here …. If that's okay with you “ he asks . Arlecchino raised her brow . “ Jason I already told you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you want “ she says with a matter of fact tone . Jason nods , “ I don’t want to be a burden to any of you “ he explains . “ You aren’t and will never be a burden to any of us “ Arlecchino says with certainty . For the first time in a long time - Jason smiles .

5 months later

Arlecchino POV

It has been five months since Jason has come into our lives , it's been a change - a good change for all of this , I watch from my office window and Jason and Lyney play football in the garden with the other boys of the orphanage - safe to say Jason has adapted to us . He’s still closed off , still a bit awkward but nevertheless doing much better than when he came here . Since the five months per his request , I’ve been looking into his resurrection and so far nothing but dead ends , I’ve heard nothing from his father - or should I say batman ? I’m not entirely sure but last week Jason approached me in my personal office and told me about his family’s vigilante life in detail .

At first I thought he was kidding about the robin thing but it turns out that batman has a habit of having multiple robins and he was one of them . I recall him crying after it thinking I’d kick him out of the hearth - being a criminal and all and the fear of him betraying me but I reassured him that I didn’t care about his parentage or his past , that I only cared about the present.

We made some progress on our relationship and he has taken to calling me ‘ dad ‘ which made me happy . I sipped on my tea as I observed the boys until a crow landed next to me . “ Mr.Wayne in front “ It croaked . I spared it a glance as worry course through me , “ Summon for Jason and order the children to their rooms , all crows on guard “ I ordered .

This leads to now - the Hearth was empty save for Jason and myself in my work office . “ Dad - I don’t know what to do, “ Jason confessed as he paced up and down . I observed him . The moment he came in my office and I overlaid the message my son has been a wreck and it breaks my heart . “ Jason , no matter what I won’t let you get in harm's way “ I reassured him . Jason looks at me for a moment before he nods . “ Okay Dad - I’ll face him". He says before sitting next to me . I nod and gesture to a nearby crow to allow Bruce Wayne in.

Jason’s POV

I watched nervously as Dad ordered the crow to let Bruce in . I was shaking , nervousness and anger course through me at the same time , for once my life has been going well since my resurrection and now - now he wants me ? Now he cares about me ? I observed Dad’s face and I could tell she’s worried and I hate worrying about her because she’s always working so hard and she's always making sure all of us are well loved and cared for . I side hugged her as I eyed the door .

“ Dad, I love you “ I confess. I could feel her freeze under my hold and then I began to feel scared because what if she doesn't want me -

“ I love you too son “ she answered back and squeezed me and I smiled at the mention of ‘son’.

The door opens and lord and behold - in walks Bruce Wayne and two other young boys. Bruce looks at me in shock and worry before he looks at Dad and gives him a nasty glare and I swear it takes everything in me to not punch him. “ Welcome , Mr.Wayne to the House of Hearth , I am The Knave, how can I help you ?” Dad says in a deadpan tone . Bruce is still glaring at her but takes a seat in the chair in front of her huge mahogany desk . The younger of the two boys looks around with a snare while the other just stares ahead in boredom.

“ Let’s get to the chase shall we Knave ? You have my son and I want him back “ Bruce states matter of factly. I growl in anger - Now I'm his son ? I release my hands from hugging dad , ready to punch him but dad places her hand on my shoulder . “ Mr.Wayne , while I do agree that he is your legal son , I found him abandoned and lost in a forest and likewise as a parent myself I took him in “ Father said in a deadpan tone . “ According to the house’s clinic reports Mr.Wayne , Jason Todd was found with third degree burn mark on his palms , a concussion and a fractured rib and severely underfed “ father continues . Bruce shoots her a glare . “ Given your track record Knave , I won’t put it past you for inflicting those onto my son “ Bruce says with a glare . I seethe in my seat . “ You bastard, how dare you accuse my father of abusing me -” I shouted angrily .

The younger of the two boys growled at me , “ Are you stupid ? You are being held hostage by a wanted criminal and you want us to believe she wouldn’t hurt you ?” he questioned . His father gave him a look but made no move to correct him. Dad rubs my back and I look at her - scared because I feel like I’m being taken away from her - from my own family and I begin to feel like the same hopeless broken little boy she found in that forest. I want to beg her - beg her to just take all of us away to a far away land where we can all be happy and together but I know it’s not gonna happen - Bruce will not let it happen.

“ Putting aside our opinions , It is purely up to Jason on what he wants and wishes “ Dad says with finality. Bruce pursues his lips at that . “ I want to stay here with you Dad “ I say as I hug her . She hugs me back and runs her hand through my hair - attempting to soothe me . “ My son has made his decision; you may now leave “ Dad says . Bruce angrily slammed his hands on the table . “ Stop manipulating my son you - wench “ he curses out he says angrily . I let go from hugging dad and immediately slap Bruce , “ Don’t you ever fucking cuss my dad you piece of shit “ I say angrily . Bruce looks at me - really looks at me and I can see the anger brewing inside , threatening to spill over . “ Jason, if you don’t come home I won’t hesitate to lock her in Arkam’s Asylum. “ he threatens . The other two boys next to him nod in agreement - and finally I realized their plan - we were outnumbered and I won’t let Dad go there of all places - I need her , we all need her here . I sigh and look at Dad . “ Son don’t do this I don’t care what happens to me but I can get you and the other’s somewhere safe -” Dad starts but I cut her off , “ No dad - I can’t bear to know you get arrested and tortured in there because of me “ I say , somber . Dad shakes her head , “ It’s my job to keep you safe Jason -” she starts but I just embrace her for the last time - my mind already made up , “ Da I love you , goodbye “ I say as tears run down my face . Dad embraces me back “ I love you too and I will see you soon son “ she says softly , her voice laced in vulnerability . Before I knew it - I was ripped out of her arms and was being dragged down the halls by Bruce .

Dad chased after me but the younger boy threw a smoke bomb at her and then we vanished.

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issacballsac · 1 year ago

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“Dear Alice„

Parte 04 (short)

Jason Todd + Masc/Male Reader, Damien Al-Ghul Wayne + Twin Reader

Masc/Male Reader

First Person POV

“You’ve never tried…lemonade?”

His blank stare burnt figurative holes through my soul as I attempted to cover my tracks. “Of course I have!”—a terrible lie.

Immediately dragging me from my once comfortable position on the couch to an awkward stance in the kitchen.

“It’s so easy to make I can’t believe you haven’t had it before.” He sneered tamely opening the refrigerator doors.

Placing several lemons on the countertop he hastily closed the fridge.

“Y’know in Latin America when talking about lemons they actually mean limes.” He spewed out information as he walked towards a silverware rack. “All you need is some water, sugar, and lemons obviously.”

Motioning for me to come closer, I went to stand next to him. “You can cut them however you want but I do halves because it’s too much work.” His nonchalant tone as he bought the knife cleanly through the citrus eased my concern if I could properly make the drink.

Midway through cutting the other lemons his phone aggressively buzzed, alerting us both.

“Here you cut the rest kid. I gotta take this.”

Stepping out of the kitchen and into a more private spot I ignored the shady behaviour and worked on cutting the rest of the lemons.

It had been about five minutes so I decided to go through and complete the drink. Adding the sliced lemons and sugar to the jug of water I gently stirred it.

“You’re doin’ great kid. I gotta go for a bit alright? I’ll be back fast, just gotta take care of something.” Jason said finally emerging back into the kitchen light.

With a simple nod for reassurance he slipped out the door. In a peculiar outfit I’ll admit. It was none of my business though so I sat at the kitchen counter watching the lemons peacefully float in the clear water.

“Sorry for cutting you guys in half.” I apologized to the lemons; quietly wondering where Jason had went.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x male reader #platonic #platonic headcanons #x reader platonic #x masc reader #dc comics #dc #jason todd + reader #Jason Todd x reader platonic #jason todd #red hood + reader #red hood

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acid-ixx · 3 months ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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bonefanatic · 1 year ago

Text

"Careful", you snag the boy's shirt before he can step into the road. The boy's head snaps away from his phone and towards you.

He looks pissed but you watch his face shift into a blank sort of stare.

"Sorry-", you release the grip on his shirt, shifting the carrier on your hip, "you should pay more attention when you're this close to the road."

You offer him a weak smile and he blinks up at you, then turns and scurries across the road, focused back onto his phone. Sighing, you adjust baby carrier and begin walking again.

The walk isn't a horrible one, ten minutes is nothing on the half hour walk it takes you to get to work. It's just a little more difficult with a awkward sized baby carrier.

Typically you'd take the train, but you need to get to the grocery store before it gets dark. The air is already chilly but the forecast calls for snow and the baby doesn't need that.

The store is a little warmer when you step inside and you even manage to snag a buggy.

The store is relatively quiet and you find what you need to...except for the box of baby rice towards the back on a shelf you can't reach.

You groan softly, glancing at the snoozing babe. She loves those...

You stand on your very tiptoes, grabbing at air. Then, a hand reaches up and grabs them. You turn, about to ask them for the box, when the man passes the box to you.

"Here, you looked like you needed help." He holds the box out with one hand, running his fingers through his black hair with the other.

You blink curiously at him, then take the box.

"Thank you so much, hon." You grin, placing the item in your cart and hurrying to check out.

The walk is still cold, despite the sun barely starting to set. You shiver, somehow managing to carry the groceries and the baby carrier at the same time.

About half a mile from your apartment, you bump into a chest. Dropping a few bags and praying the eggs aren't in them.

"Sorry about that", a masculine voice mumbles above you. You tilt your head up to meet the eyes of a boy a little younger than the one who helped you before. He tilts his head, a tuft of white hair hanging in his eyes.

"Would you like some help?" He starts grabbing the dropped bags before you can answer. He makes a gesture for you to lead the way.

"I'm Jason, by the way. We live in the same complex."

You swear you've never seen him before, but maybe that's just you.

That night, groceries put away and a baby snuggled happily against your chest, you lay in bed.

Oblivious to several pairs of eyes watching you and the bickering from the rooftops above.

"Ummi spoke to me today, with the baby!" Damian speaks.

"Yeah, well I helped ma with her groceries!" Jason gives him a playful shove.

"Well, the baby smiled at me!" Dick jabs a thumb at his chest triumphantly.

"All of you hush!" Tim speaks up, crouched next to Duke, eyes focused on a familiar window.

Bruce looms nearby, caught up his daydream where he's the sweater wrapped so tightly around you. Someday.

Someday sooner than you think.

#vee writes #teehee #dc x reader #platonic batfam #batfam x batmom #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #jason todd x batmom #dick grayson x batmom #Damian Wayne x batmom #Duke Thomas x batmom #Tim Drake x batmom #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #duke thomas x reader #tim drake x reader #batmom #yandere batfam #yandere dc

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jaythes1mp · 6 months ago

Text

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.

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blondwhxrewrites · 9 days ago

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Neglectful!Batfam but with a reader who just doesn't give a shit. You've been taking care of yourself long before becoming a 'Wayne,' so when you arrive at the manor only to be met with no one, you just shrug it off and go on with your life. Of course Alfred tries his best, but he's also busy with the rest of the family's shenanigans. And it's not like you have a bad life. You have more than enough money, an entire manor to live in, and a great future ahead of you with so many opportunities.

Being looked over has its perks too; you can go wherever you want whenever you want and spend days with your friends without anybody noticing. Of course it does kind of hurt to see your supposed family spend so much time together without even thinking about you, but honestly they aren't worth it. If they can't see your value, then they can all go fuck themselves.

You don't need their attention to thrive, and when you move out after you graduate highschool, it's the best feeling in the world. Until suddenly you have your whole entire family in your living room a few months later, all panicking, thinking you were dead.

Your adoptive 'superhero' family are all a bunch of idiots.

#reader insert #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #batfam #neglected reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #platonic!batfam

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nosyrobin · 4 months ago

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Dick who is feeling prideful: Who’s your favorite sibling lil D?

Damian not hesitating at all about his twin: Y/N.

Dick coughs in his fist feeling a little hurt.

Dick: let me rephrase that. WHO’S your favorite non-blood sibling?

Damian actually thinks about it before opening his mouth.

Damian: I am loyal to my sibling that is my blood. No one shall take their spot in my heart.

Damian dramatically puts his hand to his heart meanwhile dick is very close to punching the boy in the throat.

Damian: though Grayson, you are tolerable. I can recommend that you are my favorite “non-blood.” Brother….

Dick smiles before what Damian said made him frown.

Damian: Though, you are below Todd.

Dick: MOTHER FUC—

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book-place-incorrect-quotes · 1 year ago

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*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*

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knuiui · 19 days ago

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what if..

Neglected!reader is good and all (crunchy angst yum) but what if a reader that didn't grow up with the bats?

Timeline is Bruce just recently adopted Jason, therefore a new Robin is swinging around in town. let's just say that Bruce had a bit of a night encounter with a mysterious woman he can't seem to remember the face of then *poof* there's reader!

However what if the moment reader comes into the world her faith is sealed but the mysterious woman who we should just call, A, refuses to hand her daughter off to suffer and be neglected. reader is a creature of love and she deserves to be loved.

So she turns and instead drops off reader to the nearest orphanage. unexpectedly reader was immediately adopted by some rich billionaire dude from ny, so at a very young age reader managed to escape gotham's clutches and tragedies. All while Bruce is none the wiser.

years pass by and reader grew up loved and spoiled from attention by her adoptive father, she even got herself two protective guard dogs of a brothers with her. life is good until unexpectedly off to a mission somewhere near gotham she goes, and she encounters a a boy with tan skin and green eyes and one thing reader knows is that, this boy is her baby brother. (It's Damian lol)

what if it's also a pjo crossover, and reader is totally a child of love and beauty. :)

decisions. decisions. 🤔

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book-place · 2 years ago

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Safe With You

Warnings: homelessness, children living on the streets, stealing, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Jason Todd x sister reader

Request: so it’s a Batsis X Jason Todd Story where both are biological siblings. And one day the children protection service comes to take her (because yk she is a street kid with no parents) and because Jason was like 8 or something at the time he of course couldn’t do much. She thinks he abandoned her after not coming for her and he feels guilty not finding her

Request by: @kiyomi-uchiha777

*not my gif*

Summary: Jason tried to keep you safe, he really did

A/N: I think I’m gonna do a part 2 for this at some point :)

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

You scrunched up your nose at Jason’s outstretched arm, turning wary eyes towards him, “Where did you get that?”

Your older brother sighed, “Don’t worry about it.” He answered, placing the bag of fast food in front of you.

In reality, he had of course stolen it, but he didn’t want to have to tell you that. That he had to resort to thievery to keep the two of you fed. Sure, he didn’t mind one bit, but you were only six and he didn’t want to have to try and explain it to you.

You shrugged to yourself, opening the bag and each grabbing a burger, leaning back against the alleyway wall and munching on your food.

The two of you had now been living on the streets for about three months now, and things were getting bad. But Jason would never admit that, especially to you.

There were far fewer places to stay then he would have thought, and he had a feeling the police were starting to catch onto the two kids who ran around the city unattended.

At first, he would have thought that they wouldn’t care in the slightest, but some too-long glances from any officer they ran into told him otherwise.

But letting the two of you get separated was the last thing he would ever let happen. You two weren’t going to be caught, and he was going to make sure of it.

He was only eight and he put the weight of the world on his shoulders. Keeping his little sister from getting taken.

“I think I saw them go down this way, officers.”

Just as the two of you were polishing off the fries Jason managed to swipe, a voice echoed through the alleyway, bouncing off the walls until it reached your ears.

Your eyes went wide at the same time Jason stiffened, face setting in a hard, determined look.

“Come on,” He said quietly, but sternly, gently helping you to your feet before nudging you down the opposite way the voices had come from, “Run.” He whispered in your ear.

And you did so right away, trusting your brother wholeheartedly to keep you safe, taking off down the alleyway as fast as your legs would carry you, Jason right on your trail.

“Hey! Stop right there!” A new voice shouted down, only prompting the two of you to move faster.

You wove in and out of alleyways, doing everything you could to lose the two officers following after you, but it was to no avail.

“Y/n,” Jason panted as he ran beside you, “I-I think we need to split up.”

Your eyes widened and you whipped your head around to face him, “What? Are you-“

“Just trust me.” He said, “I’ll lead them away from you.”

“But what about you?” You asked, even more panic setting in than before.

“Don’t worry about me,” He answered automatically, “I know how to lose them.”

With one last small smile of reassurance from your older brother, you mustered up all the strength and courage you could and quickly took a sharp left down a new alleyway the second he turned right.

“Come on,” Jason mumbled to himself, teeth gritted as he ran, “Follow me.”

But after running as fast as he could for a few minutes, he came to a skidding halt. There was no sound of thundering footsteps coming after him. No voice yelling at him to stop. The officers hadn’t gone after him. They had gone after you.

He let out a scream of frustration, quickly pivoting on his heel and running back the way he came, trying to get back to you.

You hadn’t even realized it had begun raining until you were forced to come to a stop, when your front collided with a solid brick wall and the raindrops splashed on top of your head. It was a dead end.

The officers had both followed you and they came to panting stops only a couple feet away from you.

“Finally,” The closer one huffed, “I’ve had enough of chasing you little rugrats around this city.”

“What about the boy?” The other one asked, trying to take large gulps of air.

He shrugged, “We were only told to pick up the girl. I don’t know anything about the boy. Therefore, it’s not my problem.”

Tears began mixing in with the rain that was running down your face as you cowered in the corner.

One of the officers sighed, “We’re not gonna hurt you, kid, just bring you into child protective service.”

You sobbed.

Where was Jason? He said it was going to be fine. He was supposed to protect you. You never should have agreed to separate because now-

One of them placed a gentle hand on your arm and began leading you out of the alleyway.

Jason ran until he too hit the wall that marked the end of the alleyway you had run down and he banged a fist against it.

You were gone. The officers had gotten you. He had no idea where you had been taken to.

Why had he run so far before checking that the officers were following him? Why did he make you split up?

It was his fault you were gone, and he had no idea how to get you back.

The Superior Robin ❤️- @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @i-writes-things @ladyagagaslefttoe @xbergiex

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x sister reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader platonic #batfamily #batfamily x reader #batfamily x batsis #sister reader #child reader

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faesdreaming · 22 days ago

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cardinal concept

yandere platonic batfam with a resurrected reader

a/n: because as much as i love neglected reader, dead (then alive again) reader just has so much potential

the dynamic duo, batman and robin. bruce wayne and dick grayson. then, you came along; a result of bruce’s irresponsible coupling with a young woman he’d long since forgotten about. you grow up in the nastier parts of gotham with your mother, where you’re forces to grow up faster and become more mature, until she has an accident.

after you’re mother’s untimely death, you find yourself under his care. bruce is hesitant and unsure, he’s already struggled with raising dick. he doesn’t want to fail you too. he dances around telling about batman until you happen upon the batcave, at your insistence and a few instances of you following them, he relents and lets you join.

suddenly, it’s batman, robin, and cardinal.

bruce is initially unsure what to do with you, even after you become cardinal. unlike with dick, who needed to become robin lest he go down a darker road, you’re only cardinal because of him. it draws out an agonizing guilt, causing bruce to practically coddle you. but you’re emotionally intelligent, in a way bruce isn’t, you’re able to communicate with soft words and gentle reasoning instead of shouting matches and tearful pouting like your brother. you’re his angel, his sweet, understanding angel. it reminds him of his own mother. you’re kind, empathetic disposition is everything bruce needs in his life. because yes, to him, your brother needs his guidance. but bruce needs yours.

as for dick his relationship is with you as simple as this: he’s the big brother and you’re the little sibling. you can fight and argue, but you two always make up and head off to snuggle or play. you’re bond grows stronger the more time you spend on patrol— having each other’s back, getting into trouble with batman— or at school— although you’re in a younger grade, you still see your big brother at school and go to him when you have problems— or at home— snuggled up, watching a movie and eating snacks provided by alfred— you two are extremely close.

you’re little of family of four— including alfred, of course— is tight-knit. you fight and argue but always make up and you’re always there for each other.

until dick becomes nightwing and a scruffy teen named jason todd joins you. as close as you are with your older brother and father, you bond with him far quicker. maybe it’s because of how close you are in age, or maybe it’s because of your shared past experiences.

the family dynamics shift and change, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. dick grows more distant, going off with the titans. but that’s to be expected, he’s grown up now. you still visit him, of course. and he still pops by to see you. bruce, you notice, softens, almost. he’s grown accustomed to parenthood. jason is your favourite change, though. a sibling close in age, but still younger, so can justify (playfully) bossing him around. your family isn’t perfect, but it’s yours and you love it.

then, jason and bruce start fighting. dick goes off world. a fight with bane leaves you injured and out of commission. it’s just a rough patch, you tell yourself. until, suddenly, jason’s birth mother contacts him. something’s off about it. you want to tell your dad, however, jason is adamant you shouldn’t. reluctantly, you don’t, opting to go along with him just in case.

your gut, as it turns out, was right. you’re injured and unable to do much as the joker captures you and jason. you’re helpless to watch as your brother, your sweet baby brother, is beaten mercilessly with a crowbar. your voice is hoarse from screaming during your own beating and your body is sore, but despite it all, you still rasp out pleas to let your brother go. one child will be effective enough. the joker can spare one. of course, in his cruelty, he doesn’t.

you’re left aching, battered, and bruised. the ticking of the bomb serves as the count to your death. jason, brave jason, tries to gather enough strength to get up. and maybe, just maybe, he could escape if he weren’t focused on trying to save you. he won’t listen to your pleas for him to go, to leave you behind. he’s adamant upon accompanying you to your doom.

you hear the final ticks. with all the strength you have left, you move towards him. you cannot save yourself. you cannot save him. all you can do is die beside him. pressing your forehead to his, the last thing you see is your little brother’s face before the final tick sounds and the ensuing explosion consumes you.

and that’s the end of it, your journey, your life. you’re buried alongside your brother in a sombre ceremony, your uniform cased in glass as a memorial to bruce’s failures. he becomes angrier, loses himself. he’s lost two of his children and is fighting with his only remaining one. dick, is utterly furious, with himself and bruce. he blames bruce. for letting his precious siblings die, for starting them all of this heroic crusade. he blames himself for not being there, for being distant with you and jason.

alas, time marches forwards and batman needs a new robin, in the form of one tim drake. he’s a clever kid, one way too smart for his own good. one you used to babysit while his rich parents were away to earn some extra cash. it wasn’t right, leaving him with no one his age to play with. so, when you could, you’d come over. you’d soothe his loneliness. and for that, he’s forever grateful.

your influence continues beyond your death. for you life has impacted so many. barbara gordan, for example, who viewed you akin to a little sister. who fought alongside you as batgirl. you were loved by many as (Y/N) Wayne. your friends and family still hold candles for you. even as they accept your lose, they never stop fully grieving for you and the lost potential brimming inside you. then, there are those who you impacted as cardinal. as a hero, you saved numerous lives, including that of one stephanie brown, who will forever feel indebted to you and strives to become just like you.

the justice league, who knew you as one of the first sidekicks, who functioned like extended family, mourn deeply for your loss and offer sympathies to your father and brother. they will remember you and your tenacity, carrying on their pursuit of justice with you in mind. certainly villains, such as poison ivy and even harley quinn, are enraged with the joker. while you could occasionally be a pain, you were their favourite kiddie hero. and of course the likes of selina kyle and talia al ghul, your father’s paramours, women who became like family to you.

cardinal will be forever immortalized in the hearts of heroes and villains alike, your legacy of compassion and kindness living on in memories transformed into stories, your death a testament to sacrifice and love and heroism— except, that isn’t how it ends, is it? no. your story doesn’t end with your death, it’s how it begins.

and your real story begins by waking in the constricting confined of your casket, bursting out with inhuman strength, fueled by the adrenaline boost, and digging your way out of your grave, the cool mud giving way to harsh ground until you break through the service. that night, that stormy gotham eve, is the day you are reborn.

you flee then wander the streets of gotham until you regain your mind. you remember, you remember everything and you, you don’t want to go back. not to your family, not to your friends, not the life you once knew. you were given a new life. and this life, you would live for yourself.

sans your old attachments, you live encumbered, untroubled by past woes. yet, you seem to forget your festering memory, the mark you’ve left on people. you forget that while you may be willing to leave your old life behind, they aren’t as willing to let you go. especially when they learn you’re within reach.

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nikovraskol · 1 month ago

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crack baby ; three

wc ; 3745 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect

prologue, one, two, three, tbc..

Sometimes it feels like there is someone puppeteering you into the worst scenarios possible.

It started when finally, after days of contacting every single landlord in Gotham and Bludhaven, one kind old man reached back. The house he was willing to rent you wasn’t half bad either, certainly no Wayne Manor but a small apartment about a convenience store would suffice.

After regressing, you were stuck in a loop of tears and anger and whatever strange, uncomfortable feeling you got whenever you were reminded of your weird interaction with Dick.

But finally, light at the end of the rainbow! You could cry (of joy this time), but you’ve no time for tears. Not when you’re faced with a big, overpowering problem. Leaving the Manor.

Now, in the past, you could just get up and leave, however after your run-in with Damian and Dick, you’re apprehensive to leave your room. What if you’re ambushed again? By Tim? Or Jason? Or heaven forbid, Dick again? Terrifying! You don’t have time to dilly dally, not when Mr. Kim is waiting in your future home.

So, you’re very on edge, looking around every corner with apprehension, bracing yourself for anything and everything. When you finally reach the door, unharmed, you let out a deep sigh, only to hear a voice behind you.

“Master (Name).”

What now? You whip your head around, a sense of deja vu hitting you, oh, it’s just Alfred. You let out a sigh, glad it’s not Dick with his strange shenanigans. “Alfred, is everything alright?” You smile, out of everyone, Alfred is the one you love most, the one who cradled you close in those agonizingly lonely nights, when you’d call out for your mother, for your father, for anyone.

He was there.

“You’re heading out?” He asks, assessing you with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. A few days ago, Dick had informed him that you were acting strange, you had run away from your older brother. His mind raced, the implications of what that might mean has been weighing on the butler’s mind for days. It was uncharacteristic of you, up until about a week ago you would jump for joy if any of your family would glance at you.

But after that day, that day where you had skipped breakfast .. What changed? Why are you suddenly so uninterested in your family? It’s unnatural. Your whole life had always been dedicated to them, you’d do anything to be apart of them, to be seen. So why? When you finally had the chance to be centre stage, were you walking away? Something about your demeanour was off and he didn’t like it.

“Yes, I’ve–” You pause, should you tell Alfred? I’m going to move out and never speak to anyone from this house again! No, you’ll wait until you’ve secured a place before letting him know. You’re not prepared for that conversation. “I’m going to– for a walk.” The lie is stale on your tongue, you’ve never lied to Alfred, not besides petty ones to get out of trouble. But this feels different, a heavy knot tying in your shoulders as you watch the butler’s confused expression.

“Is that so? Because a few days ago, Master Dick–” You were out the door before he could finish his damn sentence. You are not in the mood to discuss Dick right now! It’s going to ruin your chipper mood.

The click of the door had Alfred’s eyes narrowing, his eyes trained on where you once stood. He believed that the small push he gave Bruce would be enough, but it’s just driving you further away. How troublesome, he doesn’t want for you to end up hurt.

“Wow! This is a really great place? And I get the first month free?” You are convinced whatever deity sent you back in time is responsible for the saint before you. The small, chubby old man who speaks to you in such a paternal voice it makes you want to cry.

“Of course, it’s no problem, I just need to speak to your guardian to agree on your emancipation, plus they’ll need to sign some consent forms.”

“What?” You blink dumbly, your heart momentarily stopping before the damn organ speeds up so quickly it could power a small village, you try to convey your thoughts but all you can manage is a few dumb noises. “Are– Are you sure?”

“Apologies, since you’re only sixteen – you must have a guardian’s consent, this is a legal rental after all,” he smiles apologetically, before adding, “if you want to live somewhere without your parent’s consent, it’ll have to be illegally – which can be dangerous, ‘specially for a youngling such as yourself.”

Oh, right. You’re sixteen. The fact slipped your mind once more, you’re so foolish. So damn foolish, nothing will ever be so easy, nothing in your life will ever be handed to you like this. “Right, I’ll– let you know.” You smile, your eyes scanning over the small apartment once more. It reminds you of the place you stayed with your mother, the small space encapsulating those memories you hold dear so perfectly that if you light a few ciggerattes and close your eyes, you'll go back in time.

“I’ll keep this off-sale for you, please let me know as soon as possible.” Mr. Kim, so nicely adds, his small face – wrinkled with age, softening at your disheartened expression. You so desperately want to beg for him to rethink, to make an exception, but you don't want to get him in trouble, not since he’s been so kind.

And so, with a heavy heart, you walk out, walking with effort since your feet don’t want to leave. Don’t want to leave a future that could be, that should’ve been. Ugh, how disgustingly sentimental.

You don’t feel like returning to the Manor, not yet. The air outside is nice, it’s nice to breathe in a taste of something other than the suffocating walls around you, even if it’s just some dingy back alley. It’s nice to see what could’ve been, that is until a large hand clamps down on your shoulder.

Oh, great. So the one time you leave the Manor you die again. Maybe you’ll regress to when you’re eleven next, you muse.

“What the hell are you doing around here?” You recognise that voice and immediately you don’t want to turn around. What is he doing out? During the day? You thought vigilantes only patrol during the lunar hours, so why? Your heart squeezes in your throat, desperate to claw its way out, to escape your pitiful body.

After a tense moment of silence, you turn around, there he stands. Red Hood, your older brother. Well, older brother is a stretch, you’ve never really interacted with him – much like the rest of your family. You were brought in when he was still Robin, but he died shortly after. A small, vengeful part of you blamed him for your neglect. That was until Bruce brought in Tim, and you watched bitterly how Tim was embraced immediately, he didn’t have to fight for any attention, he was accepted by everyone and you were forced to swallow the thought that it wasn't Jason's fault -- but your own.

When Jason was somehow brought back, you selfishly hoped you would be able to bond with him, that he’d be the one to look back at you, to get to your level and hold you close.

No such thing happened, the only time you saw him was when he was walking through the Manor to the Batcave, and even then, he gave you a bone-chilling glare. You didn’t think of him so optimistically after that. Now, with his hand clutching your shoulder, his expression covered by his menacing red helmet..

You’re ready to be shot 5 times again.

“I asked you a question.” He says, his hand tightening on your shoulder, you snap out of your stupor immediately, your fear morphing into frustration. You shove his hand off of you with more effort than you’re comfortable with, and even then you’re sure he’s the one who dropped his hand to not embarrass you any further.

“I’m allowed to go outside.” You huff, your nerves practically fighting against the restraints of your skin, a cold, overbearing feeling rushing over you. This was..– Everything was wrong, this is not how this is supposed to go, not at all.

“You were talking to Mr. Kim, why?” He asks bluntly, your heart stops beating for a moment, the only thing you can hear is the ringing in your ears, your brain trying to block this all out, trying to block out everything. “Actually, nevermind, I think I know why.”

You want to cry, why was this happening? You were so happy, so content. Why do you bump into them every time you leave your room, can’t you have one good day? Will you need to become a hermit? Will that get them off your back?

“I can drive you back to the Manor–”

“No, I’m fine.” You cut him off, your voice not masking any of your fear, it has Jason blinking under his mask. Why were you so on edge? What’s going on with you?

“I insist– Gotham isn’t safe for you to just be–..” He watches the downright terrified expression on your face before sighing and signalling for you to go, his stomach churns in an unfamiliar way as you scurry away.

Why were you so nervous? Could it be that you're scared of him?

That’s understandable, you’re not a vigilante, you’re just some average kid. But when he saw you walking alone, he detests himself for the way his heart swelled with happiness. In his Robin days, he loved watching the normalcy of your life, the way you would live free of any strings to the ghastly occupation he had.

He was scared to get closer, scared to shatter that illusion you had.

The fear amplified when he came back to life, he was relieved to see that you were still unaffiliated with Batman, but fuck, he was too cowardly to reach out, that day when you looked at him with gladness, he was hit with a paralysing fear of you getting too close, of you getting hurt. He replays the crushed expression that dawned your face like a damn broken stereo.

So when he saw you sulking about a few moments ago, he saw his chance to reach out, to get a taste of your normalcy, he took it, however selfish it may be.

“Whatever.” He grits, climbing up the roof to tail you, he’s content with watching from afar, for now.

The whole way back to the Manor felt like a fever dream, you can’t brush these oddities off as coincidences, why the hell did Red Hood approach you. Was he trying to pull a Damian? Was that a simple reminder of how pathetic you are? Why did he do that?!

Why was everyone acting so strangely?

The Manor offered you no comfort, it’s looming walls did nothing but remind you of your own shortcomings, you were afraid, you were perplexed but above all you were furious. Why now? When you’ve finally accepted your position in this family, why are they all turning their heads. Well damn them! You’re sick of this whole stupid charade, you won’t be that small child anymore, a child who knew only loneliness. You’re going to become your own person outside of the surname which has held you back for so long.

“We need to talk.” A voice calls out as you reach your room, what now? You’re sick of these damn conversations. You just want to move out, why is it so damn hard?

Oh, it’s Bruce again. Your lips press into a thin line as he stands before you, you can hear the soft humming running through the Manor walls. When you were younger, that sound brought you so much comfort, yet now it’s different. Like a warning.

“Talk? About what?” You try to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. You’re distinctly aware of the way his brows furrow at your pitiful expression. Oh hell, you hope this won’t be another walk down the Manor where you awkwardly fumble in silence.

You don’t say anything as he leads you away from your room, a sullen quilt draped over the Manor, a strange foreboding sense that something’s going to happen. Something bad. You’re utterly perplexed as your father guides you to a part of the Manor you’re somewhat familiar with.

As a child, you used to lurk around the corners of these very walls, watching your family, itching to reach out and join in but fearing ruining the delicate painting they created. Fearing rejection, the cold glares and sneers as they pushed you away. So you trailed silently, waiting, hoping that someone would look back, smile at you and maybe hold out their hand. But it only ever happened in your dreams, a pale illusion of a reality that should've been true.

“Where did you go?” He asks, his eyes boring onto you with such intensity you can distinctly feel the way your blood begins furiously to pump through your veins, why did he care? “Alfred said you went out.”

“I just wanted some fresh air.” You’re not sure why you’re lying, it’d be easier to tell Bruce that you went to go see a house, the consent forms are folded in your pocket, waiting for his signature. It’d be so simple, so easy. Just a dip of pen on paper and you’ll be out.

So why do you feel such dread? A dread unlike anything you’ve ever felt. When you were in that alley, bleeding out helplessly, even then this oppressive feeling, which tightens your ribcage, forcing your organs into a tight space until you couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t comprehend if it was your heart pounding so heavily or your lungs, wasn't as scary.

“You’re only sixteen, you need to let someone know where you’re going.” His voice is so unbelievably despotic that it made your very core tremble with anxiety, with a looming sense of doom.

“It’s never been a problem before.” You mumble, your voice a lot quieter than you would’ve liked, your vocal chords burning with each word passing through it, your nerves invading each of your senses, as if warning you to stay quiet.

Bruce says nothing, and the moment the air grows stale you wish you could take your words back. You can see the way his brows crease, the way he looks at you as though you’re some sort of criminal and not his own flesh and blood, the soft humming in the walls has disappeared, left behind in your area of the Manor. Though it’s odd, when you would lurk around the Manor as a youthling, there was always some sort of background noise in this area, where everyone hung out. The silence unnerved you, another thing that’s changed, another thing you couldn’t have predicted.

“If you’re going out, make sure to let me know.” He sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you with what you interpret as belittlement, a burning hot rage boils in your stomach, and once more, you’re hit with the knowledge this isn’t how things are supposed to go, Bruce isn’t supposed to care that you go out without telling anyone, he’s not supposed to care about you.

‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ you want to say, you want to scream, to ask what rights he has to treat you like a child? How dare he? It makes your very being tremble with frustration, your hands clenching with barely contained anger.

But you don’t. Why? Is it the natural response from your mind? The fear of disappointing him? The fear that if you speak up, you’ll be kicked out and left to rot? Or perhaps it’s the fear of confrontation you gained through his negligence, the weakness he moulded. But still, you’re not sixteen anymore, not really. Mentally, you’re twenty-one, you’ve been through each stage of your life, and maybe, sure, the day you died, you were content for them to walk all over you in exchange for a single glance at your direction.

But you’ve died and come back (in time)! You shouldn’t let them walk all over you anymore, shouldn’t be content as an afterthought. So– you open your mouth and–

“What’s going on?” Another voice speaks out, great, because this is exactly what you needed, another clown to join the circus. Oh.

Is this a joke? Is the person responsible for your misfortune giggling at your despair, is it amusing to see you suffer?

Damian, Dick, Jason and now Tim.

Why is Tim walking up to you? Why is he looking at you? A rush of dread, a sensation you’ve grown familiar with in the past few days, washes over you. You’ve never had his eyes on you, never for so long. It’s unnerving. You thought the calculating look in Bruce and Damian’s eyes was scary, but the way Tim looks at you now? His eyes zeroed in on you? It has your insides melting into liquid, the urge to cover your face, to hide in the corner and bury your face in your knees is overwhelming.

You don’t want his eyes on you, you decide. Years of clawing at your own shortcomings, of desperately trying to appeal to him, to have him look back – you would do anything at that time for him to look at you the way he is now.

But now? You don’t like it, he wears a neutral expression, but the look in his eyes makes you feel vulnerable, like he’s picking you apart one by one, each twitch, each mannerism.

“It’s about what we talked about.” Bruce says, his tone completely natural, like he’s discussing the weather, you don’t know the specifics but you have a nagging feeling that you know what he’s speaking of.

“Ah. Really? You’re still on that?” Tim tuts, his head tilting ever so slightly as he studies you. Just as you’re about to ask what the fuck does he mean by that, he turns his attention to Bruce. “I told you, they can’t do anything without your consent, they’re 16.”

How dare they? How dare they talk as though you’re not here? This is disgusting, what loathsome, egotistical dickheads! Your hands itch, the anxiety in you speeding all over your body like a livewire, mixing with your anger to create an overwhelming feeling of terror.

What was the point of Bruce bringing you here? To mock you? Show you how great they have it? What you’ve been missing out on? Well, screw him. You need to get away before you lash out, you’re better than that. Better than this.

The pair watches as you walk away, your whole body tense. For a moment, there’s a prolonged silence which is broken by Tim. “Did we do something wrong?” He asks, genuinely confused by your little display.

When he came back from a particularly tough mission, the last thing he was expecting was everybody collectively freaking out. Bruce, Damian, even Dick were all tense, looking around each corner – searching for something, someone.

It was weird for a multitude of reasons, firstly – Dick was supposed to be gone by now, his stay at the Manor was for a few days only. Why is he here? And secondly, nothing particularly stressful was happening in Gotham, so what was with the gloom and doom?

When Bruce sighed, telling him about your plans to move out, well, to say Tim was confused was an understatement. That did not deserve such a reaction, but then he really thought about it, and, if this is how they react to you threatening to leave..

If you were to actually step out that door, to alienate away from them, to discard your last name. His head begins to throb at the implications, he’s acutely aware of how selfish it is for him to wish to keep you around, to keep you in this Manor all to keep himself happy.

But then the thought that, really, he’s doing this for you! If you thought it was so easy to just get up and leave, that at sixteen you’d just be able to pack up and go. Well, with that stupidity, you wouldn’t survive outside, in Gotham no less. He was able to placate Bruce’s stressing, thankfully, because the man looked three minutes away from a heart attack.

You wouldn’t be able to go without Bruce’s permission, so long as they had that – you’d stay with them. But that’s what led him to seeking you out now, if you had ideas about leaving that meant you were unhappy.

He was hoping to talk to you, to ask if you wanted to hang out – that’s what you want, right? When he thinks of you, his mind conjures up the slightly annoying, slightly endearing child that you were. He’ll hang out with you, destroy those silly notions and everything will go back to how it was.

So why did you stomp off? That’s not how you’re supposed to act. That’s not how you are.

“I don’t think so.” Bruce replies to his earlier question, his eyes still trained on the spot in which you were. How could you walk off?

Why were you so off during that conversation? He couldn’t…– This belies everything Alfred had told him about you, it's left Bruce conflicted. He had hoped that by bringing you here, he could ask which room you liked best. But you walked off, why? Why do you deny his affection? He was worried when he heard you left, a small, vulnerable part of him was afraid that you wouldn’t come back, that you had left for good, slipped through his fingers before he could hold you close.

So, when he saw you walk in – oh, he was elated. He just wanted to convey his worries, but you seemed to have gotten the wrong idea. He really doesn’t want that, you don't need anymore reasons to leave.

He doesn’t want the terrified expression on your face, he wants that dazzled look you used to carry around, he wants you – not this restless part of you, but the real you.

He'll get it back, he's sure he will.

ugh i hate the misunderstanding trope i say as i write the misunderstanding trope

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