#batfamily!reader

[toulousewayne]

Batfam and Batsis Headcannon: Ages 21-23

Damian:

The headache Y/n felt forming after finding out about Bruce and Talia having a son was painful.

“After all those talks he gave me about protection.” Dick scoffed.

Y/n looked at her new brother who looked like a feral kitten who was ready to claw and hiss at anyone who approached him.

“Tt, I don’t see how you are Father’s Daughter, your mother wasn’t even married to him. Meaning you hold no claim to Father’s company or his assets.” He spat. He was quite smug with himself.

“Listen pipsqueak—“ Tim started but Y/n motioned for him to stop. She turned her attention back to Damian.

“Look I don’t know what you were told but I promise you I don’t want to run his company, hell I’d rather not be heiress to the money either. Bruce is my Father not my atm or trust fund. And if that’s all the things you’ve been led to believe then you’re sadly mistaken.”

Damian lunged at her and quickly moved out of his grasp, she turned towards him and flipped him onto his stomach and pinned his arm back.

Dick and Tim stood there in awe.”I know you’re an assassin kid, but make no mistake I will break this little hands of yours if you try that again.” She left the room without another word and Damian grumbled as Tim chuckled smugly in the corner.

Damian avoided Y/n while she visited the Manor. They spoke a total of two times in the first few days. By day three Y/n figured he’d be more settled into his new home that she could formally introduce herself. She was wrong.

Damian took one look at tried to go in the other direction and she called him but he was too fast for her. She was in her room on a call with Stephanie and Cass who were gutted she wasn’t staying longer, Barbara could be heard in the background on a call with Dinah and Helena.

“You guys know you can visit anytime, besides my roommate when back home to Chicago. So, for the rest of the term I have a whole dorm to myself.” She giggled stuffing some sweaters Alfred had bought for her as he knew winter was approaching and she’d be up late in the library across the campus.

“Well you’ll be back in three weeks for Christmas Break, plus maybe this weekend we can have a day trip I heard Metropolis Mall is having a huge sale for Black Friday!” Stephanie squealed with excitement.

Cass nodded in agreement,she turned her head and looked closely at the screen before speaking.”Damian.”

Y/n world around to find the youngest Wayne in her doorway easedropping.

“I’ll talk to you guys tonight when you stop by before patrol.” They two waved and she hung up turning to the doorway.

“Come in Damian.” Reluctantly he entered her room with a blank expression.

“Wayne.”

“Wayne.” She replied in his same tone.

He looked down at the ground before speaking,”Grayson talked to me about my actions. I wanted to apologize for comments earlier to you.” He never met her gaze and she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not the first kid to come in here and feel outraged or confused about your new life Damian, and knowing Dad’s track record I can’t say you’ll be the last. But I accept your apology. Mind telling me what’s behind your back though?”

He handed her a small wooden bird, it was cured and whittled to his shape and it was beautiful sculptured. “Grayson always mentioned your fascination with birds.”

Y/n smiled an took the little bird figure,”thank you Damian it’s very thoughtful of you.”

“I would appreciate if this conversation never made it to Drake.”

“Whatever you say kiddo.” She chuckled. As time went on Damian was less abrasive towards the older woman. Usually when the girls would visit her Damian would tag along, of course he said he was forced to come but that was lie. Or when Dick or Bruce would FaceTime her and Damian would demand to talk to his sister but would instantly just ask her about her studies and when would she be returning home. It was kinda cute.

When she returned for Christmas she wasn’t surprised to see Damian tending to his animals but rather who was helping him. A new kid.

Duke:

Duke had heard a lot about his new sister from the other boys, from Cass even Alfred talk about her too.

She was able to get to know Duke when everyone was out running errands for Christmas and he was the only person at the Manor.

“Oh Hi Y/n, Alfred asked me to hang up the garland. Did you need something?”

“No Duke, just passing through, I’m surprised you picked the red and gold one, no one picks that one.”

“Really, I think it’s the most festive.” He chuckled and she entered the lounge and helped him. The two crackled jokes and finish decorating the lounge by the time Alfred and Bruce returned.

“I must say you two make excellent choices with decorations.” Alfred commented.

On Christmas Eve Duke wasn’t around lot of the family. When Y/n asked around no one had seen Duke since Breakfast. Y/n found him in the backyard sitting in the snow. She approached him with a cup of hot chocolate made by Jason.

She sat next to him in silence on noise was them sipping on the hot beverages and sounds of clatter and music from the manor.

For a while they just enjoyed each other company until Duke broke the silence. “Do you think their proud of me, with my decision of be Signal and applying to Gotham University?”

Y/n took a sip of her drink once more before replying,”I think your parents are very proud of you Duke, I believe they would not only want you to be surrounded by people who love you. But to also following your own heart, do what you feel is right for your life.”

He grinned to hisself before speaking again.”I guess so my Dad always wanted me to beat to my own drum. I just..I don’t wanna let anyone down, my parents, Alfred, Bruce..you.”

She turned to him,”Me?”

He nodded softly. “Everyone talks so highly of you, even Damian. I was scared that I’d let everyone down.”

“Duke Thomas Wayne! You could never let me down, I’m sister I’m not going to make you feel bad about your decision. Besides have you seen the rest of the family, just finishing High School is enough to make Alfred happy.” The two busted out laughing before the wind and the snow began to fall down.

“Come along little Brother it’s getting cold and so is the rest of my cocoa.”

On Christmas Morning everyone torn into their gifts and after that everyone opened their gifts Duke found Y/n in the library.

“Hey, thank you for yesterday, I just talked to Dick and he helped me finish my application for Gotham University and I may even have submitted one last night Metropolis University too.”

She chuckled,”Aww Duke that’s amazing I can’t want for them to come in the mail.”

Y/n helped Duke a lot with his last remaining High School affairs like signing up for the SATs, applying for other colleges one that were so close to home in case Duke wanted to try something new. She even helped him with his AP homework though she did secretly get Jason’s help with his English papers and Tim definitely didn’t glance over and make notes on his math homework to help him understand the concepts better.

When his letters did come in the mail he was accepted into Gotham, Central City, Bludhaven and even Star City top universities. But Duke was unsure of himself again and called Y/n who had returned to Metropolis to finish her last few weeks of her degree before graduating that spring.

“What did I say before Thomas, don’t sell yourself short. You earned those spots and if they aren’t where you wanna go you don’t have to. Follow your own drum remember.”

He grinned,”Thank Sis, I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, now before i go will you please tell Dick and Dad that I will call them later, they keep calling and texting me.”

Duke doubled over laughing before telling her he’ll tell them.

Duke was the first one in the car the day before the family went to Y/n’s Graduation, him and his brothers fought over shot gun which was vetoed by Alfred who made them all sit in the back of the car.

By the time the got their the ceremony had begun and a small crowd burst through the auditorium and made their ways to their seats where Clark, Lois, Jon and Diana were already sitting.

“Late again?” Diana chuckled.

“Bathroom breaks.” Bruce replied.

Luckily Y/n was next and the group from her family was so loud that the crowd chuckled and some joined in too.

She was top of her class and even gave the speech for them.

After walking outside she was swept up to strong arms.”I’ve very proud of you.” Bruce said.

“Thanks Dad, but you’re crushing me.” Bruce reluctantly released her but she she immediately hugged by her brothers and sisters.

“You’ve made us so proud little Bat.” Dick practically sob.

“Grayson can you please stop with the dramatic.”

“Well what will you do know, are staying here or will you move back to Gotham?” Tim questioned.

She shrugged,”I dunno I will come home for a bit before I decide though.”

A choir of Yes from Damian, Duke, and Alfred didn’t go unnoticed.

“Well whatever you decide, we’ll be here for you.” Jason side hugged her.

Alder sobbed and received everyone attention,”it feels me with joy to know at least one of you finished college.”

“But Alfre—

“Silence Master don’t ruin my moment.” Bruce rolled his eyes as Clark and Lois chuckled and Diana shook her head before turning to the graduate.

“Well young one you’ve accomplished much today and I think you should be very proud of yourself.”

“I am thank you guys for coming.”

Tim scoffed,”B practically ran half off the inmates into their cells to not miss today.”

Everyone chuckled as Bruce looked aloof and starting walk towards the door,”I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

—-

I hope you enjoyed this miniseries. I will do more with different people in the DC Universe.

Specifically with the other teams next to either the JLU or the titans or all of them in some capacity.

My asks are open so please, leave me any Requests! ☺️

[nosyrobin]

Teddy bear!reader who’s trapped in the Wayne household.

Teddy bear!reader who’s practically some weird cuddly entity that resembles a teddy bear with a human form

Teddy bear!reader who has to endure all the venting, ranting the batfamily has to tell them. They can’t help but frown as it starts to get draining.

Teddy bear!reader who’s always hugged when seen. They can’t get out of the tight hold the boys get them into to. Even Bruce doesn’t let them go easily.

Teddy bear!reader who has a chip in them, shocking them when they don’t keep up the “happy bear” facade. You’re supposed to be the cute teddy they love.

Teddy bear!reader forced to be into human form so one of the boys can take them out and spoil them. But it’s only to show others that you belong to them if you somehow escape them.

Teddy bear!reader who’s starting to crack. The cuddly teddy is starting to be a grizzly bear.

————-

But that only stops when you get shocking pain in your neck. You roar, clawing at your own skin and fur. You transform between bear and human. Dick frowns as he hold the controller down. Damian could only hold a scowl watching his beloved animal act out.

Jason sits watching you beg for the pain to stop, Tim could only smile. Bruce has a hand on Dick’s shoulder. He squeezed it seeing you about to pass you. Dick stops the shocking pain.

You whimper, holding your arms. You feel your claws poke your own bruised body. Bruce kneels down, lifting your head as you flinch at his touch. “Our poor teddy….” He says lowly, he shows pity more than guilt.

It makes you sick as you try and roar at him, growl. Anything. But in the corner of your eye, you see Dick ready to press the button. You immediately stopped trying to fight. “You seem cranky..” Bruce says, he then helps you sit up as Damian moves by his father.

“Father, maybe it’s time for them to eat some honey?” He questions.

Honey…it’s not honey. It’s a drug to make you loopy. To make you obey them. To make you happy and do anything they wish to do to you.

To make you their perfect little teddy bear.

A/N: UH OH??? DID I EAT? OR DID I EAT🗣️‼️

[shortnsweetsposts]

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

Bat!reader: Leave alone, baby.

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

Bat!reader: ...

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

Batfam: Oh wow

[acid-ixx]

ch.5 pt 1: 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, typical implications of trauma and emotional neglect, allusions to self-harm.

you had always been a good kid.

you didn't have a consistent a plus, and you most certainly don't always win awards, let alone shower in a streak of gold medals and thick paper announcing your spot as first place. you're not the picture-perfect kid aunties will brag about and compare their other children to. you're not always refined, as a child born into the streets of gotham, bound to be rough around the edges—

but you were good.

and your momma always told you every night, in her hushed whispers and cuddling arms, after her sweet lullabies harmonizing with the hums of your broken fan, that it's alright if you're not the greatest; as long as you're good.

she taught you manners, to always respect everyone around you, your elders, strangers, even children your age, because blessings always come in the form of good faith if you're kind.

you believe her, of course you do, she's the only person you had in your life, the only person you needed. you should've never desired for anything else; what else could you wish for if not her love and presence only?

she's enough for you, and you're enough because she tells you too, with her siren-like eyes softening when she gazes at you with only love encrypted in her eyes, her once seductive smile plastered all over wanted posters now beaming with joy at having you in her arms rather than inauthentic pursuits of attracting men around her.

you always followed through with her words, because you love her and it's no doubt that she loved you more than enough too, too much that she had to continue on with her prostitute lifestyle to provide for your little family, too much that it was the reason why she had to be killed off in the first place.

because of her, you chose to be kind, you chose to lower yourself, to never raise your voice higher than those around you, to be humble, and to never show when you're at your limit, even to others closest to you other than your mother.

you remember so little of her the more you age, you grasp on straws just reminiscing on every moment spent with her.

"a good kid," she says, her voice almost a tantalizing memory threatening to drift away, "won't finish first, but fate will always make sure that they never finish last. so choose to be good, alright, baby?"

"yes, momma," your reply came in curtly, tiny fingers playing with the ends of her hair, without moment's hesitation, or doubt in the meaning of her words.

because her words are god for someone like you, because she is your mother who always knew what's best—

because she is your mother, and you may not like her for who she is as a person, for all the wrongs she did in the past before throwing it all away to raise you; but you love her either way, and follow whichever path she leads you to like a little duckling...

a good kid doesn't finish first, but they'll eventually get what they always wanted, right?

even if they wait for weeks, months, years; fate will find a way...

so why can't you have you have what he have right now?

why, just why, are you always finishing last?

why can't you receive the same attention tim did when he was first introduced?

elegant, poised, a rich boy with millionaire parents who had so much to spend, standing proudly and confidently at the doorstep of the manor, as if he had already belonged the moment he stepped foot into the staircase. thirteen year old, older and taller than you, better than you.

the memory is still clear as day, because it was the same day you had bothered alfred to update you on your offer to hang outside in the gardens with your father, only for the butler to look down at you with the same sympathetic eyes and tired smile, retelling you in his familiar excuse that bruce is busy.

'papa is busy,' the words echo in your brain in a mocking tandem, you wish to bang your head on the kitchen's mahogany doors at another attempt rejected. you wish to rip at your hair like you always do. but you can't, you just can't because alfred is in the same room as you, aged hands patting the delicate strands atop your head. you feel disappointment, you always do, then it's shame; shame because it's always alfred who has to witness your bated breaths and spilling tears at another day wasted alone—!

shame because this always happens, it's like bruce never wanted you in the first place; he probably doesn't even think you exist.

but of course, your young brain reasons, your father's always busy when it comes to you, only you.

his timetable consists of mourning his dead son, handling wayne enterprises and juggling his philanthropist career. when will you ever be worth enough that he places you in the same pedestal as all his other obligations?

and back then, you thought every night he spends missing are nights spent with multiple women— back when you've not known of his identity.

yet the point stands still, his missions do not relate to whatever situation stands before you now.

why?

why is it him to who answers the door to tim, the young boy's piercing blue eyes looking up at your father in a challenging gaze? whilst you stand, restlessly in a corner at the scene that unfolds before you. why is it him, who at first makes bruce hesitate, yet still take in the boy holding the camera, hand on his back to guide him inside, as the boy speaks cryptic words you couldn't fathom as you watch behind arch of the living room?

your blood curdles, heart starts to pound out if its gilded cage, and you feel your body buzzing in pure, unadulterated envy, the sole emotion you feel clawing its way into your vision; you see green, you can't see anything else but the scene before you. shaky breaths, blurry vision, balance barely stable as alfred could only offer a pat on your back and his pitying gaze on you.

no words, not even comfort, the manor seems dark again, everything feels as if it's closing into your body and devouring you whole.

why, why, why?

the questions circulate, the memories resurface all the time at just how easy it was for tim, just how he didn't even need to beg to have your father, yes, your father to keep his eyes on a boy whom he have only spoken once in his lifetime.

tim doesn't need alfred to relay a message, he doesn't even need to hesitate being in the same room as the man who seems always a mile away from you, who could never look down even when your fingers come up to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves, just like how you did with your mother's hair, all in the name of getting him to see you.

but you're not tim, you're perfect, you never will be.

it hurts, everything hurts when a stranger, someone like tim had the opportunity to talk to bruce, you never had any—!

even if you're always good, even if you always tried to succeed in your academics, your extracurriculars, your everything, even if you always try...

... the moment timothy jackson drake stepped into the manor, the moment his shining blue eyes, almost twinkling like yours when you've been first introduced, stared analytically at the man you called father, was the moment it piqued his interest; was the moment you knew that being good doesn't equate getting what you always wanted:

the attention of a father who chose to cope with grief in another new robin partner instead.

to be bruce's child first, rather than an afterthought later.

ever since then, ever since tim came into the picture, it was harder to gain bruce's attention. even alfred was divided between you and your seemingly divine... brother who just decided to take your place, who will soon be bruce's third child, erasing your name off of his memory.

being good was not enough, being great didn't even compare— your mother's words seemed easily overshadowed by the gnawing jealousy at just how wonderful your new brother is, at just how similar he is in regards to bruce, but different and also infinitely better than you.

it was the first crack in your fragile, glass heart after it had been wrapped in thousands of bandages from the heartbreak of your mother, it was the first rip at the seams at the already lacerated wounds that emotional neglect has left you.

from the days, weeks, months, you couldn't recall, trying to form some sort of interaction with bruce, dick and now even tim, instead of having alfred be your medium of communication.

from the cold, rainy nights spent with just your thin blankets and fading memories of your mother to soothe you from the nightmares that relishes in your fear.

imagining what it's like having your father speak words of assurances in a dull, almost alien-like tremor (you've never even heard his voice up close before...) comforted you at first, but now it became thousands of hushed whispers wishing you were never born in the first place if it meant your trepidation would end.

and it would've been better, the dread that buzzes restlessly under your skin could've been satiated if tim had even the decency to acknowledge your presence. but just like bruce, god, just like dick who had easily accepted the smart, academically talented boy as his own sibling— you're still amounted to nothing to be even considered worthy.

good, but not enough, not worth the effort of being greeted every morning, not worth the time spending small talks with. even dick, the athlete who once promised to ditch some patrols in bludhaven in passing moment's as an excuse to swat you away, have now opted to bother the newest addition to the family, forgetting that it was you who idolized him the most—

even if it was tim who met him at the carnival first, before dick's parents had died, going as far to dedicate the entire act for the boy— it was you watching him through the broken down television too, legs swinging back and forth on your springy, dusty couch as you doodle him doing stunts, talking to you because he meant the world to you too after you realized he was considered a brother to you.

tim met him first, yet you did so too, but as his younger sibling instead...! so it's unfair, it's unfair, everything is so unfair. tim and his stupid fucking goals of helping your father cope, your father, not his, his parents are alive, your mother is gone, goddamnit—!

it's all unfair. your mother says the world treats good kids like you right, so why...?

... what else could he want? what else does he want to take away from you?

and how could you blame him...?

he was perfect in the sense that you aren't. he was what bruce needed: a reliable pillar of support, stubborn enough to deal with the stress piling up with the loss of his second child, qualities that couldn't be seeked in you even if anyone tries their hardest to squint past that once wide-eyed, vulnerable exterior of yours.

all they could see is a broken child, but not of their own. they could offer you sympathy, pity at just how terrible your past came to be, but that's what every child of gotham goes through. not even witnessing your mother's last gulps of breath would be unique enough to pique their attention. they couldn't possibly see you being part of their family, never.

you learn quickly, that the world has always been unfair, that sometimes, your mother's words aren't always right, not always the best. you need to be better than best, but you couldn't.

so you still chose to be good still, because what else could you do? who else could your identity be outside of the morals she had taught you?

that's who you always are—

that's who you always will be.

always the lesser one. always the forgotten muse and the unspoken poetry.

because that's what good people are, always belittling themselves for others, always allowing the bigger people to step on them like ants. to crush on their hopes and dreams like the crumbs of bread that spill onto the sides of a pavement.

tim is a good person, it was why he wanted to help bruce in the first place, but you couldn't also forget the fact that he's the perfect son for bruce too— that's the main difference between you both. you're worlds apart. he's naturally smart, almost flawless both physically and mentally, and helps slowly but surely fill the hole in bruce's heart unlike you who realizes that you'll only deepen it instead.

and you're a good kid, you're his good child, you wish you were his kid.

you're kind but never the greatest, talented but not good enough.

and that's who you'll always will be.

just a person defined by their worth, by the words of their mother. just a kid with nothing more than a smile to offer, no matter how strained the side of your lips are, no matter if the tears threaten to crawl out your eyes like spiders the longer your presence get ignored—

you're good, but you'll never be good enough.

... so what made you better now? what made you worthy now that all their eyes are now on you?

you wish it was easy to answer, but life's always unfair to a good kid like you.

has anyone ever noticed why the wayne manor has been so dull lately?

why don't the blooms stand so prideful in the gardens nowadays? surely, alfred's green thumb could fix the problem, but it's been months and the most eminent scent that fixes upon their nostrils could only be obtained if they sniff hard enough to smell fresh flowers amongst the scent of mud after rain or wet concrete.

why does titus seem so down these days? damian tried to play tricks with him; his beloved pet only replied with a loud, high-pitched whine in reply and lay languidly at velvet carpets with a bone on his slack jaw. his owner noticed how his tail seemed to wag less the more the days passed by. and damian isn't stupid, but he notices how titus, with the addition of alfred the cat, would often frequent sniffing and lay on a spot damian's familiar with; one he's sure a certain rival of his would only sit upon whenever they'd hide from him.

why have there been fewer homemade baked treats in the pantry? hell, they seem to lessen every single day someone opens the pantry. wasn't it alfred who baked them? was there a thief who had been stealing, or was the steady decline not mere coincidence? nobody else took a hobby to baking, since they've all been frequently absent, prioritizing their patrols and mostly taking the cookies and crinkles at the end of their shift, munching on the treats all for themself. alfred hasn't definitely been taking a break and refuses any offers to, yet the lack of goods was noticable, and whenever alfred bakes, it doesn't quite share the same sugary, or savory goodness the past deserts have been sporting.

why has there been silence, one that so ominous, for months? dick swore he'd often hear someone conversing through doors with alfred. at first he assumed it would be tim, or cass, but with how feeble and meek the voice was, yet talkative and light with an accent he's sure he heard from bruce. yet he dismissed the implication of another presence in the room. but as of current, he misses that strange voice that speaks of stories about highschool drama and friends for terrible influences.

has the rooms been lacking of music lately? tim frequents the soft, buzzing hums his hyperactive form hears from across the living room or near the fireplace's burning embers. sometimes he'd be lulled to sleeping whenever he hears specific melodies. he'd listen so often that he even managed to recognize his favorite tunes with just a single note, eyes slowly closing every time he's in close proximity with that unknown voice, conditioned to finally sleep like a pavlovian dog. tim has been losing sleep these days, eyebags frequent in his eyes. he misses the music, he misses his only saving grace during restless nights with even energy drinks and bitter coffee being ineffective.

why has the dust been collecting off the bookshelves of their library? whenever jason visits the library, there would always be fingerprints he'd find on certain books, one he'd pick up and come to enjoy reading. some were collections of series, others being short novels. the ghost that graces him these recommendations, who sometimes even brings new books, hasn't been in the library for months now, and he's skittish the more he visits the manor each time. the library was his sanctuary for all the moments he'd have fights with bruce, or felt too deep into his traumatic anguishes. the tastes he shares with this lone stranger who visits the library at different lapses than him was now gone, and he's noticed the anger that pangs deep in his chest every damn time dust has been collected off of books, with no fingerprint in sight.

just, why has it been so silent lately? both physically and figuratively. no music dawns their ears, no hinge of the fridge being heard throughout the night, or at least the faint mutters of an unknown whispering.

these were all unsaid questions buried deep in the minds of the people under the roof of the manor. now the only things they could feel were the heavy knocks of the rain on the window and the cold sensation of tiled floors on their already covered soles.

it wasn't noticable by chance, but it could be felt by everyone, both inhabitants and visitors.

and the answers lie simple: it's a secret.

they're the deals you make when you want someone to keep their mouth shut close, they're the things you swear your life to to never confess upon. they're the unsaid statements which helped torment a certain child under the roof of an already lonely and ghostly manor.

sometimes, secrets don't take in the form of someone making one up, but rather, it takes in the form of an unspoken agreement, a pact with your surroundings, an untold promise with nature or the things around you.

you were never particularly secretive with your talents, for arts, baking, or anything that takes in the field of creativity. you kept to yourself, and don't bother anymore to annoy your family to look upon a sketch only to be dismissed, or to taste the treats you hide by a pantry for later consumption; but you loved it still whenever alfred gave you the creative liberty to stroll around the manor to decorate the bleak place into a less melancholic version of a gothic abandoned house by the forest, left with only the legacy of a long-standing family.

it was just, you never find it necessary to tell anyone why there's a charcoal portrait of alfred hanged in one of the uncrowded hallways, or why the colors of the walls change momentarily, or why certain colors of flowers were more present by the garden than other colors— so maybe you could consider that a secret.

and it made you feel less lonely, if even by a fraction. yet you don't know it, but your acts of service to the manor was what made the family enjoy their stay a bit longer, was what made them appreciate the backdrop of a new wallpaper they had thought alfred had chosen, or find the designs of resin furniture adorable.

you don't know it, but you were what made mundane living enjoyable for those who seek to relish in the sheer feeling of adrenaline instead.

when you were first taken into the manor, you were the reason why all their senses were stimulated. tiny, malnourished you couldn't keep your toes in place once you've been exposed to a new, more bigger environment.

back then, the manor carried this atmosphere of darkness, a reflection of bruce wayne's grief after his beloved parents' passing away from his arms. yet you took that pain, and turned it from its bleak, grayish colors, to an intimate, fluorescent glow. a soft, bright light emits from one of the random rooms, with custom-made beads dangling about and glow in the dark stickers that litter the room. it was one not too blinding to the eyes, and felt warm like the touch of a mother to their crying child.

your cooking of sweet treats were the ones they often like to fight over. it was through alfred's secret recipes he bestowed upon you, and your own alterations for your baking, that the kitches would always smell of cinnamon, brown butter, and caramelized sugar. it was because of you that you made the manor smell sweeter, more homey, like what would've smelled of an apartment during christmas eve. you've made them associate the kitchen with both famous, foreign, and local recipes that they came to love. steph loved it whenever she'd stumble upon a cookie decorated with purple, cass finds the ribbons on some cupcakes cute, associating it with ballet.

every time bruce, tim, or dick needs a place to destress, they often visit rooms with sweet humming or the occasional singing. it was sometimes gibberish, others with lyrics, yet pleasing to their ears all the same. it reminds them of their mothers' singing, whenever they'd knit or praise their precious jewelry. it makes bruce's stiff posture slacken, finding that odd voice sometimes sharing his talking habits through the lyrics they sang. dick would always sing along, feeling as if he was back in time with his mother playing with his hair as she sings circus music, and tim would close his tired eyes, laying his head on his hand as he dreams pleasant scenarios for once in his life.

although you never once felt any of their embrace, they've certainly felt yours in their hearts, minds, and sometimes even their body; a spiritual connection they've felt with you without even knowing it. the last time damian touched you was when he pinned your wrists to your side. and even if he tried his hardest to ignore the raging beat of his heart, screaming at him to release you from the tight cage of his grip, he refuses to. out of sheer anger and petty spite, or the desire to feel the skin of his sibling who struggles to let go from his hold, he doesn't know. but he certainly does remember how your palms lack callouses unlike his does, and how warm your touch felt, even if blazing with cold sweat from his threats.

he had remembered the smell of your sweat and even the taste of your tears by accident and committed it to memory.

it was through your indirect care that everyone felt loved and cared for, and find themselves enjoying the sweet, small moments of living within what was once a stuffy manor holding painful memories.

and nobody knows why — with the exception of dick, bruce, and damian now — that despite the batcave being filled with the entire family, it felt empty all the same.

well, not entirely empty, but bleak with color. every hue remained gray in their eyes, the pipe leaks were eminent, heavy breathing was evident all throughout. no music catched on to their ears, and they all remain skittish and rigid.

it seems as if everyone has catched on, that they're all holding their breath together as the leader of the group, batman, looks around to do a silent head count.

after all, he told both dick and damian to update the family that this meeting is urgent, and no one shall even bother ditching, or else they wouldn't get to the bottom of your disappearance without all the help they could receive.

in a race to get you, they need to burn off all resources or god help bruce because he'd run himself crazy searching for you.

alfred doesn't want that happening, but he understands.

you're important, and no one could dispute that fact. after bruce had gone through your all your diaries, your sketchbooks that he had to pry away from damian's possessive hold, and the box of belongings that you left that he stashed away in his office— he knew he couldn't just leave his child out in the streets of gotham.

you're his child, and a damn child of his means his responsibility. either he likes the obligation or not, it's his duty to protect you from the harm of living in such a dangerous city. and you're certainly not a vigilante, he'd already ran through multiple recent investigations before everyone came rushing down to the batcave to confirm you're not connected with any bad guys; which was good, and bad news.

that means you chose not to undergo the same, dangerous path jason chose, or rebel like damian, yet at the same time you must've been incapable of self defense.

and he knows that even if you fight with normal moves; without his guidance against a gallery of brutal villains out to destroy batman or anyone related to bruce, you're dead meat. bruce doesn't want you dead. the only times he wants to hold you in his arms were the ones unconnected to you laying limp with your last breath, no. he wants you alive, and well, and safe from harm.

his precious baby, his treasure. he wants to see your face in one piece, and he wishes cradle you in his arms. just because you're over eighteen doesn't mean he's fully lost you. he's your father, first and foremost, and your hero second.

that's why it's imperative that everybody follows his orders now, with the primary order being that everyone, under the guise of currently not holding a mission, is required to be in the batcave within the first thirty or forty-five minutes of the announcement. no, there's no excuses that should be said, or buts. this meeting is a priority meeting, and as vigilantes who fight for the safety of their city's citizens, they know not to disobey.

and as family members related to bruce's precious second youngest, it's an obligation for them to care as much as bruce, dick, and even damian does for the search of your disappearance.

though apparently, jason couldn't get that message, and didn't bother to update through comms over where he's at the opposite side of gotham, his devices turned off after he had recently gone off in a rebellious tangent yet again about bruce's refusal to mercilessly slaughter the deserving ones.

he'll lecture his second child soon after he reports to bruce, mentioning your safety on the line while at it, but right now?

right now he needs to address the elephant in the room: the overbearing anxiousness and antsiness everyone collectively feels, bruce's stern eyes replicating the anger, the surge of energy he feels to exact vengeance on every crime that litters the street, the same urgency he felt compelled to drown upon right after his parents have died right in front of him.

whilst alfred's knowing ones stare at each and every one of the culprits of your disappearance, all a direct reason why you had left in the first place.

someone sighs, and it's not bruce who speaks up first amongst the crowd of vigilantes.

"so what now, father? are we all just going to stand here, or are we going to address the main issue? or do you want me to be the one who brings them back home? i wouldn't mind finding them before all of you do."

"this is not the time to be... you, damian, we're all....we all need time to think." it was dick who spoke next, with a sense of urgency, as his eyes that tried his damn best to stare at damian softly, with a smile to accompany it, immediately plasters itself back on his phone, spamming your phone with messages damian was sure were all about him begging for you to take them all back. without any fights, without any hesitation.

ever the pacifist, one would think. but everyone could see wide blue eyes, glinting at the screen. begging for mercy for such a lost case, tears nearly rimming his eyelids, lips bitten raw as blood drips down his quivering chin.

cass could read his movements, she knows he's mad. but not even a master of body language is in need to know just how much dick's rage emanates off his body.

fingers clenched on his phone, teeth gritted as he spoke, eyes frantically searching through messages, scrolling up, then down, as if he's waiting for something. for someone no doubt.

tim deduces that the person they're focused on for this urgent meeting was the same person dick was trying to text. 'must've been related or close to us if it means it's this important for everyone to be involved.'

he'll look through dick's phone later to solve the itching case, his fingers twitching to whip out his side in the batcave's screen and make a new case file.

but he chose to ignore it for now, they all do, each one focusing on their primary worries.

"who's them? wait— what even are we gonna talk about?" duke's voice rang loudly through the cave. it at least broke through the tension, bruce's tense shoulders sagging in relief then suddenly reverting back to its old, rigid pose.

everyone noticed the action. they're trained individuals after all.

barbara flinched through her seat at the sight of the man, with her hands readily available to type at the keyboard. though her eyes stay glued at batman, looking deeper and noticing his fervoured state.

it's as if he is lost in thought.

and with just how much thoughts were racing in his mind, it's easy to drown. to get lost in that mirage of memories trying to link an image of you to anything he tries to remember. even now, bruce wants to see your face first and foremost. he wants to see an image of you sleeping in your tiny, creaking bed, and to erase any of those memories to replace it with new luxuries he could provide you in life; a comfort you should've been blessed with the moment you entered the double doors of his manor.

his string of pearls, his little treasure.

"(name). they left, and i need all of you to listen to me, now. rebuttals later."

when bruce spoke up, gruff and domineering, with no room for anyone to speak back, all eyes were now on him.

dick throws his phone across the room, ignoring the shatter of the pure, aluminum branded back of it. his foot was jittering, and his voice was as ready to command orders with bruce.

blue eyes stare, vicious and hungry, impatient at its prime. with the addition of damian's green, squinted ones, and bruce's stern glare, thundering and clouded.

it was a spectacle to witness the same emotions coursing through their veins. as if they're one and the same; vultures feeding off the feeling of need and urgency to actuate what seems to be an already brewing plan on the trio's part.

the rest, unknowing of what had just occurred half an hour ago within your bedroom, listens.

they ignore the gnawing feeling of intuition, of something, right at this moment, going wrong, just to hear bruce's explanation, with dick and damian butting in.

they listen, fascinated about you being bought up, a name so foreign yet familiar, a mystery in their eyes despite having met or seen you occasionally; a glimpse of you running through hallways or painting in the garden.

they listen, and all the individuals let deep, feral emotions fester within them the longer they allow their ears and their mind to devour the words dick says, all syllables a symphony of praises towards you, each vowel accentuating his favor.

they listen, and learned.

whatever happened within the batcave, is also a secret.

you have your own secrets. they have theirs.

except, yours were discovered, and they choose to let emotions brewing deep in their hearts as obscured within public view.

tim wants to search for you, steph joins in on his sentiment too. barbara's already at it whilst she types and listens in on bruce's words, cass ponders about your invisible presence and just like bruce, tries to think of memories of you stumbling by her, and duke just as much attempts to picture your face and remembers something sentimental; one he'd ponder on later once he's alone.

now they all know your secrets, not everything, but a semblance of it. they discover their neglects, and acknowledge the consequences. why throughout their stirring arguments, they all couldn't find your handmade night-lights that they like to look at during the dark, or smell the baked crusts on your home-made pumpkin pie recipe, or the humming of random music through the halls.

because you've never once visited the batcave—

and it was the only room not graced with your courtesy, care, passions, and love.

they listen to bruce's plan, yet they ignore the growing dread.

they ignore why jason is radio-silent all throughout too.

instead, they focus on you, trying to reminisce on old, buried memories they at least spent with you. good ones, not the ones containing your meek begs, and heartbroken gazes. or the ones where you stood in the corner of a room watching them talk. or the times where you all had dinner together and you're left in the wake of silence despite the chatter filling the dining room.

... and once they couldn't muster anything up, they figured on creating new ones instead.

warm.

this place feels so unnaturally warm, that it seeks shelter under your skin. warm, yet welcoming at the same time.

...where are you?

your bleary eyes slowly open, blinking gradually, squinting out the streaks of white in your vision. it's always a hassle to wake yourself up. sleep has never been peaceful for you: always awoken by nightmares, or tormenting paralysis, sometimes mere insomnia causes you to lay awake and sweating in your tiny room. and your dreams always has to involve your family, one way or another; of course it's always about them, they've been your only source of life despite never being there for yours. but now? now you feel like you've had a complete 9 hour cycle of sleep, with no hint of fatigue in your body.

you've never had any proper sleep. ever since you saw... you saw her dying that it never registers within your mind just how deprived you are of rest, constantly haunted by memories you wish you just could... forget. but you couldn't, not when your beloved mother is the only precious reminder you have in life to stay alive.

your arms, arms that were always sore, in twisted positions, bruised and with faded scars from all the times you felt too impulsed to hurt, the only way to forget the mental torment you've gone through; now lay atop cozy sheets with no pain bared, no extra sheen of sheen on sweat. your fingers stretch, you caress the pillows your head lays on, cold to the touch against your warm, uncrying face.

it feels nice, feels crisp against your skin. your ears don't burn and you don't feel the need to flip your pillow to the colder side.

a yawn slowly escaped your lips. you lick them, they're not chapped, nor dry. they don't feel bitten, nor streaked with blood. you lick again, there's no familiar sting, nor the taste of blood that seeps against cracked skin.

'this is strange.'

you feel unusually relaxed, your breathing's oddly steady. there's no scent of smoke and pollution invading your nostrils, no shadow of doubt cloaking your mind.

you don't feel like dying today.

it feels so nice, the weather's so weird... pleasant. but this? it's not normal, gotham has never felt so quiet today. there has never been a time where you wake up feeling so... human. this is not routine. you're not used to this. god, everything's so strange and yet...

it's been so long since you last felt like you were... home. wispy streaks of particles dance under the soft light that beams outside of crooked, wooden windows. it casts an angelic glow on your surroundings, unlike the shrouded darkness you're accustomed to.

your eyes do a double take, churning mechanically at an angle where you can clearly see the glass panes.

"hm?" windows that always fog up with polluted specks of dust, now clear, and bright as day. it feels like the sun is kissing your skin through the light that enters the glass, you feel the at ease as your bones crack comfortably, and your muscles stretch without ache.

and you...

you're laying in a thick mattress that buries you in deep burgundy sheets. blankets wrapped around your body like a welcoming hug, you're reminded of your mother yet again.

your heart thumps rhythmically, not erratically this time, no— you've never felt so invigorated. it's been a while since you slept in a comfortable bed, in a comfortable setting, with a comfortable atmosphere. not the sound of blades hit your ears, nor the honking of cars, or ringing of phones. wherever you're laying didn't feel stiff like cardboard back in your apartment, the pillowcases are cool to the touch. your clothes don't encase you uncomfortably tight, there's no random thread that persists on irritating your skin.

it feel so oddly peculiar, so comforting, and you want to cry.

you feel light, airy even. there's nothing but the buzz of empty warmth that encapsulates your entire body. you're not used to this, this disgusting feeling of comfort, you don't think it's real.

only one response enters your mind, the only thing you're accustomed to.

'i don't deserve this.' your thoughts drown you into a deep sea of anguish, but the dichotomy of comfort and pain stirs you into satiating confusion. this is the first time you felt blessed, the first time you wish you were good enough to feel like you're worthy of deserving such goodness in your life.

suddenly, you feel like crying, but no tears escape your eyes, and your heart refuses to beat out of its cage. you're in a trance that refuses to release you from its comforting hold.

the hazy tune of birds chirping snaps you out of your deprecating reflection of your life.

when you squint and look out the windows once more, you make out a faint reflection of green, dominating the entire view second floor view of what is supposed your home.

for the first time, you don't feel fear reminiscing on that earthly shade of color.

you're in a... forest.

your nose picks up on the scent of the damp, green, grasslands. your eyes makes out the scenery outside, droplets of water slowly dripping on tall leaves, the rivulets travelling from blades of leaves to nourished, wet soil. it produces this stimulating smell, one you haven't been able to experience for months living in the polluted air outside the windows of your apartment.

petrichor.

you don't know what, or how, or why this is happening.

all you know is common knowledge, something perceived through senses and observations. you're in a cottage, yes, the interior layout is filled with personal trinkets you know you would've bought with money if you even had it, and furniture suited to both you tastes and your mother's... but otherwise, nothing else.

other than memories of a fantasy you shared with your mother, back when you were innocent to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and its merciless passions.

"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 23.

i remember one conversation i had with my mother.

it was about something related to where would we choose to live if we had the choice. she asked me that, out in the random, and that took me by surprise to say the least.

huh, during that time, i never knew her intentions for my answers.

i answered her sincerely, told her that, well, i wanted to live in a comfortable cottage, with two floors and a spacious bedroom for me, with hers right beside mine; so she can keep all the monsters away when i got too scared living by my own.

i wanted fairy lights strewn on the roof of my room, and matching glow in the dark stickers of stars and constellations with hers, just like the ones we have in our quaint apartment. i told her it wouldn't be complete without the mini figurines on top of raspberry colored cabinets, the ones that i loved to collect whenever we thrifted at stores, and most importantly the picture frames of us together.

she giggled at my reply, and told me it was such a 'me' thing to choose what i had said. but i retorted and told her she'd choose the same thing. and she said i said what exactly was on her mind.

thinking about that memory now, i feel warm despite the fact that bruce forgot to attend another parent-teacher conference again this week. every memory of my mother... tugs at my heart, both painful and nostalgic. i miss her.

if my momma was here, she wouldn't even hesitate to pull out of whatever side hussle she had for a job at the first second i'd mention something about my school. she always prioritizes me as her only child. it makes me feel special, and loved, and cared for— i haven't felt that in a long time. i won't lie that alfred's presence helps but a mother's love precedes all essence.

i love her so much. i wish i never took her for granted.

now that i think about it too...

if my momma was here, we could've been in that cottage right now, living our lives, carefree, without nothing to worry us. whether it'd be food in our plates or money to pay the bills. we'll always be happy with mushroom foraging and sitting by the warm fireplace i pictured, with her homemade hot chocolate by the table. she'd be nestled beside me, keeping me warm. that's enough to make me happy, enough to dismiss the heaviness in my heart as i write this.

i wish we were at that cottage right now, forever actually. i don't need a big family, all i need is my mom. and sure we'll have some arguments along the way but it wouldn't be as bad as, well, damian threatening to draw his sword on me and stab me at the heart every second i made him mad, which is always...

funny thing is... fuck, i never noticed how she was saving up money and starving herself whilst simultaneously keeping me well-fed so she could pursue my dreams of actually getting a cottage. i was so oblivious to everything that i just, i never noticed that she was earning all this, to build my dreams, so we can escape from gotham and live new lives with each other by our side.

she was doing all this, for the sake of my comfort, my happiness, my everything. she lives her life with no breaks, and retired from her previous job as a... sex worker just so i can live normally, so i wouldn't be ashamed of being her child, of seeing her as my mother. she was everything i needed in my life. she sacrificed, and i took it for granted.

and i wanted to scold her so badly; doing this for such a lost cause as me. it hurts to think about it now.

so what if i wanted a cottage? what about it if i'm now living with my father, huh? i don't care about living comfortably at all, if that meant i didn't have mother by my side, to support me, to actually love me, then what is a house all worth for??? all i wanted and needed was her, just her. and they took me away from my mother.

my mother.

your heart breaks at the seems whilst you write that faithful night, the grip on your pen near to leaving dents on your finger. if it draws out blood, then so be it. your handwriting turns unintelligible, strokes not knowing where to end. what once was clean, white sheets of paper now crumpled by your despair, by the tears that escaped your eyes, by your fists balling at the paper, all your emotions boiling down to mere grief.

if bruce mourns for jason, you do so too for your mother.

yet you continue to write, and write, and write. it's the only medium of comfort you have, the only means to treasure memories long gone, heartaches and comfort all a coagulation of your retreat to the real world.

if dreams can come true, then you wish the fantasies of your mother being with you comes alive, that she'd be by your side, taking your pen away from your hands, kissing your sweaty forehead and matted tresses, assuring you she's fine. she'll smile with crinkling eyes, and set your quivering hands to a stop, then wrap you in her arms, shielding you away from the burden of living without her.

if you were her flower, then she is your hearth. the only warmth you'd feel in such a cold manor, the only one capable of dipping her hands into your chest, taking your beating heart, and melting off the frigid locks that kept your love in place ever since her death.

only then can you say that dreams do come true, only then can you rest; close your eyes without praying for a dreamless slumber, without nightmares, without swords piercing your body, or the dismissive turn of your family's back on you.

but if dreams do come true, what does that say about nightmares?

only reality can tell.

or you can tell.

at you current state, seated restless on your tiny room with barely any illuminated moonlight guiding your tired body, tormented by both past and future, writing endlessly on journals soon to be forgotten— wouldn't that be considered a nightmare? to be subjected upon unwanted isolation, from the very same people who promised their lives to protect lives such as yours.

your family, your father, brothers and sisters. through empty promises alone; all enough to destroy you inside out.

talentless, worthless, out of place.

yet even if your diaries were all torn apart, pages seeping with both blood and tears, you still write.

you write, and you continue through your endeavors. what once were fond memories were the same monsters chasing you through barren halls and empty rooms.

after all, it's the only way to honor her passing, even if it kills you all the same.

you continue, wiping at your sullen cheeks, and brushing away ripped strands of hair; pen inseparable from stubborn, swollen fingers.

now i'm living here, in this big manor, with nothing going on for me. i have alfred, and he's like a father figure right after mom, but it doesn't change anything... it doesn't change the grief i feel, the sorrow, the unwaning depression. nothing. i couldn't even get myself to stand up from bed because i'm so fed up with everything.

if i didn't try so hard in the first place, i would've never been left this destroyed.

i want to give up, i want to die and just disappear off the face of earth. no one would notice, and at least after i die, i would be reunited with her— but I can't. why?

i have to remind myself everyday. i just can't give up and let all her efforts go to waste. she doesn't want me dying, earlier than her age, too. she told me i couldn't just let go so easily, that life is beautiful if you try to find its hidden beauty. i'm still trying to find meaning in all her wise words, i can't just take her honor for granted, especially since i know that despite everything, she has her own anguish and regrets.

does she regret having me?

right now, i feel a spark of motivation. she's been saving up, just for me, and i want to honor her memories at least. if i can't feel like home in this manor, then i'll make myself a home. to honor her, and to build upon both our dreams.

i don't know when, or how i could even engage in this impossible goal. but for momma? i'll do anything for her, even if it means working myself to death. because at least that means proof that i tried, and she'll be proud of me in the afterlife. god, i hope she would be.

we'll get that cottage soon, momma. i promise."

thinking about it now, that was ten entries right after your breakdown during your birthday. it was at a period of time where you fully accepted that you'd never be loved by your family, that you never belonged, and matured just as quickly after taking a break from writing self destructive diaries.

you sigh, looking down at your clenched palms and indenting fingers on skin. you really wish she was here. it could've made everything better, you would've been better if she was by your side.

a knock ensures before your door, and that alone snaps you out of your thoughts. you jump in shock yet feel no pang of panic in your heart, but before you could reach out to defend yourself, the door opens after the prior knock, and your...

your mother enters.

angelic, glowing, beautiful.

she's decorated in a white dress, with a pearl necklace decorating her neck, glinting like diamonds, soft in its assertion. like an angel, rather than the devil she's portrayed to be in the newspapers she hid from you.

she looks beautiful, as always, breath-taking to the point it makes you wonder how you share the same genes as her.

but her beauty now precedes her beauty from when you last saw her bleeding in the cold tiles of your apartment. now, she looks old, yet ethereal. wrinkles flecked her skin, her eyes drooped at the lids, her hairs displayed streaks of white in some areas.

you've never seen her like this.

she had you very young, and you've lost her young. yet she looks as she's rebirthed now, living yet aging like fine wine.

she is happy, and content with her smile, and looks at you with a radiant grin, smile marks on her sunken cheeks, like you mean the world, walking towards your seated form as she hugs you weakly, yet lovingly.

warm, like the spring's gentle blooms, like the feel of petals rubbed against your fingertips.

you're caught breathless.

"momma...?"

beauty that is true, that is honest, and speaks of history. beyond the barriers of photos you see in her at her prime, when she was known as a 'man-eater', a lustful creature that steals from rich to survive.

you've never lied when you said your mother is always going to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

at least, in your eyes. because if she objectively was, then your father could've, should've stayed with her, for the sake of his pride and reputation at the very least. he could've had her by his side, even through a loveless marriage, if it meant it ensured her safety.

you dismiss the bitterness the brews inside you, and opted to focus at the strange, yet welcome circumstances beforehand.

your hands find a way to wrap around her crouched figure, fingers lingering on the once sinewy bones of her spine, now healthy even through the sagging skin.

"my baby..." you look up at her, her hands holding your head so tenderly, cradling you side to side.

"momma..." she kisses your forehead, then both your cheeks, and takes a seat beside you. when she did, you felt a surge of energy and warmth burst throughout both your body and heart. for once, you felt giddy, solitary confinement all but a dream in this fantasy land.

you don't let her hands go for even a second, fearing this moment will be taken away from you. there's warmth emanating off the fingers intertwined with yours, you wish this moment never ends.

the questions that almost left your silken throat took hesitation. you just can't ask why she's alive, where you are and why you're here in the first place; for fear she'll be taken away from you, that you couldn't see her beyond the conjured and brief memories you had of her.

you wish to cry once again, this time, you let out a small hiccup and feel saliva bundling on the back of your mouth. she hums in resounding worry, her other hand swiping away at the hair covering your wide eyes. the softness in her eyes doesn't falter, and she hums a familiar lullaby: one that triggers nostalgia, that reminds you of the days spent without electricity in your tiny apartment with her lighting a candle just so she could read you another one of your favorite stories, huddled beside her.

the last you've heard of her voice, it was parched and inaudible. she always sacrificed for you, and drinkable water was a privilege in the shady parts of gotham.

"you're probably wondering where you are and why we're here, aren't you, sunshine?" she cuts her singing off abruptly, your eyes snap open to look up at her through your eyelashes.

"... y-yeah," your reply comes in, voice barely whisper. unsure and insecure of where this conversation will go, you chose to bury your head in her shoulder. she smells of ripe strawberry and cherries, unlike the mixture bold perfumes mixed with the stench of booze she comes home with after another night of restless endeavor. yet you don't acknowledge the memories of the past, you're here with her now and it's all that matters.

"where are we, mom? am i... dreaming? please, i- i miss you." this time, your tears come out in a steady stream, but your throat doesn't constrict in itself, and you don't feel the urge to rip at your hair at anymore.

now you're just terribly sentimental rather than bitter. no more was the jealousy that aches, or the panic rushing through your veins. it's just you and your mother, and the memories of her passing that buries you at the hilt of your sadness.

"well... you're in the realm between life and death, my little angel," she states with lidded eyes, as if it is a matter of fact. her hands move to scratch your scalp, she hums and swings your crying body side to side, akin to a mother cradling her newborn baby.

you felt particularly reborn, the sudden change affecting you more than you'd like to admit. the light outside your window casts her in a sheen of white, glimmering like rays of the sun, or like the twinkle of the moon.

even if she was old, and grey and wrinkly, she's always been ethereal.

and you're convinced that she's the angel instead.

"you've been through a lot, haven't you?" her questions brought you out of your tearful stupor, she brings her lips to kiss at your forehead and wraps her palms on the sides of your face, wiping away at the waterworks refusing to cease.

all you could do was nod, and feel the warmth reflecting off her body, transferring all to you. even in the plane of death has she always been generous.

"i-i... i don't want this to end, momma..." you utter, gazing at her ever-smiling face. there was a faint translucency in her body, as if her form is slowly disappear. and for a second, you feel fear that she'll disappear. fear that dissipates just as quickly when you hear her heavenly chuckles.

"...baby, i'm here with you right now in because i want to remind you to choose the path to live. it's too early to die right now, it's too early for my baby to join me in the afterlife." her words are too complicated to comprehend with how muddled your thoughts were, her saccharine actions feel like a forbidden touch, and you just couldn't comprehend why, just why does she want you to live...

when there's nothing else left for you in the realm where she's not around.

"but i... i don't understand...? why can't, why can't i be with you, mom—?"

"because unlike me, baby, you have so much to do. i've nothing left of me to offer when i died, baby... at least now, at least you'll find that you're still always loved, even when i'm not with you."

she cuts you off with a hush, pinching your cheeks before another wave of tears and quivering hiccups escape your befuddled body.

but you can't afford to let her go a second time, you can't go back—!

you don't want to be back in that damning structure you call a manor, you don't want to watch your father from a mere corner shrouding himself in the pits of darkness you know you couldn't carry, you don't want to return to begging for dick's attention as he turns a blind eye, you don't want the pitiful stares from tim when he's in the same room as you, or duke, cass, and steph's hushed whisper whenever you pass by, plans being made without your knowledge, without acknowledgement of your presence. you don't want to be blamed by damian for even being born in the first place. you don't want anymore uncelebrated and silent birthdays anymore, or milestones celebrated with just a fucking cupcake and a pat on your head...!

you want your mom, you don't want your other family, not anymore...

even if... even if your disappearance paved the way for a new shift in interests in your family's mind, even if you're now unknowingly the center of attention after months of the manor's solitude without you; just like you had always wanted— you're tired, and you've long since given up and grown from selfish and unrealistic desires of a completely healthy family.

if you could even call them that wretched title.

if you could even consider them as one like how they never did you.

the tears return just like the pain you were temporarily barred from, now it's a waterfall that threatens to throw you off of your escape from the reality of life, stinging your eyes and falling on crumpled sheets as your fingers grip uncontrollably for a sanction of control. from what? from the fear that now is the moment that you'll truly never see her again, not even in your memories.

"... momma, please, stay—!"

but right before you could reason out, desparate words crawling and jumping out your heaving chest and into the spiraling room, right before you could beg her to stay closer with you with her flickering warmth for just a second further as her body slowly dissipates from her hold on you, as your vision darkens and you hear that faint, familiar murmur of gotham's bustling motorcycles and alleyway screaming—

her last words, full of assurances, just like the day she tucked you in that little closet and made you promise that you'd stay silent for her, sacrificing her life just so she could protect you; it grounds you into your spot, restless, broken, and chasing unsaid words to tell her before you lose her once more, and destroys any and all hope for complete, and utter happiness you forced yourself to truly believe.

"... i love you, my sweet angel. be good for me, alright...?"

and just like that, your eyes blearily open to find itself into a completely foreign surrounding yet again.

and this time, it is real and unwanted.

'jason todd, a good soldier,' were the words marked and engraved on his tombstone. buried under the healthy soils of the manor, he felt as if his presence was forgotten all the same.

it was true, he was a good soldier. always obedient, always listening and mirroring bruce's orders, even though he grew up in the ratty streets with a drug-addicted mother and an abusive father, when he was picked up by bruce and lead into the vigilante life with the beaming potential to combat even dick; jason was always the good kid, who, even if he became a tad bit rebellious on the years garnering on teenage life, died honorably for the safety of his biological mother who betrayed him.

jason todd, always the boy portrayed as a warning sign for all the future robins, always the child remembered as just that: a soldier of batman, the kid of bruce who died unfairly; the truth of his death, the truth of joker's fucked up foil to destroy the bat's mentality even further all for a good laugh, hidden beneath restricted case files and bruce's suppressed emotions— all left unattended, just for him to be replaced by another new robin; a telltale signal that felt like bruce was trying so hard to repair the broken fixtures jason left behind.

the implication itself felt as if the world is laughing at his heroic acts, never acknowledged beyond the faults that lie on his stubbornness; a learnt trait all robins grew into once they've been taken in bruce's care.

he must've never been a good kid if life decided to take him away, when his youth was at an all time high, when all he wanted to do was meet his real mother, and to save her even when she had left him to die with explosives laid beside his beaten body.

was it his fault that all he ever wanted to do was to make his father proud? what was wrong with being a hero, being robin with his magical passions?

jason was never the spiteful man everyone assumed him to be. he was never rebellious, or thirsting for vengeance, or came to hate bruce as much as what everyone else thought of when they'd first hear his name.

even when he was revived in that sunken pit of hell, nineteen with a seventeen year old soul, feeling his once lanky body too tall, too big for him to flex his fingers, to kick with his now muscly legs, crying and screaming under all the madness of forcefully having his soul be reunited with his body after two years of peaceful rest.

and when he had returned to his senses, when he discovered that there were two new children running around the manor, one a product of a one-night stand, the other donning the identity of a new robin, did jason become the spiteful image everyone imagine the young boy came to be from when he was just an impulsive teenager.

becoming alive once more, reliving betrayal after betrayal, watching in the background: never the full story, but enough to feel like he's been replaced— it became his sole duty to torment, to do to criminals what has been done to him, just to teach the bat that his moral code was flawed, was what caused a thousand other souls to be lost under the hands of the puny joker.

all this, just to feel a sense of right in a life constantly wronging him.

yet under all the blood-soaked jackets, the aluminum amoury, under clenched teeth and resentful, dead blue eyes stood a boy who loved. who stole tires to provide for his small family who never truly loved him: a father who beats at his body nightly, a mother who dismisses him in favor of her favorite substances. who read books of all genre— classic his all time favorite, jane austen his beloved author, he loved school, loved learning, jason always came home with an A+ in all his subjects, eternally grateful despite the years of betrayal, of heartache, of shredded photos and shattered picture frames.

who advocated his young life fighting crime, kicking ass beside his vigilante partner and a man he came to call his dad, even though he had all the opportunities in the world to turn rotten like the crime infested streets of gotham. because he was a good kid, too, and a soldier the next.

he was never the violent kind. he was the kid who loved above all else. idolizing dick, bruce, all the good people in the world with shining ambitions that should've never been stained so early. he even told bruce he always wanted a little sibling to care for. he wanted to teach another young, unfortunate child what it's like to share kindess in this shithole of a city.

jason todd was a ball of pure joy, loved by bruce to the point his father could've never moved on from his death, never acknowledging the next traumatized child that came after him, and also tim, too, who he always mistakenly call by jason's name.

jason couldn't see beyond the surface of what he knew, masked by hatred for what had become after two years, questions spiraling hid head that accompanies a darkness he never knew could shroud him like a cloak. bruce used to hide him under his curtain of a cape back when he was a small, manourished kid, his vision overtaken by pure black; but now the older version of him knew what true darkness is like without needing his vision disrupted.

death feels like eternal darkness, a void that devours your vision of all colors, no physical form, no thoughts, but unmoving with the feelings grounding you in place, like hell. and with the shadow of doubt that he was never truly cherished by a man he loved to call his father, that no vengeance took place after his death, jason couldn't fathom the pain greater than what he experienced in that cold, dark warehouse; spending hours hoping that he'd be saved.

how long did it take for bruce to replace him? days, months, weeks?

how long did it take for bruce to move on? was he just an afterthought to the man? was he just a good soldier in bruce's eyes?

and why, just why, does he also blame himself for his own doom? for being stubborn enough to pursue chasing after a clown smarter than him, why does he

... if he had never died, things would've never escalated that far, it wouldn't have created a domino effect that ruined not only his life, but his angel's too.

if he had never died, you wouldn't be bleeding in his arms like he did too in bruce's.

... except unlike him back then, you want to simply die now.

jason's passing was not only his guilt or bruce's, it also marked the start of your treacherous journey of thirteen and a half years living in silence, in fear and in constant yearning after your mother's death, for a love so passionate from bruce like the one he gives to all his other children but you.

for a love he had given all up for jason that he never had any to spare to you.

bruce never gave you what you wanted, what you practically needed. all in favor of mourning the passing of his second child, his son who achieved more than the levels you knew you'd never reach. you were never the desirable child, because as good as you were like jason, as nice as you could be, or talented— nobody could replace the hole that jason left within bruce from when he left the world.

you both were good kids, but jason was infinitely better.

when you were first introduced to the manor, jason assumed you and tim replaced him, he watched secretly after his resurrection, with grim prayers for your downfall 'cause he couldn't attack you like he did tim in the tower because of your civilian status, your involvement towards batman was close to zero.

you were a young child, you knew nothing, and he hates you.

he regrets hating you.

all because he hates seeing himself in those young, glinting eyes. he never realized what he felt was fear, fear that someone like you could end up like him, when he had first obsessively did research on your buried past. your world could've been so easily destroyed by the tips of his finger and he had done so mercilessly until it was too late.

he really hated you at first, but he couldn't do anything to hurt you without trespassing the manor and triggering all the signals and alarms he's sure have been updated by the new, puny little robin. he hated you so much for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, blinded by sorrow, and grief, and every piling resentment built on years of animosity he should've only directed only towards bruce, and never someone as innocent, as uninvolved as you.

you, who he calls his angel after the years of torment you've unknowingly and obliviously suffered under him.

but he was so angered, the darkness in his mind clawed him deeper in a frenzy for revenge, that it overpowered the empathy he felt for when he first saw you, standing alone in the kitchen room with an apple in your hand and a blunt knife in the other. not ready to defend yourself at the sight of him, not even pointing it at him, but inviting the man to eat with you your favorite abomination of apple slices and peanut butter— as if you didn't care about the gun in his hands and the window cutter in the other.

you didn't understand why it was so easy to ignore you. it had been years since you have talked, let alone find yourself staring at a person, that you never cared for your safety as long as it meant that... well, you could have someone to finally talk to, with your parched throat from all the moments of unuse, excitedly addressing him as mr. ghost.

he couldn't do anything, couldn't even stare at you for longer, so he ran away at first glance, and failed to see the heartbroken sigh from you agter and the tears that welled up having your hopes raised up only to be shattered once more.

that sight of you standing under the moonlit night triggered conflicting feelings within him– but it was always the strive for vengeance that took over his life, didn't it? even though meeting you bore solid evidence that you were none the wiser, that you didn't deserve anything coming from you; it was through his sheer dedication to destroy all things cherished by bruce that he never once realized that you were merely nothing to bruce— that he ruined an innocent person's life over nothing.

he resorted to praying for your demise if it meant he couldn't physically hurt you. he focused on tormenting you indirectly before the fire in his raging heart was eventually extinguished.

he was the man you see by the hallways, the monster you thought raptured knocks on your window in the middle of the night, the reason for why some of your old childhood toys would be missing eyes, had loosened stitches, or had their stuffings removed and displaced somewhere hidden you couldn't reach.

a cryptic message that made you run and bury your head in alfred's suit, asking the old man to spend the night with you after another one of your toys was ripped apart. a reaction that made jason scoff at your immaturity; as if the inner child in him wouldn't react the same way.

you were only a few years younger than tim, despite arriving in the manor before him, and jason was stupid enough to assume you had been raised well by bruce that you'd be mature at your age, he was such an idiot to think that you wouldn't be as emotionally affected but rather paranoid of the sudden paranormal activity surrounding you. that the cookies you baked were all left to be crumbs, after just leaving them to cool off for a few minute, the pens you used for journalling wouldn't have gone missing— he thought surely, you'd be broken mentally...

but never this... emotionally.

what he didn't expect were breakdowns right after, hair pulling, the biting of skin and panic attacks after panic attacks.

wide eyes staring at the ceiling, perspiration on your skin clinging on to blazing bedsheets at the lack of ventilation, sporadic breathing, bleeding scratches on your skin like a wild animal.

you cry like one, unashamed of how loud your sobs were for such a parched throat, at how long you've been wailing alone whilst hugging your too-little body, eyes closed and misty, as if it would rid you the images of your wrecked bedroom and missing journals.

yet jason never stops to wonder why no one had came running in your room to save you from destroying yourself even further.

he never wondered nobody bothered to acknowledge your crying every night, continuing on his tangent to destroy everything you loved just to prove a point, that you couldn't be worth the effort for bruce to care enough about, despite the internal conflict he felt ruining an innocent kid's life.

and he didn't even need to prove anything, because you were never worth anything. the longer jason went on without bruce's acknowledgement, the more everything felt wrong, the more he felt like whatever he's doing is torture, not retribution.

he's terrible for what he'd done, and slowly resigned to watching over you instead to ensure you'll slowly calm down after months of his monstrous presence looming over you.

but the damage was already done, and you're left to even smaller, shattered pieces.

and here he is now, watching as you bleed out in his arms, crying and babbling at the pain, yet begging under your breath to "please, please don't call batman, don't call bruce... please leave, please, please, please don't do anything stupid, jay..."

whilst pushing him away, as if scared of him, as if you'd rather death than... than to see bruce dismiss another relayed message regarding you.

even if you're dying, you refuse to undergo the same pain of neglect. even if you're dying, you don't wish to ruin their movie night plans just because you were stupid enough to drink yourself to near death to distract yourself from dick's messages.

all because you've taught yourself that you're never worth the wait, and jason takes blame in partaking the destruction of your optimism.

under the flickering light of the lamppost, your swollen eyes and snot-ridden nose don't pose the same satisfaction he felt when he first ripped your plushie apart, not anymore. all he felt was dread now, that you're bleeding, his angel is bleeding and everything happening is very much real.

he feels a hidden awe, too, at just how ethereal and warm your body feels, despite the light leaving your eyes, the fight slowly being replace by another one of your panic attacks. he holds you still, and stabilizes your body with his strong arms to prevent anymore bleeding, despite the wobbly legs and your losing consciousness.

jason couldn't afford to let you die in his arms, he couldn't fathom just how much he misses your presence.

and now he realizes just how much he hates it when you fear him throughout the entire procedure of calming you down. how you shiver in his gaze, how he feels the pricks of your goosebumps against the thick fabric of his gloves.

you never once feared him when you first met him, it was through your lack of it that he bonded with you, keeping the torment he put you through a secret. even though he makes short and sometimes brash comments with his unfiltered mouth, you'll always find joy in his words because he was the only decent guy around the manor, despite his presence being scarce and sometimes nonexistent.

you cherished him, and god, he never knew how much he cherished you too.

but now you're sobbing and mumbling incoherently about how you wish it was never him who saved you, that it could've been someone else, or you prefer to be left rotting in the damn corner, dead and discarded, if it means it wouldn't be him saving you, for damn reasons he doesn't even know.

why do you hate him so much now...? why does his precious angel look at him in a tearful daze, all desparate to push him away despite the soreness of your body, despite the blood dripping from your lower stomach all the way down to the floor in a swirl of nauseating crimson mess?

why does he see himself in you?

why does he see the same broken child who chooses to care for others than themself?

as much as jason hated to admit it, as much as he said he never wanted to die for the sole reason that he cherished the moments with his father at most—

jason wished he could've turned time back right now, at this instant. he wished he could've been stronger, could've been far more resistant of that damn explosion, that he never was stupid enough to fall for one of joker's traps—

if it meant he wouldn't be suffering from the gripping ache on his chest, from the dreaded claws you call paranoia at the sight of your ice-blue lips and dimming eyes from all the blood loss, your arms still trying to push him to a considerable distance despite him wishing to hold you oh-so tightly, as his fingers, shivering from a familiar panic he felt, try to wipe away at the river of tears collecting at the edges of your dirt-stained chin and wobbly lips, his helmet pressed atop your forehead as if to reassure you, mostly himself that you'll all be alright—

that you wouldn't go through the same route as him, scarred and traumatized after this moment under the moonlit night that watches jason wrap his gloved palms on the back of your neck despite the remaining fight and adrenaline in your body, the other bulky mass of muscles under your feet.

the polluted air bares witness to his hasty breaths, the protective hold that refuses to let go, body automated to run to his motorcycle, stepping carelessly on the bloody carnage of the alleyway's floor (they deserve torture after what they put you through, hell, he'll make sure their burial will be damning to both the police that failed to search you even though they were in close proximity to where you screamed, and the other related lackeys involved in this wretched smuggling crime), to bring you to doctor leslie for an immediate surgery.

jason hopes that instead of hate, you'll still feel a semblance of any remaining love for him instead of aching nostalgia after all this time.

he hopes you could forgive him as it is only now that he realizes how vulnerable you truly are, that despite jokingly calling you his guardian angel, he should've been the guardian, the knight, the man who protects you from all evil as what he calls his morals to be.

why were you even out in the first place? just why were you absolutely wasted? why, why, why does the image of your resigned, and tired eyes the only thing flashing and looping in his mind, filtering out the speeding motorcycle cutting through wind and traffic lanes, ignoring red lights and the loud beeps of the other vehicles before him, the pump of engines similar to the wild beating of his heart, as he speeds through shortcuts after shortcuts to take you to immediate treatment before it was too late.

he takes short breaths, too aware of his surrounding, too deep in thought, he couldn't waste any moments thinking about anything but his angel.

he wishes he could've changed so many things. but you couldn't change the past anymore, you couldn't change the grueling form of torture you call silence for a child who wanted the same type of love bruce had for when jason was alive, who had to deal with the aftermath of jason's death.

and now, as the ripe age of eighteen, still too young, and still bleeding, at the mercy of death.

it never occured to him just how interconnected your lives were together. just how much it was through his passing that affected your life.

he was the first brother who saw you without the need for your cries of attention every lonesome passing of time in the ghostly manor.

and you were the first who stared at him through tear-stained cheeks and diluted irises. not out of fear, not out of haste to warn other members of his growing family of jason's (a stranger in your eyes, no less, with armoured chest plates and a crimson helmet glinting mercilessly in the dark, lightless room only illuminated by the wretched moon, with guns loaded with bullets in his holster) sudden trespass within the kitchen windows, not out of every negative emotions he expects of you; but out of sheer shell shock that someone had finally caught you through your nightly sneaking.

out of genuine whiplash of someone finally looking at you eye-to-eye, head faced to one another, your cold fingertips pressing against the swell of your eyebags from restless nightmares and anxious paranoia triggered from academics, as if to tell yourself that this was all mere hallucination.

you matter so much to him, even if he tries to overcorrect his sins, trying his damn best to notice your presence whenever he visits the manor, even if his brash words sting your heart sometimes, even if he couldn't properly show you affection he should've given you—

it's not enough.

it was never enough, that even his gentle words spoken to you whilst he speeds through his motorcycle felt entire foreign. that despite unconscious and limp on his body, you're still flinching and the tears couldn't have enough time to dry. jason could've done so much more for his precious little sibling, he could've been the best older brother in the world like he promised himself to be back when he was an oblivious little child, just like how he sees you right now.

everything he did was not enough, but the doubts that circulate his mind didn't fester in his mind much anymore; because he turned it into motivation, he looks at you through the mirror of his motorcycle, vulnerable, aching with the need for affection (that he could provide, he could give to you infinitely...!) and transforms the regret into motivation.

to be better, to be the one you look up to, not with thoughts of how or when you'll be able to spend time with him, but with confidence and preference for his time. that he'll be the first you choose to look for.

jason promises you his undying loyalty, to protect you from the danger of this world, to savor the light and the warmth that emanates off of your presence. despite the heartache you felt because of him, because of all your tormentors— you were still kind, like an angel who had fallen from grace, but chose to grace the world instead with their remaining salvation.

if you manage to survive throughout it all, through the surgery and the anaesthesia-filled stitchings, with jason's scarred hands wrapped around your fists, daintier compared to the muscles in his. if by the end of this night, jason would have you alive (he will, he'll refuse anything else, even if it takes you being resurrected in the lazarus pit, then so be it) in his arms and resting peacefully in his apartment and not under bruce's roof, out of respect from your sheer insistence that you'd rather anywhere but the manor.

jason swears on his life that he'll make it up to you.

he'll be better for you, for his angel, to atone himself for all the sins he committed upon you.

and even if it means ripping the world upside down at its seems, even if it takes decades for you to feel comfortable within the confines of his arms, unlike the dread that claws at your body earlier, pushing him away, pushing your older brother away— he's willing to undergo even the same torture from joker if it means making up to you.

as long as he has you in his sights.

all this, just to see the fear in your eyes replaced by genuine happiness at the sight of your big brother, ready to do anything for you the moment requests spill out from your benevolent lips and gleaming eyes.

you truly are his saving grace, his angel in disguise.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 14,200+ words. no beta, we just cry. "i am good, but not an angel. i do sin, but i am not the devil. i am just a small child in a big world trying to find someone to love." it's a quote that inspired this half of the chapter partly. apologies to anyone if jason seems a bit religious here??? he's not, but i'm trying to establish connections on why he even calls you that nickname in the first place (and totally not me relating it to the flashpoint comic where he becomes a priest 😭). again, bit of a boring chapter, but no hate please haha, instead leave comments if you enjoyed reading it!!! more interactions = more content.

there are many lyrics and song references scattered about the paragraphs, can you guys spot it all for me 🫦? i'm a musically inclined guy, and there's also lots of not implicitly stated songs too, i lost count honestly. tysm for all your patience, because writing through my hectic schedule is honestly a struggle.

as stated, there are a lot of jason todd and mc parallels, i love hearing you guys' thoughts about me expanding upon this. they're very different but also share so many similarities, and i like to explore deeper on every character just to make the yandere element more obvious and distinct.

and like my previous announcement too, please please please do not copy off the scenes i wrote. although my writing is mid, it doesn't mean it should be stolen word by word or the entire scenarios or scenes i've written should be taken in and written into your own fanfics too. my potrayals of each and every characters are a bit more unique takes too (i like to make myself believe), so as much as possible, please credit me. i appreciate you all 🩷

yet again, leave comments, interactions, what you think of this chapter (but not too critical comments, or pure hate please). idk what to feel about my writing, i hate it a lot sometimes but oh well! merry christmas, this is my early gift for all of you guys and for the second part, i'll try to post as soon as possible (i need to generate more spotlight to ensure they get equal attention ofc).

taglist: @neerathebrightstar, @ghostdoodlen, @prince-nikko, @daisy-spot, @strawberryglass, @h0neybun-was-here, @confused-they, @weirdcore-fantasy, @mystyque234, @marssthings, @notwhoy0uthink, @aliengutzstuff, @lilyalone, @luffyadolover, @punpunsonny, @lazyemmy, @questionthegrapevine, @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu, @winter-world, @zavavas-dungeon, @budijojo, @altruisticbeauty, @dopepursebasketballplaid, @the-holy-pigeon, @red-phantom-0, @em-draws14, @thypplover, @cens0r3d-blog, @yl90, @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo, @flyingpansaurus, @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog, @rogueofbullshit, @earlqurl, @dotomuses, @sheep-from-rad, @tsuniio, @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o, @radiantharu, @iwasveronica, @kdjhubby, @ashstwin, @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2, @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

[gaypirate420]

Dick Grayson by Dan Mora you will always be famous.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Batfam! P Links

This is my first time doing something like this, so feedback is super appreciated. Also!! Gotta be logged into twitter (X) for these to work.

Bruce Wayne

- He just can't resist you when you come to visit the office<3

- The bathroom of a charity gala that neither of you were particularly interested in

- What you send him after he paid to get your nails done while he was away on a business trip

-A private beach that he bought out when he finally retired

- You're still getting used to how big he is

- He tries to be gentle, but his cock is just so huge that it's a pleasant, painful every time regardless of how much he preps you

- How's he supposed to focus at work when you send him those slutty little pictures in your new lingerie?

Jason Todd

- Something about this just screams Jason vibes to me. Maybe softdom? Maybe showing off his strength/muscles?

- LOVES when you guys get noise complaints just from the actions alone, nevermind the moans

- He sent this just to mess around with you while he was in the gym changing rooms

- Yes, you two have tried this. Yes, the gun was unloaded. Yes, he still made sure it has safety on. Yes, you clogged up his favorite pistol with your cum.

- This is kinda how I thought of Virgin! Jason Todd eating you out

- More gun play with Jason but in his only nice car

Richard Grayson

- Helping him clean off in the shower after a particularly long patrol

- A little tease while he's in a motel on a mission

- He absolutely worships you like the goddess you are

- Your poor baby makes a mess of himself after not being able to cum for a few weeks while on a mission

- Making you do everything yourself because you got bratty with him about having to cockwarm

- Trying his best to take it slow once he finally gets his hands on you coming home from that stupid mission

Masterlist

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

"DAD!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nagislemontea]

jason todd x reader where the reader still presumes he’s dead and visits his grave every week to give him a letter because they used to communicate through letters for fun to the point where his grave has boxes of letters. meanwhile, jason thinks reader forgot about him until he visits his own grave to see reader dropping off another letter and after they leave he takes the time to read each letter they’ve left since he died and gets emotional. okay, goodnight !

[eclips-moon]

The Batboys being clingy headcanon:

Including Duke and Bruce <3

Hope you guys like it!

Tim Drake Tim’s clinginess is low-key, but it’s also constant. He’s the type to text you “What’s up? I miss you <3” while you’re just sitting 5 feet away from him. If you so much as stand up to go get a snack, he’s immediately there, like, “Where are you going? Don’t leave me.” He’ll lean against you, his hand finding yours without him even realizing it. When you're watching TV or reading, he’s definitely leaning into your side, trying to get as close as possible without being too obvious. But if you move to shift positions? Nope, he’s following you. He’ll slip his arm around your waist, all like, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that.” He’s not a big PDA guy, but when it’s just the two of you? Prepare for cuddles, hand-holding, and small, random kisses. He’s gotta be touching you constantly.

Jason Todd Jason is obsessive, no doubt. He’s that partner who’ll try to act like he’s tough and independent, but the moment you show him any kind of affection, he’s all over you. Like, you can’t just hug him. No. He’ll climb into your lap and basically trap you there, rubbing his face into your neck like a cat. He’s gonna constantly ask for kisses, too, but not just little pecks—he wants full-on, deep kisses where he can pull you close and remind you that you’re his. If you’re doing something, like, working or even hanging out with friends, he’ll try to drag you away, be like, “Hey, come hang out with me, stop ignoring me for two seconds.” He’s possessive, but in the cutest way, constantly needing your attention. If you even talk to another person for too long, he’ll give them side-eye and pull you back to him like, “You good? You’re not gonna leave me for some random guy, are you?” He’s also the type to cling to you in bed, hogging the covers and curling up like a human koala.

Dick Grayson Dick’s clingy energy is pure gold. He’s the most affectionate of the bunch and doesn’t shy away from public displays of love. He loves hugging you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, and just randomly planting kisses all over your face. He’ll text you “miss you <3” every few hours when you’re apart, and when you’re together? It’s all about touch. He’s sitting on your lap, or leaning on your shoulder, or pulling you into his chest just because he needs to be close to you. If you’re watching a movie, he’s definitely going to have his head in your lap, just to be as close to you as humanly possible. He gets giddy when he gets attention from you, too. You could be playing with his hair, and he’ll melt. He’ll whine like, “I’m not clingy, you’re clingy. But also, I love it. So don’t stop.” Honestly, Dick doesn’t care if he’s acting like a bit of a puppy—he’s obsessed with you, and he makes sure you know it.

Damian Wayne Damian’s clingy moments are hilariously dramatic. He might start out cold, acting like he doesn’t need anyone, but as soon as you show him any affection? He’s all in. He’ll randomly grab your hand and hold it like it’s the most important thing in the world. If you try to walk away from him for whatever reason, he’ll growl and pull you back in, like, “Where are you going? You’re staying right here.” He has this whole vibe of “I don’t need anyone else, just you”, so if you’re talking to someone else or looking away from him for too long, he’ll wrap his arm around your waist and be like, “I don’t think you should be talking to them. They might steal you away from me.” In bed? He’s a hug monster, wrapping his arms around you like he’s never letting you go. He’s all about the intimacy, though—when it’s just the two of you, he’ll be soft and surprisingly vulnerable, making sure you know that he needs you more than he lets on.

Duke Thomas Duke is lowkey super clingy, but in the way that’s goofy and endearing. He loves to follow you around, like, just wherever you go, he’s tagging along. You’re going to the kitchen? He’s there. To grab something from the laundry room? He’s there. If you sit down, he’s sitting on the floor next to you, asking if you want to “cuddle and watch dumb shows together.” He’s always finding excuses to touch you—like, his hand will just casually rest on your knee or he’ll come up behind you and play with your hair. And if you don’t give him attention? He’ll pout, even if he’s trying to play it off, like, “Aren’t you gonna give me a kiss? C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.” He’s the type who’ll give you a silly smile, lean in for a kiss, and then pull you into a full-on hug like, “Don’t go. I’m not done with you yet.” He’s all about the hugs, especially after a long day. You’ll be just chilling, and suddenly he’s like, “Hug time, right? Let me get one.”

Bruce Wayne Now, Bruce is not the type to openly admit he’s clingy. He’s still the stoic, brooding billionaire who’s been through a lot, but when it’s just the two of you? He’s softer than anyone expects. He’ll always make sure you’re physically close—his hand on your lower back, your legs touching when you sit next to him, and if he’s standing near you, his hand will casually rest on your arm. When you’re working late or doing something serious, Bruce will occasionally pull you away for a few minutes just to kiss you or hold you close. He’s not great at asking for attention, but when he’s feeling clingy, he’ll show you through little gestures. You’ll find him just sitting beside you in silence, just content to be in your presence. He’s a man of few words, but when he’s clingy, it’s all about the touch—the way he holds your hand, how he presses his shoulder to yours, and how he’ll insist on driving you home or waiting up for you, just to make sure you’re safe.

[yandere-wishes]

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

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

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

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

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

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

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

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

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

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

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپر��وی - کانر کنت

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

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

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

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

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

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

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

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

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

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

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

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

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

[hutaosfuneralparlor]

smitten! jason todd who never thought he was a domestic person until u started coming over more to his place

smitten! jason who always buys you favorite snacks for when u come over 'cause he loves how happy you look eating them

smitten! jason who will literally watch any show or movie with you even if he despises it as long as he gets to cuddle you

smitten! jason who makes u breakfast whenever u stay the night at his place and brings it to you in bed

smitten! jason who started investing more in things for his little apartment to make it more comfortable for you

smitten! jason who enters in a crisis trying to figure out the best time to ask you to move in with him

smitten! jason who loves having you with him in the kitchen while he cooks even if it's to just talk to him

smitten! jason who adores your company no matter what he is doing

smitten! jason who is over the moon when you agree to move in with him

smitten! jason who always loves coming home to you after missions

smitten! jason who is completely and utterly in love with you

reblogs and reposts are highly appreciated !

[toulousewayne]

Catching Strays Pt:III🐈‍⬛💎✨

Red Hood x male!reader who’s a cat burglar with a similar M.O. to Catwoman who’s on a crime spree.

Summary:Your a Cat Burglar who’s dressed similarly to Catwoman. You enjoy the thrill of the chase.

—————

Red Hood’s bike races down the highway, he weaves through traffic pushing his bike to its limits.

He glances down at the screen following the signal. “Please don’t do it.” He huffs as he rushes down a ramp off the highway and onto the main road of East Gotham, still rushing his way through the streets.

—-

Black Mask laughs to himself from his office, he just broadcasted to the GCPD and Batman that he wants 50 million dollars or he’ll release the bio weapon,and if Batman or any of his sidekicks come after him he’ll detonate the virus.

“You think they’ll come lookin’ boss?” Black Mask has his back to him looking at the Gotham City skyline. “The Bat ain’t stupid enough to come here, he’ll be looking for where I’m spreading the virus, good luck to him. I’ve got some insurance this time.” He chuckled.

—-

Y/n landed on his feet in the sewers, he stood up and looked around. He knew he could enter the building itself he’d have to work his way up. He began to run down the tunnels. The only sound was his footsteps and the sound of drilling. He came to an overhang and looked down to see Black Mask’s men setting up lines and tubes.

He crouched and walked for a moment before he noticed a table with blue prints and supplies.

What are you idiots doing?

He glanced at the blueprints and took a few pictures of them. He began to move along until he heard voices from around the corner.

“I’m in charge of this project not you, you’re just the hired muscle!”a man threatened, Y/n peeked around the wall and saw the man get picked up by his throat.

“You misunderstood enano, your boss has me overseeing this project. So get back to work,” he threw him and he landed close to Y/n who accidentally knocked over a bottle.

The man came into the light and Y/n saw Bane for the first time.

“Men, I think we have a rodent problem.” He chuckled and Y/n moved fast.

———-

“Red Hood what’s your ETA?” Batman’s voice filled his com. Red Hood raced into a turn, down a street and barreled towards Black Mask’s office.

“I’m nearly there.”

“Stop, don’t approach. He’s counting on that.”

Jason wanted to ignore him, he was seconds from reaching his destination but he looked up and moved as a gunshot nearly took his eye out. He turned down an alleyway as another gunshot range out.

“Snipers.” He growled.

“Any idiot how he can get in, Robin and I aren’t far from your location. He won’t get away with this.”

Jason shook his head, and noticed a open sewer grate,“Stray hasn’t done anything to Black Mask. He’s in over his head.”

“I don’t mean him, so long as he doesn’t kill him. “

“Well then you better hurry up because I don’t think Black Mask is working alone.” He noticed the room Stray was in and he was leaping out of the way of Bane’s attack.

Red Hood fired his pistol one of them nicking Bane’s shoulder. “Step away from him Bane, I won’t break those arms.”

Bane smirked, “So this is your pussycat, well then I’ll be extra careful with him.” He pressed the button on his wrist and Y/n watched in horror as he doubled in size, his veins extending and turning blue, his demeanor become more deadly.

“I’ll break you both into pieces!” Y/n back flipped away from him and leaped up to where Jason was.

“Friend of yours?”

“Not mine.” He fired at him which pissed him off more.

“Go!”

“I’m not running, from whatever that thing is.” He cracks his whip. The two smirk before jumping out the way of a barrel being flung at them.

Red Hood and Stray dodged out the way of Bane’s attack and would attack him while he was distracted.

Soon though Bane got ahold of Red Hood and through him through a wall sending him flying. Stray jumped and wrapped his whip around Bane’s neck. He jumped down from the rafters and choked him.

“I’ll—break—you.” Y/n took his claws and severed the tube in his head causing him to scream. He got down and moved away from him running to Red Hood who was getting to his feet.

“That’ll hurt tomorrow.” He dusted himself before turning to Y/n who wore an unreadable look.

“Let’s go.” He turned for the stairs. Red Hood followed him upstairs into the main hall of the office lobby.

“You can’t kill him, I get he’s your father—“ Y/n turned toward him and glared.

“Don’t, has many heads as you’ve let roll I don’t care what you or Batman thinks. He owns me.” Y/n sprinted for the elevator and slide inside it as the doors shut. Red Hood was now in a room with armed guards.

“Thanks Cat.” He ready his pistols but then the lights when out and the sound of glass shattered. Smoke soon engulfed the room and one by one they became picked off.

“Where is he?” Batman and Robin emerged from the smoke.

“Penthouse, we have to hurry.”

——-

“Honestly you and Nightwing have rather interesting taste in suitors.”

“Not now.” Red Hood sighed as they entered the penthouse. Batman went inside first and they took in the sight of a struggle.

“He’s gone.” Batman turned to the desk and saw it mashed to pieces. He picked up a black phone that had a shattered screen.

“Tt, a waste of a trip,it seems your friend is just as sneaky as Kyle.” Robin turned to leave the two men in the room.

“No blood, I think Black Mask was waiting for him. “ Red Hood stopped before turning to the giant window.

“The roof.” The two rushed out the room and toward the stairs until they were on the roof. Black Mask had Stray in a headlock as he was getting inside the helicopter.

“Get back Bats,I’ve got a hostage. I’m getting out of the city!” The helicopter was seconds from take off.

“Let him go!” Red Hood clocked his pistol but Black Mask did the same pointing it at Stray’s temple. Blood present on his face.

“You’ll die a painful death.” He spat at the man who pushed the gun farther toward his face.

“I’ll blow your head off kid, you’ve caused me a lot. And I don’t care if your kid I’ll fucking paint this rooftop red, you heard that Batman I’ll fucking repaint this roof.” He pulled them into the helicopter as it took off Red Hood ran to the edge and watched as it began to fly toward the city.

“We—“

“I’ve got that covered.” The Batplane came racing toward them and stopped at the edge.

“Robin follow us on the road, don’t lose Black Mask’s signal.” Batman ordered hopping inside with Red Hood joining him, they flew toward the helicopter.

——-

Stray is still in Black Mask’s iron grip and still manages to piss him off.

“What you not man enough to look at your son tarface.” Black Mask tightens his hold around Y/n neck.

“I will kill you kid, you maybe my flesh blood but your no kin of mine. I’ll drop from the chopper.” He spat. Y/n looked around but his weapons were seized and his mask too.

“Y’know you kinda look like her.” He chuckled watching the city as they passed by.

“Go Fuck yourself.” Y/n spat at him which earned him a hard shove. He nearly fell out the chopper but was grabbed by his collar.

“I really am starting to remember why I never wanted kids. “

The Batplane is now directly behind them and begins to fire at the helicopter.

Black Mask grabs an assault rifle and fires back at them. “I’ll kill you Bats!” Y/n yanks on Black Masks arms and he fires around the small aircraft even hitting the pilot. Black Mask yanks Y/n and stares at him.

“Your dead kid.” Y/n takes his claws and slashes Black Mask’s chest. He pushes Y/n full force and spirals down to the city below.

It’s all in slow motion, the bright and vast city surround him, window after window, balcony and neon signs fade past him.

He barely notices the figure the grabs him and grapples them to safety. It’s only once his feet touch the surface of the rooftop does his world stop spinning and he’s back from cloud 9.

“Did that bastard hurt you?” He looks up at the Red Hood who his clutching Y/n like he’s the only anchor he has to reality.

“No..I’m fine you caught me.” The look up and seen the chopper spiral and crashes into Gotham Bay. The Batplane flies toward the crash before returning flying farther into the city.

The rain starts again, though nearly move to get out of it. Instead Y/n lifts his hands to the help and removes it.

Jason’s face is back before him. The jet black hair matted to his skin, the white tuff proudly in the front it too was wet from sweat and the rain. The scar across his face that Y/n gently traced with his thumb. His eyes still covered by the red domino mask.

“Stray—“

“Call me Y/n.” He cut him off tracing his thumb now just below the bottom of Jason’s lip.

“Well if we’re on a first name basis, I’m Jason.”

“And somehow Handsome that suits you.” Jason pulled him close. He took his hand and pried off his last mask allowing Y/n to see those pretty green eyes.

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to hold you, you are something special to me, someone—I’ve never felt this before.”

Y/n grinned before pulling Jason’s head closer. “Well Red, I think that call that being smitten.”

Jason smirked, “Well my little thief I can say you’ve cracked the code to my heart.” Jason kisses him and the two men hold one another has the rain showers them from above.

When the finally break away his when Jason pulls away with a slight scowl.

“Did I do something?” Jason shakes his head at him press a quick kiss to his forehead.

“No, my family was listening and are killing the moment.” He slightly yelled the last part which caused Y/n to laugh.

“Well then I guess you better not keep them waiting.” He pulls Jason in for another kiss this one more passionate and gentle than the first one. He pulls away and smirks.

“I’m beginning to like this, a lot.” He grins holding his Stray.

“Well it’s just the beginning.” Y/n hands Jason his helmet and grins. Jason wraps his arm around Y/n’s waist.

“I think I know a guy who can get you some new gear, though he’s kinda broody.”

Y/n smirked, “Who your Father?” Jason blushes and looks away.

“Aww you want me to meet your Dad.” Stray tracks Jason’s emblem with his free hand.

“Babe I will leave you on this rooftop.” He fastens his helmet and grapples them away.

“You wouldn’t dream of it, you’d miss me teasing you to much Red.”

“I’m a lucky guy.”

“You sure are Red, you sure are.”

[nosyrobin]

Batsib!reader: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife?

Dick: Rude.

Damian: That’s fair.

Jason: Not again.

Tim : Are you going to want this back?

[shortnsweetsposts]

Tim: Do you believe in ghosts?

Bat!reader: I do.

Tim: I don't.

Bat!reader: Why not?

Tim: *Shrugged*

Bat!reader: You don't feel like anyone could be whiter than you?

Tim, taken aback by the comment: Wow

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[yandereunsolved]

Ok but imagine being in a one night stand with bruce wayne and sneaking out in the morning and you run into his gang of kids and his butler

You:🧍‍♀️

Them:🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

And now you have to not only ignore bruce wayne atempts at flirting, but also his weird family atempts at bonding time

😭 Oh, my goddesses.

Imagine just wanting a quick pleasure night and ending up stuck in a situationship with the most powerful family in Gotham.

Bruce Wayne

one night later.

Yandere Bruce Wayne

Dick/Pussy so good you make Batman obsessed.

And Alfred is like "Master Bruce has been lonely for many years. He needs this."

And darling is just thinking 'was the dick worth it? it was, but was it?'

And then you just have the rest of the Batfam acting like lil ducklings following behind darling.

Damian dragging a dead body towards darling and leaving it at their feet like a cat does for their owner.