#sick!reader x nightwing

[adddddiiii]

Thinking about sleepy Dick Grayson...

The warmth of his arms wrapped around you felt like home, the kind of safety you never thought you'd find in a person.

His chest pressed against your back as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath soft and even against your skin.

"You're so warm," he murmured sleepily, his voice muffled by your hair.

You chuckled quietly and wiggled a little to adjust your position. His grip instantly tightened.

"Nope. This is a no-escape zone."

"Oh, is that right?" You turned your head just enough to catch his lopsided grin.

"Mm-hmm."

You couldn't help but smile and lean back into him. His legs tangled with yours, locking you both into a cozy pretzel of limbs.

"Goodnight, pretty."

[hunterwritesstuff]

Nightwing with sick S/O hcs? Preferably male if alright! ^^

Oh boy, here comes the drama queen!

💙 He straight up thinks you're dying. You have a high grade fever, you're sluggish, and your words are slurring together. He thinks you're fucking dying.

💙 After Alfred slaps him to snap him out of his initial panic, he gets to work trying to make sure you're comfortable.

💙 He doesn't get sick too often himself(I hc he has a really strong immune system), but he WINGS(geddit???) it as best he can, trying to help you himself.

💙 You're laughing. He thinks you have a sickness that'll get you KILLED and you're LAUGHING.

💙 He straight up refuses to allow you to do ANY vigilante work until you're better.

💙 NO. YOU DO NOT GET TO WORK REMOTELY. REST.

💙 YOU ARE JUST AS BAD AS BRUCE,

💙 HE WILL TAKE THIS TIME OFF TO MAKE SURE YOU DON'T WORK WHILE YOU'RE SICK.

💙 He takes care of you as best he can.

💙...and proceeds to get sick himself the next day.

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader x batfamily

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Author's note: I've been reading a lot of batfam x reader, and today I got this idea in my mind. I don't know if someone wrote something similar, and I apologize if so.

Warnings: English is not my first language, and it may contain grammar mistakes.

All in all, it's just a quick sketch I wanted to share with the world. I hope you will enjoy reading it. And I may write something more on this.

• -------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇♧ --------------------•

Joker's kid! reader, who hates his father, because he never cared, he sees you as his pawn, way to lure Batman in

Joker's kid! reader, who, without any connection to the real world, understands, that the way Jokers acts is just not right

Joker's kid! reader, who barely has any sanity and has so many mental issues, that they don't even know how to untangle their emotions or what they feel

Joker's kid! reader, who hopes that one day, Batman would put their dad into the prison for good. But this hope is crushed every time more with every Joker's escape from prison

Joker's kid! reader, who hoped that his mother would take them with her, but when she never did, was too busy with building her new life. After that, they started to think that they were too much of the burden

Joker's kid! reader, who has to hide in the corners of the crime alley, because they have nowhere to go until Joker breaks out and find them again. They are so scared, hungry, cold, but they know there is practically nothing they can do

Joker's kid! reader, who is afraid of Batman. They themselves saw how many times their father. Yet, they can't help but feel something light bubbling in their chest as they look at him.

Joker's kid! reader, Who is weirded out by how Robin, Red Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing act around batman, but they found themselves fascinated by it

Joker's kid! reader, who saw and decided to follow Batman out of desperation. They just wanted to this all end, and at least, Batman could do that, they saw her

Joker's kid! reader, who was scared by how long Batman was silent, how he stared at them. How he crouched down to their level. It felt like he was looking in their soul. Of course he knows who their are, he just never expected them to come to him. They may never know, but he was so relived to see that the this kid was not following their father.

Joker's kid! reader, who was shocked by how gentle Batman's voice sounded, how gently he put his hand on the shoulder, how he led them to his batmobile, how he gently buckled up their belt, how he put blanket on them (why would Batman have a spare blanket in the batmobile?).

Joker's kid! reader, who had to spend so much time in the medbay, not only because they were malnourished, but because they had so much health issues.

Joker's kid! reader, who is visited by Batman on many occasions, and were shocked by his care. Why he was so caring? Gentle? Was it a part of some elaborate scheme?

Joker's kid! reader, who had to learn identity of Batman and batfamily, because they would be moved to the manor. At one hand, it was a good change, but they were so scared.

Joker's kid! reader, who recives unpleasant glances from all the family: Dick looks at them like they are sick animal, Jason looks like their are a ticking bomb, Tim like they are remnants of his nightmares, Damian like they are disgusting criminal.

Joker's kid! reader, who think they all will hate them more because they keep breaking things (they just don't know how to use them). Alfred looks at them with such an intense gaze, that they couldn't help but shiver.

Joker's kid! reader, who looks at interactions between Bruce and wounders if this is how familiar is? Is it supposed to be warm like this? Is that care? Is that what happiness is?

Joker's kid! reader, who thinks that they are so out of place. They do not deserve this, not after what their father has done.

Joker's kid! reader, who just want to have be a part of family too

• -------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇♧ --------------------•

Thank you so much for reading! Please, feel free to share your opinions. I hope you have a good day!

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"I bet on losing dogs"

ok this is like my first time actually writing anything EVER, and I don't know how to work tumblr or make this aesthetic so bare with me pls!! I keep seeing yandere batfam x neglected reader and I have had so many ideas so I'm giving this a shot! The reader is referred to with female pronouns but you can imagine it different if you want :) Reader is 2 years older than Damian and is 15 at the start of the story. Damian is 13. Dick is around 10 years older than reader, making him 25 right now. Jason is 8 years older than reader, making him 23. Tim is 2 years older than reader making him 17. Cass is 4 years older than reader and is 19. Stephanie is 3 years older than reader and is 18. Barbra is around 8 years older, making her 23! Bruce is around 35-40ish??? All just kinda guesses to make the plot and dynamics more clear, lmk if you have any questions!!

This is the prolouge and it kinda sucks so pls be nice. Hearts and comments are appreciated. If it's bad ignore it, english isn't my first language. Chapter one:, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

You couldn't understand it. You aren't a bad kid, so why were you treated like one? Why did your father treat you like the bane of his existence? Why did your older brothers see you as nothing more than dirt at the bottom of their shoes, a ghost in the manor, a blemish on their picture perfect family of misfits. You tried so so hard to fit in, to be part of the family. You wasted 11 YEARS of your life trying to get noticed, doing activities and hobbies you hated in the hopes of striking conversation with your "siblings". Batman, Bruce Wayne, your "father", ignored you no matter what. He ignored you like it was his job, from the day you came to the manor on your fourth birthday, your mother's death day, to today, your 15th birthday. You saved his life, his and all those other ungrateful losers who you used to call family. Yesterday, you put you life on the line for them, got bitten by that damn snake for them, and they ignored you and told you to walk it off while coddling the girl who suddenly appeared. Never again would you help them, nor would you brush off their mistreatment, not after this betrayal. Not after they took in another girl, a girl your age, the girl who took credit for your heroic act, the girl who bullied you for years at Gotham Prep, the girl who made your life living hell, and called HER family. They choose Tiffany Maverick to be their supposed savior, they would never believe you had the bravery to help them. They chose her to be Tiffany Wayne and scorned you.

You did nothing wrong, from the day you came to the manor you were perfect. Straight A's, no attitude, no complaints and no demands. All you did was try, try, try, and they never noticed.

Richard "The Dick" Grayson, as you and your friends call him, was the world's best big brother to everyone, except you of course! He was your first brother, he was the kid that Bruce Wayne actually wanted to take under his wing. You were 5 and he was 15, he was busy being Robin and then Nightwing. Alfred assured you that Dick adored you, you were his baby sister after all, he was just busy! In later years you realized he was only busy when it came to you. He made time for Damian no matter what, always attended Cassandra's ballet recitals, chatted with Tim and ruffled his hair, and he even dealt with Jason's snarky attitude and biting remarks. Yet, somehow when it came to you, he never had time. Always brushing you off with a shoulder pat and a "Maybe next time sweetheart!" and rolling his eyes when he thought you weren't looking. He's been making time for Tiffany or Tiffybear, as he loves to call her while pinching her cheeks and calling her his favorite little sister, "Don't tell Cass though!" he'll whisper to her. You don't even think he can remember your name. Or that once upon a time you were his "baby bird."

It makes you sick watching her take credit for everything, she's only been in the manor for 6 months and they've all given her more love than they have to you in the past 11 years. She took credit for all your awards, she told everyone she was top of your class, made them "homemade" cakes and muffins. It was all you. She stole everything.

Jason Todd, the red hood, was so mean to you. You used to admire him, looked up to him, and he took all your kind words and gestures for granted and spit them back in your face. Once upon a time, he was your favorite brother, you wanted to be as confident and unshakeable as him, it didn't matter how mean he was now because he was you brother and you loved him. The bond you had before his death was something you couldn't let go of, he was the only one who loved you. When he first came to the manor he was 12 and you came a couple months later. An adorable 4 year old who followed her favorite brother like a duckling. You were 7 when he died. You were 12 when he came back to haunt Bruce and Dick and Tim. You chased after him and tried to resurrect the bond you had for 3 long years. You gave up when you saw them. You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw him and Tiffany sneaking out the manor on a school night, you almost threw up when you saw him strap her on his motorcycle and leave for hours. They came back with shit-eating grins and cupcakes for everyone from a 24hr bakery, everyone except you. The bakery you asked him to take you to months ago. Tiffany saw the tears in your eyes and your clenched fists and she laughed.

Timothy Drake-Wayne, you first saw him after Jason died. Tim, in your 10 year old mind, was trying to steal your dad. Bruce ignored you even more after Jason's death and shut everyone out. Your bond with Tim was non-existent no matter how hard you tried. After you realized he wasn't trying to replace Jason, and saw how he was helping your father heal in ways you couldn't, you tried to bond with him. You attempted to play his video games and ignored his complete disintrest in you and anything that had to do with you in hopes he might come to appreciate you. You brought him coffee after long patrols, asked him about his day, asked to meet his friends, you picked up all his hobbies like hacking, cooking, reading even martial arts and yet he ignored you. You tried to find him in hallways at school, only to be treated like a stranger when you found him. He was embarrassed that you were his sister. You were chubby and awkward and didn't have many friends, he didn't want his cool kid friends to know you were his sister. For 5 long years you chased after him, for 5 years you chased a ghost, and somehow Tiffany captured his attention using one of the gadget-thingys you made in hopes to impress him. She walks the hallways of Gotham Prep with him, a perfect sibling duo, he even had her lunch moved so she could sit with him and his friends. He wasn't embarrassed of her. You watched them get closer in 6 months than you have in 5 years. And it hurt.

But perhaps what hurt most is her newfound bond with Damian. Your baby brother. You tried the hardest with Damian, almost as hard as you tried with Bruce, and yet he chose her while all you got was a sword to your neck and sneers of disgust thrown your way. Damian moved in when you were 12. You were elated, if you couldn't have good older siblings, at least you could be one! That plan went to hell when you realized Damian saw you as less than him. No matter how hard you tried, returned your love with disgust. You tried to show him around school like you wished Tim did for you and he called you " A waste of space and Wayne DNA" and said that there was no way you were of "Wayne" blood and that your "whore of a mother" had to have deceived his father, in front of your two friends and half the school. You could've handled his cruel words if he didn't begin attempting to duel you to become your father's heir. About a year ago, when you tried to hug him he threw you down the stairs and you broke your ankle, you stopped trying with him after that. He was so possessive over Bruce and now that somehow transferred to Tiffany too. You'd feel bad for her if she wasn't eating his obsession with her up.

Barbra, Cassandra, and Stephanie were the "It girls." All practically sisters, they hung out almost everyday and had sleepovers every Friday. They giggled about boys, hook-ups, missions and bonded over everything. You wanted be one of them, you tried so hard to be cool, to be pretty, and they could only see your flaws. You curled your hair and did your nails in hope you would blend with them, you even attempted to be Batgirl at one point. You were quickly denied after Stephanie pointed out that you didn't have the right 'physique' for it. Barbra quickly agreed and said you weren't cut out for it, Cassandra simply looked you up and down. Thats why it hurt extra when they welcomed Tiffany with open arms. Suddenly, she could be Batgirl. She talked to them about boys and bonded with them over girl things. She stole your sisters.

You figured out Tiffany was a spy almost as soon as she came into the manor. Her apperance and ability to act like it was her who saved the Bats from the Joker and his new radioactive snake was not a coincidence, neither was her becoming a vigilante only two weeks after coming into the manor, and neither was you catching her walking out the Batcave with arms full of Batman's weapons and plans. You couldn't believe your luck and pulled out your phone to take a picture, too bad you left the flash on. Tiffany quickly noticed you and tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding when Bruce came into the hallway. You beamed at the sight of him and began to explain what you saw Tiffany doing, only Tiffany was faster. She was quick to blame you for everything, and Batman, the world's greatest detective believed her. She said that you bullied her at school and you were so jealous of her joining the family that you went to steal plans and took pictures to frame her. It was a shitty lie and somehow everyone believed it. You still remember the cold indifference on Bruce's face, the sadness on Alfred's, the look of pure delight on Damian's, the shock on Dick's, the interest on Tim's and the disappointment and disgust on Jason's. Something shifted in you that night. You didn't feel an overwhelming amount of love and longing when you looked at your family, you felt anger. Pure unadultered rage, rage at Bruce for never loving you, rage at Dick for being a liar, rage at Jason for throwing away your bond and cool indifference and disgust at the rest of them.

Maybe that's why your abilities finally formed. Maybe thats why the place the snake bit you that fateful night began to glow as you cried in your bathtub, after being scolded all night and getting body slammed by Damian for trying to "taint his dear sister's image". You had powers now, the agility of a snake, you could eject venom out of your fingertips, you could walk on walls, now you could prove them all wrong.

okayyyy yall this was the prolouge. Again this is my 1st attempt at writing so be nice. If enough people like this I'll put out part one. Hope yall enjoyed and lmk what you want to happen next in the comments!!!!!!!!!

[literary-dolly]

pride & prejudice

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 11.3k warnings: ANGST, pining, enemies to lovers, violence, violence against reader, arguments/fighting, alcohol, murder

When you first meet Jason Todd he seems to be nothing more than an entitled asshole, but as the seasons change, you begin to realise maybe you were wrong about him. (Loosely inspired by the book/film Pride & Prejudice)

Winter

“Honestly, I can’t wait for you to meet him, I can’t believe you haven’t already.”

More often than not, it was endearing to hear Babs talk about her boyfriend. You would think that Dick Grayson had hung the stars in the sky the way she sang his praises. It almost made you sick, the way her eyes would get moony as she practically recited poetry about his charms, his kindness, and occasionally, his body.

She was right though; you and Babs had been friends for as long as you could remember, it was absurd that you were yet to meet her long-term boyfriend. Phone calls and photos hadn’t really been enough to capture a true image of him, who he was and what he stood for. Babs meant the world to you, however, and you were determined to meet the man who had crashed into it so suddenly.

‘Suddenly’, you’d believed, until she’d informed you that he did in fact used to be the Robin to her Batgirl. You’d barked out a laugh at the time, there was nothing sudden about the relationship in that case – Babs had been pining over him for as far back as your mind would stretch. 

It had been a rocky few years for your relationship, your time at Gotham University had separated the pair of you, forcing you to become little more than a library recluse, drowning in books on any given day. Babs had been equally as busy, rebranding herself as Oracle and working so diligently with the Bats most days until the sun came up. It was never anything less than an honour that Babs had trusted you with her identity, the identities of most of them – she’d claimed it couldn’t hurt to have someone like you, a journalist, on the inside if needs be. Deep down, you knew she just wanted to have someone to talk to about it who didn’t dance around every evening in a spandex suit.

Degree finished and countless more hours on your hands, Babs had welcomed you back with open arms, your relationship immediately rekindling to a mirror image of what it had been in your youth. Even Jim had been ecstatic to see you, pulling you into a bear hug when you’d appeared on the doorstep.

This is how you ended up where you are now – nursing a drink in some shitty Gotham dive bar as Babs practically vibrates beside you, anticipating the arrival of her beloved. As hard as it is to resist the urge to wallow in the dingy, depressing lighting, it’s difficult to remain glum with your best friend so excited at the mere prospect of her two favourite people finally meeting. You’d resolved to try and make a good impression, working your utmost to disregard of any animosity you held for excruciating small talk.

“Oh, there he is! Dick!” Babs calls, waving a hand out enthusiastically. Dick saunters over to the table with a million-dollar smile plastered across his cheeks. The images hadn’t done him justice and you can’t help but feel proud of her as he materialises in front of you. He was, admittedly, hot. Jet black hair swooped almost too perfectly against a seamless California tan, defined muscle decorating any visible parts of his physique. Peppy, is the word that comes to mind, and instantly you can see how a man like Dick Grayson would have enraptured your friend so.

“Nightwing,” you whisper, all tongue in cheek as he settles at the table, “Nice to finally see the face behind the mask.”

So much for a good first impression.

You don’t miss the way Dick’s smile falters for just a second or how his body seems to go rigid – or the soft slap Babs throws against your shoulder. It’s amusing to watch, as Dick and Babs eyes flicker in silent communication, Babs offering him a delicate smile to let him know that you were trustworthy.

Clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t know in the first place.

Babs, out of nothing other than good manners, repeats your name to Dick as soon as it becomes apparent you aren’t going to offer it up out of goodwill any time soon. She throws a teasing smile in your direction before adding, “She’s always like this, it’s been a blessing and a curse over the years.”

In spite of your brashness, Dick extends his hand politely, flashing you a stark white grin and a bemused look, “It’s nice to finally meet you. You may as well of been hiding behind a mask too up until this point, ya’ know?”

Begrudgingly, you shake it. It’s frustrating, how difficult it is to remain prickly against all of his oozing charisma. Disarming is what it is, with how quickly his demeanour seems to be crumbling your defences – you can imagine Dick Grayson is a man used to being adored.

Ice broken, the conversation begins to flow smoothly, allowing you to slowly loosen up with every passing phrase. Dick politely asks about your time as a student, making it clear he’s listened diligently to the scraps of information Babs had no doubt given him, and you give him the same courtesy of asking about his day job as opposed to his night one. As your eyes travel between the couple in front of you, you can’t smother the flicker of warmth that makes its home in the pit of your stomach; they look good together, and anyone with a working pair of eyes could see they were absolutely smitten.

“Oh, Babs, I hope you don’t mind, I invited Jason. He’s been a bit down in the dumps recently. Thought a bit of socialisation might do him some good.”

Instantly, you throw Babs a scrutinizing glare, trying to assess if this has all been some ruse to set you up with some random her boyfriend has decided would be a good fit for you. Instead, all you see on her face is genuine surprise, if not a smidge of happiness.

“Of course, Dick, Jason is always welcome – I’ve tried to tell him the same.”

As if on cue, the bar door slams open, ricochetting against the wall behind it. A man who could only be Jason, based on the way Dick and Babs’ faces light up, seems to practically storm in, stopping sharply on his heel to survey the room before his eyes finally land on you.

Naturally, the first thing there is to notice about him is his sheer size, towering over you, your companions and likely everyone else in the bar as well. But its more than that, the way he seems to fill the space, not just with the throes of muscle that seem to be a constant cycle of tensing and relaxing down his neck, arms, jaw – but through an aura, glowering, almost dark. The hair on his head is such a shadowy black it’s striking even in the dim light of the bar, but what’s even more noticeable is the tendril of white that curls its way forward to rest on his brow. His features, you think, wouldn’t be amiss on some kind of Greek statue, distinct and severe. What catches your attention the most, however, is the deep frown etched into his brow, matching seamlessly with a similar snarl of disgust on his lip – you’d think he’d stepped into a sewer with the repulsion that seems to emanate off him.

Without even an acknowledgement, Jason simply marches over to the booth and plants himself in the only empty space directly beside you.

“Jason! I’m happy to see you, in person anyway. How you feeling?” There’s an impossible degree of kindness in Babs’ voice, you think, for a man seemingly so vehement at even being here in the first place. Your impression isn’t helped by the curtness of his response.

“Fine.”

“Jay, you want a drink from the bar? I was just going to –”

“No, I’m not planning on staying long.”

You have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from admonishing the man for his sheer rudeness, his nerve to come blazing into your evening and sap every smidgeon of happiness out of the room without a care in the world. Concern is written plainly across Dick and Babs’ faces, but you can’t pretend to share the same sympathies. To you, Jason seemed to be nothing more than a dickhead with an attitude problem.

“Jason, this is an old friend of mine,” Babs offers him a smile, “I think the two of you would get along pretty well.”

“Oh great, a friend,” Jason’s words are practically lethal, “How on Earth should we celebrate such a momentous occasion?”

“I’m guessing it’s not one you get to celebrate much,” the words spill out of your lips before you can stop them, nothing more than a quiet mumble, but Jason’s head snaps to the side in an instant. There’s a fire that rims his greenish eyes, and there’s not much more that you can see in them other than downright murder. His fingers begin to lighten from his chokehold grip on the table in front of you.

“Who are you and why are you talking?” Jason bites, eyes quickly returning to the chip in the wood you wouldn’t be half surprised if he created with the intensity of his stare.

“Oh, you know, nobody you should care about. By all means, take centre stage. You’ve practically done it anyway.”

Dick’s voice comes out nervously, a hand scratching the back of his head, “Easy, guys.”

“I’ve sat down and said fuck-all,” Jason spits, “I’m not the one making bitchy comments about guys I don’t even know.”

“Bitchy? What is this 1813?” You turn your body to face him directly, edging on shouting. You try to ignore the flutter of regret in your stomach when he does the same, his figure casting a shadow across the entirety of, well, you.

“Well, I like to think of myself as a pretty modern guy but if the shoe fits.”

“That’s enough,” Babs’ voice is swift and severe when it rises, and Jason must be familiar enough with her to know to snap his mouth shut as you do, the pair of you shuffling back to how you’d been seated before. “We’re trying to have a nice evening, not start a war. Jason, why don’t you go get a drink at the bar?”

“I said I don’t want a fucking –”

Babs sends him a particularly pointed look, at which Jason seems to huff and hoist himself out of the booth. Dick is quick to follow, sliding out and trailing in the footsteps of his counterpart.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, you practically lurch forward to Babs, “Who the fuck is he and why –”

“You need to calm down,” Babs’ voice is as stern as it had been only seconds before, and you’re fairly certain you can feel your jaw drop.

“I need to calm down? I need to calm down? Babs he –”

“He’s my friend. Whether you like him or not,” her voice softens ever so slightly, and she reaches across the table to grasp your hands, “I understand he can be difficult, but so can you. He wasn’t being any worse than you were.”

You can’t muster the words to form an answer, instead opting to slump down into your seat with a few breathless grumblings. You cast your eyes over to the boys at the bar, and based on the way Jason’s shoulders are hunched forward, you can imagine he’s getting a similar tirade from Dick. That thought comforts you at least.

When they return, Dick slots himself next to you with a bubbly smile, Jason collapsing opposite him next to Barbara. There’s an awkward silence that seems to engulf the table, until Dick’s eyes begin to shine as he starts on the story of some thug he’d arrested the other day and the chaos that followed. It’s almost manageable like that, Dick happily chittering away as Babs listens intently, leaving you and Jason to glower in silence.

It’s brief, but for just a second, your eyes meet Jason’s. It’s only as you look up from the table that you realise, he’s staring, and you can’t help but feel a little burned by his gaze. If anything, you would say its apologetic, and ever so slightly longing. You watch as his lips part, almost as though he’s about to say something, but instead he just reclines back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest and ripping his eyes away to stare at the poker table across the room.

The rest of the evening continues in that stead, and as time ticks over you find it easier to edge yourself back into the conversation, offering up small stories or observations of your own. To your surprise, even Jason pipes up every half an hour or so, mostly to offer some snide remark that sends Dick and Babs into a fit of giggles.

The four of you stay until the bar closes, a worker coming to awkwardly rush you out onto the street into the smoggy Gotham night. Babs and Dick turn to chatter to each other hurriedly, no doubt trying to orchestrate where they would be staying this evening, leaving you and Jason to stand awkwardly to the side swinging on your heels like petulant children.

Eventually, Babs sighs and turns to the pair of you, a stern look in her eye, “I need to go home with Dick to check out a case he’s been working on, I promised him I would a few days ago.” She pauses before turning sharply to Jason, “Can I trust you to walk her back home without starting a fight?”

“I don’t want him to know where I live!” You throw your arms up in exasperation, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Wow,” Jason’s chuckle is bone-chillingly dark, “Charming. I’m charmed. Truly.”

“You’re not walking on your own,” Babs snips, before tempering, “I’m sorry. I forgot about this, but it’s important. Please can you do me a favour and just go with him.”

“Do I get any say in this?” Jason quips, back half turned to the conversation.

“No, you don’t,” Babs replies firmly.

It’s not long after that Dick and Babs depart, Babs offering you what seems to be a look of both sympathy and warning as the car pulls away from the sidewalk, leaving you and Jason alone in the silent early morning air, refusing to even cast a glance in each other’s direction.

The only word to describe the walk back is painful.

It’s completely silent, bar for your mingled breathing, and the occasional call of directions on your part. Not a glance is shared, the pair of you pacing side by side without any acknowledgement of the other. You have to pretty much jog to keep up with Jason, who if he notices, does not seem to care.

Time seems to drag impossibly slowly until you reach the door of your apartment building, and you swallow your pride as you turn to face him. He seems to recoil slightly as you meet his eye, clearly not expecting such a direct confrontation.

“Uhm, thank you,” you sigh, almost defeatedly, “I wouldn’t really have wanted to walk back on my own. And,” you pause, scrubbing a hand over your face, “I’m sorry, for how I acted in the bar.”

Just as before, you watch as his lips part ever so slightly, like there are words bubbling on his tongue attempting to fight their way forward. His eyes almost seem frantic as they flitter up and down over you with a confused kind of scrutiny.

Then he turns and walks away.

You don’t stop watching him until he disappears around the corner at the end of the street, not once turning to check if you’re still stood gaping like a fish behind him. The rage that burns through your veins is hot and fast, and you nearly slam the door off its hinges as you make your way into the building.

Never before have you met such an arrogant, entitled, rude caricature of a man. Not one who would so shamelessly put on the performance Jason had this evening. It was foolish of you, you think, to believe that the two of you could have come to some kind of level-footing.

As you climb into bed, attempting to quieten the anger that seems to course through every limb, there is only one desire that twists in your stomach.

To never see Jason again.

Spring

It was only so long, really, until you got invited to a Wayne gala.

Babs had requested you come as her plus one, seeing as Dick was (naturally) invited regardless. It had taken no shortage of begging on her part, pleading and harassing you with various different threats and promises until eventually you’d lapsed and agreed. To most, you can imagine, it would be a great honour – but you can only seem to focus on the way your toes seem to be splintering against the heels that had been dashed away into the back of your closet until exactly three hours ago.

The beauty of Wayne Manor cannot be understated, with its grand archways, decadent furniture and collection of gargoyles crooning mercilessly overhead. It reeks of an almost sterile air of perfection, not a single decoration out of place, every member of staff working diligently and only answering with a set of perfectly rehearsed responses that you were certain had been tailored to every possible whim. It’s a battle with your more inquisitive nature to venture beyond the contained room in which the party takes place, longing to explore the vast halls and the secrets that must be embedded within them.

Bruce Wayne does moonlight as a bat, after all.

Babs had been by your side for the first hour or so, pleasantly making your introductions to the wealthy of Gotham, many of whom you’re sure could skyrocket your career forward with nothing more than a click of their fingers. You try your best to be pleasant and accommodating, laughing at their jokes and basking their minor achievements in glowing praise. It’s deceptively easy, at this point, to slip into your professional persona, the voice echoing from your throat one that you can barely recognise as your own.

You can see Babs becoming impatient at your side, longing to go and mingle with a few others across the room who you could hazard a guess were some of her more super friends based on the way they lingered around Dick Grayson. You’d been assured that Dick was typically the life of an event of this calibre, enrapturing guests with his charms, but instead he had been left fairly stationary by a leg break in two places, wincing from his spot in the corner as his cast pokes out the bottom of his suit trousers.

“Go,” you’d huffed with a giggle, “Go see them. I’m going to get a drink anyway.”

“I won’t be long,” she assured before barrelling away. It was sweet, the way Dick’s eyes seemed to light up when he saw her approach.

Without Babs at your side, however, it seems impossible to mix with the elites. To them, you are nobody, and without an ‘in’ into their conversations, you may as well be dressed as one of the wait staff. You opt instead to haunt the walls, trapsing round the shadows of the hall with a flute of champagne in hand that seems to empty itself far too quickly.

“I can show you where they keep the bottle, if you like,” a gruff voice calls out from beside you, and your stomach twists when you realise that it’s Jason, slotting himself between you and the wall. He looks, well, good. His suit is clearly tailored, as you would imagine it would have to be for a man of his stature, and there’s a loose red tie knotted somewhat haphazardly around his neck. In any other context, it would scream of laziness, but somehow, he seems to make the whole affair work for him.

“That’s oddly generous of you, you feelin’ okay?” You keep it curt, barely sparing him a glance and instead keeping your eye fixed on the couples swaying about the dance floor.

“That’s oddly presumptuous for someone who doesn’t actually know me at all,” Jason’s words lack the bitterness they had the evening at the bar, instead dripping out like smooth velvet, and seemingly somewhat amused.

“I think I know enough to make a judgement on your character,” you quip, downing the last of your champagne and placing it politely on the tray of the closest waiter with a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Is that so?”

“It is, I’m afraid.”

“Dance with me.” It throws you for a loop when he says it, offering a hand out at your side. He looks somewhat amused as you must stare at him like he’s grown a second head, but still waves his fingers insistently.

Speechless, and albeit a tad shaken, you take his hand as he guides you to the dance floor. It’s swift as he spins you to face him, a hand settling loosely on your waist. You swallow a gulp before bringing your own to settle on his shoulders, and as the music starts up again the pair of you begin to sway in tandem. You’re certain he must be able to feel how tense you are beneath his palms, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m…” he starts, clicking his head to the side in frustration, “I’m sorry. For my behaviour that night. It was… rude.”

“It was,” you agree, not faltering at the sharp look he sends your way.

It takes him a few seconds to find the words, and you almost feel pity for the way he seems to struggle. Eventually he lands on, “I’m not known for my first impressions.”

You bark out a laugh at that, startling some of the other guests beside you. Jason’s eyes seem to widen in shock, but when they settle there’s no contempt in them.

“You can say that again,” you pause before adding, “But I appreciate your apology.”

He does little more than grunt in response, as the pair of you continue to rock back and forth. You would have expected it to be awkward, given your previous encounter, but you can feel yourself beginning to relax into his hold. He still appears tense, and you can feel his fingertips biting ever so slightly into your side, but there’s nothing about him that would suggest any kind of animosity.

“No offense,” you hum, just quiet enough for only him to hear, “What are you doing here? This doesn’t exactly scream of your scene.”

He chuckles lowly, spinning you in sync with the rest of the crowd, “No, it’s not. I usually avoid these things like the plague. I’m doing it to keep the old man off my back.”

“The old man?” You question, throwing Jason a quizzical glance. He too, looks confused at your admission.

“My old man. Bruce Wayne.”

You pretty much stutter to a stop on the dance floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. You’re not sure how it hadn’t clicked into place until this very moment, what with Nightwing being the one to introduce the pair of you – but you had never for a second considered that this Jason could be that Jason.

“You’re Jason Todd?” It comes out as an exhale, and Jason casts an obvious glance in your direction.

“Aren’t you meant to be a journalist? I thought you’d figured that out already.”

“No, I’d heard the news that you were…” you falter, watching as he seems to brace for the words that follow, “back from your, ah, imprisonment. That was what they said in the papers, correct?”

The look he throws in your direction is a grateful one, despite the shared knowledge that you both know what really happened to him. Babs had told you the bare bones of the story. It was enough to know that the man in front of you had travelled all the way from the grave to be here tonight.

“Me and Bruce have our differences,” Jason offers, and it’s the bluntest you’ve heard him all evening. A warning, not to press any further. You decide that it wouldn’t be the smartest idea to divulge your knowledge that this revelation would also make the man in front of you Gotham’s infamous Red Hood.

The two of you continue to dance for the next few songs, making casual but polite conversation amongst the crowds. Scarily, you begin to feel that his company might not be so deplorable after all when he dares to crack the odd joke or two, developing a sneaking suspicion he may be genuinely sorry about what had happened at the bar.

“Okay,” you huff out, sinking forward into him ever so slightly, “I think I might have to call it quits on the dancing for this evening. My feet feel like they’re about to tear in half.”

He doesn’t reply but instead guides you towards the edge of the room on his arm with more poise than you’d have thought him capable of, allowing you to perch down on a chez-lounge and give your tired body a brief reprieve. You sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Jason lets out an awkward cough.

“Look, I have to go and talk to some people,” he almost cringes as he says it, and it’s near enough a look of abject horror on his face, “But… thank you, for the dance.”

“Thank you,” you reply earnestly, meeting his eyes with as tender a look you can muster. Under your glance, he seems to mellow, the corner of his lip even quirking up ever so slightly.

“I’ll… I’ll catch you around,” He bumbles, “Maybe even see you later.”

“I would like that.”

And with that he’s gone.

You feel the loss of his presence almost instantly, and the emptiness that accompanies it is what surprises you most of all. You decide to stay put for the time being, most of the socialites so drunk at this point that they couldn’t object to your own lack of decorum without blatantly highlighting their own.

You remain perched for at least half an hour, grateful for yet another glass of champagne that gets thrust in your direction. You’re fairly certain you can make out Babs across the room, Dick draped dramatically across her wheelchair with an exuberant smile. The time passes fairly quickly as you glance over the hall, people-watching with the ever so slight buzz of alcohol muddying your thoughts.

“You might have just taken the best spot in the room,” a deep timbre echoes out from beside you, and of every person in the world it could have belonged to, you weren’t anticipating it being Bruce Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne,” you shoot up instantly, cringing at the way your ankle rolls in your heel. He only lets out a deep chuckle before motioning for you to sit again, occupying the spot next to you with his looming presence.

“I must admit,” he begins, all smile, “I was unfamiliar with your work before you appeared on my guest list, but you are indeed, incredibly impressive.”

You can’t do much to fight the blush that rises on your cheeks, “Thank you, uh, sir. That’s very kind. I’m only just starting out really, but it’s an honour to know my work has been recognised.”

“You will come to me,” he places a warm hand on your shoulder, “that is, if you need anything. Any friend of Commissioner Gordon and his family is a friend of mine.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” you confess, wishing you had been slightly more sparing with your alcohol consumption in the past few hours. That being said, there was no part of your evening plans that had involved chatting with Bruce Wayne himself.

You dare not mention his other career path, not to his face. Not when you couldn’t be sure if Babs had divulged such information or not. Not that she needed to, he probably knew anyway.

“I must confess,” Bruce sighs, a tired smile drawing on his features, “I do have other motivations for coming to speak to you.”

“Oh?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you were dancing with my son earlier,” Bruce begins with a tut, “I get so little from him. I figured I would inquire about his, ah, connection with you instead.”

“Oh, oh, no,” you burst out almost too eagerly, “Me and Jason? This is only the second time we’ve ever met.”

“Is that so?” Bruce questions, a curious quirk on his brow. It only makes it all the more sudden when a stormy disposition seems to cross over his features, “In that case, I suggest you keep it that way.”

There’s little you can do to mask the confusion on your face at his remark. Sure, Jason had been more than a little rude on your first encounter, but he’d been nothing other than pleasant to you this evening. You weren’t unfamiliar with the Red Hood and his methods, under no illusions regarding what Jason was or wasn’t capable of.

“May I ask why you say that Mr. Wayne?”

“Ever the journalist,” Bruce hums, “My son has turned himself into a man not to be trifled with, and in that effort has made himself an outcast to both me and my family. I am aware you know of my family’s activities, Miss, and as a result you no doubt know of his. However, it is not Jason’s choices that bother me most, it is the pain that he inflicts upon those around him.”

The question stutters out of your mouth before you can stop it, not even sure you wanted the answer, “What is it that he’s done? To your family, I mean.”

Bruce doesn’t open his mouth to answer but instead nods to Dick now tucked away in the corner of the hall, struggling to steady himself on his broken leg. To most, Dick’s smile would be enough to ensure them that he was okay, but your multiple encounters with him at this point are enough to let you glimpse the pain in his expression.

“Jason tends to be destructive, and as much as I try to guide him, I’m beginning to fear there isn’t much else he knows anymore. It isn’t the first time he’s done such damage, and it won’t be the last.”

It’s sickening, the way that the universe chooses that moment for you to lock eyes with Jason, leaned against the bar. Swiftly as a growing forest fire, his eyes are a quiet smoulder when they lock with yours, only to grow into a blaze at the image of Bruce sat next to you. You feel at an impasse, two sides of you being tugged in opposite directions.

You look away from Jason quickly. If what Bruce was telling you was true, you had no reason to spare him a glance. Hurting Dick meant hurting Babs. Hell, Dick was a friend, and you couldn’t stand for the idea of someone hurting him either. A spin on a dance floor and a few uptight compliments wouldn’t change that.

“My advice, if you would take it,” Bruce sighs, beginning to stand, “you seem like an intelligent young woman, and you have a bright future ahead of you. I would make an expressed effort to stay out of Jason’s sights in your shoes, I fear it is not a particularly safe place to be.”

Your conversation ends fairly abruptly after that, Bruce shaking your hand and slipping you a business card with a reminder that he would be keen to help with your career given the opportunity. It’s difficult not to trust him, with his warm smile and kind words – you find it almost impossible to believe that his speech couldn’t have been without some kind of merit.

“So, you finally met him?” Babs wheels next to you when Bruce is out of sight, pressing a teasing elbow into your side. Her face seems to drop when she scans across your own, your turmoil clear as day, “Hey, you okay? What did he say to you?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy,” you snap yourself out of it, “Just work, really.”

The look that Babs gives you is enough for you to know that she doesn’t quite believe what you’re telling her, but your saviour appears in the form of Dick Grayson, hobbling over to join you with sweat practically dripping from his brow.

“Congrats,” he slaps an arm around your shoulders, positively beaming, “You just survived your first Bat interrogation.”

The two of them continue to chatter for a few minutes, and you can’t help but scan the room for Jason himself. It’s an odd sensation, and you can’t pinpoint why exactly you care where he is, but you can’t seem to settle without setting your sights on him.

You rejoin the conversation just as Dick turns to face you, “…Anyway, we were thinking of heading back to mine to chill, we’ve done our bit. Bruce can’t complain. Obviously, you’re more than welcome, we just need to find Ja – ”

“Actually,” you plaster on the brightest smile you can concoct, “I’m really not feeling too good. Definitely had a bit too much champagne. I might call it a night, I have work tomorrow, you know.”

“That’s fine, I get it, I get it. We can drop you back home –”

“Honestly, it’s fine, I think I’m just going to call a cab. Thank you though, it’s been a wonderful evening.”

You can only hope that Dick and Babs will chalk your eagerness to escape up to the alcohol as you make your departure, rushing to collect your bag and coat as quickly as you can in stupid fucking heels. As soon as you’re out of the hall, you peel them off your feet and set off at a brisk pace to try and get out of Wayne Manor as quickly as possible.

Until you collide headfirst with what may as well have been a wall, with how stiff and unyielding it seemed to be.

Jason stares down at you with an emotion you can’t quite name, and you’re reminded of just how big he really is. How imposing it would be to see him, clad in a red mask, glaring down towards whoever might be his latest victim. You think about what Dick must’ve felt, as his own brother battered him so.

“One final dance for the road?” He questions with a quirk of his lips, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes. It transforms swiftly into something else when you respond.

“No, I don’t think I will, actually,” you snap, pulling yourself out his way and continuing your mission towards the end of the driveway.

You’re thankful for the silence, that he doesn’t attempt to chase you or catch you in some kind of confrontation. You make it halfway down the drive before he finally calls out.

“What did Bruce say to you?” It’s quiet, and you can barely hear it behind you from the ruckus of the party inside. There’s something about it that pangs in your chest, but you steel yourself and continue walking, without even a glance behind you.

It’s only when you hail the cab that you turn around to face him, and unlike last time, he’s still there. Alone. Stood outside the manor with nothing other than hurt radiating off him. It’s surprisingly easy to turn away, ripping the car door open and slipping inside.

You climb over to the other seat so you don’t have to watch him as you pull away.

Summer

If someone had told you 6 months ago that you would be sat on the roof of Nightwing’s apartment building, surrounded by all sorts of metahumans and vigilantes, having a barbeque – well, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.

It’s hard to believe, as you’re reclined on a sunbed, cocktail in hand, best friend at your side while her boyfriend flips burgers in his, quite frankly, egregious Kiss the Cook apron, that things could be going so well. Bludhaven hadn’t ever been on your list of top holiday destinations, but basking in the hazy summer sun is more than enough to make up for it. It’s raucous, as you would expect many young superheroes crammed into a small space trying to cook a banquet of food would be, but the grouch within you can’t even seem to care about the chaos.

It’s jarring how well life seems to be going. Babs and Dick had pushed you to contact Bruce about working with Wayne Industries on some insider reporting, and the man himself had accepted your proposal with open arms. He’d even doubled the amount you got paid for the pieces as a ‘tip’, a token of thanks for your time dedicated to the cause. As a result, your writing had been the talk of the town since, and you had every major paper scrambling to offer you an exclusive contract.

You and Babs are closer than ever, and to your surprise, you’d integrated fairly seamlessly into their wider friend group as a regular staple of their gatherings. Sure, you were much quieter in comparison to the Titans and other various young heroes, but they seemed to enjoy your presence, nonetheless. You’d even spent some time at Wayne Manor with Dick and Babs, finally meeting the other members of the family after hearing about them in excess.

You’d run into Jason a few times.

It never failed to be an awkward encounter, often comprised of curt greetings and nothing more. Jason showed no signs that your rebuff had scorned him but, as expected, any trace of the warmth he’d shown you that night at the gala seemed to have disappeared promptly. You were just as cold, often refusing to look him in the eye on the rare occasion he would enter a room that also contained you. It was baffling, that he still had a place beside Dick and Babs and the rest of them, given the only increasing rumours you’d heard once being integrated into the super-community about his mistreatment of those closest to him. You’d never brought the topic up to either of your friends, primarily out of fear that they would attempt to see beneath your distain for something deeper – you didn’t have to mention it, they were ever lenient on Jason’s behaviour and seemed to welcome him with open arms at every opportunity.

Which is why you’re unsurprised, later in the evening when most of the heroes have gone home or out on their various patrols, that Jason appears on the roof next to Dick overlooking the city, a quiet conversation muttering between the pair. Your eyes catch him, Jason, for just a second as he turns ever so briefly to watch you sprawled out with a book in hand. Your eyes meeting is enough to drive him away again, jaw grinding as he turns to look forward.

Good, you’re glad your presence is enough to piss him off.

You continue that way for the next hour or so, tearing through your book until the words begin to blur into a splodge of ink on the page. The steady cooling of the dusky air is a welcome reprieve from the blazing sun, and it doesn’t take you long to drift off, your last waking feeling being that of your book dropping onto your chest.

It’s significantly later when you blink yourself awake again, the moon settled comfortably against the Bludhaven skyline. You instantly take note of the blanket that’s been draped over your body, curled between your fingers, and take a second to scan around the rooftop in search for any other waking body.

To your chagrin, the only figure that comes into view is Jason, sat with his legs dangling over the side of the building and a cigarette clutched tightly within his fingers. It’s almost picturesque, watching him inhale and exhale with a stream of smoke, the plains of his face framed by the moonlight. It strikes you that he’s likely in his element, perched on a rooftop shrouded in the darkness of the night, and it pains you to admit just how beautiful he looks.

Without even a glance in your direction, he simply chuckles mockingly, holding the cigarette up plainly for you to see, “Been trying to quit for months now.”

“Maybe you should try harder,” it’s snide and a bit pathetic and you know it, but you can’t seem to mellow the bite in your words. He simply laughs and returns to taking slow drags, barely even acknowledging that you had said anything.

Quickly, you begin to gather your things together, pulling the blanket tightly around your body as you make your way to the door back inside, wishing to be out of this awkward situation and less than stellar company as fast as you can.

It’s Jason’s voice that stops you, “You never told me.”

“What?”

“You never told me what Bruce said to you.” There’s an odd resignation in his words, and his voice remains remarkably even, not giving away any hint of whatever emotion was hidden beneath his words.

“I’m sure you can guess,” you huff out, drawing your hand away from the door to turn and face him.

Wordlessly, Jason hoists himself up from the side of the building and starts to make his way towards you. He stops a comfortable distance away, not enough to be an imposing presence, but so close that you can see his fingers fidgeting in front of him.

“I just want to know if what he said to you is what changed your mind about me,” Jason bites, “or if it’s always just been how you felt.”

“Why do you care about how I feel, Jason?” It comes out far harsher than you intended. He only scrubs a hand over his face in response, and you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or a whimper that crawls its way out of his throat.

“Do you really not see what’s going on here?”

“No, Jason, if I knew what was going on –”

“I like you, okay? I’ve tried my best to make it obvious, I really have. And trust me, I don’t want to, but I do. You’re beautiful, you’re talented, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks because you know who you are. I like how opinionated you are, everyone else in my life fucking dances around me like I’m about to explode – but you don’t. I was rude at the bar because I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting you, and I tried to make it up to you at the gala and then Bruce –”

“Bruce told me the truth, Jason.” The fumbling words are all that you can manage, your brain spinning at the revelation that Jason had just laid bare in front of you. Everything feels jilted, and surprisingly the only feeling whirring around your chest that you can articulate is anger.

“I don’t know what Bruce told you,” Jason’s practically pleading, “But I just wish you would judge me on me rather than what everyone else has to say.”

“Jason. You don’t know me,” your words are slow, but it does little to soften the viciousness tainting them, “you think you can – what? Just waltz in after months of being rude and judgy and – and after hurting my friends and act like all of it was okay because you like me? I haven’t been able to judge you on what you have to say because you never talk to me!”

The warm summer sun is long gone now, replaced with a chilling breeze and an ever so slight smattering of rain. The only word to describe Jason is speechless, but you don’t miss the way his fists curl at his sides. You practically leap sideways as he spins round with a number of cusses, pacing back and forth with what at a glance seems to be pure anguish.

“Hurt?” He spits out, all venom, “Who exactly have I hurt?”

“Well, Dick, for starters –”

“Dick? Oh, of course,” Jason lets out a bitter chuckle, “Of course, I hurt the golden boy.”

“He had a broken leg!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, and in an instant Jason is on you, so close you can smell his smoky cologne and the lingering touch of burnt leather.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s nothing more than a ghost of a whisper, and he’s so close you can almost taste the words on his tongue.

“Real romantic by the way,” you refuse to back down, instead only edging closer and angling your chin to lock onto his eyes blazing down into your own, “I like you but I don’t want to. I didn’t realise I was just so deplorable.”

The rain is blinding now, hammering down around the pair of you, eliminating anything in your eyeline other than him. You’re both soaked to the bone, locked in a standoff neither one of you is willing to back down from. His hair is flattened to his forehead, and his shirt has plastered itself across his shoulders – you don’t dare to consider what you look like, clad in nothing other than a blanket and casual swimwear. It’s only then that you register the jittering of your entire body, and you can’t pinpoint whether it’s the cold or the sheer rage coursing through your veins as the source.

Both of your heads tear to the side at the soft call of your name, the silhouette of Babs highlighted from the doorway back into the apartment. Squinting through the rain, you can make out the shock and concern marring her features, and you instantly jump back from your stalemate. Jason takes a similar course of action, turning on his heel to march inside without a second thought.

He makes it halfway before he stops and turns to stare at you.

“You shouldn’t just listen to everything people tell you. I thought you were smarter than that. There are two sides to every story.”

And then he disappears inside.

Autumn

All the glee of summertime had been quick to disperse. Life seemed to pass by in a blur: work had slowed considerably as Gotham herself seemed to ready for hibernation, you had moved to a different apartment, nicer but nestled significantly further away from everything you’d become accustomed to. Babs had taken on a lot more work with Batman which seemed to consume the majority of her waking life, and with the loss of her constant company went Dick Grayson too. You still texted daily, but in person visits had become disappointingly scarce.

You’d be a downright liar if you said in every spare moment that your thoughts didn’t trapse back to your encounter with Jason. It reeled like film in the back of your mind whenever your eyelids fluttered shut, a constant rerun of every minute detail – the way his hands seemed to ring, the flexing and rolling of his shoulders as he paced, the hurt in his eyes as you’d unleashed a tirade onto him on what was supposed to be a relaxing summer evening.

It was nothing more than professional curiosity, you’d told yourself, your desire to know more. To glean some kind of insight into the other side of the story that Jason had preached. It was in your nature, journalism and the like. However, it was much easier to pretend that the world had alienated you from the answer, forcing you away from your work and friends, than it was to admit that you had run away because you were scared.

Which is why it took months for you to finally ask Babs to meet up for a coffee, rather than her asking you. The air had begun to bite as you lingered in the street, longing for a familiar face, even the nip of the cold bringing back persistent traces of that night. A sigh of relief materialises in a faint cloud of vapour as Babs appears round the corner, throwing her arms out for a hug as soon as she’s close enough. It’s uncharacteristically awkward as you settle down at a table, Babs doing little to hide her expectant stare as the barista places your drinks down in front of you.

“What did you want to –”

“Jason.” The slight curl of her lip at your mention of his name is enough to throw you, her knowing look pressing forward into what feels like every inch of your body.

“What do you want to know about Jason?” Babs offers, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug casually. If the display is supposed to make you feel less under pressure, it does nothing to alleviate the hammering of your pulse.

Your brain goes blank. “Uhm – how is he?”

Babs seems unable to stifle the laugh that barks out, bringing her coffee up to her lips, “You invited me out for coffee to ask how Jason is?”

You take a deep breath and muster all you can to steel yourself, allowing a smidgeon of your work persona to bleed in. “That night on the roof. He said some things and – and I never got any clarification. I just have some things I need to know.”

“How come you’re asking me and not him?”

“I don’t think Jason and I are in a place to be asking each other deep and thought-provoking personal questions,” you wince as the words tangle themselves on your tongue, and you can’t subdue the simmering feeling of disappointment that seems to accompany them.

Babs’ pauses for a second, as if weighing in her options, before eventually letting out a soft sigh and offering you a tender look, “Go on, what is it you want to know.”

“At the gala,” you begin far too quickly, grimacing at your own eagerness, “Bruce told me that Jason was dangerous. I’d already figured out that he was, you know, but the way Bruce painted this picture. It was like Jason was a monster, like he chose to hurt everyone close to him. He told me that he broke Dick’s leg.”

“Jason did break Dick’s leg,” Babs states plainly, and you can feel yourself deflate, “Jason broke Dick’s leg to save him. Dick was trapped in rubble, and he was losing oxygen fast. He was, he would’ve, died if Jason hadn’t gotten there before any of the rest of us could. The only options were to break Dick’s leg – who was unconscious by the way – to get him out or leave him to suffocate.”

You’re practically speechless. Never before has your mind stuttered so suddenly to a halt. All you can seem to do is gape at Babs as her jaw seems to clench; anger wasn’t a familiar emotion in your relationship, but you had seen it enough to recognise it.

“Bruce and Jason have a fractious relationship at the best of times, and they were certainly not going steady back then. Bruce showed up and saw Jason manhandling Dick out of a collapsed building with a broken limb and assumed the worst. God, it was awful, only Tim could stop them fighting and eventually Jason just disappeared. The first time any of us saw Jason after that was the Gala, and that was only because he promised Alfred.”

“Did Bruce ever find out the truth?” You’re practically reeling as all of the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place, Jason’s distance from his family at the Gala, his hurt at your insinuations about him. You’d treated him atrociously and this whole time he was the one that had been hurt.

“We told him straight away. We told him as it happened. But Jason and Bruce have this blindness when it comes to each other, they can only see what they want to see. Bruce refused to hear anything other than that Jason had brought the building down and Dick with it.” There’s a rawness in Babs’ voice, and a pearly ring of wetness dampening her eyes.

“But I’ve heard so much about…” you pause, contemplating the weight of your words, “It’s not just Bruce. I’ve heard everyone talk about him and the things he does, like he’s some kind of sadist. Like he kills people for fun and –”

“Jason does kill, there’s no doubt about that,” Babs’ tone hitches slightly, shifting to something more resolute, “but it’s not just for fun or how he gets his kicks. He has an ethos, a system, the same way Bruce or Dick or any of us do. Agree with it or not, he’s trying to make things better in his own way.”

It’s a harrowing feeling, every synapse being excavated and laid bare, the devastating realisation that all was not as it had seemed. Jason had been right, you should’ve known better than to presume. “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?”

Babs wastes no time reaching over to take your hands in hers, some of the warmth returning to her gaze, “No, you haven’t. You acted on all the information that you had and that’s all we can do. But you can –”

“No,” your reply is instant, and Babs draws back in surprise, “I can’t. Not after all this. I’ve hurt him, I can’t imagine he wants me in his life. And I still don’t know him. I just –”

Babs calls your name softly as you begin to gather your belongings, hastily sipping down the last of your drink and scanning desperately for the nearest exit. She doesn’t attempt to say anything, just offers you an almost infuriatingly tender look. You quickly mutter your goodbyes, a small smile and a promise to text later, before rushing out into the Gotham traffic.

It had been easy to be so righteous, so comfortable in your position, but now every noise and sensation felt like a slap. A kick while you were down. It had been so simple to deny anything you had felt towards him, any kind of attraction, from your high horse; to look down and tell yourself that you had been wronged and anything you felt was out of nothing more than a lingering feeling of pity.

It’s overwhelming, the sensation of missing out on an opportunity, a friend, and maybe something more that made itself so scarce in your life to begin with. It’s shame, you think.

You can’t help but think that if you were Jason Todd, you would never want to see you again.

Winter

Gotham in the winter is a sight to behold: flickering lights casting a yellow haze over the murky skyline, the cold lick of the coast sneaking its way into the alleyways and street corners, an entire civilisation cloaked in a dreary blanket. It was much kinder from inside the warm glow of your apartment, staring out at the figures on the street below fighting against the elements.

Life had continued, as it always does. It had taken you some time to process what had happened with Jason, mourn the prospect of what could’ve been. Bruce had offered you a full-time position at Wayne Industries. You’d turned it down. Told him you wanted to ‘explore different avenues’ this early in your career, and in spite of the suspicious look he’d given you, he’d assured that there would always be a position for you if you desired.

Instead, you had taken a role at a local up-and-coming paper focussed on exposing corruption within Gotham’s elite. It was perfect, the hands-on kind of work you had favoured during your studies, and the success was already beginning to blossom. Babs and Dick had been nothing but supportive: you weren’t as involved with their ‘super-gatherings’ anymore, finding the whole group to be a tad overwhelming, but they still made time for you each and every week in the same dingy bar in which Babs had first introduced you to everyone.

Everything didn’t feel right yet, but it was getting there.

Being nestled in your apartment in the evenings alone didn’t feel so glum anymore, instead lighting a warm flicker in the bottom of your belly. You were working on a big piece, the biggest you’d written so far, scouring into the Falcone family and some of their more illegitimate dealings – papers sprawled across every available surface, a few stripes of ink now decorated your dining room table. You were certain you looked a wreck; sleep hadn’t come easy the past nights – you were in limbo. Until the article was published and in the public eye, there was little to protect you from anyone who had questions about what you were looking into. You’d even gone out and brought a gun. As a result, there was little that could drag you away from your laptop, a desperation to finish your work that felt somewhat like your life depended on it.

Which is why when there’s a hammering at your front door at 1am, it becomes difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

“Miss?” A gruff voice calls out, “Heard you had some interest in a friend of mine. I have some information that might be of use to you.”

As quietly as you can, you scramble for your keys. Dick had given you a small device, some kind of button, when you’d told him and Babs about your new job and its dealings – he’d assured you that as soon as you pressed it there would always be help on the way. It’s impossible to stifle the gasp of relief as you finally feel the tiny device roll between your fingers, pressing it down hard and watching as it illuminates your apartment in a soft blue.

“Miss? We know you’re in there,” the hammering gets much louder all of a sudden, and you dip down behind the couch, drawing yourself into a ball, “This can be much easier for you if you just let us in.”

From across the room, you can see your phone light up, and you thank the lord that you’d put it on silent – it’s Babs, you can see from the cheesy lockscreen of you draped across her lap after some raucous night out. The men, multiple of them now, continue to scuffle outside your front door as they no doubt contemplate the best method to enter and beat the shit out of you. You could make a run for the gun now, but if they came in you would be cornered in your bedroom, nowhere to escape to.

“Right, lady, you’re starting to piss me off,” A new voice calls out, “I’m giving you ten seconds to come out before we come in.”

Ten seconds is a long time for a vigilante, right? Normally, you’d pride yourself on your ability to think on your feet, but unfortunately the only course of action seems to be waiting out the storm. The idea of leaping out the window dances across your mind briefly, but with no fire escape and a 40ft drop it wasn’t the most thrilling concept. Quickly, you reach out and snatch your pen off the table – it was sturdy, metal, a gift from Jim Gordon when you’d graduated – it wasn’t sharp by any means, but with enough force it could definitely do some damage.

You grimace at the thought.

All at once, a barrage of sound erupts in your ears; the door swings open and groans as the hinges splinter bit by bit, the thundering of footsteps is instant, you can count one, two, three sets of steps against the creaking floorboards. It all happens far too quickly, one of them calling out a signal to the others that they’ve found you, and you’re hoisted to your feet, both arms held tightly by a brute on either one. You swing from side to side with as much force as you can muster, kicking out and screaming, relishing as you hear a deep groan from your right.

Nothing prepares you for the swing of a fist, though.

You’ve never been punched before, surprisingly, and it strikes you that maybe its one of the only things movies do justice. It’s less the impact itself, but more the way that your head wrenches to the side that sends you reeling. Before you can even recollect yourself there’s a hand clamped around your jaw, tugging your face back upwards. Most of the man’s face is covered, donned in all black, but there’s a cruelty in his eyes that collapses your chest. It’s disgusting, the way one of his fingers hooks around your teeth, keeping you trapped like a fish on a line. You contemplate spitting in his face, but as if out of instinct, you snap your teeth shut.

It makes you retch as he pulls back, the thick, hot metallic sheet that coats every surface of your mouth. Abject horror is the only phrase to describe the look of the man opposite you, clasping his mangled finger gingerly to his chest. Before you can revel in your small victory, another slap sends you clattering across the floor, wood splintering beneath your fingertips.

If a punch was a bee-sting, a kick to the ribs is a bomb going off.

“You fucking bitch!” The man hollers, drawing his foot back for another swift kick. His boots must be metal capped, you think.

“Haven’t you heard? Bitch is so 1800s.”

It’s a rough modulated voice that draws you from your stupor – it’s difficult to make out shapes through the tears that have spilled over, but if the shrill whimpers of the men around you are enough to go by, you’d say help has arrived. The pause gives you enough time to shuffle back against the wall, gradually shifting to something akin to a sitting position.

“Hood,” One of the goons whispers, and you’re not sure if its double vision or the man is actually trembling, “What – this isn’t your turf –”

“Don’t care. Goodbye.” The echo of a gunshot is so much louder up close, and you can’t help but slam a hand over your mouth as the giant of a man seems to crumple to the ground, brains splattered all over your bookshelf. One of the other goons attempts to make a run for it but is stopped by a gloved hand that shoots out and catches him by the throat. It’s a horrible wheezing sound that sneaks its way out of his windpipe, all while the Red Hood takes his time strapping his gun to his thigh, before bringing his other hand around languidly to snap the goons’ neck.

It’s all so quick, you think, not like the long-winded tit-for-tat action movie sequences where they trade blows, it’s just sheer overwhelming force. A black hole that’s come to consume anything that dare move in its presence.

It’s Jason.

Out of your peripheral you can make out the man, your main attacker, breaking from his stupor. You recognise the way his hands begin to curl in his pocket, a hand wrapping around an all too familiar shape that he begins to draw outwards painstakingly slowly. Before you can clamber to your feet, the gun is aimed straight for him, a clear shot, and Jason seems to realise just as you do that the man’s finger is contracting on the trigger.

You can’t even process your own movements, let alone pain, yet you feel your feet underneath you, pushing you forward. The cool feeling of the pen between your fingers feels so familiar yet so absurd, and with all the force you can muster you slam it round into the side of the man’s throat. It’s so much worse, watching death this way; Jason had the decency to make the others quick, but here you were watching a man bleed onto your rug as he stares at you with surprise and your engraved pen in his jugular.

It’s only seconds before he flops to the ground too.

Jason’s there before your knees can buckle, wrapping a solid arm around your waist and holding you up like a puppet on a string. As much as you try and move your tongue, it’s like lead in your mouth, and you can’t do much more than stand there gaping as Jason checks your injuries.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” You didn’t know a modulated voice could sound so tender, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time.”

“Jason, I –” It sounds so wet and broken, barely recognisable as your own voice.

“I know,” he coos, bringing a hand round to cradle your less injured cheek, “But you did so good, so good. You saved me.”

The tears begin to flow promptly after that, and you wonder if the Red Hood often has people sob into his chest, and if he ever lets them. Slowly, he lowers the pair of you to the ground, and as soon as you hit the floor it feels as though every drop of energy has been drained from your body.

“I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, “I’m sorry about what I said and –”

If you’re not mistaken, he laughs, and even through the robotic filter you can hear the hint of amusement, “You’re an idiot.”

“What?”

“You’ve just killed a man and you’re worried about apologising to me over an argument we had months ago.”

You let out a wet laugh, “Can’t help it. I don’t want to like you, but I think I do.”

“Maybe we should start again,” Jason hums, pulling off his helmet. You know deep down that he’s just trying to distract you from the weight of your evening, and you’re sure that it will hit you when the brain fog begins to wear off – but right now, you can’t seem to care. Clearly, a near death experience has changed your perspective.

You mumble your name quietly, offering your hand out to him, “I’m a journalist, I’m allergic to cats and I have a kill count of one.”

Jason only barks out a laugh, those mesmerising green eyes finally rimmed with mirth rather than rage, “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

Spring

You’d never thought that such a dingy, depressing bar tucked away in the veins of Gotham could feel so much like home – but the regulars at the poker table wave each time you step through the front door, the bartender smiles while she pours your regular and asks how your latest article is coming along. But your favourite part, without a doubt, is slumping in after a long day at work and seeing your closest companions huddled together at your booth in the corner looking up at you with beaming smiles.

You slide into the booth next to Jason without a word, and his arm drapes itself across your shoulders automatically. It’s still new, the pair of you sharing bashful smiles at every intimate moment, but there’s a love that burns in your chest brighter than any feeling you thought yourself capable of.

“You guys are disgusting, I hope you know,” Dick whinges, letting out a chuckle as Babs punches him hard in the arm.

“Be quiet, you,” Babs chuckles, “Our plan finally came to fruition.”

You narrow your eyes at her across the table, quirking your head to the side, “I knew it. You did want to set us up.”

“Well that was obvious from the get go, Princess,” Jason chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I like to think we gave them a challenge though.”

“I certainly didn’t think you would develop a body count on the way,” Babs brows go up and she sends a grin in your direction.

“That’s my girl,” Jason whispers, throwing a grin in your direction, “What a fearsome thing to behold.”

“God, I love it when you quote Pride & Prejudice to me.”

“I know you do, baby, I know.”

This has been a WIP for sooooo long, like since before I even started this account. I don’t know if it’s obvious but I really struggled to finish it, I had absolutely no idea how to leave it. But oh well 🤷‍♀️

also im SORRY for making Bruce the BAD GUY it was the only way i could make it work in my head 💔

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don’t like it, leave me alone.

[hearts4mica]

I’m the perfect pretty girl.

Platonic! & Yandere! Batfam x Popular! Reader

Masterlist! Part 2 Part3

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“Oh wow!”

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“My name is [name] Wayne and not to be arrogant or anything but i’m the perfect example of a ‘perfect pretty girl’. And im not trying to be a jerk. Im just stating a fact!”

And you were not lying. Being the middle child of the family, the first born daughter of Bruce Wayne of course you were gonna be beautiful.

You were walking in the streets when a random dude appeared infront of you.

“Hey wanna go out sometime?” He said excitedly you had never seen him in your entire life.

Now if you were a normal pretty girl you would have said something like. “How about you go to a pig farm and kiss one of them?”

But of course you wouldn’t say that after all you were a role model. Gotham’s Princess. That’s what the media called you.

Instead you just said: “Oh im sorry i have to study for a test tomorrow!” He quickly apologised, wished you luck on your test and left quickly.

So not only i’m beautiful on the outside, i’m also beautiful on the inside!

That’s how you deal with boys!

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At important events you always had to be there your fans would go crazy with speculations of why you weren’t there!

“Maybe she’s sick?!”

“Maybe she escaped the country with a random guy she just met-!” “No! She would never do that!”

“Maybe she died!” “Shut up!”

You had to make a video of the reason you didn’t go. Since that day Bruce didn’t allow you to not go to important events anymore!

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It was another day after school and you wanted to walk home to appreaciate beautiful Gotham’s view! Not really- you just wanted to stay away from your brothers for a while.

With them being superheroes and you being the most known teen in the whole country! Of course you had stalkers!

And well that walk home definitely did not go well. Some guys tried kidnapping you! Thankfully Nightwing was there to save the day! What a nice hero.

And upon hearing that Bruce decided you were not allowed to go anywhere alone!

So unfair but well you could not say anything against it.

Now even in school you had to eat with Tim or Damian! That’s so embarrassing! Infront of your fans!

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Tim was grabbing his books on his locker waiting for the bell to ring to start going to his next class until his friend appeared out of nowhere.

“Hey Timdudebestfriendever! How about you the introduce me to your gorgeous sister? Think about it we could be brother’s in law!”

“Ew no, you with my sister? Never happening.” Tim slammed his locker shut and left. That idiot with his sister? No! He doesn’t deserve you!

You don’t even need a relationship! You’re too you g for that! (You’re older than him).

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Damian loves painting you on his art. It’s his favorite hobby. Spending time with his sister!

Just the two of you without a care in the world!

It’s just perfect.You’re just perfect

At this point he could just open a museum where he could display only his art about you and it would definitely be profitable. Maybe even your fans from everywhere would send their art to the museum.

Obviously Damian wouldn’t display it since it doesn’t capture your beauty the way his art does.

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Bruce never really liked galas. Well that was until his baby daughter went with him.

He really loved all his children he loved bonding with them. And galas was the perfect way to bond with you!

Usually none of the Wayne kids wanted to go to the Galas. Well you also didn’t want to attend but it’s okay since you’re perfect you can’t make your fans sad!

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Dick liked doing anything you wanted to do

Oh you wanted to go to your favourites artists concert? He already bought them! And the meet and greet after the concert!

You wanted to go the next day to the other part of the world just to go shopping? He was already a step ahead and bought the whole plane for just you and him!

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Jason liked spending time with you in silence

You were enjoying a sunny day at Gotham’s park trying to relax but the people just wouldn’t leave you alone!

“Hey gorgeous me and you would make great music together” he smelled like he was a corpse in decomposition.

‘You know what would make great music with you? Deodorant. Do you know it helps you smell better you disgusting pig!’ That’s what you would have said but you were perfect in everyone’s eyes. “Oh sorry! Im not allowed to date anyone!” That was the perfect answer.

Jason sat beside you on the bench and just silently glared at the guy so he quickly left. Still there were lots of people staring at you two.

You just sat down quietly without a care in the world.

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Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed!

My masterlist if you wanna check it out

Requests are open!

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[kitkatscabinet]

BATS AND SUPES

Summary: Every bat needs their superperson.

Pairing(s): Dick Grayson, Jason Todd x fem! Reader

A/N: unedited. Kinda hate both these endings but it is what it is :)

DICK GRAYSON

Dick was going to be sick. Oh, he's going to throw up; what had he been thinking? Calling himself Nightwing, what were you going to think? Oh god, what if you hated it? What if you thought it was weird or creepy?

He's so distracted by his spiralling thoughts that he miscalculates the distance of his next jump, an undignified yelp leaving him as he begins to fall.

A pair of hands suddenly catches him by the biceps, and he's floating. Heart still thundering in his chest from his clumsy near miss, Dick looks up to see you smirking down at him.

"And to think I almost didn't come and visit you tonight." You teased, flying over to the closest rooftop and dropping him down, your eyes trailing over the blue emblem on his chest. "Heard you'd changed your name, trying to send me a message, pretty bird?"

Your smile was still as gorgeous as ever, eyes sparkling mischievously as Dick practically choked on his own tongue.

He could still remember the first time he'd witnessed you on the news. You'd been thrown into a building, the resulting explosion drowning out the screams of the nearby bystanders.

Even though you'd been strangers then, Dick had watched with his heart in his throat, worry flooding his veins for the girl who couldn't have been much older than him.

But you'd been unscathed, rising from the ashes like a Phoenix, skin unblemished by the roaring flames.

If he was being truthful with himself, he’d been enraptured with you ever since then. His first meeting with you was still a blur; he'd been a bundle of nerves and excitement, and you'd just smiled at him indulgently.

Honestly, he'd been smitten from the get-go.

You'd actually been the one to tell him the story of Nightwing after he'd compared that clip of you to a Phoenix. Naturally, you'd had no idea what that was, and once he'd described the mythical bird you'd lit up, launching into an explanation of Flamebird and Nightwing.

It had been his favourite nickname for you ever since, you were his Flamebird, and he'd always wanted to be your Nightwing.

"Rob, er, Nightwing?" Your grin has died a little, a modicum of concern shining in your eyes.

He can do this, he can be suave, sweep you off your feet like Bruce does for his dates.

“You… I… Go out with me!” He practically shouts in your face, mortification flooding his veins as you freeze like a deer in headlights, “please!” He softly tacks on.

You say his name so softly, hesitantly that Dick fears you’re about to reject him and his mouth opens without his permission once more. “Just hear me out! Ever since I first saw you, you’re all I can think about. You’re vibrant, passionate, lively, everything I want in a partner. I want to be your partner. Please, just give me a chance!”

You interrupt his nervous rambling, tugging him by the front of his new costume and pulling him into an enthusiastic kiss.

“I was beginning to think you’d never admit it.” You grinned at him, making him sputter.

“You… what? You knew?”

“Course I did, you’re as subtle as a car crash, Nightwing.” You whispered in his ear mischievously, flying quickly out of his grasp and leaving him flushed and reeling.

It’s not until you’ve disappeared from his sight that he startled back into the land of the living. “Wait!” He goes to chase after you only to nearly melt into the floor at the sight of Superman and Batman watching from the adjacent rooftop.

Clark was all smiles, practically vibrating in excitement. But it was Bruce’s smirk that he Dick wanting to evaporate, he could practically hear the man’s thoughts.

That was an embarrassing watch.

An arm wraps around his waist and Dick screams a little as you suddenly take off, clinging to you desperately as you laugh at him.

He’s going to get you back, he swears.

JASON TODD

You hated Gotham. It was a cesspit of suffering and grime, not to mention the near-constant rainfall. It wasn't enough to be miserable; it had to be miserable and wet.

Yet despite your immense dislike for the city, Kon had a nasty habit of dragging you along every time he visited Tim.

There'd been a time you were a frequent occupant of Wayne Manor, but you'd taken to avoiding it, the once-welcoming home having become too cold in the wake of Jason's death.

You tried to avoid Bruce too, he tried to hide it, but the man couldn't quite prevent his expression neutral whenever he saw you. His brows pinched and eyes glazed as they trail behind you, as if expecting to see Jason chasing after you.

You liked Tim well enough, but he wasn't your Robin and you weren't his super.

The manor was stifling, and you'd decided you'd rather brave the streets of Gotham than stay a second longer in that haunted house.

You float through the streets aimlessly, punching out the occasional thug in a misplaced attempt to expel some of your grief. Your sensitive ears leading you toward various ongoing crimes.

It's how you stumble across him. The Red Hood. You’d heard about him, mostly through Kon who’d heard through Tim, most things less than savoury. A murderer, a savage crime lord, a real pain in the ass.

You watch a little dispassionately as he shatters the kneecap of the unfortunate criminal stupid enough to get within grappling range.

Briefly, you wonder what they'd done to incite such brutality, but all of that quickly falls away as you listen to the thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat. A heartbeat you’d recognise in your sleep, one you’d thought forever gone from the world.

You pay no mind to the guns, or the audience of hoodlums, which you swiftly deal with in record time before your arms are wrapped tightly around the shoulders of one of Gotham’s most notorious crime lords.

He grunts at the impact, no doubt ready to fend off the sudden attacker only to freeze at the sound of your voice. “Jason.” You breathe softly, just for his ears, clutching him as if trying to prevent grains of sand from slipping through your fingers. “Oh, Jason.”

“How did you…” He rasps, arms dropping limply. Not that you had any doubt, but his reaction just further cements your conviction.

As loathe as you are to pull away, you do so, resting a palm over his chest. Your fingers curl over the wing of the red bat as you feel the reassuring pump of his heart against your hand.

He should pull away and put a stop to the unnervingly public display, but Jason's missed you. Since he'd regained enough of his senses to remember who you were, he'd missed you more than anything. And then you speak again, and there was nothing on the planet that could pull him away from your touch.

“Because. I know my Robin’s heart. I know your heart.”

His gloved hand reaches up to clasp over yours as the other removes his helmet, “It’s still yours.” He admits hoarsely, staring at you apprehensively as you take in the details of his aged and scarred face.

"What?" You whisper hesitantly, not daring to let yourself hope he meant what you thought.

“My heart. It still belongs to you. It always has.” You couldn't prevent the tears that slid down your cheeks if you wanted.

Jason thinks you break one of his ribs with how tightly you embrace him. It’s totally worth it.

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH2

14925 words, 84394 characters, 792 sentences, 338 paragraphs, 59.7 pages. Previous chapter -> Next Chapter

As you come back to consciousness, you find yourself nestled comfortably on a luxurious cat bed that feels almost too extravagant to be real. The surroundings are lavish and comfortable, the room itself enormous, with almost too much space to take in all at once.

You're not sure where you are, but one thing you know for certain – is that it is definitely not your apartment.

You push yourself up from the plush bed, your paws sinking into the decadent fabric as you take a moment to survey your surroundings. The room is a mix of modern and traditional, with a hint of something distinctly Wayne Manor-esque. The furnishings are plush and expensive, and the entire room is immaculate, every surface spotlessly clean.

You can see a large window at the far end of the room, offering a view of Gotham City’s skyline. 

You take another moment to look around, taking everything in as you process your new surroundings. It seems you're in a large living room of sorts, furnished with rich, high-end furniture and expensive-looking decor. Tall bookshelves line the walls, filled with all manner of books and trinkets. The most striking feature, however, is the excessive number of cat trees and wall climbers scattered throughout the room.

Confusion overtakes you for a moment, your mind still fuzzy from sleep as you try to figure out what the hell happened to lead you here.

As you shift up, adjusting your position on the plush bed, a small, bell-like sound rings through the air. In that moment, the memories flood back to you all at once. Nightwing, Robin, the strange collar.

The sudden, restrictive feeling around your neck is a stark reminder of your current predicament.

As the memories come flooding back to you, you instinctively try to raise a paw to rub at the collar around your neck, only to find that it's fastened on tight, the hooks holding it in place digging into your fur. Your movements are still a little sluggish from your previous unconscious state, making you feel more vulnerable than usual, trapped, in a place you don’t recognise.

As your gaze drifts downwards, you suddenly notice the subtle aching in your leg and near the base of your spine. Upon a more thorough inspection, you realise that there are small, almost imperceptible stitches in your fur, between the muscles on your left thigh. Panic rises within you, the realisation that something has been done to your body sending a wave of nausea through you, making you feel sick to your very core.

The fear washes over you in full force as you register the sight of the stitches on your body. It's not just the knowledge that someone has tampered with your body, but the thought that you were unconscious and vulnerable when it happened. Your heart races with a sickening anxiety, the fear coursing through you making your senses hyper-aware.

You quickly scramble up from the cat bed, your body a whirlwind of motion, you leap off the plush fabric, landing on the soft, carpeted floor with a thump. Your body is tense, nerves on edge, as you instinctively try to take in your surroundings. Your pupils have narrowed into slits, tail whipping around wildly, betraying your anxiety.

You start moving across the room, treading softly on the plush carpet beneath your paws, every muscle in your body tense and poised, ready to flee or fight at a moment's notice. Prepared for any surprise.

As you move through the room with tentative, calculated steps, your mind is on high-alert, taking in every single detail. From the placement of the furniture, to the large window at the far end, to the faint sound of a clock ticking on the wall, everything registers in your heightened senses.

There's a strange sense of being both trapped and exposed, in this grand space that is simultaneously familiar and foreign. The uncertainty of what might come next hangs over you like a dark cloud.

You go completely still, your fur standing on end, your ears perking up and shifting in the direction of the hallway. Your entire body tenses in anticipation as you listen to the loud, precise footsteps approaching you.

Every instinct in you screams danger, so you quickly ready yourself to either flee or fight.

A tall, slender butler emerges from the hallway, his pale blue eyes scanning the room before his gaze lands on your bristled, tense form. A single grey eyebrow raises slightly in surprise as he continues to look at you.

"You're up earlier than planned, young master," he remarks, his voice calm and even. A hint of curiosity laced within his tone.

The butler's casual demeanour is a stark contrast to the tenseness of your own body. His eyes linger on you with a sort of cool curiosity, taking in your fluffed up form. He looks unfazed by your reaction, his calm composure making it feel like this is a completely normal, everyday occurrence.

Your heart races as the words sink in, your mind racing with confused fear. What the fuck. Why is he calling me 'young master'? Where the hell am I, and what the hell is happening.

The situation feels entirely surreal, and more than a little bit terrifying. You just want to go back to the safety and familiarity of your own home, but instead you're here, trapped in this lavish living room, with a strange butler calling you by some title you've never  even dreamed of being addressed by before.

The butler watches you closely, his cool blue eyes scanning over every little detail of your tense form, noting your bristled fur, your tail that's whipping around wildly, and the panicked look in your wide, dilated eyes. A hint of intrigue flashes through his expression as he takes in your state.

Then, he speaks again, his calm and steady voice betraying his thoughts.

"It seems the sedative is wearing off a little faster than expected," he says, taking a few steps closer to you. His voice sends a new wave of unease through you.

The calm, casual vibe the butler is giving off, coupled with the little almost-smile on his face, makes your already overdriven senses go into a frenzy. Every fibre of your being is screaming danger, and you instinctively take a step back, hackles raised further, your body tensed and ready to bolt.

Your fear and panic have heightened every one of your senses, and you're on edge, ready to react to any sudden movement or sound. You're poised to run, or if need be, fight. You try to keep your breathing steady, but the anxiety is bubbling up inside of you, making it difficult to stay still.

The butler's observant gaze is on you, studying your every move as you take a step back, your body tense in a flight-ready stance. He notices the panic etched into your form, and for a moment, he doesn't approach. Instead, he stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his form composed and relaxed.

After a brief pause, he speaks up again, his voice soft and apologetic.

"I apologise for the state you woke up in," he says, that almost imperceptible smile still playing on his lips.

The man’s apology catches you off guard, a tiny flicker of surprise in your wide, dilated eyes. The politeness of his tone combined with that smile makes him seem almost eerily calm, given the situation you're currently in. Even though his words are apologetic, there's a subtle undercurrent of something else in his tone that you can't quite place.

The older man continues to watch you, his cool, observant gaze tracking every little movement you make, from the twitching of your whiskers to the rise and fall of your fluffy chest as your anxiety makes your breaths a little more laboured.

He takes a few steps closer toward you, his movements slow and deliberate. He's treating you like a wild beast, trying not to startle you further.

"It was necessary for the procedure to ensure your safe arrival, young master," he continues, his voice still soft but firm. It's as if he's trying to reassure you, despite the fact that his words do nothing but the opposite.

You shiver as the butler moves closer to you, your body tensing even further as you try to assess the potential threat he may pose. The apology and the explanation for your current state do little to ease the fear and confusion swirling within you. The dubbed name young master is foreign and bizarre and does nothing to help the situation.

You're on edge, your muscles coiled tight like a spring, ready to dart away the moment you sense any danger. But the butler isn't making any sudden moves, his calm demeanour and soft, even tone sending a confusing message.

The butler's eyes are observant, taking in every single twitch and jerk of your tensed body. He seems to recognise your anxiety, your coiled form ready to dart away given the opportunity. Yet he isn't visibly phased, his composed demeanour and soft, almost soothing voice unfazed by your obvious distress.

He takes another slow step toward you, his movements deliberate and careful.

"I understand your fear and confusion," he repeats, as if he was trying to reason with a frightened animal. Which in this case, wouldn’t be entirely wrong. However, beneath the soft, reassuring tone of his voice, there's still something else present, something you can't quite identify. “But you have nothing to be afraid of here.”

You swear that you could hear a hint of warning in his carefully crafted speech.

He's close enough now to reach out a pale hand toward you, his fingers outstretched. From this angle, the butler seems considerably taller, more imposing, and more dangerous than he appeared before, his gaze calm and calculating.

The tension in the room is palpable, and the clock on the wall seems to be the only other source of sound, beating in tune with your fast, panicked heart. He is entirely calm, his gaze cool and calculating, studying you carefully, like a hunter watching its prey.

"Come here, young master." He says in that soft, smooth, insistent tone.

You feel frozen in place, your mind racing with panic and despair. The options before you seem limited, the need to flee battling against the growing realisation that escape might not be a feasible option, especially with the butler's hand inching closer. Your body trembles slightly, your wide, alarmed eyes fixated on his approaching hand, the subtle threat underlying his words making it clear that the consequences of running away might be dire.

His voice, though soft and controlled, leaves no room for debate or refusal. The command in his words is clear.

He expects you to come to him.

You feel as if time stands still, your fear and tension making everything around you seem heightened, as if every fibre of your body was hyper-aware. The butler's hand is still gently moving closer, as if he was simply going to reach out and scoop you up, as if he had done it a thousand times before.

Your mind is swirling with fear and confusion, your thoughts chaotic and jumbled. You can't think clearly, and yet the old man exudes an air that somehow compels your trembling little paws to move forward, into his extended hand. Your every instinct is screaming at you that this man is dangerous, that getting any closer is a bad idea, but the mixture of fear, feeling of dizziness, and the authoritative atmosphere around him seems to overpower your logic. You don’t want to find out what would happen if you went against him.

A subtle victorious smile plays on the corner of the butler's lips as you begin to move forward, stepping into the range of his hand. He can practically feel your internal conflict and fear, and yet he shows no visible sign of it bothering him. His eyes remain steadfast, his expression and demeanour calm and composed.

"That's it," he murmurs, a hint of satisfaction in his tone, his hand closing around your small form, carefully but firmly holding you in his grasp, just tight enough to keep you from bolting.

You find yourself held against the butler's chest as he carefully lifts you off the ground, cradling you against him, his hold on you surprisingly gentle yet unyielding. The warmth of his body against your small form is an odd, almost confusing contrast to the fear and confusion you're currently feeling.

He begins walking across the living room, carrying you as if he was holding a fine piece of art. Every one of your senses is on high-alert, and you can feel the steady, calm beat of the butler's heart against your small form.

His steps are sure and controlled, his pace steady. He says nothing, his eyes looking ahead as he carries you through the lavish living room. Every step he takes seems to bring more and more confusion, the whole scene seeming like some sort of surreal fever dream.

The living room is large and open, with high ceilings and several plush couches and armchairs arranged around a grand, stone fireplace. The rich decor, the tall bookshelves, and the numerous cat trees and climbing structures give the room a distinct 'manor' vibe.

Everything in the room seems to scream 'wealth' and 'luxury', the opulence of Wayne Manor perfectly represented in this single, large room.

Despite the grandeur of the room, the butler's attention seems to be solely on you, his eyes focused on your small form he's cradling.

He speaks up, his tone is matter-of-fact and business-like, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "Master Dick has requested your immediate presence.” He speaks softly, as if his words would clear everything up. You don't know who this Master Dick is, but the urgency in the butler's voice tells you that it's probably someone important.

His words linger in your mind like a heavy weight. You have no idea who they are, but the way the butler addresses them and the air that surrounds him leaves no room for doubt that the person is someone important, someone powerful.

He walks out of the living room, and a wave of cold, stark realisation washes over you, a sense of hopelessness that comes with the knowledge that you have absolutely no say in this. You are at these people’s mercy.

The halls of the manor that you find yourself in are long and wide, the floor carpeted and the walls lined with expensive and elaborate paintings and decorations. The place itself is beautiful, but you're unable to appreciate any of it, your mind racing and your heart beating rapidly. A fuzzy feeling basked over the back of your mind.

The butler carries you down the halls, his steps long and unhurried, making you acutely aware of how small and helpless you are in this unknown, vast, and intimidating place.

As you're brought through the seemingly endless halls, your mind is bombarded with a barrage of thoughts, all of them chaotic and confused. You try to look for a way to escape, but everything here is unknown and unfamiliar, and you have no idea which doors might lead outside, or if there are any windows you might be able to jump out of.

Your small form cradled almost carefully against his chest, his grip strong and unyielding. There's a sense of detachment with which he carries you, handling you like an object, a thing to be used and given.

The halls continue to pass by in a blur of rich colours and patterns, the only sounds being the steady thud of the butler's footsteps and your ragged, stressed breathing.

After what feels like an eternity, the man stops his movements. You find yourself standing before a large, grand-looking door, it's dark wood carved with elaborate designs and patterns. It looks like it’s been freshly cleaned, as if it used to home someone and they’ve only now started using it again. The door radiates a sense of importance, and you feel the pit of your stomach clench in fear.

He adjusts his grip on you, positioning you to be more presentable as he reaches with one hand to knock three times on the door. He looks down at you, a slight flicker of something in his eyes, and then he waits.

Your ears involuntarily fold back upon hearing the heavy, fast footsteps approaching. The door is practically wrenched open with a thud, and a tall male stands in the doorway. He’s grinning widely, his eyes almost shimmering in the light, and his gaze immediately settles on you.

The man’s presence is imposing, and you feel yourself involuntarily shrinking back against the butler, not knowing what to expect. He looks at you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, his grin widening as he takes in your small form.

The man who stands before you is tall, and broad-shouldered. He's dressed in casual wear, a light, well-fitted hoodie stretched over his wide chest tucked into dark jeans. His face holds an almost boyish charm, framed by dark, wild hair that tumbles over his forehead.

His eyes are a bright, intense blue, and right now they're fixed directly on you. There's a hint of both curiosity and amusement in his gaze as he looks you over.

His demeanour changes almost instantly at the sight of you, his intense gaze softens as he takes you from the older man’s grasp by the scruff. He holds you up in the air, and you don't even have time to react before he's speaking.

"There's our baby." He coos, and there's a hint of something affectionate in his tone. The nickname baby is weird and confusing, but the man acts as if it's something perfectly normal. You’re not sure how to act. Everything’s happening too fast and you’re barely able to think, mind still hazed with sleep.

He doesn’t hold you forcefully, his grip not harsh but not soft either. You can almost feel the possessiveness in the touch, the way he looks at you, the sense of almost casual possessiveness. It’s like he believes that he has every right to be touching you, holding you, like you belonged to him. As if you were something he owned.

"Look at you…" he murmurs, his eyes taking in your form as he holds you up. "So pretty in person…"

There's a sense of satisfaction in his tone, as if you're better than what he had expected, and he's pleased by what he sees.

You can’t stop yourself from the deep, guttering hiss that escapes you as the man speaks, a mixture of fear, irritation and helplessness rolling through you. You hate how vulnerable you feel in his grasp, being held up in the air by this stranger, unable to break free.

The man chuckles, the sound loud and booming to your sensitive ears.

"Aww…" he coos. "I’m sorry, am I frightening you, little one?”

He holds you up to his eye-level, observing you with an amused yet soft grin, his eyes dancing with both curiosity and something else.

Your tail instinctively lashes around, thrashing in the air, trying to find a way to defend yourself, to break free of the strangers grip. But your body is slacking, the instinct to go limp when a predator has your scruff almost overpowering.

The position you’re in is uncomfortable and vulnerable and you’ve never been handled like this before. You’re finding it hard to move your limbs, breathing fast and overwhelmingly stressed. The helplessness of being carried like this is overwhelming. You want to scream and cry and run as far and fast as possible.

But you don’t. You forcibly stop yourself from letting the helplessness get to you. You refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared, of seeing you so exposed.

I’m better than that, you tell yourself. Better than them. You’re stronger than that. You might be small right now, but you’re also stubborn as hell, and you’ll be damned if they get the satisfaction of seeing you scared.

He studies you intently, his eyes taking in every little detail of your form, from the twitching of your ears to the frantic movement of your tail. He’s still holding you up, his hold on your scruff not slacking in the slightest. His gaze fond and amused.

He lets out another small, amused chuckle at your reaction, his lips tugged into a small smile. “Don’t worry, kitten. You’re safe with me..”

His attention shifts back to the other man for a moment, giving him a nod of thanks. “Thanks, Alfred.”

The older man, Alfred apparently, gives him a small nod, his gaze is still set on you. "Of course, sir.” A slight frown on his face as he looks at the man holding you, Master Dick apparently, a mix of concern and knowing in his eyes. “Be careful. The sedative is still in their system.” The man gives a small hum in response, seemingly not bothered by the warning.

Alfred lingers there for a moment, looking at you, then looking at the man, a silent exchange between the two of them. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing back down the hallway.

"Alfred is a worrier," The man mutters as he watches the butler walk away. He gives you a small, almost sheepish smile. "Sorry ‘bout that."

He turns back to you and continues scanning your form, his gaze thoughtful and curious. He speaks to you like one might speak to a child. Softly and reassuringly.

"You’re adorable, you know that?" he says, voice low and quiet. "Such a pretty little thing..”

He looks over you with an almost adoring look in his eyes, his thumb gently stroking the fur on the top of your head. You want to recoil from his touch, but you’re unable to do anything but stay paralysed in his grasp.

He seems to find your lack of reaction amusing.

"Not very talkative, huh?" he murmurs, tilting his head slightly to the side, watching your expression closely. "That’s alright. You don’t have to be."

He continues caressing your small form with his free hand, the stroking gentle and almost caring. His eyes flicker down to your ears and he grins. “You’re just a ball of attitude, aren’t you?” he notes, amusement in his tone. “The way your ears fold back every time I talk. So defensive.. Seems my youngest siblings are similar in that respect” He grins softly, pressing a kiss to your fluffy coat.

You freeze up, caught off guard by the unexpected and strange gesture. For a moment you’re too surprised to react, your body going limp before stiffening quickly again.

Your mind is reeling, trying to process this unexpected level of intimacy, from a complete stranger, no less. What the hell is up with this guy? He’s acting like I’m a pet. The thought is both angering and demeaning, you watch him with a mix of confusion and wariness in your eyes.

He brings you close to his chest, cradling your small form against him. His fingers run through your soft fur in a way that almost tickles, the feeling making your skin crawl a bit. The doors close behind him with an audible snap, the sound a little too loud to your sensitive ears.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the ridiculous amounts of cat-related objects that are placed everywhere. Drawers filled with little outfits, toys littered around, cat cushions, scratch pads, catnip balls stuck to the walls, and more. You almost grimace at the sight.

The room is a cat’s dream, filled to the brim with cat toys and decorations. A large, king-size bed dominates the centre of the room, covered with different patterns of soft blankets, a pile of various pillows and cushions scattered around it. It’s like a cat paradise, and an absolute nightmare for you.

The man carries you further in, taking a seat on the bed and making himself comfortable. He continues to hold you close, rubbing the nape of your neck, his touch too soft. Like he was silently apologising for handling your scruff so roughly.

He plops down on the bed unceremoniously, the springs creaking under his weight. He adjusts his hold on you to make you more comfortable, his grip a bit more lax now, but still firm enough to keep you pressed against him.

His eyes run over your form, looking you up and down, like he’s mentally checking you over. He’s studying me. He takes in every little detail. Every twitch of your ear, every lash of your tail, the way you instinctively hunch in on yourself. “... Damian’s not going to be happy with the state of your fur, little one..”

He reaches out to pet you, not expecting the swift response as you quickly smack his hand away, your claws drawing lines of bright red across the back of his hand.

He jerks backwards, yowling softly, his expression going momentarily shocked as he looks at the deep thin red lines across his skin.

He stares at you for a moment, surprised and probably pained, but also...almost impressed?

"That hurt you know..” he grumbles, more amused than mad.

"...But that’s okay. Siblings fight all the time." He mutters, still looking at his hand, the long red lines standing out against his tan skin. He sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to you.

His gaze then moves to look at you, and his expression is mildly entertained. He gives you a small teasing smile.

"Just wait until the others find out how feral you are. They'll have a field day with you.." The way he speaks is as if he’s joking, but his words make your fur stand on edge. He’s calling any person's natural reaction to getting kidnapped feral.

As you replay his words in your head you freeze. Others? You repeat in your mind, a sickening feeling settling in your gut. Just how many of them are there?

He seems to notice your reaction to his words, noticing your stiffened form and the look of dread on your face. He gives a small hum, his fingers running through your fur gently, a look of feigned innocence on his face.

"Is something wrong?" he asks softly, his tone almost patronising. He keeps his voice gentle, like a big brother speaking to his smaller child sibling.

"Did the mention of our siblings scare you?"

He continues to run his fingers through your fur as he talks, his tone still soft. "I'm sure you'll come to love them.. They're a bit rough around the edges, but they're good kids. Once they warm up to you, that is. And you, lovely, are already in their good graces.” He’s doing it again, speaking to you like you’re a dimwitted animal, something cute and small and incapable of understanding him. It’s demeaning and agitating. It makes me feel pathetic.

Tim's sitting on the kitchen chair, his feet propped up on the marble counter, leaning back casually. His attention was focused on the tablet in his hand. Or at least it was, too occupied with secretly watching as Damian meticulously rearranged the fridge, his brother moving items around to ‘make it look perfect’ for his older sibling’s new arrival.

Tim lets out a soft sigh. Of course. His little brother is almost as obsessive about organisation as Batman himself. He’s not surprised, more amused.

Damian looks over in Tim’s direction for a moment, his eyes catching the sight of Tim’s feet on the table. He rolls his eyes, a small scoff of displeasure escaping him.

"Feet off the table, Drake." Damian says dryly, his focus returning to the fridge and its contents.

"Oh relax, Dames. The table's clean." Tim counters, his tone almost mocking. He knows it annoys Damian to no end, calling him by the childish nickname.

He props his chin up on his hand, watching as his younger brother systematically re-arranges everything in the fridge, his movements quick and precise.

He hums softly, his gaze shifting downward for a moment, before he raises a brow. “Looks like the kitty’s awake.”

His eyes flick over to the live feed on the tablet, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he sees you. You look uncomfortable and wary, bristled and defensive. The sight causes him to let out a small amused huff of air.

Damian pauses mid-action, a container of fluffy cooked rice held in his hands. He turns to face Tim, a curious look in his green eyes. "Give me the tablet," he demands, holding out his hand expectantly.

Tim raises an eyebrow sceptically, "Why? You wanna spy on em?" He teases.

Damian huffs, crossing his arms in irritation, "I don't spy. I observe." He scoffs.

Tim just rolls his eyes, but relents, handing over the tablet. "Fine. But don't do anything stupid, Demon."

Damian glares at the nickname, but grabs the tablet from Tim's hands without comment. Looking down at the screen, watching the feed intently, his expression contemplative as he observes you. His gaze is sharp and calculating. Scanning over every detail, noticing the way you look around the room, the way you hunch nervously, your ears pinned back and swivelling as you listen for movement.

He tilts his head slightly, studying your form with intense concentration, taking in every little detail. "How long have they been awake?" he asks, not looking away from the screen.

Tim leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table again and folding his arms across his chest. He glances at his watch, thinking for a moment.

"Five, ten minutes, I think." Tim responds, leaning back against the chair. He watches as Damian's expression shifts thoughtfully as he studies the screen. Drake can't help but feel a pang of curiosity as well, but he keeps it in check.

There's a beat of silence as Damian continues to watch you, his expression thoughtful. Tim can practically see the wheels turning in his younger brother’s head.

"Hasn’t tried to bolt yet..” Damian notes, his voice quiet as he watches you, studying your movements. “That's... interesting.”

Tim lets out a hum, watching as Damian's expression becomes almost intrigued, like he's analysing your every move.

Silence settles over the room again, only the sound of the open fridges soft buzzing filling the air. Tim notices the way Damian's expression darkens a bit. "They look scared." He mutters, almost disappointed by the observation.

Tim raises an eyebrow at Damian’s observation, watching as the younger Robin frowns a bit.

"They’re probably terrified, to be fair. Would you not be scared, if someone kidnapped you?” Tim points out, his tone a bit sarcastic.

Damian scowls, a small pout forming on his face, the expression making him seem childish.

“I’d be angry, first and foremost.” He counters, his hands clenching slightly. “Not scared.”

He turns back to the fridge, placing the container in its rightful spot. He steps back, taking a moment to observe his work with a critical eye, before glancing back at Tim over his shoulder.

“And we haven’t kidnapped them. We’ve simply brought our little kitten home." He corrects, his tone matter of fact. Like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Tim just groans exasperatedly, dropping his head forward against the table. He shakes his head in disbelief, rubbing his hand down his face.

"You say it like it's the most normal thing in the world." He mumbles into the table top, his voice slightly muffled.

Damian rolls his eyes, like Tim’s comment is beyond unnecessary and ridiculous.

"It is normal." He says, like he’s explaining something obvious to an idiot.

Tim lifts his head from the table, giving Damian a withering glare. "Abducting people is not normal, Dames." He sighs.

Damian huffs, returning Tim's glare with an equally intense one. "It is to us." He counters, his voice hard and unsympathetic.

Tim just stares at him for a moment. "And that doesn't strike you as concerning at all? The fact that kidnapping is so normal to us?"

Damian’s entire expression hardens, his features going from annoyed to cold and stoic in a matter of seconds. He pivots back to face Tim, his gaze steely and icy.

“Are you implying,” he begins, his voice low and dangerous, “that we return our sibling to the filth they were wallowing in?”

Tim's expression drops, a scowl pulling at his features. "I would never joke about that." He says firmly, his voice taking on a dark edge. "They're ours."

He then turns his attention back to the tablet, watching the screen intently. "I'm simply stating the fact that abduction isn't exactly the most common practice, not that I would ever dream of letting them go."

Damian hums in agreement, his expression still stoic, but his eyes flicker with a possessive light. He watches the tablet as well, the look in his eyes almost wild.

Tim notices the look in the younger boy’s eyes, and he lets out a small huff. "Calm down, Dames." He mutters, his voice a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Damian simply rolls his eyes, "I am calm." He says dryly, but his eyes never leave the screen, his gaze fixed on your form. He raises a brow as Alfred approaches you over the cams.

Tim just rolls his eyes at Damian's response, not fully believing him. 

As the elderly butler steps closer, the tension in your form becomes almost visibly apparent. You stiffen, your body going rigid, ears pinned back against your head, tail bristling like a pincushion.

Damian watches intently, his gaze fixed on the live feed, eyebrows pinching together in something close to disappointment.

“Look at them. They’re terrified by Pennyworth.” He says, his voice low and frustrated.

Tim glances over at Damian, seeing the disapproving look on his face, and smirks a bit. “Of course they are. They don’t know that he’s harmless.”

Damian huffs, his irritation growing. "It’s not about being harmless or not. They should just know that they don’t have anything to fear here."

He keeps his gaze fixed on the screen, his expression one of annoyance and annoyance at your clear fear of the elderly butler, the way you’re bristling like a porcupine. His brows pinching even further at the state of your fur. A disapproving scowl crossing his features.

“Not everyone is like us, Dames.” Tim points out, his tone a mixture of amused and sarcastic. “Not everyone is damaged.”

Damian glares at him, “I am not damaged.” He mutters, his voice a mixture of irritation and defensiveness.

Tim just rolls his eyes. “Of course you are, you’re a Wayne.” He says dryly.

Damian bristles a little bit, his irritation growing a bit more, but he doesn’t take the bait. He continues watching the live feed, watching as Alfred reaches out to grab you, your tense and wary form flinching away as he scoops you up.

He lets out a small sigh of annoyance, his expression still irritated and frustrated. “This is ridiculous.” He mutters, his voice quiet, but clearly annoyed.

“Relax, Dames.” Tim says, a note of amusement in his voice. “You can’t expect them to stop being afraid immediately. They need time to adjust, to get used to us.”

Damian lets out an exasperated huff, his tone sharp. “They shouldn’t have to adjust to us.” He snaps, still glaring at the screen, watching as Alfred holds you carefully, in a way where you can’t hurt him while also like you're a fragile and precious thing.

Tim raises an eyebrow, looking at Damian with a mix of curiosity and understanding. “You want them to just...accept us? Just like that?”

Damian's expression darkens, his expression almost pained for a moment, his eyes never leaving the screen as he watches the way Alfred’s handling you.

“Yes, exactly like that.” He says, his tone firm and underlyingly desperate.

Tim's expression softens a bit, realising how much Damian truly wants you to accept them, that you don’t fear them. His expression becomes almost sympathetic as he watches Damian’s reaction.

"Dames…" he says gently, his voice soft, but firm. “It doesn’t work like that, bud. It’s gonna take time for them to actually warm up to us. They’ve been on the streets for far too long, they’ve been alone for a while.”

His gaze shifts down for a moment. “For now we’ll just have to result to the sedatives to keep them docile.”

Damian's expression pinches, his features shifting into a mix of agitation and discontent. While he loathes the thought of drugging you, he knows that the rest of the family has already made up their minds.

He lets out a quiet sigh, taking in a deep breath through his nose. Closing the fridge door with more force than necessary, his jaw clenching.

Tim notices the look on his brother's face, seeing the clear irritation and disapproval, and rolls his eyes a bit. “I don’t like this.” The youngest Wayne mutters, his tone tight and disapproving.

“It’s necessary.” Tim counters, his tone matter of fact, though there’s a hint of discomfort in his voice.

Damian shoots him a glare, clearly not satisfied with the explanation. He crosses his arms, his expression hardening, his eyes filled with a mixture of irritation and reluctance.

“Is it really necessary?” He snaps, his voice taking an almost bitter edge.

Tim’s expression hardens a bit, not appreciating the attitude. He takes a step forward, his eyes meeting Damian’s in a steady glare. “Yes, it is.” He says firmly. “It’s the most practical solution. We need to keep ‘em under control. You know the others won’t be happy if we let the kitty run wild. Or god forbid they throw a tantrum and hurt one of us. We can handle it, but can Alfred?”

His jaw clenches, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides. He knows Tim’s right, but he doesn’t enjoy that fact. He lets out a frustrated huff, his voice tight and strained.

“I know.” He snaps back. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Tim sighs, his expression softening a notch. He understands Damian’s reluctance, sharing a bit of the same sentiment. But he’s also pragmatic, and right now their needs are priority, not yours.

“I’m not saying you have to like it, Dames. It’s not meant to be enjoyable.” He says, his tone is gentle compared to before. “It’s just what needs to be done. It’s what’s practical. Effective."

Damian’s shoulders sag slightly, his expression shifting into one of reluctant acceptance. He knows that Tim’s right, that practicality should be their primary concern. But it doesn’t sit right with him, treating you like some sort of prisoner. You’re family.

He lets out a soft sigh, his hands uncurling from their tight fists. “Fine.” He mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tim notices the shift in Damian’s demeanour, the reluctant acceptance showing in his expression. He gives his brother a sympathetic look, knowing how hard this is for him. They’re all used to dealing with criminals, dealing with bad people, but using these methods on you feels wrong. Unnatural.

He nods in acknowledgment, giving Damian a small, relieved smile. “It’ll be alright, Dames.” He says genuinely. “You know it’s for the best.”

Damian nods, his features a mixture of reluctance and resignation. He knows that Tim’s right, that this is the best course of action for the situation. But it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“Yes, I know.” He says, his voice quiet, but resigned. “It’s for the safety of the rest of us. For their safety.” He adds, his tone taking on a bitter edge again, as if the words taste rancid on his tongue. “But I still don’t agree with it. I hate that you agree with it.”

Tim lets out a slow, drawn-out sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He takes a deep breath before looking back at Damian. “I’m the one who concluded that we needed to sedate them. It’s the safest solution.” He admits quietly, his voice taking on a note of resignation. “It may not be the best option, but it’s the practical one.” His voice started to take on a more tired note. He hates having to repeat himself.

Damian’s expression darkens again, his irritation flaring up once more as he glares at Tim. “You suggested this?” He snaps, his voice tense.

Tim tosses his tablet down onto the counter at Damian's outburst, his expression becoming more guarded. "Yes, I did." He says, his tone firm and unapologetic. "And if you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it." His voice takes on a challenge, a daring note as he glares back at Damian.

The younger Wayne grows irritated at Tim's challenging tone, his eyes narrowing. He opens his mouth, about to shoot back at Tim, the argument on the tip of his tongue. But then he notices the hint of exhaustion in his brother’s eyes, the weary lines etched into his expression. He catches the frustration in Tim's tone, the tiredness seeping through. He closes his mouth, the argument dying on his tongue. He’s painfully aware of the older boy's self destructive habits.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sag, and he drops his gaze to the floor. “No. I don’t.” He mutters bitterly.

Their attention is immediately snapped and drawn to the kitchen’s entrance as Alfred appears, a questioning eyebrow raised as he glances between them, seeming to take note of their tense exchange.

Tim’s expression shifts into one of slight relief, glad for the distraction from the argument and the heavy atmosphere of the kitchen.

Damian’s jaw clenches, his features shifting into a tight frown. He glances over at Alfred, his expression impatient and expectant.

“Where are they?” He snaps, his voice taking on a firm, demanding edge.

The butler glances between the two, his eyes lingering on Damian and his irritated expression. “The young master has been taken to Master Dick.” He says calmly, an air of mild reproach in his tone.

Damian’s scowl deepens as he processes Alfred’s words. The thought of you being alone with Dick makes his stomach twist with unease. He knows how overbearing and excessive his eldest brother can be, and he’s not exactly confident in Dick’s ability to handle the situation without causing some sort of incident. Plus, he wanted to be the first person you saw once you had woken up.

Tim, on the other hand, only looks only mildly concerned. He has a bit more faith in Dick’s ability to keep the situation under control, but he’s also not blind to his brother’s tendency to smother and overwhelm. But he has the cameras to watch over just in case the situation turns sour. So he’s not worried.

Damian’s face twists in irritation, and he’s about to demand to know where exactly Dick took you, but Alfred clears his throat before he can speak.

“I’m certain the young master is in safe hands, Master Damian.” Alfred says, his voice calm and gentle, a silent plea for him to hold his tongue.

Damian’s jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tensing further. He hesitates for a moment, wrestling with the urge to argue, but ultimately he swallows the words and just gives a tense nod.

Tim watches the silent interaction between Damian and Alfred, his expression still mostly neutral. He’s silently amused by Damian’s irritation, knowing how the youngest Wayne has very little patience with these kinds of things. But he knows that arguing with Alfred is usually pointless, the old butler’s word usually final.

So he just watches quietly, his gaze drifting towards the live feed fed from the cameras.

You’re curled up under Dick’s bed, body coiled into a small, tense ball. Your fur is bristled and your ears are pinned back, pressed flat against your skull. You’re tense and on edge, waiting silently for any sound from above, listening keenly to the movements of the man sitting on the bed above you who can’t stop giggling.

Grayson is sitting on the edge of his bed, a wide smile on his face as he looks down at the space under his bed. He’s trying to keep his voice relatively quiet, not wanting to startle you further, but he’s too amused to keep his voice completely level. He keeps chuckling to himself, he can’t help it. You were just so adorable. Even when you were angry, all fluffed up and hissing.

“Come on out, little thing.” He coos, his tone gentle and sweet. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He reaches a hand down, his fingers gently patting the carpet beneath the bed, coaxing you out from your meagre hiding place.

Your tail lashes out, thwacking against the underside of the bed. You roll your eyes at his coaxing, annoyed at the way he’s trying to get you out. As if you’re going to give him the satisfaction of coming out just because he keeps saying he won’t hurt you. How stupid does he think I am?

Dick huffs a quiet, exasperated laugh, clearly amused by your stubbornness. He continues to gently pat the carpet, his voice still gentle and coaxing. “Come on, come out, baby. I just want to talk to you.”

He shifts a bit, trying to get a better view of you under the bed, but he can only see a glimpse of your fluffy rump and tail.

You shift away from his hand, pressing yourself closer to the wall, your eyes locked on his fingers as they continue to pat the carpet. Yeah, right. You think bitterly, your tail whipping around irritably. Like I’m going to fall for that. A guttural hiss leaves your throat. As if I’d come out just because he ‘asked nicely.’ No fucking chance.

Dick can tell that you’re not budging anytime soon. He lets out an amused huff, still smiling down at the space under his bed. “Alright then.” He says with a small laugh, clearly not too bothered by your stubbornness.

“I’m not going to force you out. I can just sit here all day, sweetheart. All day and all night.” He says sweetly, his tone taking on a singsong edge.

Your ears go back, flattening against your head at the mention of him sitting there all day. You shoot a withering glare at his fingers. No way you’re going to let him get the better of you. You’ve dealt with humans trying to coax you out from hiding by pretending to be nice before. Never once has it worked. Not once.

My mother taught me better than that.

Dick watches your ears flatten against your head, his smile growing slightly at your defiant glare. He can practically feel the resistance radiating off of you. He knows that he’ll have to use a different tactic to make you come out. He’ll make sure to remember to get rid of the bed’s legs so you can’t hide under it again.

“Come on, little spitfire, you can’t stay under there forever.” He tries, his tone slightly softer. “I bet it’s cramped and uncomfortable under there. You gotta be getting tired.”

Your ears prick up slightly at his words, but you quickly ignore them. He’s right of course, it is cramped and uncomfortable under here. But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. You keep your gaze locked on his hand. It may be a little claustrophobic, but the carpet laid under your little belly and small paws is softer than any material you’ve ever had the pleasure of feeling before. It’s more comfortable than the worn-out stained mattress you use as a bed. Everything here is, really. So you can deal with a little claustrophobia.

Dick can see the way your ears prick up at his words, and he can see the way your eyes drift around the carpet under the bed, taking in the soft material.

He can tell how much more comfortable this is compared to how you usually live. But he keeps that observation to himself.

He just continues quietly coaxing you, his voice never losing its sweetness.

“Yeah, I bet you’re cramped and uncomfortable, baby. It's awfully warm under there...” He coos, his hand continuing to pat the carpet lightly. “And you must be hungry by now, right?” He asks softly, his voice taking on a more sympathetic edge.

Your ears twitch a bit at his words, the mention of food making your stomach rumble quietly. He’s right, you are hungry. Famished, even. It’s been a few days since your last full meal.

You try to push down the ache of hunger in your stomach, your tail flicking irritably. You’re not going to give in just because he mentioned food. Even if a part of you is tempted, you’re not that desperate.

Dick’s lips twitch as he notices the way your ears flick, and he hears your stomach give an almost painful-sounding grumble. He’s silently satisfied that he’s at least getting some sort of reaction; a sure sign that he’s wearing you down.

“Aww…” he coos sympathetically, his voice sickenly sympathetic. “Are you hungry? Your tummy’s all grumbly.. I can hear it from here, kitten.” He leans forward, resting his chin on his folded hands. The position gives him a clearer view of you.

Your ears twitch again, but that’s the only reaction you give. On the inside, your stomach is practically clawing at itself, begging for some sort of meal. Your body is silently aching from how starved you are, the feeling only getting worse with each passing moment. Why the fuck did he have to say something? You hadn’t even noticed a few seconds ago.

But you keep your glare firmly fixed on his hand, refusing to acknowledge the pain. You’re determined to show him that you’re not going to give in that easily.

Dick hums thoughtfully, his gaze gliding over to the hidden camera in the corner of the room, his eyes locking on it knowingly. He casts the device a glance, his expression speaking volumes. He’s letting Tim know that he’s got this situation under control, but still mouths for him to send food.

He glances back down at the space under his bed, addressing you again, his tone still gentle and coaxing. “Come on out, baby…”

A soft growl rumbles in your chest, your mind still stubbornly set on refusing to budge. His soft tone and gentle way of speaking isn’t going to get the better of you.

You dig your claws into the carpet, a low, grumpy snarl working its way out of your throat. No. You think irritably, your tail twitching from behind, thumping against the wall in silent protest.

Dick hears the growl that rumbles out of your chest, and he can tell that you’re still holding out. You’re a stubborn little thing, he’ll give you that. It makes him almost proud. He’s proud to be your brother.

“Come on, kitty. Why don’t you come out from under there and let me see you?”

Your fur sticks up more at his words, your tail lashing even more furiously. He’s getting awfully demanding, which only serves to anger you more. You flatten your ears back against your head, letting out another low growl. Your glare locks intensely on his fingers, which are still lightly patting the carpet. Does this idiot honestly think I’d come out just because he’s saying please?

Dick tries to keep his calm demeanour, despite your visible irritation with him. He knows that you’re feeling claustrophobic under there, but he also knows that you’re too stubborn to come out just because he asks nicely. He silently notes the way your back rises and falls a little too quickly, a sign of how stressed you are in the confined environment.

He tries another approach. “Don’t make me come under there and get you…” he says lowly, his voice taking on a slightly darker edge.

Your ears twitch at the darker undertone in his voice, your body tensing further. You know that he means it, and the thought of him coming under there gets your claws digging deeper into the carpet.

You let out a guttural snarl, low and threatening. Try and get me out. Go ahead and try. I bet your big back can’t even fit under here.

Dick huffs a quiet laugh as he hears your warning snarl, but he’s not intimidated in the slightest. He knows that you’re just trying to sound intimidating, to scare him into leaving you alone. But he can see past the fierce demeanour you’re putting on, he can see the way your body is shaking with tension, the way you’re practically clawing the carpet to pieces.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before standing. His hand reaching down and hooking under the frame of the bed, lifting it up with little effort.

Your body jerks back in shock as he suddenly lifts the entire bed into the air, the sound of the bed’s feet scraping loudly across the floor.

Your tail goes wild at the unexpected situation you’re suddenly in, waving uncontrollably behind you. Your eyes are as big as saucers, the sight of the bed being lifted up completely taking you by surprise. Fuck– how is he so strong?

Your heart is practically slamming against your ribcage, your adrenaline spiking. You’re suddenly feeling very exposed, pressed against the rich wooden frame of the underside of the bed with nowhere to go. You can see him peering under the bed, that smug smile on his face making your blood boil.

“Come out before I’m forced to grab you, spitfire.” He repeats.

A guttural snarl rumbles out of your chest, your legs bunching up as if you’re preparing to pounce. Your heart is racing uncomfortably. His tone is playful, but you can see the subtle hint of darkness in his eyes.

Dick chuckles as he watches your body tense up, the look in your eyes almost murderous. But despite your fierce demeanour, he can see the way your muscles are trembling beneath your fur.

He knows that you’re just scared. You like to put on a strong front, but your shaking body gives you away. He doubts that you’re even aware of it.

His arm is starting to strain a little, the bed is heavier than it looks, but he keeps holding it up with one arm, leaning forward slightly to peer at you.

A low hiss escapes your throat as you slowly begin to edge out from under the bed, your body practically scraping against the ground. You keep yourself as low to the floor as possible, as if you’re still trying to be undetected.

Then, you suddenly dart across the room, scrambling as fast as your legs will allow to the other side, putting as much distance between you and the dude. Once you’ve reached the far side of the room, your body immediately collides with a wall, your tail whipping around as you press yourself against the surface.

Dick sighs as he watches you scramble away from him, practically diving to the other side of the room and immediately slamming yourself against the wall. He lowers the bed back to the ground, letting it thump loudly against the carpet.

His eyes watch you closely, taking in how you’re almost vibrating with tension. He can see the way your eyes are wide, how your back is hunched against the wall, and your little ears are folded back against your head.

You’re ready to go at any second.

Your tail is lashing wildly behind you, your entire being screaming at you to bolt for the door. Get out. Go. Run. Leave. Now. Get out while you still can.

Your little legs carry you as fast as they can, the sound of the door clicking open ringing in your ears. The sound was as loud as a gunshot to your ears. It’s the only noise you need to hear before you bolt. The thought of escaping is a driving force, urging you to run as fast as possible. Darting as fast as your paws will carry you towards the door.

But your escape gets instantly interrupted as you suddenly crash into a pair of long legs, covered in posh looking suit pants. A startled hiss escapes your throat as you stumble back, your head bumping against the man’s legs.

You skid to a halt, your paws screeching against the floor as you collide with them. Your head snaps up, a hiss escaping you as you pull away and stumble back, trying to gain some distance. The rich black fabric now adorns a few of your fur's stray hairs.

A soft chuckle escapes the man just moments after your little stunt, the sound catching your attention. You look up at the man, his face calm and collected as he simply stares down at you.

He speaks in a light tone, addressing you. “Careful there, little one” His eyes are still locked on your small frame. His gaze then shifts back to Dick, holding out a tray to the man.

Dick huffs in amusement as he sees you bolt straight into Alfred, your legs carrying you so quickly that you don’t realise his entrance until it’s too late. He almost laughs out loud as he watches you scurry back awkwardly, your eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

He takes the tray from Alfred with a grateful smile, placing it on the rich wooden desk nearby. “Thanks, Alfie.” He says, his gaze shifting back to you, watching you closely.

Alfred hums softly in response, his eyes still locked on you, his gaze studying your every movement. You feel uncomfortably scrutinised as he looks you over, taking in your every feature. Jesus, he’s staring at me like I’m a bloody zoo attraction.

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes are studying your every move, as if you’re something of extreme curiosity to him. His intense interest in you is making you shift uncomfortably.

He didn’t do that earlier, did he? You think to yourself, your mind struggling to recall earlier events. But for some reason, your memories are just a big jumbled blur.

You can faintly remember waking up on a soft, plush material. Your mind struggles to recall the events. All you can remember are vague, blurry images, like watching a video through a rain-drenched window. One of those images is an unfocused picture of the butler walking, holding you in his arms as he moves. It’s anything but clear. You wouldn’t have believed that it had even happened if it weren’t for the fact that you are in the ‘Master Dick’s room.

Which, now that you’re thinking about it, sounds oddly familiar to you.

However, they don’t spare you much time to ponder over it as you’re forcefully pulled out of your thoughts when the door clicks closed behind the old butler as he leaves once more, your ears twitching in response to the sound.

Dick watches you silently as he places the tray in front of you, the aroma of cooked meat wafting towards your nostrils almost instantly, making your stomach rumble loudly, as if on a cue.

You silently berate your stomach in your mind, before glaring up at Grayson. He probably poisoned it, or something.

Your stomach lets out another loud gurgle as the meat fragrance hits your sensitive nose, the sound making your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You quickly try to silence the sound of your rumbling belly by internally scolding and cussing out the organ, but your silent tantrum is cut short as you glare up at Dick, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Your mind instantly accuses him of tainting the food. He probably poisoned it. Or something. You think bitterly.

Dick notices the way you’re eyeing the food suspiciously, a small chuckle escapes him in response. He can tell that you’re silently accusing him of doing something to the food, and he can’t help but find the way your face scrunches up in a tiny little frown as you glare.

He leans down to sit opposite you, keeping a safe distance before he speaks, his tone gentle. He tells you. “The food is fine. It’s made so you can eat it in both forms.”

Your ears immediately perk up in surprise, your tail freezing in its agitated movements. You can feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins, making your body tense up. He knows I'm a hybrid.

A thousand thoughts run through your mind as the realisation strikes you. He knows. How the hell does he know?

Your heart begins to race even more as your mind instantly connects the dots, linking the events together like a piece of an unsolved puzzle. You recall the other man, the man who knew where you lived. You had no idea who he was, but he clearly knew who you were.

And now, Dick somehow knows about your unique condition.

Your mind quickly makes the connection. Are they working together? Is he with Jason?

You can already feel the adrenaline pumping through your system, your heartbeat sounding like a drumbeat in your chest. Your body is tense, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Dick doesn’t seem to notice your inner thoughts, or if he does, he’s not showing it. He sits calmly across from you, that annoying little grin still plastered on his face, his eyes studying your every move.

Your mind is racing, your body feeling like it’s ready to explode. You can’t help yourself, the thought of staying small and powerless while being in the presence of such a man is making you heave. Bile shooting up your throat at the mere thought.

You quickly shift forms, transforming into a human form. You’re still tense, on edge, but somehow you feel less vulnerable this way. 

A large red and black hoodie hangs off of your form, the oversized material reaching the middle of your thighs. A pair of shorts hugging your legs, clinging to the skin tightly. You’re painfully aware that this is not what you had on before you were knocked out. And somehow, by the tight restricting feeling that adorns your neck, the collar has adapted itself onto your human form too. The sight confuses you and leaves you with a thousand questions, but you don’t dare ask any of them.

Your mind is too occupied with the dull ache that had been building into a painful burn in the muscles of your body, making it harder to concentrate. The intense pain has gone from an irritating dull ache to a stinging, burning feeling. It feels as if someone has dug into your skin, left something deep inside you, and stitched it into your flesh.

Your muscles tense, the overwhelming feeling making you nauseous. The pain is far worse in your human form.

Dick’s eyebrows furrow as he notices the way you suddenly curl in on yourself, your body flinching as if in pain. His heart clenches at the sight. He immediately rushes over to your side, stopping and kneeling down right next to you. His deep ocean eyes filled with concern. 

He watches you carefully, his gaze studying every muscle twitch, every subtle movement. Something's wrong. His heart clenches at the sight of you in pain, a protective instinct stirring within him that he can't ignore.

His body is itching to reach out to you, to comfort you, but he holds himself back. Don’t make it worse. He thinks to himself.

He speaks your name gently, his voice filled with worry. “Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes locked onto you. “What hurts? Tell me, kitten.”

You’re curled up into a tight ball, your body tense and in pain. Dick’s voice is gentle, filled with concern as he asks you what’s wrong. But the sound of him calling you kitten makes you wince in annoyance, a slight hiss escaping you before you can stop it. 

You’re about to answer him when a wave of intense pain shoots through your spine, making your body jerk involuntarily.

The sound that escapes your throat is something between a hiss and a whimper. Which does nothing to calm Dick, his face growing more concerned as he watches you writhe in pain, his mind practically screaming at him to do something to help you.

Dick is about to reach out and touch you, to comfort you, but before his hand can touch your shoulder, the bedroom door slams open violently. Damian’s face, uncharacteristically filled with fear, is suddenly in the room. Tim is next, rushing past the boy and to your side with a syringe in his hand. You don’t have any time nor energy to evade him. The sedative administered quickly.

Your body is tense from the pain, but you feel yourself start to relax as the sedative takes effect. Your mind is slowing down, the world around you becoming hazy. Your breathing is growing slower, your body slowly going limp as the drug starts to take over your senses. Falling backwards into Dick's readied arms.

Dick grits his teeth, looking up at his younger brothers with a deep frown. “Someone explain." he orders firmly, cradling you protectively in his arms as you begin to fall unconscious.

“We need to get them to Bruce.” Damian responds instead of answering. Your mind is barely registering the words before everything starts to go black and it feels like you’re drowning. The sedative completely takes effect as you slowly fall unconscious.

You feel yourself slowly awakening, your long kitten limbs stretching out as your paws curl in on themselves. A soft yawn escapes your lips as you blissfully blink your sleepy eyes open, you can’t remember transforming, but you don’t dwell much on it, feeling somewhat satisfied and at ease. A soft, satisfied purr escaping your lips.

You’re almost about to lull yourself back to sleep when the surface you’re laying on shifts under you.

Your ears twitch in response, your eyes widening with alertness as the soft, fuzzy feeling of comfort is instantly replaced with confusion. You quickly realise that the surface you’re sleeping on is actually moving under you, and that the slight thump thump sound underneath you is not your own pulse.

Your mind quickly processes the new information, realising that you’re not laying on a soft surface, but on someone’s lap. Your body immediately reacts, your ears flicking back as you try to scramble out of whoever’s lap you’re on, startled.

A deep, rumbling chuckle resonates from behind you, a large hand patting your fur gently. Your tail flicks in response to the touch, your mind registering how easy it is to move, how the pain is gone. You take this opportunity to leap up onto the large office desk, your eyes darting around to take in your surroundings – completely ignoring the large figure behind you.

Your tail instantly goes rigid as your eyes fall on the framed photo on the desk, your eyes instantly widening as you recognize the people in the picture. Your heart sinks deep in your chest. It’s a family. A large and happy-looking family. One that you are all too familiar with.

Your mind connects the dots instantly, the realisation hitting you like a truck. The familiar manor. The butler, Alfred. Master Dick. Those people. You're suddenly afraid of looking at the man behind you. They were the Waynes.

Your heart starts pumping furiously in your chest, your breathing becoming rapid and shallow. You can feel a wave of nausea overcome you, your stomach clenching and your head spinning from the force of it all. How exactly have you landed yourself right in the laps of the Wayne's, of all people?

You’re afraid to look back, afraid of who is sitting right behind you. The urge to flee and run as far as possible from this place is almost overwhelming.

The man’s voice cuts through your spiralling thoughts, making you realise that you’re far too deep in your own head. A shiver runs down your spine at the nickname. Sunshine. You haven’t heard that nickname in years.

"You gave us quite the fright there yesterday, sunshine."

You finally gain the courage to look back, your body tense and your breathing heavy. You meet the man’s eyes, and the sight of the soft, concerned gaze makes your breath hitch in your throat. His voice was both soft and firm, almost... paternal.

His deep ocean eyes were looking at you with a mixture of concern and worry. There was no malice, no ill-intent. Only concern that made your heart clench in your chest. His expression is soft, like a parent seeing their child in pain. 

He's sitting in a large armchair, his tall frame slouched slightly as he looks at you intently. His suit looks expensive, but slightly rumpled, as if he hadn't changed in quite a while. His tired eyes never leave you.

Your mind instantly goes into a panic, your multi-coloured chest heaving as if you just got the wind knocked out of you. Fur going up and down at each breath.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Your thoughts are screaming at you, practically begging you to run. To hide. Everything in you is telling you to flee. You can’t go through this again. You were not going through this- not with Bruce fucking Wayne. One deadbeat mother was enough.

Your body is tense, your tail flicking quickly from one side to the other. You’re terrified, a mixture of fear and anger coursing through your body like a wildfire. You’re on the verge of bolting, of escaping as fast as your little legs can carry you. Your heart is pumping, your muscles tense and ready to jump.

But you can’t. You’re frozen in place, your body refusing to cooperate. Stuck there, looking directly into the eyes of one of the most powerful men in Gotham.

Your body goes stiff before you can stop it, your muscles flexing. You can barely even register that you’re being scooped up until you’re already in his arms, his large hands gently holding you close as he begins to scratch behind your soft little ears. His voice is low as he leans down and whispers in a soothing almost comforting tone, his warm breath on your fur making you shiver involuntarily. You almost don’t register his words, the soothing, deep baritone trying to reassure and coax you to relax. To calm down. He’s telling you that it was alright that you had nothing to fear. That you were safe.

“Breathe.”

You’re tense in his arms, your body fighting between the urge to stay and run away, to escape from this situation. But the soothing voice and the gentle fingers scratching behind your ears are starting to have a calming effect on you, despite yourself. His deep voice somehow helps soothe your inner cat, the instincts in your half-wild brain slowly calming down.

He tells you to breathe, to calm down, and you realise that you are holding your breath. You take in a gasping lungful of air, feeling your body sag slightly.

His large hands are holding you close, keeping you still and comfortable in his arms. He continues to run the back of his thumb soothingly behind your ears, the comforting gesture making your eyes flutter with pleasure as a soft, involuntary purr-like sound escapes you. He chuckles quietly at the sound, looking down at you with those deep ocean eyes of his.

“Good,” he says aloud, his voice deep and soothing. “Just like that… Easy, sunshine.”

Your body relaxes against his larger form as he continues to talk softly, his warm breath hitting you with every word he speaks. You find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to, his strong hands and familiar scent comforting your inner feline instincts. The deep and soothing rumbling of his voice is a strange comfort to your nervous system, bringing an unfamiliar sense of safety. 

“That's it... you're doing so well…”

His hands never leave your body, his touch still soothing and tender, like a parent comforting a scared child. His voice is gentle and calm, like a soft, warm blanket, wrapping itself around you and muffling your senses. 

You find your body relaxing further, your muscles no longer as tense as before as you lean heavily into him, almost melting. His scent is warm and musky, bringing a strange sense of familiarity and comfort along with it. He chuckles softly as you let your eyes flutter closed, feeling yourself giving in to the comforting presence. You can barely think, just basking.

His large hands never stop their comforting motions, continuing to gently rake through your soft, fluffy fur. The sound of his low voice and the feeling of his warm breath on your fur are both soothing you further, making your inner cat feel safe and protected. 

He continues to murmur soft words to you, saying that you're good and that you're doing so well. You feel yourself nodding in a haze, the praise making your half-wild brain feel satisfied and at ease for the first time in a very long time. Your entire body soaking in all the praise and affection. He continues to talk softly to you, his deep voice almost lulling you to complete and utter contentment. You almost don't register his words, still feeling all fuzzy from the sedatives.

He lets his voice die out for a moment, just watching intently as you curl into him. Then he speaks up once more, his low voice filled with genuine remorse and sadness this time as he speaks to you, his large hands subconsciously tracing carefully over the newly bandaged areas on your small form. He murmurs softly about metal allergies and implantation tests.

“We hadn't run nearly enough tests...” he says, his voice full of regret. “We would never have been so careless if we had known you were going to react badly to the metal we used… I apologise.” His large figure is still holding you tight against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around you. His voice is soft and apologetic. As if it was his fault that you were allergic to the metal. As if it was normal for someone to put things like trackers inside of you. 

Your entire body tenses as you suddenly remember exactly where you are and who you're with. It's as if a switch flips inside of you. You can feel anger and fear rising up in your chest as your ears automatically lay back flat against your head. You suddenly find yourself not feeling safe in his arms anymore, instead feeling panicked. What the fuck did he just say? Trackers?

This time you don't even think, your natural instincts kicking in full force. Your pupils shrink into deep slits as your teeth bare in a feral expression, the fear and anger from before making your claws extend and dig into the billionaire's skin. 

He barely has time to react before you're lunging at his wrist, your sharp claws digging deep into his expensive suit, creating deep red gashes on his skin. You're not backing down, not this time.

He lets out a surprised hiss of pain, his grip around you relaxing just enough for you to slip out of his arms. You land on the edge of the desk, your body already crouched low, ready to flee. You can see the Billionaire's shocked expression, his eyes darting quickly between you and the deep red gashes on his skin. He quickly applies pressure on the wound, the gashes deep. He doesn't look angry however, more concerned than anything.

He looks up at you, his expression shifting from shock to concern, making your anger flare up again. He's looking at you like a concerned parent looks at their child when it has hurt itself. He’s the hurt one. It's making you livid.

He speaks your name softly, his voice filled with worry and concern. His expression and tone remaining gentle. Loving. “Are you alright?”

The question makes you twitch in anger, your eyes flashing in irritation. You just mauled the man's arm and he has the nerve to ask you if you're alright?

He slowly reaches out towards you, his expression unchanged, still concerned. "Come back here." he says, his voice gentle and coaxing. "You shouldn't be moving around too fast yet."

You hiss at him, your anger flaring at his patronising tone. The idea of getting closer to the man is making your heart pound wildly in your chest. His expression only softens in response, like he's used to temperamental creatures. "It's alright," he soothes, his voice staying level and even. "Just come back here and let me check if you’re hurt."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he assures gently. "I just want to make sure you're okay. The sedatives should be just about out of your system now, but you really shouldn't be walking around yet." He's still slowly reaching out to you, his voice soft and soothing. "You need to rest, sunshine. You just got a big shock. Come back here. It's alright." His voice is still full of that same paternal concern. Like he's worried for his own child. Like you're some frightened kitten that needs to be comforted. It makes you want to claw out his eyeballs.

You tense, your entire body shaking from the adrenaline and fury coursing through you. The nickname Sunshine from earlier only serves to fuel your anger further. Bringing back memories from your early childhood that you've tried so hard to squash down. You can feel anger and fear mixing into a potent cocktail inside your body, making you feel like you're about to burst from the conflicting emotions. You hiss aloud at him in reply, your body tensing further as he still reaches out.

He pauses as you bare your teeth at him, your tail lashing around wildly. He sighs, his expression turning to one of resignation. "You really are a feral little thing, aren't you?" he comments aloud, his tone holding unfiltered amusement. But his eyes are still concerned, watching your every move intently.

He slowly lowers his arm, seeing that you're not reacting well to his attempts at coaxing you back. He leans back in his chair, seemingly giving you a safe distance to calm down. His gaze stays fixed on you, his large eyes watching your every move, like a hawk watching its prey. He's still watching you with concern, like he's worried you're going to do something reckless.

"Just take a breath," he instructs, his voice still gentle. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep going like this." He's still watching you intently, like he's waiting for you to snap and attack him again.

The urge to transform back into your human form is strong, your emotions are a tumultuous storm inside of you. Wanting to cuss the old man out. But you resist the urge out of pure stubbornness, the part of you that still wants to claw him to shreds still in full control of your thoughts. But you want to scream at him, to say something cutting and hateful. 

You have so many things you want to say to the Billionaire, so many insults and scathing remarks that are just on the tip of your tongue. But the feral part of you is not letting you shift to speak. You're stuck between wanting to transform into your human form and shout at him, and staying like this to claw his eyes out.

The elder man tries once more to reach out and grab you, seemingly sensing that you're not quite done with your outbursts yet. But you react quickly, your body moving before your mind can stop you, your paw coming up and swiping at his arm. Claws out and extended. However, this time he's prepared for your reaction. He's quick to grab your extended limb, gripping you firmly by the arm. Before you know it, you're hoisted up into the air, dangling by your arm as you hold back a whine.

He doesn't let go, his grip firm and unyielding. You can feel your arm stinging unpleasantly from where his fingers are wrapped around it, your feet waving in the air as you dangle helplessly. Your inner self hates being so exposed, your body hanging there like a limp doll. You despise being held like this, having no control of the situation. Your ears fold back and pin down against your head.

His pale blue irises focus intently on your outstretched limb, eyes narrowing as he takes note of your claws, which are bared and extended. Noticing how they're not as dull as they would be if they had been cut regularly. You can see his brow furrowing in deep concentration, taking in the length and sharpness. You can also see his jaw clench when he notices just how untouched they look, like they've never been cut before. He lets out a low hum as he studies you, looking down into your eyes, his gaze hardening as he clearly puts two and two together. Thinking to himself for a moment, not phased by your violent squirming.

His mind races at a million miles a minute as he looks down at you, studying your body and your reaction. He can already picture all of the damage you'll do to his furniture, his expression growing more and more stern as his thoughts linger on the possibilities. But as the thoughts of the damage you'll do to the property fades away, another one rises, even darker. One that has him clenching his jaw.

His expression turns grim as he mentally pictures the damage you could do to your other siblings, his eyes flashing with anger. He can see the scenarios clearly, the thought of you harming them making deep, cold anger spread through his veins. His jaw clenches tightly at the thought, his hand gripping your limb a little bit tighter. But there's something else in his eyes as he pictures the damage you could do. Something possessive that shows on his face as he imagines you hurting your brothers.

His eyes remain fixed on your claws as his mind works, contemplating the idea of having one of the boys trim them as soon as possible. But a part of him is also considering a way to prevent them from being used as weapons. A way to keep them from being able to do damage in the future. His jaw tenses again as he mulls over the idea of some sort of restraints, his gaze still on your claws as he plans the next move.

As his mind ponders the options, he thinks back to the scene that just happened, the violent outburst and the way you swiped your claws at him, clearly upset. He's trying to think of a way to keep you from reacting so wildly, and the thought of restraints seems like a good solution. But there's a part of him that doesn't like the idea, not wanting to use something so final on you. Especially when you're still so young.

Yet his mind is also thinking of the danger that your claws represent, especially to yourself and your siblings. He thinks of all of the dangerous things that you could do, the things that you could accidentally hurt. The damage you could cause, the damage you could do to yourself and those around you. His mind is wrestling over the best choice to make, between his protectiveness and his need to keep you safe.

You writhe violently in his hold, using every ounce of strength you can muster to try and tug yourself free. With as much force as you can manage, you tug yourself up to deliver a solid bite to the Wayne's first knuckle, trying to dislodge his grip on your small paw.

Your teeth dig deep into his skin, your sharp canines breaking through the skin like it's butter, drawing a small trickle of blood. With all of your strength you yank against his hold. He lets out a guttural growl of pain as your teeth dig into his flesh, trying to yank his hand away on reflex. He wasn't expecting the sudden attack, the pain of your little fangs burying into his skin making his eyes widened. His fingers immediately loosen around your limb, as he pulls away his injured hand to inspect the bite.

He holds his hand to his face, inspecting the fresh bite mark you left behind, a trickle of blood sliding down his pale finger. You're able to tug your limb out of his loosened grip, landing on the desk with a soft thump. He looks at you with surprised eyes, taking in your feral appearance, your teeth bared and eyes flashing, your pupils small and slitted.

The knock on the office door interrupts the Billionaire's thoughts, his head snapping up to see Damian walking in. "Father, the enclosure has been set u-." the young boy says, but his words die out as his eyes land on you, his expression going soft at first, but then hardening at the sight of the injuries on his fathers hands.

There's a beat of silence, Damian's gaze flitting between you and his father, taking in the scene of you and the older man. The clear evidence of your outburst still present in his bloodied hands.

"What happened?" he finally says, his voice filled with anger and worry. His eyes are hard as he looks at his father's injuries, his own expression hardening further. But his next glance at you is softer, more concerned, seeing your small and feral form hunched up on the desk.

He slowly walks into the office, moving into the room and approaching the desk, his expression still a mix of anger and worry. But his eyes soften as they land on you again, seeing your small fluffy form curled up on top of the desk. His gaze flicks back to his father, waiting for an explanation.

"It's nothing, son," the eldest Wayne responds, his voice calm and reassuring, but his expression is tense as he meets his son's gaze, attempting to downplay the injuries on his hand. But Damian's eyes flick back to the injuries once more, clearly not accepting his father's explanation.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Damian retorts, his voice slightly heated as he glares at the injuries on his father's hand. "You're bleeding." he says, raising an eyebrow in scepticism. His eyes narrow at the obvious lie.

"It's just a scratch," the older man responds, his tone still calm but with an undercurrent of tension beneath it. He can feel the anger rolling off of his son in waves, seeing the glare directed at the small bite mark on his hand.

You don't bother waiting around for the confrontation, swiftly leaping off of the desk and landing near Damian's feet, your small form making a light thump against the ground. You can feel the tension in the air, wanting to get away from the arguing voices and this entire situation

Damian's attention is immediately drawn down to you as you land at his feet, his expression shifting from anger to surprise at your sudden appearance. He looks down at you, his expression still hard but softening at the sight of you, his eyes taking in your small and fierce form.

He bends down to your level, a hint of worry showing in his eyes at your unexpected action. He seems torn between staying focused on his father and his apparent injuries or looking further at you and your current state. His gaze is flickering between you and his father, not sure where to put his focus.

You'd heard tidbits about the youngest Wayne boy before, the press often calling him the "youngest Wayne" whenever he made public appearances, and you remember hearing that he was around fifteen or sixteen. He has a well defined face, but there's still a youthful innocence about him, his features still holding a boyish charm. Your gaze doesn't linger on him for too long, your legs quickly darting towards the exit, your mind focused on escaping.

As you make a beeline for the exit, you can feel his eyes following you as you move. There's a hint of surprise in his expression at your sudden escape attempt, his gaze still flickering between you and his father. He stands there for a moment, torn between stopping you and letting you attempt. Then, the reminder that you're still recovering from the surgery rings through his mind.

With minimal effort, he quickly pulls something from his pocket, sending it flying directly at the door. The object hits the door's hard wood with a loud thump, causing the door to slam shut, the door's hinges groaning loudly in protest. Your heart skips a beat as you're suddenly blocked from the exit, trapped in the room with the two of them. What the hell was that??

kind of abrupt ending, but I was rushing to get this out. So... See you in part three?

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

If I begged would anyone create me some fanart? Please…

A special thanks to @zenychwan , @143637-hrrm , @goddessofalltrash ,@amisupposedtomakesenserightnow ,@redeemingmygloryintopurgatory , @yune1337 , @busenxr , @probabydeadbynow , @imaginarydreams , @cyberwears and @tagzi with the friggin prettiest kitties n puppies ever who definitely helped me write this chapter by sending in pics of their pets!💚

Guess who can no longer get the one thing that I’ve been saving up for for my birthday because my pay got cut 🤗 I’m officially fucking broke now. I’m actually really upset. Probably gonna be forced to not do anything for the big 20th now.

On a happier note, the chapter is finally out! I thank all the people who've waited so patiently for this to come out, you're hella appreciated💚

[invincibledc]

WATERBORNE

SUMMARY: a young waterbender who appears in Gotham gets the attention of a few birds a big bat. But one bird seems more interested than the others. Leaving them to be captured.

PAIRS||Yandere! Tim drake & Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Waterbender!Reader

“Nah fuck that!” Y/n yells, they immediately arises both of their arms. Water moves with the flow of his arms in the sewer. A figure with a big blue on his chest steps back. Eyes widen at rings of water surrounding the small bender. “You’re not taking me alive dick head!” Nightwing, aka Dick Grayson, nervously chuckles while putting his hands up.

“Aw cmon, how did you know my name—”

Immediately the vigilante gets hit with a wave of water, knocked onto his back by the pressure. Nightwing soon sits up coughing, shocked by the pressure knocking him back a few feet. He hasn’t even notice the hydro power house had taken off before he shook his head. Y/n, running with only an over coat and work out sneakers. They didn’t wish for these powers, they didn’t wish to be found. They didn’t wish to be anyone’s obsession! Nightwing finally got his bearings minutes later. “Damnit..” Nightwing puts two fingers to his ear, pressing down he talks.

“They’re on the run again. Tim it’s your turn.” Nightwing opened up a hologram map of the tunnels from his forearm.

“Got it.” Says another voice.

And that was Tim drake, aka Red Robin. Tim nods at the sound coming from his coms. He also had his map up as he readied his bow staff. It was electrified on the tip of it, ready to stun the young bender. He stopped pulling the map up when hearing loud footsteps and heavy breathing.

Tim grips his bow staff, leaning Against the side wall, he gets ready to swing only for him to drop his staff. He dropped it with a loud clank! There stood the hydro power house, y/n. Y/n had anger in their eyes as the other was engulfed by a hand shaped of water. Y/n held one hand out. “Won’t you damn people leave me alone?!” Tim tries to get out of the water, only for it to tighten. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m in no need for help. I don’t need anyone! I don’t need you, or anything!”

Tim frowns, he knew the water bender needed help. He looked about his age. Seventeen. Y/n look fatigue, not enough on their bones, messy hair, baggy eyes with reddish eyes. Before Tim could speak, he couldn’t even try.

Instantly the water bender swung their hand harshly, making Tim hit the other side of the tunnel harshly. A crack was dented there with Tim’s body. The young boy fell onto his stomach, groaning in pain. He tries to stand before gushes of water hits him, over, and over again.

“Leave. Me. Alone!” Y/n swung their hand, it was a undertossing motion as if throwing back a baseball. Y/n kept walking towards their enemy, each swing gets harsher and harsher. Tim tries to take a deep breath, but he’s practically drowning. He lays unconscious now, y/n breaths heavily. Their arms weak, sore, tired. His breathing starts to slow down, but not in the way he wants.

He leans against a wall, balling up his hands.

“Why..why am I so tired. My eyes, they’re heavy. What the hell??”

Y/N’s vision is slowly turning black, not noticing Tim standing up. Smiling widely as he walks towards the drugged water bender. “I see the narcotic worked.” Y/n tried to move their dominant arm, only to just stay limp. “What…did you do to me..”

Tim frowns, leaning towards the waterbender. “What I had to do. You need my help. You need me.” A sick grin reaches the boy’s face as Tim cups the hydro’s face. Y/n glare harshly at Tim who could only smile.

“You.. you and your damn hero complex! You should drown, drown like anyone that dare try to capture me!” Anger filled y/n’s soul. But Tim ignored it, seeing this aggression as a result of not being able to save them earlier. Tim frowns and lifts y/n over his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m here now, The others and Batman will help you! You won’t need to survive anywhere else.” Tim says lastly as the anesthesia kicks in fully now. Knocked out over the teen boy’s shoulder, the boy couldn’t help but smile more. When his bow staff fell, it released the drug only for you to specifically breathe in. And it worked perfectly, just like Tim knew it would.

You were now, captured.

A/N: Ayo new series? Jk.. or maybe not? Anyone wants this to continue or what? Cause I actually enjoyed writing this

[lady-luckk]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ the starlit streets of gotham

# pairing: yandere batfam x magical girl reader

# synopsis: after meeting a strange cat you suddenly gain magical powers. now gotham has a new hero.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

the rain came down hard, soaking the city in cold filth. it pooled in potholes, ran in oily rivers down the streets, and dripped from rusted fire escapes like the city itself was bleeding out. somewhere below, a scream cut through the night—sharp, desperate.

from the rooftop, a figure watched. a pink ruffle fluttered in the wind, its lining stitched with constellations that shimmered when the light hit just right. a silver staff rested in gloved hands, pulsing faintly, sensing the wrongness in the air.

magic wasn’t supposed to exist in Gotham. the city belonged to shadows and fists, to monsters that grinned too wide and men who broke their own bones to prove a point. but you had awakened anyway, flooding the senses with truths no one else could see—sickness festering beneath the pavement, the way darkness slithered between the cracks.

and tonight, that darkness had its hands around a woman’s throat.

in the alley below, three figures in clown masks had backed their prey against a brick wall. one had a knife. Another was laughing, a shrill, jittery sound that bounced between the buildings. the third just stood there, waiting, the way a wolf waits when it knows the fight is already over.

a breath. a shift in weight.

the silver staff raised, and a single whispered command slipped into the night. “moonlight bind”

the air crackled. silver chains of light erupted from nothing, coiling around the three like glowing roots. the laughter died. the knife clattered to the pavement. one of them tried to run, but the bindings yanked tight, pinning all three in place.

up on a distant rooftop, hidden behind the curtain of rain, nightwing watched.

his white eyes followed the way the figure landed lightly in the alley, boots touching down in the spreading neon puddles. the way they tilted their head, inspecting your work—not cruel, not hesitant. just making sure it held.

magic.

gotham had never been kind to the supernatural. It had its monsters, sure, but they bled when you hit them hard enough. magic was something else. something unpredictable. something dangerous.

And yet, here it was.

dick’s jaw slightly dropped in awe. he watched as the figure twirled the staff again, then leapt—up, out, into the storm—leaving only the dying glow of silver chains in the alley below.

for a long moment, he stood there, listening to the rain, watching the place where the light had been. his mind drifting your pink frilly outfit and one thought could only pop in his mind, “so cute.”

then he turned and disappeared into the night.

it was raining again.

not the dramatic kind of gotham rain that lashed against windows and turned the city into a blur of neon and shadow—just a slow, miserable drizzle that seeped into your bones and made everything smell like wet pavement.

you sat at your desk, tapping your pen against your notebook, only half-listening as the teacher droned on about something historical and probably tragic. the words blurred together. the clock above the whiteboard ticked too loud.

next to you, tim drake nudged my arm with his elbow.

“you look like you’re about to drop dead at any moment,” he whispered.

you sighed. “i wish.”

tim chuckled under his breath. “long night?”

he said it like he was joking, but with tim, you could never be sure. he had this way of looking at people—really looking, like he was piecing together a puzzle you didn’t even know you were part of.

“just tired,” you said. not a lie. not the whole truth, either.

tim nodded like he understood anyway. his foot tapped against the floor—he was always moving, always thinking. his notes were perfect—bullet points, underlined dates, little side comments in the margins. yours were a half-finished doodle of a cat and a blank space where information should have been. 

“you take notes like you’re writing a novel,” I muttered, eyeing the neat bullet points.

tim smirked, twirling his pen between his fingers. “some of us actually want to pass.”

you scoffed. “i do want to pass. I just think history should be more… optional.”

tim huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, that sounds like something you’d say.” He hesitated for half a second, then glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “i could help you study, y’know.”

you blinked.

for a moment, he looked like he wanted to take it back—ducking his head slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. his ears had gone a little pink.

you ignored the way my stomach twisted at that.

the teacher said something about an upcoming project. tim scribbled something down, and you let your gaze drift toward the window. the city stretched out past the glass, rain-slicked and endless, a dull orange glow swallowed by low-hanging clouds.

something felt off.

you didn’t know how to explain it.

like the air was heavier. like something in the city had shifted, just slightly, just enough that you could feel it in my teeth.

you shook the thought away and turned back toward tim. he was still writing, lost in whatever thought had taken hold of him.

you opened your mouth—maybe to ask if he felt it too, maybe just to say something stupid—but the bell rang before you could.

tim sighed, stuffing his notes into his bag. “you heading straight home?”

you hesitated. you should have said yes. should have made up an excuse. instead, you shifted in your seat.

“…dunno.”

tim’s gaze lingered, eyes deep and searching, like in this moment, i was the only thing in his world. his expression softened, the usual sharp focus melting into something quieter, something warmer.

then, barely above a whisper, like he wasn’t sure he wanted me to hear it—

“be careful, okay?”

the feeling in your stomach returned, but you forced a grin. “what, worried about me?”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t quite meet mine. “just—text me later, alright?”

“yeah, yeah.” you waved him off, grabbing my bag. “see you tomorrow, Drake.”

he huffed a laugh. “see you.”

you left before he could say anything else.

tim’s words stuck with you longer than they should have.

even as you left the school, even as you walked through the rain-slicked streets, you kept hearing them—soft, careful, like he was saying more than just be careful. like he knew something I didn’t.

you shook the thought away. gotham makes people paranoid. it gets under your skin, curls around your ribs, makes you see things in shadows that aren’t there. you weren't about to let it get to you.

but the feeling lingered.

the weight in the air, the way the city felt different, like something was shifting just beneath the surface. the streetlights buzzed too loud. the shadows stretched just a little too far. the drizzle had turned into a thin mist, blurring the edges of buildings, turning the world into something unreal.

you turned down the alley behind your apartment, pulling your hood up, ready to shake off the weirdness of the day—

and then you saw the cat.

small. black as the alley it sat in. watching you.

completely dry.

you stopped.

the feeling in your ribs tightened.

you should have ignored it. you really should have.

but the cat blinked—silver eyes, too bright in the dark, too big for its face—and suddenly, you couldn’t move.

you couldn’t look away.

and then—

it spoke.

not out loud, not like a cartoon. the voice was in my head, curling around your thoughts like smoke. "you can hear me."

you took a step back. the cat followed. its eyes were silver, too bright in the dark, too big for its face.

you wanted to run. every instinct in you screamed to leave, to pretend this never happened. but something in your chest burned, something you didn’t recognize, and your feet stayed planted where they were.

the cat took another step forward. the shadows stretched with it, bending wrong, twisting around its paws like they wanted to pull it back.

"gotham is sick," the cat said, and you felt the words more than heard them. "and you can fix it."

what the actual fuck—

you opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

the cat’s eyes widened, and suddenly your head was full of light. your vision blurred—flashes of the city, of darkness curling under its skin, of something old and rotten stirring beneath its streets. your chest tightened. your heart pounded too fast, too loud. the cat came closer, its fur brushing your leg, and the second it touched you—

everything exploded.

not fire. not heat. light.

silver, cold, endless. it rushed through you, into you, twisting itself around your bones, threading itself through your veins. your skin burned, but you didn’t scream. your head was full of knowing—of power, of purpose, of the city whispering secrets you had never wanted to hear.

you dropped to your knees in the alley, gasping, hands shaking.

the cat sat in front of me, tail curled neatly around its paws, watching.

"What… what did you do to me?"

the cat blinked. the rain didn’t touch it. "i gave you a choice."

you didn’t remember choosing.

but when you looked down at your hands, they weren’t empty anymore. a silver staff lay across your palms, glowing faintly in the dark. The rain turned to steam when it touched me. your breath came out in clouds.

and somehow, you knew—if you reached out, if you let it, you could pull the light into your hands and turn it into something real.

you could fight.

the cat stood, stretching lazily. "fix it," it said again, voice curling into the back of your skull. "or let it rot. the power is yours now."

then it turned and walked into the dark, swallowed by the city before you could ask anything else.

you sat there, rain pooling around me, heart still hammering.

the light inside me hadn’t faded.

and somehow, you knew it never would.

[erinyesofvengeance]

HIGH ON ANESTHESIA

pairing: dick grayson x reader

tags: friends to lovers, fluff, drabble, hospitalized reader, one-sided pining (not for long), not proofread!!

summary: after getting your wisdom teeth removed, your best friend and unrequited love (love which you've kept a secret for 7 years) dick grayson comes to visit you in your hospital bed. unfortunately, you seem to still be under the effects of anesthesia, which causes you to be painfully truthful.

A/N: inspired by that one brownie scene in the perks of being a wallflower (bawled my eyes out in the end)

"The surgery went well. There were some unexpected complications, such as the wisdom teeth being in a rather unusual location, but your daughter will be alright. She'll be able to go home by the end of the day."

Your mother breaths a sigh of relief, seemingly relieved by this good news. Honestly, you couldn't blame her for being nervous and worried sick about you, given the events of the last surgery you had. Gosh, you really have had a lot of surgeries. Your mother turns to you, gently caressing your face.

"You okay, (name)? Do you want anything to drink?" she asks.

You sigh. Your head is pounding and your neck is craned at an uncomfortable position. No matter how much you move it, or adjust it, it stays the same. Sore, bothersome, and annoying. You nod in response to her question.

"I want water," you whine. "But not the lukewarm kind. Cause you always get the lukewarm kind."

Your mother sighs.

"Lukewarm is better for you. Cold water cools down your body temperature too fast. It's unnatural."

"Mama, that's bullshit. It's damn water," you groan. Your mother raises an eyebrow at your comment.

"Whoops." You smile cheekily.

"Fine. I'll get you some cold water," she declares. You clap your hands in excitement.

When she leaves, you can hear her footsteps becoming softer the farther away she moves. Another pair of footsteps makes it's way to your hospital bed. The footsteps stop, and your curtain opens.

You're met with a pair of striking blue eyes, and a head of perfectly styled yet still natural-looking blue hair. Dick Grayson, with his perfectly shaped face and irritatingly good looks had a worried look on his face. For you. That look of worry quickly faded once he saw you.

"I take it the surgery went well?" he asks.

You nod.

"That's good." He exhales a long held breath. "Considering the last time you had surgery, I had though..." he trails off when he feels your gaze burning holes into his face.

You look up at him dreamily. You could've sworn that there were sparkles in the air and hearts in the sky.

"Dick... you have such pretty blue eyes," you sigh.

He raises an eyebrow. "Say what now?"

"The kind of pretty that deserves to make a big deal about itself though, you know what I mean?"

He laughs softly, and the sound goes right up to your head.

"What else about me do you think is pretty?" he teases.

"Hmm... your hair, and your smile. Your voice. Your biceps are kind of nice too. I want you to put me in a headlock and choke me with them." you slur. "And obviously those glutes."

"Wow. Didn't know you acknowledged my smoking hotness." Dick, obviously, is quite amused right now. You've always been the one seemingly immune to his charms, despite his numerous attempts to hit on you and get your number. He knew by now for the past 7 years that he liked you; hell, maybe even loved you. Scratch that; definitely loved you. But you either ignored or was painfully oblivious to his infatuation with you.

"I've been acknowledging it for 7 years," you grumble.

"So what, you sayin' you like me or something?"

You nod. "Totally want you to choke me."

Dick grins.

"Got anymore secrets to tell me?"

Your eyes light up and you nod, beckoning him to come closer so you can whisper in his ear. You cover the side of your mouth with your hand when you get closer to him.

"I know about your secret. That you're Nightwing."

"Wait, what the fu-"

[iydiamartinx]

BREAK POINT

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 802 synopsis: You're there to pull Nightwing back after Jason's death. a/n: I'm sick, but I managed to write something short and...not so sweet.

The alley was slick with rain and blood—most of it not Dick’s.

The Joker lay slumped against the brick wall, his chest heaving in broken laughter, ribs broken, mouth full of crimson.

And Dick Grayson was losing himself.

Years of discipline. Years of swallowing grief, of smiling for Gotham, of fighting for the light even when all he saw was shadow—gone. All of it crumbling the second that name left the Joker’s cracked lips.

“You know,” he wheezed out through a bloodied smile, “he begged for you.”

Dick went still.

One breath. Then another.

“Little Birdie,” the Joker crooned, spitting teeth. “He screamed your name. Over and over. Begged for big brother to come save him—”

Dick saw red. The sound of metal against flesh was sickening.

The crowbar rose and fell in Dick Grayson’s hands, slick with rain and blood. Joker’s body twitched with every blow, each one landing with bone-splitting force. The alley was a chorus of thunder, but his laughter still rang louder than anything else.

Even now—half his face caved in, blood pouring from a split scalp, his legs likely broken—he laughed.

“You should’ve seen him,” Joker gurgled, choking on the blood in his throat. “Screaming, ‘Nightwing’ll save me!’” A broken giggle rattled from his chest. “But he didn’t, did he? The Big Bird never came.”

“Shut up!”

He didn’t recognize the sound that tore from his throat.

It wasn’t his voice. It was deeper. Raw. Animal.

Dick didn’t remember screaming.

Didn’t feel the sting where the crowbar bit into his palm through soaked leather. Didn’t notice how his grip kept slipping, how his shoulder screamed from the strain. All he knew was rage—pure and blinding. It scorched through his veins, hotter than the lightning cracking overhead, hotter than the fire that had swallowed Jason whole.

It flooded his vision red.

Until all he could see was the Joker’s face—and a coffin far too small.

He struck again.

And again.

And again.

The crowbar came down with a wet crack, echoing off the alley walls. Joker’s head snapped to the side, teeth skipping across the pavement like thrown dice. Blood smeared the brick in arterial bursts, and still—still that damned smile clung to his broken face.

Every strike was for second Jason had suffered in that hands of that clown. Every crunch of metal on bone was a scream he hadn’t been able to stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He didn’t want to stop.

Somewhere behind him, a voice called his name—soft at first. Then louder. Closer.

“Dick.”

He didn’t hear it.

“Dick.” And then your hands were on him—grabbing his wrist, chest pressed against his back. “Stop.”

He was trembling.

“He killed Jason,” he choked, voice cracked. “He took him. He was laughing when he was beating him to death.”

“I know,” you whispered, forehead against his shoulder. “I know, baby. But Jason wouldn’t want this.”

He didn’t answer. His breath hitched, uneven. You could feel the storm inside him—every muscle coiled, every heartbeat like a drum of war. For a moment, you just held him, grounding him with your touch, your presence.

Then your voice came again, softer—cracked with your own grief that you were trying to hold back.

“You think I don’t want him dead?” Your voice wavered, but didn’t break. “I do. Every day. But if you do this, Dick… you’ll never be able to look in the mirror again.”

His jaw clenched. His whole body was shaking with restraint. His arm still hovered midair, the crowbar slick and red, the Joker barely breathing beneath him.

“I could end it,” he said, so quiet you barely heard it. “Right now. Right here. He deserves to rot in hell.”

“Then don’t follow him there.”

That was what made him stop.

Slowly—like it cost him everything—his hand dropped. His fingers uncurled from the Joker’s collar, letting him slump to the ground with a wet rasp of air, unconscious or close to it.

His breathing was erratic. Ragged. Shattered.

You stepped in front of him, chest to chest, uncaring of the blood on his suit or the crowbar still clenched in his shaking hand.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

His eyes flickered to yours.

Not Nightwing’s eyes. Dick’s. Grief-stricken. Lost. A boy mourning his brother the only way he knew how—through violence.

“You’re not him,” you said, voice breaking. “You’re not a killer.”

The crowbar slipped from his fingers and hit the pavement with a hollow clang, swallowed by the rain.

And Dick dropped to his knees.

You caught him before he could fall completely, arms wrapping around him as he sagged into you, rain soaking through both your clothes as he shook with silent sobs. You held him there, in the wreckage of the alley.

And behind you, the Joker lay still.

Broken—but still alive.

[gothamhappiness]

Don't hurt Red Hood, Batman! (Jason Todd x f!reader - Part 1)

Warnings: no proof reading, language, Batman is mean, mentions of fighting and wounds, reader got some nerves and aimed at Batman

You were living on Red Hood territory.

Actually you stayed in Gotham thanks to him. You felt safe thanks to him. Yes, he was the new crime lord in town, but women and children were off limit. Innocent people were off limit.

You knew Red Hood killed people but he killed bad people and kept innocent civilians safe. You weren’t for the killing, of course not. And yet you were grateful for what Red Hood was doing, for people like you. You weren't afraid to walk at night anymore.

The first time you saw Red Hood, he was arguing with Batman and Nightwing. Actually, Batman was fighting with Red Hood and Nightwing was in the middle, trying to stop them.

You didn’t really think before grabbing the small gun you had in your bag. And you were clearly out of your mind when you aimed at Batman.

"Leave him alone!" You screamed

The three men froze. You didn’t really think you would hurt anyone, you just felt better having a gun in your hand to face the dark knight

"Go away" Batman sternly told you and Nightwing moved his head to silently ask you to do the same

"No, you, go away. Leave Red Hood alone."

"What?" The three men muttered

"He is doing good for people like us. You don't give a shit about us, Batman. Go play with Harvey Dent or Oswald Cobleppot, and let Red Hood saves us from Black Mask and his goons." You stubornly replied

"Look..." Nightwing started but you cut him off

"You are both on his territory anyway" you said

"His territory? Wait you are in agreement with this?" Nightwing asked and you nodded instantly

"I live here, Red Hood keeps us safe without asking anything in return. He even feeds children of the street. What did you two do about it? Aren't you supposed to be in Blüdhaven, Nightwing, anyway?" You clearly knew no fear that night

Red Hood had sat down during the exchange, he was hurt but more importantly he was stunned that someone was actually taking his defense.

"He is a criminal" Batman finally said

"So are you" you replied

"He is trying to do justice by taking money from the goons and the prostitution. He is a crime lord, like all the others"

"What don't you understand in "He keeps us safe!". The money is always dirty in Gotham anyways." You justified Red Hood again

The silence following was defeaning. Batman made one step towards Red Hood, and you shot past his ear.

"It's a warning Batman, my mother taught me how to use guns against violent men" you threatened him

"Alright, let's go, Nightwing," Batman groaned. He didn't want to fight with a civilian

You watched them go before looking down at Red Hood, you felt the adrenaline slowly leaving your body and you felt a little bit sick. But aslo very proud of yourself. You smiled at the man who was still sat down on the ground.

"Are you alright? Do you need help with your wounds?" You asked

"What's your name, brave girl?" He asked in return

"Y/N" you said with a slight blush

"Y/N, thank you for making me happy for the first time in a very long time" Red Hood softly whispered to you

"Anything for you, Red" you smiled even more

--

Part 2

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

STUCK WITH ME- D. GRAYSON

day twenty two of the june bug masterlist

pairing: camp counsellor! dick grayson x camp counsellor! fem! reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: you're forced to spend your time (the whole summer) with dick grayson, someone you can't stand. why the two of you were paired up to be consellors, you'd never understand...

warnings: pure fluff and teasing, enemies to... lovers? heh

“you are stuck with me- so i guess i'll be sticking with you are stuck with me- so I guess i'll be sticking with you"- stuck with me, the neighbourhood

“Don't look at me like that.” you scoffed, staring straight ahead at the open lake in front of you.

Not meeting his obvious gaze, focused in a different direction then yours.

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about pumpkin.”

Your body whipped to him,finger already ready for the jab to Dick Graysons chest.

“And do not call me pumpkin.”

He chuckled, baby blues refusing to leave yours. There were two rules you had for yourself for your time at Nightwing Summer camp. The first was to not let a child die under your watch. The second being not to fall for your fellow camp counsellor, Dick Grayson.

The smug, charming little (tall) man who was so perfect it made you sick. The cocky bastard had everyone wrapped around his pretty little finger, and you weren't falling for it.

So it was your main mission to avoid him at all costs. However, that became quite difficult when you were assigned to the same group. It took everything in your body not to audibly groan when you saw the sheet of paper stuck up in the breakroom before the kids had all arrived.

Your name next to his.

A metaphorical binding of your two fates intertwining for the next three months.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, instantly calling your group to start getting out of the water and heading to their cabins to change for dinner. Distracting yourself from him at all costs. Him and that stupidly annoying grin, and that curl of inky hair that always falled into his face.

He got under your skin, and he knew it. He then, therefore made it his top priority to stay there.

“And do not call me sweetheart.” you grumbled as you turned, trailing after the kids and leaving him in the dust. He chuckled, that boyish grin plastered across his face that you could feel without physically looking at it. That grin haunted you like the plague.

Running a hand through his hair, he jogged to catch up with you, and you tried so hard to not turn your gaze slightly to stare at the massive biceps that were tanned and visible due to the muscle shirt he wore.

Boo. You whore.

“One day this summer, you're gonna like me.”

You snorted, focusing on the ground ahead of you. The rocks and twigs on the old dirt path through the forest, back to the main camp, were way more interesting anyways. “Keep telling yourself that Grayson.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of calling him by his first name. It was too personal. Too intimate. “You’ll see.” he shrugged, starting to whistle a tune into the tree branches above. God help you.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

Dick Grayson did not stop staring at you, per your request.

But why would he? Why would this man listen to a word you said in any capacity?

His eyes remained on yours in the dining hall, even though his conversation was held with the kiddos around him. The dark orbs pierced you from across the bonfire, the flames licking up to illuminate his face in shadows. It was the one time you two could be separated, as the nightly bonfire was a time for everyone to mingle around freely. And yet, he couldn't seem to let go of you.

You couldn't shake him off. And every part of you told you to stare right back, to challenge him to some kind of mental fight. But if you looked too hard, you felt something churn in your stomach.

Something that wasn't nausea, as much as you told yourself that.

Butterflies. Those cursed, damned things.

So you focused your eyes elsewhere, anywhere you could. “I think Dick is staring at you.” one of your kids said as she sat down next to you, handing you a brush and elastic.

Aria, your little rockstar. She had some sass to her, but you saw yourself in her. She was your summer daughter, and you loved her as a sister. You began your routine of brushing her hair, parting it into sections before you began to braid it.

“What do ya think I should do Ari? Go over and gouge his eyes out?”

The eleven year old giggled. “Maybe. But I thought you liked him.”

Your eyes bulged. “You think I like him?”

She shrugged, and you tugged a little tighter on her locks, snugging the braid tightly before tying it off. “You look at him like you do sometimes. My mom always says the ones you think you hate, you secretly like. You look like you want to choke him sometimes.”

You couldn't help but laugh, covering your face with your hands.

Fuck she was kind of right. Why was an eleven year old girl more observant than you?

“Go get me a smore Ari, and no more mentioning Grayson if you know what's good for you.” you teased, wagging your finger at her with a smile plastered across your face as she scurried off to make you a treat over the campfire.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

It was just you and him under the moon and the stars. The fire had pretty much died down completely, nothing but small embers burning in the charred pit.

And yet, you couldn't find it in your body to get up and go to bed.

You were not tired yet. You didn't want to be tired yet. You stared off into the distance, to where the lights were out in the childrens cabins, nothing but little night lights for little light. You hadn't noticed Dick slip into the shadows of the night, suddenly sliding to sit beside you on your log.

“You have marshmallow on your face.” he murmured, making you jump.

“Jesus Grayson don't scare me like that.” you huffed crossing your arms over your chest protectively. He didn't respond, just licking his thumb before he was rubbing the corner of your lips, where you felt the sticky residue.

Somehow, it had landed on your cheek as well.

Embarrassing.

Your breath hitched in your throat, choking you of making some snarky comment as he intensely observed your face for any other trace of the marshmallow on your skin. You shouldn't like how close he was to you. You shouldn't like you could so clearly smell the campfire smoke mixed with his husky cologne, or the fact you could count each eyelash that fluttered against his cheek.

It was too much. Too soon.

You couldn't cave this easily yet, and yet- you couldn't find it in yourself to move away.

“There. Now you’re s’mores free.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, regretting the words as soon as they left your lips. That damn smug smirk was plastered on his face at fact you had thanked him.

“Careful sweetheart, we wouldn't want it to sound like you like me, now would we?”

You rolled your eyes, darting them to stare at the ground beside him. His hand never left your face, cupping your jaw as he turned it, making you look at him.

And god you hated it. You hated how much of an effect he had over you. He was close enough to kiss.

Close enough you could just lean forward and press your lips to his… 

He turned his head slightly, eyebrow raised as if he was studying you. Observing you, trying to get a read. You didn't have enough time to put your hardened mask back into place.

“You look like you want to kiss me.”

You froze. Guilty.

“You don't know what youre talking about.”

“I’m sure I don't about many things.”

You did want to kiss him, just a little. His lips looked so soft and tempting. But you wouldn't give him that satisfaction. You didn't need to boost his ego anymore than it was already.

“Have a night Grayson.”

You turned,his hand slipping from your skin, already feeling cool to the touch. You needed to go to bed. You were suddenly exhausted. He made you exhausted. The facade you put up around him made you exhausted.

“You’re stuck with me, you know.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you asked.

“Whatever you want it to be. But just know, we have three months together. You’ll have to cave at some point.”

You just shrugged. “Maybe you’ll cave first.”

You turned, the moonlight illuminating your path as you started to turn to make your way back to your quarters. His words followed you all the way back, loud even over the chirping cicadas and cooing owls in the branches.

“Oh darling I already have.”

This was going to be a long summer indeed.

[marksbear2]

OK! Nightwing ftm getting banged by male reader who’s a low level henchmen working for Joker/Harley? The henchmen in Arkham Knight low key hot ngl-

Reader’s hands are handcuffed and Nightwing is riding his dick inside his pussy.

Both are clothed (Nightwing just has his costume ripped around the pussy & asshole part and reader has the joker face makeup thing the other henchmen has in Arkham Knight, boots, jacket, and jeans on, just that his dick is out through the zipper hole) (Also fingerless gloves but whatever I’m thinking too much on the clothes-)

When reader says that he’s gonna cum, Nightwing stops riding and asks where Joker is, with the dick still inside him. Reader doesn’t wanna reveal but the cockwarming is too good that he starts thrusting his upwards without thinking. Nightwing’s caught of guard and leans forward, both faces close to each other. Eventually he starts riding for a bit, but reader, with gritted teeth, just cums a gallon inside Nightwing’s pussy.

Without thinking, they proceed to make out for a bit. They both comes to their senses and just stare at each other awkwardly (dick still in) and reader just straight up tells him where Joker is heading. Nightwing smiles & thanks him, slowly gets up (with some cum pouring out), uncuffs him and leaves Batman style, with reader lying on the ground processing what just happened before tughing his dick in and leaving the alleyway

FTM DICK ‘NIGHTWING’ GRAYSON X MALE READER

⚠️No pronouns for the reader, could be read as GN, riding, Dick has a pussy btw, cum leaking, creampie, handcuffs, public sex, alleyway Sex, sub top Duck and etc. ⚠️

“Now, that I finally caught you. You’re gonna tell me where’s the joker heading.”

You let out a sharp gasped and held back a groan as your hands were behind your back handcuffed to the pole of the alleyway. You honestly didn’t even know how you ended up in this situation. Just maybe forty minutes you were on the run with other henchmen, and now your cuffed to a pole in the alleyway and out of all people in the Gotham to catch you it was Nightwing.

He was straddling over your cock holding the middle of it carefully as he lower his pussy down on you.

You could see the abs and his muscles through his suit especially what you really had your eyes focused on was his pussy. His other hand was behind him holding your thigh, steadying himself as he lowered himself down onto your cock.

He let out a sharp gasp with a bit of a chuckle as he finally got the tip all the tip inside. He let go of your cock and used his now free hand to touch himself, he rubbed his clit as he moved down on your cock.

Once he was halfway way he went back up, he continued it more just letting himself adjust before going down on your cock all the letting out a moan as he gripped your thigh. He bit his lip as he looked down at you. Nightwing pulled both of his hands away letting them rest and hold onto your shoulders as he rose his hips up before gently letting it down letting your cock slide even more deep inside of him.

Soon enough he began to bounce on your cock letting your sick reach further inside of you. The hero’s hand traveled from your shoulders to your neck massaging it softly as he rode your cock.

His bare ass slapping against your pants. You breathed heavily under your breath as you feel himself riding your cock occasionally getting off your cock just to let the your cock throb before going back to riding you. His hands traveled around your shoulders and back occasionally tugging the back of your hair. He felt so good, he’s cunt was tight around you but also just loose enough so he could fuck himself down on your cock.

He also had a smirk on his face. He knew he had you under his mercy. His right hand traveled to your face cupping your cheek and forcing you to look up at him. Then suddenly you had a feeling in your stomach tighten. Was it the way he looked at you? The way he looked at you like you were pathetic. Or was it just because his pussy felt so amazing around your cock.

“I’m gonna cum!” You blurted out in a groan, you tilted your head back a bit as you felt your legs tensed as your chest rose up and down quicker.

Abruptly stopping he rested down on you, still keeping your full cock inside of him. “Where’s the joker huh?” Nightwing said looking down at you, your head was still resting against the wall as your eyes were glued shut. You couldn’t even focus on his question. Just continuing breathing heavy you subconsciously began to slowly raise your hips into his cunt, starting off with slow rhythms until you couldn’t hold yourself back and began to thrust inside of him rapidly.

Nightwing was startled by the sudden movement and leaned toward into you to steady himself. Nightwing rose his hips and moved it back down meeting your thrust in the middle.

You two were face to face. He smirked hearing our gaps and grunts under your breath. But as well his mouth was opening letting out moans, both of you guys open mouths were inches away and once it seemed like you two were gonna kiss you cum.

You close your mouth gritting your teeth together as you let out a muffled groan and moan. Your wrist tongued against the cuffs as Nightwing surprisingly silent as he was bitting his lip letting you cum fill him. You two faces were still inches apart just nudging against one another as you poured your seed inside of him. Still cumming you and Nightwing makes eye contact and for a quick second he glanced at your lips before capturing your mouth in a kiss.

The kiss began to get even more heated both of you two’s tongues exploring one another’s mouth and dancing against one another. Both of you two moaned and whimpered in each other’s mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Nightwing felt the cum inside of him leak down onto your own cock. You two are staring at each other silently before you broke it.

“He’s heading over to old Gotham to continue his new big project.” You said in a mumble, once you told him he softly pat your check and smirked.

“Thanks.” He said before reaching behind you, undoing your handcuffs before pulling himself up and off your cock and taking a few steps back. He admired himself for a moment. Your cum was leaking out of him since it most of it is overflowing inside of his pussy. He gave you one more glance over his shoulder and walked off into the dark streets of Gotham.

You sat there, cock still semi hard but also milky with your own cum on it.

After finally gathering your thoughts you stood up and tucked your cock back inside your pants. Your mind was racing in a good way.

You slowly walked out the alley still amazed and in shock. But the more you thought about what just happened the more the tent in your pants grew.

THE END

[zweetpea]

Mrs. “Wayne”

Content warning: Swears, Arranged Marriage, talks of having an heir, Mentions of Bruce’s Affairs, Nightwing x Starfire mentioned

Based on this since no one else has done it (or at least not that I've seen...)

BTW guys if you want to write something based off something I write I ask that you tag me in it. (Unless it's like a broad thing... like if you see my post about Bruce bringing home a girl that he met and married that day then write a fic around that idea I ask that you credit me, but if you see my Yandere Bruce x reader and decide to make a "baby fever! Bruce x reader" that's more general so I don't think it would be fair of me to ask for credit.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Honey I know you're angry with us but it's what’s best for you. He's the richest man in the country." Your mother fixed your veil.

"He's a whore. And what's worse is that he doesn't even consider how it even affects his kids. I just picks up orphans off the street like they're lucky pennies or a 20 dollar bill for him." You grimaced.

"You know what a..." She sounded appalled. "20 dollar bill is? Oh how I've failed you as a mother."

"Don't be so dramatic." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you ready to go?" Your father entered into the private room. "You look beautiful Princess."

"Thanks dad."

"Come on." He grabbed your hand as you grabbed the bouquet. You wrapped your arm around his as you two walked down the isle to your soon-to-be husband, Bruce "Brucie" Wayne.

You looked down through the entire ceremony, up until the Vows. Brucie's were short and sweet. "We may not know each other too well but I swear to be loyal, thoughtful, and truthful through our entire marriage." At which you heard a faint snort from the front row. You slightly glance over and see a young man a few years younger than you trying to hold laughter, his white streak bobbing as he shook with laughter. Brucie's glaring at him.

You turned back to your inevitable spouse and said your vows. "I promise to stand by your side in all your endeavors, even if that means adopting 10 more orphans you pick up from the streets like they were stray cats." You said in a monotonous voice.

You two finish off the ceremony with the standard ceremonial officiator speach.

"Do you Bruce Wayne take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

He turns to me. "Do you-"

"I do." You cut him off. Surprising everyone with how forward that was. Some whispers were heard amongst the crowd, undoubtedly calling you a gold digger for being so eager to get this ceremony over with.

"Well at least she's eager! That's almost gotta ensure this marriage lasts right?" The officiator jokes to ease the tension. "If anyone objects to this marriage please speak now or forever hold your peace." The same young man who was laughing held up his hand but it was pushed down by a man about your age sitting next to him. "Then you may now kiss the bride."

You and your new husband shared a chaste kiss before you ran down the isle and out to the limo. And after a short drive you made it to the spot where you were scheduled to take your wedding photos and have the reception.

The reception was void of life, stuffy, like all those galas your parents forced you to attend. Hopefully this didn't end up like one of the incidents of Brucie flirting with milfs, sticking his tongue down a young squeezes throat, or twerking on ice sculptures.

Eventually Brucie takes you over to the loudest table in the place. "Wifey, these are my kids and co. Dick my oldest, the trouble maker who laughed during the ceremony is Jason, my oldest daughter Cass, the middles Stephanie and Tim, and Damian my youngest. Then there's Barbara Commissioner Gordons daughter, and our newest member of our family Duke."

"I'm the only blood child." Damian points out.

"Let's hope debauchery isn't hereditary."

Jason bursts out laughing at that. "I like her already."

"Really? Cause I had to hold your hand like a toddler during the ceremony to keep you from throwing a tantrum like a toddler." Dick points out.

"Can you blame me Dickie. She's your age. If anyone should be having a hissy fit it's you. Well you and maybe Babs."

"But we're not. So can't you be mature about this."

"I think Todd's lack of manners have become more acceptable considering what she said. Now it stands out less. Congrats Todd, you're now the family's second biggest embarrassment." Damian rolled his eyes.

"Haha" You laughed sarcastically. "What are you stray cats fighting over anyway that has you so rowdy? Someone throw out a can on anchovies?"

"No we're just excited to have a new Mom." Dick smiled at you.

"Oh looks like my new Father-in-law is calling me over for some business talk. I'll be back, Wifey. You just stay here and mingle." Your husband walks away and you turn back to the Brucie bunch.

"I know you guys probably don't like me or find it weird that I'm so close to your guys ages. Do me a favor and just put up with me for say five to ten years." They looked at you confused so you elaborate. "Brucie and I signed a prenup that if I asked for a divorce I'd get nothing. But give it a few years and he'll find a new fling. They'll get caught and he'll ask for a divorce to save his image. Don't worry I'll only ask for at most a million. Standard sum for a celebrity of his caliber."

Damian glares at you. "You skank."

"I'm being realistic. As a woman in high society you get to be a man's pretty young thing till you're 40. By then you've either started your own multi-million dollar business or you're the divorced crone who can't do any better. Most relationships of this caliber are shams held together by pool boys and secretaries. Or the few lucky ones that got married for love instead of PR."

"Bruce isn't like that." Tim defends.

"Oh please. I've seen him go to a date with a woman and leave with two completely different women than the woman he arrived with." You rolled your eyes

"Maybe when he was younger, but he's changed." Duke stood up to confront you.

"It's nothing personal kids, it's just business. I don't care if that's how he chooses to live his life. I won't be around much to see it anyway, I'm going to be rather busy." You shrugged, seemingly above it all.

"Busy with what?" Cass glared.

"Trading stocks and such, preparing for the inevitable divorce. Maybe I'll go sponsor some artists or a theatre production if I'm bored. I don't know, but what I can tell you is that it's coming." You turn around to walk away and see Brucie already flirting with another woman. "And from the looks of it, it's coming sooner than we could've ever guessed." You smirked, feeling vindicated. The rest of them looked on in horror.

After the reception you two left on a rather uneventful honeymoon. The private villa was garish and gaudy. It felt like a petty excuse to flaunt his wealth especially because you two spent the entire trip sleeping in different rooms. And on top of all that half way through he up and left you with his black card and flew back to the mansion to deal with an "emergency". Your best guess was a whiny sugar baby was getting pissy.

At the end of the trip you flew back and had to catch an uber home. None of them even came to pick you up from the airport. Though with how they reacted to your statements at the reception could you really blame them?

Regardless you practically snuck into the mansion with the help of Alfred who showed you to a small guest room on the first floor. It had a single queen sized bed without even a comforter, just a white duvet, and on either side of the bed were nightstands.

"Thank you Alfred." You nodded to.

"You're welcome." He bows. "If there's anything else you need please feel free to inform me immediately."

"Brucie left this with me in his vacation home, can you give this back to him and tell him I said thank you for the take out?" You handed over the black card.

"Take out?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And for letting me use the Wayneflix account while I was there. If I may make a slight suggestion, give your regency era shows more attention. Thank you Alfred. I'll go unpack now."

"I've already taken the liberty of unpacking your clothes into the wardrobe and dresser." He revealed.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know you requested that I not but I felt I'd rather have your room ready for you than for you to stress when you arrived." He bowed.

"That's very sweet but I have a very particular system. My outfits all fit together in a specific way." You start to rearrange your clothes in the way you see fit.

"Might I learn how you like them so I can properly sort them next time?"

"No, it's okay. I can do my own laundry." You offered.

"Have you ever done your own laundry?" He raised an eyebrow accusingly.

"Well... no." You confessed. "But you already have like 14 other people's laundry to do. I don't want to be a bother. Besides I don't want you to waste a few weeks when it won't matter in a few years."

"So Master Damian has told me you've said. Nevertheless I'm willing to learn to do this if you are willing to learn how to do your own cooking and laundry."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I've met many people whom Master Wayne has brought into his life. You are the first who's actually wanted to fend for yourself. If you are running a long con into Master Wayne's pocket it's either the smartest or the dumbest plan I've ever seen concocted. Besides, many of the Wayne's don't currently reside here full time. Master Dick lives with his wife missus Koriand'r. Master Jason lives in a renovated greenhouse studio apartment. Miss Barbara and Miss Cassandra live as roommates. And Master Wayne lives in either his WayneTech or home Office. I have more than enough time to learn."

You genuinely smiled for the first time since you heard about the engagement. The two of you spent the rest of the day organizing clothes and making cookies.

"-And that is the difference between Light Academia and Pastel Academia.”

He looked stunned. "How do you keep all this straight?"

"It's just something I got into because I wanted to disassociate from my hopeless reality. I figured fake it till you make it right? Someday I could have a different, more quiet life. And finding subtle nuances between aesthetics is honestly fun. Like a game of spot the difference."

“Oh my! Look at the time! It’s already 4 o’clock!” Alfred looks stunned at the time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend four hours talking about this.”

"It's quite alright Missus Wayne."

"I'll go bring these to Brucie. Might as well let him know that he's not getting any inheritance from a tragic accident that happened to me."

"Master Wayne cares for you. I hope you know that. It may not be in the most... romantic measure... but I swear that he was not lying on your wedding day when he said he'd remain faithful to you." Alfred tried to reassure.

"If you say so Alfred." You gave him a small smile.

Alfred looked at her sadly as she walked away. He wished there was more he could do to help you fit in around the manor. Someone as grounded as you would be a good addition in Brice's life, he just knew it!

Later in the Batcave, Alfred confronted Bruce

"Master Wayne I have an idea on how to keep your new wife busy."

"Why should I care about what's she's doing with her life? I have more important things to do than to worry about than some nepo-baby throwing a tantrum.

"Why should you care? How about the fact that you have never had a serious relationship and making this work is crucial for your public image? How about the fact that she has given up her entire life to cater towards your brash decision after one petty comment Mr. West made about your love life?" Alfred started listing off reasons; becoming more irate as he did. "How about the fact that if she's not kept busy during the day she'll eventually stumble upon the entrance of the Batcave?"

That peaked Bruce's interest. "I'm listening." He swivels around in his chair.

"Offer her a job as the family's social media manager." Alfred proposed.

"What? Why?" Bruce looked at him, skeptically.

"She's very knowledgeable about different aesthetics and trend. She could make this family look..." He tried to find a nice word to describe them.

"Normal?" Bruce interrupts with an almost bored look on his face.

"I was going to say civil but that works too." Alfred shrugged as Bruce groaned. "Don't take it the wrong way Master Wayne. I love this Family with all my heart but you cannot deny that they can be a bit rowdy at times."

"A bit is an understatement. It would look good for your PR... fine. Go ask her... but If it is not up to Wayne Enterprise standards you're firing her for me!"

So that's what you've been doing for the past few months.

"Jason, I'm telling you, motorcycles are out! Most girls aren't going for the bad boy vibe anymore! They're into Timothée Chalamet!" You argued over the phone with Jason, Bruce's most rebellious child, even more so than the 12 year old pain in the ass! "Fine, we'll talk later. I have an unexpected visitor anyway." You looked behind you as Bruce entered.

Bruce made a habit of being loud around the house for her. You knew he was being exceptionally weird but you didn't exactly know why. You didn't really care all that much either.

He came up behind you and started to massage your shoulders. "Jason giving you trouble again."

"...yeah." You said shrinking into yourself. The one thing you hadn't quite gotten used to was Bruce's attempts to flirt with you. You knew that he wanted to keep public image favorable, but it didn't make sense why he flirted with you behind closed doors.

He leaned down and started kissing your exposed shoulders in your off the shoulder sweater dress. You wriggled out and away from him in discomfort and he looked at you puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"I don't like you touching me." You confessed. "I don't- ...I don't see us that way... I'm sorry."

He sat on the edge of your desk. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that... we haven't done anything yet and-"

"And what? You think I'm a slut that's just going to put out for you?" You interrupted.

"No! I just meant that you were probably wanting me to... be more romantic... I thought you'd want me to instigate something..." He stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Well you thought wrong." You left your office angrily. You stomped out of there and went to the library. You looked over all the books they had. Classics like the Iliad and Crime and Punishment to so many romance novels. But one book in particular caught your interest. The History of Taxes.

"Who wants to read about taxes?" You cringed. The book looked relatively untouched. 'Typical,' you thought. 'Rich people can't even be bothered to try and read the books they have in their house.' She went to pull it out and found the bookshelf moving.

On the other side was the answer to one of the greatest mysteries she's had since she came to Gotham, "Who is Batman and Co?"

There it was! The Batcave and All it's glory...

Oh... the bags under his eye of sleepless nights, the flirty persona, the stomping around trying to make his presence known to you.

"Bruce Wayne is Batman..." No sooner had you said those words did you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world fade into darkness...