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Yan!Batfamily x Singer!YN (neglected)

Inspired by @@gotham-daydreams's fic, your work is wonderful and makes me think about many things…. One of the things I think about is if they found Reader from her music…. Reader here is heavily inspired by Naomi Jon, she is an independent singer from Germany, she regularly makes videos on youtube about makeup, shopping on websites, tiktok foods, things like that. She is a very fun person to watch and I highly recommend you watch it, all her videos are in English. (one detail is that she doesn’t talk much about her family, and lives with her friend Vincent and boyyy every time I read about Reader from Not [ ] fics I remember her. If you disagree, that’s okay, I still like the idea of ​​YN’s glow up <3) “Have you seen, come and read my diary Then you will see, that you don’t mean shit to me” – MANTRA- Naomi Jon

I imagine that while shopping at a store, Steph liked the store’s playlist and went to look for who was singing it.

Imagine her face when she finds out that the person she was listening to… was the YN everyone was looking for. She immediately discovers her YouTube channel, social media… and everyone immediately starts binge-watching and stalking all of her videos

Dick would be the type of person who would learn the choreography for your music videos, just to dance with you. He swears he can be the fun older brother you need, he can be in your videos too! And cook! I don't think he wears makeup, but he would watch all your makeup videos because he likes your reviews, and when you make a joke or mix up the language in the video he finds it so funny that he can't help but laugh. He wants to test out the latest skincare products with you and wants to travel together! You look so different now, with bold eyeliner and colorful hair, Dick wonders if you've always been like this and he was just blind because he didn't see it. Come on, he didn't know you had this fun and easygoing side, let's spend more time together, okay?

“This dress deserves… THE BUSINESS WALK!”

Jason sees how you've grown, and how much better you are away from Gotham. Like a flower that blooms only when it's in a clean and suitable environment, you've brilliantly transformed into who you are. But a part of him, the biggest part, thinks you'd be much safer around your family, where they can protect you. You sing and post so many videos on the internet, what if someone comes after you? Let your brother stay close, okay? And who is this friend who lives with you anyway? He is not trustworthy - no. It doesn't matter if you've known him since you were kids and have lived together for a long time. Another thing I bet he would do is join you on the days when you dye your hair in the craziest ways possible, he has some experience with dye, you know?

“C’mon FriendReader, this is the plan for this hair dyeing technique. Yes, all seven colors are here!”

For those who neglected Reader and pretended you didn't exist, he is your #01 Fan now. Tim definitely listens to ALL your music, and is 100% connected to your social networks. He watches and rewatches all your videos, they are so interactive and relaxed that he has the illusion that he is living it all with you. He's the type of person who eats while watching your videos, and watches them before bed, and when he's having a particularly stressful situation he'll lock himself in his room and watch one of your vlogs, because your voice has such a calming effect of normality that for him, it's like at any moment you'll open his door asking to try a 2-ingredient recipe you saw on TikTok.

“Timothyyy~ try this recipe I saw on tik tok!”

Damian is an interesting case… because he discovered that his precious blood brother has a side to him that he never saw. When he walked into your room and looked at all your memories, all your pictures of your achievements, all your music sketches he KNEW you were talented, but when he saw you in action in your videos and shows it was like a cartoon character came to life. YOU came to life! Definitely buy all your merch, and talk about you all the time to John. Do you still have two cats?? Enough, the kidnapping is you and them two.

“My next show will be…”

Bruce goes back and rereads your journal drafts and realizes how much your music has really changed, your focus now being only on your fans and not your family. Like everyone else in the family, he watches your videos daily and keeps thinking “I could give her a bigger box of surprises so she can record a video” “Did she think that dress was pretty? I could buy her a better one, shinier and pinker, just like she wanted.” When you post a video of the backstage of a show and all your lively preparations, he can’t help but feel guilty for the thousandth time that day. He should be by your side right now, a father should be behind the scenes giving you comfort and strength to go on the show. He should be in the front row cheering when you realized your dream of going on stage for the first time. The whole family should… You’re trying so hard, your dedication is palpable in your videos and shows. The little girl grew up and became a dreamy woman, but who do you run to when you need to cry? Let him be your comforting shoulder now, let him come into your life again.

“I made this song especially for you, my fans!”

When Alfred put that video of YN’s childhood on TV, where she performed in a school play, to remind everyone of her absence, he couldn’t be more proud of his work when weeks later he hears her voice coming from one of the boys’ rooms. It's you singing one of the songs, the batboy repeating it for the tenth time. Your voice has changed, from a childish and angelic voice to a woman's, your looks have gradually gained confidence and personality, but your “presence” in the mansion is ghostly. He feels so happy for you, you are externalizing to the world what he has always seen: that you are incredible. Alfred doesn't need to marathon your videos to feel closer to you, he already has affectionate memories, he already has albums from when you were a baby and tested recipes with him, he already has videos of you training to sing when you were little… But he still watches your videos because unfortunately, even with him you lost contact. He watches the videos like a grandfather watches his grandson's stories “Oh? Are you in Tokyo now? How wonderful, dear, remember the coat.” “Oh dear YN, I don't think this recipe will be good for you…” “Yn, be careful with the scams on these strange websites!”

“Guys, I know what you’re thinking… BUT maybe combining onion and chocolate CAN work.”

Reader VS C.AI

Does anyone have a really good c.ai to recommend to me? I feel like most of the Yandere Batfamily C.AI are so different from what we see on Tumblr and so.....not Yandere.....

READER gives the agreed signal, hoping that they will continue with the plan to fight the villain while she deactivates the bomb: 👌👌👌

YAN!BATFAMILY: They silently watch the signal and wait for the right time to take action.

READER starts fighting with the villain because they didn't get out in time while screaming for help as she already gave the signal: GET THE SIGNAL! HELP 👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌

YAN! BATFAMILY: They watch the scene unfold before their eyes, as they exchange silent glances with each other READER beats the villain until he is unconscious and drags his leg while tiredly throwing the bomb

YAN! BATFAMILY: I analyzed it and came to the conclusion that the sign she just made was very dangerous, I wanted so much to keep them safe and away from all of this......

READER: He is shot and lies on the ground asking for help while shaking in pain, his vision becoming blurred due to blood loss

YAN!BATFAMILY: (They stand quietly around him, seeing what his next reaction would be to being shot as he slowly dies)

YAN!BATFAMILY: A group of detectives who are highly stalkers and obsessed with YN, know every detail of her life and observe her for months

READER: Hello, I have a cat.

YAN!BATFAMILY: Yes we know, you really like your cat.

READER: Yes, his name is Cutiepie.

YAN!BATFAMILY: WHO IS CUTIE PIE?

READER (at a gala): Hey, someone gave me this surprise drink. And it's suspiciously different in color and bubbling.... Could it be something dangerous?

YAN! BATFAMILY: Okay, let's watch your reaction

READER, being poisoned by a villain in Gotham is now a metahuman with firepower: I think it was the drink.....

YAN! BATFAMILY: (everyone has a silent conversation with their eyes as they analyze your situation and your rapidly changing well-being) Okay, let's watch you get sick in silence

READER, with uncontrolled powers burning his hands: HELP! MY HANDS ARE ON FIRE AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! SOMEONE GET THE WATER!

YAN! BATFAMILY, thinking hard with their super-powered minds: Okay, what does she mean by that?

Reader (imprisoned) having some kind of argument with Damian and Batman having to intervene in the fight

Damian: I was just doing what was best for her, Father! How could she not understand? Batman: See? He only wanted what was best for you, Reader. Do you have anything for your dear blood brother? Reader, rummaging through her pockets: Oh, wait, I do! Just a moment….. Reader: From the bottom of my heart… to you:

Damian, rolling his eyes: Wow, that's very mature of you…

Reader, with a smirk: I urge you to shove all your 'maturity' in the middle of your suppository, brother.

Damian, internally: SHE CALLED ME BROTHER

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕘𝕠 𝕠𝕟

Yan!Batfamily x Singer!YN (neglected) Inspired by @@gotham-daydreams's fic, your work is wonderful and makes me think about many things…. One of the things I think about is if they found Reader from her music….

Summary: Despite everything, the show must go on. Warnings: Mention of healing processes, Reader has a trigger in the middle of an important show Mention: Reader as YN, Dick Grayson, Friend!Reader Note: This fic takes place before the events of Not [ ], before they meet Reader and become yandere because of her. Check out and value the original author's work, it's a very complete and interesting fic! < 3 You can find more of this here

“YN! YN! YN!” the crowd screamed her name, the fans excited to see their favorite idol, wanting more of her performance.

The makeup artist was applying the final touches to her vibrant makeup while the hair stylist was reshaping the curls of her wig. The final touches before going on stage again while they were backstage.

“Everyone loved your performance! They’re screaming for you out there!” says one of the dancers excitedly

“The last song was amazing, YN! We can feel the energy here!” praises the makeup artist while touching up the glitter in her eye

“Aaaah that’s great! I’m not nervous like last time so it’s good to see it’s working out!” Yn says while drinking water, her first times on stage had been shy and awkward, but after overcoming that initial barrier today she performs with confidence, dancing and interacting with the audience masterfully.

“1 minute to get back on stage guys!” one of the organizers warned, making everyone there, including YN, mentally prepare for yet another amazing choreography.

You can do it, YN! she started to motivate herself mentally while reviewing the next song.

“M ama ma i make my own mantra……”

Ow, the broccoli loved this song! My broccoli like the choreography!

“30 seconds!”

I should have run for my music career before, the broccolis supported me from the beginning, why did it take me so long to do this?

“20 seconds!”

Ow….. I remembered, because of them…… just thinking about everything that happened at Wayne Manor, YN's vibe and mood drop, the magazine cover smile is replaced by a blank look and under eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“10 seconds!”

Why am I thinking about them now? They don't even deserve to be in my thoughts. It's showtime, Yn, focus!

“3….2….1”

“Time to go on stage! It’s showtime!” the crew starts cheering and clapping with YN, getting into the festive show mood as they enter the stage

“WHATS UPS BROCCOLISSS?!” YN excitedly greets them through the microphone, the audience goes wild, screaming and raising the show props.

The house is full, today the show is in one of the biggest concert venues in London, with all the floors packed and the VIP area swarming with important people, reporters, cameras, today is a success! YN’s costume shines and stands out in the dark house, with sparkles and sequins that reflect the light in shades of pink and blue, the wig sets her apart like an anime protagonist and the dancers dance with expression and boldness. It's at these times that YN feels on top of the world, not out of arrogance but out of belonging… this is her place, this is what she does best. Her heart is full of joy as she jumps choreographing with the dancers, she feels light even when she sings with all her body and soul. And it's exactly at these moments, when life likes to poke at the wound…

Amidst the lights of the place while YN was catching her breath, she saw out of the corner of her eye, among the many people in the stands, a person suspiciously similar to him… Dick Grayson. The breath she was trying to recover to get into the next part of the song gets stuck in her throat as she remains paralyzed while searching for that man in the crowd.

"It's not possible… it can't be him… not today!"

Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's eldest son, the first Robin, the boy prodigy… these are some of the names and titles he received throughout his life, but all YN wanted to call him was brother. His image was warm and kind, always hugging the other brothers and helping the new Robins adapt, transforming this time with them into something familiar and a memory to keep in the colorful albums of the mind… but why not me? Why does everyone have the right to his charming smile while I am left with the stiff back of ignorance? Why could everyone spend time with him while I was always the last option?

Why? Why? Why?

And unexpectedly, Yn was no longer a confident singer on the path to success, she was a defenseless and insecure girl who sought affection from her brother. She felt transported to the terrible mansion again in a state of agonizing nostalgia, where her small hands tried to intertwine with his with hope… only for him to let go of her hand with a not very disguised look of disgust.

“Oh YN, I can't stay with you now! I have to go to patrol!” With an unapologetic smile, Dick entered the movie theater where his friends from the Teen Titans were for one of their many hang outs.

Yn knew she didn't have the love of Bruce, her father, but was she so terrible that she didn't deserve her brother's affection?

“Can I really call you brother?”

No, you don't deserve it.

At that moment, little voices in her head conspired with YN. Imposter Syndrome? Who knows? She seemed to be slowly succumbing to the many memories of the mansion, the turned backs and the disgusted eyes, the neglect, the cruelty, the shadows in the corner of the smallest room in the house that seemed to be the only refuge besides Alfred himself, who, despite having done everything in his power, still did not fill the emptiness that the girl felt…

Walls full of gold, silver and bronze medals and trophies from various sports, records and photos with important people would be enough to make anyone feel proud of the honors and merits conquered with their own sweat. But for the innocent girl, they were just poor failed plans to get the family's attention. It is no wonder that, when she left the mansion, she left her belongings and the glories of her childhood in the same room without looking back, with the idea of ​​a new path to be taken.

"YN, you go in now." The manager said through the singer's earpiece, counting the seconds for her to enter the chorus……but she didn't enter "YN?"

She was thinking too much, lost in thought, thinking too much……

Why wasn't it enough? Why wasn't I enough? Why? Why?

"YN, are you okay?"

Why was I so lonely? Why didn't anyone want to play with me?

With great skill, the singer next to YN pulled a remix for the two's song when he realized that something was wrong while the stage management called YN backstage, she went there on robotic stages with her hand on the communicator, making the audience think it had just been a technical problem. They got her water and sat her in a chair.

ł ₮ⱤłɆĐ ₴Ø Ⱨ₳ⱤĐ ₮Ø ₲Ɇ₮ ₵ⱠØ₴Ɇ ₮Ø ₮ⱧɆ₥, ł ₮ⱤłɆĐ ₴Ø Ⱨ₳ⱤĐ ₣ØⱤ ₮ⱧɆ₥… ₴Ø ₩ⱧɎ ₩₳₴₦'₮ ł₮ Ɇ₦ØɄ₲Ⱨ? ₩ⱧɎ ₵ØɄⱠĐ₦'₮ ₮ⱧɆɎ Ⱨ₳VɆ ₵Ø₥Ɇ?

"YN, are you okay?" the manager asked, he had been with YN since she started taking her first baby steps in her music career, it was a worrying scene to see her cold and without answering a word, he frowned as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder “YN… we are here with you, what is going on?”

₩ⱧɎ ₩ⱧɎ ₩ⱧɎ ₩ⱧɎ ₩ⱧɎ

“Why?…” she murmured, frowning as she looked up, still lost in old memories and some random point on the ceiling. The confused manager turned his head slightly, confused about what she was talking about.

Friend!Reader, who was nearby and recognized what was happening, as he had been by her side several times when this happened, approached and told the manager that he would take care of her.

“Hey, Earth to YN, what happened there?” he said, hugging YN, she didn’t return the hug, she just stayed leaning against him like a corpse.

“Friend!Reader…?”

“Yes, YN?” he asked

“Why, Friend!Reader…… why not me?” and with whispered words she buried her face in Friend!Reader's shoulders, as she let herself be carried away by the contained emotions and he hugged her trembling form tighter.

The wound that was beginning to heal was opening again, like a bandage aggressively ripped off a skin that was being reconstructed. The wound in her mind pulsed with a constant pain, a memory of something that had never been completely healed. Like a poorly made scar on her skin, the pain was a constant reminder of something that no matter how much she tried to ignore it and start from scratch, it still hadn't been resolved.

Like medicines that have a set time until the end of their effect and at some point, the pain returns, that was Yn's focus while she convinced herself that everything was fine and that she had overcome the situation…. sooner or later the effect wears off, and the pain returns. But while she tried to heal, each emotional trigger seemed to rip the wound open again, causing uncomfortable and uneasy feelings…

“I saw one of them, Friend! Reader… I'm not sure, but… I know I saw him! In the corner of the show, my show….” she whispered to him, almost in tears

“Calm down, YN, let's talk about this…”

“He was there! I'm sure the others must be there too… laughing at me, saying I'm not good enough to be on stage… or maybe, maybe he doesn't even recognize me, you know?”

“That's enough, YN!” said the friend, shaking the singer by the shoulders. He hated seeing her like that, so insecure and fragile. “You can stop right there!”

“You're one of the best people I know, and my best friend! You're really good at what you do, you have an excellent voice and you dance really well! YOU'RE AMAZING!” He continued with a smile on his face “And if a family of rich kids didn’t know how to recognize that in you, that’s their problem! Screw them! If I ask anyone out there, they’ll give you a list of 100 reasons why you’re amazing!”

Then he points to the screen that showed the audience singing and having fun.

“Those people do like your music, but they didn’t come because your music sticks like chewing gum” he jokes and is relieved when he sees a smile on her sad face “They’re here because they admire you YN, whether it’s with a YouTube channel or on a social network all dressed up.”

He then puts a finger on her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“So no insecurity here, no self-sabotage, no sad memories… not here! You’re my best friend, and you’re at the peak of your career. So go out there and ROCK!” With that, Friend!Reader gives YN a big hug and gets excited when he sees that her friend is starting to get back to normal.

“What did you write in those diaries?”

“So many things, I don’t remember right now..” you laugh lightly “But now, the ones I hope like my music are my fans.”

“YES! AND WHAT WILL THEY REALIZE WHEN THEY READ YOUR DIARY?”

“THAT THEY DON’T MEAN ANYTHING TO ME!” The two cheer and joke around with each other, with the support of Friend!Reader, she starts to get excited and return to the stage, singing louder and stronger, entering the chorus of the remix.

She remembered the reserved and empty seats of her first shows, all reserved for family, and saw that years later, strangers occupied all the seats in the concert hall. She remembered when she was little, she would rehearse alone in her rooms for school auditions, and now she sings for a large auditorium in one of the biggest capitals in the world. She remembered lame excuses and looks of contempt, and realized that everyone there was looking at her with admiration and love.

Her family wasn't in a haunted mansion, they were backstage taking care of her, they were on stage dancing and singing with her. She knows who the real ones are, so why worry about the ones who aren't? They say that time heals, but in truth, it's the process that heals. It's painful. Agonizing. But when it's over, you look back and realize how much you've come from it.

She sang with every lyric and every syllabary, she intoned the words with truth and determination, she proclaimed from the bottom of her heart with strength to everyone at the concert and to herself:

“HAVE YOU SEEN, COME AND READ MY DIARY THEN YOU WILL SEE THAT YOU DONT MEAN S H I T TO ME”

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥

@imaginarydreams I hope you like this version of the good ending :D

If any of you want to be tagged, let me know in the comments <3

cocoa

Summary: You've been dating Tim for a while, and it's time to meet his family.

Yandere Tim x reader and yandere platonic batfam x reader

Warnings: While my blog is 18+, this piece doesn't contain any explicit material. Normal yandere warnings apply.

It all started when you met Tim Drake for the first time. You were a lowly worker at the Wayne’s company, just a simple personal assistant, but for the first time ever you’d been asked to go directly to the highest floor and deliver some paperwork to Tim directly. He looked different in real life, paler and sicker looking than you’d expected, with bright luminous eyes that seemed to never blink, staring directly into your soul like he knew every secret. He seemed only half-conscious, nodding off where he sat behind his massive desk, though he seemed to snap to attention when you brushed your fingers along his accidentally when handing over the folder. He seemed to focus entirely on your hands, completely zoning in on them, as you stood there awkwardly. Finally, you cleared your throat and turned to leave. He didn’t try to stop you, though he did seem upset judging by the glimpse you caught of him through the glass of the door.

From that moment on, it seemed your entire job was to give Tim paperwork, to the point that all other duties completely dried up. Whenever you weren’t able to give him anything, he started requesting you stay in the room, just in case. So, you started spending hours on end just reading in his office. The two of you gradually grew closer, and you discovered he had a dry sort of sarcastic wit that you hadn’t ever heard about. You began to discover the man behind the intimidating silhouette painted by the media, learning he was kinda dorky and enjoyed photographing nightlife. He even showed you some of his photos, which were of course stunning; he seemed to see Gotham in a way you never had, pulling out its gloomy beauty where most would only see the smog and the crime. Tim seemed to appreciate your almost naive perspective, enjoying the kindhearted way you reminded him of the good in humanity. When he got too cynical, you were able to convince him to give others the benefit of the doubt. It was almost cute, he thought, the way you never seemed to truly understand the kinds of personalities making up most of Gotham’s business scene.

You even served as his very own assistant when he broke a leg in a hiking incident, which apparently happened during a family camping trip. You hadn’t even known he could hike, though you assumed he wasn’t very good. Still, he spent ages just showing you pictures of the wildlife he’d seen, knowing you loved his photos. The tedious task of painstakingly searching his photo archives for pictures of cute animals was worth it, just to see your smile.

Still, you could tell Tim tended to make others uncomfortable. You could understand, he did have a way of staring right into you, but it seeemd to just be something he did. You weren’t aware, of course, of the fact that Tim only ever turned that soft gaze toward you, preferring to glare at anyone that so much as approached the two of you. Your naive disposition did have its uses, after all, as it prevented you from getting suspicious… There was a reason why no one would approach you at work, and why all of your bosses seemed nervous around you, and why you got sudden pay increases. You just thought you were a good worker, completely oblivious to everything else going on.

If Tim thought threatening off any love interests was easy, bugging your apartment was even easier. He was able to simply slip in through an unlocked window as Red Robin and place cameras all over, giving him 24-7 footage of your living room and kitchen. he avoided both the bathroom and bedroom; he didn’t want to be too creepy, after all, even if Jason did seem to want the bedroom to be bugged, in case someone else was able to slip in. You weren’t the best at securing your apartment, and he worried about your safety, okay? As a result of his anxiety, Jason began patrolling more and more around your house, not that you’d ever notice; they’d have to teach you to start looking up at the rooftops more, after they fully brought you into the family, of course.

Using the information he gained from the cameras, Tim was only able to get even closer to you. He was able to research your interests, your opinions, your hobbies… He was able to learn anything he couldn’t get from hacking your laptop and phone. It was different, hearing your little rants at the tv screen as you watched your favorite show; reading your search history just didn’t give him enough information.

Finally, with the help of Cass of course, he was able to ask you out, after ironing out the perfect plan. He took you out to the movies and then dinner, finally ending up at your apartment, watching your favorite movie while cuddling on your couch. It was there you first kissed.

Dating your boss was definitely an adjustment, but honestly the two of you were so close it didn’t seem to change anything. The best part for Tim was finally being able to touch you, to hold your hand, to gently cup your cheek and plant a kiss on your lips… To be able to hold you in the way he’d always dreamed.

Yet, he found himself inundated with requests at the mansion and through the groupchat, as every family member clamoured to get to spend time with you. He started spotting Dick and Jason and even Cass in shoddy disguises while on dates, and he knew it was time to introduce you to them. So, he invited you for dinner.

When you first walked in, you were greeted with Alfred, the stoic butler Tim had always described. He seemed nicer in person, none of the dry wit you’d ben prepared to face, and he took your coat gently and with grace.

Next, you were introduced to Tim’s quiet sister Cass, who wrapped you in a big hug and patted you on the back. She was nice, if hard to read, and seemed to love touching you; she kept gently patting your back, even throughout the night, as if she couldn’t bare to go another moment without keeping close to you.

Then you met Jason, who was busy cooking in the kitchen, Dick sitting on the counter and sneaking carrots when Jason’s back was turned. The two were incredibly kind, though intimidating, as you knew their opinions mattered a lot to Tim. Dick picked you up in a big sweeping hug, seemingly even more touchy than his sister.

Jason was quiet, weirdly so according to Tim, and spent a lot of the night just… staring at you. Maybe he felt uncomfortable being around you? You could imagine having a sibling introduce their partner would be awkward, and you knew the Waynes had had their fair share of terrible romances. later on, when you voiced your worries to Tim, he waved them away; Jason was just trying not to freak you out, he insisted, sure that his older brother would never be able to hate you.

The final brother you met was Damian, who was curled up on the couch with a cat in his lap and two dogs at his feet. He was a quiet child, a seemingly permanent glare on his face only softening slightly when it landed on you. The only way you knew he didn’t hate you was the fact that he let you pet his cat, who was apparently named after the butler.

You only met Tim’s elusive father at dinner. He was kind, if a little ditzy, and quite welcoming. All in all, the family was polite, and you felt truly welcomed for the first time in your life. It was like you’d known them for years, you seemed to just… click!

Of course, looking back, you could see how they knew you so well.

It had happened out of the blue. You’d been drinking some hot chocolate after winding down with the family, watching a cute cartoon on their large tv, and the next thing you knew was that you were waking up in a dark room. Tim was sitting next to you in the bed, laptop illuminating his pale face, highlighting the dark eyebags.

“Oh good, you’re up!” he said, setting his laptop aside and turning the bedside lamp on. You sat up, confused, rubbing at your throbbing head. You felt like you hadn’t drank water in three days. When you asked what had happened, he only smiled.

“It’s alright, don’t worry, we can talk about that later.”

Now feeling slightly uncomfortable, you stood up. Tim shifted slightly, following you and placing himself between you and the door. “Hey, let’s just sit back down, okay? I don’t want you to be too stressed, the dose was a little higher than I expected…”

Dose? When you questioned him, he laughed sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head. His eyes blinked back at you, seemingly innocent despite your terror.

“Well, we needed time to get you all set up, and we couldn’t have you fighting when we sent in your resignation…” He said, smiling gently.

Shit. Shit! He’d fucking kidnapped you!

You went to dodge around him, but he moved faster than you were able to even anticipate, grabbing you around the waist and hoisting you into the air.

He plopped you back onto the bed, quickly pinning you down. “Hey, calm down!” He said, voice even, as though he wasn’t currently fighting to keep your hands from smacking at his face.

“I promise it’s okay, we won’t hurt you!”

Then, the door slammed open, and in walked Jason. His combat boots thunked against the shiny wooden floor, and he seemed nonplussed. “why aren’t you stopping them?” He questioned, leaning against the wall next to the bed. He pulled out his phone and quickly sent a text, fingers flying across the keys. He ignored your calls for help.

“I’m trying!” Tim huffed, finally able to get your hands under control, quickly tying them with thick, velvety rope.

“Do you need help getting them downstairs?” Jason sighed, tucking the phone away.

“Nah, I got it,” Tim said, standing up and heaving you up and over his shoulder. With that, Tim and Jason made their way downstairs, you tossed over Tim’s shoulder and struggling all the way. It fewlt particularly humiliating, the way that your struggles weren’t even acknowledged, much less viewed as a threat.

Finally, you were brought into the living room and plopped down, Tim and Jason quickly sitting down on either side of you. Jason quickly picked up your legs and slung them across his lap, keeping you from wiggling away.

Bruce sat down on the other side of the room, sinking into the green armchair. The other siblings scattered across the room, all staring at you with a similar gleam in their eyes.

“So, let’s go over some ground rules.” Bruce said, beginning the next phase of your life.

MASTERLIST

My Requests are open, just read the rules before asking<33

MANHWA

The S-Classes That I Raised

Yandere Han Yoojin x Reader x Platonic Yandere Han Yoohyun Finding out you left without telling him (Blurb)

For My Lost Love

Trash Of The Count's Family

Finding out you left without telling him (Blurb)

Eleceed

Father I Don't Want To Get Married

ANIME

Haikyuu

Yandere knight Akaashi X Maid Reader

Kuroko's Basketball

My Hero Academia

Yandere Mha x Neglected Reader x Yandere Bat family (Blurlb)

Jujutsu Kaisen

One Piece

Yandere Straw Hats x Cultivator Reader x Yandere Oc Yandere Red hair pirates x Daughter reader x Yandere White beard pirates

SERIES

Bat man

Yandere Bat family x neglected reader x Yandere Mha (Blurb)

K-pop

BTS (방탄소년단)

OT7 BTS x Reader (8th member)

RULES

Yandere Mha x Reader x Yandere Batfam

A/N: So recently i got into yandere batfam x neglected reader. And i like mha x reader. Soo my fav fic of mha x reader is on quotev " Future Keeper" and my fav batfam x neglected reader is " again & again", my brain just mushed them together like.

Our reader was born and raised in japan (reincarnated from modern world) till she was 9 (instead of 5 ), childhood friends with aizawa. Her parents passed and she find out her father was was not her real father. And she is sent to Gontham to Bruce . (read the fic to get a better understanding, link on the names cuz spoiler. ) There she gets neglected and then decides to transfer to UA high ( here UA is a secrate hero school and on surface its a prestigious high school). She sends a direct letter to Nezu about her "Foresight", and asks to be transfared there. She does get in. Meets Aizawa again. Then meets tenko, adopts him. Meets kai, adopts him. Meets touya, takes him in. And finally Keigo.

But Dick shows up when reader or any adult is not home, tenko opens the door, and Dick speaks in english, Tenko calls Kai (who knows english cuz u taught him, on his request) to speak to the stranger (Dick).

Kai knows him ( due to him being extreemly interested in how you have such good etiquette and wanted to learn, you taught him but also opened up about your past, showed him pics of you "family", and warned him if they come make sure to not give them hope about the reconcile between you and them).

Kai followed you order told the other kids to stay in the room and call the adults (detective tsukachi and night eye) aswell as the reader. He makes it very clear that you are not leaving and Dick's presence is unwanted. The adults arrive before you and try to calm the tension between the two but still agreeing with what Kai said. This pisses Dick off and then tells them that they have no right to decide for you. Kai bites back saying neither does Dick have the right.

Just then reader comes busts trough the door panting and sweaty like she ran the whole way back with Aizawa close behind her, Aizawa goes to check up on the other kids while reader starts walking towards Kai but Dick though she was going towards him and opens his hands expecting a hug, but you pass him and go to Kai and hug him and check if he was injured and then tell him to join his siblings, to which he refuses, Saying you are too kind and he has to be there cuz he knows what it does to you emotionally. And kai stayed

Dick asked you to come back toe which you refused saying that you now have a new family. He tries to persuade you, but was cut off by kai saying "emotional blackmailing won't help since he was there". Then you list everything they ( the bat fam) missed. And then ask if he could tell how many awards you won, you'll give them a chance. Dick didn't know and said a random number but Kai corrected him and along with that he also flexed about how much he knows about you .

You refuse and he is kicked out. You thought it was over but it wasn't. Now you were stuck being messaged by random numbers to reconcile. which are blocked by Aizawa and Kai. Due to Aizawa being worried about you, he proposed to exchange phones since all their contacts were same. to which the reader agreed reluctently.

Now probably they got the hint and would leave you alone....... Or you thought

Three weeks later, bat boys along with Bruce and Alfread show up with all your favorite stuff ( which Dick remembers cuz Kai had spoken about it). Since it was Touya who opened the door, he didn't give them a chance and shut the door in their face saying that they'll make reader have an anxiety attack or something bad, then told them to leave. They didn't and since you were on your way back home, you unfortunately bumped into them. Again it was the sme bushit except Damian who you thought had lost his mind since he kept demanding you come back home, to them, and spoil him with more love than you spoil anyone in your so called family cuz he was your one and only real sibling.

You laughed at their faces, called them pathetic and told them your family is here and so is your home. And continued by saying if they love you even a little bit they would leave you and your real family alone.

Leaving heart broken Wayne family outside. Regreting their choices.

But they promised that they would get you back........... No matter what.

And your Japanese family vowed to protect you from them....

A/N: This was a fucked up idea in my head i just had to write it down. PLEASE CHECH OUT THE 2 AMZING FICS, LINK ON THE NAME OF THE FIC IN THE AUTHORS NOTE!!!

Hope You Enjoyed!

P.S. I tried to keep it gn, so all the genders can enjoy, i hope i did fine.

Stay Safe, Healthy And Hydrated

☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME A SMILE? (ACT 1)

YANDERE! BATFAM x JINX (ARCANE/LEAGUE)-ESQUE! READER

A lil’ platonic yanderes harley and joker in the mix too hehe

gender neutral reader.

cw/tw: mentally ill reader. reader has schizophrenia. reader has a massive fear of abandonment. harley and joker only feed to that. a r s o n among other crimes. gaslighting. manipulation. implied r*pe (by reader im so sorry you guys) reader is interested in all genders.

summary: meet jinx, gotham’s loudest, most explosive villain. no one knows who they really are, or if jinx is really even their name. but one thing’s for sure — they’ve got a lot of people chasing after them and their reasons aren’t so noble.

status: unedited

Considering Jinx was inspired by Harley Quinn. You’re probably her protégé. Her darling little child with Joker.

YOUR ORIGINS:

She saw you in the aftermath of the explosion. Cold and alone. Fire roaring behind you despite the heavens pouring its heart out, as if it was desperately trying to wash your tears and pain away.

She saw your bruises and a girl a little older than you walk away.

Her heart ached for you. No child deserved to be put in that kind of position, so she stepped in and made herself known.

“ I . . . I only wanted to help . . . Don’t leave me . . . Don’t . . .

You muttered.

Joker, who came here to marvel at the chaos such an explosion would present smiles maniacally.

You. You were the one that did this.

This beautiful wreckage and an equally beautiful child.

You were practically begging to be moulded into a weapon.

You charged at them both as they got closer, and while Harley was ready to defend her man - even hurt you if she has to - they did not expect what came next.

You just, held unto Joker’s right leg.

“ She’s not my sister . . . No . . . if she was she wouldn’t leave me . . . “

You were far too emotional for his liking. But nonetheless. A boon can always be found in a curse. That is, your desire for revenge.

He takes one look at Harley before picking your small body into his arms.

“ Who cares about fools like them, little one? They don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”

His smile never stopped widening, yet even as a kid you never saw it as creepy or unnerving. In fact, it only reminded you of the smiles you used to draw on your nail bombs.

“All we ever truly have is ourselves. “

“So, smile. Don’t let your tears bring you down.”

Moulding you into the perfect weapon was easy.

Having a psychiatrist as a partner did help a lot in your development.

All it took was a few reminders of that fateful day before you began obediently following their rules and instructions.

You were a genius and since Harley kept protesting against it. You weren’t baptized into a vat of acid like the couple was.

Now, Harley and Joker are the worst possible parents you can ask for. So unlike Arcane’s Jinx. You are way way more unhinged. Not to mention, horny and materialistic.

As you grew up, you began to take interest in intentionally hurting people just for the sake of it. Stealing things was just a normal Tuesday for you. Being successful in your endeavors for once, and having bigger stacks of cash felt exhilarating.

The women and men were amazing. Your pseudo parents being who they were, didn’t really care if you were a sexual deviant or a pervert. When your hormones started kicking in they let you do whatever you want. Even giving you some of the people he held hostage as a toy to play with. If you have the capability of getting someone pregnant/or getting pregnant yourself they wouldn’t really care about the baby but you knew them well enough to know they’d use the kid as a way to manipulate you so you were careful in that aspect anyhow.

Harley noticed that when laying with women you’d often call out your sister’s name or call them sis by itself.

Sick. Disgusting. Is what a normal mother would think after finding out such a fact.

But to her you were just growing up so quickly. She had convinced Joker to go ahead and kill your sibling a long time ago behind your back and was growing anxious with the thought of you hating her and ruining this happy family dynamic (she had in her head)!

So she starts bringing you to more heists in disguise. Always keeping a close eye on you so that if any of those stupid heroes and vigilantes get any close, and you too far. She’d know as soon as possible.

It’s safe to say you grew up pretty spoiled, but even then you were hungry for more.

You see, even if they (Harley and Joker) weren’t careful with their “parenting” approach. They were careful with keeping you hidden from the Dark Knight himself.

Not that they were scared you’d get hurt. They could always nurse you back up again. Harley actually enjoyed the times you’d gotten in the cross fire. More time to take care of you in her arms.

They were mostly scared of the Dark Knight stealing you. Afraid that he’ll take you away and turn you into a goody-two-shoes they wouldn’t recognize anymore.

So as much as you were more involved it still felt like they were babying you.

It was your situation with you family all over again

But this time, this time you’ll show them…

You weren’t weak. And it’ll do them good to remember that.

YOUR RIVALRIES:

You made your debut at around the time Tim was still Robin.

You were his very own Joker. A menace deal with. A person that only cared for the thrill that came with hurting and killing masses.

You were terrible. Evil. A demon he had to exorcise from this world.

A demon he fell hopelessly in love with.

He didn’t know how his feelings came to be. It may have been the amount of stress and pressure he was facing coupled with having to deal with your ass every damn day whether directly or indirectly. But he found himself yearning to see you at times. Getting warm when he thought of you. He felt solace knowing that no matter how many times he’d attempt to tear you down completely, you’d still come back to face him once again.

He was so guilty of his feelings. How could he fall for someone as heinous as you? You were the worst of the worst. But somehow that made things so much more better.

You were a taboo. A vice he couldn’t have. The thought of entering such a forbidden relationship excited him just cause it was just that — forbidden , a temptation that should always stay like that.

He somehow manages to gain the self control to stay away from you for a while.

But then came Damian and he was set to replaced. Just like that.

“Wow there Timmy Boy. You look like shit.”

“J-Jinx?! Why are you here? How do you know my name?!” He asked as if he didn’t know every single detail about you himself.

“I have to know my little birdie well don’t I?”

“What kind of archnemesis would Jinx be to their little Robin if they didn’t do a lil’ research?” You spoke in a higher, cutesy voice as if you were your handgun that you’ve affectionally named Zapper.

“Right you are Zapper! I would be a terrible rival. That wouldn’t do for a hero as great as Timmy!”

He thought that all his work was all for naught. All the hours he spent trying to prove himself was gone so fast.

But you reminded him of his place in this world. Of his position as a hero. Your rival.

The warmth in your eyes when you looked at him sealed the deal. There was no coming from this. He was yours as you were his.

“Only I can hurt you like this, toots. Don’t forget that.”

Little did you know that Tim took those words to heart and never let anyone else hurt him (and stay alive).

“Big Bat can replace you but you’ll always be the Robin in my heart !” You winked at him, signaling with one of your manicured fingers for him to smile. Which ended up almost scratching your cheeks.

Tim was confused (incredibly flustered, not to mention har—), why were you so kind to him all of a sudden. He knew you were the playful type but you were usually ruthless when it came to battle. You weren’t one to play with food for too long. For you to excuse him, much less help him in such a state.

Who were you and what did you do to his Jinx?

“OW hEy! I swear if you put that there Pow-Pow— I’ll—“ Tim heard you screeching out of view.

Scratch his doubts. Yep, you were definitely still his Jinx.

The Dark Knight knew who you were from the beginning.

He had his suspicions even before you came into the scene. With your knack to tag everything with neon spray-paints.

At first he thought you were a simple thug that Joker and Harley picked up. But the way they were sheltering you made it seem otherwise.

The regret he felt knowing that you were basically a child in their filthy hands and was now far too gone to save was immense.

If only he knew. You wouldn’t be in this situation.

While he was “dead” he found himself looking into you more. About the death of your biological parents and the way your sister abandoned you to Harley and Joker.

He felt pity for your childhood and a sense of kinship. Sure the incident may have been your fault but you were a child. How could you have known your actions would have such terrifying consequences.

If only you knew him when you were younger.

If only.

He was sure you’d be one of the greatest vigilantes alive.

“I knew you were alive.”

You looked down at Batman, staring while both of you were being doused by the rain. Thunder accompanying the sound of conversation.

He takes a defensive stance.

“I’m not going to fight ya, that’s Joker’s thing. And I know he’ll grill my ass if I stole his archnemesis.”

“What a loser!”

“Hey! He took us in. We should be more grateful!”

Bruce looked at you as you talked with a new, rather large, shark shaped gun. He had memorized the names of all your “companions” by now and was oddly excited and slightly unnerved by the new one.

“So, why’d you leave? Was it . . . was it on purpose?”

“No.”

“Then come back.”

He almost dropped all his plans with the way you told him that.

“Tim needs you . . . and your other sons too or whatever.”

“Come with me.”

“You crazy, old bat? Why would I—“

“I know what it feels like to have no family. Harley doesn’t love you. Joker doesn’t love anyone.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“Well tough luck man. I don’t give a shit about love.”

You dropped down to his level. A thud resounds, loud enough to cut through the rainfall and thunder.

“Cause love never gave a shit about me.”

“We’ll have to refuse. Just get back to your sons, hero!”

“I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t make it clear enough—

— I don’t think you have a choice in this matter, [Y/N].”

Act 2 with Jason, Dick and Damian coming soon! If you’d like to be tagged just reply to this post ^^

You like my writing? Follow my blog and maybe take a look at the fic linked below!

WHAT’S UP DANGER : Yandere Batfam x Miles Morales! Reader

Hi, I saw that you had open requests and I wanted to ask a Yan! Batfam HC:

How would a platonic Yandere! Batfam react to a foster sister who, well, doesn't grow very tall?

All the family memebers of the Batfam are, to least to say, giants. Even the shortes one is quite tall than the avarage height. (All of them, except the child version of Damian, are between 5'5 and 6'2 feet tall. )

But what would happen if his adopted little sister, who eats well, lives a healthy life, has no signs of illness and so on, becomes short in height? She is simply no taller than 5 feet and that's it. All of them grew up well! why you were the exception?

Would they worry that their little sister wouldn't grow up no matter how hard they tried, or would they be happy to have a "pocket edition" little sister?

Thank you so much for requesting Bub and I hope you like it!! I'm so sorry it took so long, I started writing this immediately but I felt like it was too short and I just said fuck it today and wanted to post no matter how short (thought I added a bit more) Also I turned this into GN reader because in the end there was only like two things indicating (Y/N)'s gender and I wanted to appeal to everyone, I'm so sorry if you strictly wanted female reader!! (tbh I wasn't reading it properly when I was editing this oop-)

And I hear what your saying!!! What an amazing idea to imagine,

~Mwah

I don’t want to keep the height strictly 5 foot just for the x reader element, I never want to force one body type into my writings (except for chubby) just because I want everyone to feel included and one body’s deformed shortness will be different to another. 

But yes!! 

I head canon that all the bat-boys have little snacks that they keep, some not as nutritional as others, but they all end up having more healthy snacks on them because of little ol’ you.

Sandwiches with whatever spread you like, more perishable sandwiches are only brought at short distances not missions (if so, they are bought fresh), cut up fruit, fruit snacks, the jelly beans you find at pharmacies with the red and white cross on the bag, bottles of water and little cartons of juice of whatever flavour you might prefer that day (trust me, Alfred always somehow knows what flavour you’re going to like that day). 

I feel like they would all worry about your short height to an extent, Bruce being the worry wart, constantly getting you checked out every two weeks, making sure you take vitamin gummies (because let’s face it, they’re better than pills and I will NOT take pills).

Second to ol’ Brucey is Jason, he died- and he probably freaks the FUCK out when you keep growing but you don’t show any signs of getting taller. At first, he keeps assuring himself that you’ll grow.

“They’re just a late bloomer”

“May- Maybe Their just short!” 

“Why arn’t they growin- Oh my god is (Y/N) dying?! I told that old man to kidnap them earlier!” 

Oh, Jason definitely watches you when you sleep (like the rest of them) and furrows his brows, trying to figure out an answer to why you’re so small.

The rest of them do have lingering thoughts but they can see Bruce dragging you to the doctors every other week and they make sure your on top of your meals and medicine so they don’t really outwardly do anything else. Tim definitely does poke at your height as a joke, but it does help his delusion of you needing him, like the rest of the fam. All of the boys definately try to 'secretly" show of their strength around you so you rely on them more, though you figured this out quickly and it's somewhat amusing to see them show off their muscles like a peacock.

If you do feel bad about how you look the rest of them will shoot Tim down immediately and praise you up and down. Some of the other more silent boys might do this in a more discreet way but rest be assured your getting the floor you walk on kissed. They might even let you have very light work outs! (Without any equipment) though it usually turns into you sitting on their backs to help them with their push ups or holding their feet so they can send you a compliment or tease as they come up from a sit up.

Foster! Reader is fed a lot- Full plates at every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner is ate and there is a strict ‘NO SKIPPING’ policy. Even if it’s just a few bites, even just one, your ass better eat and after a fit from you because you watched your siblings skip their meals without any harassment or scolding, the rest of the family now has the same rule as you (much to Bruce’s chagrin after trying to make his kids have a normal eating schedule since forever.) 

Overall they would just be a bit more strict with eating rules and making sure you feel good in your body, but other than that mostly the same.

Aww your just a little thing, you wouldnt survive in the real world cub. Hu? What do you mean "the doctor says I'm healthy and fit?", you might be but your still oh so small and you need your family to protect you! Can't you see how weak you are compared to our big beefy bodies? You don't have to worry your cute little head about it though! Your boys will always be here to take care of you.

Hello again! Sorry about this but my friend and I were talking about what an yandere! Deathstroke would be like- thoughts??

No need to be sorry! I’m all about people requesting no matter how many times they do!!! I hope you don’t mind me doing this request first, I finally got some time to sit down and read after a hectic exam block and this one stuck out to me first, so I really wanted to do it ASAP!!

Honestly, I had to skim over some other fanfics and google his name AND THEN STILL I HAD NO CLUE WHO THIS PIECE OF DILF WAS! Until I saw something where he called night wing kid and it all rushed to me! How could I forget him! He was my guilty pleasure crush growing up!!!

This ended up getting a little long because of the scene I snuck in at the end (and yes I used a song from steven universe, I was listening to a slow dance playlist and it fit somehow with slade, also thinking of him watching steven universe is so cute!!) but I love it so- 

I will definitely write more for Deathstroke after this!!! I have so many ideas :D

✧2400 words ✧Deathstroke x Reader ✧SHE/HER pronouns

I hope you enjoy Bubs! ~Mwah

✧Deathstroke or Slade Wilson is a semi-strict yandere in a way. He’s unbelievably lucid, he knows stealing you away and forcing you to stay with him is wrong, he’s a big bag scary villain so it’s obvious that you would try to kick and scream if your terrified of him. Though this makes his actions softer he does not tolerate you trying to pry and manipulate him. He has strict rules he expects you to follow because come on, he lets you scream profanities at him, and he understands your hesitance to eat anything, but he will not allow you to throw any food onto the floor and such like that.

✧He has bases galore, so he definitely is going to have you hidden in one with even his most close henchmen not knowing about you specifically but knowing that they need to make sure nobody goes in and nobody leaves. It’s not like Slade is going to give you any chances to escape tbh.

✧Slade definitely has his silent mercenary attitude with you, not really that intentional, he just doesn’t really know how to be ‘soft’ after his years of torturing and killing. Like, a man doesn’t get to his stature just willy-nilly, he’s a killing machine with muscles, brains and wit. Though compared to everyone else, your treated as soft as he can be. 

✧Don’t get it twisted he will put you in your place if you do anything wrong, he isn’t even opposed to snatching something out of your hand silently if you’re doing something his disapproves of, but he never yells at you and NEVER hurts you. 

✧On that note he would never try to do anything without your permission, away from the whole kidnapping part. The only reason why he kidnapped you in the first place was because he couldn’t risk making any sort of relationship with you in the outside world. People are always out to get him and therefore would target you, but he was itching to talk to you in any way, and after a particularly close call with a low life villain trying to square up to him, he knew he had to do anything to keep you safe. 

✧His military background does come up a lot when he’s strict, not too bad. No drop and give me twenty, but when he gives you THAT look… yea you stop whatever or do whatever he wants. (Dad/DILF vibes??)

✧Slade is such a dad and though he doesn’t realise it, it too also slips when he gets strict and even when he shows affection. At first you might not even realise when he is affectionate or gives you a lick of it but once you realise it, it’s kind of wholesome and cute? 

✧Head pats with a murmured praise appropriate with what you did, a pat on the back or shoulder or arm with a slight twitch of his lip if you squint. Once, you swear, you managed to catch him watching you with a raised brow with a small smile on his lips. 

✧Small silent gestures are also VERY big but not noticeable until you really look, food is always healthy and balanced but there’s not a lick of texture or ingrediencies you don’t like. The snack cupboard is always available, and he seems to leave out snacks you like just laying around while nodding to it when he passes by to make sure you know that you’re always allowed to have it. Books, pencils and sketchbooks are found on a shelf or in a cupboard, new but made to look like it was just coincidence that it was laying there. If you ever ask to use it or to have a snack he starts off the few times by saying something along the lines of;

“You’re allowed any food in the house without needing to ask.” 

Or  “You’re allowed to anything you find.” With a silent line of ‘but nothing that you could use to escape or hurt me.’

✧But after saying that a few times, if you keep asking just because your anxious or not sure he will give you a silent nod. 

✧He knows how to hack and code so letting you have a game console is a luxury you will have, as well as a nice flat screen TV. If he feels like your glued to them and you keep putting off eating and sleeping for them then he will take them away silently and push you to do something else.

✧Slade loves music but he himself doesn’t even know it, until you’re exploring the small apartment like base he has you in, and find an old half broken record player but you can’t seem to find any vinyls. When Slade comes home after work and is starting to undo his tie and peel away his suit jacket, you curiously start making conversation about the old thing. His eyes scan over it as he walks to the bedroom to take a shower and says that he forgot it was even there, he had gotten it from someone he can’t remember though he does remember it being in one of his cars for a while before he got fussed enough to dump it at this hide out when he was ‘visiting’ and let it fade out of his mind. 

After his shower you both talk about its condition over dinner and when the night winds down and he has a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his off hand while he’s leisurely sitting on a plush chair, you hint that you want to try and fix it. Hearing this he just takes a sip while assessing the damage of the broken thing, not dusty anymore as you had wiped it down, on the coffee table before he hums. A few minutes pass of you both drinking your beverage, yours a warm drink instead of alcohol, when he finally gets up and properly looks at the record player. He pries some broken pieces lightly with the tip of his fingers before giving a silent nod. When your face breaks out in a smile, he says it’s time for both of you to hit the sack. 

The next morning when you wake up, Slade has some breakfast on the stove and you both mummer pleasantries before devouring it. When you get to the lounge room though, you find a toolbox that should have enough to fix the record player, Slade comes in shortly after and doesn’t say anything about it and just talks about how he has to get ready for work. 

Now this can end in three ways; 

One- You successfully fix it without any help and some elbow grease

Two- You try and fail, you get frustrated and at the end fix it with pure spite.

Or 

Three- You try and fail, before trying some more and failing again. Slade will fix something behind your back and guide you in the right direction behind your back and then suddenly you have fixed it! (Even though you have a suspicion he helped)

In every way slade will have the same reaction, he will give you a head pat with a “Good Job” before doing a once over of your work and humming satisfied to himself a few times to tell you that it’s all good. You’re so happy that you fixed it that it doesn’t even pass by in your mind that there’s no vinyl to play when you go down to sleep that night, it only pops by in your mind the next day after Slade leaves early that morning and your stuck staring at it. 

Though that night when Slade comes home in a plain outfit (he always changes out of his Deathstroke armour before coming to the house and washes the blood off his skin quickly if he’s been killing) and you exchange greetings you both don’t talk about it, at dinner you both don’t talk about it either and also when you both settle into the routine of sitting in the lounge with your respecting drinks in your hands and that day you choose to read a book and sit in comfortable silence. You don’t need to pester him more about the record player, you think to give him a break but when you awake with no Slade in the house again two days in a row and you go to the lounge to watch TV with the breakfast he made for you, there’s a flat paper brown bag next to the record player. Breakfast now thrown out of your mind; you leave it on the table to get cold as you slowly open the brown bag to reveal a large new black vinyl. The smell of cardboard wafts as you bring the vinyl up to your nose to take a quick sniff, thinking it would’ve smelled like plastic instead but being pleasantly surprised, it smells something akin to an old book. There’s no note and no name on what the song is but you plug in the record player anyways and get ready to play it, there’s a few seconds of static and you don’t realise your holding your breath until the soft sound of a piano followed by a few other instruments filling the room makes you release it.

Surprisingly it’s not an old song, which really shouldn’t be that surprising, but its jazzy and it does have a soft vibe and it’s slightly muffled to make it sound cosy.

You sit there for a bit, finally getting comfy on the couch and placing the plate on your lap to eat the now cold breakfast, while listening to the song over and over. 

Slade had some work that needed to be done, so he had left early in the morning the past two days as well has coming home late last night so he thought to come home early on this day, just as the sun started setting to shine the world with soft hues of yellow and orange. 

What he didn’t think he would see was his darling swaying her body lightly to the song softly playing in the background, she look so ethereal with her hair slightly messy and her pyjama’s slightly crumpled, because who really wants to get dressed up every day to sit around the house?, with the hues of orange and yellow bouncing of their (S/C) skin and face, accentuating their features like their nose and cheeks.

He’s so taken back that the song doesn’t even register in his head until (Y/N) starts humming along. 

“I always thought I might be bad,

Now I'm sure that it's true, 

‘Cause I think you're so good,

And I'm nothing like you”

And when she starts actually singing, Slade falls even harder for her which he previously thought was impossible. 

“Look at you go, 

I just adore you, 

I wish that I knew,

What makes you think I’m so special…” 

Her voice annunciating the words perfectly, the letters practically rolling off her tongue like she knew all the words by heart makes her sound angelic. 

Slade knows that (Y/N) doesn’t adore him, he’s not delusional, he kidnapped her and keeps her without her will and he’s a fucking villain, but the last line felt like an actual question that was in her soul and the way she trailed off while looking off into the distance spurs him into action. He doesn’t know the words and can barely understand the instrumental, but he thinks he knows the rest goes roughly. 

The sound of his deep humming tangles in with (Y/N)’s and the record players startling her, but Slade doesn’t stop humming as he pushes off the door way and walks over to them slowly. 

“If I could begin to do,

Something right by you, 

I would do anything,

I would even learn to love” 

He clearly motions to hug her so encase she doesn’t want to she can push away, but she just lets him and when his body locks in place with (Y/N)’s like a puzzle, Slade feels all his worries wash away and it feels like he can finally breathe for once in his life. 

“When I see the way you look, 

Shaken by how long it took, 

I could do about anything,

I could even learn to love like you”

Slade starts rocking their body together slowly and (Y/N) can feel his chest rumble with his hums that start to loll them into relaxing into him. 

“Love like you,

Love me like you.”

When the vinyl ends abruptly with some scratching sounds, the pair just stay there a little longer. This is the first time they had hugged or done anything of the sorts, usually it was only shoulder or head pats, but Slade makes a mental screenshot of this moment. Just two lovers slow dancing to a record player. 

After this, Slade leaves his laptop on a page of vinyls for (Y/N) to pick a few while he calls out to her that he’s taking a shower in the meanwhile and he even pops home some days with a new vinyl out of the blue. 

Safe to say, they both end up having a huge vinyl collection of all types of songs that they cherish.

hi, i was wondering if u could write for a yandere batfam reaction to the batsis growing REALLY tall, like 6’0(opposite of ur short one). just overall head cannons on how they would react and such.

only do this if u can tho!!! i completely understand if u can’t, and i’m just glad i found out how asks work!! drink some water, sleep well, and have a wonder weekend!!!!

I kind of wanted to distance myself from Batfam stuff just because the only blogs I've seen bout them always turn into a Batfam blog bc of the demand and while I love them and I know some blog writers do love them like that I would rather not continue to write them.

But you anon are just so nice and cute how was I not supposed to???? 🥺

Also sorry for the delay in writing, I just didn't have any creative juices at all. I'm trying to get out of this funk so please send me asks!!

If you thought the batfam fed short foster! Reader then you haven’t seen anything yet!

Because your taller and bigger your body needs more food and they know this, so instead of them kind of backing off and making sure you eat no matter how big, NOW they will be feeding you 24/7!

They still keep the same type of snacks but now they try to keep protein on them, the bat mobile having a cooler into it now to keep everything fresh. 

Tall reader! Still gets regular check up’s, making sure that you growing too fast doesn’t hurt you and that your body can support your new weight. Checking that your joints and bones are oki doki hoki poki!

Batfam! Worries about your height too, wondering if your height might give you some disadvantages with your body with age or if your genetics might give you something bad.

I’m sorry to say but if your taller than them you won’t be stronger than them, you still get picked up and they modify their holding styles to make sure your comfortable. Though Tim and Damian both have thought about if you could pick them up, Damian having once had a dream that he was on your shoulders while you were running through the manor, he was very huffy and pouty after and was even more of a brat for your attention that day even though he wouldn’t tell you why.

Dick once had a nightmare that you had grown as tall as a house and escaped, when he tried to bring you back home you just stepped over him like an ant. When he flung awake he immediately sneaked into your room to make sure you weren’t like his dream, he definitely listened to his old man and Alfred’s nagging about having some sort of sleep schedule after that. 

If ANYONE says anything about your height or even looks at you the wrong way the whole family are going to torture them slowly but not before making a show of telling them off and praising you up and down for your height.

Clothes are tailored for you anyways no matter your height or gender so you never have to worry about nothing fitting, same with shoes. You get the grandest biggest bed they can get, bigger than an Alaska king sized bed as they had it made to order just for their little precious sibling.

That’s another thing too, your still their precious little thing. No matter how tall you are or how old you are, and they will not even think twice before reminding you about that.

“Aww aren’t you just a little precious thing. Hu? What do you mean your taller than me. Pfft- that doesn’t matter silly little cub, you aren’t as strong as us are you hmm? You still need your big boys to take care of you! There’s no shame in that little cub! We are more than happy to help!”

I head cannon that the BatBoys! Always show a range of body types in the magazines they pose for so best bet if your ever feeling low they will show you how beautiful and handsome your body is. 

You never get mocked for being too tall but Jason does put things juuuust out of reach to ‘coincidently’ walk in on you struggling and tease you even if he himself can’t reach and needs to climb on something. 

“You were just saying how tall you were, what happened hmm? That too far away from you?” He chuckles and teases you while he gets it down but gives your head pat while he’s up there.

I don’t put specific heights but it’s going to be rare that you are taller than them or all of them. Bruce is 6’2 (from a quick google search don’t kill me) and the boys are around the same so some of them might just be an inch or half an inch taller than you. Though even if you are taller than them it won’t change much, they will find ways to pat your head and give forehead kisses but back, arm and shoulder pats so come more frequent.

"A Bit Drunk But Still Fine."

Part 3 of We Flock Together, my Bruce Wayne x Black!OC series. No long rambles, let's get this shit.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Black!fem!OC

Rating: T for teen

Warning: suggestive conversation, hinted nefarious magicians, hinted abuse, and Stockholm syndrome. Yandere Bruce Wayne

Series Masterlist

The sound of stifled giggling chipped away at Bruce’s subconsciousness until sleeping in became a lost cause. The blinds blocked most of the morning light trying to brighten the room, but a small sliver made it through to land directly on his face. Next to him was his caged bird, cocooned in the blankets she insisted he kept on the bed now that winter would settle in any day. His vision went from bleary to focused when he noticed the restrained shake in her shoulders.

“What has you up early on a Sunday?” His rough voice traveled through the hills and valleys separating their bodies until it reached her pierced ears. Dove peered slightly to confirm his awakened state, only to turn away from the eye contact with a small gasp. “Hmm, Dove?”

The morning noise had been her acrylics typing loudly against the screen of her phone, followed by the sound of a message being sent. Whoever existed on the other side of the conversation responded within a minute and was the source of Dove’s amusement.

“Dove,” She looked back over to see Bruce inclined, held up by his thick forearms. “Who are you talking to?” She bit at her cheek, a nervous habit of hers that emerged after her first week in the manor. “I’m just curious.”

“Dick has been teaching Kori about memes and gifs, and now she won’t stop using them even though Dick asked her to calm down,” Her brown eyes snapped up to look at his reaction before continuing her sentence. “And I’ve been sending her new ones to use but Dick doesn’t know so now he’s demanding Kori to tell him where she keeps getting them from.”

“Wow.” The syllable left his lips without thought. He didn’t anticipate this outcome a month ago. Bruce couldn’t identify what the feeling building in his chest could be. The only thing he knew for certain was that she looked lovely with a smile so early in the morning. And he had an idea on how to make that expression last a little bit longer. “What’s a meme?”

Dove’s mouth shot off without hesitation, pulling her warm phone from under her cocoon to show example after example. Bruce chanced a lean, feigning it to see the screen better, and felt the warmth in him rise when she didn’t move in the opposite direction. Her lecture would be interrupted periodically with the notifications from the group chat. And every so often, when the conversation would lull and she looked close to getting up to start her Sunday, Bruce would ask another question to get his bird to chirp again.

Let the record show that Bruce Wayne, the aloof billionaire, and secret crimefighter, already knew what a meme was.

Only when Dove finally looked at the clock on her nightstand did the woman shuck the blankets off and get up from their shared bed to begin her routine. The warmth she left could not replace her actual body and the residual smells from her hair and body that had become infused with the silk sheets did not make up for the absence of the source.

Bruce joined her in the closet not long after she left, hopeful to continue what they started in the bed. “You make me feel so old sometimes.”

She huffed a laugh. His jokes have been landing more times than not recently. “I promise you, no old man looks like you do or does what you can.”

The sight of her brown skin being tinged with a deeper undertone of red made him preen. Ever since the carnival night that had Dick dragging Dove and Kori back to the manor, Bruce has noticed a difference. He noticed that night after the gala had ended and the house cleaned of all evidence of outsiders were once inside his home. Bruce met the trio in the foyer, eager to have his precious bird back in her cage. And his prize did not mind. She still did not mind. It was as if Dick brought home a new bird, a tamed bird, to his mentor.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. There’s nothing wrong with being older.”

“You’re only in your thirties, Bruce. Besides,” Dressed in a simple set of sweats, Dove glided to his side of the closet and laid a hand upon his cheek. “I think older men are so sexy.”

Stormy eyes narrowed in suspicion. This was the first time in a long time she’d come on to him under her own sober will. There had been countless incidents since Dove began living with him, where the contents of her glass would be low but her libido high. Slowly, he wrapped his large limbs around her cinched waist. Already, he could feel his fingertips itch to trace her shape down to those wide hips he adored so much.

“Oh, is that so?” Dove nodded.

“Especially older men that are as strong as you, Bruce. I bet you can pick me up without breaking a sweat.” Pearly teeth became exposed to the cold morning air as Dove’s body was hoisted into the air before landing on the table in the middle of the room. Her sweats did little to cushion her landing, her lips parted to let out a short squeal.

“Anything else you want me to do to you?” Pale hands twisted the hem of her sweatshirt as the question sunk in. His focus was completely on her lips, though it did dip down to her chest every time she breathed. Caution still filled his bones. A month ago, Dove would never entertain him like this. A month ago, she would rather bathe in acid than let his hands caress her brown skin. A month ago, his caged bird would not be leaning in closer to peck his cheek.

And yet.

Now, in the closet of their shared room, Dove was letting him kiss and nip and suck at her plump lips to his heart’s content. Now, she moaned at every touch and sighed from every squeeze. Now, she embraced him like he’s always fantasized, pressing her body against his with excitement he could relate to.

Bruce groaned as her clothed legs, legs he knew were just as silky smooth as the rest of her, rose up and wrapped around his waist. He grabbed under a knee and yanked, pulling the rest of Dove with it, to rub his quickly hardening crotch against hers.

At the feel of him pressing into her, Dove broke the kiss but did little else to dissuade Mr. Wayne from turning his lips to her neck. “Oh, Bruce…”

“Yes?” The words seared itself to her skin. Dove could feel the fog surrounding them thicken. Bright yellow claws combed through Bruce’s unruly bed head, stopping right before his nape to gently pry the man off his dear bird.

“I’m sure Alfred is waiting for us with breakfast.” He conceded and backed away. Even though his heart and flesh begged him not to, Bruce knew logically it would be bad to keep going against her hint. If Dove wanted to slow down, he could do that. He would do that…

Dove was proved right ten minutes later. Alfred did have a generous display of breakfast food waiting on them. As well as coffee and infused water. Breakfast went down as a quiet affair, broken up by the unfinished war in the group chat Dove had masterminded.

“-telling them that there was no way I would allow our technology into the hands of some pompous overgrown manchild for a couple billion.” Dove nodded along as Bruce ranted, not at all understanding the situation but content to witness the stoic Bruce Wayne show some color for once.

“Who do they think they are?”

“Exactly what I was-” The conversation had been cut in by the sound of a call coming in on Dove’s phone. She pouted and looked away, knowing how both men felt about a phone at the dining table. “Its okay, answer it. I have to do some work in the cave, anyway.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly but she waited before Bruce had made his way to the discrete entrance of his cave before turning to look at her phone.

“Dove!” The excited alien princess called out. Her green eyes took in the setting of her friend’s location. “Are you at the table? I can later, I know that Mr. Wayne is not fond of outside communication during meals.”

“No, it’s okay. He said it was okay. What’s up?” Alfred’s mouth twitched while he cleaned up the used dishes and utensils. This was the girl Bruce raved about in the beginning. Talkative and full of life, not barbed and withdrawn like what he’s seen during her stay. The change in attitude breathed new life into the manor.

As the two chatted, Dove moved from the table to the den, where a roaring fire already awaited her. Down below, Bruce had become engaged in his own conversation. The computer in front of him had surveillance tapes from over a month ago rolling, the master detective watched with careful eyes for what he was looking for.

“Are you sure? Maybe she’s just had a change of heart since then. OR maybe-”

“No, something isn’t right.” The Dark knight admitted to his once sidekick. Dick Grayson sat on the other side of the line, listening to his mentor come up with theory over theory. “She’s...easier to deal with. Like she let go of all her rage.”

“So why are you upset over that? You finally get to cuddle up to the woman and the first thing you think is brainwashing?This is why you’ll never be happy.” dick mumbled out the last sentence, but they both knew it was heard by the paranoid billionaire.

“I got carried away. I should have investigated that carnival the minute she came home.”

“Why? She looked fine then. A bit drunk but still fine.”

“She hugged me and told me about her outing.”

“And that's not…”

“Normal? Coming from a woman like Dove who compared being here to being locked up in Arkham Asylum two days before the carnival? No. it wasn’t.” Bruce went silent which gave the opportunity for Dick to dwell on the entire situation. Ever since Bruce came home that night, talking non-stop about a woman he met, life has lost predictablitly. This woman changed something in Bruce, unleashed something that was better restrained.

“There. I see you all entering. Where did you go after stopping at the corndog stand?”

“HA! Kori loved those and ate so much she-” Dick paused to refocus. “We played a couple games, the girls were adamant about getting a bear or something, so we stayed there for a while.”

“And then?” Bruce prompted, his eyes never leaving the screen. While he had to constantly switch to a new camera, he could keep up with Dick’s recount. Coily hair blew in the wind in front of her face, but it didn't deter Dove from throwing another ring at the organized bottles. The dark knight couldn't find it in him to fight the wobble in his cheeks, his bird looked so happy.

“Then Dove wanted a turkey leg. Kori saw a stand near the motorcycle stunt cage. I ended up there somehow-” Bruce watched the interaction, there was no “somehow” about it. Without the sound, he could tell his former sidekick had made a bet with his date that involved the stunt cage. “I nailed it, of course, then the girls dragged me to some loony magician.”

“The magician? A tall woman with a green tent?”

“Actually, they were non-binary, Bruce.”

“ What did they do? I can’t get any footage from inside the tent.”

“Ah, you know? Basic shit. Pulled a rabbit out of their hat, guessed someone’s card. Dove went up with a group for them to do hypnosis-”

“She did what? What did they tell her to do?” Bruce resisted the urge to drag Dove down to the cave and interrogate her.

“Come on, calm down. It was basic shit. Quack like a duck, Slap yourself, Kori could tell you the rest of that. I got so bored I swear I almost went to sleep with my eyes open.”

Bruce watched in real time from the outside of the tent until the trio emerged, along with other patrons. At first glance, everything looked fine, but there was something peculiar about the gait of Dove. It’s like she was tipsy. “Did any of you drink before the magic show?”

“Uh, yea. Just a beer or two when we were playing games.” He scratched his chin and thought of another question.

“Did you-” Bruce paused when the sound of the door opening hit his eardrums. “Alfred? Is something wrong?”

Her Shadow stretched from the top of the cave to the base of the stairs, not far from where he stood. “I was wondering if you would like to watch a movie with me? Me and Kori got off the phone not that long ago and Alfred went to do the weekly shopping.”

“I…” Bruce looked at the entrance to find a glorious sight. Though she was completely clothed in unassuming sweats, Dove’s curves were on display for him to take in. He worried about how well he could pretend to watch a movie with a woman like her sitting next to him.

Shaking his head, the detective refocused. He had a mystery to solve. Dove was not herself. That woman up there looked and talked like her, but she would never be her.

“Bruce?” her voice echoed in the hallowed cave. He could see her head swivel, looking for him with those beautiful dark brown eyes of hers. As hard as she looked, Dove did not step into the cave, her feet stayed in place at the entrance, still on the hardwood floors. Good girl, he wanted to say.

“I gotta go.” He muttered out to Dick, ending the call before the last word left his mouth. He sped through the power down process then jetted up the stairs to see the mistress of the house. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, show his happiness over her willingly seeking him out, Bruce had to correct his bird. Dove,”

“Yes?” She backed away slowly, nervous at the sight of his face. He had a certain look in his eye she knew spelled trouble for her.

“Hey, don’t back away, sweetheart.” Large steps closed the distance between them. Rough hands rubbed her covered shoulders in an effort to soothe the woman. "I just want to remind you how dangerous the cave is. You can’t pop in like you did, okay?”

“O-okay. I’m sorry.” This clearly wasn’t his Dove. She was so much easier, now. He shouldn’t be up here, the dark knight had a case to solve. But, her eyes looked so beautiful, filled with fear and hope at the same time.

He’s gone this long playing into the charade. What’s one more day, in the grand scheme of things? The batman could put in the hours later tonight, while his pet slept. And Bruce, he could pretend. For just a while longer, that this was normal. That Dove has learned to love him on her own.

That he finally won the long game.

Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her body closer to his, and suddenly they were back to the moment in the closet. Her eyes, as seductive as they were brown, stared into his. She wasn’t shaking, hasn’t shaken since that night. Pretty plump lips twitched.

This was normal.

Dove’s eyes stayed open when he leaned in to kiss her. His did too. Together they molded their lips to one another, waiting for the other to lower their lids and get lost in the moment. Dove went first, he followed suit.

He knew, eventually, the reason behind her behavior change would become uncovered. He knew the moment he fixed her -and he would because Bruce was a good guy and good guys don’t let their partners stay brainwashed- Dove would go back to being his untamed bird. He knew she would be in hysterics if she remembered what she had done. He knew, but Bruce did not care.

Breaking the kiss, He stroked her cheek until her eyes reopened. “What movie were you thinking about?”

Let's Add Caviar To It

My inspiration has been resurrected and it would be unfair to not use it in this series. I never thought I'd write this much for this story, but now its getting its own masterlist and taglist. Comment if you want to be tagged for future updates

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Taglist: @prettyvintageafternoon

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: cursing, obsessive Bruce Wayne

When Bruce first met Dove, the sky had just opened up for the third time that week. The rain made wonderful background noise as he stood upon a platform, staying completely still as his tailor made adjustments to the newest suit in his collection. She stood behind the man, measuring tape around her neck and a kettle of tea in her hands, dressed head to toe in knock-offs.

Her shoes were fake Luis Vuitton and the purse she carefully placed at her workstation had to be fake Fendi. Her slacks, though in style, looked like they came from a discount store. Her shirt was the worst offender, the signature Burberry plaid printed all wrong. Anyone that didn’t know designer would be fooled. The older women of Wayne Industries would call her attempt offensive.

Bruce thought she looked lovely.

As the appointment went on, his sharp gaze followed her captivating form travel in and out the room. Dedication bled through her every action. This woman moved with an eagerness to learn everything she could from her mentor. She had enough knowledge about the business to complete a task before Spinelli could call out her name.

“I’ll make sure to deliver the suit two days from now, Mr. Wayne,” Spinelli announced after taking the last measurement. When Bruce failed to respond, the old man a glance up. His highest paying customer had set his focus elsewhere. To the side of the podium, tucked away behind fabrics and order lists, where Spinelli had set up his apprentice to work.

“Mr. Wayne?” That time, the tailor gained Bruce’s attention.

“I just remembered that I have been invited to the mayor’s birthday dinner. This time deliver it to my office.”

“Oh?”

“Is that possible?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you want, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce’s focus drifted back to the young woman tucked away, working hard and not paying him any mind. Whatever he wants?

Two days had passed agonizingly slow for him. Between fighting crime and leading his company to new heights of success, his mind never strayed far from her. His morning thoughts revolved around her, curious about what she looked like fresh out of bed. Catapulting through the rain slickened streets of his city, he wondered if she had any hobbies or what she did to unwind. After shaking a shareholder’s hand, Bruce imagined what she smelled like and how soft were those working hands of hers, and if she touched his suit with them.

By the time Dove made it to Wayne Towers and knocked on his door for the delivery, Bruce had dug up the bare bones of her life. Where she lived - near Sheldon Station- what subway line she rode -the number 2 line all the way to the Fashion District where she walks the rest of the way to Spinelli- if she lived with anyone -just a roommate that’s barely home and pretends to forget about paying their share of the rent- and how old she was -mid-twenties and she just celebrated a birthday.

“Mr. Wayne. I have your suit, sir.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves yet. I’m Bruce Wayne, but I’m sure you knew that.” A small snort she failed to suppress warmed his being. That’s good, humor is a key factor in a long-lasting relationship.

“Dove CartWright, sir. I’ve been Mister Spinelli’s apprentice for the past few months.” Her voice coated her words in honey, unknowingly making her all the more appealing to him. Bruce could hear it now, the sound of her sleep-laden voice croaking out a rough ‘good morning’ from their bed as he paces around the room getting ready for work.

“Spinelli hasn’t taken on an apprentice in a long time. You must be deadly with a needle and thread.” Her eyebrows shot up an inch at his alluded compliment. Apparently, the news and local anecdotes were true. Bruce Wayne was a charmer.

“Thank you, sir. I came into his store with a few tricks and talents but he’s been wonderful sharing his expertise. I watched him tailor your suit and it was like a work of art how he did it.” Only watched, he wanted to ask.

“I’ve been going to Spinelli since I was a boy. I don’t know a better tailor,” Bruce replied, taking the garment bag and unzipping it to peek inside. Pristine black fabric greeted him. He let out an audible hum to telegraph his satisfaction.

While he inspected the suit, Dove stood still as a statue, running the tip of her painted fingertips along the edge of her skirt. Did he make her nervous? “Good as always.”

“He’ll be happy to know that. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Wayne.” Her body wobbled for a minute, trying to figure out what the proper farewell gesture would be for a tailor’s apprentice to give her employer’s most important customer who was simultaneously the CEO of the richest company in the western hemisphere.

Bruce would remember the smile she gifted him as she departed for the rest of his life. They weren’t the whitest teeth he’d ever seen or the straightest. The gap between her incisors induced an extra pump in his heart. Gapped teeth, something so plebian to fixate on, yet he did. It made her endearing. He wanted to see it again.

He had to see her again. Already the warmness of her presence had vanished, plummeting the CEO back into the usual callousness that was his life. He just needed to see her one more time. See her toss a smile at him one more time. Show him that gap in her pretty teeth one more time.

Dove kept her shoulders square as she strutted out the elevator into the lobby of Wayne Industries. Her job was officially over for the day, freeing her mind to think about the personal side of her life. What would she eat today?

How much money did she have in her account?

The 15th was coming up, she should stock up on purple polyester in case she runs out.

Dove broke out her train of thought at the sound of someone shouting ‘miss’ over and over.

“Ms. CartWright, Please come back. Miss?” A ruffled employee said again, sighing in relief when Dove’s head swiveled at the sound of her last name. “Mr. Wayne has asked that you return to his office at once. There seems to be an issue with his suit.”

“An issue with his suit? But-” Spinelli didn’t make a mistake, she finished in her head, nodding at the employee and retracing her steps to the elevator. What could have happened, she wondered as the numbers increased at an alarming speed, showing off the superiority of Waynetech.

Her knuckles barely rapped against the smooth wood grain of his office door before the entrance gave way to reveal the surprisingly shy half-smile of Bruce Wayne.

“Sorry to call you back so soon, but I accidentally ripped the seam on the jacket.”

“Oh. Oh! Sure, let me see the tear and I’ll have it fixed in no time, Mr. Wayne.” And there it was, another smile aimed his way, just for him. Her purse that had remained hitched on her shoulder during her first visit, drooped off and fell to hang from her covered forearm. It opened with a light ‘click’ giving access to the emergency sewing kit she had.

“I put it on my desk so I didn’t ruin it further.” The apprentice strolled up to the piece of furniture, kit in hand and ready to take on the task. The structure of her blazer wasn’t too restricting, it would allow her enough mobility to give her best effort.

“Okay let’s see what...Oh, wow. Mr. Wayne, this is-”

“You can fix it, right?”

“Of course, I know a trick or two.” A third smile. Bruce could feel an addiction forming. “I’ll show you why Spinelli agreed to mentor me.”

Bruce watched as she settled her supplies and entered a zone. Her body mindlessly gathered the garment and created a station on the coffee table. Her fingers made no unnecessary movement. She took a second to decide her course of action.

“How about I order you dinner as a thank you?” Though he really wanted to take her out, he knew it was best to start slow. Watching her covered yet tempting form relax into his furniture was more than enough at the moment. If only her hair hadn’t been restrained into a bun just like the one she wore two days ago. What would her hair look like untamed? How did she wear it outside of work?

Her head leaned as she thought about the pros and cons of accepting free dinner from Gotham’s most coveted bachelor.

“Sure, I’ll have a wagyu steak covered in gold, please.” The sharp exhale of amusement eased her mind. This was the perfect time to build a repertoire with him, a little humor could go a long way.

“Gold doesn’t taste like anything remarkable, so I advise against it. But the steak is a good choice.”

“You don’t have to really, Mr. Wayne. I was joking.” Bruce disagreed. He did, it would be an even exchange for gawking at her exposed legs while she worked unaware.

“Maybe so, but now you put the craving in my mouth. And please, call me Bruce.”

Dove paused to think once again. Who was she, at the end of the day, to tell a multi-billionaire how to spend his money? If he wants to humor her with premium steak, it’d be stupid to protest.

“First name basis, already? I feel so special. Let’s add caviar to it.”

“Whatever you want, Dove.” And he meant it. The sensation of saying her name riled him. He wanted to say it again.

One more time.

"That it, Bossman?"

Chile, I been gone so long, I'm just gonna post and go.

Series Masterlist

Taglist [OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole121919

Rating: Pg-13

Warning: naughty dreams, cursing, obsessive Bruce Wayne

She’s been haunting his mind ever since that meeting. This was an outcome even the greatest detective could have predicted. Morning, noon, and night, her visage ghosted around the empty halls and intersections of his mind, interrupting his day to day thoughts with a coy smile and trail of department store perfume.

The growing desire to jolt his head up and scour his surroundings every time he heard her laugh was getting hard to control. His heart couldn’t cope with the delusions of his mind. Everything reminded Bruce of her. 

Torture sessions replaced his sleep schedule. After his patrol in the dank underworld of his city, Bruce would return home to his estate, shower, then sleep. That’s how it’s always been since he became Batman. Injuries and catastrophic events would interrupt this routine, of course, but Dove ripped it to shreds. His silk sheets buried him like waves, drowning him until the oxygen in his lungs were depleted and the hallucinations started.

“Bruce…Bruce...please Bruce,” It always started with pleading. The begging in her raspy tone would be the initial strike, the first nail in the coffin. 

Brown skin, gleaming with sweat, shining under the spotlight. Her marks and moles painted illustrations on her skin, something that his mouth wanted to trace to perfection. Her body twitching, bared and naked for his eyes only. The images were overwhelming. 

“Touch me, Bruce. Please.” The fingers, smaller and more delicate than his, cleaner than his could ever be, blessed his rosy skin with featherlight touches. Moans flooding his ears, taking over his senses. 

“Touch me here, Bruce.” After the second request to feel her form under his fingertips, he would always wake up tangled in his bedsheets. Even in his dreams he couldn’t take the plunge. It felt wrong somehow, his morality had drawn the line in the sand. Searching up personal information on the batcave’s computer system was one thing, touching dream Dove was another. 

Breaking into the security feed of a small ethnic grocery shop that sold a specific brand of popsicles he found in Spinelli’s shop one night after an uneventful patrol? 

That toes the line.

But ultimately, could be overlooked. If anyone asked, and no one could or ever thought to question the respectable Bruce Wayne, a casual remark about the growing diversity in Gotham City would explain his sudden detours to that side of town. No one could fault him for being curious.

Especially when the curiosity paid off in the board meetings. Everyone fawned over his dedication to creating strong cell towers throughout the city. No one needed to know that Bruce only discovered the discontinuity in connection strength by dealing with the five second lag he experienced watching closed footage from his batcave. 

Today was like any other day. Waking up from a dream that left him unbearably hard in his silk pajamas- an issue he would have to address in his morning shower-, completing his tasks at his company, shaking hands and making deals with Gotham's elite. A simple routine he’s followed for years. But now comes with a twist. 

“I think I’ll go visit that deli again for lunch. Want something, Fox?” The older man shifted his focus from the prototype blueprints on his desktop to gauge his boss’s movements. Swift, everything Bruce Wayne could be studied and classified as efficient. He never moved excessively or put in more work than required. A trait few picked up, fortunate for him or else everyone would see him for what he really was.

A walking contradiction.

“That little shop off Westward? Isn’t that a bit out of your way, Mr. Wayne? We need to finish these plans as soon as possible.” Lucious reasoned. The small food court within Wayne Towers had more than enough options to satisfy the evolving palate of its well traveled owner. 

“I won’t be long. I’ll bring you back those snack cakes you like so much.”

Bruce smoothed his overcoat topping his suit, slyly wiping the sweat that had beaded up on his palms away. There was nothing to be nervous about. Bruce just wanted to get a sandwich and return to his office. 

This had nothing to do with it being late lunch hour, which just so happened to be what Dove favored to avoid heavy mid-day traffic. 

The world class chef’s at Wayne Towers couldn’t replicate the sauce only available at the small hole in wall deli. Or offer the variety of international snacks found in its compact aisles and fridges. Like the popsicles he tried the other day. The same ones he found in Spinelli’s trash. 

The bell dinged and the men grunted a hello from behind the counter. Their idea of good service and Bruce’s idea were on two different planets, but the billionaire knew a thing or two about being cocky. The type of cockiness he wielded at socials and galas, where all his peers and onlookers whimpered at his feet and laughed at his pisspoor jokes. The type of cockiness being the best breeds in a person. Knowing no matter what you do, you’ll still be untouchable.

It was a heady feeling, akin to consuming the finest absinthe. 

“Yo! What can I do for you bossman?” Cold steel eyes scanned the walkways and mirrors in the corners of the store, searching for that familiar head full of tamed hair. Did he come too late? Too early? Is she not on her lunch right now? Maybe, Bruce reasoned as the man fixed up his order while talking loudly to his coworker, maybe she went to another shop for lunch. 

Still, this would be his third time coming to the store without laying eyes on his current object of intrigue. At this point, going back to the footage and coming up with a new plan seemed like the best next step-

The bell dinged.

“Oi, there’s our little princess! Where you been at?” Following the cashier’s gaze, Bruce’s heartbeat picked up with a shy bit of hope racing through his system.

Pretty brown eyes. Hair covered by a neon yellow beanie. Black stockings with the smallest rips along her outer knee and a pretty red scarf that had seen better days. 

“Po, you know I have to wait until the fifteenth to afford one of your sandwiches. Don’t play dumb.” Bruce’s ears perked. There was a sharpness in her voice he had only heard from tapping into audio tapes from around the city. How familiar was she with these two?

“You talking to me, the man that makes your food, like that?” 

“I never said a word to Sammy.” A raspy chuckle trailed her response. “Sammy, how are you darlin? Po not working you too hard, right?”

“He not, but you could.” Dove snorted, tapping along the laminate wood counter, bringing the line count from one to two. In front of her, A sharp dressed man dug in his pocket for his wallet and collected his sandwich. 

“Boy, stop playing with my emotions like you don’t got a husband at home and make my food.” 

“That it bossman?” Brown eyes finally took notice of the figure at the register and the woman felt her body temperature drop. Of all people to catch her outside of her work persona, it had to be the most important man in the city, the possible key to her upward mobility if she impressed him enough. 

Should she speak up? Call his attention and butter him up with her hopefully endearing personality? Would it be best to act like she didn’t recognize him? But, Dove scrunched her nose in agitation as her eyes tracked Sammy slapping her sandwich together behind the glass barrier, who in Gotham wouldn’t recognize Bruce Wayne? The real dilemma was would he remember her? 

Sure they shared a meal one time, but a man like him must be drowning with dozens of shared dinners with women. Nothing made her special-

“No caviar this time?” As if sensing her internal dialogue, Bruce’s smooth voice startled her and solved her issue at the same time. Their eyes met, and everything outside of the woman next to him faded away from his vision. It was alarming how she could fog his brain with a simple look, which only made Bruce want to be around her more, orbit around like the moon does the earth, tethered to her gravity with no desire to break free.

“Not this time, Mr. Wayne-”

“Princess, want it toasted?” Sammy asked, breaking up the beginning of what Bruce thought to be a beautiful moment. His trained ears could hear the swallow of saliva being forced down her esophagus.

“Yes, add it to my total.” Too distracted by the thought of a warm lunch for the first time in ages, Dove is blind to the intense look her sponsor gives Sammy. 

“Mr. Wayne, you keep paying for my food and Gotham will start talking. I’ll end at the top of the gotham gazette web page.” Dove protested lighty, enough to say she tried but not enough for him to change his mind about buying her lunch. 

Bruce fought the goofy smile looking for a place on his face, sliding his card over for payment. Buying things for pretty girls was familiar territory for the billionaire. He could consider it foreplay at this point. In his experience, nothing made a woman want him more than getting a feel for how big his pocket bulge was. 

A decorated palm rose to wave at the gentlemen behind the counter. Wordlessly, the pair exited the shop with Bruce holding the door for her, the door chime signaling their return to society, one where a man like him didn't pay much mind to women like her. But Bruce had so much more he wanted to say.

Every parting with her tugged at his heart, demanding he take drastic action to keep her in his sights.  A more impulsive man would clasp her hand and smooze her number out. 

“If anyone ever gives you trouble, kindly send them to my office. I’ll take care of it, Dove.” What a man, she thinks. There must be something wrong with him. She found it hard to resist his charm, or believe that the persona he donned for the general public and the man on a midday lunch break were the same person. 

“In that case, maybe you should give me your number.” Bold. He liked it.

Thank goodness.

"He Put out an Ad?"

~Hey my darlings, Let's cut to the chase and post part 6 of We FLock together. I'm truly excited to post this, the last part was kinda filler. Now we gettin into some shit.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, plotting Bruce Wayne, silk press getting caught in the rain; cursing, barely edited.

Taglist [OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole121919

Bruce watched behind his cowl as dilated brown eyes became glazed with tears. Dried specks of blood had been splattered on the side of her head. If he hadn’t met with her two days ago to slurp down oysters at the newest restaurant in Gotham, he would have never believed the puffy mane on her head used to be straight. 

“Batman? Please, don’t hurt me…” A shrill voice called out, and oh, how it pained the man behind the mask to hear. As if he could ever hurt her, his sweet Dove. But he couldn’t let her know that. Batman doesn’t show compassion for criminals. Even someone like her, with a fearful expression and trembling body. Like a lone bird grounded by a broken wing. Later he would explain, over coffee at that diner she took him to, that Batman does what’s necessary for the public. 

For now, he had a job to do. 

His heavy shoes crunched on the discarded newspapers, stepping over unconscious bodies and pools of diluted blood. The tears in her eyes fell over her lower lid and blended in seamlessly with the raindrops hitting her brown skin. 

“Don’t, please! I’m not with them! Stay- Stay away!” Uncoordinated limbs attempted to move her out of his reach. Dove looked up at the vigilante. She’s never seen Batman in person, but the stories her customers told her about how intimidating he could be rang true. Her mind couldn’t direct her body to move, there was nowhere to hide. The pickup scheduled tonight has been ruined, and the dripping woman could swear her ears were hearing the sound of police sirens. 

Guess who’s going to jail tonight? 

The darkness of the suit worked in his favor, and soon Dove found herself flat on her back looking into the lens of his eye cover. “What are you doing here? What’s your business with Joker?”

“Nothing, nothin’. I promise I’m not a criminal. I’ve never even stolen from the self-checkout. Please don’t hurt me!” The taste of Gotham rainwater saturated her mouth with bitterness. Still, she spoke loud and clear, unwilling to give him an ounce of doubt in her innocence. 

The dark knight leaned further until they were a breath apart. She still smelt like how she did last time he saw her. His hands yearned to skim her body, the clothes she wore already glued to her frame, exposing curves he had only dreamed of prior. Focus, Bruce. 

“I won’t have to hurt you if you tell me the truth of why you’re here.” At the sound of her whimper, Bruce leaned back just slightly. Like a weight off her stomach, Dove sucked in air for all she was worth. “Don’t make this difficult. If you don’t tell me, I can promise the GCPD won’t be any kinder.”

“It’s just clothes. I-” Her heart pounded and her head felt fuzzy. This was all too much for her to deal with. A lone woman, out in the rain, with Gotham City’s fiercest defender on top of her. “Didn’t do nothing.”

He waited for her to elaborate. When her mouth didn’t open again, Bruce felt the ice-cold rain run down his back. A dark gloved hand lifted her neck to get a response. Her head fell back, Dove was no longer conscious to support herself. 

“Fuck.”

---- ----

“When you said ‘it’s just clothes’ what did you mean by that, Miss CartWright?” The detective probed. When Dove awoke from her unintended slumber, her wrists were cuffed and chained to the lone table in the room. This was an interrogation room. She’s seen the setup before in tv and movies, never did she think she would also experience them in person. 

“I said what?”

“When Batman apprehended you last night. He claims you said ‘it’s just clothes’ after he inquired about your connection to the Joker.” Long lashes fluttered, her mind racing and trying to catch up to her current situation.

“I meant that I’m just the supplier for his costumes. Well, all their costumes.”

“Uhm, What? Please explain.” The cop leaned back against the mirror, a two-way she thought. Clearing her throat, Dove pondered her next words carefully. She wasn’t a snitch, not against Gotham’s biggest menace. All she had to do was clear her name and pray they let her go without further interrogation. She would chirp as much as she needed to avoid a jail sentence. But if worse came to worse, she would sooner sew her lips shut with her strongest thread than snitch and end up on Joke’s shit list. 

“I’m a seamstress. You probably already knew that.” With a nod, the suspect continued. “I have an apprenticeship with Tailor Spinelli. It pays, but not enough. So I make the costumes and uniforms for Joker and his gang. Pays well. I don’t have to take up a second job or sell feet pics to men on the internet.” 

“Are you serious?” Her nose flared at the dubious tone in the detective’s voice. With a hard glare, she met the man’s eyes. 

“You think Joker is getting those purple suits off the rack? Or that he has his goons buying their matching outfits off the web in bulk? I’m serious.”

“Okay. Now how did you end up in this arrangement? He put out an ad?” The more the pig talked, the angrier her tone became.

“No. Miss Harley did.”

“Alright, enough bullshit. Tell me the truth.” Dove felt her temper rise and she had to fight to get a hold of it. Slamming the table and shaking her binds, she spat it out for the last time. 

“I told you the truth. I’m the Joker’s seamstress.”

His focus left the video in his hands and traveled to the smoking law enforcer. Letting out a cloud of tobacco, Gordon reached out to ask for the footage back. 

“Far as I can tell, she’s telling the truth. So why is she still in custody?”

“Miss Cartwright knew of illegal activity and knowingly associated herself with criminals. That’s enough to keep her at the station and guarantee a trial. We have a warrant to search her apartment.”

“She’s the closest connection we have to Joker right now, had in months,” Gordan admitted to the dark knight. Bruce frowned. The thought of someone he cherished being behind bars unsettled him. Regardless, the commissioner spoke the truth. The only thing he could do was wait for her on the other side of the trial. To do anything more, to tamper with the process would go against everything he fought for. 

If they tried to throw her behind bars, however,then he would have no choice but to act.

He left the rooftop in silence, something he knew Gordon had to be used to by now. The Batman still had a city to protect, a patrol to stick to. He made a note to set up alerts on his computer for any mention of Dove Cartwright. Hopefully, all went well, and she won’t be convicted of any crime. 

A week passed and he had heard nothing of what could be happening to Dove. The golden prince of Gotham planned on waiting one more day before he broke into the surveillance footage at the station. So he remained in his office, going over figures and reports when he got a call from the station. The caller ID flashed brightly in front of him, it beckoned him to pick up the phone and demand answers. 

Stay calm, Bruce. 

“This is a collect call from Gotham City County Jail for inmate Dove CartWright, say yes if you wish to accept this call.”

“Yes.” The silence on the other side deafened him. Concern crawled up his body and looped itself around his neck, constricting like a snake until he was on the verge of passing out. Then, a muffled sniffle came through the line. “Hello?”

“Bruce? Thank God you answered. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call.”

“Dove? Is that you? Are you in jail?” These were questions he already knew the answer to, but to get what he wanted, he had to play his part as a bewildered friend. Hammering down his role, Bruce cursed low under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I ran into some trouble. Made acquaintance with the wrong crowd and now the police are charging me with being an accomplice. I-uh need a favor, Bruce.”

“Do you need a lawyer? Don’t worry, I have a team ready. They’ve never lost a case, you’ll be out in no time.” He expected a sound of relief but did not receive one. “Dove?”

“I don’t need a lawyer. I already accepted a plea deal. I was hoping you could uh..” The billionaire smirked. He knew where this was going. 

“You want me to bail you out?”

“...yes.” He sighed and leaned back into his chair, staying quiet until she broke the silence. Focus, Bruce, focus. “M’sorry Bruce. You know I don’t see you as a walking bank or nothing. But I need to get out of here. I didn’t do anything. And I’m not safe in here.”

“Whose after you Dove?”

“Bad...bad people Bruce. I fucked up. I-”

“Ok.” And that was the end of that. She’ll remember this moment for the rest of their lives, Bruce rationalized, how quick he was to help her any way he could. How he didn’t even question her innocence, not like the GCPD have been doing. This would be the first of many milestones in their relationship.

This would be the day Dove realized Bruce Wayne was someone, the only one she could count on. 

Thoughts raced in his mind, plans forming and disassembling at an inhuman speed. He had calls to place, guards to disarm, supplies to buy, but piece by piece, his next steps became clear. 

“Bruce?”

“I’ll see you later tonight, Dove. Take care of yourself until then.”

“I,” a harsh exhale filled bounced around his eardrums. It didn't take detective work to know on the other side of the phone, shuffling her feet next to the phone station, Dove was struggling to hold it together.  “Thank you, Bruce. Really.”

The line went dead, his phone screen still pressed firmly on his side profile. Lowering the device, Bruce stared absently at the black screen. 6 minutes and 17 seconds. It felt much shorter than that, but the numbers refused to change. It made him crave more.  A calloused finger pad tapped the touchscreen, raising the phone back to his ear. The cooing of a call yet to be answered riled his spirit. 

“Alfred. I need you to prepare the manor for a guest.”

“Absolutely Master Bruce. May I ask how long this guest will be saying.”

“Indefinitely.”

"I Know What They're Thinking."

I'm not sure if I want to call this part 7 or part 6.5, regardless I'm posting it. I feel like I say this every time, but it picks up after this. Inspiration comes and goes these days, so yall just gon have to bear with me.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, sneaky Bruce Wayne, chipped nails, women's clothing sizing mention, cursing, barely edited.

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

Her nails had been chipping since that night she got arrested. Dove couldn’t tell you when it first started. Maybe that night in the cold rain, pressed between the unregulated vigilante and the rough asphalt of the city. Maybe during the unconscious hours that followed that, when her body was moved to the soulless gray precinct. Maybe when damaged palms repeatedly smacked the steel table, straining to convey her innocence to the detective. 

Maybe afterward, when Dove had been rudely escorted to a cell, crammed already with other convicted bodies. When she had very little room to breathe, even less to turn and gather her bearings without hearing some sob story or boast fest. Perhaps a chip of mauve nail polish flaked off when that erratic woman stalked through the cell like a predator, grasped her hand to offer her a proposition. 

There were infinite possibilities when her nail polish began chipping, but Dove knew for sure that after her mild mind break, the polish had shed like a snake's skin. With it went her armor. Dove felt out of control, the itch she struggled with for so long came roaring back, filling her head with roaring thunder. 

It made her restless. 

She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Everywhere she went, Dove could swear she smelled the sweet slightly nauseating odor of laughing gas and sweat. It made it hard to stay focused, and her an easy target for the police. Quickly the young woman earned the title ‘insubordinate’. Dove never knew loneliness like this before.

But then Bruce answered her call. And for a moment that dark feeling faded away.

She wasn’t prepared for it to return tenfold three months later.

***

Dove couldn’t help but fiddle with the buttons on the jacket he draped over her shoulders. The way it settled on her tense shoulders like a blanket soothed a toddler, it carried an inexplicable sense of security. The warmth of his body had remained trapped in the silk-lined fabric, thawing her from the horrors of being confined like an animal. 

A firm hand clasped the roundness of her shoulder, dragging her into the moment. The bustling movements and repetitive barking that characterized the police station rammed into her all at once. 

Her grip tightened on the button caught between her fingertips. 

“Ready to go?” No. Yes. Would the evening sun burn her after being deprived of it for so long?

“Yes.” Bruce led her through the corridor, out the door, and to the cherry red convertible that let all the sight-having citizens of Gotham know who was gracing their dangerous streets. The corvette played the perfect chariot for the golden Prince of Gotham, and Dove, in all her times of riding passenger, had never felt more unworthy. 

“Dove, are you okay?” Bruce watched her, her sullen attitude polluting the air around her. He hated seeing her like this, scared and broken. Luckily he knew how to fix it, but it would have to wait until the prerequisites were met. “You can talk to me, I won’t judge you.”

“I just,” her dam began to break. “Don’t know what to say. I-I don't know how to thank you. This was, you, what you did, how do I repay you?”

She couldn’t bear the look of pity she knew would be painted on his face, so burning eyes fell to her lap, watching her idle hands squirm in her lap. Her body flinched in the premium leather seat when a pale hand pierced her personal bubble to settle her restless fingers. 

“There is nothing to repay. You are someone I care about, I would do anything to help you.”

Dove looked at him head-on and opened her mouth to protest, to demand him to name his price because she’s lived long enough to know that nothing is free, but the gleam in his eyes stopped her before she could start. Even without getting to know him for the past few months, she had enough data in her brain to know Bruce Wayne was a stubborn person that came from a long line of equally stubborn individuals. 

By the flare of her nose, the billionaire knew the dragon had been defeated for now. Now for the next phase of his master plan. 

Dove’s demeanor slowly thawed out the further he drove them away from the precinct. Tense shoulders began to droop, twitching fingers calmed, her painfully stiff spine began to slouch, the fog of despair dissipated. The sullen woman worked up the energy to shift her focus from her lap to the window, watching the way the world passed by. 

Bruce had to resist jerking the steering wheel when a giggle escaped her cracked lips. 

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing to your billionaire mind. It always amuses me when people do double takes when they see this car. You can’t see their eyes but I know what they’re thinking. ‘Is that fucking Bruce Wayne?’ I always thought that when I saw you on my commute.”

Her tired voice perked up the longer she spoke, it warmed his ears. “Oh yeah?”

“The only other person that causes this reaction is Batman. He moves so quick and wears all that black so you can barely see him-”

Bruce slowed the car down to a stop as he waited for the light to change green. His jaw longed to clench and grind his molars against their opposites. It took no brain power to know what made his passenger stop her sentence. 

He hated that that was how she met his alter ego. The way her usually bright brown eyes were filled with nothing but panic and fear, fear of him, haunted him for days. He lost sleep thinking about how he was the one that turned her in, the reason she was detained in a cold cell downtown. 

It was all his fault and she didn’t know. Nor could she, not right now when things were so precarious. Bruce promised himself he would tell her soon, he had to. By his own hand, Bruce had trapped himself in a rock and a hard place. A splat of rain hitting the windshield broke the brooding man out of his thoughts.

“It never stops raining here. You know, I almost decided to move to Metropolis after hearing how bad the weather is in Gotham.” Dove said as her finger chased after a lone raindrop sliding down the tinted window, bare of the colored nail polish he remembered seeing the night of her arrest. 

“Oh yeah? What made you change your mind?”

“Bills. Everything is expensive in Metropolis. Rent, life insurance, cable, even car insurance and I don’t own a car! I calculated those numbers and signed the lease to my apartment the same day.”

“Gotham is cheap?”

“It's run down, Bruce. At least where I am. The same-sized apartment I got now is double the price in Metro. And it's not like rats are coming out the wall sockets or nothing, there’s too much crime for the landlords to charge an arm and a leg like they do in Metropolis.”

The light conversation distracted Dove from her demons. Instead of being mentally caged in the cell she could revisit the apartments she toured in the city before picking the one near Sheldon Station. 

“I think you just passed my turn, Bruce. Its a right on Rucha, remember-”

“Dove.” He spoke her name tensely. Bruce didn’t have to but for her sake, squeezed the wheel and twisted his grip to tell his unease. Like it pained him to deliver the next bit of news when it actually sent his heart racing with fervor. “I can’t in good conscious leave you alone there.”

Plump limps separated to express her shock. Before she could begin to protest, her savior put his hand up to stop her arguments. 

“Please, listen to me, Dove. I-” He sniffed his nose, seeming to hold back emotions he was too refined to express in public like this. “I don’t know who exactly you’ve gotten yourself involved with,”

Guilt coiled in her stomach like a cobra. Oh. Was she that awful and inconsiderate? For all he knew, Bruce could be getting himself involved with the biggest goons in Gotham for her sake. Was she really that self-absorbed? What was Dove thinking? Involving him in her plight. He was only trying to help her, the least she could do was hear him out. 

Paying no mind to the moving car, Dove failed to feel the increase in acceleration as she reached to touch his hand, soothe his mind, and coax out his thoughts. Times like this she wished he grew up normal, somewhere where showing emotions was okay.

“I don’t care either. I just want you safe. And the best way to do that is if you stay with me. At the manor.”

“Bruce-”

“I have the best security on earth. There isn’t another house for miles. No one pops up without a month’s notice. Alfred is trained in five forms of combat. You’ll be safe here. And that way, I won’t have to worry about you.” He ended that confession with a deep sigh, driving the point home. 

He cared so much about her, Dove realized. Her hips shifted if the premium leather seats. Outside the car, the beauty of Lemmars Park went ignored. The bridge that connected Uptown and the outskirts of the city loomed in the distance. Its overwhelming size didn't help to ease Dove’s nerves. She couldn’t even begin to see the other side of the bridge. The clouds and rain blocked what little light the streetlights provided the public. 

She wouldn't have to stay forever. Just a couple days, until her trial ended and her body found itself in the county jail or back on her worn mattress in her apartment she worked so hard to make cozy. 

Is Bruce asking for that much? A little staycation in the manor, being cared for and doted on by his lovely butler. Laughing and bonding with her friend. Learning new sides of his personality of the always posh and primped Bruce Wayne, sides that didn’t fit into his carefully molded character. Briefly, she wondered if he was the type to walk around in his draws or not.

Dove cast her eyes to his side profile. His jaw had tensed since he finished pleading his case. They neared the bridge. His grip on the wheel wavered before tightening until the leather squeaked.  Her hand had yet to move from his other. 

“I need to go home.”

Bruce cursed, out loud and at himself for falling for sucha stubborn mule of a woman. Was his tone not sappy enough? Should he have gone for a higher-pitched voice, and rubbed his jaw to showcase his distress instead of periodically gripping the wheel? It couldn’t be too late now. One last chance. 

“Dove-” 

“To pack up some clothes. Unless you have women’s clothing in a size 18 already in the guestroom’s closet?” Dove cracked the tiniest smile, those pretty crooked teeth lighting up the car. Bruce felt his chest concave. No, he didn’t have any clothing prepared for her in the guestroom.

Because he put the items in the master closet, next to his. 

“That wasn’t funny.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“How?”

“How about some of my special étouffée for breakfast tomorrow?” The convertible dipped as it rolled off the streets of Uptown onto the paved smoothed concrete of the bridge. They were almost home. 

“Can’t wait.” Dove could feel the honesty in his response. Her heart skipped a beat.

Oh, dear.

"That Girl is No Good."

Act two is beginning to write itself, until then here are what I like to call intermission pieces.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC) [mentioned]

Rating: PG-13 | warnings: none? public opinion and scrutiny, cursing

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

“What the public wants to know is who is this floozy that’s been caught time and time again, dangling off Mr.Wayne’s arm?” Judy’s fiery red tresses shook from the conviction in her voice, comparable to an agitated horse. She eyed the camera lens, attempting to convey the emotion brewing in her chest to her viewers. After months of failed lives and low viewerships on her blog, the woman had finally found her niche. 

Celebrity Gossip.

And who was the biggest celebrity this side of the western hemisphere if not Bruce Wayne? At first, the man gave nothing exciting to report on that could rally public interest. But now, this woman, this Dove Cartwright, had garnered interest the more he was caught with her. And that made Judy a very popular woman. She didn't understand why so few public personalities talked about this hot piece of news.

“Mr. Wayne is not a saint, we’ve all heard of the legendary parties he throws and the somewhat questionable meetings he has with some of Gotham’s infamous. But this woman is different. Poor, fat, black, with a criminal record, a key suspect in an ongoing investigation with a gang that is known for terrorizing innocents. I’m speaking out of a place of worry for Mr. Wayne. 

“I’ll take some callers now. Caller number one you’re on the air.

“Hi, my name is Michelle and I know for a fact that woman is a gold digger! She lives in the same neighborhood my ex does and it's nothing over there but future criminals and loser has-beens.”

Thank you Michelle for your concern and support. Next caller.”

“My name is Rich and I used to get my pants hemmed by her at Spinelli. She’s nothing but a girl looking for a meal ticket. She used to feel me up and press her breast against my legs like a bitch in heat. It's a real shame Mr. Wayne doesn’t know what he’s inviting into his life. That girl is no good.”

“Thank you for sharing that information Rich, I’m sure Mr. Wayne will open his eyes soon. Next Caller.”

“What’s up Gotham, it's Santana in the mix and I just wanna say all of yall is some haters. Yall big mad Mr. Wayne done found himself a baddie and yall jealous and bitter cause yall wish it was you all snuggled up with -”

“I’m so sorry to my audience for letting that thing assault your ears with nonsense. Maybe we should take a small break-” Three sharp knocks on her oak doors shocked her still. No one visits Judy. Her family had all but washed their hands of her years ago and she never connected with any woman she met in the 10+ years she’s been alone. Glancing at the setup, she could see the chat asking her who was at the door. 

“One second. Let’s take a small break.” she addressed both groups at once. Giving a small smile to the camera, Judy did a swift pivot and made her way to the door. She opened it without hesitation. The sight that welcomed her made her insides coil. 

“Judith Snorfeld?” It was a singular man, dressed in a sharp business suit with a manilla envelope gripped securely in his hand. By the second, Judy could feel her blood circulate faster. 

“Yes. Why are you-” Her breath rushed out her mouth as her body recoiled from the thick envelope that found itself forced into her embrace. She scrambled to secure the papers, all the while staring the man down. 

“Mr. Wayne is asking nicely that any and all posts you’ve made about him and Ms. Cartwright be taken down immediately.” Judy gawked at the man. He displayed no emotion or hint of an opinion. 

“You…he can’t be serious. It’s celebrity gossip, what I’m doing is-”

“I am just the messenger ma’am. If you don’t believe me or listen to Mr. Wayne’s kind request, those documents from his lawyers in your hands are more than enough to explain the situation.”

“But-”

“Good evening.” Judy watched, shock still freezing her body to the threshold of her quaint home, as the man in the sharp suit left the way she assumed her come. Slowly, she shifted her eyes to her torso, where the manilla folder had been pressed and secured.

She didn't bat an eye as the oak door closed without her body acting as a doorstopper. Couldn't draw in a single breath down the hall back to her tiny office, back to her waiting audience. She can't think of what to say, her words had been silenced and locked deep inside of her as fear took hold of her.

Judy glanced at the computer screen, chat lines obscuring her reflection. Her lips separate to utter something, a flimsy excuse to cut the show short, but her eyes pick out a colored piece of paper in the mess that was her desk before she could get anything out.

She's sick to her stomach. She wants to vomit. Of all people to blab about, why would she pick Bruce Wayne?

Now she's going to lose her viewers. Her short-lived steady stream of income. And her apartment.

"Fuck you, Dove Cartwright."

Yanderes who start out obsessing over one seemingly perfect person, but then observe a less outstanding acquaintance or friend of their darling's and fall even harder for said person in a tesion filled slow-burn>>>>>>>>>>>

Oh god the angst the delusions and readers panic attack. It was so good it made me cry. I LITERALLY HATE BRUCE IN THIS FIC HOW COULD JE NEGLECT SUCH A SWEET BABY

Neglectful batfam hits so hard

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... fifteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

Oh my god you done it again you captivated me with your words. Babe any fic of yours is a treasure to me I NEED THEM LIKE A NEED AIR

I am an angry and starving pirate looking for sacred gold and every time i get a notification you posted something it’s like finding a massive golden coin

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.