#yandere dc comics

[izadi234]

Forget me not

-Warning: Contain yandere themes, neglected! gn!reader, mention of low self-esteem, the writer's first language isn't English.

Yan! Batfamily x gn!

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 (You're here)

Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Meanwhile Duke and you spent the afternoon playing at an arcade and while you were playing, Duke checked the family group. Dick had sent a message calling for a meeting but he ignored it and decided to focus on spending time with you.

Alfred's plan must have already started

After playing for a while you both decided to go to dinner at Duke's favorite restaurant so you could talk in a more relaxed way. These moments with you made Duke feel like he was a little kid again, forgetting about school, his parents' tragedy and even that he was a vigilante. Once you got to the restaurant and sat at your table, you talked a little about some series and video games that you both liked until Duke asked something that he had never dared to ask before.

"Can I ask you a question, (Name)?"

"Sure!" you nodded

"Why are you studying journalism?" the younger one asked

Duke was not stupid, he was also a detective like the rest of the family, he knew that your career decision had been made because of the death of your parents, but he wanted to know about your life before the mansion.

And so maybe he'll know how to make your next stay more comfortable

"Well umm..." you said a little thoughtfully but still smiling

"I don't think I've told you about my mom and... and my dad, right? Before I went to live at Wayne Manor" you specified

Duke just shook his head as he waited for you to continue talking.

"Well, I chose my career because of them"

"And why?" Duke asked a little more insistently "And Bruce wasn't your father?"

"I mean, if Bruce is my father biologically speaking but..." you sighed and looked at him with a sad smile

"I think it won't hurt to tell you. I trust you" you took his hand in yours and squeezed gently making Duke smile at you

"Before living in Wayne Manor, I lived with my mom and another man, his name was (F/N) (father's name) and he met my mother when she had found out that she was pregnant with me. They met by chance, my mother was a great scientist and he was a journalist and the day they met, he came to interview Bruce for a new project they were doing. He was lost in the big building of Wayne Enterprices and that's where he found mom. She kindly helped him and from what he once told me he was immediately smitten by her. They started dating and ended up falling in love but before that my mom found out that she was pregnant with me and it was clearly not (F/N)'s, but when she told him about her pregnancy and who I was child of, he didn't care and he was with her throughout her pregnancy. Mom quit Wayne Enterprises and moved in with my father. Then I was born and everything was perfect until... one day it wasn't anymore..." you started to tell him, but at the end of your story you had a more somber face

"I..." Duke wanted to talk but he didn't know what to say "And... what happened next?"

You hesitated to talk but he was Duke, he was YOUR brother, of course you could trust him

"Dad was covering an event in downtown Gotham when there was an explosion near the place. I remember it like it was yesterday" you smiled sadly "I was always excited to see him on television and that day was no exception. My mother and I were in the TV room, she was sitting on the couch while laughing at my excitement and I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV. And it was when he was announcing the capture of the Joker in a building when an explosion happened causing the signal to cut out. My mother immediately took me away from the TV and we both went to my room where she tried to calm me down, making sure he was okay but I knew she was scared too. Hours later I fell asleep but I woke up to my mom crying and that was when I knew dad hadn't made it. The funeral was the next day and even though she tried to look strong I knew she was just as bad or worse off than me. Months later, my mom started getting sick, I thought it was because of her low mood but she soon had to be admitted to the hospital. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had at most a few months left, in the meantime I stayed with a neighbor, she was an old lady but I saw her as a grandmother. She took me to see my mom every day and one of those days I heard them talking about my real father. Mom tried to convince my nanny to adopt me when she was gone but my nanny refused, she said I would live a better life with my biological father. Weeks later she died too and immediately child services contacted Bruce and well you know the rest"

You looked at Duke still with a small smile

"Does anyone else know all this?" Duke asked after a few seconds of silence

"Nope" you shook your head "Well, Alfred but in a very general way, just what child services told him when he picked me up from that place"

"And yes, I chose to study journalism because of my father. He inspired me a lot when I was little and to this day my dad and mom do it. So, have you finished that project you told me about the other day?"

"Let me walk you home" you said to Duke as you walked through the almost dark streets of Gotham

"Oh no, really! I don't want to cause you any trouble" Duke said a little embarrassed

"Of course not Duke!" you put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed him a little "You're my brother, I'm not going to leave you alone in these dangerous streets"

"I'm a vigilante" he reminded you

"And?" you hugged him

"You're always going to be my little brother"

"You're embarrassing me!" the boy exclaimed as he tried to separate himself from the hug although to be honest, he would never reject a hug from you

"Oh no, they just grow up and they don't even want a hug from their sibling anymore" you said dramatically making both of them laugh

"But seriously, I'll give you a ride to Wayne Manor" you said

"Do you have a car?!" He asked surprised

"No... but a motorcycle, I left it in a parking lot near here. Let's go."

They walked until they reached a parking lot where you had your motorcycle at the back. You handed him your helmet so he could put it on.

"What about you?" Duke asked when he noticed that you only had one helmet

"Don't worry, I'm more worried about you" you said as you got on your motorcycle, followed by him

"Ready?" you turned to look at him

"Ready!" he nodded

"Okay, hold on!" you said before starting the motorcycle

The more Jason looked through the box, the more he felt like he knew you. You liked taking pictures, that was a fact and on the last pages of the album you had some notes next to the photo, describing the situation of the photo.

"Jason?" a voice called from the door of the living room, it was Dick

Realizing that Jason hadn't heard him, the acrobat approached and touched his shoulder making Jason jump a little because he wasn't expecting it.

"What do you want, Dickhead?" he asked irritated

"I was..." Dick interrupted his words when he saw that his brother had several things around him

"What is that?" Jason turned to look at your things again, his expression less hard.

"They're (Name)'s"

"And who gave them to you?" Dick asked as he sat next to him

"Alfred"

"Alfred? Why would he have (Name)'s things?" Dick asked as he grabbed a small purple blanket

"It's some stuff that they probably threw away over time or forgot to take" Jason said as he looked back at the photo album Dick noticed Jason's gaze that was resting on the book and decided to take it but before he could do so Jason grabbed Dick's wrist preventing him from doing so which caused the older man to look at him strangely.

"Jason..?" His voice brought him back to reality.

"Yeah I'm sorry" he let go of his wrist

"It's a photo album. It's (Name)'s" Jason let Dick take the album and he started to flip through it in silence while Jason looked at other things in the box.

"Who is this man?" Dick asked referring to your father

"I have no idea" Jason admitted

"Maybe Babs can recognize him" he said to continue looking at the photos

"Wait... Do you have photos with them?!" Dick exclaimed in surprise

"Yeah..." Jason smiled proudly

"And why don't I have a picture with them?!" Dick said dramatically "I'm their older brother!"

"But I'm their favorite brother" Jason stressed

That couldn't be possible! Dick was EVERYONE'S favorite brother! How could Jason be YOURS?!

"You damn...!" Dick was going to throw himself at Jason if it wasn't for a presence behind them

"What the hell is going on?" asked Bruce who looked at them confused

"And who is all this from?"

"It's from (Name)" said his sons at the same time

"Have you found anything?" asked Jason to Bruce

"No" sighed Bruce as he sat on the couch

"The day of their departure they turned off the cameras for several hours and cleaned their room excellently well"

Jason sighed a little desperate.

"Well... We haven't found anything either but, Jason found this" Dick gave Bruce the album

"Maybe it won't help in finding them but maybe it will help... get to know them better" Dick spat out those last words as if he was ashamed of not knowing his brother/sister for 15 years Bruce started looking at the album like his two sons had done before

"And this man?" he asked when he saw your father of course he remembered your mother, she was very beautiful but equally intelligent.

Yes, it was a very serious loss in his company when she left but this man, he had already seen him before but... where?

"We don't know" Jason said

"I'm going to tell Tim, Stephanie and Barbara to identify him" Bruce said taking the photo of your first birthday. You looked so happy despite being only one year old and what a beautiful smile, it was just like your mother's but... he had never seen him up close

"And what are the others doing?" Jason asked, snapping him out of his thoughts

"Tim, Stephanie, and Barbara are in the Batcave looking through the cameras, and if they have social media, Damian and Cass are still in their room looking for a clue, although to be honest, I'm starting to doubt it," Bruce sighed again

"And Duke?" Jason asked

"Duke..?" Bruce's eyes suddenly opened as he remembered the newest member of the Wayne Family

"He didn't answer or see the messages I sent to the group either," Dick said as he checked his cell phone

"That's it! Duke!" Bruce exclaimed with a smile on his face, causing Dick and Jason to look at each other in confusion

"Okay...?”

“In the morning Duke had told me that he was going out with (Name) so he should know where they are" he explained to them

"Duke and (Name) get along?" Jason asked surprised and a little jealous

"That's right, Master Jason" said Alfred who was standing at the entrance of the room

"Young Master Duke and Master (Name) have maintained a friendly relationship since he arrived at the mansion" explained the older name

"Ha!" laughed Dick while patting him on the back "It seems that you are no longer his favorite"

That made Jason feel a pressure in his chest.

He had to be YOUR FAVORITE again

"Alfred could you give this to Tim, Steph and Barbara, please?" Bruce gave Alfred the photo of your first birthday "Have them identify the man in the picture"

"Of course, Master Bruce" nodded the butler and then left

"So what? Are we going to wait for Duke to arrive?" Jason asked a little gruffly, still angry

"I think we shouldn't wait for him to arrive, Master Jason," Alfred commented as he looked out the window

"Why do you say that?" Dick asked as the three men stood up

"Because he is already here.”

"Well bro, this is where I'm at" you said as you stood on your motorcycle in front of the large doors that gave access to the great Wayne mansion

"Are you sure you don't want to go in and say hello to Alfred?" Duke asked as he took off his helmet and gave it to you

"No thanks. I love Alfred but I wouldn't go in that place again for the life of me" you said as you covered the license plates of your motorcycle with your jacket now that Duke got off. You were a little paranoid like your father but could you be blamed? This place gave you the creeps.

"Okay then I think this is where we say goodbye" Duke said a little sad and you could notice it. You chuckled and hugged him without getting off your motorcycle.

"It's not a final goodbye, besides you have my number" you smiled at him

"I know, but the fact that you don't even live here now is very strange to me. I really miss you"

"And I miss you, little brother" you hugged him one last time

"Text me when you get home" he said once you put on your helmet

"Sure" you nodded as you started your bike

"See you later Duke! I love you"

"I love you too, (Name)" that was the last thing you said to each other before you left for your house

Duke sighed as he watched you leave, not looking back. He walked towards the entrance where the doors opened upon recognition and then walked a flight further until he reached the double doors of the large mansion.

Before he could knock on the door Alfred opened it and greeted him with his usual neutral tone of voice and a small smile which indicated to him that everything was going according to his plan.

"Good evening, young master" Alfred let him in

"Good evening Alfred"

"Master Bruce is waiting for you in the living room with young masters Dick and Jason" Alfred told him as Duke hung his jacket on the coat rack in the entrance

"And why are you looking for me?"

"To ask you about (Name)”

"You were looking for me Bruce?" asked Duke as he peeked through the door to the living room to see the three men sitting in the living room

"That's right Duke" nodded Bruce as he motioned for the younger man to sit

"Okay" he nodded as he took a seat next to Dick "What happened?"

"I need you to tell me everything you know about (Name)" Bruce told him

"And for what?" Duke acted confused

Bruce sighed. No matter how many times he repeated it, it always embarrassed him.

"I want to apologize to them"

"We ALL want to apologize to them" Dick corrected knowing that Bruce was not the only one to blame for this situation

"I have not been a good father to them, I didn't even try and now I see the consequences. My firstborn is away from this family because of me. I should have been more aware of them but I thought that since they weren't a vigilante, they would need less of my attention and now I see how wrong I was" he explained to Duke and then looked him in the eyes

"But you have been able to make a connection with them, and now I need all the information I can get from them so I can find them and tell them all that and more"

Duke sighed but inside he felt satisfaction seeing Bruce in that state, for all the harm he had caused his sibling.

A little punishment never hurt anyone, right?

But if he wanted you to come home then he had to help them, besides he still didn't know where you lived.

"Okay, but I don't have much information," Duke told him.

"We'll judge that," Jason said now, looking at him with a somewhat hard look.

Had he already discovered that he was now (Name)'s favorite?

That only filled him with more satisfaction.

"Okay," he nodded.

Before Bruce could say anything else, Tim arrived in the room, interrupting their conversation.

"Bruce, we've already identified the man."

They all went down to the Batcave and down there were Barbara and Stephanie talking and in the background, on the screen, they saw several pictures and information.

"What did you find?" asked Bruce as everyone approached the Batcomputer

"Well, the man in the picture with (Name) and their mother is (F/N) (L/N)" Barbara began to say "He studied journalism at Gotham University and he was married for 2 years to (M/N) (L/N) and gave his last name to (Name)"

"He died in an explosion caused by the Joker when (Name) was 4 years old, the same age they were when they came to the mansion" finished explaining Steph

Bruce already knew where he knew that man from. He had interviewed him several years ago. He was a very intelligent man and clever with words at that time which bothered him a little. From that interview onwards, the only one allowed to interview him was Clark or Lois, no one else could interview him.

But maybe if he had allowed (F/N) to keep interviewing him, maybe he would have known about his child's existence much sooner and maybe he wouldn't have made so many mistakes with you.

Just MAYBE…

"But isn't (Name) your child?" Dick asked Bruce confused

"Yes, they are" Duke said and everyone turned to look at him so he could continue talking

"They told me, today in fact. They told me about their life before the mansion. They told me that their mother met their father- I mean, (F/N) one day when he came to interview you Bruce" the young man turned to look at them

"And that in fact they're studying journalism like him because they were always inspired by what he did. They have a great memory" he said at the end with a tone of pride knowing that his brother/sister had many gifts even if they didn't realize it

"And how do you know all that?" Damian asked

"I spent the day with them today and they told me about it" Duke said as if it was no big deal

"You... You talk to them?" Tim asked as if he was trying to understand

"Yeah. They helped me a lot when I moved here" he explained

"You said he was studying journalism?" Bruce interrupted

"Yes" Duke nodded

"So if we don't know where he lives we can find out where he studies. Barbara, look up the records of Gotham University on all the journalism students" Bruce asked

"I'm already on it" Barbara nodded and then started typing on the batcomputer

"So... you two are close?" Tim asked Duke surprisingly

"I'd like to think so" Duke laughed a little nervously

"And what do you normally do with them?" With that question everyone started to pay attention even if they didn't look at him

"Well... It depends..." he said "Now that they don't live here anymore we go out to eat and to the arcade and even to the park. We mostly talk but before they left we spent a lot of time in the library, that place was their favorite of the whole mansion because it's more illuminated there. We used to read or they would tell me about some book and even gossip about their friends. From time to time, when you were busy they would train with me or we would also play video games. They are very good with technology and science"

"Did they train with you? Are they also vigilantes like us?" Damian asked for the first time curious about you

"No they are not vigilantes like us" that calmed Bruce down "But they are good at self-defense. They know how to fight"

"But how? I never taught them" Bruce asked

"They are your children Bruce, they are just as good at analysis and observation" then he walked to another monitor and looked for something on the computer. It was a video of both of you training.

In the video you had a sly smile that no one else besides Duke and Alfred had seen on you. While you were dressed in sportswear and some bandages on your knuckles. Duke was just like you, both looking defiant but not intimidating.

"Ready to lose?" Duke told you

"You wish" you smiled with a sly smile

Then you both started to fight, Duke being the first to throw the first blow which you managed to dodge. You both fought for a long time, neither of you giving up easily. After several minutes you both ended up on the ground tired and sweaty.

"Tie?" You suggested, stretching your fist out towards him

"Tie" he nodded, bumping his fist into yours

"You're getting better" you congratulated him

"It's not that bad" Duke said, a little embarrassed with the compliment you gave him

"Of course it is" you patted him on the back "You're getting better pretty fast, I know you'll be able to face Grayson and Todd soon, and maybe one day you'll even be able to match or be better than Bruce"

"Thanks, (Name)" Duke smiled at you

"Don't mention it" you smiled back and stood up

"Shall we take a break?" you offered him a hand to get him up

"Sure" Duke took your hand and stood up

And that was the end of the video Duke was showing them.

"Yeah, they're good training partners," Duke said with a smile.

"I found something," Barbara said, cutting off the tense moment.

Everyone focused on the screen Barbara was working on, looking at a picture of you on the screen and next to it your college information.

"(Name) (L/N), third semester journalism student at Gotham University," Barbara read.

"(L/N)?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, apparently when they turned 18 they changed their last name," Barbara nodded.

He didn't know anything about you, but he was sure of one thing and that was that he had given you his last name.

You weren't a (L/N)

You were a WAYNE

But don't worry, that would soon be fixed.

"But that's not the important thing," Jason said. "Where do they live?"

"They live in an apartment complex near the university" Barbara said

"Send me the address alone" Bruce ordered

"Bruce! / Father! / B!" everyone started to complain but Bruce silenced them with a look

"Don't even start" he warned them "I'm more than sure that if any of you have this information, they will immediately go looking for you but, we must avoid howling at them because they will most likely be furious with all of us"

Everyone looked at the ground at his words, all of them feeling a little bad.

"So let's wait a bit to face them. Now, everyone goes to rest, it's been a tiring day"

Reluctantly, everyone went to rest while the only ones left downstairs were Bruce and Barbara.

"Don't give them the information. It's an order" Bruce told Barbara

"Understood" she nodded

"Okay, now go rest" he said so the girl could go rest too

Then he turned to look at the big screen where your picture was.

You looked so much like your mother and seeing it from that point of view, he was happy, he already had enough with having Damian, who was already very similar to him. He couldn't wait to meet you again after 15 years.

Well as they say, better late than never, right?

Helloooo!

How are you all? I hope everyone liked this chapter! I'll try to post more frecuently. Anyway if you liked this chapter I will invite you leave a heart, reblog or interact in any other way as leaving asks or comments as I would love to heart your opinions and any sugestiones you may have for the story or even theories.

Thank you for reading! See you in the next one!

PD: I have put everyone that has told me to add them in the TAG LIST so please check it out to see If I have make a mistake or something hahahaha.

-Izadi <3

TAG LIST

@eyeless-kun @profounddestinyrebel @holyfishbailiffpeanut @toast-on-dandelioms @dhanyasri @kiarst @phoenixgurl030 @wpdarlingpan @glitterisname @sackofsadstuff @riddle-me-im-sirius @sirenetheblogger @bat1212 @bluelock4life @revysplacexxx @skz-goose @mistfire1999 @vanessa-boo @tatsuri-zomushiki @kore-of-the-underworld @milliu @lee-bits @ch1@ch1cky-093 @leiiasurez @bluemidnightmelodies @lilyalone @plsfckmedxddy @lovebug-apple @jisnothere @akanegotlost @stormz369 @sugarpiehoe @mddbsf @shhhhhhhhhhtellnobody @i-adorehannah @darktrashpoetry @fantasyhopperhea @d3sperate-enuf @expctron @horror-lover-69 @caffeinatedhearts12 @niggrroo @v3llev3t3 @cynniee @imhere2dosomething @verypersonadazzel @asillysimp @type-ink @wisefuncherryblossom @haruskrd @angelicbear @zoeyburton @twismare @bad4amficideas @casspen-starlight @gwyneveire @ferchu0406 @erinhan08 @yoopsity @aki-anikk @24-7aroundtheclockanxious @ferntv @hunter-hears-all @gwyneveire @yuyuzi-ling @shirp-collector-of-fixations @welpthisisboring @jellyedkazoo @mellowcloudland @rainwaterxx @lunaetiicsaystuff @ryuushou @butratherbutrather @tiredhealer5 @nemesis-writer @jjsmeowthie @a4g3lstarfire @chibikochannumberone @hayley1234 @thestarry-nightfox @kittzu @sillyheartmoonnyx

[snail-day]

Back on my bullshit about Jason Todd loving cry babies...just like his daddy

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Mentions of Murder, Blood, Crying. YEARNINGGGG

God, you're so fucking cute when you cry. Jason hadn’t planned on stopping tonight. Not until every loose end was tied and he was sure you were finally safe, away from every variable keeping you away from him. But then you looked at him with those wide, trembling eyes, bottom lip quivering, fingers curled into the front of his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you from crumbling to the floor.

And that stopped him cold. Didn’t matter that there was blood on his gloves or that his gun was still warm or even that you were crying because of him.

Because fuck, look at you.

He can’t help it. Tilts his red helmet off slow, like showing you his face will somehow makes this something softer. More honest. His sweat-damp hair’s flattened from the fit, black streaks curling messily over that furrowed brow. There’s a smudge of soot across his cheek, a cut splitting his bottom lip, where you knocked him good, but none of it hurts. Not really. Not when you’re looking at him like that.

So scared and pretty. So his to hunt down like prey in a city that could eat you whole.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, crouching slightly to get on your level. Blood squelching beneath his feet. His voice is gravel-low, tinged with something thick and warm. “You’re gonna kill me with those tears, baby.”

Your eyes flinch away. His gloved fingers tilt your chin back up. “Hey. Look at me.” You do.

“Thought you’d scream,” he says quietly, thumb brushing just under your damp lashes. “Thought you’d hate me after what I did.” He laughs, just once, dry and cracked. “Guess I’m worse than I thought, ‘cause part of me was hoping you'd cry. So you’d need me.” His voice grows softer. Intimate. “Feels kinda good, doesn’t it? Letting go. Letting me hold the weight for once.”

Jason leans in close, forehead pressing against yours, the cool edge of his Kevlar suit brushing your thin shirt. You can feel the heat of his body radiating off him, smell the smoke, the leather, the city still clinging to his skin. His blue, almost green eye, stormy, bloodshot, aching, stare right through you.

“I told you not to run,” he murmurs. “Told you I’d find you.”

And he did. Always would. Always will.

“Your folks. They were lying to you. Filling your head with shit, telling you I’m dangerous, that I’m bad for you. Maybe I am.” His voice darkens, but his hand stays gentle. Not pressing. Not forcing. “But I’m the only one who’ll love you like this. The only one who’ll burn down the world just to make sure you’re okay.”

The gun clatters to the ground at your feet. You sob. His jaw clenches, eyes softening as he pulls you close. “Shhh,” Jason soothes, cradling your face in his big, calloused hands. “No more running. No more lies. Just me. Just us.”

His lips - rough and dry from windburn, from too many nights on his bike, from biting them bloody every time you ran - press against your forehead like a brand. It’s not soft. Not really. There’s a tremble in it, like he’s fighting something off, something bigger than just want. It’s the need for you.

He lingers there too long. Breath hitching. Eyes shut so tight his lashes graze your skin.

You feel it. The way his body shudders, like he’s been holding it all in too long. Like the second he kissed you, really kissed you, even if just your forehead, something in him came undone.

"Y’know how hard it is for me when you pull that shit?” he murmurs, lips brushing against you with every word. "When you run? When you look at me like I'm the villain? Like I didn’t do all this for you?”

His hands grip your face tighter. Not to hurt. Just to anchor, the rough pads of his thumbs dragging against your cheek. To remind himself you’re real. That you’re here. That he won.

“Every time you disappear, I lose my fucking mind. I tear the city apart looking for you. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I bite through my goddamn lip thinking about what they’re doing to you. What you think I’d do if I found you again.”

He pulls back just an inch, eyes wide and glassy, jaw tight.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, baby. I’m not. I just…” His throat works around the words. “I need you to stop running. I need you to let me love you. I’m not good at this soft shit, but I swear to God, I’ll try if it means you stay.”

Then, softer: “You make me better. Just, please. Let me be yours. I don't want to be alone.”

For a moment, he looks like he might kiss you again. Really kiss you. Mouth trembling, eyes flicking to your lips with a desperation he can’t hide.

But he doesn’t, instead he’s waiting. Hoping. That maybe this time… you’ll kiss him back. Willingly.

Dc masterlist

[acid-ixx]

ch.5 pt 2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read under the end for an author's note.

tw: talks about death, prostitution, self-harm, trauma & ptsd, suicidal thoughts, and neglect.

the world was still spinning when you had awoken.

you didn't know if that was good or bad news alone. didn't even know what your current state could do now that you're in some room, subconsciously recalling between the gaps of memories that had caused you to be here.

lying down, with the painful throb of the holes within your body pinning you in place.

what happened?

breakdowns, booze, flirting, tears, comfort, gunshots, acceptance and death—

— lots of it.

all in the span of one night. one singular night which reigned in spilled blood and reopened wounds.

maybe you should've never made a stupid decision in the first place, the calculating, smarter, yet easily shut-down part of you scolds yourself. the events of the night were still fresh, enough to make both your heart and your head throb: were you finally sobering up, or does this ache come from a different type of pain, more painful, more heavily emotional than being met with death?

how long has it been since you were out? how long has it been since he saved you? since he...

the name tastes bitter in your tongue, it's been months, maybe even almost a year since you've last encountered him, let alone talked to him without being met with strained eye contact and cruel scoffs; a painful reminder of how your actions were what stuck the final nail in the coffin for your own neglect against the man, the brother you consider closest to you; despite it never being enough.

jason.

your last interaction was particularly unpleasant, an act of teenage hormones swelling in your very veins caused you to be spiteful towards him, ignoring his casual small talks in favor of refusing to offer your homemade treats and grabbing the jar of your favorite sweets - that you always meticulously and willingly give him whenever he'd make his rare visits - away from his prying hands.

you remember his offended tone, the sudden venom in his words as he asked, too mockingly for your own taste,  "what's wrong with you, angel? what's gotten you snappy these days?"

these days?

most days, it was you succumbing to his wants and needs. considering the treats he liked, the books he read, the movies he watched. all an effort painfully done if it meant having his eyes on you for just more than a second.

these days? just what had you done these days that warranted his offense? all you have done, all you ever did, was tag along everyone's tail, watching from the shadows, biting back the poisonous words, the tears that clung at the edge of your throat; ready to uncoil, to pounce the moment your envy unfurls even further.

these days? yeah right, these days, you just wanted to fucking die—

'cause highschool is shit, your life is shit, and you can't- just can't afford to play nice these days. not when they've all been so cruel, not when the people you look up to treat you lesser than the worms they step on when they spend time around the garden- your garden that you've carefully cultivated, all for your efforts to go to waste.

— but Jason won't understand, nobody could. not even alfred could comprehend just how worse your mood has soured. nobody's aware of just how close you are to your breaking point.

you glare at him for a second, wanting to retort, to swear at the sight of his knotted brows and frustrated pose, but the flicker of fight within you has just as quickly extinguished. your shoulders slumped, yet jason remains as rigid as ever in his seat, no amount of softness could be found in his expression, not even the softness he directs at you.

'he doesn't feel the same right now but—'

'there's no point in even trying anymore.'

ignoring the pang of regret in your chest, the urge to apologize with widened eyes, to pretend this was all a dream; you simply turned away in spite of the brimming tears, biting at your raw lips, to escape to another room.

afraid to show anymore weakness, afraid of the consequences, your hurried footsteps had echoed across the hallways.

you left the tooth-achingly sweet treats he originally intended to take by the table.

'he can have it for all i care.'

but are you sure you don't care? are you truly sure, when your chest spiked with frazzled haste just from hearing a familiar scoff - the one he directs to the people he despises - behind you? is it indifference when your hearing began to wring just to block out whatever vile words he spewed that day?

you want to apologize, you truly do, even if you're aware you're not much at fault, but rather him for being inconsiderate to your feelings, your foreign actions, he calls you his angel, but when his angel shows obvious hurt, he doesn't care?—

hah. but you just can't deal with it, with him any longer.

so you let it be, let him think you're just having your rebellious teenager phase, that you being a piece of shit in his eyes would pass eventually.

he wouldn't know, didn't even notice the bandages plastered across the expanse of your aching arms, the bags dipping below your eyes, or your frizzy, thinning hair.

with your last encounter, there was no more after that.

and if there were, you couldn't even call it that, for he was raging fire, and you a blistering snowstorm.

those were never meant to clash, let alone part.

thinking about it now, recalling what's gotten his mind on a twist, in your little, foreign mattress, with your eyes still shut close, lower abdomen still aching; it makes you want to die a little more at how much you never considered your feelings in the past.

you still don't right now - couldn't even make past your crippling self-esteem - but compared to last time, you at least maintained a flicker of dignity.

jason, meanwhile.

he- maybe he had a terrible day that day, you recalled his argument with bruce fresh on your mind that fateful afternoon. how tense and resounding the tension was in the room they'd fought. something over morals, over his still-burning need for justice by unfairly taking the lives of most criminals, bruce stated.

how it never quite changed, even until now.

it's the norm for all their little spats, the usual dynamic with their bated breaths and venomous words, their pitiful angst. how could you not remember, when it's dick who had to physically rip jason off from plunging a weapon on bruce's chin, whilst alfred's disappointed scolding hung in the air — whilst it's you watching in the corner, witnessing the entire scene unfold, useless when it comes to intervening because your words hold no impact for their dynamic?

maybe, just maybe, you could've been more considerate of his feelings when he'd blown bruce off, throwing him the finger before bursting off to the kitchen's pantry - to stressfully feast on the treats you carefully stored in, for moments like these, because he loves to thrash around the kitchen eating your baked sweets - to ruminate on his raging thoughts.

but if you could recall all the moments of his rage, how could he not recall his promise to bring you home some of your favorite dishes the night before that, then?

how could he not consider his so-called angel's feelings, when you had to adjust to his whims?

yeah, maybe you were boiling with rage that time too, not only due to the pressure of highschool, but at yet another broken promise. maybe you just wanted to hide away the tears, the looming expectations to act normal ultimately failing, which translated to your snappy behavior— but you thought:

'maybe, just maybe, my favorite brother, my closest confidant, could understand.'

you were wrong, you always were.

and for that, when you'd run crying to your room, another fresh scar was soldered in both your skin and your memories.

— a painful reminder of losing the closest thing you had in the world, just because you finally felt brave enough to show an inch of your closeted yet forbidden emotions.

your rebellion caused a permanent rift between your already drifting relationship, you despised yourself for that seemingly small, yet highly impactful mistake.

thinking about it now, in your crippled, nearly paralyzed state, makes you just want to forget.

— and remember the even more painful present.

finally, you compiled the strength to blink away the weight in your eyes. remnants of dry, salty tears were still fresh in the corners of your lids, throat parched, mind thrumming with dull pain and aching limbs— it reminded you of your unbidden nightmare just moment's ago; a stark contrast from its pleasantness compared to the damming reality you're actually in.

it felt like a fading memory, that dream, a looming freckled dust of air you couldn't quite catch in your stretched out fingers. how her gentle touch was like a cure to all your ailments, yet her hurried good-byes an eternal scar to the broken pieces of your heart.

oh, my momma.

how you miss her and her angelic presence already.

it never truly occurred to you how much the heavy weight of missing her stumped you from actually maturing. it was always her you mourn in moments of painful respite. her fading advices, her airy voice, her silent hums and warm presence. it was a whiplash to have her in such a wicked environment, in gotham of a places.

seeing her, in that cottage, in all her glory, wrinkles and aged, sagging skin surrounding the expanse of her angelic appearance. she was so young when she had you, and it was all you ever dreamed of— watching her gracefully age before you like fine wine, rather than those... those flashbacks of those bloodied tiles and the ichor dripping down her lifeless, icy lips.

damn be her reputation, she was your momma first, and prostitute, money laundering scam, second. thinking about her just makes you want to shut your eyes once more, return to that restless dream, and stay there forever.

rather than...

— your eyes switch to shuttering quickly, faded imagery still present in the fog of your vision. everything felt suspended in air except for the mechanical churn of the hanging fan on the ceiling, yet the furniture still present itself in shaped globs rather than actual three-dimensional objects. it took you nearly a minute to regain your sight, to finally hone in on your surroundings. albeit the haze and the adrenaline slowly pumping in your veins, your mind telling you to run despite the lack of sensation in your lower half, you slowly take in this...

this unfamiliar room...

a place displaying artillery, heavy weapons on the four corners of the walls, surrounding the dainty, one person cushion you lay on. there's an array of both fresh and bloodied gauze on the tabletop on your right, it seems to be used just recently, on you, probably. they're tightly wrapped on your lower half, you can see through the dark of your blankets and the feel of its restrictions on your guts.

strange how you're here, recalling the events of the night, yet it's still night now.

have you been out for an entire day?

and your phone and other essentials is on the same tabletop, you can even make out the table napkin containing conner's number still carefully tuckered behind your phone case. the faint waft of your favorite takeout caressed your nostrils, if not for the pain of having to carefully churn around the weighted blanket splayed on top of you; you might've sat up to dig in the savory meal.

but you can't focus on your hunger, not just yet. not when the dread overpowers your bodily urges, not when this entire thing feels like it's imitating a sense of normalcy; a room, reflecting the danger of the inhabitant living within, despite your foggy vision still, trying it's best to placate you into feeling safe.

but worse yet, the most dreaded of them all—

a room with your brother in it.

a room with the person you'd least want to deal with, not with just how much you haven't calmed down, how your final resolve was to avoid the very same people who'd always avoided you.

you couldn't possibly face them now, not ever.

not even the man you once came to call your favorite.

the holes in your body, now wrapped tight with gauze, throbs noisily, as if it senses the resounding doom wrapping around your heart, until it spreads across your entire body, now cold with caution. through your careful inspection of your belongings, through the noise of your frazzled thoughts, you haven't felt the dip on the bed you lay on. dim lights surrounded your vision afterall, the same ones still clearing up after hours of restless slumber.

and everything around you was unlike the specks of sun you were greeted with when you'd awoken from that dream.

dark and heavy.

your fingertips, your head, your injuries, the dip of the bed just now, his breathless haste; as if he waited for this moment, for you to slowly awaken, to return to consciousness.

an overbearing sense of desperation: his manic trance, the tusled locks of black and white hair, the faint shiver in his breathing.

and it's not as if you needed to second-guess the man now seated on the bed, he's so easily recognizable with his toughened form and muscles churning beneath his ashy jacket.

no, no, you want to close your eyes, pretend you're still asleep.

— but you can't, it's too late now that he noticed.

"... mornin', angel. you alright?"

he asks, silent and unsure, the question drifting off his tongue so gently, so hesitatingly as if he couldn't believe witnessing you breathing in front of him. warm yet burning with need for answers. and for a second, for a measly, quintessential span of time, you might've thought his raspy words were an aftermath of some tears.

he sounded so...

broken.

like a man torn from the inside out. the last you've seen of him, he'd already sported eyebags— but not too sunken, too tired like the current one you're staring at. like a washed out ember amidst winter, everything about him felt vulnerable...

it just makes you want to die on the inside— that- that you feel a semblance of care for someone who's hurt you far more than loved you.

the gentleness in his question, the hesitant stumble of his hands that came to bury itself into your tangled hair. the warmth that emits from his raggedy fingers hovering over the scalp of your head; it just made you feel fuzzy yet awful. the image of a brother and a stranger in front of you just blurs into a singular mess.

your vision spins, his hands are still awkwardly patting your head, as if urging you to speak, yet no reply escaped from your parched throat, from your dry, cracked lips. you fear whatever words might come next will just be a product of your impulsiveness— like the last time you met, like- like how you always fucked everything up, and you just did so the other night, and you're afraid of everything that might come after—

"i tried fixin' my apartment up just before you woke up... got us some takeout for dinner, too. it's your favorite..."

a hesitant smile, teethering on near gentleness that seemed impossible for a cruel man like him. jason looked almost like the brother you once knew as he coughs to himself, a poor attempt to wash away the awkward tension between you two. you're still silent between it all, not a single word mustered from your gaping mouth.

no.

your breath hitches—

your cold hands drive away his fingers entangled with your hair, shaky breaths make up the silent space between you two. he's not- not going to go about this way, would he? how could he?

no, this was not a moment to pretend. he saw you cry out there, under the moonlit night when the world was out for your life— you begged him, implied you'd rather die than let your savior be him.

you're hurt, everything still isn't fine between you two. not a single thread of softness will make up for the broken remnants of love he left you with. he can't act like the last time you met was a warm memory; not when it was filled with icy words and barely disguised contempt.

for a moment, you swore you could see a flash of heartbreak filling his stare. for a moment, you want to take your actions back like last time and become the younger you, but it's just for a moment.

these feelings don't last for a lifeline, not anymore.

"look, angel. i'm- you're not fine, still. it's the doctor's orders that you you need to eat, especially since you just got discharged and got all drunk on an empty stomach."

since when did he care?

ignoring him, your eyes dart elsewhere, ears purposely blocking out the meaning of his words, senses entangled with anything but his vulnerable stare. you look at the rickety fan barely blowing air on your messy hair, buzzing on top of dusty ceilings and shadowing dimly lit walls, at the spare armory scattered actoss the room - he could kill you with them, could end you with just a snap of his fingers - at the spider webs housing the corners of the apartment boxing you in with a man you dread meeting, let alone facing in a space you're far too unfamiliar with.

trapped and vulnerable; like a doe locked in place in a vast forest, surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves, ready to devour the closest thing in sight.

there may only be one you're dealing with now, but they're out there. dick and the others are out there with intentions to face you too.

and you don't know which part of you triggered this sudden desperation, this sudden link between you and your estranged siblings, but you hate it.

you hate this unfamiliar care. you hate the concern laced in every sentiment of jason's. it's unlike them, it's not them in your eyes.

and you hate how this resentment is overpowered by the shadowed by something more sinister, the one thing that dictated the course of your life—

one word: fear.

it wraps around your throat tighter than the bandages adorning your body. traps you in its clawing grip and molds itself in the form of your family.

fear of how to deal with their foreign worry, their questions lingering in the air with patience in its virtue rather than disdain. jason's unmasked face, thumbs softly massaging your unfeeling, cold fingers.

where you show a hitch of a breath, the widening of eyes, and the slightest of shivers. a hint of vulnerability, the softest of hiccups, the deep intakes of air—

instead of being met with a scoff, an offensive remark about your weakness, or a flick of worry immediately wearing away as dismissiveness takes place.

you're met with unfamiliar worry, the heavier dip of the bed, the splaying of bedsheets as jason's body moves closer to yours, the quick succession of movement as he takes off his jacket to loom over your- your shivering form.

just a little more, then your teary eyes meet its gaze on his crumpled jacket with its stench of cigarettes clinging in the air. your tired eyes shakily gaze at the layers of gauze wrapping your ever-bleeding body, and feel the ache nesting in its abode.

panic, unyielding; so much fear which rattles your bones and turns your muscles into useless jelly; which worries the perpetrator of these complicated emotions—

jason.

how do you pretend you're fine? how can you act so carelessly vulnerable in the domain of unknown territory; in a room, alone, but not quite?

it takes you back to when you were at your apartment, takes you back to when you try your damned best to ignore the sensation of panic and bile rising up your throat when you saw dick's messages. all in the span of less than a week.

your life is so fucked.

yet you choose to be inactive in facing these struggles, you choose not to run, or fight, but to ignore.

it's the only common symptom you share with your... your family.

just like now: anywhere but him.

you can't expend anymore hope—

"why, angel?"

confused, pleading, perhaps struck with grief. so unlike the man who scoffed at your lack of reply months ago. maybe he'd truly change, or maybe he felt pity at watching you nearly die before he could redeem himself.

it was his voice that cuts through the tension in the air. this time, he sounds like he's begging. for a second, your tired eyes run to him: him and his stupid worry. the nonchalant buzz in his words were no more, replaced by... betrayal.

for a second, you're reminded of your last meeting. the contrast of the cold past and now this burning sensation within your chest. then suddenly, everything hurts just a little more.

suddenly, you're back at the start. just the little kid looking for answers in a world too big for them. just the little kid who wanted to be good enough for their newfound family.

"for-for wh— what?"

god, even now the past still haunts you, the present crueler too. you and your stupid stuttering, your exposed and vulnerable aching heart that yearns for answers. why is jason hurt over seeing you hurt? why does he... care?

it's just so incomprehensible for you.

his worry is just too foreign.

under the pressure of his boiling gaze, which renders you useless and pinned in damp bedsheets, you simply feel bile rise up your throat. feel anything but comfort when both your eyes met. your teeth nibbles on your sore lips, and you find jason's wince, his almost tense fingers about to stop you from drawing out blood.

"you know what i mean." you don't. or rather, you don't want to know what he means. "why were you..."

'why am i out of the manor, right? in an unknown place in the middle of the night, drunk and alone? almost killed by my own stupidity? why? you know why, jason?'

you bite your lips, its raw, peeling skin opens up old scars anyways, and it bleeds like your raging heart.

'—it's because of you and all the others.'

you don't want to explain how they're the reason for all your burdens. how his sudden presence in that fucking alleyway caused more distress than nearly dying. why you're out in public wasting away at your life, avoiding anything that you can associate with them because, just because you're always hurting.

you don't want to be reminded of the past anymore. you never expected to be in one of your sibling's damn apartment, being interrogated, almost scolded for your impulsive decisions and forced to listen to his sickly bitter worries over your health as if he actually cared for you.

sweat ran down your bobbed throat. your tongue, your lips and your skin felt damp yet dry. cold and crisp air was a commodity, everything felt blazing hot under jason's expectant stare.

an uncomfortable heat, almost burning you, turning your bones to ashes and organs to dust.

"just—" his presence almost felt ghastly, fingers hovering over your downturned chin to softly tilt it up. your eyes felt blurry, and the world felt so... just so cruel when his other hands made its way to wipe away your damp cheeks.

were you... crying?

"just answer me, please."

jason todd, no, the red hood doesn't beg. he doesn't plead. the infamous crime lord doesn't gently swipe your sweaty hair to the side so it doesn't disrupt your already blurry vision. he hurts others, cuts their skin and veins, shoots their bones, rips their limbs one by one, tortures them until all they could beg for is the sweet release of death—

but he doesn't just care for somebody easily, right? he shouldn't burden himself with your own personal issues. he never has done so, only coming to you for casual talk.

what changed?

"i—" you gulp, but the lump in your throat remains everlasting. do you tell him of your worries? do you even trust him? can you even trust him?

"i don't know..."

'i don't know, jason... i'd rather not let you know anymore than you should have.'

"i-it's fine... don't worry about it." you added to your pile of excusing, shrinking in on yourself when his eyes squint at your words.

small. you feel like an ant taking in everything that felt particularly enormous against you. jason's body blocking out the city's skyline and the moon's watchful glow made everything dimmer, made it feel like your only choice was to go through him.

it doesn't help that it feels like every word you mutter, every breath you take, feels like a daunting action devoured by the inner workings of his mind.

why should you worry? jason never— he never truly cared this much.

whether you lie or not wouldn't change the outcome. just a little slip up and he'll leave you alone once more. just a few more minutes and he'll eventually give up, right?

so why are you nervous? why are your fingers picking at the skin of your palms? why do the tears just keep leaking like a faulty pipe? why is he— why can't he just stop staring at you—?

"you're lying."

"h—huh?"

"you're lying and it's obvious, angel."

he reiterates, this time, the tremor in his voice reaches the depths of the ocean. and just like an ocean, you feel yourself drowning in the pressure of his answers. you feel the heaviness of his words, feel it pinning you in place and locking your joints, until all you could hear are his paced breathing and the subtle agitation in his voice.

"wh—"

"why? why were you out alone, huh? what were you doing all alone at night? alfred wasn't even with you— you're drunk out of your mind, you're not even old enough to drink, angel. you weren't with- with anybody by the time i reached you— so why... just why?" this time, he demands. even if his questions were mere whispers against the blaring sounds of traffic from below; it still reaches out and buries itself into your skin, tickles the inside of your ears and nips at delicate skin.

until all you could focus on were his questions.

why?

'isn't it obvious, brother? or do you still see me as a little child?'

"when's my birthday, jason?"

it doesn't take much to know when you've turned the course of the tides to side with you. it doesn't take much to watch jason stumble between befuddled thoughts until he crosses a hurdle he couldn't jump through.

'it shouldn't be a surprise to you, jay. i thought you truly changed.'

nobody... nobody except alfred knew when you were born. not even your closest brother, no. you almost genuinely convinced yourself he cared, but the delusion quickly breaks when you find him wide-eyed as the thoughts churn in his head.

"what...?"

if he truly cared, then he should've known, right?

"—you... i'll answer you if you answer me back. when's my birthday?"

you call him out in that sickly, sweet nickname. it was what that past you called him. it's the same verse you chirp over and over again just to gain a traction of his attention when you feel his eyes drift over the book he's read rather than on you. the name you oh-so carefully drawl out so that he doesn't drift to sleep just so you'll be given temporary respite from the loneliness, so he could rest his fingers on your scalp and promptly hug you from the side.

it feels so foreign on your tongue now, after all, you haven't spoken to him in months.

the last note you left each other with was pure bitterness.

it feels even more strange that you realized how you know all their birthdays, but they never knew yours.

never knew it passed by so quickly under their radar. how you're free from the shackles of their ownership over your name. he doesn't... doesn't even know you're not a wayne now, no?

"do you even know how old i am now?"

"it's... you know, shit—!" he mutters under his breath. it's like he just realized how much he doesn't... couldn't even remember a crucial detail of you when it's you who knows all his favorite books, his favorite author, how his comfort snacks are different for every feeling he feels; hell, even his preferred places to smoke.

yet he doesn't even remember your birthday? couldn't even recall a single moment where you blew out a candle? in all the moments he visited, spending nights with you under the moonlight or through the shine of the library's chandelier; he never even thought of giving you a present, let alone wonder why how within those years of knowing you— jason couldn't even remember the most important occasion of your life?

he bites his lips, and this time, it's him who buries the tips of his fingers on the hastily crumpled bedsheets.

if he calls himself your brother, who thinks he has the right to worry over you, then is a brother someone who couldn't remember your birthday?

now that his eyes aren't on you, you're spared a moment to take him in through the hastening of your heart and the neverending rivulets of tears escaping your blurry gaze.

'ignore the pain, (name). you shouldn't be hurt anymore. you shouldn't feel surprised that he doesn't even know when you were fucking born."

but you can't bear the thought of him stumbling through his words, formulating excuses he knows you know you could easily reject. it just makes everything hurt even more, makes the endless ache in your heart thrum at the implications that this person— his worries were nothing when he has nothing, no care in the past to bare to you now.

"i'm eighteen now, jay..." his eyes quickly flit up to stare at you, mouth agape at the newfound information. what's the use in being shocked now? when all your other birthdays were dismissed and breezed by like a normal day for them— for your family?

and yet you know the answers to your very own questions.

eighteen is a quintessential part of someone's life.

it marks the path of adolescence, the descent to maturity as you learn to grow, to make your own decisions. some children move out of their parent's home to build a nest of their own, they find jobs, maybe even a partner to make or break a life with. people in america who turn 18 are still restricted from drinking, but most still choose to break some laws, fuck up with their decision, get shit-faced and party off with some fraternities and friends who'll turn their backs on you; and then regret it all later.

they build their lives, they go through ups and downs, and slowly bring themself back up again. there's no more gentle approaches, no more excuses for a developing mind. they go through so much in just a year.

and the most important of it all, is that most graduate.

and they weren't there for you, nobody was, save for alfred.

bruce wasn't there when you graduated, so it's no surprise that jason, or even the others, wouldn't come.

jason's still a dead man in the public's eyes, after all.

and even if he wasn't, what would've guaranteed that he'll still come to watch you walk up that stage? what would've changed, when the weight of your graduation and the future to come was thwarted by their worries over damian's? it was always him they— bruce prioritized, when he'd first enter the manor, all eyes were on the brazen boy.

when you first entered the manor, it was a rainy, desolate day. bruce was busy, of course he was, why wouldn't he be when he drowns himself in paperwork to distract the horrid reminders that his second son had passed?

and you don't know what hurts even more, the heartbreak in his stare, or the thumps in your heart that felt like footsteps stepping on the beating organ until all its blood is drained?

"shit, angel. i never knew... i'm— you're eighteen now and i didn't even know? fuck, how could i have forgotten it—"

"just, please save your excuses, jason..."

it's like he couldn't even believe you were old enough now, mature enough to comprehend how his excuses don't mean shit if his lack of knowledge towards your birthday ran on for years.

your sniffles weren't as silent as your words, it hurts, everything felt like fire. the world wants you to burn as your body felt like betrayal, your vulnerabilities stripped bare in front of him.

"i... appreciate your concern, but," it hurts to lie under your breath, hurts to hesitate, let alone voice out what you truly feel. it hurts to wonder why you're unsure if what he felt for you was worry, or just mere guilt over the situation you're both in.

the lines between all your emotions were blurred, you don't even wait to see his expressions anymore. you fear you'll revert back to the younger you, who considers the others before yourself, even when you've disillusioned yourself countless of times that you've changed.

you did, didn't you?

"you don't— you have no excuse to patronize my health when... when i know my limits and..."

"—i have to go, jason..."

barely a whisper. your words were barely a whisper, like the haste of thunder striking through metal rods though without sound, without thought, without hesitation; before your hands suddenly push all your weight to straighten your slumped form. your legs, which felt like blazing jelly, made an attempt to stand despite the burning sensation. you don't offer jason a second to register what you were doing, don't even let him see how your stomach bent enough to nearly reopen wounds—

god, fuck—!

it hurts, it fucking hurts so much.

your heart, your head, your entire body.

one second, you stumble, the gravity of your body fighting against the blistering, aching pain which shoots through your veins. all in one second, seering in your abdomen, like fingers digging deep into your injuries, twisting and churning until all you could feel is pain so absolutely revolting, so mercilessly cripping in your lower abdomen, that it seizes you useless, so utterly unable to capture your balance in the midst of standing, that your legs quickly give out on you.

then another second passes like a beat, all too quickly, yet all too slow for you as the world spins in your darkening vision, all the blood from your head rushing to where the holes lay in haste. your heart thumps like a drum in a warfield, like boots splattering on wed mud, sporadic, in near panic.

another second, the third, and just as you're about to stumble down, the pain so much that your eyes shoot out salty, ignorant tears. just as your body is close to thumping, writhing on the floor, jason catches you in his arms, grip so tight it almost felt like he'd refuse to let go. like how it was back in that shitty alleyway, like how it was, you felt trapped, trapped and forced to feel his sweating muscles churning mechanically, taut and tense through his thin sweatshirt.

close enough to feel that same, raggedy panic — the hitch of a breath, the loud thrumming in your chest, adrenaline shooting into your senses, your mind registers jason as a token of danger— emerging as your elbows make way to hit him square in ribs, only for his quicker, stronger palms instinctively stop you, his larger body locking you up in place, stabilizing you as you feel like you're hovering, suspended in thin, nearly charged air.

he's— he's carrying you, left hand respectfully gripping below your thighs, the other palm resting on your backside. it still hurts, everything does, nothing about you screams okay, only the slight subsidizing of pain as your brother, no, jason carefully puts you back down to sit on the bed, like you're weightless and made of feathers and— and vulnerable with how much gentleness he placates on instinctively hushing you, like a brother would to their injured sibling after a rough hour of playing in a sandbox of a playground.

the tears still won't stop.

through your quivering hiccups, high-pitched whines escaping the back of your throat at every subtle movement, at the thoughts that drown you the more time passes by— it hurts, it hurts so much you'd rather die, you'd rather be anywhere than here. does he know that, does he know the pain of looking at him, feeling him so close like never before is why you're so desparate to leave? does he know your heart beats erratically because you can never forget the moment you last met—?

— you don't even see, let alone feel the anger brewing off his chest, at the sudden, venomous words which escape his mouth next, like chains rattling, acidic bile brewing in a hot cauldron, nearly combusting at the seams.

you don't know that you pain him, don't know that you're his weakness.

and it especially hurts him when you refuse to look him eye-to-eye, refuse to see the tears rooting at the edge of his eyelids, at his teeth grazing his teeth until blood draws out in a steady flow, the opposite of the panic resurfacing into his body as he watches your dazed, breathless form trying to recover from what happened.

wordless. he despises that. how it's like your body repels him, head dodging his lips that hint at kissing your forehead. how you hesitatingly allow him to massage and help straighten the taut muscles of your bent legs— how you remain silent all throughout like you didn't just- just fucking attempt to stand, almost killing yourself despite his warnings.

he despises your not-so subtle avoidance that he just couldn't control it, couldn't control the burning rage brewing inside his heart that he just— just screams at you before he could compose himself.

"— fuck angel, FUCK! just what the fuck were you thinking?!"

jason wasn't always known for anger, he wasn't always the spiteful man everyone makes him out to be. he was sweet towards you because he knew you were innocent in the midst of batman's schemes, so it's no joke, no fucking joke how much he scares you off right now.

it scares you watching him fight others off, scared you when he shot those bullets at the man pinning you down, but you had a semblance of reassurance that it was never directed at you.

until now.

and now that you remain the spectacle of his anger, the sight of his widened, blown out eyes, his furrowed brows and clenched fists — you're so afraid, so fucking afraid he'll end up hurting you like damian, yet conscious of his actions. he looks like a painted demon before you, with clenched teeth and frazzled hair, and you feel like a dear caught in headlights — you feel another surge of tears, another wave of nausea drowning out his voice as your throat closes in on itself.

'stop, jason, please stop. you're scaring me.'

but you couldn't say the words out loud, couldn't even compose your body from quivering, fingers clenching the bedsheets in sudden instinct so hard it crumples on itself; as if it could help ground you, as if it could control the next, hurtful and loud words surging from his mouth.

as if it could cease time just so you wouldn't bear witness to his scary, monstrous rage.

"can't you see what you just did?! don't you know how— how fucking stupid and dangerous that was of you to just stand when you're still obviously HURT!? if you wanted to, you should've told me first instead of just suddenly pushing me away. what's wrong with you, huh?! what possessed you to just— JUST STAND UP AND LEAVE?!"

it's like he couldn't believe you. couldn't even make reasons why you did what you've just done. not even a tinge of comedic effect, not even any comfort laced in any word. not the jason you knew and loved, but a stranger whom you learned to call a friend, a brother that never was.

that's all he ever is, a stranger. all of them, living under the same roof as you.

and he was the same stranger who nearly fought you if not for you leaving that kitchen.

— it was the same old scoff he gave you all those months ago after talking, the same old squinted eyes and generous rage. yet this time it's enhanced with something else, something more personal, something way scarier than just being a spectator.

you always wanted to revolve around his life, but never this way.

it hurts, doesn't he know that?

doesn't he know how much his words just hurt you more than the dull ache in your abdomen? can't he see it too? how you're backing away to the corner of the bed until your back hits the headboard, despite all the pain spreading throughout your body?

if- if he cares so much about you, shouldn't he have known that— that you're sensitive to everything he just said?

bile rises up from your empty stomach, and the tears that keep surging out your eyes refuse to stop; yet it's your words run faster than your thoughts. then suddenly, all too suddenly, everything just snaps.

suddenly, your consideration for him doesn't matter anymore.

not when you never mattered to him, right?

and it feels like a part of you broke tonight.

"... what's up with you, angel?! answer me! first you're drunk off your mind when i find you out in the alleyway, bleedin' to near death, and when i try to help you before it's too late, you come begging me to not take you to the manor. did somethin' happen, huh?! why in the name of lord are you rebelling all of a sudden?! why are you fucking—"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MY DAMN SIBLING ANYMORE, JASON!"

it just won't stop. the pain and the tears and all the words spilling from you won't stop and everything- shit, everything is spinning but you can't stop now.

it hurts. saying those eight words hurt, but it's the truth.

and the truth fucking hurts. what right should he have worrying over you? what right does he have to criticize your life now when he's only been there for you when he needs it?

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS ANYMORE JASON! STOP— STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU CARE—!"

fists clench at the bedsheets bring itself up to tangle upon your matted hair, and you pull and tug and rip off the strands, biting your lips to quell the anger, the pain shooting across your scalp, your fingers stinging with every snap of the strands. shivering and trapped, and useless in fighting back; why are you like this? why does he keep watching?

you close your eyes. for what? so that all you could hear are your ragged breaths, the only thing you can hear every time you'd have reoccurring nightmares? so that you could return to that lonely child, to the lonely teenager you once were?

the lonely, scared child you still are?

'since when have you ever cared, jason? since when? since when has anybody ever cared?'

your voice trembles at the ends, you can't afford to look at him, burying yourself deeper into the mattress as if that alone can melt you until you were nothing, just so you wouldn't have to deal with this neverending heartbreak.

"stop... just please—" you bite your lips, but it does nothing to quell the overwhelming panic, the spiralling thoughts, the blazing emotions. your knees are pressed against your chest, fingers now scratching at your heated face.

until it bleeds, until it all bleeds.

you open your eyes, an array of tears come bursting off your sore eyelids, your cheeks feel considerably swollen, yet you just can't stop fucking crying. it worsens even more when your wobbly vision turn to look up at him, at his unbelievable stare, at his widened, ocean blue orbs, dull and almost unforgiving.

'this isn't the jason i knew.'

"just why, (name)? why?"  hearing your name roll off his tongue, instead of your usual nickname hurts, hearing it with such rage, contempt, like he's directing his hatred at you for something you couldn't control— god, it hurts.

"what do you mean by all this? i'm- i'm still your damn brother—" he says, as if it's a matter of fact, as if nothing between you changed the last day you saw him, as if he didn't know the reason. if he was your brother, then why does he sound so diffident, then?

why does his voice tremble? why does his care taste foreign against your tongue? why does he stand there, as if hesitant to even approach you?

"and because i am your brother... i have every right to care for you now—"

"i was never important then... so why do i matter now?"

"— what?"

"why do i matter so much now than before? how come i never deserved your care before?"

"angel, please. what the hell are you talking about—"

"JUST FUCKING ANSWER MY QUESTION, GODDAMNIT!"

all that you were, all that you ever are, was just a distraction for jason to bide his time with, weren't you? all he knew about you was that you acted as his entertainment, a quiet little kid who listens more than they ever learned to speak, who purposely read all the archived books in the manor's library, waiting every month for their favorite brother to visit. even if it was just for minutes, even if he'd leave you right after, escaping your boring rambles, because of course he'd prefer the fucking batcave over your silent, expectant, always yearning eyes.

all you ever wanted, all you ever did, was just be.

do what you thought they wanted you to be, not what you wanted yourself to be. baking because you knew they loved to raid the fridge for snacks after missions, drawing because your mother always praised your messy sketches, even if it was nothing compared to damian's now, dancing, ballet, gymnastics— going as far as trying to learn how to fight, giving up halfway through because you'll never progress with just how much you're juggling other extracurricular activities.

all that, just to be what you wanted to be for them.

even if it was never enough, even if your rare a plus', the occasional gold medals, the praise and acknowledgement from your teachers, even alfred's suggestion for bruce to just, please, take his time of the day to talk to you— all those achievements shine dully compared to your other siblings.

and you've long since accepted that it was all that you ever were. just a mere tool, ever-so-useful, yet ever-so-forgotten by all the other convenient ones.

all that you are, all that you ever were. but all that you ever wished for, was to be his child, their sibling.

but that was never possible, you've accepted that. you branched off, left and never came to look back because you knew you'll just be trudging another path of pain.

...

so why, why does he care so much now?

why, for the first time in your entire life, does it pain you more than it comforts you that he finally called himself your brother?

why, just now, does he say it to your face, when he never once did so all those years ago?

why does he pretend to be so shocked in front of you, wide-eyed and frozen, relinquished in guilt? why does he stand there, breathing, trying to compose himself as if your words ever held any weight on his chest? why can't he just understand, why can't he just let you go as easily now?

why do you still cry after all these years?

why do you still pretend that none of these... these issues mattered anymore in your heart?

why do your fingers still forcefully pierce into the mattress, grounding yourself to reality? why can't you rip your eyes away from jason?

why does his care break your heart more than it does fixing it?

you've always wanted this, didn't you? you've always wanted to be finally acknowledged, yet it still hurts. your throat still closes in on itself, like fingers clawing and constricting your airways, your breathing like jet missiles vaporizing mid air.

and yet all the pain, all the yearning and destesting for a love so passionate were still overpowered by the senseless need for answers.

'jason, why do you still try?'

"angel, calm down you're—"

on the verge of a panic attack? hands suddenly beating at your chest, tears neverending still streaking your sore cheeks and bitten, bloodied lips?

his hands reach out to grab yours, yet you slap his palms away, ignore the stinging sensation that came after; and back away to a corner. like a reckless animal, like the same young child hiding behind closet doors, biting back tears yet desperately failing.

you're both at your breaking points, you both refuse to back down this stupid game of cat and mouse.

"just calm down, please—!"

"NO, I WON'T— you don't fucking understand it, jason!

— i don't need your help, or anyone else's anymore! you have never been there for me! never been there for all the times i suffered because of your death! so don't even try to make a difference now!"

before he could even refute, before he could shout and cause another wave of panic, before he could break you even further—

"... so why do you care now?"

you couldn't even face him, too afraid to see his reactions churning. he shakily breaths, fog encapsulates the air around his parched lips. and you're reminded that it's almost winter, that your heater in your apartment is broken, that you'll be freezing underneath your thin blankets, eating off cold meals— that it's another one of those months where you're reminded of the privilege you've both lost and gained after leaving the manor.

you've lost your last connection to jason, so you thought, yet he's here in front of you now. he's here, and rather than wanting him to be here, you'd wish it was a dream instead.

you wished he never cared, for his next words stabbed you more than it did made you feel cared.

"i care, (name). because you were drunk when i got you, you were impulsively provoking the same guys who nearly killed you. because what? it's easier to escape that way?. i care because you've done something stupid, you nearly died because of your recklessness! my younger sibling did something stupid and it's my responsibility to worry over you, worry over your overdramatics! you're still fucking eighteen and you're already wasting away your life—!"

"that's why i fucking care for you, because you're my burden alone and nothing changes that!"

what...?

overdramatic? impulsive and reckless? is he serious? is that all you ever were to him? he cares because he thinks you're still that stupid, innocent child chasing after him? is that what you are? is that all you ever amounted to him after all the times you spent sleepless nights reading the books he recommended you? all the hours burning your fingers just to perfect his favorite lunch?

just that?

just a burden?

and he just stands there, so cruelly imposing, hands crossed like he's right and you're not. tears equally streak his ragged face, dripping all the way down his sharp jaws and wobbly chin. but his brows are furrowed, eyes still squinted at your body, weaker than his.

like all he feels is rage towards you, like everything's your fault.

while you're just sitting in his bed, limp and utterly unable to stand without his guidance.

and you hate this, hate being reminded that just like last time, you used to depend on him alone.

"how dare you, jason? we... i've always been so good to you... i've always done what you always wanted, i—"

this time your heart aches differently. it's not the subtle panic stinging your beating organ, not even regret shrouding your thoughts. but a painful, stabbing pain; slow and cold. your nose is clogged, your teeth rigidly grinding, the ball of your joints feel like they're pressing deeply on each other— everything just hurts.

his words feel like a knife slowly twisting inside your guts. not even the salty, warm tears feel worth crying out anymore.

it's just silent understanding, a painful acceptance.

of your pain and all those wasted summers and lonely winters.

your hands grip the headboard as you shift your weight to the uninjured side of your abdomen. you glare at him when he almost hurriedly attempts to help you, but through silent puffs of effort under your breath, you're already standing, right hand gripping nothing on the wall as you lean on it.

it still hurts, god, the burning sensation won't boil down at all.

— but you want to face him, head-to-head. you want him to face his burden. if he wants to understand you, if you want to understand him— there's no use hiding behind a semblance of comfort.

because more than anything, you just wanted a family. you just wanted to be part of their family.

yet now you've come to realize that maybe you were just a burden all along.

"it's- it's so unfair..."

your voice cracks at the seams, but there's no use composing yourself anymore. no use in trying to look decent in his eyes when all you ever were was a problem to him, to everyone else, right?

"out of all the times i nearly got killed, jason... you decided to save me by the time i accepted my death...?"

maybe your mother would've sided with jason, only for the part that she wanted you safe and sound rather than dead. but she's dead now, you wanted to be dead because it meant you'll finally have her at your side.

and it feels so cruel to be stripped away from that honor, that merciful gift of life, from the very same brother whose death caused you more turmoil than anything.

"—this isn't the first fucking time this happened to me, jason, and it wouldn't be the last."

your voice was barely a whisper, barely a recognizable tremor, but it speaks volumes of your desperation, of what could've been if he didn't intervene. of what wouldn't change despite it all.

you'll still be dead afterall. this is gotham where you're living. and you're not a priority to the vigilantes, not anybody important to the family.

even if his expression shifted to shock, even if you find an ounce of softness throughout the exterior of his fragile agitation; is it not true?

he takes a step forward, but your hands shoot out to put distance between you two. even if it pains you to see the confused heartbreak in his eyes at your refusal, you don't want him any closer, you fear you'll submit to his whims if you do.

you can taste blood in your tongue, but you swallow it all like you're swallowing all the bitterness you feel, you drown this ache in your heart, replace it with temporary assurances that this will all end, that jason's stubborn attempts of placating you is just another attempt to draw you closer, only to push you away in the end.

... and yet he's still trying even after what felt like minutes, maybe hours, stretching between you two.

jason still keeps trying, while you're close to giving up.

"why are you like this, angel? what happened between you and bruce? did he hurt you—"

"nothing happened—" you're lying, but not quite so. you're lying but it's not a lie when you mean nothing, literally nothing, happened between you and your father. that's the worse of it all, you and bruce never had a moment together, never had any memories to cherish nor times where he comforted you through the trauma of it all.

that painful reminder just makes past emotions stir within you.

of those cold nights, the barren hallways and alfred's countless excuses for bruce's absences.

"i have my personal reasons, jason." you seethe through your teeth. it hurts to admit your feelings to him, hurts that your drying tears are still overlayed by a resurgence of new ones. "it involves you guys... you and the others; but it's nothing now. it doesn't matter now and you know it..."

"... no i don't, angel. and no, it's not nothing. because if it was, then what's all of this for? what do you want from him, from me? that caused you to act this way...? to act so selfishly, trying to rebel like us when you've always been a good kid, huh? god, (name), if you just wanted his attention, to be his favorite—"

"— then there's so much better ways, angel. than being like this... being someone that isn't you."

he truly never knew you well at all, huh?

considering everything that happened tonight, you thought he did, but fuck...

hearing all those assumptions come straight from him just destroys you inside out.

"jason... please listen to me."

cutting him off, it's both an act done to just stop him from rambling any further, stops you from just— just irrationally ripping your ears apart so you wouldn't have to hear it anymore; hear all those disillusioned excuses, those painful words ripping you apart at the seams.

he looks at you, at your weak hold against the edge of the bedframe, at the hushed, shivering breathing, at your downcast, almost resigned eyes. you don't reciprocate his worried gaze, you just... don't.

"i don't want to be his favorite... i never wanted to be— fuck!"

"why do you assume all this, jason?" you faintly glared at him, but that flicker of the fight blew off, and you returned, looking at your feet, speaking through your beating heart, your irrational thoughts of shutting down, if not for the faint stench of smoke grounding you, if just by a fraction.

"i never wanted to be an athlete like dick, or as academically talented like you, or some crazed detective like tim, or as skilled as an assassin like damian! i don't even have the determination steph has or barbara's perseverance to continue fighting alongside all of you! i can't even reach cassandra's level of fighting, and i certainly don't have powers like duke!"

there it is again: the envy, the spite, and the undertone of yearning in your words. maybe jason was right, maybe you're still the young, good kid afterall. but good kids still do bad things, good kids can still feel and fuck, you feel a plethora of negativity mentioning all their positive traits, while you have none.

you have nothing, not even a small merit to offer.

"— all of you guys are so fucking talented, and here i am, so pathetic for thinking i can reach the same level as you all when i can't!"

the medals are useless compared to damian's success in topping the entire gotham university. the certificates for placing indancing competition were none the more important than cassandra's ballet recitals. your research projects that you've spent nights crying on, was it all that relevant when tim always one-ups you within just a day of data-gathering?

so what makes you special, what makes jason think you'd even try to be bruce's favorite in the first place, when you're absolutely useless?

"—so i just can't, jason! how could i have the damn audacity to desire being bruce's priority when each and every one of you are beyond my level?!"

untouched breakfast, thrown away lunch, cold dinners. thrashed out backpack, unsharpened pencils, inkless pens, wornout diaries, bandaged arms and sleepless nights. your life was a cycle of constant wanting, of constant attempts to earn your place. even if there were moments some of them looked at you in pity, it was never enough to warrant their comforting words or even just a pat in the back.

the last time dick has ever looked at you was the first time you met.

and in those moments where you wish you were as forgettable to damian as you were to others, he'll remember to always remind you of your place.

maybe you were like them, in ways where you're always trying but never enough. in ways where their attention on you was never enough too. you need something from them, they needed something else from you too.

"angel..." you don't have to look up to know the air has changed. that wretched nicnkame plastered itself back into his mouth. this time, he said it softer, like he's come to a realization, like it was enough to draw you out of the caverns of isolation you've kept yourself in.

but before he could speak again, before you'd get lost in those memories of the past—

"i never wanted to be bruce's favorite, jason..."

"i just..."

your eyes soften, as tears begin to spring from your eyes, red and swollen, and you let them. you look down at your unclenched hands through blurry vision, and find indents of crescents present on raw, battered skin— and it's enough to make you remember your childhood, enough to deepen the heavy weight of conflict drowning your heart.

when you look up to jason again, you bite your quivering lips, just to silence the ugly wail brewing from your chest. he looks at you, as equally befuddled, as heartbroken.

"... i just wanted to be his child." the sentence comes out your lips, so silent, so broken and lightly pitched. it speaks volumes of wanting, of yearning, of years begging for even a sliver of love offered on your way. it felt like it was the younger you speaking to him, begging him to fucking understand how it was never about just wanting attention—

it was about wanting to just have a family. people who should've loved you, saw you through the veil of your reputation, yet chose to love you still.

because they're family, they're your family. and all that mattered to you was family.

how hard was it to understand that sentiment?

"i just want to be loved because i'm his child, not a charity case, or because he's doing this for my mother..."

you remembered those nosy paparazzi's stalking you even in elementary. they ask you how it's like being adopted by the bruce wayne, how it's like living a life most orphaned children dreamt of living; how lucky you must be, having a mother who's come to share a bed with him, that your life must be so full of luxury because bruce took pity on you and your poor, whore of a mother, right?

they didn't know it was alfred, the estate's butler, who'd suggested adopting you. and with a flick of bruce's wrist, a slight furrow of his brows and a dismissed thought of you, you were brought in the manor.

it was never bruce who considered you, maybe the paparazzi and journalists slowly came to realize that after discovering your father is nowhere to be seen beside your side. maybe that's why they slowly dissipated away from you year by year, leaving you as lonely as ever.

'and now,' you thought, 'bruce still doesn't care for me at all.'

that hurts.

"i just want to be selfish for once... i want to see him the same way he looks at you back then, every damn time he stares at your grave, while i watch by the fucking windows, wishing it was me he looked at."

despite never meeting jason from back when he was robin, you mourned for him too, you prayed for his soul the same way you prayed for your mother's. it helped you disillusion yourself to believe you mattered, sitting beside his grave by the gardens despite the rain pouring downcast and staining your clothes. it helped you think you were becoming closer to bruce.

"i wanted him to look at me jason! think of me as someone as important as you, even just a semblance of it...!"

you tried so hard to imitate them all. dick's athleticism, cass' elegance, tim and barbara's elite-level knowledge on the digital world, duke's cunningness when it comes to puzzles, damian's strategies and steph's awe-inspiring rebellion paired with sarcasm. you try to emulate it all, waking up early every day, schedule packed with activities in each corner of the manor just so you'd have a chance of finding bruce in the same room as you; but it just never was enough.

"god, i don't even want him to see me as a priority, i don't want him to see me and think that i'm the best damn thing in the world. i know i'm not, jay. i'm not perfect, not even half as good. but i just want him to stare and think, 'this is my child,' without any second thoughts, without any regards for my dirty fucking past."

there was one moment in your life where you almost despised your mother. almost. you blamed her for birthing you, for having you as her child, for bestowing you this curse of being unloved, as only being acknowledged as the woman who stole from others: a bitch, a prostitute who got pregnant too early, a lady with a sullen reputation bleeding into the present of her child.

you nearly hated her, you wish you never did. she was your only light, the memories of her was what kept you alive, and you dim that light off, purposely try to blow off the shining embers that gleam for you just because you wanted the love and attention from a family that was never yours.

and you nearly worked yourself to death because of it.

"jason, i just wanted to... to go through the normal things a father does with his child. i wanted him to love me, even just for the tiniest bit. is that hard enough to fulfill? am i just too high maintenance for him that he can't— can't even deal with me after you died? tell me, jason—

"—am i just the burden of an aftermath?!"

a small of you nearly excused bruce's neglect for his mourning of jason. but that mourning extended even after his resurrection. and slowly, the more the members of the family piled up, you figured it all out.

it was you that's unlovable.

and no matter what, you could never truly accept that fact.

not even as you cry out your woes to jason, not even as your voice cracks and breaks at every syllable, at every spilled word tinged with bitterness, with pain so deep it cuts through your already bleeding heart.

"i just- just wanted to be part of the family. i just wanted to eat takeout with you that day- wanted to forget you fought bruce— forget everythin' just to bond with you 'cause you never gave me enough time in your already busy day. so why can't i? why can't i have the things everyone else had? is it too entitled of me to say that i just wanted your love? am i too demanding if i just wanted a family?!"

"is it so hard to love me?"

"tell me, jason! just, fucking tell me, please..."

your fingers' grip on the edge of the headboard nearly slipped, your sniffles were unbearably loud, a reflection of the thrumming beats of your heart nearly escaping out your chest in the form of shrieking sobs.

he finally speaks, unsure. he still stands in his place, but you're crying too much to even care.

"no, no of course not. it's not... you're not..."

"i'm not what, jason? not your sibling, not bruce's child? 'cause that's what i've felt like this entire fucking decade! and now that i've left everything behind, you all suddenly want to pretend like i was never unnoticed back then? that all my damn efforts to be good enough was finally acknowledged just now—?"

"why can't you just answer me, jay? why does nobody want to give me answers?"

"... why can't anybody just love me?"

it felt like heartbreak on both your sides. like a thread snapping, jason was as quick to retort—

"we do love you, angel. i do...! i love you so fucking much that i can't handle seeing you in pain. so please let me take care of you, just... just let me handle all of this, please."

— but you can't believe him, not anymore. it hurts falling for his lies, for his words and false reassurances. he can't even promise you takeout back then, what more does his 'i love you's' do you now?

"no, no you can't care for me, jason. not anymore... you're not my brother anymore, you guys aren't family to me anymore..."

is it betrayal in his eyes, or something far deeper? is it unadulterated anger at what you'd said? why can't he just accept your words? why can't he just accept there's nothing in between you anymore other than those past memories long gone?

"... yes, yes we're family. i care for you. just let me show you i do, angel—"

"... we're not even siblings, we're not. we're just strangers to each other.—"

you whisper softly through your damp lashes, throat sore after all the screaming. it doesn't calm down the momentary adrenaline rushing through your body, though. it doesn't, all these reassurances are just a temporary distraction.

"that's not true, angel. don't even... don't even think of saying that—"

"take me back, please. just please take me back to where you last found me. i'll find a way—"

you want to go home, you want to sleep your way through this pain. but jason proves himself to be stubborn, just like his father. and you are, too; anymore of those similarities, anymore and you'll bash your head to the walls just so you could forget.

"no, angel..." he retorts just as quickly, suddenly imposing, suddenly back to square one where it's all him, all his words that matter with no regard for yours. "who the hell says i'm letting you go back there?! that's suicide!"

but you don't matter, don't you? so that automatically means he shouldn't pretend like your life matters, too.

"... i don't care, just please! jason, i'm begging you...! just do this one single favor for me. i can't..."

'i can't go back to the manor...'

just saying it in your thoughts alone makes you sick with nausea. because that means returning to yearning, returning to those sick nights filled with broken diary entries and dick's huff of dismissal, damian's weapons pointed at you, tim's click of the tongue and just... that inflicted, neverending pain.

"you're hurt, angel, you won't survive out in the dark like that. i'm sure as hell not taking you back there. we're going back to the manor—"

"NO! i don't want to be there! that's not where i live, not anymore, no take me back home...!

anywhere... anywhere but there. anywhere but that wretched cage.

"please, jay!"

you call him by his nickname, nearly yanking yourself to his side if it weren't for your legs keeping

"if you don't want me to... then let me go and i'll call a taxi or something—! whatever...! just not—"

"—not there..."

"and if i bring you back to that apartment, what now? you're gonna commit the same old mistakes, you're going to hurt yourself!? you're gonna get yourself killed, break another limb, use more than just crutches to support yourself and get yourself hurt all over again?!"

"NO! i won't, jay... i won't bother you anymore. just not there and... not with them—"

"... not with you, please."

it was a mistake on your part, to audibly whisper out those last words. and yet it was unfixable, you can't take back words once they're said, jason can't take back all the cruel statements he made your way that day, and yet it's him who's offended, who tears up, who heaves and nearly shrieks at you, uncaring for the neighbors living below.

"why are you trying so hard to push us away?! push me away right after you.. you opened up?!"

"because we're not family anymore, goddamnit—!"

"why are you so goddamn stubborn?! care for me, care for me like you care for all those strangers getting mugged in the street! not as my brother—!"

"i am your brother!"

it hurts, your chest hurts, your throat, your wobbly arms and your unfeeling legs. yet what hurts the most is that you just can't accept it, accept all the words he throws your ways. can't accept how you've both changed and it...

it just hurts...

"and i care for you, more than you can ever fucking imagine, so don't... don't fucking push me away! not especially right after i almost lost you!"

"god..." suddenly, he resigns through a sigh.

why, just why, is he calming down now?

"i'm such a fucking dick to you, aren't i? i know i don't deserve you. nobody deserves you and your forgiveness, angel. you've always been so good to me- to us...

"i'm so fucking sorry. for everything. for leaving you behind after that day, even being an asshole to you after. for ignoring you all those years, for breaking every damn promise i made like you were nothing, for realizing all of this just right after you nearly died, in my arms."

his voice breaks at the last words, as if the reminder of what transpired last night permanently left a broken fixture in his memories. as if thinking about it is enough to destroy any bite in his argument.

"you don't— you don't deserve any that—"

"i'm— i'm so sorry, angel."

that was all you wanted to hear, all you wanted to be said throughout the layers of defensive, reckless statements he threw your way.

heavy were the unspoken words that hung in the air. heavy were the unbidden promises he forged himself to ensure but ultimately failed to do so, that were all meant to repair his relationship with you. heavy were the tears that streaked both your cheeks, the unsung arguments, the fists that curl, fingers that bite at indented skin until it bleeds.

"— I should've noticed sooner, i should've known you felt that way."

"i know, jay. i know," your mind, your mouth, they both betray the words your heart wished to speak, but you lock that beating organ out before it forces you to mutter something else. you feel too faint, from the tiredness coursing through your body as an aftershock of your injury, the throbbing of the holes in your body, and the intensity of your emotions.

'i know you know that, and i wished you did something about it when you knew you had the power to change all this—'

'all that were are, all that we were.'

you wanted to tell him, but the sentiment tastes bitter on the expanse of your tongue, as if confessing it would scorch you and your aching brain even further. you just couldn't anymore, you couldn't break both your hearts.

heavy were the emotions uncurling beneath both you and jason's chest, boiling and spilling, until the only words you both could mutter were the ones that scald your aching hearts.

"jason, i'm- i'm still hurt."

"i know, angel. let me take care of it, of you. just let me do this, just once."

he takes a careful stride towards you, a knot forms in your brows and in your stomach. it curls inside your body when his both his hands grip your forearms, gently, like you're made of glass, to push you to softly sit on his mattress.

made carefully, cleaned neatly for you.

you never thought you were worthy enough to have a bed made for you.

— you don't even allow alfred to clean your own room because you don't think you deserve it.

silence ensues, only the squeak of his shoes sliding against the floor, his panting breaths, your unstable intakes of air, and the hinge of his bed were heard, drowning out the swears of the citizens from below his apartment complex and the thumping of car horns.

it's just the two of you, in this room. you and jason, just like the moments spent under the roof of the manor.

you don't fight against him, don't push him away like you did so earlier, in favor of relinquishing your control, your pain, to his squinting, wandering blue eyes that trap your body, at his calloused fingers running across the expanse of the lumps in your arms.

and in that moment, under the sheer glow of his apartment's flickering lights, under the watchful gaze of the restless city nights, of the lamp posts gleaming in the streets; you both looked a little more like each other for every passing second, every passing moment after you'd scream your woes, after he'd retort and retaliate with his excuses, his reasonings.

you had his vengeful glare, staring daggers at him as he took in your wrapped wounds. he had your silence, desperate and aching pleas. you stuttered like him when he chases after words tangling in his parched mouth. he bites his lips like you when he couldn't find the right words, bounding his hands to his delicate strands of hair to pull in agitation, just like you always do.

and both of you were- were good...

a good soldier and a good child, lost in the weave of dreams, expectations and broken, unfulfilled promises.

it reminds you of how he was the only brother you truly had a bond with, of how truly close you were to him, shared moments of brief laughter with, a respite, a paradise without the need to chase after his presence, all done in such short moments, moments that could never be enough to quench your aching thirst for love and familial attention.

he finally speaks after taking his seat beside you, muscled arms wrapping around your shoulders. he broke the intangible silence, with knotted brows and sorry, pleading eyes that look at yours. it made you feel trapped, in his arms and in his mindful apologies, it reminded you of the manor.

"i could've been better for you, angel. i should've known, i'm so fuckin' sorry, i—"

"i know, jay. i know, please..."

please stop. no more, you don't want to hear anymore,. you don't want to dream, to fantasize what could've been.

— because that meant drowning yourself in the past, that meant running back to chasing after empty promises.

and yet...

the more you think, the more the possibilities unfold in your thoughts.

a bitter part of you wished it was him who had welcomed you into your home, into the manor. you wished it was him, not alfred, dick or bruce you'd chase after, wished he was alive when your fleeting dreams were too. the child in you wished his assurances were what graced you in such an early time. just so that, maybe, just maybe, your throat wouldn't close in on itself every time you're reminded of your solitary past, a past lost and without a cause because of his passing.

running after dick, acting as his invisible silhouette, hearing the empty yes's on your invitation for him to come visit your room. tugging on bruce's sleeves whilst his eyes flit elsewhere. knuckles rupturing on the door of tim's room, only to be greeted with a silent hm, and a plea for you to come the next time. hands shakily holding a heavy tray of arabic food you learnt to cook for your younger brother, just for the same bowl to scald and prick stickily against your reddening skin

— you wouldn't have to do all that, if you had at least one ally, an ally who had to be dead when you were alone. someone as perfectly imperfect as you.

he's not like dick, the sun doesn't shine for him, the world doesn't give him grace— if it did, he wouldn't have died. he felt more charcoal than diamond, jagged and rough on the edges. yet charcoal was easier to obtain than diamonds, like the bright blue's of dick staring at you - such a precious, yet rare instance - or brazen emeralds like damian that could only look at you like you're mere pyrite; his attention was easier to obtain, because he knew you outside of your ghostly reputation. saw you as something else. jason was the only presence you were able to share your laughter with in the face of his brief visits.

as you look at him now, as he looks at you too, through his panting and the neverending tears streaking his cheeks. you look at each other in painful, understanding silence. his face, shoulders, chest, legs are painted with scars, incisions on skin, the first trait your eyes lay could on, as your gaze flitters to your equally scarred figure, too.

on the cuts that run deep into your wrists and palms, on the lighter scars, the deeper pigmentation that lay awake, like a chaotic portrait, that throbs with painful reminders that unlike jason, you chose to hurt yourself to replace that pain in your cold, beating chest. but like jason, you both wear these memories painfully on your sleeves.

imperfect, sullen and easily broken, like you.

you don't know whether to cry, or to laugh. that finally, fucking finally, you could share your similarities, your flaws with someone else too.

and at this very time, you knew neither of you could win your losing battles. if you argue even further, if your heart spills anymore words you know would only cut through the tension and break into even more back and forths— jason would only retort, would call you angel as be attempts to calm you down, as if you were an still an innocent bystander to his pain, as if you never told him you wish he'd stay dead.

if you wanted to survive this wretched night without anymore heartbreaks, you'd have to be the first to back down, to step away, be the bigger person.

like how you had to choose to give up on your family, to finally let go of your expectations on them. it was the only way, it was your way of adjusting to them, as you always do.

maybe it was fortunate for jason, that you'd already easily given up.

you'd give up when he wraps you in his arms, and unceremoniously perched you up his lap like how an owner cradles his injured cat, ensuring your injuries aren't pressed against the weapons stuck in his utility belt.

for a moment, you let time with him be. you allow the course of calmness to wash over, for your tears to dry until it feels like sickeningly dry salt rubbing against skin, for the lump resting in your throat to retreat to your throbbing heart, for the blood escaping your body from your injury to slowly seep into the gauze that wraps around it.

without the adrenaline coursing through your veins, without the haste of trying to escape from his hold, you've now access to the feel of his entire body. when the panic escapes from your heart, and all you're left with is resignation, his muscled arms wrapped around your torso; you're left reeling at the scent of motor oil and gunpowder, head buried at the crook of his neck whilst your tears are drying ever so slowly, effuse into his favorite jacket.

everything about jason felt foreign, uncharacteristically huge. his body felt too strong, too heavy, like a burden deeper than just vigilante duties of ridding the crime of gotham.

you never knew just how touch-starved you were, ignoring the specks of blood littering his clothes and the familiar scent of cigarettes reminding you of the bustling streets of gotham, even though the stench of ichor overpowers it— you feel like you're home. not at the manor which smells of fresh, flowery sheets, not at your empty apartment polluted with car smoke just wafting outside your windows; but a home you've once lived in, with just your mother and you.

it was just so fucked up, how he could easily subdue the anxiety eating you away. it was so ironic, how in an apartment filled with deadly weapons: guns, knives, bombs, and journals containing contingency plans against all his enemies; it is where you felt currently the safest, as you're reminded of your past; your humdrum life with your mother.

back when everything was normal, back when all your worries were about the chances of having dinner that night, or hoping that your new clothes wouldn't tear as much so your beloved mom wouldn't have to spend wretched hours stealing just to provide you with all your wants and needs.

it never occurred within your mind, just how similarly you lived like jason. and in jason's thoughts, he realized how much you could've ended like him if he hadn't protected you this very night. if he hadn't heard the family pitch of your scream, a scream engraved deep into his memories, a haunting record that plays nightly as he's reminded that he was the reason why you had terror shocks from the shadows in the corner of your eyes.

he hated that he made you scream as a child, that he was the stuff of your nightmares, but he despised it even more when it had to be the others tormenting his little sibling.

it was enough to make his blood curdle, the sight of those filthy men touching, pinning and kicking, shoving a gun against the head of the person most important to him, puncturing holes into their body. he takes in a shaky gulp, yet he hums - pretending like he isn't truly bothered. he can't let you worry anymore - when your fingers listlessly play with the hems of his jacket.

'they're dead, jason. don't even think of doing what you have to do.'

the palm that rests on the back of your torso digs deeper at the thought of you wriggling in pain, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you that whatever jason is thinking right now isn't good, your ears taking notice hearing the hastening thrum of his heart, even when his body is slumped against yours, you could still feel the slight shivers trailing across his body.

yet you only bury yourself deeper into him, closed eyes dry with tears and nuzzling at warmth you knew you'll soon never be able to feel again, from a brother who was too late to take you back. his right palm, big against your head, nearly covering the expanse of your scalp, scratches and guides you to properly lean on the blades of his shoulder. you don't see his expressions, you don't know if all the comforting he's doing, all the love he's offering you right now is authentic, or just out of mere obligation as your older brother, but you're grateful either way...

entirely grateful that you'd at least be feeling what it's like to be cuddled by one of your ex-family members, before you ultimately make a quick escape from gotham. you're so grateful that despite everything, at least now, the tiny little part of you, the innocence long gone, would rejoice at their life-long dream at finally being able to coddle with just one family member.

past you would've ranted about this in your journal, would've jumped in joy, run across the manor, and thank the world for blessing you with such a miracle. you wouldn't even care if damian shoved a nasty glare in your way.

even if temporary, even if a small, unyielding part of you wishes that you could stay like this forever; the stronger version of you, the one that learned to mature, to forgive yet never forget— it is the voice of reason amongst a sea of conflicting emotions. it tells you that you've moved on a long time ago, that whatever this is right now, will have you force to let go.

and even if younger you begged that it is unfair, that this is what they've always wanted in their life, for someone to acknowledge them as much as they've loved the family even without reciprocation; you've long since given up at hoping. your heart is weary, and tired of constantly being led to believe, only to come back broken in pieces all the damn time. you're older now, old enough to learn that, well...

everything is temporary in life. the comfort your family offered you was always temporary. jason, who succumbs to burying his head in your scalp to hum foreign tunes— he'll soon be just a burning memory, yet at least you'll be left with something positive to say about him.

after all, their love for you happens in quick successions, it wasn't all the time you were ignored, but chasing after it when it had already become mere dust before you could catch it with your clawing hands.

dick had shown you a crumb of his love, back when he first introduced you to his room. hell, even bruce was decent enough to transfer you out of school, even if it was out of mere dismissiveness and to keep a reputation, he showed he cared for a child, even if it was never enough.

and now?

'now, jason will forget about me soon enough,' you tell yourself.

just like the times you stumbled upon steph and pushed yourself to be invited to watch a movie with her, only to be rejected and given her side of popcorn as compensation and an awkward grin promising that she'll find a time in her schedule to spend with you. waiting for months for an update proved fruitless, writing praises in your journal, all about her silky blonde hair, and her lighthearted smiles don't do anything to manifest time well-spent with someone you thought would at least put in effort to be with you. she was similar to you in so many ways, how she felt dismissed by the family, and never enough for them— but the sheer difference that places you both in different lanes is the fact that she was at least loved, that she still had people care for her outside her status of spoiler. people loved stephanie brown, because she was at least unique, she was noticeable with her ironic jokes and love for purple.

you still had nothing to offer.

it's like the silent moments you were able to cherish when you could last for more than five minutes in the room with damian, his emerald eyes petting titus and alfred the cat, as you sit in the far corner watching how softly, how precious like treasured gems, he treats them. he doesn't fight you, doesn't bat at eye, but witnessing the young assassin, your little brother, become a kid, watching him paint in your memories without his scowled growl directed at you, or a knife pointed on your body; it made you feel like they do have a semblance of love, of care, only for those who deserved.

you only deserve care when you prove yourself to be capable enough.

hell, despite you knowing the least about duke, watching him play with his powers against bruce's orders was what made your bleak life a bit more interesting. having to save him from nearly dying, from fainting due to the overuse of his metahuman abilities when he was still new to being signal. being the faint silhouette he sees throughout the white light in his vision, the quivering, desperate voice who assures him he'll be alive, he'll be fine; you don't know if he remembers it, if the young boy could even recall how your eyes lit up, how your chest felt lighter when his scarred palms came to cup your shivering ones to keep you from ripping at your hair—

your point proves, chasing after them amounts to nothing. you could only be a witness, a bystander if you want to relish in their shared memories, but never part of their small community. you'll never be able to know what's it like having inside jokes with them, to share your homemade meals with them, to show old albums of your life as a child before being adopted. you just can't.

even the prospect of being married, of having them help you arrange your marriage becomes mere fantasy.

everything you ever hoped to spend with them is fantasy, an unattainable desire. you should've known from the start.

to them, to you, to everybody you lived with under the same, gothic roof of a manor rich with history still unknown to an outsider like you— you are but a mere stranger. there at the wrong place, in all the wrong times.

maybe that is what jason felt after his untimely death, that he does not belong anymore. maybe he felt like an intruder instead, just like you, with how he felt replaced by tim, how the legacy of robin lives on even after his passing. how he felt like a cheap rebound of dick after years of searching for answers, or how he never truly mattered to bruce—

— but at least he still has a place in their heart. despite only knowing him after his resurrection, you've come to love him too, and learned to let go at the same time.

you hope jason understands why you're so unwilling for him to help return you to the manor. you hope he doesn't question why you chose to live in your apartment, you hope that if he does find out the reason, he'll shut up about it.

you wish that jason understands, even as you felt well-rested enough on his muscled shoulders, head slowly, eyes blinking away the drowsiness washing over you, rising even if the arms that hover over your scalp invites you to sleep instead.

you're stronger now, not physically, but you willed yourself to force your eyes to stare back at him. his lidded, dull blue oned unlike dick's, and it doesn't look like the ocean eyes you find yourself drowning in staring at bruce's whenever you watch him across the television during his interviews. it was a blue similar to the sea at night, tranquil shores that caresses the soles of your feet standing on sand. there was no shine in them, it was a symbolic retelling of his death, gazing into them, at the depths of emotions swimming in those orbs alone, you feel a sense of ease when they soften, when they give way for you to stare for as long as you want.

although you were sitting atop his lap, looking down at him, his gaze made you feel little. like you were a child all over again. both of his hands are now resting on your waist to stabilize you. you couldn't reason the sudden protectiveness, the unwillingness to let you go, but your mouth opens before you could think, yet jason beats you to it, spilling words you thought he was incapable of admitting — breaking the peaceful silence once more with the significant tremor, the apologies laced in his words— with all the years he spent looking at you in contempt before he resigned to casual, yet fleeting conversations with you back at the manor.

"you know, angel...? i'm so sorry for everything. i really mean it... for all the times i was blind to you wishing you could've spent time with me. and i was so stupid, rejecting you, hurtin' you all those years thinking bruce was out there favoring you when it's the opposite... I didn't know he didn't even care for you. i know you won't be able to forgive me, or them, i know it took me long enough to forgive bruce too. but it's different now, 'kay? i'll be different, angel. i'll protect you from now on, in your, what? your little apartment, right? i don't mind scouting the entire area for you even if it means you're on the other side of the city. all for you, i promise."

"all for you."

he speaks in a careful manner, choosing his words and flinching - the scar on his lip stretches, it reminds you of the one on your neck - when he feels it doesn't rightfully get the message across. you can feel it, feel how every sentence is wired with regret, heavy promises, and an unspoken desperation to keep you close to him, as if- as if he actually cares for you—

you blink, vision blurry as you catch sight of a stray tear running down your damp chest. your nose clogs once more, tongue licking at your chapped lips. jason, he- he takes your fingers before it ventures to tangle upon your hair, he hushes the tight wail escaping your throat as he cradles your body, other palm nuzzling into your sensitive scalp.

are you crying again? at what he'd said?

why are you so broken, that the prospect of somebody once full of disinterest towards you, now cares for you?

and for what is he doing this for, though? all for you? he apologized, exactly like dick, with the same foreboding assurance. is it to repair, to mend a broken relationship that was never there?

"y-you don't have to anymore, jay— i just- just wanted to—"

'i just want to make peace with you before i'll be gone from your life, before you could even fulfill your promises. you don't have to be chained with someone like me for the rest of your life anymore.'

thankfully, he hums at you, interrupting your growing stutters, at the thought that noisily seeps into your head. you hiccuped in reply, drowning out the shivers jolting across your body. if not for his hands still digging at your waist, you swore the dizziness of it all could've made you stumble across the floor.

but, you can't just stay silent about this. about all the shit that happened in your life. not when he's promising you something so burdening, not when he thinks he has a chance of making it up to you.

no, you can't just let them push at you anymore.

you whisper through your inconsolable stutters, eyes drifting down to your lap, at your hands that scratch at raw scars, "i don't blame you, jason. it never really came across to me to hate you for, you know- it's not- you're not the only reason that he neglected me—"

"shh, i know, angel. i know. but that doesn't change shit 'bout how he— we treated you, does it not?"

you shake your head, downcast gaze refusing to look at his troubled one. if you do, you might just surrender to the softness, to the child-like whispers at the back of your mind saying you wanted this.

"w-well you can't change anything about it now... and i hated you still back then, for different reasons. i hope, i hope that you know that, too..." your voice cracks at the seams, "i- i'm still hurt from everything, jason—"  he shushes you again, fingers brushing away at your stray hairs sticking to your damp cheeks. his palms were huge as it cups your face, emitting a comforting warmth against the jagged surface, a heat that makes you slowly, but unsurely melt.

— you never had this brotherly love in your whole life before, never felt comforted in the hands of who was once your tormentor.

"i know you're hurt. i know you're in so much pain because of us— of me, so let me take care of it from now on, 'kay...?"

he whispers, hushed voice a gentle tremor lulling you to near sleep. but you can't just return to this uncharacteristic softness, not now. your eyes, almost squinting shut, snap open to look back at him hesitatingly.

"no, you don't have to do this, jason... i told you," you hesitate, gulping. "we're not– we're not siblings anymore. you don't have to do all this for me... you're not obligated to, unlike last time."

you can feel it, his shoulders squaring in on itself, the subtle tension returning in his muscles, as if his arms were ready to trap you in his gentle hold, restricting you for further escaping.

"... nonsense, angel. take that back— i am doing this all for you."

his voice was always tinged with gruffness, rarely any softness in the way his words were said with finality. sometimes mocking, sometimes spiteful. for a crime lord, it was imperative to always be the supreme voice, a voice of reason.

... but this time, it seems, there's a childish softness, a despondency, laced in his reply. like him, though, your resolve to leave his apartment was as solid as his promise to keep you to stay.

"no, jason, you're doing this all for your guilt... not- not out of pure hearted intentions, aren't you...? just to prove that you're right and- and you're better than the entire family. and then you'll forget about me afterwards—"

you crack at the seams.

"this will be just like all the other times..."

you ignore how his fingers dig deeper into the plush softness of your waist, how it feels like he's staring right past you, mind drifting to another plane of existence at what you'd said.

yet you continue.

"— so please, leave me alone after this...?

after all, what's the point in considering their emotions anymore, when they've never done so for yours?

a silence you couldn't swallow, strangling at the chords in your throat. it feels like a bucket of cold water had washed over the once comfortable silence he'd bask in.

"... please, jay?" your heartbeat spikes at calling him by his once beloved nickname. the one you used to lovingly mutter under your breath, shyly taking his attention from back when you were a child, a subconscious manipulative tactic.

you always called him out with that title, a wide-eyed plea, with what felt like butterflies spinning in your tongue inviting him to linger for just a few minutes with you, just so he could spare some time reading a paragraph of your favorite classic book—

— it was a nickname that fell astray, turned into a flickering memory, after your relationship with him slowly strained. after every month, little by little, you saw him less. until you were a teenager, until he felt his business were with your other siblings instead, his priority on his and their vigilante lives— like the unbidden promises he kept from you, the nickname fell short, turned stranger in your eyes like the man you're seated atop on.

your lips feel dry, your sweat clings to your dampened shirt, and jason.

god, jason's hands enclose itself on your waist, heavy head dropping to your shoulders. you can smell it, his conditioner and a heady scent of cigarettes. his hair tickles the underside of your chin, you don't know whether to laugh or to cry when he takes his space in the corner of your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply— the heat of his breath hits your skin, it feels too warm, a stark contrast to the shivers overtaking your body.

he heaves in a breath, you can't see his face from below, can't make it out if he's laughing or groaning or what. you can't wrought his head out, he's stronger than you.

momentary panic ensues, you fear he might've disagreed, that he might end up locking you up but—

"huh..." his gruff voice returns, a deeper tremor laced with confusing you'd expect a frigid reply, a desperate plea, maybe even a familiar anger bursting right out of him

"with you calling me that," he whispers on the crook of your neck, head burying far deeper as if- as if he wants his skin to fuse with yours. the depth in his words felt utterly abysmal when he referred to his nickname.

a little more, and you swear you might feel his teeth grazing your flesh. at that, goosebumps start to trail your entire body, your teeth aches with unbidden agitation.

you can't, you can't fall into hopeless respite.

he continues with his little monologue. you're too breathless, shallow air fills your lungs at every word he punches your way, clinging, burrowing deep into your mind, with every touch pinning you in place—

"how could i argue against you now, angel...? not when you sound like the little kid i met back then."

a scoff, laced with amusement, erupted from him. you can feel the vibrations on his adam's apple, you witness the thoughts churning in his mind, the subtle reminiscing in the silence that clings onto both your memories.

a sense of nostalgia washes over you —at the night you both meet, of the gentle giant sneaking past gothic windows and his reaction to being caught, at your excitement to make a new companion— but bitter resentment claws its way faster into your thoughts.

how could he pretend like everything's fine? how could he act like he didn't break your heart when you first saw him?

"but still, i'm serious about the change, for you, just you. anythin' you want, angel, anything—"

a small part of you hates him still, despises the entire family for what they did; what they caused.

how could he have the audacity to think he has a chance at your life? to assume he deserves one? right after- after destroying all your hopes?

he's right, though,. he remembers those memories from when you were a kid. a kid, but not anymore. you're not the little child who looks up to him, to dick, to bruce— who kisses at the soles of their feet, who acts as their shadow chasing after them.

'how dare you, jason...'

you don't know what overcame you, what monstrous being possessed your soul to spitefully reply all of a sudden. maybe it was bitter anger, the past resentment, an urge— a subtle defiance that wishes to torment them like how they did you.

maybe it was the broken remnants of your child that just wants assurance, or the mature teenager in you that wants to move on, to have a new lease on life.

but, either way. it's the words that need to be said that matters, and not the reaction, the unneeded outcomes from the same people who hurt you.

you had to grow past everything, had to take the first steps if you truly wish to let go, rather than run away from the past with no final message.

they say indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. and if you want your tormentors to feel what they've done to you, to know what it's like to be met with spiritless replies, empty promises and hallways, broken hearts and cold dinners— you had to beat them with oppressive silence; a loveless nothingness.

"jay," you call out to him, interrupting his shameless rambles.

"please promise me..." at the sudden shift in your voice, your soft tone, he wretches himself away from you, albeit slowly; looking you straight in the eyes.

there was naught a sudden flicker of absolute firmness in your eyes, but a quiet resolve that demanded finality, a silent plea opposite to the screaming that ensued just an hour ago.

'be the bigger person, (name).'

'because you are not a wayne anymore—

you are your mother's child.'

and she's kind, but assertive. gracious, but cunning. you see an imagery of bruce in your reflection, your passions in dick, your trauma in jason— so many similarities, so many stark contrasts.

but ultimately, you came from her.

you can sense it, the intangible shift in the air, the curious, yet hesitant flicker in his eyes.

you lick your lips, the tinge of blood grounds you in spite of the hastening of your heartbeats.

"look, okay... promise me this—"

a deep inhale, a quivering exhale. and for once, you control the tears brimming in your eyelids.

he nods, urging you to continue.

the knot on your chest only tightens, strangling you until it feels no words could escape your mouth. yet they're mere paranoia, you can't afford fear no more.

"i... i want you to forget about me after this. promise me, jason, to treat this night like all the other nights you pretended i didn't exist. that you love your family but not me, because i am not family. treat me like you despised me because i was your terrible replacement, i could never amount to you and that's all fine with me... let's leave all this behind and- and return back to our normal lives, alright...? where i'm nobody to you, and you're just a stranger to me... "

even your resolve tasted foreign on your tongue, as your eyes suddenly dart everywhere but at his breathless reactions.

"you don't— don't have to dwell on the past anymore."

'come on, (name). don't hesitate anymore. this is your future speaking for you.'

your guts twists in on itself, everything's spinning, your heart feels like it's running a mile. but you force yourself to smile at him despite the energy draining from your body, despite how you had to watch the color wash away from his face, feel how his hands dig into your skin, watch the frustated furrow of his brow—

you smile a shaky smile, grin a final grin, clasp his vulnerable, and equally conflicted face in your scarred hands, and finally let another wave of tears erupt from your eyes.

"can you do that for me, jason?"

"..."

"— alright..."

let the cinema's curtains finally close, let there be no more acts, no more formalities to happen between you two.

let this all be a fleeting memory. just like those past thirteen years and a half: let it be buried in a treasure chest you'll never visit.

his silence acts as resignation, your hands letting go of his cupped face, to carefully bring you down from his loosening hold, as you wince at the pain still throbbing in your wrapped scar; it shall symbolize a final message of goodbye.

the unspoken agreement to move, the cushion of his red helmet brushing on his hair as he puts it on, the jingles of his motor keys in the pockets of his heavy pants, the creak of the door as he opens it, slow and unsure, the stench of your blood still lingering in the air, the uncomfortable solace as he props your hands up his shoulders to lean your body weight against him before he brings a crutch to your armpit. the gruff that came after as his hands stabilized you, for you to properly walk with the newly armed crutches beside his company—

it provides at least a grounding notion for the thoughts spiraling in your mind. the drowned thumps of the wood stumbling on the carpet, the moonlight spilling out the cracks of the hallway's windows, the faint rumbling of the city streets as passing cars honk at the traffic,  the ding of the elevator, the anything of everything.

but him.

focusing on anything else, it at least helps distract you from his heavy gaze, from jason's prying arms ready to capture you, trap you in his apartment, the moment you show slight faintness, any hesitant stumble in your steps, any wincing sound at the pressure in your joints; his overprotectiveness still at an all-time high despite the promise you proposed that he had to pretended to upkeep for you.

when you were finally propped on to his huge motorcycle, a few mishaps being met in your way when he handled you too tight, so daintily as if you're made of fine porcelain, as if he were afraid to let go — crutches graciously placed in the space between his seat and yours — and when you hear the engine's gas revving up, but no jason making a brief quip, a comedic joke only he could understand which you laugh at still...

... only one thing was for certain despite the millions of ideas racing in your mind from his quiet reaction.

'let him bring me home, give him space, and let him forget about all this in the end.'

let the past be a dream.

and you shall only hope that everything that comes after this, will also be just another dream.

after all, he had only agreed to let you go home - for now, just now... - but hadn't truly promised to leave you alone, not at all, never.

and maybe, just maybe, you should've never trusted his words at all.

it was all that it is, all that it was.

a mere device for tactical missions.

the intercom linked directly to the batcave was just a device used to communicate with the family in the rare instances he chose to pair up with them in case jason learned his current tactics required more than a helping hand, but rather companionship in the midst of completing tasks.

its usefulness was only for practicality.

and it was just that, a tool for the greater good, yet easily discarded after he gained what he wanted.

when you left him, crutches in hand, back turned as your body fades in on the distance, he realizes that even thought it was his pride that he knew you the longest - now even bearing your deepest, most personal issues that just makes letting you (temporarily) go hurt his heart - he had only ever used you for his entertainment, not even an apology nor a confrontation was made to confess to you of his past sins towards you.

he's such a shitty brother, isn't he?

all that it is, all it ever was.

and yet as the polluted breeze of gotham flutters through his hair, the night sky still gleaming over the horizon of long standing, abandoned buildings camouflaged amongst shitty, barely functioning apartment complexes - where he knows are one of the current places you live in - he willed himself to comb them back, especially the stubborn strands sticking near his ears. in his hands, he holds an intangible device.

the same old, rickety intercoms.

just like old times.

so he presses the tiny button used to trigger direct calls, and shoves it deep into his ears, a perfect fit as every device was crafted to each individual working for the batman. you're the only member of the family to never adopt the vigilante life, he's glad you never did, but at the same time... it was what what you apart from everybody else.

everything just reminds him of how much you're worlds apart from the family. everything just pushes him to change that current position of yours; to make you know you matter more than you ever know.

"... ah, young master jason, you're back," alfred's contemplating voice buzzes through the call. no hint of surprise was evident in his tone, but rather a welcoming quip at his current rebellion towards jason. "i suppose you might require some assistance if you're calling then, right?"

'yes,' he might've said, stalling, but it's not as simple just as money heist problems or an issue regarding the resurgence of new kryptonite deposits— no.

jason doesn't want that. he doesn't want to waste anymore time, not with making jokes or pretending like the topic at hand was just a joke.  not when the matter precedes mere missions or a tendency to prank bruce, not when it's his angel who he refuses to truly let go of.

not when your life is at stake living in a completely foreign part of gotham. not when you nearly died, and if he wasn't a lick away from saving you, you'd end up like him.

but with nobody to mourn you.

"we need to talk about (name)."

and then like a thread snapping, he hears gasps from a distance, beyond the device's speaker registering. he hears hushed whispers, stephanie's feminine voice cutting through the tension, but no sarcasticness, no quips from duke, not even cass' occasional question. despite only hearing a fraction of the batcave's echoes, he feels like a witness to the tension rising, even he feels his shoulders squaring up. like a spectacle to behold, like time frozen in the hands of fate itself.

gotham wasn't always this silent, but the space between jason and your world felt like mountains apart that it just destroys any caution jason feels at the current moment; all in the name of this... this urge to feel your head resting in his shoulders once more, your arms wrapped tightly around his, safe and sound.

"tell me what happened."

it wasn't alfred's voice this time that cuts off the ever-so confusing thread, the dangerous thoughts swimming in jason's head. a deep tremor, laced with an undertone of desperation, is heard through the silent murmers of the intercoms. he couldn't see it, but he could picture the haste, the emergence of the bat to be the very

and yet all was said in a tone so different, so completely foreign to jason.

it wasn't as commanding, as opposing as what he's used to. it wasn't his voice that he uses towards criminals, it wasn't the vibrato used to interrogate criminals, let alone scold his vigilante partners.

... something completely different, yet easy to catch on.

it was batman through the call, yes, yet not quite so.

no.

it was bruce wayne asking, it was a father who hides his worry through a veil of composure. yet jason knows him, knows him enough to know that he, bruce, knows of your disappearance all too suddenly. knows that that the entire family might've finally come through their senses like he did.

"jason... did you... did something happen?" dick's voice, laced with audible shivers. jason had to do a double take at the noticeable shift in his behavior, at how... wrecked his eldest brother asked. but despite it all, it seems like he catched on as easily, at the sudden convenience, of what might implied jason's impulsive decision to call them at such a dire moment.

— that's why his next question doesn't come off as shock.

"you didn't possibly... meet them, didn't you?" it's like the athlete couldn't believe the words escaping his mouth, yet jason could feel it, the charged air, the shift of movement, as dick's mouth presses uncomfortably close to the speakers.

"tell me, did you... find them?"

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 20,490+ words. no beta, we die like the reader's love for the family. anyways, wow, this was the hardest scene of all to write. so many dialogues compacted into one scene alone. because of all my hard work, revisions and even rewrites 😭 i demand you all to comment and interact with me because i am NOT wasting all this effort for only like a few comments. that's all i ever ask for actually <333 anyways, the jason and mc parallels are still prevalent, but i'd also like for all you guys to take note of the miscommunication trope that i did. like the reader who's so broken to the point they can't comprehent that people are capable of loving them, and jason who can't property communicate how much he cares for you, stumbling over all his words and saying all the wrong things wow. very much me and my siblings' dynamics to one another. we love doomed siblings trope!!!

yes, again, i am begging for you guys to interact with this post, and avoid on hate comments, please. i've already dealt w/ enough anons but oh well, that's unavoidable huh. happy late valentines day, btw! and please do remember to not directly steal parts of my work. now to check if you guys actually read the author's notes: what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? again, despite its shitty quality, i put a lot of time and effort into the creation of this. this is not just a fanfic for me, but something very personal. again, don't forget to interact and give inputs, thank you all for being so patient and waiting for this!

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

[anxiousnerdwritings]

How would Damian react if his twin was adopted and made friends/ a life away from him. Would Bruenfeel conflicted because the child he ignored / neglected is doing well but on the other hand why didn't said kid try to include them in their new life. Would Talia & Bruce be jealous of the reader's new parents and work even harder to get them back.

I like to imagine that after everything twin!Reader has endured from trying to find a place amongst the rogues gallery to fill their familial void to having been rejected by Bruce and the batfamily early on, that they decide they just need to try and out source for the family experience they desperately want only for it to actually work in their favor for once. Twin!Reader is excited but doesn’t want to look like it in fear of it blowing up in their face like everything else has, but eventually they actually feel like they have a home now and a happy, loving one at that.

Damian would be so distraught to find out his beloved sibling has been taken in by another family in general, let alone his sibling willingly wanting to be taken in of their own accord. Especially by a family of just normal people. He could understand Twin!Reader seeking out the multiple rogues around town but a couple of nobodies though? He can’t exactly wrap his head around it. But what would hit Damian harder is if there was an adopted sibling involved, that would spiral Damian into dark territory to see his sibling interacting so happily with someone that wasn’t him. He’s their brother for god’s sake, their TWIN brother! He’d feel so utterly betrayed. A similar feeling to what Twin!Reader felt when they first witnessed Damian’s life with Bruce and the rest of the batfamily, seeing him being so happy and not being a part of that happiness, not that Damian knows about that. At least not yet.

Damian wouldn’t be able to exist peacefully knowing his sibling, his oh so very beloved sibling, isn’t with HIM. He can’t stand it. It makes him hurt to see how happy they are with other people and not him, like it physically hurts. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was thrown into a surprise panic attack at the sight of his sibling being taken away from him like that. (If Damian reacts like this in regards to his sibling in a completely platonic relationship, imagine how he’d react to them in a romantic one🫣👀💀.) All his training; all the mental, physical, and emotional control he’s ever had would go out the window witnessing his twin living life without him, especially a happy life. As much as he would want for his twin’s happiness, he can’t allow it if he’s not a part of it. A stark difference to Twin!Reader’s reaction to not being a part of Damian’s life/happiness. They chose to distance themself further and give Damian the life he deserved while they sought some semblance of a happier life/family else where hoping for something similar to what Damian was lucky enough to experience.

There is no doubt that Damian wouldn’t do something, he had to. He can’t just sit by and live knowing his twin is out there having a whole life without him whatsoever. He can’t just let his sibling forget about him, how could he? How could they even try? They were born together, they were meant to be together, and they would die together. That’s how Damian saw it, that’s the only way he saw it.

Bruce would be very conflicted. On one hand he’s glad that his other child was able to end up in a good place with what appears to be a good family and is happy. But on the other hand Bruce failed them completely, to the point that a family of complete strangers, a faceless couple of average Joe’s were able to do something he couldn’t. They managed what Batman couldn’t. And that hits him deep. For a time he could be okay with the news of Twin!Reader being with another family and thriving, but eventually he can’t let it go. He tried to be okay with it, he tried to accept it but deep down he just couldn’t. They are his child, it’s his responsibility to love and care for them, to help them and guide them through life, through the ups and downs. He wants to be the one to do all of that but now he’s been robbed of that by these other people. They’re none the wiser and he knows that, he’s well aware of that, but that doesn’t take away from the overwhelming thoughts and emotions he has towards this family who took in his child. Bruce would have it in his head that there has to be something up with his family, something not right. He can’t just take it on the chin that this time he fucked up and he can’t fix it no matter what he does, he can’t do it. He needs to find something, no matter how small or insignificant it is, he has to find something on these people. If not then his hand will be forced into taking more drastic measures. He isn’t above framing this genuine family for something they could never fathom doing just to not have his child with them anymore. If he can’t have his child wanting him or the rest of the batfamily in their life positively then he can settle for being in it for the worst. At least he’s still a part of it and eventually he will get them to come around, even if it takes some forcing.

Talia wouldn’t let any of this last, especially not for as long as Damian and Bruce have. It wouldn’t be surprising if Talia got to the family before Damian or Bruce could, or at least before Bruce’s plan was fully enacted. She’d have this couple of genuinely caring and loving people cut to absolute ribbons at the very least. At the worst, she’s torturing them beyond belief before she ultimately kills them. How dare these people believe they could undo all that she and Ra’s had done regarding Twin!Reader’s training, trying to turn them into a ‘normal’ child after all they’re capable of? Ridiculous. And Talia would wholeheartedly consider her mistreatment and outright abuse of Twin!Reader as ‘training’, you can’t tell me otherwise. That’s just how she justifies all that she’s done to them. Talia would also leave the mess for Twin!Reader to find, after all it’s a message. No matter the message it’s suppose to intend, Twin!Reader only sees that they will never get what they want most of all, not truly. They’re bound to live this fucked up life for however long they’re forced to and they will never really know peace. Even if they somehow finally get the ‘happy ending’ they’ve desperately sought for, it won’t be in the way they expected.

[0silver0dreams0]

She just wanted to be loved—even if it killed her.

Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Neglected!Reader

Warning: emotional neglect, domestic abuse, physical violence, emotional manipulation, loss of pregnancy, gaslighting, yandere behaviour, obsessive familial control, stalking, overprotection, psychological trauma, implied death threats.

In many stories, Reader is portrayed as someone completely alone. And hey—those stories are beautiful too. But this isn’t one of those. She had people. Friends. Some good. Some toxic. Some who only called when they needed a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. But no one ever truly listened when she spoke. Not really.

She was always there for everyone else. The comforter. The fixer. The secret keeper. But when it came to herself? Her feelings were locked away, pressed deep beneath a tired smile and a soft voice that always said: “I’m fine.”

She struggled to open up. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was habit. Either way—no one ever saw how much she was hurting. Not her friends. Not even her family.

So when he came into her life, she didn’t resist. He was kind. Charming. And most of all—attentive. He saw her. Heard her. Touched her face like she was sacred. He told her she mattered. That she was enough. That he couldn’t breathe without her.

It was intoxicating.

So when he started yelling—she flinched, but stayed. When he shoved her—she apologized. When the bruises bloomed across her skin, she covered them. Because even if it hurt… at least he was still there.

She told herself, “This is what love feels like, right?”

Her friends started to notice the change. The forced smile. The constant excuses. But she always brushed them off.

And her family?

They didn’t see it. Not at first.

Bruce had been too busy—always too busy. He assumed that if she wasn’t screaming, she was fine. He never once asked her if she was happy. Because deep down, he didn’t want to know.

Dick adored her in his own way—but only when it was convenient. He promised brunches, movie nights, afternoons in the park. But he always cancelled. Always had some mission, some emergency, some excuse. She’d sit alone in cafés for hours, hoping maybe this time he’d show. He never did.

Jason barely acknowledged her existence. To him, she was just another mouth Bruce fed, another responsibility in a house already full of ghosts and broken kids. He never bothered to ask her anything real. She tried, once, to ask him about one of the books he read. He brushed her off without even looking up. She didn’t try again.

Tim saw everything—except her. Always distracted, always overworked. He forgot her birthday. Forgot her favourite food. Forgot she was someone who could shatter.

Damian pushed her away with harsh words and colder stares. Called her useless. Weak. And once—just once—he lost his temper and struck her. It wasn’t hard, not enough to leave a mark for long, but enough to silence the room and stop her breath. He muttered an apology the next day—dry, forced, as if she had made him do it. He never mentioned it again. And she never dared speak of it.

Cass noticed the silences. The way her eyes lingered too long on closed doors. But she didn’t know what to say. She thought her presence was enough. She believed silence meant peace. She didn’t realise silence could scream.

Steph was sunshine and noise. Always pulling everyone out for ice cream or rooftop dance breaks. She talked at Reader, never to her. Never stopped to notice how often she smiled without her eyes. She called her “quiet,” “shy,” “a little ghost.” But she never asked why she haunted her own home.

Duke was all warmth and bright intentions. But he assumed she’d speak up if something was wrong. He believed in checking in—with everyone else. She was always the last one on his list, if she even made it at all. When she didn’t answer group texts, he just figured she was busy. He never knocked on her door.

She was there. But no one saw her. Not really. Not as a whole person. Not as someone whose heart bled behind closed doors.

To them, she was quiet. To her, she was invisible.

Then came the night everything changed.

The boyfriend had been angry. Jealous. She had laughed at someone’s joke—that was all. He hit her so hard, she collapsed.

The next thing she knew, she was in a hospital bed, bright lights burning her eyes, pain radiating through her body.

She heard murmurs. Machines. A doctor’s voice.

“Internal bleeding.” “Multiple fractures.” “Possible concussion.” And then— “She was pregnant.”

Everything stopped.

She blinked, unsure if she heard right. Pregnant?

She hadn’t even known.

No symptoms. No missed signs—just denial. Her body had been too tired, too beaten, too fragile. She thought the blood was just another bruise. She didn’t even realise what she’d lost until it was gone.

The child. The tiny, fragile life inside her. Gone—just like that.

And that’s when her family finally saw her.

Bruce stood outside the hospital room, fists clenched, jaw locked. He had let this happen. Under his watch. Under his roof. And the thought that he hadn’t even noticed she was pregnant? It broke him. And twisted him.

Dick didn’t stop crying. He kept whispering, “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen.” But guilt changes nothing.

Jason went silent. Dangerously silent. He didn’t speak—he planned. Planned how to kill the man who did this. Planned how to make sure she never felt pain again.

Tim disappeared for hours, only to come back with every piece of that bastard’s life ruined. Bank accounts. Identity. Everything—gone.

Damian stared at her through the hospital window and said only one thing: “I will make sure he dies screaming.” And he meant it.

Cass refused to leave her side. She didn’t speak. Just held her hand, brushing her hair back gently, as if to say: “I’m here now. I won’t let go.”

Steph fell apart in the hallway. Cried against Duke’s shoulder, whispering, “We failed her. We failed her.”

Duke blamed himself. He had trusted her silence. And now, he couldn’t stop replaying her every word, wondering how he’d missed it.

They all failed her. And they would never forgive themselves.

So when she finally woke up…

They changed.

It started slow. More “check-ins.” GPS apps “for safety.” Cameras outside her apartment. A curfew.

Then it escalated. Bruce wouldn’t let her out of the manor without a reason. Dick followed her to the store. Jason installed locks—ones only he could open. Tim monitored her phone and social media. Damian threatened every male who dared speak to her. Steph “redecorated” her apartment so she’d feel “more at home” at the manor. Cass became her shadow. Duke started sleeping on the couch outside her room, “just in case.”

She thought they were just overprotective. Then she realised—she wasn’t allowed to be alone. Ever.

They had already lost her once. They wouldn’t risk it again.

It wasn’t just obsession. It was possession. A twisted, suffocating, overbearing kind of love.

And maybe, just maybe… They didn’t want her to heal. Because if she healed— She might try to leave. And they would never let that happen.

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission. Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

prologue - Next chapter

Masterlist

Chapter one - A glimpse into the family secret

The knight of the night, the man with a thousand plans, Gotham's greatest detective, was holding his daughter, Serelith, with such tenderness and delicacy. She was crying in her arms, scared. And rightly so: Serelith had never lived through anything like this before. Her other siblings had some pity for her now, even Damian showed a hint of sympathy, probably because of the fear they all felt over what could’ve happened to her at the Joker’s hands.

Then there was the other daughter. Batman's illegitimate child, the youngest of the Waynes, no, the youngest of the Valfinsas, watching with tearful eyes from behind the bars as the family she grew up with held their blood daughter close. Leaving her alone.

The Joker just laughed, shoving the girl hard against the bars. -Hahaha! Looks like Batsy's got his favorites- he laughed louder. All the girl could do was stare through tearful eyes, praying, just once. for someone to turn around. To look at you.

-The Joker can wait. Priority is getting Serelith out of here- That’s what Dick said. The perfect big brother. Someone who, like her, had also been adopted. He handed Serelith a pill and a bottle of water. Carefully, they took Serelith away, leaving the building where the two of them had been held captive.Leaving you there. Not looking back. Not noticing you were missing.

The Joker let out a cold laugh, already getting ready to have fun with the new toy Bruce had left behind. -Don’t worry. I won’t take my eyes off you- he scoffed, looking right at you as you cried. How you wished you had gotten out of here, out of a place where no one ever looked at you.

You threw the comic across the bed, looking at it like it was the devil himself.

A few weeks ago, you'd decided to try reading comics to bond with your family. You'd once overheard Stephanie teasing Damian about reading and drawing manga, and maybe Tim might be into it too, right? After all, there are games based on comics. So, you spent your allowance on one, hoping it'd at least end with you arguing with Damian about the difference between manga and comics, or maybe Tim would recommend one based on one of his games.

You'd gone to a store after finishing your homeschooling session with Alfred, browsed a few comics, and then, suddenly, felt a strong bump against your side, right where your bag was hanging. When you looked down, you noticed three comics had fallen to the floor. You tried putting them back, but couldn’t figure out where they were supposed to go. With no other option, you looked for help from the clerk—who didn’t even bother to pay attention to you.

-Another kid trying to sneak in their hero stories? Listen, girl, you're not going to get famous just because someone randomly reads a comic drawn by a 12 years old-.

No matter how much you insisted they weren't yours, he didn't believe you. You got kicked out of the store. Great. But hey, at least you had three new comics to read for free! And not just any comics, they were about Gotham's great vigilante himself! Not exactly what you were going for, but maybe you'd get to connect with someone in your family by talking about the city's crime and its paper version.

You got back to Wayne Manor all excited, and started reading the three comics that had literally fallen from the sky.

And that's how you ended up here.

Batman: Bloodline. That was the name of the comic saga you just finished reading, the one that left a bitter taste in your mouth. At first, after reading the opening pages, you thought it was fake, a bad joke, some prankster who thought it would be hilarious to realistically draw the millionaire playboy dressed as a bat, acting as Gotham’s nocturnal hero. No wonder the shop clerk didn’t believe you. This probably wouldn’t help you get any closer to your brothers, but maybe if you showed it to Dick or Jason, they’d make fun of Bruce with you. So you kept reading.

But then all your siblings showed up, as the Robins and the Batgirls. And then you appeared. Not playing any role, not as a hero, just you. The daughter born from one of Bruce’s deepest loves, a model beautiful both inside and out, who had died just days after giving birth to you. A child who looked nothing like her mother, and even less like her father.

Everything was… eerily accurate. The mannerisms, the backstories, everyone’s personalities, they were spot on. Even the inside of the manor was a perfect match! You kept reading, uneasily, and that’s when she showed up: a girl with Bruce’s same stoic seriousness, and your mother’s same warmth. The drawing copied her features almost perfectly.

The comic was about her; Serelith. How she was found, as the original daughter. How she adapted to the family. And finally, how you and she were kidnapped by the Joker. How the family saved her. And left you behind.

You don’t want to believe it. Even if that girl crying behind the bars looked so much like you. Even if every detail lined up so perfectly. You didn’t want to believe that this family, the same one you beg and plead for even a crumb of love, forgot about you in such a horrible moment.

You hide the three comics under your pillow. You refuse to eat when Alfred calls for dinner, and you fake being asleep until the night falls.

You look at the time on the cat-shaped clock hanging on the wall waiting for the right moment to come. You get up from bed and carefully make your way through the giant manor, until you’re standing in the same room where the old clock is. If it’s true, if they’re really Gotham’s vigilantes , they would notice immediately, and all of this will have been for nothing… or maybe they won’t even glance in your direction.

You didn’t see anyone for a few minutes from your hiding spot. You thought maybe they’d glanced in your direction, and were just waiting for you to leave.

Until you saw Tim, Zesti drink in hand, clear signs of sleeplessness under his eyes, dark circles, and wearing his Red Robin suit, walk up to the clock and set the time to 10:47. The same time as in the comic.

You felt your heart beating faster and faster. You wanted to cry just from seeing that time there, right in front of you. Mocking you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You ran off, tripping over a few things along the way.

You got to your room and threw yourself into bed. You could feel the comics crinkle beneath your pillow as you laid your head down, just like your heart crumbled when you realized… that part of the comic was real. Which meant not only that you weren’t the daughter of that woman, but that all these years, and all the ones still to come, meant nothing to your family.

You feel the tears slowly forming in your eyes. You want to do something, think of a plan to avoid the day you end up in the Joker’s hands, but your mind is clouded. You try to sit up, feeling the anxiety course through your body. You need to start planning how to escape the Joker, how to live away from the Waynes. You don’t have time for whatever’s happening to you. Your trembling hand goes to search for the comics under your pillow, but it freezes when you hear someone knock on the door and then open it without waiting for an answer.

You turn to look at the entrance, finding Tim there, clearly exhausted. Your hands shift to clutch the sheets, gripping them tightly as you see Tim in his Red Robin suit standing in front of you.

Tim’s had a rough few days. He hasn’t slept well due to a case, and there’s a small crisis at Wayne Enterprises. He almost went without a shower for more than a week, he was close to breaking his own record. The lack of sleep made his instincts and everything he’s learned as a Robin falter. Even so, he insisted on going out tonight to look for clues. He got dressed and ready to leave with the others, and with a brain half-asleep, he didn’t realize something, or someone, was watching him as he was about to leave. Until he heard a noise that alerted him. By reflex, he turned to look and saw your smaller figure collide with a couch, then get up and keep running.

The sleep vanished in an instant, and on instinct, he ran after you, thinking about how he would convince you not to tell Bruce you’d seen him.

He opened the door without asking, just knocking out of courtesy, expecting to find you excited, shouting with joy at the discovery that your older brother was one of Gotham’s heroes. But instead, he saw you, breathing heavily, clutching the sheets tightly, crying.

You’ve always been sensitive, crying over the loss of your mother or because Bruce didn’t give you attention. He’d always agreed with Steph and Jason that you might be overreacting. Everyone in the family had lost someone, and it’s hard for Bruce to give more attention with so many kids and the mantle of Batman weighing on him. Even if you didn’t know the latest, you should be more patient. Besides, didn’t you have Damian keeping you company? And he was sure that at least once, you’d gone to the library with Babs…

Even though part of him thought you were exaggerating, the way you cried now, the way you trembled and avoided looking at him like he was a traitor, told him this time was different. And it made him feel something pressing inside of him.

He slowly approached the bed and sat next to you, studying you more carefully. You seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. He tried calling your name to get your attention, but you didn’t respond.

Tim quickly thought about how to calm you down. You weren’t quite in the middle of an anxiety attack yet, so he might be able to stop it from escalating. He scanned your room, searching for something that might help him hold you steady.

…

Has your room always been this… empty? For being the daughter of a model and a millionaire, one would expect your room to be full of toys and luxuries. But it’s almost bare. There are a few things visible: misshapen cushions with exposed threads, a blanket of mismatched colors, and some decorations hanging from the shelves and walls, arranged from the ugliest to the most beautiful.

For your luck, he manages to spot a small blue plush dog on a shelf. He quickly grabs it and forces it into your smaller, more fragile hands.

– Squeeze – He orders. You obey. Your mind, at some point, kept replaying the comic's drawings, where they abandoned you, where the same person in front of you did nothing.

– Breathe with me, at least once, breathe – Tim's voice reaches your ears. By instinct, you follow, tightening the plush toy even more in your hands. The images slowly fade from your mind, what you felt could’ve been worse begins to vanish, and your tearful gaze meets a pair of blue eyes looking back at you with concern.

Tim feels a small relief inside him that you didn’t end up in a full-blown panic attack, but he's still worried about you. Why did finding out it was Red Robin cause that reaction? Why, all of a sudden, aren’t you looking at him with pleading eyes wanting attention, but instead, avoiding his gaze? The silence between you two forms slowly, becoming more noticeable, until you wipe away your tears. You summon strength to look at him and break the silence with a voice firm but trembling slightly.

–I won’t tell anyone you’re Red Robin… I promise… you can leave now – You didn’t feel like explaining to Tim that you found a comic from the future, you weren’t even sure he would believe you, or if he would listen.

He, on the other hand, was shocked. Were you kicking him out of your room? Was this your reaction to finding out he's Red Robin? Did you not care? What's wrong with you? He looked at you, still incredulous. Why were you acting like this all of a sudden? Or had you always been, and I just hadn’t paid enough attention to you? He replayed the events of the week in his mind, remembering that you once talked about going to buy comics, maybe like you tried to talk at dinner… dinner from… how long ago was that? He kept going over what he remembered, what could’ve triggered your near panic attack? Why weren’t you looking at him like before? And why, now that you did, was it with coldness and pain? Then it clicked. Maybe you heard his recent conversation with Jason? Both had mentioned what he talked about with Steph, how sometimes you cried too much and seemed exaggerated. Was that it? That was probably it, right? Maybe not the reason for your near anxiety crisis, but it was definitely why you wanted him out of your room. You didn’t want him to keep seeing you like this, did you? Well, he wasn’t the best at handling emotions, that was more Dick’s thing, but still, he couldn’t leave you emotionally constipated. They already had enough of that from Bruce, Jason, and Damian. So, he left your room, informed Bruce that he wouldn’t go out with them tonight, changed out of his suit into pajamas, and came back to your room. You looked at him confused. He didn’t blame you, he had never been close to you like this before, but now, he wanted to be. He wanted you to stop looking at him like that.

Thank God you took the opportunity when Tim left to move the comics. You couldn’t do much, just toss them under your bed. You were hoping he wouldn’t look there now that it seemed he wanted to sleep in your room. He lay next to you, and you gave him his space. You both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, until he finally decided to break it.

–Are you okay?–

It was a simple question, short and direct, yet you just stared at the ceiling. Thinking about his question and everything else.

Some comics, from who knows where, revealed to you that this isn’t your biological family, that they’re also Gotham’s vigilantes, and that for a girl they’d known for only a few months, they abandoned you; To the daughter who, even if not by blood, had been part of the family all its life

Should you have seen it coming? Yes. Ever since you can remember, no one in this family has really worried about you, paid attention to you, or even looked at you. No parent events, no movie nights, nothing. You don’t have memories of anyone except Alfred giving you ice cream for every good grade on your tests.

Why were they different with you? More than half of the family doesn’t share blood, yet they still love and care for each other. Couldn’t you get just a little bit of that affection? What was different?

Was it because you took the place of your mother’s true daughter? Maybe they always felt like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t what they expected.

Serelith was the original, the real one. That’s why she earned their affection. That’s why everyone else cares about her. Not even your brothers… No, not even Bruce’s adopted sons or his two biological children lied. Only you. You were the only one who entered the family through a lie you never even told.

They’re detectives. Even if they don’t say anything or investigate, their instincts probably tell them you’re not who you’re supposed to be…

And now that you’ve confirmed the comics are real, it means you’re destined to suffer at the hands of the Joker.

In the comics, he finds out about Bruce’s “beloved” daughters, the only ones in the family who aren’t vigilantes, and kidnaps both of you. The family quickly comes up with a plan to search for you… to search for her. Bruce and the others completely forget you exist, leaving you at the mercy of one of Gotham’s worst criminals.

Were you okay? …No, you weren’t. Not while you remained in this family that doesn’t really feel like yours. What you want most now is to get out of here, for the Joker to never see you as Batman’s daughter, for no one to see you at all, until you’re far from where you never belonged. Only then would you be okay. But for now…

– Yeah, I’m fine – you answered, sounding a little too calm for Tim’s liking. He just sighed beside you and turned to face the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to finish the case and the situation at Wayne Enterprises as fast as possible, so he could focus entirely on figuring out what was going on with you. – Good night – Tim said as he tried to fall asleep. – Good night – you answered, turning your back to him as well, already thinking about how you’d make a plan tomorrow to leave this place as soon as possible.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had trouble concentrating and translating it into English. I’ll try to update this fic every Friday, or at least every two weeks if time allows. If for some reason I can’t stick to the two-week schedule (which probably means I have writer’s block and won’t be writing for a while), I’ll let you know. I’ll probably update on Ao3 first because the fanfic was originally written in my native language, and I’m posting everything there in its original form, in case anyone wants to check it out. On another note, I wonder if anyone will notice that the section dividers are different, one has Batfam and Philomel images in the background, and the other is empty…

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger

[missglaskin]

Head empty only thoughts of yan!Wally accidentally making his fingers vibrate with excitement when he’s fingering you causing you to almost instantly orgasm and squirt all over his hand. Cue Wally gaining an obsession for vibrating his fingers in you and eating you out like you’re his last meal on earth. All those panties he stole come nowhere close to the source

Anyway, sorry i need to go to bed now 😅 Seriously though I love your writing SM!!! You have a genuine talent and I consume everything you write even when I have absolutely no idea who those people are 😂

I AM TWEAKING RIGHT NOW ANON YOU ARE A GENIUS. May have been gotten off board, this is NASTY AND MESSY (Minors DNI) 

When Wally did it, he didn't mean to, and can you blame him? After all this time, he had you underneath him at last. Using your panties to get off, rubbing them on his cock, using pictures when you weren't looking, and humping himself against your pillow as he breathed in your scent.  Wally realizes he no longer needs them and it's the biggest relief. His lips are on yours, sighing at how intoxicating you taste and his fingers can finally caress the skin he long wanted to touch. 

He's giddy with excitement when he opens your legs; almost seeming more pleasurable to him than you. When his mouth is on your core, you can feel his groan vibrating against your pussy. He's mumbling words as he laps at your pussy as if it's the last meal on earth, muffled words like 'so good' and 'perfect baby just perfect'. All while moving and grinding his hips against the edge of the bed, it makes him moan more against your clit as his tongue draws messy circles around it. 

And then it happens. 

Wally just wanted to help you reach your orgasm. But in all his excitement, your pussy is so drenched that he easily shoves his two fingers in. He didn't know his fingers were vibrating. Until you came with a loud moan (waking all the neighbors) squirting all over his hand and face. Wally pulls back, his lower face drenched in your wetness. As you try to catch your breath, you hear him let out a little laugh and a 'wow'.

It quickly awakes something within him. Countless instances in which tears are streaming down your face as you tell Wally that you can't take it anymore. And him shushing you, telling you to give him just one more (but it's never enough). Wally wonders if he can vibrate his tongue too, nothing satisfies him more than seeing you make that face you make when he does it. 

[overangel]

αƒтєя мι∂ηιgнт

❥ This is a yandere batfam x neglected reader story.

act 1, act 2, act 3, act 4, act 5

You take the first steps towards your new life and prepare for the battlefield that is Wayne manor. Alfred chooses you. He will always choose you, and Jason Todd starts to move. Fuck the legacy. MDNI 18+, TW: suicide (past life), parental death, depression & anxiety, pseudo-incest

You were going to need as much codeine as Nurse Patrice could carry. Sprinkle in a little oxy too. Would it look like you had a problem if you asked for a morphine drip?

Willing to risk the suspicion, you tried to raise your left pointer finger towards the nurse call button, but your strength failed you. A strangled growl vibrated around the ET tube.

‘I’d even take a tylenol at this point!’

 

Another night’s sleep in the hospital was another week fighting the dummy in the pocket dimension. That made it two weeks of training and that meant two weeks of pushing your body farther than it had ever gone before. 

You sniffled, 'I knew I wasn't weak.' You had been called that word so many times that you took it as an immutable fact, but that false truth was starting to crack.

That dummy was like the real thing—his moves, his ferocity, the viciousness with trained precision in his youth that tempered with maturity and became a lethal force for good as he aged—it was all so familiar.

You swallowed a nervous lump around the ET tube. 

You had felt enough pain over the last couple of days and finally accepted your predicament for what it was.

This really wasn’t a dream, afterall. 

The beatings you took in the pocket dimension felt like what you got in the real world but on steroids. When you felt your ribs being broken, you actually felt them snap and puncture a lung when you failed to evade him, and then could feel the bone mending itself so you could continue the fight. The internal bleeding ceased and the puncture wound closed. 

You were getting real time consequences of the fight, but healing simultaneously so you could keep going. It was disorienting as you watched your shattered shin bone rip through your skin and felt the white hot pain that brought tears and stars to your eyes, only for it to mend itself and disappear without a trace in seconds.

It’s like something wouldn’t let you give up even if you wanted to, but retreating was the furthest thing from your mind now. If you quit here, you’d never get to where you wanted to be, and all you wanted was to be able to protect yourself. 

To not be a victim. 

To not let anyone make you feel the way you did before. There was no point in getting this second chance at life if you didn’t make it count. 

Besides fighting, your goals also included your education. 

This was one of your greatest shames. You closed your eyes, the soft morning sunbeams suddenly too much.

Your mom and family had been so proud of you. She and nana, and all of your aunts, uncles, and cousins swore you could be whatever you wanted to be, and If there was one thing in your life you were sure of, it was that they believed in you completely with all they had.

Then, you were taken in by Bruce Wayne and the ghouls and wraiths that haunted both the manor and the man set upon you and stole your soul. 

You weren’t a stranger to anxiety and depression before the Waynes, but there was just something about that man and about the ghosts—that were far from just metaphorical—that latched on to you and made you the sacrifice. 

That word. 

 

Ｓａｃｒｉｆｉｃｅ.

Were all the lives lost that day a sacrifice? Four hundred and thirty-two dead, and for what? 

Performative outrage that was smoothed over when a handsome man trotted out his beautiful kids and showed how compassionate he was? 

Was it forgiven and forgotten when the lost princess was whisked away to the castle on the hill by the king?

They all bought what Bruce Wayne sold.

You were starting to hear the waves crashing again and turned your mind back on topic. 

Education. 

You’re sure it broke your nana’s heart that you barely graduated high school. She was long gone but you could feel the guilt weighing you down in this life as well. This isn’t the way she left you. The woman you became under that roof wasn’t who you were meant to be. 

You thought of your worst subject and scowled.

‘I need to get a head start before I go back to school...’

In the past, you begged to go to a regular public school and you barely graduated then with the lax coursework. 

It was hard. there was a target on your back before your first day. So many lunch breaks were spent having panic attacks in the bathroom, but at least lower income to upper middle class was the crowd you understood over the elite. 

Sadly, you couldn’t go back to public school this time. You only had two years to secure a good enough transcript and some accolades for admission to a decent college. 

You were going to fulfill your Nana’s dream of being college educated.

And if you had to be a Wayne to do it? You were going to milk that legacy for all it’s worth.

Just think of getting every penny of the child support your mother never filed for with interest. What’s wrong with collecting your and your mother’s due?

Not a damn thing.

You shut your eyes for a moment and found yourself standing in the pocket dimension. The dirt wasn’t as dry as it had once been, and the grass was starting to sprout green.

The Damian dummy was gone since you wouldn’t need him, but there was a new addition to your space. Sat at the base of the lonely tree, was a short table with several books and notebooks on top of it. Walking closer, they were textbooks in the subjects you were the worst at. You sat on the pillow behind the table and picked up a pencil, not knowing where to start.

You read the cover of the first textbook, and turned to the front page. ‘You shouldn’t be able to read in dreams.’ But you could read it as clearly as if you were awake.

‘Well, I wanted to improve…’ You grumbled, thinking you’d rather take a physical beatdown over a mental one.

You awake after a short nap, blinking the shapes and letters from your vision. The textbook pages were still fresh in your mind and you found that you were still holding the pencil you were using. You brought it to the real world and stared at it in disbelief.

A polite knock resounded through the room, and a familiar face peered in through the gap. “Hello, Young Mistress Y/n.”

You jumped and almost poked yourself with the pencil but it disappeared from sight when you gave it a surprised squeeze. 

The soreness immediately left your muscles when you saw who it was. You perked up and twisted about and Alfred Pennyworth crossed the room in graceful strides to stand beside you. 

“Did you sleep well?” Despite your smile being hidden behind the ventilator’s mask, he could tell you were beaming since your eyes crinkled and softened when you gazed up at him.

“I’ve come bearing gifts.” He took a seat in the armchair at your bedside and put a bag in your lap. Both of your hands were still heavily bandaged and your right arm was in a sling, so he gingerly opened the bag for you and produced a cell phone box. 

“Young people these days and their gadgets.” He chided sarcastically as he powered on the phone and you both watched the animation. 

It was a pleasant silence, a young person and an older person marveling at a smartphone, when he said “It has your old phone number.” 

The air went still, and the only sound you could hear was the blood in your ears and your panicked thoughts.

How did he know?

Why did he think about you?

He was always the one thinking about your feelings. Why did he care? Why didn't he just follow everyone else's lead when they decided you weren't worth the effort? Why didn't he follow his master when it came to you? 

He pulled down the navigation menu and you saw that your main email was already listed and you were signed into the carrier with your old account. 

Your phone had been the last thing on your mind, but months later it would hit you that it was gone. Years worth of texts and memories would be gone without a trace. It was like Alfred was making sure you stayed where he could reach you. 

You tried to wipe the tears that clouded your vision and were race hot tracks down your cheeks, as Alfred took the phone and typed something before showing it to you again. 

“And now you have my number, Young Mistress.” 

The name 'Alfred Pennyworth' was saved there proudly at the top of your contacts as a favorite, right beside your mother's, Nana’s, and closest friends. You laid back in your pillows and cried. Everyone you loved was right there.

It's just that most of them would never pick up again.

Alfred made quick work and pulled up the text-to-speech app he was most excited for and tapped your arm. “Young Mistress,” you pulled yourself together and wiped your blurry eyes. The bandages were itchy against your skin. 

“Would you mind typing something for me?” He presented the smartphone to you and you recognized that it was the latest model when you were 16. It was a flex if someone had this, and the cases for it were the cutest. 

You remember admiring your classmates’ phones. Your mom could never afford a high end model for you, but you were more sad instead of envious. 

Now, Alfred presented it to you in pristine condition and you knew that it was his doing.

He went to the outlet and picked it up himself.

He probably had someone like Tim retrieve your passwords, but he logged into your emails and configured it so it’d be easily accessible to you, so you wouldn't be kicking yourself for not being able to remember a simple login after your entire life had been ripped from you. 

You took the phone at a loss for words. What could you say to him? There was too much to say and so much that hadn't even happened yet that he wouldn't understand. You stared at the text window as the cursor blinked. 

You could never let him know how much he meant to you, not now at least, you'd look insane. However, in time, you would definitely make him proud too. 

You laid the device in your lap and gently entered your message, deleting and correcting several times because your fingers twitched.

After rereading the message you took a shuddering breath and hit “Enter.”

“𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.” 

You held your breath and Alfred was stunned for a moment before a grin broke across his face. “I'm glad to be here, Young Mistress.”

You beamed, “𝑀𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒴/𝓃.” 

“I'm aware, Young Mistress Y/n. Hm," He mused, “Ms. Y/n L/n. It has a lovely ring to it.”

“𝐼𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝑀𝓇. 𝒫𝑒𝓃𝓃𝓎𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly. “And please, there's no need for titles with me. Alfred is perfect.”

“𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 '𝒴/𝓃.'”

The smile that rose to his eyes betrayed the professionalism, “No problem at all, Young Mistress Y/n.”

“𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃.”

“I'm afraid that I don't.”

“𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 '𝒴/𝓃' 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉.”

“I agree, she is.”

You lifted and raised your legs in a mock tantrum. You would've pressed your lips together if you could and your cheeks burned. 

“𝒩𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒!”

“I can't do that, Young Mistress. There is etiquette that I must follow as head butler of the Wayne family.”

“𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒.” 

His heart clenched, he incorrectly assumed you already felt like you didn't belong. Little did he know, you didn't want to. 

“You are. You are by blood and will soon be in name, and that is something no one can take from you.” He took your hand in his and looked into your eyes in the same reassuring way he would when he told you your panic attacks didn't make you weak. 

“𝐵𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒?”

“Yes, you will soon be Y/n Wayne. We thought it would be appropriate to wait until you woke up and had time to settle in.”

‘’We’ meaning you, right?’ You thought.

You let him think you believed that. 

You hated the name 'Wayne'. You carried it with you like an idiot in the past. A Wayne in name with none of the perks, but since you’ve resolved to use that name to your advantage—you were talking transcripts, college admissions, and scholarships here—you were going to take it again but with some stipulations.

You were going to change it after you accomplished what you wanted to do and didn't need it as a fallback, and you weren't giving up your identity to try to fit in again.

“𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔?” The AI voice sounded particularly pitiful which worked in your favor. 

“Anything.”

“𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒 𝐿/𝓃-𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒? 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝒶𝓂𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒.”

And make the Waynes an afterthought.

“Oh.” You are always surprising him, “I don't see why not.” He rubbed his chin as he pondered. “Young Mistress Y/n L/n-Wayne.”  Trying on each syllable for size.

You squinted at him to show the dissatisfaction with the long and frilly title while his eyes held a hint of mischief. 

You switched gears, “𝒟𝑜 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈?” 

This was a subject that Alfred was more than prepared for. He had wished for you to get adjusted and start bonding with you new siblings as soon as possible, and although they didn’t visit, he dropped seeds of interest about you whenever he could, and now it was time to plant those same seeds for your siblings with you.

“Where should I begin?” He exhaled and thought back to the beginning when Dick was brought home. “I was willing to accept the manor being child-free forever with Master Bruce’s bachelor lifestyle, so you can imagine my surprise when he brought home this young boy just out of the blue—”

You rested comfortably and gazed at him. You didn’t take in a word because these people were your least favorite topic, but you enjoyed whenever Alfred explained something. He could make the most mundane feel worth knowing.

“I was more prepared when he brought Master Jason home.”

You made a show of perking up at the name, he caught your renewed interest and continued with gusto.

“He was much smaller than other boys his age, but his heart was far larger than most.” You hugged a pillow as Alfred spoke of Jason like he was his own grandson.

He explained how Jason possessed an inner strength rarely found in grown (it broke his heart someone had to grow up so fast. It hurt every time I see it.), and was an avid reader who enjoyed finding first additions together and studying the craftsmanship. 

“I’m still so proud of him.” and Alfred stopped before getting to the Second Robin’s final chapter, when Robin ended and the Red Hood began.

You knew about it all, but kept quiet. To the rest of the world, Bruce Wayne’s second adopted son died by a tragic accident only for it to be revealed to the public to be a misunderstanding.

The public had a way of rolling with whatever it was fed, but you knew that Jason had been a “child soldier” and that was something you would never forgive Bruce for.

“𝒟𝑜𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔?”

Alfred smiled, “Once a bookworm, always a bookworm.” 

You peppered him with questions about Jason, coming across as really looking forward to having a big brother to protect you and he was more than happy to indulge. 

You were so good at the game, discussing books and themes, circling back to Jason in some way or other, that Alfred didn’t have a chance to talk up Tim and the others or your only actual blood-related sibling. 

“𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.” 

Alfred felt like he was splashed by a scalding pot of Earl Grey. “Perish the thought. Speaking with you brightened this old man’s day.” He checked his pocket watch, visibly dimming at the time.

“𝐼’𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝑒𝓍𝒸𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝑔 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓂𝑒.” You looked down shyly and fiddled with the blanket self consciously. 

“𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝐼’𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉!”

Alfred’s heart swelled. “I’m sure he feels the same way, dear girl.” 

He would make sure of it.

You bid Alfred a good evening, and he walked the halls with his heart soaring. He would share everything he learned about you with Jason, and was going to move heaven and Earth to make sure you were loved as you deserved.

You snuggled under the blankets after Alfred left. If all went according to plan you would make a second ally before even reaching Wayne manor. 

A phone that only accepted one phone number vibrated, and ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ dropped from the pullup bar knowing exactly who was on the other end. 

“'Sup?” 

“Master Jason, I’m so glad you answered.” The accented voice came through smoothly.

“Of course, Alfred. What’s up?”

“Must something be up, Master Jason?”

Jason raised a brow that Alfred somehow detected. 

“I wanted to share good news.”

“Oh? Are you finally taking that Elder singles cruise?”

“Haha,” Alfred said flatly, “and miss out on our chats in favor of cocktails in Tahiti? Never.” Jason grinned, the sarcasm in Alfred’s voice wasn’t heavy and burdened. He sounded light, actually. Like something caught him from falling. 

“I spent my afternoon with someone and we discussed books and cinema. I almost doubted the literacy of the younger generation, but she restored my faith in humanity.”

“Now, she sounds like an incredible person.”

“She is, and that’s why I’d like you to meet her.”

The record scratched.

“Look, Alfred, I don’t need to be set up—”

“It’s Young Mistress Y/n.”

Alfred didn’t break the silence and let Jason’s mind lead the way. 

ʏ/ɴ.

The girl he had only seen on the news. There wasn’t a channel that hadn’t shown that million dollar picture, or a Gothamite who hadn’t seen the bloodied face of Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

Jason didn’t know how to feel about you. You were discovered because of tragedy and being reunited with your billionaire father should’ve been the sign that things were looking up for you. 

This should’ve been your golden ticket, so why did he feel like things would only get worse for you in Bruce Wayne’s care?

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire…” He whispered to himself. Nothing could ever equal the suffering you were already experiencing, but you would face a new dilemma when you officially became a Wayne. 

First of all, you were a civilian. An extremely vulnerable civilian that Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be equipped to care for in the ways you needed: emotionally. 

“This is going to be a disaster.”

“It’s not like she hasn’t survived one before.”

Jason twitched, he didn’t mean to let that thought slip. “Alfred, seriously. You don’t think this is a good idea, right?”

“It’s a great idea.”

“She needs to be around normal people, Alfred.”

“She needs to be around people who will understand her.”

“Exactly!”

“And who better than someone who’s been to hell and back.”

Jason went silent. Damn you, Alfred Pennyworth.

“She had many hot takes.” The butler offered.

Jason snorted, and shifted the phone to his other ear, settling in for what may be a long chat. “Okay, Alfred, let’s hear ‘em.”

They talked late into the night like how they did so many years before when Jason’s biggest problems were math homework and if Bruce would let him patrol that night. There was laughter, and for a moment they both forgot how cruel the world could be.

These were the moments worth fighting for.

After the call ended, Jason got a text from Alfred with your phone number.

His thumb hovered over the screen, so close to swiping it away, but then he saved it. 

It wouldn’t hurt. Just in case.

The ET tube was removed ahead of schedule and Alfred could finally see your pretty face. The bandage beside your left eye was still there and it hurt to smile too wide, but you were so expressive and he loved it. It was as if he could hear your voice speaking instead of the AI from your phone.

He was looking forward to your laugh. He could tell by the rapport you two had built in only a few days, that your laughter would come easily. 

You two watched telenovelas and he guided you through tactile exercises to strengthen your hands and maintain dexterity. Sometimes a tear would spring from your eyes, but your eyes were relentless as they had been in that photo that shocked the world.

He knew you would thrive at the manor. 

You quickly noticed that Alfred wasn’t your only guest.

After Alfred leaves and the dusk stains the sky in pinks and purples, the creatures of the night begin to stir. A presence cloaked in black, born in the shadows, watches you attentively. 

The first night, he watched from the roof of a medical building far across the campus. He was able to spy you from his scope when Alfred left the blinds opened at just the right angle.

You read and he enjoyed watching your emotions play across your face. He could watch you for hours, following the story alongside you. He stood in position for so long that his legs were on pins and needles. That’s when he realized he had watched you for hours.

The following night, he was closer, just on the roof above the medical pavilion facing your room. He had a knack for avoiding light, natural or artificial, he found the darkness and made it home.

Tonight, he watched you from your window and frowned as you kept rereading the same sentence, unable to concentrate. A frown twisted your lips and you huffed, finally closing the book and setting it aside. 

Anticipation prevented you from focusing no matter how engaging the story was. You officially started PT tomorrow which would be the most physical work you've done in the real world since the flood.

It would hurt just as much as your training with the dummy if not more and you hoped you could shoot through it all and finish on target. 

You remembered the frustrated tears. The trembling, the falls, the hopelessness that came with the creeping fear that you would never have what you once had. ‘What if I had taken it all for granted?’

Jason watched, his brows furrowed as he could sense that you were going to do something you shouldn’t. You sat up and threw the blanket from your legs. You hadn’t taken a step in weeks and you couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see if you could. 

You turned to the side and dragged your numb legs to the edge of the bed.

“She isn’t…” Jason was pulling out his phone and swiping to Alfred’s contact without taking his eyes from you. Alfred didn’t make him wait, “We’ve got a runner!”

“Excuse me?” 

“She’s going to—ah, damn it!” 

Jason shoved his phone in his topic and started sprinting across the roof, eyes focused as you dropped your legs over the side of the bed.

He pulled a grapple gun from his belt, shot and secured a good grasp on the roof of your building’s roof, and swung forward with a running leap. He was at your windows in seconds and didn’t have the grace to stop himself with it being such a short distance.

He hit the window with a gloved hand and knee guard and the bang almost startled you off the bed.

You froze before you could set a single toe on the floor. 

You two stared at each other. His red lenses and mask didn’t reveal his feelings, but you could imagine the embarrassed look on his face.

You grinned and silently chuckled. He’s like a bird that crashed into the really shiny window from those cleaning commercials.

You put your weight against the bed and was about to lean forward to take a step before you heard two deliberate taps at your window.

Looking up, you saw the Red Hood shaking his head. Your smile grew more as you locked eyes with his goggles and gingerly lifted a foot to take a step.

He stopped nodding and stared.

You pulled your legs back from the edge. No sound came out, and it hurt too much to speak, but he could see you shake with laughter.

He watched this all, astonished. Why weren’t you afraid?

He knew you weren’t from Gotham, so it'd make sense why you wouldn’t recognize an infamous vigilante from Gotham and The Hill, but why weren't you scrambling for help from a masked weirdo at your 13th floor window?

‘She must be on a lot of meds.’ Jason thinks to himself.

You look at him, with your grin shrinking into a normal half-smile. He wasn’t expecting the attention tonight, Actually, he wasn’t expecting any attention at all.

Giving away his presence wasn’t the plan, but he just had to play the good guy and not let an injured girl fall to the floor in front of him.

He wasn’t a monster.

You chewed the inside of your cheek in thought. He was hyper aware of every move you made.

He would see your smile and your sparkling eyes when he closed his eyes for weeks.

You'd drawn him out, and fought the triumphant grin from spreading across your face.

In your past life, Jason ignored you, but never really ridiculed you. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips curled in dissatisfaction when you were sad—when you were weak. You always had the feeling that you disgusted him with your vulnerability. And why wouldn't he? He was the type to not break under adversity, but apparently you were the type who did.

Maybe it was hard for him to watch.

You would never know that he avoided you because he thought you were too precious for him to touch.

Your softness, your humanity, your compassion even when the world and your family did everything it could to beat it out of you. The spot of darkness that you sometimes fed and sometimes starved, he knew it all.

He wanted it all.

But he ruined everything he touched.

He convinced himself that getting close to you was a delusion, and that self-sabotage caused him to miss out.

Before he could even act on it, you had sealed yourself in that damned room. He put up a guard between you two, but you locked the padlock and threw away the key.

When your life ended, he realized that he deluded himself into thinking that staying away for you was for your safety, when he was truly just trying to protect himself.

He was the weak one. 

You dragged yourself back against your pillows and tossed the blanket back over your legs. Jason hadn’t thought to pull himself from the window while you weren’t looking since his brain was short-circuiting. Damn you, Alfred Pennyworth.

You looked back at him and smiled dreamily. You waved and closed your eyes.

He hoped the spell you cast on him would wear off soon, and he waited but his legs wouldn’t move on their own. “Oh, fuck this.” He forced his legs beneath him and propelled from the roof and swung across the medical campus and away to clear his head.

He wasn't expecting that. 

He wasn’t expecting you, and your big clear eyes that seemed to see all of him beneath that mask and show no fear. He wasn’t expecting the cheeky grins and easy laughter, and he wasn’t expecting to want to see you again so soon.

“Come on, Young Mistress. You can do this.” Alfred encouraged as he watched you on the parallel bars.

You shook violently and carried all of your weight in your trembling arms because you just knew that if you put even a pound of pressure on one foot you would drop.

Sweat beaded at your brow and you exhaled sharply from your nose. You placed half your weight in one foot and your hips immediately fell. Alfred waited anxiously on the side as the physical therapist helped you. 

His jaw was set tightly, it was so hard to hold himself back but he needed you to improve by your own efforts so you could be healthy when he brought you to the manor. He repeated this to himself, trying to fight back the desire to catch you every time. 

You huffed and carefully placed one foot in front of the other. Your sweaty palms almost lost their grip on the parallel bars and you shook them with your trembling. 

Your ankle twisted and your arms gave out like you knew it would. You fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Alfred gazed at you with admiration as you pulled yourself back up and started again. That determination was definitely a Wayne trait and he was sure your mother must’ve possessed the same as she worked hard to raise you well as a single mother.

He had never met her personally, but he meeting you told him that she must’ve been an amazing mother and woman to bring up someone like you.

So your days went on like that. Physical therapy, and cleaning your wounds, never allowed to push harder than your therapists said or you’d be sent 3 steps back in recovery.

In the pocket dimension, you studied tirelessly and trained with the dummy. The thing scowled at you and lashed out with killing intent, but it was an effective teacher. No words were spoken between you two, the dummy didn’t have the ability to speak, and you were glad for it.

You found out you could’ve liked Damian if he didn’t talk. Who knew?

Working hard was always a good thing, and you were making strides in the time in the hospital. You tried to calm your mind. You weren’t expecting a transformation overnight, but you were changing for the better and getting stronger by the day. 

Besides reading, you practiced the arts. You were sure that Gotham Academy had excellent extra curricular programs including an art department so it wouldn't hurt to use it and put together a portfolio.

In your past life, you had given up what made your soul sing. Your hands felt unworthy to touch a pencil, your joints locked up in panic when you tried to press pen to paper. Hands hovered over keyboards at a loss for words and instruments lay silent as the grave. 

One afternoon after therapy, you took a pencil and sheet of paper and sketched for the first time in years. 

Alfred caught himself wondering where he had gone wrong when raising Bruce. He was proud, don’t get him wrong, but Alfred knew that he was guilty of enabling the man until he grew up and was able to disregard the butler’s concerns and advice entirely.

Alfred could only lament as he stitched shut a knife wound on Bruce’s shoulder with expert position. The Dark Knight droned on about protocols that would need to be updated, and chastised Damian for rushing ahead.

It was the same story, different day, and it only frustrated Alfred even more that they chose this monotony when there was a vibrant new life they should be welcoming with open arms. 

Not only that, he hadn’t been able to visit you in 3 days! That first day, he was needed for air support. The second day, he was watching the comms while Batman, Red Robin, and Robin went on a manhunt. You didn’t add to the old man’s stress, though. You were patient and sent him updates on your PT progress, and hoped you weren’t bothering him. 

The texts you managed to share throughout the day eased his nerves.

‘Nurse Patrice said ‘Hi!’ :D’

Or 

‘Did you see the new episode?’

Damian once watched the way Alfred’s eyes lit up at his phone before he could contain himself and sent the butler a quizzical frown. That was a close one. 

 

At least Jason was having a good time. He watched you from afar from the moment the last rays of sunlight retreated from the sky. He was outside your window now, far closer than previous nights, emboldened by your cheerful reception nights ago. 

He still remained one with the night and was undetectable by the naked eye, but he was so close now that it felt little he was there with you. 

He watched every gesture; admired every facial expression. He scanned the covers of the books you held carefully in your bandaged hands and watched you as you watched TV.

He watched you as you slept.

You looked so fragile in the hospital bed amongst the tubing and monitors. The ET tube and neck brace had come off a few days prior, and now what remained was a splint and bandaging. 

It was a quiet moment like this when there was nothing to watch that he finally acknowledged the feeling in his chest. 

You were tucked away in a private hospital, only accessible to an elite class, and no one but Bruce Wayne's family members could get to you. You were safe, so why was he watching? Why did he stand guard like a knight outside of his lady's chambers? He wasn't in the bodyguard business. 

But he wasn't as emotionally constipated as his adoptive father and could see this for what it was. 

Something took root before he knew it, and he felt like he had fallen into a beautiful trap. In a matter of days, he developed an affection for and desire to protect a girl who he originally wasn't going to accept as his adopted sister weeks earlier.

All it took was a smile for you to completely disarm him. 

He had always wanted to protect others, to be what stood between the innocent and the dangerous, but he failed every time he tried. He even accepted that he wasn't meant to be one of the ‘good guys.’

Maybe the kid of a junkie and dealer from Gotham's roughest streets wasn’t meant to be a hero, and he was just the last one to realize.

You stirred in bed and whimpered.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he leaned forward against the glass. You were having a nightmare, tears squeezed through your tightly shut lids as you gripped your blankets like a lifeline. 

Your mouth popped open but no sound came out. He read your lips, felt your silent cries in his blood, 'Mama!' Your face twisted in anguish and he almost bashed in the window. 

'I can't do this alone…' you broke down into silent sobs and struggled to breathe. He couldn't take it any longer and started loudly knocking on the window until you woke up. 

Your eyes opened wide. You gasped for air painfully  before looking to the source of the noise as the nightmare was being pulled away from you by invisible hands.

You looked to the window and saw red lenses on black goggles and a red half mask. Jason watched you and your pouty, trembling lips, and your startled eyes.

He wanted to reach through the window. 

You smiled a soft, teary smile and waved again and mouthed a 'Thank you.' That almost made him slip from the window ledge.

You fixed your ventilator to your face and took steady breaths before you started hyperventilating. He watched as you settled into bed and even more after you closed your eyes. 

Jason Todd had someone he wanted to protect. 

You were being discharged soon after a few weeks of treatment and therapy. Alfred couldn't visit as much as he had wanted but bringing you home was a planned event and he made sure everyone knew he would be busy and that they should free up their schedules as well.

Damian was disgruntled and combative. He wasn't going to arrange his schedule for some “vagrant” and why should he stand on ceremony? 

Alfred wondered if his patience was thinning with age, because at times like these venom coated his tongue ready to retort and thoroughly dress down his opponents, but he kept it under lock and behind his teeth.

Damian was a child, he reminded himself, he was merely taking his cues from his role model and father.

Bruce Wayne was the problem. Alfred hid away correspondence and froze all appointments and reminders on today's calendar. Bruce wouldn't need any distractions.

It wasn't lost on the butler that Jason had been poking around at the manor. He lazed about at the library or home theatre, but he wasn't invested in whatever he was doing. He just wanted to be near, waiting for Alfred to get the call that you were ready to be discharged. 

Alfred, in his benevolence, decided not to tease him. He was going to eventually, of course, but now wasn't the time. 

Jason slipped away for something when Alfred got the call he had been waiting weeks for. He flew as if he had stolen Hermes's winged sandals, jumping in the town car and beating traffic like he was Dom Toretto.

The gentleman was upstairs and at your door before his “visitor” sticker was fully stuck to his jacket, when you were being settled into your wheelchair.

“Ready, Young Mistress?”

You smiled the soft smile that made the space around you glow with sunlight.

Your hair was groomed and styled by Nurse Patrice and the casual outfit that Alfred had brought for you fit well. You felt good, and it was a strange sensation but you looked forward to getting to know the woman you would become.

“As ever.” 

Alfred took the handles and wheeled you down the halls, you thanked the staff as you passed, truly grateful for their care and gave Nurse Patrice the longest hug. She and Alfred both laughed as you tried to drag her with you when Alfred tried to wheel you forward.

It was past the front desk, just before you crossed the entrance into the outside world and felt the sun against your skin, when you saw her.

Peeping from behind a corner was a little girl who was a mix of pale blue and mossy green and soaking wet. 

Her hair and oversized T-shirt dripped water on the floor around her tiny, dirtied feet and your shoulders tensed more with every heavy “drip, drop, drip, drop.” 

Matted hair was plastered to her face, but her large, sunken eyes penetrated the veil and stabbed into your spirit. 

A victim of the flood.

You were a survivor and your father was at fault. Why did his child get to survive? Were the other children not special enough?

It was unfair that you got off and they were just another section on Bruce Wayne's wiki page when the media circus died. You knew the lives lost would be added with all the other ones Batman let slip through the cracks. 

You wouldn’t carry his burden for him.

You stared at the girl, your eyes locked with her bottomless pools as you began to hear the waves crashing and feel the wind blow your hair, and a silent understanding was formed between you.

You reached back and gingerly touched Alfred’s hand as he wheeled you into the parking lot.

ʜɪꜱ ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴀʀ.

To be continued.

Thanks sm for wanting to be tagged, and please let me know how I did and stop by to chat <3

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[deldaydreams]

Same Old Lie

Warning: Yandere stuff, gender-neutral reader.

-English is my second language so it could be some mistakes.

Summary: You were an anomaly-timeline agent. Your job was to make sure that canon events in your universe happened and to eliminate possible anomalies. But something went wrong. Something that shouldn't have happened in the timeline happened because of you. Because of that, you disappeared and your beloved batfam is going crazy.

A.T.A. stands for Anomaly and Timeline Agency. The agency responsible for the smooth running of every canon event and timeline in the parallel universe. And you were an Anomaly-Timeline agent. Your job was to follow the canon events in your own universe and eliminate possible anomalies. For this reason, you took on a secret identity and became little Bruce Wayne's legal guardian.

Becoming Bruce's legal guardian wasn't that hard. All you had to do was get close to his parents and make a few small changes to their will.

When you first moved to the mansion, Bruce, who had just lost his parents , didn't welcome you well at all. You didn't even want to guess what would have happened if Alfred hadn't intervened.

As I said, Bruce was very difficult towards you at first. He was doing his best to annoy you and drive you away, but over time he started to get used to you.

Maybe you weren't so bad? He stopped ignoring you at the mansion. Insinuating sentences were replaced by harder-to-deal questions. What's your favorite food? What are your hobbies? What kind of movies do you watch?..

Getting close to Bruce had its advantages as well as disadvantages. To put it simply, he would ask so many questions and go into so much detail that it was very difficult not to reveal your true identity.

However, one of the biggest problems was your “business trips”. Whenever you were going to leave the mansion to hunt anomalies or follow up on a canon event, Bruce would make every effort to keep you from leaving the mansion. Your business trips were unnecessary for Bruce. You had to take care of him. That’s why you were here. Besides, he was rich enough to take care of you as well. Why did you always go on business trips? Anyway , every time, he would eventually let you go in return for bringing him a gift from wherever you went.

Time passed. Many things happened . Bruce learned your real name (fortunately, he still didn’t know your duty and job. It’s very hard to hide something from the best detective in the world.) Bruce became Batman (Of course, he explained this to you.) And your first Robin, Dick Grayson, came to the mansion.

Dick has always been a good boy since he met you. The perfect boy who always listens to you and helps you. We can say that you have almost never had any problems with him. Just like Bruce, Dick also knew his limits. The taboos that should never be spoken about. That is why he never questioned why you never aged (Since there are different time streams in different universes, the dimensional travel watch you wear to avoid being affected by the time streams prevents you from aging physically.) or why you constantly go on business trips. Dick trusts his intuition. And his intuition is that you can leave them and disappear at any moment. For this reason, he is very aware of not crossing those limits if he wants to have a happy life with you.

Then came the second Robin Jason Todd. When you first met Jason, he was very cautious towards you. Especially when he saw old photos and realized that you had not aged at all, he was really scared of you. He was harsh and aggressive towards you at first as a self-protective mechanism, but fortunately he opened up to you in time.

When he came back after his death, Jason was naturally angry with you as he was with the whole family. The reason for his anger was your fear of forgetting him. Although he didn't accept it, when he first met you, Jason, who was jealous of your closeness with Dick, had worked very hard to win your favor. Tim's arrival after his death brought this fear to the surface again. He didn't want to be pushed to the background. The loss of those years you could have spent together had deeply affected him. But fortunately, his anger towards you passed when you hugged him and talked to him.

After Jason's death, the third Robin Tim Drake came. It was very difficult to deal with Tim, who was a very good detective like Bruce. The boy would constantly ask you questions or corner you with some of his assumptions. For this reason, you had to be extra careful around him. Whenever you went on a business trip, your bag, shirt, or any of your belongings would definitely have a chip attached to them. Luckily, Alfred, Bruce, and Dick would intervene and this tracking issue didn't go much further. Of course, what Tim did was right from his point of view. Tim, like the others, is aware that you could leave them at any moment. According to him, if they want to keep you with them, they need to know about you, down to the smallest detail. You know everything about them, so why don't they?

Finally, as you expected, the last Robin arrived, Damian Wayne. As you expected, Damian was arrogant, self-important, sarcastic, and made it very clear that he didn't like you, which didn't last long. Although Damian didn't accept it, he quickly got used to your presence and started following you wherever you went like a tail. Damian, who has a very jealous nature, definitely doesn't wants you to give others more attention than you give him, otherwise he would make your whole day miserable. Also, Damian's overly controlling personality made it very difficult for you to do your job. Who do you see? What are you looking at? Where are you going? When will you be back? Damian is worse at tracking than Bruce and Tim, and he doesn't try to hide it. Why are you going on a business trip? The Waynes are very rich. He constantly argues with you about quitting your job. Luckily, the other family members constantly come between you. Or rather, stop Damian.

You leaned yourself against the balcony railing. You were planning on watching the city here until you got caught. You couldn’t escape Bruce’s grasp tonight. He had dragged you to tonight’s gala with him. You sighed. You had escaped from the stifling hall and hid on a small balcony, and Bruce was probably inside looking for you.

“There you are. The fugitive has been found.”

You smiled at the familiar voice. Oops. It seems you were caught. Bruce wrapped his arms around you from behind. He buried his head in your neck.

“I don’t like it when you just disappear. What were you thinking when you left me all alone?” He mumbled.

You held yourself back from laughing and smiled slightly. As you turned your head slightly towards him, you were caught in Bruce’s gaze that drew you in. Those gazes… They made you feel like a predator’s prey. You turned your head back.

“Y/n, no matter what happens, you will always stay by our side, right?” His voice was hoarse. He would ask you this question whenever he felt bad.

“…Of course.” And you told your same old lie again before disappearing.

Notes: it’s messy and I know it. Probably going to make this a series. I hope you like it. And please let me know if you liked it.

[moonit3]

a yan! batfam x batgirl! reader

ᯓ★ honestly? just a short story about reader who takes the mantle of being batgirl and tries to navigate her life with her family members being a little too much overbearing.

ᯓ★ WARNINGS/INFO: brief yandere themes as expected, gn! reader despite becoming batgirl, violence, deaths, obsession, reader sometimes not having a good time, the usual struggles by the batfam, jason tried to kill you once, blood, mentioned trauma.

ᯓ★ A/N: my very first writing to launch here, well at least in this blog. it’s been a while since i wrote something to release on internet, so I might be a little rusty some parts, but enough of my silly rambles. enjoy this story.

you’re quite different from your siblings

don’t get it wrong, you still a wayne kid just like the rest of them. you were trained from an earlier age, attended many galas, has a tragic backstory and definitely spent too much hours in combating crimes instead of going to sleep. and still, you aren’t like them.

bruce—or as he wants to be called father, has always been somewhat more protective of you in comparison to the others. always going easy on you during training, texting you every fifteen minutes when you out of the manor and almost denying you to become a vigilante like the rest of them.

it was a tough back then.

from the first time when bruce adopted you, took you in and made you become another member of his family, there was something that you couldn’t quite understand about him.

don’t get it wrong, he is a loving father regardless of his initial reaction when you first got home. even though he was grieving jason’s death and trying his best to deal with tim, father managed to find time to make you feel safe within the walls of the manor.

he is a good father, despite all of his struggles and lack of sense when it comes to you leaving the manor, bruce remains a good father.

he kept telling you that he failed all of them.

drifting dick away with his own words.

losing jason to a stupid clown.

barbara becoming paralyzed from her waist down.

and unfortunately, tim was tangled with all of this misfortune happening. even with you arrive almost time as him, you could feel the weight on his shoulder were much heavier than your.

even when barbara offered you the mantle of batgirl under her leadership, you couldn’t be more suspicious about bruce when realizing certain aspects of your new life as a vigilante.

unlike tim— who could easily patrol by himself in the dangerous and deadly corners of Gotham on his own—you couldn’t take more than a few steps away from batman. father always kept a hand on your cape whatever you tried to drift during patrols, it was even more panicking for the twelve years old version of yourself when batman told Gordon that you’d be showing up more often than Robin himself.

the only reason you didn’t jump from the roof that time was because you didn’t want to cause a scene between two adult who were struggling on how to a arrest a new crime lord that haven been terrorizing the city.

“batman,” you called for him, gently pulling a part of his cloak towards you. he has already finished talking with Gordon, meaning that as batgirl, you have the freedom to talk with him. “why can’t you call robin for this? he is well more skillful in handling gangs and stuff like that... not to mention, oracle said she wants to take me to patrol downtown gotham.”

father’s gaze averted from the many city’s skylights towards you, he looks slightly out of place when realizing your words. maybe even as the world’s best detective, he wasn’t expecting this question at all. “because i ordered you to come with me and not robin. and you told me that you want to be taken seriously, so that’s what I am doing.” he replied, taking off his grapnel gun out of his utility belt and aiming for a nearby building. “now follow me, Gordon has gave a lead that could take us right to the responsible for killing black mask.”

without speaking any more words, he aims at a gargoyle perched high across the alleyway, and fires. the line whips taut with a loud THUNK, and in a one second, he launches into the night, vanishing into the darkness of the city.

left behind, batgirl—you, of course, rushes to the edge of the building, eyes following the silhouette of your mentor. “could at least say where you’re going…”

you pull out your own grapnel, a small version of batman’s. mimicking his movements, arms steady, breath held—and fire.

the hook catches. with a small flicker of your wrists, you yanked up into the cold air of gotham, dark purple boots kicking against the misty wind as you follow the dark knight. and at the same, you hope to not thrown up the dinner that alfred made just hours ago.

as batman lands in silence, he doesn’t look back at you landing just a moment after him, even though you almost fell from the gargoyle.

“faster next time,” he said, putting his grapnel away before focusing his eyes on the holographic computer from one of gloves. “try not to fall from another building this time, we don’t want to repeat what happened with poison ivy last month.”

a sigh comes out of your lips as you struggle putting your grapnel back to your belt, “didn’t have much choice.” a smile grown on your lips when finally putting the grapnel on its right place. “but yeah, i did good this time.”

batman glances sideways for a brief moment, the faintest smirk hidden under his cowl facing you before focusing his entire attention back to his holographic computer.

what was supposed to be a simple mission—a quick sweep of the crime lord’s main hideout—turned into a bloodbath.

neither you or batman realized it was all a setup:a trap designed to lure you in. waiting in the shadows was the man behind the wave of violence tearing through Gotham’s underworld—Red Hood.

a ruthless, calculated, and dealt, his mission was clear: control the city by force and destroy batman in the process. and of course, that also meant by destroying those who work with batman, including yourself.

it was the first time you feared death, even with father at your side, there was something that you couldn’t control when fighting and dodging all the bullets aimed toward you. and unfortunately, one certain bullet hit you.

a moment’s distraction—just glancing back when you hear batman shout “red hood!”— was all it took. pain seared through your shoulder as a bullet tore through it, blood blooming fast across the purple fabric of your uniform.

from that point, things began taking a dark turn. your body couldn’t handle the pain, screaming out loud when feeling the bullet burning inside. it seems the whole world began blacking out as you fight off the remaining mobs before going towards a nearby window.

batman didn’t waste time, not when he heard your screams and saw the crimson ruining the batman symbol on your clothes. his fist knocked red hood off before running towards you, holding your small body against his chest, whispering words of comfort when feeling your trembling.

he aims his grapnel gun to the darkness of gotham and just like that, the dark knight fled the scene with his sidekick in his arms.

it took hours to calm bruce down. he blames himself when seeing his youngest daughter laying on bed, even with the bullet removed and in stable conditions, the hero couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“dad,” you reached his hand, holding it against your palm as the medication began flowing into your body. according to alfred, it will help you heal faster, but it also will make you feel dizzy as a result. “when can I go back to patrol? barbara still needs to teach me how to fight…”

bruce doesn’t reply. he remains in completely silence when realizing that despite getting shot, you still want to go back being batgirl. he is not surprised, not when he is very much aware that all of his children are too stubborn to give up in being vigilantes.

he lets go of your hand—patting your mess hair and even pinching your cheeks when seeing how heavily your eyelids are becoming. a small smile grown on his lips, fixing the pillows to be more comfortable as he stands up from his seat.

“well, we will see that once you fully healed.” he said, turning off the lamp from the bedside table and gently lifting the blankets to cover your now sleeping form. “goodnight, [name].”

walking away from the now dark bedroom, bruce takes a final look at your sleeping frame. the memory of your getting shot flashes on his mind, making him avert his gaze away from you.

as he closes the door behind him, bruce’s mind can only think of a moment before taking the ultimate decision for yourself. he will talk about it with barbara and the others, but bruce knows they will agree with him.

you would never be batgirl ever again, not as long he still breaths.

[aphroditelovesu]

7k special masterlist || disclaimer: yandere content and suggestive themes.

💌 ˚˖੭ Thank you all so, so much for the 7k! This special is my way of showing how much I'm grateful and I hope you'll enjoy it! 💌 ˚˖੭

❝enemies to lovers with Alexander the Great❞

❝forbbiden love with Apollo❞

❝soulmate au with Aphrodite❞

❝one bed trope with Percy Jackson❞

❝fake dating with Anthony Bridgerton❞

❝grumpy x sunshine with Hades❞

❝hero x villain!reader with Batman/Bruce Wayne❞

❝reconnection with Colin Bridgerton❞

❝second chance with Eros❞

❝arranged marriage with Caesar Augustus❞

❝enemies to lovers + fake dating with Daenerys Targaryen❞

❝found family with The Crows❞

❝love triangle with Eros and Apollo❞

❝amnesia with Hannibal Lecter❞

❝revenge quest with Maegor the Cruel❞

❝tragic backstory with Vlad ''Dracula'' Tepes❞

❝agent x agent!reader with Will Graham❞

❝unlikely allies with Percy Jackson❞

❝friends to lovers with Anthony Bridgerton❞

❝the prophecy with Apollo❞

💌 ˚˖੭ As the poll results come out, I will update them, as well as when I post them! Again, thank you so much for the 7k followers and I genuinely hope you enjoy this special <333. 💌 ˚˖੭

[yandereunsolved]

🦇 𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 & 𝙳𝙲 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 🦇

“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith first, the trust part comes later.” – Clark Kent (Superman)

"I get it. Guns make things go faster. But what's the damn rush?" — Richard 'Dick' Grayson (Nightwing)

"Sorry I'm late. But you try changing clothes in a hybrid." — Oliver Queen (Green Arrow)

— 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 —

Alfred Pennyworth

Barbara Gordon

Bruce Wayne

Cassandra Cain

Clark Kent 'Superman'

Damian Wayne

Diana Prince 'Wonder Woman'

Dick Grayson

Duke Thomas

Harleen Quinzel

Jack Napier 'Joker'

Jason Todd

John Constantine

Jonathan Crane

Katherine 'Kate' Kane

Pamela Isley

Selina Kyle 'Catwoman'

Stephanie Brown

Tim Drake

— 𝖠𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗐/ 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾 —

Yandere Bruce Wayne

word count: 148 cw(s): yandere themes "𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘺."

Yandere Clark Kent 'Superman'

word count: 856 cw(s): yandere themes―heavy obsessive ideations "𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘺."

Yandere Damian Wayne

word count: 131 cw(s): kidnapping "―𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴."

Yandere Jason Todd

word count: 196 cw(s): manipulation, paranoia, & active kidnapping "𝘈𝘮 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘶𝘺?"

Yandere Jonathan Crane

word count: 232 cw(s): alluded to assault, manipulation, & gaslighting "𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵; 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

Yandere Richard 'Dick' Grayson

word count: 214 cw(s): yandere themes "𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺."

Yandere self-aware Clark Kent

word count: cw(s): yandere themes {tbd}

Yandere self-aware Prime Earth Joker

word count: 341 cw(s): yandere themes "𝘏𝘢, 𝘩𝘢, 𝘩𝘢 .ᐟ 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶?"

Yandere Stephanie Brown

word count: 356 cw(s): kidnapping & manipulation "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵!" (𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺.)

Yandere Tim Drake

word count: 89 cw(s): yandere themes "𝘐𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵."

— 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 —

Yandere Batfam pining over Bruce's reluctant darling ⋆

word count: 706 cw(s): trauma and trauma responses (Batfam), family dysfunction, and stalking {tbrp}

Yandere self-aware Bruce Wayne ⋆

word count: 597 cw(s): stalking combined with heavy obsessive ideation {tbrp}

Yandere self-aware Dick Grayson ⋆

word count: 633 cw(s): delusions, isolating reader, and stalking {tbrp}

Yandere self-aware Jason Todd ⋆

word count: 508 cw(s): Jason's trauma and unhealthy coping/attachment {tbrp}

Yandere self-aware Jason Todd (part 2) ⋆

word count: 515 cw(s): kidnapping, isolation, manipulation, delusions, violence (towards others, not reader), unhealthy coping/attachment {tbrp}

— 𝙻𝚒𝚕 𝙱𝚒𝚝𝚜 —

୨ৎ answered asks and other silly lil things ୨ৎ

Accidental Mob Boss darling (#1)

Accidental Mob Boss darling (#2)

Accidental Mob Boss darling (#3)

Accidental Mob Boss darling (#4)

Accidental Mob Boss darling (#5)

Accidental Mob Boss darling ft. John Constantine (#6)

Accidental Mob Boss darling ft. John Constantine (#7)

Accidental Mob Boss darling ft. John Constantine (#8)

Accidental Mob Boss darling #president edition (#9)

Crackship ― Jayin/Treed

"If you were in Gotham, which Robin/vigilante would you want to save you?"

In' Nygma (Riddler's Child Reader) w/ yandere Batman

Immortal darling w/ yandere Joker and Batman

Yandere Batman going after The Riddler's child

Yandere Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent incorrect quote

Yandere Bruce - vs - Yandere Damian

Yandere Bruce Wayne w/ one-night stand darling

Yandere Dick Grayson

Yandere Jason Todd incorrect quote

Yandere Jason Todd (soulmate au)

Yandere self-aware John Constantine

Yandere self-aware Tim Drake

Yandere self-aware Tim Drake: multidimensional hacker and kink praiser

Yandere self-aware Tim Drake: multidimensional hacker and creature fucker extraordinaire (he needs therapy)

Yandere self-aware Tim Drake: The Certified Monster Fucker

Yandere self-aware Tim Drake with a darling that matches his freak

Yandere Tim Drake incorrect quote

( to be cross-posted to ao3 ‎)

⋆ unpolished: not a full set of headcanons (still spellchecked)

[acid-ixx]

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

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

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

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

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

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

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

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

why are you calling jon your baby?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist:

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

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can I request something spicy for YanBatman with his Ex-WifeReader? 🫨

TW: Semi-NSFW, implied breeding kink, mention/implied cockwarming

(I sincerely hope you like it! It feels like forever since I’ve written something like this, let alone something spicy.)

Entrapment

A talk. That’s all this meeting was suppose to be. Just a simple and civil discussion about the upcoming court proceedings regarding the divorce and what would be happening afterwards regarding your relationship with the family (especially Damian), nothing more. So, how did it end up like this? How could it have possibly strayed so far off track?

~~~~

You weren’t too surprised when you got a call from Bruce. He often went between nonstop blowing up your phone to not reaching out to you for days at a time, you were getting more and more used to it by now. You of course didn’t answer it, your lawyer had advised you not to after your telling them of how Bruce was throughout your entire relationship with him. His tendencies and the way he behaved when it came to you. Your lawyer wasn’t exactly completely believing of it, and that was pretty understandable given some of the things you had divulged to them (if you hadn’t lived and dealt with it yourself you would have had a hard time believing it too) but they decided it was better to be safe than sorry and advised you to not interact with Bruce outside of them. And so you hadn’t and you didn’t plan to either. That was until you listened to the voicemail that he had left behind.

He had an offer. He wanted to meet in person and discuss this whole situation, one on one. He wanted to come to an equal agreement outside of having to go to court. And as much as you hated it it sounded like it might be the better option. There was no pretending that this divorce would go in your favor, there were just too many things going against you. Bruce had the money, he had the means to get the best damn lawyer in Gotham and fight this to the very end. Not to mention that this divorce would be very public in general given just who it involved. And he could very easily get the media on his side, tarnishing your image as a whole. Not that you cared too much for that, you had planned to leave Gotham behind anyway after the divorce was final but the thing that got you the most was the rest of the family.

You adored Alfred. Not only was he simply one hell of a butler but he had been so good to you throughout your marriage to Bruce. Even though you two hadn’t been married that long, Alfred was still very much a support to you and what you went through. He didn’t completely agree with what Bruce did or how he went about things, you were your own person and he tried to remind Bruce of that on many occasions, but there was only so much he could do. And it wasn’t just Alfred you cared about, you also loved all of Bruce’s kids. Once you married Bruce they didn’t just become your family, they were your babies too. And you still wanted to have them in your life and you knew Bruce would hold them over your head no matter which way this divorce went.

Sure, the rest of the family had been involved to some extent with what Bruce was doing in your relationship, especially when it came to keeping you isolated and cooped up in the manor. But as far as you saw it that was all due to Bruce’s influence, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually believe that they would willingly go along with it of their own accord. Or that they even gave Bruce ideas to begin with to keep you by his side and with them as a result. You just couldn’t possibly think of them like that, you just couldn’t. So, it of course scared you at the thought of being completely cut off from the people you had opened your heart to. You still wanted to be there for them, still be a part of their life but just at a safe arm’s length away instead of how it was before.

The more you thought about it, mulling it over and over again in your head, this offer was sounding like the more beneficial thing to do. You did still have love for Bruce of course, you just didn’t want to be in that kind of situation again and you knew the only way to prevent that and keep yourself safe was to step away from him and any form of romantic relationship with him.

~~~~

The day was finally here for the two of you to meet and you couldn’t help the anxiety that washed over you. You never truly knew what Bruce would do, what he was really thinking in the moment. He was unpredictable like that. He could come off oh so charming and inviting, it was scary how easy he could lure you into his trap. And you knew better than anyone what it was like to be caught in that snare. That was what your whole marriage had been with him after all, just one big entrapment.

Even when you were briefly on the phone with him to set up this meeting you couldn’t contain the tremor of nerves you had just hearing his voice again. You really did miss it, you missed him. But this needed to be done. For the both of you. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Seeing him face to face again was something else. He looked good, he looked like he was taking care of himself again. That was a far cry from how he was the first few months after you left. He was a mess and it showed. That alone almost had you going back to him just so he’d be alright but you knew what came with him being back to himself and you couldn’t put yourself in that position again. You just had to remind yourself that this was it and it would soon be over for good.

Bruce greets you with open arms, you’re not quick enough to back out of his reach before he’s already enveloped you in his hold. He’s warm, he’s always been so warm. And his hold is tight, longing but not as suffocating as it used to be. And just as you’re beginning to feel yourself unconsciously fall into his warmth just like you used to so many times before, welcoming his touch again, he pulls away. For a split second you want to reach out to him and feel his touch all over again but you remind yourself that this isn’t what this is anymore. It can’t be.

Once the two of you are settled you start off talking small talk and everything seems good, everything seems okay. Bruce asks how you’ve been, if you’re doing alright with everything that’s been going on. He seems caring. He seems like he genuinely wants to know how this has affected you but you remind yourself yet again that this isn’t what you think it is. He then moves on to talking about the family and how they have been holding up through out this process, everyone’s taking it hard. Dealing with it in their own way but it seems Damian is the one who is taking it the hardest. That’s what you had feared. You worried about how Damian was taking all of this, how he was being effected by it. He was such a guarded kid, so closed off. You felt terrible having to put him through this, as well as the others but it’s what needed to be done. Right?

It isn’t until you try to bring up the original topic of discussion, the entire reason for this meeting in the first place, that you see how this wasn’t remotely the meaning of this meeting. You barely caught sight of Bruce’s jaw clenching when the words left your mouth, that was enough insight for you to know that this wasn’t at all what it was meant to be.

It’s obvious that it’s the last thing he wants to do, you can tell. He’d rather talk about anything else other than that. It’s one thing to ask how you’ve been regarding it or talking about how the rest of the family’s been taking it in but he doesn’t want to actually get into it. He’s avoiding it, of course he is. You can’t blame him but this needs to be over with.

“Bruce.” He tenses. It feels like it’s been forever since you said his name, he’s missed hearing it from you. He wants to hear it over and over again, like a mantra. God, the way it hit him when that’s all you could say as he thrusted so deep into you, just his name rolling off your tongue repeatedly. Fuck he missed it. He missed you.

“Remember, we’re meeting here for a reason. I don’t want to take up much more time than we need to. So, could we get to it?” Business. That’s all this was. Bruce hated it. Of all things, this is what brought you out of hiding? This is what opened you up to seeing him once more?

No.

He wouldn’t take that as an excuse.

He just wouldn’t.

“You’re right, (Name). Let’s get to business.”

~~~~

Without a doubt in your mind this was his intention all along. Of course it was. How could you see it any other way?

Bruce was calculating. He proved that more than once since you have known him.

It showed I n how he talked, the words he said dripping off his lips one after another, the sweet nothings he filled your head with.

In how he touched you; the placement of his hands, the way his fingers brushed you, the methodic way they curled deep inside your warmth.

But more importantly he was the most calculated when it came to fucking you. He knew you better than yourself, he spent your whole entire relationship learning and memorizing your body. What you wanted, what you needed. What exactly drove you to the deepest depths of pleasure. He knew it all. And he certainly knew how to use it to his advantage.

Each thrust, deeper than the last, was all so cunningly planned out. The way he grounded his hips into yours, the way he clutched you so close, melding himself into you, opening you up even more to take him completely. Every single move was so irrevocably mapped out.

~~~~

Your warmth. Oh, how much he’s missed it. How much he’s fucking craved feeling it wrapped around, enveloping him whole again, only for him to feel. You have no idea how many times he’s touched his throbbing cock to the thought of it, to the thought of having you sprawled out under him again. You have no fucking idea.

Once he has you right where he wants you, completely lost in the ecstasy of it all, he allows himself to finally give in to his own blinding pleasure.

No more calculating.

No more cunning.

No more being methodic.

No more.

Now it was all solely his mindless self indulgence. His once slow, deep thrusts turned into rapid, savage pounding. His kisses were more aggressive, sloppy. His touch was burning hotter than ever as he gripped and grabbed every piece of you he could.

At this point, Bruce let himself get lost in it. He let himself fall into the deepest, darkest pits of his desires. All he wanted now was to chase that feeling he’s been left without for so long, over and over again.

One after another, he released everything he had deep inside you. Again, and again, and again. All of this; all of his pent up anger, hurt, passion, everything he had bottled up inside throughout this whole shitshow of a situation, he was free to let it all go.

After the haze finally let up, Bruce was left basking in the aftermath. He couldn’t have felt better than ever before. He had you again, he had you here in his arms and it wasn’t a dream this time. You were the real deal and he couldn’t have been happier.

He couldn’t help but look at you,, watching you, taking all of you in again just like the many times he used to before. You were a fucking mess after everything and he absolutely loved it. He did that to you, he made you that way. And he took great pride and pleasure in it. He left you so full, both with himself still inside you (he just couldn’t bring himself to part with your warmth again) and all his cum. This was how he wanted to stay. This was how he wanted to be.

Placing his large hand on your stomach, he caressed it tenderly. There was no way you wouldn’t fall pregnant after this, he had made sure of it with all the times he filled you with his seed. He wanted you pregnant, he wanted you filled to the brim with his baby. He needed to have you tied for life and what better way to ensure that than by bringing a new life into the world together.

You wouldn’t be able to get away from him now. This had been yet another way to entrap you, to keep you in his grasp and Bruce wasn’t going to leave any room for you to wriggle out of his reach again.

“Let’s start anew, (Name). After all, we’re going to have even more of a reason to work things out now.”

[yanderes-galore]

Trygon (Teen Titans show or comics) with a citizen human Darling romantic concept?

I watched some lore videos so I hope this comes out right ^^;

Yandere! Trigon with Human Citizen! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Stalking, Occult themes, Implied pacts, Kidnapping, Dehumanization, Mature themes, Forced "relationship" (You're a pet).

Well, I feel you being a human isn't too strange considering his lore.

Trigon's original lore had him visiting women from other species all over the place to spread his offspring.

So... Him viewing you as a means to and end at first isn't too out of the ordinary.

Trigon is evil incarnate (I think—), he's extremely strong and capable of illusions/deception.

In fact, iirc Trigon showed himself to Raven's mother as a handsome angel.

It would not surprise me if Trigon disguised himself to get closer to some mortal he ended up invested in.

I know you're a civilian, however I don't think normal people come across Trigon and live.

Despite being a civilian, I imagine you'd have to be dragged into a cult or something.

Maybe as a sacrifice while they try to summon something evil.

Only for you to end up meeting Trigon in a disguise.

That or maybe, despite being a normal person, you're connected to Raven or the Teen Titans somehow.

Point is, I imagine despite not being a hero you'd need to have something Trigon's interested in.

Be that a connection to Raven or a hidden power of your own he plans to weaponize....

Regardless I think there needs to be something special.

Yet for now, let me just cover typical behavior.

Trigon is ruthless, cold and manipulative.

He wields incomprehensible powers and honestly... No one can get rid of him for long.

He can't seem to die.

The average person would be completely unable to get away from him if he found you interesting enough to keep.

You see, Trigon is not someone who cares for people.

He's selfish, even using his offspring to his advantage.

The "partners" he does have are often random mortals or given to him as offerings.

He's quick to cast them aside, especially if he wants them for strong offspring.

Honestly... Maybe that's a better fight.

At least then you can try to cut ties or live mostly normal.

Yet what if Trigon... doesn't cast you aside.

Despite being an overall normal person... deep down you have certain charm or power Trigon craves.

Your normal life cages your true potential....

No wonder you were offered as a sacrifice... or maybe even were drawn to Raven.

Your first meeting with Trigon was in a disguise.

He chooses a form you'd find attractive, using his demonic charm to grab your attention.

It's something he's done in the past to gain the attention of a mortal.

Mortals so easily fall for pretty things... Even when they harbor potential evil.

Maybe you play hard to get, you don't trust him and his attempts to seduce you.

Well, no matter, Trigon is probably intrigued by your challenge.

Most of the mortals he's charmed go along with it... or show fear...

You, on the other hand, are defiant.

Such defiance is a fun game for Trigon, as it would be for most demonic entities.

Trigon is obviously not a loving yandere.

He's a demonic entity who's selfish with his desires.

You could be the sweetest creature ever... and Trigon would want to exploit you like sugar.

Or you could be defiant towards him... and he'll just enjoy breaking you.

There's no winning with him.

He'll at first try deception because mortals respond better to it.

After all, you'd trust a handsome face more than a demon lord.

However, I doubt Trigon is very patient.

If you ignored him enough or didn't trust him... Trigon may just come to you in full demonic form.

He's a being capable of changing sizes, yet he always keeps himself bigger than you.

He likes control, intimidating you with his power or size is one way he gets that.

You being a mostly normal person is problematic because even if you had some sort of power... You don't know how to use it against him.

Trigon is open about his plans for you.

He wants you as a new plaything, a mortal to keep him entertained as he plans to rule yet another world.

He's power hungry... It makes sense why he'd want to enforce such power over you.

It's not like you can escape or get any privacy.

Trigon doesn't believe a pet like you should have such a thing.

Freedom... How pathetic... Your existence should benefit him.

Plus, if you have a hidden power he can tap into, he'll be using that too.

You're meant to be used for him.

Despite that... The demonic entity does find some pleasure in having your attention.

There's times he matches a more manageable height that's closer to yours, just so he can toy with you in more intimate ways.

Other times he'll choose his much larger form to hold you in the palm of his hand, just to see how weak you look.

The power dynamic between you is definitely more akin to an entity being worshipped by a follower.

To you, he's like a god.

A god who loves to impose his will on you.

A being of his power has no problem keeping what's his.

Must I even bring up kidnapping and murder like I do other yanderes?

It's quite obvious that he'd do both of those without much thought.

Murder? Hard to tell if he even registers it since he uses his powers all the time.

Kidnapping? It's more like claiming what's his.

You're the only mortal that has given him a show.

You entertain him.

All the others? Annoying and in his way.

You, however, submit with a bit of personality.

He may not be a being capable of traditional love... But he's a creature who can experience desire.

You certainly spark such a thing.

It would not surprise me if Trigon eventually dragged his obsession to Hell.

If he keeps you where you are, he'll have to deal with people like the Titans or the Justice League breathing down his neck each time he wishes to indulge.

No, if he just takes you with him, no one will care enough to rescue you, right?

Just a poor civilian taken by a Hell Lord.

Maybe he'll have to deal with heroes later... Yet you'll be long broken by then.

Here, in Hell, you'll finally be all his to indulge in.

You can keep up that snarky defiant personality... but it only makes you more entertaining to him...

Even if you die he may just trap you here, his to toy with forevermore.

[missglaskin]

“You’re such a perv!” 

Aka DC Superheroes as pervs; Dick, Jason, Tim, Roy, Wally

Please don't put a community label on this (it will only shadow ban it)

Surely your friend and confidant is not some peeping tom right?!

Warnings/tags; SMUT, female reader, vigilante!reader, Perv shenanigans, panty stealing, masturbation, dirty thoughts, corruption kink, invasion of privacy

Dick Grayson has always been your closest friend; he's the leader, the guy that everyone either wants to be like or wants him for themselves. But the boy wonder had his eyes on you, his oblivious friend. He has always been there, aiding you in missions; always saving the day, or praising you for a job well done. So how could you ever possibly know of his intense desire just for you. Dick knows his actions are downright disgusting, that small voice inside his head filling him with guilt, but his desire is just stronger. 

Missions with you are the worst. Watching you be so confident and just kick ass has him feeling all sorts of ways. Trying to turn away from your line of sight so you won't see his hard-on, his cock rubbing uncomfortably against his suit. Dick will use any excuse to get away, jerking off on the side of a rooftop, a hand against a wall and another stroking his cock, while he imagines it was your hand instead, and that alone pushes him over the edge. 

He'll find a way to make you want him too, Dick knows you're not immune to his charms. Will it be too obvious that when he goes for a hug, it's a little too tight. Is it when he places a hand on your waist pretending to keep you in place, daring his fingers to go further down. Will you push away the hands that place themselves on your thighs to pretend he's comforting you. You won't. Just as you refuse to shove away the fingers that inch closer and closer between your legs. Is it really so bad if you want him too.

--------------

Jason Todd knows he's a sick fuck. What kind of friend is he to even think of such things. But they are just thoughts, right? As long as he doesn't do anything creepy that is. Surely anyone dreams of fucking their best friend-that is, imagining your lips wrapped around his dick while he fists your hair, forcing you to take all of him. The guilt returns when your voice reaches him, asking him if he heard you, interrupting his brief moment of fantasy. He's relieved that the mask doesn't allow you to see how intensely he's staring at you.

It becomes a line he knows he crossed. When Jason found himself staring at your apartment window - he didn't intend to, he was just patrolling and happened to come across your apartment. Knowing you were safe and well should have been his reason to leave, until you started undressing. Seeing your tits exposed made the blood rush to his cock and when you bent slightly to remove your panties, Jason was sure he could have come right on the spot. 

You went to take a shower as Jason entered your apartment. Surely you must know to keep your window locked. Finding himself creeping toward the bathroom as if you were beckoning him in, instead, he stopped and stood over the disregarded clothes; reaching for the panties. Jason would have beaten anyone to a bloody pulp if they had done that, but it was his own reflection staring at him. He is a sick fuck, he thinks as his finger brushes over the damp spot and how he shoves it into his pockets. He's not sure if he should return your panties later, given that he eagerly rubbed his cock with it, leaving it cum stained.

-----------

Tim Drake is a wolf in sheep's clothing; he is the one person you never suspect of thinking such perverted thoughts. Tim is aware he can never justify the things he's doing. He just tells himself that he merely lacks the courage to approach you, not that it's a good reason, but it's enough for him to maintain that tiny sliver of morality. There are moments when he wishes he could just concentrate on his patrolling to keep you off his mind, but you are always there, at the back of his mind. 

Tim realizes he just can't get off without thinking about you. Tim tries watching some porn, but he keeps imagining your face instead of the actress, and he hates how it helped him reach his orgasm. Or in the mornings, when his boner is becoming too much of an issue and he's in the shower trying to rid of it. His thoughts wander to picturing you in front of him, bare and wet, with your back against the glass walls and you moaning his name. 

If there was ever a time that Tim was made known that he was really sick was that day. Him laying in bed stroking his cock and seeing the phone ringing in the corner. It's you. He ought to have just let it ring or decline, but Tim didn't know what possessed him to answer the call. Your voice is heard as he bites his lip to not let his whimpers be heard, tasting copper on his tongue. Tim moves the phone further away when he reaches his high, cum covering his hands and stomach as he continues the conversation, hoping you don't hear his ragged breath.

-----------

Roy Harper was the one person you could always confide in. He had a way of cheering you up, your tears dried as your laugh echoed throughout the room. How you consider him to be your closest friend and best partner in crime as you speak to him, while Roy thinks of how the low cut of your shirt gives him a good view of your tits from an angle. When you call his name to get his attention, Roy gives you that smile of his as he uses an excuse to use the restroom. 

Roy loves taking pictures of you. You knew Roy had them, just never imagined he would have them in his sights while he jerked off. Pictures of you with a skirt had Roy fantasize about wearing em while he's railing you from behind. Your face pressed against the pillow while you bubble nonsense, too drunk on his cock. Pictures of you looking up, had him fantasizing of you staring at him with those eyes of yours as you use your mouth, bobbing up and down on his dick.

Unaware too Roy had 'private' photos, all thanks to a few hacking tricks. Roy was occasionally tempted to send you a nude photo of himself, see how you react, and cover it up by saying it was a 'mistake'. Would you perhaps return one or get jealous wondering who it was intended for. Roy gets up, cleaning himself as he’s planning to you meet you later that day. He eyes the slightly crooked tile above his ceiling, storing all the belongings he's taken from his visits to your place. Roy thinks when the two of you are official, he should hide it in a better place.

—-----------

Wally West had plenty of opportunities to hint at his feelings toward you. He liked making flirtatious comments, complaining when he wasn't paired with you during missions, and placing an arm over your shoulders. But you just assume it's Wally's typical self, not noticing his hurt look when you claimed to be "just friends". Then again you never noticed his hurried departure and quick return, where he avoided making eye contact at all costs.

Wally feels the guilt the most. He could have just confessed to you like a normal person. Guilt consumes him when he sees your gullible smile, unaware of the horrible things he did behind your back. It's not his fault really; he was invited to your place and was simply looking around until he found a certain drawer. Wally reassures himself it's not that bad if he only takes one. But it gets to a point where you're complaining to Wally about how your clothes disappear (not telling him which kind).

A point comes where Wally reaches his breaking point. The sneaky pictures, lying on your bed when you weren't around, face in the pillows to inhale your scent could do so little. As he stares at you speaking, Wally makes a move expecting to be rejected, but you kiss him back. He was in heaven, the dreams he had in every waking point coming true. He was where he wanted you to be, on top with you full of his cock, your eyes nearly blacked out as he slams his hips repeatedly into yours. Can you blame him for moving too fast when he has been holding back for so long.