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GUYS THIS COMMENT FROM @silken-moons ON THE WEREWOLF AU HAS ME LOCKED IN.
silken-moons:
Wait....so what happened to Kon or Conner in this au ? Was he the one eaten since he was basically half human and kryptonian too assuming lex is human in this au too.
I am more than happy to elaborate.
Lex is a half-human half-werewolf hybrid like the reader. So Conner would be half-kryptonian and only a fourth werewolf. When Clark finds out about his existence he’s pissed (at first). Superman doesn’t hesitate before finding Luthor and melting his skull in with his laser vision. It’s quite the graphic scene, Conner unfortunately being there to witness it all.
Conner is pressed back into some crevice in Luthor's office, doing his best to calm his heart beat, stave off his on-coming panic attack, and pray that Superman won’t kill him. Clark of course finds him curled in on himself, hyperventilating, tears streaming down his teenage face.
Conner is blubbering, he thinks, trying to communicate some type of garbled “please” and “I’m sorry” and “don’t hurt me please”. Superman just critically eyes him before knocking the clone out. Now, in the beginning he was just planning on taking the clone to the Watch Tower to interrogate him and then kill him. Perhaps Jon would like the extra meat?
But after watching the clone wake up alone in one of the containment units, crying quietly to himself as he rocked back and forth, he started to feel a little bad. He thought back onto the way the clone had practically begged him for mercy through his own panic attack. He's read Lex Luthor's files on "Superboy", how this clone had no flight, was not invulnerable, and couldn't even throw out half of Clark's strength.
This clone was no threat, no, in fact he was a gift. Another Kryptonian (even if the clone was only half with human DNA in his mix). And even better, the clone boy had no ill intentions towards the JL, hell, the boy looked afraid that anyone even considered the idea. No, no, no, this boy, his boy, was so sweet.
From the way he leaned into Clarks palm when he caressed the sleeping boys face, to the way he clung to Clark and his approval like a touch starved puppy, Clark couldn't help himself. The only problem now was getting his Wife and Son on the same page. He knew werewolf customs, he knew what it meant for Conner (a name his new son had previously picked out).
It would probably be easier to convince Jon considering the poor kid's been wanting a sibling for a long time now (Jon is 8 right now, but still all the same crazy). Lois might take a bit more time, considering pack bonds and the human part of Conner. So with a heavy heart, he kisses his new baby goodnight, as he flies home for he night. Yes, its been a couple of weeks since Connors arrival and he still hasn't told his family. he plans to amend that today.
He expects growling and demands for flesh. he expects outrage from his wife, or even a calm cool collected "bring him to me". What he gets instead are demands from Lois to see Conner, her new son. Clark blinks in surprise before he's fumbling with his phone, opening up his camera role where has has a million new pictures of Conner. Lois only grabs his phone, cooing over the pictures with adoration in her eyes. Well, Clark is pleasantly surprised.
"You're not mad are you Lois?" Clark asks gently.
"Oh I'm not mad Smallville, I'm livid." She all but growls, a smile still etched on her face as she continues scrolling. "You knew about him for weeks, and didn't even bother letting me know. I had a son for weeks, and he's been by himself."
Clark winces. "I know Lois, I know. I just-I was just afraid that you wouldn't want him the way I do. That you'd rip him open, hell, even I considered it in the beginning!"
Lois looks up from his phone, a knowing smile, a soft one, on her face. "I know farm boy, I know. But its important that you remember we don't always kill and eat the weak. Sometimes, its nice to have something that you can love and take care of, something that relies on you and only you."
"is that what you have planned for Connor?"
"Of course. He's our son now, and after everything he's been through, its out job to keep him and Jon safe. Until he can prove himself capable, he's not leaving the den."
A content grin makes its way onto Clarks face. Oh how he loved his wife. "I wouldn't have it any other way Lois. I'll bring him here tomorrow. Now, lets go let our other little rascal know."
Lois smirks. "I agree. Lord knows he's been waiting to have a-"
"-I have a new brother!" Comes the familiar voice of Jon Kent, cutting his mother off in his excitement.
Clark raises his eyebrow fondly, feigning exasperation. "Did you listen in on our conversation Jonathan Samuel Lane-Kent?"
"Of course I did! Well-I didn't mean to, but I couldn't help it! You said I have a brother and I wanna see him!" Jon all but whines.
"Well honey, dad said he'd bring him home tomorrow okay."
"Really!?"
"You betcha. But Jon, you have to be gentle with him okay? He doesn't know werewolf or Kryptonian customs okay?" His dad says.
"Okay, I promise i'll be gentle." Jon swears, nodding up and down.
Lois sighs fondly. "And its important to know that he is part human, do you know what that means?"
"Mhm! It means that he's not allowed out the den or the house, and that its our job to protect him 'cause he's weak." Jon repeats from his memory.
"Good job Jon! You're going to be the best brother, I just know you are." His mom says.
Jon preens under the praise.
He can't wait to meet his new brother!
~~~~~
The next day arrives slower than anyone would have liked.
The morning sunlight filters through the sky as Clark flies Conner to him penthouse in Metropolis, cradling the boy carefully as he slumbers. Conner stirs in his arms, eyes fluttering open, a brief panic flashing in them until he meets Clark’s calm gaze.
“Where-where are we?” Conner mumbles, clutching at Clark’s shirt with a grip that feels hesitant, almost reluctant.
“We’re going home,” Clark replies, a small smile on his face. “Your new home. Your family’s waiting for you, Conner.”
Conner’s eyes widen, his mouth opening as if to protest, but the words die on his lips. His gaze shifts away, and he nods mutely, not quite daring to believe that this “family” will truly accept him. He’s felt so disposable for so long; he almost can’t imagine what it’s like to be wanted.
The penthouse doors open, and Lois stands there, her sharp gaze softening the instant she sees Conner. She steps forward, reaching out a hand in a silent invitation. Conner hesitates, clinging to Clark a little tighter, and Clark gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay, Conner,” he murmurs. “I'm here for you.”
With a slow, tentative step, Conner reaches out, letting Lois pull him into a gentle hug. Her arms are firm around him, warm but unyielding, a silent promise of protection, though he senses the fierce strength just below the surface. She smooths his hair with surprising gentleness, her voice soft as she whispers, “Welcome home, Conner.”
Conner relaxes, allowing himself to take a deep, shuddering breath. This feels strange. He's never really had a home before. Luthor's compound was last place he felt safe, let alone a place he'd call home. And that word, that feeling-safe. He isn’t sure he's ever felt it outside Superman, sorry, his Dad's arms.
And isn't that a crazy thing, he has a Dad now. Superman, Clark Kent was his Dad.
Jon, standing just a few steps away, is practically vibrating with excitement. When Lois finally releases Conner, Jon bounds over, a wide grin on his face.
“Hi! I’m Jon, your brother!” He pauses, then adds, almost reverently, “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
Conner blinks in surprise, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he mumbles, “I-thank you, Jon.”
Lois places a hand on Jon’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Remember what we talked about, Jon. Conner’s still adjusting. Be patient with him.”
Jon nods enthusiastically, but there’s a possessive glint in his eyes as he looks at Conner, a silent vow to protect his new brother from anything—or anyone—that might threaten him. Conner notices this look, a strange chill running down his spine, but he says nothing.
As the day unfolds, Conner tries to settle into this new life, though it feels almost too good to be true. Lois and Clark are attentive, constantly ensuring he’s comfortable, while Jon barely leaves his side, eager to show him every corner of the penthouse, as if staking his claim. Meals are filled with warmth and laughter, and yet Conner can’t shake the feeling of being watched, almost obsessively.
That night, as Conner lies in the bed they’ve prepared for him, he hears the soft creak of footsteps outside his door. It opens quietly, and Clark steps inside, his face illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window. He walks over to the bed, looking down at Conner with an intense, unreadable expression.
“You’re part of this family now, Conner,” Clark says quietly, brushing a hand over Conner’s forehead in a strangely tender gesture. “Nothing will take you from us. Not anyone. You’re ours, do you understand?”
Conner nods, his throat tightening, unable to find words. Clark’s gaze softens, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Conner’s forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving Conner alone with a flurry of conflicted feelings. For the first time in his life, he feels wanted, cherished, trapped, as though he’s become a prized possession in a family he can never escape.
But, maybe, a small voice inside him whispers, he doesn’t want to escape at all.
Well folks, here's more lore on relationships outside of the Batfam. Let me know chat, am I cooking? New chap, out soon!
#platonic yandere#batfamily#yandere batfam#neglected reader#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#yandere batfamily#batfam#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batman#yandere batboys#werewolves#werewolf#werewolf au#dark#cw: gore#tw violence#fem reader#female reader#conner kent#kon el#yandere jon kent#jon kent#jonathan samuel kent
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When you say the love interest might be worse, does that mean "being mean to reader" wise or "being possessive over the reader" wise?
ERMMM...both I'd say. The love interest for the Werewolf AU is Jon Kent. He's about the same age as the reader and older than Damian by one year (From the time-skip space mission that he went on that aged him). But bro, this boy is fucking nuts.
Yes, Kryptonians aren't werewolves in this universe, but Lois Lane is. And a strong one at that, coming from a military family and all that jazz. So Jon Lane Kent is literally one of the strongest beings on earth, being half-kryptonian and half-werewolf.
Now i know what youre thinking.
But wouldn't Jon also be outcasted from werewolf society/wouldn't the bats not like him cause he's a half-blood?
WRONG!!! Yes, Jon is a half-blooded werewolf, but the other half is Kryptonian, one of the strongest species in the universe. If anything, his breeding makes him a very respected figure and the Bats definitely find him worthy. He and Damian are still the best of friends.
Now Jon's relationship with (Y/n). Yikes. Funnily enough, it was (Y/n) who started crushing on Jon first. She'd see him around the manor often, and she'd watch as he interacted with the Waynes or messed around with Damian. From what she could see, he seemed nicer than her family, so maybe she could be friends with him right? Plus, he's super cute!
And of course, this doesn't end well. I mean, this is a dark au. First off, Superman doesn't quite see humans as equals. Werewolves, they have his respect, and all the other races too. Yes, Clark Kent's adoptive parents were humans, and yes he loved them, but they were weak. Fragile even. And he made sure to instill that teaching in Jon as well.
Did Jon love his grandparents? Absolutely, but that meant that Ma and Pa stayed confined to Smallville and their house. They were too weak, they needed to be protected.
Lois also helped push Werewolf culture onto him as well. Weaker werewolves and humans were subservient to the stronger, and if necessary, could be killed and eaten. Jon didn't quite get the eating part, finding it quite gross actually, until he had his first taste of flesh. And, yikes, the boy was hooked.
In his mind, humans were either things to be taken care of (like pets) or food.
What's even more scary is that he's sweet around his family and friends, but those he deems as lesser? Well, let's just hope you don't catch him in a bad mood or piss him off. Which is why when weak, pitiful, abandoned (Y/n) Wayne comes up to him, he's insulted.
Why on earth did you even think you were worthy of talking to him?
Yes, he's seen you watching them, lurking around the manor, keeping your distance. It was quite annoying actually, he could practically hear your heart leaping out of its chest every time you saw him. He knew your intentions, trying to make friends with him.
He just looked down at you, eyes pooling with something nobody could explain, whilst you smiled at him and made small talk. Or tried to make small talk.
"Damian, should I snap her neck? Or is your family still insistent on the old laws?" Jon says.
You freeze, eyes widening in fear. Ah...you've made a severe lapse in judgment.
So much for a new friend.
"You know what? How 'bout I just go?" You quip nervously before trying to run off.
It's too bad Damian grabs you by the back of your shirt, basically choking you in the process. You let out a strangled noise as your body loses balance and lurches backward. When Damian lets go, your having a mad coughing fit, trying to get as much air as you could into your lungs.
Damian only makes an annoyed sound while Jon watches, a sick type of glee in his eyes. "When the time comes friend, you may feast with us. Now (Y/n), apologize to Jon."
You do not even have to think twice about that. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry! I shouldn't have approached you, I'm sorry." And at this point, you're crying. (reader is 14 when this happens)
And god doesn't that make Jon smile. He wouldn't deny, that you were pretty (I mean, you do have half of Bruce Wayne's DNA). But as much as he'd consider coveting you, you weren't worth that honor, no, he'd much rather taste your sweet, sweet flesh. (He could practically smell it wafting off you).
But alas, he'd have to wait.
But of course, in normal yandere fashion, he goes from wanting to eat you to wanting to eat you. The obsession starts to change around (Y/n)'s 16th birthday party that the Waynes throw. It's customary that all children do some public ball or whatever, so this was yours. Jon and his family are there obviously, and you're there as well, looking as miserable and tired as usual (and still somehow being the most beautiful thing in the building). However, he sees you light up in a way he's never seen you do before when your (what he's guessing) friends show up. They're human. They're weak, like you.
Seeing you interact with them, hearing you talk normally(super-hearing, duh) without fear, watching the way you laughed...He realizes he wants. And he wants bad.
Looks like you've got a new problem now.
Anyways, this is all I got!! I don't want to spoil the story more than I already have, but yeah, say hello to "absolutely bonkers Jon Kent". Hope you enjoyed!!!
#platonic yandere#batfamily#neglected reader#yandere batfam#yandere bruce wayne#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#werewolf au#werewolf#werewolves#canibalism#tw cannibalism#tw violence#tw violent thoughts#yandere jon kent#yandere jon kent x reader#jon kent x reader#jon kent superboy#jonathan kent#jonathan samuel kent#superfam
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MY Ko-Fi!!!
HEY GUYS!!! Someone on Tumblr gave me the great idea of creating a ko-fi so that ppl could pay/ask for commissions through there or simply support my writing/my dog. My ko-fi is https://ko-fi.com/solelifauna.
Thank you everyone for your love and support for my writing!! New chapters coming out soon!!
#platonic yandere#batfamily#neglected reader#yandere batfam#yandere bruce wayne#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere damian wayne#yandere tim drake#yandere dick grayson#yandere invincible#invincible x reader#invincible#yandere mark grayson#mark grayson#yandere omniman#omniman#werewolf au#werewolf#werewolves#mha x reader#mha#yandere mha
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I can’ wait to see how awful the family’s gonna be to Reader. They already fucking suck but like. Really wanna see how the plot progresses.
Also ok love interest? 👀 yes Reader get yourself a nice life away from these weirdos!
LOVE UR ENTHUSIASM!!! But the love interest might just be worse.... ANYWAYS-new chapter coming soon!!
#batfamily#yandere batfam#platonic yandere#yandere bruce wayne#neglected reader#yandere cassandra cain#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#werewolf au#werewolf#werewolves
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Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)
Pt.4
Where (Y/n) becomes an A to C student. It's not her fault tho! Blame it on the trauma.
ALSO, THANK YOU TO @oof-spoof FOR PRACTICALLY FUNDING THE INVINCIBLE SERIES!!! EVERYONE GIVE THEM SOME LOVE!!!
Mark grabbed the keys, sliding into the driver’s seat without a word, and you followed suit, exhaustion settling deep into your bones as you slumped into the passenger seat. As you buckled your seatbelt, he turned the ignition, the radio flicking on as he scrolled through channels until he landed on the familiar one, 96.5. The quiet drive began, with Mark’s fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel in time with the music, a rhythm that seemed at odds with the tense atmosphere filling the car.
You stared out the window, letting the passing scenery blur before you. Houses and shops you once thought would stand forever flew past, their vibrant facades a painful reminder of all you’d lose in the next five months. This town, this life—it was doomed.
Mark’s fingers slowed, and his eyes flicked toward you, his voice slipping in smoothly through the silence. “You seem a bit… off,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Stayed up late or something?”
You forced yourself to meet his gaze, masking the churn of emotions beneath a neutral expression. “Just tired,” you replied shortly, hoping that would be enough.
He gave a low hum, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “You sure?” he asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they scanned your face. “You’ve been acting different lately. Jumpy, kind of… paranoid, maybe?”
The subtle accusation prickled at your nerves, and you tore your gaze away from him, fixing your eyes back on the road. “It’s just school,” you muttered. “And the tests. No big deal.”
But Mark’s voice didn’t lose that sharp edge. “Right,” he said, drawing out the word, as if savoring the slight tension in your voice. “Because that’s totally you. Ignoring me and Dad, breaking down in the arms of your friends you see in school everyday, and sitting at the dining table like a vegetable for hours.”
You tightened your grip on your seatbelt, willing yourself to stay calm. “Maybe I just need sometime to myself,” you replied, forcing yourself to sound nonchalant.
Mark didn’t respond right away, but you felt his gaze linger, heavy and assessing. You were painfully aware of his scrutiny, and each second under his gaze felt like it stretched into eternity. Then, he leaned back, lips curling in a faint smirk.
“Whatever it is,” he said softly, almost a whisper, but there was a chill behind his words that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll find out, (Y/n).”
The words hung in the air, charged with unspoken promises. You could feel his eyes on you, searching, prying, as if he were peeling back the layers of your mind to uncover whatever secrets you kept hidden. You forced yourself to look straight ahead, but his words echoed in your mind, sinking in like a thorn you couldn’t dislodge.
As you pulled up to the school, you felt as though you could barely breathe. Mark turned off the car, watching you with that same intense, unnerving gaze. “Don’t go doing anything you’ll regret,” he added, his tone light, almost playful, but the underlying menace was unmistakable.
With a tight nod, you opened the car door and stepped out, feeling his gaze bore into your back as you walked toward the school entrance. The hollow ache in your chest grew heavier, the knowledge that your own brother was already suspicious clawing at you. You had five months left before everything fell apart—and now, Mark was already starting to close in.
The moment you stepped out of the car, you quickened your pace, your feet carrying you across the parking lot toward the school entrance where Hallie, Connor, and Weston were waiting. You could feel Mark’s gaze burning into your back, heavy with suspicion, his presence like a dark cloud that followed you no matter how fast you walked. You forced yourself to keep your head down, ignoring the instinct to turn around and see if he was still watching.
As you neared your friends, a breath of relief slipped from your lips. Hallie caught your eye, giving you a small, knowing nod, and Weston nudged Connor, who was hunched over his phone. They could see the strain in your expression, the tension lingering around you, and immediately closed the distance, creating a small, protective circle.
“Everything okay?” Hallie asked quietly, her voice low but filled with concern. You managed a quick nod, brushing it off as best as you could.
“It’s… fine,” you said, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.
They didn’t press further, but you could tell they were already on edge. They knew you well enough to sense when something was wrong, and your silence said plenty.
A few feet behind you, Mark had come to a stop, his arms folded as he leaned against the side of the car, watching you with that same unsettling intensity. He made no effort to hide it, his gaze fixed, sharp, studying your every move. A casual onlooker might not notice the tension in his stance, but you could feel it, the way he observed you with the quiet patience of someone biding their time.
Then, in a calculated move, Mark shifted his attention to a group of boys loitering by the side of the building—his so-called friends. They were loud, boisterous, and clearly thrilled to see him approach, clapping him on the shoulder and making crude jokes, the type he always pretended to enjoy. But you knew him too well; you saw the way he tolerated their company with a thinly veiled disdain, a quiet irritation masked by a charming grin.
One of the boys slapped Mark on the back, laughing too loudly at something Mark hadn’t even responded to. Mark flashed a smirk, humoring them, but his gaze darted back to you, subtle but piercing, as if ensuring you knew he was still watching. He laughed at some joke, a hollow sound, but his eyes never lost that calculated look, a hunter keeping track of his prey while biding his time.
Your shoulders tensed. Even surrounded by his friends, he seemed hyper-focused on you, as though he could sense your discomfort. You knew he was letting you go for now, but his patience wouldn’t last forever. Mark was never one to let things go unchecked, and with each passing second, his suspicion was sharpening, honing in on you.
Connor’s hand brushed against your arm, bringing you back to the present. “You good?” he asked, his voice a murmur, keeping it low so no one else could hear.
You forced yourself to breathe, nodding again. “Let’s get inside.”
Together, you and your friends made your way into the school, the familiar hum of voices and shuffling footsteps drowning out the tension outside. But even as the walls closed around you, shielding you from Mark’s stare, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already set his sights on you, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d unraveled every secret you fought so hard to hide.
As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you leaned in close to Hallie, whispering, “We need to talk. Later.”
She nodded in agreement before heading off to her first class, Weston following in tandem.
With that, you and Conner head to your first class, nerves jolting and wired. For some reason your fight-or-flight was kicking in, pumping needless adrenaline through your body (it seemed like your body was always in fight or flight mode, never really stopping or calming down).
As you and Connor slipped into your seats, you forced yourself to look as composed as possible, even as your insides churned with anxiety. The entire classroom felt distant, almost surreal, as if you were watching it all through a fog. Your hands clenched the edge of your desk, a small attempt to ground yourself, to stop the insistent rush of adrenaline flooding your veins.
It was almost maddening, this constant state of vigilance, like your body couldn’t accept that, for now at least, you were safe. You knew Mark was out there somewhere, probably already listening with his enhanced hearing, his sharp ears tuned in for the slightest slip-up. He could be in any room, any hallway, eavesdropping without you even realizing it.
Soon, your math teacher, Mrs. Barnes entered, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor, as she began to set up for the day’s lesson. You took a shaky breath, forcing your focus on her as she scrawled equations across the whiteboard, her voice drifting around you as she launched into a review of yesterday’s formulas.
But as you tried to listen, to grasp the material, you hit a wall—a terrifying, absolute void where your memories of math should have been. The numbers blurred, sliding off your mind like water, and no matter how hard you focused, the information simply wouldn’t stick.
Panicking slightly, you scanned the board, hoping that maybe a familiar formula or concept would spark something. But it was like staring at a foreign language. The frustration gnawed at you, each failed attempt to remember only heightening your sense of dread. You looked over at Connor, your pulse racing, and found him already watching you, a look of shared panic in his eyes.
You could tell he was struggling too. He shook his head slightly, his mouth set in a grim line. He leaned down, pulling out his notebook and scribbling something quickly. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slid it over to you.
Do you remember any of this?
You hesitated, your hand trembling as you wrote back.
Nothing. I can’t remember a single thing. It’s like…
You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. It was as if everything you’d learned here—the academic knowledge, the normal parts of life—had simply been erased. Your mind was so conditioned to survive, to fight and endure, that it had discarded everything else. In a terrifying way, you were no longer the student you once were. You’d been reshaped entirely by the trauma of the last life.
Connor swallowed, looking down at the note. You watched as he took in the implications, his face growing paler with every passing second. Mrs. Barnes continued her lesson, unaware of the silent panic that rippled between you and Connor. The words she wrote on the board may as well have been gibberish. You didn’t even recognize half the terms she was using anymore, the definitions blurred or completely forgotten.
You turned your gaze to your textbook, flipping the pages with trembling fingers, hoping that something, anything, would stick. But all you could focus on was the sensation of being cornered, of being hunted. Your mind kept flitting back to those dark days in the resistance, to the endless battles, to the snap decisions you’d made just to stay alive. It was like your brain had rewired itself, discarding anything that didn’t serve the immediate need to survive.
Connor nudged you, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts, and he quickly scribbled another note.
This is bad. What are we supposed to do if we can’t even remember the basics?
You tried to take a calming breath, but it came out shaky. He was right. You were barely keeping up this façade of normalcy as it was. If you couldn’t handle school, you’d stand out even more. Mark would notice. Your parents would notice. Teachers would start asking questions. People would wonder what had happened to you.
We’ll figure something out, you wrote back, though even you weren’t convinced.
It seems like you’ve said that same sentence too many times though with no real solutions.
But before you could come up with a more reassuring answer, Mrs. Barnes turned toward your row, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the classroom. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly shifted your gaze to the board, hoping she hadn’t noticed the exchange.
“Connor, (Y/n). Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” she asked, her tone pointed.
You straightened in your seat, forcing a tight smile. “No, ma’am. Just—trying to catch up.”
She held your gaze for a moment longer than you liked, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but eventually she turned back to the board, resuming her explanation. You exchanged a glance with Connor, both of you silently relieved.
But the relief was short-lived. The void in your mind loomed larger, a terrifying reminder of the life you’d left behind—and the life you couldn’t fully return to. It was becoming painfully clear that you weren’t just out of practice or distracted, no, something fundamental had changed inside you. You were something else entirely now, someone forged in battle and scarred by the horrors of survival.
The lesson droned on. You could only hope that whatever pieces of your old self remained would be enough to keep everyone safe, long enough to figure out how to stop the coming shit show.
Finally, the bell rings, a sharp burst of sound cutting through your thoughts, you quickly gather your things, grateful for the temporary reprieve from your spiraling thoughts. You and Connor exchange a brief, tense look before parting ways. You both have too much to figure out, too many gaps to fill, but there’s no time now.
Your next class, Entry Biology, is in another part of the building, tucked into a quieter wing. The halls are buzzing with students, their voices overlapping in casual conversations that feel alien to you, like a language you no longer fully understand. You keep your gaze down, trying to blend in as best as you can, making your way through the sea of faces and finding your classroom near the end of the corridor.
You step inside, spotting a seat at the back of the room. With no assigned seating, you slip into it, hoping it’ll give you some measure of privacy. As you set your bag down, you can’t remember if this was your usual seat or not. The details of your day-to-day routine from this life feel like a distant memory, blurring with the harsh reality of your previous one. If someone had taken this seat before, they’d just have to ask you to move. For now, you’re hoping they’ll leave you alone.
The room gradually fills with students, but no one seems to notice or care that you’re there. You breathe a small sigh of relief, your mind still reeling from the earlier realization that your memory has turned selectively barren. Biology… you struggle to recall the basic concepts, things that should be easy.
Mitosis? Ecosystems? Even the Cell Cycle feels slippery in your mind. The memories just won’t solidify. Your mind instinctively drifts back to the knowledge that does stick, but it’s all survival tactics, the hollow echo of combat drills, the weight of loss, and the survival instincts that you can’t shake.
Your teacher, Mr. Halloway, enters the room, adjusting his glasses as he sets down his materials on the desk. He’s a calm, unassuming presence with an easygoing manner that normally might have put you at ease. But today, you find it hard to focus, the anxiety lingering from earlier gnawing at you as he begins writing on the board.
“Alright, class, today we’re going to dive into cell structures and the basics of cell function,” he says, the chalk scratching faintly as he writes. “Let’s start with the organelles—things like the mitochondria, nucleus, and chloroplasts in plant cells.”
Okay! You knew about the Mitochondria: powerhouse of the cell.
You stare at the board, the words and diagrams meaningless in your mind, like someone dumped them there without context. There’s a flicker of recognition, but it feels shallow, inaccessible. You remember how cells look under a microscope, how textbooks diagram them out with labeled parts, but the function of each organelle slips through your grasp. Your heart sinks as you realize it isn’t just math—you really don’t remember anything.
You fish your phone out of your bag, concealing it beneath the desk, and quickly type a message to Your group chat.
(Y/n): Can’t remember anything from class feels like my brain’s wiped
A few seconds pass before Weston’s reply comes in.
Westy My Bestie: Same here
Can’t remember jack shit
Halligator: This is bad
Geometry is my best subject and now i can't even remember simple theorems
Ppl r gonna get sus
You read their responses, your grip on the phone tightening. At least you’re not alone in this, but it doesn’t ease the gnawing anxiety that your memories are failing you. The bell signaling the end of class is a lifeline, and you’re the first one out the door, weaving through the crowded hallway with your thoughts spinning.
The final bell rings for lunch, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your last two classes so far, AP Human Geography and English I, had been easier to handle, but that gnawing feeling of something missing never left.
Geography was more about concepts, patterns of human behavior, and interactions rather than memorized facts, so you managed to piece together enough to get by. English, luckily, was more focused on analysis than strict recall, so your rusty memory didn’t hinder you as much. But the underlying dread still weighed on you, a nagging reminder that anything concrete, anything involving details you should remember, seemed out of reach.
You step into the hallway, the crowd surging around you, and immediately spot Weston waiting outside his classroom. He raises a hand in greeting, a familiar face amid the chaos, and together, you head toward the cafeteria. The line’s already growing, students chatting and joking around.. You scan the serving trays, landing on the day’s special: some sort of chicken sandwich with fries and a bag of chips.
A smile tugs at your lips despite the morning you’ve had; after living off scraps and rations in your past life, a hot meal—even a school cafeteria one—was a blessing. The memory of tearing open a ration pack, forcing down tasteless blocks of compressed food, flashes through your mind, and you’re struck by how strange it feels to have choices again.
Once you’ve paid for your food, you and Weston make your way through the bustling cafeteria and out into the open-air courtyard. It’s refreshing to be outside, where the air feels less claustrophobic and you can catch glimpses of the autumn leaves turning golden, the first hints of fall in the cool breeze. You spot Connor and Hallie already sitting at your usual table, near the far edge of the courtyard, both of them eating like they haven’t seen food in days.
"Hey," you greet them, sliding into the seat beside Connor while Weston sits across from you. You unwrap your sandwich, taking a hesitant bite. The flavors hit your taste buds, far better than anything you’d had during the rebellion. It was still a cafeteria meal, but right now, it might as well have been gourmet.
Hallie looks up from her sandwich, barely swallowing before launching into conversation. "God, you guys have no idea how weird today’s been." She glances around, ensuring no one’s within earshot before she continues. "I feel like I’m flunking every single class. I don’t remember anything useful."
Connor nods in agreement, his expression grim. “Same here. It’s like my brain’s refusing to do anything academic. Anything beyond survival skills… it’s just blank.”
Weston, who’s been munching on his fries, glances up, his face thoughtful. "Maybe it’s some kind of psychological thing? Like, we’re all for sure traumatized and now that we’re back, we’re struggling to fit in? Doesn’t the brain forget non-vital info under extreme stress or something?"
You nod, considering his theory, but it doesn’t offer much comfort. If this was some side effect of trauma, it was leaving you dangerously exposed.
"It makes sense," you admit, trying to keep your voice steady. "But it’s going to be hard to keep up the act if we can’t remember even basic things. Especially with…” Your voice trails off, not wanting to say his name out loud.
But Connor catches your drift. “Mark,” he mutters, a tense silence settling over the group. “He’s been watching you, hasn’t he?”
"Yeah," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "He knows something’s up. He hasn’t figured out what, but he’s… suspicious."
Hallie’s eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches as she takes a sharp breath. "We need a plan, and fast. It’s one thing to keep low in class, but Mark? He’s not just anybody. If he thinks there’s something to find out, he’ll find it."
Your stomach twists as you think back to his words from that morning: “Whatever it is, I’ll find out, (Y/n).” You remembered the look in his eyes, the way he seemed to study you, his gaze cold and calculating, false care in his voice, like you were nothing more than a puzzle to be solved.
"Maybe," Weston says slowly, breaking the silence, "we could take a more passive approach. You know, let him think he’s figured you out. Act dumb or, like, make mistakes on purpose. Lead him onto a false answer."
Connor raises an eyebrow, considering it. "Might work, but it’s risky. If he thinks he’s being played, he won’t hold back.
You nod at Weston, “I think its worth a shot. We’re all screwed either way, so what's the harm?”
After your statement, everyone falls into a comfortable silence; most likely retreating into their own minds.
You continue eating in silence, the sounds of laughter and conversations around you feeling distant, like a world you’re no longer part of. Each bite you take tastes more and more hollow.
Finally, Connor breaks the silence again. “We need to figure out how we’re going to warn the Guardians. Without tipping off Mark or Omni-Man.”
You nod, your mind already spinning with ideas and doubts.
“We have to get a message to them somehow. We could use anonymous tips, maybe? Something that won’t trace back to us?” Hallie shoots out.
Weston shrugs. “Anonymous tips work in movies, sure, but this is real life. They’ll get curious, and then the government and Guardians will find out it was us. Plus, Omni-man and Invincible are two highly respected and trusted heroes, there's no guarantee they’d even believe the warning we send.”
“Weston has a point,” You say. “But, it doesn't matter. If they believe us or not, at least they’ll have the thought in the back of their minds. Even if it comes back to us, at least the Guardians will know.”
Because in a world where the clock is ticking, and survival is the only option—there’s no time left to be selfish over your own lives.
#neglected reader#platonic yandere#yandere invincible#yandere omniman#yandere mark grayson#yandere nolan grayson#debbie grayson#mark grayson#nolan grayson#omni man#invincible x reader#invincible
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Imagine in the werewolf AU, we run away and just go to superfam😆
I hate Batfam already🔥🔥🔥
Love your workk
DW GANG!!! JONATHAN LANE-KENT IS INTEGRAL TO THIS PLOT!! He's a love interest for the reader!!!!
#platonic yandere#batfamily#yandere batfam#neglected reader#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#yandere batfamily#batfam#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batman#yandere batboys#werewolves#werewolf#werewolf au#dark#cw: gore#tw violence#fem reader#female reader
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Will Duke be also on the werewolf pack au?????
Also I imagine reader just saying "fuck it" and on a school day, since the reader is from a different school they can't see the reader just get out of Gotham 😆
YESSS!!! My glorious king Duke Thomas will be in this fic!!! He'll come in the later chapters (ch 5-7 ish) but dw, he's a VERY integral character to the plot.
#platonic yandere#batfamily#yandere batfam#neglected reader#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#yandere batfamily#batfam#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batman#yandere batboys#werewolves#werewolf#werewolf au#dark#cw: gore#tw violence#fem reader#female reader
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With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)
TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.
Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.
Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.
The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.
You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.
You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten.
Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.
In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close.
Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.
~~~~~~
“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.
“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.
“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.
He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.
“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.
“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.
Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?
“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.
Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.
“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.
“Where would you go?”
“Huh?” You blink in surprise.
“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.
“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”
“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”
“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”
“Is that what you think?” He questions.
“Am I supposed to think any differently?”
“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”
“I do.”
“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”
There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.
You unconsciously take a careful step back.
Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.
Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear.
“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”
Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide.
“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”
“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”
“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”
The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”
“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.
“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”
But you’d still leave when the time comes.
Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.
He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.
As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.
It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.
You show up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore?
You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.
The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.
You freeze.
“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.
“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”
“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”
Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.
“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.
You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.
“B-But, I can’t–”
“Did that sound like a suggestion?”
You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.
“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.
He didn't have to tell you twice.
Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.
Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf.
You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.
Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.
You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.
As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.
The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.
When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.
Looks like another night of shitty sleep.
Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they
#platonic yandere#batfamily#yandere batfam#neglected reader#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#yandere batfamily#batfam#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batman#yandere batboys#werewolves#werewolf#werewolf au#dark#cw: gore#tw violence#fem reader#female reader
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When you say cannibalism, do you mean werewolves eating humans or werewolves eating other werewolves?
Both😭🤕🥰🥰
#platonic yandere#yandere batfam#yandere jason todd#neglected reader#yandere cassandra cain#yandere dick grayson#yandere bruce wayne#batfamily#yandere damian wayne#yandere tim drake#werewolf au#werewolf#werewolves#yandere batman#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batfamily#yandere batboys#fem reader#female reader
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With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (Prologue)
If she could, (Y/n) Wayne would go back in time and make sure she was never taken in by Bruce Wayne and his pack. Now, she has to live with the fact that her life may end on the day of her 18th birthday, that she's going to be slaughtered and ripped apart by the very people who she wished loved her. It's alright though, 'cause she has a plan. However, things are starting to get weird... scary weird.
You arrive at Wayne Manor at age twelve, newly-shifted, anxious, and hopeful. Your mother, an apparent old hook-up of Bruce Wayne, had decided that she couldn’t take care of a half-werewolf hybrid and proceeded to leave you to CPS as soon as you presented as a shifter. CPS of course ran a blood test to see if you had any viable relatives who would be able to take you in, something custom for children of shifters. You guessed they thought that shifters would be more inclined to take in a kid if they were related, something to do with pack bonds and whatnot.
So imagine both you and the worker's surprise when Bruce Wayne came up as a paternal match on the blood test. Everything that happened afterward was a blur. After several back-and-forth phone calls and e-mails, your caseworker made you pack whatever little belongings you had into a bag, herded you into a car, and started driving towards the nicer edge of Gotham.
You sat in the backseat, hope searing through your heart as you mulled over your fate. It wasn’t uncommon for already established packs to take in other members, especially if the newcomer was related to someone already in the pack. Of course, there would be an adjustment period in your case, you didn't expect to get along with everyone immediately, but it would all work out, right? Mr. Wayne had already signed the papers that officiated his custody over you, so that must mean he wanted you, right? A pack wouldn’t tolerate just anyone on their land, let alone in the heart of their territory.
So if they were allowing you to live with them, then that means that they were willing to consider you as pack. Your heart soared in the backseat, the hope and promise of a family and pack making you giddy with joy. According to your caseworker, there were seven other pack members, all legally considered Bruce Wayne's children. That meant you’d have siblings too; a lot of them at that. You couldn’t wait to hang out with them and play in the forest on the property.
However, when you finally pull up to the manor's entrance, things don’t go quite as you expected. First off, it takes a full ten minutes after your caseworker rings the doorbell for anyone to answer, and when the doors finally open, you find yourself looking up, and up, and up, until your eyes meet the cool steel-blue gaze of a towering man: Bruce Wayne, the pack leader, the alpha, your father.
You offer a tentative smile, trying to gauge his reaction, but he only gives you a brief glance before turning his attention to your caseworker. They launch into a conversation about paperwork and other mundane details, Bruce nodding as he opens the door wider, gesturing for you both to come inside. Stepping through the threshold, your eyes widen at the interior—grand and sprawling, yet somehow almost cozy in its opulence. A warmth you didn’t expect fills the space, as though it’s been carefully curated over time to be both stately and lived-in.
Your gaze drifts to an older man who approaches you with a kind smile, Alfred, the family’s butler. While Bruce and your caseworker continue their conversation, Alfred gently asks about your journey. You eagerly tell him about the deer you spotted on the drive over and how the surrounding forest seemed like something out of a story. Alfred listens patiently, nodding with a smile as you ramble on, your nerves momentarily forgotten.
Eventually, Bruce and your caseworker finish their conversation. She kneels down to give you a final goodbye, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly before she leaves. Now it’s just you and Bruce. You turn toward him, shy but hopeful, ready for something—a welcome, perhaps. But his expression is unreadable, his gaze indifferent, almost detached. The excitement bubbling in your chest fades, replaced by a quiet pang of disappointment.
Oh. You thought he’d be happier to see you.
Bruce studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable and a bit cold. It feels like he’s assessing you rather than welcoming you. Your excitement dims, but you keep your smile, hoping maybe this is just his way, that he’s just not sure how to be around a kid like you yet. After all, he’s the head of this massive family, and you’re a brand new addition. Surely he needs time to warm up. But as he looks you over, he finally speaks, his tone polite but distant.
“Alfred will show you to your room,” he says. “You’ll have some time to settle in, and we’ll talk more in the morning.” Then, as if you’re not really there, he glances back at Alfred. “Make sure she’s comfortable. And let the others know we’ll have dinner in an hour.”
With that, he turns and walks away without another word. You stand there, still holding your bag, feeling the weight of disappointment settle on you. You’d imagined this moment so many times—meeting your father, being accepted into his home, his pack. You hadn’t expected hugs or anything too mushy, but something warmer than whatever the hell you just experienced. Maybe a smile, or even a nod that felt like you mattered. Instead, all you’d received was a look that barely acknowledged you.
Alfred clears his throat softly, pulling you from your thoughts. “Right this way, young master,” he says with a gentle smile, gesturing for you to follow. “I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow, but for now, let’s get you settled in your room. It’s rather lovely, if I may say so.”
You nod, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you,” as you follow him up the grand staircase, each step echoing in the vast, empty silence of the manor. Despite the opulence and luxury surrounding you, it feels a bit lonely and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort you’d imagined this home would have. Alfred tries to fill the silence, pointing out various rooms along the way: the library, the kitchen, the sitting room. You nod along, doing your best to listen and absorb it all, but your thoughts keep drifting to Bruce’s indifferent expression, the way he hadn’t even looked back.
Finally, Alfred stops in front of a door and opens it, revealing a spacious bedroom with a large bed, a cozy armchair by the window, and shelves lined with books, even a stuffed wolf on the bed, clearly placed there just for you. The sight tugs at your heart—a small attempt to make you feel at home.
“I hope it’s to your liking,” Alfred says softly, watching your reaction.
“It’s—it’s really nice. Thank you,” you reply, setting your bag down by the bed. You glance around, taking in the details, wondering if Bruce had anything to do with the setup. But something tells you it was probably Alfred who made sure it was welcoming.
He nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Dinner will be soon, and you’ll meet the others then. Don’t worry too much; they’re quite an interesting group, but they’ll warm up to you soon enough.”
You smile back at him, grateful for his kindness. Alfred excuses himself, leaving you alone in the quiet room. You sit down on the bed, running your hands over the soft blanket, still clutching that little bit of hope you have left. Maybe Bruce just needed time to adjust. Maybe, in his own way, he was trying to accept you.
But as you think back to the way he looked at you, you can’t help but feel a pang of uncertainty. You wonder if he’ll ever see you as part of his pack—or if you’ll always be an outsider in this place that you’re supposed to call home.
[Hey guys! This was a super short prologue, I promise the other chapters will be at least 2000 words. Anyway, I want to say that this story will be DARK. Like I'm being so serious rn, like this shit is messed up so please be careful!!! I'm talking about potential cannibalism...still, hope you enjoyed this!]
#platonic yandere#batfamily#yandere batfam#neglected reader#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere tim drake#yandere batfamily#batfam#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batman#yandere batboys#werewolves#werewolf#werewolf au#dark#cw: gore#tw violence#fem reader#female reader
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Atghghcnn your invincible series has me on edge waiting for something to go wrong 😭😭 i just read the first fic and the way my heart dropped when i thought it was just a one off with no continuation 😫
But i was extremely relieved to see it was a series with other parts available and I can't wait to see what you do next
*where would this fall on your commission pricing to pay for another chapter? I'm sorry i just got into Invincible and the lack of fanfiction is driving me insane so this is like a glass of water in a desert to me 😭 I'm desperate*
OMG, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE GLAZE!!! It truly is a crime how little Invincible fics are out there, trust me, I feel you. Now for commissions, i would say your ask would be priced around $6 dollars, just because I'm really strapped for time with work, college, and trying to take care of my dog. The only reason I'm doing commissions anyways is to raise some extra money for my dogs surgery. Again, I also understand that in this economy, everyone is strapped for cash, so if anyone ever wants a commission but cant pay, we can always discuss a lower price.
#neglected reader#platonic yandere#batfamily#yandere batfam#yandere bruce wayne#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere invincible#invincible x reader#invincible#yandere mark grayson#mark grayson#yandere omniman#omniman#yandere nolan grayson#nolan grayson#debbie grayson#commission#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batboys#yandere batfam x reader
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GUYS CHECK THIS OUT!!! Rae absolutely ate down with this!!!🤩🤩😝
☆Rae's October Fics☆
October is just around the corner! Ah, I'm so excited, I'm serious when I say it's my favorite time of the year. I'll be posting a few kinktober fics, some spooky fics, and a couple that are a mix of both. I can't promise what dates they'll drop, but I will tease the concepts/tropes below! (Fair warning, this may bleed into November, and fics may be removed or added)
Spookfest
☆Blood Bag (DC vs. Vampires AU)
The Vampire King won, he turned his family into vampires, took over the world. So where does that leave you? In a castle, as Red Hoods personal supply of blood.
☆The Blood Stench | Zombie Apocalypse AU Part Two
Jason's ability to blend in as a zombie comes as a surprise, but a useful one. He's settling into his new life, the fact that you want to be around him, when a group hostile survivors takes you. He's going to show them exactly what someone who reeks like death can do.
☆Werewolf!Jason x Vampire!Reader
Gotham is cursed. No, really, some magic user put a curse on Gotham. Civilians, rouges, and heroes alike are running around as monsters, and a familiar looking werewolf saves you from what could have been a dangerous encounter.
Kinktober
☆Monster-Fucking feat. Witch!Reader x Demon!Jason
Your coven warned you about using the ancient ritual to summon a familiar, but the spell said it would deliver your perfect match, a part of your soul. Unfortunately, or maybe not, the cat or raven you were expecting doesn’t appear at all. (He has a tail, it's relevant)
☆Ribbons + Being Recorded
There's something about being able to save how pretty you look on his phone that Jason loves. Especially if it includes the sound of your voice. And the ribbons in his color tied around your wrists.
☆Hate Sex + Sex Pollen ft. AK!Red Hood
There's a limited number of vigilantes in Gotham. So no matter your, admittedly complicated, feelings on Jason, if Ivy's plants are being trafficked throughout the city, you owe it to her to work together and stop it. The problem is, it's not just plants she left behind.
☆Predator/Prey Slasher/Masked Killer AU
Based on all the classic horror movies. There's a serial killer in Gotham, granted there's a lot of them, but this one is different. He wears a mask, only is known as Red Hood and leaves the police stumped. Your boyfriend tells you not to worry, and you don't, until you come home early to see him wearing the mask that's been all over the news.
☆Threesome + Marking ft. Roy Harper
You and your roommates have an agreement. It's great, at first, but you're starting to have a hard time denying the feelings growing in your heart for both of them. They only make it harder every time they leave your skin covered in signs of your time together. You clearly haven't caught on to the way their eyes always seem to track the marks.
☆Bonus fic: Dacryphilia
There's something special about seeing you cry
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absolutely amazing work!! Go check this out!!
[UN]Fail — Prologue: Use ful less Child.
⸺ SIPNOSIS ⦂ In your attempt to help your mom, everything goes as wrong as it possibly can.
✿ ⸺ Platonic! Yandere! Batfam × Neglenced! Meta! Reader.
✿ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ;
✿ ⸺ Next!
⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ GN Reader ; English is not my first language ; Use of Y/N ; Neglect ; Violence ; Dark Content ; Torture ; Death ; Explicit Content ; Altered Reality Perception ; Gore (?) ; Ivy is a terrible mother.
✿ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.
✿ ⸺ Words ⦂ 6.429.
✿ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.
When you were little, you used to talk a lot to the plants whenever you could. This habit mainly started because you wanted to imitate your mom, believing that by doing this, maybe, just maybe, you would earn some points, and she would start talking to you with the same sweetness and love she gave to your siblings.
You never complained about this; your siblings lived shorter lives than you, so naturally, your mom was going to pay more attention to them than to you. You just waited your turn, something you realized too late wasn’t going to happen.
The habit that started to please your mom ended up genuinely liking you. You'd share your random thoughts with the carnations, swinging the vines back and forth like Tarzan or sometimes using them as swings. The huge leaves of the unusually large ficus, along with the strong vines, teamed up to create an improvised cradle just for you, inviting you to climb in and rock yourself to sleep, trying to ignore the screams that seemed to come from the next room. You didn’t worry too much because you knew those weren’t your mom’s or your sister’s screams; it was actually them making the noise.
Your mom would be way too busy dealing with work to make a crib like this, especially for you, so that tiny part inside you that started to accept that your mom didn’t have any special preference for you is the one that began to understand why she cared so much for them.
You started to realize how these beings had their own actions, like tucking you in, their own lives—lives just as valuable as yours. From your mom's perspective, their lives were even more valuable than yours.
Little by little, you started to accept that your mom would never have time for you; she needed space to keep working on her big project (which, by the way, you were proud to say you were a part of!). So, gradually, you began to pull away from her skirts and replaced the silent chasing after your mom with interactions with your siblings.
You used to fight mindlessly with the cacti, just because they poked you when you tried to show them affection. But then you’d forgive them, telling yourself it wasn’t intentional—they couldn’t change what they were. So as quickly as your anger came, it would fade away. You started asking the wise, old trees questions when you climbed their branches. You began to chat aimlessly while feeding the sunflowers.
You didn’t like chatting with the red roses, but when you felt sentimental, you’d whisper your confessions to them about how you envied them for sharing the same colors as your mom. Sometimes you’d grab a strand of your hair and compare it to the almost fantastical reddish hue of your mom’s hair—nothing like your own color—or how your skin tone had nothing to do with her healthy, greenish hue.
More than once, you whispered your doubts about your appearance to the ficus, wondering where those features had come from. You confessed how you felt different from him and the others, knowing he resembled your mom more than you probably ever would.
Oh, but she loved you (not quite the same way she loved the others, of course), but you were sure she did!
She would pat you on the head when she saw how you took care of and watered your siblings, or she’d tell you what a great job you were doing when you helped her with her big project!
When you brought up your concerns about your appearance and where it came from to your mom, how you felt different, she would just dismiss it with a wave of her hand, telling you that you were the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She’d give you a kiss on your chubby little cheeks, and then there would follow a long silence, ending the conversation. You took that as your cue to leave the room and let your mom continue her activities, but after a few hours, the question would come back to your mind like a nagging itch.
But it wasn’t just that you didn’t look like your siblings; you realized you had different needs and care than they did.
For example, your way of being fed. Your siblings only needed a bit of water at their roots and sunlight to grow healthy. But a few times a week, your mom would lock you and your siblings in an old, dark room when it was time for you to eat. The first time this happened, you asked your mom about it.
“Uhm… Mommy?”
“Hm? What’s up?” She stopped looking around the room to look at you.
“I… I’m a little plant, right?” You started fiddling with the hem of your loose clothing.
Your mom rolled her eyes. “What else would you be, silly?”
“So, I’m not supposed to need light to grow?” You were really confused.
“But you’re not that kind of plant, sweetheart; you grow in the dark.”
Your mom closed the topic right there while leaving you locked in that dark room, all alone.
You couldn’t understand how this was good for you, but you weren’t going to go against your mom; after all, she knows what’s best for you. You shrugged off her actions, downplaying them.
You rummaged through the old basement for something to entertain yourself with until you found some pretty old newspapers and magazines, already dusty from the passage of time.
You didn’t know how to read, so you just looked at the pictures inside. On most of the covers, there was an image of a man dressed as a bat alongside a very colorful child. One of them caught your attention: in the photo, the two were on a very high platform, receiving something that looked like an award—a key?—while everyone around them seemed to be congratulating them.
They must have done something really good, you thought. Your mom only congratulated you when you were useful or when you had done something 'good,' so seeing so many people crowding around them just to congratulate them gave you a sense of what they had accomplished. Their parents must be proud of them.
Soon, as you flipped through other covers and photos, you realized these people performed similar acts. Like capturing people who looked bad or dangerous.
You didn’t know what to call those people; your mom had forbidden you from going outside, and if visitors came to her home, she made sure to hide you from them, putting your siblings as guards at the doors.
Your knowledge of the world outside your home was almost nonexistent; the little you knew came from what your mom would rant about into the void when she was upset, but even then, she didn’t give you much to speculate on.
So you just referred to them as the 'nice guys.' Whenever your mom locked you in the basement, you would spend hours looking at and relooking at the photos of these figures, asking yourself questions about them and about the outside world.
Your enthusiasm only grew when your mom returned from one of her trips to the outside world and brought you a plush toy of the colorful boy. But unlike how you had seen him in the photos, he had a mostly red suit, and the toy was a bit dirty, but you didn’t mind.
You thanked your mom many times for the gift and happily showed it to all your siblings. When you finished, your mom called you into the main room, where your sister was resting. She wasn’t the oldest; in fact, you were older than her, having helped your mom create her, but she was definitely the biggest of all of you, and that was saying something since she was just a newborn!
Your sister didn’t have a name yet; your mom was still thinking of one, but she paid more attention to her than to all your other sisters or even to you. She was definitely her favorite, which is why you never approached her to talk.
This was the project your mom was investing all her time in.
"What’s happening, Mommy?" you happily settled next to your mom. "Did you have a good trip?"
"Uhm? Oh, yes, sweetie, it went well. It was just sooo boring because I couldn’t be with you." Your mom picked you up and rocked you close to her chest. Your heart soared with joy.
"When will I be able to go out with you?" you said, part question, part complaint.
"Very soon, sweetheart. If you help Mommy do her job well, you and I will soon be free to go wherever we want." she promised.
Your eyes lit up, and the excitement of finally seeing the outside world with your mom was enough to make you wish to do whatever it took to make that happen.
"How can I help?" you asked excitedly. Your mom seemed to smile at this.
"Well… When your sister opens her petals, some people will likely come to stop her. What you need to do is distract them—just enough, sweetheart, so your sister can open her beautiful petals." Your mom pressed her forehead against yours and looked you in the eyes. "If you can do that, no one will be able to hurt the plants or us. And we’ll stay together, forever."
"But why would anyone want to stop your project? You’ve worked so hard on it!"
Your mom let out a chuckle.
"Because there will be people who want to hinder your path to greatness, or simply won’t tolerate you doing good." You processed her words and then nodded, understanding what she meant.
"In a couple of days, people will understand what it’s like to be in our shoes."
The next day, you showed your new friend your home, introducing him to your siblings, while your mom gave an exasperated gesture when you presented her.
You explained the rules of the house: what could and couldn’t be done.
Like not going outside, no matter how curious you were! Or being careful when playing, as he might accidentally hurt some of your siblings, and your mom would lock him in the well for days as punishment. You emphasized this last part, making sure he followed your advice, and then you showed him how you and your sisters were fed.
You talked, swung, and played. In your eyes, your new friend was a great companion, a good listener.
Even if he didn’t answer your questions either, you were okay with that; after all, your siblings didn’t respond to you either, so…
Anyway! Your friend helped you look for new magazines or newspapers to have fun together. Your collection of the cool guys was large, but you had seen those photos so many times that you could probably draw an identical one from memory, you know.
Rummaging through old shelves, you found some ancient photos and recognized one of the figures as the former owner of this residence.
A flash of memory hit you, reminding you of that day.
You were glad you had been even smaller at that time because if not, those vivid memories would still haunt you to this day.
The body of that now-aged man, with limbs positioned in such a way that even at your age, you could tell it was unnatural. Where the man’s eyes should have been, there were only two holes of blackened flesh. His nails were no longer where they should be, revealing beneath them the living flesh and blood that bathed his already wrinkled and bony fingers, like the fragile tips of a tree's branches.
His clothes were almost in tatters, and beneath them were large, fresh wounds inflicted by your mother and sisters, revealing layer upon layer of skin and then muscle. Your mother didn’t hesitate to sprinkle white powder on those wounds if the man didn’t respond properly.
The body of that man was so battered and fragile that you felt even your slightest touch could break him in two. His body was worn and bony; you didn’t know a human body could be so delicate until you saw him.
Even from your distant position, you could hear the cracking of his legs and the sharp screams of that old man. You realized how he almost had no strength left to do it, his throat was already torn and you were sure that the blood coming out of his mouth was not something that had to happen.
The initial intensity of that man's screams was reignited when your older brother, one of the oldest trees that had been with your mother and who could now grow limbs resembling those of a human and move like one, extended his wooden fingers into large claws and began to thrust them into the man's bony face.
Your small body trembled, and you covered your eyes as quickly as you could.
Finally, when your mother said he was no longer of any use to her, they threw him to the ground. A part of you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, naively believing that it was all over and they would leave him there.
How silly.
Your eyes widened, and your body froze. You could feel your temperature drop to alarming levels as your brother pressed the man's head with his sturdy foot, continuing to play with the intensity of his stomp until finally…
Pop!
You couldn’t keep your gaze on the scene for long before you vomited the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Luckily for your taste buds, your diet consisted of water and sunlight, so there really wasn’t much to throw up.
When you finished, you became aware of the judging look your mother was sending you, while behind her, your brother dragged the body decapitated of the old man, leaving behind a trail of blood, fluids and some unknown pink mass…
You called that place the well, and it was where your mom sent you when you misbehaved.
You liked to think you were well-behaved because you were a good girl, not because you were afraid your mom would do the same to you or throw you back to the worms that devoured the man in the well.
To a normal human, you knew this fact wasn't that frightening, but for you, with your physiology being partly plant… well…
You left the stack of photos where you found them and stepped away with your friend, feeling uneasy with the vibe it now gave off.
"Uhm… maybe later…" you suggested to your friend, taking his silence as agreement.
You slowly backed away from the hallway that led to that room, then ran toward your sisters without looking back.
With only hours until your mother's project was complete, you couldn't shake the feeling inside you that something was wrong. Is this what your mother called a bad feeling?
You had no idea what it felt like to be watched. But you brushed it off and began to ponder what could be causing it.
Maybe it was because of your visit to that man's chamber yesterday. "Yes, it must be that," you convinced yourself.
On the other hand, your mother looked radiant today. You noticed how her eyes sparkled with ambition and joy, and her good mood was infectious.
You tried to stay positive; soon you would be able to go outside! You were filled with excitement at the thought of exploring the city where you and your mother lived.
She had once told you about an 'arcade,' a place filled with bright lights, video games, and machines to win prizes. It sounded like a dream to you! You often asked your mother what the video game machines were like, what kinds of games there were, and how to play them. She would respond vaguely if she wasn’t busy. She also talked about restaurants, the delicious and extravagant food you could find outside, amusement parks, movie theaters, and parks.
The outside world sounded amazing! You felt so sad about not being able to go out.
But right now, your mother was very busy with your sister, and anyway, after today, you and your mother would be free.
With silent steps, you approached the entrance of the house and crossed the threshold as quickly as you could.
You and your friend explored the surroundings like two intrepid adventurers! In your search for a prehistoric creature in the sky, you spotted a shadow in the darkness of a rooftop. It moved so quickly that for a moment you thought you had imagined it, but when you focused your gaze again, you caught the movement of a black silhouette.
You had no idea how long that... person? Creature? had been there, but the fact that it had been lurking since the beginning sent chills down your spine. Your mind suddenly connected it with the nice guy dressed as a bat in the newspapers, and you wondered if it could have been him.
You decided it was time to stop playing and head back home.
Anyway, your fun had ended about two minutes ago when your mother noticed you weren’t home anymore.
When you reached the entrance, she was already waiting for you, and she didn’t look too pleased.
She didn’t say a word; she simply stepped aside to let you obediently enter through the door, which you did.
As if the burning glare wasn't enough, the slam of the door behind you was more than enough indication that your mother was upset with you.
"Y/N, can you explain to me why you were outside? Especially when I told you it was dangerous for you and that I need you in here now more than ever?" she asked through clenched teeth.
“Doodle wanted to go explore…” you said shyly.
“Doodle?”
“My friend,” you pointed to your newly named plush buddy.
“Oh, I guess Doodle’s being a bad influence on you. That’s not good.”
Before you could process your mom’s words, she had already snatched Doodle from your arms.
“Mom, please don’t! It was my idea, not his!”
“In that case, I’ll punish you both.”
She grabbed your arm with a grip so strong you were sure it would leave a noticeable mark by morning.
In that moment, you started to fear for your life. Desperate, you began to struggle against her, trying to free yourself from her tight hold, but nothing seemed to work.
Your mother was getting closer and closer to the room where she had dug a massive pit and disposed of the previous owner, and the last time you checked, his body was already in advanced decay, with the worms and larvae having little left to eat.
If your mom decided to chop off your legs again and throw you into the pit with that man, the worms and larvae would feast on you, feeding on your living body, crawling under your skin through any hole they find or decide to make, devouring you from the inside out; this time, there wouldn't even be any eyes left. You were sure of it.
The pain in your arm had been forgotten. It would be nothing compared to being eaten alive by larvae slowly. You started to cry, plead, and scream; at that moment, you didn’t think that could make your situation worse—nothing could honestly make it worse.
“No, no, no, no, please, Mom, not the well! I’ll be good! Please! Please, please, please!” Your mother turned a deaf ear to your pleas, and when you realized she wasn’t going to listen, you started screaming louder, hoping someone would hear you. “Help, please! Mr. Bat! Mr. Bat!”
Your mom stopped dead in her tracks and turned to you with a look of panic.
“Bat? You let Batman see you?!” Her grip tightened even more on your little arm, and out of fear, you confessed that you had, explaining about the silhouette on the rooftop.
Your mom’s mind seemed to be racing; you couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking.
For better (or worse), your mom started moving away from the room that held the pit and headed toward a small broom closet. Without a second thought, she carelessly tossed you inside, and a moment later, Doodle met the same fate.
"You're going to stay here. If I happen to hear even the slightest noise from you, I'm going to give you real reasons to scream."
"B-But I want to help you, Mom. I want to be useful."
"Believe me, little brat, I can think of plenty of ways to use you as a distraction or bait, and none of them would end well for you."
You were doing your best not to cry like you wanted to, but your sniffles and hiccups were clear signs you weren't doing a good job. Your mother's words echoed in your head over and over, like a scratched record. You didn't have the strength to respond; if you opened your mouth, your voice would probably break in the middle of the sentence and you'd start saying unintelligible things, so you just focused on trying to hold back the tears.
Your mom started examining the small room, taking note of the tiny window set a bit higher than the door, and right in front of it was the broom closet. With a bit of effort, even you could climb up the closet and escape through the window that leads to the hallway.
It's too much risk for your mom to ignore. But now she doesn't have time to look for another room; Batman was already here.
“There’s no other way…” she murmured more to herself than to you. You could barely hear what she said.
In an instant, your mom lunged at you, sitting on your chest, with both legs beside you, pinning your hands down with her weight. With one movement, she grabbed your left leg with one hand and covered your mouth with the other.
“Take a deep breath,” she commanded, but you didn’t get the chance before you heard a…
Crack!
Now you understood why she had told you to take a deep breath. As your mom broke your leg, the air in your body escaped in one strong exhalation. It hurt so much that even your brain temporarily forgot how to breathe, and without that air, you couldn’t make a sound.
But once your lungs filled with air, the crying came quickly.
Tears streamed down your temples to the ground, where they vanished without a trace.
For the sake of your life, you tried to cry as quietly as possible, but damn it, try doing that with a broken leg.
Your head was all fuzzy from the mixed feelings and thoughts swirling around, combined with your sobbing.
You didn’t get where her good mood from that morning had gone. But one thing was clear—ever since you mentioned Batman, your mom had completely lost it. You couldn’t imagine why, but it was all her fault.
Your mom loved you, but because of her, she had become even more violent than usual.
It was her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.
You couldn't believe you had ever admired those guys. They were supposed to protect and defend good people, like your mom and you. Guess you were wrong about them.
But more importantly, if Batman and company were here, it meant they were after your mom. They were the ones who were going to stop her from completing her grand plan. They were going to hurt your mom and sister.
You weren’t going to let that happen.
You could prove you were still useful. You could show that, if you weren’t good as a daughter, you could serve as a guardian for your siblings.
Whatever she wanted you to be, you would be. You just wanted to be by her side; was that too much to ask?
With your last bit of strength, you tried to stand, but you couldn’t until you grabbed one of the brooms from the closet and turned it into a makeshift cane to help you walk.
Even with a broken leg, that didn’t stop you. With the help of a couple of buckets, you managed to climb out of the closet and squeeze through the window.
You let out a small scream when you landed on your broken leg. Luckily, your mom was busy tending to the guests.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Ivy.” You heard Batman. It was just the two of them, face to face.
“What’s gone too far is humanity’s ignorance,” your mom shot back. “Maybe now, turned into plants, they’ll have some empathy for the environment if they want to live.”
As your mom and Batman continued to argue with each other, you noticed a shadow behind the motor that powered the huge blue pole.
“Ivy, you’ve tried this before. Do you want me to remind you how it ended?”
“That was before. Back then, I didn’t have the missing component for the formula, an important variant for the equation. But now it’s different.”
Batman squinted. “Are you talking about that girl?”
“Touché! I see you’ve met my little one.”
Your internal alarms went off when Batman's partner pulled out a knife, clearly intending to hurt the engine. You decided to come out of hiding before it was too late.
“Mom! Behind you!” you shouted.
She turned around, now noticing the Wonder Boy trying to jump to attack her. Your mother's plants wrapped around him before he could do anything, but it didn’t last long before Batman tossed his smoke bombs.
Amidst the thick smoke, you tried to get to the engine and your sister before they tried to attack them again. You walked as fast as your leg would allow, using your siblings as a guide to reach the spot. In the middle of that, you could already hear your mom and the intruders fighting. Occasionally, there were stray batarangs flying by, or you’d hear some grunting or an explosion.
You decided to ignore all of that and keep going with your goal.
But you didn’t expect Batman’s partner to block your way. A large baton unfolded from his weapon belt and…
“Hey, doesn’t he look like Doodle?”
Now that you thought about it, you had left him abandoned in the broom closet. Great, now you were also a terrible friend.
You got distracted for a few seconds in your thoughts, which Red Robin took advantage of to attack you with his baton.
You barely managed to react, dodging his strike and using your makeshift cane as a defense, but of course, that meant sacrificing your balance. And, for God’s sake, this guy didn’t miss a thing—he seemed to know exactly what was happening to you.
He just needed to exert a little more force to take you down, which made sense considering he was twice your height and probably weighed three times as much. The poor five-and-a-half-year-old you, who only drank water to survive, couldn’t stand up to an experienced vigilante like him.
You tried to drag yourself along the ground, backing up until your back hit the large motor. Damn. You were cornered.
Your breath quickened, as did your heartbeat. You couldn’t let this cheap knockoff of Doodle catch you. You couldn’t allow him to damage this motor, and you couldn’t let him hurt your sister or your mom. You weren’t going to let that happen.
The preteen ran toward you with the intention of ending this absurd fight. He didn’t have time to waste on you; Batman needed his help, but first, he had to destroy the motor before the disperser activated and Gotham turned into a giant botanical garden, and you were just delaying him.
When Red Robin got close to you, your mind went blank in the panic. You simply put an arm in front of your face to shield yourself and closed your eyes, waiting for the impact. But it never came. Instead, you felt a new part of yourself, completely unknown, spreading in all directions.
When you opened your eyes, Red Robin was already far from you, in the same position—or something like it; you really couldn’t see him well, as your attention was drawn to the long, sharp thorns protruding from various parts of your body. You hadn’t expected this, and you had a feeling that Red Robin hadn’t either.
You felt it as a victory when he got up from the ground, and after one last look at you, he ran off.
With the threat now far away, your thorns began to retract back into your body, returning to normal. Your sense of glory faded as you felt a cold liquid running down your back. You stood up as quickly as you could and assessed the state of the motor, which now looked more like Swiss cheese than anything else. You didn’t think that was a good sign...
You had to back away several meters to avoid getting splashed by the peculiar-smelling liquid. You had no idea what you had punctured, but now the motor’s gasoline was gushing out like a fountain, splattering everything within a considerable radius.
You started to panic when the outlet it was plugged into began to spark. You moved away as much as you could, and your surroundings were enveloped in an unsettling silence. You could no longer hear the sounds of the fight or the voices of the adults; all that could be heard was the electrical crackling, a prelude to something truly bad about to happen.
The sparks finally hit a puddle of gasoline leading to the engine.
Boom!
You were thrown back by the explosion and lost consciousness right away.
Hiedra watched in horror as the explosion obliterated her grand project and set it ablaze mercilessly. She could hear it; she could hear the screams of her beloved children, calling for help, begging to be rescued.
Soon, the explosion reached one of the trees, and it was only a matter of time before her other children were painfully consumed by the flames. She could see them thrashing in agony, trying to put out the fire unsuccessfully, and then finally stop showing signs of struggle and die. The stench of their charred, fire-scorched bodies hit her. Nausea washed over her in that moment, but she couldn't react.
Everything around her was crashing down. Five years of hard work thrown to waste. Blood spilled in vain.
All that was left from all of this were the ashes of her children and her efforts. There was nothing left. And soon, this property would crumble to pieces as well.
She had to get out.
It was then that she seemed to remember your presence. You.
With a quick glance around, she found your unconscious body lying amidst the flames and chaos, and what was more alarming, the soles of your feet were starting to catch fire. She rushed to extinguish the growing flames before picking you up and getting out of there immediately. In the middle of the street, she saw shards of polarized glass scattered and some motor oil staining the pavement.
Ha, at least the damn Batmobile didn’t come out unscathed from the explosion. If she had the strength, she would surely laugh about it, but right now, she was not in any condition to do so.
Shortly after, she saw your body twisting behind her, with obvious signs that you were beginning to regain your memory. She remained in place, continuing to contemplate the disastrous ruins of her plans.
You slowly sat up on the asphalt, feeling disoriented and sore all over. A few meters away, you noticed a small black and red silhouette; you recognized Doodle immediately and dragged yourself until you had him in your hands.
You hugged him close to your chest, very happy that he had survived the explosion. Or did your mom take him out with you?
Speaking of her, you probably needed to apologize for this…
You struggled to stand up, and soon you felt a new sharp, burning pain in the soles of both feet, but you ignored it; that was nothing compared to the pain of your siblings being burned alive to death. And it was your fault.
You hopped on one foot, trying to maintain your balance until you were behind your mother.
“Uhm… Mom?”
She didn’t respond, nor did she make any gesture to indicate that she was listening, but you were sure she was.
“I… I’m really sorry, Mom, it was an accident…” you tried to explain. Your heart was beating so loudly that it resonated in your ears, a huge knot formed in your throat and in the pit of your stomach, and your palms wouldn’t stop sweating, causing you to fidget with your clothes (more like rags now) to try to dry them.
You didn’t see your mother’s strong slap coming, and you felt the full impact, causing you to roll several meters away from her. Something tore from your face, and you were sure it was your left eye.
In your experience in the pit, a worm had crawled through your eyelids and made its way to the back of your eye, eating the nerves that held it in place.
Your mother explained that that worm had eaten very delicate parts of your eye nerves; they were too complex for your young body to efficiently regenerate, so your body, as an immediate solution, only rebuilt a small part of those nerves to hold your eye, like thin threads supporting a bowling ball (even though you didn’t know it was a bowling ball, you assumed it was something heavy).
Now, if you hit your head hard, those little threads would snap, and your eye would detach from your face.
You dragged yourself across the pavement with the help of your forearms, feeling the broken glass digging into your abdomen and thighs, the cold pavement counteracting the burning sensation from the scrapes left by the explosion, not helping much with their healing.
When you managed to catch your eyeball, you quickly placed it in your empty underwear, making sure your mother wouldn’t see you; you knew how repulsed she was by your defective eye.
“Did you do this? Did you cause this?” your mother’s voice sounded nothing less than chilling. She approached you with short, patient steps, like a predator stalking its prey, savoring your fear before tearing you apart.
You were scared to answer; all that could be heard was your sobs.
“I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!” your mother shouted, gripping your fragile neck tightly and lifting you until your feet didn’t touch the ground.
You were scared to answer, but you were even more scared of what your mom would do to you just to make you speak.
You could feel the effects of the lack of oxygen and how your mother’s grip was getting stronger with each passing second. You knew she had enough strength to break your neck, and she was more than willing.
You nodded vigorously, confessing to your crime.
Your mother let you go, letting you fall to the ground. You didn’t notice the furious expression on her face; your head and lungs were too busy trying to recover from the oxygen deprivation.
She grabbed your hair and didn’t care to drag you down the street amidst your whimpers and pleas.
“Mom, please stop! You’re scaring me!”
“My legs hurt so much; I can’t walk!”
“Mom, please forgive me! Don’t hurt me!”
Every plea you made fell on deaf ears. You remembered walking a long way until you reached a tall building; there were a few stairs leading to the building’s doors, and your mother dragged you to them.
The entire way, she didn’t say a word, and now she was about to turn around and leave you there.
You didn't want that. You didn't want to be alone.
With your last bit of strength, you held onto your mother's legs and begged with your broken, worn-out voice.
"Please, please, please, Mom, don’t leave me. I can change, I can be better, I promise I’ll be better, I can be useful to you. Mom, please don’t abandon me, please, please, please."
"Please, I’ll cook, I’ll clean, I’ll do whatever. Please, Mommy, don’t stop being my mom."
Your mother pressed her hand on your head, trying to push you away from her.
"Don’t. Touch. Me!!"
With one final shove, she pushed you away.
"Please, Mommy, I love you! I love you so much!"
"I don’t love you! Who the hell could love a useless little brat like you?!"
"But… But…"
"'But… But…' Listen to me well, little killer. If you tell anyone that I'm your mother, and I swear to God I'll know if you do, feeding you to the worms will be the lightest thing that happens to you." She grabbed your face harshly and brought it close to hers. "I gave you life, and I can take it away." She pushed you away from her with one last rough shove and glanced around twice before striding off.
You curled up, crying in a corner, wishing your mother would regret her decision and take you with her, just like you had always dreamed.
"Mom… Mom…" you couldn't care less about the pathetic image you were presenting. "I just wanted to help… I just…"
You were living a nightmare. It had to be.
You just needed to sleep, and the next morning you would wake up, and everything would be like it was before…
It wasn't until the next morning that the caretakers at the orphanage realized you were at their entrance.
✿ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Honestly, a lot of this chapter was just made up as I went along, and I didn't plan most of it, but I still think it's a solid prologue. Sorry if you were looking for more BatFamily moments, but no worries, the next chapter will dive into Reader's time with them!
✿ ⸺ N/A ⦂ I still don't really get Tumblr, but I'd really appreciate any comments or hearts! <3
#yandere!batfam#batfamily x reader#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#batfam x reader#gn reader#poison ivy#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#batfam x neglected reader#batfamily x neglected reader#yandere dc#yandere dc x reader#meta reader#red robin#batman
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But You Belong to Me (You Belong to Me) - (Yandere Jason Todd x Reader) (Prologue Pt.1)
When (Y/n) (L/n), resident Gotham Prep scholarship student, meets the new son of Bruce Wayne, a friendship like no other is formed. However, maybe what she's feeling is more than just what friends feel for each other. It's too bad that she never gets the chance to tell him before he, Jason, her first real friend (and real love) meets his brutal demise at the hands of the Joker.
Three years later, she finds herself still acquainted with the Bat's nightlives, comfortable monitoring them from her seat in the Batcave. The scars of Jason's death still run deep, yet, just when life starts to become a little normal, a new crime lord pops up out of nowhere.
Insert The Red Hood and his duffle bag full of heads, and he's here to collect what he was promised long ago.
Heavy rain pelts down onto your frame, coveted in all black; what a bleak day it was, but you guessed the weather was befitting the occasion. There are three other people standing next to you also dressed in black. There was a hand on your shoulder (you don't know whose though, and you can't seem to care either), most likely in place to comfort you, or to try at least, but you couldn't focus on anything else but the too small coffin being lowered into the ground.
It was mahogany, a deep brown casket with gold details, something fancy. You knew if Jason were alive to see it, he'd hate it. He likes–liked red, he would have wanted a red one. But no, he was busy being lowered into the ground instead. Tears streamed down your face but you couldn't bring yourself to wipe them. What good would it do you? It was raining anyway.
The funeral comes to a close, although you're not sure when (how) time passed so quickly, leaving Jason, your best friend, the boy you loved, buried six feet under. You don't know what to do, you don't know what you can do. You just stand there, unable to move. He's dead. He’s dead. You’ll never see him again, he’s dead. You'll never sit on the couch with him arguing over his book of the week, he’s dead. You'll never get to stay up and watch the stars with him, he’s dead. You'll never get to tell him how you really feel, he's dead.
It's only when Bruce, his father, gently tries to guide you to the car you came in, you break. You lash out, twisting away from his hand as you trip over yourself trying to get to Jason’s headstone. Bruce and Dick, Jason’s older brother, exclaim in surprise and then follow after you. You collapse on your knees near the freshly lain dirt, sobbing with your full chest.
You could hear Bruce and Dick stop a couple of feet away from you, unable to comfort you in their own grief. That was fine though, you're not sure what you'd say or do if they tried to. They let you have your time with him, knowing it was just as difficult for you as it was for them, but as time ticks by another hour has passed and you’re still kneeling by his grave, no longer crying, but still unmoving.
You stared blankly at his headstone, still trying to realize that he wasn't coming back. When you feel someone grab your shoulder this time, you know it's Alfred. And you know what he's going to say to you, the words you’ve been dreading to hear.
“It’s time to go Miss (Y/n).” Alfred says gently, his own voice filled with grief at the loss of his grandson.
You don't say anything, your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Alfred only sighs, before taking his leave. Good. Nobody was taking you away from here. A couple more minutes pass when you hear another pair of footsteps headed towards you. Bruce.
“(Y/n),” Bruce calls softly, yet voice still rough and raw from his own sorrow, “It’s–It's time to go now sweetie.”
You don't even turn around from where you were sitting. “No.” You say firmly.
Bruce and Alfred exchange a look.
“Miss (Y/n),” Alfred starts, “ you’ve been sitting out in the rain all day. Wouldn't you like a change of–”
“No!” You shout out this time. You flinch back from the sound of your own voice, and you could tell Alfred and Bruce were taken aback by your behavior as well.
With a sigh, Bruce decides that he'd come get you himself, any longer out here and you'd be sick for a week. His hands come around to grab you, to pull you up and you scream, kicking and fighting your way out of his hold.
“No! No, I wont leave him! I'm not gonna leave him! Let me go!” You cry, banging your punny fists against Bruce’s chest. He doesn't even flinch, he just holds you and lets you cry, kick, and scream.
“Please let me go! He–he doesn't like being alone, I promised him–I promised I'd never let him be alone.” You cry out again, your voice fizzling into another sob as your fussing stops. You just stand there, slumping into Bruce’s arms, sobbing once more.
He doesn't say another word, he just brushes your tears away and leads you towards the limo where Dick was already situated. Alfred sits you down into the limo, making his way to the driver's seat. Bruce slides in next, eyes aghast and tired, clearly haunted by the loss of his youngest. Dick is turned away from the rest of you in a similar state. The car starts, heading towards the manor.
It was a silent and short ride over, nobody daring or having the strength to say anything. The vehicle comes to a stop, everyone numbly piling out the door and into the Manor. Dinner would be forgotten tonight as everyone went to their own respective places to continue grieving. Bruce, to the Batcave; Alfred, to the Library; Dick, to patrolling the streets of Gotham (knowing that if he stayed in the manor, he’d end up breaking something); and you, to Jason's room.
You crumpled onto the maroon carpet, gazing around his room, hoping that you'd see him pop up and tell you it was all a joke. But he wouldn't. You saw his mangled body. You knew that he was never coming back. What's even worse, is that you could still see Jason’s unfinished math homework lying on his desk, the paper slightly crumpled from when he would undoubtedly grip and erase out of frustration. Mrs. Delaurier’s algebra II homework would forever remain unfinished.
You promptly break into tears once more.
~~~~~~
(3 years earlier)
Chilly air swept through the halls of Gotham Prep, but you, (Y/n) (L/n), hardly noticed as you rushed to your next class. As a scholarship student among Gotham's elite, you had learned to keep your head down, focus on your studies, and ignore the gossip that buzzed in every corner of the prestigious school.
“Crap, crap, crap!” You huffed under your breath, picking up speed to reach your next class.
You were late, incredibly so by at least seven minutes. Sure, it isn't that crazy of an offense if you really think about it, but at Gotham Prep? As a scholarship student, you'd be crucified. Okay, maybe you were exaggerating a bit, but still, the point was there. You’re forced to break out of your thoughts when the familiar door of Mrs. Banfield’s 7th grade English class comes into view.
Practically sliding into a halt, you nervously open the door, ready for the earful and cruel laughter you were sure to receive. You walk in, ready for the heat of Mrs. Banfield’s rage, only to find her standing at the front of the class, a boy with black hair standing right next to her. It seems you’ve actually interrupted her speaking, whoops. Everyone turns to you as you give your teacher a sheepish smile.
“Miss (L/n), so glad of you to finally join us.” She scorns, “Now please take a seat, we don't have time for dilly-dallying today.”
You just let out a meek “Yes ma’am.” and “Sorry ma’am.” as you take your seat near the windows. The desk pushed up next to you on your right remains empty, nobody in their right mind wants to sit next to the “charity case”. Well whatever, it was their loss anyway, you were awesome.
“Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Mrs. Banfield says giving you a pointed look. You just shrink back into your seat, “We have a new student joining us today, please welcome Jason Wayne-Todd.” She continues.
The class breaks out into excited clamor as everyone says their own rendition of a “welcome”. Of course, just what you needed, another stuck-up brat to put up with, and a Wayne too at that–god knows how far there's a stick shoved up his ass.
“Hello everyone, I'm glad to join y’all this school year.” Jason says, giving a nice wave to the class.
Others smile back, however, you could see their true intentions, they were only after his money and name. Your teacher says some more thing which you drown out, only to be pulled out of your day dream when you hear a mention of your name.
“Jason, your seat will be over there by (Y/n). (Y/n) please put your hand up!” She all but yells, glaring in your direction.
You tiredly put your hand up as Jason makes his way to you. He puts his backpack on the bag hook attached to the desk before sitting right next to you. He gives you a one off glance before he pulls out his notebook and turns his attention to the front. You glare at him.
‘How rude.’ You think to yourself, before you do the same show of pulling out your supplies. He didn't even bother talking to you, let alone acknowledge you. What a jerk.
You huffed quietly under your breath and focused on the lesson, but the boy sitting next to you lingered in your thoughts. So that was Jason Wayne-Todd—the son of Bruce Wayne. Another rich kid who’d probably never give you a second thought, just like everyone else at Gotham Prep. You convinced yourself that it didn’t matter. He was just another asshole.
But then, a few days later, everything changed.
It was lunch period, and as usual, you sat alone. Not that you minded, really. It was quieter that way, less drama to deal with. You had found a nice spot beneath a tree, away from the main courtyard, where you could enjoy your food in peace.
You were halfway through a sandwich when you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. You glanced up and there he was again, Jason Todd. He stood there for a moment, looking at you like he was sizing you up. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, something curious.
“You always sit alone?” he asked, his voice casual but direct.
You blinked in surprise. "Uh, yeah. So?"
He shrugged and then, to your utter shock, sat down next to you without asking for permission. “Guess I’ll join you then.”
You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what his angle was. Jason Todd didn’t seem like the type to care about someone like you—someone who wasn’t from the same world as the rest of these privileged kids. But there he was, sitting with you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “I mean, don’t you have other people to sit with?”
Jason raised an eyebrow, popping open a juice box with a smirk. “Maybe. But they’re all boring and stuck up rich kids”
You quirk an eyebrow. “Aren't you a—how'd you put it? A boring, stuck-up rich kid too?” You say, quoting him.
He just looks into you with his blue eyes(Jesus, how were they so blue?), confusion swimming on his face.
“I'm adopted?” He says, all but a question. How did you not know that? It's like the only thing the news and everyone at school are talking about.
“Oh,” You blank, “but you look just like him?”
“Yeah, I get that a lot, it's kinda scary how similar we look.” Is all he says.
“So you’re not just some rich asshole with a stick up his ass?”
He stares at you, expression neutral before he erupts into laughter.
“No, no, god no! I'm from Crime Alley!” He exclaims through laughter.
Your jaw nearly drops at his words. Crime Alley? The notorious part of Gotham, where crime and poverty thrived like the weeds in the cracks of forgotten streets? Jason Todd, the new Wayne, adopted into Gotham’s wealthiest family, was from Crime Alley?
Jason noticed your reaction and grinned, amused at the disbelief on your face. “Yeah, don’t look so shocked. Not all of us were born into the lap of luxury,” he said, leaning back against the tree, his juice box still in hand.
You blinked, trying to process the unexpected revelation. “I didn’t realize,” you said, more quietly now. “I just assumed—”
“That I was like all the other rich kids?” he finished for you, raising an eyebrow.
You nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t be. I get it. It’s Gotham Prep—it’s all about money and status. But I’m not like them. Never will be.”
You couldn’t help but feel intrigued by him now. He wasn’t what you thought—far from it. There was depth to Jason, a complexity that set him apart from the rest of the students. Maybe that’s why he chose to sit with you, the ‘charity case.’ He didn’t fit in either.
“You’re not like them,” you murmured, meeting his gaze. “Neither of us are.”
Jason’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he studied you for a moment. Then, he shrugged and took a sip of his juice. “Guess that makes us both the odd ones out.”
You shared a small smile with him, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. For the first time since you’d arrived at Gotham Prep, you didn’t feel so alone. Jason might’ve been the new kid, but somehow, sitting next to him, you felt a connection. Like he understood what it was like to be on the outside looking in.
And from that day on, Jason Todd became your closest friend. The two of you spent nearly every lunch together after that, sharing sandwiches and laughing at the ridiculousness of the rich kids around you. He introduced you to his world, the one he came from, telling you stories about life in Crime Alley that were equal parts heartbreaking and hilarious.
He told you stories about Bruce Wayne, about how nice he was and about his brother Dick Grayson, who doesn't really like him that much. You frowned at that. How could anyone not like Jason? With his pretty blue eyes and warm smile, his rambunctious laughter and humor, his kindness and—What the hell was wrong with you?
Anyways, you in turn told him about your family. How you were an only child, how you used to have a pet dog named Pudgy, how both your parents worked all day and every day, leaving you with enormous amounts of free time. They weren't neglectful, or at least they weren't on purpose, but they needed to make money. Your family wasn't living in poverty, but you would be if your parents didn't take on the crazy hours they did.
So you understood. Sure it sucked, but what could you do? Besides, it wasn't all that terrible; when your parents did have free time you’d spend the day laughing in the kitchen with your mom or fixing something in the garage with your dad. You knew they loved you, and that was all that mattered.
Over time, Jason slowly introduced the idea of you hanging out at his house. The first time he asked, you refused, saying how you didn't want to intrude or be a bother (much to Jason’s dismay and Alfred’s amusement when Jason would complain about your stubborn behavior). But of course, there were only so many times you could refuse Jason's begging and puppy-dog eyes, and before you knew it, you were being picked up by Alfred Pennyworth in an expensive limo that you didn't even know the name of.
That first ride in the limo was surreal. You had tried to focus on anything but the fact that Alfred Pennyworth was sitting just a few feet away from you, his calm, dignified presence making the luxurious car feel even more intimidating. Your heart pounded in your chest as the car wove through Gotham’s bustling streets, and you found yourself fidgeting nervously with your hands.
“Are you all right, Miss (L/n)?” Alfred asked, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.
You startled at the sound of his voice, managing a small, sheepish smile. “Y-Yeah, I’m just not used to all this. I’ve never been in a limo before.”
Alfred’s expression softened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I assure you, Master Jason and Master Bruce will be pleased to have you. No need to be nervous.”
But how could you not be nervous? You were about to step foot inside Wayne Manor. The home of Gotham’s most powerful, wealthy family.
What if you broke something?
What if Bruce didn't like you?
What if he doesn't like you so much that he tells Jason he can't be your friend anymore? Your thoughts continue to devolve into frantic “what ifs” as the drive continues.
When the car finally pulled up to the massive iron gates, your stomach twisted into knots. You stared out the window as the gates opened slowly, revealing a grand driveway that led up to the imposing structure of Wayne Manor itself. It was bigger than you’d imagined—an intimidating, sprawling mansion that looked more like a castle than a home.
You swallowed hard. Jason lived here?
Alfred parked the limo and got out to open your door. You stepped out slowly, feeling incredibly small as you gazed up at the manor. Before you could fully comprehend your surroundings, the front doors of the manor burst open, and there he was, Jason, running toward you with that infectious grin on his face.
“You finally made it!” Jason called out, his voice filled with excitement as he approached. He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the house, practically dragging you up the steps. “Come on, I’ve got so much to show you.”
“Jason, slow down!” you laughed, feeling your nerves start to ease a little in the face of his enthusiasm. He always had a way of making you feel comfortable, even in situations as intimidating as this.
As you crossed the threshold into Wayne Manor, you were struck by just how massive it was inside. The ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly above you, the halls adorned with intricate chandeliers and elegant artwork. It was the epitome of wealth and luxury, but it didn’t feel cold or lifeless. There was warmth here, in the way the soft light filtered through the grand windows, and in the way Jason moved through the space like it was his own.
“Whoa,” you breathed out as you took it all in. “This place is huge.”
Jason laughed. “Yeah, it’s a bit much, huh? I didn’t know what to do with myself when I first got here. But you get used to it. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”
You let him lead you through the grand corridors, trying to keep your awe in check. As you passed by one of the doors, you spotted a tall, dark-haired man walking by—Bruce Wayne himself. Your eyes widened, and you froze for a moment.
Bruce glanced your way and offered a small, warm smile. “You must be (Y/n) (L/n),” He says, reaching his hand out for a handshake. You nervously reach out and shake his hand. “ Jason’s talked a lot about you.”
You blinked, stunned. “H-He has?”
Bruce nodded, his expression becoming one of amusement as Jason blubbered behind you. “Oh yes, he never really stops actually. So it’s nice to finally meet the person who–”
“Okay! That's enough dad, we’ll see you later!”
You could see a tint of red on Jason's cheeks, clearly embarrassed by his dad, as he dragged you towards his room.
Finally, you reached Jason’s room. It was more modest compared to the rest of the house, filled with a mix of personal items that spoke to his life before and after Wayne Manor. Posters of action movies and comic books adorned the walls, and his bed was piled high with mismatched pillows and blankets. It wasn’t neat, but it was cozy. It felt like him—chaotic, comfortable, and completely unpretentious.
“Welcome to my domain,” Jason announced with a grin, flopping onto his bed and patting the space beside him.
You sat down next to him, finally letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The day continues like it was normal, with you and Jason playing games of hide-and-seek, tag (much to Alfred’s displeasure), and some video games in the playroom. The day comes to a close as Jason drags you down for dinner, saying how “There's no better cooking than what Alfie makes.”
You’re bound to disagree until you take your first bite of food. You turn to Jason, fork halfway in your mouth, with a look of pure bliss in your eyes. He meets your gaze with a smudge expression of “I told you so.” Bruce just watches fondly, glad that Jason is adjusting and glad that he has a friend he is comfortable with. You were a sweet girl, Bruce concurred, and with what Jason told him about your family’s situation, he was more than happy to have you around.
Soon, you were parting ways with the Waynes for the night, Jason giving you a big hug whilst Bruce relayed to you that you were welcome over any time. On the drive back to your house, Alfred tells you how thankful he was that someone “as kind” and “lovely” as you had come into Jason's life. A blush blooms on your face as you squeak out an embarrassed “No problem Mr. Pennyworth.”
The months continue on as you and Jason head into 8th grade, finally having more classes together in your schedules. The days were seemingly normal as you continued to spend time at Wayne manor, now becoming more comfortable with Bruce and Alfred; you spend time in the ginormous library as Jason helps you with your English homework and you help him with math or simply chill in Jason's room or by the pool.
Things take a weird turn one day when Jason comes to school more tired than usual. He looks like he's been run ragged, a couple of purple bruises on his arms. You worriedly fret over him as he laughs saying he just fell down the stairs. Your jaw drops as you turn on him for being so stupid.
However, the bruises never stop. But that's not the only new thing, Jason looks bigger. He's got new muscles and everything and he's also gained more inches over you. As much as his new physique makes you blush, it worries you that he continues to come to school for the next three months, tired and aching, continually avoiding all your questions and being secretive. You hate to admit that his secrecy hurts more than you wanted to realize.
In the far back of your mind, your suspicions lead to Bruce. You liked Bruce, he was fun, he was nice, and you really couldn't imagine him doing something like this to Jason. He loved Jason. So, you let the thought fade. You knew Bruce would rather kill himself than ever lay a hand on Jason. But still, something was going on. Not long after, big news spread through Gotham. Headlines like “Return of Robin!” or “Batman’s New Sidekick!” are all the rage. You never cared much for the vigilante stuff, but even you had to admit Batman was cool, but his new Robin? Well–
Jason casually brings it up on day during one of your regular dinners. You’re busy shoveling noodles into your mouth when Jason asks you something.
“So (Y/n), I never really got to ask, but who's your favorite superhero?”
Unbeknownst to you, Bruce and Alfred share a knowing look before turning their attention to you. Yes, Bruce was curious too.
You think for a minute before coming up with your answer.
“Hmmm, if i had to pick, I’d say Batman.”
Bruce grins in a silent victory whilst Jason scowls.
“What!? Why him?!” He all but yells.
“Well don't you think it's cool that he still fights even though he has no powers? Plus, he dresses up as a bat, I like bats, they’re cute.” You say.
Bruce just lets out a small, thoughtful “huh” as he continues eating.
“But seriously, Batman??” Jason questions incredulously.
“Well, if you want me to be completely honest, Batman isn't my actual favorite. My real favorite superhero, well, everyone says that he doesn't count ‘cause he's a sidekick, so.”
“Well pray tell, who is your real favorite Miss (Y/n)?” Alfred now asks as he picks up some empty dishes.
“It's Robin of course!” You say smiling. Jason proceeds to spit out his water and Bruce chuckles.
You glance worriedly at Jason.
“Are you alright Jay?”
“Y–yup! Now what was that about m–Robin?”
“Oh yeah, he's super cool bro! He fights side by side with Batman, and he took down Ivy all by himself, and he’s super cute too.” You gush, unable to help yourself.
Jason’s face bursts into red as he stammers about how he's suddenly full. Bruce continues to smile like a cat that just caught a canary.
After you head home, Bruce continues to tease Jason, resulting in a multitude of pillows being thrown at Bruce's face.
~~~~~~
You only come to discover Jason's secret about five months later, completely by accident by the way. It was a school event, a student showcase. The halls of the venue were filled with kiosks and booths where parents could see and celebrate the accomplishments of their children. Yet again, you found yourself at your section alone, standing in front of a painting you had made.
It had won second place, a blue ribbon tapped to its side and you were so proud of yourself. You knew your parents were too, they had told you themselves, but unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to make it. That's okay though, you knew they were working their tails off so that they could provide for you. A missed school showcase was the last thing they needed to worry or feel guilty about. Besides, it wasn't like you’d be completely alone, Jason, Bruce, and Alfred would be here soon.
With that, you continued thanking the random people who congratulated you on your placement, waiting for Jason and his family to show up. Of course, that's when disaster struck. An explosion goes off in the cafeteria as you get thrown back from its force. Your ears ring as you hear muffled screaming and cries, smoke making your vision blurry with tears.
You cough, trying to pick yourself off of the ground, a burning pain shooting through your leg as you do so. You sluggishly look down (god your head hurts) only to be met with blood all over your right leg. Jesus, that was a lot of blood. So much in fact, you couldn't even really make out what your injury looked like.
Tears flow down your face at the pain. God, everything hurt, but you needed to get out of here. Wait–oh no, Jason! You didn't know where he was! You pray that he was still on the way over when the explosions went off. With a sharp cry, you begin limping towards an exit, trying to stay conscious and on your feet with all the chaos going on around you. People push and shove, trying to get out but you just grit your teeth and fight to stay standing because you knew that if you went down, you weren't too sure if you'd be able to get back up.
Through the cacophony of screams and explosions, you realize that a fight is happening. You see the familiar figures of Batman and Robin battling with the ever terrifying Joker. Another explosion rocked the venue, shaking you out of your thoughts as debris fell around you. You barely managed to avoid a chunk of falling concrete, throwing yourself against the nearest wall, the pain in your leg intensifying as you cried out. You needed to get out of here.
You try to move, you really do, but you can't get your leg to work. You collapse near a wall, clutching your leg in pain trying to get the bleeding to stop. Someone help me. Someone–anyone.
You’re crying now, your sobs being buried under the chaos of the battle. You sit there for god knows how long, praying that it ends, the screaming, the explosions, the carnage. You want it all to stop. And it does. The Joker is caught and shipped off to Arkham Asylum as Batman, Robin, the police, and paramedics start sweeping through the rubble. However, right now, there's only one thing running through Robin’s mind.
He has your location pulled up, thank god he gave you that bracelet with a tracker. He knew it’d lead him to you, you always wore it. He could hear Batman telling him to slow down but he couldn't bother to listen. He has to find you.
When he does, his heart breaks. You were curled up against a crumbling wall, hands and legs covered in blood as tears marred your now grime and dust ridden face. His mind went blank, panic rising in his chest as he sprinted toward you, the world around him fading into background noise. Nothing else mattered right now—only you.
He fell to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as they hovered over your body, unsure where to touch, where to help without hurting you more. You blinked up at him, eyes unfocused and wet with tears.
“Robin…” Your voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but the relief in your tone was unmistakable. You reached out, your hand trembling as it found his.
“My friend…I have a friend, Jason–Jason Todd. Find him please–he's still out–” You’re unable to finish as you break out into a coughing fit.
Jason’s heart stopped at the sound of his own name leaving your lips. Here you were, injured and bleeding, worrying about someone else. His chest tightened as he watched you struggle, your blood-stained hand trembling in his grasp, pleading for help that he had already given. He wanted to tell you—needed to tell you—but now wasn’t the time.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking despite the mask. “I’m right here.”
You blinked through the haze of pain, your brow furrowing in confusion. “No... I meant Jason, he—he’s still out there—”
Wait a minute, that voice–you knew that voice. You’ve heard it a thousand times, every day. Jason. That was Jason's voice. You don't care if you were probably concussed, you knew his voice.
“J–Jay?” You slurred out, trying to get closer to him. Robin freezes, Jason freezes. You recognized him.
[All right folks, that's it for part 1 of the prologue. I hope you guys enjoyed it, expect part 2 soon! I want to preface two things though: 1.) The reader is not adopted/going to be adopted by Bruce 2.) The 2nd part of the prologue will still be taking place as a flashback. You won't get into the actual main plot till chapter 1.]
#batfamily#yandere jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#yandere jason todd x reader#jason todd#bruce wayne#tim drake#dick grayson#justice league#dc x reader#dcu#dc universe#yandere x reader#x reader#alfred pennyworth#young justice#batman#red hood#red hood x reader#yandere red hood#robin
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Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 4
Unemployment was not on your bucket list.
The rest of your shift dragged on, each minute weighed down by the persistent presence of Dick, Cass, and Damian. They loitered, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. It was unnerving, knowing they were there—observing, calculating. You tried your best to ignore them, focusing on the customers and getting through the shift, but their eyes on you were impossible to shake.
Eventually, you glance at the clock. Your shift is finally coming to an end. A wave of relief washes over you. Soon, you’ll be out of here. You’ve been expecting a call from Alfred any minute now, either letting you know he’s “on the way” or already outside waiting for you. You clutch onto that thought, hoping for a quick getaway.
But that’s when you feel it, a firm hand on your shoulder. You flinch, startled, and whirl around to find Cassandra standing right behind you, her eyes sharp and her smile almost unsettling in its warmth.
“Y/N,” she said softly, her tone gentle but somehow–wrong.
“Can I–um–help you?” you ask, your voice betraying your unease. Cass is just as overtly intimidating as the others, if not more so. You know who trained her, you know what she's done, what she's capable of.
“We’ll take you home,” she says simply, the statement hanging in the air like an unbreakable decree.
You blink, not sure if you’ve heard her right. “What? I—Alfred’s picking me up,” you stammer, trying to figure out why the hell they’d want to take you home instead.
Cass’s smile doesn’t falter. “Change of plans.”
You glance past her toward the table where Dick and Damian are waiting. They’re already standing, Dick’s usual smirk plastered on his face, while Damian looks like he’s already irritated by the mere suggestion of you being in the same car as him.
“Uh..” You contemplate walking home, imagining the quiet and cool Gotham air being far more appealing than sharing a car with these three. Maybe it’s not that far to walk? Maybe you’ll survive the trip on foot? But you know better than to argue with them—not when Dick is involved.
With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Okay, I guess. I still need to get my bike though.”
Cassandra hums in approval.
The walk to the car was stifling. Dick led the way, his usual playful grin in place, but there was an intensity behind it that made your skin crawl. Damian followed closely, his silence more oppressive than any words he could’ve said. When you reached the sleek black car, one of Bruce’s more extravagant vehicles, your hesitation grew, but there was no turning back now.
As you slip into the backseat, you find yourself next to Damian, who's already glaring out the window like you’re the most offensive thing in the car, and the leather seat that smells faintly of expensive cologne. Cass takes the passenger seat, her calm demeanor oddly comforting despite the situation, while Dick slides into the driver’s seat.
The car hums to life, and soon enough, you’re speeding through the streets of Gotham. The tension inside the vehicle is thick, almost unbearable. You stare out your window, watching the city blur by, trying your best to disappear into the seat.
“Y/N,” Dick’s voice broke the silence, far too casual for the tension in the car. “You didn’t tell us you were working at that cafe.”
You shrugged, not trusting yourself to say much. “Didn't think I needed to? Why does it matter?”
Dick’s eyes flicked to you in the mirror, a glint of something dark behind his seemingly easy going demeanor. “It seems as though there's a lot of things you haven't told us (Y/n), hmm?”
He just completely ignored your question, and like an idiot, you dignify his question with your own response.
“I don't know why you in particular care, considering you haven't bothered to in the past four years.” You remark, crossing your arms.
Dicks smile only widened as he cooed at your response. “Oh I don't care (Y/n), but you can't just do whatever you want, right? Your last name’s still Wayne last time I checked, do you know what that means?”
His eyes flicker to you, staring at you through the rear view mirror. You just shrug nervously, you had no idea where he was going with this.
“It means you’re not allowed to just fuck off and do whatever you want. What happens when you’re working and a rouge or random criminal recognizes you? It’ll be our job to drag you back.” He says smiling all the while. Dick doesn't really curse, not like this anyways, and it's starting to scare you.
There was something sinister beneath his seemingly friendly demeanor. The way he was talking about you, it made you feel more like a possession than a person. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, eyes flicking to Damian and Cassandra. None of them seemed to be fazed by Dick's words. It was like they all understood something you didn't.
"Look," you muttered, "I just needed the job, okay? I didn’t think it was a big deal."
He just nods, “Which is why you'll be putting in your two week’s notice.”
Hold the phone.
“I'm sorry what?”
“I'm sure I spoke clearly, didn't i?”
“I'm–I'm not quitting my job.”
“Yes you are. In fact, you're going to call your boss and let them know right now.”
“You’re fucking crazy if you thin–”
“I'm not asking (Y/n).” He says, a certain edge to his voice. “Call your boss.”
You’re scared. You don't know why he’s doing this. Shaking, you pull out your phone, staring at the screen as if it could somehow save you from this situation. You know they won’t let you get out of this. Not with the way Dick’s smile is hovering on the edge of something dangerous, not with Damian’s silent approval and Cassandra’s eerie calm. The power dynamic is suffocating—this isn’t a request; it’s an order.
“Call,” Dick says again, his voice now a warning.
You swallow hard, your fingers trembling as you scroll to your boss’s number. You want to refuse, you want to stand your ground, but the fear of what would happen if you did keeps your rebellion at bay. You press the call button, and the phone rings in your ear.
“Hello?” your boss answers, their voice friendly and unsuspecting.
“Hey Daniel, it’s Y/N,” you say, your voice shaking. “I—I’m sorry, but I have to put in my two weeks’ notice. I—uh, I can’t work here anymore.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “What? Y/N, is everything okay?”
No. “Yeah, it’s fine,” you lie. “I just… something came up, and I can’t keep the job.”
Your boss hesitates, clearly concerned. “Are you sure? If this is about needing time off, we can work something out—”
“No, I’m sure,” you cut them off, glancing at the rearview mirror, where Dick’s eyes are still watching you with that unsettling intensity. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
You hang up before they can ask more questions. There’s a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ve just lost something.
Dick hums in approval. “Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You don’t respond. You’re too numb, too angry to even find the words to fight back. The rest of the car ride is silent. When you finally arrive back at the manor, you slip out of the car without a word, making a beeline for your room. You can hear them behind you, talking quietly amongst themselves, but you don’t care. You just need to be alone.
The worst part was, you didn't even get to go back for your bike. Gotham wasn't exactly known for its secure parking spaces, especially for a bike left unattended for hours. By now, it was probably stolen or stripped for parts. Another loss to add to the growing list.
You collapsed onto your bed after a long, hot shower, letting the steam wash away the dried coffee and lingering bitterness of the day. The frustration and humiliation clung to you, but you tried to push it all aside as you buried yourself in mundane distractions. Homework? Done, though half-heartedly. Your phone? A welcome relief, a way to escape the reality of what your life had become.
The phone call with your friends was a lifeline. You started by relaying the bizarre events of your day—Dick showing up at your workplace, forcing you to quit, the awful encounter with the Karen who’d thrown coffee in your face. Arya and Ethan were outraged on your behalf, their voices rising with indignation as they expressed disbelief at how ridiculous your life had become.
“What is wrong with him?” Arya had exclaimed after you explained how Dick had basically forced you to quit. “It’s like he gets off on controlling you.”
Ethan chimed in, his voice laced with sarcasm. “It’s the Wayne family, what do you expect? They think the world revolves around them.”
The conversation shifted to lighter topics eventually, giving you a break from the heavy reality of your situation. Arya’s excitement over the girl she liked responding to her Instagram story was a welcome distraction. She went on a rant about how this girl was clearly the one, and you and Ethan couldn’t help but exchange amused glances over the phone. Arya’s giddiness was infectious, and soon the three of you were laughing—deep, real laughter that made you momentarily forget about everything.
But, as with all good things, the fun came to an end with a knock at your door. You sighed heavily, already knowing what was coming.
"Master (Y/n), it’s time for dinner."
The familiar voice of Alfred carried through the door, his polite yet firm tone unmistakable. You groaned, dragging yourself off the bed with all the enthusiasm of someone heading toward their own execution. Dinner meant facing Dick, and after the day you'd had, that was the last thing you wanted to deal with.
You swung open the door, forcing a smile for Alfred, though you knew he could see right through it. "Hey Alfie, how was today?"
Alfred smiled, ever the picture of calm. "All good in a day's work, Master (Y/n). Might I inquire how work today was?"
You couldn’t help but grimace at the mention of work. "It... it was alright," you said, though the weight of your words made it clear that was a lie. Alfred’s raised brow told you he wasn’t fooled.
"Well," you sighed, the reality sinking in further as you spoke, "it doesn’t matter anymore anyways. I quit today."
Alfred’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "But my dear, I thought you adored working there? Whatever did happen?"
You couldn’t hold back the bitterness in your voice as you answered, "Dick."
Alfred’s eyes softened with understanding, and the sympathy in his gaze was almost too much to bear. "Ah, I see. I’m sorry you’ve had to do so," he said, and you could tell he genuinely meant it.
"It’s not your fault, Alfie," you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for dragging him into your mess. "Which is why I wanted to ask if I could have dinner in my room today? I don’t think I’ll be able to stay civil with Dick sitting there."
Alfred gave you a sad smile, one that only deepened the dread in your chest. "Usually, it would be more than allowed," he began, his voice gentle, "however, today your father has requested that you attend dinner no matter what."
Your heart sank. "What?"
"Yes," Alfred said with a hint of regret in his voice. "Unfortunately, you don’t have much of a choice today, my dear."
You stared at Alfred, dumbstruck. Since when did Bruce care whether or not you were at dinner? He barely acknowledged your presence most of the time, and now suddenly it was a demand?
Alfred gave you one last apologetic look before he turned to leave, his footsteps fading down the hall. You stood frozen in place, disbelief washing over you.
What the actual fuck is happening?
Tag-list!!:
@sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323 @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @erikasurfer @toast-on-dandelioms @hazbinlove @h0neysiba @shycreatorreview @ch1cky-093 @kore-of-the-underworld @krazy-kattzz @ceramic-raven @randomlyappearingartist @bleep-bloops-world @hasty-desert @bellethesleepypotato @lilyalone @delias-stuff @amisupposedtomakesenserightnow @soriansick @vanilliona @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @vanessa-boo @kitsutsugikuni @mottysith @beeaskewwrites @starsdotalk @yandere-fetish @mybones537 @mochien0tfound @black-swan-blog27 @phoenixgurl030 @meowmeeps @tatsuri-zomushiki @sereinitysmind @l0g0phobe @alias-sam @fairygardenprincesss @chocolatesweetsdestiny @lunaastars @fandomsanstuff @anakilusmos @d3ad-ins1de @marsmabe @leiiasurez @lafemmii @space1crow @niggrrooo @yandere-enthusiast @eyeless-kun @instantmiraclekryptonite @jsprien213 @phoenixflames498 @fantasyhopperhea @glasscurrents @chemicalwindexbottle @alishii @shortnsweetsposts @caffeinatedvigilantewriter @hellcatsworld @wrenbirde @viviyene @lilyalone @fanfanfantic @cooki3dough @soriansick @anuttellaa @paperhermits @minshookie29 @nervousalpacalady @staarflowerr @expctron @cherrypills0d @foggyv-oid @mybones537 @redkarmakai @badluckinfrench @the-rouge-robin @cheeseburgercasserole @horror-lover-69 @pinkluv29 @twismare @ghostdoodlen @thatpersonnamedrook @xjesterxjacksx
#yandere batfam#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#yandere damian wayne#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#platonic yandere#neglected reader#neglect#yandere Stephanie brown#batfamily#batfamily x reader#batfamily x neglected reader#female reader#fem reader
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So just a little heads up if you make a story where it is about reader and then you insert a gender they arent like a male reader reading a good story where it is about reader and then boom it says reader in this story is a girl that can throw male readers of the immersion and just make a 10 out of 10 story go to being just confussion so yes reader can be female but it can scare of male readers so if the reader has a gender PLEASE tag it or something so readers know and if you wanna avoid ruining the immersion of readers use more gender neutral terms of course these Are just ideas but its your writing not mine simply giving this to you cuz you gave a post about something like this anyways great writing:)
Hey! Thank you for letting me know!! I had no idea this could be a problem, so i apologize! I'll be sure to tag/put a disclaimer on the fics that it is indeed a female bodied reader. Again, thank you for letting me know!
#neglected reader#batfamily#platonic yandere#yandere bruce wayne#yandere jason todd#yandere batfam#yandere damian wayne#yandere tim drake#yandere cassandra cain#yandere dick grayson#female reader
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🙏😭😔
Commissions!
Hey, shameless self-plug right here but I seriously need extra income for my dog's tumor removal so I'm taking commissions.
Pricing is gonna be low cause trust me guys I get it, it's rough out here.
Pricing:
2,500 words = $5-$7
5,000 words = $10-$12
7,500 words = $15-$17
7,500 words< = Message for pricing
Here the fandoms i write for:
Dc
Marvel
Voltron
Gravity Falls
The Dragon Prince
Star Wars
Castlevania
Danny Phantom
Invincible
Jujutsu Kaisen
Diabolik Lovers
Slashers
Harry Potter/Marauders/Knights of Walpurgis era
Twilight
Teen Wolf
Your OCs
Monsters (vampires, werewolves, mermaids/sirens, etc.)
I'm okay to write:
fluff
gore
smut (within reason)
angst
aus
x reader
x oc
oc x oc
character x character
violence
yandere behavior
platonic yanderes
romantic yanderes
I'm NOT okay to write:
bestiality
pedophilia
rape
violent smut
underage character/oc/reader x adult character/oc
certain kinks (scat, vomit, blood, watersports)
incest
anything else egregious (please use common sense)
I want to put out that I am entitled to refuse service to anyone. I probably won't unless you creep me out or cross my boundaries. If you have a fandom in mind that isn't on the list, feel free to ask me if I can still write for it, i might have forgotten to add it to the list.
Also, I really need this money so if you think the price I give you is too high, I'm sure we can work it out to be lower depending on what you requested.
If you have an inquiry or have a commission, please message me on Tumblr! Thank you for reading this and considering me!
#yandere batfam#yandere bruce wayne#batfamily#platonic yandere#teen wolf#gravity falls#voltron#monster#monster x reader#castlevania#the dragon prince#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#castlevania x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#teen wolf x reader#gravity falls x reader#voltron x reader#dcu#mha#mha x reader#star wars#anakin x reader#anakin skywalker
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