#❥ YANDERE BRUCE WAYNE

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

You're literally so fucking disgusting (said with absolute joy).

Anyways, which of your silly little comic book yandere men are into petplay? And are they puppy-owner-coded or kitty-owner-coded?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒: 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘-𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐑…

!!! GN reader, petplay, can be translated as romantic or platonic, but the innuendos are 100% intended, collars, leashes, mentions of punishments, slight manipulation, drugging, I channeled my inner pet for this.

*Pulls out my 3 hour long slideshow* I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED, ANON.

First off, all of them are into pet play if I have a say in it. You will never catch me obsessing over a character I either can’t see collaring me or wearing a collar for me. So, really, this question boils down to if they’re a dog or cat person, LMAOOOOO.

Second, they all could go either way, honestly. These are just my personal thoughts on what they might gravitate towards. If you’re a certified puppy, don’t you worry, cuz the kitty enjoyers will love you the same, and visa versa.

Now let’s get started.

Bruce Wayne: I ALREADY CAN’T FUCKING CHOOSE, FUCK. My first instinct was to gravitate towards kitty-owner, but then I thought about his need to have some sort of physical tie to you (cuz he totally keeps you chained or handcuffed to him, DON’T FUCKING QUESTION ME), so he might be a puppy-owner for the sake of keeping you on a leash. Either way, you’re totally his little lap pet while he works in his office. Petting you gives him the strength he needs to finish all his paperwork. Also, everything you own is bedazzled to hell and back, from collars to toys. He likes to spoil his beloved little pet, okay?!

Clark Kent: I’m gonna go with puppy-owner. He might carry you around like a cat, but that’s only because carries dogs around like cats, too (that’s what happens when you have super-strength; everything is just so carry-able). Absolutely talks to you in that babying voice every dog-owner uses. “Who’s a good pup? Who’s a good pup?? You are!! That’s right, you are!! Aww, look at you!!” It might be annoying, but you better get used to it if you don’t wanna be locked in your uncomfortable cage while he’s gone. He knows you hate it, which is why he hates it, but it’s the only way to get you to behave!! Be his good pup, won’t you?

Dick Grayson: Very much leaning towards puppy owner. He’s all for training you into his loyal pup who follows him everywhere. Also lowkey talks down on you cuz you’re just a cute, dumb puppy!! You don’t need to be thinking big human thoughts!! Let your loving master take care of everything, okay? Ah, ah, ah! Silly, pup! You’re not supposed to speak! Now get back on your hands and knees… puppies don’t walk like people do, remember? Or does he have to get a little mean to remind you? You don’t want that, do you? Yeah, didn’t think so. Now sit… good job!! Why don’t we give you a treat, hm~?

Hal Jordan: Another one that can go either way. Honestly, though? The more I think about it, the more I’m digging kitty-owner Hal. There are so many ways this could go that it makes my head hurt. Is he a condescending owner? “Poor little kitty… got something to say? Hm? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Or a soft owner? “Such a pretty little kitty… did you miss me while I was away? Yeah? I’m so sorry, sweetie.” What about one of those cat-dads that started out as we-are-not-getting-a-cat and ended up getting totally attached? “What do YOU want? Huh? Whatcha up to, pusscat? AYE!! Get off of the couch!! Come on, you know better.” The possibilities are endless.

Jaime Reyes: You know, it’s kinda weird. I see him as a certified puppy by default, yet as an owner? He’s kitty-adjacent. You’re just the cutest kitty-cat ever, he can’t help but keep you as one!! Definitely gets one of those bell collars (with a cute bow on it!!) for you. It helps ease his anxiety whenever he hears it jingle. Better be a cuddly kitty, cuz he canNOT keep his hands off of you. Poor guy’s always on the verge of a panic attack at the thought of you running away. It’s a common occurrence for him to pull you into his lap, eyes shining with unshod tears as he quietly asks, “you’ll never leave me, right?” If you don’t want to sit there awkwardly while he hyperventilates, I suggest you be kind and nuzzle into him.

Remy LeBeau: 100% kitty-owner. Expects you to greet him at the door when he comes home. “Y’miss me, minou? Yeah… Gambit missed you, too. C’mere.” Whether you like to admit it or not, he gives the best scratchies. He’ll have you lay against his chest for hours, softly petting your head as he listens to your rhythmic breathing. Absolutely sits you on the counter while he cooks so he can feed you small morsels as a little treat!! Every chef has to have an adorable sous-chef, no? Oh my god, he is just so soft that it makes my heart melt. You’re his precious little kitty and he’ll never let you forget it!! Just don’t be up to any trouble, okay? He may be gentle, but he also knows how to punish naughty kitties.

Scott Summers: Puppy-owner puppy-owner puppy-owner pupPY-OWNER— you bet your ass he’s training you to be the perfect little puppy. When he’s through with you, you’re gonna be the most obedient pup around. Don’t get me wrong, he’s actually a very soft and sweet master!! Gives you tummy rubs, praises, and even treats (when you’re good). However, when it comes to obedience, he’s absolutely the no-nonsense type. Do not test him; the literal leash he has on you is short for a reason. Disciplinary Scott is a very scary Scott, so I’d suggest you start acting right if you don’t want to get the cruelest punishment ever. “That’s right. Be a good little pup for me. You know what happens to bad puppies. Behave.”

Tim Drake: Have you met him? Kitty-owner for sure. He wants a lazy kitty that’ll sleep in his lap whenever he works (read: he wants to drug you so you’re constantly lethargic and can’t run away from him). Be prepared to be a weighted blanket, cuz he loves when you lay on top of him. Whenever you wake up, he’ll always be the first thing you see. “Good morning, Kitty! Sleep well? C’mon, it’s breakfast time!” Does NOT let you do anything for yourself (not like you’ve got the energy to, anyway). He loves to take care of his cute little kitty!! Also, has about 3,000 photos of you on his phone so he can look at them when he’s away. He just misses you, okay? You’re all he thinks about on patrol!!

Wally West: The puppy-owner thoughts won. He wants a happy little pup to pounce on him anytime he comes home!! Oh… you don’t wanna do that? Well, it’s okay!! He’s very good at training disobedient mutts. A quick word of warning, you do not want to trigger his stern mode. He’ll dish out the most cruel and devious punishments, all with the “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” attitude. Soft and sweet owner Wally is where it’s at. Loves to make you do tricks and give you treats afterwards!! He can get a little condescending and tease you, but it’s all done out of love! Unless you’ve been bad. Then it’s completely intended to be malicious. But you would never be a bad pup for him, right? He loves so much and spoils you rotten, why would you ever be bad? Come one, now!! Walkies time!! If you don’t tug on the leash, he’ll give you a big reward!!

[dahliakbs]

╏ ⁠❥⁠ Masterlist╏⁠ 

Requests: Never had requests but please don't request any nsfw, not comfortable with making it.

I only write for the fandoms I'm in and mostly write whatever's on my mind.

What I've Made So Far:

❥Batfam Fics:

✧Toddler Reader-

˖⁠♡Left In Metropolis✧⁠*⁠。

Batfam x Toddler! (GN) Reader

꒰Tired in the Dark: Batfam x Toddler! Reader,.꒱

Spending time with your big brothers - Damian Wayne

Jason's Death

✧Child Reader-

(Reader) knowing Batfam's secret identities

Damian Wayne x Child! Reader

Pillager of Art

Series

Batfam Walking you home on their patrol routes: Part 1 /Part 2

Batfam x Doppleganger! Reader: Part 1 / Part 2

Damian Wayne x Child Reader: This won't do —⁠☆ Pillager of Art

Platonic Yandere! Batfam x Rescued! Reader: Part 1

Toddler Reader bonding with the batboys - Damian Wayne

Drabbles

Stealing Bruce's Credit Card

Tim and Connor Get in a fight (batmom! Reader)

Batfam using your house as a getaway

Reverse Robins

Yandere Batfam

Toddler Reader Reacting to Jason's Death

[kimjun]

l❥・Masterlist kimjun

一 ❝ I'm not tired, I'm out of chakra!🍥

Masterlistl ❥・ 01 l❥・02

l❥・

do not copy, modify, translate, repost or take my comments, feedback, reblogs and asks are very much welcome !

Batfamily

l❥・Bruce: Daddy Bruce

l❥・When you are his ex, but he remains protective of you.

l❥・Deny children

l❥・Jason: Never

l❥・You say you regret marrying

l❥・Batman kids off night

l❥・When you ask '' Are you cheating on me?"

l❥・They defending you, even if you're wrong 

l❥・You comforting him

l❥・Bruce Wayne

Yanderes:

l❥・When you say you're afraid of him / yandere

l❥・Boyfriend Draken

l❥・Yanderes reaction to being afraid of them

l❥・Problem yandere

l❥・Naruto yandere father: Ever imagined Naruto as his father and Yandere

l❥・Batboys: toxic relationship

SpyxFamily

l❥・Anya wants a little brother

DC x BNHA

"l❥・Cardsonsons saying that you are their enemy, but they are totally protective of you!"

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

ARE YOU KIDDING?? PLATONIC YANDERE BATTINSON HEADCANNONS PULEASE 💕 💕

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒…

!!! GN reader, stalking, breaking and entering, hidden cameras, kidnapping, I feel really bad for Alfred…

Sorry if this is egregiously long and disorderly, I just have a lot of ideas with this one.

There’s a possibility the two of you barely know each other. Maybe you’re a worker at Wayne Enteprises, or just a stranger on the street who did a kind gesture to him once. He’s the type to get a friend-crush — where he wants to be your friend, but he’s too shy to actually talk to you — so naturally the next logical step is to follow you around all day to figure out where you live. This would honestly be the longest Bruce Wayne has ever been out in public during the daytime, granted in his Chevy Corvette.

(Alfred would probably start to get worried, seeing as Bruce always tries to return to the mansion as quickly as possible.)

I don’t think it would surprise anyone to know this man is a heavy stalker. He knows virtually everything about you, from your social security number to how often you brush your teeth. His journal even has a diagram of every freckle and blemish he knows about on your body, just in case he needs to identify your remains some day (he has a very grim outlook on the fate of everyone who enters his life). I’d like to imagine him having a separate journal for you, just to keep tabs on how you’re doing.

Hidden cameras around your house are a must. With his nightly obligations as The Batman, he unfortunately can’t stop by your window to make sure you’re safe as often as he’d want to, so he finds himself remotely checking in on you more than being there in person. If it makes you feel any better, he has the same exact set-up in Alfred’s room. It just makes him feel more at ease to have quick visual access to two of the most important people to him in his life.

Naturally, in order to install these cameras, he’d have to break into your house when you’re not there. This would turn into something he does on the regular, possibly even while you sleep. I at first felt like he may take a few keepsakes from your house as he does this, but I think it’s more likely he’d leave things behind for you instead. Maybe a generous amount of cash, new appliances to replace broken ones, refills of food you were running low on… who knew that The Batman was like the tooth fairy?

God, I have so many ideas, but a lot of them actually focus on Alfred. Bruce is the type to kidnap his new “friend” very early on, driving by his fear and anxiety of something happening to you. He’d obviously see nothing wrong with this; I mean, the guy stalks you and breaks into your hours, why the hell would this be out of the question? So, that got me thinking… how would Alfred react to this?

I wish I had a clear answer… but, again, I have so many ideas, and it’s hard to put fully flesh them out in a clear and concise way. But I’ll try to give you the bare bones, and possibly clarify should there be a follow-up ask.

Idea 1.) Bruce actually tells Alfred he kidnapped you. Well, maybe he’d say something more on the lines of, “I had to save them, I had no other choice,” but Alfred’s a smart man who easily reads between the lines. Hell, maybe Alfred’s had his suspicions for the longest time, walking in on Bruce watching your security feed or discovering his separate journal about you, but the butler tried to rationalize this, as he didn’t want to believe his young master was up to… whatever this weird shit was.

(I can actually see him confronting Bruce about his behaviors a couple of times, and even considering bringing this up to a professional, but that’s beside the point.)

Anyways, back to Bruce holding your unconscious form in his arms. He’d ask Alfred if a room could be prepared for you, his tone eerily casual considering the situation, and the poor butler has to put on his best calm act and convince Bruce to take you back home. While I don’t see him getting through to Bruce, there’s a small chance that he does, and you wake up in your own bed the next morning blissfully ignorant to your own almost-successful kidnapping (all thanks to the butler).

(Now I’m thinking about Bruce holding you up to Alfred like, “can we keep them??” And Alfred has to be like, “no, Master Bruce. Put them back where you got them from.”)

From here on, Alfred decides to try and herd Bruce’s strange obsession with you on his own, too scared to get professional help involved. There’s no way in hell he’s getting his young master taken away from him; not after he vowed to keep him safe to the late Thomas and Martha Wayne. And besides, Alfred did manage to convince Bruce to take you home in the end, so surely that means there’s still hope, right? He hasn’t failed his responsibility just yet…

Of course, as I said before, I don’t see Alfred getting through to Bruce in the end. It’s hard to say what Alfred would even do at this point. Maybe he threatens to call the authorities, which would hurt Bruce enough to feel the need to run away. This would start a huge manhunt for “the runaway billionaire” who “snapped under all the stress” (Alfred made sure to neglect telling police about him also being a kidnapper, instead framing it as though Bruce was going through some sort of mental breakdown).

Don’t even get me started on how confusing this would be for you, LMAO. Imagine going to sleep one night, only to wake up in some sort of abandoned apartment complex with Bruce Wayne of all people. That sounds like a fun story to write, not gonna lie.

Idea 2.) Bruce doesn’t say anything to Alfred and instead keeps you in one of the spare bedrooms. It doesn’t take long for the butler to stumble upon you, narrowly missing the lamp you swing at him as you make your escape. Since you aren’t familiar with the mansion’s layout, however, you find yourself aimlessly running through the halls, and eventually into the chest of a confused Bruce Wayne, who just came out of the Batcave. As Bruce practically drags you back to your room, he runs into a disheveled Alfred, who obviously wants an explanation.

“This is my friend,” Bruce simply answers, a hint of fondness in his gruff voice. “I had to save them, so I brought them back here.”

Now, as I said previously, Alfred probably has had his suspicions for the longest time. So seeing you trying desperately to weasel out of Bruce’s grip mad him realize what his young master had really done. Like with the first idea, Alfred will try to calmly explain why this was wrong, making eye contact with your pleading gaze. But I think this conversation would go south quicker, since Bruce is much less willing to give you up now that you’re settled in. I can see him starting to tear up cuz yandere Battison is lowkey a manchild, I don’t make the rules, begging Alfred to let you stay.

This is the route where Alfred might feel it’s better to comply, at least temporarily. You’re a live hostage in this situation, and the stress of that is too much to make a definitive decision in the moment… and it doesn’t help that Bruce was starting to get erratic. So, he hesitantly relents, trying to ignore the hurt look in your eyes as you’re dragged back to your room.

Remember, this is only a temporary solution. Alfred could never live with the idea of Bruce doing this, and I can see him continuing to do his very best to convince his young master to let you go. Perhaps he may have to take matters into his own hands, helping you escape behind Bruce’s back…

Idea 3.) I’m keeping this one short and sweet; what if Alfred is just as much as a hostage as you are? Remember that Bruce cares just as much for his butler as he does for you, so it’s highly likely that he never lets Alfred leave the mansion either…

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

Yandere Dick Grayson x GN Reader

❥ Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: Wanted to write a platonic older brother Dick Grayson story, but depicting his spiral into yandere-hood. Tumblr can’t handle my swag AO3-length writing, so multiple parts it is!

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: platonic sibling yandere content, older brother Dick Grayson, younger sibling reader, non-vigilante reader, adopted reader, slow burn yandere(?), the pacing is very a-day-in-the-life-esque, kind-of stalking, unsettling build-up, Dick isn’t a full-blown yandere yet, starting off tame, biblically accurate Batfam, CLIFF HANGER!!

❥ 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃.

Richard Grayson didn’t really like you.

He never told you outright, but you knew. It was painfully obvious during your initial meeting (one that was “long overdue,” according to Bruce), back when Alfred dropped you off at his Blüdhaven apartment with all your belongings. Though he offered a welcoming smile with complimentary dimples, something dark swirled in his sapphire eyes, a stony cold stare contrasting with his warm greeting of, “nice to finally meet you, (Y/N).”

You didn’t know that much about Richard Grayson, other than his role as your pseudo older brother (and the fact that he was Robin, and now Nightwing, but you were still wrapping your head around the idea of your filthy rich adoptive father being fucking Batman, so… there’s not much you could say on that). He seemed friendly enough in all the gala interviews you’ve seen, but you were starting to realize to not take someone’s press persona as gospel: after all, Bruce Wayne seems much more put together in front of the cameras than he does in the manor. So, while unsettling, you couldn’t say you were too surprised by this official first impression.

Maybe he was just tired, you told yourself. He probably doesn’t get much sleep, with the whole crime-fighting thing and all.

(Yeah… crime-fighting thing… y’know, cuz your pseudo older brother is Nightwing, and your filthy rich adoptive father is fucking Batman.)

However, after getting all your things settled into his spare bedroom — Alfred being a big help, as he always was — you were getting the sense that your gut intuition was right; Richard Grayson didn’t really like you at all. He may have acted all cordial, giving you a tour of his apartment and making polite jokes, but as soon as Alfred left and he excused himself to make a phone call in his room, his true feelings on your collective predicament became painfully apparent, as thin walls did nothing to hold in his heated argument with Bruce.

“B, why the hell are you doing this to me?! ……. No, they’re in their room. Getting all their stuff settled in right now. ……. I know I did, but now that they’re here, I just—!! ……. No, they’ve been okay so far, it’s just— come on, B, I know you’re an empty-nester, but if you weren’t ready to take in a kid, why’d you—?! ……. Really? So adopting orphans is just a hobby now?! ……. Yeah, and it’s really unfortunate what they’ve gone through, but you can’t just pick up every stray you see, especially if you’re this fucking paranoid about them wanting to—”

This was the only time you could understand Bruce’s response over the phone; “I DON’T WANT ANOTHER DEAD CHILD, DICK.”

… Ah.

There was a beat of silence before Bruce continued, though his softer tone made it impossible to make out what he was saying. He went on and on until Dick sighed. “Bruce, I want them to have a happy home. And, yeah, I sure as hell agree that the manor might not be the best choice, but I’m off doing my own thing just as much as you are. At the very least, Alfred— ……. What would’ve been good for both of you was to not sign the papers in the first place. You’re still healing, and they need someone who can be there for them. ……. No. No, they’re already here. I’ll stay true to my word, B, but they can’t stay here forever; you know that. It’s just not healthy for all of us. ……. Yeah, I know. I’ll do my best. Look, I gotta figure out what I’m gonna make this kid for dinner.”

And then, without a single goodbye exchanged, the call went dead.

So, yeah. Richard Grayson didn’t really like you.

Which was fine. Really, it was. You weren’t even his sibling by law, as you learned from Alfred that Bruce technically never even adopted him, yet here he was being asked to take care of you, a reminder that he can’t escape Bruce Wayne or Batman no matter how hard he tries. While you were still learning the full situation (again, your filthy rich adoptive father is fucking BATMAN), what you already knew didn’t paint a pretty picture. Honestly, you didn’t blame Richard Grayson for being a little spiteful towards you. It did make sense.

You just wish it didn’t make you feel so… unwanted.

“How was school, kiddo?”

A questioning hum was startled from your vocal chords. The car ride had been so silent, you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, almost forgetting that you were buckled into the passenger seat of Richard’s — Dick’s, rather; he told you to call him Dick the day you moved in — older, copper-colored car. After taking a few moments to collect yourself, you threw your temporary guardian a glance only to find he was pointedly staring at you (which was concerning, as he was driving).

“Uh…” your voice faltered a bit, forcing you to cough in your fist. “It was alright.”

His eyes lingered on you for a bit longer before returning to the road ahead. You thought that was the end of the conversation, but then he spoke up again. “Did you learn anything?”

A bit of an awkward thing to ask, but at least he was trying. “Factoring in algebra. And I guess a little about the Mongol Empire.”

“Factoring,” he said with distaste. “Wasn’t a fan of that. Though it didn’t really help that I had the worst algebra teacher. Ended up with a 70 in that class by some miracle.” A small beat of silence. “Do anything fun with friends?”

You grimaced. Though you tried your best not let it show, you knew Dick probably caught it through the rear-view mirror. “I, uh, haven’t made any friends yet.”

“It’s already October,” he skeptically stated with a quirked brow.

“I know. It’s just…” you clutched your book bag closer to your chest. “It was my first day here, so… gotta make new friends.”

“… Oh.”

As much as you wanted to dryly chortle at his reaction, you refrained. It probably wasn’t his fault he didn’t know about being transferred from Gotham to Blüdhaven Academy, since Bruce apparently had a habit of keeping people out of the loop with things. For all you know, Dear Ol’ Daddy Bats just gave Dick an address and said, "drop off at 9, pick up at 3:30," leaving your pseudo-older brother to fill in the blanks from there (“this is an address to a school, so I’m assuming this is where they go to school,” or something like that).

So, all you could do was shrug. “Yeah.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his jaw tighten. He seemed to be deliberating on something, eyes burning holes through his windshield as he let out a sigh. “So, guessing you have no one to stay with for the night?”

“Stay with?” You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean, stay with?”

“Well, I’m gonna be out tonight,” he explained, his tone sounded a bit exasperated. “Can’t just leave you on your own. Do any friends from your old school live near by?”

You were at a loss for words. He wanted you to stay with someone? For the entire night? “Wait, hold on… you just wanna dump me at a friend’s house anytime you do your hero shit—?”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, kiddo, but we’re in Blüdhaven,” he spat at you. “And my apartment isn’t exactly in the nicest part of town.”

“But— it’ll be fine, ‘cuz you have a Bat-level security system,” you protested.

His grip got tighter on the steering wheel. “Doesn’t matter. You’re used to the manor, not street-level crime, kid.”

“I grew up in Gotham,” you retorted. “I’ve known street-level crime way longer than I’ve known the manor.” Before he could say something to that, you beat him to it by following up with, “and besides, all my friends from Gotham live in areas that are just as bad as your apartment. Wasn’t all that popular with the socialite kids with mansions, you know.”

No response for several seconds. Dick’s expression was far from pleasant, and you were starting to worry if you were getting yourself into some sort of trouble. Eventually, however, he let out a frustrated sigh, his cold eyes snapping towards your figure. “You make one hell of an argument, kiddo. But listen. We’ve gotta go over home-alone rules when we’re back to the apartment, alright? I don’t want anything happening to you under my watch.”

“Fine by me,” you shrugged.

The conversation was then dropped.

A small smile started to bloom on your face. He really thought he could rid of you like that, didn’t he? You knew he didn’t really like you, but using it’s not safe as an excuse to a Gothamite? Really? Yeah, that’s a bunch of bogus.

… Though, you had to admit, it was nice that he at least sounded considerate.

You woke up to the sounds of disgruntlement coming from the living area.

It wasn’t too loud, as you couldn’t exactly comprehend what was being said, but it was loud make you realize the disgruntled party was extremely ticked by something. Getting out of bed, you put your ear to the door for better listening.

“I already told you, I can’t. I’ve been leaving this kid home alone far too often for my liking. ……. Where, Roy?! Where can they stay?! Bruce isn’t in the right headspace to have another kid in the manor, and— ow, fuck— it’s not like they have any friends to crash with for the night! ……. Transferred schools. Would’ve been nice if Bruce said something about that, but— ……. Said their Gotham friends live in areas just as bad. Besides, there’s no way in hell I’m letting them step foot back into that hellhole without me being there. ……. ‘Cuz it’s fucking Gotham, Roy! It’s only city in the world that has a death by killer clown statistic!!”

Ah. Another phone call. Dick had been making a lot of those, recently. You never knew who was on the other line, except if it was Bruce or (by rare chance) Alfred, but you had a general idea that it was always one of his super hero friends. Not very many people casually talked about beating up thugs and criminals, after all.

“No— absolutely not. Bruce would be pissed if he found out!! He’d think I’m trying to make them into my sidekick or something, and god knows what happens to them after that. I’ve been through the system, Roy. While I’m not too keen on keeping a kid around, putting them back there is not an option. ……. They’re just— safer in my apartment than anywhere else right now. I can’t have anything happening to them. Not after Jason. Bruce would never forgive me, and I— I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. ……. I’m sorry, Roy. Maybe next time. ……. Yeah. Tell the other Titans I’m thinking about them, okay? ……. Yeah, good luck tonight. Try not to show up on the news. ……. Yup. See you.”

Your ears picked up on a low beep, heralding the end of the call. As Dick let out a string of curses, you couldn’t help but feel… empty. You were more than just a pain in the ass for Dick; you were a full-blown problem. It wasn’t just the fact that you were keeping him from having hero fun. Even if he wasn’t all that fond of you, he still considered you his responsibility, and seemed genuinely worried about your safety when he wasn’t there. You were under the impression that he went out at night to forget you existed, but…

Jason…

Jason was a name you were only vaguely familiar with, usually used as a heavy blow in a Dick v. Bruce argument. While you don’t exactly know the full context, Alfred did make mention once of a kid who lived in Wayne Manor before you (the one who is “no longer with us,” as the butler solemnly said), and upon stumbling into the Batcave by accident, some of the only coherent mutterings he offered were, “Jason,” and “no, not again.”

Again, you didn't know the full context, but it's easy to put together the pieces from there.

A particularly loud curse from the other side of the door brought you back to reality. You at first wondered if you should go out there and make sure your current guardian-figure was okay, but you decided against it, as A.) he was probably just patching himself up from a particularly rough skirmish, and B.) he didn't seem like he was in the mood to see you. Besides, with your thoughts on this Jason kid, you didn't know if you had enough self-control to keep your burning questions locked away on your tongue.

So, instead, you decided to lay back down in your bed, brainstorming ideas to get Dick to talk about Jason.

This was… kind of a terrible way to ask.

Sure, you were curious. The thought had been haunting your thoughts since Bruce’s breakdown, and being out of the loop was slowly eating away at your mind. But maybe you could’ve been less… abrupt… and given Dick a little bit more time to be mentally prepared. It was an extremely sensitive topic, after all, and you knew even he was healing from the aftermath.

You hoped he understood your question wasn’t just morbid curiosity; Jason’s death is in-part the reason you’re here, after all.

Dick stared at you across from the dinner table. His fork had a few pieces of macaroni skewered one the prongs, half-raised to be shoveled into his mouth. Blue eyes stared right through you, blinking owlishly as he presumably tried to process what the fuck you just asked him. All you could do was hunch into yourself in your seat, mentally scolding yourself for how fucking rude your question probably was. Painfully long seconds ticked by with no sort of response, and you eventually decided that the best course of action was to do some preemptive damage control.

“You— actually, you don’t have to answer,” you weakly sputtered. “I’m so sorry, that’s— that was so uncalled for. I’m really sorry, Dick.”

He set his fork down. “No, it’s fine. I’m just… did Bruce not— he never told you?”

You shook your head.

“… Ah,” was his reply. His eyes wandered towards the window, an unreadable expression falling onto his face. He seemed a bit… lost. Which was understandable, as you didn’t exactly give him prep time for a conversation like this. You gave him as much time as he needed to put his thoughts in order.

Finally, he gave an answer. “Killed in action. Ended up in the hands of the Joker, and… well, he didn’t come home. No Robin ever since.”

The flat tone that carved through his words caused your hair to stand on end. He kept the details vague, but you didn’t find yourself minding all that much. If the Joker was involved, it probably wasn’t that much of a lovely story. “So, he was Robin after you?”

A hum of confirmation came from Dick. “The mantle was open, since I took up a new name. After finding out that Bruce was Batman, he practically begged to be trained as Robin.” He slowly brought the fork to his mouth. “That’s what Bruce said, anyway.”

It was then you noticed the silverware rattling from some sort of rhythmic thumping. After a few moments, you realized it was from your knee hitting against the table, causing you to will your legs to stay still. “Um…” you cleared your throat. “Were you… close with Jason?”

“I mean, we were friendly.” He still neglected to make eye contact with you. “I tried to be a good example to him, but I was busy doing my own thing here.” His gaze dropped to the linoleum floor. “Didn’t spend enough time with him.”

A heavy pressure crushed down on your chest. While you didn’t know Jason personally, you were no stranger to the concept of loss, and the more you learned about his death, the more your current situation was starting to make sense. Jason discovered Bruce was Batman. He wanted to be Robin, and Bruce let him. Then he died as Robin. Bruce’s adopted son died on the field, in the costume.

So, after you found out Bruce was Batman… it probably felt all too familiar.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you practically whispered.

Dick only sighed. “It’s alright, kiddo.” Finally, he raised his eyes to look at you. “Say, how are you doing in that chemistry class?”

… Huh?

The abrupt change in subject was… interesting. But definitely understandable, as talking about Jason’s death probably wasn’t all too pleasant. Guilt started to eat away at your conscious, the thought of making Dick uncomfortable by reminding him of his grief and regrets making your heart feel heavy. So, you merely offered a shrug and said, “uh… I’m doing fine.”

“Thought you were having trouble with valence equations,” he mused.

You could only dumbly stare at him. Okay… this was new territory. Sure, he always asked how school was while picking you up, but this was the first time he’s talked about it at dinner. Then again, this is the first time you two have talked at dinner period, since most dinners were spent eating in total silence, so maybe he was just trying to cleanse the awkward air that you created from randomly inquiring about Jason (because you can't do anything right, apparently).

So, ignoring the warmth that swirled in your chest at the thought of him actually caring about your life outside of the polite, seemingly obligatory after-school exchanges, you indulged.

Blüdhaven nights weren’t all that different from Gotham’s. They could get noisy, the sounds of the city mixing together into one cacophony. You’ve learned how to sleep through it all, and it’s not like it’s all high energy for the entire night; around 1 in the morning, there’s a lull in activity that yields little to no sounds to disturb your slumber. Some would even call this hour the most peaceful that places like Gotham and Blüdhaven can get, despite all of the dubious activities that are probably happening.

So, something like the sound of a window sliding opening is enough to disturb this peace.

It was your window. It sounded like it was right in your room, so it had to be your window. You stayed as petrified as a statue in your bed, the fog of sleepiness immediately airing out of your brain from your nervous system screaming, holy shit, someone is opening my window. Well, maybe, if you continued to stay still, they wouldn’t recognize the obvious lump in the bed, take whatever the fuck they wanted, and be on their merry way. With any luck, Dick was done doing his hero shit, and the unfortunate sap breaking into the apartment would have a run-in with Nightwing.

That’s when a your bed began to creak from a new weight being added to it.

… Ah, shit.

You didn’t move. There was no way in hell you were moving. Even if the intruder seemingly knew you were there, you could do nothing else but stay stagnant in place, waiting for them to make the next move. Maybe, if they touch you, you could swing your arm to hit them and catch them by surprise. That might give you enough time to run, find Dick’s room, and pray to god he’s home. If not, then you could at least lock yourself in his room and hold out until he does.

Your thoughts were cut short when a familiar voice rang out.

“You didn’t lock your window.”

… That bastard—!!

Relief crashed through your body like a tidal wave. A heavy breath tumbled out of your lips — one that you didn’t even know you were holding in — which alleviated the growing pressure in your chest. Now that you could feel your limbs again, you willed away the shiver that wanted to travel through your body as you turned to face this so-called intruder. “Kind of an unconventional way to come home, don’t you think?”

Your eyes met the pearly white lenses of a domino mask. The shadowy figure sitting on your bed had his arms crossed over the unmistakable azure symbol of Nightwing, which, oddly enough, had an intriguing iridescent shimmer under the moonlight. Huh… none of the cameras really pick up that detail, you mentally noted, glancing back and forth between the contrast of matte black and shiny blue. You were no professional superhero costume critic, but it was a nice little touch.

Dick’s tired sigh snapped you out of your thoughts. It was a grim reminder that — oh, yeah — you’re about to get chewed out by your vigilante kind-of-older-brother… at an ungodly hour. “Kid,” he began, the chastising tone you were becoming more and more acquainted with lacing every word, “you can’t keep forgetting to lock everything like that. What if I was some crook, or kidnapper, or worse?”

“Good thing it was just Nightwing coming through my window to give me a heart attack,” you humorlessly mused.

Though you couldn’t see underneath the mask, you knew he was giving you that one unamused stare you’re all too familiar with. “(Y/N), I’m serious. This is about your safety, your life, even. If something bad happens while I’m out, I won’t be able to protect you. For god’s sake, kid. I could be on the other side of Blüdhaven while you’re getting taken, or murdered, or whatever!!” He took a moment to heave another sigh. “Just… promise me you’ll lock your window next time, alright? Please.”

All you could do was wordlessly nod. After taking some time to process what he was saying, you admittedly felt bad. He was right; neglecting to lock your window like that could very well mean death in Blüdhaven. It’s not like growing up in Gotham is any different, so you knew this fact very well. Maybe your time at the manor caused you to become less careful, as it’s unlikely any criminals are hitting up the Wayne residence anytime soon; and it’s not like any of them know about the Bat-level security, either.

A springy click echoed through your room, and you looked up to see Dick inspecting your window (you’ve long stopped questioning how he just teleports like that). After deeming it to be safe, he softly padded towards your door. His hand was on the knob, but he seemed a bit hesitant to turn it. Then, almost as an afterthought, he looked at you over his shoulder and said, “goodnight, kiddo.”

“… Goodnight,” you mumbled.

He was out the door.

Click.

Now alone in your room, you could finally replay what just happened. Dear Big Bro Dickybird just gave you the scare of a lifetime, chastised you about being irresponsible, and left to assumingly go to bed (though you’re not sure if that man actually sleeps or not). The conversation — well, more like lecture — played in your mind, repeating on loop like a broken record… because of course your mind wanted to make you feel guiltier than you already did.

That’s when something weird stuck out to you.

“You can’t keep forgetting to lock everything like that.”

… Keep?

As far as you knew, that was your first time actually forgetting…

So... how did he know?

Thwack.

Before you could even begin to register whatever the fuck just hit your forehead, a teasingly dry voice rang out from above. “Your handwriting really sucks, y'know."

With furrowed brows to showcase your confusion, you forced yourself to sit upright on the couch. A small notepad fell from your chest to the floor, the pages sprawled out from the metal spiral to reveal your list of things you wanted from the store. “I was writing fast,” you grumbled.

"Sure you were," cooed Dick with a less-than-friendly smirk. He then cocked his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest. "Wanted a change of scenery or something?"

You felt your face scrunch up. "What does that mean?"

"You usually watch your dumb little YouTube videos in your room," he explained. "Not sprawled out on my couch."

Honestly, you weren't even going to question how he knew that. Maybe it was that dumb Bat-detective intuition, or the fact that you probably need to start turning the volume on your phone down a notch (thin walls, remember?). Rolling your eyes, you situated yourself so that you were once again lounging comfortably on the couch. "Trying to tell me something, bucko?"

"Yeah, actually." Before you knew it, you were being ripped away from the cushions, an indignant yelp leaving your lips as you dangled mid-air from your legs. You had to adjust to your new upside-down view in order to throw Dick an incredulous glare. The bastard merely offered a shit-eating grin, simply stating, "get off my couch."

"... Could've just told me that," you spat out.

He began to walk you out of the living room. "You wouldn't of listened."

"Wha-- I totally would've!"

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Whatever retort you wanted to throw at him dissolved into a heavy OOMF as he dropped you onto the floor. You found yourself glaring up at him once more as he swiped invisible dust off of his hands, giving you a champion smirk before heading back in the living. You managed to orient yourself into an awkward squat just in time to see him confidently throw himself into the couch cushions.

That asshole just kicked you out of your spot.

You were not about to let that slide.

With an animalistic yell, you began to gallop — yes, gallop; it was a weird mix of running and crawling, as you were already on the floor — at him full speed. He barely had time to react to your charge (as you victoriously noted from his surprised OOF as you pounced on him), and within seconds, the both of you were locked into a fight to the death. Dick might've had the upper hand when it came to combat technique, but what you lacked in experience, you made up in dedication as you tried your damned hardest to push him off of the couch.

"Hey," he wheezed out. "Quit it, you little freak!!"

"You quit it," was your breathy reply. "I was here first!!"

"But it's my couch!!"

"Didn't see you using it!!"

"Just 'cuz I was getting your dumbass groceries!!"

"You were out for a whole-ass hour!!"

Despite giving it your all, the battle was beginning to turn against you as Dick managed to wrestle your upper body between his forearm and bicep. He eventually managed to pin your viciously kicking legs under his arm, and looking back on it, the scene probably looked reminiscent of a zookeeping holding down a trashing crocodile. This didn't deter you however, as you began to gnaw at his forearm, drawing a sound of disgust from your captor. "I had to spend, like, 30 minutes trying to decipher your shit handwriting," he scoffed. "Now can you just accept defeat and stop biting me!?"

You tried to respond with something along the lines of, "not until you give me my spot back," but it came out as garbled nonsense with your mouth full of his forearm. He aggressively told you to repeat yourself (probably under the pretense that you were giving him some major lip), and during the time you relieved his skin of your teeth to say something much worse than you initially did, a cheerful little tune began to play from Dick's pocket.

"... Hold that thought," he murmured.

Respectfully, you kept still and allowed him to use one of his hands to fish his phone out of his hoodie (you thought about using this as an opportunity to escape, but that would go against the unspoken rules of battle). He squinted his eyes to read the caller ID, only to heave a frustrated groan. “Bruce,” he curtly informed you. You were about to ask if he wanted some privacy, when he suddenly released you from his hold and sent you careening towards the ground. So, taking that as an answer, you scrambled off of the floor and headed towards your room, phone somehow materializing in your hand in the process.

From your room, the call sounded so faint.

… Maybe the walls weren’t as thin as you initially thought they were.

You let out a jet of hot air through your teeth. “The hell is taking him so long?”

The time was 3:50, but Dick’s old car was nowhere to be seen in your school’s parking lot. You shot hit a text 5 minutes ago that has yet to be read, and if you were being honest, you were more anxious than annoyed. Dick was never late to pick-up. Late to drop-off, sure (there was one time you showed up to school at 11:25 due to him sleeping in from a late-night drug bust, and you got the pleasure of making up an embarrassing excuse at the expense of Dick’s pride to the front office), but never pick-up.

So, this meant one of two things; he’s finally forgotten about you, or there’s an emergency.

Just as you were debating on checking the local news, your phone buzzed in your hand, screen lighting up to reveal a message from Bastard. You could feel your apprehension melting away as you unlocked your phone to read his message:

robbery going on

… Ah. That explains the spike in police siren activity going on around you.

You were about to shoot him a classic, “what the fuck” text, but his typing bubble popped up. After a second, another message followed:

gonna be late

Okay, now you decided to send your, “what the fuck.”

The read status under your text didn’t show up until a few minutes later (because that’s what you needed in this moment; more anxiety), and he immediately got to typing.

sorry kiddo

stay put

be there in a sec

Your shaky fingers managed to type him a message along the lines of, “be careful, good luck,” which was left unread by him. A snake of apprehension began to squeeze at your lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. You had to force yourself to suck in a good bit of air to calm your nerves. Maybe he was just busy kicking some ass, that’s all. He’s stopping a whole-ass robbery from happening, so it’s not like he can keep up with your messages. Besides, he told you he would be there “in a sec,” so he’s probably wrapping everything up now.

Calm down, (Y/N), you scolded yourself. Your brother is Nightwing. He’ll be fine.

That’s when you witnessed an explosion light up the sky.

It was distant, but big enough to send a low rumble through the ground. You watched in absolute horror as the violent orange and yellow dissipated from behind the cityscape, leaving an inky trail of smoke behind as its calling card. More and more sirens of different origins — police, fire, ambulance — were overlapping in a terrible harmony, though it was hard to process from the brazen ringing in your ears, clogging your brain out from the outside world.

Oh, shit.

What if that was—?!

You desperately fumbled with your phone, unlocking it to reveal your still unread message to Dick. You were hoping for some sort of sorry about that text, or at the very least to see his typing bubble, but you were met with radio silence. Apprehension became pure fear when your thoughts began to race. Something bad happened to Dick. There’s no way in hell an explosion happened coincidentally, so something bad just happened.

Not good, not good, not good at all…!!

It took longer than you wanted to get your fingers to type something:

Dick??

Dick, you okay??

I saw that, are you okay??

Dick??

Dick??

… Nothing.

You resorted to calling him.

… Beeeeeeeeep…

… Beeeeeeeeep…

… Beeeeeeeeep…

“Come on,” you muttered. “Come on, come on, come on, pick up—!!”

… Beeeeeeeep…

…

“Hey, you’ve reached the voice mail of Dick Grayson, just shoot me a text and I’ll—”

You hung up.

This was bad. This was so bad. Something bad is happening, and you’re not even sure if Dick’s okay. Hell, you saw how big that explosion was. Is he even fucking alive?!

You couldn’t help but utter a watery, “no…”

You’re not going through this again.

Without a second to spare, your legs began to carry you forward in a full sprint. You weren’t exactly sure where the explosion went off, and it’s not like you’re all that familiar with Blüdhaven just yet to know where any possible candidates for a robbery could be, but you followed the smoke pillars like a beacon, gauging how close you were based on the surrounding sirens. People stood like statues on the sidewalks to ogle at evidence of destruction wafting through the sky, and no cars dared to run you over as you cut through the streets.

“Come on, Dick,” you said between huffs. “Please— please be okay..!!”

He had to be okay.

You couldn’t lose someone else in your life.