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# STRAWBERRY BABY .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱



☆ PAIRING : 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
☆ SYNOPSIS : 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥...
☆ NOTE : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!
Your life was supposed to be perfect right now. You just gave birth to your beautiful baby—a moment that should have been magical, joyous, and filled with happy tears.
Instead, you were losing your mind.
Because the baby in your arms… did not have black hair. Not even a single dark strand.
No.
Because the baby—the tiny, fresh-out-the-womb infant that you had just spent hours screaming into existence—was blonde.
Blonde.
BLONDE.
And he looked exactly like Jason.
Now, for most normal people, this wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it would be a cute, happy moment—"Oh wow, he looks just like his dad!"—but you? No. You were spiraling. Because Jason had black hair. Jet black. Dark as the night. Dark as his soul (romantically speaking).
And your baby?
Your baby had a tuft of blonde hair that made him look like a tiny cherub sent straight from heaven.
Which made no damn sense.
You hadn’t cheated. Hell, you barely even looked at other men since getting together with Jason because—let’s be honest—your man was already borderline psychotic when it came to his jealousy.
So, if you had cheated (which, again, you HADN’T), you would already be dead. There would be no hospital room. No baby. Just a Jason-shaped shadow standing over your shallow grave.
But that didn’t change the fact that you were staring at your son, this tiny, beautiful baby with blonde hair.
Which would be fine. If Jason had fucking blonde hair.
But he didn’t. He had black hair.
You were a hundred percent sure of that. You had run your fingers through that thick, inky hair so many times. You had tugged it when he pissed you off. You had yanked it when—
That didn’t matter right now.
Because either you had just given birth to the wrong child, or—OR—
“Oh my God,” you choked, your voice cracking as you looked at the baby in your arms with sheer, bone-deep horror. “Jason’s going to think I cheated on him.”
The room went silent.
A nurse looked at you with wide eyes, hesitating mid-step. Alfred, ever the picture of composure, cleared his throat, carefully folding a tiny onesie. And Dick—because of course Dick was here—froze mid-bite of his celebratory snack, a hospital pudding cup, before slowly turning to you.
“Uh… what?”
“I didn’t cheat on him,” you gasped, convulsing in hormonal sobs as you clutched the tiny baby closer to your chest. “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”
“I mean, obviously,” Tim mumbled, looking more alarmed at your emotional breakdown than at the situation itself.
But you weren’t listening. You were spiraling, your voice getting more frantic.
“Oh my God. What if they gave me the wrong baby?” you whispered, eyes darting wildly around the hospital room. “What if some poor woman out there has my real baby? And I have hers?”
“Miss, please,” Alfred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Damian, perched in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, made a disgusted sound. “That’s your child, idiot. It looks just like Todd.”
“NO, HE DOESN’T!” you wailed. “JASON HAS BLACK HAIR!”
Damian just scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.
Dick sighed dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe we have to do this right now. Jason’s gonna lose his mind.”
That set you off even worse. Jason’s gonna lose his mind?! Oh God, oh God, he was going to think you cheated. He was going to leave. He was going to storm in here, take one look at the baby, and—
You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.
Bruce actually looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.
“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.
“I didn’t cheat,” you repeated, voice breaking. “I mean—how would I even have the time?! Jason’s always around! He’d kill anyone who looked at me for too long! It doesn’t make sense!”
“Why are you trying to convince us?” Damian scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be telling Todd?”
Your stomach dropped.
Jason.
Jason wasn’t here.
Oh, God. Oh, fuck.
“I—I love him so much,” you sobbed, clutching your little (wrong?!) baby. “I—oh my God—what if he leaves me?! What if he thinks I—Oh God, he’s gonna think I cheated, and I didn’t, I swear—”
“Jason’s going to break the door down when he gets here,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples.
“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.
CRASH.
Jason absolutely broke the door down.
It slammed against the wall so hard that even your baby, who had been peacefully asleep through your meltdown, flinched.
"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"
He froze.
You were crying.
Sobbing.
Hysterical.
His brain ran a million miles per hour. Did something happen? Did you change your mind about the name? Did one of the nurses insult you? Did he leave the oven on? Did someone die?
His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.
Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.
Okay. Not dead.
So why the fuck were you crying like this was a damn crime scene?
"Uh," Jason started. "Baby? What’s wrong?"
You let out another broken sob, clutching the baby to your chest.
Jason panicked.
You started crying so hard you couldn’t even get words out. Just absolute, gut-wrenching sobs while Jason rushed to your bedside, grabbing your face.
“Baby, baby, what’s wrong?!” he panicked, his voice an octave higher. “Did they hurt you?! Are you in pain?! Do I have to kill someone?! Is it Bruce?! I bet it’s Bruce.”
Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.
It's just made you cry harder.
"Oh, God—what happened?! Are you okay?! Is the baby okay—"
"Jason, I SWEAR I didn’t cheat on you!" you blurted out.
Jason blinked.
Everyone collectively flinched.
"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.
"I didn’t cheat! I would never cheat! I love you, and you were my first, and I would never, I would never, I—"
"Baby," Jason said slowly, trying to wrap his head around this absolute fever dream. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
You let out another shaky breath, eyes darting around the room in pure panic. "T-the baby, Jason. Look at him."
Jason frowned, stepping closer. He looked at the baby. Looked at you. Looked at the baby again.
"…Yeah?" he said, confused.
"He has blonde hair!"
Jason blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then turned to the rest of the family like they had the answers.
Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."
Jason turned back to you, lips parting like he was about to say something, then stopping. Then opening again. Then stopping.
“I swear I didn’t!” Your sobs renewed, your shoulders shaking as you held up the tiny, peacefully sleeping baby. “But look at him! He has blonde hair! He looks exactly like you! But you have black hair! I think I got the wrong baby, or I cheated on you in my sleep, or maybe you’re going to leave me—”
Jason stared.
Then he turned, slowly, toward the rest of the room. “…Did you guys let her spiral like this on purpose?”
“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.
“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.
Jason inhaled deeply.
Then, to your absolute shock, he let out a long, tired sigh—before shoving a hand through his hair and grumbling, “I fucking forgot you didn’t know.”
You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”
Jason gave you a flat look. “Babe. My hair. I’ve been dyeing it black since I was a kid.”
Your breath caught. “Huh?”
“Because of him,” Jason added, jerking his thumb toward Dick, who just wiggled his fingers in a smug little wave.
Silence.
More silence.
The world stopped.
The Earth stopped spinning.
Your breath hitched. "You…"
Jason nodded.
"You… had blonde hair?"
Jason nodded again.
You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.
Then immediately let out a loud, gut-wrenching, ugly sob and buried your face in your hands.
Jason Todd. Your husband. Your big, scary, six-foot-four, muscle-bound, leather-wearing husband. The man who used to be the meanest street kid in Crime Alley. The man who could disassemble a gun with his eyes closed and had murdered actual people.
Had spent his entire life dyeing his hair because he wanted to look like Dick Grayson.
“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide.
Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”
“Oh my God.”
“Listen, it’s not—”
“You mean to tell me I’ve been married to you this whole time thinking you had black hair, but you’re actually some kind of undercover blonde?!”
“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.
Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”
You gasped, gripping his jacket like you might collapse. “You mean to tell me this baby is actually yours?”
Jason exhaled. Then he stepped forward, resting a warm, solid hand against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Yes, babe,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “He’s mine.”
"Oh my God," you wailed. "I’m so stupid."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Jason sat on the bed, grabbing you. "You’re not stupid. You just had a baby. And hormones. And clearly, no one ever showed you my baby pictures."
"This whole time," you hiccupped, voice muffled, "I thought they swapped our baby, and I stole some random kid. I thought you were gonna leave me!"
Jason sighed, rubbing your back. "Sweetheart, I would never leave you. Especially not over our perfectly fine, baby."
Damian scoffed. "Tt. As if anyone else would willingly have a child with Todd."
Jason shot him a glare. "Not the time, demon."
Dick sighed, stepping forward and ruffling Jason’s hair. "Guess we should’ve mentioned that whole blonde thing earlier, huh?"
Jason glared. "You think?"
Stephanie shook her head. "I thought everyone knew. It's, like, a family fun fact at this point."
"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.
Jason pulled you into his arms, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. "It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I promise."
You sniffled, eyes red and puffy. "So… he’s really yours?"
Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead. "He’s really mine."
You let out a weak whimper. "I wanna see your baby pictures."
Jason chuckled. "Alright, sweetheart. When we get home, I’ll show you all of them."
Tim crossed his arms. "I have them saved on my phone."
Jason turned his head. "Why the fuck do you have baby pictures of me on your phone?"
Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."
Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"
Tim smirked. "Like this one."
Jason pulled back, finally looking down at the baby in your arms.
And—oh.
The storm in his eyes vanished.
Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.
The big, scary Red Hood, suddenly looked—small.
Awe-struck.
Because there, curled in your arms, was a tiny, sleeping baby with blonde hair and soft little features that looked just like his.
Jason swallowed.
Then, hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his fingers over the baby’s little fist.
“…Holy shit,” he murmured.
Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”
Jason turned to you, eyes softening.
Then he kissed you—long, deep, and full of love.
“I love you,” he muttered, lips still against yours.
𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 ���𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.
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“Cassandra.”
Her name barely carried through the still air, but she didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t acknowledge the voice.
She sat there, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her entire body curled inward like she could somehow shield herself from reality.
From this.
From your name carved into stone.
The graveyard was too peaceful.
The world around her was too bright.
The sky was impossibly blue, the kind of endless, cloudless stretch that belonged to better days. The sun hung high, warm and golden, spilling light over everything as if this were just any other afternoon. A soft breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, and the grass beneath her was still damp with morning dew. The air smelled fresh—too fresh.
It was a beautiful day.
And Cassandra hated it.
It wasn’t right.
Why wasn’t the sky dark? Why weren’t the clouds swollen with grief, heavy and suffocating? Why wasn’t there a storm, wind tearing through the city, rain drenching the ground, filling the cracks in the pavement, turning the earth around your grave to mud?
Why wasn’t the world mourning with her?
It should be.
Because this—this wasn’t just another day.
This was the day Cassandra Cain sat in front of your grave, alone in the silence, mourning the loss of you.
You.
The person who was supposed to be her younger sister.
The person who shouldn’t be here—not like this. Not beneath the ground.
A shadow passed over her. She barely acknowledged it.
Duke.
He stood for a moment, just watching her.
Duke hesitated before he stepped closer.
His movements were slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal.
And maybe that’s what Cassandra was.
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You can’t stay here forever,” he murmured, his voice quiet, gentle.
Cassandra didn’t respond. She just nudged his hand away, still staring at your name carved into the stone.
Duke exhaled, long and slow, before lowering himself to the ground beside her.
They sat in silence.
Neither of them wanted to be here.
But neither of them could leave.
Not when this grave was here. Not when it held you.
And it still didn’t feel real.
Duke ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his eyes. He didn’t blame Cassandra for shutting down like this.
Because he was still trying to understand it too.
Duke stared at your name, carved into stone, like if he just looked at it long enough, it would make sense.
But it didn’t.
It wouldn’t.
Your death—
God.
It wasn’t just tragic. It wasn’t just painful.
It was sudden.
It didn’t feel possible.
One day, you were here. And then you weren’t.
And Duke didn’t know how to process that.
He kept thinking—kept replaying everything in his head. The details. The reports. The last time he saw you.
And the same question kept coming back to him, again and again and again.
Why didn’t you call him?
You knew he would have helped you. You knew that.
Right?
You knew he wouldn’t have thought twice.
Right?
Would he have thought twice…?
No, surely not.
Right?
You should have known that.
So why didn’t you?
Why didn’t you tell him what you were doing? Why didn’t you let him back you up? Why did you go after that drug ring alone?
You should have called.
You should have known he wouldn’t hesitate. That he wouldn’t have even thought before coming to help you.
You should have been standing here with him.
Not lying six feet underground.
Duke let out a slow, shuddering breath, staring at the gravestone, his chest tightening like something inside him was caving in.
It wasn’t fair.
None of this was fair.
And the worst part? The part that made him feel sick?
Losing people—he knew what that was like.
He lost his parents.
And now—
Now he had lost you.
And you weren’t just anyone.
You were—
God, you were you.
You weren’t perfect, but you were alive in a way that few people ever truly were.
You had this way of making things feel easier. Not because life actually was easier, but because you had a way of making it manageable. Making it bearable.
And you were stubborn.
God, you were so stubborn.
You never backed down, never walked away, never let things go when they mattered. You fought for people. You fought for him. Fought for yourself.
You weren’t his sister by blood, but blood had never mattered in this family. Not really.
You had been his friend before you were his family.
And now you were gone.
And he was just supposed to accept that you were gone?
That he was supposed to sit here, staring at a piece of stone with your name on it, instead of looking you in the eye and telling you you were a dumbass for going in alone?
No.
No, that didn’t make sense.
It didn’t make sense that you—the person who had somehow become his sister—was just gone.
And he—
He hated this.
He hated this so much.
“What…. do you think her last words were…?”
Cassandra’s voice broke through the silence, small but steady.
Duke’s throat tightened. He barely held back a flinch.
“I… don’t know,” he admitted.
And he didn’t want to know.
Because the moment he let himself think about it.
The moment he let himself wonder what your last moments were like—
He wouldn’t be able to take it.
Had you been waiting for someone to save you?
Had you been hoping for some kind of miracle?
Or had you known?
Had you known you weren’t going to make it?
Had you realized that help wasn’t coming?
Had you been scared?
Duke clenched his jaw and swallowed hard.
He didn’t want to think about that.
He couldn’t—
He couldn’t think about that.
Cassandra didn’t look at him, but she was still staring at your grave, her expression unreadable.
But he knew what she was thinking.
She was blaming herself.
And she shouldn’t.
She wasn’t even in Gotham when it happened. There was nothing she could have done.
But logic didn’t matter.
Because you were dead.
And she hadn’t been there.
Neither had he.
And he was always going to carry that with him.
Cassandra had learned you quickly.
How you liked your coffee, how you always leaned against walls instead of standing straight, how you tapped your fingers against your thigh when you were thinking.
How you always waited a second longer than necessary before answering a question—like you were testing the weight of your words before letting them go.
You had been sharp, but soft.
Blunt, but kind.
The kindest of them all.
You had been quiet, but so damn loud in the way you existed.
And now—
Now you were gone.
And Cassandra was still here.
And she didn’t know how.
Cassandra didn’t know how to fight that.
Didn’t know how to fight the weight pressing against her chest, the grief that curled around her like a vice. It was strange. Loss was something she should’ve been used to. Death was something she had faced time and time again. It was part of this life. It was part of the job.
So why did this feel so different?
Why did it feel like something was clawing at the edges of her ribs, carving out a hollow space where you used to be?
She had died before. Her heart had stopped beating, her body had given out. But she had been revived, dragged back to life before the darkness could fully claim her. She had cheated death, walked away with a heartbeat that wasn’t supposed to be there anymore.
So why hadn’t that been you?
Why had she gotten to wake up, gasping, with another chance at life—while you had been left to rot in the ground? Why had she been spared while you had been taken?
Cassandra’s hands curled into fists on her lap, her nails biting into her palms as she forced herself to breathe.
It didn’t help.
Her eyes flickered to your name on the gravestone. The letters carved into the stone were so sharp, so permanent. You weren’t coming back. No second chances, no miracles. Just a name, a date, and the suffocating silence of your absence.
She swallowed thickly and let her gaze drop lower.
No flowers.
Cassandra stared at the empty space in front of your grave, and something in her chest twisted. No matter how hard she searched her mind, she couldn’t remember what kind of flowers you liked.
What flowers did you like?
Did you like lilies—soft, gentle, but heavy with the scent of mourning?
Did you like daisies—bright and stubborn, growing even in the cracks of concrete?
Did you like marigolds—bold, striking, impossible to ignore?
She hated that she didn’t know. Hated that she had spent years at your side and still, she didn’t know what flowers to bring you.
It was ridiculous, how something so small—so insignificant in the grand scheme of things—felt like another knife to the ribs.
Cassandra had always been good at reading people. She had always been good at reading you.
And yet—she didn’t know this.
Didn’t know something so simple.
The realization made her stomach twist.
She had memorized the way you carried yourself, the way your fingers twitched when you thought too hard about something, the way you always paused before speaking, like you were testing your words before letting them go.
She knew how you fought, how you moved, how you breathed.
And yet—she didn’t know this.
This was all she knew.
What did you actually like to do?
What did you like to eat?
What was your go-to drink?
Did you drink coffee out of necessity, or was it your favorite?
What music did you listen to when no one was around?
What did you hum under your breath when you thought no one was paying attention?
Did you like the sun or the moon better?
Did you ever have a favorite book? A favorite movie?
Have you ever fallen in love? Fancied a guy or girl from afar?
Everything that a sister should know—she didn’t.
And now, she never would.
Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, hands pressing against her thighs, fingers digging into the fabric of her pants.
To think—to think—of all the times you had tried to stay by her side.
Of all the times you had tried—tried to connect with her, tried to understand her, tried to make her feel like she belonged in this family—and she hadn’t let you.
She had been distant. Subconsciously pushing you aside. Not because she hated you—no, never because of that.
But because you two were so vastly different.
Because she saw you and thought—you weren’t built for this life.
Because she looked at you and thought—you shouldn’t be here.
You weren’t a killer. You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t someone who should have had to claw and scrape your way through the darkness of Gotham.
You should have had a normal life.
You could have had a normal life.
And maybe, maybe—if she had pushed harder, if she had done more, if she had made you see what she saw—maybe you would have left this life.
Maybe if she had pushed harder, you wouldn’t have ended up like this.
You wouldn’t be here, six feet under, with a name carved into stone and a body lost to the dirt.
Maybe she could have been there.
Maybe she could have saved you.
Cassandra clenched her jaw, her fists tightening further.
No.
That wasn’t even it.
That wasn’t even the truth.
It wasn’t about whether you should have been a vigilante. It wasn’t about whether or not you belonged in this life.
It was about her.
It was about the choices she had made.
If she hadn’t thought she knew what was best for you—if she hadn’t dismissed you before even giving you a chance—maybe things would have been different.
If she had helped you instead of discouraging you—if she had guided you instead of pushing you away—maybe you wouldn’t have felt so alone in this.
Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you had to prove yourself at every turn.
Maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself so far—so recklessly, so relentlessly—that your body had begged you to stop, had screamed at you to rest, and yet, you had ignored it anyway.
Because you had something to prove.
To yourself.
To everyone else.
To her.
And why?
Because she had made you feel like you weren’t enough.
Like you weren’t competent enough, weren’t worthy enough, to stand beside them.
Like you had to earn your place in a way that no one else had to.
And that—
That was what crushed her.
That was what made her stomach churn and her chest tighten, what made her fingers twitch at her sides and her jaw clench until it ached.
Because she had done that.
She had made you feel that way.
And it had cost you your life.
If she had just been there—if she had helped you, taught you, stayed by your side as a sister should, instead of leaving you to figure everything out on your own—maybe you wouldn’t have needed to push yourself to the brink just to keep up.
Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you had to bleed just to prove you deserved to be by their side. By her side.
Maybe—just maybe—
You would still be here.
She didn’t know where the thought came from, only that it settled deep inside her, heavier than stone.
She should be used to loss. It was part of the job, part of the life they all lived. People died. People left. That was just how things were.
But Cassandra Cain didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t have you in it.
Why?
Because your presence had been undeniable.
Not in the way that others were loud—not in the way Dick filled a room with laughter, or in the way Jason made his presence known with his sharp words and sharper gaze, or in the way Tim existed like a shadow, quiet but calculating.
No.
You were present in the littlest ways. The kind of ways that most people overlooked.
But she noticed.
She always noticed.
The way you drummed your fingers against your thigh when you were thinking—not impatient, not absentminded, just… rhythmic, like you were keeping time to a song only you could hear.
The way you always lingered in a doorway before stepping inside, as if you were gauging the room, the people, the atmosphere—like you needed to prepare yourself before crossing the threshold.
The way your shoulders stiffened whenever someone called your name unexpectedly, like you were always bracing for something, like you had learned a long time ago that being noticed wasn’t always a good thing.
The way your eyes softened, just barely, whenever you looked at her.
The way you tilted your head when you were confused, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you were frustrated, the way your fingers twitched whenever you held back from saying something.
The way you carried yourself—quiet, but never unnoticed. Soft, but never weak.
You had been everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
In the way the floorboards creaked in a rhythm only you walked in. In the faint scent of your shampoo that lingered in the halls long after you passed through them. In the way the air felt just a little different when you were around—charged, like something unspoken was always hanging in the space between you and everyone else.
And now—
Now you were gone.
And the world felt wrong.
Her nails bit into her palms as she exhaled sharply.
The weight in her chest grew heavier, suffocating, pressing against her ribs until she could barely breathe.
She wanted to say sorry.
For not being there when it mattered.
For not being the sister you had wanted her to be.
For all the times you had reached for her and she had turned away.
But apologies were meaningless now.
There was no use in apologizing to a grave.
The dead could not hear the apologies of the living.
And she hated—hated—how it seemed like she just wanted to get rid of the guilt, like this was just another weight on her shoulders that she was desperate to shake off.
It wasn’t that.
It wasn’t about making herself feel better.
But to anyone else, it might seem shallow, like she was just trying to justify her regrets.
And that—
That was when she exhaled sharply, her voice quiet, raw, and firm.
“I failed her.”
Duke stiffened beside her.
“Cass…”
“No.”
She finally moved.
Finally stood.
Her knees ached from kneeling too long, but she ignored the feeling, ignored the way the world spun for half a second before steadying again.
She looked down at the grave—at your name, your absence, the proof that you were really, truly, gone.
“There’s a lot of things I regret,” she admitted, her voice steady. “A lot of things I should have done. A lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”
She exhaled.
“But there is no use feeling this way when—”
She stopped.
When what?
When you were already gone?
When nothing she did would change that?
When no amount of guilt, no amount of grief, no amount of anything would ever bring you back?
Duke watched her, silent, waiting.
And finally—she finished.
“There is no use feeling this way when the only person who could have forgiven me isn’t here anymore.”
Duke inhaled sharply. His lips parted—ready to argue, ready to refute, ready to tell her that it wasn’t her fault.
But he didn’t.
Because she was right.
And they both knew it.
There was nothing either of them—or anyone else—could do.
The damage was done.
You were gone.
And Cassandra would have to live with that. He would have to live with that.
She turned to Duke, her expression unreadable, her body language tight.
Her shoulders were stiff, arms curled inwards, fingers twitching ever so slightly at her sides. A silent scream compressed into muscle and bone, into tension that refused to unravel. Her breath was steady, too steady, the kind of control that only came when someone was barely holding themselves together.
And then, after a moment—
He moved first.
Slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to pull away, to reject the gesture before it even landed. But she didn’t.
So he pulled her into a hug—strong, firm, grounding.
A weight. A warmth. A presence she didn’t realize she needed until she was sinking into it.
Cassandra didn’t resist.
Didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t go rigid, didn’t pull away out of habit, didn’t keep that careful distance she always did when she wasn’t sure how to accept comfort.
No.
She closed her eyes and let herself feel.
For the first time in hours. In days. In what felt like forever—she let herself be held.
Let herself be comforted.
Even though she didn’t feel like she deserved it.
Because what right did she have to be comforted when you weren’t here?
What right did she have to grieve you when she had been part of the reason you were gone?
But Duke didn’t let go.
He held onto her like he understood. Like he knew that if he let go, she might just disappear, might crumble into something irreparable, something that grief would consume whole.
So she stayed.
And for now—
For now, that would have to be enough.
128 hours, 13 minutes, and 27 seconds.
That’s how long it’s been since Gotham fell into chaos. Since the family fell into shambles.
Since you took your last breath.
Tim’s fingers twitched over the console, knuckles pale, hands locked into position as if frozen mid-action. The blue glow of the Batcomputer flickered against his face, casting long, sharp shadows that made the bags under his eyes seem deeper, his expression more hollow.
He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t moved. Had barely breathed.
Because he couldn’t stop watching.
The footage looped again. And again. And again.
Warehouse. Low light. South Gotham docks. Camera angle, elevated—one of Batman’s hidden surveillance feeds.
You moved like a ghost. A shadow.
A blur of motion cutting through the dark.
Tim rewound the footage. Slowed it down. Watched. Memorized. Analyzed.
His eyes were red from the hours of staring at the screen. The footage ran in a constant loop, a ghostly reminder of everything that had gone wrong. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t look away, even though he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Maybe this time, there’ll be something he missed.
That’s what he told himself.
It was a sickening kind of hope, one born from desperation. He needed something—anything—that would prove this wasn’t just another casualty of the mess they lived in. This wasn’t an accident. He couldn’t let it be an accident. If it was, then what was the point? What was the point of all of this? If it was just an accident, if this was just the way things always were, then what the hell was he even doing here? What was the point of it all?
What was the point of all the fights, the struggles, the years of fighting against the darkness if it could just snuff out a life like that, without any warning? Tim couldn’t accept it.
His heart hammered in his chest as he hit replay again. He didn’t even realize how many times he had watched this same clip. How many times he had gone over it, scrutinizing every frame, searching for something that wasn’t there. There’s something.
There has to be something.
A sign.
A clue.
Anything to prove this was deliberate, something he can blame.
But no matter how many times he watched it, no matter how many hours he spent scrutinizing every damn detail, nothing would change. Nothing could undo what had already been done.
But still, he couldn’t stop himself. He had to watch. He had to know. He had to find the why, the how, the reason behind it.
Why had you gone in alone?
Why hadn’t anyone been there for you?
Why hadn’t he been there?
The rest of the world had moved on, or at least tried to. Gotham was still reeling from the explosion of chaos that followed the takedown of the drug ring you’d infiltrated. The criminals, the ones you’d exposed, some of them were caught, while others were already on the run, their operations disrupted in ways they hadn’t anticipated. The whole damn city had been thrown into disarray because of this.
Tim gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He felt a knot twist in his stomach, one he couldn’t untangle, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to blame the criminals. He wanted to blame them for everything. For the sudden rise in crimes. For the sudden disarray in Gotham. But it wasn’t them. He couldn’t make himself believe that. No. It wasn’t their fault. Not exactly.
It was yours. It was yours and no one else’s.
It’s all because of you.
That thought stung, burned in the pit of his stomach, and yet it lingered, demanding to be acknowledged. Tim didn’t want to think that way—he didn’t want to blame you. But how could he ignore it? You had done your job, you’d exposed something they couldn’t ignore, but now it was a nightmare. Gotham was chaos, because of you.
No.
He slammed his fist on the desk, glaring at the footage, refusing to accept that thought. No, this wasn’t your fault. It couldn’t be. It was never supposed to happen like this. You had been right about the drug ring, and you had fought damn hard to stop it, all by yourself. But that’s where it went wrong, wasn’t it? You hadn’t called for backup. You hadn’t reached out. If you had—if you had just asked for someone, anything, anyone—maybe you would still be here.
Tim couldn’t stop the wave of anger that crashed over him. But it wasn’t at the criminals who had shot you, it wasn’t even at the fact that Gotham had spiraled into a warzone. No. It was at you.
Fuck.
Even now, after everything, he was the one left to clean up your mess. The same way he always had. The same way he always would. The same he always did. But this time—
This time, you weren’t there to hear him run through the details, to see the frustration in his eyes when things went sideways. You were gone.
And that was the most fucked up part of it all.
Where had it all gone wrong? When had things shifted from predictable to catastrophic? What had gone wrong between your last breath and his desperate attempts to piece together every detail, every frame of this damn footage? How many more people did he have to lose before he could just accept it?
Tim’s hands tightened around the desk, nails digging into the cool surface, but his thoughts kept spiraling out of control. He should be used to this by now. Loss. Death. People getting torn away from him like everything was just so damn fragile. But no. He wasn’t used to it. No matter how many times he told himself he should be, no matter how many people he’d lost, he wasn’t.
It never got easier.
It was almost too much. Too much to bear, but it wouldn’t stop. The losses he faced just kept looping over and over again. The image of you, falling to the floor of that warehouse, blood pooling beneath you.
Tim exhaled shakily, his nails scraping against the desk as he forced himself to take another breath. His chest was tight, his ribs felt like they were caving in, like his own body was rejecting the sheer weight of everything. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop looking at you, frozen in time, caught in the endless cycle of your last moments.
The footage looped again. And again. And again.
His brain wouldn’t stop dissecting it, wouldn’t stop scrutinizing every movement, every frame, as if the sheer force of his obsession could change something. As if watching it just one more time would suddenly make it all make sense.
But it didn’t. It never did.
He slammed the replay button, forcing the video back to the start, watching as you darted through the shadows, your movements swift and efficient. You had been so sure of yourself. You had to be, because you wouldn’t have done this otherwise, right? You wouldn’t have gone in without backup unless you knew you could handle it. Unless you thought you had no other choice.
Right?
But why?
Why?
Why hadn’t you asked him for help? Or anyone else for the matter.
Tim dug the heel of his palm into his eye, as if he could press the questions out of his skull, force them into submission.
Hah. Who was he fooling?
He knew why.
Because this wasn’t the first time.
This wasn’t the first time you’d come to him with a lead, eyes sharp and voice brimming with certainty. You’d always been like that—so sure, so goddamn convinced that you were right. And most of the time?
You weren’t.
Tim had been the one to prove it almost every time, the one who always had to go back, retrace your steps, find the gaps in your logic, the flaws in your deductions. He’d been the one who had to clean up after you when things didn’t go the way you expected.
And this time—
This time, you had been right.
The realization hit him like a knife to the gut, twisting, tearing.
You had been right. You had exposed something big, something that should have been on their radar, something that had been festering in Gotham for longer than any of them had realized.
And it had cost you.
Tim’s hands trembled over the keyboard, his fingers curling into fists. That’s why he can’t blame you. That’s why he can’t let himself be angry at you.
Not really.
Because if it hadn’t been for you, this whole operation would have gone unnoticed. Would have slipped through the cracks, just like so many things before it.
You had forced them to see it.
And now Gotham was paying the price.
Now you had paid the price.
Tim gritted his teeth, his breath unsteady.
If you had just—
If you had just waited.
If you had just asked for help.
If you had just asked him for help.
His vision blurred for a moment, but he wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or frustration or something worse. He swiped at his face, barely noticing the wetness on his fingers before his hand hovered over the keyboard again. He had to—
“Tim.”
The voice cut through the haze of his spiraling thoughts like a gunshot.
He barely reacted. His shoulders tensed, his gaze stayed locked on the screen, his fingers frozen above the keys.
“Tim.”
He heard her footsteps approaching, the sharpness in her tone laced with something else—exasperation, frustration. Concern.
He ignored it.
The footage replayed.
Again.
And again.
“Tim.”
He didn’t turn. Didn’t blink.
And then there was a hand on his shoulder, yanking him away from the screen, forcing him to look up, to register the anger, the exhaustion, the raw frustration carved into her expression.
Stephanie.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Tim blinked at her, dazed, uncomprehending.
Stephanie’s jaw clenched, her grip tightening. “Are you even aware of what’s happening out there? Gotham is a fucking mess. And you’re down here—what? Watching the same damn footage on repeat? Watching (Name) die over and over again?? Like it’s going to change something?”
Tim’s fingers twitched. His throat felt dry, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “I have to—”
“No, you don’t.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something harsher. “You don’t, Tim. You’re just—” She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “Jesus Christ, do you even know where Damian is?”
That made Tim hesitate.
Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Tim swallowed, his jaw locking. “I’m—”
“You’re what?” she cut in, voice sharp and furious. “Busy? Too busy staring at a screen, trying to—what? Bring her back? Figure out some convoluted explanation that makes this make sense?”
Tim flinched.
And Stephanie didn’t stop.
“Because guess what, Tim? It doesn’t make sense. It never makes sense. And you just sitting here, watching her die on repeat? Analysing her every move, every breath, every mistake? It’s not going to fix anything.”
Tim exhaled, slow and shaky, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second.
“Bruce, Jason and Damian are god knows where. Dick’s gone on a rampage. Cass and Duke are off on their own, trying to keep shit from burning down completely. Helena and Kate are out there trying to contain the damage—we had to call Dinah in because there aren’t enough of us—”
Her breath hitched, her voice shaking now, but she pushed forward, because Stephanie Brown didn’t stop when things got hard.
“And you? You’re here. Acting like this is going to change anything.”
Tim’s fingers curled into fists.
Stephanie shook her head, anger flashing in her eyes. “She’s gone, Tim.”
“She’s not gone.”
Tim’s breath was coming in quick, ragged bursts. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he wasn’t sure if it was from frustration or the way Stephanie was looking at him right now—like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“She’s not dead…!” His voice cracked, but he barely noticed. His hands slammed against the desk, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles went white. “She can’t be dead—she just—”
“Tim, do you even hear yourself right now?!” Stephanie snapped, stepping closer. “(Name) is dead! Dead, Tim! And you need to start—”
“No.” He shook his head, refusing to let her finish. “No, because what about all the other people we thought were dead? Superman. Bruce. Conner. Bart.” His voice was climbing now, chest heaving as his mind raced faster than his words. “And you—you, Stephanie. Every single one of you somehow came back to life, whether it was because you weren’t actually dead, or you were brought back by—”
“That’s not the same thing!” Stephanie’s voice was sharp, but Tim didn’t stop.
“It is the same thing!” His eyes were wide now, wild with something he didn’t know how to name. “Superman was literally killed, and what happened? He came back. Bruce—we buried him, and guess what? He wasn’t even dead! Conner—he died during Infinite Crisis and came back! Bart sacrificed himself during —” His breath hitched, and he barely held it together. “And you.” His voice was shaking now. “You faked your death, Steph. You let me and everyone think you were dead for months...! And yet—”
Stephanie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “But this is different, Tim! She’s different!”
“How?! How is this different?”
“Because she was shot, Tim!” Stephanie practically shouted, frustration burning in her chest. “She wasn’t resurrected by some Kryptonian regeneration matrix, or caught in some bullshit time displacement! She wasn’t lost in the timestream like Bruce, or cloned by some insane scientist, or mysteriously revived by the Speed Force! She was shot! Bullets went through her, Tim! There’s no coming back from that!”
Tim’s breath stuttered, but he clenched his jaw, shaking his head rapidly.
“No,” he muttered, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “No, that doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. Her suit was reinforced—there’s no way a bullet could have—”
“Because we weren’t prepared, Tim!” Stephanie cut in, her voice cracking. “She wasn’t prepared! Those bullets weren’t normal—those weren’t some cheap rounds from street dealers—they were made of promethium, Tim. Promethium. Her suit wasn’t designed to withstand that kind of impact.”
Tim faltered for half a second.
But it wasn’t enough.
“No.” His voice was flat, empty. “No, because if that’s true, then that means—” His breath hitched again, his fingers twitching over the keyboard. “That means she wasn’t supposed to die.” His voice grew distant, his mind racing through every scenario. “That means there was a way we could have stopped this. That means there was a way I could have—”
Stephanie’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
“You always do this,” she seethed, voice shaking. “You always think it’s on you to fix everything—to stop everything before it happens.” Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. “Well, guess what, Tim? Not everything is your fault.”
Tim let out a humorless laugh, sharp and bitter. “Oh yeah? Because it sure as hell feels like it is.”
Stephanie inhaled sharply, rage flaring in her chest.
“She’s gone, Tim,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “And you’re sitting here acting like you’re the only one who lost her.”
Tim flinched at that.
She’s right.
How could she not be?
“You think you’re the only one hurting?” Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. “You think you’re the only one who can’t believe she’s actually gone?” She shook her head, frustration bleeding into every word. “Newsflash, Tim—I can’t believe it either. None of us can.” Her breathing was uneven now, the weight of the past few days pressing down on her like a vice. “But you—” She exhaled sharply. “You and (Name)? You weren’t even close.”
Stephanie saw Tim stiffen, and she felt her throat tightened, but she didn’t stop. Even though she knew she didn’t have any right to say the next few words.
“I mean, I can’t even talk, right? Because it’s not like she and I were friends or anything. But whatever we had was at least something—more than whatever the hell was going on between you two.” She swallowed, voice thick with something she refused to name. “So why, Tim? Why are you acting like this? Like you’re the only one who lost her?”
Tim opened his mouth—then closed it.
Because she was right.
And he hated that she was right.
Because he didn’t know why.
Didn’t know why this loss felt different.
Didn’t know why it felt like he was suffocating on it.
Maybe because he had never taken loss well.
Maybe because every time he lost someone, it felt like another piece of him was being ripped away.
Maybe because he still wasn’t convinced.
Maybe because he still felt like there was a way to fix this.
Before he could say anything—before either of them could keep unraveling—a sharp, piercing alert rang through the cave, slicing through the air like a blade.
Stephanie jerked her head up, eyes narrowing. “What the hell was that?”
Tim’s entire body went rigid.
He turned to the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. His heart pounded against his ribs, his stomach twisting. His eyes scanned the system logs—
And then he froze.
Stephanie immediately stepped closer. “Tim?”
Tim didn’t move.
“Tim.”
Nothing.
Then, slowly—so slowly—he turned to look at her. His expression was unreadable.
“…That’s the alert Bruce installed at the graveyards.”
Stephanie felt her stomach drop.
“What?”
Tim swallowed, his throat dry, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s an alert that goes off whenever someone is digging up the graves.”
Stephanie’s breath caught in her throat.
And then—
Tim clenched his jaw.
“The alert that just sounded… was for (Name)’s grave.”
The Batcave was silent.
Not the kind of silence that came with solitude, nor the kind that settled between brief moments of stillness.
No—this silence was suffocating.
Not in the literal sense—there was no smoke, no lack of oxygen, no pressing physical force keeping them in place. But the weight in the air, the way it clung to their skin and settled in their bones, made it impossible to ignore.
It was the kind of silence that pressed against their ribs like iron bars, the kind that wrapped itself around their throats and made it hard to breathe. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t truly silent at all—because beneath it, there was tension, rage, a storm waiting to break.
The only sounds were the quiet hum of the Batcomputer and the occasional distant drip of water echoing through the cavernous walls. Even the bats that lurked in the high crevices seemed to hold their breath.
It had been silent since they got back.
Not the comfortable silence of routine, not the practiced quiet of soldiers working in tandem, but a silence teetering—on the edge of something irreversible, something that could snap at any second.
Bruce had yet to turn around.
His back remained to them, shoulders squared, posture impossibly still, and yet—somehow, in some unnatural way, he still managed to command the entire room. Still made every breath feel like it had to be earned, like speaking out of turn might shatter something fragile and irreparable.
But the silence couldn’t last forever.
Bruce’s voice, when it finally came, was low and sharp as a blade.
“Damian.”
His name cut through the air like a blade.
Damian inhaled sharply, but he did not falter.
His shoulders squared, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw locked in a way that made his teeth ache, and he forced himself to meet Bruce’s gaze when his father finally turned around.
“Why did you do it?” Bruce’s hands had curled into fists at his sides.
“I had to take a chance.”
The words left him before he could second-guess them, before he could even consider any other way to phrase it. As if putting it any other way would make a difference. As if making it sound more reasonable, more calculated, more understandable would change anything.
Bruce’s stare didn’t waver.
His response was immediate.
“No.” His voice was harsher now, dangerously close to breaking. “This isn’t the way.”
The words were spoken like a fact. As if there was no arguing it, as if the conversation should have ended right there, as if Damian had already lost.
But he hadn’t.
Because this wasn’t about right or wrong.
This wasn’t about rules.
This was about you.
“Why not?”
His voice came sharper this time, cracking through the space between them, pushing against the weight of Bruce’s certainty, forcing something else into the silence. Something raw. Something desperate.
“I had to take a chance.”
He had to.
He had to.
Bruce inhaled, slow and measured, before exhaling just as steadily.
When he spoke again, his voice was still calm.
Unshaken.
And somehow, that only made it worse.
“(Name) is dead, Damian.”
A sharp breath.
His stomach twisted violently.
His body tensed, his nails pressing so hard into his palms that the sting barely even registered. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, but outwardly, he refused to react.
He refused.
“She’s not—”
“Damian.”
Bruce’s voice cut through his own, and the finality in it sent something cold shooting down his spine.
But he shoved it down.
He wouldn’t accept this.
He couldn’t.
Damian’s hands curled into fists. “Then I should have gotten her to the pit sooner.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Then how does it work, Father?” Damian snapped, his voice cutting through the cave like a whip. “Tell me—tell me how it makes any sense that Jason could be revived but not—” His voice caught for half a second, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. “Not her.”
Bruce didn’t answer immediately.
And that silence—it was almost worse than anything he could have said.
“That was different.”
Damian’s fists clenched.
“How?”
Bruce inhaled again, and something in the way he did it—something so controlled, so deliberate—made Damian’s stomach twist even further.
“Jason wasn’t brought back to life by the Lazarus Pit.” His voice was firm, but there was something almost reluctant in the way he spoke, like he didn’t want to explain this. Like saying it out loud would make something real. “The pit only restored his mind. It erased the damage. That’s different from what you tried to do.”
The words felt like they didn’t make sense.
Like they didn’t fit.
Like they shouldn’t exist.
Like they should be impossible.
But Bruce—
His father was saying them like they were true.
Something shifted.
Something small.
But Damian noticed.
Bruce stopped speaking, his sentence left unfinished, hanging in the air like a rope about to snap.
His fingers twitched at his sides.
His jaw tightened—just slightly, just barely.
His mind raced—whirring, unraveling, dissecting—because it should have worked.
He had done everything right.
He dug you out of your grave, broke through the dirt with his own two hands. He had brought you to the only Lazarus Pit in Gotham, he dragged your lifeless form across the damp cavern floors. He had submerged you into the emerald waters, the same way his mother had shown him, the same way it had worked before.
But nothing happened.
The pit remained still.
The water glowed, but it did not churn, did not surge with life.
It removed the scars you’ve gotten over the years. But that was it.
You—
you did not wake up.
You remained still. Cold. Gone.
Why?
Why didn’t it work?
It should have worked.
Unless—
A voice rang in his ears.
His mother’s voice.
“The Lazarus Pit restores the body to its perfect condition—before death.”
Before death.
Is that why?
Is that why the Lazarus Pit didn’t work?
Jason was barely alive—barely sane—when he was thrown into the pit.
But he was alive.
And you—
You weren’t.
Damian couldn’t say it.
Couldn’t bear to say it.
No.
No, he refused to accept that.
You couldn’t be gone. Not like this. Not this easily. Not this pathetically.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke again.
Something inside him cracked.
“You knew.”
The words felt like an accusation.
Bruce didn’t deny it.
Damian’s hands shook.
“You knew it wouldn’t work, didn’t you?” His voice was quiet, but it carried through the cave like a gunshot.
Bruce still didn’t deny it.
“You knew, and you still let me—”
Damian felt himself faltering. He felt the words get caught in his throat.
“You still let me dig her up.”
His throat tightened, and he felt something press down on his chest, something suffocating, something that refused to let him breathe properly.
“You let me take her to the Lazarus Pit. You let me think it would work—”
Bruce inhaled, slow and even. “You needed to see for yourself.”
Damian’s vision blurred for half a second.
Then he snapped.
“That’s bullshit.”
Bruce remained still.
“You wanted me to fail.”
Bruce remained silent.
“You wanted me to see—” His breath hitched. “That she was really—”
He couldn’t say it.
Because if he said it—if he let himself even breathe those words—
It would be real.
Damian couldn’t stand it.
Couldn’t accept it.
Because how could he?
When you had died such a meaningless death?
When you had gone out like that?
He hadn’t gone to your funeral.
Hadn’t watched them lower you into the ground.
Hadn’t stood beside the rest of them, listening to empty condolences and meaningless words.
No.
Because he couldn’t.
Because he refused to accept that you were really gone.
Because you had always been so stubborn.
So reckless.
Because you shouldn’t have died like that.
Because you should have let them help you.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
But who was he to say that?
When he was just like you.
Stubborn. Reckless in his own way.
Just as self-destructive.
And it was eating him alive.
“She wouldn’t have wanted this.”
Damian’s eyes snapped toward Tim.
Tim, who had been standing quietly until now.
Tim, who looked like he was barely holding himself together.
Tim, who had alerted Bruce—who had found Damian at the Lazarus Pit, alongside Stephanie.
Damian let out a sharp scoff. “Huh.” He tilted his head, voice dripping with something venomous. “And what would you know?”
Tim’s expression flickered—just for a second.
“More than you think.”
Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “No. You wouldn’t.”
Tim exhaled sharply. “You think you knew her.” His voice was low, measured, but it wavered slightly. “But you didn’t.”
Damian’s chest tightened. “And you did?”
Tim’s hands curled into fists.
Damian let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You hated her.”
Tim stiffened. His jaw clenched.
“No, I didn’t.”
The words were immediate. Unshaken.
And somehow, they hit harder than anything else so far.
“You never even acknowledged her.”
“Yes I did—“
“Well I suppose it wasn’t enough apparently.”
Tim’s breath stilled, his shoulders locking, his throat bobbing in a way that Damian almost wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.
“Well you pushed her away every chance you got,” Tim shot back, voice sharp, words cutting. “So don’t act like you actually cared.”
Damian’s fingers twitched.
“I did care.”
Tim exhaled, bitter.
“Yeah? She definitely knew that for sure.”
Damian froze.
His breath hitched.
You knew.
You had to know.
Didn’t you?
Even when he had insulted you, even when he had been a complete bastard—
Even when he was cruel, even when he acted like you were nothing but a nuisance, even when he never said anything—
You had to have known.
Didn’t you?
Didn’t you?
“I had to take this chance,” Damian said, quieter, breath uneven, hands shaking. “Because she was my sister.”
Tim’s expression flickered.
And then—
“She was my sister too.”
The words left Tim before he could stop them.
Before he could even think.
Everything stopped. The words lingered in the air, sinking into the silence like a blade buried deep into flesh.
She was my sister, too.
Tim hadn’t meant to say it.
Hadn’t planned it.
Hadn’t even thought about it before the words just left his mouth, before they hit the space between them, before they cut into something raw, something real, something he hadn’t even let himself acknowledge until it was already too late.
His own breath caught, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his pulse hammering against his skull as if his own body was trying to reject what he’d just said.
Because why now?
Why was he only saying it now?
Why was he only acknowledging it when you were already—
His throat locked up.
Damian’s fingers twitched.
His mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, as if to say something, but no words came out.
The air between them was thick, suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down on Tim’s ribs so hard that he felt like he could barely breathe. His heartbeat was uneven, erratic, like his own body didn’t know how to process what had just happened.
“You don’t get to say that.”
Damian’s voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
Tim exhaled sharply, his jaw locking. “What?”
Damian’s shoulders squared, his arms stiff at his sides, his fingers still shaking even as he clenched them into fists. His breathing had turned uneven, almost unsteady, but his voice—his voice was sharp.
“You don’t get to say that.”
Tim scoffed, shaking his head, but he felt something tightening in his chest.
“I don’t get to say that?” His voice came out bitter, biting, but his own hands were trembling slightly now. “(Name) was my sister too, Damian. That’s just a fact.”
Damian’s breath stilled.
For a split second, his body went completely still.
“Then why did you treat her like she wasn’t?”
Tim’s chest clenched. His breath hitched.
Damian took a step closer, voice cutting deeper, something sharp in his expression, something broken in his stare.
“Why did you act like she didn’t matter? Like she wasn’t even worth your time? Why did you act like she—”
His breath stuttered for half a second, something cracking through his voice before he forced it back down.
“You pushed her away.”
Tim clenched his teeth. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Damian’s hands twitched.
“I never pushed her away.”
“You shut her out,” Tim snapped, voice cracking under the weight of it. “You resented her.”
Damian’s stomach twisted.
“I did not.”
“You didn’t care about her when she was alive.”
“I did.”
“You barely even acknowledged her—”
“I did not hate her.”
“But now you suddenly care?” Tim let out a bitter laugh. “Now, suddenly, she’s your sister?”
“She is my sister,” Damian snapped. “And you don’t get to say otherwise.”
Tim’s breath hitched.
His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.
Because that—
That wasn’t the same thing.
That wasn’t—
“That’s not what I said.”
Damian’s nails dug into his palms.
“Yeah, but it’s what you meant.”
Tim inhaled sharply, his hands twitching at his sides, something thick in his throat that he didn’t want to name.
He shook his head, exhaling, his breath uneven. “You think I—”
“You think I hated her?” Damian cut in, voice sharp, voice dangerous. “You think I would have wannted her to die? You really think that’s what I wanted all this time??”
Tim clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m saying—”
“Really?”
Damian took another step forward, his body tense, his posture unreadable, his fingers curled into fists like he was trying so hard to keep himself steady, to keep himself from doing anything other than this.
“Then what are you saying?”
Tim exhaled sharply, shaking his head again, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop back to his side, something tight inside of him, something that was pressing too hard against his ribs, something that felt like it was clawing at his chest from the inside out.
“She wouldn’t have wanted this.”
Damian stilled.
“You keep saying that,” Damian said, voice tight, voice low, voice lined with something Tim couldn’t fully decipher. “Like you actually know what she wanted.”
Tim’s throat tightened.
“You didn’t know her, Drake.”
A beat of silence.
“You don’t get to say that,” Tim said, voice shaking with something raw. “You don’t get to act like you gave a damn about her when it actually mattered.”
Damian’s eyes burned.
“You don’t get to act like you knew her, either,” he shot back, his voice venomous. “You don’t get to tell me what she would have wanted—”
Tim let out a breathless laugh. “And you do?” His voice was rising now, sharp with frustration. “You think you had the right to drag her out of her grave and throw her into the Lazarus Pit because you couldn’t deal with it?”
Damian’s stomach churned. “Shut up.”
Tim stepped forward. “You think she would’ve wanted this?”
Damian’s nails dug into his palms.
And at that moment, Stephanie, who’d be silently listening to the entire argument, stepped forward. “Okay, that’s enough, guys—”
“You think she would’ve wanted to wake up in that pit—if she even could?” Tim’s voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t stop. “To wake up wrong?”
“No,” Tim interrupted, his voice raw. He stepped closer, his fists trembling at his sides. “You think you’re the only one who wanted her back?” His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through. “You think you’re the only one who couldn’t accept it?”
Damian exhaled sharply, looking away.
“You thiink you’re the only one who’s thought of dumping her in a Lazarus Pit, hoping that somehow—”
Tim’s breath caught.
He stopped.
Because he couldn’t say it either.
Because saying it out loud would make it real.
Would make it final.
That there really was no way of bringing you back to life.
And for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
“That’s enough.”
Bruce’s voice cut through the air, sharp, commanding, absolute.
Tim sucked in a breath.
Damian’s hands shook.
Silence.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Heavy. Almost unbearable.
Tim felt his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath still uneven, his body still tense from the argument—no, from the fight. Because that’s what this was.
Damian wasn’t even looking at him anymore.
His hands were curled into fists so tight that his knuckles had turned white, his shoulders were stiff, his breath was shallow, and his entire posture was wound so tightly that Tim thought he might just snap.
But he wouldn’t.
Not in front of Bruce.
Bruce, who had spoken with finality, whose voice had cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to make even Damian shut up.
Tim swallowed, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling sharply, trying—failing—to let go of the tension clawing at his chest. His other hand clenched at his side, nails digging into his palm, grounding him, steadying him, because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what would happen.
Damian still wasn’t looking at him.
He wasn’t looking at Bruce either.
He was staring straight ahead, at the cave floor, at something that wasn’t even there, his entire body locked up, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable—
And then his gaze shifted.
Just barely.
Tim saw the exact moment his eyes landed on your body.
—or, at least, where your body should have been.
You were still there.
Your body was still there.
They had laid you down. Covered you up with a white sheet. Tim hadn’t been the one to do it—he didn’t even know who had done it, if it was Bruce, or Stephanie, or if they had both done it together, but he knew it hadn’t been him.
He hadn’t looked.
Not really.
He hadn’t let himself.
Damian’s fingers twitched.
His breathing hitched.
And then, before anyone could say anything—before Bruce could look at him, before Tim could process anything, before Stephanie could even move—
Damian turned and stormed out of the cave.
His boots struck the floor hard, fast, and then he was gone.
Stephanie opened her mouth, but nothing came out of it.
Bruce was already turning back toward the Batcomputer, already refocusing, already shutting down, because that was what he did. That was how he functioned.
Tim exhaled sharply.
The tension in his chest was still there.
Still suffocating.
Still unbearable.
He thought back to what he’d said. Thought back to what Damian did.
And Tim hated how he would’ve done the exact same thing Damian did if he were given the chance to.
Hated he was just like Damian in that sense.
Without a word, without a look, without a second thought—
Tim turned and left, too.
The alley reeked of rain-soaked asphalt and cigarette smoke, the kind that clung to the air long after the ember had burned out. A flickering streetlamp cast jagged shadows against the crumbling brick, the light barely reaching past the fog curling along the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—short-lived, swallowed by the city’s restless hum.
Then came the scratch of a lighter, a brief glow illuminating a worn trench coat, a sharp inhale followed by a slow exhale, smoke drifting through the damp air.
“Well, ain’t this a bloody mess.”
woops… 😬 heyyy guys…!! 🫣 did y’all miss me HAHA. this was definitely long overdue… i think i probably gave yall trust issues 😭 actual chapter 7 will be out at utc+8 12am on 14 Feb 🥰
taglist is closed ‼️(i’ll think about opening it again soon 🤫)
(1/3): @fangxout @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel @hotdinoankles @vebbiewuzhere (so sorry to those who’ve been moved to the second taglist—i can suddenly tag those i previously couldn’t 😭🙏💀)
#angst#batsis#batfamily#batfam x batsis#batfam x reader#batsisreader#bruce wayne x daugther reader#damian wayne x sister reader#dick grayson x sister reader#jason todd x sister reader#tim drake x sister reader#cassandra cain x sister reader#bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#cassandra cain#alfred pennyworth#barbara gordon#stephanie brown#duke thomas#x reader#batman#imagine#regressed reader#regressor reader#platonic batfam#platonic batfam x reader#undoing fate
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I came back to reread this like three times it so good thank you 😩💐

Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family
☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️
A/N: Hi! I don't know where the fuck this came from. But, it has plagued me for months. Inspired by Labour and the Fruits by Paris Palmoa, Please Don't Cry for Your Daughters Eve by Lydia the Bard, and Curses by the Crane Wives. This my attempt at being dark, so either this fucks you up or I fucked up. Apologies for both.
Warnings: Fem!Reader, Implied assault, neglect, yandere themes at the end
☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️
You got the Wayne looks, the Wayne charm, the Wayne name, but you’re fragile. Bruce would tell you. Damian would tell you. (Not so kindly.) Everyone in the manor would tell you.
But, charm and good looks still have their uses. And, everyone in the family despises all the galas they need to attend.
So, when Bruce offers to take you to one, you up the charm, you dress your best. You use your finest manners and all the proper ways your Momma raised you to your advantage. And, you flourish.
You can tell from the slight smile Bruce has on his face on the way home. The hint of pride in his eyes at your job well done.
You can’t help your family or Gotham as a Bat. But, you can help them as a Wayne.
The socialite. That’s your roll. Not a bird, not a bat. A little social butterfly. Drawing the public attention away from the things that go bump in the night.
You like your role. Sure, you're not bounding over the Gotham skyline saving people from muggers and insanely themed villains. But, you're helping your family, and that's what matters to you.
At least, that's how it starts.
It was special to you in the beginning. Going to charity gala's and events with your father, Bruce. No one else in the family enjoys going to these events. It was your own personal father and daughter bonding time, in a way.
But, as you got older the pressure started and the distance between you and the others grew.
You were a music box ballerina. Spinning in place to the same tune over and over again while sitting on a dusty shelf. And, Bruce would wind you up to dance every time he need his social butterfly to charm Gotham's public.
Soon you had a whole team of faceless people picking out your dresses, changing your style, cutting your hair. You couldn't be anything less than a vain air-headed heiress, because that was your role. Brucie needed someone to follow in his footsteps, not Batman.
The dresses got more expensive, the flashes got brighter. The diets got stricter.
And, the distance grew farther.
And, then Bruce stopped going with you to the galas.
You weren't upset the first time. Or, the second time. Or, even the third time.
It was the fourth time that things started to crack.
Sure, Batman was needed. Sure, there was Justice League business. Sure, there was a patrol that ran late. Sure, there was a breakout at Arkham.
But, the fourth time, when you found him and the rest of the family laughing in the cave, it really didn't feel like they were focusing on the good of Gotham while you were struggling to smile sweetly at men twice Bruce's age wanting to take you home.
Still, you powered on. Kept doing your part. You were making the family proud afterall.
Right?
It was the ninth time it happened that you broke.
The nineth time you had gone to a gala alone in an expensive dress you didn't pick, one that showed off way too much skin. One that seemed to tell everyone in that grand ballroom that you were up for the taking. One that just barely hid the bruises from their fingers and palms under the fabric.
You wore that placating smile and that dress all the way home. With a driver you didn't know at the wheel of the car Bruce sent for you. The backseat empty even if you sat on it.
When you got home, you walk in on something that made each cracked piece of you ache.
Apparently it was game night. Everyone that mattered was playing Mario cart of all things.
"Look at that Cinderella’s back from the ball." Jason was the first to notice you standing in the doorway of the room. And, his words burned.
Cinderella. Cinderella. Back from the Ball.
"Hey, glad you’re back. Hope you had fun." Dick didn't even glance at you as he spoke, took focused on beating Stephanie who had her tongue sticking out as she concentrated.
"God, those galas are so boring, I don’t know how you do it." Duke says in passing. It would be meaningful if he hadn't said the same thing the last six times you had come home.
Tim and Damian were also playing the game, with Tim occasionally nudging Damian to mess him up. Like typical siblings.
Barbara was in the room as well, a book on her lab to read. Only you could tell she hadn't read much, judging from where her book mark was located.
"Good job." Bruce says absentmindedly. You can't even tell if its directed at you or at the blueshell Damian just managed to hit Dick's racer with.
Words don't even leave your lips as you exit the doorway, pieces of you falling to the floor as you wobble to your room.
Cinderella. Cinderella.
The clock striking twelve in your mind as you feel the rotten pumpkin sinking in your gut and the magic wearing off.
You don't notice that Cassandra seems to hear it too as she watches you. Like she can hear the shards falling to the ground. And, she's unsure if she needs to warn the family that something just broke down the hall.
As you enter your room, taking in the fancy decor. It feels disgusting. The magic is gone. It's all rotten and you want it gone.
Cinderella. Cinder. Cinder.
Your tear the fabric of the dress as you take it off. Tears falling down your cheeks s you struggle against the fabric and clasp. Expensive gemstones falling to the floor as your finally rip it free.
There bruises under your dress. Finger prints on your bones. And, you're choking on air as the fabric rubs your skin as it falls to the floor. The fabric ripples like water and you hate it. You want the opposite of cool rippling water. Water drowns, and you need air.
Your skin feels to hot and each bruise burns.
Cinder. Cinder.
You're Cinderella and you crave ashes. You need air, but smoke will do instead.
Instead of letting it lay on the ground like it's dead, you throw open that grand window in your room and chuck it out the window. Watching as it flutters and falls to the grass in a heap, the breeze doing nothing to cool your anger on and underneath.
It’s not enough. Not enough. It's not going to be enough.
More. Cinderella. Give it more.
Your closet door was cracked when you left for the gala tonight. Now you break it the rest of the way and grab each hanger carrying a pretty dress in a bag and throw it over the ledge.
Still not enough. Needs more ash.
Cinderella. Cinderella.
You break you dresser as you rip out the drawers. The wood splintering as you throw it out the window and on to the pile of dresses on the night dew covered grass.
You want to throw more, but you chest is heaving and your hands are shaking. Instead you stumble out of your room with just the bruises on your skin and towards the kitchen. You don't even hear the pans and cabinets doors slamming as you search for the matches.
Before you can find your light, you find a bottle of fancy wine. One that reminded you of the smell of this night.
You grab it, not caring that another bottle falls and shatters by your feet. Drawing attention, but not yours, as you finally find the matches and wobble out the door towards your pile of soon to be ash.
Cinderella. Cinderella.
You're laughing as you shatter the bottle on to the fabric. Lighting up a single match and then throwing the entire box at it the pile.
It catches light quick and the air around you finally matches the heat under your skin.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You can barely hear Bruce's voice from behind you as your laugh. Turing to face him and the rest of the family's horrified faces at the sight of you.
You can barely restrain the giggles.
“I’m Cinderella. Cinder fucking Ella.” You spin like the little figurine you are. Like the pretty paper ballerina before she burst into flame.
Bruce rushes towards you, words spilling from his lips as terrifying thoughts fill his head at the sight of the bruises illuminating your skin.
“What happened tonight?”
“You would know if you had been there. But, you weren't. You never are.”
“Listen, you said you liked the galas-“ Excuses, excuses. You made enough for him and the rest of them in your own head that you don't want to hear more spoken out loud.
“I did! I did! But, that was when I had my father there to keep me safe.” You mock, spinning out of reach and looking at the flames.
They don't last long. The wood from your broken dresser drawers the only thing keeping the fire going. The expensive fabric not lasting long at all. Pretty things rarely ever do.
“But, no. I’m just another little one of your pawns in this family. Only you didn’t fuckin’ train me on how to fight off wandering hands. You taught me that I just had to grin and bare it.” Bitterness trips from your lips as you wipe of that sweet tasting wine from the night off your mouth.
“What happened?” His voice almost shakes. Almost, but not quite. You were the fragile one. The paper ballerina. The little Cinderella of the family.
You weren't suppose to break under his care.
But, was there any care if he let you fall from the shelf after he so haphazardiously placed you on it between uses?
“I’m not a whore.” You whisper to yourself. Words that had been dying to say to the hands that touches to tonight. Words that you wanted to shove down the throats of the strangers that pinched your skin, that gripped you too tight and too close.
“I’M NOT A WHORE!” Instead you scream it at him. Uncaring if you don't look pretty and perfect while doing it. Uncaring if your voice cracks from the way the emotion bubbles from your chest.
Startling enough, Bruce wraps his arms around you. Like he was trying to shield you. Like he was trying to keep you safe. Like he should have done. It feels awkward and tight. Your arms pressed tightly to your chest at an awkward angle. Your legs giving out at you sob and scream at him.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me. Let me go— I don’t want you to touch me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so sorry.” His whispers over into your hair as he clutches you close. So close that you feel more bruises forming on your skin.
Cinderella. Cinderella.
“I’m not—" Your voice breaking as you wail. Like the child you are in his arms.
Through your tears you watch Dick turn away, followed by the others. Cass lingering to brush your hair back as Bruce holds you tight.
You don't see his fist clench so tight his knuckles turn white.
You don't hear the silence in the cave as Jason changes out the bullets in his gun.
You don't feel the chill in the air as Damian scouts out the fancy house.
You don't feel the fear of God that Tim puts into grown men as that watch their wealthy drain to zero before their eyes on screens.
You don't watch as Barbara makes a few calls and plants evidence of crimes that can't be covered up.
You don't see Stephanie ripping out teeth.
You don't see Duke letting Gotham go dark as terror reigns for that one long night and day.
You just see Bruce, holding you close and apologize over and over again while Alfred puts out the flames behind you.
☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️
A/N: Yeah, I love the thought of Reader being the one to be the Socialite Wayne while everyone does vigilante stuff. But, interacting with Gotham’s elite would suck so much and so many things could go wrong.
A/N: Apologies if I missed the mark with it or if it’s all over the place.
A/N: I just really loved the imagery of standing in front of a fire of expensive burning dresses while screaming at Bruce naked as the day you were born much to the rest of the family’s horror.
#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#batfam x reader#batfamily x reader#yandere dc#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#platonic yandere batfam#platonic batfamily#socialite!reader
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i think jason would use LW as a table lay the baby on his lap then put his sandwich on their back while he watches a movie
Bruce:
Jason:
Bruce: What's that
Jason, kicking Tim's ass in Mario Party with the controller in his hands while his sandwich, current novel, and half-empty water bottle are propped up on your sleeping back: Video game
Bruce: Your sibling is not a table, son —
Jason: Shut up they love this. S'like a weighted baby blanket. Ain't that right Mousey?
You, 10 months old and asleep:
Jason: See? Love it.
Bruce: Uh huh. Well don't let Damian catch you doing that or he'll kill you.
Jason: He wouldn't do that.
Damian: Do what? Is that the baby?
Bruce nudges the stuff off your body and gently scoops you into his arms. The moment you're out of the way, Jason flings himself over the couch and takes off running. Damian chases him down with two knives he pulled seemingly from thin air.
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Show☆Time
Why do I cry?
You finally got your stupid little stage.
You didn't think it was stupid, but everyone you know told you it was a dumb idea.
When you told your father, all he did was hand you his credit card without looking and go back to working on his computer.
When you told Dick, all he did was ruffle your hair and walk away and promise he would be your first fan.
You knew it wasn't true, he never followed up on his promises. He had better things to do anyway.
When you told Jason, all he did was put his earbuds into his ears and go back to reading.
When you told Tim, all he did was tell you to shut up and left to his room.
When you told Damian, all he did was scoff and go back to painting.
At least Alfred tried to pay attention to your ideas, even if you knew it was out of pity.
You knew deep down none of them believed in you.
People not believing never stopped you from achieving your dreams.
You spent countless hours at your stage preparing and cleaning fixing and practicing moves.
You spent a while trying to bring in other performers You couldn't find any.
Not until you found Tsukasa Tenma.
He had just gotten rejected from being a performer at a theme park, so you took him in.
As soon as you showed him the stage, you knew he didn't believe in you either.
But you could try and make him believe!
You begged him to reconsider his quitting before he started, and you promised people a show!
While Tsukasa was leaving, you accidentally clicked a song on his playlist labeled UNTITLED.
You got transported to your Sekai, a world right at your fingertips.
You found out that the sekai was made of Tsukasa's true feelings.
You were so curious and excited!
You decided not to tell anyone in your family.
You knew they wouldn't care either way, it wouldn't hurt to keep this one small thing a secret☆
Once you guys left the Sekai, you ran into your next group member a purple-haired boy named Rui!
You watched as small little robot animatronics crowded around him.
..You also watched as he got chased by the police.

Tsukasa ended up bringing Rui again
Soon enough, that friend brought in another friend.
Sure, she was a robot named Robo-Nene, but you'll take anything at this point!
Everything was going well!
Tsukasa had stayed up finishing the script for your play.
Rui had been setting things up.
Nene stayed up practicing for the show you guys were doing.
Because she stayed up while practicing, she forgot to charge her robot.
That wouldn't be an issue if the robot hadn't frozen up on stage and fallen on Tsukasa.
Suddenly everything was falling apart.
Nene was being yelled at by Tsukasa.
Rui was yelling at Tsukasa for yelling at Nene
You didn't know what to do.
You started this because you wanted everyone happy, only for everyone to be sad and mad.
No one was smiling.
You ran home.
You didn't know what to do.

You finally got to the manor, on the verge of tears.
For the first time, you expected and hoped that as soon as you went inside, you could be ignored like always and slip away to your room till dinner.
You didn't realize that on the door there was a water bucket prank meant for your father, by the bat kids due to a prank war happening between them.
You didn't even know there was a prank war going on.
You walked in and immediately were surrounded by everyone while a bucket of cold water hit you.
You see everyone staring at you shocked, clearly not expecting you to walk through the door.
You could hear them start to laugh a little.
You fumbled as you tried to get up from your sitting position.
You felt a tear run down your cheek.
Then another.
Then another.
Soon enough, fat globs of tears were falling.
Huh.
Why were you crying?
You told yourself you wouldn't cry anymore, so why do you keep crying?
It couldn't have just been from the prank, you would not have cried if it was just a regular day.
Unfortunately for you, it wasn't a regular day.
You didn't know if your dreams were falling apart.
You didn't know what to do.
You got up and walked to your room.

Everyone was shocked. They'd never seen you cry.
For all they knew you were a cheerful girl, one who never cried.
You didn't see you cry when you missed your mom.
They didn't see you cry when you missed your grandpa.
They just stared as you walked upstairs in your dramatic performer costume.
They don't even remember you buying that, Where did you get that from?
You just wanted to go home back to your Sekai.

hi guys ik technically you guys wanted a pt 6 of Bug Like Angel but my emu!reader fans have been neglected soooooo
kinda short isigh
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#batfam x neglected reader#batfam x reader#batfamily x reader#batsis#bruce wayne x daughter reader#neglected reader#platonic batfam#emu!reader#tsukasa tenma#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#rui kamishiro#nene kusanagi#pjsk#dc batfam#spider bat!reader#batfam x batsis#batfam x child reader#batfam x you#batfamily x batsis!reader#batfamily x neglected reader#batman x reader#batsib#batsib!reader#batsibling!reader#batsis reader#batsis!reader#neglected batfam#neglected reader x batfamily#platonic batman
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Wicked Game
Ch. 01
Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring: Platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephane Brown, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.
1.9k words
Prologue <- Ch. 01 -> Ch. 02
Class schedule
1st period - Art
2nd Period - Maths
12:00 - 1:00: Lunch
3rd period - Biology
4th period - English
( 5:00 -> Basketball game)
<Y/N>
Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.
Tim stared down at his phone, unable to look away. you were just so cute.
He replayed your conversation in his head—every glance, every word, the way you copied his notes—over and over again. The fact that you were his partner? It was perfect. It practically accelerated their plans 10x.
His grip on the phone tightened. Giddy smile creeping on his face. He wanted to keep texting with you, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to be careful.
”What is so important that it is keeping you from your responsibilities?”
Tim rolled his eyes.
Damian. Snarky as ever, standing by the bat computer with the same judgemental expression he always had. He’s been pressing for updates nonstop, and throwing snide remarks whenever possible.Tim wanted to tell the family about the ‘new development’ right away, but Damian’s constant questioning made him hold off.
It’d be easier just to tell everyone on patrol. Dick would be in the city tonight, anyway. He’ll tell the whole family once everyone’s together.
Sure it’s a little selfish, but he’s not keeping it a secret forever, only a few hours.
It takes all his strength to put his phone away and get prepared for patrol. Excitement coarsening through his veins.
Damian Just scoffed and turned away in disgust.
Patrol is expected to go by without a hitch. Most of Gotham’s rogues are locked up in Arkham. The streets will be relatively quiet. Couple of rookies tonight at best. It'll be a breeze tonight.
But Tim wouldn't be able to focus tonight, not fully. His mind would be too preoccupied.
“Red Robin, Nightwing. There’s a bank robbery 3 blocks north”
Oracles' words snapped Tim back to reality. He was thinking about you again.
“On it” Nightwing spoke into the coms. Leaping off the Roof with an effortless grace making his way over. Tim was quick to follow, pushing down all thoughts of you.
“5 individuals, all armed… Be careful” Oracles voice echoed through the coms.
“Nothing we’ve never handled”
watching from the rooftop opposite of Westwood Bank, it was obvious these men were amateurs.
One was fumbling with the alarm system, cursing under his breath. Another was banging on the register, trying to force it open. The other 3 were likely in the back fumbling through the more valuable vaults.
It was very sloppy and clearly unplanned. Easy.
“Whoever takes down the most wins.” Dick smirked. The only way they’d be able to get any type of entertainment out of this was to make a game of it.
“Sure” Tim didn’t really care to win or lose but he’d figure he might as well humour Dick. It’ll make it go by quicker.
Busting through the window of the building, glass shattering in a hundred pieces. The men were slow to react, before they could even raise their guns. Dick and Tim’s batarang sliced through the air, disarming them with a clank.
The noise sent the other three into a panic. Two of them raced in guns blazing. They were clearly rushed, aim painfully sloppy.
Shots fired throughout the building, ricocheting off the walls. Dick was quick to throw one of his escrima sticks, CRACK. He knocked the smaller one out.
The bigger one hesitated for half a second, more than enough time for Tim. One swing of his Boa-staff and he was out.
Tim took a deep breath. Standing tall over the man, pride swelling in his chest. He took the biggest guy in one swing. His mind flickered back to you. What would you think of that? Would you be impressed? Tell him good job?
“TIM LOOK OU—“
Dick’s warning barely registered. Before he could even turn around.
BANG.
A noxious sting rang through his side. The impact sent him crashing to the floor.
The force left him winded. He knew his suit was bullet proof, but the pain was unbearable, a sharp fiery burn in his ribs. It was excruciating.
Dick was fast, he moved in a blur. Tim could hardly focus on him. His vision was beginning to fade. White spots clouding his vision; the pain was just too much.
He needed to close his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t.
but he did anyway.
+++++
BEEP BEEP BEEP
The grating alarm is quick to piss you off. You smashed the snooze button, groaning. You just wanted 5 more minutes of precious Beauty sleep.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
Jesus— has it seriously already been five minutes?
With a groan you turn it off you and roll out of bed. You grab your phone to scroll through your socials as you make your way to the kitchen. You have a game today so you gotta actually eat breakfast for once— even if your options are limited.
Scanning the kitchen— seemed like cereal was your only option. You poured a bowl of ‘fruit rounds’. It tasted like cardboard but you had to eat. As you scrolled through TikTok your mind drifted back to yesterday.
Tim Drake
It was weird thinking about it, some random scholarship kid talking with the biggest nepo baby in Gotham. At least his family taught him some manners, he was nice enough to let you copy his notes. Which was more than you could say for most students. Yikes.
Finishing up with breakfast, you went about the rest of your morning routine. Packing up for the game you triple checked you didn’t forget anything. Coach would literally Kill you.
The ride to school was… odd.
Your stomach twisted and you broke into a cold sweat, it was like your first day of school all over again.
You stared out the window, trying to focus on the buzz and chatter in the subway anything to take your mind off this feeling
What would happen if you had a bad game?
The thought had been in your head since you found out about the game last week. But today it was relentless, it was all you could think of.
Bad games meant losing , Losing meant a bad season. Bad season meant.
No scholarship.
your breath hitched. This scholarship was your ticket out. Without it, you’d end up like her, like your mother. Swallowed by Gotham and everything she has to offer.
That wasn’t going to be your future.
Art and Maths go by in a flash. It’s always been hard for you to focus in class on game days.
Like always you make your way to Brandi’s locker, she’ll ease your mind.
“You look like a wreck” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of explanation “Game day nerves” you sigh feeling a wave of stress wash over you. You want nothing more than to collapse in bed. Pretend none of it’s happening.
She hums, “Ohhhh, forgot that was today” Brandi is the only one who truly gets it. Her GPA drops below 3.7? She's gone. you lose more than you win? you're gone.
She doesn’t press, instead talking about how her day was. It’s what you love about Brandi, she knows what to do.
You two go back and forth telling stupid jokes and gossip about other students.
Until you’re interrupted by a group of girls heading towards your lunch table. One girl breaks away from the group, she’s beautiful— blue eyes, shiny brown hair and flawless skin. The kind of pretty that can be bought. Expensive skin-care, hair products, the whole nine yards.
“Umm your y/n right?” She asks through giggles, the girls behind her are all whispering and laughing to each other. Something tightens in your chest. “Yeah… why?” You ask, voice quieter than you’d like.
“So like… are you like… friends with Tim now?” She hardly gets through her sentence, giggling and looking back at her friends.
“Uhh no?” You respond, with a little more confidence.
She stops laughing, her eyes narrowed “Oh!? So then why were you talking with him?” her voice is sharper.
What is with her? Is this middle school? “We’re assigned partners” you answer flatly.
“So you like weren’t passing notes with him?”
For a second you just blink at her. Why would you be passing notes with Tim Drake? You were just copying his notes.
”No”
“oh okay” She turns on her heels, heading back to her group. The giggles and side eye’s start up again.
You clench your first. This is why you wanted to avoid him— Dumb rumours, unwanted attention.
“What the hell was that about?” Brandi asks, “Why would I know?” you stab at your lunch, taking another bite of your food.
“Since when were you partners with Tim Drake?” She asked.
You froze.
If she didn’t know… How the hell did Tim get your number?
+++++
Tim woke up in his room. Mind still foggy and body aching, from whatever happened on patrol last night.
Fuck, he missed the chance to tell everyone about yesterday.
He groaned and reached for his phone—8:20. Still breakfast time, everyone but Jason should be downstairs.
It took all his strength to make his way downstairs. It was a bad idea to be moving so soon after an injury. But he had to tell them.
His body was screaming at him by the time he made it to the dining room.
“Quite the show Drake.” Damian sneered, not bothering to turn around and face him.“Who knew you were such an easy target?”
Tim rolled his eyes. No one at the table disagreed with Damian's comment. Deep down they all knew he was right.
“What happened out there?” Stephanie raised a brow. Dick and Duke looked up, expecting an actual, reasonable, explanation.
Tim paused, the pain stinging in his ribs.
“…I was thinking about y/n” he answered honestly.
A fork clanked on a plate.
“Enough to get shot?” Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like you even have the guts to—“
“we’re assigned partners for a project… we were supposed to work on it today after school” Tim cut him off, hand clenching at his ribs.
Everyone at the table pauses. then everyone’s staring up at him.
Even Bruce.
”We sat beside each other yesterday, they copied my notes… I even texted them last night, before patrol” He tries to sound casual, but pride swells in his chest. He’s the first person in the family to talk with you.
The family see’s through him right away.
”you texted them?” Asks Dick
Tim nods, Damian scoffs.
“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us?” Bruce’s voice is calm, his expression neutral. But Tim knows him—he was analyzing everything.
“I was going to tell everyone on patrol” he exclaims, hand clutching his side as he limps to his seat. “it’d be easier to come up with a plan together”
His reasoning seemed sound, but the family knew better.
“You’re not fit to go to school today” Bruce stated coldly, turning back to his meal.
Tim paused “But-“
”you’ll invite them over tomorrow.” His voice is final, he sets his coffee cup down with a quiet clink “I’m sure they’d love to meet the family.”
+++++++++++
Chapter 1! Although the prologue feels more like Chapter 1 than a prologue. I stayed up way too late to finish this. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask me :).
Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp
#batfam x reader#gn reader#platonic batfam#platonic yandere#yandere batfam#yandere dc#yandere x reader#yandere dc x reader#yandere tim drake#yandere bruce wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere batboys#yandere stephanie brown#yandere#platonic
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ZERO (iii) : SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)
-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.
-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist
-> tw; gn reader, guns, violence, child neglect, messed up legal system, mention of death, poor living conditions, bug taxidermy, everyone's a b, paranoia, ocd, full list on master list.
> a/n; the prologues are text heavy... i'll try more dialogue for the first chapter (next upload) and onwards. in the mean time, feel free to send asks and ideas, i'd love to discuss and tie up my own lose ends too. hope this suffices for the reader's relationship with the bat family!
“family business”, you squint at the sign, “12th sector conveniences, run by a family business!” the print on the plastic sign is misspelled, and fading away completely. red into pink, orange into pale yellow, and green into cyan. a lovely place to be at for what you’re doing.
family has always been an iffy subject for you, in your mind and verbal exchanges. you never humoured your friends’ prods at you to talk, and were especially vigilant about shutting down conversations about family.
you’d already brushed over the meaning of the word in your head, on terms with the fact that you would most likely never understand it in this lifetime, but the experience with it still stung. sometimes.
at ten years old, the landlord of your apartment, who’d let you stay for free since it was so horribly kept, passed away. it meant you had effectively no place to live, since it wasn’t legally in your hands anymore. nothing much about your situation was legal, but he’d argued your case for you for years, and the neighbours were supportive of it too.
gotham is a gritty place, and even with the varied dictionary of swears they used to poke away security, it was a little show of squishy softness from the people.
after he died, your friends’ parents and your neighbours shuffled you around in their homes, month to month to keep you around. no one thought of calling fosters, or the police, since you were their kid as much as their children were. “love” was an odd word to use, people in your alley married for benefits and children were kept about for that reason too. there were exceptions, but the reason for your staying was obligation.
at eleven, you got caught directly in between a scuffle on the streets. the guys must’ve been waiting to put off steam, since it got bloody way faster than you’d ever seen. but honestly? you could’ve gone past it, it was nothing unnatural for the city, and having grown up in it on your own, you would’ve been fine.
but gotham was a city full of interruptions. buses, classes, going to the store for chips or even walking back home, you would be interrupted. by a gun, a fist, or if you were especially unlucky, the big old bat and his big old car. you wonder if you could’ve saved yourself all the trouble, the tax on your mental state and the worry you keep everyday of your life now, if you had just been a bit faster, fast enough to avoid the batman’s interruption. maybe, you would’ve been in the stairwell with your friends now, eating chips or running from old mister ford on the sixth floor.
you’d been put in the police station down the road, the same one your friend had thrown a brick through last week, while the caped weirdo, batman, told you it’d be alright. alright? you were fine. what did he mean, alright?
you’d nagged the officers to let you go, lying that people at home would be worried (maybe they were, you never got to know), but they’d sat you down and expected forced, timid compliance from you. these guys are always expecting better. one lady even had the gall to put on a show for you on the tiny tv in one of the “comfort-rooms” and you’d gone biting, screaming and struggling.
‘radicalised’ was what your landlord-uncle had called it. gotham’s people, even those not submerged in the high of crime, couldn’t help but grow up to be hard and rough at the edges, hating the people who put them here. the divide between the common people and the socialites was so jarring, so far. you didn’t want to comply with what these guys were telling you to do. all the adults hated them! why wouldn’t you?
it had taken two hours of watching a few pink-haired girls run around behind the screen, in cold, cold anger before you were let out. “a new home,” the lady officer had said, “safer.” it wasn’t until later that you got to know the reason they didn’t let you leave or shoved you in a care-home you could've run from, and instead pushed you into the manor; was because of your lack of legal documents. most noticeably, your birth certificate and the absence of your parents.
you think now, that maybe batman had expected you to be broken, ruined and lonely like his other odd children. fact of the matter is, that you were fine. you were none of those things, until he intruded in your life. why he never let you go… perhaps he feared any resentment you held. you held none, until him.
the fight never left, you’d hissed all the way home at the old guy and the other man who’d come to pick you up, swiping at a hand offered to you. a new home? a new home? you had a home! they were waiting for you, you think, what do these people mean about a new home? why would you trust a badge and cap or a suit and tie, on their judgement of safety?
you want to go home.
the house they put you in was gargantuanly huge, your room the size of your old shared apartments. it made you sick. the ceiling was too high, and the corridors too long. admitting to fear was a sure way to get snuffed on the streets, and you didn’t admit to it, spending hours hiding in a bathroom alone, still too big for your liking. you hid and hid and you still hide. all the time.
when you got used to the place, pangs of loneliness and homesickness hit you. having never talked much, it was an unusual habit to reach out to someone. the flats you lived in used to be small enough for three people to have to sleep in the same bedroom. and the other four to crash on top of each other on the couch.
it’s different here, you’re alone. there’s no situation where everybody has to be together. you could tail along with the old guy while he cleaned, or stalk the boy who came to visit every month, but you avoided the man who got you here at all costs. you hate him, it would be betrayal to yourself to want to be around him. but seeking out company was too taxing, too new a thing for you. no one else came to you on their own, never needed anything from you. you were isolated. lonely. scared.
you weren’t forbidden from going outside, but always tailed by a security guard your “father” would set on you. the place where you grew up was blocked off your mental map too, a firm hand on your soldier from the boy, richard grayson, and his voice telling you it was off limits.
when you demanded a snarled “why?” with a dark, dark scowl, he’d just shook his head. an answer never came to you on its own, but it was quite clear you’d never be able to disobey. so you scuffled around, lonely, the shadow of the manor on you making street-kids you’d get along with otherwise frown at you, everywhere.
a few months after your glorified kidnapping, another boy came into the polished picture of your family photo; jason todd. he was about the same age as you, with a noticeable and heavy gothamite-accent that you recognised immediately. though you still didn’t much enjoy seeking out the company of anyone in the house, jason’s was by far, the easiest to go to.
he was a surprisingly tender little kid, you’d expected a meaner, more similar to you type of guy, but it didn’t matter much. you’d sit in the same room as him when he studied, listen to him whisper under his breath about some composition of something, watch him run around in the garden after alfred to help him, gain the favour of the man, and wonder where he’d gone at night when you tried to stay awake with him in either of your rooms. the two of you were unalike, but the comfort of knowing rags better than rugs brought you together, just a bit.
towards the… end, he’d become more biting. more snappy, on edge. the change had come suddenly, and made you conflicted. on one end, you were delighted at his hostility, seeing a familiarity of behaviour with him. he was finally growing into the hardened shell. the other end just made you sad. what happened to the kid? to your brother? what happened to him?
it’s safe to say his death destroyed any neutrality you had for this place. when you’d seen bruce one night, he’d looked absolutely horrible, and you hadn’t understood why. you couldn’t much bother to ask, assuming it must’ve been bitchy-bad billionaire-blues, and the shock, the blunt punch that came to your gut at attending jason’s funeral the next day made you sick.
dick had stood crying, his face in his hands, alfred had put an umbrella down to his face in what you assumed was sorrow, and bruce’s expression was unintelligible under the shadows that fell on it. you only stared, and stared, and stared at the stone of his grave, as though wanting to erode it, dig him out. jason. jason. a good soldier.
soldier?
you were livid, entirely unable to express your emotions in any way possible, no outlet among your family, no friends, no social circle or activities to let out even the smallest sliver of your anger out. you hadn’t cried, mourning was never one of your customs, but you were so horribly angry. he was gone. gone.
what probably made it worse was that you never knew how he died. he disappeared one day, and came back dead the other. your only half-friend in your whole life, was gone, the sweet, helpful little boy, gone. your brother. gone. you shut off entirely, unwilling to accept dick’s offers to spend time together, snarling that his attempts at being a better brother to you would never undo anything that he’d ever done. with no knowledge on the cause of his death, you blamed everyone for jason todd’s story.
dick had pulled away his hand, expression darkening, and did very pointedly avoid you from there on. thinking back, you wonder why he couldn’t excuse your grief. you were a child too. how did he manage to excuse everyone else?
tim drake’s arrival had been a thing of great disgust to you. he’d become an outlet for your fury, shoving past him in the corridors, muttering curses at him at the smallest issues, and flashing a scowl and a glare at his direction whenever he spoke. from the very beginning, tim knew about your distrust, your hatred of him, and avoided you in return to avoid trouble.
maybe you shouldn't have, and you don’t anymore to anybody, but you’d often go at him when you were at home. snarky comments on what he did, brushing off efforts he didn’t even present to you. you could see the slight effect it had on him, reclusivity, him thinking twice over his words. that on it’s own, and grayson’s narrowed glare and muttered “lay off, (name)” had almost made you guilty.
almost.
he’d come to eventually just spit back at you, or ignore you, and you’d leave him be too. it’s just that the impact that period of time had on the both of you was irrefutable, and harsher exchanges would come out much easier from your mouth now. again, you wonder, why he couldn’t excuse you. you would take any hatred back from him, face the consequences of your actions and accept what you did was terrible. even if he never forgave you for being so unwelcoming to the little boy he was, if it meant that one day, tim drake would look your way without a scowl. but why did he never excuse you?
around this time, you took up many things. jason’s death had soured you against the crime in gotham way more than your arrival at the manor did, so you took to listening to the news and skimming through pamphlets. the common figures of the batman and robin had created a semi-permanent furrow in your brow, and you pitied the robin-boy who’d have to work along the incompetent, interrupting, annoying bat-hag. batman.
the repetition of’ saves the day’, ‘exposes the scene’ and ‘back at arkham’ formed a slight obsession in you, and you had to know who these… geeks in costume interrupting everything were. if they could so skilfully weave through the riddler’s intricate puzzles, handle the joker’s lunatic schemes and avoid the bristling thorns of poison ivy’s attacks, how could they not put their minds to the little guy? the smaller problems?
from stalking tim and watching his work methods, without his awareness, you picked up a pin and a photo, and got to work. school was never challenging, maybe initially with your lack of an uneducated pre-teens, but easy to catch up to with your abundance of time. with all the hours freed up from not having to do homework you’d already finished, you made it a personal goal to find out who batman and robin were. the man and the boy who failed you, jason, and all the kids down the road.
and you found out. in february, wearing a short sleeved shirt ‘cause the heating was always up, with a final thread of glittering blue thread, you found out. the anger that had built up over the years had started to die out, and snapped with a fizzle when you understood.
you hate them. bruce wayne, dick grayson, tim drake and even, even jason todd. you hate them all. incompetent fools. idiots.
a sense of emptiness lingered in you for days, a morose sense of nothing to do. you came across a video of a girl stuffing a hollowed spider with cotton, and gently placing it’s dangly limbs on top of pins like they were footrests. the spider’s paws were limp on her sides, but she looked alive. she looked alive, even after dying.
maybe it would’ve passed on a fleeting interest, if you had not come to the terms with the fact that rich people could do just whatever. without asking anyone, you’d gone out to buy a board and some bob-pins, signed your name off as someone else on the shop record book and left. two habits, hobbies, created on the same day. taxidermy and paranoia.
you were not paranoid.
when you were now sixteen, bruce- no, batman, had gotten home troubled, more so that usual. it had peaked your curiosity, and you couldn’t help but eavesdrop through a micro communicator tim had so considerably left out in his room when you snooped through it.
the silhouette of a red hood trailed their conversations, troubling them with drugs and guns and knives. you’d found it all very amusing, minus the fact of his crimes. anyone who troubled the batman was amusing, but crime? you never excuse.
the relevance two months down that jason todd was alive, when you left the communicator on on a sleepless night, jolted you fully awake. a similar resurgence of not knowing, and fear, and worry engulfed you, much alike the same feelings you felt coming to the manor five years ago.
you wanted to demand for answers, weasel out how, why, where he was. why he wasn’t coming home and why bruce was so incompetent at getting him back to the manor. but you couldn’t. no one could know you knew, no one could know you had that information, of their identities on them, and have that leverage over you. you bit your tongue.
you never spoke to him, or saw jason face to face after his “rebirth”, catching glimpses of his voice on the mic’s that inputted into the oracle’s connected networks at night. you caught a glimpse of a large figure, draped in a leather jacket jumping out the window from the kitchen, but too late and too awkward to call out.
he’d gotten so tall. grown up. it hurts so bad, and you’ve never hurt before. never admitted it.
how had he managed to regain just the littlest bit of ties with the rest of the family, but not with you? you knew he snuck in on some nights, and he rarely ever came to the manor to talk to anyone, but how was it so easy for him to just, forget you? did he ever wonder where you were? did he ever want to see you again? you know he couldn’t, wouldn’t, but would he want to?
the pain that comes from seeing damian enter the manor is ten folds that. another little boy, falling to the bat’s trap of glory and growing up like jason and dick and tim, trapped. you want to warn him, but his kohl-lined eyes and scowling face makes it too difficult.
he reminds you too much of yourself, and that’s just about the scariest thing you know. self-importance and snarkiness.
the worst thing? their tolerance. their excuses. dick’s grin at damian a day after the loudest scuffle, the meanest words you’d heard come from a ten year old’s mouth, him being excused. tolerated. tim excusing him, and bothered to still talk to damian even after all the insults and demeaning of his work, the tolerance he received.
bruce wayne’s hand on his shoulder, showing him around to help him adapt to the new, unfamiliar place. why had no one done that for you? why did no one excuse you, see if you were okay? why were you like this? what had damian done that you hadn’t, and what had you done that he didn’t?
“the blood son”, he had declared at you the first time the two of you spoke, “has come to show his worth to the family. remain on the sidelines from your unimportant and tarnishing stain on father’s name, or struggle against my defense.” you didn’t respond to his edwardian monologue, and left despite his appalled scoff at your indifference. the blood son. he had a family. you could never compare to the concern or the trouble they put in to be with him, because he was family.
family.
you could’ve ignored damian if he didn’t come into your business so often. poking at the posters you’d put up to cope with the large, empty walls in your room, scoffing at the music you’d put on to drown out the ring in your ears from the silence and snapping your last nerve upon stealing a cricket from your board to bury in the garden.
you’d said nothing, quietly taking it back when he was faraway, straightening the legs of the insect with a motherly tenderness. he had soiled a lifeform put in your hands over his own sense of honour and humanity, effectively disgracing the ideals you had been raised on and live on now.
you knew of his upbringing, and you knew better his horror at your practice. but nevertheless, it was yours. he didn’t excuse you, he demeaned you, he didn’t consider you family.
he was not your family.
none of them were, and none of them will be. they’re self-prestiged vigilantes with overblown egos and no semblance of shame or understanding. they know nothing, and you can’t abandon a city so unfortunate to be in their care like this. they don’t know anything, because the ceiling they live under is too high to need to crouch and hide, and the corridor is too large for them to have to squeeze through when running.
a tap on your shoulder brings you out of thought, and your reply is a gruff “you’re late” at the girl in front of you. the salty green-white lights of 12th sector conveniences buzz on as you make your way inside, and garcia’s grin is too wide for someone so inconsiderate of your carefully mapped plans.
you hate your family, and their poor work. so you’ll have to scheme in different run-down hell holes to undo their messes. but order and control is important. if you’re in hell, why should you stop here? “one day”, your ‘girlfriend’ had said, “all these places you take me-” “you all,” you had interrupted, “i take you all” “-will be as clean as your nails, (name)”
you hope that she’s not mocking. and you hope she’s right.
> a/n; nothing much left 2 say! i notice my writing habits have switched up a bit, way less unnecessary words and stuffs. this is queued for tmrw so hopefully im not spamming anything. re-added the tags i left out for zero:ii too. idk when my next upload will be since my first exam is day after tmrw, but i wanna really write for the plot soon.
thanks for reading!!
taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr @ithoughtthinks @crazycaoticsimp
#saria 💤 says#'25 run: scavengery#yandere!batfam#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#batfam x reader#batfamily x reader#yandere batfam x reader#yan batfam#yan batfam x reader#x male reader#x gn reader#yandere x reader#dc x reader#yandere dc#yandere batboys#batfam x neglected reader#batfam x villain reader#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere bruce wayne#yandere tim drake#yandere damian wayne#yandere duke thomas#yandere barbara gordon#yandere cassandra cain#yandere batboys x reader
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History does not remember blood, it remembers names
Using Google Translate here, sorry for any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies 🗣‼️‼️
Tw: allusion to child prostitution, prostitution, death of a secondary character, abandonment of minors, allusion to negligence.
It wasn't always like this, you know.
You weren't like this when was younger, when mom would put you hair in those cute braids or dress you up to match her on dress-up Wednesdays, or even when she taught you how to put on makeup instead of buying the bike you wanted, one that you friend Michelle had. It was metallic blue, with white streamers hanging from the handlebars, and you still remembers it clear as the sun because that was the first time you felt envious of something foreign.
You was never blind to injustice, you saw it every day; at school when the teacher took you away recess because some brats weren't silent, at home when mom didn't give you dessert for some stupid reason, but the most recurrent one was the one that took the bread out of their mouths.
You understood it when you turned nine, when you woke and you beloved mother decided it was time for contribute to the household; On you birthday she took you to a fat old man, whom she said was his boss, he dressed you the way her mother dressed on a Wednesday and a Thursday and a Friday and a Saturday and a Sunday and she put so much makeup on you that you eyes burned.
She didn't want to do it, she wasn't going to do it, but when your boss comes to your home to demand protection money and sees you child, what else do you do but make things easier?
That's what adults love most.
She was not a bad mother, she was loving and protective, affectionate and self-sacrificing, but she was also a woman desperate to fulfill the most basic needs of a human, to eat and sleep safely one more night, and if she must use her little girl for that, may God forgive her on his last day.
And you loved her too, but not enough to intervene when you saw being pulled into a car, or asked her boss for help when others did, and you'll be damned if you refuses to be taken to the police station to take a statement, poor baby.
"Is in shock" they say that word a lot, even now "Leave in a foster home, there is no room in orphanages"
Like divine intervention, an old but royal gentleman like a general entered his life.
Alfred Pennyworth took you to a large house one day; He apologized for taking a while to find her, saying that he would never have expected that a child of Bruce Wayne would have been born in a prostitution ring and lived there for eleven years.
Suddenly you had a father and a brother, but it was like you didn't have them at all.
Bruce not a father, never a father was distant, like one of those men who only rented you to pretend to be a therapeutic doll, and Richard was...annoying, angry, lashing out at everyone all the time, a brat who left you without dessert because of his tantrums.
But you were good at something, at pleasing; It was never touched, thank God, but you're observant and you've learned a few tricks to cajole people.
That didn't work in them, not until Jason Todd came along.
He was better than Richard without a doubt, and for a few years he was you best friend; two peas in a pod, vanilla and chocolate, brothers of everything but blood, and for a time you found home in him.
And then Joker took him away.
You were never interested in being vigilante, dressing up as a traffic light and running across the roofs at night, but in those years you wished could have gone with him, to be a Robin just so you could avenge your brother.
Shortly after, Tim Drake arrived, Bruce's shadow, his little chameleon copying his movements, his gestures, his personality and you hated him with every part of your being.
At that time you stopped trying to bond with Bruce, you would never be his son, and quoting what he said;
"I don't have time, not now, not for you"
But yes for Barbara, yes for Stephenie, yes for that spawn of hell with whom you share blood, and yes for her adored daughter, Cassandra.
It was the straw that broke the camel's back, finding out that Jason, your brother Jason, had come back to life and never came to you, the only person who has entered your heart besides your mother, had abandoned you, betrayed you.
And then a metahuman arrives and they open the doors to him as if it were nothing?
Well, fuck them.
Although in reality, it was not your plan to return to your origin, who would have thought that finding your old friend Michelle in an alley after being thrown out of a van on the verge of death was going to give you the biggest reward in Gotham.
Loyalty.
Unlike you, Michelle did not have a millionaire father who claimed her like a carnival puppy, and her fate was no different from that of her dead mother, but she had contacts, people who knew things about more people and that a third spectator like you could use.
And if you learned anything in that damn mansion, it was to sweeten their words, caress egos and say what they want to hear, you learned to deceive and pretend, to disguise your intentions and attack without killing.
You learned to be a snake instead of a bat.
And like sweet karma, divine intervention or whatever you like to believe, starting your business from the brothel where your mother sold you by giving that fat bald guy to his enemies and taking his place, wasn't a bad way to start his story.
"Don't you think that's a brutal origin story?" You ask, looking with amusement at the infiltrated man now slowly bleeding out on your rug, Is it considered a fur rug if it's the skin of the past boss?
—Liar —he mutters in pain, writhing in pain and under the gaze of that cruel woman— You killed them in cold blood! Your poisonous tongue made us destroy ourselves from within! Two-faced whore!
“I always like how creative they get when they’re dying” you reply, leaning back in your leather swivel chair, because no animal cruelty for you, you are not a monster “Anyway, I hear Ivy needs test subjects for her new fragrances, but I think you’d make a better fertilizer, Michelle dear”
Your right hand opens the door, where two men grab the traitor and take him out while he continues screaming, varying between cursing her and crying out for mercy "I hope it helps Pamela before the hyenas eat him"
Now you're Gotham's super predator, and your heart is hungry.
#batfam x reader#batfam x batsis#yandere x reader#batboy!reader#batsis!reader#unattended reader#abandoned reader#dc x reader#batfamily x reader#batbros x reader#yandere batfam#yandere batman
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the other family
Batfam Yan! × Negleted Coraline! Reader
《Platonic》
Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error



This sucked
This family was the worst, you would have preferred to be in an orphanage than here.
You had been living with this stupid family for almost a decade and at no point did it seem like they cared about you.
You didn't know them that well, ever since you came to the mansion you didn't get along with anyone
Everyone seemed so focused on their responsibilities that you could never talk to any of them.
And you weren't going to beg for their attention, if they didn't give you attention you weren't going to give it to them either
You still had a little dignity and you swore to yourself to never beg anyone, you were much better than that.
Putting that aside, your life was pretty boring
You didn't go to school and you were homeschooled, plus the mansion was pretty creepy and no kid would ever come near you so you could say you didn't have any friends.
Even if you went to school you didn't think you'd have any friends either, people always said you were weird so you didn't think you'd be lucky to have any friends
Unless they want to be friends with someone as weird as you
You could say that the only one you had on your side was Alfred, he was like the grandfather you never had
He was the only one who noticed you among all the darkness that surrounded this mansion.
Your father and your brothers weren't the best, you couldn't say they were bad people.
They were just too busy dealing with their own problems that sometimes they ended up ignoring many things.
But deep down inside you wanted them to notice you.
You would like to be able to share those family moments with them, but that wish was only possible in your dreams.
_
You were walking through the halls of the mansion as usual, most of the time you spent outside walking through the gardens in the company of a strange black cat that for some reason had managed to enter the mansion
As you continued your tour you noticed a strange door, you had never seen it before which was strange since you swore you had discovered every place in this mansion
With curiosity you approached the door and opened it, it looked like a normal room
Maybe it had a little dust and cobwebs, it seemed as if no one had entered this room in years
You saw a small trunk next to a piece of furniture, those two things were the only thing in this strange room
You approached the trunk first and opened it, there was not much just some old books and trinkets
But there was something that caught your attention
A doll
But it was not just any doll, it looked too much like you it was as if it were an identified copy of you
Surprised you grabbed the doll and You examined it, it didn't look old which made it seem very strange that it wasn't dusty
It was too well preserved, you thought that maybe it was just a coincidence that it looked like you
But, you were surprised that it was wearing the same clothes that you were wearing at that moment
You tried to convince yourself that it was just a coincidence, it shouldn't mean anything
You were just overthinking things again, right?
You got up from the floor and left the doll on the small piece of furniture in the room, you began to inspect the room more closely looking for something else interesting
A few minutes passed and you found nothing, only small spider nests and the occasional rat skeleton, god, this place needs to be cleaned urgently
You were going to leave the room after not finding anything but something caught your attention, the wall looked very strange
You approached to touch it and you felt that something was out of place, as if something was inside those walls
Your curiosity was stronger and you decided to tear the wallpaper off the wall, Alfred's scolding for breaking the wall would be worth it if what was hidden between the walls was worth it
After completely tearing the wall your eyes opened in surprise, it was a small door
You crouched down to be able to better inspect the strange door, it was too small the only way to get in there was by crouching or being too small
You tried to open the door but it was locked, you frowned and let out a sigh of defeat
But then an idea entered your mind, maybe the key was between the drawers of that small piece of furniture
You quickly got up and went quickly to the small piece of furniture in the room, you started to search through all the drawers for a key but you only found buttons, needles and small blurry polaroid photos
You opened the last drawer hoping it was a key and when it appeared today you were very lucky because you found a small key, it was a little worn and had a strange shape but you didn't give it any importance
You approached the door again, you put the key in and the small door opened
You couldn't believe what you were seeing, when you opened the door you saw a small narrow hallway full of blue colors, you were very surprised and you thought that maybe it was some kind of dream but you knew it wasn't, this was real
You didn't know whether to go in or not, your instinct told you that it could be dangerous But your curiosity was too great, what kind of secrets that you still didn't know was hidden in this mansion?
You let out a nervous sigh and decided to enter this mysterious place, it may or may not be dangerous.
You really didn't know, but you were going to find out.
After entering the strange door and having to crawl to get to the other end because the space was too small, you finally reached the other side.
After a few seconds you were able to reach the other side of the narrow hallway, you slowly opened the door until you could get out of there
You stood up and looked around confused, it was the same room just a little more tidy and clean
Was this some kind of joke?
You decided to take a risk and leave the room, you began to slowly walk through the halls of the mansion
The mansion seemed more colorful and full of life
Your body stopped dead as soon as you felt arms around you from behind
You quickly turned around to hit whatever was behind you but you were surprised to see Richard
Richard
He looked the same but at the same time so different, it was the first time he hugged you like that and he was so affectionate
He had always been good and affectionate with the whole family except you, and that made you feel a little jealous of the others
"It's good that you came back, little sister, I was so worried!"
He said as he hugged you tightly, he had that worried yet sweet tone he used with everyone
You could barely process everything that was happening, you stared at him for a moment and your eyes caught something you had never seen in the original Richard
His eyes...
...
HIS EYES WERE BUTTONS!?
You stood in shock for a few seconds with your mouth open as you looked at him, you couldn't believe what was happening this couldn't be real But it felt so real
Too real
"Your...your eyes"
You said breathlessly looking at him in surprise, he just let out a small laugh at your surprise
"What's wrong with my eyes?"
"Your eyes are...they're buttons-"
Before you could finish speaking he interrupted you
"Buttons? Oh yes, it's just a small, unimportant detail"
He said without paying much attention to that detail
Your brain could barely process everything that was happening
What kind of crazy dream was this?
_
This was the best thing that ever happened to you!
Apparently Richard wasn't the only family member in the mansion, they all looked so different but at the same time so similar to their original versions
If we take away the fact that everyone's eyes are buttons, they were what you always wanted
They treated you well and were kind to you, even Damian who in your original world hated you and despised you in this world was very sweet and treated you like a real older sister to him
You did activities that you never thought they would do with you, everything was perfect
This was what you always dreamed of and you wouldn't change it for anything
You didn't remember how much time had passed since you came to this other world but you didn't care, if it was by your own decision you would stay here forever
And they wouldn't mind having you forever
_
You found yourself walking through the gardens as usual, accompanied by the black cat that you had met in your original dimension, it had appeared the first day after you came to this world
The best of all He could talk, he was a kind of guide for you and you were grateful for it
It seemed that not only your family had changed but all of Gotham
"You should be careful with them, (name)"
The cat said as he swung between the flowers and bushes in the garden
You just raised an eyebrow at the cat's comment
"Why do you say that?"
You asked curiously, since you had come to this world the talking cat had become too attached to you
And for some strange reason he distrusted your new family too much, whenever one of them tried to get close to you when the cat was near they received a hiss and also showed their claws
"Just don't trust them too much, they are plotting something that I don't like, trust me, my cat senses never fail"
He said seriously, you thought he was just exaggerating too much besides your new family was very good
It wouldn't make sense for them to want to hurt you
"You worry too much, if something was wrong I would have noticed it already just relax"
The black cat just stared at you without saying anything, he felt sorry for the fate that awaited you in the claws of that family
He just hoped it wasn't too late to convince you to leave this world
_
The whole family was gathered in the dining room, they had thrown a surprise party for you, it was a kind of official welcome and you were very excited
Your original family had never thrown a party for you and this was all just new to you
Next to the cake was a small gift, this was the best thing that could have happened to you
"What are you waiting for? Open the gift now"
Jason said handing you the gift, you nodded happily
But as soon as you opened the gift your smile disappeared
"Buttons?..."
You said confused looking at the strange gift
"You don't like it? You can be like us and stay here forever, don't you want that?"
Richard said approaching you, you could feel a bad feeling when you saw him near you and instinctively you got up from the table
"It's not that... it's just that..." You tried to find the right words, you couldn't believe what was happening, sewing buttons on your eyes? You wouldn't let that happen! "I don't want to... I'd better go to-"
Before you could continue speaking your body collided with Tim's, he was there behind you
"Why do you want to leave? You said you would stay with us..."
Tim said in a sinister tone, grabbing you tightly by the arms. You tried to get out of his grip but your strength was nothing compared to his.
"I didn't want to use force on you, (name), but you leave me no choice."
"What?"
Before you could say anything, you saw Bruce approaching you with the water and the buttons. You screamed, cried and kicked but nothing was enough.
Tim's grip was very strong and you could barely move.
They forced you to sit in the chair while Jason and Richard held you so you wouldn't move.
"Calm down, (name), it will only hurt a little."
Richard tried to calm you down but all you did was cry and scream for them to let you go.
It's too late to regret it now, but don't worry!
You don't have to worry about your old family anymore, now they will take care of you forever
Forget about everything, the only important thing is them and only them
_
Bruce was going crazy, he hadn't seen you for months
He wouldn't have even noticed that you disappeared if Alfred hadn't come to his office saying that you weren't at the mansion
He thought that you had simply left but after days without hearing from you he started to worry
He felt like the worst father and he knew that title suited him very well, he had ignored you for so long and now you were lost somewhere
The entire batfam was shocked, everyone felt bad about themselves for having ignored you and left you aside
Days passed and no one knew anything about you, it's as if your presence had disappeared from the earth
The only thing left of you were old photos and blurry memories in everyone's heads
But they was going to do everything possible to bring you back home, They made a lot of mistakes but they were going to fix them
Or maybe it was just an excuse to not feel so guilty
The clock keeps turning and time is running out, maybe when they find out everything it will be too late
Too late



I know I said I was going to upload other stories but in my defense...
I have no excuse, I just did it because I just saw Coraline and I was inspired
I hope you like it because I won't update for 3 or 4 days 😭🙏🔥

#batman#batfam x batsis#batfam x reader#batsis reader#batfamily x reader#fem reader#batfam#batfamily x batsis!reader#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batfamily#batfamily x neglected reader#batfam x neglected reader#neglected reader#platonic yandere#yandere batboys#yandere batfam x neglected reader#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#yandere bruce wayne#batboys x batsis#bruce wayne x daughter!reader#yandere damian wayne#yandere dc#dc x reader#reader insert#batfam x fem reader#damian wayne x batsis#batsis!reader#damian wayne x sister reader
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Papa!Reader & Bruce on vacation
Bruce : You seem anxious, is it about the kids again?
Papa!Reader : Yeah... i—i mean... Alfred is on vacation too, the kids were left in the house.
Bruce holding Papa!Reader's hand : Y/N... the kids could manage. We already gave them money and they could have asked for more later on, you also bought them frozen foods and some ingredients for cooking.
Bruce : Plus, Dick is like 25, he could cook.
Papa!Reader : Bruce, do you even realize you're in your 30s. And you still asked Alfred or me when cooking an egg...
Meanwhile the kids...
Damian : This isn't how you cook soup...
Tim : Dick, you sure this is the way?
Dick : Uh... didn't pa said; "To make soup? Simple—add anything you find edible."
Tim : But are you seriously adding a whole ass uncooked fish?
Dick, Tim, and Damian looking at Jason who was reading his book
Jason : The fuck you want?
Tim and Dick exchanging : We should feed him—
#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x male reader#dick grayson#dick grayson x male reader#jason todd#jason todd x male reader#tim drake#tim drake x male reader#damian wayne#damian wayne x male reader#dcu#batfam#batfam x reader#batboys#batfam incorrect quotes
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I LOVE U FOR MAKING THIS
Masterlist fanfic Yandere!Batfamily X Reader
NONE OF THESE FANFICS BELONG TO ME, this is more of a personal reading list of fanfics I follow and such, all the links lead you to the creators' direct blogs.
Almost all the fanfics in the 'platonic' section are with Neglected!Reader, I'm addicted to that trope.
More than one link will lead you to the authors' master list instead of a masterlist for the series. This is because they don't have a dedicated list for the series, and it was easier for me to keep them this way. (There are also links to the first chapter, in this case, the author probably left the other chapters there, in addition to imagines, headcanons, and drabbles on their own.) I thought about adding a short description below the links to explain what the fanfic is about… maybe I'll do it later or just leave it as it is.
Not - series
Again and. Again - series
Bruce hears Reader call someone else "dad." - drabble
Reader who only recognizes Alfred - drabble
[UN] Fair - series
Adorned in pearls (although Bruce here is not platonic…) - one shot
Batfamily with a Shallow Reader - imagine
Reader in Squid Games - imagine
Crack Baby - series
Smalltown Meta!Reader - series
Forget me not - series
No more Chances - series
Inmorta! Reader - series
Undoing Fate - series
Tip toes - series
Meet The Waynes - series
Bring back the dead - series
Obsessive reader in the shadows - imagine
There are two fanfictions here, the first fic doesn't have a name and I don't know what to name it. - series
Who said money can´t buy hapinness (considering the # I assume that the batfam is platonic….but I'm not sure) - series
Between life and death, death is tempting - series
Ain´t no sushine - series
Beyond the Bat - series
Crow choir - series
Waterbone - drabble
Marine!Reader - one shot? drabble?
Saboteur - series/imagine
Unwanted embrace - series
I'm almost sure this was one of the pioneering stories in this trope. - one shot
Little Demon - one shot
Goodbye World - one shot
Batsis wakes up in a fanfic - imagine? drabble?
Batfam playing with Reader - I think it's a drabble…I don't know
Pity Party - series
Yandere Al Ghuls! - series
How would they spend time with you after the kidnapping? -drabble
You´re a fucking weird hacker - one shot
Lucid Dreams - series
Ghost of the Past - series
Soulamate Soul Animal - series
Good Look(includes more DC yanderes characters) - series
Web Bound (It is NOT yandere, but it does have obsessive characters) - Series
What We Want - series
The sinfull Allure (the story is not yandere nor does it have neglect, but it has the batboys, and I love this reverse harem) - series
Seven Days a Week - Hit me Hard and sort - two series
First married to Bruce - one shot
As Yanderes´ Universe - one shot series?
Polyamory with Aged Up! Damian Wayne and John Kent - imagine
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hii love your work <3
could I ask for a jason todd fic? one where the reader's studying for their finals but keeps getting distracted and starts picking the skin on their arms/legs and he notices it? thank you!!
hi! so sorry this took me forever to get to i had some personal stuff happen ! but this is such a good req ahh i hope you enjoy it!
TW: dermatillomania??

It was a rainy night in Gotham as it almost always was, the windows to you and Jason’s shared apartment had water droplets flowing down them. You sat at the edge of your bed, textbooks and notes sprawled around you as you tried to focus on your finals. You had been exhausted and stressed yet you were constantly studying and with every passing minute, it became more difficult to concentrate.
As you stared at your notes, the words blurred together. Tears bubbled up due to how overwhelmed you were, and without thinking, you started picking at the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit, one you thought you’d gotten under control, but the stress of finals seemed to bring it back.
“Hey you alright?” a familiar voice said
You looked up to see Jason Todd leaning against the table, concern etched on his face. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes searched yours. You offered a weak smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside. “Yeah, just... studying.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He slid into the seat across from you, pulling you into his arms. “This doesn’t look like studying. You look like you’re about to cry, Doll what’s wrong?”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’m just... stressed. I need a good grade on finals.”
He leaned closer, his gaze softening as he noticed the marks on your skin. “You’re picking at your skin again,” he said gently, reaching out to cover your hand with his. His touch was warm and grounding, pulling you back from the edge of your anxiety.
“I didn’t even realize,” you admitted, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “I just can’t help it sometimes.”
Jason frowned slightly. “You need to stop that. It’s not good for you.” He hesitated, then added, “How about we take a break? we can get some food, How’s that sound pretty?”
You looked into his eyes, feeling a mix of gratitude and warmth. “I guess”
A smirk formed on his lips. “I could use a break from patrol, It’s all brooding and no fun down there.”
You chuckled, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Alright, let’s take a break. I could use some food.”
As you both stood up, Jason squeezed your hand gently before letting go. “And no more picking at your skin, okay? I’ll be watching.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, but deep down, you appreciated his concern. With Jason by your side, you felt a little less overwhelmed, weight of finals feeling a little lighter with each step.
ahh this was so short i’m so sorry ! but i do hope you enjoy it as always any and all feedback is appreciated! thank you so much for your req!
luv, luvver
#jason todd x reader#jason todd#jason#todd#batfam x reader#batman#batfam#dc x reader#dcu#dc comics#dc universe#x reader#request#reqs open#reader#comics#luvverslair
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Singing death
[not a chapter]
All writing made by me will be under the tag ‘dollings work’
Also I’m thinking about making a side account but I don’t really think I want to because i would like to focus more on this one.
Made by Dolling
“Tim.. this is the second time this month.” You said, you arms folded in front of your chest. Staring instantly at your now broken window. “You’ve got a key for a reason child” you added.
It’s not like you didn’t have the money to fix all of the broken windows,but having to pull excuses out of your ass when the workers ask what happened. Was getting exhausting, you bought an extra key for him and he has his own room in your condo. But he still brokes your windows??
Kids now days.
Ya didn’t mine back then, because it was always fun to get a surprise visit from Tim. But now it’s like he doesn’t know when to go home, don’t get confused you loved Tim like he was your own son. But sometimes he had to remember, you’re not his bio mother. And that you had your own needs, like dating!
Before meeting Tim, you love life was not… not the best. With you being a popular singer, trying to find someone to date. Who wasn’t with you because you were famous and rich was hard, even other rich people wanted to date you because you were the famous ‘s/n’
And when you took a break from singer, you thought.
“oh maybe I’ll have time to date now!”
oh boy how wrong you were, it’s like the first week you took a break Tim showed up. And with him being thrown in your life, you didn’t have time to date.
But today was your date night, it’s the first date you choose to go to in months. But now you have to cancel why? Because your ‘son’ decided instead of going back to the batcave or whatever it was that the farry bat had. He came to your condo, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know what today was, you had told him two weeks ahead.
Just so he know that you wouldn’t be home, so he wouldn’t come with one of his surprise visits. But he came anyway, and he broke your window!
It’s not like you didn’t get him a key to your place the thread week you guys met. Maybe he liked brokering windows? You hoped not…
“Maybe I miss you?” The why Tim said these words, they felt… calculated.like this encounter was all planned out?
“Don’t give me that bullshit, look at my window!” Maybe it was the fact that, you had known Tim for about five months now. That you felt so comfortable scolding him or the fact that you done it so often.
Or the fact that he got himself into trouble a lot.
“I’ll get Bruce to buy you a new one.” Tim murmured as he walked up to you, holding his arms out in expectations for a hug.
“Tim.” You muttered. “You are grounded.”
“Hm- thought you were going to [readers] house?” Jason said, staring at Tim. “She grounded me.”
“S-she [reader] grounded, I’m sorry you? Ain’t you her self proclaimed child?” Dick added. It was after petrol, that they all decided to have a game night hell even Jason was there.
Of course with the exception of Tim as he wanted to give reader a visits and maybe stay the night at their house. It’s like 85 percent of the Tim lived with reader, and that other 15 percent? Oh he spent that time at school.
“And what did you do for her to decide to ground you?” A malicious little voice rung out. It was Damian of course, no one else liked to torture Tim more than him.
Maybe Jason on a bad day but still, it’s like that little demon liked to see to suffer.
“How does she even ground you if you don’t live with her?” Duke asked.placing down a drew four on the coffee table, for Cass.
“Yeh, how does that even work?”
“I’m grounded from her house.” Tim answered, it was a pretty obvious answer to him but maybe some people just don’t get the contacts clues.
“That sucks little guy”
Can u guys tell their playing uno? Also SCHOOL IS CLOSED TOMORROW!! So I might add on to this<333
Anddd do u guys like the name Allure being readers singer name or should I change it?
Also the little special one short I was goin to do…. I don’t think it’s going to be done in time 😭🙏🏽 if y’all have any questions about siren reader don’t be shy ask meee!!
#batfam x fem reader#damian wayne x reader#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batfamily x reader#conner kent x reader#yandere tim drake x reader#cassandra cain#cass wayne#Cass x reader#duke thomas#duke x reader#damian wayne#Damian x reader#jason todd x reader#jason todd#Dick Grayson#tim drake x stephanie brown#stephanie brown#Steph x reader#family game night#UNO#reader eats men#black reader#siren reader#siren aesthetic#batfam x reader#funny batfam#batfamily headcanons#batman is pink#dollings work
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I need anything and everything of jason being Mouses favourite. (The Littlest Wayne AU)
They get a snack/ meal - Jay Jay has to take a bite first before they eat
They have a new toy- Jay Jay has to see and play
I’ll take anything you can think of.
I am obsessed. The AU is amazing
-🤍💜
Say less! I love Jason Todd and so does Flittermouse! By the way the word count is 3100+ lol oops
The Littlest Wayne: Fist Bumps
Masterlist is Here!
"This is stupid."
"Shut up, you're just mad you won't get picked."
Tim kicks Damian in the shin, who retaliates by kicking him back much, much harder in the ankle. Tim cries out, about to start a fight, but one stern look from Alfred settles them both down. They continue to sit beside each other without fuss, and soon everyone is all neatly lined in a row while Hal uses his ring to keep you safely suspended in a bubble, playing with a little rattle.
"Alright," Dick says excitedly, "we're going over the rules one more time! No jingling any shiny objects for Flitty to chase after, no getting out of line to get closer to them, and Bruce, no bare skin! We're gonna have Hal set them down and see who they come to first."
"This isn't gonna go the way you think it's gonna go," Bruce says, endlessly amused. "Please, none of you get your feelings hurt."
"Nobody's gonna start cryin', relax," Jason says, lounging on the floor between Damian and Hal. "Kay, we ready?"
A chorus of agreement follows, and Hal gently lowers you to the floor. They all immediately call your name, or variations of your nickname, waving their hands and patting their laps to get you to come to them. Your eyes widen, startled by the sudden rush of noise, and turn your head to assess everyone across the room.
You lock on to the man you want, the binky in your mouth bopping up and down excitedly, and you start speedily crawling to Jason.
"I KNOW that's fuckin' right!" He yells, scooping you into his arms and gently tossing you in the air a couple inches, then peppering your face with kisses. "I'm the favorite you little freaks. Kiss my ass."
"Okay, whatever, we knew that already," Dick says, "now it's time to see who the second favorite is. Put them down and go away so we can play again."
"Be nice to your brother," Bruce says. Dick flicks Bruce in the ear and he scowls. "Ow. Be nice to me."
"Fine. Gotta know who my competition is for the number one spot in Mousey's heart, even if I'm winning by a landslide." Jason carries you across the room and sets you back down. "You stay for a sec, kay? Pound it." He picks up your chubby arm and makes you give him a fist bump, then walks away from you.
Before they can even start a second round of the game, you're shuffling after him again. Christ, it's adorable.
"It's because they can still see you, Todd," Damian says, scooping you up to put back in starting position. "Duck behind the couch."
Jason rolls his eyes but complies, bending down until he's out of sight. When the rest of the family calls for you again, you shuffle forward like you're going to crawl to Hal, but you veer past him and around to the back of the couch to get to Jason again.
"Oh my god, they've developed object permanence already," Tim says. Jason's triumphant laughter fills the room as he lifts you up to give you more kisses. His endless delight and your happy squealing softens the blow to everyone else's egos.
"This game sucks anyway," Dick mumbles, crossing his arms in defeat. "What idiot even came up with it in the first place..."
--
"You ask."
"Uh, no? You ask? I don't care."
"Yeah but he tolerates your questions. I don't wanna get my jaw blown off."
"Then don't ask, dumbass. It's so easy."
Jason clears his throat, causing the two goons to stiffen up and turn to face him. One of them looks upset that he was caught unaware, and the other looks one wrong move away from pissing himself.
"Hi, boss," they both greet.
"Whatcha talkin' about?" Jason asks, taking a half-step closer. "Cause last I checked, I sent you both over here to do quality control on our newest drug shipment. And I'm not seeing a lot of that gettin' done."
He turns to the more frightened man. If he didn't have his helmet on, he would've sneered at him.
"So what's the hold up? Need me to sew some mouths shut? Hmm? Want me t'cut out your fuckin' tongue? That'll motivate you real fast, I bet."
"We'll get right on it, boss," the other, clearly smarter, henchman states. "We were just. Uh. Wondering why there's... why there's a baby strapped to your chest."
Jason looks down at you. You stare right back at him, making a soft cooing noise around your Red Hood-themed binky, and reach up for his mask. He gently takes your hand instead, feeling your tiny fingers curl around the leather of his gloved pointer. He's smiling sweetly at you, despite no one being able to see it.
"This is M," he says by way of an answer. "Won't be an everyday occurrence — couldn't find another babysitter so I assured the dad I'd keep 'em safe for the night."
He doesn't mention that your dad is also his dad, and that when Jason tried to leave to do his vigilante work, you screamed the house down and would only calm down in his arms, therefore he had no choice. So here you are, strapped to his chest in a onesie padded with kevlar and vital-tracking tech, while your favorite brother carries your diapers and formula around in the same duffel he stashes his guns.
And because you're his favorite, too, he secretly hopes you throw more fits so he gets to hoard you all to himself again. Taking a few minutes to tickle your tummy or gently rock you in his arms stops him from losing his patience and blowing out the brains of several subordinates tonight — which his men clearly catch onto, because they all start telling him how nice it is to see such a cute and perfect and pleasant, life-saving baby hanging around.
Fuck yeah it's nice. S'cause you're the coolest baby ever. Jason gently makes you fist bump him.
--
"AHHH!"
Jason is out of his chair and bolting across the Manor before his brain fully registers your screaming through the baby monitor. There's surprised exclamations and footfalls not far from him as his thunderous steps stir up a commotion, but he doesn't care about that.
There are very few times in his life when he's moved this fast. Large, expansive rooms fly by him in a blur of color. He takes the stairs six at a time. If a door he needs to get through is closed, he's breaking it down with a well-placed hit with his shoulder and moving on.
When he gets to your room, he stops to yank the door open because he doesn't know if you're near it, and darts inside with a sharp shout of your name.
"What's wrong!?" He pants, zeroing in on you immediately. You've rushed into your wardrobe and climbed inside it, red-faced and crying as a crow flaps haphazardly around the bedroom. The shattered glass on the floor gives him the missing context, and he snatches the bird out of the air with more force than necessary while the adrenaline spike is still scrambling his nervous system.
Bruce is the second person to rush into your room just moments after, crouching by your hiding spot with furrowed brows and a soft, slightly winded voice.
"Are you hurt?" He asks. You whimper but shake your head, fat tears rolling down your little cheeks, and lift your hands. Bruce picks you up without hesitation and stands up.
"Jaylad?" He says, still in that gentle tone. "You alright?"
Jason doesn't answer. He's not alright, not really. The rage he'd built up thinking someone was in here hurting you is still burning through his veins, and with no outlet for it, he's struggling a bit.
Bruce doesn't take offense to his lack of response. He just offers you a small, reassuring smile and bounces you a bit in his arms.
"Let's go find Grandpa and snuggle up with some hot chocolate," he murmurs. "Jay-Jay will hang back and make sure your bedroom is safe for you."
"No!" You sob, leaning around your father's broad shoulders to reach for Jason. "Want Jay-Jay!"
"You can spend time with him in a little while, Mouse," Bruce says, starting to carry you out of the room. Your protests get louder and more frantic, pushing against him to no avail.
"Want Jay!" You repeat, sobbing openly. "Jay-Jay! Want, p'ease!! Jay-Jay!"
"Bruce," Jason utters through grit teeth. His father stops, only a few steps down the hallway, and turns back to him. "It's fine. I'll take 'em, you clean up the mess."
"...are you sure?" Bruce frowns, visibly cautious. He looks down at the bird still flapping helplessly as Jason holds it by the neck, firmer than strictly necessary.
Jason takes a step towards the broken window and tosses the crow out. After a second of frantic flapping, it straightens itself out and flies away with panicked sqawking.
He turns to you and holds out his arms. They're only trembling a little bit, but the edges of his vision are still tinged with green. Bruce hesitates to pass you over.
"I've got it," Jason murmurs, "I'm calm enough. Gimme my fuckin' sibling before you piss me off worse, B."
Bruce nods slowly. He brings you back into the room and hands you off to Jason. Your arms circle his neck and cling on tight, and you bury your face in his chest as you cry. It breaks his heart that you had such a bad scare. He can see the half-completed Lego build you were playing with on the floor in front of the window and hopes Bruce can get all the glass shards out between the bricks and carpet.
Jason carries you out of your bedroom and down the corridor to his. He leaves his door cracked open and flicks on lights as he goes, then brings you to the en-suite bathroom.
"Okay, Mousey," he mumbles, trying to set you on the sink's vanity. You clutch him tighter and whimper, and it drives a spear right through his chest. "Kid, I'm not goin' nowhere. Jay-Jay's right here, I just wanna make sure there's no glass on you."
A little more prodding and the compromise of you holding one of his hands gets you to relent. You sit miserably on the counter as your sobs slowly die down, and Jason tediously checks your hair and clothes for any bits of glass that may have landed on you when the crow crashed into the window. The slow, repetitive motions help quiet the last of his anger until he's just tired and concerned for you. He finds a couple tiny pieces, but your skin is unblemished and when he asks if you're hurt, you shake your head, which then calms him entirely.
"Alright, great job," he murmurs. "Come here, we'll go bother Alfie t'give us an icecream sammy before dinner and then cuddle in the main living room. Good plan?"
You sniffle, wiping the last of your tears away. Your cheeks are flushed and puffy. "Yeah, good pwan..."
Jason kisses the top of your head and offers you his fist. You gently bump yours against his, then lift your arms again to be picked back up. He obliges, refusing to put you back down for the rest of the day. When it's time for bed, you don't wanna go back into your room, so he spends the evening reading his current novel with a dim book light while you snooze away on his chest.
--
He's livid. Jason's got a hole in his leg and he can't run away from the rival gang leader pointing a gun at his head, and he's fucking livid.
"My first death was way cooler," he mutters. "Got blown up and everything."
"What the fuck are you saying?" The other man scowls. "I never could understand you through that thick-ass helmet."
"I'm saying, if you're gonna go down as the guy that killed the Red Hood, at least make the execution something fuckin' noteworthy," Jason rants, the pain making him bitchier than usual. He waves his hands for emphasis, pointing at the gunman much like a mother scolding her child. "Ohh I shot him and watched his brain splatter everywhere! So has every single marksman ever. I'm worth more than a bullet in an alleyway. The fuck do I look like, Bruce Wayne's folks?"
"Whoa, man," the shooter says, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his head. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad I'm gonna kill you. You're that mad I'm not gonna kill you...in a cooler way?"
"Excellent listening ears, bucko! Gold star!" Jason coos, clapping. "Immolation, decapitation, tossin' me in an acid pit — fuck me, I'll take a stab wound over a bullet! D'you know how skilled you gotta be to get close enough to stab Red Hood to death!? If not for me, do somethin' that'll raise your own paltry street cred, shit. You're so fucking boring."
The man doesn't get another chance to weigh his options. The darkness of the alleyway pounces on him, sucking him into the void while he shrieks like an animal. Jason slumps against the wall and watches the shapeless darkness warp and twist, the gun abandoned on the ground in the gunman's initial panic. He feels his heart rate slow when you step out after a minute, wearing a thick jacket over your pajamas and a domino mask over your eyes as you hurry towards him. A flash of irritation makes him scowl as he realizes one of the others woke you up for this, when you aren't even a vigilante to begin with. The culprit's gonna get their ass beat as soon as he recovers enough to track them down.
"Okay," you stammer, kneeling next to him on the ground with a first aid kit. "Okay okay okay...Alf — umm, Agent A? I'm here, what do I do?"
"Remain calm, Flittermouse. All will be well," Alfred soothes you over the comms. Jason feels the adrenaline steadily exiting his body now that he's registered that he's safe. Now, it's a fight to stay conscious so you don't freak out even more than you're currently doing. He's so proud of you for coming out here despite the blatant fear.
Your hands shake as you pop the kit open and pull out the field tourniquet. Alfred instructs you on how to set it up, and Jason gently adjusts it when you wrap it a little too close to the bullet wound in his thigh. He grits his teeth as you tighten it, refusing to make a peep, and gives you a quick thumbs up when you tie it off.
"Okay, I stopped the bleeding. Do I bring him home, now?" You ask.
"As long as he has no other injuries, the medical bay is ready for you to transport him back to the cave."
"M'good, Mousey," Jason says, lifting his fist. "Sorry you had to come rescue your cool big bro. S'not your job."
"I was the one who could get here the fastest," you reply. After a moment's hesitation, you bump his fist with your own. "You're gonna be okay."
"M'gonna be okay," he echoes, knowing you need that confirmation. "Saved my life, kid. I'll do all your chores for the next week."
That gets a wet laugh out of you. You hug Jason tight and the shadows of the alley pool underneath your bodies. Jason closes his eyes and hugs you back, a steady anchor in the free-falling sensation entering your darkness gives him.
"My heroics are only worth a week of chores?"
"S'better than the rest get," he says. "They get one chore. Not even a whole day, just one chore."
You bury your face in his shoulder as the void swallows you and him up.
"You're my favorite, too, Jay-Jay," you mumble. Jason smiles as he loses the battle for consciousness.
--
"Good afternoon; welcome to Truce Juice. Would you like a moment with a menu or are you ready to order?"
Jason leans his hip against the counter and takes a menu off the small, laminated stack you've got sitting there, glancing over the options. Behind the helmet, he smiles as he remembers all the late nights you pulled him and your other brothers into the kitchen to taste test these drinks and snacks, desperate to make things that would appeal to many people. He remembers how proud you were to graduate from your culinary courses and the victory cry you let out when you found insurance willing to cover the building.
You smile warmly at him, waiting patiently for him to choose something off the menu for the first time in your brand new business.
"Black coffee," he says, voice warped by the modulator in the helmet, "two sugars."
"What size?" You ask, tapping it into the screen in front of you.
"Large. And a turkey panini, with avocado and pesto."
"Toasted?"
"What other fuckin' way would anybody get a panini?" He muses aloud. To strangers, he would sound angry, but you can tell he's genuinely asking. You just shrug and keep the soft smile on your face.
"You'd be surprised. Your total's on the screen; will that be cash or card?"
Jason reaches a gloved hand down. It glides past the pistol strapped to his thigh, eliciting nervous gasps from bystanders in the cafe, and into the pocket underneath, drawing out a plain, tri-fold wallet. He pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and huffs at you to keep the change, then saunters over to the pick-up counter to wait.
He crosses his arms and watches you scuttle around behind the counter, genuinely happy to make food and drinks for anybody that comes in. So far, you're uninjured and you've been able to stop any rising conflicts in seconds, which he's endlessly thankful for.
When his order is ready, you hand it to him with another bright smile.
"Alright, mister Hood, here you go. Have a great day!"
Jason nods, about to turn away, when he sees you hold your fist out in his periphery.
He grins, heart fit to burst, and bumps it back.
#littlest wayne au#batfam x reader#jason todd#platonic x reader#gn reader#platonic batfam#truce juice
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Bug Like Angel
He gets me so high

ty to that one anon who gave me the idea for this
tecnically this takes place between parts 4 and 5
so i guess this would be part 4.5?
anon ily for givijg me this idea
kind of a short chapter lol
You got into an argument earlier.
It wasn't over anything serious, you don't even remember what it was about.
All you remember is Damian telling you you weren't worthy of being part of his father's bloodline.
That stung a little.
You tried defending yourself and telling the others in hopes of others taking your side.
Only for everyone to take his.
"He's had a hard life," Dick said to you, still looking at Damian.
"So have I!" went unsaid, as you put your head down and looked at the floor.
It isn't fair!
It isn't fair how he walked away Scott free smirking as if he won!
It isn't fair how you were the only one scolded by Alfred and Bruce for arguing!
It isn't fair how you ran to your room to cry!
It isn't fair how you had no one on your side!
You needed someone on your side.
After a while of sobbing on your pillow (which was now wet), you felt your phone buzz and your ringtone go off. You were getting a call from Hobie.
It wasn't rare for him to call you, all of the spider-kids call each other at random times of the day to just talk about whatever.
One time you called them all at 3 am because you thought of a dumb invention that 'could change lives', only for Gwen to tell you it already existed, and didn't change lives.
One time, Miles called you to tell you he got 100 on his physics test.
One time, Hobie called you because he didn't know how long he should cook something in the microwave.
One time, Peni called you to tell you how she accidentally bought 3 copies of the same book. Again.
One time, Gwen called you at 1 am to ask if you could dye her hair again since her hair dye was fading again.
One time, Pavitr called you to ask which Valentine's gift he should give Gayatri since he was stuck between two options. He ended up choosing both gifts for her.
It was normal for everyone to call anyone for any reason.
You tried to wipe your tears and clear your voice so you could pretend you were fine, and you picked up the phone to talk to him.
As soon as you picked up, he started rambling about how his day went.
You didn't mind calling him, it took your mind off things.
Hobie felt something was off. Sure, you were listening to him intently, but you usually had your camera on and played with stupid filters while he talked. You didn't have your camera on like usual.
He decided to not bring it up and just let you tell him when you were ready.
"Anywho, I bought around 54 boxes of Girl Scout cookies-" Hobie said, while holding up a box of Thin Mints to the camera
"why did you buy 54??" you said in disbelief, your voice slightly cracking, which you cringed at.
"Don't worry about it." you laughed a little at that.
"Keep your window open, I'm on my way." you saw him start walking on camera
"Why?" you asked
"Get ready, we're going out," he said while grabbing 5 boxes of the Girl Scout cookies.
He hung up before explaining anything.
You got up from your bed and decided to fix yourself up a bit before he came over.
You redid your makeup because it smeared while you were crying.
After 5 minutes, you heard a knock on your window.
You went to see what it was, and Hobie was knocking at your window looking a little stupid.
You unlocked it and opened the window.
"I thought you were gonna unlock it?" Hobie said already looking around your room and making himself at home.
He and the others have come over a lot, it's somewhat surprising that none of your family noticed.
"I forgot!" you said while shrugging your shoulders. It wasn't a lie, you did forget.
"You're always forgetting, never remembering," Hobie said, lying on your comfy bed.
"Okay so I forget a couple of times and suddenly I'm always forgetful, I dye Gwen's hair and cut my own, does that make me a barber?" you said, dramatically before flopping onto your bed next to Hobie.
"So, what's got you all miffed?" he asked while playing around with a plushie that was on your bed.
"What do you mean?" you sat up to look at him in confusion.
"Miffed: somewhat annoyed; peeved," Hobie explained.
"No, not about what miffed means, I know what that means, but what do you mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.
"I mean, you look pissed, what happened?" he asked, while playing around with a volleyball he got from who knows where.
You started fidgeting with your hands. "Well, me and Damian got into an argument earlier. I don't even remember what it was about. He said I wasn't worthy of Bruce's blood. Which honestly did hurt a little. What really pissed me off was how no one took my side. How no one defended me. How no one checked up on me after I ran to my room and cried." A tear ran down your cheek. You couldn't tell if it was from anger or sadness.
Hobie sat up and cleared the tear away from your cheek. "C'mon Tinkerbell, let's get outta here," He said, while getting up and stretching.
"And go where?" you got up as well.
"Anywhere. It's clear everyone here is bonkers." He started walking towards your window.
"Okay, just gimmie a sec!" You ran to grab your wallet and phone and followed him out the window.

You were now atop the bat signal, next to Hobie.
After raiding a gas station for its snacks (which you knew Alfred would never approve of) you guys were just sitting down in silence.
It was pretty nice, you were leaning on Hobie as he lit up what you thought was a cigarette.
Turns out it wasn't. You realized as soon as the smell of weed hit you.
You watched as he passed you the blunt, "Want a hit?"
You hesitated for a moment. What would your family think about this?
Hobie saw you hesitating, and not wanting to make you uncomfortable said "Don't do it if you don't want to."
You decided to do it.
Fuck what your family thinks about this.
Fuck your family. Fuck them all. Fuck Damian, fuck Dick, fuck Jason, fuck Bruce, and fuck Alfred.
They didn't care, they didn't defend you, they don't notice you, why would they notice or care about this?
They were probably dressed in their stupid spandex costumes beating people up.
A long time ago you longed and begged to be one of them.
What is the worst that can happen anyway?
"pass me it."
Hobie then taught you how to do it. It was a bit scary for you, you haven't ever smoked or done weed or anything before.
You took a hit and immediately started coughing.
"You alright there, luv?" You gave him a thumbs up before taking a couple more hits and getting a hang of it.

You guys started devouring the snacks and telling dumb stories.
You fell off due to jumping to the light from the batsignal suddenly turning on and scaring you. You laughed when Hobie had to pick you up from the rooftop.
You could stay like this forever, just you and your big brother.

hi guys heres some fluff and angst
i feel like since writing these silly little stories my writing has gotten a tiny bit better
im not sure tho
anyways anon ty again i loved writing this
taglist(please lmk if i forgot you!):@bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n @welpthisisboring @itsberrydreemurstuff @lovebug-apple @crazycaoticsimp @bellethesleepypotato @blackhood1229 @jsprien213
#batfam x neglected reader#batfam x reader#batfamily x reader#batsis#neglected reader#bruce wayne x daughter reader#platonic batfam#yandere batfam#yandere batfamily#spider bat!reader#hobie brown#atsv hobie#hobie spiderverse#astv hobie#hobie x reader#spider punk#yandere batfam x neglected reader#batfamily x neglected reader#neglected batfam#child neglect#neglected reader x batfamily#batsiblings#batfam x batsis#batfam x child reader#batfam x you#batfamily x batsis!reader#batman x reader#batsib#batsib!reader#batsibling!reader
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