Your Secrets Are Ours, Kid

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

6121 words, 34869 characters, 314 sentences, 203 paragraphs, 24.4 pages.

I apologise for the abrupt ending to this chapter, I would’ve posted this yesterday but my draft deleted and I had to re-write everything. So I kind of rushed😔

You slowly blink your eyes open, the haze of sleep still lingering as you take in your surroundings. The room is lit by a soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the surroundings.

Confused, you look around and realize you have no recollection of falling asleep on the couch. The last thing you remember is talking to Jason, then nothing. You frown, the grogginess still fogging your thoughts.

You stir, pushing yourself up on the couch, the blanket that had been draped over you now half-sprawled across the floor. Still a bit disoriented, you rub your eyes and look around. When did you fall asleep? The question echoes in your mind, a befuddled frown on your face.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a sudden knock on the door, the sound cutting through the quiet morning air and echoing through the apartment. You blink, momentarily startled as you sit up straighter on the couch.

Who the hell could be knocking at this hour? You think groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You glance over at the digital clock on the wall, the white numbers flashing a bright 01:24 PM.

Oh. — it’s past one in the afternoon. Your eyes widen a bit as the realisation sinks in; you can’t remember the last time you’ve slept in this late, if ever.

With a groan, you push yourself up from the couch, sitting up, the stiffness of sleep evident in your muscles as you stretch out your limbs.

Another knock sounds through the apartment, louder and more insistent this time. Grumbling under your breath, you swing your legs off the couch and stand up, the last traces of sleep slowly fading as curiosity and annoyance take over.

You wince slightly as your feet hit the cold floor, the lack of socks making you feel the chill of the unheated air creeping up your legs. You take a moment to shake away the remnants of sleep, your mind slowly clearing as you move towards the door.

You unlock the door and swing it open, the sight of the taller man leaning against the frame meeting your tired eyes. Dick’s expression shifts, the impatient frown on his face morphing into a more eager smile as he spots you. His grin is oddly comforting.

"Hey," he addresses you, his voice now tinged with a teasing sort of affection. Your tired brain takes a moment to process the words, but you simply roll your eyes and huff softly. Not bothering to hold back the fond smile.

“What are you doing here so early, Grayson?” You don’t remember ever mentioning to him where you lived. Wait, why was he here?

"It's already past one. It's not that early," Dick’s voice cuts through your sleepy thoughts, a playful lilt in his tone. He notices the slightly confused and bewildered look on your face and grins.

"I came to see how you’re doing," he replies, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. Before you can even ask, he adds, "Jason gave me the address."

A pang of curiosity mixed with confusion sparks in your mind at Dick’s words. Jason gave him the address? The unexpected revelation that the two know each other causes your eyebrows to furrow. A flood of questions instantly runs through your brain. How did they know each other? For how long?

You narrow your eyes slightly as you regard Dick, the realisation of this new information sinking in. "You know Jason?"

Dick stiffens slightly, his shoulders straightening as he realises his slip. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, the nervous tone revealing that there’s more to this than he’s letting off.

"You could... definitely say that," he responds, his tone a touch cryptic. The brief flash of unease in his eyes betrays his nonchalant demeanor.

Before you can even react, Dick swiftly brushes past you, stepping into the apartment and moving deeper into the living area. His sudden movement leaves you momentarily speechless. You blink in surprise, your mouth opening to question him as he moves by.

"We’ve got a reservation in an hour," he throws over his shoulder as he continues forward. The sense of urgency in his words spurs you into movement, chasing after him into the room.

Your mind races as you follow Dick further into the apartment. A reservation? You weren't expecting any plans today, least of all with Dick. Questions dance on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be asked, but the time constraint and the sense of urgency in his words makes it impossible to voice them.

"Dick, what –” you attempt to say, but he cuts you off with a firm glance and an impatient wave of his hand. You’ve never seen him so serious, you almost giggle.

"No time for questions," he mumbles, cutting you off, his eyes sharp and focused. The intensity in his gaze only increases as he swiftly starts to move around your apartment, seemingly on a mission. You watch as he makes his way around, his movements swift and purposeful, as if he's looking for something. The grin never leaves his lips.

You open your mouth to protest, but an impatient glance from Dick silences you. The look on his face instantly clues you in that something important is happening.

As he moves around the living area, Dick quickly and efficiently starts to scoop up various items of clothing. A hoodie, a pair of shoes, a jacket. You watch as he gathers them up, placing them beside him, as if he's already planning your entire outfit for the day.

You were almost impressed. Every piece of clothing he had picked up was yours, and there was 10x more of Jason’s things scattered around the room.

Unbeknownst to you he’d memorised every article of clothing in your wardrobe. They all had. Needing everything to be perfect for when their plan finally comes into play.

Without pausing, Dick slings the now neatly folded stack of clothing over your shoulder, the soft fabric landing with a small puff of air. With a quick move, he turns away and begins searching the room for a bag.

You sigh, catching the clothes before they fall to the floor and raise a silent brow. “Is this you asking me to change?”

He shoots you a small smile, it’s apologetic.

Dick glances back at you as he continues searching the room for a bag, a sly smile on his lips. "Not particularly asking," he replies, his tone playful but firm. "It's more of a gentle suggestion."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering over your current clothing, lingering on the items of Jason's strewn around the room. He rolls his eyes internally at the sight, knowing all too well who they belonged to.

Returning his focus back to his search, he suddenly spots a small backpack shoved underneath a chair in the corner. Triumphant, he moves over and picks it up, the familiar canvas material gripped in his hand.

He turns back to you, holding up the backpack with a triumphant smile. "Found the bag," he announces, tossing it towards you before resuming his search. His eyes scan the room with methodical precision, leaving no spot unchecked.

Despite the confusion and the thousand questions racing through your mind, you remain standing in the middle of the room, a nervous yet puzzled smile on your face. You glance down at the clothes in your arms, the soft fabric pooling in your grip. Your gaze then flickers over to Dick, watching as he searches through the space.

"Why do we need a bag?" you finally ask, your voice betraying your bewildered state. The sound of your words hangs in the air, waiting for an answer.

Dick pauses in his movements, his fingers curling around the strap of a jacket. He looks over at you, a hint of hesitance in his eyes. He can sense the confusion and worry in your voice, the unease in the way your body has gone tense.

He lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He walks over to where you stand, a few steps away, and leans against the back of a chair, his gaze meeting yours.

“We just do.” His voice is soft, an attempt at reassurance.

“Don’t worry about it,” he adds, his tone shifting to a more gentle, soothing one.

The answer is vague, unsatisfying. With a soft huff of impatience, you spin on your heel and march down the corridor, disappearing into your bedroom and shutting the door with an audible click. Dick remains behind in the room, watching your hasty departure with an amused twinkle in his eye.

He moves forward and leans back against the side of the couch, a fond smile on his face as he listens to the soft rustle of you changing behind the closed door. It’s an illusion of privacy. If any of them were really interested they could just watch over the cameras.

After a few moments, the sound of the door handle turning catches his attention. He glances up to see you emerge from the bedroom, now dressed in the clothes he had gathered for you. The clothes fit perfectly, just as he had envisioned.

He pushes himself away from the couch, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over your form. His smile widens as he crosses the room towards you, stopping just a step away.

"See, didn't I pick the best outfit?" he teases, his voice gentle. He lifts his hand to give the sleeve of your hoodie a light tug, the material soft under his fingers.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in every feature. It's a subtle study, an unconscious way of reassuring himself that you're okay, that you're here and safe.

You stand with crossed arms, a small frown on your face as you regard Dick. Your irritation is evident, your annoyance at his presence and the lack of answers growing with each passing moment.

Dick glances up, immediately sensing the irritation in your stance. A sheepish smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. "What's that look for?" he teases, trying to lighten the mood.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your irritation deepening at Dick’s attempt to play it off lightly. You can’t help the small sigh that escapes your lips as you shift uncomfortably on your feet. The silence hanging in the air only adds to your growing annoyance.

"Dick, seriously," you say abruptly, cutting through his banter. Your voice is firm, demanding an answer. "Why am I changing? Where are we going? You’re being ridiculously vague."

Dick sighs as your tone washes over him, his smile faltering slightly. He had hoped to avoid this for just a little longer, but he knows you’ll never relent until you get answers.

He runs a hand through his hair, tousling the dark locks slightly. His expression is serious as he stares back at you.

"We’re going out.” it’s a simple statement, one that doesn’t provide any further explanation or context.

Your frown deepens, the vague answer doing nothing to quell your frustration. You open your mouth to speak, ready to press for more information, but Dick cuts you off.

“And before you ask,” he begins, holding up a hand, “I can't tell you where.”

His voice is steady and firm. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes as he gazes at you, a mixture of concern and determination. He knows he can’t reveal too much, not yet at least.

You sigh softly and approach him, your arms held outward. There's a slight pout on your face, the expression betraying your annoyance. You're surprised that Dick didn't immediately embrace you as is his usual habit upon seeing you. You can't even remember the last time he hadn't.

Dick grins at your pout, recognizing the familiar gesture of annoyance. He chuckles softly as he pushes off the couch and steps forward, wrapping his arms immediately around your waist.

He pulls you closer, drawing you into the comforting warmth of his embrace. Under different circumstances, he would take a moment to tease you further, the pout always a favourite of his, but right now there's a sense of urgency weighing on his shoulders.

His arms tighten around you, holding you against him firmly. The solid planes of his chest press against yours, the familiar scent of him enveloping you entirely.

He can feel the tension in your body, the frustration and confusion still evident in the way you hold yourself. He rubs his hands gently up and down your back, trying to soothe the tension away. His fingers press softly into your skin, their familiar touch reassuring.

Dick rests his chin on the top of your head, his eyes closing for a moment. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest against his, the rhythm of your breathing, the steady beat of your heart. He memorizes each sensation, committing them to memory.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose. He inhales deeply, the familiar fragrance calming his nerves. He can hear your own steadying breaths, the soft exhale against his chest.

With his arms still wrapped around you, he murmurs into your hair, the words almost lost in the soft locks. "Trust me, okay?" His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

You respond immediately to his warm embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him closer. You squeeze gently, your grip firm yet gentle on his body. As you look up at him, a small smile begins to form on your face. The annoyance from moments before begins to slowly melt away under the comfort of his closeness.

Your gaze meets his, and Dick watches as the furrow between your brows smoothes out, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He feels the tension in your body easing, the frustration slowly fading under his touch.

A familiar fondness blossoms in his chest. He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes. His hand then cups your cheek, thumb gently tracing the curve of your skin. “Ready to go?” He doesn’t want to ever forget this image. His little bird...

A giddy grin spreads across his face.

You roll your eyes, but the gesture is playful rather than irritated. You tilt your head into his touch, your expression softening

"I guess," you respond, a hint of sarcasm lacing your voice. Despite the uncertainty and the lack of answers, you feel a sense of reassurance in being with him. You trust him implicitly.

You push against his chest lightly, breaking the embrace just enough to look at him properly. Your gaze is scrutinizing, trying to decipher the secret he's holding back.

Dick grins as you pull away, his arms falling back to his sides. He knows that look in your eyes all too well. He can see the curiosity and the underlying trust mixed with a hint of annoyance. He's almost amused by the sight.

He returns your gaze, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “You'll find out soon enough, don't worry.”

He turns away, picking his jacket up from the back of a chair. He slings it over his shoulder, gesturing towards the door. “C'mon, we've got a reservation to catch.”

You huff in annoyance but concede, silently resigning yourself to the secret for now. You grab your jacket and follow Dick to the door.

"Alright, but I hope you know I'm grilling you as soon as we're done," you warn, your tone playful.

Dick chuckles, a low, deep sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He holds the door open for you, gesturing for you to step through first.

"Oh, I have no doubt," he replies, his voice filled with a hint of amusement. As you walk past him, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

The unexpected action catches you off guard, and you turn to look at him in surprise. The small gesture is so like him, and yet... something feels different. His grip is a little more firm than usual, the touch laced with a sense of protectiveness.

Something feels off but you just can’t put your finger on it.

Sure, Grayson was an affectionate person, you’d be more surprised if he didn’t have his hands on you in some way, it’s something you’ve grown familiar with. But something just seemed different today.

He feels you looking at him, your gaze piercing. Dick gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb caressing your skin in a gentle pattern. He smiles down at you, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He leads you out of the apartment and into the hallway, his stride purposeful yet measured. The light in the corridor is harsh, casting shadows on his face, making his features appear sharper than usual.

As he continues guiding you down the hallway, you keep glancing at him. Each time, your gaze traces his profile. His face looks slightly tired, the usual brightness in his eyes less vibrant than you're used to. The shadows cast by the hallway lights accentuate the hard lines on his face, making his jaw and shoulders appear tenser than usual.

The silence between you feels heavier than normal, and you can't shake the feeling that something is off, despite his attempts at normalcy. It's unnerving, and the unease nags at you.

Dick glances at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing the frequent glances and the growing unease on your face. He can sense your tension, the subtle signs of your increasing worry. He squeezes your hand again, trying to provide a small reassurance, but it doesn't seem to ease your concern.

He takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing as he tries to find the right words, a way to reassure you without giving anything away. He knows he can't tell you the truth, not yet, but the look on your face twists something in his chest.

Dick opens his mouth to speak, to offer some reassurance, an assurance that everything is fine, that you have nothing to worry about. But the words get stuck in his throat, the lie refusing to come out. The silence between you grows heavier, the air thick with the unsaid words.

He can feel your hand trembling slightly in his grasp, a stark contrast to the firm grip he's holding onto. He doesn't want to see that look of worry on your face, he hates it, the sight making his heart ache.

He quickens his pace, his strides becoming longer, more determined. He's not sure if it's to escape your searching gaze or to get to their destination quicker. Maybe a bit of both.

The silence continues, and the tension between you only seems to grow. The walls of the hallway close in around you, the shadows becoming sharper with every step. You're about to break the silence when Dick suddenly stops, causing you to almost stumble into his back.

You catch yourself just in time, blinking in surprise. You look around to find that he's stopped in front of an elevator at the end of the hallway.

Dick reaches out and hits the elevator call button without looking at you. His gaze remains fixed straight ahead. The silence is deafening, the only sound being the steady beat of your heart in your ears and the soft hum of the elevator as it approaches.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft "ding," breaking the stillness. Dick steps forward, pulling you along.

He leads you into the elevator, his hand still firmly grasping yours. As the doors slide closed, sealing you both inside, Dick turns to face you.

His gaze is intense, the shadows on his face seeming even more pronounced in the harsh lighting of the elevator. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, his eyes roaming over your face. It’s almost as if he’s trying to memorise every detail, every contour, every look of anxiety on your expression.

You clearly your throat, trying to get rid of the tension and have your usual banter back. Rather than this... whatever this is.

The sound of your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks, his mind momentarily lost in the maze of worries and what-ifs. He focuses on you, refocusing his attention on you and the current situation.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, an attempt to ease the tension. It’s a poor imitation of his usual grin, the familiar comfort not fully reaching his eyes. He lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles.

Your cheeks would’ve tinged a soft pink under normal circumstances, but the look in Dick’s eyes instantly extinguishes any hint of such a reaction. It’s a look more reminiscent of an older brother or a friend, not a lover. It was almost... dark. You weren’t sure how to feel.

“You’re worrying too much," He tells you, his voice low and rough.

As he speaks, he begins to trace his fingers gently up and down the inside of your wrist, the pad of his thumb brushing against your pulse point. It's an action he does often, a habit he has formed over the years to soothe you, help you calm down. But now, it feels different. The action, though familiar, feels forced, like he's going through the motions rather than genuinely trying to ease your anxiety.

He looks into your eyes, concern etched into every feature. "Trust me," he reassures, albeit in a strangely empty tone.

The elevator dings again, signifying your arrival on the ground floor. The sound feels like a release from some untold tension.

Dick gives your hand a final squeeze before dropping your hand to open the elevator door. The cool breeze caresses your face as the fresh, outdoor air hits your lungs. It's a relief to be out of the small, claustrophobic space of the elevator. But the tension still hangs between you like a thick veil, unseen but undeniable.

As you step out of the elevator side by side, you can't help but glance back at him.

His gaze is fixed straight ahead, his jaw set in a tight line. You've never seen him like this, so... stiff, if that's the right word. It's unnerving, the contrast between his usual laid-back demeanor and the current brooding aura surrounding him.

Dick's shoulders are tense under his leather jacket, and his hands are shoved deep into the pockets. He looks like he's carrying the weight of the world, a stark contradiction to the playful man you know.

You shake your head. You’re probably reading too much into things.

You remind yourself that Dick is nothing but expressive, his emotions always written right across his face. He’s never been one to keep things bottled up, always preferring to let out whatever he’s feeling with a healthy dose of charm and wit. But the man walking next to you is the opposite of that.

Dick takes a sudden left turn, leading you onto the main street. The bustling city life greets you, the usual sounds of traffic and chatter providing a stark contrast to the tension between you two.

You let out a shaky breath and move a little faster to match his pace, your hand wrapping around his shoulder. A small smile dancing on your lips. “Cmon then. Can’t be late to your little mystery, now can we?”

He practically croons when you initiate the touch, a small real grin tugs at his lips.

The familiarity of your voice eases some of the tension in his shoulders, and for a moment, he looks almost like his usual self.

He reaches up to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer against his side. "Don’t worry," he assures, the familiar playfulness finally returning to his tone. "I’ve got everything under control. We’ll be just on time, and you’ll have all your answers soon."

His grip on you is firm, almost possessive, as if making sure you’re as close to him as possible.

Your smile widens at his response, some of the earlier unease melting away under his touch. This is more like the Dick you know; relaxed, charming, comforting. You lean into him, your body molding against his.

The atmosphere between you is still tense, an undercurrent of unspoken words lingering in the air. But his casual tone and reassuring words are doing their job. For now, at least.

“See?” he grins as you lean into him, his hand tracing small circles on your hip. “Nothing to worry about."

He glances down at you, his eyes taking in your slightly more relaxed form. For a brief moment, the mask slips, and a flash of concern flickers across his face. But it's gone before you can fully register it, replaced once again by that confident, charming grin.

He steers you down the street, effortlessly navigating the crowded sidewalks. People move out of his way without even realising, his presence exuding a subtle power and authority.

He keeps you close as you walk, his hand still holding onto your hip, guiding you along.

"You’ll like tonight," he reassures, his voice low as he leans down to speak softly into your ear. "I promise."

The evening has arrived, and the night sky is like a canvas splashed with deep blues and purples. The city’s lights glitter like thousands of stars, casting a warm glow over the streets.

Dick leads you down a quieter street, away from the hustle and bustle of the main road. The ambiance of the area is distinctly more upscale, the shops and restaurants here a noticeable step above the rest of the city.

He finally stops in front of a quaint little bistro, the soft glow of the outdoor lanterns casting shadows on his face.

The bistro is quaint and unassuming, but the soft glow of the outdoor lanterns betrays the upscale nature of the establishment. The menu is displayed in the front, the words written in an elegant script. It’s clear that this isn’t your typical fast food joint.

Dick turns to you, a smug smile on his face, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I’ve got this under control," he grins, motioning towards the entrance. "C’mon."

He holds the door open for you, ushering you into the restaurant. The interior is just as upscale as you’d expect, the walls painted in warm, soothing creams and golds, the hardwood flooring shining softly in the ambient lighting. Soft, instrumental music plays in the background, creating a cozy atmosphere.

A sharp, crisply dressed host approaches you almost immediately, his back straight, chin held high. "Reservation for Grayson," Dick tells him, his tone confident and casual.

The waitress blinks in surprise, a grin stretching across her painted red lips. “The four in one show?”

You tilt your head in confusion, not quite understanding the reference. However, Dick grins back, a twinkle in his eye. "That’s the one," he replies casually.

The waitress nods in understanding and leads you to the reserved area. As you follow her, you notice Dick’s hand instinctively finds its way back to your waist, a possessive yet comforting gesture.

The reserved area is tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, secluded from the rest of the dining area. It's a cozy, intimate space, with soft lighting, a small, circular table, and comfortable, inviting chairs.

Dick pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you're settled before sitting down himself.

"What the hell was the waitress talking about?" you ask, leaning your cheek against your palm.

Dick chuckles as he takes his seat across from you, a sly smile playing upon his lips. "You’ll see," he replies evasively, picking up the leather-bound menu sitting in front of him.

He scans the menu listlessly, clearly not really paying attention to the words. His gaze drifts towards you occasionally, watching your every move like a hawk.

You’re preoccupied with staring down at the menu, a frown of concentration on your face and a slight tilt to your head. The elegant, tiny cursive script seems almost illegible to you, making you squint down at it with increasing frustration. After a moment, you huff and turn the menu onto its side, hoping that a different angle may help you decipher the elusive words.

Dick, who had been watching you struggle for the past few minutes, can't help but let out a soft chuckle at your antics.

"You struggling there?" he teases with a smirk.

“How can anyone read this?” You huff, putting the styled paper down in front of you and slouching back in the chair.

Dick grins warmly at your disgruntled expression, finding it amusing and endearing.

"You get used to it," he replies, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "Reading fancy menus is part of the experience, you know."

He leans back in his own chair, his hands folding on the table in front of him. He watches as you continue to grumble under your breath, clearly not appreciating the overly-stylised fonts. He wanted to coo at how cute you looked with that expression on your face.

"Whoever designed these is a sadist," you mutter half-heartedly as you continue to glare at the menu, as if you could force the words to make sense through sheer will alone.

Dick laughs again, a deep, rich sound that fills the small, intimate space you’re in.

"You’re not wrong," he comments. "But don’t worry, I’ll help you read the rest of it if you need." He grins.

You look up, your eyes narrowing. “I’m not a child. I don’t need help to read.”

Dick holds up his hands in surrender, a smirk still playing at the corners of his lips. "Hey, I never said you did," he responds, that charming tone still in his voice.

But there’s a hint of something else in his eyes, a mix of mockery, amusement, and something else you can’t quite place. Love. It fades almost as soon as it appears, leaving you to wonder if it was even there in the first place.

"I was just offering my services as a personal menu translator," he teases.

Dick's smirk deepens as you roll your eyes playfully, clearly enjoying your little bit of banter.

"You're cute when you're stubborn," he comments, the compliment slipping out almost effortlessly, like it's something he says every day.

He leans back in his seat, sipping at his glass of water. There’s a brief pause in the conversation, both of you silently surveying the menu before you speak up again.

"So, finding anything interesting on there? Or is it all just gibberish to you?"

“Oh, shut up.” you hiss.

Dick laughs again. He can’t help it. Your defiant, grumpy expression is just so adorable. It’s a complete 180 from your usual self.

"Hey, it’s not my fault you can’t read fancy, tiny writing," he retorts, clearly enjoying your little pout.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Seriously, though, find anything you want? I’ll order for us if you want," he offers, the suggestion a small peace offering.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare, though it lacks any real heat. The corner of your lip is still tugged up in a half-smile.

"I’ve got my eye on a few things," you reply, finally relenting and putting the menu down. You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Alright, Mr. Fancy Menu Translator," you say dramatically. "Surprise me."

Dick grins at your response, clearly taking pleasure in your surrender.

"Surprise it is then," he chuckles, his gaze sweeping over the menu again, though his focus is clearly on you rather than the list of items.

He flags down a nearby waiter and places your orders, his voice confident and suave as he converses with him. When the waiter departs, he turns his attention back to you, a smug expression on his face.

"Alright, you're in my hands now," he smirks. Your name rolling off his tongue naturally at the end.

You roll your eyes dramatically at his cockiness, though you can't deny that you secretly enjoy it. Dick always knew how to make things interesting and entertaining.

"In your hands, huh?" you muse, arching an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

You lean forward, resting your chin on your palm, watching him closely.

Dick smirks back, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I think you should be very worried," he teases, his tone dripping with playful menace.

He leans forward as well, his forearms resting on the edge of the table. He watches you with those piercing blue eyes, that familiar, charming smile still on his face.

"But don’t worry," he adds, his tone shifting into something slightly more genuine. "I’ll take good care of you."

You grimace and let out a mock gag, dramatically clutching your stomach as a playful response. Your voice drips with sarcasm as you shoot back, “What, did you steal that from a soap opera?”

Dick feigns offence, a hand dramatically flying to his chest as he gasps dramatically. "Me? Steal from a soap opera? I’m wounded," he grins, his tone equally as sarcastic as yours.

"You’re supposed to swoon, by the way. That’s usually the natural response to such declarations," he teases. Matching your humor.

Despite your sarcastic banter, there’s a hint of a smile on your face. Dick’s easy-going, sarcastic demeanor is something you appreciate about him. It makes even the most mundane situations more enjoyable, and it’s a stark contrast to his more broody, serious moods.

"Sorry to disappoint," you reply dryly. "I’ll be sure to swoon next time. Maybe I’ll even swoon so hard I fall out of my seat."

Dick chuckles heartily at your retort, the sound deep and genuine. He’s enjoying this little back-and-forth.

"Careful there," he teases. "I’d hate for you to give yourself a concussion. I’m still enjoying my night."

He reaches out to gently pinch your cheek before pulling his hand away, his smile still firmly in place.

You scoff at the action, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your cheek. A soft glare thrown his way.

"Stop it," you warn, though your tone lacks any real seriousness. "You’re such a child sometimes."

Dick grins unrepentantly, clearly unworried about your 'warning.'

"You love it," he says, his tone cocky as ever. He has the smug expression of someone who knows exactly how true his statement is.

"I do not," you say petulantly, though your tone betrays your words. You try to glare at him, but your lips are twitching with suppressed laughter. It’s impossible to stay annoyed when Dick is in one of his playful moods like this.

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

Dick grins wider, clearly satisfied with your response. He leans back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Oh, I know," he replies, his tone smug. "But you love it, admit it."

The atmosphere between you two is still lightly playful, the tension from earlier having lifted. It feels like things are back to normal, banter and all.

“It sounds like you’re just trying to get me to tell you that.” You shoot him an unimpressed look.

Dick chuckles, not denying your accusation. "And if I am?" he responds, that cocky grin still on his face.

He leans forward again, his gaze never leaving yours. "Admit that you love it when I tease you, and I’ll stop."

There’s a hint of challenge in his tone, as if he’s certain that you’ll give in.

In his head, Dick's heart is practically soaring. The thought of you telling him first, before any of the others, that you love him is sending his emotions spiraling. Giddy, elated, and a bit overwhelmed, he can barely contain the sheer joy that's overwhelming him. His baby bird. Please, just say it.

“Yeah, alright. Whatever. So what if I do?” You relent, leaning back in the chair.

Dick can barely contain his emotions. He wants to leap across the table and scoop you into his arms, to shower you with praise and declarations of platonic love.

But he manages to maintain his composure, schooling his features into a smug smile.

"See? Was that so hard?" he grins, the triumph in his voice clear. "Admitting that you love my teasing."

He leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, watching you intently. His gaze is almost smoldering, an intensity behind the playfulness.

"I knew you couldn’t resist my charm," he adds, his voice dropping an octave lower.

You snort.

No use of y/n, no descriptive features relating to the reader’s appearance, no gender mentioned.

Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae @wpdarlingpan @dhanyasri @tojislvrr @phoenixgurl030 @mel-star636 @lilyalone @lavender-moony @nickey-diano @sociallyakwardpanda @obsessedwithromance @thickerthanthieves @nckcn @xxrougefangxx @th0rn118 @gaozorous-rex-blog @lyl-3 @wtf-am-i-doing-with-my-life-help

Kind of hate this, but oh well!🥰

This is what I live for🙏

Moths to a Flame

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Fire and Ice weren't always a duo on and off court. There'd been a time when they had another element they followed around: Earth. Or, as most call him, (Y/N) (L/N).

Pronouns: He/Him/His

I don't know what possessed me to write this but here we are

~~~

Patrick spotted him before Art did. Art could tell right away when Patrick's teasing eyes flickered away from him and then lit up like a firecracker, the victorious and gleeful grin that spread across his lips. Patrick clapped his shoulder, a tad roughly if Art had to admit, and hurried past him, leaving Art to chase after him as they dodged students and other people touring Stanford's campus. Art's attention drifted away from Patrick's back and locked onto that familiar side profile he'd dearly missed.

Patrick bent over the backrest of the bench (Y/N) sat on and slammed his lips against the player's cheek in a messy, playful kiss. (Y/N) immediately whined and crinkled his nose, the book in hand forgotten as he attempted to shove Patrick's face away. Art snickered as he plopped down beside the squirming player, shifting around to face him and brushing his fingertips over (Y/N)'s knee, instinctively tracing the scar he carried since a small accident with his skateboard back when he was thirteen. 

"God, Patrick, get off me," (Y/N) huffed, managing to shove his fingers between his cheek and Patrick's lips and pushing him away. Patrick laughed against his fingers, hand curling around (Y/N)'s wrist and staring at him with twinkling eyes. (Y/N) set the book aside and wiped away at his reddening cheek, his gaze following Patrick as the brunette circled the bench and sat down beside him, still holding onto his wrist. Patrick made no move to release him. (Y/N) always had to be the one to pull away, from both of them.

"Come on, don't pretend you didn't miss us." It always felt like Patrick had some control, some dominance over the friendship. And maybe he did when it was just Art and him, but (Y/N) was a different ballpark. He had no control over (Y/N), no words or actions that could amount to the way the two of them would react to (Y/N)'s touch and stare. (Y/N) knew that, too. 

"Missed the two of you running after me like little dogs? Sure." His smile bordered on smug but Art relished the way (Y/N) dropped his hand to place it over his, his fingers wrapping around Art's hand but his attention focused on Patrick, whose eyes lingered on their hands. Art pushed his finger into the scar and smiled sweetly when (Y/N) finally looked at him.

Patrick demanded attention just by existing, always soaking everything up while Art stood by, waiting to be noticed. He - embarrassingly enough - grew attached to (Y/N) because of his attention, because Patrick had to fight to be noticed, but he liked it like that. "Why are you here, puppy?" 

Art flushed at the pet name, one he hadn't heard in a year or two, and tugged at the vibrant red Stanford hoodie he sported. (Y/N)'s lips curled upward and his hand squeezed Art's. "Maybe we can dorm together." Art said with a borderline pleading undertone, a trickle of smugness invading his veins when Patrick pursed his lips. He'd chosen to tour, unlike Art. Too fucking bad. 

"Maybe." (Y/N) nodded and pulled away from both boys, the bench creaking as he stood and slipped the book into his backpack. Before he could pick it up from the floor, Patrick snatched it up and slung it over his shoulder, a lazy grin on his face as he challengingly arched his brow at him. Art rose from the bench, long fingers reaching out to adjust the back of (Y/N)'s shirt, feeling his nails graze over his skin. 

"Patty Cake." (Y/N) raised his brows at Patrick and extended his hand, wiggling his fingers but Patrick tugged the backpack further onto his back. 

"Speaking of dorms," Patrick wrapped his free arm around (Y/N)'s shoulders and tugged him closer, right into his chest and out of Art's reach. "Where's yours?"

(Y/N) led them through campus, working as their own personal guide of sorts on their way to the dorms. Patrick strolled on nonchalantly, evidently bored on their journey but he kept his mouth quiet, letting Art shoot off question after question until they reached (Y/N)'s temporary home.

The room was blatantly divided, (Y/N)'s belongings on one side and his dormmate's things on the other. The two eyed the stranger's things, gazes almost scrutinizing and nearing jealous. The two had roomed together once, something that led to Patrick's favorite story to tell about Art's inability to jack off until he met him. 

"I think," Patrick began, tossing the backpack onto the bed and flashing (Y/N) a smile when he scowled at him while his arm slithered around Art's shoulders. "We need to do (Y/N) a favor and get him a better roomie."

"Charlie's fine." (Y/N) told them, his mattress dipping under his weight as he climbed on top of it. Patrick dropped his arm from Art's shoulders and stepped forward, knees bumping against the edge of the bed and body bending over. His arms loosely wrapped around (Y/N)'s waist and he pressed his cheek to (Y/N)'s collarbone, eyes threatening to flutter shut when (Y/N)'s fingertips danced over his cheek.

"Come on, (Y/N). Art needs you, remember? Besides, each night you'll get to hear him jerk off to you-"

"Patrick." Art's voice sounded like a mix between a groan and a hiss, his skin lighting ablaze and palm pressing against Patrick's hip to shove him gently.

Patrick's adams apple bobbed when he laughed, and with no prying eyes around to watch, he pressed his lips against the side of (Y/N)'s neck. His mouth open to dig his teeth into (Y/N)'s skin, lightly at first it seemed but Patrick had never been able to restrain himself. His teeth sunk deeper and harder, and once it seemed like he'd leave a mark, (Y/N)'s fingers moved from his cheek to his hair and tugged. 

"I have a girlfriend, Pat." (Y/N) huffed, not that it proved to be much of a revelation to the two boys who spent frankly too much of their time trying to keep up with the whirlwind that was (Y/N) (L/N). Maybe they should've nicknamed him Air instead of Earth. At least then they could compare him to tornadoes or hurricanes. 

It'd been the fateful night they'd all been graced with the presence of Tashi Duncan. Gorgeous, badass, and with a killer smile, she was exactly their type. She seemed to like them, too, especially (Y/N), but he'd been the quietest of the three, simply observing while lazily pulling his cigarette back and forth between his lips, eyes trailing between her and the ocean.

Maybe it'd been his indifference to her presence or the knowledge he'd eventually become a global sensation because despite giving Patrick her number and having her suspicions about the goings between the three, she ultimately chose him. Patrick had wondered aloud once if maybe it'd been the other way around and (Y/N) had chosen Tashi. After all, his calls and messages turned rare, leaving the two high and dry. But Art dismissed that. 

(Y/N) never chose. 

He never chose between Art and Patrick after joining their little friendship. He never chose when he made them his little playthings, his little admirers eager to compete against each other for his attention. He never chose who got more attention, he simply divided it as necessary, only ever using it when one needed it more than the other.

Besides, he'd had his fair share of partners throughout their odd relationship, some who knew and others left in the dark. They never mattered to Art and Patrick. Sure, they disliked sharing him with anyone other than each other (Hell, sometimes they got jealous of each other), but the girlfriends and boyfriends never stayed for long. Art and Patrick did, though. 

"So? Tashi made out with all of us in one night, remember?" 

"I know," (Y/N) took hold of Patrick's jaw, fingers lightly digging into his flesh. Patrick finally stilled and (Y/N) touch turned gentler, his thumb stroking over the spot of red now on Patrick's skin. "But she'll kill me if anyone thinks she's getting cheated on."

"Isn't she, though?" Art questioned softly, sinking into the mattress beside him and leaning forward to hook his chin over (Y/N)'s shoulder. He liked the dynamic, the difference in how the two were treated. Patrick often acted like a brat, mischievous with feigned control, so (Y/N) treated him like one. (Y/N) treated Art more sweetly, and gently. Always tending to him with a gentle hand. The rising star tilted his head toward him, angling his head to brush his lips over Art's temple. 

"It's just a power couple thing, baby." A smile spread across Art's lips and he hummed, his thoughts on Tashi and her position in their relationship forgotten for a moment as he pressed his face into the crook of (Y/N)'s neck, breathing in his cologne until it imprinted itself back in his head.

Patrick hummed, feigning skepticism and dragging (Y/N)'s attention back to him. Patrick moved his head downward, kissing the spot between (Y/N)'s thumb and index finger before that cheeky grin appeared again. His eyes flickered toward Art who peeked up at him as he trailed his lips over the thumb until he popped the fingertip into his mouth and made his desires evidently clear. 

"(Y/N)," Art murmured, already breathless as he raised his head to look at him. (Y/N) chuckled and hooked his thumb fully in Patrick's mouth, using it to pull him closer and peck the tip of his nose. Despite the mischief behind his actions, Patrick's shoulders sagged and his eyes softened. 

"If you boys wanted a treat, you could've just asked."

4826 words, 27475 characters, 269 sentences, 122 paragraphs, 19.3 pages

All done in one night🙏 it’s 7:50 am and I haven’t slept, so if you don’t like this I might cry bro

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

You quietly opened the classroom door, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible as you creep inside. You scanned the room, holding your laptop close to your side as your eyes darting around the space with slight panic. Your heart racing from the exertion of running from across campus to get here. Thankfully the professor hadn't started yet and your friend, who already sat near the back of the room, gives you a knowing glance. You give him a sheepish smile as you make your way through the rows of desks to him.

"You cut it a bit close this time." He gives you a cheeky grin. "I made it here though, didn't I?" You retort.

He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the professor clearing her throat at the front of the room, signalling class is about to begin. “Mister Wayne.” She warns, her calculating eyes boring into Tim’s frame. He sits up straight and gives her a sheepish smile.

You have to bring a hand up to muffle your laughter. “Mister Wayne.” You mock quietly, whispering so no one other than the boy next to you could hear.

He felt the eyes of the other students on him like burning hot plates, the majority of them were either envious of him or thought he was an entitled prick.

Of course the professor would call him out for talking when you were the one who ran in late.

Tim couldn't help but smile sheepishly as he was chastised, he had heard your quiet snickering behind. There was this fuzzy feeling in the back of his head at the thought that you were laughing because of him. He had made you happy. He could rub this in Damian’s face later.

The longer class went on the further and further consumed into your little project you got. You had finished the assignment for your criminology course a few days ago, not that Jason was aware. Instead occupying your time with your side hobby. You had over four thousand people following your reporters blog online and it earned you some decent cash. Now far too invested in the lives of the vigilantes of Gotham to really think about anything else. It didn’t help that the people you surrounded yourself with were all geniuses, so you couldn’t rely on them for help even with vague questions as they’d figure out that you’re the author for Blüdhaven’s top trending reporting blog. Maybe Dick could help you, he doesn’t portray himself as the smartest tool in the box when it comes to these things and he won’t ask too many questions.

Your train of thought is cut off as you feel the end of a pen dig into your side, glaring over at Tim.

He kept the pen pressed to your side, not at all being gentle about the small jabs as he tried to get your attention, silently gesturing to you to pay attention to the damn class, not whatever you were doing on your laptop. He’ll have to bug it, seeing as you’re not using your phone as much anymore.

You grimaced when you felt the pen being jabbed into your side again, a silent command to pay attention to the class and stop messing around on your laptop. You rolled your eyes and shot a glare at your friend, who was giving you a pointed look.

You begrudgingly closed the device, knowing that Tim would find other ways to get your attention if you didn’t stop being distracted. You sigh and silently resign yourself to actually paying attention to the class, although you made sure to shoot another glare at Tim for good measure.

Drake follows along quietly as you rush to pack up your belongings. The class seems to end faster than usual, and the moment the teacher releases you from the period, you grab Tim's sleeve and pull him along behind you, quickly making your way out the door with him in tow.

The hallway outside is filled with a mix of noise and chaos. Laughing groups of students chatter away amongst themselves, while others race through, late for their next class. The sound of sneakers scraping against the college’s floors loud and prominent. You push your way through the crowd, guiding him along as you make a beeline for the on-campus cafe.

As you enter the cafe, the atmosphere shifts to a more relaxed vibe. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods waft through the air, filling the space with a comforting scent. The cafe is moderately crowded, with students occupying the various tables and booths scattered throughout. Some chat amongst themselves while sipping on their drinks, while others are engrossed in their studies, textbooks spread out before them. There's a gentle hum of conversation that fills the cafe, blending with the soft music playing in the background.

As you scan the cafe for an available booth, your eyes roam over the cozy ambiance, taking in the various students enjoying their time. However, your search comes to an abrupt halt when your gaze falls on Dick Grayson, the young professor, sitting alone in the corner. You discreetly tug on Tim's sleeve and subtly gesture in Grayson's direction with a nudge of your shoulder.

You notice a subtle change in Tim's expression as his lips curve into a knowing grin. He doesn't seem all that fazed by Dick’s presence, almost as if he was expecting it. As if he was already aware that he’d be here. However, what you been blissfully unaware of was Dick’s impatiently bouncing leg, and the checking of his phone every few seconds.

You pull Tim along to the man’s booth, standing opposite him with a grin. Grayson’s face lights up at the sight of you, and he quickly places his phone face down on the table before standing up to greet you. Without hesitation, he spreads his arms wide, opening them in invitation for a welcoming embrace.

You eagerly accept Dick’s open arms, wrapping your own around his sides without a second thought. Seeking out the familiar comfort of his embrace. Your head fits perfectly against his chest, and you relish the feel of his warmth and the comforting familiarity of this act. Settling snugly against him like a younger sibling would to an older brother.

With your head snuggled against his chest, you're not able to spot the dark grins that spread across the brothers' faces as they exchange knowing looks, their gazes fixed on you.

You gradually untangle yourself from Dick’s embrace and slide into the booth, settling comfortably between the two brothers. Chuckling softly when the oldest Wayne seemed reluctant to let go of you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He chirps, resting his head in his palm and idly tracing around the carved lines of the table.

You nod, settling back into the booth and intending to let the two brothers continue their discussion without interruption. However, you quickly realize that their intense stares are focused solely on you, their gazes unwavering and intense. The intensity in their gazes prompt you to discreetly clear your throat in an attempt to break the silence.

"You both are staring at me like you have something to say," you comment. Fiddling with a loose strand at the end of your sweater.

The brothers exchange a glance, seemingly communicating silently between them with subtle nods and raised eyebrows. Eventually, Dick clears his throat and turns his gaze back to you, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Ah, sorry about that. Got a bit lost in thought." Dick says, his voice tinged with a hint of humor.

Tim, on the other hand, remains silent, his steady gaze not leaving you. His expression is unreadable, though a small quirk of his lips suggests a hint of amusement.

“Right...” You look down towards the table, noticing it empty of any beverages nor sweets. Had Dick not ordered before we got here?

You blink, realising your mistake and sitting up. “Oh, sorry. You guys know each other right? I’m sure Timmy-boy has at least one of your classes?”

Dick snorts, but quickly quietens down by a sharp look thrown from Tim. “Yeah, we’re... aquatinted.”

Tim subtly kicks Dick’s leg under the table before turning back to you. “Are you hungry?” His blue eyes analysing you.

You shrug, leaning back and drumming your fingers against the table. “I could eat.”

Dick taps the table, leaning forward to get a better look at you. His eyes flicker with curiosity as his gaze roams over your form, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "What do you feel like eating?" he asks, watching you drumming your fingers against the surface of the table. Tim's expression changes to one of interest as he observes you as well.

The waiter, ever observant, takes this as a cue to approach the table. "What can I get you guys?" he asks, his voice cheerful.

Dick cocks his head, still watching you closely. "We'll have some coffee and some pastries to start," he replies, his gaze flickering back to your fingers tapping against the table.

Tim adds, "Make that two coffees and a basket of assorted pastries."

You nod in agreement with their exchange, letting your hands fall to your lap as you continue to follow the conversation. "Ah, I think I'll go for the milkshake of the day," you add, addressing the waiter who's been patiently waiting for your order. "And I'll take the café's specialty coffee as well, please." Dick almost coos at your manors.

The waiter smiles politely and nods, taking note of your order before hurriedly walking away to place the order. Meanwhile, Dick props his chin on his hand, a sly grin on his face. "Aren't you a polite one?" he teases you, eyes glinting with playful challenge.

Tim watches the interaction, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Have you had breakfast?” The question is thrown with an air of casualness, but you know he’ll give you that sad puppy face if you say no.

You sigh, nodding. “Yeah, my roommates big on the whole taking care of myself or whatever. He’s a hypocrite I tell you.” You cross your arms, leaning back.

Dick snickers at your comment about your roommate. "Sounds like a character," he remarks, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. A fond smile at the thought of Jason.

Tim, on the other hand, looks sympathetic. "I can relate," he says, shaking his head. "I've got a brother who's always nagging me about eating healthy and getting enough sleep."

A small huff escapes Dick's lips in response to Tim's words, though it's not loud enough for you to hear. His expression momentarily shifts, a pout crossing his features.

After a few minutes of quiet banter The waiter returns promptly with a serving plate stacked with various pastries. He places it on the table and then sets the drinks down in front of each of you. As the waiter walks away, Tim quickly grabs two of the pastries and places them on a plate in front of you. Pushing the white porcelain closer to you with his pointer and middle fingers.

Dick, meanwhile, takes a sip of his coffee, a pleasant hum leaving his lips. Watching the interaction fondly.

"Go on," Tim encourages, nudging the plate slightly towards you. "Make sure to eat." His gaze is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

You glance down at the pastry, a feeling of warmth spreading through you at Tim's thoughtfulness. Before you can thank him, Dick interjects, a playful smirk on his face.

"Aww, look at that. Timbo's acting all chivalrous, ain't he?" he teases, elbowing Tim lightly in the side. Tim rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Can it, Dickhead," Tim mutters with no real heat behind his words, shoving Dick's hand off his shoulder. But it's hard to stay mad at Dick, especially when he has that charming smirk plastered on his face. He playfully ruffles Tim's hair, earning him a glare in return.

Dick just laughs, unfazed by Tim's retort. "Oh, don't be like that," he replies, a teasing grin plastered across his face.

Sensing the brewing banter, you take a sip of your milkshake, your attention flickering between the two.

Tim attempts to smooth his hair back into place, his gaze shifting to you. "Don't mind him," he says with another eye roll. "Dick's sense of humor never matured past the age of twelve."

Dick feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Hey, I'll have you know my sense of humor is top-notch," he retorts, a playful glint in his eyes.

Tim snorts, taking another sip of his coffee to suppress a laugh. "Sure it is," he says dryly. "If by top-notch you mean 'borderline obnoxious.'"

You can't help but chuckle at their banter, hiding your smile behind your milkshake.

The sound drawing the attention of the Wayne brothers as they turn their gazes to you. They watch you for a moment, their expressions softening at the sound of your laughter.

Dick's smirk widens as he observes your reaction, his gaze fixated on you. "Ah, there it is," he murmurs, his voice low and soft.

Tim, too, can't help but smile quietly as he watches you, his expression warm. There's an almost admiring look in his eyes as he tilts his head to the side, studying you closely.

You pick up the chocolate croissant, bringing it to your lips the pausing mid-bite as they’ve turned their attention to you.

Dick's eyes remain locked on you, watching as you pause in mid-bite. He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand once more, a playful glint in his eyes. Something dark hidden beneath the ocean swirls of his irises.

Tim, too, observes you closely, his gaze lingering on your face. There's an intensity in his gaze that was absent earlier; it's calculating, almost. A subtle hint of possessiveness in the depth of his eyes. He seems to be analyzing your every expression with a keen interest, as if trying to uncover some hidden secret. He lifts the coffee to his lips, taking a long sip and averting his attention elsewhere.

"You gonna eat that or just stare at it?" Dick teases, gesturing towards the croissant you hold in your hand. His tone is light, but the intensity in his gaze belies the lightheartedness of his words. It’s a subtle warning to eat.

You roll your eyes at the gesture, taking a bite into the pastry. It’s warm, freshly baked. The chocolate drizzled over the top as well as placed inside. It practically melts into your mouth. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth as you eat, hiding the grin. “It’s alright.” You lie through your teeth. It’s amazing. But you wouldn’t give the overprotective guys the satisfaction.

Dick snickers, seeing right through your lie. "Just alright, huh?" he says, feigning disbelief. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tim, a knowing glint in his eyes, takes another sip of his coffee. He can tell you're enjoying the croissant, as evidenced by the gleam of chocolate around your lips. But he decides to play along, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe you're just too picky," he comments. They’ll get you a life time supply of these once the plan succeeds.

You hiss, putting the half eaten pastry down onto the plate and elbowing his side. Unaware of the chocolate on your face which makes it hard for them to take you seriously. “I am not picky.” You huff, crossing your arms.

Dick suppresses a laugh as he watches you pout, unable to resist teasing you further. He reaches forward, swiping a finger across your cheek to collect a bit of chocolate that's been left behind.

"Oh really?" he says, a smirk on his face. He uses a napkin to wipe off his finger. His eyes never leave your face as he does so.

Tim, sitting to your side, watches the exchange. There's a hint of amusement in his eyes, but he keeps his composure.

You pause, an embarrassed flush coming over your face. How long had that been there?

"You've got a little something right here," Dick says, tapping the corner of his own mouth, indicating where the chocolate is located.

Tim can't help but smirk at Dick's comment, his eyes flickering to your mouth and then back up to your eyes again. He takes another sip of his coffee, leaning back in his seat.

You brush a hand over your face, wiping away the excess chocolate. Though the movement only seems to smear it further.

Dick chuckles, unable to contain his amusement. His eyes roam over your face, taking immense pleasure in the flustered state you're in.

"Here, let me help," he offers, grabbing a napkin from the table. He reaches out, gently taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head towards him. With a gentle touch, he slowly wipes away the residual chocolate with the napkin.

You felt more embarrassed than anything, resting your head against the table afterwards. Feeling like you just wanted to evaporate into the air.

Dick laughs, his amusement clearly evident as you hide your face against the table. He pats your head affectionately, his touch gentle.

Tim watches you, his expression more subdued than Dick's. However, there's a hint of a smile on his lips, a gleam in his eyes that betrays his amusement.

Dick relaxes in the cafe’s empty booth, leaning back slightly as he glances around the room with a touch of impatience. His foot taps rhythmically against the floor, a subtle sign of his restless energy. His grip on his phone tightens as his eyes remain fixed on the screen, watching the blinking red dot on the small map come closer and closer. His fingers tense around the phone's edges, his impatience growing with every passing moment.

As the blinking red dot reaches its destination within the bakery, Dick places his phone face down on the table and casually pretends to check over the menu’s items, feigning indifference despite his growing restlessness. He tries to act nonchalant, as if his mind isn’t anxiously anticipating your arrival.

Dick senses the familiar presence approaching, the shadows in the cafe becoming longer and stretching over his table. He manages to hide his growing excitement, attempting to feign nonchalance, but his giddiness is almost palpable. He looks up from the menu he was pretending to study, his smile betraying him.

He quickly rises from his seat, his body brimming with anticipation. Without hesitation, he opens his arms wide, the eagerness evident on his face as he waits for their baby birds embrace. Practically preening when you bury your face in his chest. He’s sure you can hear his heart going a mile a minute. You fit so snugly in his arms, like you were made to be there. His baby sibling.

He meets Tim’s crazed eyes, a dark grin crossing both of their features. He mouths slowly. ‘All good?’

His younger brother nods, fishing out his phone from his pocket to display the vitals silently. You were good, healthy. He hastily hides his phone once you pull away.

Dick almost lets out a whine. Why don’t you want to stay in his arms, baby bird? Can’t you tell you’re made to be there? Dick struggles to release you from his embrace, his arms reluctantly letting go as he allows you to squeeze yourself into the booth beside him. He manages to put some distance between you and himself begrudgingly, his eyes flickering to your face for a brief moment before shifting his attention to Tim.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He gazes at you with a soft smile on his face, resting his head on his palm as his thumb absently runs over the carved lines on the tabletop. Although he tries to hide it, there's a hint of a pout forming on his lips, clearly displeased by the fact that you've moved away from him. However, he brightens when you don't pull away and instead lean into him when his knee pushes gently against yours in a silent display of affection. Enjoying the proximity.

A comfortable silence runs over the table, a possessive smile on the brother’s faces as they watch you intently. Sitting there so perfectly, your nails picking at a screw on the bottom of your laptop. He shifts closer once you clear your throat, his baby blue eyes honing in on your form. His pupils dilated.

He lets out a content sigh at the sound of your voice. So melodic, it reels him in.

"You both are staring at me like you have something to say," Dick observes you intently, noticing the way you begin to pick at your sweater instead. He can see the anxious habit forming, and silently wishes he could reach out and gently grab your hands to stop you. However, he resists the impulse and simply watches you, his gaze filled with a mixture of concern and affection. He’ll help you with that destructive habit once you’re home, he promises, little bird.

Dick's gaze turns to Tim, a silent silent exchange taking place between the brothers. Dick raises a questioning eyebrow, his grin widening when Tim responds with a subtle nod. Their expressions betraying their shared excitement.

"Ah, sorry about that. Got a bit lost in thoughts." Dick speaks, his voice tinged with a hint of humor. Fondness evident.

“Right...”

Dick's eyes narrow as you sit up, shifting your position and inadvertently pulling your knee away from him. A wave of disappointment washes over him, and he has to bite back the urge to command you to put your knee back where it was. He tries to mask his frustration, his expression remaining neutral, but a subtle tension is evident in his body language. “Oh, sorry. You guys know each other right? I’m sure Timmy-boy has at least one of your classes?”

Dick relaxes a little at the sound of your voice, he grins at Tim's nickname, clearly amused by it. However, his laughter is abruptly cut off as he catches the disapproving look his brother gives him. Immediately sensing the tension, he composes himself, his grin quickly turning into a more subdued smirk. “Yeah,” Dick looks you over calculatingly for a moment, his eyes studying you intently as he tries to choose his words carefully. He pauses for a moment before speaking up, his voice measured and deliberate. “We’re acquainted.”

Dick's attempts to maintain a serious expression falter as Tim shoots him another pointed look and kicks his shin. He can't help but grin, finding his brother's disapproving glances more amusing than anything. He rubs his leg, the younger vigilante having not held back.

“Are you hungry?” His brother questioned, his gaze shifting back to you. You have to be hungry, Dick thought. Jason said you had eaten nearly five hours ago. They can’t let their little bird starve!

When you shrug their eyes narrow, the drumming of your fingers catching their attention. “I could eat.” Your voice broke the silence.

Dick coos. It’s okay, you don’t have to downplay how much you need food. We’ll look after you.

"What do you feel like eating?" Dick's voice comes out slightly breathless as he speaks, his words spoken with conviction. He knows your power over them, and he would do just about anything for you within reason. The cafe is no exception, and he knows that they would probably buy the place in a heartbeat if you so much as hinted at wanting it.

Dick glances at you as you silently scan the menu, his eyes locking onto Tim's right after. A silent conversation takes place between the brothers, their expressions communicating silently what their words can't. Tim then shifts his attention towards the waiter, gesturing for them to come over, while you remain focused on the menu options in front of you.

The waiter, ever observant, takes this as a cue to approach the table. "What can I get you guys?" he asks, his voice cheerful.

They wanted to cut the waiters throat out for the way you flinch at his unexpected presence. Too engrossed in the pictures on the menu to notice the world around you. Snapped out of it by his feigned cheerfulness. You probably hadn’t even noticed your own reaction, seeing how you instantly smiled up at him after.

You needed their protection, that was abundantly clear.

He clocks his head, not sparing the waiter a second glance. "We'll have some coffee and pastries to start," his gaze flickers back to your fingers tapping against the table.

"Make that two coffees and a basket of assorted pastries." Tim adds.

"Ah, I think I'll go for the milkshake of the day," you add, addressing the waiter. "And I'll take the café's specialty coffee as well, please." Dick has to hold back his coos at your manors. So polite.

He faintly hears the waiter’s descending steps. Dick props his chin back on his hand, a sly grin on his face. "Aren't you a polite one?" he teases you, eyes glinting. He’ll reward you for that later.

Tim watches the interaction, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Have you had breakfast?” The question is thrown with an air of casualness. As if the brothers weren’t already informed.

“Yeah, my roommates big on the whole taking care of myself or whatever. He’s a hypocrite I tell you.” You cross your arms, the childish action making Grayson want to squish your cheeks and hold you close. His baby bird is so cute, complaining about big brother. Not that you were aware that they were yet.

"Sounds like a character," He grins sharply, his eyes softened at the thought of Jason.

"I can relate," Dick’s attention is drawn to Tim as he speaks, the other boy shaking his head. "I've got a brother who's always nagging me about eating healthy and getting enough sleep."

He nearly squabbles. He does not nag. He huffs, crossing his arms at Tim’s words. A pout tugging at his bottom lip.

The rest of the conversation goes like a blur to Dick, coming so naturally to him, as if he was simply bantering with his family. Which he was. No one could tell him otherwise.

His attention is suddenly pulled back to reality as he notices the chocolate smeared across your face childishly, like a fussy child. You feel Dick's thumb gently wipe at your face, clearing away the smeared chocolate. There's something almost instinctual about his gesture, as if it comes naturally to him, like he's done it countless times before.

Dick chuckles as he responds to your surprise, a smirk dancing on his lips. He dabs at his finger with a napkin, his eyes fixed intently on your face as he cleans off the chocolate smudges. There's a hint of playfulness in his gaze.

Dick leans forward slightly, his gaze still fixated intently on your face. He notices the way your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and his eyes gleam with amusement. A delighted smirk spreads across his face, his eyes never leaving yours as he observes your flustered state. There's no denying it - you were the epitome of cuteness as a younger sibling. Your chaotic charm and antics had Dick and Tim wrapped around your little finger, and the two brothers couldn't help but adore every single moment.

"You've got a little something right here," Dick says, tapping the corner of his own mouth.

Tim couldn’t help but smirk at Dick's comment, his eyes flickering to your mouth and then back up to your eyes again. He takes another sip of his coffee, leaning back in his seat.

Their gazes softening further as you attempt to rid your face of the chocolate only to smudge it further.

"Here, let me help," he offers, grabbing a napkin from the table. He reaches out, gently taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your up head towards him. It’s hard to think straight with you looking up at him with that pout and flushed cheeks. Like a little kid clinging to their old brother after having a nightmare. How he wishes he had met you as a kid. He slowly wipes away the residual chocolate with the napkin. Hesitantly to let go.

The brothers let out hearty laughter at the sight of you burrowing your head into the table. They could practically see you trying to will yourself to disappear. Tim grins fondly, shuffling closer. Dicks own hand moving out to pay your head softly. Their touch affectionate and gentle. They wanted to see you like this all the time.

No use of y/n, no use of any descriptive features for the reader, no gender mentioned.

I tried to make the POV’s show the difference in how they interpret things. For example, where you may perceive Tim’s expression as a smile, Dick sees it as something dark. You pay more attention to Tim so he’s mentioned more, Dick pays more attention to you so you’re mentioned more.

Tim Drake is mentioned as ‘Mr Wayne’ because I’d assume that he’d be judged based on his family rather than his actual name.

Should I make a tag list? Would anyone even want to be put on a tag list for this?

Comments and questions are really appreciated!

For cat reader ask, declawing would also make your human sides nails gone too, right?👁️👁️ (I love my nails I could never)

I know, I know… it sucks…

But you'll get used to it eventually. And you'll have your family by your side to patch you up and cuddle you until the bandages laced around your fingers become bearable! You were just being so disruptive, y’know? They couldn't keep clipping your little claws every week. Not when you were constantly squirming to get out of your brothers' affectionate holds…

But that’s okay! After your next vet trip that won’t be a problem either!

You’ll be a good loving little kitten like they know you can be, by the end of the week!

Just how you were always meant to be.

Link to offical chapter

Cat reader? declawing me? Nuh uh, I'll bite them if they take away my claws. Muzzle? Easy peasy, I'll wrestle them, I'll die before obeying them, on god. I mean it.

Die?

Hide from them?

You really want to act out after last time? No. No. Reader. They’d never let that happen.

The bad behaviour is just piling on and on.

Don’t you understand? They’re only doing this out of love!

Do you know how to fix unwanted bad behaviour in a cat?

It’s alright, you don’t have to worry anymore… if it’s their only option then Tim will schedule the operation. They won’t have to worry about this… unfavourable treatment again.

I’ve heard that desexing a cat actually reduces their antisocial behaviour! …they’re doing you a favour, really.

Aw, don’t cry… don’t cry. You put this upon yourself. All you needed to do was be a good little kitten for them, is that really so hard?

Look, they’ll be generous. They’ll give you one more chance! Aren’t they just the best? Come sit in Bruce’s lap and Tim will put the phone down. You just need to be good. Can you do that for them, reader? Or does Jason need to hold you down again…

Previous on Cat Reader

Link to offical chapter

1224 words, 7239 characters, 54 sentences, 27 paragraphs, 4.9 pages. Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

You had always had a vague understanding that your biological father was well-off, as he would consistently transfer a substantial amount of cash to that woman each month. However, while you were fortunate enough to not have grown up in the most deprived area of Gotham, it didn't necessarily mean that you had lived in the lap of luxury either.

Despite the knowledge that your father was wealthy, you had still scraped by in a small, cramped apartment, constantly relying on his financial support and night jobs to survive. You supposed that your situation could have been worse, but it didn't make the reality any more bearable. You often wondered what it would be like to live in a well-appointed home and never worry about money, but those thoughts were quickly thrusted aside and squashed down by the woman’s polished heel. Every time, the woman’s sharp words brought you back to reality.

You hadn’t deserved that life. She would remind you time and time again.

You grimace, the thought of your mother, or rather, that woman, entering your consciousness disgusting you. You weren't sure if she'd ever truly earn the title of 'mother.'

It wasn't until you reached the age of eleven that you become painfully aware that not every child had to desperately plead with their mother for food, and that it wasn't normal for parents to hold their kids needs over their own heads.

It had become abundantly clear to you from a young age that the woman was never truly interested in motherhood and had only kept you out of a slim chance that one of the men she had whored herself out to would be wealthy. She targeted men at lavish galas, her sole purpose for going being to hook up with them in exchange for large amounts of money. They usually sent nondisclosure agreements along with the cash, ensuring her continued wealth. However, your existence disrupted her carefree lifestyle. ‘It was perfect, until you came along.’ She’d say.

She had exploited Bruce Wayne for money. Getting him drunk with enough press around to stress about his ‘playboy image’ to bed her. Afterwards, she demanded a large sum of money, and he gave it to her without a second thought. He hadn’t even fully read over the details. Just signing up for a wire transfer to her account every month for the next few years. He hadn’t even been aware of you.

Too preoccupied with training the young Robin to even be aware of your birth.

Throughout your life, the woman had consistently manipulated the truth, spinning a tale in which it was your fault that your father had ‘left.’ And, despite your reservations, a small part of you still believed her words.

She had carefully cultivated your sense of guilt, instilling the belief that your very existence had driven your father away. Her venomous words and manipulative behavior had left deep emotional scars, convincing you that you were unworthy of a loving father's affection. Or rather, anyone’s affection.

That day, when you turned sixteen, was the day that woman unceremoniously ushered you out of her home. Clothes and any belongings that she didn't deem worthy enough to sell for a few hundred dollars were carelessly thrown out into the hallway. By the time you made it back from work, most of your belongings had already been looted by the other tenants and homeless kids who roamed the building.

With a mixture of desperation and hope, you had gathered the few remaining possessions that you could salvage, cramming them into your work bag. Your fingers had trembled slightly as you dug out your old, cracked phone. Desperation clawed at your chest as you dialed her number and slammed your fist against the door.

You hadn’t been surprised when your repeated calls went unanswered. Frustration and anger boiled within you, mingled with a pang of hurt and despair. Deep down, you knew it was futile to even attempt to break down the door, as that would only result in consequences that you were unwilling to face.

With a steely determination, you forced back the tears that threatened to overwhelm you, walking to the nearest bank with a firm resolve. You withdrew every penny you had painstakingly saved over the past two years and closed the account, ensuring she could no longer access any of your hard-earned money.

Armed with the few thousand dollars you had managed to retrieve, you began a desperate search for someone, anyone, who would be willing to offer you a roof over your head. Despair gripped your heart as you realized how limited your options truly were.

At that point, the members of the Batfamily had been cognisant of your existence for about a year. Bruce having taken a DNA test for Alfred’s medical examination. Yet, despite their general awareness of your presence, it seemed they had made no direct attempt to reach out or provide assistance. On the surface, your life appeared stable. You resided with a supportive parent, attended school, and held down a job. From all outward appearances, there didn't seem to be anything particularly noteworthy or concerning about your circumstances.

But they were detectives. One would expect them to possess keen eyes for details, especially when it came to the nuances and subtle signs that might indicate something amiss. Yet, they had missed the marks, failing to acknowledge the more subtle indications of your turmoil.

Jason discovered you the morning after you had been cruelly cast out from your home. You were found sleeping outside, your weary head nestled against your overstuffed work bag. Wearing an old, frayed sweater for a makeshift blanket.

Typically, he wouldn't have paused to take note of a sight akin to this. He was all too gruesomely acquainted with the sight of homeless, neglected children on the streets. But as his gaze fell upon you, there was an unsettling sense of familiarity that snagged his attention.

The question nagged him persistently, scratching at his consciousness like an untamed itch. Where had he come across you before?

Then, suddenly, recognition flashed across his mind. You were the same child Damian had fixated upon just over a year ago. The demon spawns little obsession.

He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Why on earth were you on the streets? It was blatantly obvious that it wasn’t a safe environment for anyone, let alone you. The mere notion of the young Wayne finding out that his blood kin was unhoused would undoubtedly send the typically stoic demon into a frenzy.

He let out a resigned sigh, leaning down to gently nudge your huddled form. His sharp, calculating grey eyes roved over your slumbering figure, taking in every minute detail with a sense of keen observation.

You stirred at the touch, groggily lifting your head from your overstuffed bag. Your bleary eyes slowly peeled open, blinking owlishly in the early morning light. Confusion and exhaustion mingled in your expression as you caught sight of Jason crouched down in front of you.

That was the day your life began to intertwine with the tightly woven web of the Wayne family. From that very moment, you became ensnared within the complex and sometimes suffocating grip of the Wayne's protective and possessive nature.

No use of y/n, no use of any descriptive features for the reader, no gender mentioned.

Shorter than usual, but more of a dive into the reader’s backstory.

Comments, asks, and reblogs are very appreciated! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.