rough drafting it here but i think Batman has a special connection to the concept of child sidekicks in a way that defies modern feelings about child soldiers because he was the child who lost everything and felt he needed to make a change in the world but was denied the agency and choice to do anything. child Bruce would have fit right in with any of the Robins if he'd had a Batman and it's the fact that he didn't that ultimately drives him to extend the choice he never got. it was never about soldiers or "refusing to protect the children from themselves," it is, within the acceptable morality of the genre, respecting a child's personhood and ability to make decisions for themselves and giving them opportunities their adult never had. it's why you can't take the Robins away from Batman without significantly changing the character, because Batman was born from child Bruce's most heartfelt wish to be able to DO something about all the injustice in the world and so to deny other children that is to deny himself
The fact that Harvey is just massive is so... yes, just yes. He stands between you in the wind, so you don't catch a chill. You pass under his arm when he holds the door. He'll also do that thing, where you stand across a stretch of steps and take the person's hand to steady them as they descend. Don't touch the dirty railing when he's here. And he's carrying you the way up.
He also loves to just engulf you in his private booth. Nowhere to look but him. When you're being uncooperative, he simply manhandles you into the space or position you should be in.
He promised this was a one-time thing, despite his usual habits. You're terrified to be meeting Two-Face in his club, but you need the blackmail to stop. You were given a strict dress code, one that makes you grit your teeth to follow. Upon arrival, you're quickly ushered into his private lounge. The man himself stands to greet you, alone. He asks to take your coat, and you dare not refuse. He whistles at the sight of your compliance. You had been ordered to come in the jewels and heels he sent, and nothing else. This would be a one-time thing, as promised, but you won't be going home.
Wait but please consider dad harvey and Gilda but they're both alphas and you're an omega, I feel like their possessive behaviors get cranked up to to ten and they get to excuse you having a curfew under the guise that it's not safe for unmated omegas to be out at night, and well they're not wrong it is unsafe but you get the feeling they're doing it for other more nefarious reasons. Still you let it slide because it is a free place to stay after all, but it only gets worse.
Eventually you are forced to get scented by harvey or gilda just before you go outside, just so no one bothers you they say. But really we all know it's to keep other alphas off your tail
And I can only imagine they might go a little crazy to find out their little omega has been taking heat blockers when it's been months and your heat doesn't come at all, they might just have to do something about that.
I just gotta say i really loved your dad harvey and Gilda stuff I even went through some of your bruce and Clark stuff and it unlocked something in me clearly lol, you write so well so I can't wait to see whatever you put out next
I didn't even consider the omegaverse!!! How did I not consider the omegaverse?! This has such potential anon omg. I could take your brain out and kiss it.
They'd be sooo nosy about your heat, even in the beginning. You can try to brush it off as them living too long in an all-alpha household, but it's weird. Gilda can kind of play it cool, asking if you need anything for "that time of the month" before she heads to the store. You laugh that off and say you have it covered. She'll keep asking though. Harvey's like a bull in a china shop in comparison. He straight up barges in your room (he does that thing where he knocks as he opens the door đ€) and will be like, "That's your nest? You could have asked for more blankets." Jail. God save you from his "worries". All your friends are now under his scrutiny. Good luck to any of your alpha friends if they get a ticket, because there will be no disputing that shit. And given the nature of his job, he's exposed to a lot of the seedier sides of Gotham. It spurs a lot of "safety-minded" questions from him. One time, over dinner he regaled the two of you about a nightclub that was running an underground sex club for clients on their cycles. Apparently, the owner was trafficking some former clients out to rich buyers.
"You're not in that sort of scene, are you?" A truly horrifying question to get hit with by your sort-of-roommate at dinner.
"Harvey!" Gilda looked astonished, but there was a curious glint in her eye when she turned to you. "Don't mind him, he's tired. We know you're smarter than that."
Gilda is taking full advantage of whenever you're out of the house. She is scenting your pillows like someone has a gun to her head. It bothers her, you sleeping in another room, but you'll cross that bridge later. She'll leave little treats in your room, to dote on you. She likes to snoop through your things, and move them about if she's feeling mischievous. If you have any toys, they will go missing. She likes to try them out herself, or leave them where Harvey will find them, to rile him up. But by the second month of them missing, and the distinct lack of a desperate omega whining for help, Gilda notices something is up. The only reason she didn't find your blockers is because you keep them in your bag, to take with lunch. In a rare show of confrontation, she asks you about them. You're honest with her, seeing the conversation as just another one of their faux pas. If you ask what has her so curious, she'll give some excuse about an omega friend and drop the subject.
When you're in lock-down after Valentine's Day, your pills are tossed right down the drain. Your things are moved into their room, and the mattress from yours is moved to the basement for "time-outs". You're dreading your heat, your first heat in years. They keep talking about it, asking if "their little omega" is feeling any changes. They've made nothing unclear about how they want to take care of you. Gilda confirmed suspicions you'd previously felt ashamed of having, when she brought out your missing toys.
"I'll be keeping these safe for you," she'd told you. "But you can come ask for them whenever you need."
Harvey's taken charge of dressing you. You haven't seen much of your own clothes lately, relegated to Harvey's old pajama shirts. You suppose it's for ease for his "inspections". Every morning and evening, he checks between your legs for any changes. Gilda sometimes joins in as a second opinion. They claim it's so you're not caught off-guard, but you've never heard of "taste-tests" for an oncoming heat.
If you wanted to take a less fauxcesty route, this could absolutely go in a baby-trapping way. Maybe pregnancies between alphas are rare, and they've been trying for a miracle baby. They've considered an omega surrogate, but paid surrogacy is illegal in Gotham, and the wait-list for volunteers is dauntingly long. You were their missing puzzle piece.
I think they would be much more upset about your blockers in this scenario. They feel like a betrayal. Harvey has to calm Gilda down, framing it as a noble thing you did. You were protecting yourself while you waited for them. You couldn't let yourself be tied to some unworthy mate while you were lost in that cold, terrible world. They have you now, so there is no more need to take those awful, awful pills.
TW: yandere, hurt/no comfort, abduction, noncon, drugging, abuse of power, medical malpractice, restraints, gags, prison cell, vomit, hostage/extortion
You might have felt more distress, were you more sober. You didn't like the smell of⊠wherever you were. It smelled like disinfectant, and damp stone. The sheet pressed against your face smelled clean, at least. The rubbery bar between your teeth tasted clean, too. You felt light, as if your head had been stuffed with cotton. Through the haze, you knew you ought to be panicking. You simply couldn't will yourself to do so.
You couldn't find the strength to even roll over, though your arms were aching underneath you. All you could do was shift in the strange garment that was definitely not your pajamas.
It had been an arduous two months: two months of good behavior, participating in group therapy, and swallowing whatever the nurses handed him. If the doctor hadn't lied, it would be well worth it.
Harvey was admittedly nervous, when the guard turned him towards the solitary confinement block. Maybe it was all a ruse. Maybe they finally concluded he was a wild, incurable animal, that must never be let from its cage. He'd kill them. But not yet.
He waited for the guard to open the cell door. It was a small, sparse, but thankfully clean room. In the center, lay his payment. At least he thought it was. He couldn't be too sure, as this was their first time seeing you from this particular angle. Whoever had placed you here, had dumped you face-down on an air mattress, leaving your bare rear facing the door. After all the passing jokes about his upcoming "conjugal visit", that felt purposeful, and particularly crass. Though, it was hardly an unwelcome sight.
He entered the cell, barely hearing the door lock behind him. You were breathing, thank Christ, but you didn't stir. He knelt down, peering down at the exposed side of your face. It was you, alright, and you were out of it. You could only manage a confused hum at the callused fingers stroking your jaw. The bit gag you were drooling around muffled the sound.
"Couldn't even get a real mattress, huh?" He chuckled humorlessly. "Suppose that's all good behavior can afford."
It could afford one of Arkham's state-of-the-art straight jackets, though. He was half-disgusted that you had been bound up like a lunatic. The other half was thrilled at the implication he might have long enough with you for the drugs to wear off.
He ran a hand down your canvas-clad back in soothing motions. A pit was forming in his stomach. He hadn't been delusional enough to think you'd come willingly, but this wasn't what he pictured for you. Stripped down, bound and sedated, dumped in a dark cell to wait for a monsterâŠ
What else had they done to you?
"I'll just have a look. If any of them touched you, I'll twist off their hands."
Your eyes slowly opened, failed to focus, and fell shut again.
He needed to be careful with you. Keeping you on your side would be best. You could breathe easy, and he didn't want to put any pressure on your neck. Slowly, reverently, he shifted you to one side, lifting your thigh towards the ceiling.
It was beautiful.
Before him was the prettiest pussy he'd ever seen. Pretty enough to eat, though that would have to wait a moment. You looked clean, and uninjured. Curious, he ran an index along your folds. They were so soft. He was going to have you soaked, by the end of this.
Harvey leaned down to give your thigh a chaste kiss. The muscle quivered under his lips, but you didn't stir otherwise. Taking it for your blessing, he leaned in closer. He could smell it now, and it had him salivating. Neck craned to the side, Harvey gave a long, gentle lick to your folds. Heaven. He gave you another. Your clit started to peek from its hood, practically reaching for him. He pressed his face in deeper, wrapping it in the softer side of his lips. He could feel your heartbeat there, and he could almost believe it quickened from excitement. As he began to suck, weak, warbly little whimpers spilled past your gag. You began to move, still unaware, but responsive.
He was lost in you. All the cold, and the questions, and the screaming, and the nightmares, and the side affects⊠all of it melted away into you. You were here. You were here, in the worst place on Earth, but you were here with him. You were a pair that never should have been separated, but now that he had you, now that he was holding youâŠ
Everything would be alright.
He couldn't be sure when he noticed it, but there was a change. Your sleepy little whines became more insistent, distressed. The thighs that had been lazily twitching around him suddenly tensed, and began to shake.
Reluctantly, Harvey pulled himself away from your warm, and looked up at you.
You were looking back at him â at him â with big, teary eyes. You were still in a haze, he could tell. You probably didn't know where you were, but you could see the monster, and what he was doing to you. Once he met your gaze, you gave out some pleading, unintelligible mumble. He pulled back, wiping your wetness on his sleeve. With a hand on your hip, Harvey tipped you onto your back. The air mattress crinkled as he crawled over you, blocking out the the dim cell light. You must be getting a good look at him, now that he was so close. Your tears had finally spilled past your lash line.
He wanted to take the gag off, to kiss you without it. But, he didn't want to hear what you were trying to say. He couldn't listen to you beg him to stop. Your voice was starting to pick up, and the edge of fear was undeniable.
"No, none of that," he whispered. "I'm not gonna hurt 'cha. Gonna make you purr."
His hand found its way back between your legs. Your thighs shakily closed around his wrist, but you couldn't hold any meaningful force. You were fully crying, when he began working at you again. You must not have realized how you were pulling at his heartstrings. How could you, when all you understood was his unrelenting violation? When he could no longer bear your terrified face, Harvey slid an arm underneath you and pulled you to his chest. He could hear your muffled sobs more clearly now. He felt you shake your head against his shoulder. He wanted to tell you it was all going to be okay; that you were safer than you'd ever been.
You wouldn't have to go all the way. This wasn't the right time, the right place. He could wait for you. He would wait until he had you somewhere warm, in a proper bed, where you only knew the touch of silk and loving caresses. You'd be able to forget about the dark cell, the cruel restraints, and the men that brought you there. They'd never touch you again. He'd endure whatever he had to, to make sure of it.
He slipped two fingers into you. A choked sob escaped him at the ease of it. You were letting him in. He hadn't realized he'd started crying, himself. Shame needled through his chest at this display, but it couldn't slow him.
Harvey could feel your walls squeezing his fingers, trying to pull them in deeper. He found a spot that made you rock your hips into his hand. You were getting there. The squelching sound was becoming audible over your muffled sobs. He brought his thumb up to your clit, drawing a shaky moan from deep in your chest. Sweet thing. You were close.
The door abruptly screamed open, and guards and orderlies flooded the room. You were shouting: had that started before, or after the guards burst in? Innumerable hands ripped him off you. He thrashed out of reflex, until he felt a familiar prick in his neck.
"Fun's over, Dent."
"Stop," his speech was starting to slur. "What're you doing?"
A pair of orderlies entered and hauled you to your feet. You were unsteady, legs clamping together rather than supporting you. As you were raised, he slumped down to his knees. He watched helplessly as you vomited through the gag, yellow bile staining the white canvas of your restraints. The men shared disgusted looks, as they sat you in a waiting wheelchair. You sobbed even harder in your filth.
"She'll be fine. They're just going to get her cleaned up. You'll have to talk to the doctor about future visiting privileges."
His next appointment wasn't for thirteen hours, he thought, as your hysteric wails faded down the hall.
Harvey hates when you hide from him. You always find some cramped little hole to fold yourself into. Sometimes, it takes hours to find you. Others, minutes, but then he feels insulted. Did you really think he wouldn't check under the kitchen sink? It's not even over once he finds you. He can bargain, threaten, and yell himself hoarse. You never budge. It's always up to him to try to drag you out. You cry, and thrash, as he tries to keep himself from throttling you. It always ends with a punishment. He knows that it'll spur you to run and hide again. He does it anyway.
Imagine being a gardener/groundskeeper for Wayne Manor. It's a full-time job, and you take pride in it. You keep the grounds lush and manicured to the point of inspiring awe. You soak in every look of wonder, breathless compliment, and aesthetic instagram post. Mr. Wayne even regularly requests you cut flowers for his bedroom! Results like that never come easy, and you have lost days of your life cursing whoever installed the accursed original irrigation system. But the manor grounds have become your baby, and you're beyond proud.
There were plenty of perks, too. The job came with a little cottage to stay in. You'd never be able to afford the commute up the driveway, much less Wayne security, so you appreciate the little abode. It looks right out of the eighteenth century, and the single room and thatched roof do have you feeling like a servant at the Hameau de la Reine. You're provided some humble, yet quality, furniture with the space. It's cozy, though you really miss central heating and a/c. While the boarding situation is borderline monastic, your employer is very insistent your needs are being met. By the end of your first week, he'd replaced your gloves, your boots, and gotten you a fresh wardrobe of padded coveralls. You were told to simply add any food needs to Alfred's list for the grocer to pick up. You're pretty regularly invited to dinner, too. While it's nice not having to beat your crappy camp stove into submission every night, you'd rather not keep scraping through conversations with your boss and his family. They're nice, but a little too enthusiastic to have you in their house.
You understand why they're so⊠paranoid. Gotham is her gritty self, and being so wealthy isn't always the safety guarantee it's cut out to be. Thomas and Martha could tell you that. Still, you're pretty miffed all your guest requests have been rejected. You had to download their security software in order to access the wifi, and you swore it was causing some sort of lag on your devices. And most recently, Mr. Pennyworth had confiscated your space heater. Apparently it was a fire risk. While you certainly didn't want to go up in flames, you didn't know how you would survive the winter without it. The old Sassenach assured you you wouldn't be left in the cold, but he wouldn't spill any details beyond that. It's weird, and you're getting antsy. You love this job, but you're questioning how long you'll stay.
Is this a bad time to talk about Tim with maid reader?
Because he would absolutely menace you by jerking off into the sheets/clothes you have to wash. The idea of you scrubbing the linens by hand... He thinks back to the time hs caught you folding, using your chin to hold the sheets as you fold them in half, lips barely grazing the cotton... He can't help himself.
He would take you with him to meet Stephanie in the park. It's only proper, to have a chaperone when meeting a respectable girl like herself. But who's there to protect your honor, when he drags you on a detour on your way back home?
I've been craving Harvey in an isolated cabin, recently.
He keeps one as a safe house to run to, just until the heat dies down to something bearable. And he likes having a little woodsy getaway for the two of you.
He knows it's tough, having to run off the grid because of a job gone wrong. But, he's determined to keep you entertained. He'll teach you to shoot, making you practice on cans while he whispers encouragement in your ear. He can't keep his hands to himself, especially when you start knocking down targets.
had an amazing/terrible thought: which yandere do you think would ask captive reader to choose between telling him that she loves during sex or letting him come inside? like reader is so conflicted having to choose between feeding into his delusions or possibly carrying his child (which would objectively be worse)
p.s i have a feeling yan!clark would go about in a sweeter manner, pretending like reader has a sensible choice to make, while yan!harvey dent would leave it up to coin
trust ur instincts my sweet because this really does have clark and harvey written all over it for the reasons you listed
I think Clark would paint it as a last resort option. He just wants to hear you say it once! Thatâs all he needs and heâs really not asking for much. Heâll try to bribe you first â promising some outside time in the morning, bringing home the newest hobby youâve been begging for, anything he thinks would entice you. When youâre particularly stubborn about it, heâll bring out the ultimatum. If you donât tell him you love him, heâll just have to come inside you to prove just how much he loves you instead. Donât force his hand, honey.
Harvey tries to forgo the coin and let you make up his mind for him. Harvey is really the one that wants to hear you say it, but Harv wants to feel like heâs staking his claim in you by coming inside. Sure, Harv would love to hear it, but itâs not as knowing heâs got hold on you like this. Itâs really your choice about who you want in control for the evening and theyâll make it for you if they have to.
dad harvey is everything to me. please write more of him đ„č i loooove your work sooo much
Same, anon. I've been pouring so much into my Dent family fic, I hadn't realized how little he's been on the blog lately compared to my brain.
@angelamajiki and I had a convo that hasn't left my mind tho
Harvey would absolutely do the helicopter parent move of making you sign a contract promising obedience and good behavior in exchange for his care. I think he'd like having something to hold you responsible for, even if it's hardly binding.
The contract's invalidity aside, Harvey is going to dust off all that legal experience to draft an offer just rife with loopholes, vague terms and fine print. It's bad enough to be menaced into signing your life away, but now you're sorting through pages of twisting, run-on sentences and double negatives that send you in circles. You know the gist of it; he'd made this offer verbally (and concisely) before. The life free of worry he promised screamed of an undisclosed price. Seeing it spelled out on paper, especially like this, was not reassuring. You're not stupid; you know the contract isn't real. But he's dead serious, and you're not getting out of this room until you sign. So you pick up the pen.
You're meticulous, picking out the most egregious terms to cross out, amending clauses to be more specific, even adding conditions of your own. Refusing him could be disastrous, but you might be able to get some leeway, or even a potential escape. It's a massive risk you're committing to, trying to walk back some of his demands. Still, you initial every alteration, and slide your counteroffer back across the desk.
He's chuffed, to say the least. Here you are, cornered in an deserted office building, trying to negotiate with big, bad Harv. He reads carefully, smiling at what you caught, and what you missed. Some of your wording crosses into the back-talk he really ought to put you over his knee for, but he's enjoying this too much to be upset. He doesn't sign it either, but instead adds more changes of his own, and brings it back to you. His hands are warm and heavy on your shoulders as you read the counter counteroffer he's made. It's even more confusing with the cross-outs and marginal notes now. Whenever you hover over a section, he crouches down, right up to your ear. He's happy to answer any questions, if you think you can trust a word out of his mouth. Having a monster hunched over you doesn't make the jargon any easier to understand. Still, you don't let Two-Face scare you into jumping the gun. You take your time, hoping for any interruption.
He'll have to draft a new contract if you keep scribbling over this one. He hardly minds. Just keep scratching in your little demands, and daddy will play along as long as you like.
As time drags on, your will begins to falter. You've clawed back every dignity and compromise you dare reach for, and the final offer sits before you. Dent must have grown tired of standing, as he now occupies the chair next to you. Leg pressing into yours, he leans into you. His left arm is slung over the back of your chair, caging you to the desk. There's nowhere to shrink away to. He's taken your hand in his right, keeping your fingers closed around the pen as he moves you to the signature line. You're confounded by his patience. If this was the same man that hit the Gotham Merchant's Bank last week, he should be beating your head into the desk for testing him like this. Instead, a soft, indulgent smile plays on his remaining stretch of lips. He releases his grip, letting you hover over the page. You need to make another argument. Hell, you just need to find some more space to write something to buy more time.
"That's it, sweetheart." His free hand finds your thigh. "Ask for more."
TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Omegaverse, Alpha!Reader, Rampant Pseudo-Incest, Familial Neglect, Nonconsensual Touching, Bitching, Knotting, Controlling Behavior, Slight Dehumanization, and Choking. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
Wayne family meals were sparsely attended events.
Not for lack of trying. Alfred kept a strict schedule, unyielding to the scattered lives of your eclectic siblings. Breakfast at 7:00 AM, dinner at 8:00 PM, and lunch left out for the scavengers some time in between. Who would actually show up was anyoneâs guess. Dick was fairly consistent, Cassandra a close second, Stephanie a distant third. Tim would attend religiously for three or four before disappearing off the face of the planet for six months, and even when Damian was at the table, he had his nose in a book. The only constant was Bruce, of course, stern and statuesque at the head of the table. The dominant alpha, eager to lord over his pack. Heâd never missed a meal.
Neither had you, for the record. But whoâs really keeping track?
This morning, the table was fuller than youâd come to expect. Dick and Tim bickered on Bruceâs right and left respectively. Cassandra sat a couple seats down from Tim, watching the fight in her unblinking, owlish way. You were on Dickâs side of the table, but like her, youâd left a gap between yourself and the worst of the noise. With so many alphas crammed into one estate, minor spats were common. Tension always seemed to be thick in the air, whether from territoriality or resource anxiety or the bitter, curdling tang of a pre-rut haze. None of it made any sense, obviously. The manor was big enough to wander for hours at a time, Bruce Wayne was closer to owning every square foot of Gotham than he was to ever going broke, and there were plenty of places for your siblings to spend their rut cycles that werenât the manor. Not that any of them seemed to realize that.
You clenched your teeth, fighting the urge to swear. It was that kind of thinking â petty, avoidant, conflict-adverse â that had led to this, that had kept you as distant from the Waynes now as you had been when Bruce first adopted you. It was awful, really. Even in a family of black sheep, you were still somehow an outâ
â(Y/n).â
The sound of your own name barked in Bruceâs low monotone dragged you from your spiraling thoughts. Right. The second part of this daily ritual. At breakfast, Bruce would go around the table, asking for updates on his wardsâ lives with all the love and all the care of an army general demanding status reports from his ground troops. You mustâve missed Dickâs turn. That was probably for the best. You didnât need his latest modeling gig or shiny new girlfriend distracting you during what came next.
ââŠI got accepted into the program I applied for,â you explained into your lap. âFor my post-grad. It starts in fall.â
Dick laughed and patted you hard too-hard on the back. You had to catch yourself on the edge of the table. âGood job, kid. I rememberâ you mentioned that a couple months ago, right?â
You hadnât, but you nodded anyway. Bruce hummed.
âCongratulations. Gotham Universityââ
âItâs not in Gotham,â you said, too hastily. That mightâve been the first time youâd ever interrupted Bruce. âI⊠I thought it might be nice to try something a little farther from home. You know how it is.â
Bruce, for what it was worth, did not know. He loathed Dickâs apartment in Bludhaven, hated the winters Damian spent with his mother. Youâd hoped that staying at home during your undergrad years might endear you to him. In reality, heâd continued to treat you with the same frigid apathy and what embers of a social life you mightâve had in the city proper had been smothered by the distance. It didnât help that Jason â the only other person who didnât seem to intrinsically belong in Bruceâs pack, the only person who spared you a second glance at all â had bolted the minute he turned eighteen. For the past four years, youâd been a ghost haunting a house that wasnât your home. For the past four years, youâd been huddled in the corner of the packâs den, left to shiver while the rest of your family huddled for warmth.
This time, when Bruce spoke, you were giddy to cut him off.
âMetropolis is a long commute, but Iâm sure youâllââ
âItâs Gateway, actually. In California.â Finally, the glaze over his grey eyes fell away and you knew that you had his full attention. You had to bite your cheek to keep from smiling. âI leave next month.â
You could feel Bruceâs gaze burning into you. Dickâs, too. Youâd never been happier. âOh. Housing might be difficult to arrange on such short notice.â
âOh, you donât have to worry about that. Thereâs this grant, andââ And you were the legal ward of the man with the fattest trust funds on the east coast. This felt too obvious to warrant mentioning aloud and so you broke off into a breath of a laugh. âItâs all taken care of. Even the flight.â
First class on a luxury airline. With no return trip in sight, of course.
A wrinkle formed at the corner of Bruceâs lips. Not quite a frown, but not quite his usual icy stoicism, either. âIâm sure you can understand why this would feel rather sudden.â
You made a show of nodding, simpering. âI know, butââ You paused, shrugged. âI figured it was about time for me to spread my wings. Thatâs what alphas are supposed to do, right? Especially ones without a pack.â
Something flashed across his expression. Your lack of claim was a sore spot. The rest of your siblings had gotten their pack mark â a ring of Bruceâs teeth dug into the underside of their wrists â as soon as they turned eighteen. But here you were, four years into adulthood with no scars to show for it.
But if Bruce was ever going to care, the announcement of your upcoming departure would have been an odd time to start. The phantom of emotion passed â there and gone within the second. Wordlessly, he nodded to Tim, silently signaling that your conversation had come to an end.
You took no small amount of satisfaction in the fact that, even as Tim began to prattle on about his newest business venture, Bruceâs eyes remained on you.
~
In your worst moments, you believed that Bruce gave you such a terrible bedroom on purpose.
Youâd been ecstatic the first time you opened the door. Young, hungry, and freshly orphaned, you hadnât stood a chance against the manorâs silk sheets and wrought-iron terraces and huge crystal-clear windows. Youâd spent weeks luxuriating in the extravagance of it all, mistaking Bruceâs wealth for paternal affection. Two months passed before you realized the flaw in the design. You had to walk down four hallways, down three flights of stairs, and past two much more interesting turn-offs to reach your bedroom. No one had a reason to wander so far, not unless they were looking for you. And, of course, no one would ever think to look for you.
You were used to the isolation. Youâd come to expect it. Which mightâve been why it was so distressing to wake up smothered in Dickâs heady scent.
Mint and pine and arctic chill â like a bad flavor of gum. You recognized it automatically, but it took you another long moment to process the dead weight crushing you from above, the jagged pressure of his arm wrapped too tightly around your waist. Your eyes flashed open to find his body draped over yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck. Your dormant instincts flared to life, screaming for space, for security, for dominance. You shoved him away and retreated to the far side of the mattress, wrapping the comforter around yourself. Dick groaned, rolling onto his back and shooting you a lazy smile through his curtain of dark hair.
âMorning, little wing,â he chirped, voice deep and raspy with sleep. How long had he spent on top of you? âGotta say, there are nicer ways to wake a guy up.â
His tone was light, playful. You werenât so carefree.
âWhy are you in my room?â
âA man canât spend a little quality time with his favorite sister?â
You shook your head. He let out a breath of a laugh.
âJust come a little closer, alright?â
You hesitated, but Dick didnât waver. More problematically, heâd positioned himself between you and the door so, short of jumping off your balcony, there wasnât a way to escape without going through him. You shuffled closer, keeping the comforter wrapped around yourself, but if Dick noticed your aversion, he didnât take the hint. As soon as you were within armâs reach, he lashed out â catching you by the midriff and hauling you into his lap. He forced your head against his chest, pressing your ear to the muscle over his heart. You recognized the gesture. It was the same way someone mightâve soothed an agitated pup, a distressed omega.
You squirmed on reflex, but Dick was so, so strong. Yet another thing the rest of your family seemed to have in common.
âI really am proud of you,â he muttered. âYouâve always been so passionate aboutâ uhââ
âArt history,â you filled in. There was only so long you could spend alone in Bruceâs mansion, tucked away among so many dust-covered priceless treasures, before you took an interest in other forgotten novelties.
âRight. Art history.â He moved on quickly. âBut it got me thinking. It feels like we havenât been paying enough attention to you.â
Your traitorous heart soared. You did your best to stamp it back down. âItâs a little lateâ
âBetter late than never, right?â You tried to draw back, but his fingers rooted in your hair, keeping you in place. âWe never really got a chance to bond. I know youâre leaving in a few weeks butââ He paused, chuckled. âI donât think Iâve ever heard you purr.â
Purr? He had to be joking. Alphas didnât purr. Even betas had trouble doing it on command. You laughed, but Dick only drew you in closer.
âWhenever youâre ready, sweetheart.â
You tried not to sound as confused as you felt. âI⊠I canât do that. Like, physically.â
âGive it a try. Itâs not like we donât have time.â
Whatever. This was embarrassing, but Dickâs attention span was short and he was right â you had nothing but time, here. Heâd get bored eventually, slink off and forget this brief break from the status quo. He would leave you alone, and this time, you would remember to be grateful for the cold shoulder.
You let a minute slip by. Dick didnât move.
Another. He began to hum, leading by example.
By the time you reached five â his heartbeat counting out the seconds like a metronome â you were uncomfortable, sweating, and desperate to get away. Your vision blurred. You missed Jason. Your skull felt too thick. His scent had poured into you, leaving the taste of mint nauseatingly thick on your tongue. Anything would be better than this. Even utter humiliation.
It was a terrible, creaking sound â starting at the base of your throat and leaking out through your pursed lips. You would barely call it a whine, let alone a rumble, let alone a purr. Still, Dick laughed and let go of you, dragging his hand through his disheveled hair. âI donât know why we never noticed how cute you are,â he said, finally, finally getting up and moving towards the door. âSee you at breakfast, little wing.â
Once he was gone, you stewed in your embarrassment for another minute or so before deciding to treat this like what it was: a fluke. An exception. Some form of hazing administered too late to have its desired effect â whatever that effect was supposed to be. Face still warm to the touch, you dragged yourself out of bed, got dressed, and slinked out of your bedroom, determined never to think about Dickâs sudden outpouring of brotherly affection again.
Your self-inflicted amnesia mightâve lasted, too, had the first thing youâd seen upon stepping into the dining room not been Dickâs smile as he whispered into Bruceâs ear.
~
It quickly became very, very difficult to remember why youâd ever hated being ignored.
Dick was the worst by far. Suddenly, he had nothing better to do than trail after you through the mansion, asking constantly what you wanted to do with your big brother that dayâ like you were ten rather than twenty-two. Tim was just as much of a menace, albeit not half as clingy. He always seemed to be just outside of your peripheral, only as close as he needed to be to steal away your half-finished drinks. Stephanie suddenly wanted to take you shopping, insisting that she pay despite your reminders that both of your credit cards were linked to the same account. More than once, Cassandra sat too close to you at dinner, nearly in your lap.
Even Damian â young, stoic, frigid Damian â once made the trek to your bedroom to ask for one of your blankets in the middle of the night. You were too confused to think to refuse, but as you handed off a spare quilt, you managed to ask him why heâd want yours. Another alphaâs. He only pursed his lips, shaking his head.
âI donât know,â he said, glaring at the floor. âYouâve smelled different, recently. Sweeter.â
Through it all, Bruce never said a word to you.
To make it worse, all the attention made you sick. Literally, physically sick. Your head felt light, your body hot. You had no appetite but ate like a starving animal. You slept more, left the house less. More than ever, you dreaded the thought of being left alone.
Worst of all, being around your family became excruciating. Their voices were too loud. Their mixed scents were too overpowering. Youâd never had a very strong constitution, but you were still an alpha, still meant to be able to withstand the juxtapositional pheromones and verbal disputes that would terrify a beta and reduce an omega to a sobbing mess. Suddenly, though, you were as sensitive as a pup â barely able to tolerate your siblingsâ usual bickering. Even the smallest argument left you fleeing the room to hide away in some long forgotten part of the manor.
That mightâve been why itâd been so easy for Jason to catch you alone.
Youâd just locked yourself inside of one of Bruceâs seven (count them, seven) auxiliary libraries when the tell-tale tapping on the window, a muffled voice calling your name through the bullet-proof glass. You were at the window in a second, unlocking it in another. You barely had time to step back before Jason hauled himself through and pulled you into a blissfully suffocating bear-hug.
He looked rough. Rougher than usual, though you hadnât seen him in the better part of a year. You felt the worn leather of his jacket against your skin as he pulled you against him, spotted a few splotches of red hair where his cheap black dye hadnât stuck. He stunk of metal and gasoline and chemical fire, and youâd never been so happy to see him. You melted into him for as long as you could, only letting go when his hands found your shoulders, gently easing you just far back enough for you to see his grinning face.
âThereâs my pretty girl,â he drawled. You swatted him in the arm and he went on, feigning offense. âHey, that barely hurt. The rest of Bruceâs acolytes must finally be softening you up.â
âPlease donât talk about them,â you whined. âTheyâve beenâ God, itâs terrible. Ever since I told them I was leavingââ
His smile widened, showing teeth. âFinally. You have a place lined up yet? Iâve got a spare bedroom downtown, if you donât mindââ
You cut him off with a bubbling laugh. âDonât be ridiculous. Iâm going back to school. Gateway City.â And then, softer, âLike we always talked about.â
His hands twitched. His scent took on a smokier note, not unlike a freshly snuffed cigarette. Still, that lip-splitting grin held strong. âI mean, thatâs what you told Bruce, butââ He broke off, clicking his tongue. âCaliforniaâs pretty far. I wonât be able to look out for you all the way out there.â
âYou donât look out for me here.â You couldnât help it. Your voice broke on the last word, your joy draining away as his grew colder. Panic flashed across his expression. He started to draw you closer again, but you waved him off â pressing a hand into his chest. âIâm sorry, I justâ I thought youâd be happier for me. Considering how quickly you got out.â
âItâs not the same, though, is it?â The question had a cruel lilt to it. âIâm an alpha, kid.â
And just like that, youâd forgotten why you were so happy to see him.
âI know. I am, too.â
âReally? âcause you donât smell like one to me.â
Your shoulders dropped. You started to turn away, but he caught your wrist, jerking you back against him. His arm locked around your neck, cutting off your airflow. You gagged, clawing at his sleeve, but Jason only held his ground.
âItâs not that complicated.â His grip tightened. Black spots dotted your vision. You wouldâve coughed if your throat hadnât been clenched so tightly shut. âIf you want to be an alpha, youâre gonna have to act like one.â
But you couldnât. You were Bruceâs least favorite for a reason. The muscle hadnât taken. The strength training hadnât stuck. You hadnât inherited his discipline. And, worst of all, there was that little, traitorous voice in the back of your head urging you to submit, submit, submit. It was yours, but you didnât recognize the inflection, the cloying lilt. Wherever this instinct had come from, it wasnât from you.
You tried to kick, to thrash, but your body was sluggish, resistant. The idea of hitting Jason left you light-headed in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the oxygen deprivation. Behind you, he sighed. If you hadnât known better, you mightâve thought he sounded disappointed. âCâmon, kid,â he said, barely loud enough to be heard over the blood rushing past your ears. âDonât make me do this to you.â
But you couldnât stop him. You couldnât do anything. You couldnât even make the only person who cared about you, the only person who mightâve even come close to loving you, stop hurting you.
Your body gave out a moment before your mind did. You were vaguely aware of your legs giving out, of your form going limp against Jasonâs chest. His arm fell away from your throat, catching you by your waist instead. The last thing you felt was his shoulder biting into your stomach before your brain caught up with your lungs and the world went dark.
~
The first thing you felt upon waking up was warmth.
Awful, needling, searing warmth. The kind of uncomfortable heat that came from falling asleep in the sun and waking up hours later, dying of thirst and too disoriented to remember how to open your eyes. It took you long, aching seconds to grasp any other sensation, only to wish that you hadnât bothered trying when you finally did. Something hard and cold bit into your back â laminated wood, the surface of a desk. There was something lodged between your legs. You could feel hands cupping the outside of your thighs, a tongue moving over yourâ
Reality came flooding back in too quickly, too roughly. New instincts be damned, you were going to be sick.
You wanted to bolt, but your body still felt heavier than it shouldâve been. It was all you could do to force your eyes open, to take in the moulded ceiling and dim yellow lights of Bruceâs office. You tried to sit up, but a pair of hands caught your shoulder, easing you back down onto the desk. Bruceâs desk. You were on Bruceâs desk.
And you werenât wearing any clothes.
The sight of your own skin was more startling than it shouldâve been. You watched in horror as your exposed chest heaved weakly, as your bare knees shook and twitched where they were propped on someoneâs shoulders. Dark hair formed a black hole in the center of your vision, and for a terrible moment, you thought it mightâve belonged to Dick. But then the rough edge of a scar pressed into the inside of your thigh and even an even worse possibility dawned on you.
Jason.
The horror was immediate and all-consuming. You couldnât move. You couldnât think. You felt his lips seal around your clit and suck, and it was all you could do to let a miserable whine slip through your gritted teeth. There was a groan â deep and satisfied and brought on solely by your sounds of distress. His attention dipped lower, touch slipping into your cunt, and involuntarily, you strained against the hands pinning you down. There was an airy chuckle, a hushing-like noise, then Dickâs face dipped into view, peering at you from above. âThere she is,â he cooed, in the same cloying, saccharine lilt heâd used the morning heâd trapped you in your own bed. The morning heâd tried to make you purr. âWe were wondering when youâd wake up. Jason always gets a little rough, doesnât he?â And then, his eyes skirting to the side, âToo rough to handle something so delicate. In my opinion, at least.â
Jason pulled back just far enough to speak. âShove it, Richard.â
âAnd such a temper.â Dick sighed, leaning towards you. âI just thought, if we had to find our little sister a mate, it should be someone more likeââ
âThatâs enough, Dick.â
A new voice. Cold, steady, commanding. All the warmth left your body at once.
Knowing Jason was willing to do this to you hurt. Knowing that Bruce was in on it, tooâŠ
You didnât even know what to call that type of pain.
Maybe it wouldâve been better, had he at least been an active participant. But he wasnât even trying to touch you. He sat on the lounge against the far wall, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped professionally between his legs. His expression was set in the same unfaltering neutrality he always wore, the neutrality youâd once mistaken for disinterest. His eyes â half-lidded and impassive â were fixed on you. He didnât look away as you stared past Dick to meet his gaze.
There was a thin sigh, a readjustment to his posture. Jasonâs tongue curled inside of you. âJason has a more dominating presence. Thereâll be less resistance if he initiates the bond.â
âBut that doesnât mean heâll be a good mate.â Immediately, Dick was on the defensive. Youâd always wondered how someone so quick to argue had managed to stay Bruceâs favorite for so long. âAnd heâs so far. We might as well have just let her move to the other side of the country.â
âThe necessary arrangements have been made. Jasonâs agreed to stay with us â for a time, at least. Until the worst of the bond sickness passes.â Bruce paused, pinched the bridge of his nose. You wouldâve sworn his eyes were closed, and yet when Jason smirked into the inside of your thigh and began to speak, Bruce cut in before he could get a word out. âIâm already giving you my daughter, boy. Donât make me change my mind.â
Dick frowned. âI mean, by that logic, arenât you technically giving her yourââ
âThatâs enough, Dick.â
He frowned, but didnât spend long licking his wounds. His attention fell back to you, his eyes widening as he bent down to your height. âI tried to volunteer,â he whispered, close enough for his lips to ghost over the shell of your ear. âBut Jason beat me to it. I think heâs had this on his mind for a while.â
It was an awful thing to say. It was a vile thing to say. It was a cruel thing to say. You wanted to tell him to shut up, to leave you alone, but when you opened your mouth, all you managed to do was cry out. The knife-sharp bridge of Jasonâs nose ground into your clit. Heâd fallen into a steady pattern of lapping, twisting, shoving the most invasive part of his body that much deeper into the most vulnerable part of yours. It shouldnât have felt so terrible. It shouldnât have felt like anything at all. Alphas were insensitive, lumbering things. Alphas were strong enough to withstand something like this.
So why werenât you?
His tongue slipped out of you, two thick fingers immediately taking its place. He spread you open as his tongue lapped the slick off your thighs, your skin. A few strokes later, his tongue found your clit and circled it, and your body cracked apart underneath him. The pleasure â if you could even call it that â was too hot, too smothering, too much. You waited for the backlash, the pressure of an internal knot clamping down around nothing, but it never came. There was only the burning heat, and beneath it, a voice that didnât belong to you begging for more.
Jason nursed you through the aftershocks before pulling away. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth and pushed to his feet, placing his body between your dysfunctional legs. Again, you sought out Bruce. âYou did something to me.â
Immediately, Dick was there. âWe just gave you a nudge in the right direction, thatâs all. You said it yourself. We were running out of room for another alpha.â
Youâd never said that, but it wasnât worth the breath it wouldâve taken to correct him. You met Bruceâs eyes. âPlease, Dad.â
To his credit, he didnât so much as hesitate. âYouâre not a good fit for our pack. I must have known that, butââ He broke off, shook his head. âItâs better, this way. You deserve a mark. Iâm sorry we denied you one for so long.â
But he wasnât getting up. He wasnât bearing his fangs, wasnât asking for your wrist. He was just watching â staring on as Jason traced the head of his cock over your entrance, as he began to ease into you. You acted on reflexâ hands flying to his shoulders in a vain attempt to push him away. That was a mistake, too. Before you could so much as make contact, you were on your stomach, both wrists pinned to the base of his spine while he thrust into you unopposed. You braced yourself for blinding pain, for a bone-deep sense of wrongness, but it never came. Instead, a pleasant buzzing filled the empty corners of your mind. Your body relaxed, welcoming him in. Liquid heat pooled in your veins, weighing you down and turning you into something heavy. Something wrong. Something else.
It felt right.
Understanding dawned on you in a single, horrifying flash. The gifts. The forced proximity. The shows of superiority. The way theyâd observed you so unfalteringly over the past few weeks. An old term glanced over in textbooks and on the category listings of sketchier porn sites resurfaced from the forgotten depths of your mind â bitching. But that wasnât supposed to be real. That wasnât supposed to be something your family could do to you, no matter how little they loved you.
It was impossible and it was happening. You could feel Jasonâs chest against your back, his tongue on your neck as he rocked against your ass. In front of you, Dick cooed and shrugged his jeans low on his hips, freeing his own painfully stiff cock. He tapped the leaking head against your lips and you locked your jaw in place, determined to safeguard what little dignity you had left. Dick only clicked his tongue, forcing his thumb past your lips and wrenching your teeth apart. He shoved himself into your mouth before you had a chance to bite down, his tip ramming into the back of your throat and making you gag.
There was an airy moan, a pleased sigh. Dick let his eyes fall shut, resting a hand on the crown of your head and petting. âGood girl,â he murmured, blunt nails raking over your scalp. âLetâs not talk about leaving anymore, alright? Just lay back and let your pack take care of you, from now on.â
His tone was light, soothing. It mightâve been more comforting if he hadnât followed it up by tangling his fingers in your hair and jerking you forward, forcing your nose against his pelvic bone and fucking his cock into your throat.
The fullness was the worst part. Tearing you open, weighing you down. Your jaw throbbed where it was stretched around Dickâs cock, your cunt aching under the bruising force of Jasonâs abuse. His hands were too tight around his hips, his pace too brutal to make you feel anything but scared. There was a rumbling growl, then you felt his mouth on the curve of your throat, nuzzling into you. A terrible, alien pressure beat against your entrance once, twice before he managed to force that much more of himself inside of you. Immediately, every nerve in your body flared to life. It took you a moment to understand the source of your agony, but not much longer. Honestly, the only surprise was that you hadnât thought to dread this part sooner.
Heâd knotted you.
But that couldnât be right. Alphas only knotted theirâ
His mouth, moving over the tender flesh above your jugular. You tried to scream, to thrash, but Jason was so heavy on top of you and Dick only groaned as his cock smothered your voice. You couldnât move. You couldnât tell him to stop. You couldnât do anything as Jasonâs teeth sunk into your throat, breaking skin and drawing blood. Marking you â albeit, not in the way youâd spent so, so long waiting for.
In a daze, you looked toward Bruce. He hadnât moved, of course, only leaned forward â propping his cheek on his fist. His dark eyes were cold as steel, but that wasnât the worst part.
For the first time you could remember since heâd taken you in, Bruce Wayne was smiling.
thinking about bruce using you like his comfort stuffed animalâŠhe comes home particularly banged up from patrol and the only thing heâs asking alfred for is you. heâs so much more relaxed when alfred gently herds you into the room and bruce holds his good arm out so you can lay next to him in bed. he keeps you curled up next to him while alfred stitches his wounds and patches him up, murmuring love into your skin while he kisses it.
