Platonic Yandere Batfam x GN!Reader
sm: They say children must be innocent.Kind, obedient, submissive, and silent.
If they are obedient, they are good; they cannot make too much noise.
They become puppets of monsters and no one says stop to this.
When you steal a child's soul, what is left in their hands?
Tw: Violence, rape, child abuse, yandere behavior, murder, suicidal thoughts, non-consensual drug use, gender-neutral reader, emotional numbness of the character, no comfort, forced confinement, ensest
Songs used: Mitski - Class of 2013, KORN - Daddy
a/n: English is not my native language and there might be mistakes, I'm sorry.
This writing took a lot of effort from me.
First of all, I do not support or romanticize anything in this fiction. I was also raped. If you are easily triggered or underage, please do not read.
If you have been through these things, you are not alone, and if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me or get professional help. Your health is important.
Likes, comments, and reposts make me very happy 🩷⭐️
Tears stream endlessly from your eyes as you gaze at your hands, stained with blood and scarred with wounds. You stand there barefoot, unconcerned, while the ground is littered with shards of glass.
Because when you feel that physical pain, it's nothing but trash compared to those ugly, twisted, raw emotions.
You're still so young, so small, and you can't begin to fathom how you ended up here. All you want is to sink into your mother's embrace, and for her to lift the weight of forgiveness onto her shoulders. But she looks at you as if you were nothing more than a bug to be swept away from under her feet.
You were six years old that day, when your mother's heart decided to move on.
Your mother had finally found her financial freedom and left your father. When you first heard the news, your heart soared with joy. You thought your days with your father were over, a chapter closed because you hated him.
You overheard it during a chat with a friend, and if you hadn't caught the rest, you would have rushed to your mother with open arms, bursting with joy.
Can I stay at your place tonight?
“(Y/N)? Of course, they'll stay with their father. I can't bear to look at they anymore. I know it's not they fault, but every time I see they face, my mind flashes back to that night when that man raped me. How could I bring myself to tell they that they the fruit of that horrific night?"
Your feet could no longer carry the weight of your body. Tears streamed endlessly from your eyes, and your screams echoed through the house, making it tremble. When your mother came to you, you wrapped your arms around her feet, pleading with all your heart.
“Please, Mom, don't leave me alone with Dad! Take me with you! I'm so sorry, I swear I won't be a burden! I'll do everything you say, and I'll even take care of myself! Just don't leave me with him! Please... I'm begging you!"
What if I stay for a year or two?
You begged until your voice faded away.
You were born from a rape. Your father raped your mother. You couldn't bear it. How could you? You were only six years old. It was a devastating blow for an adult, but for a child so young, it was a world-shattering, tenfold shock.
Your mother soothed you with whispers, made promises she couldn't keep, and while you slept, she packed her bags and vanished. Because you were nothing to her, just a problem to be solved. The next day, when you realized this, you went wild, wreaking havoc everywhere. The thought of your father coming home that evening was the last thing on your mind. Shards of glass scattered like shattered dreams, and you, leaning against the wall, your gaze lost in the ground.
Then the door swung open, and heels clicked in. Your mother swept in, her presence radiating with grace, and her gaze swept the room, taking it all in. Your mother was a woman of unwavering dignity, always rising above the pain she endured.
Your head shot up, and without a second thought, you dashed toward her, barefoot, not even noticing the blood trickling from your feet.It would be just to find rest at night.
“I knew it, I knew it! You didn't leave me, did you, Mom? You couldn't possibly leave me behind, could you? Please tell me you haven't left me behind, that you'll take me with you!"
And I'll leave once I figure it out,
Amid your sobs, a smile bloomed, and with hope shining in your eyes, you gazed upon her. Your hands clutched at his hem, and you crumbled under the weight of his cold, emotionless gaze.
How can I pay for my own life too?
“Could you please shed that selfishness, just a little bit? You're just as helpless as your father. I can't believe you're really my child. You're nothing but a problem.”
Mom, could you wash my back, please?
After those words, it's no exaggeration to say the world collapsed around you—you were utterly devastated. Your mother flung you to the ground, against the windows, as if you were nothing more than trash to be thrown away. As blood spilled across your bodies, your mother placed a document on the table and vanished.
Just this once, and then we can let it all go.
Your screams echoed through the neighborhood, shattering like delicate porcelain.
Your mother couldn't have left you, could she? How could that angel-hearted, gentle, beautiful woman—whose eyes sparkled with a love you later realized wasn't real—say those words to you and then vanish? No, no, she most certainly DID NOT LEAVE. She couldn't leave; she couldn't abandon her precious child. SHE JUST COULDN'T.
She couldn't bear to leave you alone with that monster.
And I'll let go of what I've been chasing,
After your mother left, you remained there, lying still, as if time had stopped. Your whole world vanished, leaving you to face death alone. All you wanted was to follow him, to stay by his side, and to keep your father far away. Were you truly that selfish? Your mother endured so much pain, putting up with that vile man because of you, and now you dare be angry with her for leaving you? My God... How utterly selfish you are. You must gather your strength and blossom into the noble child your mother envisioned.
For the other girls (people) to chase after.
But you can't be. Your mother wants you to grow; you're still a child. So, that's who you are, isn't it...?
Mom, am I still young at heart?
Reality slipped away, and you were lost in dreams, oblivious to the passing of time. This was the moment you first let your mind drift, floating away from reality.
Can I let my dreams dance a little longer, just for a few more months?
And your father came home.
You were still in the same place, lost in yourself and shut off in your own fantasy world. You felt nothing as your father yelled at you, kicked you, hit you, and threw you around. Your face was blank and emotionless. You were six years old the first time you became detached and felt no pain.
The pain you endured the next day didn’t help much, but it was manageable.
Your father became even harsher.
“You good-for-nothing brat! You should never have been born!”
The insults grew even harsher. You remained silent; you didn’t speak, because you knew that staying silent was the only way to survive.
Some nights you couldn’t sleep; you’d stare into the void and imagine your mother taking you away. It was an impossible dream.
The next day, your father would take his anger out on you again, smashing things and beating you until you were unrecognizable.
You didn’t know why you were still alive; there was nothing worth living for, but you didn’t have the courage to die either. Your father would kill you eventually anyway.
A year like this passed, and your faith in your mother faded.When you turned seven, you experienced your second withdrawal.It was also the first time you began to hate your own body.
This time, your father had drunk more than ever before; even though you tried to stay away from him, he constantly demanded more and more from you. Sometimes you wondered whether you should smash whatever was in your hand over his head.
As things continued this way, suddenly everything fell apart.
“Little child looking so pretty.”
He grabbed you and sat you on his lap, and continued without paying any attention to your pleas. It was impossible not to remember how much it hurt. The disgusting words coming out of his mouth made you want to vomit. The things he did to your body were so repulsive in that moment that you wished God would take your life.
You wished your father had killed you long ago.
You struggled as tears streamed down your cheeks, begging him to let you go.
“Innocent child, looking so sweet.”
His laughter echoed through the room—repulsive and ugly. He was mocking you, taking pleasure in your pain.
“I rape in my eyes, and on your flesh I'll eat.”
What have you done to deserve this? You’re just a CHILD.
For God’s sake, he was your father.
HOW COULD HE RAPE HIS OWN CHILD?
You wanted to scream but you were in shock; you couldn’t even move.
Your mind was shattered; after a while, you felt as though you weren’t even in your own body.
Tied down, “that’s a good boy.”
When your father finally fell asleep, you grabbed your torn clothes and crawled into the room. It took you a long time to do this; it took a while for you to come to your senses.
And it hurt so much. God is my witness, it would have hurt less if you’d died in a fire. I wish your father had died today.
I scream, no one hears me.
You wanted your mother. At least she would have stopped it, wouldn’t she?
Would your mother have believed you? She had to believe you. She had to.
My God, I saw you watching.
Who were you trying to fool? He’d watch and then leave. Your mother had given up on you.
MOMMY, WHY? Your own child.
I wonder if things would have been different if you hadn’t been born in Gotham? Was this city’s curse affecting you?
That was the day you tried to commit suicide but failed.
When you turned eight, you experienced your third episode of isolation.
It was also the time when you became completely numb.
Your life was miserable and awful; you tried to kill yourself countless times, but God—if He exists—seemed to hate you. Or perhaps He didn’t even notice you existed.
Your father ran out of money and started making you work. Your small body was strained, in pain, and on the verge of fainting. You still couldn’t understand how you were still alive. You should have died long ago.
Whenever your father drank, he would continue to sexually abuse you, and this had pushed you to your breaking point.
You couldn’t earn enough money, and most of it went toward that monster’s booze. If you didn’t work, he’d become even more ruthless—he wouldn’t let you leave the house and would literally chain you up.
When your birthday came around, you thought about secretly buying a simple cake and celebrating on your own. Yes, life was terrible, and you cursed the day you were born, but you figured you at least deserved a cake.
When you walked into the house, there was another man standing next to your father; he was old, too, and he was staring at you with a repulsive look in his eyes.
“What a sweet little child.”
As fear coursed through your veins, you tried to rush into another room, but your father grabbed you by the arm and shoved you in front of the man.
No, no, please, not today. NOT TODAY!
You screamed, struggled, and tried to run away. It had finally sunk in.
You didn’t even know how you’d managed to hold on this long; you were on the verge of losing your mind, and the thin thread had snapped.
That scumbag dragged you into a room and raped you. Something inside your mind snapped, and you just stared at the ceiling. You barely even blinked.
You didn’t move, you didn’t make a sound; even as your eyes turned bloodshot, you kept staring. Your senses died, your emotions vanished, and you had become a monster.
It would destroy everything around it.
The man must have been startled by the situation, because he stopped and backed away.
“You freak of a kid, you ruined my whole mood.”
When he still didn’t react, he collapsed onto the floor next to you. You stayed there until he fell asleep; as soon as you heard him snoring, your body automatically stood up and made its way to your makeshift kitchen.
Grabbing one of the kitchen knives and with a smirk on your face, you made your way to where the man was sleeping.
First this scumbag, then the other creature.
They won’t be able to hurt you anymore.
You raised your knife and plunged it into his throat without a second thought. He didn’t even have time to scream. With blood covering you from head to toe, you walked straight to your father’s room without wasting a moment.
If you didn’t finish the job in one stroke, you wouldn’t be able to do it again.
After raising the bloodied knife and slitting his throat as well, you gouged out his eye. After placing his eye in his mouth, you walked slowly out of the house. You didn’t care if anyone saw you. Living in Gotham meant dealing with things like this.
You kept walking down the streets, stepped into the crowd, and passed through them with an expressionless face, ignoring the fearful stares of the people around you. You still had the knife in your hand, and even when someone tried to stop you, you glared at them menacingly. They called the police, but you were faster.
This time, you were going to end your life. You were going to do it by the side of the road, just as you deserved.
After all, kids like you deserved this.
You came across a few people fighting in a side street. Two of them were wearing strange costumes, and one looked like a criminal.
Just like you.You watched; you had nothing left to fear.
After the people in costumes caught the criminal, one of them noticed you. You weren’t afraid; you didn’t react. If they were going to kill you, you didn’t care. You’d rather have killed yourself, but you weren’t really in a state to care.
You dropped the knife on the ground and stared at them with empty, lifeless eyes. One was wearing a helmet; the other was wearing a mask.
The one wearing the mask crouched down to your height.
“Why are you covered in blood?”
He seemed to be trying to be gentle. You found it meaningless and thought it was ridiculous for him to feel sorry for you.
You were a murderer, you were filthy, you were repulsive, and you had now turned into an emotionless monster.
Also, why do these people care about a child covered in blood and holding a knife?
"I killed my dad and his friend."
Everything froze. It really froze. They didn’t move; they just stared at you.
They were supposed to kill you. Right?
Something unexpected happened. The man in the helmet took off his helmet and approached you.
You couldn’t see his eyes; even though he was quite muscular and heavily built, he didn’t look threatening. The streak of white in his black hair was striking.
As he crouched down beside you, he brought his hand to your cheek and simply touched it.
“Why don’t you come with us and tell us what happened?”
He couldn’t even begin to describe the pain that pierced his heart the moment he first noticed you. You were covered in blood, holding a knife, and your eyes were emotionless. But Jason didn’t see a psychopath or a killer in you.
He had grown up under harsh conditions, had been killed, and was now killing people himself. He had no idea why you were doing it, but he could sense the horror of what you’d been through.
He was furious at everything that could have turned a child into this.
And you looked so vulnerable.
Yes, you may have killed someone—your own father, no less—and you may have the eyes of a psychopath, but you’re still a child, and you’re so weak.
For God’s sake, why are you so weak?Jason wanted to cry. He really wanted to cry.
When he crouched down beside you and spoke, you showed emotion on your face for the first time. Your eyes widened, and you flinched.
Jason studied your movements as his hand hung in the air.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?”
Both Dick and Jason froze at the same moment.
What must you have gone through to feel the need to say that?
All Jason wants right now is to wrap his arms around you and keep you safe.
He was certain Dick felt something similar. He could see his hands twitching.
“Why would we do something like that?”
You furrowed your brows at what came out of Dick’s mouth.
“Because I killed someone?”
Jason let out a deep sigh and stood up. He was trying to look as gentle as possible toward you.
“Let’s not talk about this here.”
Dick’s voice cut through the silence, and he moved toward you. At that, you started running—if they weren’t going to kill you, you had no business with them. You couldn’t go on living.
Jason was taken aback at first, but he came after you without wasting any time. Your frail, small body was quite slow; you were staggering as you moved. Dick was right behind him.
Jason quickly caught up to you, grabbed your arm, and lifted you into the air with his other hand. You struggled, kicking out and screaming as he hoisted you onto his shoulder. Even when you sank your teeth into him, it didn’t help.
Your screams were ignored; Dick was trying to calm you down. You growled back at him.
“Listen, kid, struggling won’t do you any good. You’re coming with us either way.”
It really didn’t work.You didn’t know what you’d gotten yourself into, but you were furious. The only emotion you could feel was anger.“Either kill me or let me go!”
You screamed as you walked toward a car, not caring about the stares of the people around you.
Jason sighed deeply and put you in the Batmobile. Even though he wasn’t too fond of Bruce, he had no choice but to trust him on this matter
He looked at your sleeping little body.
You hadn’t calmed down; you’d thrown everything you could find in the cave at them and even hurt yourself. They had no other choice—they had to give you a sedative.
Dick’s heart ached; he wanted to hold you and wrap you in a big embrace. While changing your clothes, he’d seen the marks on your body.Every bruise, cigarette burn, and injury tore at his heart.
But what devastated him the most...were the signs that you’d been raped.
The whole family was in shock, struggling to cope with the boundaries of rage and madness.
Of course, they’d dealt with cases like this before, and you weren’t all that different. But the fact that you’d been raped by your father triggered something in them.
You were just a little kid—how could you have been subjected to such abuse by the person you should have trusted most? Where was your mother?
Dick wanted to make those who did this to you suffer worse than death.Your apathy toward life, your fragility, and your anger triggered something in him.
He saw how Jason was trembling. How much you two resembled each other. Both of you had been let down by your fathers.
Dick hated this situation. While you were sleeping, he never left you alone for a single moment—not even with Cass and Jason. They knew you weren’t much different from the other victims, but they couldn’t stop it.
You were so fragile, you’d suffered so much. For God’s sake… you were only eight years old.
Tim was trying to look into your case, but he wasn’t getting anywhere.
Damian couldn’t calm his nerves and had slammed the door, heading off to train
.Bruce, on the other hand, had broken down. How could they dare to take a child’s innocence, defile him, and steal his very sense of self? The instinct to protect and care for you never wavered.
For the first time, Steph wasn’t smiling or making jokes. She couldn’t. You were in such a terrible state. Even if you didn’t say a word, it was clear from your body language.
Duke, meanwhile, had locked himself in the bathroom because of nausea. He knew you saw yourself as a monster, and he understood that too. He despised himself because of his powers, and he couldn’t bear that you, too, despised yourself for different reasons.
Barbara was also helping Tim and felt immense anger toward those who had done this to you. She just wanted to protect you.
Cass, meanwhile, was holding your hand and wouldn’t let go. He was looking at you with eyes full of pain. Perhaps he was the second person—after Jason—who understood you the most.
He swears he’ll protect you forever.
Dick is watching all of this and feels as if he’s about to die.
If only he could take all your pain upon himself. He wishes for this with all his heart. You shouldn’t have had to go through any of this.Hours pass, and you finally wake up. Cass jumps to her feet and continues to hold your hand, as if you’ll disappear the moment she lets go.
At first, you don’t understand what’s happening.
When you opened your eyes, you weren’t expecting to see a ceiling, nor were you expecting something to be holding your hand.
You sit up quickly—or rather, slowly—and pull your hand away. You didn’t feel fear; you couldn’t even feel any emotion other than anger anymore.
You look at the people around you: the two men who brought you here and the woman who was holding your hand earlier.
You glare at them menacingly. Cass reaches out to touch you, and you flinch away. You don’t like the way she’s looking at you.
She’s looking at you as if you were worth protecting, worth loving, and worthy of life.
You don’t. You’re a freak who shouldn’t be alive.
“Calm down, little bird.”
The man in blue is approaching you. Now you can see his eyes. He has a gentle gaze, and it makes your stomach churn.
Because he’ll be just like the others. First he’ll treat you nicely, then he’ll hit you.
Someone enters the room. He looks older and is approaching you. Jason growls and acts as if he wants to stop him.
He comes over and crouches down next to you, and you burrow into the headboard.“How are you?”You don’t answer.
You don’t understand who this older person or the others are. The woman stubbornly wants to make contact with you; she acts as if she’ll die if she can’t.
With a sudden movement, you leap out of bed and run toward the door. Yes, it’s an irrational move, but you don’t care. You can’t stand these people any longer. You run as fast as you can, not even caring if you fall down the stairs.
When someone grabs your arm to stop you, a disgusting, animalistic sound escapes your mouth, and despite the person’s tight grip, you struggle to break free.
“You’re going to hurt yourself—stop it already!”
You didn’t stop. Damian’s grip never loosened, and his angry voice filled your ears. The others gathered around you as well.
An old man who looked like a servant approached you with a syringe in his hand. You growled at him and bared your teeth. He didn’t seem fazed.
Even as you tried to push the needle away with your free hand, feeling the pain in your neck, the burly, elderly man—Bruce—stopped you. You struggled until your strength gave out, and as you sank into darkness, you didn’t understand what you were falling into.
You spent the following days strapped to the bed, trying not to answer the questions people asked you. You still couldn’t feel anything—there was only a relentless rage, and even that was under control. You couldn’t go a single minute without a sedative.You learned their names.
Dick was too clingy; he actually respected you, but he tended to get too physically close.
Jason, on the other hand, usually came in through the window of the room you were in and would just sit by your side, occasionally talking or reading a book. Sometimes he’d read to you, but when he realized you didn’t want him to, he’d fall silent.
Cass, on the other hand, was constantly either holding your hand or looking at you with gentle eyes—you didn’t trust him, you didn’t trust any of them—and he wouldn’t leave your side unless he absolutely had to.
Bruce was the most interesting one. He was constantly trying to engage with you and trying to drill into your mind that killing someone wasn’t normal. You didn’t listen to him. How much of what you’d been through had he actually experienced to be talking like that? Later, you learned that he and his family were outlaws, and you hated that.
Tim took an analytical approach with you; he enjoyed studying you and asked questions. He kept asking until you answered. Sometimes he’d make physical contact with you and sleep by your side. Because of your handcuffs, you couldn’t hurt him, and he took advantage of that.
Damian, along with Titus, would just stay with you, minding his own business or watching you. Titus would lie on top of you. The only living creatures you could tolerate in this house were Titus and a cat named Alfred. You saw yourself in the animals—wild, mistreated creatures. And you’d never harbored any ill will toward them.
You used to have a dog, too, until your father ruined everything. You’d play, sleep, and feed him on the street. He protected you. That’s why you’ve always had a soft spot for dogs, and Damian had noticed that, too.
Steph, on the other hand, wanted to watch movies with you and was trying to get closer to you. She had a playful personality, but you never laughed at her jokes, and that upset her.
Barbara, on the other hand, would come over to you in her wheelchair, talk to you, or just watch you. You ignored her.
Every time Duke stopped by, he’d tell you about his day and talk about how he’d play video games with you once you were free of these handcuffs.
Alfred, meanwhile, was concerned about your health and was making you eat—even if you resisted.
Your days passed like this, and your resistance was gradually waning. Because you were tired of the restraints and thought that if you cooperated, they would set you free. Maybe you could escape.You were wrong.
Once the restraints were removed, they became even more clingy. They were even trying to carry you around.
“Come on, you can choose what we’re going to do! I don’t even understand why you’re trying to get away from us.”
What was it about you that had made them so obsessed? At first, you were just a child they were worried about—yes, some of them paid you extra attention and doted on you, but that was all. Now they’re acting as if they literally can’t live without you
.All you wanted was peace, but you couldn’t even have that.
Maybe you should have killed yourself in that house?
You could never understand Bruce. There was a “no killing” rule, but you’d broken it. What’s more, you’d even intended to kill them.Jason was the same way, but you were a stranger.
“Can’t you just leave me alone? I really don’t understand what you see in me. I’ll never love you, and I’ll find a way to leave.”
At that, they all fell silent. The way they looked at you was strange. When you tried to brush it off and walk away, Jason grabbed your arm and pulled you against his chest.
“Even if you leave, we’ll find you, so don’t push your luck.”
Those words infuriated you, so you wrenched your arm free and ran to your room. You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t even attempt to kill yourself because they’d stop you immediately, and you’d end up back in your handcuffs.
You decided to explore the mansion. Maybe you could find a way out?
A window. You could open it. You knew Tim or Barbara were watching you right now, but you could escape before they caught up to you.You jumped out the window, and even though you sprained your arm as you landed on the grass, you didn’t care. That was the least of your worries.
You ran until you found an exit, ran without looking back, and found a place to hide. There was nothing nearby you could use to kill yourself. You didn’t want to live anymore, and you were determined.
Tomorrow you’ll find a high place or a sharp object and end it all.
You curled up on the ground and fell asleep; you didn’t even care about the cold. You didn’t care if your new clothes got dirty, either.When you woke up the next morning, you were on the verge of losing your mind.
A cave, a cage made of glass, and only a few essentials. You screamed, you had a breakdown, but they still wouldn’t let you out.
“You’ll stay here until you agree to live here and we’re sure you won’t run away.”
Hearing Bruce’s voice, you showed an emotion other than anger for the first time.
The family was so surprised that they all just watched you for a few minutes.
Then they all climbed into your cage to calm you down.
You were crying because you realized it.
You would never escape from here, you would never die, and you would live a life as if you were part of this obsessive family.
You were crying because you had gone from one cage to another.
You were crying because you would never be in control of your own life.
Not even your death belonged to you.
You were just a puppet brought into this world to make others happy.
I’ll never have a life of my own, will I?
Am I that bad that I deserve this?
