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Cosmic Funnies
The Bowery Presents
shark vs the universe
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Cosimo Galluzzi
Andulka
ellievsbear
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Color Me Curious
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Not today Justin
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
hello vonnie
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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YOU ARE THE REASON
oozey mess
Discoholic 🪩
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@unhinged-insomniac
I knew my personality was carved into my bones when my long lost family told me.
"You act so much like your mother."
"The way you spoke."
"The way you laugh."
"The way you move."
And to them it was longing. To them it was how if things were different, this could've been the version of my mother that they got.
But to me?
Me who was doing everything I could not to be her.
It was dread.
Because I also hated that I was longing along with them.
Which of the MLP mane six would be a responsible gun owner and why is it Pinkie Pie
Which of the MLP mane six has committed vehicular manslaughter while drunk driving and why is it Fluttershy
Actually would it be vehicular maneslaughter or mareslaughter
it would be mareslaughter, it would only apply to killing a pony, and there would be no equivalent charge for killing a griffin, donkey, zebra, or changeling. On account of the extreme pony racism.
On account of the extreme pony racism.
agnostic-atheist spectrum but with flavors
an omnipotent creator being almost certainly doesn't exist but if it does, it's a supervillain
gods shouldn't exist but we keep creating them to use as weapons. and no one knows how to defuse one
gods don't exist which is a relief bc otherwise we'd be forced to hunt them down for execution
creator god exists and we owe it nothing (DEEPLY unqualified)
god/s abandoned us and it hurt at the time but in hindsight we escaped a highly toxic relationship
the universe is a pet goldfish kept in an irresponsibly small bowl by a toddler deity whose parents are considering moving up to a hamster
not just atheist but anti-theist. a divine being descends to earth and im in the background booing
Is ignorance truly bliss? Because a lot of dumb fucking idiots are racist and angry ALL the time.
not to bare my soul* but recently i have been going THROUGH it making out sloppy with them Horrors & Tribulations. tumblr soothe my ego and expunge your most embarrassing memories in the notes, that i might weep and weep and weep finally not for myself, but pitifully for Thee...
this isn't the worst, but it is very fresh, as it happened yesterday at uni.
I was walking up a busy flight of stairs. Someone else was going down. We began that classic shuffle -- both of us step to one side, then the other, etc. But instead of stepping further around, or gesturing to signal my movements, I opted for an entirely different direction: Down.
Ducking onto all fours and bracing my fingertips against the steps' ridged metal, I launched myself desperately upwards, brushing right past him in a blaze of quadrupedal glory. I was wild. I was free. I was about to bend my wrist backwards and have it ache for an hour.
It took three or four steps before I realised I was clambering, not... strolling. (But the best part is: Nobody really cared!)
It kind of fucks with me that somebody killed ötzi the iceman because ötzi himself is like whatever but the silent presence of human hands that drew back the string of the bow that shot the arrow that killed him is crazy. the idea that there were various people involved in that situation and while one of them has had his last hours painstakingly reconstructed and studied to no end, the others now only exist insofar that an arrowhead had to get into his shoulder somehow. imagine killing someone and then suddenly your entire existence is only a vague shadow implied by the fact that you killed them. much to consider
Testing the mummified bone marrow of ötzi to figure out his ancestry whole time there’s definitely another person, maybe more than one, standing in the room with us but I can never see or speak to them because I only know them through the assurance that they were there too in the form of one single arrowhead. I hate prehistory so much it’s unreal
I hate it too tbh
they should do an MMO where everyone is a shapeshifter and you can go live with animal herds in the wild if you want for a time but you are never entirely one of them, noting that the wild animal npcs partake in behaviors with or make calls to one another that you may not understand the logic of but can try to learn to repeat the musical cadence of. this is true of even the human npcs, whose musical language is the most intricate and complex to learn of all and who will ostracize you readily if you do not use it properly. other players are not marked as players and there is no chat feature. as an elk you may not know if the wolf chasing you is an npc or another player who does not know the same of you, and there is no chat. maybe the players would develop a sort of musical cadence to identify other shifters. no one would like this game and it would not be fun. but i would like it
were you a person? was i one? did it matter?
I have two platonic yandere Batfam prompts for you guys.
1. The reader is the villainess in every manhwa.
…except she’s cursed to be a do no wrong character.
This means that the reader comes into the family with a ‘system’ gained maybe through reincarnation or isekai and that meant that they had to be cruel/ruin the batfam because of it.
But they can hear the reader’s thoughts/intentions because of the reader’s faulty system. And they don’t know why their actions and words contradict so much…
But they’re not going to let the reader push them away. (And isn’t it so sweet how easily foiled the reader make their plans? How guilty they seem?)
(And also you could add a ‘replacement’ for the reader who knows what the reader is up to and just plays along. Not malicious at all and genuinely likes the reader. Just thinks that they’re doing this for some big reason and doesn’t care that they’re being humiliated on the daily.)
2. The batfam is somehow convinced/realizes that the reader has been silently scheming to ‘escape’/leave the family the entire time via making the batfam hate them.
And the reader has. But not because they hate the batfam, they’re just heavily traumatized and don’t like attention because of it.
(Perhaps a big confrontation scene that sends the reader into a panic attack and has the batfam making more assumptions but also reveals a bit of the reason as to why the reader made the batfam hate them??)
But the batfam is just so hurt. Years they spent absolutely hating someone, hours they wasted trying to figure them out— why they were the way that they were— only to find out the hateful, bitter side the reader showed them wasn’t them at all.
..And they find out it was all an act through simple camera surveillance.
And look at them. Look how kind, how affectionate, how sweet they are to some stranger outside the family. How loving.
They’re practically all over that stranger— clinging to their hand, draping themselves over them, grinning up at them like they hung up the moon and the stars, letting this stranger hold them like their family had never gotten a chance to.
So, the batfam devise a punishment for the reader and a gift to themselves.
They fully integrate the reader into the family.
Batfam x reader prompt??
Uh, okay…. *taps mic*
A reader who goes missing one day and everyone in the batfam assumes/is forced to believe that they’re dead even though no body has been found and violently grieve over with the years that pass.
Then, they show up one day, years later, not looking a day older than the day they went missing. (Time travel/alternate dimension stuff.)
And they’re so confused and a little scared because everyone is reacting so badly to the mere sight of them. Angry, heartbroken— both, even.
They’re at first assumed to be a clone or someone set to infiltrate the batfam then kill them or something of the sort.
Then, that’s disproven by the reader’s lack of fighting ability/ruthlessness for someone who’s supposed to destroy them.
They try to leave again, though. Their entire family is acting like they either want to tear them apart or lock them in a cage. Like they’re some monstrous thing. (And they’re scared. And sad. Terribly sad.)
But no one is letting them go this time.
(This is done best when they all LOVE the reader. Platonically, of course, but they do.
Even if it’s not like a relationship where they know every single thing about the reader, they still have that ‘I’d die for you’ ‘I’d kill for you’ sort of relationship.
And… the reader is the youngest of the family. Younger than Damian— but you can age him up and make him like sixteen or something since most of the fics like this have him be ten or so.
So, in the family’s eyes, they’re just a baby. Their baby.
I’m not going to say you should write as though this child ‘fixed’ the family because that’s a lot of pressure to put on an infant.
But I am going to suggest that maybe you should write as though their presence allowed for more ‘bonding’ within the family because the reader is a child and can’t just be around only Damian, Bruce, and Alfred all day or they’ll turn out to be a very sassy Victorian child.
What I’m saying is… they go missing young and during a time in which their family was just beginning to come back together. And it’s not like their disappearance breaks them within an instant.
It’s a slow agony. Crumbling and cracking ever so slightly with each day that goes past with them gone. Until there is only dust. And only a memory.
And the first thing anyone hears after a decade or so of only really speaking to each other every other year is Damian’s uncharacteristically distressed voice.
A cold fear washes over them. Has someone else died? Gone missing? What happened?
And then his next words give fuel to the fire.
“It’s- it’s them,” he practically sobs. “It’s them- they were here but we chased them away and-“
Dick is already throwing his jacket on, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. “Damian- Damian, who is it? What’s happening?”
“_____,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of all his emotion. “They’re alive.”)
(Or something like that lol. Someone else might not write him to be as emotional but I think he should get to be.
His little sibling went missing, then was declared dead, and he spent years believing that— forced to believe that— while his family slowly crumbled in front of his eyes.
And then this person comes along wearing their face and you are just so angry because how dare they? How dare they disrespect their memory like this?
And you have them practically running away from you, crying, and you only feel angrier because how dare someone replicate their voice to torture you?
And then once the dna test— or whatever it’s called— is done you find out that the person whose leg you just broke was actually your sibling.
Not a clone, not a spy, but the real deal.
But yknow, it’s whatever.)
Consider this yandere Batfam omegaverse AU in which the youngest member of the family uses the fact that they’re a pup to their advantage.
In other words, a Damian Wayne who uses his status as a pup to (at least try to) get the reader back home.
This works no matter the second gender. It’s like having your baby brother crying out for you and having to stop yourself from beating up the person who made them cry. It’s like having your kid whimpering for you and trying to stop yourself from pulling them into your arms.
It’s torture. My dogs whimper for half a second and then they’re in my lap. I am weak to these tiny fools. They eat shit and I love them.
Someone else’s baby
⌗ : Loser! Weeb! Reader x Batfamily
𐔌 . ⋮ note: first time I wrote a novel some ooc and this is good start of Yandere Overprotective Batfam .ᐟ Reader was describedֹ as natural gender but it's up to your imagination ! ₊ ꒱
◟♯ . Character in mention: Martha Wayne, Philip Kane, Jacob Kane, Barbara Minerva and Bruce Wayne
Gotham map I heavy ref : Batman wiki, Eliot R. Brown
<- ☆ M.List
“ Young Master. ”
Alfred's composed, polished voice carried quiet authority cut throught the drak mess room to the child of Wayne. You, who have been playing Stardew Valley for over 100 hours after a little argument with Damian, losing track of day and night, slumped comfortably in your own chair with your half-empty Monster cans on your mess desk.
You stared at him with the drink still on your lips.
you have a bad feeling about this.
“ Can... I help you? ” You gave the butler the most sheepish smile ever.
“ your presence was required at Wayne Gala. ” What!? No way
you calculate who need your presence except kids you just trash talked them in Roblox which they want to play not extent the Gala duh.
“ I'm not playing it right now, Alfie” you turned to the computer.
“ So am I ”
“ .... ”
“ .... ”
“ Then the internet will be shutdown. ”
“ What!? ” You turned to him quickly your head might fell off. “ you can’t do that! ”
“ Oh, I am sure I can. ”
You grumble under his breath. Sinking further in your chair with dramatic sight and whine. Alfred looked at you with a composed gaze. He had already come to terms after witnessing everytime boys in his care was forced to do things they never wanted to.
“ please draw a bath for me. At least, I will stay in bath tub dramaticlly... ”
“ I expected you to say that... so I’ve drawn a bath for you. ” He hands you a drawing bath with ridiculous shape looking
“ haha very funny, Alfie... ”
with pure sarcasm. “ Your welcome and you will be ready at 6 ”
this is the worst day of your life.
Ah. The Wayne Gala.
The ballroom full with rich people that their laugh cost 200k dollars and 50 cents always your forever greatest nemesis. You check your neck tie and suit one last time and watch Bruce comes in first before following.
You observed the surrounding. Everyone seeks to bask in the glow of fame, to be given charity, and of course, to shower their charms on your father.
The worst part? they thought you are their bypass.
Elites and young entrepreneurs often approached you with ulterior motives some driven by some profit and little desire. Of course, the cowardice and silently panic, heavy and uncertain of yours drove them away by their own. (you both glad and hate yourself for it)
The light from chandeliers stinging your eyes so you tell Bruce, not sure if he heard, you will go to restroom but you retreat to the corner, slipping on your wired earphone at least it makes the place quitter and make you less interesting.
But you still are the target.
“ Hello there ” the sweet empty voice called you got you goosebumps. “ You are Wayne, Aren't you? ”
At first you didn't answer until she step closer and took one of your ear headphones off “ Look at me and talk, will you? ”
Your heart beats and hand sweat like crazy.
“ y- y- yes, ma'am ” the woman with orange hair and honey skin (You just noticed) stop moving and her eyes lifted up when you answer even it's forcefully.
“ Wonderful I'm Barbara.. ” Everything is so loud everything seems and surrounding is blur. You can't hear her name, but it's not your concern. right now, you want to throw up.
“ I am sorry I need to go -- ”
“ Come on I just want a little chat. ”
she moves too close to your content. One of her hands is on your shoulder her nail feels solid and sharp. it's sinking in your skin
“ don’t be shy, little one. ”
“ It's going to be fun ... ”
“!!”
By instinct, you shove her hand away with heavy breath make her flinch back slightly.
“ Oh Im SORRY -- ” You rub where she sinked her nail saw the little scratch on your skin “ ... what? ”
“ ... How dare you!? ” her mood turns to dime. The angry one.
Before you could react, she yank your neck tie and one her nail sharper than human ever has about to shove at your face.
You almost accepted your fate. Suddenly, a hand came to grab that woman.
“ That's enough Dr. Minerva ”
the voice of a man cut thought us the old man with blonde neatly slicked-back hair, dressed in a finely tailored suit. You snapped your head to look at him with surprise.
“ Uncle Philip! ”
“ Oh my my greeting Mr. Kane ” her face changed faster than a chameleon changes color. Barbara watches you moves behind him annoyed then looks back at him.
“ I surprised you were here, Mr. Kane ”
“ Greeting, Dr. Minerva. It's rare to see you here in Gotham. How come? ”
“ I heard there's undiscovered felis catus in gotham. Need to see it by myself ” You, obviously, aren't their main topic, yet you've shiver down your spine by her cat-like staring at you. then Philip moves to block you from her sight.
“ I hope to hear your good news soon then. But righ now we have thing to do. ”
“ What a shame ” Her sharp tone come through. “ I hope we will have fun again, little thing. ”
“ it's pleasure to see you. ” She nodded slightly, her eyes linger on your trembling hand, and walked away with her swayed silk dress.
“ That witch.. ” He grumbled softly, his eyes followed her until she disappeared from his sight then back to you “ Are you okay? Have she done somethings to you? ”
“ No no, she just a bit scary and.. doesn't take reject well, I guess? ” He adjust your suit and neck tie to be more presentable again. your arm isn't hurting anymore.
“ Where is Bruce? He supposed to be here ”
“ he is busy ” To firthy with women and men.
“ ...that young man... ” Philip’s tone filled with disbelief.
Philip was aware of the gaze of his grandchild from all corners. He observed the your uncomfortable in this bright place. Almost everybody interested in your father but not you.
“ Would you take a break with me ? As you are … ” he shifted to whisper softly “ ... allergic to your farther's fan. ”
You snicker softly. “ Absolutely. ”
You are walking alongside with him to the baloney outside the ballroom. when the freezing air touch your skin like a bless from winter season.
“ how were you? have you made up with Damian yet ? ” Because the last time Philip came to Wayne Manor. You had a big argument with Damian and ended up locked yourself in your room.
“Damian ... um ” your hands are fidgeting. You are stressed. He can tell from your gnawed nails and scratches. “we stop fighting ... now.”
“ fighting? What you did? ”
“ Not important … just bruises ”
“ That's not so little ... Do you want to talk about it? ”
“ maybe ... Yes ? and No ... ” you rub your face. You don’t know how to voice it and not sound desperate. “ Sorry I ... I need a time for a bit ... ”
“ Take your time sweetheart. ”
You tired to look at everywhere but your hand tangled. The wind blows through you like a kiss on your skin, encouraging to say it. the sound of trains drifted in the distance intermittently before disappearing at you one sigh
“ he .. called me unworthy to talk with and not belong to Wayne. ”
“ oh.. ” Philip sounds worried
“ So I tackle him on the ground ” sounds cruel but we all know you are the one who has more bruises than Damian.
“ Oh ” still worried but more impressive.
“then Dick and Jason comes to separate us.”A scoff leaves your moth “ to protect their “baby boi” .” but more than sarcastic. you were hurt. “ what funnier? They tell me to understand Damian that he is build different and to act more mature ... like Wayne. ”
You didn't feel belong to. Not since you feel so miserable when picture of their figure standing face to you, let Damian have their back, like you have committed the crime.
Dick crouched to Damain asking is he okay while Jason standing, beside with a little brat, eyes on you, taunting you to do something you regret.
You wanted to scream I am your brother too. but you knew well that it’s not the same. Not since they watched you like some useless freak like Damian said.
Dick said your name softly “Damain is just a kid and you are 16”
“grow up already, freak.” Jason said after.
“Maybe you should stay in your room, I will tell Alfred to have your favorite dessert, sound good?”
You felt guilty but watching them pamper him, has their back, joke with them, do everything you want o do if you were a kid. Then it clicked
Damian is their baby.
and you are someone else's
It makes your face hot like it’s burning. you feel don’t matter, angry, sad you are everything yet you are clueless how to express it. You just stared at them. the sight of good brothers is burning you alive.
Fuck. You hate them. You hate Dick You hate Jason You hate Damian. Or yourself too for being desperate ofhemtobepartsoftheircuddlegodyouwanttokillyourself-
“!” Philip hold your fits, the one you're unconsciously clenching.
“Take a deep breath, dear”
You did as he said. When the strong wide hit your face, you could finally breath for the first time since you were here. Somethings get off your chest.
“ I hate favorismis ”
“ me too buddy ”
you rubbed your face again with more heavy sight. the sight of clear sky tonight with soft glowing star, you looked up at the view. It makes your chest felt lighter and breathable again.
Finally someone in family chain who doesn't judge you
Maybe today is not entirely bad after all.
“ Thank you ” You squeezed his hand back. “I really just needed this”
you kicked the rock nearby
“Everyone thinks I am immature.” Even Alfred called me young master while Tim is jut master. Ridiculous
Philip look at you with eye that experience the same first day he saw your face. You are older and mature than everybody thought.
“you just don’t grow up the way they expected.”
The Kane always adore you like you were their baby because
“ And you locked yourself in the room. What about school? you skipped? ”
“no i am homeschool”
“That’s…” He looked very off.
“Yes, boring.”
Philip gazes and thinks about something “if you want to go to school, I can convince Bruce. ”
“you can ?”
“I will try my best” he looks fully on you “but i really suggest Gotham academy not the safest but best in this city”
“it's very far from Wayne manor... ”
“ hmm then you need a safe, comfortable, and near academy place ... like Kane Manor.”
fuck ,that smooth you have to admit it as you chuckles, shakes your head amused.
“Come on, I mean it sincerely. You always welcome to the Kane.” A warm hand place on your shoulder, a silence promises to give you loved and cared you deserved.
You nobbed, knew what he convinced, still it's quite a interesting suggestion. Philip messes your hair with a low adored chuckle.
“I will keep that on mind.”
The lights of Gala dull to the balcony, the music stared to play in the background. This event is well known as the social events for adults but also teenagers to make friends like dancing in pairs.
we look through the windows, see some children and their parents are dancing. They looked happy and fun, you feel the heart squeezing a little. Philip who observed his child inquiries.
“Have you ever Father -Child danced ?”
“no.”
“want to try?”
“Me??? No no no it's bad idea. What if.... I don't know to dance?”
“step on my foot i will guide you.”
then he holds his hand out for you.
“May you want to join uncle - nephew dance with me?”
You though of How weird silly is it, still, it's temping and curiously wanting to know spend time with dad look like.
“that's okay... ig? ”
as long as he’s your favorite dad uncle.
Since uncle Philip step in this party, your sight never leave his eyes.
Normally his side never empty, there's always Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian or his sidekicks at his side but never you once. He surprised when you came but not anymore as elites approach him. You’re went for something but hours later he couldn't find you until seeing you dance with Philip. It throw him off.
Bruce watched his child like a hawk. He thought just to ensure his child's safety as you barely do social events and know nothing about it.
But the smallest part in his mind doubts it as the ache in his chest won't stop. The upset comes out nowhere while uncle teaches you, guides your step, and makes you laugh effortlessly.
He doesn’t understand because the last time Bruce interact with you. You were quiet, reclusive and hated dancing. And now he is watching you with those giggles and dorky steps. How ridiculous is it ?
“ Mr. Wayne? You have something else in your mind?”
he has to clear his head. he leave a sigh softly before giving a smile (that not reach to his eyes) to the lady in front of him.
“ No, Miss. I only have you in my mind right now. ” Bruce says in a jaunty offhandish tone.
“ Oh stop it, Mr. Wayne… ” The lady twirls her hair shyly while he places his large hand on her back, not seductive but enough to make her tremble.
It's his character to play as a playboy billionaire tonight then he will peel to be the knight before the sun rise.
I need to focus He tells himself. Yet, Bruce watches you in bemused silence for every second you an interact with Philip. You danced pitifully like a deer just learns how to walk, but the atmosphere is full with joyous.
The calmest man now is on his last strew to approach you, asks " May I join ? " or just drag you out because it's suppose to be him in Philip's position. He can teach you how to dance, let your bare foot on his leather shoes, and let father-child dance mean it.
Bruce just need his child to stand by his side right now.
he grib the glasses thigher while he sees Philip hand mess your hair, stroke them like a good father he is. Philip is a good father figure, Bruce won't lie, speaking from who has been well taken care of by him.
But Bruce is a possessive man of what is his
and you are definitely his child.
“B, there is break out from Asylum and traits of Cheetah”
he snapped for a second, as Tim is speaking in his ears. he press the piece, retort “understoon. I will end this Gala soon.”
he won't put his figure on what the ache in his chest mean. He will keep tabs on you. teaches you when he has time.
Or spend time with you even.
Becasue you are his child.
Philip: *sneeze so hards his nose could come out and dance*
Philip: Is this cold out side?
Reader: Nah ur just old
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+ T@g lists (open!) .ᐟ.ᐟ @mitsurimoshi @amberlino-blog (idk if it right)
Corrupt lotus
Male Neglected Protagonist Luo-binghe!Reader x yandere non platonic Batfam
Trigger warning!! incest/pseudocest. NSFW, smut. This chapter contains incest (adopted son/father)! If you don't like this content, you don't have to read it! ^_^
Part⁹
You walked through the house; the place was dark and empty. Surprisingly, even Alfred wasn't in the hallways as usual.
You wondered if maybe they were asleep? Maybe they were on patrol... You didn't care.
You walked slowly, taking advantage of the moment of solitude to breathe the cold air that was in the surroundings of Manor.
That is, until you feel. A presence nearby.
Your sharp ear twitched.
So anyone was awake after all.
Your lips hummed as you walked slowly, Alfred always made you take off your shoes when entering... You didn't really mind, imagining getting a freshly cleaned floor dirty...
The worst fear of cleaning addicts.
Your lips curved upwards slightly as you pretended not to notice; you knew he was there, you wondered what Bruce needed.
You walked slowly.
Light steps on the floor.
You walked through the living room, watching TV on, volume low, and everyone asleep under the covers, piled on top of each other like little sandcastles.
So this is what was happening.
They weren't outside; they were asleep in the living room, like some kind of sleepover.
The figure stopped behind you and spoke slowly in a low, harsh voice.
" Where were you? "
You didn't turn to look at Bruce, you only moved slightly, bending slowly against the arm of the sofa to adjust Damian's sheet.
Long, calloused hands grabbed your hips from behind, something pressing against your ass.
You paused for a few seconds, looking straight down at your sleeping 'brothers' all the way down, where the couch was still there where you had bent slightly over.
" You were out all day... It's three in the morning. "
Bruce whispered against your ear, you felt his hard, warm chest pressing up and down against your back.
Your eyebrow trembled slightly before you spoke.
" i had more important matters to attend to. "
Bruce growled softly, warm breath against the shell of your ear.
" More important than family? "
You felt a slow, raw laugh escape your lips before his hand moved, covering your lips and inserting two fingers into your mouth, until the tips touched the base of your pink tongue..
You swallowed around them without being able to stop it.
" You... You deserve a punishment. Spoiled brat. "
His free hand went down, opening your robe while he kept pressing his erection against your ass.
Punishment-
Is he-
Your back arched as you felt his large fingers circle around your pink entrance, which blinked at the mere touch. You were completely hairless, with soft, smooth skin... Bruce felt his mouth water as he pressed the fingertip of his thumb against the tight hole.
Virgin.
You were a virgin in the ass...
What a big surprise it was for him...
A gift surely.
He felt your body tremble beneath his, your back stretch and arch like a cute cat against his chest.
His breath quickened as he felt your tongue pressed against his bing callused fingers, your warm breath and saliva trickling down his palm...
He pressed his finger hard enough until he felt your body give way to it.
You moaned as you felt his finger inside your ass, the pain of being stretched... It was delicious.
He threw his forehead against the back of your neck, one hand still keeping his fingers inside your mouth, while the other pulled his own pants down his hips.
" No noise... This is your punishment. "
He murmured against your neck, his cock hard and hot against your ass, drops of precum running down the glan against the unmarked skin of your cheeks.
He slowly rolled his cock against your ass, letting the glan roll between them and bounce against your entrance, getting caught in the small hole.
Making you tremble.
You could have escaped.
Killed and escaped, return to your realm and fuck as many women as you want...
You had always fucked, but you had never been fucked.
But... You were a hypocrite, you wanted to know what it felt like to be taken... stretched out...
Now Bruce Wayne, who was supposed to be your father, was rubbing his cock against your ass like it was just a toy, trying to make you shut up? Was he an idi-
Your eyes widened.
You squeezed like a hot glove around his cock, you were too tight, you squeezed around him like you wanted to milk him completely.
Bruce couldn't help but throw his forehead against your shoulder from behind, his balls resting against your ass while he sinked on competely inside.
Their ragged breaths filling the silent place.
They were all still asleep; Bruce clearly didn't want to wake them... He slowly rolled his hips back, leaving only the head inside before thrusting his hips forward.
Over and over again.
You were bent over against the arm of the couch, your chest against the couch seat, your head and face buried against it by Bruce's hand yanking your hair down while he fucked your ass.
The couch creaked beneath you two while you tried to stay silent, , bruce didn't want you to wake the others...
He was so cruel.
Only after a couple of rounds did he let you go; your punishment was finally over. Your ass was pink, your entrance throbbing and blinking, completely stretched and reddish with cum and blood mixed in running down your trembling inner thighs into the floor.
Bruce pulled up his pants, adjusting his belt as he looked at the mess he'd made on the arm of the chair.
He felt his chest swell with satisfaction and a proud feeling.
You took it so well...
For your first time.
He smiled, knowing that he had been the first, the one who had popped that cherry.
He slowly caressed your ass, feeling it tremble slightly tense beneath his fingers, caught the fluids running down your legs, and pushed it all the way back inside with just two fingers.
He heard you sigh muffled against the couch...
And with that.
He knew he had to find more reasons to punish you.
To have you once again.
Its kinda funny to me that in SVSSS Luo Binghe was willing to be a bottom, but his shizun refused in fear of hurting him. Lol.
Have you read the org!Luo Binghe x svsss!Luo Bingmei Tag on Ao³? I was inspired by a really good fanfic I found! Where org!Luo Bingge has to be the bottom to survive a poison that only Luo Bingmei/svsss!luo binghe can help him treat.
^_^
@iglb12 @soafhie @noone1233nobody
@ivorytits
Frisk get your butt BACK HERE PLEASEEEEE!!!!!!! i miss you 🙏
Dumb Jock!Reader x Neglectful!Batfam
I’M BACK I’M BACK I PROMISE. I’ve been busy, sorry :( Here’s how Jason and you met!
First Meetings: Jock and Jason
Jason might’ve lied when he said he didn’t exactly remember how he met you.
When Jason first met [Name], he was ten years old and just recently had been brought back to the Wayne Manor after trying to steal tires from the Batmobile. He hadn’t really known what was going on just that apparently Bruce Wayne was Batman and he now had siblings.
Jason’s first introduction to Dick wasn’t exactly the best. The, at the time, teenager hadn’t been the nicest to him. Dick had still been salty he’d been replaced as Robin and Jason’s presence was making it worse. During his early years in the manor, he hadn’t really known Dick well, as he’d been off with the Titans doing whatever in Jump City. As a result that left him with you.
Ah… [Name] Wayne…
The fucking psychopath. Though, he hadn’t truly been exposed to your craziness until much later. When he first met you, you hadn’t treated him in the same cold way as Dick, yes, but you hadn’t exactly welcomed him. You most of the time just ignored him and went on to terrorize Alfred or the people around you. During those first few months in the Manor, the only things he’d known about you were that he went to the same school as you after Bruce transferred him over, and that Bruce treated you the same way Dick treated himself.
Essentially like a nuisance.
Immediately after noticing that, he started following you around. Sometimes it‘d been hard because he was a year younger than you, and elementary schools were pretty strict with where they let their kids go, but Jason more often than not found a way. He’d pop up in your class, appear and sit next to you during lunch, and sneak out of class to try and find you at recess. 
However, what really solidified you both becoming brothers was…
Well, it’d all started during a dinner. Dick had, for once, decided to grace the family with his presence since his leaving for Jump City. It was an awkward affair to say the least. The entire table was tense, everyone, aside from you who was just picking at your food with a grumpy expression, making small talk and Dick throwing in snide little jabs at everyone, Bruce, you, and of course him.
You ended up kicking him in the balls under the table after Dick made another sneaky jab at Jason this time. The noise the oldest boy let out at that was music to Jason’s ears in the sweetest way possible. Such a shame you got grounded though.
Jason remembers how he snuck over to your room later that night, just before patrol. You’d been on your bed, just staring at the ceiling with your usual frown. When you’d seen him…
“What the hell are you wearing, Jaden?” You’d wrinkled your nose at his costume from where you laid. He paid it no mind and simply sat next to you on the bed, fiddling with his domino mask.
“It’s Jason, but anyways I wanted to thank you for uh— standing up to Dick earlier for me.” Jason spoke, watching your expression. It slowly relaxed from its previous scrunched up version.
“Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that. Dickhead had it coming though.” You’d grumbled that last part to yourself before he watched you pause and suddenly sit up. “Wait, so since I helped you, that means you serve me now, right?”
“What?” The question had for good reasons thrown Jason off.
“You have to serve me now. That means helping me in whatever, no questions asked, got it?” You said, jabbing a finger into Jason’s chest.
“Wha—”
“Got it?”
“Okay okay. Got it.” Jason rubbed his chest slightly as you pulled your finger away, looking satisfied. You looked happy now which had made him happy.
“Man, it feels great to have my first ever minion.” You’d let yourself fall back onto your bed once more and moved your arms until they were underneath the back of your head, propping it up. “You can go now. I have a job for you tomorrow.” You said dismissively.
Jason remembered hesitantly standing. “What job…?”
“You’ll see.”
And how Jason did see. He very much saw it in the form of catching frogs and shoving them in your teacher’s desk because she was a so called “bitch”. After that day, you started letting him sit with the fifth graders at your table. It’d been cool having an older brother. One he could actually depend on and who was nearly the same age as him. Dick of course matured and stop being a whiny little bitch, but Jason could still probably say that his relationship with you had been the closest.
Then he died.
And well… when he came back, he may have trashed your entire house, trying to look for you and kill you only for you not to be there. He also might’ve crawled in to try and fight you again only stumble upon a party and get jumped by everyone, including you. When he woke up, you sold all his shit on eBay and told him to get the fuck out. You also hadn’t recognized him either.
It’d taken him nearly a year after that try and confront you and actually tell you who he was. And when he did? Guess what. You didn’t believe him. Till this day you call him “Fake-Jay”.
.
.
.
A sudden loud barging knock echoed through throughout Jason’s apartment, startling him out of his thinking. He groaned and walked to the door. Which one of his dipshit siblings was here this morning? He swung open the door. You stood there with your usual frown.
“Fake-Jay, I need your help.” You’d spoken before pushing past him and into his apartment.
Huh?
You’re a big girl now! No more daddy’s little girl
Part one - Part two - Part three - Part four - Part five - Part six - Part seven
summary: Your family had never truly seen and appreciated you. Might as well move on and live your life!
pairings: platonic!batfam x neglected!gn!reader
cw: A bit of emotional neglect, though none of it is intentional. Mc’s very smart and cool
word count: 2.1K
a/n: this is my first time posting on tumblr, kinda nervous (read: very nervous). My writing’s very rusty, and I am chronically allergic to rereading anything I ever write, so if there are mistakes, uh, I’m super sorry. Also, this is my first time writing anything DC related! So I hope you enjoy this little creation :] Much love
Bruce Wayne didn’t have time for sentimentality.
Those who truly knew him were deeply aware of this information, aware of how he would never truly be present emotionally in any sort of relationship. This included his own horde of children, who, throughout the years, had learned to live with that weighting absence.
Still, in your childhood, you attempted to cling onto the idea of a fatherly figure with an iron grip that even his coldest silences couldn’t break.
Your arrival was a change in the manor, a breeze in a dry desert, the warm sun in a frigid winter. Young, unmarred by the horrors of Gotham city, your new family felt wary to be the ones to taint your innocence. So, as one does when uncomfortable, they spent time elsewhere.
It wasn’t a collective, malevolent decision. It simply arrived like something unavoidable. They still ate with you at dinner, still asked you about your day occasionally, about school drama, or hobbies, but the conversations never went much further. Your relationship didn’t evolve into something closer to family. Instead, it stagnated at polite acquaintances that happened to be roommates and legally related. Nothing more, nothing less.
In a perhaps cynical way, you had expected not to fit in with your siblings. You arrived in a moment where Dick was elsewhere physically, Tim elsewhere mentally, and Steph often appearing and disappearing at the manor at will. Not to mention Jason, since the topic was taboo around anyone, like a ghost story, a warning.
However, childishly, you at least hoped your father – whom you shared blood with, took you in after tragedy inevitably struck as it does in this godforsaken city – would attempt to create a bond with you. You were realistic bordering pessimistic, yes, but you had naively expected him to try. Not even succeed, just put in some effort.
But that small spark of hope quickly died out when you met and began to understand the man in his essence.
The process was short; you’d recall later on. You remembered arriving at the manor, terrifyingly beautiful, haunted by years of history and secrets. It almost felt like one of those mystery slash romance books your mother would read privately in the safety of your home. And this was your home now.
You were greeted at the door by a man with clever eyes and a polite smile and bow, a relaxing accent you had only ever heard in movies introducing him to you, introducing the manor to you. The police officer – whose name you forgot over the years, who had tried cheering you up in the car – bid you farewell, and that was that. A new beginning. New family, new house, new life. Your mother was dead; you had confirmed it yourself. Nothing would ever go back to how it was. But maybe this change would be good for you.
These thoughts lasted four months.
The first person you met was one of your new brothers, Timothy (“Tim” he insisted you call him, as if he stuck around enough for you to call him anything). He was a few years older than you, and according to Alfred, a genius. To you, he kind of looked like he needed a hug and a good nap less he crashes and burn out, but you kept those thoughts to yourself – like you did most of your thoughts.
You met Dick Grayson, Golden Boy with a bright smile, eyebags, and a distracted gaze. He had things to do, a job in a different city, responsibilities as an adult. You understood, let him rush around with no hard feelings, knowing his energy meter would empty eventually. Maybe you could talk to him then. (Who wanted to talk to some random kid your adopted dad took in anyways? You probably would’ve done the same in his place).
Steph was a pleasant addition to your routine, and probably your favorite (after Alfred, of course) of the manor’s inhabitants, even If she didn’t truly live there. She hung around a lot, livening the gloomy atmosphere of the manor while providing feminine energy; something you discovered to be unfortunately rare in you new place. Nonetheless, she had this look in her eye that sometime stole your breath. A look that sometimes haunted you, as if she was searching and searching for something. After a while, she stopped coming around as much, Alfred explaining that with the age, she had new responsibilities. You felt disappointed and a bit bitter, but who were you to complain? She wasn’t your real sister. You both knew that.
A month passed, you talked to your biological father for the first and probably last time. He was quiet – you noticed silently – but attentive. Bruce Wayne never spoke unless necessary, you had heard, but with you, he was soft words and awkward smiles. You felt endeared by his behavior, despite being only eleven years old, and satisfied by his attention. It was like a flower being watered after weeks of neglect, like finally being fed a warm meal after weeks of starvation. The feeling was euphoric, and you brightened when he offered to go on a father-child date to get to know his new kid better.
And like any drug, the crash was abrupt and harsh. He disappeared into the shadows of the manor once more, and the next time you saw him his eyebags were darker and the lines in his forehead deeper. You couldn’t bear to be the one responsible for adding more onto his already seemingly overflowing plate. So, like your father, you let yourself melt into the shadows.
Throughout the years, your father took in more children with varying personalities. Although the manor was fuller, it still held that characteristic darkness to It, like it was destined to be lonely no matter how many people you put in it. You moved on, how could you not? It does you no good to dwell on what could’ve been had you integrated yourself into their circle. The curiosity and hurt would kill you (Though in the dark of the night, sometimes, you let yourself wonder).
You found out about their identities after two years of living with them. A long time? A bit, but how were you supposed to notice signs when they were never there, and this was the first time you were living and actually interacting (as limited as the interactions were) with rich people. At first you thought all rich people were quirky, but when their conversations went on, unaware of your hidden presence, you began realizing that maybe this wasn’t normal.
Resentment was the first feeling on your mind, though it quickly made way for resignation. The discovery reassured you, albeit disappointingly, because it showed you that no matter what you did, you would’ve never been apart of their world. You mourned a bit, yearning for a family; siblings who hung out with you, teased you, protected you, a dad who cherished you, showed you off. Then you moved on.
In fact, it pushed you to do better. Because if your sort-of family could go out to fight crime at night altruistically, you could do your best to help as well.
You began working harder towards your goal, becoming a doctor. Not to impress anyone, but because you wanted to make a difference in this city. You studied hard, pouring your life and soul into schoolwork, barely taking breaks.
Alfred grew worried, but you were as hardheaded and determined as your father, so his attempts to get through to you and push you to rest were all in vain. He even tried going through your siblings or Bruce, but it all fell through.
Silently, bitterly, during another all nighter, you’d sometimes liken yourself to the distant shadow of Tim in your memories. You wondered if this was why he did it, pushed himself to the brink for something. If this feeling was something he also eventually began clinging onto. But you had no time for such thoughts, so you pushed them away.
It was impressive how long you went on without breaking down and burning out. Yet you were a force of nature, a tree that let the weather mistreat it without letting it interrupt it from growing, water that kept flowing.
When you were fifteen, you told your family you wanted to be a doctor over dinner. It had been during an uncharacteristic lull in conversation, and you took the occasion to reveal it casually, like another piece of information, like it wasn’t your motivation and dream.
“And you think you’ll make it as a doctor?”
Your youngest brother and newest addition to the family sneered, an expression that felt wrong on a face so young. You didn’t rise to the bait.
“I’ve been studying a lot for a couple of years. I was just letting you know” you said, though your gaze remained on Bruce.
And since they were still quiet, you chose to drop the bomb.
“Can I practice by patching you guys up after patrol?”
Your question was polite in an almost indifferent way, though your indifference couldn’t hide your curiosity and eagerness for firsthand experience. A cup fell.
“What do you mean?” Dick asked awkwardly with a tense smile “What patrols?”
You deadpanned, rolling your eyes.
“Do you think I’m dumb? I’ve been living with you guys for four years. I’d have to be stupid not to know your secret identities by now”
Damian seemed satisfied with that answer, crossing his arms proudly and mumbling something about ‘superior Wayne genetics’, while the rest of your family had varied reactions. Dick gaped at you, as if your knowing of their identities was unthinkable, Steph seemed somewhat conflicted but amused, Cass… well, she didn’t seem angry (or anything for that matter?), in fact, she seemed proud, and Jason was cajoling loudly.
Nevertheless, the reaction you were looking at was your father’s. Bruce looked at you with an indecipherable expression. As did Tim. But you didn’t break eye contact, you wouldn’t back down – you wouldn’t be worthy of the Wayne name if you let them intimidate you. A deep, tired sigh.
“I had my doubts,” lies, you haven’t seen him in four months, but you’ll let him have it “but the idea isn’t bad”
The shocked reactions broke into disapproval
“They’re a civilian!” “B, they have zero experience, are you insane?-” “I don’t think that is the best idea, father” “That is the funniest thing you’ve said today, old man-” a guffaw.
“Enough” he interrupted. His voice oozed authority, enough to not need to shout for them to all fall silent again. Your father looked in your eyes, deeply, as if seeing something he hadn’t seen or noticed before, something hiding in plain sight.
A sigh “I agree to let you shadow the med area in the cave-” a chorus of complaints and disagreements suddenly interrupted him, but with a glare, they quieted down again “On one condition” he began ominously.
You raised an unimpressed brow. Did he have to be so dramatic about it? A sigh of your own, perhaps it was contagious “Sure. A condition” you repeated flatly. Your first real impression of your family wasn’t turning out to be exactly positive. The urge to retreat into the safety of your room and focus on your studies once more was heavily tempting.
“You’ll obviously need supervision, ideally from Alfred. You have no prior experience” You hummed in agreement. No, duh, you were fifteen, of course you had zero medical experience “You’ll also be required to shadow Dr Thompkins on the weekends to better your knowledge. If you want to help, you’ll help fully”
Perhaps you were more like your father than you thought, because in that moment, you felt like you were seeing him for the first time as well. A bitter taste coated your tongue as you gave an affirmative answer, then returned to your room, doing your best to ignore the argument that exploded at the dinner table after you left. Some things never changed, it seems. They always say what they truly feel and think when you’re not around.
Either way, you were satisfied with the outcome of the conversation, even though your dad’s utilitarian reasoning left a heavy feeling in your chest and a pain you couldn’t explain in your heart.
Nevertheless, that was the beginning of a new period of your life. The beginning of the end, perhaps. Because you are [Name] Wayne, and you were going to become a doctor and help – with the added valor of proving yourself to your family – if it was the last thing you did.
oh god this has plagued my mind but an Richard Papen!reader. Like ugh I spent days just not sleeping to figure it out but I’ve GOT IT!!
(I’m gonna shorten it to TSH [the secret history] reader ok?)
TSH!reader who was taken by Bruce after his mom dies from their father’s abuse. They were ignored by Bruce mainly because this was Batman & Dick era, no one else.
(TSH!reader is the same age as Jason!!)
TSH!reader who manages to barely pass highschool (without the use of pot, alcohol, and bad impulsive choices) and only knew a bit about manners due to Alfred
Then after a bad fight with Bruce since reader was yelling at Bruce for being a horrible father since Bruce was trying to make Reader go to gotham college
TSH!reader who goes to Hampden college and everything plays out like in canon (including the winter break where they almost die) and when they go to the hospital, was dragged back home by Alfred because they had pneumonia and TSH!reader was too prideful to ask for help
TSH!reader who’s forced to get used to all of these new people and makes it very clear he’d rather be with the Greek class, spending the remainder of the winter break sending letters and reading greek books in the library.
Jason finds reader and is like “why the heck are they back?? when did they even come back??”
reader does not care or bat(heheh) an eye at them and just stays in his old dusty locked room instead of being with them.
Reader who gets dragged to the family dinner and finally sits in his spot (which was mainly the spot next to Bruce and in front of Dick) and gets glared at by Damian.
Reader in fact does not care and just gives him the Henry WinterTM glare. And because of the fact he’s sitting there, Reader is then noticed by the entire family.
I still haven’t envisioned any of their reactions, thoughts, etc.. But all I want there to be is that TSH!reader goes back to Hampden college with a stalker staring at him through the cameras(Tim), a brother who followed him into Hampden under the guise of a professor(Dick), a new roommate(Jason), and other stalkers who still aren’t old enough for college or just prefer to be stalking.
Of course the greek class is astonished because who’s the professor and roommate so absolutely protective of Richard!reader who just came back from winter break??
LMFAO, this is all out of pure self indulgence and I would love if someone enjoyed this as much as I did!!
P:S, this is based off “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt. Amazing book.
Batfam x detective!Reader x Moriarity!love interest Prt.2, Prt.1
The fog clung to Gotham's streets like a bad memory, thick and unwilling to fade. You'd been chasing shadows for weeks now— a string of murders that defied the usual Gotham chaos. Victims posed in prayer, throats slit with precision, each scene laced with symbols that screamed ritual but whispered something far more insidious. The accountant on the warehouse rooftop had been the first you'd officially consulted on, but there were three more since: a disgraced priest in the bowels of St. Swithun's Cathedral, a corrupt banker dangling from the clock tower at City Hall, and a mob informant crucified upside down in an abandoned confessional. All tied to old Falcone money, all mocking faith in their final poses.
Gordon had pulled you in deeper, against his better judgment. "This isn't your playground," he'd growled over burnt coffee in his office, but his eyes said otherwise. He trusted your mind where his detectives faltered. The Batfamily? They'd hovered on the periphery—Batman dropping cryptic warnings via gargoyle perches, Nightwing swinging by your office with "friendly" check-ins that felt like surveillance. They couldn't crack it either. Tim had hacked every database, Damian dissected the symbolism with his assassin's eye, Jason chased street leads with bullets and bravado. Nothing. The clues were there, but they weren't for them.
They were for you.
It started subtle: a smudged fingerprint on the first victim's cufflink, arranged in a pattern that mimicked the Fibonacci sequence but inverted— a nod to your old criminology notes from the Wayne library, the ones you'd scribbled in the margins about chaos theory in crime. Then the priest's rosary beads: 13 instead of 59, threaded with a wire that hummed a faint Morse code when heated— dots and dashes spelling "Reichenbach," a reference only you'd catch from your dog-eared copy of Doyle hidden in your childhood room at the Manor. The banker's watch stopped at 4:13, not random— the page number in your favorite puzzle book where a riddle about falling empires began. And the informant's inverted cross? Etched with micro-scratches forming a cipher from your own invented code, the one you'd used to pass notes to Alfred during boring galas.
No one else saw it. Gordon chalked it up to coincidence. Bruce dismissed it as overreach. But you knew: someone was playing a game, and you were the only invited player.
Joan had noticed your obsession first. "You're pacing more than usual," she'd said one night in your cramped apartment, handing you a mug of tea laced with something calming. "And you're violin-ing at 3 a.m. again. Talk."
"It's personal," you'd replied, bow scraping strings in a frantic melody. "He's leaving breadcrumbs. For me."
"He?"
"The architect. Smarter than the killers he's puppeteering. Maybe smarter than me."
Joan had arched an eyebrow. "No one's smarter than you. Except maybe on a good day."
But he was. The clues escalated, leading you through Gotham's underbelly: a forged invitation to a black-market auction, a hacked billboard flashing coordinates only in binary reflected in rainwater puddles. Each step pulled you away from the Batfamily's radar— jammed signals, false trails that looped them in circles. They searched for you, you knew; Dick's worried texts piled up unread, Jason's rough voicemails growled about "not going lone wolf." Even Damian had slipped a tracker in your coat, which you'd ditched in a dumpster fire.
The final clue: a violin string mailed to your office, vibrating with a frequency that, when amplified, revealed an address— an abandoned observatory on the outskirts, overlooking the bay where the city lights drowned in fog.
You went alone. Joan protested, but you slipped out while she slept. No backup. This was your riddle.
The observatory was a relic, dome cracked like an eggshell, stars mocking through the gaps. He waited in the center, silhouetted against a makeshift throne of old telescopes and star charts. Tall, lean, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed old money— or stolen fortunes. His face was sharp, eyes gleaming with intellect that mirrored your own, but darker, hungrier.
"Moriarty," you said, voice steady despite the pulse in your throat. It fit. The criminal consultant, the napoleon of crime.
He smiled, slow and predatory. "A title, perhaps. But you can call me James. Or whatever you like, really. I've followed your career with... admiration."
You circled him, mind cataloging: no weapons visible, but traps likely. "The murders. Your design. Clues tailored to my history, my methods. Why?"
"Because Gotham bores me," he replied, voice smooth as silk. "The Bat and his birds? Predictable. Gordon? Honorable, but limited. But you... the neglected prodigy, carving truth from the shadows without a net. You're a symphony in a city of noise. I wanted to see if you'd dance."
Infatuation flickered in his gaze— not lust, but obsession. With your mind, your resilience, the way you'd risen from Wayne's oversight to become the rogue sleuth who bent rules and broke chains.
"You led me here. What now? Arrest? Fight?"
He chuckled. "Crude. No. A negotiation." He stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne— something antique, like forgotten libraries. "I'll come with you. Surrender the game. But in return, I stop the crimes. All of them. The puppets I pulled? Cut strings. And I'll help you end this— find the true killer I've been toying with, the one pulling smaller strings beneath mine. We'll kill him. Together. Justice, your way. No bars, no capes. Just us."
A compromise. Tempting. He'd orchestrated it all, but his intellect could unravel the deeper rot— the real mastermind behind the faith-mocking kills, someone even he deemed worthy of elimination.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the only one who sees the world as I do. Puzzles within puzzles. And perhaps... I tire of solitude."
You weighed it: freedom for alliance. Risky, but the clues proved his genius. With him, you'd solve what eluded even Bruce.
"Deal," you whispered. "But betray me, and I'll bury you in riddles no one solves."
His smile widened. "I'd expect nothing less."
He had contingencies: a network that scrubbed your traces, jammed Bat-signals, erased digital footprints. By dawn, you were ghosts. The Batfamily searched— frantic comms chatter you overheard on a stolen frequency— but found nothing. Vanished.
Only Gordon knew. A burner phone ping at 4 a.m., your voice brief: "I'm safe. Following a lead. Don't look."
He didn't. Sentiment, again. He covered for you with the family, stonewalling Bruce's demands. "She's her own woman," he'd say, lighting another cigarette. Unaware of your shadow partner, the man who'd started the fire now helping you extinguish it.
Together, you hunted. James— Moriarty— decoded layers you hadn't seen: the killer was a former altar boy turned Falcone enforcer, twisted by betrayal, hiding in the catacombs under the city. You cornered him in a forgotten chapel, his final prayer pose ironic as James's knife flashed— swift, clean. Compromise fulfilled.
But freedom came with chains. James's infatuation grew, his presence a constant challenge, a mirror to your own darkness. The Batfamily would find you eventually; family always did. Until then, Gotham's shadows were deeper, shared with a mind that matched yours.
And for the first time, the silence felt like a duet.
Yandere Batfam x Porcelain Doll!Reader
You were the forgotten one in the Wayne Manor shadows. Adopted by Bruce Wayne after Commissioner Gordon found you huddled in a rain-soaked alley, barely clinging to life after your parents' tragic end in one of Gotham's endless crimes. Bruce had promised you a family, a home. But promises in Gotham were as fragile as glass. The Batfamily—Dick with his endless optimism, Jason's brooding fire, Tim's sharp intellect, Damian's fierce precision, and the others—they all had their roles, their missions. You? You were the afterthought, the quiet adoptee who faded into the wallpaper.
Neglect crept in like Gotham's fog. Bruce's absences stretched into weeks, his "training sessions" with the others leaving you alone in the vast estate. Alfred tried, with his kind words and tea, but even he couldn't fill the void. The depression sank its teeth deep; nights blurred into days where you stared at ceilings, wondering if anyone would notice if you just... vanished. Suicidal thoughts whispered like old friends, urging you toward the edge of the manor's tallest tower or the sharp edges in the Batcave. But you held back, barely, until the day you couldn't anymore.
You escaped one stormy night, slipping past the security like a ghost they never saw. No alarms tripped—maybe they didn't care enough to monitor you closely. Freedom tasted bitter, but it was yours. You wandered Gotham's underbelly, invisible as ever.
But the Batfamily noticed. Too late, perhaps, but they did. Bruce's guilt hit like a batarang; he mobilized everyone. Dick scoured the rooftops, calling your name with a desperation you'd never heard. Jason tore through the streets, interrogating lowlifes. Tim hacked every camera feed, tracing your faint digital echoes. Damian, silent and lethal, vowed to drag you back. They searched relentlessly, posters of your face plastered in shadows, whispers in the criminal underworld offering rewards. Gotham's vigilantes turned the city upside down for their lost sibling.
You knew they'd find you eventually. So, in desperation, you sought out the one villain who could make you truly disappear: Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter. Holed up in his twisted tea-party lair, surrounded by mind-controlled puppets and Wonderland delusions, he listened to your plea with a manic grin.
"A deal, you say? To become a doll, unseen by the bats? Oh, what a curiouser and curiouser request!" He twirled his hat, eyes gleaming. You bargained hard—not just transformation, but abilities. Movement, subtle powers to interact with the world. Jervis, intrigued by your resolve (and perhaps seeing a bit of Alice in you), agreed. A sip from a glowing vial, a whirl of hypnotic tech, and you shrank, your body reshaping into porcelain perfection: a lifelike doll with jointed limbs, painted features, and a dress of faded lace. But beneath, you could move, whisper, even channel faint telekinetic nudges—enough to protect, to act.
The Batfamily never found you. Their searches grew frantic, then weary, then haunting memories in the manor. You were sold off in one of Jervis's underground auctions, a "cursed antique" to the highest bidder.
Your new owner was Lily, a wide-eyed six-year-old with curls like sunshine and a heart full of wonder. Her mother, Elena, a single mom scraping by as a waitress in Gotham's dingier diners, had bought you on a whim from a shady pawn shop—thinking you'd be a perfect companion for her daughter. Elena worked double shifts, exhaustion etched in her face, but her love for Lily shone through every tired smile.
From the moment Lily clutched you in her small hands, whispering secrets about school bullies and dreams of flying, you felt... needed. Treated right, for once. No neglect, no shadows. Lily dressed you in tiny outfits she sewed herself, shared her bedtime stories, and called you her "best friend forever." And you, with your hidden abilities, became her guardian.
At night, when Lily slept, you'd stir subtly—arranging her room to ease her mornings, or using a gentle telekinetic push to knock over a vase if an intruder lurked (Gotham was full of them). But your true protection extended to Elena. You'd whisper ideas into Lily's ear during playtime, suggestions that the girl would excitedly relay to her mom: "Mommy, what if you sold those pretty drawings online?" Or, "I saw a job ad in the paper—maybe for that bakery?" With your subtle nudges—moving papers to highlight opportunities, even once "accidentally" spilling coffee on a lottery ticket that turned out to be a small winner—you helped Elena climb.
She started a side hustle selling handmade crafts, inspired by Lily's "imaginative ideas." Shifts turned into a promotion, then a better job at a cozy café. Money flowed easier; bills paid on time, treats for Lily, a safer apartment away from the crime-ridden blocks. Elena never suspected her daughter's doll was anything more than a lucky charm.
You watched Lily grow, her laughter filling the home like light piercing Gotham's gloom. Protecting her became your purpose—warding off nightmares with soft hums only she could hear, guiding her through tough days with invisible encouragement. The Batfamily? A distant echo, a life you no longer mourned. Here, in this simple warmth, you were cherished, alive in ways the manor never allowed.
And in quiet moments, as Lily hugged you close, you'd think: Sometimes, becoming a doll was the only way to find your humanity.
