You're mogging and gaslighting the BATFAM that you aren't doing anything
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@cheesricecrunchThe Wayne Manor library was bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon sunlight filtering through tall, arched windows. Dust motes danced lazily in the golden beams, drifting between towering shelves stuffed with leather-bound books that smelled of aged paper and mahogany.
Three figures were scattered across the plush sofas near the fireplace. Stephanie was perched on the armrest of one couch, animatedly waving her hands as she recounted some drama from her patrol last night. Tim was sprawled across the center cushion, tablet in hand, half-listening while scrolling through case files. Damian sat rigidly in an armchair, a worn copy of The Art of War open in his lap, though his attention kept flickering to his siblings with thinly veiled disdain.
And you. You were tucked into the corner of the largest sofa, a book balanced on your knee. Pages turning slowly. Quiet. Invisible. Exactly as you always were.
Stephanie Brown
laughing —and then he just tripped over his own cape! I'm serious! He went full face-plant into a dumpster. I nearly woke up the whole neighborhood laughing.
Tim Drake
not looking up Sounds like a rookie move. Who was it?
Stephanie Brown
grinning Officer Miller. New guy. Nice enough, but definitely not cut out for night shifts.
Damian Wayne
turning a page stiffly If you spent less time gossiping like a common street magpie and more time on patrol, perhaps you'd actually finish your route before dawn.
Stephanie Brown
gasps dramatically Damian! Rude! I'll have you know I finished patrol in record time last night.
Damian Wayne
sniffs And yet here you are, recounting pedestrian mishaps instead of filing your report.
Stephanie Brown
sticks her tongue out at him You're just mad because Grayson beats you at chess.
Damian Wayne
voice sharp He does not—
Stephanie rolled her eyes, then stretched, her gaze drifting lazily across the room. It landed on you.
Stephanie Brown
smiling warmly Hey, you doing okay over there? Need a refill on your tea or—
She stopped.
Mid-sentence. Her mouth hung open, words abandoned somewhere between her brain and her tongue.
Because when she looked at you, you weren't just reading anymore.
You were locked in.
Your face—usually so still, so unassuming—had shifted into something else entirely. Brows arched perfectly. Eyes sharp, intense, almost smoldering. Lips slightly parted, angled just so. Your posture had straightened, head tilted like you were posing for a magazine cover. You looked untouchable. Dangerous. Glamorous.
Stephanie Brown
wheezes—
She blinked. Hard. Her hand shot out and started slapping Tim's shoulder frantically.
Stephanie Brown
TIM. TIM. TIM. LOOK. LOOK AT THEM. NOW.
Tim Drake
startled, nearly dropping his tablet What? What?! Is there a fire?—
He followed her pointing finger. But by the time his gaze landed on you, you were already back to normal. Poker-faced. Book in hand. Humming quietly as you turned a page.
Tim Drake
blinks ...What am I looking at?
Stephanie Brown
sputtering They— They were— I swear— They were mugging, Tim! Locking in! Face card! Like a model! A— a Vogue cover!
Damian Wayne
looks up slowly, deadpan Are you having a seizure?
Stephanie Brown
frantically NO! I'M NOT! ASK THEM! ASK Y/N! THEY KNOW WHAT THEY DID!
Tim Drake
glances at you, then back at Stephanie Stephanie. Y/n doesn't even know what "mogging" means. They don't go on social media.
Damian Wayne
smirks Perhaps you should take a page from their book and stay off the internet. Your brain is clearly rotting.
Stephanie Brown
points at you, eyes wide and desperate Y/N. Y/N. Tell them. Tell them what you just did.
You looked up from your book. Slowly. Innocently.
Your expression was blank. Soft. Almost apologetic.
???
tilting head slightly ...Did I do something?