The last thing you expected when you came down the stairs on your birthday was a group of masked vigilantes built like a brick wall. They’re all staring at you as you come down. You’re still in your pyjamas, hair messy and teeth unbrushed.

Your idea of a good birthday party isn’t exactly grown ass men you don’t know in costumes. Your parents are standing there, looking all… solemn? Guilty? Only to tell you you’ve been sold to the highest bidder.

Sold?!?

What the fuck was this anyways? Wattpad?

“Aww, come on, sweetheart. Don’t look at us like that. We don’t bite.” Dick says, flashing you an easy grin.

“Well. Mostly.” Comes Jason’s modulated voice as he leans against the doorway leading out of the house, like he’s expecting you to run. Great. This is fun.

The youngest looking one isn’t saying anything, and you might not be able to see his eyes, but you get the distinct feeling he’s glaring.

“Listen, it’ll be easier for us if you come along peacefully. Technically speaking, we do own you.” Tim says with a sigh, clearly the ‘voice of reason’ in the group, despite the fact that absolutely nothing about this was reasonable.