ni-idea-07

[ni-idea-07]

OUR BABY BUTTERFLY

TW: Yandere themes, parental neglect, explicit language, mentions of sexual content (not graphic, but hinted at in dialogue), ambiguous interactions between adults and a minor, as well as psychological dynamics of power and vulnerability. Unwanted but starved murder.

Read with caution.

They had reunited after so long. Lestat promised he would change. Louis believed him, not because he believed in second chances (more like the twentieth chance), but because he saw him as different. The Frenchman seemed different, he was, and it showed in his gaze.

For your part, you had met them on a very peculiar night.

You had missed the last bus of the afternoon and stood at the bus stop hoping another bus would come. Your phone was off; you had run out of battery since you'd had a really long day, and at the school you attended, all the assignments were on the school's website and had to be done online. You also had extracurricular activities and a 40-minute break during the break between classes (you also loved checking your social media and playing video games). Calling your parents wasn't an option, and neither was borrowing a phone from passersby since almost no one was there, and the few who were still there at that hour seemed too untrustworthy.

The night breeze snuck through the trees and the rusty signs at the bus stop, stirring your hair and making you shiver. It was late. Very late. The streetlights flickered as if they were tired too. You looked at the bus stop clock once more: 11:52 p.m.

You were alone. Or so you thought.

—"Are you waiting for the bus?"— asked a soft, deep voice, with an accent that wasn't easy to place, but it sounded elegant, friendly.

You turned around, a little scared, and saw him. Tall, thin, dressed in black, with a wide-brimmed hat that barely concealed pale eyes, too pale for someone of his complexion. He watched you without moving, as if he didn't want to scare you. It was the man you would later know as 'Louis'.

You nodded slowly, saying nothing.

He smiled, barely. A smile so faint it seemed more like a memory than a real expression.

—“I doubt another one will come by today. Can I sit with you?”

You looked at him, and something in his voice, in his manner, made you not feel afraid. He seemed... alone. Like you. You nodded again.

Louis sat down carefully next to you, leaving a respectful space between you. He took out a handkerchief and folded it between his fingers. He didn't look at you directly, but he didn't completely avert his attention either. He was present.

—“It's not safe for someone your age to be alone at this time”— he murmured. —“Do your parents know where you are?”

You shook your head.

—“My phone died… and there's no one around.”

Louis nodded. Then, with a pause that felt long, he asked:

—“Do you want a ride home?”

—“I don't get into strangers' cars”— you said firmly, though not entirely confidently. You had made the mistake of saying no one knew where you were. He was attractive and an adult; you'd always been afraid of people like that.

Louis wasn't offended by your refusal. In fact, he seemed relieved. He lowered his gaze and nodded slowly, as if he respected your answer more than anything else you could have said.

Louis wasn't offended by your response. In fact, his eyes, those absurdly sad eyes, softened, as if he were... proud of you.

—"Well said"— he whispered. —"Never trust too quickly. Even when someone seems harmless."

He watched you with a patient gaze, as if he could wait for hours by your side without saying anything else.

—"I'll stay here. Until your bus arrives."

—"You said none would come."

Louis smiled, this time more visible, with a hint of irony.

—"I know. But I can still stay."

Several minutes passed, maybe an hour, you were bored, and there was a TikTok song playing in your head, helping you dissociate, like so many times when your mother and father argued at the slightest opportunity.

Louis glanced at you every few minutes, out of the corner of his eye. You were truly adorable, and it's been a long time since he'd had human companionship; you were a warm little thing by his side. Even though you weren't that close, he could still feel your body temperature. He didn't say anything else. He stayed with you, motionless, as if he had nowhere else to go. Maybe he didn't. Or maybe he'd simply decided that, for now, you were his destiny.

The silence between you wasn't awkward. It was strange... like a pause in time. A suspended night where nothing was happening, but everything was about to happen.

—"How old are you?"— he asked after a while.

—"Seventeen"— you said quickly, looking at the floor, crossing your arms as if you could hide behind them.

Something changed in the air. You felt it before you saw it: a cooler breeze, a strong scent, like withered flowers and sweet blood.

—"And who is this little creature?"— he asked, approaching with calm, almost dancing steps. He crouched down at your level with a smile as charming as it was terrifying. —"Hello, chérie. Are you lost?"

Louis stood up immediately, standing between you and the blond like a living shield.

—“Don't touch her, Lestat.”

—“Touch her? Please! I just want to meet her. It's not every day I find you babysitting a human child at a bus stop, like a... what do you say? Boy Scout?”

Lestat smirked, but his eyes shifted to yours. They were looking at you with interest.

—“She has a lovely presence. Look at how she trembles, how fast she breathes... She's beautiful, don't you think?”

Louis sighed when Lestat sat down next to you; he knew he wouldn't do anything to you right away since he'd already consumed blood recently. You could smell him, and who knows how long he'd been listening to the little conversation between you and him.

He didn't say it, but he tensed as if every fiber of his being was preparing to act as soon as Lestat made the slightest false move. His eyes—so patient before—were now liquid steel. You, for your part, could barely breathe. You sensed the two men weren't normal. There was something about them, the way they moved, the way they looked at you, that put you on edge... though with Louis, it was different. With him, at least, you didn't feel fear. Only that strange melancholy that seemed to envelop him like a cloak.

—"Lestat..."— Louis warned, in that soft voice that never seemed to raise its pitch, but carried with it a weight as thick as the night. —"Enough."

—"Enough what?"— the blond replied, amused, as he leaned his elbow on the bench and his face in his hand. —"I just talk. Isn't that what humans do? Chatting at bus stops, shivering from the cold, sharing secrets..."

You flinched a little. His smile unsettled you. It was beautiful, but you felt like a mouse being watched by a cat that had already eaten but still wanted to play.

—"I have no secrets"— you said firmly, trying to sound older. Like someone who couldn't be intimidated.

Lestat raised his eyebrows theatrically.

—"No? And that little lie about your age? Oh, mon ange... don't tell me you thought we wouldn't notice."

Your heart leapt. He looked at you directly, as if he could see right through you. As if your thoughts were an open book to him.

Louis turned slightly toward you, still keeping an eye on Lestat.

—"It's all right"— he said, his tone softer, almost paternal. —"You're not in trouble."

But Lestat wasn't finished.

—"Twelve. Maybe thirteen, if you count generosity and good lighting."— He laughed softly, a cruel gleam in his eyes. —"Did they teach you to lie like that in school?"

—"Lestat..."— Louis repeated, and this time, his voice was colder. More dangerous.

The blond man stopped. He looked at him with feigned innocence. Then, without warning, he stood up, took a couple of steps, and bowed in front of you again. Louis didn't move, but his gaze was a silent threat.

—"You're shivering"— Lestat said, his voice low. —"You're cold. Would you like to borrow my coat?"

You shook your head sharply. You shrank even further, hugging yourself.

Louis took a step forward. It was enough to make Lestat back away.

—"Good. Good"— the blond said, raising his hands as if in a sign of peace. —"How hard it is to make friends these days..."

Lestat reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a shiny, modern cell phone, a little too new since he rarely used it. He turned it elegantly between his fingers, playing with it as if it were a tempting candy.

—“Oh, Cherie… imagine this: you make a little call, your parents come, and everyone is happy. Only…”— he gave you a crooked, dangerous smile— “…not everything in this life is free.”

—“What do you want in return?”— you asked, your voice low, as if you were afraid of the answer.

Lestat tilted his head, delighted and admiring the new creature he had just met. Louis leaned a little closer to you, enough so that his shadow shielded you from the world.

—“Just ignore him”— he murmured. —“Lestat talks a lot when he's bored.”

—“Ouch!”— the blond complained exaggeratedly, putting a hand to his chest. —“That hurt, Louis. Honestly. I'm just trying to be nice to this sweet creature.”

Louis ignored him. He crouched down a little to be at your eye level.

—“Would you like to use my phone?”—He asked, glancing at the one Lestat was holding. —"It's not his. It's mine. He's just borrowing it because he likes to snoop."

Lestat chuckled, but didn't protest.

You nodded and grabbed the phone, entered your mother's number, and called on speakerphone.

—"Hello?"

Your eyes lit up when your sleepy mother answered.

—"Mom, I missed the bus and I've been here for hours. Some men lent me their phone. Can Dad come get me?"— you said, trying to hide your excitement, thinking they were never going to answer.

You heard him groan in annoyance.

—"Are you at the bus stop near your school?"

—"Yes, Mom."

There was a silence; you could hear your father's murmurs.

—"I can't right now, honey. I just had make-up sex with your dad. You don't want the spark to go away, do you?"

—"Uhm... I don't think so."

—"Find a place where it won't get cold. We'll stop by tomorrow morning and have breakfast as a family. I love you, minha nega."

And he hung up.

You couldn't help the urge to cry. You knew your parents were what other overprotective parents call "neglectful." And it pained you that cold strangers heard it so clearly.

You looked at them, not knowing what they would say.

The blond just laughed, and Louis looked at him with distaste.

—"Well... I know horror movies start like that, but... what if we take you? We have a nice car that the new generation of kids like you will surely like."

They both stood up when you did.

This wouldn't have happened if you had enrolled them in a school closer to your house.

—"Don't pressure her, Lestat."

Lestat raised his eyebrows, clearly amused.

—"I'm not pressuring her, I'm just offering charming alternatives. Although of course... if she prefers to wait alone in the dark..."

You stood still for a moment, weighing the situation. You were cold, you were tired, and your parents weren't coming. Those two men were strange, yes, but they didn't seem dangerous... at least, not to you.

—"Are they going to kill me or something?"— you asked suddenly, bluntly.

Louis blinked, surprised, but Lestat laughed as if you'd told him the best joke of the year.

—"Oh, no, chérie! Killing children is boring and vulgar."

Louis looked at you with a mixture of sadness and tenderness.

—"We just want to help you. No one should be left alone out at night because of their... busy parents."

—"Too busy having sex"— Lestat added with theatrical sarcasm.

Louis closed his eyes in resignation.

—"Enough."

You sighed, crossing your arms.

—"Oh, come on, it's not bad. We fuck each other too."

You didn't know what to do; it wasn't the first time adults had spoken explicitly in front of you. But that didn't make it any less uncomfortable.

Even less so if your mind only thought about that later.

—"Look, you've already made her uncomfortable, well done."

Lestat rolled his eyes at the scolding.

Your stomach ached with hunger, that discomfort so unfamiliar to you. You'd skipped breakfast and lunch; dinner was supposed to be your first meal of the day. But your return home was thwarted.

That was the last time you went to school.

=============

They had been quite convincing; after taking you from the bus stop, they took you to see the nightlife spots that were suitable for a girl your age. But then, then, they wouldn't let you leave.

They promised you luxuries and money to keep you staying.

You hadn't agreed, and that resulted in Lestat locking you in a coffin.

Why would they have two coffins in the same room? It was something you didn't understand.

Until after keeping you in the coffin for two days, they let you out to drink water and eat some sandwiches, and then Lestat told you that if you screamed, he'd rip your jaw out.

—"You'll stay here and never leave if you don't want us to cut you into little pieces. Your father, Louis, went to get you some things."

Two years had passed since then. You didn't come home that night, or the next. Or ever.

You had tried to escape, of course. For the first six months, they had always hugged you and brought you along. Once, you had gone out onto the highway and asked a police officer for help, but Louis appeared behind you and hugged you around the waist while you watched Lestat bite the policeman.

That was the time you discovered they were vampires, and it was also the last time you tried to escape from that luxurious apartment where they lived.

As I said, two years had passed; you had grown accustomed to their behavior, and luckily, you had only witnessed Lestat feed on the policeman who tried to help you once. Still, you knew they both fed on people Louis hired.

You ate normal food. An Italian-speaking chef would come and make you food that Louis chose, saying it would have more vitamins or something. Lestat was the one who had intervened so you could eat desserts.

Okay, you're not kidnapped. More like, you were adopted illegally and by force. (Spoiled captive syndrome is knocking at your door, darling)

But when you showed them you were no longer the little girl who wanted to run away, they treated you even better. They hired tutors so you wouldn't lose your studies. Sometimes Louis would spy on you while they taught you applied calculus and leave when he realized you were making a mistake because you were nervous about being watched. But they couldn't help it! You made them feel like they did when they first had Claudia (you know, before everything got complicated). But even though you're a teenager, to century-old vampires like them, you were like a baby. A baby they'd let grow a little longer before being turned into another bloodsucker.

—"Do you know what your life would be like if we hadn't found you?"— he asked one night, crossing his legs while swirling a crystal goblet of dark liquid.

—"Probably better..."— you whispered softly, almost without realizing it.

Lestat fell silent. His smile stretched, slow, lopsided, like a cat that has just found prey it won't let go of.

—"Better? Oh, little one..."— he leaned in, his eyes shining. —"do you want to be alone at the bus stop again? Do you want to be found by other men less... noble than us?"

You said nothing. You just pressed your lips together, your knuckles white around the pencil.

—"Come on, my dear..."

Louis appeared behind you, his cold hands resting on your shoulders like the weight of a curse. —"Don't say things you don't understand... you have no idea what's out there."

The first time you heard that phrase from Louis was the night a man in an elegant suit was let into the apartment. He had looked at you, curious, and Lestat had spoken to him in a low voice while you pretended to read a book. When the man left, Louis wiped his hands with a white napkin, and Lestat laughed as if it were all a game.

From then on, you understood. You didn't want to know what was going on out there. Or who they were bringing.

The days went by. Sometimes Lestat bought you new dresses, necklaces, shiny ornaments. —"So you look pretty, chérie..."— he said as he tried them on, adjusting them with his icy fingers. You stood still, letting them slip around your neck like golden chains.

And yes, sometimes... sometimes you thought it was okay. That it wasn't so bad. That they gave you good food, books, they even taught you how to play the piano.

But then, when Louis walked by and brushed his fingertips against your cheek, or when Lestat stood looking at you from the shadows of the room, as if deciding something, you remembered that night.

The night you didn't come home.

The night the door closed behind you and Louis wrapped his arms around your waist while Lestat smiled with his fangs bared.

You remembered how you screamed.

And how you never did again.

But then it all came to a head when you fell in love for the first time, with your geography teacher's daughter. Lestat had said that "whore" only wanted the family money and was manipulating you. Louis was more reserved; he wasn't trying to brainwash you. But he was clearly upset. You didn't understand why. They couldn't complain that you also liked women. You thought it was just anxious parent syndrome.

Until one afternoon, you were coming back from shopping. You and your girlfriend were having a sleepover, and you had decided to buy some candy. It was already getting dark. But that didn't worry you; it was for the best, since it meant your "parents" would be going hunting very soon.

But as soon as you entered the luxurious suite where they lived, you got a surprise. She was there. Lestat was yelling at her, saying that if she didn't stay still, he would break her legs too. You ran to her, noticing how her arms were broken.

—"It's about time you arrived. We were waiting for you..."

Then Lestat pulled you away from her and quickly sank his fangs into your neck. You kicked against his great strength, but your body quickly gave out from blood loss.

—"This is for your own good, Y/N..."— Louis whispered.

When you were about to close your eyes

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Yes, I know I've been gone longer than I should have.

BUT I'M BACK!

Well, as always, your likes are welcome, and please reblog too. It would help me a lot.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

Thank you so much for reading and supporting me.

Best regards. 🫠

[ni-idea-07]

hi lovely!! i adore your writing ♡♡. would you be open to writing a platonic hannigram x child reader who uses mobility aids (particularly forearm crutches and/or a wheelchair)? have a great day/night ♡!!

Aww, thanks for the compliment. I'm glad there are people who like my writing, and I hope you like this short story.

Our pretty baby

Yandere platonic Hannigram x child reader.

TW: soft yandere, child abuse and exploitation.

---------

Hannibal and Will never believed he'd fall in love with such a sweet little thing like you. They never considered adopting after their escape.

You were the daughter of a humble family who owned a bakery. You had an accident when you were three years old, and since then, you couldn't walk without support like your forearm crutch.

Will was the one who spotted you first, since Hannibal refused to enter such a humble and, according to him, "unhygienic" bakery.

Our beloved profiler fell in love with you when he saw you helping him pick out something sweet. You were adorable, small, and energetic enough to have to rely on crutches. His empathetic heart couldn't help but see you as the adorable little girl you were.

Hannibal found out about you when Will was taking too long, and he had to go in to see if his husband was okay (even though the most dangerous thing could be Will).

The doorbell rang as Hannibal entered, frowning slightly. The smell of flour, butter, and freshly baked pastries permeated the air overwhelmingly. He looked with disdain at the fogged-up glass cases and the slightly messy shelves.

But it wasn't the dirt that made him uncomfortable: it was what he saw at that moment.

Will, his Will, was crouching in front of a small creature. You, with your disheveled hair and a flour-stained apron, laughed sweetly as you pointed to a couple of cookies you knew were a favorite with the neighborhood children. Your eyes shone so genuinely that even the dim lighting of the shop seemed warmer around you.

Will turned to look at him as soon as he noticed his presence, and Hannibal was surprised by the expression on his husband's face: an unconditional devotion, a tenderness he'd never before shown to a human being other than himself. He approached, sliding his hand over Will's shoulder as a silent reminder of their union.

You looked at them curiously, your small crutch trembling slightly as you leaned more heavily on it to greet them. The bakery was empty except for you and Will. He found it endearing how Will looked at you and how you responded with a cute smile missing a baby tooth.

Your mother appeared; she was arguing with your older sister as they both carried new desserts to sell.

Neither Hannibal nor Will liked it when your mother and sister yelled at you for forgetting to write down the things you'd sold. They also heard a slap and your sobs.

Despite that, Will went every day to buy little things (things Hannibal probably wouldn't even dare look at).

You were so innocent, too innocent. You spoke so sweetly about how your leg stopped "working properly" after your father pushed you and you fell against a piece of furniture because you were crying so hard and your father couldn't stop yelling at your mother. You told him how, after the fall, you couldn't stand on your leg anymore.

Will wanted to pick you up and take you to a fucking hospital so they could treat you, and if they were still in time, so you wouldn't have to depend permanently on those crutches.

You spoke to him without fear, as if you didn't sense the dangerous aura and the prejudices surrounding Will. You told him about your dolls, the stories you made up when your sister wouldn't let you watch TV, and once you even offered him one of your "secret cookies," which you hid in a box under the counter.

—"This one has star anise, but don't tell anyone. It's my secret recipe"— you told him in a low voice, as if it were a state secret.

It wasn't difficult for Hannibal to like you; you reminded him of Misha and touched his most sensitive and protective side.

You almost never went to school. The humble village school wasn't suitable for a disabled girl like you, and that was what hurt them the most.

But that didn't stop them from sending you to catechism classes; the journey was long, and your little arms couldn't handle the long walk and the uneven streets anymore.

Hannibal and Will were passing by because they were shopping in the neighboring town, so they didn't hesitate to get off and talk to their little friend.

—"I don't want to go. But if I don't go, Mom and Dad will get mad"— you had said while crying.

They looked at each other, and Hannibal smiled.

He was determined.

They took you with them and went shopping (you and Will stayed in the car while Hannibal picked out the groceries since last time Will brought everything except what was on the list).

They took you to their house, you played with them the whole way, and when you arrived at the big house, you were surrounded by Will's energetic dogs.

That night, before you fell asleep, you whispered:

—"Can I stay here forever?"

Will kissed your forehead with so much love that your small, brave heart felt like it had finally come home.

Hannibal turned off the light and before closing the door, he said, very quietly:

—"Forever."

Well, unlike my other fanfics, they would make it their number one priority not to hurt you no matter what. You were a little girl, and they weren't monsters...well, at least not that much since you were a little girl.

A sweet little girl with a disability that will likely haunt her for the rest of her life.

The house was too elegant, too cold, at first. But Will took it upon himself to teach you how to navigate it, patient as a shepherd with his most fragile puppy. Hannibal taught you to read better, to speak better, to hold a fork more accurately, even though your small arms sometimes trembled from the weight of the cutlery. And when you couldn't walk for long, Will would carry you in his arms without a word. When you cried in pain, Hannibal would sit beside you on the marble floor, stroking your hair with his expert hands, whispering stories that made you forget the pain.

Stories of wolves and lambs.

Stories of houses in the woods where no one could find you.

Stories where you were always the most special child.

If only you knew what they did to your family...

You were playing with Play-Doh on the small table meant for you, sitting on the plush rug while Lirus (one of the many dogs) lay on your lap, while they were...

—"Do you know what you are to us?"— he asked softly.

You looked at him, your eyes shining, your head tilted.

—"What?"

Hannibal leaned over from his chair, a glass in his hand and a smile so subtle it was barely noticeable.

—"You're the dessert life owed us."

You burst out laughing, still not fully understanding, but feeling deep in your chest that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

In a house with books, soft music, the smells of bread and coffee. With three little dogs sleeping at your feet.

With two men the world called monsters, but who, to you, were simply: "Dad and Daddy."

____________

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

Greetings.🫠

[ni-idea-07]

Is there anyone here who speaks Spanish? I have all the One Shorts in Spanish.

[ni-idea-07]

Pretty little thing.

TW: Mutual kidnapping (?), deprivation of liberty, non-consensual touching, saliva as lubricant, rough oral sex.

+18 content, read at your own risk.

---------

You were in your hiding place, needing money fast.

"If you've been to jail once, you'll subconsciously look for a way to get in again."

You settled into the old seed sacks and thought, opening the newspaper and reading it. You saw an article about him donating thousands to a children's hospital.

If only he'd done that when you were hospitalized...

You hated him, crumpled the newspaper and threw it away, tore up everything you could, the little that was in your hiding place.

When you finished your attack and looked at the floor, you were still trying to catch your breath when you saw him. Again, the image of Bruce Wayne.

Fucking Bruce Wayne, smiling, wearing his usual expensive suit and holding a baby girl. The headline was clear: "Million-dollar donation to Saint Mary's Children's Hospital."

You You bit your lip until you felt the flesh split.

At twelve, you were admitted to that hospital. A preventable disease. A disease that took months of your life, your weight, your voice. Your parents abandoned you on that stretcher and never returned. The hospital could barely keep you alive. You didn't even have all your vaccinations. After that, you started stealing, even though your health wasn't the best, and that made you even more mediocre.

Despite all that, you didn't hate the rich. You had nothing against them.

But you needed the money.

It wasn't difficult to find the adopted firstborn of the richest man in the entire country.

Surprisingly, he was more stupid than he looked. You had found him on the road, asked him to help you change a tire, and he agreed with a goofy grin while he couldn't stop staring at you.

You had injected him with something when he bent down to look at the tire. You had to drag his semi-conscious body to the trunk. He didn't even scream or try to fight, he just smiled like an idiot.

You drove with fear. You knew what the city was like. These things happened often. But the guards always came to ruin everything. The road was long until you reached an old factory near the dock. You dragged him inside with difficulty once you reached the old factory. You tied him up and hung him with the help of the old pulleys.

Dick Grayson's wrists dangled above his head, tied to one of the pulleys of the old loading system that no one used anymore. You played with your old card game.

He was breathing slowly. Unconscious. But you knew he wouldn't last much longer like this.

And you weren't wrong.

A soft moan, barely audible. Then, a slight tug.

Then you heard it.

—"Nice place..."— he murmured hoarsely, as if there wasn't a string tied to his bones. —"A bit rustic for a date, don't you think?"

You didn't get up right away. You just looked at him. There you had him, finally awake, finally conscious. And he was still... smiling.

—"It's not a date."— You raised an eyebrow and continued playing, looking at nothing but your battered cards. —"You owe me a couple million."

Dick gave a soft laugh. Not scared, not upset.

—"Do you know how many times I imagined this moment?"

This time you did look at him.

His lips were chapped and blood was drying on his forehead, but his eyes... his eyes were shining. Dark blue, almost black. There was no hatred in them.

There was adoration.

It made you uncomfortable.

—"You're really lovely"— the man whispered as you approached.

—"I injected you with ketamine."

—"I know"—. He laughed.

You remained silent; you hated people so social and shameless as to speak their minds.

—"Give me a number so I can call your people"— you ordered.

—"No thanks, I'd rather stay here, with you"— he replied.

You looked at him.

—"You're out of your mind"— you said.

Then you heard voices.

"Are you sure no one's here?".

"No, now unload that shit and we'll pack it up properly."

You became alert; there were two other people in the abandoned factory, two people who, like you, were breaking a few laws.

—"What I wouldn't give to kiss you..."

—"Well, it's a shame because you're tied up and won't touch a hair on my head"— you said before turning around to face whoever had entered.

—"No?..."

He slipped out of the ropes so easily when you turned around, and he quickly grabbed you as you prepared to run. Dick couldn't be happier; you and he were finally together.

You tried to fight back and scratched his neck. He smiled and pushed you onto the seed sacks. He pulled off your shoes and ripped pants. You tried to kick him. He smiled fanatically and grabbed your shirt.

He unbuttoned your silly shirt and pulled it off. You tried to fight back, but all you could hear was his silly laughter. He hated how his laughter wasn't evil, it was genuine happiness. He turned you around, so you were leaning over the seed sacks. You yelped when he bit the flesh of your shoulder blade.

He quickly put two of his fingers in your mouth and licked your tongue so hard that you shut up and just licked his fingers.

—"Shh... You don't want them to come and see why we're making so much noise."

You tried to move away, but he dug his fingers deeper and touched your throat, making you gag.

—"If you don't know how to stay still, I should teach you, right? And you better get my fingers wet. It'll be the only lubrication you'll have."

He played with your tongue, and after lightly touching your uvula, making you salivate even more, he pulled out his fingers and lowered them to your crotch. With his other hand, he moved your panties aside. You moaned when his fingers touched your clit. You tried to push him away. But he hugged your breast and leaned over you. His wet fingers rubbed your fleshy core quite hard, but in a satisfactory way.

—"You're so pretty, wonderful. I love you. I love you. I love you so much."

You felt his clothed erection bump against your ass. He continued biting your neck, alternating with licks and kisses. His two fingers had entered your vagina, penetrating quickly and forcefully.

It hurt, yes, but it felt good and it was incredibly stimulating. You'd had sex a couple of times in exchange for food, but it had never felt this good.

Until you realized you were no longer the one in control. You couldn't be fucking the man you kidnapped.

—"Stop it, stop it!"— you struggled, then pushed him away. He stopped and pulled his hands away.

—"Oh... Well"— I looked at you as you confronted him. —"It seems my hands aren't doing the job right. I can do it with my mouth."

You were about to refuse and yell at him.

—"Did you hear that? Looks like we have company."

Dick grabbed you, and you both crawled into the old seed sacks. You'd created a sleeping fort inside, and it was so good they only looked like you were stacked.

You heard footsteps and got distracted. You didn't notice Dick flipping you over and tying your thumbs with the cloth handkerchief hidden in his jacket—the jacket you never checked and just thought he was a rich, spoiled cliché. He laughed softly and then flipped you over again.

—"Don't scream. You don't want to be seen as the dirty slut you are."

He removed your panties and lifted your bra. He licked a long line from your pelvis to your sternum, pausing to gather more saliva and trace it down to your neck.

He laid you on the floor and got between your legs. You tried to close them, but he was stronger. He opened them and got between them. When you tried to squeeze them, he opened them and placed them on his shoulders. He bit the inside of your thighs until you cried.

When he started licking, you wanted to scream. He was quite strong, even with his tongue. He also put his fingers back in and opened and closed them. He was rough, it hurt, but it was satisfying.

When you were about to come, he pulled out and kissed you, frustrating your orgasm. The first time was nothing.

But he did it five more times. After so long, you were already crying and very hypersensitive.

—"Come on, baby. Did you really think this was a reward? It's your punishment for not loving me like I do. But it's okay. I guess you've suffered enough."

Then his penis advanced again. It had a soft texture, but it was strong; it had three fingers. In your vagina, which was already stretched thin from all the scissoring he'd been doing.

When you finally came, Dick licked all the juice, not hesitating to swallow it. He sighed with a smile when he finished and lay down next to you, staring at you as he did even when he licked and sucked your vagina.

—"You're sick..."— you whispered.

—"No, it's just that I couldn't have you to myself before. Do you know how happy I was when you talked to me? When you had me tied up?... Never mind..."

You closed your eyes in exhaustion. Apparently the intruders who had entered the factory had already left.

—"How about I eat your ass now too?..."

=========

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

🫠

[ni-idea-07]

Hello! Can I please request a oneshot featuring a romantic yandere Hannigram x female reader. In this scenario, the reader has already been kidnapped and feels more fear towards Will than Hannibal. While she is certainly afraid of Hannibal, her fear of Will is heightened because he brings back memories of her abusive father. Please don’t feel pressured to fulfill this request if it doesn’t spark your creativity. Take care!

TW: Yandere content, kidnapping, obsession, traumatic memories. Mentions of child abuse. Non-consensual body swap.

Sorry if it's short, I hope you like it. Sorry for taking so long.

-------

You're not like him, you're worse.

The air in the room is thick, heavy with a mix of old wood, books, and something more metallic. You don't dare identify it. You're sitting in an oak chair, your hands tied on either side of the armrests. You'd tried to attack Hannibal, but they stopped you just in time.

Now your skin was marked by the constant friction of the restraints.

The seconds stretch like centuries while you wait. You have no idea how long you've been here. The only certainty you have is that they're close. That they're watching you.

Hannibal stands by the window, serene as ever, a glass of wine in his hand. His presence is unsettling, but it's Will who truly makes your skin crawl. He's leaning against the wall, his head tilted slightly, watching you with those sharp blue eyes that seem to dissect every part of your being.

It's not that Hannibal doesn't scare you. He does, of course. It's like being in the same room as a sleeping lion. But Will... Will is something else. There's something about the way he looks at you, the way his fingers twitch as if he's holding back. He's the one who makes you tremble, who brings back memories you'd buried years ago.

Memories of a raspy voice calling your name, of heavy footsteps approaching angrily, of hands that gripped your arm too tightly. Your father had tortured you throughout your childhood and adolescence.

And Will reminded you of him.

Always so serious, when he touched you, his grip was strong enough that you could feel it even after several hours.

–"Are you comfortable?"– Hannibal asks, his voice soft, as if you hadn't tried to stab him with a knife just an hour ago. His tone is so polite, so warm, it feels like a stab wrapped in velvet.

You don't respond. You don't want to give him that power.

Will pushes away from the wall, his boots echoing on the wooden floor like a macabre metronome. Every step he takes makes your stomach twist. He stops right in front of you and crouches down, level with you. He studies you silently, too close. You can smell the leather of his jacket, and the faint scent of the cheap soap he uses.

–"Why did you try?"– he murmurs. –"Did you think you could hurt him?"

There's something dangerous in his tone, something that wasn't there before. It's not just suppressed anger anymore. It's disappointment, it's possessiveness, it's that sick need for control you recognize all too well.

His fingers slowly rise to your face. You tremble. Not because of the cold. Not because of the pain of the restraints. But because you know exactly what's coming next. Because you've been through this before. Because Will doesn't yell at you. He doesn't hit you. But his presence crushes you.

–"You don't have to be afraid of him"– he says, his eyes boring into yours. –"I'm the one who can't control myself."

A confession disguised as a threat.

You shrink as far as you can into the chair, but there's nowhere to run. Hannibal simply watches, taking a contemplative sip of wine. As if this were a sight he's seen a hundred times before.

–"Don't push her too hard, Will"– he finally says, like someone speaking to a puppy that's biting too hard. –"Remember, she breaks easily."

Will doesn't respond. He touches your cheek with the backs of his fingers. Almost tenderly.

And you, silently, just wish the sleeping lion would wake up. Because if Hannibal is the monster under the bed, Will is the one who sits on your chest while you sleep, whispering to you that there's no escape.

Your breathing becomes erratic. You know you're in the present, that you're tied to a chair in Hannibal Lecter's house, but your body doesn't understand. Memory asserts itself like a thick tide, dragging you along without permission.

You remembered the door slamming shut. The squeak of his keys hitting the kitchen table was the cue. How he gave you exactly 40 seconds to hide. Not because they were playing hide-and-seek. But because that was the routine. The only strategy that ever worked.

But it never worked for long.

–"Where are you, brat?"– growled that voice, broken by tobacco and alcohol, the same one that called you "princess" only when it wanted you to stop crying too loudly.

You remembered the burning in your wrists as he dragged you out of the closet. The creaking of the belt between his fingers. The metallic smell that lingered in the air, just like the one in this room.

Will grabbed your jaw, strong as ever. His eyes stared into yours.

The fear you feel toward him isn't rational. It's physical. It settles at the base of your neck, in the trembling of your knees, in the sour taste in your mouth.

–"Are you remembering something, Y/N?"– Will asks you, almost sweetly.

You don't answer. You can't. Because if you speak, that fragile barrier between your past and this new hell will break.

Will smiles, and for a second, the gesture makes your skin crawl more than any threat. Not because he's kind.

But because it's identical to the one your father used when he said, "This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me."

–"Leave it to me, dear."

The doctor approaches elegantly, placing the wineglass on a nearby table. His steps are silent. Like an animal that learned to walk silently long before it learned to speak.

He leans toward you, his eyes boring into yours.

–"I offered you hospitality, and you responded with violence"– he says calmly. –"But I'm not unfair. I'll give you a second chance."

A small spark of hope ignites. Idiot. You still have that obsession with believing you can get out of this alive.

–"However"– he adds, slowly straightening. –"second chances always come with a punishment."

Will stays in the shadows, watching. Like a well-trained dog, waiting for the command. He doesn't seem bothered. On the contrary. He's excited. You can see it in the way he bites the inside of his cheek. In the way his pupils tremble slightly.

–"Do you know what the most important thing is in a punishment, y/n?"– Hannibal asks, taking something from the drawer next to the bookcase. You can't see what it is. –"It's not the pain. It's the lesson."

When he returns to your side, he shows you what he's holding: a small carved wooden box. He opens it with almost ritualistic delicacy. Inside are scalpels. Small, clean blades, arranged by size. Like pieces in a macabre game.

You struggle to breathe.

–"I'm not going to kill you"– he says with that chilling calm. –"I'm not even going to disfigure you. But I want you to remember. That every time you think about running away or attacking us, your body feels it before your mind."

Will takes a step forward. He kneels in front of you.

–"Let me do it"– he says. –"She knows me. She knows it'll hurt more if it's me."

And there it is again. That look of yours. That silent plea that does nothing. Because there are no heroes in this room.

Only two monsters.

And you. The girl who could never escape.

–"In these 8 months, you've tried to escape 4 times, Y/N"– he began, grabbing one of your hands and caressing the veins in your wrists –"our duty is to keep you safe and... for us."

Will cut the tendons in the hand he was holding. It hurt, it hurt so much, and you wanted to run away.

But you couldn't. They didn't amputate you. But you lost all ability to move your fingers, and therefore, you also lost all ability to run away.

-----------

Hi! Yes, I know it's been a while since I posted anything, and I wanted to apologize for that. I'll try to write more often.

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests are open. Leave me your request, and I will be happy to fulfill it.

[ni-idea-07]

your scent

Tw: obsession, abuse, dysfunctional family, bullying, misuse of magic and its negative consequences. I have nothing against the LGBT community (I'm actually bisexual). Suicidal tendencies, depression, apathy as a result of depression. Self-harm.

They'll be left wondering if the spell worked or not.

Muajajajaj *insert evil laugh*

=============

You were always obsessed with the entire Wayne family history and its connection to Gotham.

You fell head over heels when you saw Timothy Drake Wayne. Damn, you loved him so much. But your social skills were completely atrophied (you had no talent at making friends or partners).

You'd never had a partner for obvious reasons; you were unpopular, shy, and practically a bookworm. The complete opposite of your crush.

Tim was a genius, everyone knew it. But he was a good athlete, excellent at making friends and girlfriends.

Every time you looked at him, you melted with love. You believed you and he were soulmates, that it was only a matter of time before he approached you one day and declared his love in a poetic and intelligent way.

You had a great imagination, or rather, you had excessive daydreaming, which made your fictional scenarios seem too realistic. But to be honest, it was better to be in your fantasies than in the horrible real life.

Your house was a minefield. Your parents' marriage was a mess. Your mother discovered he also liked women, and she cheated on your father many times right in front of him. Your father wasn't a saint either; he was addicted to gambling. This meant the house was only supported by your mother's money, which only arrived occasionally, since she preferred to live in her girlfriend's apartment and forget about you and your father. But when your mother came to deliver groceries for the week, she and your father would argue, throwing things at each other, and insulting each other.

Once, during their weekly shouting matches, you heard your father tell your mother that if she didn't come more often, he would kill you and then himself. You thought your mother would care a little more about you, but you were very wrong. "Do it if you want, it doesn't matter," was what your mother said at the time.

Your school life wasn't any better either. Two years ago, your best friend Melissa had distanced herself from you when she found out about your parents' problem. Since then, she seemed to want everyone to hate you, since she constantly made fun of you and encouraged others to do the same.

Melissa was pretty, and after distancing herself from you, she joined the popular group of girls. You were happy for her. But you saw how those girls didn't treat her very well, so it bothered you to get them to like her.

Melissa would whisper a little "Sorry" the first few times before pushing you or throwing your lunch.

But a month later, he just harassed you and then left. Everything got worse when the others started harassing you too.

You couldn't do anything; you were an easy target. You were sensitive. You couldn't bathe every day either. Your clothes were old, and you sometimes wore your father's (your father couldn't always afford dry cleaning, only sometimes). You looked unkempt and ugly.

You preferred to ignore the teasing, the shoving that left your lunch on the floor, the tripping, and your broken school supplies.

But you could vent in the notebook you always carried with you where you wrote your fictional scenarios.

But one morning, some boys who wanted to impress Melissa took it from you.

–"What do you have here, little mouse?"– one of them mocked as he flipped through the pages. –"Oh, so Tiddy grabbed me by the waist and pushed me against the lockers. I loved him so much, even more when he told me I was the most important thing to him." Hahaha! How pathetic. Who's Tiddy? I bet you're making that up, since no one would look at you with that horrible face you have, since whoever wanted to fuck you would have to be blind and have lost their sense of smell."–

That was all it took for you to start crying. They threw the notebook at you after making fun of other things you had written and walked away laughing.

"Tiddy" was the nickname you made up for Tim. It was silly, yes. But you didn't expect anyone to read your notebook.

That day you returned home, planning to kill yourself in a few days. You had nothing, but one afternoon while surfing the internet on your old computer, you found a strange video.

"How to Attract the Boy You Like"

You had nothing to lose except the little dignity you had left. But you were already feeling so apathetic that you were no longer interested.

The "spell" was easy.

• Get his full name.

• Write it on a piece of paper.

• Make a strange symbol on the paper.

• Burn that paper while saying a prayer.

• Gather the ashes and mix them with honey, then put it on your tongue and kiss the person on the mouth.

It was all easy, but the last step would be very complicated.

You put the honey and ashes on your tongue before entering the classroom; classes hadn't even started yet. Tim was talking with his friends.

You sighed and touched his back. He turned around and smiled at you.

God.

His smile was beautiful, so bright. He always smiled at everyone, even you.

You felt special, confident. Then you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth.

It was small, barely a small brush, a small, delicate kiss.

There was an awkward silence, and Tim apologized before leaving.

The whole class fell silent, then one of Tim's potential girlfriends grabbed you by the hair and pulled you back, then pushed you against the empty tables.

You fell to the floor after hitting some tables.

Fucking gravity.

Then one of Tim's friends, the one who always bullied you, grabbed your backpack and searched it.

–"You're a whore then, fine. But you should smell better. How about something to perfume yourself?"

He took out your Tupperware of food, which was just boiled noodles with raw tomato sauce. He grabbed it with his hand and then smeared it on your face and hair.

–"It seems that's not enough. Does anyone else want to help?"

In short, the entire course was spent feeding you food, moving around, and trying to leave. But one of them punched you in the stomach. That afternoon, you arrived home very late because they also hit you on the way out.

Your father also hit you because you needed to shower, and that involved using water. More water bills, more electricity bills.

That week was so horrible that you preferred to spend more time in your fantasies. Your grades dropped, and you barely felt the blows or heard the screams.

You also didn't feel the pain of the cuts you made, which led you to make them deeper each time.

You had been so immersed in his world, staring into space, that you didn't notice what had changed.

Your room had few things, but something was always missing.

It started with the t-shirt you always wore because it was your favorite. But since it was already dirty, you left it in a corner. Then it was your pencil, the only one you had, and it was chewed up.

The list went on and on. All until one afternoon, you saw the famous Bruce Wayne. He looked at you, and you couldn't breathe.

What if he complained about what you did to his son? What if you were expelled from school?

Your entire school day was spent in fear, not because of your bullies, but because of the possibility of being on the blacklist of someone as rich and influential as the head of the Wayne family himself.

You gasped for air when the guidance counselor called you after school; you were about to faint.

But it turned out it was only to get a backpack with new supplies and quality notebooks.

Which barely lasted 20 minutes before your bullies set it on fire in front of you.

The following Monday, you saw that the school had been painted, had new tiles, better lockers, new desks and chairs, and, of course, high-tech whiteboards.

Bruce Wayne didn't come looking for you; he came to donate money.

You couldn't describe the peace you felt in that moment; it was so liberating.

–"Hello"

You froze in fear and turned around slowly. It was Tim standing behind you, with his beautiful, angelic smile.

–"Y/N, right?"

You nodded slowly, scared of what he might do to you. If he hung out with those who tortured you, what could you expect from him?

–"I was thinking... You're really good at history. Would you like to write a thesis with me next week?"

Your whole world fell apart. He was so kind, so sweet.

But you didn't feel that "love" for him anymore. He was just another person.

–"No..."– you shook your head and then left.

But Tim didn't stay there.

At lunch, he sat with you. You could tell all your bullies were gone.

But you felt like they could show up at any moment and tell you how pathetic you were.

You wanted to leave, but Tim grabbed your wrist and insisted that you stay. You held back the urge to cry as he squeezed your self-harm wounds.

You could only stare at your food and nod as he talked. He talked about so many things. He and you had so much in common. But you could only nod silently, waiting for him to say you were an idiot for thinking anyone would want to be with you.

But it wasn't like that. For two weeks, things continued the same way. Your bullies still didn't come, Tim talked to you more often, and you had some "peace."

But you noticed something that made you nervous: Tim smelled you. He smelled your greasy, dirty hair, and he smelled it when you were around him.

You couldn't understand how he could smell it without mentioning how disgusting you were and that you should take a shower.

But it wasn't like that.

You were able to get along with him, and your school life wasn't so bad anymore, until one afternoon, when you didn't want to go home early. Tim invited you to have ice cream, and you accepted.

–"Let's do your homework at my apartment. I have a surprise for you, okay?"

You didn't accept; you didn't trust him after everything that had happened.

He had tried everything; he had bought you some things, he had tried to make you trust him.

He'd killed everyone who bullied you, but you didn't know that.

And you definitely wouldn't know it yet.

But he didn't give up easily. He started to get closer to you; you could feel him watching you. But then one afternoon, as you were leaving school, he grabbed your arm.

–"Walk with me."

–"I-I don't want to..."– you whispered.

Tim just squeezed your arm even tighter and led you to his car. He practically threw you into the seat and put the seatbelt on you, which was too tight. You tried to get it out, but no matter how hard you tried, it wouldn't undo itself.

–"Tim... I don't like this"– you moaned, almost crying.

–"Don't cry, baby. I'll buy you some ice cream, okay?"– Just stay still, I don't want to have to hit you.

You were always someone who was very afraid of everything, and your reasons for having everything were valid. So when he parked in front of an ice cream shop, you tried to fight the seatbelt with all your strength.

–"Okay, no ice cream for you."

He grabbed the back of your neck and slammed your face against the dashboard of the car.

You didn't even feel like crying after that. You were very dizzy from the impact.

You didn't know how much time passed; you just felt Tim get out of the car and walk around it, then unbuckle you and take you out of the seatbelt.

He carried you like a child, your legs wrapped around his torso and your arms on his shoulders, which felt more toned than you thought. Your head was resting on his chest as he walked with you.

You felt yourself fall onto a bed. He said something you didn't understand, took off your shoes, and then you felt him unbuckle yours. Pants.

Your sweatshirt was next. You had nothing on underneath except your bra, so you felt the cold wind on your entire torso.

He climbed onto the bed and squatted over your torso, his legs on either side of you. Tim leaned in with a smile and began kissing your collarbone as he grabbed your wrists together and held them together over your chest with one hand while supporting himself with the other.

You let him continue, afraid to fight.

–"You don't know how much I love you."

That sentence made you shiver, then you remembered.

The spell.

Real or not, he was there, confessing his love for you.

You moaned a little when he sucked on a part of your neck, and you were sure he left a mark.

Tim pulled away and looked for something in the other room. He came back with a T-shirt and some athletic shorts.

He put them on so easily; you were docile because you were so scared.

When he finished, he settled in next to you and covered you both with the blankets.

He hugged you tightly and smelled your greasy, dirt-soaked hair all night.

You wouldn't know it, but he'd been after you for a long time; it wasn't because of the silly spell you cast.

He'd been obsessed ever since he saw how similar you were to a newborn puppy. He couldn't help but feel his heart clench every time he saw your wounds.

Your smell.

That also attracted him greatly. Although he sometimes got carried away by the pretty girls who approached him, he couldn't help but be drawn to your natural scent, that smell of your natural oil. That silly kiss you gave him was just the straw that broke the camel's back. He had to go straight to the bathroom so no one would see that idiotic smile of his. He had to leave so he wouldn't scream with excitement. He had to leave before anyone saw his next erection.

God, he could melt right now after smelling your hair.

And after killing his friends, after killing your parents and the teachers who never stood up for you, he couldn't help but feel deserving of a reward.

And that reward was you, darling.

You, him, and the long life you two would have together.

========

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests are open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

[ni-idea-07]

YOU'RE MINE, HABIBI.

TW: Harassment, lesbian content, sexual harassment (?), psychological and physical torture, body control, dehumanization, reader creates life and has a god complex, she's just an idiot. Death threats. I changed several details about Damián's birth, sorry. English isn't my first language.

===========

You were the daughter of the owner of a technology and innovation company, you were your father's pride and joy, and you would take his place as head of the company once he was gone.

You were brilliant, certainly brilliant, you had just come of age, and you already had more awards than you could count. Competition awards in math, science, quantum physics, genetics.

You had even been honored, having created and donated more than 20,000 prosthetics for vulnerable people. Your father funded them, yes. But it was your idea—you saved him from paying taxes for a long time.

That was what made you special: your intelligence and passion for learning. You were special, and everyone loved you. You were a great investment.

But you were a mess, going from party to party, with an arrogant and playful attitude and a sly fox's smile.

Your parents loved you, yes. But they couldn't tolerate your behavior any longer. Not after you had sex with the extravagant Oliver Queen and the cameras captured the image of you and him leaving a motel.

Your parents gave you the chance to show them you could improve, so they blocked all your credit cards and access to luxuries. You didn't mind at first. But when the money in your wallet started to dwindle, you started to worry. You should have been thankful you were of age and couldn't be sent to those conversion camps.

But the real desperation came when you were completely penniless. You were desperate enough to take any job.

That's why you didn't refuse to accept a job when Ra's al-Ghul himself offered you a job.

Nanda Parbat was a good place, a beautiful place to work.

Yes, you loved playing god.

You were also interested in Talia, Ra's's beautiful daughter. You didn't really love her either; it was just fun and exciting. You'd been chasing men your whole life, but that was also tiring.

Of course, if no one found out about this, it would be better for your reputation.

On the other hand, your flirting technique was... "interesting."

You drove Talia crazy; you teased her to no end. So much so that she squeezed your neck tightly when she kissed you.

–"Talia, wait... I'm not breathing"– you whispered, almost fainting.

Talia was so fucking behind on you. It wasn't just your jerkish attitude; you had such a brilliant mind and such good genes that it was impossible not to think about you every moment of her day. It was the same feeling she got when she thought about the bat.

One night, when you finished work, you went to the castle's beautiful Arab baths.

Since no one was there, you went in naked.

You loved the water and you loved bathing, but you missed the servitude you had when you lived with your parents. Eating carrot sticks while drinking champagne in the jacuzzi was the best.

But you weren't there anymore; now you were in the middle of nowhere with a clan of ninjas.

That wasn't so bad; you could experiment without restrictions, your morals were very flexible, and your curiosity was insatiable.

Talia was looking for you; you had disappeared before your "workday" was over.

Again.

Talia found you in the Arab baths, immersed up to your shoulders in the hot water, your eyes closed and an expression of absolute relaxation. Your hair floated around you, and for a moment, she just watched you, the way the steam outlined your silhouette.

–"You always run away when I least expect it"– she whispered, leaning over you. Her grip was firm, but not violent, not yet.

You opened your eyes slowly, a lazy smile on your lips.

–"I didn't know you had a set time, boss."

The way you said it... provocative. Always provoking her.

–"Don't make fun of me"– her words were a murmur, but laced with a veiled threat. –"What were you doing here, alone?"

–"Bathing."– You paused, your tone playful. –"Or perhaps... did you want to join in?"

Talia didn't respond immediately. Her eyes, dark and hungry, settled on yours with an intensity she rarely displayed so openly.

–"You have too brilliant a mind to be so reckless."

–"Worried about me?"– You laughed.

Thalia shook her head with a smile and then began to remove her dress until she was naked and entered the water as well.

–"Obsessed with you"– Talia whispered and swam towards you.

You stepped back. Instinctively, Talia moved forward, cornering you. She leaned closer, until her lips brushed yours in a kiss you didn't ask for but didn't reject either. It was demanding, almost desperate, and when her hands clutched at your wet hair, you understood this was no longer just a game for her.

But you kept playing.

You could spend hours gazing into her beautiful eyes and let her do whatever she wanted with you. But you would never say it out loud.

But the horror for you began when Talia returned from one of her Journeys.

She had obtained sperm; you didn't ask that much. But she wanted you to make an embryo by combining the sperm and her eggs.

You already had everything ready; she had extracted some eggs a month ago and they had them preserved.

You knew that both Talia and her father had long planned to have an heir, a firstborn who could lead the League of Leftovers when Ra's could no longer.

Or something like that, you weren't that interested.

You were able to fine-tune many things about the embryo: its cortisol regulation, its future hormone levels. You modified the genes associated with neuroplasticity. You adjusted the DNA telomeres to ensure the embryo's body aged more slowly once it entered its 20s. Inspired by the Lazarus Pit, you implanted a modified version of the P53 gene, a key gene in cell regeneration.

Basically, this embryo would be the perfect human being.

It would be one of your children, because everything you created was like your children. You loved every modified zombie and monster.

You were like Dr. Frankenstein, only sexier.

There was a delay in creating the artificial womb. Talia didn't hesitate to kill all the scientists except you. It wasn't your fault, after all.

–"Don't let me down, Y/N... I wouldn't want to kill you too"– Talia whispered, then signaled her assassins to clean up the lab and dispose of the bodies.

Talia definitely didn't have feelings for anyone; she wouldn't mind killing you if something went wrong.

You woke up from the pink bubble you were in. They were assassins, and if they didn't kill you, it was because you were useful to them. You were always a trusting idiot, but now. Now you were afraid.

Finish the job and you'd leave.

But leaving would mean no longer being able to create life the way you liked.

At least you'd be alive.

You had to rebuild the artificial uterus from scratch; you used your DNA and extracted induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSCs) to reprogram them into endometrial cells.

These cells would form an artificial uterine lining, capable of nourishing and sustaining an embryo. You wouldn't ask Talia again, since when you asked her if she liked the design of the artificial womb, she stabbed you in the arm.

You wouldn't risk your safety again by asking for her DNA.

You didn't mind collaborating a little more in the creation of the Baby. But you already had your work cut out for you since you were the only scientist in the lab. But you were still constantly afraid that Talia or Ra's wouldn't like the result and would kill you.

You made sure not to make any more mistakes. There was no room for error. If Talia stabbed you just for asking her opinion, what would she do if the embryo didn't meet her expectations?

You couldn't stop thinking about her obsession. It wasn't just about genetic perfection or an heir worthy of the League of Shadows. Talia wanted more from you.

You saw it in the way she looked at you when she thought you weren't noticing her. In how she found excuses to touch you, even when it wasn't necessary. And in how, when you slept, you felt her presence nearby, watching you.

It was possession.

And that possession was suffocating you.

As you worked in the lab, your mind was racing. The artificial endometrial cells were working well. The embryo was developing without a hitch. Its genes were superior to those of any ordinary human. A masterpiece.

But while you were doing your job, every day you felt more like you were digging your own grave.

Because, when it was all over, what would happen to you?

Talia wouldn't let you go. Not after what you did. Not after you became part of her legacy.

Not after, in her eyes, you were already hers.

So, once the embryo was implanted in the artificial womb, your shift was over.

You still remembered how excited she'd seemed when you told her the embryo was doing well in the incubator.

You walked through the stone hallways, hating that the lab was underground.

–"Where do you think you're going, love?"

Her voice sounded right behind you, icy and deadly.

You spun around, meeting her dark gaze. She wasn't upset. She was amused.

Shit.

Before you could react, she was upon you. She pushed you against the stone wall and gripped your injured wrist tightly, making you gasp in pain.

–"Did you really think I'd let you go?"– she murmured, her breath hot against your neck. –"Don't be silly."

You tried to move, but she pressed her knee between your legs, pinning you.

–"You've worked so hard with our baby"– she continued, her tone softer now. –"I'm proud of you."

The irony hit you. You didn't want her pride. You didn't want her affection.

You wanted to get out of there alive.

–"Finish the job"– she whispered, her lips brushing your ear. –"And then we'll talk about what I'll do with you."

She knew.

She knew you'd go to Ra's to try to terminate the contract. Because yes, despite risking your health and safety, you appealed to work under contract.

The pressure on your wrist increased, but not enough to break it. Talia would never irreversibly damage her favorite toy. At least, not yet.

–"You're mine"– she whispered against your ear, each word falling on your skin like sweet poison.

You shuddered, not from desire, but from controlled fear. You couldn't show her weakness. You couldn't let her know how much you were beginning to fear her.

You took a deep breath and smiled with that air of arrogance that drove her so crazy.

–"Do you always talk as if you're going to brand me with your name?"– you said, tilting your head. –"Because, if that's the case, I think we could save time and just tattoo 'Property of Talia al Ghul' on my forehead."

Talia laughed softly, but didn't move, which scared you even more.

–"Oh, love, if I really believed that would work, I would."– He leaned closer, his breath fanning the exposed skin of your neck. –"But I prefer more permanent methods."

His free hand moved up your arm, brushing over the still-fresh wound on your wrist.

–"Always trying to escape"– he murmured.

The mockery in his tone made your skin crawl.

–"I didn't try to escape."– You forced yourself to maintain eye contact. –"I just wanted to walk around. You know? Like any human being who isn't trapped in a fortress of psychopathic killers."

Talia smiled, amused.

–"Oh, but you're not just any human being."– His tone dripped with honey and venom in equal parts. –"You're brilliant. A definitely superior mind."

Your jaw tightened.

–"I'm not yours, Talia."

The gleam in his eyes changed. In an instant, his hand moved from your wrist to your throat, pressing hard enough to make you gasp, but not to suffocate you.

–"Say it again"– he whispered, his gaze burning with something dark and dangerous.

Your pride was your greatest weakness, and you knew it. But you also knew you couldn't beat him in a direct confrontation.

–"Speak up, you damn bitch"– he raised his voice and squeezed your cheeks.

Now you were truly terrified.

–"I'm yours..."– you whispered, exhausted.

–"Good girl, go to sleep."

=================

Eight months had passed, and the baby was developing wonderfully. Thalia wanted the process to go faster, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't grown attached to him.

–"We're incubating the heir to the demon's head, not baking a cake. Honey'"– you'd told her. You'd had sleepless nights, and the added pressure wasn't helping.

Talia pouted. But at least she didn't cut your throat.

And you were grateful for that.

The systems indicated the embryo was reaching optimal maturation. You could accelerate the growth, but that would carry risks. You knew Talia wouldn't accept excuses.

And if anything went wrong, you'd be dead.

She approached you and grabbed you, then sat you down on the table. She opened your legs and entered the space.

–"How much longer?"– he asked, gripping your waist tightly.

You took a deep breath, feeling his pulse against yours, the way his grip tightened slightly with each passing second.

–"Two weeks"– you finally said. –"Not before."

Talia sighed, releasing you with almost theatrical slowness.

–"All right"– she straightened, walking toward the door.

The following weeks, Talia was a little more abrupt, more anxious, hungrier.

Nights with her had once been pleasurable, but now they only hurt.

Ra's was affected as well; he was the personification of patience. He had lived centuries, seen empires fall and rise, and he knew that haste was the enemy of perfection. But when it came to his lineage, his legacy, even he had his limits.

The arrival of a new heir was no trivial matter. Not when this child was destined to be more than human. Stronger. Smarter. More worthy than any child Talia could have borne him before.

But the process was slow. Too slow.

When Ra's entered the lab, his silent presence was enough to chill your blood. He wasn't like Talia, impulsive and theatrical. No. The way he regarded you, with that air of absolute superiority, made your skin crawl.

–"My daughter has told me that the process is progressing... but not as quickly as expected."– His voice was gentle, but there was a warning hidden in every word.

You maintained your composure.

–"If we accelerate development any further, we could compromise the genetic stability of the embryo. The heir could suffer unwanted abnormalities."

Ra's tilted his head slightly.

–"Unwanted abnormalities?"– he repeated, as if savoring the words.

You didn't blink. You couldn't afford to show fear.

–"If you want a perfect creature, you must let the process take its natural course. Two more weeks, and you'll have the heir you so desperately await."

The silence that followed felt eternal.

Then, Ra's smiled.

–"You are intelligent"– he finally said. –"And valuable."

He took a step toward you, his eyes cold as steel. –"It would be a shame to waste that intelligence through impatience."

You couldn't tell if it was a threat or a compliment. Maybe both.

Then, without further ado, he turned and left the lab.

Only when he was out did you release the breath you'd been unconsciously holding.

You looked at the artificial womb; you knew you shouldn't take charge, but after all, it was your creation.

The day came faster than you imagined.

The two weeks passed in a flash, each day filled with tension, Talia's glances filled with anticipation, and Ra's's occasional presence, silent as a specter.

And then, in the dimness of the lab, with the cold lights illuminating the metal frame of the artificial womb, the Demon's Head's heir was born.

There was no crying. There wasn't the chaotic mess of a traditional birth. Only the mechanical sound of the systems shutting down, the capsule slowly releasing the synthetic amniotic fluid, and the baby's small, perfect body emerging in your gloved hands.

It was a boy. His skin was softly brown, his hair dark, and when he opened his eyes, a pair of intense emeralds stared back at you. Not with the confusion typical of a newborn, but with something else… something unsettling.

Talia approached immediately, taking the baby with the gentleness of a mother, but with the possessiveness of someone who held the future of the world in her arms.

–"It's perfect"– she whispered, with a triumphant smile.

Ra's arrived shortly after. He watched him silently, as if evaluating a newly completed work of art.

You just stood there, watching your creation being taken away.

Because in the end, that's what he was, wasn't it? A creation. Not a baby. Not a child.

You didn't want to think about it too much. Because it hurt, you'd been creating him, nurturing him, designing him, only to have him taken away from you seconds after he opened his eyes for the first time.

Was this what women who rented their wombs felt like?

The next few days were strange.

Talia was completely absorbed in the baby, overseeing every detail of its development. Ra's also seemed pleased, though his gaze rested more on the child as a successful project than a grandchild.

And you... you no longer mattered.

You had been essential to the process, to the science behind the birth of the heir, but now that he was here, you became a secondary resource.

In the first few weeks, you were still called in for medical checkups, tests, and observations. But over time, you were left aside.

It didn't matter that you were the one who made his existence possible. You were no longer needed, and that relieved you; your life was no longer in danger, you no longer felt as if at some point you would make a mistake and get your head cut off (in the best-case scenario, of course).

You almost no longer felt Talia's control, but you were still in that dark pit where she forced you to participate in raising the baby.

You weren't a trained person, nor did you want to raise a warrior; you just wanted to raise a baby. Because that's what it was still.

A baby.

And you couldn't help but grow attached; you loved him; he was so adorable that you wanted to hold him forever.

Talia was upset, not because you were treating her future best warrior, but because that baby was stealing you away from her. That baby was the reason you rarely went near her anymore and the reason you wouldn't look her in the eye when she spoke to you.

And she hated that.

She hated it so much that when you kissed the baby's chubby cheeks, Talia would take the baby from your arms and give it to one of her maids, then grab you by the neck and suffocate you while she kissed you roughly.

But she didn't feel you were hers anymore. And if you weren't hers, you wouldn't belong to anyone. She wouldn't kill you; you hadn't done anything wrong, and Ra's, in part, cared about you; he wouldn't let an unnecessary death go by.

She decided you both needed "space."

Talia was smart; she knew I'd miss you, so she'd put you in a place where she knew I could find you.

And what could be better than prison? She could come in whenever she wanted, and you couldn't get out.

So she sent you on a job in Gotham City, along with a few other scientists and several of her ninjas.

She knew what she was going to do would hurt later. She had loved you. But you were the bitch who broke her heart, and she'd make sure you suffered.

She basically handed you over to Batman.

You were the only one who could come to an agreement with him and not spend the next 50 years in Blackgate.

But Talia wouldn't know that.

=========

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests are open, leave me your request, and I will be happy to fulfill it.

[ni-idea-07]

my greatest pride.

TW: semi-illegal adoption (?), mentions of child selling, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of other disorders like Diogenes syndrome and sociopath, mentions of murder. My first language is not English.

So enjoy.

=================

A few years ago Hannibal was on a hunt, his target was a social service worker he had met at a charity event.

There were rumors about this woman taking children and selling them to powerful people. But Hannibal wasn't interested in that.

He just wanted to enjoy a big feast from this woman.

It wasn't hard to find her at a 24 hour store and it wasn't hard to invite her to a "dinner" at his house either. The woman looked nervous but she accepted.

No one could deny the charm and charisma of Dr. Lecter.

He killed her easily, the less the animal suffered, the softer the meat was.

The next step was to eliminate evidence.

He arrived at the woman's house, erased and eliminated all evidence that the two of them met. Until he heard a noise in the attic. Hanibal prepared his scalpel, ready to kill whoever tried to interrupt one of his perfect crimes.

He slowly climbed up to the attic and saw you. Dirty, unkempt and scared.

You were only 3 or 4 years old. You trembled when he approached and put a hand in your hair.

You reminded him of Misha. You were so adorable that his cold heart could feel after a long time.

–"come here little swan"– he said as he approached you and picked you up.

You were so light and the way your little hands grabbed his plastic suit made him completely fall in love.

Hannibal took you to his house, bathed you and dressed you in one of his best t-shirts – tomorrow he would buy clothes for you and in your size – he also prepared a nice dinner for you. A nice pumpkin soup with cheese was the best idea, it was very cold. He didn't make dessert since he had read an article recently about how children from 0-5 years old shouldn't try sweets.

When he finished helping you eat he washed the dishes and carried you. He thought it would be a good idea for you to sleep next to him. You were a little girl and you had just come out of a traumatic event.

He carried you while he saw what book he could read to you. He noticed that you grabbed one and smiled

–"what a cute thing."– he smiled when he saw that you grabbed the book 'Hell', one of the trilogy of 'The Divine Comedy'.

Hannibal read it to you, you probably wouldn't understand the difficult words in the book, but you fell asleep when he barely finished the first song.

He closed the book. And he helped you sleep on your side, he did his best to make you comfortable and well covered.

He got out of bed and checked the file he had grabbed from the house of the deceased social worker.

You came from troubled parents, your father was an alcoholic and your mother had Diogenes syndrome. You were malnourished and curled up in a pile of cardboard when the police found you. They had arrived because one of the neighbors had reported the large accumulation of trash in the snow.

They were going to take you to an orphanage But apparently the social worker was going to sell you and that's why you didn't make it to the orphanage where they placed you.

It didn't matter.

Hannibal took care of you and taught you for years, he knew you weren't like normal children.

Maybe because you spent more than 2 months in a dirty attic when you were 4 years old, maybe because he spoiled you too much. Or maybe it was just because you were a smart girl.

But when you were 8 was where he saw the first sign. He accompanied you to the park and one of the kids you were playing with fell off one of the playground equipment and screamed in pain, possibly breaking his leg.

You looked at him and then turned around to find another kid to play with.

You acted so cold and unsympathetic for a few seconds and then smiled again when you found another group of kids to play with.

Hannibal watched your reaction with great interest. It wasn't so much the lack of empathy that caught his attention (he had noticed before that you weren't like other kids) but the ease with which you changed from a blank expression to a radiant smile when you found a new playgroup. That mask of normality you had built up at such a young age fascinated him.

After making sure the injured child got help and diverting any unwanted attention, he approached you.

–"Little swan, come here."– His voice was soft, enveloping, like the sound of a delicately played violin.

You ran to him with the same energy as any other little girl happy to see her father. He lifted you into his arms and, as he settled you on his lap, his dark eyes analyzed yours. They were bright, innocent at first glance, but he saw beyond that.

–"Didn't you worry about the boy?"– he asked, his tone neutral, inquisitive.

You tilted your head, as if his question made no sense.

–"It wasn't my problem"– you said naturally.

Hannibal felt a strange satisfaction listening to you. He stroked your hair carefully, almost proudly.

–"Of course it wasn't."– he confirmed, approving your answer.

From that day on, he began to observe you more closely. He taught you more precisely, making sure to polish what he saw as a diamond in the rough.

By the time you were ten, you had already read more books on philosophy and psychology than most adults. You could recite whole verses from The Divine Comedy and discuss Dostoevsky's moral dilemmas effortlessly.

But what Hannibal was most proud of was your ability to adapt. At school, you played at being a common girl, sweet and polite. Teachers adored you, children sought you out. But at home, in the safety of his presence, you let your mask fall.

You didn't hide anything from him, Hannibal had raised you with respect and some form of "love." You respected him, trusted him, and loved him.

–"My dear. Do you have something to tell me?"

Hannibal held up a piece of cloth where you had kept the stuffed body of the colorful bird that one of Hannibal's "lovers" had given you.

–"I've seen several taxidermy videos and researched a lot on the subject"– you replied.

–"And that brings us to..."– he raised his eyebrow, intrigued to know your motives.

–"You're touching your Father's Day gift."

He was silent for a few seconds and then gave you back the dead animal, wondering what he would do now with the empty cage.

Hannibal and you talked every day, it was no secret to you where the meat you ate came from, so it was no secret to him either, your impulsive thoughts and the little (no) empathy you had.

When you turned 17 you wanted to surprise Hannibal, you had been accepted into one of the best universities in Europe, but you knew that was partly thanks to the reputation of 'Dr. Lecter'.

You wanted to surprise your father.

Hannibal noticed that you were different, you hid something from him and that scared him.

But he decided to give you your space, Hannibal was always on your side and you on his, you were a duo, father and daughter.

You couldn't just leave him like that.

He looked down on one of the teachers who made your life miserable and treated you badly.

It wouldn't matter if the chemistry teacher disappeared a quarter before you graduated, right?

But when he went hunting he didn't find him, the jerk was nowhere to be found, not at home, nor did he teach at school again.

But one night after dinner you smiled at him when he asked about his birthday present.

That cute smile you had, so adorable that only you possessed.

–"You'll see, you'll like it."

Then on his birthday you insisted that he go with you to the forest.

You were driving and turned on loud music, you didn't want him to hear what was in the trunk of the car.

–"Happy birthday, father!"– you smiled after showing him what you had saved for him.

It was the man Hannibal wanted to kill, this man was tied up and gagged. Still alive.

Oh wow. As smart as a lynx.

–"I could tell you were following him and I wanted to make a piece for you. I want you to see the process."– you smiled excitedly as you put on a plastic suit similar to the one your father wore and a hairnet.

It may have taken you two or three hours, but you did it.

You created beautiful art with that man. You changed his limbs into branches, you tore out his eyes and then put daisies in their sockets.

It seemed like someone had been planning this for weeks.

You were so clean, so spectacular.

And you still had that cute smile that melted the cannibal's heart. That sweet smile that reminded him of when you gave him the first drawing you made a week after he legally adopted you.

When you were done you took out the heart and put it in a cooler, you already had all the ingredients for today's dinner.

Hannibal was never as proud as he was until now. He took one last look at your art before he got back into the car.

The FBI would definitely have a lot of work tomorrow.

He felt so happy, he had a great daughter. He felt happy, happy that he had killed several social workers who wanted to refuse to give him custody of you. Happy that he had eliminated the school psychologists who discovered your little secret.

Happy that despite everything he did for you, it was confirmed that you would do it for him too.

=============

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

I apologize for the shortness of this story, lately I've been preparing for the return to school and I've also been organizing other things since I'm taking a course on applying eyelashes.

Well, I won't bore you with my life.

Greetings.🫠

[ni-idea-07]

Did you forget about me, little star?

=========+18========

TW: Yandere, bullying, typical violence from the DC universe. Batman is very bad at expressing his feelings (By the way, I didn't want to make Bruce too "cruel or cold", he just didn't show his pain to Reader and that's why she didn't know that he was also devastated by the loss of Jason.) , consensual sodomy (anal sex), unprotected sex, do not test this at home. English is not my first language.

This one shorts will have sodomy (anal sex). Read with caution.

=========

You had been batgirl after so much insistence since Barbara could no longer.

You were young but you knew how to defend yourself and Batman accepted you in his team. It didn't take long for your best friend to be Robin, Jason at that time.

Teenage love is the best thing in the world, both loved each other so much and in such a pure and innocent way.

Until Jason died at the hands of the Joker, nothing hurt more than seeing Bruce pulling the body of your love out of the rubble.

You were devastated, angry, sad. You had so many emotions that you didn't know what to do with them.

But you had a plan to kill the Joker, you wouldn't let him live, not so he could go back to Arkham and get out in 24 hours.

But it didn't work, a batarang stuck in your hand when you were about to cut the fucking clown's neck.

You already had him immobilized, under you, but Batman arrived.

The Joker escaped and you were left looking at Bruce, your teacher, the father of your love....

–"why?......"– you whispered softly and then asked the question again shouting– "WHY!?"

–"because we're not like them, we won't fall that low"

Your mind went into shock, you could barely breathe, you had so many emotions at the same time that you felt a blockage.

It wasn't Bruce's fault, no. Jason didn't die because of him.

But why is the Joker still alive?.....

Why is he still breathing after killing a young man who wanted to save people? Why is the clown still laughing after killing so many other innocent people?

You ran up to Batman and launched a roundhouse kick at him.

You knew Bruce would hold back and let you vent.

But you didn't want that.

You wanted it to hurt.

That night you ended up on the ground, barely able to open your eyes from all the blows you had received. Bruce had left you half unconscious, also ripping off the bat logo from your chest and telling you that you would not go on patrol again until you behave "well."

But after that you were no longer Batgirl.

You returned home to your parents, barely able to walk after all the blows. You told your parents that you had been assaulted.

They were careless and believed you. But for two months you could not go out without company.

Alfred invited you to the private funeral at Wayne Manor. You didn't go at the appointed time. But you snuck in at dawn so that it would be just you and Jason, or what was left of him.

You didn't want to see Bruce, who you had a fight with, you weren't in the mood to see Dick, and you didn't feel ready to see the look on Barbara's face.

You thought she would be very disappointed in you as Batgirl and that she would surely wish she had never given you the mantle.

But you couldn't say goodbye to Jason, seeing his grave completely destroyed you. You weren't ready to leave him, to erase him from your life.

And even less when every night you dreamed of him, being carried by Batman to get him out of the rubble.

A year and some time later you thought things had calmed down, you wanted to retrieve some things you kept in Jason's room when you stayed over.

But once at the mansion you were greeted with the fact that Bruce already had a new Robin, a boy named Tim Drake.

You couldn't help it, not when you saw him looking at himself in the mirror in his Robin suit.

Your breathing quickened.

Everything became a blur. But when you reacted you were on top of the boy while holding a batarang near his neck, you gripped the weapon so tightly that your hand was bleeding. You had the boy so tightly held that he couldn't get loose. There was no one else in the cave either, Bruce wasn't in the mansion and Alfred wasn't around.

You could kill him if you wanted to.

But no, he was just a child, a child like Jason once was.

Tim was surprised when the drops of your tears fell on his face. He had investigated you, he knew who you were.

You dropped the batarang and hugged him. You felt like a monster, you almost became the thing you hated the most.

–"sorry...sorry...sorry, sorry, sorry..."

That was the last time you were in Wayne Manor.

You also tried to kill the culprit of all this, who had started your pain.

The Joker.

You infiltrated Arkham dressed as a nurse, just injecting a little air and he would have a guaranteed heart attack.

But you couldn't.

Bruce's voice was in your mind as well as the face of the new Robin you almost killed.

Jason's death hurt you so much.

But no matter how much you turned into a monster you would never get him back.

=============

Years had passed since then. You graduated from a high school in Metropolis and then went to Chicago to study at a medical university. Something that bored you in the first few months.

You ended up doing a training to work in a beauty salon (you could have studied manicurist, hairdresser, eyelash specialist, etc.).

It wasn't so bad for you, you already had a salon and girls working for you.

But you had to return to Gotham. Your older brother's son, your only nephew was getting baptized and your brother was begging for you to be there.

You didn't like the city, not since you lost everything you ever loved, being a vigilante, your boyfriend and best friend. Not since your parents hated you for dropping out of medical school.

You finished your cigarette and threw it on the floor, then stepped on it. You walked into the cheapest hotel possible and asked for a room.

Gotham stank and you had almost forgotten about the heavy air that characterized it.

You didn't notice But you had spent hours staring out the window, you had also finished a whole pack of cigarettes.

And worse, you had scratched the wounds on your arms again.

You definitely wouldn't be wearing short sleeves at the baptism.

You walked out of the ugly building and walked through the dark streets until you found a 24 hour store.

It was so satisfying to smoke again after paying for those cigarettes.

You didn't notice when someone was watching you, not until you walked into your apartment and they cornered you.

–"You shouldn't be smoking so much, Little star"– he whispered to you.

Little star... Only one person called you that.

Jason.

You looked at his face, it was so different, so scarred. So different, so tall, so heavy.

You knew he was alive, you knew it since 2 years ago when you sent Alfred an email to congratulate him on his birthday and you stayed up talking for a bit.

When you found out that Jason had revived a long time ago and all the other things that happened in Gotham since you left, you couldn't sleep. You had so many doubts.

What would Jason be like now that he's an adult?

Would he remember you?

Would he believe that you abandoned him?

Would he hate you?

–"Jason...."

He grabbed your face and kissed you, his lips were cold, dry and with hard skin, his breath was hot and burned you.

–"I don't know how I survived this long without you"– he whispered against your lips before kissing you again, this time slower, deeper.

His breathing was hot, heavy, like he was holding something inside himself. He separated his lips from yours only to press wet kisses against your jaw, then moved down to your neck, biting gently.

–"Do you know how long I've waited for this moment?"– he murmured, his voice hoarse as he tightened his grip, his rough hands making you uncomfortable but you decided to let it go. –"How long I dreamed of seeing you again..."

You tried to speak, but Jason kissed you again, biting your bottom lip before pulling away just a centimeter. His eyes shone with something dark, something that made you feel trapped between the past and the present.

–"Years…"– he murmured, his tone full of frustration, of contained rage –"Years without you."

He kissed you roughly, without giving you time to react. His mouth was rough, dry, and when he bit your lower lip, you felt the burning pressure.

–"Do you know what it's like to come back and realize that you weren't there anymore?"– he said through his teeth, kissing the edge of your jaw in desperation –"That you lost me… that you left."

You couldn't even say anything, you just cried, you could feel Jason's hurt gaze on you. You didn't have the heart to refuse anything.

–"Of all the things they took from me, you were the one that hurt the most."– he whispered against your ear, his tone cracked –"It wasn't Gotham. It wasn't Bruce. It was you."

His lips returned to yours with a mix of need and resentment, as if he wanted to punish you for having pushed you away, for having moved on without him.

–"I imagined you so many times, Little star…"– he said, with his forehead resting on yours, his fingers clinging to your waist –"I imagined looking for you, finding you… taking you. But I didn't, do you know why?"

His grip tightened even more, as if he didn't want to let you go ever again.

–"Because deep down… I was afraid you wouldn't love me anymore."

His words hung in the air, charged with a vulnerability that contrasted with his desperate need for you. His eyes, dark and filled with repressed desire, searched yours.

–“Tell me you hate me”– he challenged you, his voice hoarse. –“Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Your lips found his again, this time with less desperation and more need. His hands moved down your back, running over you as if he wanted to memorize you again, as if he feared you would disappear again.

He lifted you effortlessly, holding you against his body possessively, and when your legs wrapped around his waist, you knew there was no turning back.

–"When I came back I looked for you, Barbara told me what happened, I love you, I love you so much that I don't know how I could spend these years without you, just looking at you, following you."

Jason filled you with kisses.

You wanted it. You needed it.

You needed Jason inside you.

–"Jason... please"– you whispered But at these points there was a needy gasp. You were a cat in heat.

Jason gave you a spanking that sounded throughout the disgusting room. You moaned like the whore you are, But you wanted more, much more.

–"Don't worry, love. I'm just as excited as you are"

Jason was so happy to finally have you, to finally touch you and to finally see how you never stopped loving him.

He didn't have any condoms and that was a problem. But he knew he could use ANOTHER hole. He didn't care about getting infections afterwards.

–"This may be weird, but trust me, I'll do everything to make you like it, okay?"

You nodded.

–"I love you."

Jason licked your neck while one of his hands grabbed your neck and the other played with your clit. He helped you face down, he grabbed a pillow and put it under your belly. He spanked you again.

He loved seeing how docile you were right now.

He spread your legs and you subconsciously raised your ass higher.

Jason spit on his fingers and began to play with your tight hole trying to lubricate it, Jason's fingers entered one by one while you groaned.

–"shh.....relax baby."

–"umhg...go slow please"– you whispered and he smiled.

With the help of his precum and the wetness of your pussy, he was able to enter.

You groaned in discomfort when Jason gave a slow and gentle first thrust.

Slow and gentle, he didn't want to tear you. He loved you too much to make you suffer so much.

You moaned into the pillow and he groaned, both in pleasure.

He began to thrust into you harder while playing with your clit in a very strong and pleasurable way.

You could see stars, but you felt the love and the connection. You were shattered when Jason was killed, but now, even if he wasn't the same innocent boy you remembered, he was Jason.

And that was enough.

He wouldn't let you go, but you wouldn't either.

Now that you felt his cum inside you, you wouldn't let him go, you wouldn't lose him again.

He was yours and you were his.

You would never know but Jason had filled Gotham with corpses for you.

You would never know, but he tore apart anyone who could be a danger to you upon your arrival. Traces of bodies appeared in the alleys, in the river, in abandoned basements. Murderers, petty thieves... drug dealers.

You'd never know it, but Jason spent entire nights checking security cameras, traffic records, intercepted calls. Searching for you in every corner of the world like a rabid dog that wouldn't let go of the trail of its prey.

You'd never know it, but Jason never stopped belonging to you, he never stopped making your absence an open wound, he never stopped making sure that when you came back, you could only be with him.

And now that you were back... you would never leave again, he loved you so much but he was capable of cutting your tendons just to prevent you from running away.

=========================

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

I apologize because in my previous post I said that the next post would be a Platonic yandere Hannibal x sociopath reader.

These shorts were already ready and I wanted to publish them earlier. Sorry

Greetings🫠

[ni-idea-07]

the recent will fic is amazing! i really love it! totally fits will's character. you turned the request into something really creative and i love the descriptions and dialogue ^_^ thanks for sharing it

Thank you very much, your message really encourages me to continue writing with the same passion.

Please, if you want, place an order and I will be happy to fulfill it.

🫠

[ni-idea-07]

Hey, Could you please create a oneshot featuring a yandere Will Graham and a female darling he has kidnapped? the darling begins to exhibit a surprising sweetness towards him, despite having relentlessly resisted him since her abduction. As she starts to genuinely come to terms with her predicament, will Will be dubious of her change in demeanor, or will he find it easy to believe her?

Hello! How are you? I loved writing your request. Thank you very much for trusting me. I hope you like it:

TW: kidnapping, threats, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, previous harassment, etc. English is not my first language

I don't know if I believe you, darling.

It had been six months since Will had brought you to his house—or rather, kidnapped you.

Everything had happened so fast. It was a rainy night and you had left work late. Will had offered to drive you home in his car so you wouldn’t worsen the cold you had. You thanked him, but he wouldn’t be taking you home.

When they arrived at his house, you panicked when he told you to get out; you were scared and tried to fight him. You scratched and bit him.

It had been three weeks since then.

The cabin smelled of old wood and dampness. The air was filled with dry leaves and the unmistakable aroma of coffee that Will had prepared that morning, as always. The routine was already established: he would wake up before you, light the fireplace, feed his beloved dogs, and prepare breakfast for both of you.

Will had already grown accustomed to you behaving "badly", but this morning was different.

–"Good morning Will".- was your greeting.

Clearly, you were not smiling. But never—in any of the months he had you—had you ever greeted him first.

That set off the first alarm in Will’s mind.

Will paused with the cup of coffee halfway to his lips, his blue gaze analyzing every inch of your face. There was no mockery in your tone, nor any evident submission. You weren’t smiling, yet your eyes lacked the edge of resistance he had learned to recognize in every one of your movements. You had woken up, seen him, and greeted him first.

A change.

Will didn’t believe in sudden changes. He knew all too well what fear could do to the human mind, how it could shape it, break it, or force it to pretend. And until now, all you had done was resist.

–"Good morning"– he replied cautiously, placing the cup on the table.

He didn’t know what he expected you to do next. Perhaps you would have thrown the plate at him with the same hostility with which you had rejected each of his attentions during the first week. Or that you would have muttered insults under your breath while having breakfast, as you did in the second week. Or that you would remain silent, with that indifference you perfected in the third week. But no. Today, instead, you reached out and took the cup of coffee he had prepared for you, taking a sip without taking your eyes off him.

Will felt something unsettling in his chest.

–"Did you sleep well?"– he asked, without ceasing to observe you.

–"Yes"– you replied without hesitation.

Another change. Another reason to doubt.

Will wasn’t naive. He knew that despair could lead someone to feign submission. But this… this didn’t feel feigned. You weren’t trembling, you didn’t avoid his gaze, you weren’t forcing a smile to soften your own falsehood. Nor were you trying to take advantage of his kindness to gain his trust.

What you were doing was different.

–"I made you eggs and toast."– his voice sounded lower than he intended.

–"Thank you."– And you began to eat, calmly.

Will felt a chill.

For a moment, paranoia settled in his mind like a crouching animal. Had you accepted the situation, or were you planning something? Had your mind won the battle against his control, or were you, in some way, embracing the reality he had constructed for you?

A part of him wanted to believe it. He wanted to think that, after three weeks, you had understood that he wasn’t your enemy. That everything he had done was out of love. That you would accept him as he had accepted you.

But the other part…

That part which had analyzed hundreds of troubled minds, that had seen the worst of humanity and knew the taste of manipulation, couldn’t afford to let its guard down.

–"Is there something on your mind?"– he asked in a casual tone, pretending he wasn’t studying your every reaction.

You held his gaze and, for the first time, Will truly felt observed. As if you were the one analyzing him, as if you had seen something in him you hadn’t noticed before.

–"I was just thinking that..."– you paused, leaving the coffee cup on the table –"It's not so bad here."

A heavy silence filled the cabin.

Will felt a tingling run down his spine.

For the first time since he had brought you here, he didn’t know what to feel.

Will decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and, for today, let you leave the room so you could pet the dogs.

Well, I love to set up more than one path, but on this occasion there will only be two possible paths (I have emotional issues and prefer to procrastinate).

The first path would be that you had developed Stockholm syndrome.

Will saw you kneel and stroke one of his dogs with a tenderness he had never seen from you before. For three weeks, you had barely touched what he offered you. Now, there you were, letting the dogs lick your hands while a smile – a small, but sincere one – spread across your face.

Will’s heart was beating quite strongly.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what this meant. He knew it could be the simplest, most obvious answer: you had given in.

At first, it was resistance. Hatred. Fear. But now…

Now he saw you differently. Not only by the way you spoke or moved, but by the way you looked at him. There was no defiance in your eyes, nor resignation. You had grown accustomed to the routine, to his presence, to the idea that he was the only one truly there for you.

Will felt a dark pleasure as he realized this.

He approached cautiously and knelt beside you. The dogs barked excitedly, but he didn’t look at them—only at you.

You didn’t move away, nor did you flee.

You didn’t try to pull away when he raised a hand and placed it on yours.

And for the first time, you did not flinch.

For the first time, when he touched you, you didn’t pull your hand away. That, for Will, was more valuable than any word.

It was special because he knew he no longer needed to tie you up, no longer needed to keep you locked in a dark, unheated room for hours.

The second path is that you really had lied, or at least attempted to. We both know that wouldn’t work; Will is not someone to be lied to so easily.

From the moment you said "it's not so bad here", he knew something was wrong.

He knew you so well, so much that he could tell when you were lying and when you were telling the truth, when you were hiding things or speaking sincerely.

Will knew that you were lying.

From the moment you said "it's not so bad here", he knew something was wrong.

Because it wasn’t true—not after the way you had resisted before, fighting against the restraints until your wrists bled, screaming so much that he had to injure your throat so you wouldn’t keep upsetting the dogs.

But if you were lying, it meant you wanted something.

He didn’t overlook how your hands didn’t tremble when you petted the dogs, how your expression remained serene, almost as if you had truly found some peace in this confinement. But Will had studied troubled minds all his life. He knew how to recognize a mask when he saw one.

And yours was perfect.

Almost perfect.

Because when he approached and knelt beside you, when he placed a hand on yours and felt the slightest stiffness in your posture, he knew.

You were still fighting.

Deep down, you were still the same person who had scratched and bitten in an attempt to escape.

You had not given up.

Will felt a twisted smile form on his face. He leaned slightly toward you, his breath caressing your skin as he whispered:

–"my pretty little liar.

You froze.

–"What…?"

–"You think I can’t see what you’re trying to do. You think that if you act sweet enough, submissive enough, I’ll let my guard down."

Will raised a hand and took a lock of your hair, twining it between his fingers with a terrifying tenderness.

–"Do you know how many people have tried to deceive me before?"

His tone was soft, almost affectionate.

–"It didn’t work with the others, and it won’t work with you."

You swallowed.

Adrenaline coursed through your body, but you knew that any misstep could seal your fate.

Will smiled, but his eyes were cold.

–"But I like the effort"– he whispered, coming closer, until his lips nearly brushed your ear.–" I like watching you try."

He let go of your hair and stood up, walking away calmly, as if nothing had happened.

–"Rest a bit, we'll go fishing. If you behave well, you won't sleep in the attic tonight".

========================

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

Greetings🫠

Next fic: Hannibal Lecter x sociopath daughter reader

[ni-idea-07]

YOU AND ME FOREVER.

------------~ +18 ~------------

Tw: forced marriage, threats of violence, forced drug use, explicit rape, English is not my first language.

Content +18, read at your own risk.

=========°

The demon's head was behind you.

You didn't know how or why and it's not relevant to the plot either.

He had seen you, he knew who you were.

A perfect woman in every way –or at least to him and that was all that mattered–

The last thing you remember was being in your car before you were hit and everything went black.

You woke up in a room where the smell of incense filled your nostrils.

The walls were dark stone, illuminated by the dim light of golden chandeliers. There were expensive silks on the curtains and carpeting so soft it seemed to absorb any sound. A room straight out of another time.

You tried to move, but your wrists were bound with a sturdy cloth, neither too tight nor too loose. There was an unusual care in it, as if whoever had bound you didn't want to hurt you... but also didn't want to let you escape.

A chill ran down your spine when you heard footsteps. They weren't hurried or heavy, but measured, self-assured. As if each step was calculated.

Then you saw him.

A tall man, with cinnamon skin that shone and looked very soft, his eyes were green and stood out against his skin in a delicious way and matched his green tunic with gold details. You swallowed.

–"You don't have to worry"– he whispered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, his cold and firm hand resting on your wrist, right on the fabrics –"You're safe here."

Your body tensed.

–"Where am I?"– your voice sounded hoarse, dry.

Damian smiled.

–"In your new home."

Silence.

Your heart began to beat strongly, adrenaline awakening all your senses.

–"No"– you whispered, with a lump in your throat.

–"This has to be a mistake."

Damian tilted his head, evaluating you as if he didn't understand why you were scared.

–"There's no mistake. I've been watching you for too long. Now, finally, you're where you belong."

His fingers caressed your cheek with a disturbing tenderness, as if the gesture was natural.

–"This... this is a kidnapping"– you murmured, trying to reason with him.

But his smile widened, and the candlelight made his gaze look even more intense.

–"No, my love. This is our destiny."

His lips brushed your forehead with a devotion that froze your blood.

–"Tomorrow will be our wedding."

You couldn't breathe. You were very afraid.

Damian kept looking at you, his expression was that of a man who had already planned everything, who couldn't conceive of the idea that something could get out of his control.

You didn't even know how much or when you fell asleep, but you woke up when some maids untied their bonds and began to prepare you.

Your legs and arms were numb from being in the wrong position for so long.

–"It's time"– one of them said in a calm voice.

They didn't give you a chance to resist. They helped you stand up. Your legs were numb, but they caught you before you could fall.

You were taken to another room, larger and more luxurious, where a large mirror occupied the central wall. There, the women began their work.

They stripped you of the clothes you were wearing, with almost reverent care, and before you could protest, they began to prepare you.

Perfumed water fell on your skin as one of them washed you with sea silk sponges. Another untangled your hair with a golden comb, while the third applied oils to your skin.

Everything was so meticulous, so ritualistic, that you felt like you were nothing more than a doll in their hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, the dress was placed on you.

It was heavy. Too heavy.

The fabrics were thick and rich, a deep red with gold embroidery that shimmered in the light. The neckline was high, draping you in a sultry elegance, and the long sleeves ended in delicate lace.

But the worst were the accessories.

Gold necklaces were piled on your neck, heavy bracelets adorned your wrists, and an elaborate headdress was placed on your head. It felt like a crown, one that crushed any hope you might have of running away.

You looked in the mirror and barely recognized yourself.

The maids stepped back, admiring their work with satisfaction.

–“You’re ready”– one of them announced.

The door opened again.

And there he was.

Damian watched you from the threshold, his black and gold robes highlighting his imposing presence. His green eyes scanned every detail of your appearance, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

–"You are perfect"– he whispered.

He approached you calmly, taking your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look up.

–"There is no turning back, my love."

His lips brushed your forehead, a cold and possessive touch.

–"Let's go."

Your heart was beating hard, adrenaline burning every fiber of your body. You felt the weight of the jewels, the oppression of the dress, but none of that mattered.

Damian took your hand with apparent tenderness, ready to lead you out of the room.

It was at that moment that you acted.

Your fingers closed around one of the gold clasps on your dress, sharp at the edges, and with all the strength the heavy fabrics would allow, you brought it to his neck.

But he moved too fast.

Before you could even touch his skin, his hand caught your wrist in a firm grip. It wasn’t rough, not enough to hurt you, but strong enough to immobilize you.

His gaze, which had previously held that calm, possessive glint, turned cold.

–"How disappointing"– he murmured.

And then, before you could even breathe, his other hand closed around your face.

It wasn't a caress, it wasn't a tender gesture. His fingers pressed your jaw with authority, forcing you to look at him directly.

His green eyes burned with a terrifying intensity.

–"Did you really think you could hurt me?"– his voice was low, dangerous, but without a trace of uncontrolled anger. His self-control was absolute, and that made him even more terrifying.

You tried to pull away, but his grip didn't budge.

–"Don't make me be cruel to you"– he whispered, leaning in until his lips were close to your ear –"I won't hit you, not yet. It would be a shame to ruin such a beautiful face on such a special day."

Your blood ran cold.

Damian slowly pulled away, with the confidence of a man who knew he was in absolute control.

With one last glance at the frustrated wound on your hand, he let out a sigh, almost as if he was tired.

–"Don't try something like that again"– he ordered –"Or I'll be forced to teach you discipline in another way."

Then, he took your hand with a disturbing gentleness and intertwined his fingers with yours.

–"Now, come. They're waiting for us."

The "wedding" went on, you wanted to cry every moment, you couldn't fight, you were scared, very scared.

Damian put the ring on you, a beautiful one with a stone that surely cost more than the lives of your entire family.

You felt like vomiting when he kissed you, for a second you thought about moving away But he grabbed your waist and then kissed you harder.

–"Anti amirati… anti malikati." (You are my princess… you are my queen.)

When he moved away he grabbed your hand and walked to a balcony where below, all the people dressed in black bowed.

–"Taḥya almalika!" (Long live the queen!) – they shouted But you didn't understand anything.

–"You see, habibti? They already see you as their queen, now there's only one last step left"

That made you shiver, you knew what was coming.

============

Damian took you to a room, a huge one, with luxurious fabrics and a huge bed.

He looked at you and grabbed a small, suspicious-looking bottle from a table.

–"drink this"

You stepped back when he uncorked the small bottle and it was only a matter of seconds before he made you drink all the cloying liquid.

–"it's okay, you'll be okay."

You heard his whisper as he put you on the huge bed and began to take off your dress. Your whole body was hot, you felt your cheeks burn and your eyes fill with tears, you didn't feel sad, you were scared But you wanted him to keep touching you.

He pulled your dress off, humming when he saw your naked figure.

–"Darling, we'll be so happy."

He started licking your neck while playing with your nipples, you let out a small moan.

Damian laughed as he took off his robe and revealed his toned body. He smiled and then grabbed something from under the pillow and showed it to you, it was a condom.

–"We don't want heirs yet, do we? We have an eternity for that. But not today."

You screamed a little when he started to put his erect penis in you while kissing your neck and collarbones.

–"Ah...."

You could barely moan before he kissed you with tongue and with his hands he massaged and squeezed your thighs.

His thrusts were constant and neither slow nor fast, he made you enjoy it to the fullest.

He loved watching you, he loved this expression you had, that beautiful expression of not understanding what was happening but still wanting more.

He pulled out when you were about to have an orgasm.

–"it won't be fun if that happens too soon."

He teased, he kept kissing you, worshiping your entire body until he moved up and kissed your mouth, sticking his tongue in, tasting your oral cavity.

Your brain was temporarily fried and you couldn't pull away when he entered you again.

You lost count of how many times you came.

But you did know how much it hurt the next morning. Your entire body felt sensitive and your head was about to explode. The sunlight coming through the elaborate curtains hurt your pupils that were still dilated.

–"My queen. I hope it's a very good day for you... because it is for me"– he whispered beside you, his voice still sleepy but he was probably more awake than you.

You didn't answer, you just made a small squeal when he caressed one of your bare breasts.

–"We will spend decades together. I'm so happy to spend the rest of my long life with you, habibti. You will be immortal with me and we will live many decades. You and I forever."

"Forever and ever......"

==============================

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

Greetings🫠

[ni-idea-07]

My Desired Daughter

Hi! The poll I made a few days ago ends today so "yandere platonic Bruce wayne" officially won. Enjoy reading!

TW: manipulation, platonic yandere, threat against parents, threat fulfilled. etc. English is not my native language and this is translated with google

==================================

The first time Bruce saw you he didn't give it much thought, you were just one of Tim's friends who knew how to play well with technology.

But it wasn't until he really needed your help with something since Tim couldn't. Bruce showed up dressed as Batman in your room when you were putting up a Flash poster in your room.

Well, in short, after you helped Batman with one of your "inventions" he started to feel attracted.

It wasn't a romantic attraction or an unhealthy obsession in that sense. No. Bruce Wayne wasn't that vulgar. His thing was more... deep.

He wanted to be YOUR father.

There was no logical reason behind it. He had seen orphans all his life, he had rescued children from misery and abuse, he had adopted more than one. But you weren't an orphan. You didn't need a father. You already had one.

And that only made him love her more.

You had a loving and functional father and mother despite being divorced.

He didn't want to seem like a pervert – he didn't need to be in the magazines again since you were still underage – so he was careful about getting close to you.

He would talk to you when you came to Wayne Manor to do homework with Tim and sometimes he would interrupt you to bring you some lemonade.

But that was only until you made new friends and you didn't talk to Tim as often anymore and you stopped going to Wayne Manor to do homework.

It's not that you two fought, it's just that you found other friends, but every now and then you would say hello to Tim when you passed them in the hallways at school (elementary, middle, high school, etc. Take your pick)

Bruce was left with a bad taste in his mouth and he investigated your mother and father to see who he could seduce – Bruce wouldn't miss the opportunity to be your stepfather.

He found out that your mother owned a coffee shop downtown, an hour away from the Wayne Industries building.

An hour? Yeah, definitely Bruce would drive an hour every morning to go get a coffee at your mother's coffee shop and slowly court her.

Well, he's Bruce Wayne. Handsome and charismatic, the crush of all the women in Gotham.

It wasn't more than 5 months until you and your mother went to live at the Wayne mansion since Bruce proposed to you.

Yeah, very fast, but your mother was really in love with him.

But despite that he could hardly talk to you, you were hardly at the mansion, you went out with friends or with your father who took you fishing, on unusual excursions.

You had a good father and that frustrated Bruce.

But he got fed up with that and decided to interfere directly.

You were in the limo with Bruce, Alfred was driving, he was coming from the Wayne Company and you were coming from school. You hadn't wanted to get too close to your new "stepfather" for three reasons: the first was that you didn't know him very well and you weren't good at socializing with adults, the second reason was that he was the father of your friend with whom you hardly spoke even if they now lived in the same house and third, you had problems with your mother.

Your mother could fall in love easily and in a strong way, the last time you tried to sympathize with your mother's former partner, she yelled at you saying that all you wanted was to steal "her man" from her.

She was a good mother and an excellent person, but she went crazy with the men she loved.

–"Your mother and I are going to dinner tonight. Would you like to join us?" – her voice broke the silence, deep, almost warm. But there was something in her tone, something calculating, that made you feel uncomfortable. You knew that her invitation was not simple courtesy.

You looked at him, frowning.

–“I don't feel like it, but I appreciate your offer, Mr. Wayne”– you answered evasively, still looking out the window. Bruce wasn't that easy to dismiss, you knew. He had learned over time that Bruce Wayne didn't just accept a "no." His face remained calm, but something in his posture changed, as if his patience was beginning to wear thin.

The limo took a curve and stopped in front of Wayne Manor. Alfred, the eternal butler, had stopped talking, and the air inside the car became increasingly dense.

When you finally arrived at Wayne Manor, Bruce didn't move away from you.

–“Hey Y/N.”

He followed you to the main room, his steps at your side like an echo of a presence that would never leave you.

You were about to enter, but something stopped him. Suddenly, in an unexpected turn, his hand caught your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

–"I don't want you to ignore me"– he murmured, with a danger you couldn't ignore. His grip was firm, just enough pressure to make your jaw hurt, but still not enough to make you scream. –"And I don't want you to be so... distant anymore. Do you understand me?"

His eyes remained fixed on yours, as if the entire world could crumble around you and the only thing that mattered was what he wanted from you.

Your breathing quickened as you tried to break free, but his strength kept you prisoner.

–"Talk about this to anyone and your father will end up behind bars for selling drugs."

–"My father doesn't sell drugs"– you whispered.

–"That's not what the evidence will say."– His tone was sharp, and the threat was clear. You wouldn't say anything else, not with the fear you felt.

Your mother was so infatuated that asking for help sounded stupid and your father, you didn't want Bruce to follow through on his threat.

But you couldn't, you couldn't stand this, you tried to run away one afternoon where your mother was with your father, she had gone to pick up one of her things that she had ordered on the internet and it arrived at her old address. It was not necessary to mention how upset she was about that.

You grabbed your backpack, you were going to go with your father, you were going to tell him everything.

But when you were about to cross the threshold they grabbed you by the backpack and pushed you to the floor, you fell on the carpet.

–"I thought you would be smart and not make me have to do this..." – he spoke with clenched teeth, he took the backpack from you and threw it in the corner and then grabbed you by the hair and dragged you.

–"ENOUGH! PLEASE STOP, IT HURTS!" – you cried.

He took you to the laundry room and pushed you inside before closing the door.

You didn't know how long you were there, you were really scared. Scared of what this psychopath would do to your parents.

========

You woke up when the door opened and you saw his shoes.

–"oh baby, come here, I didn't mean to be so aggressive with you... you just didn't leave me a choice"– he whispered before hugging you.

You wanted to push him, bite him or scratch him. But you were scared, really scared.

–"let's have breakfast together, it'll be a father and daughter breakfast"

He seemed happier than usual.

Bruce carried you to the living room where the television was on and left you on the couch to go get breakfast.

Then you saw it. The journalist was talking about how they were able to catch a couple with more than 20 kilograms of crack in their house.

That couple was your parents.

You cried until Bruce stood in front of you, with a smile that said he had already won everything.

You would be his daughter now, he had the cunning, the influence, and the desire to be your father.

And he had succeeded.

–"you can call me 'dad or father' from now on"

=================

Thanks for reading.

Interactions and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Requests open, leave me your request and I will be happy to fulfill it.

Greetings🫠

wait....

[ni-idea-07]

MASTERLIST.

DC

Yandere Platónic Batfamily x reader "Pierced Little Bird"

Yandere Platónic Jason Todd x reader "you will never be alone again"

Yandere Platónic Damián Wayne x reader "My beloved and dear little brother".

Yandere Platónic Bruce Wayne x reader "My Desired Daughter"

Yandere Romantic Damián Wayne +18 "you and me forever".

Yandere Romantic Jason Todd "My favorite person"

Yandere Romantic Jason Todd +18 "Did you forget about me, little star?"

Yandere Talia al ghul +18 "You're mine, Habibi"

Yandere Romantic Tim Drake "your scent"

Yandere Dick Grayson +18 "Pretty little thing."

HANNIBAL NBC

Yandere platonic Hannigram x young reader "A Little Princess".

Yandere Hannigram x "interested" reader "Love"

Yandere Hannigram x innocent reader "Our little lamb.".

Yandere Will Graham x reader

Yandere platonic Hannibal x sociopath reader "my greatest pride".

Yandere Romantic Hannigram x reader "You're not like him, you're worse."

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

Yandere Lestat and Louis x reader platonic

RESIDENT EVIL

BANANA FISH.

HELLUVA BOSS/ HAZBIN HOTEL

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE

[ni-idea-07]

Hello! I love your fics so far but I was wondering if you had a masterlist? Anyway KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK😋

Hello! It's true, I forgot to make one. so in a few moments I will publish it and it will be HERE.

Thanks for reading.

Greetings 🫠

[ni-idea-07]

Hey guys.

[ni-idea-07]

Hi people!

Well, thanks for your attention, greetings 🫠

(read comments)