#Dick is tired of his brothers

[biancabi]

Dick: *Forcing a smile* Being an older brother is a wonderful and surprising thing. You can always find yourself in situations you never thought you would happen!!!

-

Dick: *Freaking out* What was the only thing I said not to do??!!

Duke: *Guilty* Create a cult for the second time.

Dick: AND WHAT WAS WHAT YOU DID???

Duke: ....Create a cult for the second time.

Duke: ....

Duke: In my defense it was completely accidental.

-

Dick: Hey Dami, have you seen-WHAT IS SO???

Damian: Grayson keep your voice down, your screams will alert everyone.

Dick: *Deep breath* Dami, babybat, my little brother. Why is there a giraffe hanging out on your balcony?

Damian: Her name is Macbeth and I think that's obvious, she's too big to come into my room.

Dick: Where did you find a giraffe in damn Gotham???No, don't answer that. Does Bruce know about this??

Damian: No Grayson, you're the first to hear about Macbeth joining the family.

Dick: Okok, This is all Bruce's fault and I refuse to deal with this now.

-

Jason: Hypothetically speaking, how bad would it be if during the patrol I dropped my bombs that explode when touched on the wrong side?

Dick: ....I'm sorry? What?

Jason: Just a hypothetical situation, it doesn't mean he dropped bombs there.

Dick: What the fuck, Jason!? Really What the fuck?!

-

Tim: *With zero hours of sleep and 5 boxes of red bull*. I HAVE DISCOVERED IT!!

Dick: I don't want to ask, god knows nothing good comes of that, but what have you discovered, Timy??

Tim: *Jumping with excitement* I have discovered the identity of the criminal mind we have been investigating.

Dick: I take back what I said, that's good news. Who is it??

Tim: IT'S BRUCE WAYNE!!

Dick: ...

Dick: Did you know?? I said nothing. What made you think it's Bruce Wayne?

Tim: *Fretically moving hands* Just think about it, whenever Bruce Wayne leaves events early there's some big crime or breakup of Arkham, plus he always reappears with suspicious injuries and attributes them to his clumsiness. One part of his money mysteriously disappears from his boxsafe, his segurity is too good to be a theft or mistake, it must be your financing at evil ends and-

Dick: Tim, Don't you forget that Bruce-

Tim: AND YOU HAVEN'T HEARD THE BEST PART.

Dick: What could-

Tim: HIS CHILDREN ARE TRAINED KILLERS AND RUN HIS CRIMINAL EMPIRE.

Dick: *Looking for the sedative and sleeping pills* Are they?? Tell me more.

-

Dick: Everyone should feel the joy -suffering- of being an older brother -it's all Bruce's fault, I must have been an only child-

*Voices of Tim and Damian fighting in the background with Jason cheering them on*

Dick: Above all I love my brothers.

*Sound of breaking glass and Duke's surprised scream*

Dick: *Trying to convince himself* I really, really love them.

*Gliter bomb explosion*

Dick: ....

Dick: *Whispering* I don't get paid enough for this. Damn Bruce.

[timdrakeslawyer]

there are many duos im fond of with tim but him w his big bro will always be at the top :( they mean so much to me!

(nightwing 1996 #69)

[dasha022]

Since I can't found any new trop in DCxDP fanfictions, I will continue writing fanfics on AO3 and Wattpad by my own 😩

Here's the new one!!

A bird couldn’t help but get into trouble while searching for answers. This caused a certain ghost boy to face the terrifying truth he was so unaware of.

Now the bird will have to deal with the consequences and give the ghost a new home.

Because, that’s what a husband does. Isn’t it?

[littlefankingdom]

I need more fics where Dick acts just like in the comics when Jason comes back.

No more "Little Wing! I missed you so much! I'm fine with you killing people, I don't care! You're right, B is an asshole."

Bring back the original "Jason?! Wtf are you doing??? Stop killing people, you little bitch! I'm gonna kick your fucking ass! B is way too nice to you, because it would be me, you would be in jail!"

[covertblizzard]

jaykyle au where they're theatre kids in the same school but they're not the actors jason's the scriptwriter/director and kyle is the prop manager (i don't know the official terms sorry) and they'd probably do an amazing job on the backstage setting if they could stop arguing for 5 whole seconds about their artistic visions and ideas and how "this would obviously work better this way"

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Dick wanted so badly to get Easy's story out there that he bulldozed over anyone trying to minimize or criticize or doubt Ambrose/the book/Dick's memories...Or anyone (Speirs) who was trying to keep away from the whole thing.

I get it though. I think they all left most of themselves back in that war, and for Dick it became all important to get their story told.

[writewhatyouwanttoread]

New fic has dropped!

This is the next part of the series I've created for Red is My Favorite Color that I'm calling The Hues of Robins because I decided to stick with the color theme. This fic is Baby Brothers are Red, Big Brothers are Blue and covers a lot of Dick's POV of the whole shit show and brings him and Tim into contact with Jason and Damian.

Enjoy!

[jewishbarbies]

personally a huge “hades isn’t evil he’s just so sick of everyone’s shit that he enjoys doing stuff to piss off his family even if it’s crossing a line” enjoyer

[lostusagis]

( It's sooo wild because you know.... Kamui is the way he is and yet... people think he's a really good leader, his division is really loyal and really enjoy following him too like..... I think about that a lot you know? Stupid yet, good leadership skills. He actually has admirable traits. That's why they follow him. Personally, one of my favorites things about him is that he always repays his debts. Especially if it involves them saving his life.)

[s0dium]

I need you

Synopsis: Choso needs to fuck you despite the fact that you are Yuuji's babysitter.

Warnings: Desperate sex, rough sex

Visual link: xxxxx

Choso thinks you are an angel.

Honestly.

He marvels at how you always help his family out by babysitting his little brother Yuji, even if it's late at night. Your kindness shines through in every action, and he can't help but notice how your eyes glow like an angel's, your skin seems so soft, and your voice carries a soothing, gentle tone. It's not just what you do; it's the way you do it, with such grace and beauty, that makes him believe you truly are a blessing to his family.

So that is why he must do this.

His touches are relentless, drawing you into his room the moment Yuuji is asleep. You can barely even get a word in before his bigger hands are under your shirt, exploring the warmth of your skin, a desperate longing evident in each caress. You want to tell him to slow down, to truly connect beyond the frantic urgency. But your words dissolve into breathless whispers as you meet his dark tired eyes that are practically begging for you, begging to be with you, begging to feel you.

"I like kissing you." He murmurs against your lips. "I like you. I like you so much, you are so pretty. I like and love you."

You let yourself fall into his touch and Choso captures your mouth with his, a deep, enveloping kiss that makes you moan and whine for more. As he gently removes your tank top and shorts, leaving you in your bra and underwear and he devotes attention to every inch of your skin, delivering tender nips, soft sucks, and gentle bites.

"Perfect." He mumbles under his breath, burying his nose into the crook of your neck to pepper the delicate skin with soft kisses. "Fuck, you are so perfect, baby."

Your mind grows fuzzy at his words and you let out a sharp gasp when you feel him pull the hem of your underwear down your legs.

"Jump," he commands softly, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through you. Without hesitation, you leap up and in one fluid motion, he lifts you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, securing you against him as he presses you against the wall. Your fingers find their way into his black hair tied up in buns long, tugging gently at the strands, anchoring yourself to him as his kisses deepen. You don't even notice that he has lowered his pants until you feel the hard pressure against your tight hole, making you instinctively squirm away.

"Stay still f'me ok baby?" Choso groans, peppering kisses along your jaw while he aligns himself with you. Without warning, he thrusts into you, the sudden friction and collision with your G-spot knocking the wind out of your lungs. It's as if every fiber of your being is tuned to this moment, each caress and sensation amplifying the pleasure that surges through you. You feel a soft shiver start at the base of your spine, traveling upward, making your skin tingle with exquisite delight. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as Choso thrusts into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the grith of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, the euphoria of him fitting snuggly against walls with every thrust. The friction is incredible and it made pain quickly turn into pleasure. The tightness of your cunt has Choso gasping for breath, the grip on your hips almost bruising as he tries to keep himself from spilling inside of you right here and now.

"I can feel you baby, sh-shit, I can feel you doing it to me." Choso is not a whining man but here he is falling apart at the warmth of your cunt. God you were heaven, he thinks he would be eternally happy if he could just spend all his time inside of you, feeling you squeeze around him, smelling the intoxicating scent of your shampoo. He uses you like his personal cock sleeve, thrusting up into your warm cunt with such vigor that it shapes your insides and bruises your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity.

For a moment, he slows down, leaning down to the space between you and letting a glob of thick spit drop onto your clit. He moves side to side, opening up your folds and rubbing your clit. You cry from the pleasure and Choso's Adam apple bobs as he groans as well.

He's close, and he knows you are too.

He is glaring at you with hooded eyes, watching the expressions of pleasure you make intently. Choso is caught in some sort of trance, like even though he is fucking you, he is powerless to you.

Your mind begins to drift, losing itself in the intensity of the experience of Choso fucking you. Time seems to blur, and the world around you fades, leaving only the profound connection between you and the pleasure you're immersed in. Each moment stretches and deepens, and you're carried away by the ebb and flow of sensations. Your body responds instinctively, arching off the wall and lifting your hips to meet Choso's thrusts, seeking more, craving the next wave of ecstasy. The pleasure builds and builds, a crescendo that fills you to the brim. It's a symphony of sensation, a dance of pure, unadulterated joy that leaves you breathless and yearning.

And then, in a glorious, breathtaking instant, it peaks. The world seems to explode in a kaleidoscope of bliss, and you are utterly consumed by it. Your heart races, your breath catches, and for a moment, you are weightless, suspended in a universe of pure pleasure.

Luckily for you, Choso is right there with you. His mind dips into a ocean of pleasure and before he can put a stop to it, he is spilling load upon loads of himself in you.

Damn it, he should've done this sooner.

[foerchen]

POV: First breakfast after Wally stays over

Damian: *eyes Wally with clear disdain because how dare that simpleton fornicate with his brother*

Tim: *too tired to care*

Jason: *smirks every time Dick fails to cover his hickeys with Wally’s his shirt*

Wally & Dick: *blush cherry red whenever someone makes eye contact*

Bruce: *walks into the kitchen looking like a zombie*

Bruce: *sees Wally and freezes before looking at Alfred confused*

Bruce: Alfred… When did I adopt another one?

Alfred: Well, Master Bruce-

Bruce: *tears gather in his eyes*

Bruce: And why doesn’t he have black hair…

Alfred: *sighs*

Alfred: Master Bruce, please go back to bed.

[mckinlily]

Idea that won’t leave me alone: one of those Bruce adopts all his kids as Tinies AUs where toddler Jason is two and his favorite person in the WORLD is his big brother. But he’s just barely learning to talk so when he says his brother’s name…in comes out as “Ick.”

Leading to—

Jason: Icky!! Icky!

Four-year-old Dick Grayson: I’M NOT ICKY!

Jason, insistently: ICKY!

Dick, getting progressively more upset: STOP CALLING ME ICKY!

Jason: No! Icky!

Dick: No! YOU’RE icky!

And escalating until they’re both crying—Dick because Jason won’t stop calling him icky. Jason because his big brother won’t play with him.

This happens at least once a day. Bruce is so tired.

[idekwthmuistb]

Pyre you're brain is top-tier and I desperately need this

Reverse Robin au but the ages aren't changed. Just adoption order.

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[corkinavoid]

DDxDC The More The Merrier

Exactly a year after Talia brought Damian to Bruce, she shows up again. With another child. That looks like a carbon copy of Damian. She introduces him as Danyal, Damian's twin that was in an undercover mission for the last few years.

Bruce's eye twitches, but he deals with it. At least it's not a clone - Damian proved his mother's words to be true, Danyal really is his twin brother. So the Bats are just kind of forced to accept the fact. And the kid.

Danyal is a literal fucking menace. Contrary to Damian, he doesn't stab or bite, but he is absolutely chaotic. And, in addition to that, he has zero self-preservation instincts. None of it. The only two people in the family he has a truce with are Cass and Steph. Cass, because he has yet to take her by surprise, and Steph, because she is his partner in crime. Tim, though, Tim is on the verge of going insane with two little assassin bats running around the manor.

A year later, on the anniversary of Damian and Danyal's arrival, Talia shows up again. With, you guessed it, another kid. This one is a bit older - sixteen or so - and he has an angry glare that can be compared only to Jason's on a warpath. Dante, he calls himself, and the Demon Twins narrow their eyes on him. Bruce knows this look intimately. Sibling rivalry at its finest.

The next year is full of said sibling rivalry, performed by three highly skilled assassins. Dick is constantly worried one day one of them will die, and not because of a Rogue attack. The kids are fucking wild, acting like rabid dogs on steroids. They destroyed a wall once by throwing Dante through it. Alfred gave them a lecture. It didn't help.

The next year, Bruce opens the door to Talia even before she rings the doorbell. He looks at the four-year-old girl that looks like a mirror image of Damian, Danyal and Dante, and asks, tired and defeated:

"How many more?"

Talia only smiles. The girl looks at him with big, innocent puppy eyes that don't fool Bruce anymore.

Tim, who watches the scene through the surveillance cameras in the Batcave, pulls up a file and starts drafting his last will.

[madammidnightsblog]

Yandere Mailman X Sleepy Darling

Yandere Mailman fell in love with you the first time he was sent to work in your neighborhood and caught you sluggishly walking out of your house to get the mail. He watched you walk out onto the wooden porch with your blanket wrapped around you and your hair a mess for napping, it was your day off from a busy week at the office so that was a very much needed nap. Yandere Mailman was taken away by how cute you looked with drool stains down your chin and the sleepy look on your adorable face as he watched you from across the street. He just walked to scoop you right up and pull you into his mail truck and take you home. Yandere Mailman who memorized your address and the white painted fence with what looked like fake plants decorating your front porch as they looked too green for someone who never was home. It was burned into the back of his head and how couldn't? The owner was just so cute! Yandere Mailman gets so jealous when he sees all the envelops that were filled out in such pretty handwriting of yours, addressing to a man at a military base- he didn't care that it was your brother that you were writing too (he didn't open them and read them, what kind of person would invade such privacy? their seals just happened to be broken- okay?) You shouldn't be writing to any man! Yandere Mailman just can't help but take those letters you send to your brother and his letters; you shouldn't talk to him- he left you after all, right? If he cared, he wouldn't be away and stayed by your side. That's what you do for those you love and no, he totally didn't jerk off to your letters because you went into detail about how excited you were to go to the beach with your friends and how you bought at new swimsuit for it- okay! Yandere Mailman who sits outside in his mail truck he parked across the street with his dick in his hand, jerking off as he watched you once again sluggishly walked outside to get the mail. The adorable, tired expression of yours and how you're wearing such small night shorts and that big loose t-shirt, it just has him throbbing every time. Yandere Mailman who cums once you noticed the unmarked envelope he left for you, watching the once sleepy expression turn into a confused one. It was just so damn cute, and he couldn't help it, knowing you're opening it and reading the little love letter he made with your chubby cheeks turning red. His balls were squeezed in his free hand while the other moved in a fast and sloppy pattern until he makes a mess all over his hand. Yandere Mailman makes sure you memorize the days you're home in the mornings and leaves little love letters that are totally are normal! They might talk about how much he loves your adorable little face and how your hair is just so damn pretty that he wants to play with it and how he wants to see your little sleepy face sucking him off while you're barely awake, drooling and sleepily blink up at him as he helps you since you're just so tired.