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luv-lock · 2 months ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤEVERY INCH IN THAT SUITㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : He Looks Good In His Thight Suit, So Why Not Just Fuck Him?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ WARNINGS : NSFW, MINORS DNI, Daddy kink, breeding kink, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, a lil bit gun play, blow job, choking, spitting, slapping, riding, power play.

☆⁠ NOTES : Damian is an adult. And yes we have an adult version of Damian who is still Robin and wear a Robin suit. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

The cave’s damp air clings to your skin as you stumble in, heels clicking against the stone floor, your breath hitching at the sight of him. Bruce stands there, the suit clinging to every muscle like it was poured over him. The cowl’s still on, those white slits glaring at you, and fuck, it’s doing things to you—your thighs clench just looking at him. He’s fresh off patrol, chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat making the black Kevlar gleam under the dim lights. Gotham’s knight, your goddamn ruin.

“You shouldn’t be down here, sweetheart,” he growls, voice low and modulated through the mask, but you hear the edge—raw, hungry, barely restrained. He steps forward, boots thudding heavy, and you’re already wet, practically dripping down your thighs because fuck, it’s Bruce, and he’s looking at you like prey.

“Don’t care,” you breathe, bold and stupid, stepping closer ‘til you’re in his shadow. “Needed to see you, Daddy.”

That word—Daddy—hits him like a punch. His head tilts, cowl shifting slightly, and you swear you hear a sharp intake of breath under that mask. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, little girl,” he rasps, gloved hand flexing at his side, and you grin, all teeth and heat, because you want him.

“Then punish me,” you whisper, reaching out to drag your fingers down the bat emblem, feeling the hard planes of his chest. “Show me what happens when I’m bad.”

He snaps. One second you’re standing, the next he’s got you slammed against the Batcomputer console, the cold metal biting into your ass as he looms over you, massive and unyielding. “You wanna be a brat for Daddy?” he snarls, ripping your skirt up with one brutal yank, exposing your soaked panties. “Gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

You whimper, and he’s already tearing the lace off—gloved fingers rough, calloused through the fabric, shoving between your legs. “Fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, sliding two fingers into your cunt without warning, stretching you open while you arch and gasp. “This all for me? Huh? My needy little slut, soakin’ herself for me?”

“Yes—Daddy—just for you,” you moan, hips bucking into his hand, and he growls, pumping harder, curling those thick digits ‘til your vision blurs. The suit’s rubbing against your thighs, coarse and unforgiving, and it’s filthy—he’s filthy—still stinking of smoke and adrenaline, fucking you with his gloves on.

He pulls his fingers out, slick and glistening, and smears your mess across your lips before shoving them into your mouth. “Taste yourself,” he orders, and you suck, desperate, gagging around the leather while he watches, those white slits narrowing. “Good girl. Daddy’s gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, ‘til you’re full of me.”

You whine, and he’s unbuckling the lower half of the suit—just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, dripping pre-cum like he’s been hard for hours.

He grabs your throat with one gloved hand, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy, and lines himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance. “Beg for it,” he demands, voice a gravelly snarl, and you’re too far gone to care how pathetic you sound.

“Please, Daddy, fuck me—breed me—fill me up, I need it,” you plead, voice breaking, and that’s all it takes. He thrusts in hard, splitting you open, the stretch burning as he bottoms out in one brutal stroke. You scream, nails clawing at the suit, and he doesn’t wait—starts pounding you, relentless, the console rattling with every slam.

“Fuckin’ take it,” he grunts, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the cave. “Gonna stuff this tight little cunt—make you mine, princess.” The glove on your throat tightens, cutting your air just enough to make your head spin, and you’re sobbing, legs shaking as he fucks you raw—Bruce's cock wrecking you, the suit chafing your inner thighs red.

He leans down, cowl brushing your cheek, and the modulator makes him sound obscene. “You want Daddy’s cum? Want me to breed you ‘til you’re dripping, ‘til you’re swollen with it?” he growls, and you nod, frantic, clenching around him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

“Yes—fuck, yes, Daddy, fill me up, please,” you gasp, and he shifts, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half under him. The angle’s insane—his cock hits so deep you feel it in your guts, and you’re screaming, cumming so hard your whole body locks up, gushing around him while he keeps going, fucking you through it ‘til you’re a trembling, overstimulated mess.

“That’s it, cum on Daddy’s cock,” he snarls, pace turning feral, and you feel him swell, twitching inside you. “Gonna pump you full—gonna make you my little breeding bitch.” He slams in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and cums with a guttural roar—hot, thick spurts flooding your cunt, spilling out around his dick as he keeps thrusting, forcing it deeper, marking you inside.

You’re a wreck—pussy throbbing, leaking his cum down your thighs, the suit’s rough edges still digging into your skin—and he doesn’t stop. He pulls out just to flip you over, bending you across the console face-down, ass up, and shoves back in, fucking his cum into you like he’s trying to make damn sure it sticks. “Not done,” he growls, gloved hands bruising your hips. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think, ‘til all you know is my cock.”

You’re whimpering, incoherent—“Too much, Daddy, fuck”—but he doesn’t care, keeps railing you ‘til your knees buckle, ‘til you’re drooling on the keyboard, another orgasm ripping through you so hard you black out for a second. He’s relentless, a machine, the suit creaking with every thrust, and when he cums again, it’s a flood—dripping down your legs, pooling on the floor, a nasty, freaky mess that only Bruce could leave behind.

Finally, he slows, breathing ragged through the modulator, and pulls you back against his chest—the suit cold and hard, his cock still twitching inside you. “Such a good girl for Daddy,” he murmurs, softer now, gloved hand stroking your hair as you tremble, fucked-out and full. He doesn’t take the cowl off, just tilts your chin up to kiss you—lips rough against yours, tasting of sweat and sin.

“Mine,” he growls, possessive, and you feel it—his cum leaking out, the ache settling in, the way he’s claimed you. You’re his, alright—Daddy’s little breeding toy, fucked stupid in the heart of his cave.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

The Blüdhaven night’s alive with neon and grime, and you’re perched on a rooftop, waiting for him—Nightwing, the city’s golden boy turned reckless tease. You’ve been playing this game too long: flirting over comms, brushing hands during stakeouts, until he finally snapped last week and fucked you senseless in an alley. Now, he’s late, and you’re antsy—legs dangling over the edge, heartbeat ticking up—when you hear that familiar whistle, cocky and bright.

“Miss me, babe?” he calls, flipping down from a higher ledge, landing in a crouch that shows off every damn line of that skin-tight Nightwing suit. The black and blue clings to him like a second skin, outlining his broad shoulders, tight ass, and the bulge you’ve been dreaming about all day. He straightens, grinning—those white lenses glinting in the dark—and saunters over, all swagger and mischief. “Caught you waiting. That’s cute.”

“Caught you staring,” you fire back, smirking, and he laughs—bright, infectious—before he’s on you, fast as a blur. One gloved hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, and he kisses you like he’s been dying for it—hot, messy, a little sloppy with how eager he is. His tongue’s in your mouth instantly, tasting you, teasing, and you can feel him grinning against your lips. “Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to nip your bottom lip, eyes twinkling behind the mask.

Dick’s playful, needy, and oh-so-fucking horny. He spins you around, pressing you chest-first against a rusted billboard frame, and you feel the hard planes of his suit grind against your ass. “Been thinking about this all patrol,” he groans, hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he rocks into you. “You in my head, driving me nuts—gonna make you pay for it, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t waste time—fingers deft and quick, peeling your pants down just enough to bare you to the night air. The suit’s rough against your skin, textured where it brushes your thighs, and you hear him fumble with the hidden zipper at his crotch, freeing that gorgeous cock—long, thick, already leaking for you. “Look at you, all ready for me,” he teases, smacking your ass lightly, playfully, before dragging the tip through your slick folds. “So fucking wet—bet you’ve been thinking about me pounding you, huh?”

“Shut up and do it,” you snap, half-laughing, half-desperate, and he chuckles—low and dirty—before sinking in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretch you open. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he moans, head tipping back, suit creaking as he bottoms out, balls snug against you. He doesn’t go brutal like Bruce—he’s all rhythm, hips rolling smooth and deep, fucking you with a grin you can hear. “That’s my girl—taking me so good.”

He’s a talker—won’t shut up even as he picks up the pace, slamming into you now, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the city’s hum. “Goddamn, this pussy’s perfect—gonna dream about this later,” he pants, one hand slipping around to rub your clit with those clever fingers, the gloves slick and cool against your heat. You moan—loud, shameless—and he laughs again, delighted. “Yeah, let me hear you, babe—scream for Nightwing.”

He’s relentless but fun—grabbing your hair to pull you back just enough to kiss your neck, sucking bruises there while he fucks you harder, the suit’s edges scraping your skin in the best way. “Wanna flip you over—see that pretty face when you cum,” he says, and before you can blink, he’s spinning you, lifting you like you weigh nothing—acrobat strength on full display. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pinning you against the billboard, and thrusts back in, grinning like a kid who stole the candy jar.

“Fuck—Dick—” you gasp, and he winks—those lenses flashing—driving deeper, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. “That’s it, say my name—gonna make you lose it,” he promises, voice husky now, less playful, more feral. His fingers circle your clit faster, and you’re done—cumming hard, clenching around him, crying out as your whole body shakes. He groans, watching you fall apart, “So fucking hot—love it when you squeeze me like that.”

He’s close—hips stuttering, grip tightening—and he pulls you flush against him, suit rubbing your tits raw as he chases it. “Where do you want me, huh? Tell me quick,” he pants, and you smirk, breathless—“On me, all over me.” That’s his cue—he pulls out, stroking himself fast, and cums with a loud, “Fuck, yes—” painting your stomach, your thighs, even catching your chin with hot, thick ropes. He’s grinning, chest heaving, swiping a finger through it and popping it in his mouth like a goddamn tease. “Tastes better with you.”

You’re a mess—panting, covered in him—and he’s still got that cheeky spark, tugging you close, kissing you soft now, all lazy and satisfied. “Round two back at my place?” he murmurs, tucking himself back into the suit, adjusting the escrima sticks on his back like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. “Got a bed with your name on it—and maybe some handcuffs.”

“Lead the way, Grayson,” you say, and he scoops you up—half-carrying, half-dragging—already plotting the next way he’ll wreck you.

— JASON TODD ⋆

The safehouse reeks of gunpowder and copper when Jason kicks the door open, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. He’s a fucking mess—blood streaked across his Red Hood helmet, leather jacket torn at the shoulder, crimson dripping down his gloves from a night of cracking skulls. The guns strapped to his thighs clink with every step, and he’s still riding that adrenaline high, chest heaving, muscles coiled tight. He wasn’t expecting you here—not tonight—but there you are, sprawled on his shitty mattress, fingers buried deep in your own cunt, moaning his name like a prayer.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, voice distorted through the modulator, low and guttural as he freezes in the doorway. His helmet tilts, taking in the sight—your legs spread wide, pussy glistening, eyes half-lidded with lust. You don’t even flinch, just keep fucking yourself, smirking like you knew he’d walk in like this. “Couldn’t wait, huh, you needy little slut?” he growls, kicking the door shut with a bang, already shrugging off the jacket but leaving the holsters on—guns and all.

“Jason—” you whimper, fingers slowing, and he’s on you in a flash, still bloody, still armored, grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away. “Oh no, you don’t get to stop now,” he snarls, smearing your slick over his glove as he shoves your thighs apart wider, the cold metal of his gauntlets biting your skin. “You wanted me, you’re fuckin’ getting me.” His free hand rips at his belt, pulling his cock out—thick, hard, tip already leaking—and you barely get a breath before he’s hauling you up by your hair, forcing you onto your knees.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he orders, voice rough as gravel, and when you do—lips parting, tongue out—he doesn’t wait. He grabs one of his guns from the holster, still warm from the fight, and presses the barrel to your temple, cold steel kissing your skin. “You like this, don’t you? My dirty fuckin’ girl,” he taunts, smearing blood from his glove across your cheek as he shoves his cock past your lips, deep and brutal, hitting the back of your throat ‘til you gag.

He’s feral—nothing gentle, nothing soft—just pure, unfiltered Jason. His hips snap forward, fucking your face like it’s a goddamn mission, the wet choke of your throat filling the room as he grips your hair tighter, pulling ‘til your scalp stings. “That’s it—take it, choke on me,” he groans, modulator crackling with his ragged breaths, the helmet’s red glow casting shadows over your tear-streaked face. The gun stays steady, a fucked-up promise—he won’t pull the trigger, but the threat’s got your cunt dripping, thighs clenching as he uses you.

“Fuck, you’re a sight—drooling all over my dick,” he mutters, yanking you off with a wet pop, strings of spit hanging between your lips and his cock. He doesn’t give you time to recover—just drags you up by the hair, spinning you around, and shoves you face-first into the mattress. “Ass up, now,” he barks, smacking your thigh hard enough to leave a welt, and you scramble to obey, pussy throbbing, aching for him.

He doesn’t bother stripping—keeps the helmet on, the leather creaking, blood still tacky on his hands as he lines up, slamming into you with one vicious thrust. You scream, the stretch burning, and he laughs—dark, filthy—grabbing the gun again and pressing it to your lower back. “Move, baby—fuck yourself on me,” he growls, but he’s already pounding, hips slamming so hard the bed shakes, his cock splitting you open, hitting deep and relentless.

“Jason—fuck—too much—” you gasp, but he just pulls your hair ‘til your back arches, forcing you to take more, the gun sliding up your spine, cold and dangerous. “Too much? Nah, you can take it—you were begging for it with your fingers in that slutty little cunt,” he snarls, voice dripping with lust and menace. Blood smears on your skin where he grips you, and the helmet’s modulator makes every grunt sound inhuman, primal—fucking you like an animal fresh from the hunt.

He leans over, chest plate digging into your back, and bites your shoulder through the suit—teeth scraping, bruising. “Gonna mark you up—let everyone know who owns this pussy,” he rasps, thrusting harder, the gun now tracing your jawline as he reaches around, shoving two bloody fingers into your mouth. “Suck ‘em clean, c’mon,” he demands, and you do—tasting iron and him, moaning around them while he fucks you into the mattress.

You’re close—too close—clenching tight around him, and he feels it, growling, “Cum for me, you filthy bitch—let me feel it.” The gun presses harder, his pace turning sloppy, brutal, and when you shatter—screaming, gushing all over his cock—he doesn’t slow down, just keeps railing you, chasing his own end. “Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he grunts, yanking your head back one last time as he cums, hot and thick, spilling deep inside you ‘til it’s leaking out around him.

He pulls out, panting, helmet still on, and smacks your ass one more time for good measure, leaving a bloody handprint. “Stay there—look at that mess,” he says, voice low and smug, watching his cum drip down your thighs. He drags the gun barrel through it, smearing it over your skin, then leans close—modulator crackling—“Next time, I’m fucking you with this loaded.”

You’re wrecked, trembling, and he’s already holstering the gun, adjusting his jacket like he didn’t just destroy you. “Clean up, princess,” he tosses over his shoulder, but the way he lingers by the door says he’s not done—not by a long shot. Red Hood doesn’t play nice, and you’re his favorite fucking toy.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

The Wayne Manor study is a damn fortress—dark wood, flickering lamplight, and Damian hunched over a desk littered with maps and case files, looking like he’s about to murder someone. He’s in that stupidly hot Robin tunic—green and red clinging to his lean frame, mask off, black hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times. You’ve been pacing behind him for twenty minutes, thighs rubbing together, pussy throbbing, because he promised he’d fuck you hours ago and now he’s buried in work like some self-righteous little bitch.

“Damian,” you snap, voice dripping with heat, leaning over his shoulder so your tits brush his back. “Put the damn papers down and fuck me already.” He doesn’t even flinch—just keeps scribbling, muttering something about “Gotham’s safety” like you give a shit. “Beloved, I’m occupied,” he says, all clipped and cold, that posh accent making your blood boil hotter. Occupied? Oh, fuck that.

You grab his chair, spin it around so fast he drops his pen, and he’s glaring up at you—emerald eyes sharp, jaw tight, all that bratty defiance he’s so damn good at. “I said I’m busy,” he growls, but his hands twitch, like he’s fighting not to grab you, and you clock it—he’s hard under those tights, bulge straining like a liar’s promise. “Busy being a little bitch,” you spit back, and before he can snap, you slap him—hard—right across that pretty face. His head jerks, cheek blooming red, and his eyes widen, stunned, then darken with something feral.

“You—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish. You climb onto his lap, straddling him, yanking his head back by his hair ‘til he’s forced to look at you. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, grinding down on that thick, trapped cock, feeling it twitch under you. “You don’t get to play martyr while I’m soaking wet and dying for it.” He groans—low, broken—and you smirk, spitting right into his open mouth. He chokes, swallowing it, and you see it: the moment he cracks, pride crumbling, lust taking over.

“Fuck, you’re disgusting,” he rasps, but his hands are on your hips now, gripping tight, and you know you’ve got him. “Yeah, and you love it,” you taunt, ripping your shirt off, letting your tits spill out, nipples hard and begging. His eyes lock on them, hungry, and you slap him again—lighter this time, playful, but it still stings. “Eyes up here, asshole,” you say, spitting again—this time on his cheek, watching it drip down as he shudders, cock jumping against you.

You don’t bother with his tunic—just shove the tights down enough to free that gorgeous dick—long, veiny, leaking precum like he’s been aching as bad as you. “Gonna ride you ‘til you cry,” you promise, lining him up, and he snarls—“Try it, harlot”—but it’s all bravado, because when you sink down, taking him in one brutal drop, he moans like a fucking virgin, head tipping back, throat bared. “Oh—fuck—” he gasps, and you laugh, nasty and loud, starting to bounce.

You ride him hard—hips slamming down, pussy clenching tight around him, wet and messy, soaking his lap. The chair creaks, threatening to collapse, and you don’t care—let it break, let the whole damn manor hear. “Look at you,” you pant, grabbing his jaw, forcing him to meet your gaze. “All that big talk, and you’re just my little fucktoy now.” He growls, but it’s weak, hips bucking up to meet you, desperate, and you spit into his mouth again—harder this time. “Swallow it,” you order, and he does, choking, eyes glassy with need.

Your pace is relentless—grinding, bouncing, thighs burning as you fuck him stupid. His hands claw at your ass, your tits, everywhere, and you slap them away, pinning his wrists above his head. “No touching,” you snarl, and he whines—actually whines—struggling but loving it, cock pulsing inside you. “Please—fuck—beloved—” he begs, voice cracking, and you grin, feral, leaning down to bite his lip ‘til it bleeds, licking it clean while you ride him faster.

“Thought you were too busy,” you mock, spitting on his chest now, rubbing it into the Robin emblem with your fingers. “Too good for this pussy—guess you’re not, huh?” He’s a mess—sweat-slick, bloody-lipped, moaning your name like a prayer—and you feel him throb, close, so you slow down, dragging it out ‘til he’s thrashing under you. “No—no, don’t stop—” he pleads, and you slap him again, sharp and loud. “You don’t tell me what to do,” you growl, picking up speed, riding him so hard the desk rattles.

“Gonna cum for me, Dami?” you purr, clenching tight, and he nods, frantic—“Yes—fuck, yes—” You feel it building, that tight, hot coil in your gut, and you spit one last time—right on his tongue—as you slam down, cumming hard, screaming his name as your pussy milks him dry. He breaks—crying out, hips jerking, spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, shuddering through it ‘til he’s whimpering, wrecked.

You don’t stop—keep riding, slow and mean, overstimulating him ‘til he’s squirming, gasping, “Too much—fuck—” but you just laugh, grinding ‘til he’s twitching, cum leaking out around his cock, staining his tights. “Should’ve fucked me sooner,” you say, climbing off, leaving him slumped, panting, a sweaty, bloody mess in that chair—work forgotten, pride gone, just your perfect, ruined boy.

“Next time,” you warn, wiping your spit-slick hand on his tunic, “don’t make me wait.” He looks up, dazed, lips swollen, and mumbles, “Never again,” voice hoarse, and you know he means it.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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shortnsweetsposts · 5 months ago

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Child!Damian: *Trying to hug Bat!reader*

Bat!reader: Leave alone, baby.

Child!Damian: *Looked up at Bat!reader with them big ol'eyes*

Bat!reader: ...

Bat!reader, starts ugly sobbing and hugged child!Damian back: YOU'RE MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Batfam: Oh wow

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acid-ixx · 3 months ago

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tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

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rizzanon · 4 months ago

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Undoing Fate

neglected to regressor batsis! reader x platonic batfam

what if after 20 years of neglect from your family full of vigilantes, you face an unfortunate death, only to find yourself regressed back to when you were 16?

⤷ lots of emotional neglect, reader was batgirl, reader was a tryhard and an overachiever, reader had no social life in her first life, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, regression themes, toxic and unhealthy relationships, dysfunctional family, toxic mentalities, reader and everyone else needs therapy…, canon divergence, major character death(s) | tba | based on this

⤷ info! (background) 1 | 2 | read this first to understand the plot and each batfam better :)

⤷ art!!! 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

⤷ if you’re bored m.list—under reconstruction

00 | And she cried over nothing

01 | Sixteen again

02 | A quitter? | ?

03 | Everything is awesome…

04 | Until it’s not | .

05 | Untouched memories

06 | Another suffocating day | .

07 | 1–Paranoia at its finest

| 2–To care or not to care

| 3–Sneaky link?

08 | 1–We’ve been here before (13/4)

| 2–Tricks and Riddles (16/4)

| 3– (TBC) (19/4)

09 | —

taglist is closed‼️

(1/3): @.fangxout @.dusk-muse @.quethekillerqueen @.isupportorbitalbombardment @.nxdxsworld @.vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @.jason-todd-fangirl-14 @.redsakura101 @.what-0-life @.idkwhattoputhete @.secretyouthcomputer @.witch-waycult @.allycat4458 @.dazed-lavender @.eclecticfurylady @.wizzerreblogs @.marsmabe @.daddysfangirls-dc @.hoeinthehouse @.beeweensblog @.ilxandra @.agent-nobody-knows @.thethingwiththefeathers @.mochiivqi @.pix-stuff @.narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel @hotdinoankles @vebbiewuzhere

(2/3) @animegirlfromvietnam @estreiiuh @simply-lovely78 @twismare @ssak-i @g4bbi3xx @buddee @alor-thes @kiyoramen @weirdothatreads @bat1212 @actuallysleepingrn @k1arar3 @zelabee @just-pure-trash @mindless-rock @heartjwonie @nickey-diano @goldfishsmemory @infirebaby @thephantomdanny @madkill44 @w31rd3rg1rl @fishstcks @yvesnoteve @otterluver05 @lilithskywalker @vanilliona @definitely-not-sammie @strwberryglass @f0rtunej @cottage-worm @darkfaethedestroyer @cloudserenity @bigchungusdrinksspritecranberry @cooldeermagazine @fightmebissh @fantasyhopperhea @sirenetheblogger @dind1n @stupidvodkka @lilithquillete @unamused-boss @insomniaccorner @paastaboi @octavius-world @yukixies @imguce @jellyedkazoo @jsprien213 @bad4amficideas @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog @rissareader @itsberrydreemurstuff @i-am-here3 @eyeless-kun @jayjayjayson @rosy-myhouse34 @verypersonadazzel @ehh-im-just-here-to-read @thesehandsarerated-e

(3/3) @glitchmshade @prongs-moon @jjllmx @thegothamsiren @v3vina @levi-09 @leovergurl @dazailover4ever @sofiaswrittendelusions @yukinaabutlazy @sbrewer21 @ryuushou @batboygirlie @simp-hub

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓) (or let me know if i accidentally spelt ur user wrongly 😭💀)

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ur-so-mine · 11 months ago

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Damain : why are you crying beloved?

Y/N : ....

Damain : what happened???

Y/N : ....

Damain : beloved did I do something??

Y/N : yo-u are disappearing...

Damian : oh yes beloved *smiles* it's my time to go..I only came here to see you my love..

Y/N : please don't- * Damian disappears* I love you...

#damian wayne #batfam #robin #batfamily #dc #batboys #damian al ghul #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x fem!reader #damian wayne/you #damian wayne/reader #damian wayne imagine

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blondwhxrewrites · 3 months ago

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Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Neglected!Reader

Summary: Life as the neglected child of the batfamily.

Tw: Dark undertones, Obsessive behavior, child neglect, shitty family behavior.

Neglectful!Batfam but with a reader who just doesn't give a shit. You've been taking care of yourself long before becoming a 'Wayne,' so when you arrive at the manor only to be met with no one, you just shrug it off and go on with your life. Of course Alfred tries his best, but he's also busy with the rest of the family's shenanigans. And it's not like you have a bad life. You have more than enough money, an entire manor to live in, and a great future ahead of you with so many opportunities.

Being looked over has its perks too; you can go wherever you want whenever you want and spend days with your friends without anybody noticing. Of course it does kind of hurt to see your supposed family spend so much time together without even thinking about you, but honestly they aren't worth it. If they can't see your value, then they can all go fuck themselves.

You don't need their attention to thrive, and when you move out after you graduate highschool, it's the best feeling in the world. Until suddenly you have your whole entire family in your living room a few months later, all panicking, thinking you were dead.

Your adoptive 'superhero' family are all a bunch of idiots.

#reader insert #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #batfam #neglected reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #platonic!batfam

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c1nnam00n · 9 months ago

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me tweaking out trying to find that one good fanfic

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book-place-incorrect-quotes · 3 months ago

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Bruce: Nothing in life is free.

Dick: Love is free!

Stephanie: Adventure is free.

Damian: Knowledge is free.

Y/N: Everything is free if you take it without paying!

All: *slowly turn to Jason*

Jason: *smiling proudly at Y/N* I knew I taught you something!

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yandere-wishes · 4 months ago

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⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡゜

𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

He holds you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin, trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips, wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

🎀𖹭🎀 : @your-yandere-kiss @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @nxdxsworld @lilyalone @neverano @natsukicookies @googeecat44 @starrydollita @mune-writes @a4g3lstarfire @yourhornysister @froggy-voidd @rissareader @6helpneeded9

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

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