#if this flops im sobbing

[acid-ixx]

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[boomposhpow]

stanley pines the man you are

a better son/daughter by Rilo Kiley

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

come get yer Laughin'stock! get it hot off the press! free Laughin'stock right here!

[sinceredecay]

My lovely girlfriends but in AC

[starluvsx]

𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯ִִ*ੈ༘⋆

Proofread: mostly Wc:6.3k WARNINGS:Cheating,swearing,smut,piv,oral(m!receiving),getting caught in the act,reader is insecure,SH,use of drugs multiple times,Chris being an asshole kinda(guy logic), just sadness, no happy ending;(

Reader ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

my hands shook as i read the text.it had been sent 30 minutes ago but for some reason every time I re-read it it felt like the first."chris cheated on you"was all it said.it was from his own brother,matthew, so i knew this wasn't some type of sick joke.matt actually always had my back.when guys would make fun of me or people would stare he would try and jump in to tell them to stop.we were never friends, far from that.he was just a nice guy.

tears welled up in my salted eye as I began to type out my response to this shocking information. "What?" was all my fingers could pry themselves to type out.such a simple question with an answer that will unravel the past 5 years of my life of my life.matt began typing again almost as soon as I hit send, this time taking a much longer time.my heart sunk even deeper, if that was even possible at this point, and my stomach twisted into knots that no medicine could undo.

After about 2 minutes his message bubble showed up.i felt nothing short of sick to my stomach as i read it.he had gone to a party and cheated on me with some random slut, and was bragging about it?my head felt as if it would fall off my body at any second.i couldn't believe what i was reading, i didn't want to believe it.

the detailed story made my entire body fill with so many emotions.i began to hyperventilate.breathes quickening by the second.i didn't know what to do.a story with so much detail had no choice but to be true.i didn't want to be in my own skin anymore.i shoved the sleeve of my hoodie up and began to scratch at the skin on my arm harshly.the stinging sensation sending strange tingles to my head.old scars on my wrists sensitive, tender, so breakable.

I soon felt the need to break away.i ripped the hoodie off my body in a weird flailing mess.gripping at chunks of my hair and ripping my headphones out of my now red ears.broken sobs lefty my mouth as I attempted to catch my breath.tears pouring out of me like a fountain.how could he do this to me.after everything he told me?and everything we've been through?

anger began to fill my blood.i started to shake my hands violently.needing to get rid of this tent up anger and sadness smoothie somehow.before i knew it my hand was in my wall.blood trickling down my fist once I removed it from the fresh hole.i then realized what I had to do.My feet hurriedly carried me to the front door.I grabbed my keys somewhere along my journey to the car.puting the key in the ignition and starting my car up.the drive there was a blur.i don't even think I should be driving like this.but who cares? I sure didn't

Chris ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Blood rushed to my face as i took another shot.i began to feel dizzy as this was my fourth one of the night and tilting my head back wasn��t the best for the state i was in.i let the alcohol burn through my throat like fire as i swallowed. I looked down at my phone unsteadily. I couldn’t help but notice a few missed calls from my girlfriend. I thought nothing of it. Y/n is always clingy anyways.

I mean seriously I go out for one night and she's up my ass. I put my phone on dnd so she cant bother me any longer.This was my night.i was going to have fun whatever way i want, without her.that sounds right.perfect actually.

I shot my head up from my phone as one of my good friends came up to me with a call of my name.it was Jack “hey man” i slurred out as i weakly dabbed up the blonde.he was sweaty and out of breath.I internally cringed as his clammy palm grabbed mine.trying my best to wipe my hand without him noticing.

“Yo, I got two men upstairs waiting if you tryna join?” He asked.i knew what he meant by two man.it definitely didn’t mean double date.i contemplated what I should do, not being able to stop harping back to the missed calls from my girlfriend.i knew it was wrong.i was drunk but not dumb.she loved me, i loved her at one point.this was fucked.everything about what i had been doing behind her back these past few months has been fucked.

I soon found my mouth moving faster than my brain. “Which one is mine?”

Reader ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

It felt like I had just teleported here as I stared at chris' front door.I knocked on it with my good hand.A few seconds later I was met with a confused looking matt. "woah what happened to you?" he asked shocked

I ignored his question entirely.he’s a big boy and thinks he can piece together what happened to me. "your parents home?"I asked.knowing that what I was about to do wasnt something his parents should hear.

"uh no they're.out why are you here?"Matt asked confused and weirded out.i never truly noticed how handsome he was.it might just be my blurry vision though.

"Is Chris home or is he with that slut Stacy?"I snipped at the taller boy.

"nah he actually went out for a few hours, to another party or something." I felt defeated as the words left his mouth. my body didn't even have the strength to support the anger running through my veins as I could only imagine what he was doing at this party.

I needed to get high.That was all I knew how to do In times like this.times when the only things that consumed my thoughts were ones that made me feel as if I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. "You got weed?" I sputtered out as I fought back tears.

Matt was clearly taken aback at my suddenness but nonetheless answered "yea.. come in" he moved aside to let me in. I mumbled a small thanks as I walked past him into the house.

Chris ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

I followed Jack upstairs as he began to describe the girl I would get.she was apparently blonde, short and had a fat ass, perfect. You could see how excited I was by simply looking down at my pants. Hopefully this girl will reciprocate.

Through all my excitement it wasn't hard to find guilt.it lingered in the back of my mind while doing these kinds of things. y/n was probably home, watching some stupid rom-com cuddled up in a blanket all cozy, sad and worried I'm not answering but doing her best to ignore it.that's just how she was.an over thinking anxiety mess that liked to hide it to make herself feel better.i would be lying if i said i didn't find that cute.

As Jack opened the door I was met with two girls waiting for us on the bed.i could spot the blonde immediately seeing as the other had dark coily hair, definitely jack's type. I eagerly made my way over to my girl who I hadn't even learned the name of. She was even more gorgeous then I had imagined.her hair was pin straight and her lips were plump, red.she had blue eyes and the hottest body.

I connected our lips before any words could be spoken.our lips moved perfectly as i undressed her.i paid no mind to what Jack and his girl were doing. All I care about is her. All I want is her. Her soft lips made my fingers tingle as I touched her bare skin.feeling like my fingers were on fire as they roughly brushed over every part of her.

She then flipped us over so she was on top of me. As I felt her clothed wetness with my fingers I couldn’t help but remember my girlfriend.she was probably at home right now, wondering where I am and what I’m doing and why I’m not answering, slowly getting more upset by the second.I brushed off the thought as the blonde on top of me took off her panties and began to position herself on top of my face.I was in perfect view of her pussy.everything a guy could dream of. Shaved, pink, tiny, perfect.

Something still felt so wrong.I had cheated on y/n plenty of times, why does now feel different? Before my thoughts could continue I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket.I know this is wrong.I need to leave.then without saying anything I got her off of me and left the room.Jack didn’t seem to say anything but she was throwing confused obscenities at me as I walked out.

Reader ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

My giggles were uncontainable as me and Matt cracked jokes across from each other on our comfortable spot on the floor. The music in the background paired with the purple led lights added an ambience to the room that couldn't be replicated. as the laughs died down the reality of my entire relationship set into my heart. I had been lied to by the one person who saw me for me.the one person to ever treat me right, buy me flowers, take me shopping, buy me food, listen to me talk about random stuff, stay on the phone with me almost every night until I fell asleep, was gone. I don't want this change. it wasn't one I could handle in my heart that had already grown as heavy as tons.

without thinking as soon as the tears began to spring out of my eyes I hugged matt.it was a little awake since we were on the floor after but it didn't matter.we sat there for some time.just holding each other as I cried into his chest.he was just so comfortable to be around, I couldn’t help but melt into him.before I could catch my own body I found my lips on his.I don’t know how it happened but it did.it felt right yet wrong.perfect yet oh so messed up.

We kisses sloppily as we were still high as shit.I slowly climbed on top of Matt which made me break the kiss for a moment.I took the second to stare deep into his hooded eyes.every detail of his face sinking into my eyes.a cheeky smile was plastered on his face and it was in this moment that i realized, he was the one.

I hurriedly kissed him again and began to remove my top as he did the same for himself.toned body all in view.my world felt like it was spinning as I tired to unclasp my bra while giggling.our tongues messily fought through laughs and desire.I felt so light yet so grounded at the same time.as if our bodies were morphing together.

We wasted no time taking all of our clothes off, both of us now completely naked on top of each other on his bedroom floor.

Chris ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

I barely shuffled past the crowd of drunken young adults as I made my way to the door and eventually my car.my eyes darken with anger at myself, hurting the only girl I've ever loved? who the fuck am I?I feel guilt wash over me as I realize how many time I had already done this. The number was truly lost on me as this normally happened when I was blackout drunk but it had to be around 10 now.

I put the keys in the ignition and started the car.my fists feel like they might explode if I didn't hit something now.i restrain myself hesitantly.scared that if I hit something I won't be able to stop. I quickly started driving.i shouldn't be driving in this condition. I'm drunk, tired, guilty and blinded with self directed rage.i couldn't stop my mind from wandering to her. no matter how much I tired to stop, how much I wanted to stop, I couldn't.everything led back to her.every color reminded me of a shirt she had.every song she had sang.every friend was one of hers.she owned every aspect of my mind.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

y/n was far from gorgeous in her own eyes.yes her friends often said she was beautiful and stunning but she never saw it. and even when she did think she looked cute even no man ever did, at least not one that wasn't family.no matter how much makeup she caked onto her face in the mornings, or how many skincare products burned through her childlike skin, she never had received a compliment from another guy.

because of this she never left the house without a full face of makeup on.if anyone dared to rush her through her 12 step makeup routine she would scream and cry till they left her alone.she couldn't be seen without it.she was also always putting herself in clothes that were meant to make her body "look good". Although it only worked occasionally she continued to wear them.short crop tops with her boobs hanging out the top and the tightest leggings known to man.Some would say she was a slut, others could tell she was just hurting.She wanted to be wanted.

this was her life style until she hit junior year of high school.she had gotten so tired of trying to be the most gorgeous girl by mens standards that she simply stopped.she threw away all her makeup and burned her slutty outfits to the ground.replacing them with large baggy jeans, hoodies and random tee shirt.she would barely style her hair anymore and only at special times wore mascara.she was the polar opposite of who she used to be.she didn't even know the girl she was before.

along with this major change in looks came a major change in mind.she now envied her friends even more.seeing them have guys hit on them and ask them out constantly made her livid.sometimes when she would go out with some her friends people would stop and stare.as if she was some sort of museum exhibit "complete ugly loser hanging out with pretty girls" and she was on display like a taxidermied shark.nobody really wondering who she is or what she does to look the way she does, just how the hell did she get here.

this jealousy soon turned into self isolation.she kept herself away from her friends.she was silent whenever she had to be around them in class.no longer being interested in drama or who asked out who that week.music playing in her ears with or without headphones.she no longer participated in conversations.only sitting there and half listening.she had become a shell of the girl she once was.and for some reason she enjoyed it.noboyd noticed her.she could dig a blade as deep into her skin as she wanted to and nobody would give a fuck.her tainted blood could drip down and stain the shirt she wore to school the next day and nobody would say anything.they wouldnt notice

Her friends didn't notice her silence.only thinking it was some strange phase she was going through because well, they were teenagers, things like this would happen.over time the loneliness became too much for her causing her to attempt to migrate back to her previous friend group.fortunately they accepted her back with open arms.

then, one fateful day in a boring science class.the teacher announced that they were switching their seats to lab tables now that they were halfway through the year girls who had sat together all year were understandably sad but nobody’s emotions compared to y/n's.she hadn't felt this nervous in a long time.and it felt disgusting.

her leg bounced up and down seeing as there were only 2 more lab tables left and her name, along with 7 others, hadn't been called. all her friends were already separated so she really had no chance. "ok lab table 5 is gonna be... anita, chris, y/n and Issac." the teacher announced.

her stomach dropped at the names.not one but two boys at her table.this was a nightmare for her .whenever she sat with boys in the past they were sure to make fun of her till she wanted to crawl into whatever shirt she was wearing and never come out.she grabbed her stuff and situated herself in the small chair. Chris across from her, Antia next to him and Issac next to y/n. she kept her head down, not wanting to even look any of these people in the eye.

"Alright so I know you guys have been sitting with completely different people the whole year so take the rest of the period to talk with the people you're with and get to know them." Ms.Kratsteen stated. Anita and Issac sparked up a conversation immediately. They most likely were friends before this.

Chris looked around awkwardly before breaking the silence between the two. "So y/n, you're pretty different from last year." he said, causing y/n to look up slowly. the look on her face almost saying 'wtf'. "not like in a bad way, you still look pretty cool." he backtracked.

"thanks?you look...well the same,"the flushed girl said.making herself let out a soft laugh.he laughed lightly along with her.

Once the laughter died down Chris spoke again"yeah, its harder to change your style as a guy then you would think" he chuckled at his own words.large hands moving to rub his chin momentarily.She couldn’t help but giggle at his words as well.not that it was all that funny but just simply because the way his thin pink lips maneuvered into a sly smile was one that made her all giddy.like butterflies were bubbling inside her stomach as she stared at him intently.this strange, unfamiliar feeling, felt nice.for the first time in a while,she felt nice.

“Hey, how about you come over to mine after school?you can give me some fashion tips” he said half jokingly, not fully expecting her to say yes.but to his surprise she agreed.it was hard to ignore how she blushed deeply, he could practically hear her heart beating out of her chest, or possibly that was his own beat he was listening to.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The mood of the room was calm.Chris and y/n took turns passing the pen to each other as they sat in the seemingly silent room.the soft sound of a random The Cure song played in their ears.the noise drifting in and over their heads while the room filled with smoke.

Y/n look over to her left on the bed at Chris, red hooded eyes drifting over to his relaxed body.no words came from her mouth although she wanted them to.her mouth was agape, words just at the brim of being uttered.but for reasons out of her control they stayed locked behind her teeth.refusing to spill over which only filled her head which curiosity as to what they could be.

Chris noticed her gaze after a moment.lowly lidded eyes locking with hers.his words came out fast.not stopping themselves at the brim like hers had. “I didn’t know you smoked…” he practically mumbled.

It took her a moment to gather what to say.she never really did, not often at least.due to this the amount of weed she was intaking at the moment made her all the more out of it then normal. “I…I don’t really…only when I’m sad…” she answered at the same volume of Chris’ voice.

The distance between them felt as if it was growing larger as she stared at him from the head of her bed.back lazily rested on a large pillow as he does the same on the other side of the bed.her hand practically moves in slow motion as she reaches to grab her soda from the nightstand.her body was slothily moving as she unscrewed the top and took a sip.letting the sugary drink sit in her mouth before swallowing.

It seemed as if in the blink of an eye Chris was closer to her.like he had teleported closer. “C’mere…” he said quietly under his breath.Yet somehow the words flowed right into her ears making them ring.

She set down her drink again and crawled over to him on the bed slowly.plopping her body down next to his after not very long seeing as they were very far apart anymore.without saying anything Chris took another hit of the pen.confusion etched on her face as she watched him.

Before she could form a coherent thought two of his slender fingers were on her chin.hypnotically pulling her closer making her lips part mindlessly.their open lips collided messily.hot smoke blowing into her mouth making her throat burn.she blew the smoke back out after holding it in her mouth again.

She stared at him somehow blankly.blinking as she tried to process what had happened, yet also slowly forgetting it completely. He stared back at her.not an ounce of nervousness available to him as he gazed into her sinking eyes.

“Again…” she uttered weakly.not exactly knowing where the words or let alone the thought came from to begin with.he chuckled lowly before doing as she said.pulling her close and placing his lips on hers again.their tongues slowly fought for dominance, messy spit pooling together as their eyes closed, all the while deepening the needy kiss.

They were friends, nothing more.honestly it had never been a realistic thought to be anything more.but right now she felt like she had been with him for years.like she had seen every part of him.as if she knew every story he had to tell. She felt like she loved him.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Chris and y/n laid in bed somberly.they weren't necessarily going to sleep but it was definitely calm.y/n was slightly tapped into a random movie on his tv while he sat on his side scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

It was a nice summer night.the room they were in was extremely stuffy causing y/n to not wear a hoodie like she normally does at night.leaving her scars out In the open.she didn't mind that chris could see her scars as she knew he wouldn't mention them.sometimes she questioned if he even noticed them.she had never caught him stealing glances at them or looking at them with fascination like she had with others.and I mean yea chris could be a bit of a space cadet at times but he wasn't completely braindead.

yet the question lingered in her mind.was that the only reason he had stayed with her so long. cause he didn't think she had gone that far?if he found out, would he be disgusted? as these thoughts raced through her mind a mile a minute she found herself simultaneously pulling the blanket over her wrists.

chris, unlike she had thought, noticed this.he noticed everything about her.he noticed how her face wrinkles like a cat everytime she about to sneeze.and how she ties her shoes into butterfly's cause it's cuter.or how she knows where everyone one of her stuffed animals came from.and unfortunately for y/n, he noticed this small action.it was one so small, so miniscule, that anyone else could have and would have  missed it.but not him.not when it came down to her.

he knew what she was covering.it hurt him to know why she was pulling the blanket over herself and why her face suddenly seemed to have changed ever so slightly.he sat up lazily to be at her level. "baby..." he mumbled.the words felt strange as they ringed in her ears.it was the first time he had ever called her any type of pet name as he stated many times he hated names like that.

she turned her head to him attentively. "what's up?" she tired to act nonchalant even though she was internally fucking dying at the name he had called her in his low, stuffy, tired voice.her eyes scanned over his face for the millionth time.never being able to get fully used to the beauty he held.he could say the same about her with ease, yet he never would, not unprovoked at least.

The next words weren’t what she had expected.she thought he would want to change the movie or that he wants to go to sleep. He sputtered for a moment, trying to find the right words before speaking up. “They don’t bother me, you're beautiful to me no matter what” was all he said.no more, no less, it was perfect.just like every other word he had ever had the privilege of saying to her.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

her resting was peaceful as she lay in her boyfriends arms.it was the morning of her birthday but it was still fairly early for her,8:00 to be exact.soft breaths came in and out of her nose sequentially as her resting eyelids stayed shut.the tranquility she felt was unmatched as she slept.

chris on the other had wasn't as much of a peaceful sleeper.he was practically snoring in her ear as his head rested messily in the crook of her neck that had stayed open through the night, unmoving, subconsciously scared to wake chris up.his legs were sprawled out as the only thing in order were his arms around her.despite the disheveled state he was in he was calm, something which was rare for him.

this moment. one so delicate that it should be treated as porcelain, was dropped from a 1,000 foot tall building as his brothers came barging into the room with a large camera and smiling faces. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' they shouted in unison, causing y/n to shoot up from her sleep startled, leaving a confused and sleepy chris to roll over onto his back, rubbing his eye as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

once her eyes adjusted to the sight in front of her she grumble a quick "what..." as she had totally forgotten it was he birthday.she didn't even bother to fix her messed up hair or the chaoticness of her outfit as she was right on camera.a small part of her knew this would be on YouTube later that night but was far too tired to do anything about it.

"Happy birthday!" Nick shouted again from behind the camera.now reminding y/n what day it was.she yawned before looking over to chris next to her.he was sleepily grinning ear to ear as he was happy his brothers were celebrating her as well.

Before she could think Nick was grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into the kitchen, passing the camera to Matt somewhere along the way as he led her up the stairs to the island in the middle of the kitchen.chris was groggily following behind.

her eyes lit up as she saw the cake they had bought for her.it was custom made to have pictures of her and her friends on the top and all sorts of things that she liked on the sides such as her favorite artists, books and movie.the cake was y/f/c and large and heart shaped.it was perfectly adorned with a white frosting edge and must've cost at least $200.

she picked her head up, tears in her eyes as she looked at her three favorite people surrounding her. Matt smiled cheekily from behind the camera before speaking up. "Do you like it?" he asked even though the answer was obvious.

"i...I love it..." she practically whispered before noticing chris walking off back to his room.she didn't question it as maybe he wanted to fix his hair or put on a shirt on for the camera.while they waited for chris to come back she hugged the two brothers who watched her gleaming face with pride.before she could notice nick pulled a bag from behind the island

He held the pink bag out to her. "here" he said with a grin on his face.she took the bag and set it on the table and took out the tissue paper.her smile lit up even more if it was even possible as she picked up the gift.it was a small collage book.she only grew happier as she flipped through the pages.they were filled with nothing but amazing memories from her entire life.it was impossible to not cringe and laugh as she found middle school photos. showing them to the camera as they all laughed.

It was strange how Chris hadn't come back yet but she assumed he was doing something important down there.matt set the camera down on its stand as he grabbed his gift from his side.setting the black and white bag on the table in front of her. she smiled at him before opening the bag and pulling out the penguin stuffed animal he had gotten her.it was tiny and super soft an the perfect thing for her desk.she took a look at the tag and saw that the plushie had a name tag.slipping over the name tag she saw the penguin had the same name as her.

she looked up with a warm smile. "thanks matt" she hugged him sweetly before nothing chris coming up the stairs again.his arms were held behind his back as he walked up to her.once he stood in front of her he pulled out a sleek black and gold box from behind him.her eyes trailed over the box anxiously as she could tell from just the box that whatever it was was expensive.

She shakily took the box from his hand and opened it to find a silver ring.it was simple and had small diamonds on the sides of it.she put her hand over her mouth in disbelief as she looked at the ring. "I'm not proposing or nothin’...just a promise ring" chris said as he watched her stare at the ring in awe.without saying anything she set it down and hugged him passionately.

"Thank you baby..." she whispered into his neck.although he hated corny pet names he didn't protest.only hugging her back with a smile on his face.simply happy he could make her this happy.

Reader ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

His dick sprung lit of his pants as i pulled down his boxers.everything moving so lustfully slow yet hungrily fast at once.the world was spinning around us and I was so here for it.i wasted no time working my mouths way down to his cock.i didn’t hesitate to deep throat him.his length not fully registering in my head until they had connected.gagging almost immediately. He was bigger than Chris that was for sure.

I bobbed my head up and down quicker each time I came up.air was secondary to his pleasure.his hands somehow found their way to my head and began to touch me down further on his cock. Beautiful moans and whines escaped his pink lips. I looked up at him through my lashes to the best of my abilities and he looked gorgeous.hooded eyes looking as desperate as ever.i loved it.i wanted to soak up all of his being.

His beauty made me work faster.i felt my pussy ache for some sort of attention but I couldn’t bother.i was so locked on his face that my own pleasure was trivial.without warning Matt let out an estranged moan as he came down my throat.not even giving me an option to spit.

Before I could think for myself Matt sat up and grabbed me, bringing us to his bed in order to be more comfortable. Without words he liked his cock up with my soft entrance and pushed into me.a loud moan eliciting from my throat as he did so.he large man began to move fast and hard.having no mercy against me and my sensitive body.

My moans were utterly uncontrollable.only getting louder by the second.thank God nobody else was home. “You love this cock.don’t you slut?” He spat. The temporary pleasure was overwhelming to say the least.I felt so euphoric yet so dazed at once. my body couldn't seem to choose whether to moan out my pleasure or let it all rush to my brain which was already beginning to become fuzzy. "answer me." he sternly commanded.

I felt my body get hotter by the second as I tried answering him. "yes..I love it..so much.."I sputtered out. my eyes rolled back as he continued to drill into me relentlessly.my eyes that refused to open fully rolled into the back of my head as he kept the same fast rough pace, tattooed arms holding my hips in place in a way so brutal that I feared he would crush them.

Chris ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

time felt as if it had skipped as I was suddenly home in the blink of an eye.lost in my thoughts of her, only her.i huffed as I opened the front door.stumbling into my house cause the alcohol was very much still in my system.my struggling emotions were sobering me up somewhat but that didn't help my sluggish movement.

once I had hobbled over to the island that lay in the center of the kitchen I put my head in my hands.leaning over the counter with pure exhaustion.i let out a deep sigh.i had fucked up, bad.i cheated on the only girl i've ever truly loved, the only girl to ever truly love me back.what the hell was i thinking?

Slowly i pick my body up.walking over to the fridge to grab some sort of drink.for the first time in my life i wouldn't mind drinking water if it meant getting the foul taste of the blonde from earlier out of my mouth.luckily for me there was some lemonade left which i quickly grabbed a can on and sung my head back to drink.desperate for some sort of way to wash this feeling off myself.

I set the metal can down on the counter with a clink. letting out a breath i hadn't known i was holding in.my gray hoodie which was lined with fur on the inside suddenly felt suffocating.like as if i couldn't breathe with it on.but i didn't remove it as it was the closest thing to comfort i had right now.my eye rake over to the front door where i see matts keyes sitting on the holder.

Without a second thought I turned my body and head to Matt's room.not fully noticing the loud music.he would know what to do, how to handle this.even if he didn't i really just needed my older brother right now.

My hands were steady as they gripped the doorknob.opening his creaky white door slowly due to me still being absolutely wasted.i kept my head down.afraid to look him in the eye while i explained what i had done out of shame.

Reader ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

my body felt like it was going to go into overdrive as he kept his riotous pace the whole time, not slowing down to give me a moment to breathe once. "hey matt I really fucked up and-" chris started as he opened the door, looking for comfort from his brother for something.matt who was still high as ever didn't even notice this

I hear the creak of the door and immediately attempt to freeze. “Shit…Matt stop— oh fuck…mph.” I babble in attempt to get him to stop.i weakly prop myself up on my elbows to see who it was.through the bliss of getting fucked dumb I could see it was Chris standing in the doorway.despite what I was aware him doing I felt awful he had to see this.I continue to try and pry matt out of me. “Matt stop…Chris’ here.” I slur as the weight of the situation slowly sobers me up.

I watch as Matt pulls out of me hesitantly and turns to look at Chris. I'm the doorway.I knew it was the weed making him act so nonchalant.if we were sober he would’ve jumped out of his skin at the slightest sound of the door creaking. “Oh shittt” he muttered as he lay next to me, propped up on his elbows.I hadn't even noticed he crashed down next to me

“What the fuck…���Chris uttered under his alcohol infused breath.the gleam of the purple lights mixed with the effects of the weed were making it hard me to make out the details of what exactly was in-front of me but I swear I could see his eyes well with tears.

𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘉𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘶𝘷𝘴𝘹™

[itslilacokay]

the 6 character template meme thing!!!!!! except no one gave me characters to draw i just picked my favorites

[qwakque]

pop music club ♪

[strayklds]

funky little fox ✧ 230331 @ jenn

[holysheithyall]

does this count as back to back posting? if so unbelievable. i have been replaced. anyways theyre making me lose my goddamn mind

[itsbrucey]

Glenn running a hand down Darryl chest and the werewolf blood kicks in and he leans back for more unconsciously, belly rub style. Are we fucking with that chat?

[funfunfredboi]

NEW REFERENCE SHEET FOR MY INVADER ZIM OC'S RAD AND GAK :

[suffarustuffaru]

i love how reinhard dresses like an actual teenage boy in his free time <33

[annqer]

hes singing friday im in love the cure gyus

[huskerinchains]

tried out a new artstyle and almost died in the process

[str8upspam]

OOWWWWWAUGH MY EGO IT HURTS

(my post is flopping)

[chrisbangs]

daily affirmations: im affirming that i love chan