#yandere female x female

[abbyfmc]

Yandere story idea #60

Your yandere stalker ex-boyfriend can't stand the fact that you've remade your life with someone who isn't him, so he decides to kidnap you on your wedding day to force you to marry him, or he goes straight to your wedding and publicly opposes it in front of everyone, or he ruins your day in some way or another.

If your fiancé is also a yandere, he's already thinking of a thousand ways to kill your stalker ex.

[escritos-yanderes-en-esp]

¡Bienvenidos!

Buenos días, tardes o noches a todos.

No sé si han visto el post en mi otro blog, pero quiero darles la bienvenida a mi blog de escritos yandere en español (mi lengua materna), el cuál espero que les guste.

Mi blog en inglés: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/abbyfmc

En fin, espero que este blog tenga un buen recibimiento por su parte. Yo me despido y les deseo buenas noches a todos, no sin antes darles un par de advertencias.

Temas a mencionar y/o tratar: secuestro, acoso, abuso (de cualquier tipo), asesinato, suicidio e intentos de este, etc;

NO acepto o promuevo que se cometan los crímenes a relatar aquí. Son dañinas y muy toxicas tanto para ti como para las personas a tu alrededor. Si ignoras esta advertencias, eso ya no es problema mío.

NO MENORES de 18 años.

Sea cuál sea la manera en la que yo trate estos temas, no tengo la verdad absoluta y puedo estar equivocada.

NO soy psicóloga, psiquiatra ni ninguna especialista en temas de salud mental. Los breves conceptos que quizás trate de enfermedades mentales provienen de los pocos libros y artículos que he leído; repito: NO SOY ESPECIALISTA EN TEMAS DE SALUD MENTAL.

NO idealizar o romantizar a los yanderes.

NO insultar a nadie en reblogueos o comentarios.

No soy fanática de escribir personas reales como yanderes, ya que no quiero ensuciar la imagen pública de estas (mucho menos si se tratan de menores de edad).

Dicho esto, ahora sí tengan una buena noche, besitos :3

[ak319]

Guys , those of u who read the Yan princess , should I make Reece (the captain) one of my ocs too? As in her headcanons? 👀 like, imagine Reece's y/n meeting kade's y/n (deniz) lmao , lemme know in asks or comments💌

[bloodyboi]

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑎

Warning: sexual content, aphrodisiac, breeding kink, eggs, kidnapped, biting (twice), possessive, dirty talk, two cocks, big cocks, calls you "human" and "little human".

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Yandere Naga who used to live in the forest like a king (no. not really) until he was captured and brought to a nature reserve.

Yandere Naga who doesn't like humans at all, always lets out threatening hisses and tries to attack the caretakers who enter his territory to leave him food or clean up his messes.

Yandere Naga who had already planned creative ways to get rid of his new caretaker (just like he did with the last ones) but what he doesn't expect is that it would be such a cute and delicious thing.

Yandere Naga who stares at you when you enter his territory to clean the place and leave him food, he narrows his yellow eyes, his pupils contract into thin slits and sticks out his forked tongue to taste the air —your smell... you smell delicioussss... like a mate...

Yandere Naga who from that day on stares at you every time you enter his territory lying on his rock, his eyes follow all your movements, he acts docile around you without hissing at you or trying to attack you, which causes the other caretakers to congratulate you for achieving the impossible, for making him adapt to you so quickly...

Yandere Naga who manages to identify at what moment you have your fertile cycles and creates a plan to make you his partner and mother of his offspring, he only needs to catch you off guard when you enter his cage for your daily chores, he must act when the other caretakers are not around.

Yandere Naga who can execute his plan with relative ease thanks to the fact that he became more "tame" that made everyone around lower their guard including you, one day when you enter his cage to clean he slides towards you quickly and wraps his tail around you tightly sliding quickly into the interior of his cave.

He drops you onto a nest made of branches, leaves and what look like old blankets, a clear attempt to make the place more comfortable, without giving you time to analyze what's happening he slides towards you, getting between your legs, his scales brushing the fabric of your pants and he sticks out his forked tongue sniffing the air before speaking.

"Your delicious rubber... like ripe fruit, I want to take a good bite out of you..."

"Wait! Wait! You can't do this! The other caretakers will notice that I'm not there, they'll come looking for me and when they find me they'll take me outside, they'll punish you if you do anything to me!"

Your voice tries to be firm but it's clearly shaky, he looks at you with his yellow eyes that narrow a little at your words, he hisses leaning over you until his face is right in front of yours, your breaths mix and he stares into your eyes without blinking, his words make your blood run cold.

"I will kill anyone who dares to come here to try to take you away from me. I will crush them until their bones break and their eyes pop out of their sockets, you are mine human~"

He hisses softly when your warm hands rest on his cold chest trying to push him away from you in a panic, he smiles at your fighting attitude and although I wish I could see more of that attitude unfortunately you are right that the other caretakers will start looking for you when they notice your absence so he must be fast, he grabs your head firmly tilting your neck to the side he opens his mouth and leans down sinking his sharp fangs into your soft neck making you let out a moan, he uses the aphrodisiac in his venom to make me more submissive and to make your body go crazy.

"What did you do..? Are you going to kill me..?"

"What?! Kill you?! Of course not! It's an aphrodisiac, it won't kill you, it will just make your body loosen up so it can receive my cocks, silly human~"

He smiles playfully as his venom quickly takes effect, he can feel your body heat skyrocketing, he sticks out his forked tongue which writhes as he smells your excitement permeating the air in the cave, he sees you writhing beneath him clearly uncomfortable and in pain from the effect of the aphrodisiac, he coos at you as he proceeds to quickly remove that ugly and rough uniform you're wearing and does the same with your underwear, his eyes studying your flushed naked body.

"Such a pretty human~ you smell so fertile I can't wait to lay my eggs inside you~"

"It hurts... please–"

He smiles as you can only whimper shakily, he rubs your dripping cunt his slender fingers tracing circles on your wet bud delighting in the way you shudder and your breathing becomes more labored, willing to not waste any more valuable time his scales seem to part and two terrifyingly large cocks reveal themselves making you shudder despite your daze but he chuckles as he takes one of his cocks in his hand bringing it closer to your swollen cunt.

"Don't be afraid human, your body was made to receive my cocks, you will enjoy it~"

He lets out a deep hiss as he slides his fat cock into your pussy, fascinated by the warmth of your insides that embraces him deliciously. You, on the other hand, are left breathless as you feel his cock stretching your poor walls as far as it will go, making its way into your channel, and the sensation is a confusing mix of pain and pleasure that makes you want to cry. He hits bottom and you feel his cock deep inside your uterus while his other cock rests on your stomach, staining it with precum.

"You feel so warm human~ I've never felt anything like this with any woman of my kind, I knew you and I were destined~"

He hisses and without giving you time to think he starts to thrust into you over and over again he pulls out his cock leaving just the tip inside before thrusting into your pussy again with a hard thrust, the sound of his thrusts and your moans fill the cave echoing off the walls, your pussy squirts on his cock and you feel dizzy at the delicious sensation his cock gives you, his scales scrape your thighs but that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure, his cock hits your cervix over and over again without slowing down or showing mercy, you're reaching the top when suddenly he stops making you let out a pitiful moan but he silences you with a playful hiss.

"Don't worry human you'll reach your climax~ but first I have to fit both of my cocks inside you~"

He laughs as you just let out a pathetic "uh..?" too fucked out to think, he pulls his cock out of your tight pussy leaving just the tip before guiding his other cock inside, both of his members slowly entering your pussy making you arch your back and let out a high pitched cry, you feel as if an arm is being shoved into your battered pussy, he senses your discomfort so he begins to rub tight circles on your mound trying to relax you, when he bottoms out your eyes roll back in your head, he takes a moment before he begins to slowly move as your walls squeeze him so hard.

"You're too tight on me— I'll give you some more of my venom to relax you human, that'll help us out a lot"

He wastes no time in leaning down to your neck biting just above the mark of his other bite, he injects you with a larger amount of aphrodisiac poison than before which causes the effect to be instantaneous, he feels your walls loosen little by little and your juices begin to drip making a mess and then you can't help but smile as he begins to move again, his cocks ram into you mercilessly he grabs your hips to hold you better while he listens to the high pitched moans that escape from your open mouth the erotic sight makes him move faster.

"That's it~ you take me so well little human~ keep it up~"

He praises you even though he's not sure you're listening to anything he's saying, he still keeps moving non-stop admiring the bulge that forms in your stomach every time he thrusts into you, his heads hitting your bruised cervix over and over again feeling himself getting closer to the limit he can feel you getting closer too by the way your pussy tightens on his cocks, he can feel your walls throbbing and a few seconds later you cum your juices dripping down wetting his cocks and scales, your pussy tightens him like a vice which takes him to the limit he gives you a few erratic thrusts until he cums inside you deep inside your pussy.

"Yessss~ very good little human~ take my eggs!~ keep my offspring inside this womb and give me beautiful children~"

Your nails dig into his arms when you feel something round the size of a tennis ball slide from one of his cocks into your uterus that stretches painfully to receive it, eggs. You sob when another egg follows the same path and another, another, another. You lose count of how many eggs he lays inside you, you can't do anything but receive them, when he finishes laying eggs his other cock fills you with sperm, you stay like that for a while when he pulls out you are sore, tired and uncomfortably full, your belly is so big it seems like you are nine months pregnant, he wipes the tears from your cheeks and kisses your lips looking into your eyes.

"Don't cry little human, you did very well I'm very proud of you. I put all my eggs in your womb and fertilized them I'm sure all of them will gestate without any problem... in a few months you'll be a mother, but for now sleep little human, I'll be here when you wake up~"

Exhausted and unable to do anything else you obey, you close your eyes and let Morpheus' arms wrap around you, he watches with adoration as your chest rises and falls gently, he decides to lie down next to you, he pulls you to his firm chest and wraps his tail around you protectively enjoying your body heat, the tip of his tail caresses your swollen belly and he murmurs in a dark voice.

"I will protect you and our young with my life, I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me or tries to hurt any of you, it's a promise my little human~♡."

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part one

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- eventually explicit sex, freaky but fluffy- this part- obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mentions of sex, Satoru jerking off, whimpering (bc ofc) he becomes a little Yan tbh, Satoru half ass pleasing a client but he can't get you off his mind hehe, pretty woman vibes 🤭

This will be a fun set of drabbles in this style! I hope you all enjoy them lmk if you wanna get tagged in the next parts <3

Part two>>>

Escort! Satoru who doesn't just sleep with any client, no he's picky certainly, he gets to be at this caliber, of the most notorious escort there is. Some women he'll help get off with his fingers, some he'll only let suck his cock deep in their throat, some very lucky ones he'll actually fuck, bent over crying out his name. No matter what however, they were always pleased, he has the best rating there even is on his site.

Escort! Satoru only takes jobs and clients that he feels like, he's the most popular person on this app, highly requested, he can browse who he's meeting before hand. And if he absolutely can't stand them, perhaps that - gasp - hate Digimon!? - he keeps it to just the date, a polite fake smile on his perfect features, baby blues hidden behind his dark round shades.

Escort! Satoru gets a notification, lounging around in his penthouse, yes Gojo is rich from this career, but he enjoys the thrill of this even more, and he enjoys putting a smile on a pretty girls face, giving them pleasure when they may have never had any. His dick is just too pretty not to share with the world, truly. - That may seem conceited but it's really just factual! - He peers at the notification then, blinking quickly as the picture, so gorgeous he's damn near blushing just from seeing your face, your bare shoulders in a slinky dress, fuck since when does he get half hard looking at collarbones!?

Escort! Satoru is already throbbing and hard the longer he stares at your picture, your shy and sweet little message on there with it - 'I have never done anything like this... but with work, I have no time for anything, and... I really need a handsome date to this charity ball. Could you please come with, I will gladly pay you extra to spend some time before so we can have our story together' Satoru blinks a bit, full lips pursing, beginning to type back. 'You buying lunch?' He smirks as you laugh react to his comment. 'I'm buying lunch'

Escort! Satoru doesn't date in real life, he's merely arm candy for many women, but when he sits across from you at the outdoor diner, and you smile shyly, his heart fucking stops. He's been with so many beautiful people, but nothing has made him feel whatever this is. 'Hey there!' you introduce yourself, and he can't stop staring at your lips as they move, you have a pretty red color adorning them, he tries to focus but his brain is short circuiting. 'Satoru...' he says, taking your much smaller hand in his own, staring at you behind Gucci shades. He never lets dates call him that, he prefers Gojo of course, but when you repeat 'Satoru' in that sexy voice, he's ended.

Escort! Satoru forgets what time even is, while you pour over some details of your life with him, he's never been more interested actually in how you played the flute. Tell him it all. That you like Pokemon- Digimon is better but- close enough, tell him about your collection. He can't get enough, you all spend so much time talking the sun is starting to set. 'Oh no, we should go! I'm keeping you-' Satoru lowers those shades, his bright blue eyes drinking you in, making you falter as they trail across your body ever so slowly, making you heat up, remembering his profession. 'you're not keeping me, but one question, sweets' he leans forward, so close now, brushing back a lock of your hair. 'why would you go to an escort agency, is it just for the date? or more?'

Escort! Satoru loves watching the blush dance on your skin, the glittering of your eyes when he pulls back, thumb brushing your heated cheek just so, feeling it's warmth. 'It's just for the date, I read your reviews, they're insane...' he grins now, brushing back silvery locks. 'read which reviews?' you heat up further, fiddling with your fingers just a bit. 'If it went that way, it'd be the first time in years for me' Satoru blinks in shock. 'how?' You sigh, sipping the rest of your drink down through your straw. 'work plus being a homebody nerd, well... I never meet people or have time' ah, Satoru could make you cum so hard you wouldn't be able to form words, but he takes a sip of his own drink, saying casually- 'and you never... want to?'

Escort! Satoru thinks you're so cute when your teeth catch your lower lip, and your lashes flutter. 'of course but that's not why I hired you, I really do need a perfect date, though... your looks may have swayed me' he chuckles a bit now. 'So shallow!' you scoff, as the two of you get ready to leave. 'Do you have a suit or do you need me to buy one?' Gojo smirks at you. 'I have so many suits, and tuxedos, don't worry' 'ah you come prepared I see' he hums just a bit, walking you to your car, far too close when he leans over you just a bit, inhaling the sweet scent of you. 'I'm prepared for whatever you need, sweets, anything at all' at his connotation he watches you get more flustered, giggling a bit, feeling so stupid next to a guy like this, but he just finds you the cutest thing he's ever seen.

Escort! Satoru can't take how much you're sinking into his mind the passing days, the charity ball is in a week, but the two of you constantly text for 'practice' but he becomes more and more enamored, you're smart, sweet, and oh so fucking pretty. When you send him a selfie before he goes on a date with a client, he can hardly take it, you're in your business suit, nothing sexy- but it drives him to distraction, your pretty lips he can picture around him. Satoru can hardly focus when he's supposed to be pleasing this girl, his fingers usually so sure aren't hitting her spots, because now he can only think of you.

Escort! Satoru cannot have a bad review, oh no, he decides to excuse himself from the pretty girl on her bed, going to the bathroom to stare at this picture of you. beautiful, can I see more? when you read that you nervously shut the door to your sky rise office, unbuttoning just a bit of your blouse, tummy clenching when he hearts the message, you know you shouldn't get so excited, you're paying him after all. He's likely with a woman constantly, you see the sheer amount of reviews, but you can't help yourself, you find him entirely too charming, it's easy to forget this is just for business. For every salacious review, there were others- sweet, funny, made me feel pretty- and that's what really drew you in.

Escort! Satoru after he recieves that sexy little picture, instead of going into the room with the eager girl waiting, is instead stroking his long, pretty cock, head falling back against the door, while you nervously button your blouse back up, imagination going insane. You weren't against sleeping with someone casually, but for money would it mean... he didn't want to? The thought eats at you while Satoru's dripping precum over his phone, right on that picture, whispering your name ever so softly, forgetting where he was and shit, who he was, he can practically see those nipples under your blouse, dying to know what they taste like.

Escort! Satoru may have had sex before with the client surely, he loves a beautiful woman, before he met you. But now you're constantly on his mind. Even with his cock so hard and ready, when he's back to kissing on her and playing with her, he can't do more, frustrating him to no end. He has her squirting down his hand with the way his practiced fingers know how to hit every woman's spot, she's dripping down to his wrists, even. When he finishes, she looks up at him, all fucked out, trying to kiss him, but that's Satoru's biggest rule, never, ever kiss on the lips. He turns his head. 'sorry sweetheart I don't do that'

Escort! Satoru takes his extra money, he made bank tonight, but the entire time he had his fingers curling inside a slick, eager hole, he was picturing them deep inside you, watching as you cum for him. You'd probably sound and look so pretty, wouldn't you? As you're shooting him a good night text- who even has ever sent him one? - you're back on his mind, still aching from earlier. Turning down blowjobs is not something Escort Satoru does, but he did, and now he's throbbing when he rubs himself over his boxers, whimpering just a bit, pulling the picture back out and working his hand up and down his shaft, as it's aching to fill you

Escort! Satoru has a notification from one of his regulars pop up on the phone, right above that picture he can't stop staring at, while his cock is sticky from his spit and precum, loud in his opulent bedroom, the sound of it lewd along with his heavy, husky breaths. He's picturing just what you'd look like on your knees, with those innocent eyes, maybe he'd tear that business suit off your body, and paint every pretty inch of it with his ropes of cum, until you were just covered in white. The thought alone makes him decline the request, shutting his eyes and picturing just that as his spurts of white cum pour down his hand.

Escort! Satoru whimpers when he touches his sensitive tip, murmuring your name, trying to come down. He finds himself cleaning himself up and staring at the mirror, wondering just what the fuck you've done to him already. Surely it's... something new or different, it can't be more right? He hovers over choosing the date, or messaging you good night, and finds himself texting you with a dumb little 🥺, smiling like a lovesick fool when you send this to him-'can't wait for our 'date' it'll be fun! 😍- and Satoru's getting hard again from a fucking emoji.

this is just gonna be FUN and cute- maybe four parts or so in this style, and they'll be pretty quick coming out. Drop a comment if you want a tag on our lil Escort babyy

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[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAWBERRY BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Jason Todd x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : You just gave birth to your child, Jason's child, the love of your life. But everything went wrong when you saw the child...

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Your life was supposed to be perfect right now. You just gave birth to your beautiful baby—a moment that should have been magical, joyous, and filled with happy tears.

Instead, you were losing your mind.

Because the baby in your arms… did not have black hair. Not even a single dark strand.

No.

Because the baby—the tiny, fresh-out-the-womb infant that you had just spent hours screaming into existence—was blonde.

Blonde.

BLONDE.

And he looked exactly like Jason.

Now, for most normal people, this wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it would be a cute, happy moment—"Oh wow, he looks just like his dad!"—but you? No. You were spiraling. Because Jason had black hair. Jet black. Dark as the night. Dark as his soul (romantically speaking).

And your baby?

Your baby had a tuft of blonde hair that made him look like a tiny cherub sent straight from heaven.

Which made no damn sense.

You hadn’t cheated. Hell, you barely even looked at other men since getting together with Jason because—let’s be honest—your man was already borderline psychotic when it came to his jealousy.

So, if you had cheated (which, again, you HADN’T), you would already be dead. There would be no hospital room. No baby. Just a Jason-shaped shadow standing over your shallow grave.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were staring at your son, this tiny, beautiful baby with blonde hair.

Which would be fine. If Jason had fucking blonde hair.

But he didn’t. He had black hair.

You were a hundred percent sure of that. You had run your fingers through that thick, inky hair so many times. You had tugged it when he pissed you off. You had yanked it when—

That didn’t matter right now.

Because either you had just given birth to the wrong child, or—OR—

“Oh my God,” you choked, your voice cracking as you looked at the baby in your arms with sheer, bone-deep horror. “Jason’s going to think I cheated on him.”

The room went silent.

A nurse looked at you with wide eyes, hesitating mid-step. Alfred, ever the picture of composure, cleared his throat, carefully folding a tiny onesie. And Dick—because of course Dick was here—froze mid-bite of his celebratory snack, a hospital pudding cup, before slowly turning to you.

“Uh… what?”

“I didn’t cheat on him,” you gasped, convulsing in hormonal sobs as you clutched the tiny baby closer to your chest. “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“I mean, obviously,” Tim mumbled, looking more alarmed at your emotional breakdown than at the situation itself.

But you weren’t listening. You were spiraling, your voice getting more frantic.

“Oh my God. What if they gave me the wrong baby?” you whispered, eyes darting wildly around the hospital room. “What if some poor woman out there has my real baby? And I have hers?”

“Miss, please,” Alfred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Damian, perched in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, made a disgusted sound. “That’s your child, idiot. It looks just like Todd.”

“NO, HE DOESN’T!” you wailed. “JASON HAS BLACK HAIR!”

Damian just scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.

Dick sighed dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe we have to do this right now. Jason’s gonna lose his mind.”

That set you off even worse. Jason’s gonna lose his mind?! Oh God, oh God, he was going to think you cheated. He was going to leave. He was going to storm in here, take one look at the baby, and—

You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.

Bruce actually looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.

“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.

“I didn’t cheat,” you repeated, voice breaking. “I mean—how would I even have the time?! Jason’s always around! He’d kill anyone who looked at me for too long! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Why are you trying to convince us?” Damian scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be telling Todd?”

Your stomach dropped.

Jason.

Jason wasn’t here.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

“I—I love him so much,” you sobbed, clutching your little (wrong?!) baby. “I—oh my God—what if he leaves me?! What if he thinks I—Oh God, he’s gonna think I cheated, and I didn’t, I swear—”

“Jason’s going to break the door down when he gets here,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples.

“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.

CRASH.

Jason absolutely broke the door down.

It slammed against the wall so hard that even your baby, who had been peacefully asleep through your meltdown, flinched.

"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"

He froze.

You were crying.

Sobbing.

Hysterical.

His brain ran a million miles per hour. Did something happen? Did you change your mind about the name? Did one of the nurses insult you? Did he leave the oven on? Did someone die?

His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.

Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.

Okay. Not dead.

So why the fuck were you crying like this was a damn crime scene?

"Uh," Jason started. "Baby? What’s wrong?"

You let out another broken sob, clutching the baby to your chest.

Jason panicked.

You started crying so hard you couldn’t even get words out. Just absolute, gut-wrenching sobs while Jason rushed to your bedside, grabbing your face.

“Baby, baby, what’s wrong?!” he panicked, his voice an octave higher. “Did they hurt you?! Are you in pain?! Do I have to kill someone?! Is it Bruce?! I bet it’s Bruce.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.

It's just made you cry harder.

"Oh, God—what happened?! Are you okay?! Is the baby okay—"

"Jason, I SWEAR I didn’t cheat on you!" you blurted out.

Jason blinked.

Everyone collectively flinched.

"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.

"I didn’t cheat! I would never cheat! I love you, and you were my first, and I would never, I would never, I—"

"Baby," Jason said slowly, trying to wrap his head around this absolute fever dream. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You let out another shaky breath, eyes darting around the room in pure panic. "T-the baby, Jason. Look at him."

Jason frowned, stepping closer. He looked at the baby. Looked at you. Looked at the baby again.

"…Yeah?" he said, confused.

"He has blonde hair!"

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then turned to the rest of the family like they had the answers.

Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."

Jason turned back to you, lips parting like he was about to say something, then stopping. Then opening again. Then stopping.

“I swear I didn’t!” Your sobs renewed, your shoulders shaking as you held up the tiny, peacefully sleeping baby. “But look at him! He has blonde hair! He looks exactly like you! But you have black hair! I think I got the wrong baby, or I cheated on you in my sleep, or maybe you’re going to leave me—”

Jason stared.

Then he turned, slowly, toward the rest of the room. “…Did you guys let her spiral like this on purpose?”

“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.

“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.

Jason inhaled deeply.

Then, to your absolute shock, he let out a long, tired sigh—before shoving a hand through his hair and grumbling, “I fucking forgot you didn’t know.”

You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”

Jason gave you a flat look. “Babe. My hair. I’ve been dyeing it black since I was a kid.”

Your breath caught. “Huh?”

“Because of him,” Jason added, jerking his thumb toward Dick, who just wiggled his fingers in a smug little wave.

Silence.

More silence.

The world stopped.

The Earth stopped spinning.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

Jason nodded.

"You… had blonde hair?"

Jason nodded again.

You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.

Then immediately let out a loud, gut-wrenching, ugly sob and buried your face in your hands.

Jason Todd. Your husband. Your big, scary, six-foot-four, muscle-bound, leather-wearing husband. The man who used to be the meanest street kid in Crime Alley. The man who could disassemble a gun with his eyes closed and had murdered actual people.

Had spent his entire life dyeing his hair because he wanted to look like Dick Grayson.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, it’s not—”

“You mean to tell me I’ve been married to you this whole time thinking you had black hair, but you’re actually some kind of undercover blonde?!”

“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.

Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

You gasped, gripping his jacket like you might collapse. “You mean to tell me this baby is actually yours?”

Jason exhaled. Then he stepped forward, resting a warm, solid hand against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, babe,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “He’s mine.”

"Oh my God," you wailed. "I’m so stupid."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Jason sat on the bed, grabbing you. "You’re not stupid. You just had a baby. And hormones. And clearly, no one ever showed you my baby pictures."

"This whole time," you hiccupped, voice muffled, "I thought they swapped our baby, and I stole some random kid. I thought you were gonna leave me!"

Jason sighed, rubbing your back. "Sweetheart, I would never leave you. Especially not over our perfectly fine, baby."

Damian scoffed. "Tt. As if anyone else would willingly have a child with Todd."

Jason shot him a glare. "Not the time, demon."

Dick sighed, stepping forward and ruffling Jason’s hair. "Guess we should’ve mentioned that whole blonde thing earlier, huh?"

Jason glared. "You think?"

Stephanie shook her head. "I thought everyone knew. It's, like, a family fun fact at this point."

"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.

Jason pulled you into his arms, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. "It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I promise."

You sniffled, eyes red and puffy. "So… he’s really yours?"

Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead. "He’s really mine."

You let out a weak whimper. "I wanna see your baby pictures."

Jason chuckled. "Alright, sweetheart. When we get home, I’ll show you all of them."

Tim crossed his arms. "I have them saved on my phone."

Jason turned his head. "Why the fuck do you have baby pictures of me on your phone?"

Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."

Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"

Tim smirked. "Like this one."

Jason pulled back, finally looking down at the baby in your arms.

And—oh.

The storm in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.

The big, scary Red Hood, suddenly looked—small.

Awe-struck.

Because there, curled in your arms, was a tiny, sleeping baby with blonde hair and soft little features that looked just like his.

Jason swallowed.

Then, hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his fingers over the baby’s little fist.

“…Holy shit,” he murmured.

Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”

Jason turned to you, eyes softening.

Then he kissed you—long, deep, and full of love.

“I love you,” he muttered, lips still against yours.

— MASTERLIST ☆

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

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: slight Yandere behavior, breeding

Hare!hybrid bf with bunny!hybrid gf

You, a cute bunny hybrid with soft, fluffy bunny ears and a cute cotton tail that wags when you’re happy or upset. You’re round and soft, the sweetest little thing your boyfriend has ever seen.

And then there’s your hare hybrid bf… he’s tall, thin, and unsettling, with eyes that bore into you and hair that is far from soft. He’s protective and possessive of his little bunny baby, keeping you safe and literally fighting any of his rivals to the DEATH.

He’s a bit nervous about breeding with you. You’re smaller, more fragile than him… but god you both go crazy once you go into heat… and you’re a lot more durable than he thought.

You take his cock so well, begging for him to give you a litter… his perfect little mate, his sweet bunny. No one will ever put their hands on you, unless they want to die a painful death.

——————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @sunset-214 @avalordream @atransmuter @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa

[monstersholygrail]

Vampire bf spooning you in the middle of the night, nuzzling into you so roughly that it causes you to slowly wake up. As soon as he senses you’re not completely asleep, his arms curl around you and he bury’s his face in your neck. Groggily you bare your throat to him, thinking he might be hungry.

But instead he simply whines and cuddles in closer. It’s only then that you notice he’s shivering. A soft “What’s wrong, darling?” croaks past your lips. He doesn’t respond, letting his actions speak louder as his hands slip under your shirt and brush along your soft stomach as if trying to steal up all your warmth. You hiss at his touch, his usually cold skin even colder for some reason. “You’re freezing,” you can’t help but exclaim the obvious.

Your vampire bf whimpers, nodding his head within the warm fold of your neck. “Need your warmth. Need your heat, baby please,” he says in a soft whine, one hand tugging at the seam of your shorts and giving you an idea of what he means.

As soon as you’ve pulled your panties down, he’s sliding himself between the warm supple flesh of your thighs. He hisses in the space of her neck, his body shuddering with pleasure.

Your lips part, feeling his throbbing cock push its way through your legs, so close to where you need him. His tip bumping up against your clit with every snap of his hips. Arousal pools within you till it drips onto his cock. Your bf growls, hips moving faster.

“Ah, fuck! More. Please,” you beg, baring your neck once again. Your hips tilt, craving the feeling of being filled by him.

“My heart, I could devour you whole and still crave more," he rumbles, his hips bucking to catch every drop of your essence on his length.

His hand tenderly cups the underside of your neck and brings it to his lips. You sense the heat of his breath and goosebumps rise along your arms a second before you feel the sharp prick of pleasure caused by his fangs. You shiver as he slowly sinks them all the way in.

The combination of his fangs inside you and the way he slows down the rocking of his hips causes your eyes to droop as you begin to drift back to sleep. His hand massages your plush thigh, gently shifting it back over his own, legs intertwining.

With your thighs open, your bf has easy access to slide his length inside your eager and dripping walls. You both moan as he pushes past your entrance, his girth carefully stretching your precious pussy as he takes his time stuffing you full of him. Bringing a delicious dull ache to the apex of your thighs.

He settles in once he’s buried his length to the hilt, your hips fitting together like two puzzle pieces. He relaxes against your body and wraps every limb that he can around you. Cocooning your being in his protective embrace. Making you feel exactly as treasured as you are.

“That’s better,” he slurs contently in an attempt to speak with his fangs in your neck. Soon after you start to feel his skin warming back up against your own. You smile softly, finally falling back asleep and happy you were able to help him.

Never finding out that Vampires have full control over their body temperature.

[kekewrites]

Tw. Insecure/bratty/tsundere reader, dark content, noncon, dubcon, obsession, sloppy blowjob, attempted breakup, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, multiple creampies, cunningless, baby trapping, coercion, aftercare

***

Thinking about dating an angelic guy.

You always wonder why, out of all the pretty and influential girls chasing after him, he chose you. It doesn't help how of a unit he is. Your typical perfect guy, popular, rich, and body that's comparable to a Greek God... and his voice— how you love his gentle and warm voice, there's just something about it that hypnotize you.

He always compliments you, shower you with affection, and be an absolute sweetheart. It gets you pissy. You don't know why you're always in a foul mood around him, he's not even doing anything that could trigger you. He takes a breath and you're already fuming. Grumbling profanities that he would laugh at wholeheartedly, like you didn't curse his entire being.

You hate how perfect he is. Hate how much you adore him. Hate how much you love him, and inside your mind you always question if he genuinely loves you. Maybe he's just playing with you? Waiting for the day he'd humiliate you, telling how you're too idiotic to even believe someone like him could ever love you.

That's probably why you're always cautious around him, you don't believe him enough to love an average girl like you.

***

He can't believe he's dating the cutest in the world. Everytime you scowl, show that adorable pout, he just wants to squish your cheeks together and kiss you plenty. Like a little kitty hissing when you sneer curses at him.

It's adorable really.

You'd say you didn't want to go to the movies he chose. Yet, you arrived earlier than expected, wearing a hint of makeup in that cute dress of yours. Makes him want to crush you. You put in the effort, took the time, even gave him the watch he'd been talking about—his favorite.

He really loves you. Really really loves you but why are you acting like he doesn't? He's confused. Hasn't he done enough to show you, tell how much he adores you? It makes him sad. Don't you know how much he's holding back? There's only so much he could take, you know. He could just take you everytime you run that cute foul mouth of you, shove his cock to make you shut up. But he's so patient with you because he loves you.

So don't push him too much, ok? Or else you might not like it when he finally show you his desire.

***

"You're late," you grumble, sending him a glare. Your arms are crossed, and your foot taps impatiently on the ground.

He chuckles, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. "I arrived just on time, sweetie," he says, stepping closer. "You're just too excited for our date, no?" His voice is teasing, but his eyes are warm, sparkling with affection.

You huff in response, but you can feel the corners of your mouth betraying you, tugging into a smile. He notices and takes your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

"You're just so cute, you know? I really wanna crush— ow!" He hiss slightly as you swat his arm. He pouts a little, "You're strong, you're gonna leave a bruise."

You roll your eyes— as if that's gonna happen. Huffing you tug on his hand, "Let's go. I'm starving."

He smiles, looking at your back, "Ok, sweetie~."

Ah, you really are so cute.

He can't wait to fuck you.

***

"Why're you not eating, sweetie? Is the food not to your liking?"

Your appetite was gone the moment that waitress flirted with him, leaving you empty and bitter. This always happen. You're sick of it, sick of being jealous and feeling shitty for not looking like his girlfriend. Are you really worthless by his side? Do people not see you as his companion?

"Sweetie?"

You didn't want to lash out on him so you remained silent. Too bitter to talk. Even the food turned bitter, leaving you more upset.

He's such an idiot. But you're more of an idiot for being triggered by that stupid waitress, too much of a wuss to tell her he's taken, that he's yours. You're the idiot.

"I don't wanna eat anymore," you bitterly muttered, your face covered by the shadows of your hair, hiding that frown you wore he always seems to love on you.

He gets a sick twisted feeling in his guts, watching how jealous you get whenever some worthless wench tries to get his attention. It satisfies his urge, his sick thoughts hidden by his angelic face. You really love him, don't you? His lips curving into a sweet smile, eyes twinkling with desires. If only you know how much he gets off with you being jealous, you'd never doubted your pretty little self.

So… why are you saying such stupid things?

“Let’s break up.”

“Hm?”

“I said…” You take a breath, steadying your voice. “Let’s break up.”

For a moment, his smile wavers. Just a fraction. His right eye twitches ever so slightly, a crack in the carefully crafted mask he wears. But then, like a master of illusions, he recovers, his sweet facade sliding back into place, though something darker lingers beneath the surface.

“Now, now,” he says, his voice dripping with a saccharine softness that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “What’s the matter?” His tone is gentle, almost soothing, but there’s a sharp edge to it—a venomous undercurrent that cuts through the air.

You don’t answer immediately, your chest tightening under his unblinking stare. It’s as if he’s waiting, watching every little twitch of your expression, trying to peel you apart without lifting a finger.

“I just think…” you start, your voice faltering as his head tilts slightly, his smile remaining unnervingly intact. “I-I think we’re not… good for each other anymore.”

His smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, his gaze sharpens, a predator sizing up its prey. He takes a step closer, the air between you growing heavy. “Not good for each other?” he repeats, feigning confusion. “Sweetheart, where’s this nonsense coming from? Didn’t we promise forever?”

The sweetness in his tone sends a chill down your spine, but you hold your ground. “Forever shouldn’t feel like this,” you say, trying to steady your trembling hands.

It shouldn't make you feel bad about yourself, shouldn't make you anxious, shouldn't make feel... pressured.

For a moment, he says nothing, his eyes boring into yours. Then, his chuckle breaks the tension, soft and low. “Ah, I see,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. “You’re upset. That’s all. We’ll talk this through, won’t we?”

But his words aren’t a question—they’re a command, wrapped in the guise of concern. And as his smile lingers, you realize leaving might not be as simple as you hoped.

***

Why is this happening?

You thought he would accept and move on.

"Mmm, that's it sweetie. Take it deeper." He coaxes, his grip on your hair tightening. He starts to push forward, forcing more of his thick length past your stretched lips.

So why?

Your eyes squeeze shut tighter as he pushes in deeper, your throat convulsing around his invading cock. He throws his head back with a guttural moan.

"That's a good girl. Mhm, your throat feels so good wrapped around my dick." He grunts, starting to set a steady pace. Fucking into your mouth, using your face like a cock sleeve.

It was gross. He never did that to you.

Lewd, wet sounds fill the office as he picks up speed, his heavy balls slapping against your chin with each rough thrust. Drool escapes the seal of your lips, dripping down your chin and onto your messed up clothes.

He looks down, taking in the debauched sight of you on your knees, choking on his cock. His dick is spit-shined and glistening, streaked with their drool. Shit. The sight makes him thrust harder, faster, chasing his pleasure.

"Look at me," He demands breathlessly, wanting to see the tears and desperation in their eyes as he uses their mouth ruthlessly. He's close, so fucking close already from the intense, vice-like grip of your inexperienced throat. He grunts and curses, slamming forward one last time before pulling out abruptly.

Thick ropes of cum paint your face and hair, marking you as his. Some of it even lands in your eyes, making them sting and water.

"You're so pretty... You look so pretty covered in my cum," he whispers lovingly, smearing the head of his cock across your messy face, pushing the hot seed into their skin like makeup. "The prettiest girl in the world."

You were supposed to break up with him...

How did it escalated to this?

***

It's not like he's losing a lot... you aren't that special. So why is he acting this way? There are a lot of better options for him, prettier, smarter, and richer girls. Someone who can actually match him, who doesn't embarrass him, worthier to stand beside him.

Why is he fucking you like his life depends on it?

Your eyes already hazy and unfocused, breathing hard as you couldn't count how many times you've already come.

One of his hands snakes up your trembling body, finding a soft breast. He squeezes the supple mound roughly, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he kneads and gropes. He finds a pert nipple and pinches it cruelly between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging until it stands stiff and aching in the cool air of the room.

"Hm? Are you already tired? We're just starting," he coo, his hips slamming forward with renewed vigor. He leans down, his mouth finding your neck, sharp teeth sinking into the tender skin. He bites and sucks, determined to leave his mark on you, to claim you as his own. His. He can feel his orgasm building, his heavy balls tightening as he ruts into your abused cunt. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling fill the room, punctuated by the creaking of the bed and your cries. He's close, so fucking close to filling your cunt with his seed.

"Gonna... hngh... fill this pussy..." He grunts between clenched teeth, slamming home one last time. His cock throbs and pulses as he starts to come, thick ropes of hot cum painting your inner walls. He grinds against them, making sure they take every last drop as he marks your womb with his essence.

Finally, with a last shuddering groan, he collapses on top of you, his softening cock still buried deep inside your tender, cream-filled pussy. He pants harshly against the shell of their ear, his hands still groping and fondling your sensitive body.

"Y-You're an idiot..." You sniffle, "Why me? There's a lot of—."

He cuts you off, "You know, I would never cheat on you, right?" He whispers tenderly, kissing your ears as if assuring. "No matter who comes to me, I would never pay attention to them. Never. You're the only one I want." His other hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze.

It was the first time you ever heard his voice to be so... vulnerable.

"The only girl I want... So..." You can hear his voice shake, "Don't break up with me, ok?"

Your eyes glaze with tears, your heart tugging at his words. No, it wasn't supposed to end up like this. You made up your mind a few weeks ago, always nagging at the back of your mind. Ending your relationship would be the best for you two—.

He kisses you then, any doubts in your mind disappearing as his mouth claiming theirs in a brutal, dominating kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, plundering the warm cavern as he grinds his hips forward, rubbing his throbbing erection against your thigh.

Ah, you don't care anymore.

"Don't think anymore, ok? Just let me do it for you."

He starts to rub the broad head of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your combined juices. "Tell you what, sweetheart. I'll be gentle like the usual... for now." He promises darkly, his voice rough with restrained lust. "I'll make this first part nice and slow, nice and easy for you."

"H-Huh?"

With that, he starts to push forward, the thick length of his cock slowly sinking into your tight, clutching heat. He has to fight the urge to slam forward, to bury himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. But he resists, forcing himself to go slowly, to savor the exquisite feeling of your walls stretching around him.

"Ah, you're still so tight." He grits out through clenched teeth, his fingers flexing against your hips as he fights for control. "Such a perfect cunt."

"Too soon! I'm still... s-sensitive!" You cried out but he starts to move then, his hips rocking in a slow, sensual rhythm as he fucks into you with deep, deliberate strokes. Each thrust pushes him a little deeper, a little harder, until he's finally buried to the hilt inside you. He pauses for a moment, letting you feel the heavy weight of him, the way he's stretching you impossibly full.

"Hehe, sorry can't help it. Does that feel gentle enough for you, sweetie?" He asks, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, yet his angelic face covers it. "Or do you need me to be even more... careful?" He punctuates the word with a sharp thrust of his hips, grinding his pelvis against your clit.

Your brain short circuit by the overstimulation, all you could think about was him, and his big cock, "A-Ah, you— ish... so good~!"

He snarls in feral pleasure as he feels your pussy clench and ripple around his pistoning cock. The way you are moaning and crying out, begging him not to stop... it's the headiest fucking thing he's ever heard. It makes him want to ruin you, to fuck you so hard and so deep that you'll never forget the feeling of his cock splitting you open.

You came in surprise, your eyes rolling in the back of your head, chest heaving, "C-Can't too much..!"

"You can do it," He growls, his voice a dark, distorted rumble. He can feel his own release building, his balls drawing up tight as he fucks into you with wild abandon, "A-ah~ clench this greedy cunt around my dick, dollface. Milk it for all it's worth.

You never saw this side of him before, a more vulgar side to him. Spouting dirty words that's the opposite of his facade. Maybe, you didn't know your boyfriend that well? He was always gentleman to you in bed, always going with your pace and being mindful about his words but now...

"N-No~ I really ah! Can't!" You shake your head frantically, having enough of the sensitivity.

"Yes, you can! You will, sweetie~!"

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin as he chases his pleasure. He wants to mark you, to leave his claim all over your body for everyone to see. He wants the whole world to know that you belong to him, that you're his to fuck and fill and love as he sees fit. The thought of another man putting his hand on you makes him mad, you're only his and he isn't afraid to take that way for you to be officially his.

"I'm gonna cum, sweetie." He grits out, his hips slamming forward with sharp, brutal thrusts. "I'm gonna pump this tight little pussy full of my seed, gonna breed this fucking cunt until it's dripping with my cum."

Breed?

He reaches down, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing mercilessly at the sensitive bundle of nerves. "I want to feel you cum on my cock, sweetheart. I want to feel you shake and quake as I fill you with my my child."

Wait...!

His other hand slides up, wrapping around your throat and squeezing lightly. It's enough to make you gasp for air, pulse jumping wildly beneath his touch. It's enough to make you even tighter, body instinctively clenching down around him as he fucks into you with short, vicious thrusts.

Too much!

"Now, sweetie~ cum. Now." He commands, his voice a dark and sinful. And with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls deep inside her and starts to cum. His cock jerks and pulses as he paints your insides with thick ropes of his hot seed, filling you up just like he promised.

So full...

You gasp out, your skin flushed and damp with sweat. The room spins around you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as you struggle to catch your breath. Body aches all over, especially between your legs. The feeling of his cum painting your insides is strange, unsettling.

Your vision having black spots, your consciousness fading as you hear him murmur promises to you.

"I'll take responsibility whether we have a child or not, we'll get married and have a cute child."

You feel a warm kiss on your forehead.

"I love you. I love you more than anyone else, I only love you."

[yandere-writer-momo]

My take on the neglected spouse trope, but with a little spice. Short and to the point

Yandere Batman Shorts: Adorned In Pearls

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Neglected Wife Fem Reader x Yandere Batboys (platonic)

Tw: obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamic, power imbalance, time rewind, imprisonment (implied), death (beginning), and themes that should not be romanticized

“Put the jewels in the bag!” (Your name) didn’t even flinch when the intruder crudely held up his gun to her while she was in the kitchen. It seems her end was finally near at last. “Did you hear me?! Put your jewels in the bag!”

(Your name) calmly turned off the stove top while the intruder kept his voice raised. She had been working on breakfast for her ungrateful husband and her adopted children since they’d be back from patrol in a few hours. Alfred was in the Batcave which left her up here and vulnerable… not that they’d care.

“Let me turn off the stove so you don’t blow the place up if you shoot.” (Your name) calmly told him. She knew this would be a tragic end… and she looked forward to her suffering to end at last.

(Your name) unclasped the pearls from her neck and placed them in the burlap sack the burglar thrusted toward her with one hand. She then made her way to take off each piece of jewelry that was an empty gift from her husband. Even his mother’s ring he gave her for their opulent wedding.

“Code. Safe. Now.” The burglar demanded as he thrusted the gun in her chest.

“0219.” (Your name) calmly stated despite how terrifying the situation was. “It’s in the third room to the right.”

She could not get another word in before a searing pain filled her chest as a loud gunshot rung throughout the house. She glanced down at her chest at the bullet hole that was now through her chest cavity.

The burglar walked off while she sank to the floor in a heap. Her hands went to her phone to make a final call but… she knew no one from this house would answer. (Your name) was always an afterthought, and she believed she would be even in death.

So she dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer. Her right hand was stained crimson as the viscous blood pooled around her like a grotesque blanket.

Once she heard the operated answer, (your name) cut them off, “There’s been a robber and murder at the Wayne manor.”

(Your name) then hung up and turned her gaze to the ceiling. If there was another life, she would be selfish and live for herself. She wouldn’t rot away like lettuce in the back of a fridge in this manor. No… she would have more respect for herself.

Breathe in… breathe out. She smiled in peace for the first time in years. She was finally free from this lonely nightmare she had been trapped in for nearly two decades. Maybe, she would finally deserve her chance to be loved as much as she loved back.

How was she to know the nightmare only just began?

.

.

.

(Your name) jolted awake, her wine glass nearly slipped from her hand from the sudden movement. A myriad of voices chattered in the opulent restaurant has her eyes glanced around the almost surreal scene.

This was the restaurant she had begged Bruce and the boys to come to for her birthday with her six years ago…

“ Mrs. Wayne, would you like another glass of water?” The familiar waiter came over with a pitiful expression that she had seared into her memory from all those years ago. The look almost every waiter gave her at any venue she went to.

“Actually, I’d like to order.” (Your name) smiled. “It’s my birthday… and I want to celebrate it for once.”

The waiter seemed surprised but happily took her order. This was the first time she had ordered rather than wait for hours for a family that wouldn’t come.

(Your name) smiled to herself, her gaze focused on the complementary wine glass that was brought to her by the wait staff. How sad was it that the stranger showed her more love than her own family?

She had a second chance… and she’d be damned if she wasted it.

.

.

.

After she had long left and enjoyed her meal, a dashing family of five hurriedly arrived to the restaurant.

Bruce Wayne looked slightly disheveled, but that didn’t take away from his charming good looks. The billionaire and his adopted sons hurriedly glanced around the restaurant for any sign of his wife and their mother. He knew she would be here… just like she always was that she waited for them.

They had all been given a second chance when they came home and found her small, lifeless body on the kitchen floor after patrol.

Never had they all cried so much as they cradled her cold, bloody form as they desperately tried to revive her. Each of them begged for another chance to love her properly.

Each of them had spent so much time finding the perfect gift to make up all the lost time up to her and to finally celebrate her birthday like a family… just like she always dreamed.

They had always kept their distance to keep her safe from their enemies. Yet they had instead created a giant misunderstanding. One that they all desperately needed to make up for.

“Do you think mother is still here? I hope she didn’t wait too long…” Damian muttered, his green eyes nervously searched for (your name)’s delicate form.

“She always waits for us. She loves us.” Dick reassured the others, yet they all knew it was more of a self reassurance. “She will be so happy…”

The wait staff seemed surprised but they did give the boys some glares.

“Jeez, what’s their problem?” Jason huffed as he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t see her anywhere… he had gotten her a wonderful gift for once.

“I can look up her location.” Tim chimed in as he pulled out his phone. “She’s around, I’m sure.

It was Bruce who seemed to search the hardest for her. A bouquet of roses were clenched so hard in his fists that his knuckles turned white. He would make this all right again.

(Your name) was alive once more… and he would make sure she would never die or be hurt by anyone again. She’d be protected and cherished like she deserved.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Wayne left hours ago.”

The men all instantly deflated. She left? But she would always be here for hours for them… was there a possibility she returned in time too?

They all went back to the manor in haste. They wanted to celebrate her birthday with her… they wanted to celebrate so much with her. They wouldn’t let her be alone ever again.

.

.

.

(Your name) dipped her feet in the hot tub at the manor with a content sigh. Her lungs deeply inhaled the crisp night air with a dreamy sigh. This felt so peaceful. Why had she never celebrated her birthday like this before?

(Your name) didn’t even flinch when she heard the boys come home. Perhaps patrol ended early? It’s been so many years of being ignored that she hardly knew what went on in their lives.

She slipped the robe off and slid her swimsuit clad body into the comfortably hot water. Another sigh spilled through her lips, her muscles relaxed. This felt like heaven.

(Your name) jumped when Bruce suddenly slid the sliding door open with a loud whack. She was quick to cover her cleavage with her hands despite how this man was her legal husband.

“ Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here-“ Bruce was quick to close the distance and pull her into a hug. The muscular man shook like a leaf as he held her to him. His heart beats so fast, she swore it was about to burst.

“You’re alive… you’re okay…” (Your name) did a double take at his words. When did he ever care about her well-being?

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way he came back to the past too, right? Her original, neglectful husband would never hold her and bury his nose in her hair like this…

Yet here Bruce Wayne, her infamous billionaire, Playboy husband, was with his face borrowed into her skin. His nose deeply inhaled her scent like she was his favorite flower. He held her as if she was something precious, something he has never done in their two decades of marriage.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but he only held her tighter.

Bruce pulled back to study her face, is blue eyes were dark like a sea storm. His brows were furrowed in worry.

“Hugging my wife.”

A humorless chuckle bubbled from her chest. So now she was his wife? Since when has he treated her as such.

“Is this a joke?” She asked him despite how serious he looked. “I’m just a decorated house pet-“

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when he planted a searing kiss on her lips. A gasp escaped her as his tongue thrust its way into the cavern of her mouth and tasted every inch of it. His hands greedily grasped at her body.

“Wife… my wife.” Bruce whispered against her lips. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mister Wayne-“

“It’s Bruce.” His voice was authoritative as he cut her formalities off.

“…Bruce.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you. I want my wife.” (Your name) squealed when h got into the hot tub with her to hair with her. “It’s your birthday today…”

He… he knew her birthday?

“I didn’t think you ever noticed...” She muttered, but he pressed his forehead to hers.

“All these years, we thought we were keeping you safe by keeping a distance. How foolish I was.” Bruce sighed. “You’re safer in our arms, in my arms.”

(Your name) was speechless when he pulled a gift box from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal an exquisite pearl necklace.

“You deserve to be adorned in pearls and jewels. To be pampered by me.” Bruce didn’t give her the chance to move away as he clasped the necklace around her.

Despite its elegance, (your name) couldn’t help the dread that pulled in her stomach. She could not stop the feeling that this pearl necklace was nothing more than a magnificent collar.

“You look so beautiful in those pearls… they were my mother’s, you know.” Bruce hummed as he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the hot tub.

Bruce placed her robe back over her form.

“Let’s get changed and go celebrate your birthday properly with the boys. They really want to see their mother.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “and after that, I think you and I can finally make up for all the lost time.”

(Your name) felt a tear roll down her face that Bruce took as a tear of joy. Yet only she knew the truth.

She had believed she would escape and find her own happiness, now she realize she would never escape this gilded cage.

[abbyfmc]

Yandere story idea #23:

"Revenge".

A yandere who kidnaps his darling for supposedly love. When she tries to escape, she is punished with torture and killing her loved ones, which breaks Darling but not in the way the yandere wants. Darling becomes a cold and cruel person since the yandere killed the people she loved the most and therefore, the only goodness she had left. Darling becomes frivolous, cruel and in a slip, she is the one who begins to torture the yandere in revenge, without any emotion in sight other than anger.

[oceantornadoo]

mean!simon riley who’s not someone you’d introduce to your family. he’s a bit cruel, likes to see the bird under him crying or near it, scratching his back. he’s not used to watching his tone or putting in effort, simply doesn’t want to. for some odd reason, though, he wants to with you.

first time he fingers you, he’s a bit too rough, doesn’t understand your body yet. “hurts, simon,” and while usually, he’d fingerfuck someone past the pain, he doesn’t like the tears swelling in your eyes. “i’m sorry, baby.” he kisses your forehead sweetly, pulling back his efforts until you’re sopping wet, welcoming him eagerly. funny how it’s better for the both of you when he takes his time.

he’s half an hour late to a dinner date. took longer to wrap things up on base, and usually he’d cancel the date in favor of his right hand or a try at a pub, but he wants to see you, specifically. simon doesn’t stop to question the why behind it, the way he’s rubbing at a space behind his chest.

when he gets to the restaurant, he catches you leaving, wiping at what suspiciously look like tears. “love.” he calls it out gruffly from far away, noting how your head pops up with hope. “you’re late.” he nods, walking closer until he’s in your orbit. “‘m sorry. forgot to text.” you shake your head, looking back at the restaurant. “the waiter had the most pitying look, si. like i’m just one of those people who gets stood up.” he shushes you, tucking you into him. he’s not used to these soft moments and tries to emulate what he’s seen on a screen. “let’s get some takeaway and eat at mine, yeah? let me make it up to you.” there’s a suspicious weight in his chest that lessens when you give him a small smile. simon decides not to question it. too much mental trouble.

-

more bad date simon at the bottom of this

[acid-ixx]

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

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

[davinawritings]

Monster stalker that wants his scent on you so bad that he cums in your hair products.

He knows you always use leave in conditioner after your shower so obviously that is his main target. It is already a thick, white, and creamy consistency anyway.

He waits outside your home until he sees you leave before he breaks in. He dumps half of the product down the sink, making sure no trace is left behind.

He spends hours just cumming over and over again into the bottle. He mixes it up well so you don’t notice. Your human nose can only smell the scent of the synthetic fragrance.

His scent may not be noticeable to humans but other monsters will be able to smell his claim on you.

He only needs to keep the other monsters away a little longer. He has almost finished renovating his house, making everything perfect for his little human. Once that’s done he’ll be able to take you and claim you as his own. Then he can fill your cunt with his cum and truly claim you.

Until then, this will have to do.

❤️🖤💕💕🖤❤️

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝐷𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑦

Warning: sexual content, age gap (23-35), delusional attitude, forced breeding, breeding kink, mention of marriage, mention of children, noncon, r4pe, conspiracy, physical abuse, abuse of power.

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Yandere Sugar Daddy who is the CEO of a famous 6-star hotel chain that has been in his family for decades.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who always liked young and beautiful women, although he never settled down with any, he likes to pamper and adore his lovers by giving them everything they want.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who broke up with his Sugar Baby just a few days ago after she told him that she loved him and wanted to formalize her relationship with him, she was cute but boring and he didn't see himself spending his life with her, fuck no. So he left her.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who after that didn't waste any time in re-entering SugarLove.www a famous Sugar Daddy page where he found all his previous Sugar Babies.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who after a few long minutes searching for the right candidate for him, he finally found her, he found you. In your profile picture you looked divine, he looks at your profile from top to bottom looking at your photos and he was sure you were the one for him, so he sends you a message asking if you want to go to a restaurant to meet up... but you don't answer.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who gets impatient when the minutes go by and nothing happens. He decides to wait a little longer while he works in his office, when the hours go by he sees how the sun sets, he grabs his phone again and is disappointed when he doesn't find any answer, what's more, he doesn't even see the message.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who when he gets out of the shower the next morning checks his phone, a smile spreads on his lips when he sees a message from you, finally. "Hi, I'm sorry I didn't answer you before, but I was a little busy, I like the idea of ​​meeting you, how about tomorrow :)?" He doesn't hesitate to answer you sending the address of the restaurant and the time, you accept.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who arrives earlier at the restaurant, the waiter guides him to the best table that overlooks the night city, he asks the waiter to bring his best wine, he nods and leaves, the minutes pass when he sees you arrive, he smiles and stands up admiring your beauty, he doesn't hesitate to flatter you while he moves your chair so you can sit down before sitting in front of you.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who talks to you all night while you have dinner and drink wine, you tell him that you are studying a law degree which is an expensive career for you, a friend of yours entered the website and now lives stable and can even pay for the degree, that is the main reason why you entered SugarLove.www, he listens to you attentively, when you tell him that this is only for a while and that you are not looking for anything serious, he agrees and accepts.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who takes you to his hotel that same night where you end up having mind-blowing sex, the next day he pays two months of your tuition in advance, during the following months he and you spend intimate moments, he takes you on vacations, buys you luxurious things and you have sex all the time everywhere, by the time he realizes it he is already in love with you.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who starts taking you to business meetings and family gatherings presenting yourself as his girlfriend to your great discomfort, whenever you two go back to your apartment you scold him and he just shrugs his shoulders saying that by saying that he saves both of you the awkwardness of having to explain your relationship.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who tries to act like nothing is wrong but fails miserably. He gets tense when you're on your phone for too long. Are you talking to another guy? Are you cheating on him?! Unbeknownst to you, he ends up having your phone connected to his so he can see everything you do.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who gets jealous when he goes to pick you up from college and sees you at the door talking to a guy. His knuckles turn white around the steering wheel and when he parks he honks for a long moment getting your attention. You quickly say goodbye and approach him, getting in the car. You greet him and lean over to kiss his cheek but he grabs your jaw and kisses you hard on the lips.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who gets more heated during sex, calling you his wife and saying he'll give you his babies even though it makes you a little uncomfortable you take it as a fetish, that is until you feel something warm inside you and you realize he took off the condom, that's the straw that broke the camel's back, you walk away from him angrily grabbing your clothes yelling at him while you get dressed, saying he's crazy, you tell him it's all over between you before leaving.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who doesn't understand why you act like this, do you know all the women who would like to date him? All the women who would like to have his babies? He only took off the condom with you, only with you, you should feel honored but instead you get upset? He spoiled you. Yes he did. But now he'll show you why you shouldn't be an ungrateful brat.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who starts off simple by blocking your phone, then has an eviction notice sent to your fancy apartment (which he pays for by the way) and last but not least he pays for you to fail each and every one of your exams at university, which completely destabilizes you as you watch your life fall apart overnight.

Yandere Sugar Daddy who a few days later goes to your apartment, walks in with his key and sees you packing your bags with teary eyes, he tells you he forgives you for your attitude, in fact he wants you two to get married, who needs a degree after all? You insult him for making his life hell and he frowns, are you still an ungrateful brat? He's going to punish you.

He comes towards you in great strides so you startle trying to get away from him, but he grabs you hard by the hair making you let out a squeal of pain he pulls you closer to him and growls near your ear.

"Why can't you just take what I give you like a good girl? You always have to be so ungrateful, I'm starting to think you like making me angry"

You shake your head but he pushes you face down on the bed, pulling down your pajama shorts along with your panties and you try to kick him off on your own so he grabs your waist with one hand keeping you still and with the other hand he spanks you hard leaving your soft skin burning and sore, you started to sob quickly and he stopped.

"Well, look at that are you crying? It was only 10 spanks girl, you're a cry baby huh? Weren't you planning on being a tough lawyer?"

He hears you sob louder and sighs rubbing the red flesh of your ass with his hands before unbuckling his belt pulling down his pants and boxers releasing his fat cock which stands up happily, he grabs your hips lifting your ass as you bury your head in the mattress, he pumps his cock once before guiding it into your pussy sliding inside your warm tight channel.

"Fuck— you feel so good girl, it seems like your little pussy missed my cock so much... poor thing, my little one was neglected for almost a week because of your bratty attitude"

He hears you babble something he doesn't understand into the sheets but he ignores you, his hands squeeze your ass while he rams you hard from behind, the dirty sound of slapping mixed with the thick smell of sex fills the room accompanied by his grunts and your muffled sobs, he separates your ass cheeks and without stopping thrusting into you he uses one of his fingers to rub your wrinkled hole.

"Hey you never let me fuck you around here, tell me are you a virgin? Well never mind once we get married I'll make sure not to leave a single one of your holes unused, by the time I'm done they'll all be shaped like my cock"

You shudder in fear at his words causing your pussy to tense around him, he lets out a low chuckle as he grabs your hips ramming into you with renewed vigor, you bite down on the sheets and dig your nails into the mattress, his cock slamming again and again against your bruised cervix causing your eyes to roll back in the back of your head from the overwhelming pleasure, he grabs you by the hair lifting you up and forcing you to lean your back against his chest, you lean your head back over his shoulder and he licks your ear the wet sensation making your juicy pussy clench even tighter.

"God I wish you could see the face you're wearing right now it's so fucking erotic, you look like a whore how can you expect me not to put a baby in your womb when you make faces like that?"

He kisses your ear and uses one of his hands to rub your clit in firm circles bringing you over the edge a few more thrusts and you end up cumming all over his cock you let out moans as you arch your back he lets out a grunt as he feels your pussy squeezing him like a vice and then he stops cumming deep inside you his seed paints your core he pushes your body down onto the mattress collapsing on your back without pulling his limp cock out of you he murmurs.

"Since you're not going to college anymore I thought it would be best to move into a house, a big one, before our kids are born, you know little ones are adorable but a big problem and I want to have you all to myself before they get here"