#Maybe I will make a sticker with this silly one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amfstargirl · 6 months ago

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Yandere batfam x neglected reader

Standing in the yard, dressed like a kid, the house is white and the lawn is dead ⋆·˚ ༘ *

You stood firm on the ground, eyes stern and unwavering. In front of you was a place all too familiar—the "shelter" where you grew up, the house that had been your home for five years of your childhood. As you stood there, memories flooded your mind, both the happy ones and the melancholy ones. Your eyes roamed around the place, taking in every detail before you finally decided to enter, lest anyone mistake you for some kind of lunatic loitering outside someone's house.

As your feet mindlessly carried you into the room, a heavy, shaky sigh escaped your quivering lips. It hadn't even been five seconds since you entered, yet you already felt the urge to cry. Oh well, that's what memories do to you. You gently caressed the dirty white wall adorned with your old, fading doodles. Most of them were pink—your favorite color then and even now as an adult. You smiled sadly as the memories of your time in the house flooded back, making you nostalgic. You scoffed sarcastically at the irony that you missed this place more than the manor where you'd spent a longer time.

Perhaps it was because the old you—the innocent, sweet, and pure one—was still within these thin walls that had sheltered them through all the bad times. You could feel their giggles and laughter lingering in the air. Tears streamed down your face as you stared at every sticker, doodle, and writing spread across the walls. Somehow, you cried out of joy, relishing the fact that the child you left behind in this house was still here in some way. Still innocent, still unaware of the harm the world could do.

In the manor, all the love you ever knew came from the man who introduced himself as the family butler but whom you soon came to know as your father. He was the love you craved and begged for at Bruce's feet. He fed you, took care of you, and taught you the things you needed to know. He attended family days, PTA meetings, and other events that your biological father should have been at. Under Alfred's shelter, you did everything you could to try to level with your siblings' talents—learning acrobatics, martial arts, drawing, baking, and more.

Yet it was Alfred who, in the dead of night, under the whispers of the cold wind whipping past your teary face, assured you that you would never need any of those skills to truly earn your family's love. All you needed was to be yourself. You allowed yourself to believe his words and lived them as your truth for a short time, but soon gave up on the idea, accepting that they wouldn't truly see you.

Now, dwelling on your lingering past and memories outside the manor, you remembered those you knew before coming to live with them. You reminisced on the thought of your mother. You remembered her.

You remembered how poverty ate your mother away and that she couldn't provide necessary needs for you but you, sweet, beautiful, angel you never complained.

You remembered how much you loved those barbie shows and movies but couldn't afford the dvds and even a proper functioning television so you sometimes watched it from your window across your neighbors, and while watching you saw a glimpse of their life. Their happy, perfect family life. How they cuddled their daughter and watched those silly barbie movies together. Your eyes softened as you thought "I wanted that" the little you hoped that maybe one day momma will get better and finally love me. Your tears poured from your eyes at the thought.

You remembered while you were doing your homework alone, you heard a whimper outside your window near the alley. As you peeked your tiny head outside, your hair flowing with the cold, harsh wind, your eyes searching for the source of noise. As you let your gaze travel through every corner of the alley, you saw a dirty, poor puppy whimpering, alone, calling out for its mother, its father, anyone. You ran hastily outside and collected its tiny and fragile form gently in your arms. "I'm here, I'm okay, you're safe," you whispered softly to the creature. And from. That very day you fed it and kept it sheltered secretly from your mother. You named her Amara. It suited her. You didn't have much play mates so you sometimes play with her by the yard where you and her would either run together or lay down. You never really got to say goodbye to her. From "that" moment on, you never got to go back to your house. You wondered how she was. Was she well fed? Did she think you abandoned her? Does she miss you? The guilt of living her ate you up the longer you dwelt on the past. You shook your head and sighed, trying to forget about all of it. You mourned every version of you. And this was your most treasured one. Thinking back on all the memories you had of the old you, of her. You thanked them for being so forgiving, for being so brave, for being so content with what she had, and for never trading anything for it.

They Were such a kind soul. And you're glad that they gets to stay where they were the happiest despite the nightmare they endured those days. You will always look up to them. They were and will always be a part of you. You took one last look at the house, the drawings, the dirty corners of the room, and released a breath as you closed your eyes. This was it. You'll finally get to say goodbye-

Whimper

You froze as you heard a familiar whimper. You turned around and slowly walked towards the opened door, and you saw her. Amara, your friend. You can't help but let the tears fall as her once brown fluffy appearance is now old and grey. You wondered how even in the light of old age she somehow still seems so youthful. She was still your baby. With a shaky voice, you tested the name. "Amara...?" she wags her tail in delight as a response to the familiar name she's been waiting to be called for so many years. You kneeled down and gently caressed her. "Oh, baby. You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" she whimpered as if answering you. You noticed her trying to catch her breath and her body growing weaker. You glance at her tail and see its wagging has become more frail and slow. You glance at your eyes, and you know. You smiled at her and whispered, "It's okay, baby. You can rest now." Her face weakly lit up, and she slowly closed her eyes, calm and loved, finally in your embrace.

After some time, you tenderly wrapped her body in a blanket. You carried her to the yard where you both used to play together as kids, a place where you ran freely without a care in the world. Borrowing a shovel from a tenant in the apartment, you buried her there, in the spot where you both were the happiest.

You whispered silent prayers for your companion and left with the memories. This was it. You've made your peace with the old you. Almost. There was one more thing you have to do.

You used believed that your mother could have been so much more. She was a beautiful woman. Smart, even if other would beg to disagree. But, you knew that she knew how to play her cards right to get what she desired for. She would have been so powerful if she used her sharp mind to something much more.. Productive. Yet she chose to sleep with men, abandon her child, and let herself be eaten by poverty and lust. Well, you didn't really mind if she abandoned you. You've always felt like you were the burden, the barrier to her way of succeeding and the chain locked onto her feet, keeping her from truly running away to what she has become. You've seen it in her eyes, the thought of running away and living a new life, but when she looks at you.. She saw a mistake she could never be freed of. A mistake. If only you weren't born, she would have been so happy.

Blink.

Blink. "Ma'am?" the nurse asked. Suddenly, you were back to reality. You blinked again, processing her words. You glanced at her expectant expression and blurted out, "Y-yes, yes, uhm. Yeah. I'm ready." She smiled and said, "Great. Let's go this way, ma'am." You followed her hurriedly, not wanting to test her patience. As you walked, dissociating and thinking of all the possible outcomes, the nurse suddenly stopped in front of a room and said, "We're here. You can enter now." You nodded and thanked her silently.

Facing the door, you chanted in your mind, "You can do this," with a mix of determination and uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled and opened the door. There she was—your mother, in all her glory. Bare-faced and vulnerable in her comfy hospital gown. You almost choked on your saliva, seeing her this... bare. You had always seen her so filtered, her face adorned with colors, her clothes tight and bright. Awkwardly, you shifted in your place and slowly sat beside her bed as her gaze followed your every move. You cleared your throat, preparing to speak, but she beat you to it.

“I know you.” you widen your eyes at her as she continues “you're my child.” you weren't shocked at the fact that she acknowledged you but the fact that she called you Her child, and the softness in her eyes. You were starting to think that maybe this isn't your mother, because she never looked at you like that. Never in years of living together has she even glance at you.

She chuckled at the sight of your confused and shocked state, bringing you out of your thoughts. "What? Shocked? Of course, I still remember you, Y/n," she weakly said, her voice small and quite different from the harsh tone she used to yell at you with. You inhaled sharply, trying to stop your tears from falling. What the heck? Were you about to cry again?

"I thought with how much resentment you harbor for me, you would have forgotten about me by now," you smiled sadly at her, watching her face drop slightly but still smiling weakly.

"Oh, Y/n," you almost crumbled right then and there. Oh, how much you had longed to be called so sweetly by your mother's voice. "I never hated you... that much," she said bitterly, and you stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. "I just wasn't born to be a mother, no—at least not in this life. I'm a mess and I always will be. And I'm sorry I couldn't change for you because nothing can and nothing will change me anymore."

Your lips frowned at her words. "I always thought that maybe you could have been better without me," you said. You miss her, and you will always miss her. She was your whole world, but now seeing her and talking to her made you realize her world was clearly much different from yours. Her world was something one could not escape. You knew you couldn't live like that, and it seems that she cannot live any other way. They said that a mother and children exist as wretched mirrors of each other. You were all she could have been and she was all you might have been.

She closed the distance between you and embraced you for the first time. "You never were. It was me. I was the problem. You were just a child. In another life, I would've been able to care for you." You didn't question her on why she couldn't do it in this life because you knew. You knew she didn't have the capability to be a good mother and a morally good person now, and that was okay. You couldn't live with The fact that she will never truly care for you and will always hold secret animosity towards you if you force her to be a mother to you. You closed your eyes for a minute and silently took in the feeling of a mother's embrace for the first and last time.

"This is the last time you're ever gonna see me again," you said. Your mother chuckled bitterly and replied, "I know. Good for you, kid. Leave everything behind and start anew. You deserve it."

You soon moved out of her arms and held her hands tightly, looking into her eyes. With a deep exhale, you walked out of the hospital. This was it—you were finally free from your past. You had made your peace with it, and now it was time for you to move forward. You knew that if you didn't confront the horrors of your past, they would haunt you for the rest of your life. You had made a good choice.

As you stepped outside, the cool breeze greeted you, and you felt a sense of liberation wash over you. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. It was as if the universe itself was acknowledging your newfound freedom. You took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, savoring the feeling of lightness that now enveloped you. Walking down the street, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The city seemed different somehow—brighter, more alive. You noticed the little things that you had overlooked before: the vibrant colors of the flowers in the park, the laughter of children playing, the distant hum of traffic. It was as if you were seeing the world with fresh eyes, unburdened by the weight of your past.

For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace. The past no longer held you captive. You were free to live your life, to pursue your passions, and to surround yourself with people who truly cared for you. It was the beginning of a new chapter. You get home to your apartment and sit at your couch grabbing some blankets and making hot cocoa. You thought to yourself that this is what you exactly needed. Watching barbie movies in your new cozy apartment without any burden past onto your shoulders, the little you would have been so proud, making you smile at the thought. This was it. Nothing was going to stop you now.

That's what you thought.

It has been 2 weeks since you've moved in your apartment and you're getting ready for your ballet rehearsal. You were especially excited about this as you were going to perform swan lake when you got to enact one of the most important and famous characters, how cool was that? As you were about to grab your pink bowed pointe shoes a sudden “ping!” notification was heard from your phone. You turned your head and went to grab it expecting a message from one of your close friends or even your ballet mates but all you were met with was a message from a person you least wanted a one from.

Dick. Your supposed older brother is asking you to hang out with him. At this very moment. You dropped your phone and stared at nothing while breathing heavily. You feel your heartbeat rapidly breathing, the knot in your stomach growing more tighter and tighter each minute you let the thought sink into your brain. You almost tripped at your foot as a result of your vision disfigured, as if you were looking through a fish-eye lens. This wasn't right, this wasn't supposed to happen. When-how?-why?! Why was this happening now? You were only starting to feel like everything in your life was finally starting to go your way. Why did this have to happen? It was as if the universe was mocking you. You bit your lips until it bled but you couldn't care less. You were numb. You hadn't even realized that you were nowate for today's rehearsals. With trembling hands you reached for your phone and shakily pressed the button “block” as you silently prayed that he-they would never come in contact with you ever again.

Of Course that wouldn't happen though. The universe was never really on your side.

Dick? What's happening here?

A sudden deep voice spoke, bringing Dick out of his deep trance. He turned around and saw his father standing outside the door, looking suspiciously at him. He stared at his father and saw the look on his face—full of confusion and unfamiliarity, not towards him but the room he was in. "I-it's Y/n," he stuttered, the name tasting so sweet on his tongue. He wanted to roll around in the scent of you. Was that weird? No—he just missed you, that's all.

"What about them?" Bruce's voice carried a nonchalance that almost made Dick angry. How could he be so indifferent about his precious sibling? With a hard voice, Dick replied, "They're gone." Bruce's eyes widened slightly at the response. What did he mean you were gone? You were just here when... Wait, when? He worriedly glanced at Dick, and as if understanding, Dick answered, "I know."

Bruce inhaled sharply and stepped inside the room, your lingering scent greeting him. Your trophies adorned the walls. This was your room? No, it couldn't be. This was too little. This was just... not it. The difference between his other childrens bedrooms and yours was so noticeable. You didn't have any fancy chandelier decorating yours. You didn't have your own bathroom.

Bruce's eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. The neatly arranged trophies, the faded posters on the walls, and the small bed that seemed too empty now. He walked over to the desk and picked up a framed photo of you, when was this? You look so.. Grown? How old were you? Were you old enough to live alone? How come he didn't know? Did you have a job-were you even allowed to have one? he clenches his fist as he stares at the sight of your image and sees your bright smile. His heart ached at the sight. How had he missed this? How had he not noticed the signs?

Dick watched his father, a mix of emotions swirling within him. He wanted to scream, to demand why Bruce hadn't paid more attention, why he hadn't been there for you. But he knew he wasn't any better than his adoptive father was. Besides, it wouldn't change anything. The damage was done.

Bruce set the photo back down and turned to Dick, his expression a mix of regret and determination. He saw the tiny diary and other papers scattered across the floor and picked them up, reading them one by one as he slowly spiraled into regret and guilt. Dick watched as he knew this was going to make him understand. Today made it all clear to him. Why there was a nagging feeling inside of him saying that there was something missing in the manor. It was why the sweet muffled music of the orchestra haunted the manor, the same kind of music haunting their bedroom. Like it was a reminder, a warning. That something special was lost. The soothing sound of humming, light footsteps around the manor now gone. The pink bows tied around the handles of the stairs, the love that the plants receive now nowhere to be found. It was because you took that love with you.

"We need to find them," Bruce spoke, his voice steady but filled with urgency. His knees bounce as his Jaws tighten anxiously.

Dick nodded, his resolve matching his father's. "We'll find them," he replied, his voice firm. "And we'll make things right."

As they left the room, Bruce carrying the framed image of you tightly, almost as if he was paranoid that something would take it from him, and dick gently running his thumb through the texture of your pink, bowed, bright diary, the weight of their mission settled on their shoulders. They knew it wouldn't be easy, but they were determined to bring you back. The silence of the manor was a stark reminder of what they had lost, and they were ready to do whatever it took to make amends.

Bruce was anxious. He didn't have a plan. Ironic, because Batman always had a plan. It was an unspoken rule—Batman was always prepared. But now, he found himself at a loss, his mind racing with uncertainty. Perhaps it was because he knew every single person in Gotham. As the guardian of Lady Gotham, he prided himself on understanding the intricate web of connections and motives that defined the city's inhabitants. He calculated every person's actions, paid attention to every detail, and watched from the heart of Gotham.

He paid extensive attention to everyone... except you.

It wasn't intentional. He had always been consumed by the weight of his responsibilities, the never-ending battle against crime, and the need to protect the city. But now, standing in your room, surrounded by the remnants of your presence, he realized his failure. The irony of it all struck him—Batman, the meticulous planner, had overlooked the most important person in his life.

Now he was desperate, he may not have a plan but he was desperate. He'll do anything to get you back. Any possible way to get back all the times he failed you, when he failed to be a father to you. He swore to protect you and never let you out of his sight ever again.

Dick wasn't any better. As he walked, his thoughts played tricks on him, but in a way he almost relished. His mind insisted that you must be so scared without him, without your older brother to protect you. He didn't even consider the possibility that you could be an independent, fully functioning individual on your own, or the fact that you had grown and most likely abandoned the thought of "bonding" with him. In this moment, his mind was consumed by the image of you and the curiosity of what more you had within yourself that he had neglected. His anxiousness grew, causing him to bite his nails and run his hands through his hair in frustration. His breathing became ragged, and his heart pounded in his chest. It was as if he had turned feral, his bloodshot blue eyes itching to be blessed with a vision of your face.

The more he thought about it, the more his mind played tricks on him. He imagined you scared and alone, wondering why your older brother wasn't there to protect you. He couldn't bear the thought of you suffering because of his neglect. His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. What if you were hurt? What if you were in danger? What if you had given up on ever reconnecting with him?

The guilt gnawed at him, making it hard to focus on anything else. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed you, that he had missed so many opportunities to be there for you. His heart ached at the thought of all the moments you had spent alone, craving the attention and love that he hadn't given.

As he continued to walk, his thoughts became more erratic. He imagined you thriving without him, having found your own path and your own sense of independence. The possibility that you no longer needed him stung, but it also filled him with a strange sense of pride. You had grown, despite everything, and that was something to be admired.

Still, his mind couldn't rest. He needed to see you, to know that you were okay. The uncertainty was driving him to the brink of madness. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, determined to find you and make amends.

he wouldn't rest until he saw you again.

Both Bruce and Dick disregarded everything around them, unaware of the curious look Tim gave them. He followed quietly behind their backs, raising an eyebrow as he wondered why they hadn't noticed his presence yet. Normally, these two were incredibly guarded, so Tim was shocked by their lack of awareness. What could have made them so unfocused?

Bruce—the Batman—and Dick—the first Robin and now Nightwing—were both engrossed in a particular object. They seemed to be completely absorbed, their usual vigilance overshadowed by their intense fixation. Tim watched as Bruce's eyes remained glued to a framed photo on the desk, his expression a mix of regret and determination. Meanwhile, Dick's gaze was fixed on the pink notebook in his hands, his fingers gently tracing the glittery cover.

Tim couldn't help but wonder what was so important about these items that it made two of the most vigilant people he knew drop their guard. The framed photo of you, smiling brightly, seemed to hold Bruce in a trance, while the pink notebook, adorned with bows and glitters, seemed to capture all of Dick's attention. They were so consumed by these objects that they had let down the walls they had built through years of vigilantism.

It had to be something incredibly significant—something better yet, special.

“What are you two doing?” asked Tim, suddenly breaking the silence between the three of them as he watched the father and son duo flinch, obviously flabbergasted at his sudden interruption at their deep trance. He observed as their face turned from shock to going back to their frowning faces making him mirror the same expression. Dick clenches his jaw and exhales sharply preparing himself to speak when he is suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice he would always recognize.

"What is going on here?" a figure with deep forest-green eyes asked, standing tall in the shadows, his cold demeanor unwavering. Dick's eyes met his, and he said his name. "Damian. Wha—"

"You have deliberately abandoned your promise to train with me today. Why?" Damian's voice was sharp, full of accusation. Shoot. That was right. Dick had forgotten to train with his younger brother today. But it didn't matter now; his other sibling needed him, and it was about time they knew about them too. He glanced at Bruce's unfocused state, feral and restless.

"It's about Y/n," Dick said firmly.

Tim stood still for a moment, trying to figure out who "Y/n" was, while Damian immediately sneered at the mention of his "rival." He couldn't pinpoint why your presence angered him so much. Maybe it was because he had to share the title of being the Wayne heir with someone so... normal, someone so far below his level. You both were so different. Perhaps he was jealous of you for being so normal, for not having to worry about tainting your hands with blood and painting others black and blue. What did you even do? He didn't know, but he bet it was something a normal civilian would.

Meanwhile, his peripheral vision caught Tim standing still, deep in thought. Damian saw him processing quickly, his mind running fast as he tried to figure out who you were and why you were so relevant at the moment. Then suddenly—aha! Tim remembered now! You were the kid who had pestered him non-stop about some game.

Tim's eyes widened as he recalled the memory. The realization hit him like a wave. He had been so dismissive back then, but now he understood the significance. Guilt washed over him, mixing with curiosity and concern. What had happened to you? Why were you so important now?

Damian's sneer softened slightly, replaced with a look of contemplation. “What about them?” asked damian. While Tim wondered the same. Suddenly Bruce's cold and deep voice said “they're gone.” Damian raising an eyebrow of his response, and Tim answering “gone? Gone how?” switching his gaze from dick and Bruce's form awaiting for one of them to answer his question as the tension in the room thickens. “I mean that they're gone. All their things not found in their room, no trace of them not in the mansion, and not even a goodbye.” Tim and Damian frowned at the same time. Damian scoffed and thought you were probably just making a big scene so the attention would be on you. Bruce said “we need to find them. Now.” his voice left no choice for them to abide by his command.

Now alone in the CCTV room, Tim let his bored gaze wander over the footage from a long time ago, his palm supporting his head. Suddenly, something caught his attention. He watched as you sat, his fingers tapping the keyboard to increase the volume. You hummed lightly at the footage, a simple gesture but not to him. Your voice was so familiar to him. His eyes dilated as you continued humming, your voice sweet as honey, as light as a mother's touch trying to lull her baby to sleep.

He zoomed the footage closer and closer, almost as if he wanted to go through the screen just to hear your sweet, angelic, melancholic voice. Your voice was like a soft fur blanket to him. He didn't know if he was hallucinating from sleep deprivation, but he swore you were covered by a soft light, hugging your form and kissing your skin gently.

Tim sat in your "presence" for a bit, soaking in your voice. As he listened, memories flooded back. He recalled distant muffled sounds within the thin walls, lulling him to sleep, chasing away the demons that kept him awake at night. He had so desperately wanted to close his eyes and rest, and he remembered thinking maybe it was just a voice in his head, or maybe a real-life angel offering him salvation from suffering and the sweet pleasure of sleep. Now he knew, the angel was called "Y/n."

His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk as he leaned in closer, his breathing steadying as he watched the footage. The realization hit him hard. How had he missed this before? How had he not recognized that comforting voice? The gentle humming, the presence that had brought him solace on sleepless nights—it was all you.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to watch, his heart aching with a mix of regret and longing. He remembered the nights he had spent tormented by nightmares, the countless times he had struggled to find peace. Your voice had been his lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. How had he been so blind? How had he not seen the importance of your presence in the manor? Tim's thoughts spiraled as he recalled the moments he had dismissed you, the times he had been too wrapped up in his own world to notice you reaching out. He needed to see you. To hear your voice, to take you back, to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness as his forehead kisses the cold, dirty floor, or to maybe steal you back without a word. He didn't know, he just had to see you.

The footage continued to play, your voice a soothing balm to his troubled mind. He sat there, never unwavering, always in awe of your voice and never taking his attention off you. He sat there,Unaware that he had been playing the same footage for hours and hours. His dilated eyes worshipping you as if you were a god.

He felt a deep sense of loss, realizing that you were gone, and he hadn't even had the chance to thank you for all the nights you had unknowingly saved him. Determined, he knew he had to find you. He had to make things right.

After some time, finally. Tim's resolve hardened as he stood up, his eyes never leaving the screen. He would find you, and he would make sure you knew how much you meant to him. With renewed purpose, he left the CCTV room, ready to join Bruce and Dick in their search. Together, they would bring you back and rebuild the bond that had been neglected for far too long.

With much focus on the object of his obsession attention, he failed to notice a tall figure in the shadows, watchin. Thinking after all these years they have finally come to their senses, realizing the greatest gift of all was right under their noses.

Damian was a dangerous person. To be fair, he was raised to be an assassin and an heir to the throne from the moment he was born. Not even a moment out of the womb did he catch a glimpse of the normal life he so desperately wanted. He trained day and night, month after month, year after year, to become the perfect product of the world's greatest detective and the daughter of the king of assassins. Imagine the inner turmoil within him when he didn't meet the expectations set upon his shoulders. All his life, all he knew was to fight. In any situation, his first instinct was to fight and guard himself for his life.

Sometimes, he wondered how they expected a child to lead thousands of assassins to create a bloodbath. Behind his pride and arrogance was a deep-seated anger towards those in charge of his fate. He was furious that his innocence had been stripped away, clawing its way back to him, but ultimately, they succeeded in giving him a future burdened with the weight of guilt for painting the young and innocent red.

Damian's upbringing left him with a constant battle within himself. The expectations placed upon him were immense, and he often felt like he was suffocating under the pressure. The relentless training, the unyielding discipline, and the need to prove himself consumed his every waking moment. The anger he felt was not just directed at those who shaped his fate but also at himself for not being able to escape it. Many didn't know of it but he found it hard to be Robin. The conflict between leaning to your instincts or “your- now- morals” was hard. To kill and to save was wrong and somehow to save and to forgive was right.

Despite his impressive skills and abilities, there was a part of him that longed for something more—something normal. He envied those who lived ordinary lives, free from the burden of bloodshed and violence. He wondered what it would have been like to have a childhood filled with laughter and innocence rather than combat and survival. As to why he wonders what more could you possibly want? He was so sure that you had so much wonderful time living such a luxurious life in the manor and never having to prove yourself to be worthy of something in being able to get the object of your desire. How could you run away from this life? From your life? You were so unfair, so selfish.

As he continued to grapple with these conflicting emotions, Damian's exterior remained cold and guarded. He rarely allowed anyone to see the vulnerable side of him, the side that yearned for a different life. But deep down, the scars of his past lingered, a constant reminder of the life he was forced into and the innocence that was stolen from him.

He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and released a heavy sigh. What a bother. Making his way to every corner of the manor to "inspect" and see if you had left any trace of yourself there. As he walked down the path, letting his bored state guide him, he glanced at the thick walls and noticed some unfamiliar works of art. His gaze roamed around the room, settling on various paintings he had never noticed before. It was as if the paintings spoke for themselves, screaming out for anyone to notice and appreciate them. The different textures, colors, shapes, and stories behind the art captivated him.

Damian liked to think that he noticed everything and had the ability to be highly aware of his surroundings, whether he was familiar with them or not. But at this moment, he paused, questioning himself. If he was truly aware, how had he managed to overlook these breathtaking canvases filled with bright colors that made him... feel things? He took a step forward and saw a tiny signature on the left side of one of the canvases. He brought his hand up to softly caress the painting, gently and carefully, as if he were afraid that a mere touch could destroy it.

Engrossed in admiring the paintings, he failed to notice the tall figure beside him. It was only when the man spoke, "Master Damian," addressing him, that he flinched slightly.

"Ah, Alfred. My apologies, I was a bit distracted by the art adorning the walls, which seems to be... unfamiliar to me. Would you mind telling me where my father keeps buying these paintings? I must say I'm quite... impressed."

Alfred frowned and smiled sadly at the youngest Wayne. "Well, Master Damian, these paintings are actually not your father's doing. Rather, they are Master Y/n's work of art."

Damian's eyes widened in surprise. He turned back to the paintings and said "Y/n did these?" he asked, almost incredulous. The realization that you had created such beautiful and meaningful art struck him deeply. He didn't even know that you could draw much less create such.. Beautiful art. While he was thinking about it he realize that he had complimented you, you!

"Indeed, Master Damian," Alfred confirmed. "Y/n spent countless hours creating these pieces. Each one holds a story, a piece of their heart."

Damian felt a pang of emotion through his chest, he couldn't pinpoint what it was but it was somehow nagging him about something, or rather someone. His fingers traced the brushstrokes with a newfound reverence, as if trying to understand the emotions you had captured on canvas.

"I never knew..." Damian whispered, more to himself than to Alfred. The layers of vibrant colors, the delicate details, and the raw emotions conveyed through your art were all a testament to the depth of your soul. He felt a connection to you that he hadn't realized before, a sense of camaraderie and understanding. And he was totally not dissing you just minutes ago.

Alfred placed a comforting hand on Damian's shoulder. "Art has a way of speaking to us, Master Damian. It reveals truths that words often cannot. Y/n's art is a reflection of their experiences, their joys, and their sorrows. It is a part of them that they have shared with the world."

Damian nodded, taking a step back to fully appreciate the entirety of your work. Your art had opened a door to a deeper connection, and he was willing to walk through it. He didn't know why but in a way this was proof that you had always had some kind of connection to him.

As Damian and Alfred stood there, surrounded by the masterpieces you had created, a sense of resolve settled over Damian. He frowns and takes a look around all the work of your art. His style doesn't differ much from yours. the caress of brush ever so slightly seen, and the emotions behind the soul of your paintings, like his. What made you so similar to him? And that, he will not know until he finds you.

He knew that finding you and bringing you back was not just about making amends—it was about recognizing and celebrating the unique and irreplaceable person you were.

Y/n considered themselves a keen observer, attuned to the delicate nuances of the world around them. They noticed the gentle yet sometimes harsh swaying of the wind as it danced with the leaves, creating a symphony of nature's whispers. They noticed the lady sitting on the park bench, quietly absorbing the view of the home she once grew up in, her memories interwoven with the present. They noticed the ducks by the pond, gracefully gliding through the water alongside their mother, a portrait of serene tranquility.

Y/n noticed everything, yet no one noticed them. And it was fine. They had long accepted this reality, enduring the loneliness of being invisible in a world where they saw so much. The weight of being unnoticed had become a familiar companion, a constant presence that shaped their existence. In the silent spaces between moments, Y/n found solace in their observations, finding beauty in the overlooked and meaning in the mundane.

So why were they just noticing you just now? Why? When you have just started to accept and move on. Why must they bring the horrors of the past when your current life is filled with hope arraying a new journey, now destroyed.

Why couldn’t Dick just let you be, drifting away in the silence you’d crafted? Why couldn’t he leave you to fade quietly, just as you had promised yourself you would, a ghost of your former self, untouched and unbothered? Yet there he was, an ever-present weight, his hands—rough, calloused, scarred by years of untold burdens—forcing your face into the past, as if his touch could rewrite history. His fingers dug into your skin, twisted into the soft contours of your face, tearing through the years of numbness, of denial, dragging you back to a place you had sworn you’d never return.

And then, Tim. Oh, Tim. The boy who once didn’t even see you, who barely even remembered your name when it lingered in the air of the manor. Now, he’s relentless, his fingers tapping into your phone with the same quiet insistence that his presence once had in the dark halls of that place you used to call home. You want to scream, to rip the silence apart, to do anything but feel what you’re feeling now—this suffocating pull to return to them, to face them, even when you know you never should have to again.

The ache swells, the lump in your throat is a tangible thing now, a choking presence you can’t swallow down. It’s the same searing pain that’s lingered, festering, hidden beneath layers of what you pretended was healing. How cruel it is, to have spent so much time trying to break free, only to find that some things, some people, are never quite done with you.

The ghost of them lingers, burrows deeper, with every unanswered message. They still haunt you, even from afar. You hate them for it, for still holding the power to break you open, to make you bleed from places you thought had long scarred over. It feels like a thousand wounds opening up again—slow, deliberate, bleeding you dry in a way you don’t know how to stop.

You stared blankly into the emptiness, feeling numb, when suddenly a hand rested on your shoulder. You flinched instinctively and turned to see who it was. Your eyes widened as you recognized your ballet teacher standing behind you. "Miss Kavinsky! I-I... Hi! I’m—" you stammered, but she quickly cut you off with a smile.

"Y/N L/N-Wayne, I know," she said with a warm tone. "It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you."

You winced slightly, the sound barely audible, but Miss Kavinsky didn’t seem to notice. "Come on, let’s meet the other dancers. I’m sure they’re eager to meet you."

The surprise hit you hard, and you stuttered, "M-me?" You couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

She grinned, a playful mix of amusement and mild disbelief on her face. "Yes, you. You're kind of a celebrity here, Wayne. Not surprised with a talent like yours."

Her words lingered in the air, but you went quiet, caught off guard by the compliment. You couldn’t fully process it, the idea of anyone looking up to you seemed so foreign, so distant. And somewhere in the haze, you barely registered the way she had called you "Wayne.”

As you and the other dancers gathered at the stage, a wave of anxiety washed over you. The weight of thoughts about Tim and Dick pressed heavily on your mind, and the pressure of the moment only made it worse. Just as your mind started to spiral, a voice cut through the chaos.

"Hey! You're Y/N, right? I'm Desiree, but you can just call me Des."

You forced a smile, barely hearing Miss Kavinsky as her voice faded into the background, announcing something about attendance. Your attention was now solely focused on Des, who had just broken the ice. You shook her hand and smiled more genuinely, the tension in your body loosening up a bit.

"Hi, Des. Yeah, you already know who I am. Nice to meet you."

You both exchanged a quiet laugh, and the chatter around you faded as you continued talking. For a moment, you felt like you could breathe again. You asked the usual questions: "How old are you?" "What's your favorite ballet?" The conversation flowed easily, but when your name was suddenly called for attendance, you were snapped back to reality.

"Here!" you called out, your voice getting lost in the sea of dancers.

But then Des said something that made you freeze.

"So, are you excited that both of you are here?" she asked with a playful giggle, her smile sweet and innocent.

You blinked, confused, but smiled through it. "Both of us...?" you repeated, trying to follow along.

Des chuckled softly at your puzzled expression. "You and your sister, silly! It must be so nice to perform together. My brother wouldn't even try to get into ballet, you know?"

Her words, lighthearted as they were, suddenly made your world feel like it was crashing down around you. You felt a cold panic begin to rise. Your fingers instinctively dug into your palms, almost drawing blood. Your smile wavered, barely holding on, while your eyes fluttered, teetering on the edge of tears. Des’s voice became distant, her words fading into a muffled blur as your thoughts spiraled out of control, bloodshot eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. Your heart raced, and the chaos inside you was too much to contain.

In that very moment, her name echoed through the air, sharp and clear. Without thinking, your gaze shifted, and you locked eyes with her. Her wide, unblinking stare pierced through the noise, anchoring you in place. For a fleeting second, you wondered if she had been watching you all along—since the instant your name was called, or perhaps even before. You couldn't be sure.

What you did know, however, was that the weight of her gaze felt like a force, pulling you into a quiet abyss. It made you feel small, fragile—as if you were prey beneath the steady, unyielding gaze of a predator. A shiver ran through you, and suddenly, all you wanted was to escape, to flee from the suffocating intensity of her eyes, which seemed to strip away every layer of protection you had left.

The fates were clearly playing with you now.

Cassandra was an exceptionally gifted individual, much like her siblings, each of whom possessed their own unique abilities. From the moment she first pursued ballet, her family showered her with unwavering love and support. She had access to training that most could only dream of—privileges afforded to her not because of her wealth, but because she was no ordinary person. She was Batgirl, the daughter of Batman by choice, a mantle she wore with pride. So, when an invitation arrived for her to join the prestigious Swan Lake performance alongside other top-tier dancers, it hardly came as a surprise. After all, excellence was something she had always embraced, both on the stage and off.

As she gets ready for her first rehearsal she can't help but notice that some of her siblings are missing. She shook it off and ate her food but also not abandoning the thought of asking about the absence of her siblings and father, to a familiar companion of their family:Alfred. As where Alfred only replies with them being busy about.. Something, yet said to her to fret not and just worry her mind about her ballet play, quickly chasing away her concerns for her family with a smile that made her feel lighthearted. With a chuckle she got up and made her way to the location of where the dancers were told to meet.

Cass had always believed she was the only one in her family who truly appreciated the delicate artistry of ballet. Her passion for the graceful movements, the precision of each step, and the beauty of the performances had always felt like a private world to her, a world she inhabited alone. She couldn’t recall a single moment where anyone in her family shared even the slightest interest in it. So, when she entered the crowded theater that evening, expecting to be surrounded only by fellow ballet enthusiasts, she was taken aback by something unexpected.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, she spotted you. For a fleeting moment, her heart skipped a beat, not from the rush of seeing someone in the crowd, but from an overwhelming sense of familiarity that washed over her. There you were, standing like a ghost from a forgotten past, an unexplainable connection sparking between you both. Cass couldn’t place it, but it was as though she had known you forever, even though your paths had never crossed before.

Her mind wandered, replaying the memories that had been buried deep within her. A distant image flashed across her thoughts: she was standing in a room filled with soft, pastel-colored fabrics, the scent of leather and polish hanging in the air. Two pairs of pointe shoes rested beside one another on the floor—one was familiar, worn and well-loved, the other brand new, the laces still fresh and untangled. The second pair, the one that felt entirely foreign, immediately piqued her curiosity. She was certain it wasn’t hers, yet the connection to it lingered, something so subtle but undeniable.

The realization hit her like a wave. She didn’t know you, not consciously, but somehow she felt bound to you, as if fate had woven your lives together in some strange, invisible thread long before either of you had even been aware of it.

The entire day she watched and observed you. She paid extra attention to every detail of your expressions, body language, and posture. She didn't know why but you seemed to be very clear–in her case, in distress, like you were panicking over something. And she didn't know why she somehow hated seeing you that way. As the minutes passed, she found herself simply just staring at you. Not even for a fleeting moment had she taken her gaze of you. She watched and observed tensely at every person who looks at you, who talks to you, who breathes near you. Almost as if she was guarding you. As they were told to gather she followed silently after the crowd and placed herself purposely in front of the other side from you. She scoffs in amusement as you barely notice her, too focused on your own little world. As minutes continued to pass, suddenly a girl broke you out of her thoughts with her voice making you flinch. Her breath hitched as irritation started to crawl their way through her chest. Why couldn't the girl be more gentle with you? Can't she see that you were clearly stressed? She frowns slightly at the girl, surprising herself by the sudden change of mood. She holds her breath and watches you like a hawk would at its prey. Her vision was filled with your now loosen frame, giggling with the girl who approached you earlier. A new feeling started to claw its way through her chest, now bigger and stronger. The green monster eating her up when suddenly the call of her voice brought her out of her thoughts as she, for a moment took her eyes off of you to answer quietly to her name and as she bring back her gaze to you, quickly to not miss anything she might take the pleasure in seeing, suddenly your eyes are on her too. Her eyes couldn't leave the sight of your gaze who held such horror in them, as if seeing her was too much for you. As she was your living nightmare sitting right in front of you.

The remaining time the dancers practiced, you avoided her gaze and her presence. The more you avoided her, the more she itched to be in your presence alone, to be near you. The whole time at the practice she was, for the first time, distracted. Her thoughts are consumed by you. Her thoughts came up with every question she could ask about her and your current situation. What were you doing here? Why didn't she know? Were you at the manor? No, if you were she would've known.. Right? Okay if you weren't, then why weren't you? Those questions alone made her uneasy and frustrated. As it was time to go home, she watched as you hurriedly got out and quickly went home to wherever your home was. The nagging feeling screamed at her to follow you but decided against it and thought that going home and bringing the news to her family might help more. After all, they were stronger together.

She stormed into the manor, urgency in her every step, and sought out Alfred with a single, breathless demand: "Boys. Where?" Without hesitation, he led her to them. Her gaze fell upon them, intense and unyielding, her pupils trembling with an unspoken storm. She whispered a single name, a breathless, haunting utterance: "Y/N." The boys, in unison, responded, "We know."

A deep breath escaped her, the weight of their actions—venturing after you without so much as a word—forgotten for the moment. She snatched a laptop, her fingers flying over the keys in a frantic dance of their own. The screen flickered to life, revealing a video that stole the breath from the room. There you were, dancing—each movement a testament to grace, each step more captivating than the last.

The world had already fallen under your spell. The internet buzzed with adoration, praising the way your every turn, every leap, every pause held the audience in thrall. Under the stage lights, you seemed more than human—a celestial being, your form bathed in soft light, glowing like an ethereal angel, kissed by the very air around you. The boys stood frozen, their gaze fixed upon you, entranced.

Your presence was no illusion. You were a goddess of their own making, and in that moment, they knew: they were already devoted, bound by the silent understanding that they would worship you, body and soul.

As the video played, the room fell into a hushed reverence. The boys, once brimming with urgency and tension, now stood motionless, their eyes locked onto the screen, as if spellbound. Every fluid movement you made seemed to breathe life into the very air around them. They couldn’t look away; they didn’t want to. Your every step, every pirouette, was poetry in motion, a delicate balance of strength and grace that made their hearts race.

The way you arched your back mid-spin, the soft brush of your fingertips against your skin, the quiet breath you took before every leap—it all drew them in, slowly, methodically, as though they were witnessing something far beyond the ordinary. Each turn of your body mirrored the very rhythm of their own hearts, synchronized with the ethereal pulse of the music, and they couldn’t help but feel as if the entire world had narrowed down to this one sacred moment.

Your eyes, though focused on the stage, seemed to flicker with a spark of something far deeper, something they couldn't quite place but could almost taste. It was like watching a dream unfold, where every movement became a metaphor—each glide across the stage spoke to something eternal, something untouchable. They found themselves lost in the elegance of your form, the way your body seemed to move with a natural fluidity that defied the laws of physics.

The lights above you softened, caressing your silhouette, painting you in a divine glow. And in that moment, they felt small, insignificant even, as if you had been carved out of stardust itself, too perfect to comprehend, yet impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the skill of your dance—it was your presence, your essence that held them captive.

They felt an almost primal pull, as though your every movement was speaking directly to their souls. The way your body spoke without words—your elegance and power blending seamlessly—rendered them speechless. They were entranced by the aura you carried, intoxicated by your beauty and the mystery you exuded, a beauty that wasn’t merely skin-deep but radiated from within, a force of nature.

For a fleeting moment, they could almost believe that you were more than human, that you were something higher, something divine. They stood there, wide-eyed and breathless, as if they had been granted a glimpse of something sacred—something that no one else could understand. And in that moment, they knew that they would follow you, worship you, in a devotion that transcended mere admiration. You weren’t just captivating; you were everything. They couldn't believe that someone like you had been overlooked by then.

Bruce now understands that with no plan in mind he would still follow you till the end of the earth. Oh his little baby. He would do anything to earn your love and affection for him. To see you and to bask under the ray of sunshine your smile brings. To feel your presence alone.

Dick now understands that he owes you more than a few dinners or dates as siblings. No. He owes you the world. As guilt eats his flesh up one by one, mourning all the versions of you that he could have witnessed right before his eyes are now long gone. But that's okay, he'll make it up to you.

Tim now understands that you were surely his angel. His savior. His form of salvation. He could watch you all day and never get bored. He could listen to you all day until his ears bled but never say a word.

Damian now understands that the disbelief he felt when looking at your paintings full of emotions overflowing with a sense of overwhelming feel, was now long gone because he knew that only such being like you, almost like a supernatural being, could be the only one who has the ability to capture such deep emotions in one painting, to be able to create such beautiful, breathtaking object.

Cassandra now understands why she felt like she somehow had a connection to you and that was because she was your sister. And as she was a daughter to batman by choice, that she will also be a sister by choice to you. She was an observer, someone who guards-and she will guard you with her life for all eternity.

As the overwhelming tension fills the room Alfred stands at the corner with a small smile. “apologies master y/n had I done this sooner, you would have not slipped through my grasp dear child. Do not fret for your family is coming to get you.”

Ah, Alfred, the mastermind. He knew this would happen. He just needed to intertwine a little. He did not worry because he knew. He knew that leaving your bedroom door open the moment he knew Dick was coming over to the manor while the others were busy, and knowing Dick's tendency to wander off in the vast expanse of Wayne Manor, the chances of him finding your room were high. He knew that rearranging your trophies inside your room (which you had told him to get rid of) would pique the interest of your family even more. He knew that decorating your hidden paintings around the minimalist and empty walls of the house would catch the attention of the youngest Wayne. He knew that playing those soft melodies of your voice through the small TV in the kitchen would enchant a certain sleep-deprived boy, making him miss the sweet sound of your voice.

Alfred knew that when Cassandra was called for the big ballet play, you would be at the same play too, as you had told him over the phone, giggling and excited with a high-pitched voice. He didn't bother to tell you about your sister's similar invitation, nor did he inform your sister about yours. He knew every single detail, every thread that needed to be woven together to create this intricate tapestry of reconnection.

Alfred's wisdom was like a silent symphony, orchestrating events with a delicate touch. He understood the nuances of each family member, their strengths, their weaknesses, and their desires. He knew that Dick's curiosity would lead him to your room, where the trophies would spark memories and questions. He knew that Damian's keen eye for detail would be drawn to the vibrant paintings, each brushstroke a testament to your hidden talents. He knew that Tim, in his sleep-deprived state, would be captivated by the melodies of your voice, a soothing balm to his restless mind.

Alfred's heart ached with the knowledge of your absence, but he also held hope. Hope that these carefully placed breadcrumbs would lead your family back to you, to the realization of what they had lost and the determination to make amends. He knew that the path to reconciliation was not an easy one, but it was a journey worth taking.

As the days passed, Alfred watched with a knowing smile as the pieces began to fall into place. He saw the flicker of recognition in Dick's eyes, the softening of Damian's demeanor, and the spark of determination in Tim's gaze. He knew that the seeds he had planted were beginning to grow, and soon, the family would be whole again.

Alfred was getting old and he couldn't bare the vision of his children Bruce and you, drifting away from each other, and you from him. Maybe it was his own selfish reason but he couldn't help it. He raised you from the moment you got to the manor. Teached you everything he knew and gave you all the love he could. He watched you grew up and maybe it was a moment of rush that he allowed himself to be selfish and turn the tables around.

In the quiet moments, Alfred allowed himself a moment of reflection. He thought of you, the child who had brought so much light into his life. He knew that you deserved to be seen, to be cherished, and to be loved. And he would do everything in his power to ensure that you found your way back to the family that needed you just as much as you needed them.

Authors note: I'm sorry I took so long in writing this! I hope yall enjoy the 10k+ words I wrote. One tip tho is to read and observe the details very carefully! Dw I'm gonna explain it soon tho. Hope yall enjoy this cuz imma take a break after this.

#batfam x batbro #yandere batfam #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #yandere batboys #batfam #neglected reader #amfstargirl #Spotify #tip toes

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depravitycentral · 3 months ago

Text

Short drabble because I was feeling oddly inspired

Tw: stalking, harassment, yucky online sexual harassment, slutshaming, allusions to assault, non-con photography, yucky yucky yucky and sort of incel-y

you’re so pretty

The comment interrupts your endless scrolling, the notification popping up from the top of your screen giving you pause. Your thumb hovers over the notification, tapping quickly and letting your most recent post fill the screen.

It’s nothing too terribly fancy – just a post detailing a hang-out at the park with your friends from last weekend. There’s some pretty photos of the autumn leaves and a photo of you smiling and sitting on the swing set – one that’s nearly too small for you now that you’re far from being a child. There’s another photo of you and your friend Erica on a picnic blanket, holding up the rather disastrous sandwich you’d cobbled together with the grossly limiting picnic supplies she’d packed.

You look pretty, you agree – you’re smiling big, the photo having been taken mid-laugh when your friend cracked a truly terrible joke. You’d felt good posting it, but the comment still makes you feel flattered, a warm feeling settling in your chest that makes you eagerly click on the user’s name.

You don’t follow him, and he’s not following you. He’s following no one, in fact.

Furrowing a brow, you shrug. Maybe it’s a bot, or maybe someone you actually do know in real life but just aren’t connected with on social media. The profile doesn’t have the user’s name, just a simple imtired123 and no profile photo. Probably a bot.

Sighing, you close out of the app, pressing the power button and hoisting yourself to your feet. You’re nearly late for work, anyways – your phone gets discarded into your purse and soon you’re out the front door, pulling your light jacket around yourself tighter in the crisp, cool autumn air.

nice

It’s a few weeks later when the next comment comes. Just like last time, it’s on a relatively nondescript post – one you’d made even before the autumn park photoshoot. It’s a photo of your pet, with some cute stickers and editing surrounding the animal’s face. It’s endearing, you think, but certainly not a masterpiece. The other photo in the post is a selfie of you and your pet, pressing a kiss to their cheek. Again, endearing – but nothing particularly groundbreaking.

It’s the same mystery account, and although it’s strikes you as odd that there’s so much space between the comments, you once again write it off as a bot. This comment’s less fun, though, so you’re quick to just shrug. Besides, your friend’s due to your apartment any minute now – and she gets crabby when you make her wait.

wear more blue

You roll over in bed, the buzzing noise from your phone making your eyes squint open. The alarm clock on your nightstand reads three in the morning, and you groan. Blearily, you check the notification, and only groan at the sight of the semi-familiar username commenting on a photo of you in a red shirt for a silly Halloween costume.

Weirdo, you grumble, unceremoniously shoving your phone back onto the nightstand with Do Not Disturb mode on. Maybe if you’re quick enough, you can get back to the dream you were having.

you make me so hard

It comes in the middle of brunch with your two closest friends. You don’t hear it at first, but the second time your phone buzzes you unconsciously reach for it. Your face sours up immediately, and Chelsea to your right notices.

“Everything okay?” She asks, wiping some ketchup from her eggs from the corner of her lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine, just some creep.” You respond, clicking on the account again. It’s the same user – still with zero followers, you see, and only following a single account. You’re about to click on the following list, but the waiter’s sudden appearance stops you.

“Anything I can get you ladies?” He asks, sending a small smile Erica’s way, to which she only flushes and clears her throat.

Chelsea grins. “We’re good,” she gestures to the two of you, “but Erica here has been saying how bad she wants to try your sweet cream. For her coffee. Could you get one for her, please?”

Chelsea’s words make Erica gasp, the waiter laugh, and your own snort fill the air. Erica’s indignant as the waiter winks and turns on his heel, and your phone lay forgotten in your purse as Chelsea defends herself from the onslaught of half-hearted slaps.

you’re mine

You’re starting to get tired of this. It’s been a week or so since the brunch incident, and the stranger’s comments are starting to feel a little too targeted to simply be a bot. You’re curled up on your couch, TV playing some mindless sitcom while the moon shines outside the apartment window, when you click back into the stranger’s account.

The comment had been left on a story you’d posted earlier in the day showing a short video of the scenery outside the train you commute to work on. The sunlight had been hitting the city skyscrapers in a pretty way, and you’d wanted to take a snapshot of the moment.

You’re mine… It makes your toes curl, unease settling in the pit of your stomach. A strange thing to comment, really, and with only the smallest moment of hesitation, you firmly press down on the block button. Closing out of the app, you place your phone on the other end of the couch, focusing in on the familiar jangle of the television show’s theme song. Bot or not, the shenanigans would stop.

greedy attention whore

The post is of your baby cousins. They’re young – four and six, to be exact, and the photos are just the aftermath of them eating chocolate cake for a birthday party. There’s frosting smeared across their cheeks and down the front of the pretty white dresses they’re wearing. It’s sweet, it’s innocent, it’s normal – even if the comment isn’t.

You swallow, pressing on the account’s profile. The little icon pops up reading ‘new’ below the imageless profile photo, no description present. The account’s entitled imtired132 this time, and you grit your teeth. This can’t be a bot, you’re sure – it’s too specific and frankly too hurtful. You don’t know this person, but you’re starting to wish you never will.

You block them again, rushing to delete the comment on the post for fear your cousin will see and worry.

show me your tits

Three days later. You block them again.

your justt a dumb whor

A day after that, with grammar so bad you almost don’t bother to decipher it.

why are you ignoring me

One week later, on the same post as the last time.

just came to the thought of you, want to see

Commented at four in the morning, then deleted, then reposted.

you’re so pretty it makes me want to die

Ten days later, with a separate comment only containing a pink heart.

fucking slut

It comes at a really bad time – there’s never really a good time, you suppose, but being stuck in the sketchy, dirty bathroom of a club with tears running down your cheeks alongside your mascara certainly isn’t a good time. The dress you’re wearing feels too tight and suddenly too short, and you wipe at your eye as you look at the comment.

You’re at a fucking wedding in this post. It’s nearly six years old – your cousin’s wedding, as a matter of fact. The one whose kids you’d watched for the birthday party, the one who had her bridesmaids dress in rather modest navy pantsuits to match the aesthetic of the event. Slut. In your full-coverage outfit? The only skin showing is your hands, neck and face. Your hands are trembling as you sniffle, not even bothering to check the account’s details before clicking on the profile and selecting the direct message option.

What the fuck is your problem? Leave me alone. Your message and short and simple, and you don’t read it over for grammatical correctness. You’re not sure that you could, given how thick your tears have become, the night’s events paired with the comment only making you feel worse. It’d sucked that your longtime crush – a friend of Chelsea’s, one that she’d been dying to set you up with – had ignored you all night, and to top it all off just left with another girl. It’s demoralizing, and the alcohol in your system has left you feeling bold and emotional.

Your comments are creepy, and there has to be a better way to spend your time. You send the text, block the account, and shove your phone into your purse. Chelsea knocks on the stall door again, worry evident in her tone, but you can only sniffle harder.

The next morning you wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. Your head hurts, the room is too bright, and your limbs feel heavy. The hangover is bad, and it’s not until late in the day you gather the courage to look at the bright, hypnotizing screen of your phone.

There’s fourteen unread direct messages on Instagram.

no better way to spend my time, always about you

don’t cry

crying just makes you hotter

would you cry for me, if i asked you to

if you cry 4 me i’ll nut 4 you

do you want that. i want you to want that

you’re so dirty

i knew it just from looking at u

An hour pause, then the rest.

i love you

You’re shaking by the time you finish reading, any trace of a headache gone as you swallow. This person is fucking insane – this is demented. You’ve blocked him how many times? How many times has he created a new account just to harass you?

You drop your phone onto your mattress, unable to move. It’s only the insistent buzz of an incoming call notification that brings you out of your reverie. A quick look at the caller ID shows an unknown number, and immediately you’re out of your bed, leaving the room and trying to ignore the sound of your ringtone.

It’s a good, long twenty minutes before you build up the nerve to listen to the voicemail the number left. It’s five minutes long, and it’s mostly heavy breathing. You think you hear something clicking and rhythmic in the background, but you can’t bring yourself to admit what it is. There’s a loud gasp, then ten seconds of silence, and then very quietly: check your messages.

There’s three of them.

don’t ignore me. why are you ignoring me? i hate it when you ignore me.

so beautiful

Attachment: 1 Image

The photo’s dark, but one glance is enough to show you that it’s you in the photo, fast asleep and entirely unaware of the pale, bloody hand resting on your hip in the photograph’s corner.

The vomit comes before you can help it. You’re shaking again, nearly hyperventilating as you grab your purse and run to the door of your apartment, fingers trembling so badly you can hardly type in the location of the nearest police station. It’s only a ten minute walk, and as you grasp onto the door handle and swing the door backwards, you yelp at the sight of a man in your doorway.

You’ve never seen him before, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your throat dry up, tears prickling at your eyes, a small, warbled little no falling from your lips.

“Hello beautiful,” he starts, one hand coming up to your doorframe. Fingers wrap slowly around the wooden frame, holding tight as he takes a single step towards you. “Ah-ah-ah, not so fast.”

You’re frozen, so shocked and terrified that you can’t will yourself to move, to take action, to do anything even as he steps closer and closer.

“Y’know, you’re much prettier in real life.”

The door slams shut behind him.

(This was not written for anyone in particular, but now after re-reading this is strongly feeling like Gyutaro, Shalnark, or maybe some flavor of Atsumu.)

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kny #yandere hxh #yandere mha #_lee thirsts #tw: harassment #_gyutarou #_shalnark #_atsumu miya

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g1rld1ary · 4 months ago

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let things go - ex!james potter x reader (kind of)

wc: 4455

summary: cleaning out your apartment so your boyfriend can move in, you come across a box of mementos and discover you're maybe not as over your ex as you thought | angst, swearing, problematic boyfriend (not james), a bit of misogyny, lots of flashbacks, modern!magic!AU

me: this is maybe the angstiest fic i've ever written and i'm sorry that present james isnt in it, but i do have ideas for where his story could go, so if people like this i'm open to writing a second part! based off the song let things go from ordinary days!!

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You stared around your apartment, hands on your hips as you mentally prepared to make it your bitch. With Britney Spears’ Circus album playing and garbage bags at your disposal, you were sure you were ready.

You wondered how you could’ve ever considered the place not big enough for all your belongings, grimacing as you imagined the bomb-site it would soon become. But that’s why you were cleaning, right? For the greater good, because you deserve to live in a place not cluttered by trinkets and things stuffed in places they don’t belong. Or maybe because you’re boyfriend had decided he was moving in. Who could say, really?

You flung open a closet door, unimpressed at the mass of clothes seemingly defying physics to stay off the floor. My life has to be more than the sum of this… stuff you thought to yourself, turning your back on that. The closet was scaring you too much to start, you should pick something easier. You looked up at the bookshelf, teeming with novels you’d long since loved, and told yourself to grow up. Today was the day you started cleaning things out. Today was the day you’d start letting things go.

Hours later, you’d made a start and not much else. You stood in the centre of your bedroom, your whole entire history strewn across the floor. Fetched from a box deep in the back of your closet, a treasure trove of trinkets lay in front of you as you decided what you had to get rid of. Years-old planners, dog-eared postcards. Why was I even keeping these? You asked yourself, laughing at the ridiculous thought of you even holding onto frivolous mementos all these years.

But then you shot yourself in the foot. You almost saw it from an outside perspective, bending down, fingers dusting lightly over the various souvenirs until they curled around the planner, decorated with stickers and photos taped to the front. You recognised it immediately, the planner you had for seventh year.

Your stomach dropped as the memories smacked you in the face and you were on the floor before you knew it, furiously thumbing through the pages.

september 1st - first day of seventh year!

september 27th - hogsmeade date with james <3

october 5th - study with james 4pm

october 31st - halloween! common room party 8pm: make sure james’ costume is ready!!!!

november 23rd - sirius’ birthday party 8:30pm

december 25th - christmas at the potters! make sure gifts are here for effy and monty

january 1 - new years day!! to do: kiss jamie <3

february 14th - valentines day! date with james 7pm

april 9th - easter lunch with the potters

may 29th - graduate from hogwarts!! to do: start life with jamie

A year full of James; one of six knowing him in Hogwarts, one of four that you dated. Every other day had something involving James — help him with his essay, going to Hogsmeade with him, kiss him silly (god bless teenage hormones and being in love, why were you writing that in your academic planner?). Every new page and task brought back memory after memory of James and his dumb smile and your stupid dates and the whole relationship you thought would never end.

You snapped back into your real life, forcibly ignoring the water collecting at your lash line. You were fine, everything was fine. Your eyes strayed to a postcard, paper edges fraying and wearing thin from the amount of time you’d obviously spent re-reading and admiring it.

The design on the postcard was cute and kitschy, a vintage style beach picture with a sun lounger and palm tree. You remembered it instantly, receiving it in the post over the summer between your sixth and seventh year. You flipped it over with trembling hands, the familiar chicken scratch scrawl bringing a small smile to your face.

Hey lovie,

I am in Nice! We got in late last night and I’ve been exploring all day — remind me to show you the photos when I get back because it’s so beautiful here. We should come back here together next year.

Anyway, I’ve been walking around town and this older man asked if I fancied a shag — fancy that! I said no, thank you, I’m actually married, just to see how it felt (very good). I can’t wait to marry you when we’re older, gorgeous.

Mum and Dad are absolutely thrilled to be by the beach — I think they’ll be prunes by the time we get back to England! Will send you photos to laugh at in the next letter.

I love you!

James Potter (your future husband)

You sat for a minute, the postcard crumpling slightly from the tension between your fingers. Then, in a flash, you slammed the postcard down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling to stop yourself from crying.

You stashed the belongings back in the box, unwilling to look at them anymore but unable to throw them away. You just couldn’t get rid of all those memories. Still, you needed to clear out some room for Adam’s things, so you tentatively labelled the box ‘maybe’ to pretend you were considering getting rid of it all.

You exhaled emphatically, convincing yourself to think it over and throw it all out at the end of the day. Just after you did the rest of the room.

Things only got worse from there. You’d never thought of yourself as a hoarder of the past, but as soon as you were looking around your flat, you discovered decorative or sentimental items displayed on every surface, hidden in every drawer and cupboard. Birthday cards from years gone by, plastic souvenirs from monuments you’d travelled to, a pamphlet on Van Gogh from when your friend group went to France and wandered around the d’Orsay making fun of the paintings.

You shook your head, physically manifesting the negative thoughts leaving your head. You needed to clean all this shit out! You should’ve done it years ago.

But then you picked up a framed photo — the one that always seemed to fall face down whenever your boyfriend came around. It was your graduation photo, all your friends crammed in like sardines to fit in the shot. You were pressed into James’ side, his strong athlete’s arm wrapped snugly around you. Nothing else about the picture indicated you were a couple, which was how you rationalised keeping it up, but holding it now, you could feel all the memories rushing back to you like it had happened yesterday. The soft breeze, the smell of daisies from the grounds, your friends' beams, the feeling of James’ hands around you.

You could feel the sensation like it was current, but it all seemed like lifetimes ago. You’d seen James maybe once since your breakup, purely by accident, and it was like ripping your heart out all over again, like you were freshly eighteen and experiencing the first heartbreak of your life.

And to be honest, you could hardly remember the last time you’d even seen the rest of your friends. There was no picking sides, no ferocity or anger, but somewhere along the way, they’d faded from your life, much to your regret. Now, you spent most of your time with Adam. And Adam’s friends. Which was great.

Suddenly, you realised how much your life had changed. How much you’d changed. Adam didn’t even know you were a witch, for God’s sake!

Suddenly, the pictures weren’t just pictures, and souvenirs weren’t just hunks of plastic; they were proof that this life was yours — even if you hadn’t been living it for years. And you couldn’t let that go, you couldn’t dispose of the identity you’d just realised you’d lost. So back the trinkets went, returned to surfaces and shelves in pride of place. Small reminders that you were still who you always had been, even if you didn’t feel like it.

How did it happen? You’d torn up your apartment just to decide you couldn’t get rid of anything, painstakingly returning everything to its place.

Fuck! Adam. Adam still needed to move in —well, he still wanted to move in. So you still needed to find some room for his things. But surely he’d be fine? You could get creative, maybe move some of your mementos from out of the closet and into one of the cabinets in the hallway where Adam would never look, so you didn’t have to get rid of any of it. Or maybe some of your things could be stuffed into the spelled secret crevice where you kept your wand stashed whenever he came around.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Adam would be over in fifteen minutes. Everything needed to go back in its place before he arrived, or all hell would break loose.

It was a known fact to you that Adam was jealous of James, even now. You’d met whilst the two of you were still dating, and Adam had, both before and after, always made comments about how you weren’t right for each other. It had irked you a bit whilst you and James were together, but then again, he was right, so… The point was, if Adam knew you were keeping all of these mementos that involved James, he’d flip.

Half an hour later, Adam arrived.

“Hey, Babe,” He unlocked the door with the key you’d given him free access to a few weeks ago, “Turn that shit off, it’s trashy.” He followed the statement with a kiss, which confused your senses. You nonetheless got up to switch off the music, changing it to an album you knew you could both enjoy, something he’d introduced you to.

“So did you clean out some of your stuff?” He fell onto the couch next to you, reaching to turn on the television. You watched him reach for the remote, sighing as you turned off the music.

“Uh, kind of,” You hesitated, searching for the right words, “I moved some things around. I’ll still have to do some work on it, but I’m sure we’ll have space!”

“Babe,” He groaned, putting an arm around the back of the couch, sitting just disconnected from your skin. “I’m moving in in a few weeks, we’ve gotta get this stuff ready. I know you’re a ‘feeler’, but it’s just stuff, you have to make compromises for me.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” You shifted in your seat, eyes glued to the television screen where Adam was clicking through programs, “It’s all just got sentimental value to me. It’s hard to get rid of any of it. But I’ll try, I promise.”

“What about I just do it? I’m sure I can put a bunch of papers and plastic snow globes in the bin.”

“No!” You said, too fast. “It’s okay, I’ll have another try and be stricter with myself. It’s just the first time I’ve looked at any of this stuff in a while. Memories, you know?”

“I get it, Babe, but we have new memories now. And we’ll make more. You don’t need a shitty hunk of plastic from eight years ago.” You made a noise of agreement, not wanting to get into any more detail about what the ‘hunks of plastic’ really were.

After the talks of moving in and cleaning out moved on, your night really was nice. Adam helped you cook some dinner, and you turned on a film he’d been talking about for a few weeks, but something still felt wrong.

You could tell Adam expected to stay over, a fair assumption, and was being touchy enough that you knew what he wanted. To your own dismay, your body was rejecting his advances, knee twitching when he laid his hand on it, subconsciously leaning away when he cuddled in or nuzzled into your neck. You didn’t want to, but everything felt wrong in the moment.

“Hey, um, I think I’m getting my period or something, my stomach feels really weird. Do you mind if we call it here?” It was a cheap shot, you knew, but also not necessarily a lie — your stomach was feeling queasy.

Adam looked at you for a minute, and you weren’t sure if his knitted brows were for concern, confusion or judgment. Probably all three.

“Sure, I guess. Do you need, like, a hot water bottle or something?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take a painkiller and see if it gets worse. Thanks, though.”

You accompanied him to the door, apologising again softly as he pulled on his shoes.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you soon. Love you,” He said, crossing the boundary outside of your flat. You hummed in agreement, leaning up to press a kiss on his lips.

“Bye,” You murmured, shutting the door softly as he took off. You leant against the door, a sigh escaping you.

You suddenly felt like you were in a video game, anything from your life before Adam illuminating in a glow, calling your attention to them. You stumbled through the apartment, buzzing from photo to souvenir to memento in a haze of memories.

It all came to a head in your bedroom, a box half full of things that didn’t fit in other places still sitting in the middle of the room. You sank to your knees, unable to stop yourself from immersing yourself in the years of memories you were unlocking.

You felt like you were waking up from a dream, a whole reality fading in and out of existence, the pathways of your life splintering as you looked back on where they all diverged. At what point did you make the decision that put you on this specific path? Was it worth it?

You picked up a folded paper flower from out of the box, being taken back to the day you received it.

It was the winter of fourth year, just after the Christmas holidays. The grounds of Hogwarts were covered in a blanket of crisp snow, something that most students found beautiful and calming, but you thought it was isolating, suffocating.

“What’s up, grump?” James approached your spot in the bay window of the library, staring vacantly out at the pristine white grounds. You looked up in surprise, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Just putting off my charms essay, waiting for spring to come,” You sighed. This wasn’t a new problem; all of your friends were well aware of your aversion to winter, but it didn’t mean it ever got better.

“Right,” James laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “Well, I, uh, made this to help you feel better?” It came out as way more of a question than he obviously intended, causing a rosy blush on his cheeks as he revealed a paper folded flower from behind his back.

“Potter? What is this?” You asked in delight, reaching out with delicate fingers to cradle the flower in your hands.

“My mum taught me how to make them over the holidays. I thought it’d make you happy over the winter ‘cause they won’t die.” You beamed, looking up at James with bright eyes.

“That is so cute! Thank you, James.” You went to turn back to the window, thinking the conversation was over, when James cleared his throat awkwardly.

“This might be weird or whatever, so, like, don’t even worry, but would you maybe want to go to Hogsmeade with me next time?”

“Aren’t we all going together in a few weeks?” You asked casually, not fully catching on to what James meant.

“Um, yeah, but I meant just the two of us? Like a date?” James was looking anywhere but at you, a stark difference from his usual cocky, borderline obnoxious demeanour.

“Oh!” You broke out into a wide smile, nodding before you could even get the words out, “Yeah, I’d really like that!”

“Cool,” James replied, sporting his own dorky grin. “Awesome. Amazing! Can’t wait.”

“Yeah,” You agreed, a little awkward but excited nonetheless.

“Yeah.” You and James stared at each other for a moment, unsure of where to go from there. “I’ll see you at dinner then!” He waved quickly, practically leaving a trail of smoke behind him.

You watched him go, a smile still lingering on your lips. James Potter just asked you out on a date! Fancy that!

You and James had dated for the second half of fourth year, fifth through seventh year, and made it eight months after you graduated. That was a significant period of your life, pretty much all of your adolescent memories were inseparably associated with James. You put down the flower, carefully preserving it amongst the other items.

You felt a bit like a madwoman, throwing your things across the floor, jumping from memory to memory like you were a starving man coming across food for the first time.

Even the clip in your hair was a gift from him, coincidentally, the same night you met Adam for the first time.

“Here, lovie, got you a clip so you don’t have to have it in your eyes while you’re dancing.” James approached you from behind, offering you the claw clip before wrapping his arms around your middle, smoothly joining in the group’s conversation.

“Is that where you went?” You asked with a happy gasp, reaching around James to quickly put your hair up. You’d been complaining for the last hour since your group had started dancing as opposed to sitting and chatting, your outfit not quite prepared for the occasion.

“Prongs is so pussy-whipped he went to a chemist for a clip on a night out,” Sirius barked out a laugh to Remus, who just rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Forgive me for loving my beautiful girlfriend?” James asked with a spoonful of sass, placing a kiss on your cheek.

An hour later, you were dancing with the girls, carefree as you threw your arms around in the air. Lily nudged you at one point, gesturing just beyond where the boys were crowding near the bar to where another man was watching you. It wasn’t necessarily intimidating or threatening, but you were unused to attention after being so associated with your relationship for so many years. You accidentally made eye contact with him, sparing him a half smile, unsure of what the proper protocol was.

You’d long forgotten about the man once a Kesha song came on, getting lost in the music with your friends.

About an hour later, you were slowly making your way up to the bar for another drink when the man returned, approaching you with a charming smile.

“Hi, I’m Adam. You’re stunning,” He said, taking you aback with his directness.

“Oh, uh, hi. Nice to meet you,” You introduced yourself, strangely reserved.

“Are you here by yourself?” Adam asked, subtly shuffling closer. You leant back, shaking your head.

“No, I’m here with some friends. And that’s my boyfriend over there.” You pointed James out as he laughed at something Marlene said.

“That guy? No way.” Adam shook his head confidently, laughing in a way that had you a little confused. What was funny about that? When you voiced that thought, he tried to soften his statement, backpedalling a little in a way that amused you. “Sorry, it’s just… You are way out of his league. I mean that guy? He looks like every typical high school film jock who has muscles for brains. Like, does he have independent thought skills?” He said it like a joke, but you weren’t sure it was funny.

“James is really smart, actually. Always got top grades in school,” You replied, voice soft but determined.

“Oh, you guys went to school together? High school sweethearts?” Adam had totally changed his tune, maybe because he could see that you didn’t think insulting your boyfriend was entertaining. Still, you nodded brightly, choosing to believe the best in him.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating since I was fourteen! We’re going on four years.” You glowed with pride, eyes straying over to James, who was starting to notice where you were.

“So you’re fresh out of school, huh?” You nodded slowly, suddenly aware that he could be decades older than you. Well, maybe you were being a little dramatic.

“How old are you?” Adam was twenty-four, as he told you, which did surprise you slightly, though you tried not to let it show. In the real world, that’s not crazy, right? Maybe you were still adjusting to being out of Hogwarts.

“Hi, lovely, who are you talking to?” James approached you both, his hand snaking around your waist.

“This is Adam. We were just chatting.”

“Hey, mate.” They exchanged identical greetings, a strange tension growing.

“Your girlfriend’s just been raving about how great you are, mate. You’re a very lucky man.”

“I know,” James said, jaw tensing in a way that was equal parts concerning and sexy.

“Well, it was nice meeting you!” You chirped, pulling away to end the conversation now that James was beside you.

“Yeah, you too, honey. I hope we meet again soon.” You nodded after a slight pause, waving politely as James led you back to your comfort zone and your friends.

“Well, who knew little miss wifed-up still had it?” Remus laughed, giving you an impressed nod.

“Hey, I thought we all knew I was gorgeous,” You joked, tossing your hair dramatically, “But seriously, if I have it, I do not want it.”

It wasn’t until later that you’d met Adam again and struck up a friendship which eventually evolved into a relationship, beginning to bond right before the start of the demise of your and James’ relationship.

God, you felt like your world was beginning to crash down around you, memories you’d had locked away for years resurfacing the second you laid eyes on a corresponding memento.

Everything was too suffocating; you needed to get out. Stumbling around your room, you pulled on some outside clothes, lacing up your shoes as you hopped down the entryway.

Walking down the street, you immediately felt a bit calmer, the crisp air sending shocks through your system and bringing you back down to earth.

With a little more sense in your head, the reality of your feelings began to set in. Regardless of how satisfied you were with your current life, which was something you were simultaneously beginning to reconsider, you missed your old life. In particular, you missed your friends.

Though James was obviously a massive part of your life and dominated most of the souvenirs you’d held onto, you’d had the same friendship group for six years of school. They rounded out every memory, filled the time between classes at school, and helped shape you into who you’d become as you grew into adulthood.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, you’d lost contact with them. Obviously, you hadn’t caught up with James since the breakup (with the exception of the single most awkward interaction of your life) because you were so heartbroken and shattered, but you’d tried not to let it impact your friendships.

Sirius was the first to go, of course, just because he was so close to James, and the other boys followed not too long after, torn between the rift. The girls held on for a bit longer, and you would tentatively say you were still friends today, but the intervals between your catch-ups got longer and longer each time. No bitterness, at least on your part, but you were all busy leading different lives.

Suddenly, it clicked how long it really had been since you’d seen your friends, and how it had steadily declined ever since Adam. Maybe it was just because you were already emotionally distraught, but doubts began to creep in about Adam. The way he’d behaved even before your breakup, his refusal to hang out with your friends after, and insisting you hang out with his friends all the time despite them not really liking you. It felt like something was beginning to add up, but you weren’t sure how to finish the equation.

With shaking hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, searching through your contacts for a number you hadn’t called in far too long.

“Hello?” The voice on the other side asked, gentle confusion evident.

“Lily?” You asked, voice wavering as relief washed over you at the familiarity.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Lily asked immediately, the intricacies of your speech pattern coming back to her in an instant.

“Are you free to talk for a bit?”

“Um, yeah, of course! Remus is with me right now. Do you want to be on speaker? Or I can go into a different room.” You said it was fine, the desire to hear his voice overpowering in your heart.

“Hi, dove. Been a while,” He said softly, and you could see the expression he was making despite it being a voice call.

“Yeah, sorry,” You choked out, tears beginning to spill again. Without further ado, you began to spill everything. All of the conflicting thoughts and feelings that had stirred within you in the span of a single day. You told them about Adam rushing you to let him move in before you were maybe ready (you’d never said that out loud before), finding the box of memories you’d forgotten had even existed, and the deep, deep longing for the past you’d felt ever since.

When you were finally finished you’d cried out all the water left in your body, but you felt monumentally lighter, even if it was just because Lily and Remus at least knew how much you loved and missed them.

As you began to trail off, worries less prominent, your friends sat in silence on the other side of the line.

“Do you think I’m broken?” You asked, voice ragged from your monologue and the accompanying tears.

“I think,” Lily said, “You need to come over tonight.”

part 2

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kenmasssperson · 4 months ago

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HAIKYUU BOYS HEADCANONS

Characters: Shoyo Hinata, Kageyama Tobio, Kenma Kozume, Kuroo Tetsuro, Suna Rintarou, Oikawa Tooru, Akaashi Keiji.

Tags: random haikyuu boys headcanons no one asked for

Btw im so sorry i got such a writer block for a long time, I promise I'll write the requests soon!

SHOYO HINATA:

★ I feel like Hinata would be such a sweet boyfriend. Like SUPER sweet.

★ He'd stop his bike on his way to school just to pick up a flower that caught his attention and then he'd give it to you with a bright smile.

★ He's one of those people who know everyone. When you two go out you have to stop every five seconds because he saw a friend, or someone he met throught volleyball. He even makes conversation with his sister's friends' moms.

★ Your family loves him, final. All the little kids adore him too, he literally joins any game your cousins or little siblings are playing without hesitantion.

★ Worst at boardgames. He just doesn't understand most of them LMAO.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO:

★ Also really bad at board games. He gets so frustrated.

★ I feel like he's just as fan of ice cream as he is of milk (his favorite flavors are dark chocolate, lemon and strawberry)

★ He's one of those people who like to hang out in quiet parks, and maybe not do anything, just sit on a bench and let you talk.

★ He's lowkey scared of kids and kids are scared of him.

★ Really awkward type of sweet. He's mostly clueless about everything.

KENMA KOZUME:

★ Builds a minecraft house for the two of you.

★ I think if you don't like cats he just directly doesn't take an interest in you. Cats are the only alive being he never gets tired of.

★ he'd be so sweet to his own cats. Just petting them while he plays videogames and silently feeding them when he sees they have little food or water (he's so attentive)

★ He likes to lay on his bed, rest his head on your lap and play videogames like that. If you play with his hair Kenma melts. Forget about him ever letting you stand up again.

★ If you text him he answers dryly and shortly like "ok", "lol" or "cool"

★ "I think I did horrible in my math test..." "Cool"

★ But he really likes it when you text him and cares about what you say, that's why he would send a crying cat sticker after that short reply.

★ If you're dating Kenma it means he really, really, really likes you a lot.

★ Sends you Tiktok videos about videogames or cats just saying "us"

★ I feel like he'd be so so so good at making origami but he's too lazy.

KUROO TETSURO:

★ You don't know if he's your biggest hater or your most devoted lover. He lives to tease the hell out of you and then he'd kiss you or hug you when you got mad, chuckling and apologizing sweetly.

★ Loves your hair, he feels personally offended if you cut it or do something to it without telling him beforehand (if you don't have hair he teased you a lot but secretly loves how soft your bare head is)

★ SUCH A NERD

★ Lots of dad and chemestry jokes he's so damn proud about.

★ He would never in his life cheat, he adores you so damn much.

SUNA RINTARO:

★ So. Many. Tiktok. Videos.

★ A LOT of brainrot videos, videos of people critizing an artist, movie or book you like just cause he's just mean like that.

★ This boy loves critizing influencers so much. You never hear the end of it. And if you join him, he's delighted.

★You're the first one to watch the fights of the Miya twins he records.

★ He is the laziest person ever. His plans mostly consist on watching movies with you or just laying on bed watching tiktok with you.

★ He has a whole album of silly and cute pictures he took of you. THERE ARE SO MANY.

OIKAWA TOORU:

★ He clings to you 24/7.

★ He loves following you around like a lost puppy, complaining about everything like the drama queen he is.

★ Oikawa loves to ramble about you and show you off to whoever will listen (Iwa-chan knows everything about you at this point)

★ When Oikawa and Iwaizumi pass by a shop, Oikawa's eyes would light up and he'd point something out and say something like "y/n-chan loves this..." and then ramble on.

★ Loves giving gifts to you.

★ I know a lot of people say he would 100% cheat on his partner. Well i dont think so. He'd be so obsessed with you, he adores you.

★ He tells you EVERYTHING about volleyball and you have to watch matches with him.

★ Again, he's so touchy and clingy. He loves to hug you, cuddle you, kiss you, anything.

★ Super jealous. And he'd get even more clingy and whiny when he gets jealous.

AKAASHI KEIJI:

★ Sweetest, most green flagged boyfriend ever.

★ He is like a second mom, he worries so much about you.

★ makes sure you wear a jacket when its cold, that you don't forget lunch and that you sleep enough.

★ Likes to give you soft kisses on top of your head.

★ He's so gentle and so good at comforting.

★ He likes to eat in places you don't know or cook with you and have a cozy movie night.

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cosmosluckycharms · 6 months ago

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Show☆Time

chip on your shoulder

Ever since the day you got your group back together, you've all gotten closer together.

You and Tsukasa matched each other's energy, with you both being loud and energetic, always screaming and yelling.

Rui and Nene (mostly Nene) canceled you both out with their quietness.

You and Nene were complete opposites in personality, which was silly considering how you both mellowed each other out.

Nene and Tsukasa would bicker a lot, which was funny to you!

You and Rui would really chaotic, due to you being energetic and him being mischievous.

You love your friends!

You guys would tell each other everything, from Rui telling you about how many times he's gotten kicked out of places, to Nene telling you how to beat levels in games you would play and get stuck on and ask Tim for help on only for him to ignore you to Tsukasa telling you all about why he joined theater.

One day you guys were at your stage, practicing.

You all had decided to take a break after a while of rehearsing.

You were sitting in between Nene, who was on your right, and Tsukasa, who was on your left, Rui standing in front of you guys, fixing a robot that had somehow exploded on its own while you guys were rehearsing.

You, nene, and Tsukasa were all taking a small break from you guys practicing for your next show.

Since you guys had first started, which was a few months ago, you guys have done a couple of shows. Around 10.

You would spend months practicing.Your days would consist of waking up, getting ready for the day, going to school, going back to the manor to eat quickly getting ready for rehearsal, coming back, practicing moves, going to sleep, and repeating.

You would spend hours practicing, hoping to put a smile on everyone's face and wishing your family would come.

You would put little invitations in their rooms and reminders on the family's calendar only to be met with empty seats every time.

You didn't understand.

You wanted to understand.

You pretended you understood.

You'd make every excuse under the sun for them.

Maybe they had an important meeting to get to?

Maybe their job wouldn't let them out?

Maybe they were busy?

Rui watched as you stared into a cup of water for a few minutes, obviously spaced out.

You've been spaced out most of the rehearsals lately, eerily locked in, yet somehow messing up a lot more.

Usually, you would spend a lot of rehearsal having fun and goofing around, but as of late, you had been super strict on yourself, not letting loose as much as you used to.It seemed everyone but you noticed somehow.

After a few minutes of silence, Rui finally spoke up."Y/N, why have you been so zoned out?" he kept tinkering with a tiny robot he had in his hands.

"Yeah, you've been so focused it's scary." Nene said, picking on her nails.

"Yeah, and you've also been messing up a lot more lately," Tsukasa spoke up, drinking from his water bottle which was full of stickers you placed on their overtime.

"What do you guys mean? I'm great!" you piped up, confused.

"Since we've started rehearsing this play, you've been hyperfocused. Maybe you should take a break?" Tsukasa asked, putting his hand on your shoulder.

"NO-NO! It's fine, I'm fine, I swear! It's just, that I really wanna be great for our next performance!" You looked up to look at Rui.

"What do you mean? You've been doing great, you just constantly look distracted." Nene says, now taking a bite of the cotton candy she was holding.

"I'm fine, great even! I'm just trying to be extra focused so when my family comes to see me, they'll be so super impressed!"

Tsukasa looks to you "Your family doesn't come to your shows either?"

"Not really, but I'm sure they're busy! I know they love me, I know they care, it's just that they're busy, I'm sure of it!"

Nene looked at you in pity.

It seemed to everyone but you that no one in your family cared enough to come.

You got up and stood on the stage.

"Well, cmon! Let's keep the practice going! The show is today! Let's do it ☆!"

You guys ended up finishing rehearsal and the show.

Your friends could see you kept glancing at the empty seats, it was like you were hoping that they'd appear at any given moment.

They could see how you kept messing up your lines and queues for your shows, nervous if they came and saw you.

It was time for an intervention from your friends.

Out of love, obviously.

They pulled you aside after the show.

They were all sitting at a table backstage, Nene patting the seat next to hers.

You sat down with them, and next to Nene.

Tsukasa spoke,"Y/N, Though it's hardly my business to say could it be the real thing in your way Is it the very family you've been trying to impress?"

You thought about it for a minute.

Huh.

You hadn't even noticed you starting to mess up a lot more, being too focused while also being spaced out somehow.

You started this all for them, and they still didn't care enough to show.

Strange.

"..Yes! I've been smiling and sweet and trying to prove myself to them, thoroughly beaten, blowing my chance!" You jumped up and grabbed Nenes hands

"I'm not gonna push them away, I'm gonna go ahead and forget them! For now at least♪"

You started marching toward the stage, moving like you meant it.

For the first time in ages, you let loose.

For the first time in ages, you had fun.

For the first time in ages, you stopped thinking of your family for a while.

As you started walking home you stared at the sunset.

usually you didn't like sunsets, it reminded you the day was coming to an end.

This time though, you were exhausted.

Not physically, or mentally.

All you wanted was to crawl into your momma or grandpa's arms and sleep.

You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't wanna crawl into your father or brother's arms either.

As soon as you got to the manor, you saw everyone at the dinner table.

You could hear everyone laughing and talking about who knows what.

They didn't wait for you, they never did.

The conversations died out as soon as you got to the table.

You sat down and Alfred dropped off your food, which was already cold.

You didn't mind, you were trying to finish eating quickly so you could go practice by yourself.

You ate for a minute or two before realizing everyone was staring at you in confusion.

You looked up from your plate.

"What's going on?" You asked, stuffing another spoonful of the food in your mouth. You were starving.

You saw as Tim pointed to your outfit "What are you wearing?"

Oh yeah.

You had forgotten to take off your dramatic performer costume.

Compared to everyone else looking like dark vampires, you were colorful and bright like a walking talking disco ball.

You immediately jumped a bit in excitement, you were finally given the chance to talk about your life!

"Well I got this costume from my friend Mizuki, she made and designed it herself, isn't it amazing? It's so much better than the last one, the last one was itchy and uncomfortable, but anyways-" You started yapping about your performance not realizing your family lost interest as soon as you started talking.

As soon as you noticed (which took a while of talking) you shut up and finished your food.

Jason found it odd, you usually wouldn't go quiet like that.

As soon as he was about to ask, he saw you disappear into your room.

You changed out of your performer costume and into your training outfit, which was just some comfy clothes.

Sure, your performer costume was comfy, but you didn't wanna risk ripping it or ruining it!

You started walking to the gymnastics room, which was originally made for Dick but technically there were no restrictions on who could go in, so you regularly practiced in there.

You would spend hours practicing in there. From your spins to your flips, to just moves in general.

It was a great way to get your energy out and to tire yourself up before going to bed.

As you were midway through your routine, Dick walked in.

At first, he prepared to fight an intruder, usually no one but him came in to use the gymnastics room.

Then he saw you.

He never noticed how you would practice in this room.

And then he realized that's where all the F/C training items were coming from! He's been so confused, he never realized all the extra yoga and slippers were coming from!

You didn't notice him walking in, as you were in the middle of trying to do a double front dismount, a move on the balance beam.

You were struggling, and he could see that.

You were about to fall, and if it wasn't for him being there, you would've probably fallen.

"Woah there, birdie!" He caught you by the back of your shirt.

You tried not to flinch at the nickname, he'd never given you one.

You were used to him calling you your name or just acknowledging you without it.

It felt like sometimes he had forgotten what your name was. "Hi, Dick!" you exclaimed, hanging mid-air from him holding the back of your shirt.

He placed you on the ground. "What were you even trying to do?" He asked, he saw how you looked confused the whole time you were attempting the move.

"I was trying to do a double front dismount thingy! My friend Nene sent me a video and dared I couldn't do it ♫" You said, posing dramatically like you'd seen Tsukasa doing.

"No offense, but have you ever done anything that involved gymnastics or being flexible? The thing you're trying to do is a pretty hard move, it took me a while to learn." Dick said, putting his hands on his waist.

You tilted your head in confusion. "What do you mean? I used to do gymnastics for like, 5 years! I quit a couple of months ago, though. I wanted to focus on performing theater!"

Dick had forgotten about that. He had forgotten how many times you had invited him to your performances and practices only for him to not be able to make it or completely forget.

"Oh, right.." He scratched the back of his neck in awkwardness.

"..Do you want me to teach you the move?" He asked, immediately seeing how you practically lit up in excitement and happiness.

You guys spent a couple of minutes teaching and learning how to do the move.

He was surprised at how much of a fast learner you were.

He was also surprised at how you could keep a conversation while doing an impressive move.

You talked about your friends and your performances.

You ended up inviting him to come to your next one.

..12th times the charm?

After you finally learned the move, you practically tackled Dick into a hug!

You were so glad you learned it! You could show Nene how you finally had it done!

Damian walked in and glared at Dick.

You let go of Dick, who seemed a little sad that you let go. It wasnt everyday he spent time with his little sister.

As soon as you were gonna hug him again, Damian started talking.

"Grayson, you're late to our training. You said you'd be there at 7 PM sharp. It is now 7:05."

You piped up to defend Dick. "Yeah, he was teaching me this super-duper cool move! It is called the-" You got cut off by Damian.

"I was talking to Grayson, L/N."

You got a little sad by that. You disliked being cutoff.

"Oh, sorry." you muttered as you put your head down and looked at your feet.

You couldn't hear what Dick and Damian were talking about. It was like everything was muffled.

When you spaced back in, you saw Dick being dragged away by Damian.

You couldn't even say or wave bye to him.

He gave you an apologetic glance and left.

So much for bonding.

It's okay, at least you got to talk to Dick for once!

wxs: hey you shouldnt focus on the family that clearly doesnt gaf

reader: ok

(small bonding time happens)

reader: omg u guys r gonna hate me

this felt a lot longer when i was writing

honestly idk why i keep neglecting tbis story oops

anyways fhis is ass i kinda understand why ppl like bug like angel better (ily emureader tho mwa)

mizuki crumbs sorry

i love using silly emojicons when readers talking

♫♪ look how silly

taglist:@shirp-collector-of-fixations @maybeethan69 @iluvcatzz @tacendxx @ninihrtss @tsxukikami @d3sperate-enuf @staarflowerr @chaoticmoontimetravel @crazycaoticsimp @sugarrush-blush @kaitense1 @ryuushou

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angelwasnothere · 5 months ago

Text

My most personal headcanon of the batcave

I get why the batcave looks the way it does, you know, all tech and clean, and organized because Bruce is just like that, and that is HIS space, so it's just logical that it would suit his taste, BUT you know who else's space is? Robin. No matter who, the batcave is also FOR Robin. So I like to think that sometimes, Damian will be doing something there and will find stickers, old, news, in different places, of different things, and maybe drawings to, just little details around the batcave that will give him the sense of how long people have been there. Maybe it started with Dick, who was a small kid and just started his journey as Robin, who put the first sticker in the batcave and Bruce never got to say anything about it. If anything, he was amused of having proof that his kid wanted to leave a mark on his new home. Then Jason was the first to leave a drawing. A lot of tiny drawing here and there, with pens, sometimes markers. He knew it wasn't okay but Bruce never said anything to him as long as it wasn't on the computer. Maybe it took a long time after Jason died for Tim and Stephanie to feel like they could do the same, and maybe Stephanie was the first person to draw something next to those silly drawings someone left a long time ago. Maybe Dick needed to encourage Tim to leave a sticker on the gym equipment, or to make a modification, to paint something, to leave his name on the rocks of the cave. Cass was abetted by Steph, but she only left his name somewhere. No one ever knew where, only Bruce. Duke didn't hesitate when he was welcomed in the family and felt comfortable and put a ton of silly stickers. And so Damian found the activity senseless. He didn't wanted to participate, but when he lost Dick he understood why his father still allowed them to do so. Damian left a little something for the first time. He knew Dick would be happy. So whenever Bruce finds himself alone in the batcave he takes little walks to see all of the evidence his kids left for him to know that they where, at least once, there. With him. He will caress the oldest stickers, admire the small scattered drawings, and giggle just a little at the newer stickers. He would love all the modifications that screamed the presence of someone who wasn't him. So yeah, it was Batman's place, but was also that of Bruce's children.

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ruinix · 4 months ago

Note

Thinking about Quinn losing his shit after you surprise him with a tattoo of his number on your hip

Hello, lovely… I tried, of course. Let me preface this, let’s imagine the tattoo healed for exactly 2 weeks (google says: the minimum healing time of the (surface) skin is about 2-4 weeks, deeper layers heal for approx. 3-4 months)...so yes. What i wanna say is: Be safe. Hope you enjoy 😌 [Disclaimer: I made Q drink tea here when he doesn't drink tea or coffee 😔]

Breakfast & Tattoos

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Unprotected sex (use protection, silly), Tattoo healing inaccuracy (let it heal pls), Quinn being a literal Horny one

Count: 3544 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You have that grin. A silly and mischievous grin. Quinn cautiously takes a sip of tea you brewed for him—you might’ve put something in it—but it’s just tea.

He greets you, receiving an immediate response. The grin never wavers even as he cooks you two breakfast. You’re…suspicious. Pretty with your comfy pajama shorts and—his—hoodie but suspicious.

He tries to let you be. Maybe you’ll drop it. Maybe you’ll just outright tease him for his bedhead, because his waves are all over the place from sleeping like dead after a two-week road trip. Maybe you just want to tell him something silly. Maybe. You always tend to do those things. He likes that.

He wants to ask, but you move to the sofa with your iPad, humming a tune. You’re on your back with your legs up an arm rest, feet covered with fluffy socks with strawberries. Still, you throw glances at him, grinning whenever he meets your gaze. He hears the upbeat sound of a game. You definitely found another game. That must be it. You love your games especially on that specific iPad—that was his, now yours—with those stickers of him.

Stickers. They’re cute, but he can’t help the blush on his face whenever he sees them. You’ve never stopped buying stickers from Etsy or from artists on different social media. Of him. It doesn’t matter if it’s memes or little cute cartoons. It’s just him. He knows your little hoarding box where you put your spares which also got their own spares—spare of a spare, you describe them.

It’s adorable but the way he looks so haunted in some of them... He can’t help it. It’s his face.

It’s funny and a bit embarrassing—in a good way

But he never feels bad about it. Not when you cherish every sticker. Not when you are so giddy and filled with excitement every time you buy one. Not when he catches you just gazing at them before hugging it so tightly.

Quinn has to turn away. His cheeks are burning. You make him feel good even through cute little stickers.

Sighing, Quinn finishes up with breakfast. He takes the plates to the coffee table, jumping when you suddenly sit up. You give him a fat smooch on the cheek before you mutter about getting him more tea and your coffee. But, fuck, his cheek burns from your touch. The kiss is soft and quick, but it seeps down to his bones, down to his… It’s way too early to be horny.

Quinn shakes his head, trying his best to clear it. However, he catches your shorts glide up your thighs when you bend over to get something from the lower cabinets. Oh, he’s fucked. It’s not helping how he notices your lace panties imprinting through your shorts.

Somebody, help him.

He looks away, counting down from ten to one, up from one to ten. He’s hard. It’s fucking eight in the morning. What the fuck is wrong with him? He closes his eyes for a second, thinking about hockey, practice, and literally anything else. He fails. His mind keeps showing him the image your ass, grinding against him as he fucked you—

“I think I want some orange juice right now,” he forces out, planting one foot up to hide his erection. He needs something to cool him down.

“mm’kay!” Your sweet voice just made him painfully harder.

“Thanks,” he coughs out. “Maybe a couple of ice?”

“Anything for my Quinny,” you say in a singsong voice, then you start humming a tune, moving your hips with it.

Fuck.

Quinn might need to lock himself in the bathroom at this point. You’re not letting him catch a break. How can he not get turned on after not having his fill of you for two weeks? He can see the jiggle of your ass. He can see your pebbled nipples through your thin and cropped shirt, because you just got rid of your hoodie. Why did you get rid of it? The air conditioning is literally on.

Thank fuck he’s wearing his boxer and his black sweatpants. There would be a dark patch there, because he’s leaking pre-cum. He might even come right there if you don’t stop—

“You want the one with pulp?” you ask, weight in one leg, while holding two orange juice cartons.

“Any,” he barely says, catching a glimpse of something peeking out the waistband of your shorts—what exactly is it, he doesn’t know—but you quickly turn away, bending over again which distracts him. “You slept good when I wasn’t here?” Quin pathetically asks, trying to shake away his hard-on away by pure will—it’s not working.

“Yep,” you gleefully say, finally finishing your instant coffee.

Quinn makes a mental note to make your usual brewed coffee later. He can’t just let you with a cup of instant coffee throughout the day. That’s not okay. His sweet girl deserves the best after all.

Well, after he cools the fuck down.

He settles on the floor, snatching the fleece blanket from the couch to cover himself. He swallows a groan when you slide into the same blanket, leaning against him. Your heat only seeps down his cock more than his shoulder. You are killing him.

He stiffly drinks his juice, shuddering when you kiss his cheek again. He almost doesn’t kiss your cheek too, because he’s a hair away from losing control. But he still does. He gives your cheek a peck. He wishes to kiss you deeper, bend you over the coffee table and just fuck you. He knows you’ll agree if he asks. He knows you’ll let him have his way with you.

He knows.

But he hears your tummy rumble.

He can’t fuck you when you’re hungry. You’ll need energy. Besides, it’s fucking 8AM. He’s so close to punching himself as a reprimand. No one should be this horny this early. That sounds hypocritic, because he remembers several times where he waited for you to wake up so he could fuck you sideways, kissing you through your just-woken-up haze.

Someone needs to bash his head until he gets amnesia.

He’s digging himself a deeper grave. Seriously.

Quinn focuses on breakfast. He loves breakfast with you. He loves it when your weight is partially on him. When you take sips of your coffee, urging him to drink his own beverage. When you talk about what you’ll be doing for work or for your day offs. When you snatch some of his eggs and replace with potatoes or the other way around, because wanting more of one depends on the day. Today, you are doing the latter. All while, you grin at him with so many things brewing in your eyes.

He finally says, when you two are almost done with breakfast, “Okay, you are acting suspicious.” He narrows his eyes just a tad. “What are you planning?”

You turn and hug him from his side.

Quinn expertly holds you without you getting on his cock. It’s so hard. Especially when you shimmy to get more comfortable over his thigh. He almost starts pleading for you to move and get off him, because you’re so near.

“I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise? He blinks, repeating the word over and over in his head. For him? You have a surprise for him? Excitement courses through his body, temporarily distracting him from his aching member. He likes your gifts. He feels special whenever you give him something. It doesn’t matter what it is. Cookies, shirts, chocolates, a piece of candy. Even if it’s a kiss. Especially if it is. Speaking of a kiss, he wants to kiss you right now.

And he’s back to being a horny fucker.

He can’t help it. Your lips look so delicious, so damn kissable. When you run your tongue over your lower lip, biting it after, he’s done. He kisses you. Languidly. Unhurried in any way. The best thing about kissing you is you kissing back with the same intensity. When he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding past your lips, you are ready for him. You taste like your coffee and it’s perfect.

He missed this while he was away. He doesn’t know how he survived last night with a simple kiss to your forehead. He’s a fucking idiot. He missed out. Not that kissing your forehead is less than your kiss. No. Never. Just kissing your skin makes his heart ache. Just feeling your warmth is enough.

However, kissing your lips while breathing in your exhales, your moans, and your groans, that’s one way to live. If only he can exist with your air. If he can only kiss you every second of his life. If only.

When he parts from you, he feels your chasing lips as his. You two want so much more than a kiss. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Still, he must know what your surprise is. He needs it.

“A surprise, huh?” he murmurs, getting distracted by the flush on your cheeks. Wow. Just…wow. “Surprise for what?”

“I don’t need a reason to surprise my boyfriend.” Your nose scrunches, clearly and teasingly dissatisfied with his stupid question.

He can’t help but grab your cheeks, chuckling when you pout for good measure. When he caresses his thumbs over your skin, it makes you relax further into him. Your lips are red from the kiss. So plump. So wet from each other’s saliva. If he kisses you again, right now, he might end up just coming in his pants. Later. In a bit.

He coaxes, “What is it?”

You’ve hypnotized him when you drag your nail over his jaw and kiss along it. He can only cling to your waist. A whine left his lips when you let go. Where the fuck are you going? You can’t just leave him—

“Close your eyes,” you say, putting a halt to his thoughts. There’s that devilish gleam again, yet you add, “Please?”

You don’t need to say please. Quinn closes his eyes, immediately hearing the clatter of dishes and mugs being taken away. His hands curl into fists, turning irritated. You don’t need to clean up for him. He can do it, but he keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to betray your wishes. You are surprising him. He’ll be an idiot if he tries to sour the mood. But he dislikes it. If you’re going to do the dishes, he’ll do it with you. He doesn’t like not doing things with you, especially when it’s the regular season. He’s always away. It’s exhausting but you make it better.

One moment he’s horny. The next he’s acting pathetic.

“You’re overthinking, Quinn.” Your gentle voice hums, easing his troubled soul.

He feels and hears you sit down in front of him. On the coffee table. He fucking shivers when your feet brush the outside of his thighs. No blanket can mask your warmth, your touch. He can feel your eyes running all over him. His face. His neck. His hair. His chest. His cock. He really, really, really might fucking come.

He can hear your shaky inhale. You finally notice. Your voice turns higher, “Come closer.”

He does it. It’s more of moving the low table rather than scooting closer. Oh, the tiny squeak that you let out is adorable. You always forget that he’s strong. You’ve admitted that to him, that he looks small on ice, that he’s cute. He couldn’t blame you. He is just 5-foot-10 around people who are 6-feet and taller. You told him he looked like he wouldn’t be able to lift you. So, Quinn learned to remind you that he can lift you and more.

Now, his mind pesters with image of you against the wall, legs around his waist while he fucks you hard. That’s his favorite way to prove it—Can he fucking stop? Seriously?

He feels your touch over his shoulders, thumb rubbing into his muscles, up his neck, up his jaw. Soon, you have your forehead against his. Quinn’s trying to feel the table any clues about your surprise. So far, he hasn’t found any. He’s so curious. Just what is it?

“Open your eyes for me, handsome.”

Quinn does. He instantly gets mesmerized by your eyes, the eyelashes delicately framing them, your blinks. You’re just beautiful. He won’t have any complaints if this is your surprise. A simple eye-to-eye contact minute with you. Now that’s an amazing gift. Because now, he sees the details of your eyes—the darker and lighter specks of your color and the impossibly wide pupils.

“I love it,” he says with satisfaction.

You laugh, blushing so hard. “You’re silly.” You kiss the tip of his nose, taking his hands to plant it around your waist. “Look down…”

Again, he does. He gazes at every inch of you like he hasn’t. He can’t help but feel your breasts, thumb swirling over your nipples that were begging to be seen and touched and freed from your shirt. After hearing you moan and making your back arch into his touch, he moves on, smirking when you grumble about your need. Later.

He teases your skin, your navel. He’s so lost seeing how you tremble, hips slightly moving and trying to create friction. He bet you’re soaking through your pretty panties—

Quinn stills the moment he catches something on your skin. On your hipbone. What the fuck. What the fuck is that?

His heart hammers against his chest as he hooks a thumb into your shorts and tugs down.

Holy shit.

No matter how much he blinks it doesn’t change.

A tattoo. A fucking tattoo on your left hip.

‘QH43’, it says.

Quinn is literally felt his stomach flutter with fucking butterflies, thumb subbing over it, trying to see if it’s temporary, but it doesn’t have a shine nor does it crack.

He should be worried. It must’ve fucking hurt. It’s over a bone. He should shake you and ask if you got caught up in a dare. He should be livid you kept this from him. Tattoos are big decisions. You always confide in him for big decisions. You didn’t have this when he left for the road trip. It looks healed. He should’ve been with you and helped you take care of it. Damn it.

Yet, the more he looks at it, the more desire courses through his veins. It melts his worries.

It’s just ink in your skin. Ink in your blood. His fucking initials and numbers on you. Permanently. Forever.

QH43. Just four characters in a normal script. So simple yet it’s enough to get him all shaken up.

“Why?” He asks, taking a hand into his cock. He looks up to your eyes, except you aren’t looking at him. You’re staring at what he’s doing with a blush on your face like you haven’t seen him jerk off, haven’t seen his dick in your pussy. You’re cute.

“Because I want it.”

“It’s bad to have your boyfriend’s name tattooed on your person.” Quinn wants to smack himself for saying that, because he likes it.

“Good thing it’s his number.” You crossed your arms, smirking and unfazed. “Besides, my boyfriend will never leave me. He promised me all the time.”

“Yes. I will never leave you.” He nods, moaning when you put a hand over his cheek. “’m so turned on.”

“I can see that.” Your nails scratch over his jaw again.

He’s losing it. “Did it hurt?”

“It stung but not too much. Want help?”

Quinn shakes his head. He needs an initial relief. His hand will do. For now. He can’t help but preen as you snatch away the blanket. Sweat starts to bead on his skin as he nudges his pants down, tightly gripping and working his cock. Fuck.

“Wanna cum on it?” You ask, your voice shaking as you pant. You lean back, planting your hands on the table, spreading your thighs wide, showing him the wet patch over your thin shorts. You’re evil for that.

Quinn doesn’t know he can get any harder, but he does. Especially when he can basically smell you, taste you through it. He missed this so much. An ache forms in his chest for missing out, for not being with you.

“Is that safe?” Quinn moans, swiping a thumb over his slit, shivering as his pre-cum dribbles down his length. Totally forgetting how he was rubbing it a minute ago, he gasps, “Don’t want it to hurt.”

“It’s healed,” you reassure. “Ugh, I hate my panties. They’re so wet.”

See, you’re really complaining. The annoyance is clear on your face, but it’s cute as fuck. You shimmy your shorts and panties down, shivering when your arousal creates a string from the lace to your pussy. You still sit at the table, waiting for him to come on you.

“You’re killing me, my Love.” Quinn crawls up to his knees. “All wet for me?”

“Yeah.” Then you slide one hand over your pussy, parting it for him, making him see you quivering hole. “You really like my tattoo?”

Quinn can only nod. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s panting as he chases his relief. The way your pussy drip is getting to his head. Fuck, why is he still jerking off when your pussy is right there? He scoots closer, sliding his cock along your pussy. Both of you groan. You feel so good and he’s not even inside.

“Quinn,” you gulp, hands coming up his shoulder. “Maybe. You can jerk off later? I’m right here. I need you, handsome.”

He feels your pain and he feels the same. He presses his dick in your entrance. He warns, “I’m going to come soon.”

“Yes, please.”

Something snaps.

It’s his control.

You really know how to make him lose it. Those two fucking words. It might as well be a prophecy. He will listen and make it happen rather than wait for it to come true.

One smooth movement, he’s inside. His eyes nearly roll up as your pussy squeezes around him, seemingly determined to milk his cum out. By some miracle, he doesn’t come right away. He doesn’t it matters he did. He fucks you with urgency.

You feel divine. Your pussy. Your heated skin. Your arms that slot over his shoulders, urging him to fuck you faster. Your long nails dragging red stripes down his nape and back. Pain and pleasure sears down his soul.

“Quinn,” you call, tugging at his hair.

He moans your name like a prayer just for you. For his Love eternal. Fuck, he deeply loves you so much that it. More than anything in this world. You are the light of his life. Light, not a flame that would burn him. A light makes everything clear and visible. He’ll never get lost with you by his side. Lost in you, now, that’s a different topic.

He catches sight of a sweat dripping down from your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, to your collarbones. He’s there, licking it up from its destination and up your jaw. Fuck, your taste—the saltiness, your scent on his tongue—is alluring.

Your moans mix with his, drowning out the buzz of the air-conditioning, the slight creaking of the coffee table, the ringing of his fucking phone. Who the fuck is calling him this early in the morning? It doesn’t matter. Not important right now. No.

Your hands cling to his arms, nails digging deep crescents into his skin. When his thumb circles your clit, he feels your pussy walls contract and pulse, making him come deep inside you. One spurt. Two. Three. Then he pulls out, so he spills right over your tattoo. You both pant, watching his cum make a mess on your skin, watching the cum dripping down your used pussy.

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing him fucking dry, making sure every drop is on your skin, your hips, and your thighs. He can’t help but gasp, forehead resting against yours.

He can’t believe he got you to come before him when he was so close to the edge.

So happy that you did.

So fucking ecstatic that he starts rubbing his cum into your skin, swiping its thickness into your damn tattoo, making sure it’s thoroughly coated. This is what you wanted. He also fucking wants it. His other hand travels to your pussy to push his cum back in. Your thighs quiver, shaking. Your moans and whines are loud and clear in his ears.

Fuck, he’s still so hard.

And you know it. How can you not? You’re holding him. It’s so evident that he’s ready for more.

You meet his eyes as you pant. Your lips are so red from being bitten. Quinn reaches up, taking his pushing his thumb slicked with his cum in your lips. When you immediately lick and suck on it, he can’t stop himself from grinding on your pussy. You’re just as greedy as him.

He loves that and he needs to fuck you again.

“Another?” he pleads.

“Yes,” you murmur, kissing his thumb. “Please.”

You don’t need to say anything else.

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