#jason: breaking and entering

[superbat-lmao]

Before Jason makes his debut as Red Hood, he goes apartment hunting.

And the thing about Gotham is, all of the apartments that would make for good safe houses, are safe houses. The Bat’s safe houses. If Jason wants to set up shop, he’s got to get creative. This means being willing to look the other way about some things. Namely, living with other people.

Jason gets a roommate.

Sure, he’d found a couple of spots that fit some of the criteria he used for making safe houses, but not all apartments were equal. And having a semi-functioning civilian cover was useful. Sometimes.

All this to say that Jason responded to a craigslist post of some guy looking for a roommate. The post was written well enough, decent grammar and a fair enough price. Unlike some of the places he’d “toured.”

He has to trudge up a few flights of stairs to get to the place, because roof access is always high on the priority list, and knocks on the door. He waits a few minutes, hears someone check the peephole, and then the sound of at least five separate locks being undone.

With the door finally open, he gets a good look at the guy’s face. Too good of a look, actually.

Because the man who opens it is Dick Grayson.

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

After some very eventful weeks of Jason’s debut as the Red Hood he takes a well deserved night off and decides to crash in one of his safe houses.

He did not count on one of the Bats finding him there.

So to keep his plans from being torpedoed entirely Jason goes with the split second decision of pretending he was held captive by the Red Hood.

[rigginsstreet]

jason spending so much of season 1 trying to run away from his past because he lost it with the accident, will never be that version of himself again and he's sick of all the constant reminders of what used to be and everything is just a painful memory now, between losing football and losing trust and the relationships he thought he had in tim and lyla and he tries to keep lyla close but it's never like it was before and theres this underlying resentment he cant get rid of and he's miserable.

he'll make new friends that fit better into this new life he's adjusting to and he'll throw himself into a new sport he can be good at but that old life took him 18 years to build. he expects this new life to take off overnight and he's disappointed when it doesnt.

and he's losing himself trying to sculpt himself into this new version

but then he gets back on the football field and coaches matt and everything clicks into place and he's having fun he feels like himself again it feels good being out there

and it all starts with a reconciliation with tim. because of course it does. it had to.

[iydiamartinx]

UNEXPECTED GUESTS IV

jason x reader, platonic!damian wayne, ft. batfam

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources word count: 2k synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls. a/n: Here it is! The final part! Hope Y'all enjoyed! Also I hope I got everyone who asked to be on the tag list, if I missed you I am so sorry!

Bruce lifted a brow at the sound of heavy footsteps and the sight of Jason sauntering into the manor kitchen, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder like he owned the place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pausing mid-bite, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

Jason didn’t break stride. “Gee, thanks for the warm welcome,” he drawled, dropping the duffle beside a chair with a solid thud.

Bruce sighed, setting down his utensils. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just you have your own place.”

Jason shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe I just felt like spending some quality time with dear old Dad.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed, eyes flicking over him like a scanner calibrating for irregularities. Jason was calm. Casual. Civil. Voluntarily in the manor. Something was wrong.

Jason would rather set himself on fire than willingly spend an evening under Bruce’s roof. He was being too… not-Jason. Polite, even. Pleasant. 

Clone? Possibly. Cyborg? Wouldn’t be the first time. A mind-wiped doppelgänger sent to spy on the family?

Then it hit him.

He paused in growing horror…

Did he finally kill the Joker?

Was that why he was in a good mood?

Bruce stared at him. Jason just blinked back innocently, which only made it worse.

No, something was definitely wrong.

“He’s lying,” came a voice from the doorway, smooth and amused.

Dick entered, mug of tea in hand and an unbothered grin on his face. “It’s because everyone’s crashing at his place.”

Now that he mentioned it, the manor had been suspiciously quiet lately.

Bruce glanced between them. “Why?”

Jason froze, his posture stiffening like someone expecting a sniper shot. His eyes flicked to Dick, silently warning him to shut up.

Dick, of course, did not. If anything, his grin widened.

Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “Why?” he repeated.

Jason shot Dick a glare, the kind that promised swift and bloody vengeance, but the little shit was immune. He grinned wider, practically radiating delight.

“Oh, because of his girlfriend,” Dick said, drawing out the word with far too much delight.

It had been unspoken—agreed upon, even—that whatever chaos was unfolding at Jason’s apartment stayed there. The last thing he needed was his personal life dragged into the manor spotlight and have Bruce interrogating his girlfriend. He was already hanging on to his sanity by the thinnest of threads.

But Dick had two fatal weaknesses: an insatiable love for family bonding… and a disturbing amount of joy in watching Jason suffer.

“You should see him at home,” Dick went on, far too pleased with himself. “Total domestic bliss. Folding laundry. Cooking dinner. It’s like watching a lion try to do ballet.”

“Shut the fuck up, dickhead,” Jason snapped, his voice a low snarl.

Bruce paused, fork halfway to his mouth.

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a Batarang.

Very slowly—deliberately—Bruce looked up. His eyes locked on Jason.

Jason had a what?

Before anyone could speak, Alfred appeared beside Dick with the poise of a man who had seen war, death, and teenage Bruce Wayne at his most dramatic—and had emerged utterly unshaken.

“Master Jason is bringing her for dinner, of course,” Alfred said, smooth as ever, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Master Jason is not!” Jason barked, visibly horrified.

Alfred raised a brow. 

Finding out you’d been invited to dinner at Wayne Manor wasn’t exactly a shock. If anything, you’d been expecting it. Most of the family already knew you—had dropped by Jason’s place uninvited enough times that introductions were inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Bruce caught wind of your existence too.

What surprised you more was how not nervous you felt.

Jason, on the other hand, looked like he was mentally preparing for battle.

As the iron gates of Wayne Manor creaked open, you watched him through the passenger-side mirror. Your six-foot-two, weapons-grade boyfriend was pacing beside the car like a man about to face execution. His hair was a mess—freshly wrecked from his own anxious hands—and while the tousled look worked unfairly well for him, it didn’t do much to hide the storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t let them suck you into anything,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the universe. “Don’t be too funny. Or too smart.”

You arched a brow. “So… you want me to be dislikable?”

“What? No! I mean—maybe? I don’t know!” he snapped, throwing his arms up. “If you are, maybe they’ll finally stop showing up at my place uninvited. But I don’t want them to hate you either.”

He paused, then groaned. “God. Don’t mention cinnamon rolls. Damian’s still holding a grudge because I ate the last batch.”

You laughed. “Of course he is.”

Jason stopped pacing only long enough to glare at the front door like it personally offended him. “Just… don’t be nervous. We’ll be in and out. Quick and painless.”

You blinked slowly. “Jason. I’m not nervous. You’re the one spiraling.”

By this point, you weren’t even sure he realized what he was saying anymore. He was just venting aloud—burning nervous energy like a fuse inching toward a powder keg.

With a soft breath of amusement, you stepped into his path, catching his hand in yours before he could wear a trench into the manor’s immaculate brickwork.

“Babe,” you said, gently squeezing his fingers. “I’m fine. I got this. You’re the only one falling apart here.”

So you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief—grounding—but it worked. His shoulders dropped an inch, the rigid line of his jaw easing ever so slightly.

When you pulled back, you were already smiling. You laced your fingers through his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ready?” you asked.

Jason exhaled, long and slow, like he was about to walk into enemy territory. Which, for him, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

“Fuck no.”

Alfred greeted you at the door with the warmth of a man welcoming a long-lost friend.

“Miss Y/N,” he said, voice smooth with genuine affection. “We’re delighted to have you.”

You barely had time to smile before Damian appeared—materialized really—at your side.

“You’re sitting next to me.”

You blinked. “Hello to you too,” you said dryly.

He didn’t acknowledge it. His attention was already on the dining table as he pulled out a chair for you with the gravity of someone bestowing a great honour.

 “What? No! That’s my girlfriend, demon spawn.” Jason snapped. 

Damian didn’t even flinch. He turned to Jason with a droll look, sharp and effortless. “And I pity her for that fact every day.”

You muffled a snort behind your hand and slid gracefully into the offered seat.

“Thank you, Damian,” you said, smoothing your napkin onto your lap with a smirk. Then, with mock innocence, you patted the open chair on your other side. “There’s still one free spot left.”

Jason moved toward it—clearly ready to reclaim his territory—only for Dick to slide in smoothly at the last second.

“Y/N!” Dick beamed, overly bright, already leaning his elbow on the back of your chair like he belonged there.

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Oh no you don’t, Dickhead.”

With all the grace of a man well-versed in brotherly warfare, he hauled Dick up by the collar and dragged him out of the seat with zero ceremony.

“Hey!” Dick protested, arms flailing like a cat being relocated. But Jason was already dropping into the seat beside you, triumphant.

Dick slunk across the table with a wounded pout, muttering something about uncalled-for violence.

You raised a brow at your boyfriend. “You know we practically live together. You see me every day.”

Jason scowled. “So do these assholes. They break into my apartment every day.”

Damian arched a brow from your other side, utterly unbothered. “Careful, Todd. Green isn’t your color.”

Dinner was… everything Jason feared.

Tim asked how you two met—twice—just to watch Jason twitch with increasing irritation.

Stephanie demanded relationship details with the energy of a late-night talk show host, bouncing in her seat as she eagerly listened to answer her questions.

Cass watched you in silence, head tilted with a quiet, steady kind of approval. She didn’t need words. She’d already decided she liked you.

And Dick?

Dick was the worst.

He had a seemingly endless supply of Jason’s most humiliating childhood stories, and he recited them with theatrical flair, smirking each time your laughter made Jason’s eye twitch.

Meanwhile, Bruce sat at the head of the table like a statue carved from shadow and marble. He didn’t speak much—hardly at all, in fact—he mostly just watched. His gaze never drifted far from you, sharp and evaluating, like he was measuring you against an invisible checklist. Determining whether you were worthy of his son.

Eventually, between the second course and murmured side conversations, Bruce set down his glass with a soft clink against the china.

“Y/N.”

Jason stiffened like someone had pulled a gun on him. You felt it in the sharp shift of his knee against yours beneath the table. Without looking, you placed a calming hand there.

Jason’s fork paused mid-air. “Bruce…”

You didn’t flinch. You turned to meet his gaze, calmly. “Yes?”

Bruce didn’t blink. “You’ve been with Jason for how long?”

“Almost a year,” you answered easily. “Give or take a few near-death experiences.”

Dick leaned back in his chair with a grin. “That’s basically a vow renewal in this family.”

Bruce continued, tone even. “And you know.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question. You nodded anyway. “Didn’t take long.”

“You stayed.”

“I did.”

Jason muttered, “Why does this feel like a background check with extra judgment?”

Bruce studied you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “You’re aware of the risks.”

“I’ve had them explained,” you said dryly. “Repeatedly. With charts.”

Tim snorted into his drink. “Please tell me one of them was color-coded.”

“That was mine,” Damian muttered, arms crossed.

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of Bruce’s mouth. It wasn’t often anyone got Damian’s seal of approval. 

Bruce went quiet for a moment, and the weight of his silence settled over the table. He studied you like a strategist surveying a battlefield.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re either incredibly brave… or incredibly foolish.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Probably both. It’s part of the application process, right?”

Cass smiled behind her teacup. Steph stared at you with wide, glittering eyes and whispered to Jason, “Marry her.”

At that, something flickered in Bruce’s expression—approval, maybe. Something harder to name. Something deeper.

He nodded once, almost to himself. “You’ll be here for Sunday dinners moving forward.”

Jason nearly choked on his drink. “Are you serious?”

You ignored him, smiling sweetly. “Of course.”

“Babe!”

You patted his thigh. “Ignore him. We’ll be there.”

Dick leaned over, grinning at Jason’s dramatics. “Wow. He likes her more than he likes you.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Which, of course, meant: yes.

After dinner, Alfred insisted on tea.

Damian insisted on sitting next to you again—claimed it was “for tactical proximity,” though he was clearly just making sure no one else got the seat first.

Stephanie suggested you move into the manor under the guise of “Jason’s health,” citing stress levels and his lack of basic nutrition, and how beneficial it would be for the two of you two live here. Cass offered you her bedroom if the “shoebox you’re living in” ever became unbearable. Tim asked if you could cook, already planning meal rotations. And Dick—of course—invited you to game night next week with a wink and a warning: “Lose to Damian at your own risk.”

Jason looked like he was developing a migraine.

He sat beside you on the long couch in the grand living room, shoulders hunched like a man awaiting trial. Laughter echoed around the walls—walls he used to call cold and empty. 

Now they rang with bickering, teasing, warmth.

You nudged him gently with your elbow, barely hiding your smile. “Still want to fake my death and move to the Alps?”

Jason glanced at you.

Then at Damian, practically glued to your side like an emotionally constipated barnacle.

Then at Tim, who was deep in concentration trying to download your favorite show onto the Batcomputer, muttering about file formats and codec errors.

Then at Bruce—stoic, silent Bruce—watching his family with a small, unmistakable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jason sighed. A long, suffering sound, that was too dramatic to be sincere.

“…Yes.”

← Previous Chapter

Tag list: @stormz369, @gothamhappiness, @remmyswritings, @dominazina, @nicverse, @roastyyytoastyyy, @sunnyfield, @snowy-violets, @sh0jun, @chicarandom11, @oooof-ifellforyou, @esposadomd, @bmyva1entine, @salvatt1, @ghost-candyyy, @sofiafantasies, @leogf

[lazarusphenomenon]

excuse me, i'm like pacing my mind palace. thinking about the tw au of course but also just canon.

i'm a firm believer in little spoon reyna. i think she wants to feel protected, small and safe as someone shields her away from the rest of the world.

i think back in her haunted home, she slept by herself or at least hylla tried to make her sleep on her own because she really was too old to be sleeping in the same bed, grow up, reyna. but reyna would creep out of her room, heart racing in the middle of the night, absolutely terrified of being caught in the hallway. and she'd rush into hylla's room because the terror would finally win over and she'd crawl into hylla's bed with her.

hylla would protest, she'd call reyna a baby but she'd hold reyna back just as tightly. hylla wasn't able to sleep at night.

for all of hylla's scolding, she never locked her bedroom door. even when she was just as scared of their dad. she didn't lock her bedroom door like she'd lock up other parts of the house it was dangerous for reyna to be in by herself. she didn't lock her bedroom door because reyna wasn't ever truly not allowed inside.

and then reyna slept communally at c.c.'s spa/resort. she had her own sleeping space in another room anyone could walk into but it didn't feel safe like curling up in her big sister's arms.

the cots weren't big enough to share, so she'd just sit at the foot of her sister's cot and listen to her breathe in the dark. she knows that she's the reason they're here and she hates it but she refuses to regret what she did.

and then when they're kidnapped by pirates, she and hylla share a sleeping space again. hylla doesn't sleep, her eyes go dark, go mean whenever any of the men look at them. she lays there with a knife in her hand and reyna sleeps with her head pillowed against that arm.

she feels safe when her sister is within touching distance, even if her waking hours are filled with dread and anxiety and simmering rage, she feels safe. when hylla pulls her down to sleep for the night, reyna goes easily, goes willingly. and she sleeps but her sister does not.

she sleeps with lupa's pack and she doesn't feel safe, not quite. but she does know she prefers the company of beasts to that of men.

and then at camp jupiter it's bad again. she doesn't sleep save for small bursts of about fifteen minutes before she jolts from her bunk. reyna sleeps with a knife in her hand under her pillow.

she isn't friends with any of the kids in her cohort and the one friend she does have is in the fifth cohort. the unlucky cohort. the cursed cohort. but reyna lived in a haunted house before all of this and she'd give anything to be in the same space as jason.

the bunks aren't big enough for sharing, to discourage this very thing. she'd only sit at the foot of his bed and listen to him breathe. she'd only listen to him breathe.

she and jason eventually go on a quest together, because jason asks her to join him (in my head paralleling the annabeth quest mates in som). she does.

it's just the two of them, reconnaissance but trouble always follows jason the same as reyna follows him.

jason spreads out his sleeping bag and pats the space next to him and she hesitates. he's a boy, boys are scary because they become men. men who are worse than any snarling beast. but he's just a boy with earnest blue eyes telling her they'll conserve body heat if they use her sleeping bag as a blanket a curl up.

so reyna lays down beside him. on her side with her knife clenched in her hand she doesn't feel safe. she can't settle and she knows she's keeping him awake because his breathing is too quiet for the resting.

jason eventually whispers to her in the dark and tells her that it's okay. it'll all be okay and she wants to believe her best friend.

he slowly wraps an arm around her and she's tense. she knows she shouldn't but she lifts her head to allow his other arm to slip under it.

she loosens her grip on her knife. it's poised between them. if she isn't careful she could gut him and she doesn't want that.

jason tells her about hie earliest memories of lupa's pack and his days at the legion.

didn't anyone ever hold you as a child? she asks by the end of his story.

no, i must've been an unloved baby.

and she thinks to herself, but you're holding me. you're comforting me. what taught you to do this?

is there a love instinct? reyna hadn't ever asked hylla.

reyna fully lets go of her blade and wraps her arms around him too. for the first time since hylla and her split ways, reyna feels safe. armed only with trust and affection.

---------

teen wolf au:

i think they always share a bed when reyna stays over and she's there with her back against the wall and jason's body will be separating her body from the door. a door that locks. and she'll sleep peacefully for the first time in years, with the sound of her best friend's steady pulse and the smell of him on the sheets and pillowcases.

[ineveryfandom]

“so what’s your favorite batfam trope?”

“bruce calling his kids sweetheart/sweetie/baby/any petname”

“what—“

-

Dick, accidentally scraping his knee: ow

Bruce, worried: you okay, dear?

Dick, a 30 year old man:

Dick, tearing up: no…

Cass: 😐

Cass: *period cramp*

Cass: 😐

Bruce, knocking on her door: cass?

Cass, suddenly on the floor curled up and sniffling: dad, period hurts 😢

Bruce, slamming the door open, picking his daughter up then tucking her back in her bed: i’m sorry baby. i’m here now, what do you need?

Red Robin, cranky and stressed, having been awake for 120 hours: ugh! why can’t you people do anything right!?

Wonder Girl, also sleep deprived: you arrogant piece of—

Red Robin, suddenly walking away, grabbing his civilian phone: *angrily dials a number*

Bruce, in a WE meeting, answering: hello? tim?

Red Robin, voice breaking: dad?

Bruce:

Batman, requesting access to Mount Justice:

Superboy, eye bags darker than black: what’s batman doing here

Red Robin, packing up, speed walking out the door:

Batman, out of sight: oh, don’t cry sweetie, let’s go home hm?

Bruce, washing the dishes:

Damian, entering the room: baba?

Bruce, smiling: yes?

Damian, shuffling towards him, holding something behind his back:

Bruce: what do you have there?

Damian, embarrassed but determined, holds up a drawing of him and Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce, tears streaming down his face: it’s beautiful habibi

Bruce: *sleeping*

Jason:

Jason: b

Bruce: ?!

Bruce: j-jay?

Bruce: what are you- oh.

Jason, laying next to him, face hidden in his chest: fuck you.

Bruce:

Jason:

Jason, quietly: i take it back. love you…dad.

Bruce, crying again: i love you too, sweetheart

-

now with a part 2!

bonus: captain marvel

[les4elliewilliams]

❝𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝚰𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑.❞

ghostface!bestfriend!ellie ✗ fem reader

❝𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝚰 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.❞

⚠︎︎︎.ᐟ ⌞warnings ⊹ cw⌝ ﹕ approx 20k words. (ik im sorry im always yapping too much.) headcanons!! mention of blood/murders, drugs usage. childhoodbestfriend!𝑒, perv!𝑒, ghostface!𝑒, switch!𝑒, v light knife play (𝑒!receiving+giving), handcuffing ghostface😊, oral/fingering, strap-on sex (r!receiving), extremely jealous/obsessive!𝑒, ellie gets off to eepy reader and they get off together on the couch yummyy... i think that's it?? ps ignore that ugly ass edited pic pls😭

.ᐟ.ᐟ ⌞author's note⌝ ﹕ this isn't like the movies, it's a 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 story. proofread by @sapphichotmess!!

#.ᐟ ⌞taglist⌝ ﹕ @aouiaa @kaykeryyy @whoucallingalesbian @taylormarieee @co0kiemuncher @myathegoat @joordynn @iamhellagae @hearts444olivia @ion-news @broskideedle13 @ladyofcain @cheyisagirlkisser

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

˳·˖𖤐 During her childhood, Ellie had a stern and intimidating demeanor that unintentionally scared other kids away. They’d be too scared to approach her, let alone play or talk with her, which left her in solitude most of the time. She got used to playing by herself and spent her recess in the corner of the playground. During lunchtime, she would eat the dino nuggets that her dad had meticulously prepared for her while sitting alone at the lunch table (being picky about food, she only ever had dino nuggets and was firmly convinced that regular nuggets did not taste as good). She seemed to find solace in drawing and would spend hours sketching in her green notebook, lost in her world of imagination.

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe, just maybe, the kids’ fear toward Ellie wasn’t unmotivated. She loved to cause chaos and conflicts among the other kids. She would start small fights, encourage others to fight, push kids off swings, or even break their toys. Even more concerning was that she seemed to get a kick out of other people’s misery and would laugh at their distress and discomfort, which was why many feared and avoided being near her.

˳·˖𖤐 Joel would often find himself rushing to his daughter’s school, trying his best to convince the school officials that his sweet little girl could never do anything to hurt other kids. Despite being smart and quiet, Ellie would sometimes find herself in trouble for things she claimed she didn’t do. She always stood her ground, insisting that if she ever did start something, it was only because another child had done something to her first. And, of course, her father always believed her and would go to great lengths to defend his baby girl.

Once, Joel was called to the principal’s office. When he entered the room, he saw the principal sitting behind his desk, looking stern and serious. Joel's heart sank, he could sense something was off. “My daughter would n—” Joel tried to speak, but the principal cut him off without missing a beat. “The teacher saw her. She pushed Jason off the swing and kicked him,” the principal stated, his tone firm and authoritative. Joel's eyes immediately darted to his sweet little angel, who was crying and pouting, giving him doe eyes as she shook her head to dismiss all the accusations. “No, Dad, I didn’t, I swear. He hit me first,” she said, trying to defend herself. “Heard what she said? She didn’t do it.” Joel always fell for that little dotted face. He would still stand by his beliefs no matter what the teachers or other kids' parents said. His baby girl would never hurt anyone. He couldn’t imagine her doing anything wrong.

˳·˖𖤐 You were never really scared of her—the quiet, introverted girl. In fact, you were quite intrigued by her. She always seemed to be the odd one out, sitting in the corner of the classroom or standing far away across the playground, watching everything and everyone so intently. What really fascinated you about her was her attention to detail. She never missed a thing and could remember every single detail of everything, almost like she had a photographic memory or something. 

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was fascinated with you. Ever since you helped Ellie pick up the pencils she had accidentally dropped, she couldn’t help but notice your gentle and soft smile, and from that moment on, she found herself unable to take her eyes off you. She’d just sit across the room, sipping on her apple juice box as she studied you curiously. To her, you were a delicate and pretty little girl, reminding her of a flower. She had always thought other kids weren’t as bright as her and weren’t good enough to be her friends, which led her to isolate herself from others. She thought of herself as better than everyone her age, and it was also why she would beat them up, finding them too stupid to put up with. But you were different. There was something about you that stood out to her, something that her childish brain couldn’t quite put a finger on. It wasn’t just your kindness, although that certainly played a big part in it. There was something more that made her feel like she wanted to be your friend, your close friend.

˳·˖𖤐 Even as a little kid, Ellie had always been a strategic and calculated person.

One day, she saw you playing in the sandbox and felt the urge to approach you, but she needed an excuse to do so. So, she concocted a plan. She told another kid that you had said something mean about him, knowing that he would confront you about it—Jason was a little of a troublemaker from what she noticed, so she was certain it would work. In fact, when the little boy confronted you, and you denied it, he quickly became angry and pushed you, causing you to fall into the sand. The sand got all over your beautiful frilly clothes, making you feel embarrassed and upset, your bottom lip wobbling. Ellie saw this as her chance to approach you and comfort you. She walked over to you and pushed the other kid, causing him to storm off. She quickly helped you up and offered you a slight smile, “You can’t let other kids treat you like that.” You nodded in agreement, grateful for her help, and threw yourself in her arms, hugging her tightly. “Thank you so much,” you uttered. She nodded and squeezed you, rubbing your back. “Maybe we can watch each other’s back from now on,” she suggested with a shy smile, the one that always fooled her dad as well. You were beyond ecstatic at her offer. You had long admired her from afar, and the idea of being friends with her was something you had dreamed of for a long time, but your shy nature had always caused you to keep to yourself. Even to you, she seemed smarter compared to other kids. “Can you be my friend?” you asked with a toothless grin on your face, batting your lashes at her. “Yes, I would love to,” followed by “Can I show you my dinosaur collection?” From that day on, you and Ellie became close friends, and her strategic and protective nature was always there to help you when you needed it.

˳·˖𖤐 You and Ellie have been inseparable, going through all the ups and downs of school and puberty together. She has been a constant source of support, always by your side through your best and worst days. You have shared countless memories and experiences over the years, and she has always been a true friend in every sense of the word. She was always there to protect you and stood up for both of you in any situation. You did everything together—you laughed, cried, and confided in each other like you were the only two people in the world. You shared all your first-time experiences, like getting drunk for the first time, going to parties, and even sneaking out of your house at night just to see her or hang out. Her father quickly became like a second dad to you, someone you could look up to and trust. You have always felt like a part of their small family, spending time together, sharing meals, and celebrating holidays with them. Your friendship has only grown stronger over the years.

˳·˖𖤐 During middle school, Ellie’s behavior remained consistent. Even in the new environment, she continued to find ways to get herself in trouble. She had a habit of talking back to teachers, getting into physical fights with other students, and arguing with pretty much everyone, almost as if she couldn’t contain herself; causing trouble was second nature to her. It was evident that she found pleasure in disrupting the peace wherever she went, which often landed her in serious trouble. Not that she cared, of course.

“Miss Williams, get your shoes off the desk. You are not at home, and you cannot do as you please,” The middle-aged teacher, who appeared to be in her late fifties, scolded her with a stern voice, her eyes narrowing with disapproval as she spoke. Her wrinkled forehead was furrowed with a frown, and her thin lips pursed tightly together. The teacher’s glasses, once perched on the bridge of her nose earlier, now hung from a chain around her neck as she continued to chastise the auburnette.

With a mischievous smirk on her face, the copper-brown-haired girl replied, “You can bet your wrinkled ass I’ll do as I please,” causing the whole class to erupt in laughter.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger when Cassie, a girl from math class, called you stupid. You were her best friend, and she couldn't bear the thought of someone insulting you like that. She wouldn’t let anyone walk all over you. So, that same day, she approached Cassie after class with a fake calm demeanor and explained that her comments were hurtful and disrespectful. She initially tried to remain ‘polite’ to make you happy, but the situation quickly escalated to a physical fight. Unfortunately, this resulted in Cassie ending up in the nurses’ office with a broken bone. But she couldn’t help it. She had to look out for you, and Cassie fucking deserved it.

˳·˖𖤐 It was always just you and Ellie hanging out together. Other kids weren’t allowed to join you. Everyone in your school thought of you two as weirdos, but you didn’t care, both preferring each other’s company over anyone else’s.

˳·˖𖤐 You spent everyday together, either at her place or yours. Homework, video games, comics, and movie marathons filled your time, but the one thing that truly brought you together was your shared obsession with horror movies. You’d watch a new one each day, feeding off the adrenaline of jump scares and twisted plots. Ellie seemed to devour every film, but her favorites were always the slasher flicks—especially the Scream series. The thrill of being scared out of your mind became your thing. Soon, though, it wasn’t just the horror movies that captivated Ellie. She developed a deep fascination for true crime documentaries, and afternoons blurred into nights as the two of you sat in her room, binging tales of real-life terror, lost in your macabre little world together. You both would sit there, transfixed, eyes glued to the horror playing out on the screen, completely enthralled by the spine-tingling and mysterious events unfolding before you. The chilling stories on the screen drew you in, and your fascination with the morbid and the inexplicable would lead you to spend countless hours online reading creepypastas. 

˳·˖𖤐 You were each other’s first kiss.

One Friday night, you went to Cassie’s house for a small party—yes, the same Cassie that Ellie beat up and broke her arm. You guessed she had invited Ellie to get on her good side, considering their last fight. The poor girl was tired of fearing Ellie, but Ellie didn’t like her one bit and never would. Your best friend was reluctant at the idea of being surrounded by too many people, but you convinced her to go with you, saying it might’ve been fun to do something different for once. They kept teasing you, insinuating that you were more than just best friends. You were always around each other and touchy in ways that made them suspect that you were girlfriends. They noticed how you frequently held hands, hugged, and even kissed each other on the cheek. So, during a truth-or-dare game, they dared you to kiss your best friend. You looked over at Ellie, feeling shy and uncertain. You were waiting for her to say something to stop you from going along with the dare, but to your surprise, she didn’t. In fact, she had a small smile on her face, which made you feel more nervous for some reason. Feeling hesitant, you finally mustered up the courage to ask her, “Can I kiss you?” Your cheeks heated up as you spoke. The freckled girl rolled her eyes, trying to make you feel like you were being dramatic, “It’s just a game.” Finally, you leaned in and gave her a soft peck on the lips. Everyone in the room giggled and clapped their hands, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something had changed between you and Ellie, yet neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie had always been very open about her attraction to girls. She never cared about what other classmates might have thought about her preferences. Even though they were not always accepting, they never dared to say anything negative to her face, fearing Ellie’s reaction to their comments. She openly rejected guys who showed interest in her, saying that she was not interested because she was a lesbian. Always commenting about pretty girls—and man, if that didn’t make you jealous. You’d often feel this intense jealousy inside you every time she talked to other girls or whenever other girls would approach her, even if she always rejected them, 99,9% of the time.

˳·˖𖤐 Why 99,9% and not 100%? Well, because another girl named Cat entered the picture. From the very start, it was clear that Cat was head over heels for Ellie, and how could you blame her? She’d blush every time Ellie glanced her way, always laughing obnoxiously at your best friend’s puns, even when they were terrible—and that was, like, all the time. She would also go out of her way to shower her with small gifts, all of which Ellie would accept with a sly grin that you found infuriating. She’d get her snacks and pass her cute little notes during classes, and the worst part was that your friend began to reciprocate Cat’s feelings, and the two of them grew even closer. You tried to accept their ‘friendship’ but found it increasingly difficult; watching them together became too much to bear, and you knew you had to take care of it. You never liked sharing, not even as a kid, so why start now with the most important person to you?

As the lesson dragged on, you grew more restless, your thoughts tangled in a knot of anxiety. You needed to have a little chat with Cat. Urgently. Unable to focus any longer, you raised your hand, asking the teacher if you could go to the toilet. When he gave you a nod in response, you hurried out of the classroom, your pulse quickening as you slipped through the quiet hallways. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a small Post-it note, your fingers trembling slightly as you scrawled a quick message:

“Meet me in the bathroom after third period. — Ellie :)  ”

You carefully folded the note and slid it into Cat's locker, hoping she would see it soon. The next few hours felt like an eternity. You kept checking the clock, counting down the minutes until the third period. Finally, the bell rang, and you made your way to the bathroom, hoping Cat would be there. As you entered the bathroom, you saw her standing there with a big smile. The same smile that faded in an instant as she saw you instead of the girl she liked. You greeted her with a mischievous grin and asked her if she was waiting for Ellie. “Yeah, she told me to come here after third period,” the raven-haired girl responded, looking puzzled. “Did she, or did I?” you giggled. Cat took a small step back, suddenly feeling creeped out by the way you were looking at her, almost as if you were planning to hurt her. You had never started fights in school or caused any sort of trouble, though Cat feared you. Maybe it was the endless rude comments you threw her way at any chance you got or the little things you did when Ellie wasn’t watching to make her feel threatened. “Is this some sick joke?” surprise flashed across her features before a more terrorized look replaced it. “Stop seeing her, don’t come near her, stop talking to her, don’t even look her way,” you demanded. Your tone was firm, almost possessive, as you stepped closer. She backed away with each step you took. “Wha-” Cat tried to speak, but you cut her off. “I catch you lookin’ at her again, I won’t be as nice.” you threatened. “I won’t—I’ll stop talking to her,” she stammered nervously, her voice trembling. A few sniffles escaped her before she ran off, mumbling her sorrys on her way out. “I hope you mean it.” She was already out of the bathroom, but you were sure she had heard you loud and clear. And you weren’t even gonna feel bad. She deserved it. How dare she come near the most important person in your life? What was she planning to do? Take her away from you? You sure as hell weren’t gonna let that happen.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was struggling to understand why Cat had suddenly started ignoring her like a deadly disease. It was almost perplexing that the brunette wouldn’t even look at her, and whenever Ellie tried to approach her to talk, Cat would leave the conversation abruptly, only briefly glancing over at her. It was particularly puzzling to the redhead as she could not recall any misunderstanding or disagreement between them that could have caused such a drastic change in Cat’s attitude towards her—for once, she was nice to someone who wasn’t you, and this was the result? She felt confused and soon enough began to harass the girl, making sure her life was a living hell at school. How dare Cat ignore her? She wasn’t even that smart or pretty. Ellie only ever liked the attention she'd get from her; she was there just to boost her ego, and now she was ignoring her?

˳·˖𖤐 As you both entered high school, you remained inseparable, sticking to the shadows for the first few years, trying to blend in and avoid unwanted attention. Neither of you joined clubs or sports teams, preferring to keep to yourselves and steer clear of socializing. But by junior year, the routine started to feel stifling, and restlessness set in. You both realized you wanted more—something bigger than just being on the sidelines. Your best friend took the leap first, joining the soccer team, eager to break out of the monotony and possibly make new friends. She thrived there, quickly falling in love with the game’s intensity and the adrenaline that came with it. She never lost that sense of superiority, though—deep down, she believed she was different, better than the people around her. She stood out, and she knew it. You, on the other hand, joined the cheerleaders team. Dancing and performing had always been a passion, and it seemed like a perfect way to get involved. But as you spent time with other girls, you couldn’t help but notice how wrapped up they were in things that felt trivial to you—obsessed with popularity, looks, and gossip. It was hard to feel like you fit in, knowing damn well you didn’t. While your best friend thrived on her sense of superiority, you were left feeling like an outsider, trapped in a group you didn’t belong in.

˳·˖𖤐 Ever since you joined the cheerleading team, you stood out from the crowd. Your undeniable beauty did not go unnoticed, and soon enough, boys began to show interest in you. Every week, a different guy would try to catch your attention, hoping to ask you out or make a move on you. But Ellie was fiercely protective of you, claiming that none of these guys were good enough for you, whether it was a potential friend or partner. She would always find a way to scare them away, making it clear that you weren’t interested, always there reminding you that you were way too amazing for all of them and that no one could ever understand you like she did, even if they tried. She did not want anyone she deemed unworthy of your time to come close to you, and you liked it that way. To you, that was your definition of love.

“—so he just fell in front of the whole class, he couldn’t even-” You were interrupted by the sound of your name being called from across the room. Your best friend was out sick, missing all the juicy details, but before you could finish the story and turn to see who it was, the auburn-haired girl beside you spun around first. Her brows knit together almost instantly, and you could see the flicker of jealousy in her eyes. Her expression darkened as she processed the moment, clearly thrown off by the sudden attention directed your way. A kid you knew from theater class was walking toward you with a nervous smile, carefully holding a flower, making sure not to prick himself on the sharp thorns of the beautiful red rose. “Hey, I just wanted to ask you if-” He didn’t even need to finish his sentence—she was already prepared to go off on him as if he’d just insulted her entire family. In reality, he hadn’t even noticed a fuming Ellie standing right beside you. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on him with an intensity that made you sure if looks could kill, he’d already be dead. You opened your mouth to say something, but Ellie quickly raised her hand in front of you, silencing you instantly. She was going to handle this, just like always. “What makes you think she would ever go out with a loser like you?” Ellie hurled venomous words his way, leaving the poor guy stuttering and stumbling over his response. His face flushed bright red as if all the blood had rushed to his cheeks. He stood there, frozen in shock, his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. His eyes darted nervously between you and the girl at your side, clearly unsure what to do next. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words to express himself, his expression desperate as if he was silently begging for a reaction from you, anything. But before he could even get a syllable out, Ellie cut him off again, shutting him down before he could speak. “Heard what I said? She is not interested,” she repeated, but this time, her voice was tinged with impatience. “I’m sorry, I just—take this.” He handed you the flower, looking utterly defeated. As soon as it was in your hands, he turned around and walked away hastily, like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. She watched the guy walk away, her leaf-hued eyes fixed on him, unwilling to let go of the sight. Her face was slightly scrunched up in annoyance, her mind clearly racing with thoughts as she seemed lost in her world. After a while, she finally tore her gaze away from him and glanced at you briefly as if snapping back to reality. She let out a small ‘tssssk’ under her breath, trying to collect herself and shake off the jealousy lingering in the pit of her stomach. “Jesus, El. You’re evil,” You let out a small giggle and brought your hand to your mouth to cover it up. “Might have to kill half the school just for you,” She suddenly joked with a grin. She snatched the rose out of your hand and threw it on the floor forcefully. Red petals scattered on the ground as you both continued walking. Ellie made sure to stomp on the flower. She always had a very dark humor, which sometimes left you wondering if she meant any of what she said. She always spoke in such a serious tone, but maybe it was just her sarcasm being that way. Her words were often laced with a hidden meaning, and she had a way of making you question your interpretations, but you laughed at her joke anyway.

˳·˖𖤐 So, were you surprised when a few students started going missing? 

˳·˖𖤐 The leader of the cheerleaders that always gave you a hard time? Gone.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was your biggest fan, always showing up to watch your cheerleading practices.  Manspreading on the benches, her gaze never left you, not daring to miss a single move. The sight of you, all sweaty with wisps of hair escaping your ponytail, only made you look cuter in her eyes. She loved seeing you in that little cheerleader uniform. Whenever you smiled and glanced at her, her heart would thunder in her chest. It was as if her whole world revolved around those fleeting glances and spontaneous smiles you’d throw her way. You were awfully adorable.

What Ellie found far less adorable was how the head cheerleader constantly picked on you, always putting you down. What frustrated her even more was that you just let it happen. In her mind, Amanda wasn’t better than you—no one could even come close to you. To Ellie, you were perfect, and she wished you could see it too. When she saw you walking toward her, she quickly set aside the leather-bound journal she had been scribbling in, placing it on the empty spot next to her as she greeted you with a warm smile.

“You’re doing great, beautiful,” She turned to grab her backpack, which had been thrown carelessly on the empty benches behind her. Her tattooed arm reached inside the already unzipped, worn-out bag. “Yeah, you say that, like, every single time.” You sat on the bench next to her, sweat beading on your forehead as you let out a slight huff, feeling winded after your practice. “‘s true though.” She pulled out a small towel and handed it to you with a gentle smile. She was always considerate, constantly looking out for you and ensuring you were taken care of. She expressed her love for you through these little gestures, like bringing things she thought you might need in her green backpack. Her obsession with you was apparent in how she hovered over you, but you couldn't deny that it was comforting to have someone care for you so deeply. That was love—real love—and you had never experienced that from anyone else.

“Goood, you’re so perfect,” you accepted the towel from her outstretched hand and began to pat your forehead, feeling some relief from the heat. But a little towel wasn’t the only thing she brought for you—she also handed you a refreshing bottle of water to quench your thirst and a cherry-flavored lollipop as a little treat. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of that beloved childhood candy in your hand. A soft smile spread across her lips when your words reached her ears, and she looked away, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. Her shoulders lifted ever so slightly in a subtle shrug, “Oh, I know” her elbows propped up on her knees as she leaned forward. She was deep in thought, and her hands were intertwined. You took a few sips of your water and unwrapped a lollipop, both of you fell silent, completely focused on watching Amanda, who was the target of Ellie's intense gaze, she was studying her. “She’s a bitch” the freckled girl next to you muttered under her breath. You hummed in agreement, savoring the sugary goodness. “Why do you even let her speak to you that way?” she shook her head in disapproval, you could feel her gaze on you even if you weren't looking at her. “What do you want me to do? She’s the leader, El. She’ll throw me out of the team if I confront her.” You reached up to your mouth and pulled the lollipop out with a loud smack noise, feeling a sense of defeat wash over you. Ellie expressed her disagreement with a small scoff that barely registered on her plump lips, almost imperceptible. She picked up her journal once again and resumed whatever she was doing, and the silence between the two of you fell once again, punctuated only by the sound of the pencil scratching across the page. When you looked down at her journal, you couldn’t help but notice a drawing she was making of Amanda. The drawing portrayed Amanda in a rather disturbing manner, physically harmed with a knife in her chest. The details of the drawing were quite graphic, and you could tell she had put a lot of effort and passion into it. “Oh, well...that's detailed,” you commented, still sucking on your lollipop, savoring the sweet taste in your mouth. You noticed a small curl of her lips as if she felt proud of her drawing skills. “But that’d be too messy,” you added, her head shot up to look at you. “Yeah? How would you do it then?” she asked, almost challenging you to come up with a better idea for the hypothetical scenario. “The bitch’s allergic to almonds,” Your eyes were fixed on Amanda, who was laughing with her friend. Ellie raised her brows at you, an amused smile appearing on her lips. “That’s it? A good ol’ accidental allergy reaction? Where’s the fun in that?” you shrugged at her words. “No blood, no traces, it’d be harder to get caught,” you explained, proving your point. It was logical and more calculative than her hypothesis. “True but stabbing her to death seems funnier, I dunno.” She inhaled deeply, leaning back into her bench, her back pressed on the benches behind her. “Hearing them beg for mercy, scream in pain, and the look in their eyes…” She went on, entirely absorbed in her twisted narration. As she spoke, the details grew darker and more grotesque with each word. You watched her, bewildered, struggling to tell if this was still just a “what if” game. When Ellie finally realized you hadn’t responded, she looked over at you—the familiar warmth in her eyes had drained away, leaving something sharper, emptier, a chill that made you feel as though you were staring into someone else entirely.

“And where would you hide the body?” you asked.

She smiled sadistically, almost as if she already had an answer ready for that question. “I know the perfect place for that kind of thing.” she put down her journal, her emeralds back on you as she told you about the place she had in mind. “No one would ever look there,” You agreed, giving her a nod, the cherry taste of the candy lingering as you let the sweetness melt off your tongue, an amused grin playing at the corners of your mouth. The plan was actually well-thought-out—impressively so.

“I told you,” she said softly, her gaze darted between your lips and the lollipop. “Oh? Want some?” you teased, holding the lollipop just a breath away from her. Slowly, you edged the glistening, saliva-coated candy toward her, and she parted her lips, wrapping them around it, savoring the artificial cherry taste with a quiet hum of satisfaction. Her fingers replaced yours on the stick, her fingertips brushing lightly over yours, lingering just a little too long. She held your gaze, her eyes softened, almost entranced, though the depth of that look was something you couldn’t quite place. In reality, she was gazing at you enamored, her pupils wide open, but you were completely oblivious to her feelings and failed to pick up on her infatuation. Shortly after that day, Amanda was gone. Disappeared into thin air, nowhere to be found. You knew it wasn’t adding up, especially when you asked Ellie about it. She’d be so nonchalant, like she had nothing to do with her it. But you knew she was lying. Did you care about that stupid cunt being gone? Absolutely not. You soon became the leader of the cheerleaders, and everyone looked up to you.

˳·˖𖤐 The girl who was grinding on you at Daniel’s party? Found dead the morning after.

˳·˖𖤐 The first few months of college had set in, and you were already drowning in a sea of assignments and deadlines, feeling overwhelmed and stressed out. To stay close to you, Ellie took the bold step of enrolling in the same college as you. She even went as far as to choose the same major─Psychology─just to be in the same classes as you, ensuring that you both had the same schedule, did the same assignments, and even hung out with the same people. 

˳·˖𖤐 It was ironic, really, how someone as anti-social and apathetic as her would pursue a field that involved studying human behavior and emotions. But she did it anyway because the mere thought of being away from you for even a second was unbearable to her. She didn’t want anyone else to get closer to you or share the dorm with you, so she followed you and moved in with you because no one could take care of you better than her. You both decided to get an apartment together to share the bills and responsibilities of living independently. Your parents were more than willing to support you financially, making sure that you had everything you needed for college and the apartment. You were attached by the hip, and wherever you went, she was there with you, and whenever she wasn't, you became nervous and anxious, wondering what she was doing and if everything was okay. It was as if you had become too dependent on her, and the thought of being alone scared you. But the dependency was mutual; she needed you just as much as you needed her.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was not a fan of parties and preferred staying home, indulging in horror movies while getting high with you. However, when you told her about Daniel’s Halloween party, she knew she had to accompany you to ensure your safety and protect you from any potential creeps. You had been eagerly waiting for Halloween, your favorite holiday, and Ellie didn't want you to miss the opportunity to dress up and have a good time. Despite her initial reluctance, she was somewhat excited, not for the party itself but because she finally had a reason to wear the ghostface costume that had been sitting in her closet, untouched and unused. 

Ellie was already ready, her costume simple but somehow annoyingly perfect—but that was the price that came with being effortlessly beautiful—and her Ghostface mask thrown lazily on her shoulder. She stood at the bathroom entrance, arms crossed, eyes unwavering as they followed you. You slipped into the tight black dress, pulling it into place with a little struggle as it hugged every curve. You, on the other side, loved taking care of every little detail of your makeup and costume, ensuring your appearance was always on point. “I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath, brow furrowed, though her gaze was anything but annoyed as it lingered on your body. With her hip pressed against the doorframe, she watched as you adjusted the neckline, her head tilted to the side, eyes scrutinizing each inch of skin exposed. “Why’d you have to pick something so revealing?” she asked, voice low, almost a grumble. You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s Halloween, Ellie,” you huffed out, “I can wear whatever I want. Don't be such a buzz kill.” “I meant for Halloween parties. Last year, you were that damn sexy nurse. This year, it’s a tight dress. What’s next? A slutty bunny?” the freckled girl quipped, her lips curling up into a wry smile as she raised an eyebrow at you, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a light chuckle, the sound echoing softly in the small bathroom. “And you’re here complaining,” you retorted with a mischievous grin as you reached for your high heels and effortlessly slid your feet into them. You took a few confident steps towards her, giving her a complete view of your stylish outfit. Her eyes roamed up and down your body. Your dress hugged every curve, revealing just enough skin to accentuate her drool. She licked her lips, imagining what she could do with you in that skimpy outfit, but she had to keep her hands to herself, unfortunately.  “You look fucking amazing.” 

You gave her a soft smile, turning toward the mirror and reaching for your makeup bag on the countertop. “Just need to fix my makeup, and we’re all set,” you informed her, pulling out your favorite berry pink gloss and a tube of mascara, both essentials for tonight. Ellie let out a low chuckle from the doorway, fingers tapping lazily on the frame. “You’re gonna make me want to commit murder tonight,” she joked, eyes flicking over you as you leaned in closer to the mirror. Without looking away from your reflection, you rolled your eyes, your long lashes nearly brushing against your brows. “Oh, shut up. You’ll survive,” you replied, carefully gliding the gloss over your lips. She sighed, tipping her head back against the doorframe. “Honestly, I don’t know why we’re even going. It’s gonna be full of drunk assholes, all crowding around like moths.” “C’mon, El, it’s gonna be fun,” you insisted, catching her eye in the mirror. She rolled her eyes, exhaling dramatically. “Oh, yeah, can’t wait to watch people hitting on you,” she drawled, her voice heavy with sarcasm. You snorted, giving her a smirk as you grabbed your mascara. “Well, thank God I’ll have you by my side, scaring them all away.” “Damn right,” she shot back, and you both chuckled. Finishing up, you turned on your heels to face her, your eyes locking with hers. The two of you were only inches apart now, close enough to share each unspoken word in the air between you. “So, what do you think? How do I look?” you questioned, seeking her approval, though you knew the answer already. Ellie’s gaze drifted over you, her lips twitching into a scoff. “You already know you look hot,” she murmured, unable to hide a small smirk. She seemed momentarily lost as she looked at you, her green eyes flitting from your lips to your eyes, drawn in despite herself. You felt a pulse of satisfaction at her reaction, the way her attention lingered on you. “Ellie…” you murmured, leaning a bit closer, your voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. She licked her lips almost instinctively, her gaze dropping to your glossy ones, and the air between you grew thick, the energy snapping with tension. “...Yeah?” she breathed, her voice barely audible. Her breath hitched as you inched closer before coming to a halt. You smirked, tipping your head to the side. “Can I be your helpless victim?” you teased, catching her off guard with the unexpected line. Ellie’s face contorted into one of confused disbelief, and before you could hold it back, laughter escaped you at her expression. In response, she gave your shoulder a playful shove, rolling her eyes as she fought a smile. “Fuck you,” she groaned, a hint of laughter in her voice, and she ducked out of the bathroom, completely flustered, leaving you grinning after her.

When you arrived at the party, your best friend was glued to your side. She didn’t want you to be alone for even a moment, telling you that she’d stay sober to keep an eye on you in case you decided to drink. However, despite her best efforts, she lost track of you for just a few minutes. When she finally found you, she swore she felt her whole organs sink. You were dancing with a girl. Everything seemed to slow down, and jealousy and pure rage quickly built up inside her as she registered that girl’s hands guiding your hips as she ground on your ass and her lips devoured your neck. When your gaze met hers, you couldn’t help but notice the striking green color of her eyes had turned into an intense, almost ominous shade. Her jaw was tightly clenched, and you could feel a sense of discomfort creeping up on you. It was like you had crossed an invisible line and were now doing something you shouldn’t do. Almost instinctively, you pushed the girl off of you, and before you could give the drunken girl an explanation, Ellie was already walking toward you.

“We’re going back home,” She spoke with a harsh, demanding tone. She grabbed your wrist tightly and forcefully pulled you away from the girl you were dancing with. You didn't even have a chance to say goodbye or explain the situation as she dragged you away.

“Why are you acting like this? Can’t I make friends?” Your words were slightly slurred, the tipsiness settling in as you tried to pull your wrist from her grip, but Ellie’s hold was firm. You didn’t want to leave the party yet; the night had just started and had been so much fun, and her urgency to get you out only made disappointment grow. The music and chatter gradually faded as she dragged you both toward the exit.

“Didn’t look like a friend to me,” she muttered, voice sharp with an edge that cut through your drunk haze. “Looked more like she wanted to fuck you right there in front of everyone—in front of me.” She cast a glance back at the party, the girl long gone already. “Besides,” she added, “—you have me. I don’t see why you need her.” There was an ache in her tone as if she felt betrayed by your actions, a hidden desperation she was trying to keep under wraps. Couldn’t you see? She was right there, ready to be everything you needed, the one person who knew you better than anyone else. You narrowed your eyes, pushing her, testing her. “So what if she did want to fuck me? What are you, my girlfriend?” The words came out in a perfectly thought-out taunt to poke the emotions she preferred to keep hidden under the surface. You couldn’t deny that you’d thought about it too—what it would be like to actually be with her. Her green eyes darkened, shifting from their usual warmth to something intense and possessive, jealousy sparking in the depths. It was rare for you both to argue, but this time it felt like there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface, something that had been sitting there gathering dust, waiting for the right moment to bubble out like scorching lava. There was a palpable tension in the air, more-than-friendly feelings in your eyes. Even a fool would’ve been able to see the unspoken feelings and desires that neither of you could express aloud. Perhaps it was the fear of rejection or the uncertainty of how the other person felt kept you both from taking that step. “I just don’t want you getting hurt or taken advantage of.” She lied, her words sharp, unyielding, and tone laced with frustration and anger. That wasn’t a complete lie, but it was still not the whole truth. She took a slow, deep breath to calm herself down. Gradually, her tense body relaxed, and her previously sharp tone softened. “You’re all I have.” As she spoke again, her eyes, which had been stern, took on a gentler expression, and you could sense vulnerability in her voice, suddenly yearning for ‘reassurance’. “I’m sorry for being rough. It’s just… seeing anyone else with you just… fuck, I don’t know why it pisses me off so much.”  Ellie wanted you to believe she was reacting out of fear because she didn’t want to lose you. But her motives were more complex than that. While it was true that she was afraid of losing you, her actions were purely driven by a sense of selfishness. She strongly believed that you were meant to be together and that it was only a matter of time until you realized she was the one for you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “No one could ever replace you, and I hope you know that.” With a gentle tug of her costume, you pulled her close. Your arms wrapped tightly around her, and you could feel the weight of her body press against yours as she leaned into you. As you held her, you could feel the tension slowly start to melt away, replaced by a familiar sense of safety that usually came with being in her arms. “No, you’re right. I’m not your girlfriend, you can do whatever you want—fuck whoever you want.” Her voice quivered with hesitation, and her heart felt like it was weighed down by a heavy burden. She almost sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything, the words tasting sour on her tongue. She knew it wasn’t normal to be so possessive of your best friend, no one acted this way toward their friends. So what was she supposed to do? Lock you up in a glass cage and never let you go? Although the idea was tempting she knew she had to set you free─free enough to find someone at least, even if it felt extremely wrong. What were the chances it would last?

˳·˖𖤐 Despite her promise to let you go, to let you be with whoever you wanted, the girl you’d danced with that night was found dead the following day, her body left in a state so brutal it was as if every ounce of someone’s anger had been carved into her. The pieces didn’t quite fit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to confront it—not yet. Maybe it was all just a coincidence, a horrible coincidence.

˳·˖𖤐 And yet, every time the news flashed across the screen or a passing conversation brought it up, her casual comments made your blood run cold.

“Oh, what a shame,” she’d murmur, not a hint of genuine sympathy in her tone.  “Guess this is what happens when you hoe around,” she’d remark, her voice steady, an almost imperceptible smirk ghosting her lips. “Hm… sucks. ‘s not even her best picture,” she’d add, a detached sort of amusement glinting in her eyes.

˳·˖𖤐 When you tried to confront her and ask questions that had been gnawing at your mind, her responses were so calm—too calm, too controlled. Her voice was smooth as she answered, almost as if rehearsed as she tried to make you feel ridiculous for even asking.

“I was with you last night. What are you implying?” she’d say, her tone just soft enough to make you question yourself. “You sound crazy right now,” she’d whisper, eyebrows raised in concern. “Maybe all these murders going on are messing with your head.”

With every word, she seemed to pull you deeper into self-doubt, her gaze softening, her voice laced with an almost painful sweetness. “Are you listening to yourself right now? I love you, but… you’re scaring me. You’re being paranoid.”

˳·˖𖤐 Her words lingered, a shadow in your mind until you couldn’t tell if it was your sanity or hers that was starting to slip.

˳·˖𖤐 The third person to disappear into thin air was your boyfriend.

˳·˖𖤐 Shortly after that heated argument with your best friend, you got into your first relationship. She gave you a little more freedom to talk to people, to socialize, but her jealousy flared whenever she saw you with him—or anyone else, for that matter.

God, why him? she’d ask herself, the question gnawing at her each time she saw the two of you together. He wasn’t exceptionally bright, his style was awful, and, to her, he wasn’t even remotely attractive. Whenever he was around, she’d mock him or throw out casual, biting jokes. She always seemed to be the only one laughing. Strangely enough, her snide remarks never fazed him—he never seemed intimidated by her like other guys who quickly fell away, discouraged or unnerved after a few seconds of her scrutiny. But not him. He stuck around, seemingly immune to her attempts to chase him off. So she took care of him. You were left with nothing but a single message, his name lighting up your screen in a sudden, unexpected end. He said he had to break things off because he was moving out of town, needing a “clean break,” a “fresh start.” The words felt hollow, calculated, and as you read through the message, your emotions twisted—hurt, anger, betrayal, all swirling within you. It was your first relationship, and he had chosen to end it over a text message without any explanation or warning. You felt like you meant nothing to him, and the fact that he disappeared from your life without as much as a goodbye added insult to injury. You were upset, not because you were particularly in love with him, but because you hated the feeling of being rejected. You had always been in control, the one rejecting people, so it was a blow to your ego to be on the receiving end of a breakup. 

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie, of course, had been there for you, providing support and care during this difficult time. She had to be here, because what kind of friend would she be if she wasn't there for you for something she had caused?

She squeezed you tighter, those strong, toned arms wrapping around you with an unbreakable and relentless grip. Her breath was hot on your neck as she murmured against your ear, lips grazing your skin with a smug smirk. “I told you this would happen,” she’d mutter, words slipping out with that intoxicating blend of annoyance and affection. She’d let her slender, cold fingers trace your spine in a way that left a shiver behind, and her hand would possessively rest on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “No one—no one will ever love you like I do. No one knows you like this. He could never do what I can.” “You should’ve known better, angel.” There was a dark satisfaction in her voice, almost sounding like she was taunting you, leaning in just close enough for you to feel the heat of every word against your flesh. “Told you he wasn’t the one for you, baby girl.” 

˳·˖𖤐 Not only did Ellie ensure that your boyfriend would never come anywhere near you, but now she seemed to be spending more time than ever clinging close to you, cuddling with you, and sharing the bed with you—all under the guise of offering you comfort. 

˳·˖𖤐 Your friendship had always been intense and boundaryless, it had never been anything but healthy. And it had always been increasingly clear to anyone looking in from the outside that your relationship was more than platonic. Ellie had always been obsessed with you, and her love for you had bordered on devotion. But while others could see this, you remained oblivious to her true feelings, always wondering if she liked you back.

˳·˖𖤐 And that’s when things started to change. Maybe it was the fact that you now lived together and got to spend every second with each other, or maybe it was the fact that your stupid boyfriend was out of the picture─you weren’t sure, but you didn’t mind, and neither did she. Slowly, it was back to just you and her again. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and there were no other distractions. It was just the two of you like it always used to be.

You were leaning back on the couch, a joint held between your lips, your eyes heavy and red as you focused on the big TV in front of you. It was Friday night, a time when everyone else would usually go out, but for you, it only meant one thing: movie night with Ellie. The living room was dark, except for the light cast from the TV, making your faces glow in the darkness. You let out a throaty chuckle, taking another hit before sinking deeper into the couch and passing the joint back to her. You were rambling about random stuff as the movie went on, just filling in the background noise at first. Neither of you was really focused on the movie, too high to pay attention to what was happening on the screen. Your mind was wandering to other places, and it was easy to lose track of the scenes as they unfolded.  But then, a steamy scene suddenly caught both of your attention. You could feel the heat rising from the joint and maybe something else; the smoke filling your lungs and a fuzzy feeling spread throughout your body, filling you with a sense of relaxation and mellow contentment. But there was still a tiny fluttering sensation in your stomach, even though you knew it shouldn't be there. It was a strange feeling, like a soft and unexpected rush of excitement, and it made you feel both giddy and nervous all at once. As you watched the steamy scene playing out in front of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of Ellie licking her chapped and dry lips, her green, dilated eyes fixed like a laser on the screen. Her breathing was slightly faster, and you could feel her body tense up as she watched the scene. She didn’t take her eyes off the screen for a second, as if her life depended on watching it. “Y’know, you were my gay awakening,” she spoke suddenly, her husky voice breaking the silence and snapping you to attention. She stared at you, her eyes lingering on every part of your body before settling back on your face. It was a bold confession, coming out of nowhere, and suddenly, you felt your heart beating faster. A dry chuckle slipped out of you, catching in your throat. Even though you were high and a little out of control, her admission had you feeling speechless. “Is that so?” You ran your tongue across your bottom lip, trying to wet it as your throat suddenly felt parched and your pulse thrummed in your ears, hard and loud. “Hmmm-mmmh,” she hummed lazily in response, sounding almost like a low purr in your ear. Her hand rested on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, her touch delicate but firm. Heat pooled in your stomach almost instantly. “Always thinking of you when I touch myself.” “Show me.” You challenged her with a sultry tone.   Ellie scoffed, her scarred auburn brows lifting in disbelief. Had she heard you right? She swore she was hallucinating. “What?” “You heard me. Touch yourself,” you commanded, your voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. The corners of your lips lifted into a smirk, the confidence in your gaze obvious.

“And you’re just gonna sit there and stare like a creep?” She shook her head slowly, an amused smile on her face as if she wasn’t sure whether to take you seriously. But the soft chuckle and the way her eyes stayed locked on yours hinted that she was not entirely opposed to the idea. “Maybe, maybe not.” You shifted on the couch, turning fully to face her, now closer than ever. Practically in her space, watching her, you could almost feel her heart about to explode. Those little pajama shorts you had on had her captivated. Her eyes kept slipping down, caught on how tightly they hugged your curves, tracing every inch of your legs and hips. She tried to keep her gaze on your face, but it was impossible to stop glancing lower.  “If you do it, I’ll do it too,” you added, your voice dripping with temptation as her silence stretched out. And with that, something in her snapped, a fuse blowing in her mind until the only thing left was pure, raw need. No hesitation, no questions—just her fingers reaching into her waistband, spurred on by that hungry look in your eyes. You both sat there, legs spread, your hands slipping inside your panties, each of you putting on a show for the other.   Ellie’s breath hitched, and her fingers moved with fervor, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized by how her parted lips let out shallow breaths, quiet gasps escaping as her hand worked. She moved with purpose, fingers gliding through her wetness, quickening her pace to get you to keep up.  “Do what I do,” she groaned, her voice low and rough. You obliged, your fingers following her frantic rhythm.  “Fuck, Ellie,” you moaned, biting back the whimper that her every move pulled out of you. 

She didn’t miss a thing, loving how you trembled and squirmed under her gaze, your body aching, practically begging. Her wildest fantasies were unfolding right in front of her, and she was greedy, wanting every sound, every gasp, every moan.   “You like that, yeah?” she rasped, her voice so rough it made your walls clench. The empty ache inside you was unbearable, your fingers slippery and soaked as you followed her every twist and stroke. You nodded, desperate, moans spilling out without restraint, each one making her move even faster. The sight of her, her touch, her ragged breaths was dizzying. She wanted to own every second, to make you crave her as much as she craved you. Your needy voice rang out, soft and breathy, “Mmmhh… need more, El.” You sounded so desperate, so whiny, it made her heart race. You were just so fucking pretty, and she couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel to have her fingers inside you, feeling every desperate pulse, every needy clench around her as you milked her fingers deliciously. Before she could even process the thought, you slid your other hand down, sinking two fingers past your folds with a soft sigh, filling yourself as deep as you could.  The sight made her breath hitch, a low moan slipping out as she watched, knowing that this image would be carved into her brain forever. She could already feel herself getting off to the thought of this moment, over and over again. Your fingers moved in sync, one hand teasing and torturing your clit while the other pumped inside, stroking that perfect spot that made your thighs tense and shiver. Ellie watched, her brows knitted, barely able to tear her eyes away from your sadly still-covered cunt. “God,” she gasped, her chest heaving as she took in every pretty little expression, every sound slipping from your lips as you finger-fucked yourself. She was beyond turned on, completely mesmerized by how good you looked, and couldn’t hold back any longer. With her hand still buried in her boy shorts, she flicked her clit faster, fingers rubbing in desperate, frantic messy circles as she got swept up in the sight of you. “So fuckin’ needy,” she taunted, her voice low and hoarse.

“Gonna...g’na cum,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut, breaths coming out in short, shaky bursts. In a move that sent a shiver down your spine, Ellie reached out and gently tugged your hand away from your shorts, intertwining her fingers with yours.  “Me too—wanna cum with you, need you close,” she gasped, her words breaking into soft moans as her own high built. She squeezed your hand tight, needing the contact as her hips jerked up, chasing her release. Your other hand kept moving, your fingers hitting that perfect, spongy spot again and again until— “I’m coming!” you cried out, your moans reaching a pitch that filled the room, echoing through the walls, your fingers slamming into yourself as you came, waves of pleasure crashing over you. 

“Ooooh fuck!” Ellie groaned, her hips bucking as she rubbed herself faster, her hand squeezing yours hard as she climaxed, her voice hoarse and breathless. 

You sat there, chests heaving, bodies still trembling in the aftermath, catching your breaths in silence as the euphoria slowly faded. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, gradually, reality seeped back in as you both glanced at each other, feeling completely blissful. Her lips pulled into a soft smile, cheeks flushed as her thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of your hand.

Feeling a rush of warmth, you leaned back, wiping your fingers on the soft fabric of your pajama shorts, a quiet contentment settling over you. Ellie tugged gently at your tank top, silently inviting you to come closer. You obliged, sinking into her embrace as she wrapped her arms around you. She pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering in her dazed, dreamy voice about how perfect the moment had been, dropping little words of affection she’d usually never say out loud. With the weed still buzzing in her system, it all slipped out way too easily.

You drifted off in her arms, her warmth and steady breaths lulling you to sleep as the TV murmured softly in the background.

˳·˖𖤐 It was as though her infatuation with you intensified after that night, if that was even possible. She couldn’t get you out of her mind, and her focus on every little detail of your appearance became more and more pronounced. You were all she could draw, your lips, your nose, your brows, your eyes. She was convinced that she was the only one who truly appreciated your beauty. She believed that everyone else was too superficial to appreciate you for who you really were. To her, no one else deserved you─not like she did. You were the center of her world, and she couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were like a drug to her, and she craved you more than anything else, her mind was consumed with thoughts of you.

˳·˖𖤐 There was this sick habit of hers, one that she’d never admit out loud but couldn’t shake. Every night, she watched you as you slept, eyes glued to how your oversized shirt barely hung onto your curves. It was like she was waiting—no, hoping—for that shirt to ride up just a little bit more, enough to give her a full view of those soft legs and the tiny slip of fabric that barely covered you. 

You always seemed so relaxed, so at ease around her, never thinking twice about what you wore, especially when you two shared a bed. You’d just crawl under the covers, no pants, no bra, just that soft, baggy shirt. And every time, it drove her wild. Part of her wondered if you knew exactly what you were doing, the way you’d stretch and twist, giving her those little glimpses that made her pulse race—and to answer her silent dilemma, yes, you were doing it on purpose.  She couldn’t look away. Her hand would slip under her waistband, touching herself as her eyes roamed over you, desperate for more than just a view. She couldn’t resist ever since she admitted she’d been touching herself to the thought of you for as long as she could remember.  Even you could feel the tension every time her eyes lingered on your body or lips. Every time she shifted closer, her fingers grazing your thigh just a little too long just to pull away again, chickening out. All you wanted was for her to close that painful gap, to stop playing around and just touch you the way you knew she wanted to. Every night was a silent invitation, a wordless game where every move you made was another way to get her attention, pushing her until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Ellie licked her lips, her eyes glued to the sight beside her. Watching you sleep like this always turned her on─it was the combination of ‘innocence’, vulnerability, and sheer beauty that did it. The slight roll of your shirt had exposed just enough skin to make her heart race, her mind filled with naughty thoughts. You were never aware of how much she wanted to feel you and touch you inappropriately, but she knew it might ruin your friendship, and she couldn’t risk it.  Feeling her arousal increasing with every passing second, she slipped her hand under the covers. She knew it was wrong; she shouldn't be doing this while you were asleep next to her, sleeping peacefully as she came all over her fingers at the sight of your half-exposed body─but that didn’t stop her from doing it anyway. The temptation was too strong, and it was impossible to resist you. “Fuck... You’re killing me…” she thought to herself, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was late at night, and she couldn't resist anymore.

Without hesitation, she slid her hand into her shorts and started playing with herself. Her green, concentrated eyes never left your body, studying every curve and dip hungrily. Calloused fingers brushed against her sensitive nub gently, her hips slightly jerking away from her hand. She was so sensitive; you had her pussy throbbing like crazy, and the worst part was that you didn’t even do shit. It was her fault, her perverted and filthy mind's fault. But good lord, if she would sell all her organs to touch you. “The fuck are you doin’ to me…” she murmured under her breath as she played with her wetness, feeling how messy you made her. When her fingers returned to her clit, circling it gently, her breath hitched. She knew she had to be quiet; you were occasionally a light sleeper, and she couldn't risk getting caught. She parted her legs further apart as she kept teasing her clit slowly. “God…” She whispered, her breath coming out in short, shallow gasps, causing her voice to be soft and sultry as she rubbed herself with increasing tempo. There was no hesitation or inhibition, just raw, unadulterated desire dripping from every fiber of her being. So fucking nasty. She wondered what your reaction would be if you woke up and caught her in the act, but, yet again, there was something exhilarating about the risk, about the idea of you seeing her in the middle of her filthy act. Her face flushed as she imagined this, her mind filled with naughty scenarios as she rubbed herself harder and faster.  “Mmph... so beautiful…” Her eyes never left your body, even while touching herself. For some reason, it felt so good knowing you were just inches away, unaware of what she was doing. She couldn't help but fantasize about you pleasing her—she needed your fingers, you, and she also fantasized about reciprocating the favor.  “Can't wait to taste you... touch you…” She mumbled, lost in her fantasies. Her body trembled slightly from anticipation, she was close. “Mmm... fuck... gonna cum” Her voice was strained, increasing the pressure on her throbbing clit. It was becoming challenging to stay quiet, and she just hoped you wouldn't wake up to this.

When she did come, she pulled her damp and sticky hand out of her boxers, sucking her fingers clean before turning her head slightly to look at you, admire you. You laid there sleeping like an angel, your hair cascading down your face. She watched you with mixed emotions. 

Ellie’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed, and her forehead was damp with sweat, her red-brown hair sticking to her freckled lush skin. Despite the guilt she knew she should be feeling, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She promised herself she wouldn’t do it again, but deep down, she knew it was merely the first of many more. 

˳·˖𖤐 The more she did it, the more confident and bold she became, convinced that you’d never catch her.

˳·˖𖤐 One night, you had a bit too much soda before falling asleep. As the night wore on, you began to slowly wake up, feeling the urge to go to the bathroom.

She was so caught up in the moment that she didn’t notice the slight shift beside her. Your eyes fluttered open just wide enough to catch a glimpse of her hand moving under the covers. Her pale face was flushed, a blush covered her cheeks and her cute nose, her skin coated with a light sheen of sweat. She was biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes tightly shut, trying to keep herself quiet, while her tattooed arm was stuffed deep inside her boxers. Her toned abs tensed up subtly as her perky tits peeked through her black t-shirt, jiggling with every tiny movement she made. Fuck, what a sight. You thought you were dreaming. Hell, you were sure of it. Why would she even do that next to you? You knew you should’ve done or said something, but the sight of your best friend pleasuring herself right beside you only made your pussy throb madly, and the way she dirty-talked to herself to make herself cum. God.

You squeezed your thighs together, pretending to be asleep. Her soft moans made you feel indescribable things, and you felt yourself getting increasingly wet; it felt like torture to lay there and pretend to be asleep while she pleasured herself like that, but at the same time, it was addictive.  So, instead of confronting her, you decided to play along. Wearing slutty thongs to bed became your new routine, and of course, it didn’t take Ellie too long to notice. Some nights, you could feel her lifting your beloved oversized shirt up just a bit to take a better look at your body. It was hard to suppress a smile, but you managed.

“A fucking thong, really? God.” you could hear her mutter quietly.

She’d mumble random shit like, “Wanna fuck you real bad,” when she was close to her orgasm. 

You’d often shift a bit too close to her to make her freak out, interrupting her imminent orgasm. It was entertaining hearing her panic and freeze. The little sigh of relief she'd let out when she looked over you to make sure you were ‘sleeping’ was even cuter to you.

˳·˖𖤐 One day, while doing the laundry, your eyes caught a flash of red fabric peeking out of her sweatpants, tucked deep inside the pocket. A brief moment of recognition made you realize it was your thong, one that you had lost long ago. And you remembered vividly how you had always wondered where it had gone. You knew Ellie had something to do with it—indeed, you were not wrong. “Perv,” you let out a breathy chuckle as you withdrew the thong from her pocket and tossed it inside the washing machine. 

˳·˖𖤐 Though you couldn’t say shit. You weren’t really in a position to, not when you had stolen her boxers—the very ones she had made a mess of the other night, getting off to your ‘innocent’ form in that thong, all sprawled out for her eyes only. Unlike her, you had tucked it away, ensuring she’d never find it—in your bottom drawer, buried beneath a pile of neatly folded clothes.

˳·˖𖤐 Everything had been rainbows and roses since your boyfriend was out of the picture, leaving Ellie with you all to herself, just as she liked it. She’d half-expected this wouldn’t last forever, but she didn’t think it would unravel so soon, too soon.

After your shower, wrapped only in a towel, you realized you’d forgotten to grab fresh clothes. Too lazy to trek back to your room, you decided Ellie’s closet would do just fine. “El! I’m borrowing your clothes!” you called out, already swinging open her closet door without waiting for a response. The woody, warm scent of her filled the small space, mingling with the crisp smell of laundry detergent.

Your gaze drifted downward, catching on a gym bag lying half-zipped. The black fabric looked dull under the dim light, but something about it drew you in. There were dark stains on the shirt peeking out—a rusted, dried red that had you swallowing hard. Right next to it sat a Ghostface mask, its hollow, grinning face staring up at you, taunting you, like it knew something you didn’t. 

Just then, Ellie’s voice cut through the silence, a little too rushed, a little too panicked. “Wait, I’ll get it for you!” You heard her footsteps nearing, but by the time she appeared in the doorway, you were already crouched down, inspecting the items, your fingers clutching your boyfriend’s shirt—now stiff with dried blood—and a stained knife in the other.

She froze, her already pale face drained of color as your eyes met. She didn’t say a thing, didn’t try to explain or reach out. She simply stood there, like a deer caught in headlights, waiting for you to make the first move.

“What the fuck?” you choked out, anger tangling in your throat. Your voice cracked, but you didn’t let it stop you. “Why do you have this, Ellie?!” The words were sharp, edged with accusation, and your fingers tightened around the shirt, clinging to the blood-soaked fabric like it was proof of a reality she couldn’t deny. 

Ellie flinched, cursing herself for not getting rid of that piece of evidence. Maybe it was the procrastination, or perhaps she was just too wrapped up in you—you had that effect on her. Her expression flickered between panic and something else, something guarded, as if she were mentally scrambling to find the right lie to feed you.

“I swear, it’s not what it looks like.” Her voice was low, almost eerily calm, meant to keep you from losing your mind and freaking out even more, but it was doing the opposite. “Sit down. I can explain. I promise.” She inched closer, coaxing you back toward her bed, trying to control the situation, as if talking you down would make all of this disappear. But you stepped away from her, backing toward the closet instead.

“Then fucking explain,” you demanded, your voice rising, heat flooding your cheeks as your pulse hammered. Your eyes trailed down to the Ghostface mask lying on the floor, and you kicked it toward her. “What the hell are you doing with all this shit? With my boyfriend’s shirt?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected you, as if that made a difference in the moment. But she cared enough about it to not hold her tongue. You scoffed in disbelief at her correction, and your stern look only prompted her to keep talking, desperate to answer your question. “I found it in the trash,” she began, her tone too smooth, her words practiced. “I was going to take it to the cops.” But you both knew that was a shitty excuse. The explanation hung in the air, feeble and hollow, cracking under the weight of your inquisitor glare.

“That’s a fucking lie, and you know it,” you spat, tightening your grip on the knife, its sharp tip now aimed right at her. 

“Just sit down, please. I’ll tell you everything.” Her words spilled out, each one more frantic than the last, thick with desperation as she inched closer, hands reaching out like she was steadying herself—or preparing to corner you.

You held your ground, pressing your back into the cold closet door, “No, fuck that!” you snapped, refusing to let her control the moment. Her jaw tightened, and in an instant, she lunged forward, catching your wrist and forcing it up against the wood, pinning the knife-holding hand in place.

“Listen to me!” she growled, her voice growing louder, almost vibrating with a tension that rippled between you, making you quiver. Her face was close, too close, so close that her warm breath hit your face, and her eyes locked onto yours, wild verdants unwavering, staring into your dilated pupils.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you shouted, fury shaking the air between you as you pulled at her iron-tight grip. But it was useless. You were sick of her lies, of her half-truths. All you truly desired was for her to lay it all bare for you ‘cause you weren’t fucking dumb, and deep down, you knew it. You had known all along. Her grip only tightened, her knuckles turning white against your skin as her breaths came fast. This Ellie was raw, untamed—a far cry from the girl you had around every day. But in this harsh intensity, there was something real, something you’d been craving for.

“You wanna know the truth? Fine!” Her voice rose, each word bitten off, hard enough to make you flinch. She gazed down at the bloodstained shirt sprawled across the floor, her face hardening, “Yeah, that’s his. And yeah, that’s his blood. He deserved what he got.” 

“What the fuck, Ellie, you had no fucking right—” She slammed her other hand against the wooden surface of her closet door, inches away from your head, causing you to cut off your words before they could be fully uttered.

“He was cheating on you!” she interrupted you, her voice rough with anger, her face flushing red. “I saw him, alright? With that girl from the bar—the one you were always paranoid about. I fucking saw him with her. So yeah, I followed him, and things got… out of hand.”

You scanned her face, searching for any hint of regret or guilt, but all you found was a complete lack of remorse, an expression that only seemed to scream she’d do it all over again if she could. But it was exactly that thing in her eyes that pulled you in even more. “Then why not just tell me?” 

Why couldn’t you fear her? Why weren’t you grossed out? Shouldn’t you have had a typical reaction to her revelation, like screaming or crying over the brutal murder of your boyfriend? Instead, here you were, feeling oddly fascinated, giddy even.

“I wanted to,” she admitted, her voice a little raspier, her eyes glistening with what looked like tears—fake ones. The sudden empathy felt odd, something that didn’t belong to her, and you knew her too well for this shit. “But then I saw you, finally free, happy without him dragging you down. I thought I’d done you a favor. And then I just… couldn’t say it.” 

You pressed yourself harder against the closet door, staring at her like you were seeing her for the first time. You shook your head, “You’re lying,” you stated flatly, watching her mask drop.

“What? You think I’d lie?” she shot back, trying to twist the situation, like you were crazy for even suspecting her. But you knew better. Psychology classes were really paying off.

“Yes, Ellie, you’re lying.” you leaned in, and her jaw clenched as you continued. “You did it to Amanda and that girl at the party? You think I don’t remember that night? Just admit it!” You practically yelled, and a shadow passed over her face like an ominous cloud, her expression hardening again, her eyes growing cold, dark in a way that caught you off guard. One thing was for sure—there was a certain beauty in the way her captivating jade orbs effortlessly switched between the deceptive facade and the cold, calculated gaze of a serial killer. 

“Admit what?” her tone was mocking, like she was daring you to say it.

“That you—” The words stuck in your throat, your gaze slipping to the Ghostface mask on the floor. That’s when she ripped the knife out of your hand, her grip firm as she held it close to you, not quite pressing it into your skin, just close enough to see if it’d rattle you.

“C’mon,” she murmured, leaning in with that daring, dark smile, “say it.” Her eyes flashed with an edge of mania like she was enjoying this, feeding off your reactions, like some sick parasite.

“You killed them all.” you managed, voice barely a whisper, and she threw her head back in a laugh that sent chills down your spine.

“God, do you hear yourself? You sound pathetic,” she chuckled darkly, her knife tracing a line along your cheekbone, slow enough to make you shiver, close enough to cause goosebumps to erupt on your skin. Your chest tightened, your heartbeat loud in your ears as her lips curled in that contorted smile. ​​Your breath hitched as she leaned in, her gaze piercing through your irises, capturing every fleck of color.

“What? Gonna kill me now?” you breathed, your words almost taunting, a faint smirk pulling at your lips as her eyes narrowed.

She tilted the knife against your throat but still put no pressure. You felt yourself leaning into it, letting the thrill course through you and that familiar excitement growing in your tummy. “Gonna make me?” she whispered, voice thick and low, and for the briefest moment, her composure cracked—just enough for you to see her desperation, like she was hanging onto a thread. She needed you to stay, even after all this. She couldn’t live without you.

“I just want the truth,” you uttered, your voice soft, never breaking eye contact. And if you did, it was only to let your eyes drop to her lips, she was so tantalizingly close that it was impossible not to. “Drop the mind games. I want the truth.” You didn’t know how the hell you could still want her, adrenaline tangling in your chest, but you did. Maybe even more than before.

Her brows rose in mock surprise as she cocked her head. “You want the truth?” she echoed, lips parting in a cold smirk. “Fine. Yes, I killed your stupid fucking boyfriend. He died like a pussy,” she sneered, anger flashing as she clenched the knife, thinking of his hands on you, touching what had always belonged to her.

“Why?” you whispered, watching her like you were peeling away her layers, seeing her stripped of all pretenses.

“Why do you think?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes like it was obvious.

The words that tumbled from your mouth after her revelation left her almost astonished.

“How’d you kill him?” then, with a morbid fascination you added, “What did it feel like?” your head tilted slightly to the side. 

˳·˖𖤐 The more she went on and on about the macabre details, the more it turned you on. She was taken aback by your enthusiasm and curiosity, the specific questions flowing from your lips with an unsettling calm that she struggled to comprehend. It was almost as if you were savoring every twisted word that came from her. She couldn’t wrap her head around how her dark confessions had led to this moment—both of you naked, with you perched on top of her.

Ellie was gorgeous—way too gorgeous to be a serial killer, or a psychotic person. She was even more gorgeous beneath you, auburn strands of hair splayed across the pillow, messy but not as messy as her dripping pussy. Her breath hitched as your fingers tightened around the handle of her switchblade, the cold metal gliding from her neck down to her chest, drawing lazy white scratches all over her alabaster skin.

A low, frustrated groan escaped her lips as you drew lazy circles around her areolas with the sharp point of the knife, watching with satisfaction as her pink nipples hardened, standing at full attention for you, as hard as rocks and begging to be tortured. You could feel her grow restless beneath you—her hips bucking in a desperate attempt to grind against your pussy, but you lifted yourself ever so slightly, just enough to deprive her of the friction she craved.

“Desperate?” you mocked, your bottom lip jutting out in a cruel pout. Ellie’s eyes flicked up to yours, glazed with lust and frustration, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. A cocky front, even now. But it was just a front, she was so fucking weak for you.

“Yeah,” she rasped, her voice betraying her need, but her eyes showed a glint of defiance. She couldn’t resist trying to fight back. “But you’re dragging this out like a coward.”

You hummed sultrily, letting the blade press just a little harder against her dotty complexion—not enough to cut, but enough to leave faint red marks across her flesh. “Oh, you think you’re in a position to talk back?” you spat, your free hand pinning her wrist above her head as she squirmed. “You’re fucking sick, Ellie.”

“Like you’re any better,” she sneered, though her voice trembled as the tip of the knife traced down her sternum toward her stomach. Goosebumps rose on her sun-spotted skin as her breathing became more erratic, her hips lifting in vain again to seek the friction you kept cruelly out of her reach.

“Not the one going around killing people, am I?” you snorted, the blade now grazing and lingering just below her belly button.

Ellie’s defiance cracked, her voice weaker, more fragile as she muttered, “I did it for you.” it made your heart skip a beat or beat faster—you really couldn’t tell from all that adrenaline clouding your rational thoughts.

“You’re trembling,” you noted with a sly smirk, her cocky grin faltering as the knife inched lower, closer to where she needed you most. Ellie bit her lip hard, a needy whimper slipping through despite her best effort to stifle it.

“I need you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, one hand reaching up to rest on your hip. Her touch sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but lower yourself closer, pressing your body against hers. 

A wicked smirk tugged at your lips, pride swelling in your chest at the sight of her—the usually cold, calculated killer, reduced to this. All because of you. Seeing her this weak for you truly made you want to do the unholiest things to her, things you knew she would never forget about. You tossed the switchblade aside, forgotten as soon as your lips descended on her neck, sucking dark spots on her soft flesh. You let your teeth sink in, biting just hard enough to get a soft sound out of her. The auburnette was so desperate and sensitive that everything seemed to make her moan—every brief touch, every kiss, even your breathing fanning over her skin. She was already half-gone, and you were barely even getting started.

Her skin flushed beneath your lips as you kissed your way down her body, taking your sweet time, savoring each second of her squirming beneath you. Her breaths grew more ragged, her thighs twitching as you moved lower. Ellie’s body was a temple, and right now, it was all yours to worship.

She’d killed for you, it was the least you could do. So, was romance really dead?

˳·˖𖤐 You’d never imagined Ellie would care that much, never thought she’d be capable of that level of obsession. And you didn’t mind it one bit. No, quite the opposite. The realization only made your pussy throb madly, heat pooling between your thighs as your mind replayed her confession over and over like a broken record, focusing on the brutal details she had given you. It wasn’t just the idea of her killing—it was that she did it because of you, because she couldn’t let anyone else have you.

Every single muscle in her body tensed, her legs trembling as you hovered right above her hairy mound. You could see it—the way her wetness coated her folds, her pink clit, swollen and impatient, her pussy practically begging for attention, and it only made you want to tease her more. Your thumb teasingly drew tight, gentle circles on her aching nub, making her whimper almost exaggeratedly.

“Aww, look at you…” you purred, retracting your hand, your voice low, honed in sweet mockery. You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. “Soaking wet, desperate for me to touch you. Gonna start begging now?”

Your words made her whine, her resolve crumbling more with each passing second—not that there was any left. Her body betrayed her, hips lifting toward your face, her need palpable. But you weren’t done playing with her yet. You had all night ahead.

Your arms curled around her toned thighs, pulling her closer as you knelt at the edge of the bed, your face mere inches from her pussy. You could see how wet she was, how desperate she had become—there was even a dark wet patch on the sheets beneath her. You smirked up at her, eyes locking with hers as you lowered your mouth to her slick folds. With the tip of your tongue, you spread her moistened lips, and it was enough to make Ellie’s entire body jolt, a choked moan tearing from her throat as you tasted her, her sweet juices coating your lips as you lapped at her with slow, deliberate cat licks.

Ellie’s head fell back against the pillow, her hands gripping your hair with white-knuckled desperation as you ate her out, tongue flicking over her clit every now and then with just enough pressure to drive her mad. You sucked, your lips closing around her swollen bud, and Ellie’s back arched painfully off the bed, her thighs trembling around your head.

“Fuck… fuck…” she gasped, her hoarse voice scratching her already dry throat as her hips bucked uncontrollably and you held her down, refusing to let her squirm away from the relentless onslaught of your mouth.

You smirked against her, the vibrations of your giggle only making her moan louder. “Look at you, El,” you teased, your voice muffled between her thighs. “So sweet ‘n perfect f’me,”

You didn’t wait for a response, diving back in, your tongue swirling around her clit as you slipped two fingers inside her, curling them with brutal precision, finding that sweet spot that had her toes curling, her breath catching in her throat. Her gummy walls clenched around your fingers, and you could feel how close she was, her legs shaking violently.

Ellie’s moans grew louder, more frantic, her hands tugging at your hair hard as she tried to ground herself, grinding against your tongue. But you didn’t slow down—if anything, you fucked her harder, your fingers pumping into her fast and deep, your mouth never abandoning her needy clit, your nose buried in her trimmed bush.

“Beg me,” you commanded as you pulled away to breathe, her core swallowing every inch of your fingers greedily. All those years of plugging her fingers deep inside her wet cunt imagining they were yours instead were so worth the wait.

“I—fuck—” the green-eyed girl’s breath caught, her body shaking uncontrollably, her voice barely a whisper now. “Please… please…” She couldn’t even fucking function; you had reduced her to a broken mess.

“Can’t hear you,” you prompted her, your fingers plunging deeper, harder, until her back arched off the bed, a cry of pure need tearing from her throat.

“Fuck! Please, I need it—I need you—fuck, I’m so close!” she sobbed, her voice cracking as her orgasm crept closer, promising her to see stars, but you weren’t about to give her what she wanted—no, not yet.

You grinned wickedly, pulling your fingers out of her soaked pussy just before she could. A strangled, frustrated sob escaped her plump lips as her body writhed beneath you, her orgasm stolen, leaving her aching and needy.

“Aw, you’re not so smart, are you? You really thought I was going to let you come?” You leaned in, pressing your lips to her ear as you whispered, “Oh no, El… we’re just getting started. You’re not going anywhere.”

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie’s eyes widened with a mixture of frustration and confusion as you told her you’d let her come after you were done using her. You reached for your favorite strap-on, adjusting the harness until it sat snugly around her hips. Her wrists were bound securely to the headboard, the cuffs’ soft, fluffy lining pressing firmly against her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as the realization dawned on her, her eyes darting between the toy and your wicked grin. 

Her pupils were blown with lust as she watched you lower yourself onto her, the thick silicone toy sliding in with ease after you’d teased your throbbing bud with its tip. Her hands twitched, desperate to reach out, to touch you, but she couldn’t do much with the handcuffs keeping her wrists locked to the bed, the soft restraints holding her firmly in place. She watched with wide eyes as her cock stretched your needy, wet heat, sliding in and out. At first, your movements were slow and teasing, letting her take in every inch, but it didn’t take long before you picked up the pace, your body already accustomed to its size, moving with a frantic, eager rhythm.

“Fuuuck…” you panted, rolling your hips against the toy, your breath hitching as that familiar feeling built in your stomach. Ellie’s gaze was glued to you—your bouncing tits, your parted lips, the way your body moved smoothly above her. She wanted to touch, to feel you, but all she could do was watch as you used her, as you fucked yourself on the strap like she wasn’t even there. It was cruel, truly. Her body trembled with need as she watched you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure, her pussy throbbing with unmet desire as yours seemed to suck the toy deeper, and for a moment, she swore she could feel your walls tightening around her—perhaps it was the desperation playing a sick joke on her. She couldn’t help but let out a moan.

˳·˖𖤐 She had tried begging but she’d only be met with things such as:

“Cry about it,” you sneered, your voice cold and mocking as you watched her squirm restlessly beneath you.

“You’re such a fucking crybaby,” you murmured, fingers gripping onto her chin and forcing her to look at you as if her desperation was nothing more than a joke to you.

“I’m putting up a whole show for you, and you’re still complaining,” you chuckled darkly, a twisted satisfaction curling at the corners of your mouth as you looked down at her, reveling in her helplessness, your wetness dripping down the harness, making a mess on top of her.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice cracking as she thrusted up. Mewls slipped out of your soft lips as the tip of her silicone cock hit your cervix, desperation written all over her flushed face. “Please let me touch you... let me do something...” Her voice hitched as she choked on a sob, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her glassy eyes locked onto yours, her cheeks streaked with the remnants of her pleas. “Fuck, I can’t—” she cried out, voice breaking again, her head tilting back as she tried to hold herself together. Her gaze flickered back up to you, trailing to your chest, lingering there hungrily. Bushy brows furrowed with longing as she licked her chapped lips.

But you weren’t listening. You were too lost in the pleasure of fucking yourself on her, your head thrown back, sobs pouring from your lips as the strap-on hit that perfect spot against your cervix. Your movements grew more frantic, hips slamming down harder, faster, the toy sliding in and out of your slick folds with ease. The wet sounds of your arousal filled her room, mixing with the desperate, needy gasps that escaped Ellie beneath you, her fingers curling into fists as the cuffs dug into her velvety skin, promising bruises she’d feel long after this was over.

Her eyes glazed over, chest rising and falling rapidly as she watched you ride her with reckless abandon. The sight of you, your body glistening with sweat, pretty tits bouncing with every thrust, was too much for her. She was on the edge, teetering, her body aching to release, but you wouldn’t let her. You wouldn’t let her do shit.

Ellie groaned, frustration and lust mixing in her voice as she bucked her hips uselessly beneath you, trying to gain even a fraction of relief from the sight of you fucking yourself senseless. “Please… please, I’m begging you,” she whimpered, her voice hoarse and broken, and god if it nearly made you squirt. “I need it—I need to come, please…”

You smirked down at her, not stopping, your hips grinding harder, riding the strap with everything you had. You leaned down, your breath hot against the shell of her ear as you whispered, “You’re not coming until I say you can. You’re going to sit there and watch me get off, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.” Cruelly pressing damp and sloppy kisses on the column of her neck, kisses that had her gasping pathetically.

˳·˖𖤐 And it went on and on, her eyes locked on the sight of your milky cum dripping down the thick, black strap, each drop making her bite back a groan. She wished she could taste you. Every time she tried to move or squirm too much for your liking, you’d smack her hard across the face, or switch to a new position just to tease her even more, making sure you were giving her the best view. It was only after the fifth—or maybe the sixth—orgasm that you finally uncuffed her.

The moment her wrists were free, she flipped you over, quick as lightning, giving you no time to react. She pinned you beneath her with a mischievous glint in her eyes, you looked up at her, panting and spent, your brows knitting together in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. She just smirked down at you, spreading your trembling legs apart with ease, her grip firm and unyielding.

“Oh fuck, no—” you gasped out, trying to squirm away as she wrapped her hand around the slick toy, guiding it right back to your abused entrance. She knew she could probably come right then, grinding against the back of the strap, but the thought of pushing you past your limits was far more thrilling. 

“You’re not stupid enough to think I’d let you go so easily, right?” she repeated your earlier words, her voice low and dangerous as she lowered herself over you, your sweaty bodies pressing together. “Didn’t you wanna be my helpless victim, babe?”

The redhead pushed in relentlessly, forcing your pulsating walls to swallow every inch, your back arching as she made you hold on just a little longer. Before long, your legs gave out beneath you as she pounded into you from behind, each thrust deep and brutal, your cheek pressed into the soft mattress. Her hand came down hard on your ass, leaving a sharp sting that burned like a bitch. The smacks kept coming, over and over, until your skin was bruised and your body was shaking with overstimulation. “This is for leaving me high and dry,” she hissed, her voice rough with frustration and desire, slapping the same bruised spot again and again, until you knew you’d be sore for days, unable to sit down.

˳·˖𖤐 When it was finally over, the two of you laid tangled together, breathless and sticky. Ellie’s chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, but a question lingered in her eyes—one that seemed to claw at her even now, despite everything you’d done to show her you weren’t running, that you weren’t disgusted by her nature. You had never been, for the matter, even when you were kids.

“You’re not gonna tell on me, yeah?” she rasped, her voice rough, her grip tightening possessively on your hip while her other hand gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. Her touch was surprisingly tender, contrasting with the weight of her words, like she was scared to hear your answer. It made your heart swell knowing she feared losing you so badly.

But you were so drunk of the overwhelming contentment that you barely registered the tension in her voice. Instead, a sleepy smile tugged at your lips, and you blurted out, “Wanna be my girlfriend?” The question slipped out before you could think, your gaze locked onto her freckled face, admiring every angle and curve, the way the warm dim light softened her expression.

Ellie blinked, caught off guard, before a playful smirk curved her lips. “I am your girlfriend,” she gave your hip a gentle swat that made you chuckle softly, the sound mixing with the quiet hum of the fan.

“Y’know…you’re right,” you mumbled suddenly. Her hand drifted to your back, scratching lightly, soothing you as your body relaxed into hers. You turned your head, meeting her soft eyes again, while something darker flashed in yours. “He fucking deserved what he got,” Your voice was low, carrying a finality that made Ellie’s breath hitch. It was all the reassurance she needed. A wide grin spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with something almost feral, a giddy kind of joy. It was a smile so genuine, so purely her, that it was impossible to resist leaning in to kiss her, your lips meeting hers in a messy, heated kiss. 

“But yeah, if you leave me I’m gonna tell on you.”

˳·˖𖤐 She had gotten clingier and more eager after that night, always looking for an excuse to touch you, to keep you within reach. Whenever you went somewhere, Ellie trailed right behind you, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave your side. And honestly, you loved it—you thrived on bossing her around, enjoying how she would drop whatever she was doing just to be with you. If the two of you were inseparable as friends before, it had only gotten worse. Not that the obsessive, morbid love wasn’t there before, but now you both let it show, with no boundaries left to be set, no rules, just whatever twisted thing you both had become together.

˳·˖𖤐 Time flew by, and soon Halloween rolled around again, your favorite holiday. Ellie knew it, too, and she didn’t even try to say no when you convinced her to tag along to a party you’d been invited to. It was supposed to be a small, “close friends only” type of thing, but you dragged her with you anyway, making it clear you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Plus, you’d been at each other’s throats lately, bickering more than usual, and she didn’t want to risk making you any angrier. It was either coming along without putting up a fight or dealing with the idea of you going solo—knowing she’d just end up following you like the little creep she was, lurking in the shadows, making sure no one even dared to touch you.

˳·˖𖤐 The party turned out to be better than either of you had expected. A few drinks in, and you both started to loosen up, Ellie sticking close, practically attached to your side with some invisible rope. It was like she couldn’t let you out of her sight, even for a second, her hand always finding its way to your back or waist, keeping you close. You danced together, swaying in the colorful, pulsing lights, your bodies brushing intimately against each other. Her eyes stayed glued to you the whole time, like you were the Holy Mary herself, and she just couldn’t get enough. You reveled in her devotion, the way her grip on your hips would tighten as you moved. It was such a turn-on.

Eventually, the party began to wind down, and it wasn’t long before it was just the two of you left with Allison and her boyfriend, Lucas. The four of you gravitated toward the kitchen, where Ellie leaned against the counter, elbows propped up on the cold granite. She played with the knives, her fingers casually tracing the handles, sliding them in and out of the block absentmindedly.

Allison scrolled through her phone, her brown eyes squinting at the screen’s dim glow. “Another guy went missing,” she announced, her voice wavering as she scanned through the article. “I bet Ghostface has something to do with it.”

“Tragic,” Ellie muttered, her tone devoid of sympathy. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. You watched her, catching the unsettling indifference in her voice. When she noticed your gaze, she raised an eyebrow in mock innocence, daring you to question her. Instead, she shrugged. Allison went on and on about how creepy it was that Ghostface could be literally anyone, her voice holding a mix of fascination and fear. 

“I mean, think about it,” she said, eyes wide as she gestured dramatically. “It could be your neighbor, your friend, even someone you totally trust! Just wearing that mask and knife in hand, ready to strike any moment. It’s so fucked up!” As Allison thought about the countless times she had passed by potential killers, she couldn’t help but shudder in fear at her luck. How many times had she walked down a dark alleyway, taken a walk alone at night, or even trusted the wrong person? The thought of her mortality sent a chill down her spine and made her wonder how long her luck would hold out.

“Yeah, it’s scary,” you hummed, but then the conversation shifted back to the guy who had gone missing. 

“You’ve got to be dumb to get killed like that, though,” Ellie scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. “Came all the way from Michigan just to end up dead? Pathetic. Guess all those muscles didn’t help much.”

Allison frowned at Ellie’s lack of empathy, but she shrugged it off, scrolling through her phone for more details, her thumb flicking faster across the screen. “That’s… awful,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip as you glanced over at Lucas, who seemed unfazed by the conversation.

Lucas noticed your look and mistook it for unease. “You okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes. “Want a drink or something?”

You nodded, playing into his kindness. “Sure, thanks.”

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to Allison’s head before heading to the kitchen, leaving you, Ellie, and Allison alone in the dim living room.

“Wait—” Allison’s brows knitted in confusion, her voice soft but growing with unease. “How’d you know he was from Michigan? It doesn’t say anything about…” Her voice trailed off as she continued scrolling, her eyes flicking back and forth over the screen, trying to make sense of what Ellie had just casually dropped.

Ellie’s smile barely flickered. “Just a guess,” she replied smoothly, her gaze icy and unbothered, creeping Allison out.

You chuckled at the exchange, and Allison turned to you with a confused look. “C’mon, cheer up, Allison! We’re just messing with you. Can’t you take a joke? It’s Halloween!”

Allison’s frown deepened as she glanced between you and Ellie, her eyes clouding with suspicion. She let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the unsettling vibe. “You two are… really something,” she said, brushing it off, not wanting to overthink it. Maybe paranoia was just doing her dirty. Oh, if she only knew.

Ellie smirked, she leaned forward, her voice dropping low. “Oh, you have no idea,” she whispered, her tone laced with something dark and final, a warning the girl didn’t quite catch.

Lucas handed you the drink, his face lighting up with an easy smile, completely unaware of the exchange. 

“You guys wanna play a game?” you asked, grinning at Allison and Lucas. The suggestion hung in the air, deceptively playful. Allison exchanged a look with Lucas, her unease melting a bit, as if convincing herself she was just imagining things.

She forced a smile. “Sure. What kind of game?”

Ellie’s grin widened, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “How about something… fun?”

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe it was the thrill of the game or the intoxicating rush of chaos, but after a few questions were answered and it was your turn, your eyes widened in shock as the blade pierced your stomach. Time seemed to slow down as you locked eyes with Ellie, and what you saw there sent a chill down your spine—your girlfriend’s eyes were empty, devoid of emotion—not even guilt shone in her eyes. It was like staring into a void. 

Blood poured from your mouth, warm and sticky, and panic coursed through you. When a week ago she had suggested trying something new, never did you think that would lead to this—her knife buried deep inside your insides, and blood pouring out of you like a crimson-tainted waterfall.

“W-why…?” you choked on your own blood, the words barely audible but with the stillness of the room, they seemed to echo louder. 

Allison and Lucas stood completely frozen, utterly speechless, their bodies rigid with shock as they watched the horrific scene unfold before their eyes, feeling useless and not knowing how to stop it. The crimson blood pooled out of your wound, soaking the fabric of your shirt, while Ellie’s gloves gleamed with a sinister shine. The red wasn’t so visible against the darkness of her attire, but it was there, unmistakable. 

“It was the wrong answer, babe,” Ellie whispered, her words dripping with a sickening sweetness that made your skin crawl, and the innocent faint smile on her face made Allison want to rip her hair out. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Allison screamed, her voice laced with disbelief, her eyes wide as she took a shaky step back.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Lucas followed, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and anger, trying to process the madness unfolding in front of him.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING MONSTER!” Allison yelled, her voice cracking as she cried, her hands shaking.

Your body hit the floor with a heavy thud, and through half-lidded eyes, you saw the panic set in as Allison and Lucas before you stopped breathing entirely. They scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over themselves. Allison’s frantic, manicured hands rattled desperately the knob, her voice shrill as she screamed for help, but the door wouldn’t budge. Locked. 

And she hadn’t locked it. She was sure she hadn’t.

Lucas, desperate to protect her, grabbed a vase from the entry table and hurled it at Ellie, the glass shattering against her shoulder with a harsh crack. It staggered her for a moment, just long enough for them to dart in separate directions, fleeing up the stairs. 

Ellie grinned, her eyes flashing with excitement as she took off after Lucas, her steps heavy but steady, savoring the thrill of the chase, like a cat chasing a mouse. She looked over her shoulder at you before she raced up the stairs. Allison stumbled into the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The auburnette could hear the blonde girl breathing heavily, panicked, the creak of the floorboards giving her away as she backed into the room.

But she decided to take care of Lucas instead, having labeled Allison as the weakest between the two. She successfully cornered Lucas at the end of the hallway. He threw open the door to the master bathroom, eyes darting desperately around for anything he could use to defend himself. He grabbed a towel rack, ripping it off the wall and wielding it like a bat as Ellie advanced on him, her face lit with a twisted satisfaction. A stupid towel rack wasn’t going to stop her, and honestly, it excited her. She loved how people fought for their lives, no matter how fucked up the situation was. It was fascinating to watch, like a wild show of survival instincts kicking in. The panic, the desperation on their faces and in their actions—it was what got her heart racing and made her feel alive.

“You… you’re insane!” Lucas stammered, brandishing the metal rod with trembling hands.

He was taller, bigger, stronger—details that only made the auburnette’s grin widen, her attentive eyes narrowing with anticipation. To her, he was nothing but a challenge, one she was all too eager to take on. Ellie chuckled darkly, her eyes never leaving him as she took one slow, measured step forward. “Only now figuring that out, huh?” She took another step, her shadow looming over him as he shrank back against the tiled wall, his breaths coming in panicked gasps. He swung the metal bar, catching her arm with a glancing hit, but it only seemed to amuse her more. She couldn’t feel pain—not even the faintest pulse of her own heartbeat, completely drowned out by the surge of adrenaline flooding her veins. She felt invincible.

With a swift, practiced precision, Ellie caught his wrist, twisting it sharply until the rod clattered to the aquamarine floor. “Nice try, Lucas,” she hissed before shoving him backward, hard enough that his head cracked against the tile. He slumped to the floor, groaning, his vision swimming as Ellie towered over him. But he fought nonetheless, his hands trying to stop her from sinking the sharp knife into his throat, but it didn’t last long. He didn’t last long.

“That was stupid,” she panted, standing over his corpse, her look sharp and full of disdain. Her face was scrunched in anger, but the adrenaline flooding her veins felt incredible—like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. The thrill of it. A loud noise snapped her from her thoughts. The old wood creaked under her black boots as she headed toward the room where she’d last seen Allison hide.

˳·˖𖤐 The guest bedroom door was slightly ajar, and she shoved it open with a firm kick. Her eyes locked onto Allison, sprawled lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around her still body. Her face was frozen in horror as if she’d seen a ghost in her final moments. Her gaze drifted up—to you, standing just a few feet from Allison’s lifeless body.

“Hey, babe,” you said with a crooked smile, giving her a little wave, clearly nervous but with a spark of excitement in your eyes that made her stare in awe. She remembered that feeling all too well—the jitters, the high that followed her first time. And here you were, cheeks flushed and grinning ear to ear like the fucking Cheshire cat, looking so damn giddy as you took it all in—like a kid who had just discovered their new favorite toy. 

Trying new things had definitely been the right move, and Ellie didn’t regret it for a second, because you were practically glowing. For the first time, you felt truly alive. It hit you then, just how much emptiness you’d been carrying all these years, how you’d learned to live with that hollow feeling. But this? This made you feel whole. Euphoric. Alive in every possible way.

“How’d I do?” you asked, almost childlike, looking up at her with eager eyes, fishing for approval—her approval. It was all you needed, and it felt like trying to impress a middle school crush all over again.

“Pretty good, my love. You did great,” she praised, a hint of pride sneaking into her voice.

“Yeah?” Your eyes lit up, a satisfied grin spreading across your face.

Her gaze softened briefly, a low, amused, throaty laugh slipping from her lips as she pushed a stray lock of hair back with the back of her blood-stained glove, leaving a smudged streak of red across her cheekbone. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she took in the mess you’d created. “You know, for a second there, I didn’t think you’d go through with it. Look at you now.” Her tongue darted across her bottom lip as she looked at you up and down, ready to pounce on you any time now.

You blushed, a bit sheepish, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the floor. “What can I say? Guess you’re a bad influence,” you smirked, shrugging it off like it was nothing.

She tossed the knife aside, and you mirrored her every move, watching as she peeled off her gloves and stepped closer. Her toothy smile widened as she pulled you in, her thumb brushing softly across your cheekbone, still warm from the adrenaline rush, while her other trembling hand rested on your waist. “Oh, yeah? Gonna start blaming me now?”

“Maybe,” you shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

The freckled girl leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, soft and warm and she tasted so sweet.

“Your performance down there was flawless, and your technique…” she trailed off, her eyes trailing down to Allison’s body, “Not bad for your first time. A little shaky on the left stab, but hey,” she shrugged, lips curling into a teasing smirk, knowing damn well that even the gentlest dose of constructive criticism would get under your skin, “we’ll work on it.”

You scoffed and swatted her hand away, but Ellie just giggled, her laugh soft and breathless. “Can’t believe you got that question wrong, though,” she reached up to cup your face, her thumb brushing your cheek again, she couldn’t keep her hands off of you. That familiar smug smirk tugged at her heart-shaped lips as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a more playful one, her breath warm against your heated skin. “We’ve only watched the first Scream movie a hundred times together,” she said, almost mockingly offended, her green eyes bright with mischief, the ones that told you exactly what she had in mind. And she swore she was falling deeper for you, you had her in a chokehold.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “I only watched it because you were obsessed with it and I thought you were cute,” you admitted.

Her eyes sparkled with delight, and she raised her scarred eyebrow at you. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling her hand drift lower to your waist, pulling you closer, you cupped her cheek, your thumb caressing her blood-stained cheekbone lovingly, staring at her enamored.

Her lips brushed against your ear, voice low and teasing. “You know what I'm really in the mood for?” Her hand slipped lower and lower until it was resting on your plush ass, giving it a suggestive squeeze.

You chuckled, pretending to think. “Pizza?”

She let out a soft laugh. “I was gonna say you, but…” She gave you that crooked, lopsided smile, shrugging playfully.

You snorted, “Oh, well, that too. I just didn’t know killing works up your appetite.”

Her smirk deepened, revealing that dimple on her left cheek you loved so much, her infatuated gaze lingering on your lips almost as if she wanted to swallow you whole. “My bad. Should’ve warned you,” she murmured, then backed you toward the bed behind you, her hands rough but confident, pressing you down as she crawled on top, her breath hot and insistent against your supple skin.

Before you knew it, she was buried deep inside you, slender, calloused fingers curling and pressing against that spot that had you whining, and your legs trembling. Her other hand gripped her switchblade, cool metal tracing up to press it against your throat, and she could feel you squeeze her fingers. “Awwhh, baby,” she taunted, voice dripping with mockery. “You keep squirming like that, and it’s gonna cost you your life.”

You choked out a laugh, though it came out breathless and shaky. “You’d cum at the sight, wouldn’t you?” You bit your lip to stifle a moan, body struggling to hold still as she kept up that relentless rhythm, her fingers stretching and curling deep inside you, making your whole body shudder. You couldn’t help but trap her arm, a weak attempt to slow her down because you knew you wouldn’t last. Not with her pressing a knife on your throat. “Fucking psycho.”

“But you love me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, her lips curling with satisfaction as she watched you nod, helpless and needy, your eyes fluttering shut as your walls clenched around her, drawing her in like you couldn’t get enough.

“Yeah, I love you! F-Fuck…” you gasped, grinding down on her fingers, desperate, craving that friction your hungry clit needed. 

Her smitten gaze drifted to the lifeless body sprawled across the room, a proud smirk tugging at her lips. “So proud of you. You did such a good job. Look at her.” She tilted your face, forcing you to take it in. “Your work.” And in her fucked up mind, she truly believed it—your work deserved to be worshiped, just like Picasso’s after he was gone. A masterpiece, painted with every kind of brutal emotion.

You let out a shaky breath, almost dazed. “Yeah, I… I did that,” you stammered, voice breaking, caught somewhere between a whimper and a sob, you could feel it, you were close already and all that praising surely wasn’t helping.

“That’s right,” she murmured, nodding as her eyes roamed over you, taking you in like she was seeing you for the first time, it made you melt. “You’re so fucking hot, god. Made just for me. Perfect for me.”

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe she was right. You felt it deep down, a truth that clung to you. A match made in hell. And as long as you had her, you’d be more than fine.

[lili-home-to-embraces-and-hugs]

Jason knew damian from the league BEFORE he knew he was his little brother and it is… so much worse

Okay so. listen.read.

jason todd. 17. freshly lazarus-pitted. feral. the human embodiment of “i lived bitch” with rage issues and a 72-hour insomnia streak. the league takes one look at this hot mess of trauma and goes “yes. this is exactly the energy we need in our murder boy band.”

enter: tiny baby assassin gremlin™ damian wayne. 6 years old. fluent in six languages, can kill you with a butter knife, has already named his sword and buried a man for disrespecting alfred the goat.

and someone. SOMEONE. in the league decides, “you know what would be funny? pair the murder toddler with the zombie disaster and see what happens.”

Heres how that went

ra’s: jason, your assignment is to supervise damian.

jason: you want me to babysit.

ra’s: guide.

jason: babysit.

ra’s: test.

damian (deadpan): i don’t need a babysitter. i need a better sparring partner. the last one cried.

jason: okay i like this kid.

they do missions together. which is to say, they cause crimes while technically completing the mission. jason teaches damian how to actually knock people out without breaking his own fingers. damian shows jason how to poison a blade using pomegranate juice and pure spite.

they bond over shared trauma and mutual hatred of everyone else. jason steals food for damian. damian teaches jason new ways to dismember people. it’s beautiful.

damian (6, holding a flaming knife): i’m going to defenestrate that man.

jason (17, holding a mango): hold on i’m eating.

damian: that’s MY mango.

jason: finders keepers.

[30 seconds later jason is bleeding and laughing]

but then jason leaves the league. rage. escape. redemption arc pending. damian stays.

and they don’t see each other for years.

until jason storms into the batcave like:

jason: not here to bond. just stealing med supplies. don’t talk to me or my trauma.

damian (offscreen): you dare show your face here, todd.

jason (freezes): oh my god. oh my god. i KNOW that voice. i KNOW that gremlin growl. there’s no fucking WAY

bruce (tired): jason, meet your little brother. damian.

jason (SCREAMING INTERNALLY): THAT’S MY EX-TINY MURDER ROOMMATE?!

damian (smirking): i see the pit didn’t fix your face.

tim (whispers): what is happening.

from that day forward: chaos.

damian starts following jason around like a very stabby duckling. calls him “akhi” in the most possessive tone known to man. sharpens jason’s knives without being asked. threatens the replacement on his behalf.

jason pretends to be annoyed but teaches damian how to make homemade explosives and saves him the last slice of pizza.

jason (grumbling): you’re still a brat.

damian: and you’re still emotionally unavailable.

jason (softly): shut up.

one day jason finds a drawing on his fridge.

it’s two stick figures. one has a red helmet. the other has a sword. they’re both labeled “BROTHERS – THREAT LEVEL: MAXIMUM.”

jason doesn’t talk about it. but he frames it.

bonus: group chat

dick: wait. you guys KNEW each other before this family?

jason: yeah. i babysat him once. worst two years of my life.

damian: i tried to stab him over a mango. it was glorious.

tim: that’s the most terrifying sentence i’ve ever read.

cass: ❤

bruce was like “you’re brothers now” and they were like “we BEEN brothers?? get on our level B/father”

[rosemaryhoney27]

Operation: Gaslight the Billionaires”

aka: How Danny Phantom Accidentally Became the Perfect Wayne

The chaos of the Batcave had mostly settled. Danny had been with them for three days, and Vlad Masters was officially on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

It wasn’t the ghost attacks. It wasn’t even the rogue AI that tried to merge with the espresso machine (thanks, Tim). It was the fact that Danny was actively making him look insane.

Bruce entered the kitchen expecting the usual post-patrol disaster: someone bleeding, Jason frying something suspicious, Damian glaring at vegetables like they insulted his honor, and Tim unconscious on the table with a Red Bull IV.

Instead… the kitchen was sparkling.

Alfred was humming. HUMMING. And Danny?

Danny was wearing an apron that said “I cook with spirit (and some ectoplasm)” and was gently stirring a pot of something that smelled incredible. He handed Alfred a tray of prepped vegetables with the air of a beloved sous-chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

“Knife is clean and set aside, Mr. Pennyworth. Do you want the counter disinfected again before the meat’s on?”

Alfred smiled. Smiled. “That won’t be necessary, Master Daniel. You’ve done splendidly.”

Bruce stood in the doorway like a man waiting for a piano to fall on him. “…Who is this child?”

Alfred replied calmly, “The most helpful young man we’ve had in this kitchen in years. I daresay Master Richard could learn a thing or two.”

Danny looked up, beamed at Bruce, and said, “Good morning! You want coffee? I just finished a batch of Colombian roast. Tim said you like it strong enough to dissolve crime.”

Tim, from under the counter where he’d been sleeping with a tablet as a pillow: “That’s not even a joke. I’ve seen it eat through one of Damian’s throwing knives.”

Bruce walked over and took the mug Danny handed him. It was the perfect temperature. The exact strength he liked. He took a sip.

His soul briefly ascended.

“…This is better than Alfred’s.”

Alfred gave an approving nod. “Indeed. I showed him once.”

Vlad stormed into the room like a man preparing to perform an exorcism. His hair was frazzled, one of his slippers was missing, and there was what looked suspiciously like slime on his sleeve.

“BRUCE. Tell me honestly, what have you done to him?”

Bruce blinked. “To Danny? Nothing.”

“HE MADE A THREE-COURSE MEAL AND ASKED IF I WANTED A MIDNIGHT TEA.”

“I like being helpful,” Danny said, halo practically visible. “Uncle Vlad gets stressed so easily.”

“I DO NOT—!”

“He also helped Damian organize the armory,” Alfred added serenely.

“Color-coded the blades,” Damian muttered, glaring slightly less than usual. “And sharpened them.”

Jason walked in, paused, sniffed the air. “Is that real garlic bread? Did we finally break the food curse?”

Danny handed him a plate. “You should eat. You looked hangry yesterday.”

Jason stared at him. “I could kill for you.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Nice. Boundaries.”

Vlad was gaping. “You are all being tricked! This is an act! He’s a little gremlin with teeth! He ate my briefcase!”

Danny blinked innocently. “It smelled like almonds. I thought it was marzipan.”

“IT WAS NOT MARZIPAN.”

Cass wandered in, stole a breadstick, and gave Danny a high-five. “Nice work.”

Vlad turned to Bruce, furious and hollow-eyed. “This is not fair. He fought a space god last week, and now he’s making quiche.”

Bruce just shrugged. “Some people contain multitudes.”

“He bit a vampire diplomat in Prague.”

“He was undead and had no permit for summoning circles,” Danny added cheerfully. “Also, he was rude to the hotel staff.”

Stephanie peeked in. “Did I hear someone say quiche?”

“Spinach and mushroom,” Danny called.

“I’m going to implode,” Vlad whispered to the heavens.

Danny wiped his hands and turned to Vlad with a kind, innocent smile. “Uncle Vlad, I know it’s hard to accept, but maybe… I’ve matured?”

Vlad squinted. “You turned your teacher’s car invisible three weeks ago.”

“She parked in the ghost zone exit lane,” Danny said, wounded. “I was helping traffic.”

Bruce sipped his coffee and studied the boy who had seamlessly infiltrated his house like a social trojan horse. “How did you convince him to stay with you again?”

“I blackmailed the adoption agency and offered full scholarship access, six haunted properties, and a personal lab,” Vlad muttered.

“Reasonable,” Tim said. “Sounds like a good pitch.”

Bruce looked at Danny. “Would you like to stay a bit longer?”

Vlad: “No.”

Danny: “Sure!”

Jason: “New little brother unlocked.”

Vlad looked down into his empty tea mug like it had betrayed him. “This is how I die. In a Wayne manor. Smothered by domestic competency and passive-aggressive hospitality.”

Danny patted his arm. “It’s okay, Uncle Vlad. Want me to make you some chamomile?”

Vlad hissed like a vampire at dawn.

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Parade Performer

Dpxdc Prompt #18

Every year Gotham hosts a parade where performers dress up as Gotham villains and go riding on a parade float around town while gothamites throw anything they can manage at them. These performers are paid an obscene amount for going through the abuse of every person living in Gotham. The more hated the villain the more the performers are paid, so obviously being the Joker pays the most.

Though, this doesn't matter much because every year the Joker kills the person that plays him during the parade.

So obviously Danny Fenton, a broke runaway that has already died once decides to be the Joker for the Gotham Villain's Parade.

Danny hates clowns.

Everyone in Gotham hates clowns, so he isn't special in that regard. No, he's special in that his hate for clowns does not stem from the Joker.

It's that specialty, along with the fact that he's used to people hating him his home town never really liked his protection, no matter how much they needed his help , and that he needs money to help him survive Gotham that has lead him to become a parade performer.

He joins a very short line of people who are desperate enough to dress as the worst Gotham has to offer.

He's the only one that's there for the role of the Joker.

All the people there look at him like he's a dead man walking.

He sits down and allows the makeup artist to turn him into an unrecognizable monster. She looks at Danny like she is stabbing a knife into his heart—which for all intents and purposes she is.

As he stares into the mirror he allows a change in his previous statement. He was turned into a monster for sure, but there was nothing unrecognizable about the man that had hurt every single person in Gotham City in some way.

He steps onto the float and prepares himself mentally. Whatever they say, whatever they do, they don't mean it about him. They are just taking out on him what they can't do to the man that has ruined so many lives.

Danny stands still as rotten tomatoes are thrown his way. He stands as still as a statue for all of the insults. The only time he moves is when knives and bullets rain upon him, he doesn't plan to die, not to misplaced anger.

He gets his money, it's enough that could last him into retirement. It doesn't matter too much as he is kidnapped 3 days later.

The Joker beats him with a crowbar, smashes all of his bones into pieces, and televises the whole event.

"This is what happens to those that mock me," he says, "There's only one Joker and that is me."

Danny knows he won't die, he doesn't have bones for the crowbar to break.

Red Hood doesn't know that. Jason Todd just sees a desperate kid that's about to get killed on live TV.

He loads his gun, find's the murderer that's haunted his dreams, his death, and his life. He shoots, no Bruce to stop him.

He picks up the kid and brings him to a safehouse. Jason is too late for the kid the same way Bruce was for him. He has no pulse, no breath entering his lungs. He deserves a peaceful resting place.

And then the kid's eyes open and Jason's world is turned upside down.

[flwrkid14]

Learning to Be Someone's Favorite

braindead version of this post

Tim, of course, would never believe that he could be anyone's favorite person.

Tim doesn’t expect anyone to like him—not right away, not even eventually. He’s learned to approach every new connection with the quiet, sinking knowledge that the best he can hope for is tolerance, and the worst is outright disdain. It’s not paranoia, not in his mind. It’s pattern recognition.

People don’t dislike him on purpose, not really. But Tim knows what he is—a little too sharp, a little too obsessive, a little too much. He doesn’t have the warmth Dick has, the easy charisma that draws people in. He’s not raw passion and magnetic energy like Jason. He’s not Cass’s quiet strength or Damian’s undeniable presence.

Tim is… there. Functional. Useful. And if people don’t like him, that’s fine. It’s not like he’s giving them much reason to.

Which is why Danny throws him completely off balance.

At first, Tim doesn’t know what to make of the guy. Danny just… shows up one day, cracks a joke, and slips into Tim’s life like he belongs there. He’s ridiculous and charming in that obnoxious, impossible-to-hate way that makes Tim’s head spin. And he stays. That’s the strangest part. Danny keeps showing up—at the Cave, during patrols, sometimes in Tim’s apartment with no warning, casually eating cereal like it’s completely normal.

Tim keeps waiting for the catch. People like Danny don’t stick around for people like him, not once they get to know him.

But Danny stays.

And not just stays. He latches onto Tim like it’s second nature, treating him like a gravitational center. Danny always seems to know when Tim’s burning the candle at both ends—he’ll show up uninvited with coffee and snacks, throw Tim over his shoulder (literally) to force him to take a break, or just plop down next to him and start chatting away about nothing until Tim feels the tension in his shoulders loosen.

Danny likes him.

The realization hits Tim like a sucker punch one night after a particularly grueling patrol. They’re sitting on a rooftop, splitting the last of the takeout Danny insisted on ordering, when Danny leans back and says, casually, “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

Tim nearly chokes on his noodles. “What?”

“You’re my favorite person,” Danny repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grins, bright and unbothered. “I thought you knew that.”

Tim stares, unsure what to say. It doesn’t feel real—he’s used to Danny’s teasing, but this isn’t that. Danny’s just... stating it. Like it’s fact. Like Tim is the kind of person anyone would ever call their favorite.

His first instinct is to reject it, but he doesn’t. Not outright. Instead, he files the comment away, tucks it deep into the place where he hides the things that scare him most.

After that, Tim notices the way Danny treats him. How he never seems to prefer anyone else, how he always seeks Tim out first, how he lights up when Tim enters a room. It’s overwhelming, and terrifying, because Tim’s used to relationships being conditional. He knows how easily favor can turn into irritation, frustration, dislike.

Tim starts to tread lightly. He keeps himself carefully controlled around Danny, terrified of making the wrong move. He goes over every word they exchange, second-guessing himself constantly. The last thing he wants is to push Danny away—or worse, turn that bright, unwavering affection into resentment.

But Danny doesn’t seem to notice Tim’s cautiousness. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. He keeps showing up, keeps throwing an arm around Tim’s shoulders, keeps calling him his favorite with a grin and a wink. He stays.

And slowly—so slowly Tim doesn’t even notice at first—he starts to believe it.

Danny Fenton thinks Tim Drake is the coolest person in the multiverse.

And maybe, just maybe, Tim is finally starting to think it’s not a mistake.

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

Am I Enough ?

summary : Alfred unexplainably dislikes a certain Wayne member and is hellbent on making her life as miserable as it can get .

What does it take to make a person break ? What does it take to make a person want to pull apart themselves from within ? What makes a person want to drown themselves in an unimaginable abyss and let its infinite darkness swallow them hole ?

Well, if you asked name, it would be watching Alfred treat every other family member with the utmost respect and love, but when it comes to her , he is cold and unforgiving .

Sometimes , name sits in her room and reflects - sometimes she thinks she's being dramatic - taking things out of portion . Maybe Alfred hadn't made her any dinner like everyone else because he was tired ? Maybe he didn't offer to patch up her bleeding wounds because he had to tend to Tim's scar ?

Name can't tell you how many excuses she had made for that man and his odd behavior towards her . Was it because she was a product of Bruce's one night stands ? It has to be impossible because he treats Damian with utmost care despite their constant back and forts and his own creation.

Is it because she was abnoxious ? That would explain the glare he shot her whenever she spoke during dinner . She tried - lord knows name - tried apologizing to the older head so many times over the years she has lived and served under Bruce Wayne, but the older head would always dismiss her .

Name pretends it's not a big deal - a pathetic attempt of dealing with her problems, but what else was she to do ? Alfred was so loved and appreciated in this family that if she dared speak something ill against him - she shivered and dreaded the consequences .

She already knows what they would tell her , " Name, don't be so dramatic Alfred has served us for so long be appreciative" , " Name , not everyone has to like you , I thought you were more mature than this " , " Name , you can't be this ridiculous ".

Thoughts like these swirl around her head like a violent tornado whenever she so much has a silver of confidence to approach anyone on the topic . So, name feigns ignorance to the topic . Whenever Dick questions why Alfred can't simply drop her to school , name just lies about wanting to walk to school and back instead .

Whenever questioned why she cleans up after herself instead of leaving it to Alfred by Stephanie, name just laughs it off to being independent. She gets weird looks from Jason every time she shuffles a sandwich she made for herself for dinner , instead of the five-star meal, Alfred made them .

She always made excuses for that man, but lord - those that man hate her . She remembers in 8th grade when she felt sick, and she opted to stay home that day . Around noon, she had entered the kitchen for a drink when Alfred spotted her and began his berating.

" Name Wayne , your father spends thousands behind your tuition not so that you can discard it so recklessly to be a nobody." Name was so embarrassed that she simply shut herself in her room after that.

To make it even worse , Alfred had complained to Bruce about it right after, and she got a lecture from him too about how important academics were . That wasn't the worst of it - the worst was when she had her guy friend over in the library to study for an exam, and Alfred spotted them and accused her of being a hooker .

Any bits of sympathy and respect she held for that man died that day . Since then, they've been icy to one another , always sneering and glaring at one each other whenever they can .

Name is happy to report that since she turned 18 , she has long since left the mansion and has been living her life in New York . Far away from Gotham , far away from Alfred and far away enough to live her life without some old geaser up her behind .

She till works for Bruce, always sending over whatever bit of intel she found to him or Tim. Years passed like this, and name has yet to visit the manor since , to the point it's a running joke between Jason and Dick that he himself visits more than her .

The batfam likes to joke about every year around that it would take a ' Christmas miracle ' for name to show up, not knowing that Alfred purposely doesn't send her any invitations or the way Tim always suggests " we can make name bring the mash potatoes so she hasto join us ! " During Thanksgiving dinners .

As much as Bruce laughs and entertains the jokes , he always wondered why you never came , always wondered if they harmed you someway or how that made you want to distance yourself from them.

It all came down to a week before Christmas , and the batfam was busy helping preparations and ensuring the safety of Gotham was at its best this holiday . Bruce had just come back from patrol and was busy typing away at his computer when Alfred approached him with dinner.

" Alfred please prepare a room for name " Bruce says after a few beats of silence have passed . Alfred stills - almost dropping the platter of food . " Excuse me Master Wayne but what ?" Alfred asks - too shocked - too stunned by the request . He thought he gotten rid of you for good why - why now ?

Bruce raised an eyebrow at this , " I asked for you to prepare a room for Name , I have invited them over for Christmas " Bruce says once again , this time his voice firm . Alfred blinks his eyes - he can't belive it - can't grasp the fact that after all these years Bruce still cared about you of all people .

Before Alfred can even argue about it - Damian and Dick whom overheard the conversation eagerly approaches them . " Hmph my competent sibling would make this Christmas snowball fights ever so more winnable for us " Damian says with a smirk- he's already plotting in his head the shenigans the both of you can do to poor Jason.

Dick rolled his eyes but had a cheesy smile plastered on , " No way in hell you got name to come back home old man " Dick laughs out as he ruffles through Bruce's hair . Bruce stares at them all with a pokerface , " I personally talked with them and requested their presence this Christmas and told them it was non-negotiable "

Dick laughs , " You're treating them like they're Jason and would rather ship themselves to the sun than come home " . Damian nods his head to this , " My sibling is more competent than that idiot " . A batrang is then thrown at his head to which Damain eagerly dodges .

" SHUT UP YOU LITTLE GREMLIN " Jason shouts in the distance , Tim's laughter echoing right after . A fight begins to ensue and Bruce returns back to his work - ignoring everyone while Alfred is stood there frozen in disbelief .

A week passed a name is standing in front of the looming mansion. Nothing has changed since the day she left - especially the scowling old man awaiting in the foyer for her . " Good evening Alfred " Name greets him as she removes her coat and hangs it on the hanger . " It would of been a better evening if you never came " Alfred says before walking away . Name scowled - ' why does he always have a stick up his behind ?' She thinks as she invited herself inside.

' Also what was the point of waiting for her if he'd just walk away ?' Name thinks to herself as she seats herself in the dinner table . " NAME !! " Stephanie exclaims at her arrival. Beside her , Tim embraces her and Jason flicks her forehead .

" Name welcome back " Bruce greets her at the head of the table . Name smiles at her dad - a sense of happiness fills her , after years of celebrating the holidays alone or among friends , she's happy to be back home amoug them.

" We missed you name like Damian literally cried when you left " Dick says with a giggle . Damian angrily shoves him off his seat , " Shut up grayson that literally never happened " .

Name laughs but was interupted by a Alfred's cough. " Dinner is served masters " he says as he places plates in front of everyone except name . " Where is Name’s plate ?" Tim asks - breaking the comfortable silence . Everyone turns to Alfred who quickly feigns ignorance . " Apologies Master Drake I am afraid I forgot Name was visiting and hadn't prepared anything "

Bruce and Damian both quirk their eyebrows in confusion because all week - they've both been talking about your arrival how can he simply forget ? . Name awkwardly laughs , " It's alright everyone I'll make myself a sandwich-" She tries to excuse herself but is stopped when Jason angrily bangs his hands against the table .

" This is absolutely ridiculous Alfred I know you hate them but to be this petty?" He argues . Silence envelops the table - name stunned because how the hell did Jason know about any of this ? How did he notice ?

" Jason that's a wild accusation -" Tim starts but Jason cuts him off . " No listen - I don't know how none of you ever noticed but name always has to make their own food - I've never seen Alfred cook them anything " Jason points out .

The table is silent again . " Alfred why is that ?" Bruce asks . Alfred fumbles abit but clears his throat . " Name prefers to make her own meals " he lied . Everyone turns to name who's practically sinks in her own seat from the heated stares .

" Is this true Name ?" Bruce enquires sternly . " Yes ?" Name pathetically lies and curses herself internally. Damian glances at her and then at Alfred . " What is the meaning of this Alfred ?" He orders . Alfred has to steel himself from within before answering , " nothing of the sort master we just don't get along " was his excuse .

Silence draws out once more . " Why ?" Dick asks as he looks between you both . Name stayed silent before answering, " I don't know what I did - I tried apologizing but nothing changed " .

" Wait name !! " Bruce calls after her but it was too late she had already left, never to return home again .

Alfred shoots her a harsh glare , " It is because this family can do without her existence " and with that Alfred leaves the room without another word . Silence once again draws out but was broken by name pushing her seat back . " Was nice having dinner with you guys but I must leave " she says before hurriedly making her exit .

[jjenthusee]

Delivery

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Lately your grocery list was looking a little small, your cleaning supplies were never running out, and you don’t remember buying these soaps? Who was the one refilling all your stuff?

Word Count: 1.5k

Something was off.

You were writing your list for your weekly shopping errands to refill any soap, groceries, or cleaning supplies running low, but nothing was empty. Half a bottle at best.

It had been bothering you that your large restocks that made you wince at the end of the month looking at the large receipt had minimized to five items at most.

How was this possible?

You didn’t cut down on spending or on using less items, but now that you look at your kitchen, everything was well stocked.

You counted the amount of extra paper towel rolls, the extra unopened cleaning spray that you do not remember buying, and the new bottle of cooking oil in your cabinet.

This was suspicious, very suspicious.

Call yourself the world’s second greatest detective because you narrowed down the culprit restocking your home.

“That red tin man…” You firmly looked over to the window, the shiny, newly replaced lock calling your name. “Let’s see how well your safety measures work.”

You shut the window, doubling the two locks installed by Jason himself, giving you a personal pep talk ensuring that no one is getting in. Not even him, especially him.

With some duct tape, you taped layers over the window seal. As you looked at your work, you thought to yourself…bookcase, yes. A large bookcase.

With heavy breaths, you pushed the bookcase in front of the window.

You were not letting in your not-an-actual-burglar tonight. Now you would wait.

—

Jason was off patrol, his muscles ached, his helmet felt heavy, but he was grappling his way to the small 24-hour mart that he has been cutting the cameras at.

As much as he wouldn’t be shopping with his gear on, the small store was enough for him for a quick shop and the cashier was a tired college student who couldn’t care less about who walked through the sliding doors.

He remembered you were running low on some hand soap in the kitchen and a replacement seasoning salt.

He hummed as he shopped, walking up to the counter to leave extra cash and disappearing before the cashier had time to turn back to give him back his change.

Jason softly landed on the fire escape outside your window. He waited to watch and listen for any movement inside your apartment.

The lights were off and you had to be asleep.

It was perfect for a quick look in, place the items, and go back to his safe house.

He gripped the window, gently trying to lift with the shopping bag on his arm. When it wouldn’t budge, he tried one more time with a little more force.

He put down the plastic bag and noticed you were using the lock he installed. It brought a small smirk to his face at the thought of you utilizing something he made himself.

When he looked closer, he realized the small sliver of light on the edge of the window, blurring from the curtain.

Something was blocking the light, your lights hadn’t been off at all.

As Jason was going to turn on his infrared lenses, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You: so you were my burglar

Jason held in his laugh, fully piecing the situation together.

Jason: but I haven’t stolen anything

You: so breaking and entering? This is illegal trespassing sir

Jason: glad the lock works, but have to deduct points for the duct tape

You: if it can hold cars together, it can hold my window shut, even better if it keeps vigilantes out of my home

Jason: but I still have your apartment keys

You: yes, jay, you do. So please use my front door cause you are welcome to use it

Jason reread the message. He held his eyes on the word “welcome,” feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Jason: let me change. Be back in 10

Jason felt like an idiot, realizing he had been caught. He pulled an ordinary T-shirt over his head. His matted hair slightly fraying to the movement.

He exhaled in exhaustion as he pulled a jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag from earlier.

How was he going to explain?

Hey, sorry, I’ve just been breaking in and refilling your groceries and anything that seems to be running low? I also got you some seasoning salt, you were running out.

Jason smacked the side of his head.

You had to be pissed because you locked the window and clearly barricaded it.

Jason got to your door, somehow, he felt his eye-bags deepen, his frown get stronger, and his hands felt colder.

With reluctance, he knocked three times. You had unlocked the door surprisingly fast, he figured you were waiting right there until he got to your apartment.

“Come in.” You left the door open for Jason, walking back to the kitchen to pour your tea.

Jason noticed how tired you looked. He felt even worse picturing you staying up until he attempted to open your window.

What if he hadn’t come by tonight?

He didn’t move from the door, watching from just outside your apartment.

“I just wanted to bring these over, I’ll leave now.” He tried to run. He needed to leave before you told him to never come back.

“Jay…” You walked over, grabbing onto his sleeve while guiding him inside. He was cold. “Shoes off. Sit on the couch.”

He immediately obeyed not wanting to anger you more.

You followed and sat next to him, your comfy clothes sinking into the cushion.

Jason looked over to the bookcase you clearly moved not long ago.

“I didn’t realize I hired a delivery man. Actually, I’m more embarrassed I finally realized what you’ve been doing.” You sipped at your cup. “How long?”

Jason tilted his head at your question.

“How long, Jay?” You emphasized.

“Five months, 2 weeks.”

“Five months?!”

“I made sure to make it very subtle, but eventually I…got carried away.” Jason admitted, his body stiffening the more honest he became.

“Jay…I’m not mad.” You reached out to grab his hand, kneading warmth into his bruised knuckles. “Really. I just need you to tell me when you do this.”

“But the bookcase and the lock.” Jason subtly relaxed to your touch, but he was far from leaning into the couch comfortably.

“Okay, I was a little mad, but that was because I had only realized that I haven’t properly restocked anything in a while. I looked at my store apps and card history and I had nothing. Just snacks or last-minute purchases.” You sighed, signaling Jason to give you his other hand to warm.

“You were busy…and I thought I could get them for you. I made sure to get the right ones.” Jason watched your hands, refusing to look at you directly.

“I know. You did so well that I took so long to realize. But, I work. I can get these things and you can get me things too, but let me know, please. That would help me out a lot and so I can thank you.”

“But I don’t do it for your words. I like helping you. If it lessens your stress, I’ll do it for you.” Jason reasoned. He was stubbornly defending his actions because you were at the root of his mind.

You were at a loss for words.

“It did help me out a lot, but it also confused me when I had an unlimited bar of soap.” You chuckled.

The sound of your laugh eased Jason. His shoulders sunk a little lower at your tension easing.

“No more frowning.” You rubbed the edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. “I found out, you owe me dessert tomorrow, and you can get back your window privileges when you let me know when you buy me something.” You yawned.

“I said that I don’t do it to hear you thank me—“ He tried to remind you.

“I know, but I’m tired from trying to catch my burglar and I want to cuddle.” You opened your arms, waiting for Jason to ease into your embrace.

“I’m not a burglar.” Jason argued, taking off his jacket and laying into the couch, grabbing you to lay on top of him. “Did you also take another shift? You look exhausted.”

You rubbed Jason’s eye-bags when you settled comfortably. You were probably matching his raccoon eyes.

“Kiss me and I’ll go to sleep.” You smiled, sleepily touching Jason’s stubble with your hands.

He leaned into your hands, while gripping underneath your chin to bring his face to yours. The sweet touch of your lips was enough to get Jason to fully relax into you, to take in the moment and trust that you weren’t mad at him for what he was doing. It had been with good intentions, but he was just taking a different route.

“Go to bed.” Jason leaned your head onto his chest.

Your eyes got heavy, your breathing was starting to even out, but you had one last idea.

“If you tell me when you buy something, I’ll give you a kiss.” You faded into a deep sleep.

Jason had never forgot to tell you again, he even purposefully bought you extra things you didn’t need to buy.

You eventually had to start setting limits and unlocked your window for your favorite vigilante visits.

[romanceyourdemons]

alien vs predator? a rich kid on spring break vs a crocodile that’s also the embodiment of everything fucked up and scary about sexuality. predator is toast.

dracula vs frankenstein? world’s most fatherless honors student vs a charming and cruel authority figure who’s also the embodiment of everything fucked up and scary about sexuality. frankenstein’s monster is toast.

freddy vs jason? extremely manipulable human vs extremely manipulative supernatural entity. jason is toast.

king kong vs godzilla? the consequences of usa global cowboyism, trying to enter the new york dating scene vs the consequences of usa global cowboyism, trying to avoid his polycule’s city-leveling drama. a match made in heaven. their battles are legendary, their on-again off-again affairs even more so. they haven’t paid child support for their sons in years

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH3

8111 words, 45803 characters, 534 sentences, 197 paragraphs, 38 pages. Previous chapter -> First Chapter

The boy’s footsteps echoed between the empty buildings, their rhythmic pattern navigating the uneven bricks on the sidewalk’s edge with practised ease, each step a silent, steady dance against the rough textured concrete. A pang of disappointment tugging at his heart as he turned his head, meeting your gaze. His voice breaking the silence. "You're... seriously leaving?" The older boy muttered bitterly, a tinge of disbelief on his tongue.

Your throat constricted, your eyes unable to meet his pained, searching gaze. You halted in your tracks, your fingers instinctively reaching out to grasp the fabric of the back of his shirt weakly, hesitating for just a moment. Your chest tightened with mixed emotions as you felt the rough material in your palm.

"It's not... my decision to make. You know that, Jay." You rest your head against his back, a choked breath escaping your lungs. "She's... She's back."

The boy’s shoulders tensed under your touch, his breath hitching as your head rested against his back, the fabric of his shirt dampening slightly from the tears forming in your eyes. "...I know." He whispered hoarsely, his voice catching in his throat. "But it's not fair."

Frustration and helplessness rose in Jason’s chest, his hands clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to release the tangled emotions swirling within. "It's not fair. Why does she get to decide everything? What about... what about what I want?"

“Jay..”

“No.” He snapped suddenly, the raw frustration in his voice catching you off guard. "You always take her side." The anger in his words stung you as he shrugged off your touch on his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

The sharp edge in his voice cut through the air, making you recoil as if you'd been struck. You clutched your hand against your chest, your body going rigid as a wave of hurt washed over you. "She's my mother." Your jaw tightened, the words escaping through clenched teeth as pain stung your eyes.

The silence that settled over them was a heavy, uncomfortable one, filled with unsaid words and emotions too complicated to articulate. You met his gaze again, the hurt in your eyes betraying the turmoil within. "She's all I have left, Jay." You whispered, your voice softer now, laced with a hint of vulnerability.

The sound of your whispered words broke what little composure he had left, a pang of guilt shooting through him at the sight of the hurt in your eyes. He could feel his anger dissipating, replaced by a mix of regret and shame. "I know," he muttered, his voice softer now, lacking the edge it held earlier.

Jason’s tone shifted, losing the defensiveness of before as a hint of pleading entered his voice. "God- Of course I know." He muttered, his tone a mixture of frustration and resignation. "But... what about me?" His jaw clenched as he spoke, his eyes flickering up to your form before darting away again. He chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you grit your teeth, your hand dropping from his shirt back down to your side. You focused your gaze on the ominous-looking sky above, the clouds dark and threatening in the distance. "I can't lose her again," the words slipped out, quiet and pained. “I.. I can’t let her leave me again..”

You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze back to his figure. Taking a hesitant step forward, your hand reaching out as if to touch him, but stopping as your knuckles brushed against the fabric of his shirt. A mixture of pain and helplessness etched your face, your voice breaking as you spoke. "You understand that, right? Even if it hurts, you get why this has to happen.."

His eyes flickered to your hand, his heart clenching at the aborted gesture. He could feel the tension in your body, the pain in your voice. The pain of his own anger faded as he met your gaze, seeing the hurt mirrored in your eyes. He let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. "... Yeah. I get it."

You woke up with a startled start, your ears laid back against your head as your gaze darted around the lavish space. A staggered breath leaving your lips. What happened?

The young Wayne’s eyes were piercing, watching your every move as you darted towards the door, making a break for it. You could feel his gaze burning into you, the mixture of anger and tension still present in his expression, not at all focused on the older man's words.

The billionaire speaks up again in an attempt to intervene, his voice smooth and calm, "Damian, that's not necessary." But his words fall on deaf ears, his son not acknowledging his attempt to diffuse the situation.

The boy's focus was fixated solely on you, as if Bruce's words had no effect. Watching you intensely. You could sense the tenseness in his body, coiled up like a spring ready to snap at any moment.

He takes a single stride forward, his hand held out in front of him. Your breath hitches involuntarily, anticipating some sort of attack. But instead, you watch as he drops the object in his hands onto the floor. It falls with a loud thud on the ground, a weapon of some sort. You eye it warily, suspicious of his intentions.

Your body tenses as he steps towards you, your heart beating fast in your chest. His actions are slow and controlled, but there's something dangerous about his movements. He continues on, keeping his hand extended, his palm facing upwards. He's still staring at you intently, assessing the situation. From the way you avoid stepping on one of your front paws, to the way you’re swaying. Still clearly affected by the sedatives they’d had to use on you.

He moves forward, closing the space between the two of you. Standing only a few feet away now, his height making him loom over you. Your claws dig into the ground beneath you, ready to run away at the first sign of danger, but he stays in your line of sight. His hand remains extended, palm open and empty.

You find yourself hesitating, nose twitching as you take in his scent. You stand your ground for a moment longer, your tails movements slowing down to a moderate sway as you lean forward to sniff at his outstretched arm. Watching as he slowly lowers himself onto one knee in front of you.

His expression is hard to decipher, waiting patiently for you to approach on your own terms. His body language is careful and non-threatening, despite the obvious anger and tension that still simmers just beneath the surface. You cautiously inhale, taking in the Robin’s scent. It's a mix of fresh linen and some sort of woodsy aroma, with hints of something warm and familiar, likely belonging to the billionaire standing behind him. You catch a whiff of something else there too, something sharp and dangerous, like steel. As your nose moves, you could see him watching you intently, his expression still intense but somewhat more patient now. He doesn't move, simply kneeling down in front of you calmly.

You take a small step, tilting your head upwards to present your fluffy little chin to him. Your tail swaying languidly behind you. His expression softens slightly as he sees your action, the small step forward and the way you present your neck. His eyes widened a miniscule amount, his expression shifting from intense to something more vulnerable, more open. He lifts up his arm a bit, as if to move forward to grab at you, his hand pausing just a few inches away from your scruff. For a moment, he appears conflicted, torn even. His eyes darting to his father unsurely for a moment before moving back to you.

You brush up against his arm, moving forward to his extended hand. Nudging against his arm, silently coaxing him to move his fingers along your spine. It's instinctual, an unconscious action used to convince him to pet you. Your thoughts beginning to blur as the lines between your human brain trying to run and block out the pain clashes with your cat side that just wants comfort and rest.

His calm demeanour wavers for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek to keep from letting a soft smile form on his lips. It's a strange reaction, one he can't quite explain, but something about your actions make him feel all warm inside. Seeing you brush up against him willingly, moving closer and nudging your head along his skin, silently coaxing him to just touch you.

And then, his thumb slips beneath your collar, causing a brief pinch before you go limp, sinking into his awaiting arms. Your vision starts to blur, the world around you fading into a hazy blur of colours. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you closely to his chest as you start to feel the sedation taking hold of you again, the world around you fading into nothingness.

You let out a deep, guttural hiss, your muscles feeling tense and worn out from all the shifting and stretching. Your joints ache with every little pop and squeal that escapes. Your ears flex back against your head, and your tail sways in lazy circles behind you. This shit is getting repetitive.

Your mind briefly drifts back to the dream you had, before quickly pushing those memories away. The last thing you needed to be doing was get all sappy and nostalgic over your past when you’re stuck in some deranged psycho families manor.

You transform back, feeling your limbs stretch out as you shift from cat to human. A deep, disgusted sneer passes your lips as you take note of the tacky clothes you're now wearing, an obviously well worn, tacky sweater that's a bit too big hanging off your shoulders and a pair of tight-fitted shorts. It's a clear display of vulnerability to be seen so exposed and in a state where they'd strip away your autonomy. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth just thinking about it. You're pissed, the anger bubbling up inside of you like a hot flame. Your teeth gritting in frustration.

You slowly climb off of the bed, feeling like a newborn foal trying to walk for the first time. Your legs heavy and unbalanced as you take tentative steps towards the door. The large wooden framing stands wide open, completely unguarded. They hadn't bothered locking it.

You poke your head out cautiously, your eyes darting around the hall for any signs of life. Seeing nothing but empty halls and closed doors, you slowly creep out of the room, moving towards the exit at the end of the hallway. Your gaze flickering between every door you pass, on high alert for any movement.

The large foyer of Wayne manor stretches out in front of you, the dim lights casting long shadows across the floor. At the far end, the grand staircase leading up to the second floor loomed in the distance. It's eerily silent here, the only sound being the gentle tapping of your feet against the floor. You take a few steps towards the staircase, feeling the weight of the silence that fills the grand foyer. There's a sense of dread surrounding the entire area.

The heavy wood of the staircase groans under your feet as you begin to ascend. It creaks and wobbles slightly, but doesn't break or give way. It's been there for years, the weight of centuries of people passing through. The top of the staircase leads into the second floor hallway, a long stretch of wood and plaster that you can't see all the way down. Your ears strain, listening closely for any sound.

Your heart beats loudly against your chest. The thump of it pounding in your ears, like it was trying to escape the confinements of your unrelenting ribcage. Loud enough that you were sure the entire mansion must've been able to hear it.

Yet everything else was dead quiet. The hallway, the floors, the air. The silence was almost deafening. Your ears strained to hear even the smallest movement, your eyes darting across every corner and every shadow.

You straighten up, a relieved smile stretching across your face when you notice a familiar figure. Red Robin. He's here, investigating the Waynes. He must be. Without thinking, you sprint over to his hunched over form, your bare feet tapping against the wooden floor as you cover the distance between you two in moments.

Finally. Someone here in the manor who might, hopefully, not be involved in all this insanity. You speak up, your voice a strained whisper as you approach him, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. "Red Robin." The name rings out in the stillness as you finally reach him.

He turns towards you, his brow raising under the mask as a dark grin spreads out across his face. His hand shot out, steadying you by the hips, his grip firm but not painful. He was being careful.

“You have–” Your voice croaks, rough from disuse. You reach out, your fingers grabbing at the edge of his cape, your hands trembling. “You have to help me.” You plead, your eyes darting around, watching for any sign of someone lurking in the halls.

“Help you…?” He echoed, his voice low and controlled. Head tilting to the side as he fully turned to face you. There was something about his expression that you couldn’t place - a hint of something amused, perhaps.

“Help you with what, exactly?”

You swallow, your tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper in your mouth. You grip his cape tighter, using it as support as you try to speak. Your eyes are locked firmly on his cowl-covered face, searching for any hint of emotion.

“The Waynes…” you whisper, your voice hoarse and broken. “I need your help. Please. They– they kidnapped me!”

The vigilante is silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he speaks, his voice still controlled but different somehow. There’s a faint edge to it now, his eyes fixated on you like nothing else in the world mattered.

“The Waynes?” He pauses, his voice deceptively casual. There’s a strange note in his tone, almost like he was humoring a distressed child. “Why do you think they kidnapped you?”

You grit your teeth, frustration sparking in your chest. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, his words like a slap in the face. Did he not believe you?

“What do you think?!” You whisper back harshly, your grip on the thick material of his cape so tight your knuckles begin to turn white. The tone of his voice was riling you up, like he was making a joke of your situation. As if this was all some sick game.

His head tilts to the side again, like he’s observing you closely. Studying you, almost. There’s an edge to his expression, a spark of something unreadable in his eyes.

You shift under his gaze, your heart beating loudly in your chest. His sudden intense studying of you was making you uncomfortable, his eyes scanning up and down your body from head to toe. Like you were being dissected, broken down like a specimen under a lens.

“Where did they keep you?” The vigilante continues, his eyes lingering on your bare feet. Clicking his tongue disapprovingly. There was something about the way he spoke that felt… off. Like he already knew some of the answers to his own questions.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, your mind racing for a response. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything around you, flinching as your eyes follow his gaze down to your own bare feet. The cold hardwood floor against the tender skin of your soles suddenly feels icy and unpleasant. You can’t help the slight involuntary shiver that wracks your body as he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“In… in some room,” you finally respond, your voice a whisper. Your eyes glued to his face, trying to decipher the strange look in his eyes. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up. “A nice room, sure, but a prison all the same.”

“They-“ you start, your voice shaking. Your hands trembling as you release the grip you had on his cape. You have to force the words from your mouth like poison, your voice wavering as you try and keep it together. “They drugged me.. they put.. they put these things,” you pause, blinking rapidly to clear the tears gathering in your eyes. You were starting to feel phantom pains where they’d incisioned the trackers under your skin. “In my body. Fuck— they undressed me, they—“ your voice falters, your throat suddenly tight with emotion. “They have me in a bloody collar!”

The vigilante’s face remains impassive as you tell him your story, the strange look in his eyes never wavering. He nods along, his expression showing little to no emotion besides the occasional tightening of his jaw. Despite his calm demeanor, there’s something dark in his expression, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

He listens intently, his gaze never leaving your face. His eyes are fixated on you, intense. Like he’s searching for something in your expression, something missing.

He bites the tip of his glove, tugging the material loose before pulling it off completely. He gently moves his hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing delicately against your skin. His eyes are intense, deep like a frozen lake. You can see the mixture of emotions swirling in their depths - anger, something resembling possessiveness, and a strange sort of affection, almost.

His voice is low when he speaks, quiet and steady. “All of that is for you, darling.”

“To keep you safe, protected,” he continued, running his thumb across the flesh of your cheek. The motion is gentle, almost soothing. “To make sure you finally feel loved.”

His soft, almost soothing actions suddenly feel like they’re suffocating you, his words sending a cold shiver down your spine. You stumble back, trying to get away from his touch. Your eyes widen as the realization of what he’s saying sinks in.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is to you, how close he’s been standing the entire time. You can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of your neck, your heart hammering against your chest. It’s hard to breathe, for some reason, and your vision momentarily swims as you continue to stumble backwards. He was supposed to be a vigilante. A hero to the people of Gotham.

You stumble back, your feet moving before your brain does. Without thinking, you turn around, spinning on your heel and breaking into a run. Your bare soles slap loudly against the hardwood floors, the sound reverberating throughout the entire mansion. Your heart is in your throat as you try to put as much distance between you and the vigilante as you can.

You managed to take a good few steps before you suddenly buckled, falling to your knees with a hard thud. A strangled gasp leaving your lips as your hands shot up to claw at the collar around your throat, your heart racing even faster. It felt like you were running out of oxygen, the collar suddenly constricting your airways. You feel like you’re choking, like you can’t breathe, the sudden pain making tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

Despite your efforts to attempt to breathe calmly and slowly, you just couldn’t manage it. Every gasp, every breath, was painful, like your airway had been forcibly closed up by a cruel fist. Your vision began to swim from the lack of air, fuzzy and unfocused. Your fingers clawing desperately at the hooks of the soft collars edges, gasping desperately as it doesn’t budge.

You were on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of your own panicked gasps filling your ears. It’s all consuming - your panic, your utter fear.

He approached you slowly, each measured step he took echoing throughout the empty hall. He kneels down next to you, his movements deliberate and smooth. Tim coos softly, gently shushing your trembling form as you curled up into a tight ball on the cold floor, shaking.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sickenly tender as he caressed you. “Shhh… It’s okay..” he murmured, his voice deceptively low and soft. “You’re alright. It’s okay, kitten.”

You’re suddenly able to breathe, air rushing into your lungs like a tidal wave. Even though the collar still firmly encircles around your neck, the pressure around your airways loosened up. Your body greedily sucking in mouthfuls of air, your mind swimming and dizzy with both lack of oxygen and a hazy relief.

You can feel Tim staring down at you, his gaze intense. A smile on his lips as he watches you gasp for air. His thumb hovering over the release button on the remote in his palm.

“There you go..” he whispers, his voice a low hum of satisfaction as he watches you take in shuddering gasps of air. He continues to pet your hair, his fingers carding through your locks softly. “That’s it. Nice and easy, sweetheart.”

“Do you understand now?” His tone is sickly sweet. It felt like your skin was crawling every time he touched you, your body cringing and flinching away almost involuntarily.

His hand continues stroking, the motion gentle but somehow threatening. Like every soft caress was an attempt to coax you into submission, his touch a strange sort of warning.

“Hm?” he prompts, his head tilting to the side. He looks expectant, like he’s waiting for a certain answer.

Your eyes glare up at him, your lips fluttering desperately as you try to speak. Every word you try to say is cut short by another deep gasp of air, your throat raw and sore from the crushing pressure applied earlier.

You want to scream at him, to yell and thrash in his grip. But your body feels weak and shaky, the adrenaline coursing through your veins still thrumming with panic and fear.

This wasn’t the same boy you’d rubbed your body up against on that apartment’s balcony. The same young man who’d smiled at you as you weaved around his feet, begging for his attention.

That Robin was kind, warm. Gentle. This man… wasn’t. Not even remotely. There was something dark in his eyes. Something feral and predatory.

His grip on the remote in his hand is so tight that his knuckles are turning white. It was like he was claiming some sort of disgusting ownership over you, like he believed you belonged to him in every sense of the word.

Something cold and terrible curls in your stomach as you watch his expression, a quiet horror slowly setting in as it sinks in just how dangerous the situation you’ve gotten yourself into is.

You should’ve trusted your instincts, should’ve listened when something felt off. You should’ve run. But you didn’t, thinking it was all the strange circumstance, that you were just overreacting.

Now, you’re pinned like a specimen under the grip of an unstable hero. At his mercy. At all of their mercy.

You feel your thoughts swirling in your mind, like a maelstrom of confusion and fear. Was it not just the Waynes…? Had every hero been in on it? Were you never going to be safe?

Your heart races as the realisation dawns on you that Batman himself might be part of this. The most powerful man in all of Gotham, the one who was supposed to be the symbol of good.

You were feeling lightheaded, your thoughts swirling in a hazy panic. How could this be happening? How was this real? You were nobody. You lived day to day struggling, how could somebody like you ever catch the attention of so many people? And why?

Tim continues to stare down at you, his smile turning almost unnervingly sweet. It was like he knew exactly what you were thinking, like he could see the questions swirling around in your head.

He chuckles softly, his voice disturbingly casual as he speaks. “You’re wondering why, right?” his words carry a hint of amusement. But his tone is almost pitying, like he was comforting a child about to be told a bad truth.

He pauses, a small hum leaving his lips. He looks like he’s thinking, like he’s contemplating something. Then he reaches out to gently brush a sweaty lock of hair from your face, his touch strangely tender.

“It’s because we’re family.” he states firmly, his tone so casual it chilled you to the bone. There was no hint of doubt in his voice, like he fully believed it. Like he knew that it was the hard truth.

He leans down closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek again. He watches your expression closely, a strange sort of affection behind his eyes. Something bordering on possessive.

You couldn’t help but shiver at the sheer intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes felt like they were boring into your soul. “You’re ours." His words are low and firm. Definitive.

“You’d do well to remember that. You’re family, whether you like it or not.”

“We take care of family,” he continues, his thumb rubbing against your skin in a gesture that’s almost soothing. Or it would be if you didn’t know the meaning behind his words. “We take care of each other. Family protects each other. Family makes sure nobody can hurt each other.” His voice takes on a colder, darker tone. Which contrasts the gentle way in which his thumb strokes your cheek. “This manor is the safest place for a little kitten like you in Gotham. Where we can protect you.”

His fingers travel from your cheek down to your chin, his grip gentle but firm as he tilts your head up. Making you look into his eyes.

They’re so blue. Not in a gentle, calming way, but in a piercing way. Like staring into the depths of an ice-cold river. The look he gives you is intense, his gaze unblinking.

“You’re safe here,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Where you belong.”

Safe? He says the word with such conviction. As if he truly, wholeheartedly believed it. Like he wasn’t the one holding the switch in control of the collar locked around your throat.

The word makes a bitter, dark laugh bubble up from your chest, the sound harsh and rough. “Safe?” You manage to rasp out through your ragged throat. “You fucking kidnapped me. Yo–you’re treating me as if I’m not a prisoner here.”

Tim’s eyes flash at your harsh words. There’s a hint of anger there for a brief moment, a shadow flickering through his gaze as his jaw clenches tightly. He looks like he’s having a hard time keeping himself in check.

“You aren’t a prisoner.” he grinds out, his voice still controlled, if a bit tighter than before. “You can do anything you want, go anywhere you want. Do anything to please us.”

He pauses for a moment, seeming to rein in his anger before continuing. “You’re being provided for, given anything you ask for. You’re protected, in a beautiful home, and kept away from the harshness of the streets. I’d say that sounds like a pretty good deal…”

His grip on your chin tightens, the smile on his face turning almost sickly sweet. “But since you want to be so ungrateful about it,” he drawls, his voice dripping in saccharine sweetness. “Maybe you’d like to go back to the streets, hm? To your cold apartment, your lonely existence, the struggle to find your next meal?”

His words are cold and calculated, like he’s reminding you of the harsher realities of your life. “Because you have nothing, you know. No one. No safety. You’re completely vulnerable like that.”

He bends down to your level, his face uncomfortably close. “You’re a stray, little one. A feral, scared, little stray, with no one to look after you. And the streets of Gotham aren’t kind to strays.”

Your eyes glare up at him, your teeth gritted as you rasp out your response. "Fuck. You.”

Tim’s expression darkens at your words, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his glare deepens. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just staring at you with an intense glare. It feels like he’s trying to decide if he should punish you for your harsh words or not.

You feel the familiar prickling sensation of transformation overcome your body, your bones shifting and compressing as you shift forms.

In an instant, you’re on all fours, your now-furred body feeling surprisingly agile and light, your claws scratching against the hardwood floor. You shift backwards, your tail lashing as you release a low growl up at Tim.

His expression seems to soften for a moment as he watches you transform, it was a familiar sight that he’s grown used to watching over the cameras. But the look is gone in a flash, his frown returning as he looks down at you with disapproval. His hand shooting out to grab you before you get the chance to dart off.

Your front paws circle around his wrist, grasping for purchase as you begin clawing and scratching at his arm. Your hind legs kicking and scraping against his skin, your body writhing violently in his grip. Sharp teeth digging viciously into his thumb.

Tim lets out a loud shrill of pain as your teeth dig into his skin, your sharp canines puncturing his flesh. He hisses out a curse, his hold on your scruff tightening unconsciously in response.

You feel him almost frantically throw you away, the shove hard enough to make you stumble backwards. You land on your paws as you look back up at Tim, your head tilted as you watch him cradle his arm.

His limb is bleeding heavily from the deep cuts you’ve inflicted on his skin, multiple long puncture wounds and slashes littering his wrist and forearm. A string of curses leaves his lips, his hand coming up to grasp at his torn skin in an effort to slow the bleeding. The blood gushing out all around and onto the floor.

The scream that came from Tim’s lips echoed loudly down the long hallways of the manor, the sound carrying through the air sharply. Within moments, the sound of hurried footsteps and hushed voices filled the air as the inhabitants of the manor seemed to gravitate towards the source.

You were preparing to make a run for it, your body tensing and preparing to bolt, when a sudden sharp sting went through the back of your neck, the sharp prick from the collar’s latches lodged in your skin.

Your legs buckled under you, your mind hazy and your vision starting to swim with an all-consuming blackness just as a pair of heavy duty black boots entered your field of vision. Your head felt so heavy.

You vaguely managed to glance up, your eyes registering the sight of Bruce Wayne towering over you before you finally lost consciousness.

For plot purposes, Alfred is Vet trained. TW for the following. If you are uncomfortable with animal cruelty or non consensual body modification, then either skip to the next banner or click off.

Once you slowly come back to, your head feels foggy and your thoughts sluggish. You blink your eyes open, your vision slowly refocusing as you try to take in your surroundings.

The first thing that you notice is that you can barely move. Your entire body felt immobilized, your limbs strapped down to a large, padded table. You attempt to yell, to cry out... but you couldn’t move your mouth. It’s as if your jaw is glued shut by some invisible force.

The more you struggle in your bonds, the quicker it becomes painfully apparent that you couldn’t seem to move anything. Your arms, legs, head, tail, ears. Nothing.

The only thing you could move was your eyes, your pupils darting around the room as you desperately tried to take in your surroundings through a haze of panic and confusion.

You watched as a tall, older man enters the room directly in front of you, his unmistakable white mustache and suit immediately recognisable. He was the Wayne family’s butler.

He was dressed in a pair of sterile scrubs on top of his usual outfit, an air of professional seriousness surrounding him as he stared down at you.

“I apologise for the predicament you find yourself in, young master,” the butler's deep voice rings out around the room, his tone gentle and comforting. "But now that you are awake, we can begin the procedure."

He pauses for a moment, eyes locking with yours. “Just try and stay calm, the faster we get this done the better.” The words are said sincerely, as if he's trying to reassure you.

However his words did nothing to calm your mounting panic, if you could, your body would be trembling against the bonds that held you fast to the table.

You wanted to scream, to protest to whatever it was that he was talking about. But you couldn’t even speak, your jaw stubbornly refusing to move despite how desperately you tried to open your mouth. Not even one pitiful mew left your lips.

“I understand that this situation may not be the most comfortable for you,” the butler continues, his tone lowering in an attempt to sooth you as he speaks. “So I’ll explain the procedure as we go along."

He takes a moment to glance at the various machines stationed around the room as he speaks, before turning his attention back to you. “Just try and remain calm. It will all be over shortly."

The butler’s words wash over you like a cold wave of horror, his voice strangely calm as he explains the medical procedure that’s about to take place.

“I’m going to perform what is called laser onychectomy,” he informs, his footsteps echoing slowly as he disappears from your line of sight.

Your heart plummets at the loss of visual once he moves behind you, fear making your heart drop in your chest.

“This involves using a laser,” the butler continues bluntly as he moves around. “Instead of a scalpel or clipper,” the sound of something metallic being picked up sounding from behind you. “Which is more commonly, or rather outdatedly, used when performing this surgery.”

“This technique targets the bone and tissue,” the butler explains clinically as he works. “Which provides a more precise and controlled removal. Unlike traditional methods," he says with a tone of distaste. “That can be more invasive and painful.”

The sound of a switch being flicked on rings in your ears.

“It aims to minimise discomfort and improve recovery.”

The butler reenters your field of sight, now standing by the table you’re strapped down against. You can see a pair of white latex gloves now covering his hands, along with a sterile face shield now covering his face as he continues to speak.

“I assure you that you won’t feel a thing. It’s completely painless. With the sedation you’re under, the only thing you should feel is a slight heat against your paws."

He hums softly as he adjusts the face shield, “The laser will cauterise your blood vessels and nerve endings,” he continues, a hand diligently peeling back the fur surrounding your claws. “Minimising any bleeding and significantly reducing the post-operative pain.”

His hands move out towards the nearby machine placed beside the operating table, adjusting it to come closer before turning it on. You could hear the faint hum of the machine’s mechanics as it starts up.

“Because the laser sterilises as it cuts, there is no risk of infection."

The elder man uses an instrument similar to tweezers to take ahold of the base of your first front claw, and with his other hand he brings close a U-shaped metal device, which you can safely assume is the laser by how warm it is against your fur as he brings it close. You try desperately to move away, to struggle, but the sedatives leave your body unresponsive.

“It will take less than a second,” he reassures, the soft hum of the laser steadily getting louder as he brings it ever closer to your paw. “I promise,” he murmurs softly.

He works in a methodical and efficient manner, his hand steady as he places the end of the laser against the base of your claw. The device hums louder, a low buzz sounding as it warms up. Seconds later, he wordlessly turns over your paw to make another incision on the underneath of your nail. Using the forcep to pull out your claw. As a string of muscle and tendons follows, he uses the laser to burn it off completely.

Throughout the entire process, the butler remains cool, efficient and collected, his movements precise and his voice professional. Choosing to ignore the way you’ve closed your eyes tightly, as the only thing you could actually control, the rest of your body remaining completely helpless and unresponsive to your mental struggles. You laid there limp, unable to reign in the tears that well up in your eyes.

You only break out of your dissociative state once he's cleaned out any blood that had dripped from your paws onto the table, your eyes weakly fluttering open as he turns the machine off and sets it down next to you. His hands moving to release the straps around your limbs, your body remaining immobile even as he frees you from the bonds.

“As the laser seals up the incisions, there is no need to apply any bandages.” he assures, his voice controlled and monotone as he tugs off the surgical gloves.

“You must rest,” is all the butler says as he turns away to clean up, tidying the used instruments and tools before disposing of any blood-soaked tissues into the bin and gathering the used sheets into a basket.

You manage to open your eyes wide enough to watch him work, your whole body feeling heavy and weak from the effects of the sedatives still working through your system. Your limbs remaining unresponsive to your attempts at movement, your body feeling like lead.

The butler finally comes back into your line of sight once he's finished, his hands now empty and his face clear of the protective shield. He crouches down in front of you as he gives you a gentle, almost fatherly look.

“You will probably still experience some nausea and weakness for a short while," he comments. “The effects of the sedatives will need to take a few hours to wear off. But other than that, young master, the procedure was a complete success."

He watches you quietly for moment, his hand reaching out to gently pat you on the head between your soft ears.

“Rest now, little one…” he whispers with a gentle smile, a hint of pity in his eyes as he watches the way your small form trembled. “Just rest. It’s all over."

With that, you could feel the butler release a soft sigh as he straightens back up, before turning and quietly leaving the operating room, abandoning you on the cold, metal table. Your ears twitching softly, listening intently as his footsteps echoed out, the sound of the heavy door closing behind him being the only sign that he’d left.

Alfred met Bruce’s eyes through the two-way mirror, his expression solemn and professional despite the pang of sympathy in his chest. He nodded his head wordlessly in a silent report of a job well done.

With that, he leaves the room, the door closing heavily behind him as he exits back into the hallway. His bottom lip trembling as he digs his nails into his palm. Schooling the resentful look in his eyes.

Your eyes slowly flutter open, groggy and disoriented as you regain consciousness. You vaguely notice the comforting feeling of a warm palm gently running through your fur, the comforting sensation bringing a small, gentle purr from your chest despite yourself.

You lean into his touch subconsciously, finding it strangely comforting in the moment. A small part of you screaming at you to remember the situation - to remember that you’re trying to get away from these people, not into their arms. But another part of you craves that comfort, the tender touches and unwavering attention. Especially now, with your instincts going haywire.

“You’re going to be alright…” a low, gentle voice mumbles quietly, the tone strangely pained.

As you grew more aware of your surroundings, you recognise that you’re lying on some type of bed, a firm yet comfortable mattress beneath your small form. You took note of how Damian’s voice had lowered, as he continued to run his warm palm soothingly through your fur. How his head had dipped down, resting against your fluffy stomach as his hand continued to stroke your ears tenderly with each gentle caress.

Your eyes slowly opened wider, your pupils adjusting to the brightness as you realise that you’re not in the medical room anymore. You’re somewhere that you can’t recognise. You let out a low, confused mew, unsure of how much time had passed since the procedure. Your body feeling strangely weak and lethargic, a small ache still evident in your wrists and the pads of your little toe beans.

Your gaze trails down your limbs, your ears folding backwards as you stretch out your front paws. You whine pitifully, suddenly and painfully reminded by the absence of your claws by the aches in your paws, the dull, phantom throb at the base of where your nails were causing a pitiful whine to leave your throat.

Damian makes a soft shushing noise, his nose nuzzling against your stomach once you whine. You watch as he moves his hand down to gently cover your front paws, hiding them from your view.

“It’s okay.. It’s okay..” he whispers softly, his voice dropping into a gentle pained plea. “I’m.. I’m so sorry…” His voice is ridden with guilt as he apologises.

He continues to rub your stomach softly with his other hand, his head still buried against you, his shoulders hunched forwards. You can feel him trembling as he apologises again, his breath tickling against your stomach as he mumbles words of regret against your soft fur.

His quiet apology was a stark contrast to his usual sternness. The vulnerability behind his words present in his voice. You could feel the tremors running through his shoulders, your heightened senses picking up on the way his muscles tense and tremble as he continues to quietly mutter his apology against you.

He shifts you closer, his hands gently pulling you up to sit in his lap, until you’re lying against his chest, tucked against his front. One hand wrapped around your back to rub gently between your shoulder blades, his other still rubbing your stomach gently with the occasional apology mumbled against your ears.

You feel your body relax against his front as he readjusts you in his lap, your senses being engulfed by his familiar scent. You felt comforted by the sound of his racing heart beating against your sensitive ears, the steady thump of the organ lulling you into a state of comfort despite yourself.

Damian adjusts his waist to accommodate you more comfortably, bringing your form flush against his body, both of his arms now wrapped around you as he continues to rub you gently, one hand trailing along your back, the other perched on the start of your tail.

“I should have stopped them…” Damian mutters out in a pained mumble, his arms wrapping tighter around your body as he continues to hold you against him.

You can feel how tense he becomes. His chest rising and falling heavily as he struggles to reign in his breathing. His heart beating against you as he quietly whispers more and more apologies, his voice cracking slightly with each one.

But even in his attempt to comfort you, you felt nothing. No sympathy, no anything. It was as if you were watching a play, viewing everything from behind a blurry lens.

He was no different. He was still a kidnapper. Still dangerous, despite his apologies. You could hear yourself breathing, but it felt distant, almost like a low buzz in the back of your ears.

Everything was wrong. Your head was spinning from whatever was still pumping through your system. Your instincts felt like they were in a frenzy. It was like your brain couldn’t even recognise you as being alive anymore. Like you were watching yourself through the screen of a TV.

You could register Damian’s arms wrapped around you. The way his heart frantically beats out of his chest. The heat coming off of his body in waves, seeping into your own small form.

You watched the ceiling lights above through your half-lidded eyes, their brightness burning into your dilated pupils. Your ears twitch every few seconds as small, pitiful whines leave your throat. Your body was tense yet still trembling harshly, shuddering as your whole world seemed like it was tipping upside down, your heartbeat too loud in your ears and your mind too distant to feel the way the boy was squeezing you. You wanted to scream.

The young Wayne’s voice sounded distant, as if he was calling out to you through a tunnel. You don’t understand what he’s saying, but you can feel the way his fingers keep running through your fur, his other hand running up and down your back in a way that would be calming, if you were able to comprehend it properly.

You wanted to feel safe. But you just felt scared. Your instincts screaming for you to run, to fight, to get away. While you just laid there, motionless.

What did I do? The thought was a painful one, the question playing on repeat in your head as you lie limp. Your paws stretching out, phantom claws dragging across his shirt. You whine pathetically, your eyes squeezing shut from the emotions welling behind your eyes.

It was a simple question. What did you do to deserve this?

You didn’t ask for any of this.

You just wanted to get back to your home, your life.

You had finally adjusted to being alone. To being free. And they’d taken that from you.

They had no right to kidnap you, to experiment on you, to change you. But they did. And they didn’t even care. They didn’t think of you as a person, a living thing with a mind and a soul. To them, your soul purpose was to be theirs. Someone to keep; something to own.

Bullshit. You think to yourself bitterly. They’re NOT your family. This is just some sick and twisted mind game. A weird obsessive tactic to feel in control.

Family does not experiment on each other. Family does not hurt each other. You’d already learnt that the hard way. This, this is bullshit.

You lie against Damian’s chest, feeling his heartbeat through your own. You were aware that he was still apologising. Could hear the way his voice shook as he tried to console you, his hands caressing through your fur. But it was like the sound was being filtered through a heavy wall of cotton. You could hear him, but you couldn’t process his words. You could feel the effects of the procedure still working through your system. Your mind too scrambled to fully realise what had been done to you, too overwhelmed by the wrong, unnatural feelings going through your body. Damian’s arms did nothing but help you stay put and stationary.

Family. The thought made bile rise in your throat.

Never. Your paws dug into Damian’s chest. A small amount of pain seeping through the cotton filter surrounding your mind.

You would never consider them your family.

This chap goes out to @acid-ixx

Merry Christmas🍀

All reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated and encouraged!!

I fr got no clue if anyone likes this, so I really really appreciate all my anons and commenters who go out of their way to say literally anything. Hope you all enjoyed🦖🦖🦖

I apologise for the extremely long delay. I kept rewriting and editing this cause I fucking hated it. Like I’m genuinely disappointed in this you have no idea. I had to watch SO MANY declawing demonstrations and procedures and went trough like four articles to make this as accurate as possible🙏🙏 So if you don’t like it I might cry🥰

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Food is Good for the Core

~

Jason met Danny months ago when he stopped by one of the diners,

Danny was on his lunch break about to eat his ecto infused food when he felt someone with a starving proto-core enter his dinner, his head snapped towards the entrance his gaze locking onto a rather tall man with the expression of someone who was hangry for lack of better words.

His core chirped a greeting, he felt the mans proto-core rumble a barely there response.

The man stumbled towards him his eyes flashing green

"Wha-who are you?"

Once he was close enough Danny grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down onto the seat next to him, pushing his food towards him.

"There you go Firecracker, you look like you really need it"

Jason was about to protest not sure what was even happening when the smell of the food hit him, next thing he knows he's swallowing the last bite.

He leaned back staring

Just staring

He had't felt this satiated and calm since, well since a very long time.

"My name is Jason not Firecracker , now what the hell was in that? Why did I react like that?"

"Well Firecracker, my name is Danny and please tell me that you know that you ..uh died?"

-Time Skip-

"-And so basically you need ecto to be healthy and happy, did you understand all that?"

"Where will I need to go to find that?"

"No worries big guy, I'll make you the food free of charge and in the future I'll start showing you how to properly make it. Also you need to be careful with the ecto food, normal humans tend to act weird even with just a little taste to our foods."

~

Danny & Jason eating together getting along

Dick: "My baby brother has a friend and didn't tell me!"

~

Danny & Jason cooking together: "Oh that's why they say food is the way to a man's heart"

~

Danny & Jason being smitten with one another & starting to unconsciously do ghost courting things.

Oracle watching from the cameras: "What the fuck?!"

~

Dick being nosy realizing that Jason's new boyfriend is putting something into the food Jason and he eat that goes into an extremely secure case.

Dick being suspicious and investigating, manages to steal a bite feels super loopy and weird for the next few days

Dick: "I've connected the dots!"

Jason: "You didn't connect shit."

Dick: "I've connected them!"

Dick thinks they're doing drugs

~

Dick slamming the door open: "Jason is doing drugs!"

Tim: "That doesn't sound like him are you sure?"

Dick on the ground wailing

Tim: "..."

~

Just an Idea