acid-ixx

[acid-ixx]

blind to the love which gently grazed you. (again &. again drabble)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; discord server !

writing for how the reader confronts alfred about how they knew from the start of bruce's identity as batman has got to be my breaking point, because they genuinely, undeniably believed that that must be the reason why he never seems to have time for them, why he's always busy; busy mourning for you dead brother jason, busy saving the city—

busy saving the world.

too busy to even notice his own child.

all those years, living in delusive naivety, they only realized how imperceptible their presence was until it was far too late.

and yet they still chose to be kind, still.

in a world full of darkness, in a city fueled by imposing cruelty, his child wasn't the light that bruce sees at the end of a tunnel, but they were the flecks of sunshine spilling through the splitting fissures of the solitary cave the dark knight secludes himself in.

something to give you hope for, but something you barely perceive.

unless you look hard enough at the cracks to see just how that dim glow makes your life a little bit brighter.

— they always accompany alfred in his task to help fix bruce up after every grueling patrol.

not just because they were used to treating their own mother, but because, in the mind of this hopeful five year old, was a love so deeply instilled for their distant father, for a family that they've only seen through television interviews and news headlines.

so whenever bruce gets sick, or injured, concussed, maybe dislocated some joints; where he suffers through physical turmoil beyond the point where he wouldn't remember what had happened the prior day— somehow, this little kid is always on standby, learning how to wrap gauze onto his bleeding sides, watching alfred demonstrate the proper ways to disinfect bleeding cuts on a barely conscious bruce.

they'd listen profusely at alfred's unofficial lessons, always on alert at whenever bruce breaths too sharply, squeezing his palms for when he nearly dozes off, sitting by his side, sometimes resting their forehead against his perspiring ones whenever alfred has to stitch up any cuts, just to comfort him, even if by just a little.

and day by day, week by week, until months stretched past years, they slowly gain the confidence to fully hold bruce, to hug him faintly in his bed when they feel afraid, when he's unconscious and barely breathing, when they fear they'll lose their only father.

bruce, in turn, came to acclimate to this gentleness.

because instead of the familiar, aged wrinkles of alfred's hands patching him up, bruce would then feel smaller palms gently cupping his warm face after the butler ruled out another fever, even if he was close-eyed, to the brink of nearly passing out, there would be a delicate graze buzzing warmth on his bruised skin. unprofessional, unlike alfred, but curious fingers would apply ointment to treat his burns, inexperienced hands would relieve the ache in his shoulder—

he was treated with a gentleness which reminds him of how his mother used to run her fingers through his unruly hair. when she'd cup his face and pinch his cheeks playfully, kissing the crown of his head, softly, slowly, gently.

lost in the passage of time.

a gentleness he's forgotten after the grueling years of her death, a gentleness his own forgotten child inherited from his late mother.

a tender touch he's long forgotten.

somehow, bruce has come to like this foreign touch.

somehow, bruce, in all his due diligence, his skills and talents, would never notice this forgotten kindness, for maybe he's deluded himself once more, that the gentle hands which held him were his mother's and not his own spawn; because he'll never believe for there to be a time that a child of his — of him, who's oh-so undeniably broken, so incredibly flawed — can be as gentle as the warm arms which used to circle around his once tiny body.

somehow, bruce finds himself comforted in these small moments.

after he'd lost jason, after dick moved out, lived a life of his own, after everything the world throws at him, pain, loss, grief— in his moments of sickness, in times where his body is falling apart, when all he wants to do is close his eyes and see his parents in his dreams, to find his mother waiting longingly for him at the other side with open arms and her kind smile, he could at least be vulnerable at the familiar graze of this kind stranger.

somehow, bruce never realized this unknowing affection for a love he's never seen.

and somehow, this tradition of this little kid helping their family members — through treating their physical injuries, comforting them when they're on the verge of losing their breath, or sometimes even just listening to their woes — lives on until they realize how there will never be somebody as close to them as they were one-sidedly close to everyone else.

a kind ghost stalking through the halls, a friend who listens to everyone, but never having someone to return that kindness.

and i think about that a lot.

a reader who isn't a textbook definition of a hero within their family, but in more ways than one, their compassion to care for the sick — despite being hurt themself, despite never having anyone else to treat their bleeding heart, despite the fact that they've never been held so close, never been seen for way longer than a minute — someone who cares ultimate for bruce, not just because he was a father, their father in their eyes, but because they also cared for the batman.

because, despite it all, they're still their father's child.

and bruce wayne, no matter how ruined his image may be in their eyes, no matter the fact that he's never seen them, spent time with them beyond the moments where he's sick and needed comfort, when he acts like the little boy who had knelt and cried over his parents' cold corpses— was just a man who loved gotham too much he couldn't love you.

and you are your father's child, you love too much, too, to even love yourself.

a selflessness so innately instilled into you, (name) wayne. a compassion, a profound sense of tenderness you inherited not just from your own father but his late parents too. care for the sick, care for the pained, care but not for yourself.

and i think about it too much.

the flawed similarities between you and bruce. how, just like two magnets, the same sides would always repel. how in a game of twisted fate, the closest you'll ever be with your father is when he's never seen you, when he's too broken from a fight, too tired to even open his eyes and see.

see how it's always you who looks at him, how you once looked up to him. see himself in your eyes, see his greatest failure as bruce wayne, and realize just how much of your youth he's lost.

how much you reflected the more tender parts of him — the parts of him he's hidden, a part of him which long since felt foreign, like you — how much you reflected his mother, too.

but he never did, for the closest he'll ever be to his first, biological kin— is when he's blind to the hands which gently graze his skin.

a/n: just a little drabble i wrote in less than 30 minutes. i apologize for the delays in writing, i'm going through so much mental issues, so much projects, so much of everything in such a short period of time. for those in my discord server, they're probably aware. anyways, late happy father's day. otherwise, take this little dissection i have of bruce and his child, based off of my own experience with my father who was also 99% absent in my life. i wanted to give the reader more dimension and not just define them as just "neglected", so i explored some dynamics too.

as much as i like nonchalant, maybe asshole-like readers. i also like characters with so much compassion, not in a self serving way but something that's just naturally them. someone who's angry, traumatized, yes, but once they were kind, they were gentle. it makes it worse for the batfam to have a reader who was once a ball of joy.

[acid-ixx]

you are the only exception. (yandere! damian wayne x gn! reader drabble)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; discord server !

tw: implied s/h, bullying, and self-esteem problems.

ngl i'm thinking of damian — who's well past his childish tantrums and haughty behavior, once a child who has bloomed into a fully mature individual who can hold back his irritation towards his blockmates, courtesy of being raised dutifully by his family — paired with a pick-me reader who's the complete opposite, one so insufferable to everyone, to every professor, to the people who sit beside them, but most especially him.

you who loves to run your mouth off, talking in woes and poor attempts at prose to earn sympathy point: at how nobody ever likes you at all, how your friends are all unsupportive trash, how nobody ever chooses you as a group mate for class projects — not because you were some loner, no, your loud, grating mouth guarantees it could be heard from beyond the four walls encasing the suffering class; you were just lazy, cynical, someone who depends on others to achieve your goals yet somehow, some way, you'd end up with passing gpa — and when your professors would beg for anybody else to just pair up with you, while you sulk some corner and throw out some more venomous words to everyone else; it's oddly damian who has to stand up and just take one for the team, no matter how much he wants to shove a piece of paper down your throat to shut you up, no matter how much he sees his old self in you but denies it at every accusation.

at first, he actively despises you, because you're every bit of a liability under his responsibility whenever you're grouped with him.

and worse yet, he's the only guy around who can ridicule you without any sympathy for how you may have felt at the moment when he's degrading your poor attempt at your part for a project, he's the only one who can match up with your heartless statements, reduce your arguments with an equally unyielding drive to back you up to a corner when you realized he's the only one who wouldn't fold to you in defeat, when he wouldn't take your excuses at being late or absent to another group meeting. people around him praise him for how he handles the situation, somehow, even his professors, who'll greet him by the hallways, happy, smiles reaching past their ears, like the boy's a miracle granted by the world, and thank him for another job well done.

but he's also the same guy who breaks past your shell of false pretenses, who sees a misdirected sense of self-hatred in your widened eyes when he brings up another point to bring you down. who, as much as he pretends to hate you, hates it worse when you run off and past the double doors whilst the people in the background would emerge in celebration at another one of damian's win in your losing arguments; the boy could only drown out their pats in his back and invitation to treat him to lunch, he could only focus in the way your eyebags have been progressively worse, in the way bruises would appear more and more on your once, pristine skin, and how you'd just about avoid everyone else now— fear, he knows that emotion like he does the back of his hand, an undeniable weight swimming in your eyes when his "group of friends" would throw mockery in your way.

he's ultimately the only one to track you down afterwards.

actually, he's the only one who ever searches for you.

and then he finds you sobbing — without your normal bravado, without your fabricated, laid-back smiles — by an unlocked restroom. your cries were loud enough that you don't even flinch back at the sound of the stall's door opening, whilst he sees you emptying the contents of your empty stomach, witnesses you cry, and cry, and cry, unaware of his existence from behind you, as you beat at your heart endlessly, cry some more, scrape your bleeding knees against the tiled floors while he watches in utter dismay.

you mumble incoherently, in silent stutters through bitten, skin-peeled lips, yet somehow his sharp ears hear it.

— or maybe he's trained himself to always be the one who hears your voice, who recognizes it from a far distance when the people in your vicinity would groan at the sound of it; who knows its vibrato, its little quirks, how it wavers and how it quivers, all memorized by heart and by mind—

and he says it's part of what being born and raised as an assassin would do to you, but he's integrated into a seemingly normal life during the daylight, he knows when to block out people's voices, knows when to mind his business and knows when to carefully stay silent to analyze the surroundings like what a vigilante could do— and you're not villain, you're just a nobody to everybody, especially to damian, especially to him.

so it's strange, truly, how he knows you better than any person would, knows you better to the point where he knows your cries weren't a product of crocodile tears, to know that his words, how he called you "useless, a classless waste of air, pollution in the minds of like-minded, actually intelligent individuals," in a class of over thirty students, where all eyes are plastered on you; they did more than hurt you, they did more than just stinging your already crumbling persona— broke your rotting confidence, sliced it in half, sliced your heart in half at how everybody else laughed, agreed with his sentiments all mustered in a momentary whim.

even damian knows he doesn't mean those words, yet he also knows that everyone's perception of you is what he's stated— he knows the damage he's done.

he knows the sound of your heartbreak, feels the same pit of doom trembling in his heart as he watches you, watches your fingers dig deep into your battered skin, the high pitched scream rattling far beyond your parched throat.

and you are his business, you are his responsibility, even if you weren't, even if it wasn't his business to look after you after he's said all those cruel, degrading words.

he hears your legitimate woes: your undeniable self hatred, how it's your fault that everyone really does hate you, and it's your fault, it's your fault— that the only friend you could consider to be yours, that him, damian wayne, the same person who'd put you down, broke you with the simple truth, to the point where everyone else thought it as an invitation to destroy you even further; you hate yourself for leading him to hating you.

the only guy who's willing to share a desk with you, who listens to another wave of your superficial rambling, who sat beside you on the cafeteria table when you're all alone because all your old friends have cut you out of their lives, told you you were too draining, too attention seeking, too fucking annoying to be with and you know you are— and yet damian somehow managed to conceal his bubbling irritation at yet another one of your statements, talking about how, "people just can't get me, dami. they just can't."

and he listens, he listens because he's the only one who could, whose patience never wavers amidst your terrible display of affection; when your laughs sounded like crackling fire, which only burns brighter and warmer, when you'd slap his shoulders way too hard at another unfunny joke of yours, when you belittle your ex-friends because they can't handle your true self, or whatever you call it.

he does it with an air of coolness, until he couldn't anymore.

he slammed his fists on the plastic desk, and told you to shut up, insulted you, spewed venom towards you in front of everybody else after days, stretching past weeks 'til he couldn't handle the months of being forced to hear you rambling about yourself during a lecture, always yourself, that he loses it.

heartless as it is, you know his words were true.

you know you're hated by everybody, why else would damian be the exception to that hatred for an individual so unwanted like you?

it's shameful of you, it's terrible of you. you're a waste of space, a waste of air, a waste of life that you scream: about wanting to die, about wishing you were never born in the first place because everyone hates you.

damian, whom you thought made you an exception, hates you.

he hates you, he hates you so, so much and he admits to only tolerating you, everyone only tolerates you.

and he hates you.

— he doesn't.

it doesn't take much for him to drag you out of that stall, pin you down on the floor when he sees a blade on your dominant hand, inches away from drawing out blood from your wrist, from landing on a vein and slicing mercilessly like your life doesn't matter.

— like you don't matter to him.

it doesn't take much to shove that piece of metal away and onto another empty stall, far away from your reach, as he finds himself heaving on top of you, his arms pinning down your wrists to stop you from hurting yourself, legs locked on your waist to ground you even further, as he finds unfamiliar panic rise in his throat at— at that.

at your disregard for your life, at how he could've been the reason he's lost you.

when he returns to his senses, when he sees your disbelief on your poor, sunken eyes, hollowed, tear-stricken cheeks. when your attempts at kicking him, at the muscles on his thighs wouldn't do you any good, you're forced to return his heartbroken gaze towards you, forced to feel every shiver racking from his body.

how his fingertips would press deeper on your wrists, how he gulps in a patterned succession, how you never really see someone like damian be so utterly wrecked, even more-so than you that another tear escapes your waterline, your eyes closing in resignation, ignoring the way his head has slowly been lowering itself to you.

until the tip of his nose touches yours, nuzzles against it even, until you open your eyes and find his face so intimately close with yours, his warm breath hitting your skin clashing with the cold feel of the clean tiles. you can see every imperfection littering his skin: the split on his lips, the slit at his brows, those brilliant eyes greener than emeralds; wide, imposing, looking at you and only you.

"wh—!"

"don't you even dare do that again, (name)."

his right hand releases its harsh grip on your wrist, making way to cup your face whilst his face only moves closer, so close you could almost feel his disheveled hair touching your forehead, his lips nearly slotting with yours, almost feel your chest fuse with his— hear the thumping in his chest match your own heartbeat. when his palms move to touch your chin, thumb nimbly pressing itself on your cracked lips, he releases a tsks, swiping away at the blood as he brings it up to his lips to taste it.

you can only watch in breathless awe as his tongue licks away at the remaining blood, his eyes still plastered on you, glaring, squinting as he waits for your reply in bated breaths. the fingers from his other hand pinning you down eventually tangles with yours, calloused palms warm, refusing to let go; his other hand, meanwhile, returns to your face,

you can't comprehend the gears churning on his otherwise stoic expression, but you can tell from how his brows subtly furrow, that he's probably irritated, or nitpicking you like some specimen. you don't know, you can't tell, you're still... still experiencing the withdrawals of your wasted tears easlier, unable to understand the brewing desperation in damian's chest.

(and you can't exactly imagine the exact process going on in his mind. you can't picture someone like damian trying his damned best to not kiss your pretty face while you're on the floor with him right now. how he wants to feel your chapped lips pressing deeply against his own moist one, for you to taste the chapstick on him that you lovingly complimented him using one day; what it would feel like for his face to fuse so closely with yours until he could feel his eyelashes batting on your own— he can't, not while the restroom's doors are unlocked and he wouldn't want to share that intimately passionate moment with anyone else but you, and not while he can see the fading colors of yellows and blue splotched on your eyes that he once clumsily dismissed as imagination).

"tell me what happened," he bluntly demands, a grunt reverberating from deep in his throat. he's becoming more and more like his father these days, he notes to himself, but he can't deny how effective the intimidation factor is when he sees your eyes widen, knows he's gotten you right where he wants you to, when those precious orbs would flitter somewhere else in hesitation—

"(name)," this time, he calls more domineeringly, shifts in his leaning position just so that his face would be even closer to yours than it already possibly is — to the point you can smell peppermint and hints of that tea he loves to drink during early morning break time — yet you refuse to share eye contact with him, looking away, drowning out the sound of his heavy intakes of air; afraid, possibly, of the consequences if you were to confess how those friends of his loved to torment you in more ways than one—

no, you'd rather nobody knows about how truly weak you were, not even the person you proclaimed as your own friend.

those people would push your body to the walls of the campus' main building, uncaring if it inflicts bruises all over your body. they'd take your belongings, record you begging on your knees that they won't hurt you, and they'll fucking bash your face against the surface of the nearby garbage bin once they discover you're short on cash to pay enough for a day where they won't bother you.

you don't want him to worry about someone like you, who already caused him enough irritation. and if it means masking this stupid weakness of yours with artificial confidence, then you'll fake it 'til you make it.

that's what you're good at, that's what makes you survive in this world.

at least, that's what you thought until damian eventually had enough, clamps his thumb and index fingers on the sides of your face to force you to look him straight in the eyes, still unyielding from his position. you can't exactly move, you don't have anything else to distract you from damian nearly breathing down on your neck, and you don't know why he's so insistent on finding out what's wrong with someone he oh-so obviously despises.

"i—" he sighs before you could get a word in, like he's predicted an excuse to befall from your tongue, warm fingers gently grazing your cheeks, eyes still focused on your befuddled face.

"... fine, if you wish not to tell me..." his fingers stop mapping your face, thumb settling on the marred bruising on your right eyes, feeling the way you wince at even the slightest of contact. he can feel his adrenaline spike, the anger boiling right beneath the seams of his fingertips, ready to inflict pain and suffering on whomever dared to touch you.

because with just how avoidant you are of discussing the issue with him— that means it's someone else who caused these injuries on you, someone idiotic enough to mess with him of all people.

"... i will find out myself, and i will impose the proper punishment on those... those sub-humans who dared touch what is mine."

"wh- what do you mean—?" it's the first time he hears you talk without that grating pitch in your voice, the first time he hears that airy disposition that comes out in your most vulnerable moments; shit, he swears by the world that he'll protect this side of you from anyone who dares it away from him.

"i mean what i said. you are mine."

"so do not take my previous words to heart, i never meant it, i never meant to hurt you, habibi/habibti."

you're frozen in place as he sighs again, shakes his head, moves up so that his lips could kiss your temples, then it trails down to your cheeks, all the way to your heated ears. he mutters an apology in his mother tongue, you know because he mutters it with a pout during the times when his strength was too much, when he'd accidentally deliver an all-too powerful strike on your body that one time when you'd attempt to wake him up the first time you witnessed him sleeping in classes; and you can't tell the exact words, but it sounds like poetry, like silken honey dripping down on your thoughts.

all you can do is nod, which garners a kiss on the shell of your ears, before he ultimately shares another stare down with you.

"i am your boyfriend now," he declares, like it's some unbreakable law with no loops to escape from, "and because i am yours, and you are mine, that means i have every right to find the people who hurt my beloved, i have every right to deal the necessary pain towards anything that hurts you."

"you do not have to pretend around me anymore, do you understand?"

somehow, some way, the only thing you can plaster up right now is a shaky hum and your own fingers cupping his cheeks — the action alone caused tingles to erupt from his spine, and he swears it's like magic, your touch — afraid to reject him after he's practically confessed to you... which was enough.

enough for him to seal the deal, to finally slot his warm lips on yours, eyes closed, on the clean, restroom floors, sealing the deal.

you can only return the passion ten fold, when you realize just how devoid you are of human contact.

and that's when it clicks— how much he means it, how much he's deeply in love with you, with this persona of yours and the real you.

how he's willing to make an exception as long as it was you.

damian never expected already having planned his wedding vows to the likes of someone like you, someone so terribly foul-mouthed, that in some strange, twist of the world, he ends up falling in love real hard for you.

day by day.

he ends up falling for you when he's the only one you show your true colors to: someone vulnerable, someone who reflects the past him, someone who didn't have anyone to correct your mistakes.

he loves that version of you, he loves it when he is your exception, too.

to the point that when you eventually returned to your old persona, when you go off into another insufferable tangent— when someone rolls their eyes at you, or when someone opens their mouth to rebut and tell you to, for once, shut your fucking trap; somehow, this guy who used to glare daggers at you during chem classes, who would dig his fingers on your shoulders as a warning that it's not even the time to talk—

he was now actively defending your statements with all his passion, no matter how ridiculously ear grating, unrealistic, downright egotistical it may sound. those people would end up with dirt dug up on them, suspended, sometimes even expelled. his old "friends" were no exceptions once he realized they were the reason for your bruises, from when they pushed your body and beaten you black and blue from behind the campus' main building; they were thoroughly dealt with, efficiently, silently.

they were no more.

and just as quickly as he defends you, you're both now renounced as the gotham u's most untouchable couple. professors couldn't possibly attempt to expel any one of you because your behavior conducts, paired with damian being oddly professional with dealing the people who'd talk you down, doesn't truly disrupt anything.

... or at least, that is what everyone convinces themselves out of fear that they'd tick you off and they'll be victimized by another one of damian's threats.

'cause in the end, you did end up being chosen by, quite possibly, the worst contender for your own attention seeking method of gaining affection.

in the end, you're the only exception.

no matter how insufferable you may be.

a/n: if this flops, i will cry and then disappear some more /j also, june 16 is again & again's one year anniversary, and i have writer's block 😭🙏 that's the worse nerfing in one of my most special occasions. anyways, don't mind the subpar writing, i wrote this on a whim since i just got a random burst of inspiration but it's not the best i have so far because again, writer's block. apologies for this 😔✊ it's genuinely so bad but it's what i can only produce rn.

[acid-ixx]

i don't even get why she was so salty over "woke" propaganda when the fandom she literally writes for is inherently woke from the start 😭 you can never deny how superman is an illegal alien immigrant who is titled champion of the oppressed, who fights not just for america but for human rights as a whole, then there's also batman, wonder woman, literally green arrow, every superhero you idolize are woke as hell, let's not forget how writers planned to make conner kent a trans woman? 🤨—

then you gotta tell me she came to a conclusion to form bigoted opinions, and THEN tell others not to dabble into her own country's politics when she spews shit about the damn issues happening in america (fuck ICE, fuck the government, and most especially you tr*mp 🤮)??? also, as far as a stretch as this sounds, the tim drake hate feels very much targeted, cause ik she mentioned how the writers "ruined" his character by making him bi and ruining his romance with steph, when the latter has already broken up with him long ago (homophobia much??? for someone who claims she actually doesn't care about his character, why so salty then? and why complain about him being bi when that was also announced YEARS ago)

and also, her one pinning a long message saying the blog is supposed to be free from politics or whatsoever, but damn what a hypocrite, especially when she calls everyone who rebuts the r slur? i have had so much gripes on her from the start damn 😭

just saying, if you're a writer with a big following, like me with a big platform, that doesn't mean you automatically have the power to talk about your dogshit, uneducated opinions and expect to NOT get attacked or called out for it, ESPECIALLY if it's targeted to minorities, and especially if you know you can't defend yourself and end up deleting your blog cause you know you're in the wrong LMAO

(yes, this is about luv-lock. i once vaguely mentioned her in my account, idc if i get attacked for this, i'm just pointing out my own observations)

[acid-ixx]

DAMN FINALLY 😭 someone ought to say something about it. i've long since blocked them because they've been saying so much questionable stuff months ago when i used to read their stuff, which are all pretty much bigoted and very geared towards the minority. they also believed in straightphobia and racism towards to white people and i'm ??? they've had more controversial takes than whatever i mentioned though.

obviously, i don't promote hatred or harassment towards an individual but i also don't promote bigotry overall, some takes were straight up dogshit. and the fact that this person has very problematic views and were willing to call everyone who rebutted or tried to point out their own point of view the r slur felt very disturbing to me 😭

Maybe we should be a bit more careful on who we support and are mutuals with (You know who this is about lmao).

There's so much more weirder shit they've said over the months.

EDIT!: You know, instead of actually apologizing or admitting they fucked up, they decided to delete their blog.

EDIT 2!: I just want to make it clear that the dark fiction they wrote wasn't the problem (I'm also a fan of dark fiction), it was the weird shit they had been spewing for MONTHS on end. If you think the stuff you see in the screenshots is bad, you should've seen the other shit they had said.

[acid-ixx]

just a rant, will delete later

tw. talks about overdosing, suicide, what transpired last night w/ me. sensitive topic

so my attempt didn't work out last night sadly, i have no other explanation for what happened since i don't remember much other than the excruciating pain in my stomach and how the main factor was another psychotic episode that i was experiencing (alongside the depression and spontaneous splitting episodes i have every moment). i'm awake now and i'm still in pain, especially my lower stomach. waking up after an od has got to be the worst experience since the last time i did, i was at the er with the doctors trying their best to revive me.

do i regret my actions? no, not really. my mental health has been declining every single day but i still have to find the will to live after all the traumatic shit that's been happening to me for the past few months (which i will not mention). i've been clean for a month or two now but last night was kinda insane for me that i've did unforgivable things to my body. i'm still not okay now and everything tastes like medication (luckily i had no aspirin around cause that's a different story since im deathly allergic to that) but whatever

for those who checked up on me, thank you, i have no other excuse for what happened and moving too much still hurts but at least i can see a bit more clearly now. the funny thing, though, was my dream about the literal superman telling me to not end it all and him saving me every time something bad would happen (like a roof about to fall on my head if not for him sweeping in to save me) so maybe that is a sign and i love superman so yk

[acid-ixx]

discord server announcement !

—> link here! (my user is @acid_ity)

hi guys ! as you all are aware (and if you are new), i am the author of the series, again &. again and a loving family— and now i have a discord server (courtesy of @i-might-be-too-obsessed thank you!) up and open for all of you to interact w/ me! there, i will be posting series updates, drafts, story ideas, future projects, and many more things you guys are interested in! there's also a channel to which i will host qna's for the series i have if you want clarifications, updates, or whatever comes to mind!

you all are also encouraged to post your own thoughts, art and ideas, or if anybody wants to socialize and settle for idle chat, there will also be plenty of roles there to pick since it centers around the arkham asylum theme ! <333 thank u all for your massive support and most importantly, have fun !

[acid-ixx]

pick me, choose me, mark me! (masochistic bottom yandere! batfam x feral top alpha reader).

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— og post ! ; ao3 link !

a/n: sorry for the spam guys, but tumblr won't filter out the most debauched thing yet they hide my content instead and it makes me sad like i don't want all my hard work to be just buried yk? :( anyways, fic under the read more for those who hasn't seen it yet. sorry again for the repost, i'm just really hurt over the censoring, i won't stand for it, it admittedly made me down in the dumps.

look, i'm just saying that in an omegaverse scenario, where you're the alpha and you go to the same uni as tim drake, a well known and respected omega, where you're a good friend of his: not too close in your eyes, study buddies, maybe, but you're not attracted to him, but it's still in your natural instincts to drive away other alphas despite the omega being capable enough of defending himself. because you're noble, always protecting him by shielding him away from those other vile alphas trying to force themselves on him— and he likes that feeling of protection from you, wants something more out of it.

and he knows that beneath those dull eyes of yours, beneath your willingness to hold back at the scent of omegas in heat, his family is well aware of your darker fantasies. he sees the way you pin down other alphas, how your knees would press up so close to their crotches as you release a growl from your throat, how your muscles would flex and how your teeth would bite on your lower lips to control your raging desire to pin down an omega in heat.

it's an unspoken rule that you've the qualities to rule a pack, strong enough to subdue every other alphas with your unbridled rage and sharp teeth, feral enough to dick down any willing omegas who wants to be well-bred with your knot (he's a willing omega, he wants to be filled by you, wants to know what it's like to be smothered with the scent of your sweat, saliva, and any emissions released from your body).

so i propose the idea that tim would do everything in his waking days, with the guidance of his family, to make any necessary sacrifices in his schedule just so that he could time your monthly ruts and have you be attracted to his pheromones. he'll secretly shove his family's belongings inside your locker just to get you used to their scent, dick, jason and damian take turns to sneak into your home to steal your dirty laundry, your used jackets and pants, buried deep beneath your cabinets, just so that they could smother their nose into it, try to lick at any remaining sweat that clung to the fabrics.

you best believe that they're possessive over your things. even a beta like dick couldn't help but claim your jackets just to wear it for himself. damian, who's all talk about placing himself high above a pedestal as an alpha, seems way too eager to spend a minute or five scenting himself up with your blankets and arguing with jason over the comms on who you get to mark first— as if tim would let them be marked by his alpha.

tim is the luckiest to hit the jackpot though. he could just borrow your clothes after pe classes with the excuse that he forgot to bring a spare, then pretend to clumsily forget to return it to you because he's all too busy shoving it deep in his throat. every time you strip yourself half naked in the shower rooms, he's already had his head peeking by the doors with a camera in hand and a boner down under. every little action of yours done in campus is accompanied by the click of a camera and an all too excitable omega who touches himself to the thought of what your jagged hands could do to his body.

(and god, tim, who loves to hump into your stolen underwear can only provide himself so much pleasure, his heat wants him all marked up by you but you're just so oblivious to his ministrations. to his obvious need to share a nest with you. the family wants you too, jason's been snappy lately and dick is so close to convincing bruce that they all just collectively kidnap you if you weren't so dedicated in your academics).

the only thing holding them back is that you're known to be not like the other alphas. you don't shove your scent into most unwilling nostrils, your momma raised you right, you drink suppressants to keep you on the low, you do just enough to respect the boundaries of every omega who passed by your way, and you're a smart fella, easily picking up on most omegas who only try to befriend you for the intentions of dating you or having a quick fuck (damian makes a mental note to eliminate every known competition, he despises how those lowly beings slot themselves right beside you and think they deserve to be marked up. the others and most especially tim shares that sentiment)— the only reason tim is the sole exception to your friend group filled with betas is because he has enough self respect, at least, that's what he's convinced you to believe.

you're not aware of the trackers littered in every corner of your belongings. you're not aware of the cameras hidden in your apartment as the family entertains themselves just watching you break another toy of yours because you're too big for just a measley fleshlight, they watch you rip another blanket with your pointed teeth that snaggles into the sheets, fantasizing what it's like to have someone crying and begging for you to stop thrusting your knot right beneath you. bruce has to control the pack from breaking into your apartment just for them to offer that you claim them instead, he makes them cycle between steak outs, focus on something else, because he can immediately sense their heads turning to the direction of where your house is— and yet even an omega like him can't deny how tempting it is to share a nest with you as he secretly saves all the files of you pleasuring yourself in a drive he's going to watch repeatedly once patrol hours are over.

thinking about how the months would stretch and you slowly notice the shift in demeanor with tim. suddenly, instead of reviewing in cafes with other friends or simply visiting the library together, he'll invite you all too eagerly to the manor, in due excuse of wanting to study with you alone since he says he prefers a quieter environment. you accept, only because you feel the risk of losing yourself amidst the familiar scents scattered all over your life, on the newer scents on your clothes making your mind go crazy; only because you can't deny how tempting it is to fuck your supposed friend on top of a creaking table, in public for all the eyes to see— so your excuse to study with him alone, in an entirely alien environment where his family are there to monitor your sessions meant you'd have to be on your best behavior.

except the moment you step inside the gothic manor, your nostrils are hit with a multitude of familiar scents. bruce wayne, the omega philanthropist known to love caring for children, who greets you at the door with a gentle smile and expectant eyes, smells of fresh vanilla, cashmere and faint lavender, as he steps to the side and all-too eagerly confesses you that he's been waiting for the moment that tim's closest friend visits his home. like most omegas do, you can only describe the man's scent as soft and nurturing, natural traits for an omega, obviously, as he almost ushers you — a hand resting comfortably on your back, you don't feel his palms rubbing up and down your spine like he's known the feel of it from the start — and your... friend to the library if not for tim insisting that you'll both be heading off to his room instead.

you don't question why he specifically wanted you alone, though, because you swore you smelled the same, imposing vanilla on your damn sweaters.

but when you look to your right, eyebrows raised in curiosity at the whistling omega, he only reciprocates with a shrug and tells you that you should both already head upstairs since there's not much daylight left and that he wants to consume as much knowledge as he can in one sitting.

such a cunning scum he is.

for when you entered the room, stepped inside and dropped your bag to a nearby corner, your nose immediately picked up on the smell of freshly baked cocoa, sweet caramel, and the same, damn fruity scent of zesti cola.

your vision fogs all too quickly, fury an all too intimate feeling rising to your chest.

"tim, you fuckin' vixen—!"

you pin him down on his well nested bed the moment the waft of his room's familiar scent hit the air. you growl, too dizzy on the hazy realization that it was him and his family who's been scenting themselves all over your things all along, you can even smell your own scent in this room. your clothes, your jewelry, even your damn notebooks, they reek of sandalwood, lavenders, musk, vanilla— scent which all don't mix well, all you've individually sensed in all your different items. your underwear is stained with tim's sweat, you realize as you snarl between the vast, unmarked space of tim's neck.

and you should've, you could've held yourself back, but the timing was perfect, you've forgotten to take your suppressants because tim was rushing you; yet his legs are wrapped around you, you feel your own sizable crotch rubbed in between his own hard ones. he's tempting you, inviting you to stake your claim on his clean skin, as he releases a shaky breath right on your ears. his lithe waist is a perfect slot right in your palms, and those stupid, wide eyes are too expectant, too inviting to even deny the lack of surprise, like he's predicted this reaction— like he knows that underneath that false, caring exterior of yours is an alpha that wants to claim, and claim and claim until his skin knows the imprint of your teeth against his.

"mmph, c'mon..." he calls out your name, rubs himself shamelessly against your soiled underwear, takes your cold, unforgiving fingers to cop a feel around his areolas. lidded, deep blue eyes and raw, bitten lips, a red flush overtakes his body; an picture perfect canvas of an entirely submissive omega is right beneath you, inviting you two to fuck like the shameless animals you both are.

proclaiming to you, without words, without thought, that he's yours the entire night.

yours to breed, yours to fuck deep into the mattress until he memorizes the shape of your knot by the end of it all.

you don't remember when or how it happened, how you're both wearing almost nothing but the underwear blocking tim from fully seeing your own rock hard boner, but he's too hungry on want, on the need to have it shoved far deep in his throat and you're too drunk on the hazy desires to have an actual, warm cavern wrapped around you right now.

he whines a bit louder, you can smell the pre oozing and dribbling on his own briefs. he smells so pure, so delicious, so ready to be claimed that you just...

you lick at his clavicle until your tongue reaches into the perfect spot on his neck, devoid of any alpha's mark. you feel the boy shiver under you, feel the way his arms snake around your neck as his feet push back at your underwear until it drops at right your ankles, where you can hear his breath hitch at the sight of your own dick rubbing against his clothed boner.

he moans, pulling his hips up, and you snarl at his impatience, pull his body up in one, quick swipe, like the strong alpha you are, and rip away at his own underwear.

and he's drooling at your display of strength, his smaller thighs wrap around your waist until his puckered hole slots itself perfectly on your tip, you feel the slick dribbling down, feel the natural slip of your dick sliding inside of him.

he's all lubed up, this fucker prepared himself for this. but there's no condom in sight, no damn contraceptive the longer you look around. the truth lies in plain sight: he wants to be bred, he wants to take you raw.

as if sensing your thoughts, as if he doesn't want your attention on anything but him, he voices himself out, calling your name.

"don't lie to me... i know you want this," his palms cup your cheeks, gently prying your head to look at his straight at the eyes, "i know you want me. you picked me, you chose me, didn't you...?"

he pushes his hips upwards, pushes deeper, memorizing every vein stretching his hole— except his attempts are futile the moment he feels you pin his body down, he nearly releases an aching cry when he senses the lack of dick inside him.

he almost begs, almost.

"puh-PLEASE—!" he almost begs, if not for your immediate, hard thrust, a loud plap echoes throughout the empty room. if not for you shoving your dick in his slicked up hole in one quick motion, maybe he could've mustered up another word. but you've dicked him down, rendered him thoughtless and wordless, dumbing the omega down until he's subdued with only breathless moans.

"fu-fuck! oouh—" whispering under his breath, you only snarl in response, feeling him squeeze you in. this is better than any toy you've destroyed, he was warm and aching and you were hungry to just take him all.

tim drake is the picture perfect omega. it was no wonder why so many alphas fight themselves to the death to even grab a sniff of his own sweat, you've told yourself you only let yourself become friends with him because it was your duty to protect the weak, but fuck. you knew deep down, you were as dirty as all the others, maybe even worse, maybe even the worst as the sight of the debauched, snotty, drooling mess underneath you made you way harder, made your diluted eyes take in his writhing body, made you thrust in just a bit harder just to hear that high pitched moan escape from his wrecked throat.

his mouth would feel so good wrapped around your dick, it'll feel so nice to just slide it deeper and deeper until it reaches the back of his throat, and oh, you'll make him hold his breath until he has to scratch at your thighs, until salty tears escape those stupid, wide eyes of his, just to beg you for even the smallest intake of air.

next time, you think. there will be a next time.

for now, your steady pace is enough to induce pleasured tears dribbling down his cheeks. you snap harder, he squeals. he's cute, cute but disgusting. but you're worse, you wish you weren't but it's natural. you try to be soft, though, as your dominant hand swipe away the hair clinging on his sweaty forehead. you lean in, ignoring how tim shivers in delight as his nose gets a closer whiff of your scent, and softly kiss his cheeks.

softly, but that doesn't stop his disappointed, little sigh. you could only stare back in disbelief as his thighs pull your hips closer.

more tears escape his shaky eyes, hiccups escape his quivering lips.

"show me how much you love me..." he whispers, taking your mouth in his, biting your lower lips just so his tongue could get a taste of your saliva mixing with his. in response, you collect you spit and let it dribble down to his awaiting mouth, and god, he moans when the liquid meets his tongue, swallowing your spit with due diligence, like it is his ambrosia. and he sobs at the overestimation of having to feel, taste, and breath every living part of you.

"i love you, i love you, i— ah! i love you—!"yet it doesn't stop you from thrusting, doesn't stop you from wanting more as you stop kissing him, making your way towards his neck, tongue licking and sucking his skin until it's sullen with ugly love marks. he only responds with thoughtless whines, dissatisfied pleas at your teasing, at your refusal to just bite his skin and to just— mark him already.

you feel the rise of a familiar knot on the base of your dick, and with just how louder and louder tim has been moaning — you're sure that his pleas and the heavy creak of the bed can be heard from outside his door, you hope it does, you hope his family hears just how much this freak loves being bred — you know he's close, his dick is practically oozing with salty, watery precome, and his little whole is weeping with slick. your ears can pick up the plaps, how well your cock slides in and out of him to an unstable rhythm.

and yet he's crying, he's crying because throughout it all, your mark still isn't on him. his alpha still hasn't staked their claim on him and he feels so ashamed, so desperate to relieve that empty ache on the skin of his neck that begs to be pierced by your sharp teeth.

"— muh- mark- ah!"

"puh- LEASE! please, please, please, alpha, please—!

and he begs the moment he felt a thread snap, when you palm his throat, squeeze his dainty neck until all he could do was wheeze, until you let go when you see his reddened lips turn purple, and he releases a shout as ropes of cum escape his violently flushed dick.

he begs with incomprehensible requests, sucks in a breath whilst you accompany his moans with a growl when he feels your knot was slowly but surely becoming bigger and bigger inside him as your thrusts slowed, as you try your best to move despite the overstimulation riddling his body.

slowly, until your bodies are locked together, tim unable to move from right beneath you as his hole adjusts to the considerably large knot, until he swore you two are one, until your eyes shut in bliss when you felt your warm cum staining his insides. through both your hazy zenith, through his breathless panting and desperate intakes of air, tim still isn't satisfied.

and he'll only be satisfied if, no, once he's utterly sure he's yours and you're his.

he musters up the last of his strength, shifts his little hips seductively just so he could feel that strong knot pinning him to you, and stares at you with dazzling eyes, shimmering with fresh reserves of tears.

and just like how he's manipulated you to fuck him the moment you've stepped inside the room, he makes sure his quivering voice was as sultry as the taste of his sweat, as inviting as the nest he's been preparing for months.

he pouts, bites his lips, and licks at your warm ears as he whispers four, shaky words:

"mark me, my alpha."

[acid-ixx]

pick me, choose me, mark me! (masochistic bottom yandere! batfam (mostly tim) x feral top alpha reader).

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

tw. smut, a/b/o concept, top reader, bottom character, aged up tim and damian, dub-con, breeding and knotting mentioned, reader has a fleshlight, they steal your clothes and underwear. alpha male reader but it can be read as gn.

look, i'm just saying that in an omegaverse scenario, where you're the alpha and you go to the same uni as tim drake, a well known and respected omega, where you're a good friend of his: not too close in your eyes, study buddies, maybe, but you're not attracted to him, but it's still in your natural instincts to drive away other alphas despite the omega being capable enough of defending himself. because you're noble, always protecting him by shielding him away from those other vile alphas trying to force themselves on him— and he likes that feeling of protection from you, wants something more out of it.

and he knows that beneath those dull eyes of yours, beneath your willingness to hold back at the scent of omegas in heat, his family is well aware of your darker fantasies. he sees the way you pin down other alphas, how your knees would press up so close to their crotches as you release a growl from your throat, how your muscles would flex and how your teeth would bite on your lower lips to control your raging desire to pin down an omega in heat.

(it's an unspoken rule that you've the qualities to rule a pack, strong enough to subdue every other alphas with your unbridled rage and sharp teeth, feral enough to dick down any willing omegas who wants to be well-bred with your knot (he's a willing omega, he wants to be filled by you, wants to know what it's like to be smothered with the scent of your sweat, saliva, and any emissions released from your body).

so i propose the idea that tim would do everything in his waking days, with the guidance of his family, to make any necessary sacrifices in his schedule just so that he could time your monthly ruts and have you be attracted to his pheromones. he'll secretly shove his family's belongings inside your locker just to get you used to their scent, dick, jason and damian take turns to sneak into your home to steal your dirty laundry, your used jackets and pants, buried deep beneath your cabinets, just so that they could smother their nose into it, try to lick at any remaining sweat that clung to the fabrics.

you best believe that they're possessive over your things. even a beta like dick couldn't help but claim your jackets just to wear it for himself. damian, who's all talk about placing himself high above a pedestal as an alpha, seems way too eager to spend a minute or five scenting himself up with your blankets and arguing with jason over the comms on who you get to mark first— as if tim would let them be marked by his alpha.

tim is the luckiest to hit the jackpot though. he could just borrow your clothes after pe classes with the excuse that he forgot to bring a spare, then pretend to clumsily forget to return it to you because he's all too busy shoving it deep in his throat. every time you strip yourself half naked in the shower rooms, he's already had his head peeking by the doors with a camera in hand and a boner down under. every little action of yours done in campus is accompanied by the click of a camera and an all too excitable omega who touches himself to the thought of what your jagged hands could do to his body.

(and god, tim, who loves to hump into your stolen underwear can only provide himself so much pleasure, his heat wants him all marked up by you but you're just so oblivious to his ministrations. to his obvious need to share a nest with you. the family wants you too, jason's been snappy lately and dick is so close to convincing bruce that they all just collectively kidnap you if you weren't so dedicated in your academics).

the only thing holding them back is that you're known to be not like the other alphas. you don't shove your scent into most unwilling nostrils, your momma raised you right, you drink suppressants to keep you on the low, you do just enough to respect the boundaries of every omega who passed by your way, and you're a smart fella, easily picking up on most omegas who only try to befriend you for the intentions of dating you or having a quick fuck (damian makes a mental note to eliminate every known competition, he despises how those lowly beings slot themselves right beside you and think they deserve to be marked up. the others and most especially tim shares that sentiment)— the only reason tim is the sole exception to your friend group filled with betas is because he has enough self respect, at least, that's what he's convinced you to believe.

you're not aware of the trackers littered in every corner of your belongings. you're not aware of the cameras hidden in your apartment as the family entertains themselves just watching you break another toy of yours because you're too big for just a measley fleshlight, they watch you rip another blanket with your pointed teeth that snaggles into the sheets, fantasizing what it's like to have someone crying and begging for you to stop thrusting your knot right beneath you. bruce has to control the pack from breaking into your apartment just for them to offer that you claim them instead, he makes them cycle between steak outs, focus on something else, because he can immediately sense their heads turning to the direction of where your house is— and yet even an omega like him can't deny how tempting it is to share a nest with you as he secretly saves all the files of you pleasuring yourself in a drive he's going to watch repeatedly once patrol hours are over.

thinking about how the months would stretch and you slowly notice the shift in demeanor with tim. suddenly, instead of reviewing in cafes with other friends or simply visiting the library together, he'll invite you all too eagerly to the manor, in due excuse of wanting to study with you alone since he says he prefers a quieter environment. you accept, only because you feel the risk of losing yourself amidst the familiar scents scattered all over your life, on the newer scents on your clothes making your mind go crazy; only because you can't deny how tempting it is to fuck your supposed friend on top of a creaking table, in public for all the eyes to see— so your excuse to study with him alone, in an entirely alien environment where his family are there to monitor your sessions meant you'd have to be on your best behavior.

except the moment you step inside the gothic manor, your nostrils are hit with a multitude of familiar scents. bruce wayne, the omega philanthropist known to love caring for children, who greets you at the door with a gentle smile and expectant eyes, smells of fresh vanilla, cashmere and faint lavender, as he steps to the side and all-too eagerly confesses you that he's been waiting for the moment that tim's closest friend visits his home. like most omegas do, you can only describe the man's scent as soft and nurturing, natural traits for an omega, obviously, as he almost ushers you — a hand resting comfortably on your back, you don't feel his palms rubbing up and down your spine like he's known the feel of it from the start — and your... friend to the library if not for tim insisting that you'll both be heading off to his room instead.

you don't question why he specifically wanted you alone, though, because you swore you smelled the same, imposing vanilla on your damn sweaters.

but when you look to your right, eyebrows raised in curiosity at the whistling omega, he only reciprocates with a shrug and tells you that you should both already head upstairs since there's not much daylight left and that he wants to consume as much knowledge as he can in one sitting.

such a cunning scum he is.

for when you entered the room, stepped inside and dropped your bag to a nearby corner, your nose immediately picked up on the smell of freshly baked cocoa, sweet caramel, and the same, damn fruity scent of zesti cola.

your vision fogs all too quickly, fury an all too intimate feeling rising to your chest.

"tim, you fuckin' vixen—!"

you pin him down on his well nested bed the moment the waft of his room's familiar scent hit the air. you growl, too dizzy on the hazy realization that it was him and his family who's been scenting themselves all over your things all along, you can even smell your own scent in this room. your clothes, your jewelry, even your damn notebooks, they reek of sandalwood, lavenders, musk, vanilla— scent which all don't mix well, all you've individually sensed in all your different items. your underwear is stained with tim's sweat, you realize as you snarl between the vast, unmarked space of tim's neck.

and you should've, you could've held yourself back, but the timing was perfect, you've forgotten to take your suppressants because tim was rushing you; yet his legs are wrapped around you, you feel your own sizable crotch rubbed in between his own hard ones. he's tempting you, inviting you to stake your claim on his clean skin, as he releases a shaky breath right on your ears. his lithe waist is a perfect slot right in your palms, and those stupid, wide eyes are too expectant, too inviting to even deny the lack of surprise, like he's predicted this reaction— like he knows that underneath that false, caring exterior of yours is an alpha that wants to claim, and claim and claim until his skin knows the imprint of your teeth against his.

"mmph, c'mon..." he calls out your name, rubs himself shamelessly against your soiled underwear, takes your cold, unforgiving fingers to cop a feel around his areolas. lidded, deep blue eyes and raw, bitten lips, a red flush overtakes his body; an picture perfect canvas of an entirely submissive omega is right beneath you, inviting you two to fuck like the shameless animals you both are.

proclaiming to you, without words, without thought, that he's yours the entire night.

yours to breed, yours to fuck deep into the mattress until he memorizes the shape of your knot by the end of it all.

you don't remember when or how it happened, how you're both wearing almost nothing but the underwear blocking tim from fully seeing your own rock hard boner, but he's too hungry on want, on the need to have it shoved far deep in his throat and you're too drunk on the hazy desires to have an actual, warm cavern wrapped around you right now.

he whines a bit louder, you can smell the pre oozing and dribbling on his own briefs. he smells so pure, so delicious, so ready to be claimed that you just...

you lick at his clavicle until your tongue reaches into the perfect spot on his neck, devoid of any alpha's mark. you feel the boy shiver under you, feel the way his arms snake around your neck as his feet push back at your underwear until it drops at right your ankles, where you can hear his breath hitch at the sight of your own dick rubbing against his clothed boner.

he moans, pulling his hips up, and you snarl at his impatience, pull his body up in one, quick swipe, like the strong alpha you are, and rip away at his own underwear.

and he's drooling at your display of strength, his smaller thighs wrap around your waist until his puckered hole slots itself perfectly on your tip, you feel the slick dribbling down, feel the natural slip of your dick sliding inside of him.

he's all lubed up, this fucker prepared himself for this. but there's no condom in sight, no damn contraceptive the longer you look around. the truth lies in plain sight: he wants to be bred, he wants to take you raw.

as if sensing your thoughts, as if he doesn't want your attention on anything but him, he voices himself out, calling your name.

"don't lie to me... i know you want this," his palms cup your cheeks, gently prying your head to look at his straight at the eyes, "i know you want me. you picked me, you chose me, didn't you...?"

he pushes his hips upwards, pushes deeper, memorizing every vein stretching his hole— except his attempts are futile the moment he feels you pin his body down, he nearly releases an aching cry when he senses the lack of dick inside him.

he almost begs, almost.

"puh-PLEASE—!" he almost begs, if not for your immediate, hard thrust, a loud plap echoes throughout the empty room. if not for you shoving your dick in his slicked up hole in one quick motion, maybe he could've mustered up another word. but you've dicked him down, rendered him thoughtless and wordless, dumbing the omega down until he's subdued with only breathless moans.

"fu-fuck! oouh—" whispering under his breath, you only snarl in response, feeling him squeeze you in. this is better than any toy you've destroyed, he was warm and aching and you were hungry to just take him all.

tim drake is the picture perfect omega. it was no wonder why so many alphas fight themselves to the death to even grab a sniff of his own sweat, you've told yourself you only let yourself become friends with him because it was your duty to protect the weak, but fuck. you knew deep down, you were as dirty as all the others, maybe even worse, maybe even the worst as the sight of the debauched, snotty, drooling mess underneath you made you way harder, made your diluted eyes take in his writhing body, made you thrust in just a bit harder just to hear that high pitched moan escape from his wrecked throat.

his mouth would feel so good wrapped around your dick, it'll feel so nice to just slide it deeper and deeper until it reaches the back of his throat, and oh, you'll make him hold his breath until he has to scratch at your thighs, until salty tears escape those stupid, wide eyes of his, just to beg you for even the smallest intake of air.

next time, you think. there will be a next time.

for now, your steady pace is enough to induce pleasured tears dribbling down his cheeks. you snap harder, he squeals. he's cute, cute but disgusting. but you're worse, you wish you weren't but it's natural. you try to be soft, though, as your dominant hand swipe away the hair clinging on his sweaty forehead. you lean in, ignoring how tim shivers in delight as his nose gets a closer whiff of your scent, and softly kiss his cheeks.

softly, but that doesn't stop his disappointed, little sigh. you could only stare back in disbelief as his thighs pull your hips closer.

more tears escape his shaky eyes, hiccups escape his quivering lips.

"show me how much you love me..." he whispers, taking your mouth in his, biting your lower lips just so his tongue could get a taste of your saliva mixing with his. in response, you collect you spit and let it dribble down to his awaiting mouth, and god, he moans when the liquid meets his tongue, swallowing your spit with due diligence, like it is his ambrosia. and he sobs at the overestimation of having to feel, taste, and breath every living part of you.

"i love you, i love you, i— ah! i love you—!"yet it doesn't stop you from thrusting, doesn't stop you from wanting more as you stop kissing him, making your way towards his neck, tongue licking and sucking his skin until it's sullen with ugly love marks. he only responds with thoughtless whines, dissatisfied pleas at your teasing, at your refusal to just bite his skin and to just— mark him already.

you feel the rise of a familiar knot on the base of your dick, and with just how louder and louder tim has been moaning — you're sure that his pleas and the heavy creak of the bed can be heard from outside his door, you hope it does, you hope his family hears just how much this freak loves being bred — you know he's close, his dick is practically oozing with salty, watery precome, and his little whole is weeping with slick. your ears can pick up the plaps, how well your cock slides in and out of him to an unstable rhythm.

and yet he's crying, he's crying because throughout it all, your mark still isn't on him. his alpha still hasn't staked their claim on him and he feels so ashamed, so desperate to relieve that empty ache on the skin of his neck that begs to be pierced by your sharp teeth.

"— muh- mark- ah!"

"puh- LEASE! please, please, please, alpha, please—!

and he begs the moment he felt a thread snap, when you palm his throat, squeeze his dainty neck until all he could do was wheeze, until you let go when you see his reddened lips turn purple, and he releases a shout as ropes of cum escape his violently flushed dick.

he begs with incomprehensible requests, sucks in a breath whilst you accompany his moans with a growl when he feels your knot was slowly but surely becoming bigger and bigger inside him as your thrusts slowed, as you try your best to move despite the overstimulation riddling his body.

slowly, until your bodies are locked together, tim unable to move from right beneath you as his hole adjusts to the considerably large knot, until he swore you two are one, until your eyes shut in bliss when you felt your warm cum staining his insides. through both your hazy zenith, through his breathless panting and desperate intakes of air, tim still isn't satisfied.

and he'll only be satisfied if, no, once he's utterly sure he's yours and you're his.

he musters up the last of his strength, shifts his little hips seductively just so he could feel that strong knot pinning him to you, and stares at you with dazzling eyes, shimmering with fresh reserves of tears.

and just like how he's manipulated you to fuck him the moment you've stepped inside the room, he makes sure his quivering voice was as sultry as the taste of his sweat, as inviting as the nest he's been preparing for months.

he pouts, bites his lips, and licks at your warm ears as he whispers four, shaky words:

"mark me, my alpha."

a/n: happy pride month 🌈🏳️‍🌈 !! part two? maybe, maybe not. leave comments on how it is 🙏 i had to research scents because i realize i'm not that well versed in omegaverse and also ngl this unlocked a feral side of me. i miss writing smut y'all, so this is the first time in a while since i've written a full-fledged oneshot of tim being dicked down LMAO.

[acid-ixx]

i can name over 10 accounts who are better than you who actually deserve the fame and you still could not make it to anyone's top ten. All you write is word vomit and no substance whatsoever, nothing good about it. if I were you i would rather kill myself for objectievly being the worse writer 🙄😒

try actually writing a story w/ comprehensive lore instead of doing a copy paste of an already existing trope then let's talk okay? and ur words don't hurt me cuz i'm already my no. 1 hater 😭 either way telling me to kms won't do jackshit yk? u just sound so jealous ngl instead of hating, y dont u show support to those supposed top ten writers instead of letting others down?

i question it myself if i deserve fame, but hell, i've already sacrificed a lot, i've released single chapters beyond ten thousand words and i think simple recognition, even comments of appreciation means i didn't just post shit for nothing.

[acid-ixx]

Hot take: everyone knows your series has got to be the most poorly written one compared to all the actually good ones. Its to edgy and nobody relates to your poor excuse of a character insert. Just because your popular doesn't mean your good and I know a lot of people would agree with me on this. So just give up already won't you?

👍 u had so many chances to spell "you're" right, i don't think you can speak for urself on what is good if u don't know the difference between your and you're but it's alr, every opinion on my series is subjective <3

[acid-ixx]

Your the most annoying person in this website 🤢 Deactivate your account when?

i know i am, anon. i know LMAO but i won't stop being who i am 🫶

[acid-ixx]

I really want to know how dick crashes out can you give us maybe snipits( I mean whole ass paragraphs so I can reread them when I hyper fixate on your series again) please pookie?

— masterlist !

i don't want to spoil as much anymore since i'm releasing chapter six soon enough, but here's a comprehensive list of all the instances dick has tried to, but ultimately failed at hiding his not-so suble crash out towards everybody for the latest chapter.

1. he throws his phone across the room, then he is so close to throwing one of bruce's batarangs on the screen because the family realizes your lack of social media presence.

2. he also threatens to electrocute jason with his escrima sticks once he gets his hands on him because the second oldest refuses to confess the full detail of what happened.

3. him and bruce have a near screaming match and had to be held back by the scuff of his suit by cass and alfred's scolding in the background. he also insults the hell out of the bat like there's no tomorrow and brings up his absence on the day of your arrival in the manor like he didn't just leave you alone afterwards.

4. his phone is oddly alive after violently kissing the walls, he tries to call you again, seethes, then he settles for tracking down your location through your sim card.

5. he threatens bruce at like every second, it's kinda funny.

6. they find out where jason currently is (near your apartment as stated in chapter five) and dick almost takes it as a sign to ditch everything right now just to find you himself and drag you out just to confront you too.

7. he nearly cries in frustration and had to be on time out because he wasn't in the right mindset to properly assess what's currently going on. all that mattered to him was seeing you since he couldn't muster a clear imagery of his baby bird.

8. literally every single mention of him in chapter 6 is just him tweaking and becoming more feral because of guilt and also obsession— every moment of him is just him being so irritated yet so down in the dumps because of how badly he'd treated you and how much he wants to make it up to you.

oh, and damian is a different kind of crash out though. he's also as intense of dick but no more spoilers, just a few more days and a few more editing and it'll soon be out.

[acid-ixx]

— masterlist !

guys imagine a concept where the reader is kind of ashamed of cheating on bruce wayne for the batman, meanwhile bruce is all for it 'cause he can never be too affectionate with you during the day since he's too tired and needs rest to properly feel you in his arms...

like ugh, a kinda batshit, insane, suicidal reader constantly risking themselves out at night just to see the dark knight and him just knowing every known location you're at because he's implanted a tracker on you doesn't scream exactly romantic but it's the thought that counts, right? at least every time you try to jump off a roof to feel that rush of cool air swiping through your hair, you'd know the bat would always be there a second too early to pull you back and you'd get to feel his chest behind you and a heavy grunt, words bitten back, which will soon erupt from him once he has you in steady ground— scoldings, which you can easily cut off from him with a long kiss on his lips and a thank you afterwards, an invitation to save you again next time.

your lover by the day, bruce wayne, he does everything to spoil you rotten and there're moments where you want to confess your nightly affairs with the bat, since you've also assumed he's out there cheating on you so it would've been fair with how absent he is during the night— but he's always so sweet, always so charming and insistent that you drain his bank account, insists that you stay in the manor to be well protected because of course, you'd soon be married to him, of course, that meant you'd be the prime target to plenty of criminals wanting to make bank with holding you hostage for ransom— so he wants you locked up in the manor and to just plan for the wedding just to pass time, even though all you ever want from him is not the lack of attention he has on you every night, all you wanted is his trust instead of him waving off your worries of him at every new scar littering his body the longer the months stretch by.

but then there's batman, who provides you the rush of adrenaline, the jacked up knight who beats up criminals all-too willing to lay their hands on you. sometimes, it feels like you, too, have a double identity with how often you portray a sicker, more twisted version of yourself to the bat. always anomalistic with every new conquest to jump through roofs, to walk past alleyways sprawling with rogues at every corner—just to see that cape flying amidst the wind and hear the ever-so light jingle of his utility belt. every action of yours was a cry for attention, a calculated risk, for the bat to find you and hold you down and away from the bullets hurling at your body; at the future spouse of bruce wayne.

having both the playboy, affectionate, ditzy side of bruce, and the darker, more brooding, protective part— where both sides are equally as possessive? count me in. you're never aware that both these sides are one in the same. and bruce keeps this little secret of yours and his running for years potentially because it's the only way he gets to also see every part of you? where he gets to embrace the softer you, the more unhinged you? it's giving yandere reader, too, who's protective over bruce wayne but likes being protected by batman, too.

give me 50 fanfics of this please 😭

[acid-ixx]

I’ve always wondered how many drafts do you have exactly? Like in total.

200+ in tumblr, and i have 3 writing apps where one app alone has like over 600-ish (that's what i last counted months ago) individual drafts, ideas and drabbles for over different fandoms and the other app is all about world building and characterization for my characters. the other app has all my old stories and creative essays i've written over the years.

it's a mess but i've been writing a multiverse story since i was a little kid and i have my own novels that i never really post connected to that.

[acid-ixx]

and i swear there is not enough male reader content out here for sub comic characters. i need them bottomed, i need them dicked down, i need them all pathetic and oiled up like they're turkey i'm preparing for thanksgiving. i need 'brucie wayne' to be humbled down so badly, i can see him going through extreme measures by having a reader significantly bigger than him hold him down and let him take it like a champ from behind and you know he's open to that, you know what this man is capable of to achieve the means of being unable to walk the next day.

is that so hard to write? maybe, maybe not. either way, i advocate for sub bruce wayne propaganda (or literally any comic character i see) and nobody is taking me away from that (nsfw alphabet... 👀)

nsfw post.

crazy comeback, but with the amount of comic panels i have saved where bruce (as batman) is either tied up or in some crazy position he shouldn't be in, you guys can't convince me that he isn't into some freaky shit i swear (i am a sole believer that it's either he gets extremely edged or overstimulated and he's gonna be bratty or obedient depending on the situation, no in between but he still needs to be punished— all while he is tied up by a villain reader where his legs are split open and he's openly panting, legs shaking and bruised up laying on the ground like...)

and i am so tempted to write for that instead of prioritizing on posting the next chapter for a&a 😔✊

but yk...

[acid-ixx]

nsfw post.

crazy comeback, but with the amount of comic panels i have saved where bruce (as batman) is either tied up or in some crazy position he shouldn't be in, you guys can't convince me that he isn't into some freaky shit i swear (i am a sole believer that it's either he gets extremely edged or overstimulated and he's gonna be bratty or obedient depending on the situation, no in between but he still needs to be punished— all while he is tied up by a villain reader where his legs are split open and he's openly panting, legs shaking and bruised up laying on the ground like...)

and i am so tempted to write for that instead of prioritizing on posting the next chapter for a&a 😔✊

but yk...

[acid-ixx]

Future Posts Lineup (in no particular order of when to be posted) (uc)

a/n: some of these were also taken out from my planned fanfics post a few months ago whilst some are new ideas. just know i already have drafts written for all of these, hence why i decided to post this for anybody curious on further updates. anything labeled as uc means I'm too lazy to add a proper description yet.

Chapter 6, Part One - Part Two: Where the family finally gets to relive memories of you long buried, further deepening the deep-seated guilt and shame for just how much they've left you out. Whilst on the other side of the city, you get a new, feline friend you named Mr. Stinky who seems to be too just cranky for his senior age, and a new guy to crush on, Conner, whose flirting has you distracted from the watchful pair of eyes following you from when you left the alleyway where you found the cat. You realize after your lovely call with Conner, though, that your newfound motivation to leave Gotham wasn't as easy as planned, and that you couldn't possibly do it alone.

All Eyes on the Prize, Part Two: Bruce should've never left you, not when he now realizes how frighteningly great of a parent you are when him and his children find you smothering both Jon and Conner affection under the watchful public eye, and how brightly you glow beside Clark who's set on showing everybody that you already belonged to him. Your ex-children aren't also too keen on how their envy makes them wish that it was them being so closely monitored and scolded by you instead of those two, new 'self-proclaimed' kids of yours.

Confessions of the Damned and Unwanted: A day spent sitting beside you, silent and distant, unnervingly watching the rainfall patter on the silken grass with empty eyes has Bruce desperate to repair whatever love left you had for him as a father— it made him spill words he never meant, made you retaliate with details of your life far beyond what he could've comprehended. And under the watchful eyes of the fog encapsulating both your broken confessions does Bruce realize just how deeply the emotional cuts he inflicted on you were, just how much he never had been a father to you even after all the time he's spent with you after you've been unwillingly taken away.

Family Dinner: Silly, old you can't seem to stomach the fact that they're all looking at you now at the elongated table when months ago you were a mere ghost in their eyes whilst they chatter happily amongst each other. Unfamiliar with how communicating with a family who estranged you works; you end up having a panic attack in the middle of dinner when Damian attempted to hug you.

Once Your Son, Always Your Son: Your routine with your beloved son, Jon, leaves nothing else to be desired as you set about your usual nightly schedule of helping him clean up, fix his bed, and read him bedtime stories— something you've grown accustomed to love naturally as being a parent does. But when Damian comes to visit you once Jon falls asleep, he enviously demands you do the same to him and to return to the manor where a better family is waiting for you.

Flowers on My Grave: Flowers don't only bloom inside your lungs when you're rejected by someone you love romantically, they can also manifest through platonic love unrequited. Vomiting a bouquet of yellow carnations and an arraw of purple and blue hyacinths, you set to sever the bond of love you once felt for them once and for all.

Paper Weights (UC): (Loving Family, Unpalatable Desire oneshort too which you try to serve Bruce divorce papers disguised as a contract for designer items you pretended to want. It's only when it's the next day where Damian angrily stomps all the way to Bruce's study with Alfred in tow does he discover his idiocracy and why you seemed so intent on having him hurriedly sign the papers. One of your new posts on your private account with a new wedding ring attached to your finger also stirred plenty of drama online).

Nightmares and Consolations (UC): (Again &. Again. Fluff oneshot where you get nightly terrors and they scheduled periodic breaks to comfort you every night through your sleep paralysis. The mission? Get you to sleep properly. The task? Failed successfully, because they instead end up awake throughout the night with you just trying to bond with you instead)

The Night Cryptid (UC): (Horror/NSFW series. Where a new, heartless monster introduces itself into the heart of Gotham City and induces a new kind of fear into its citizens. Except Batman and his team of kids end up smitten with this creature (and how they don't want to admit their curiosity upon whatever those tendrils of yours can do to them)).

Like Him, Redo (UC): (Yandere Batfam x Reader. Where your mother's resistance against having you be introduced to Bruce both made and broke you once you realized just how misdirected your rage towards Bruce was).

What Money Can Buy (UC): (Yandere Batfam x Broke Reader. Where you're dirt poor and go to the same school as Damian, became a friend of his, and also ultimately had to resort to criminal activity which captured the attention of his family and made them insist on having you work them. Except you refuse because you don't want to be seen as a charity case (They see you as a new addition to the family instead)).

The list will be updated occasionally.