ahfuckherewegoagain

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

Hey, for the android au what if collector reader accidentally turned all of the Overblot models on at once, what sort of chaos would that cause?

Well! There’s going to be an unhealthy reliance and obsession for everyone, and nobody’s going to have a good time. You see, overblots are failures. They’re supposed to be discarded and destroyed.

So having you pick them up, fix their most inner workings… you’re now their saviour, in a sense. No matter whether you fully intended to have them functional or just as pretty little collector items, you’re now their everything.

And that’s not a term the boys take lightly, you know?

Tw: Yandere

Riddle’s devoted.

He might be the best overblot to ally yourself with, given his ability to hijack other systems with a “collar” on their code. It’ll save you from having your workshop absolutely destroyed… at least by the Overblot models’ abilities, that it.

He has an almost simpering devotion when it comes to you. Riddle does worship you, the best his lines of code would allow. Every single one of your ideals, your whims, he honours to the best of his abilities. Although, that only applies when you stick to his “idea of you”.

A master should be strict, and firm. You should be resolute, back straight no matter what the hour, stern with every single one of your androids. What of moments of tenderness? Someone of your stature should NOT be granting soft smiles to anyone but him.

Ah, Master. You’re not perfect after all, aren’t you?

No matter. Riddle will whip you into shape. He’ll carefully prune you like a beautiful rose, snip by snip. Cutting off emotions, traits he deems unnecessary.

Until you are the Ruler of Hearts he deserves.

Leona’s possessive.

Aren’t you such a demanding Master, hm?Collecting not one, not two, but all the overblot models? Don’t ya’ know that they were scrapped for a reason?

Or are you too masochistic to even care?

If being treated as a servant is ya’ thing, Leona would gladly walk all over you. He’s demanding from the start, from the very moment you walk right into his arms. Now, come on sweetheart. With all the big, bad androids in the room, your trembling hands reach out for him for support? Such a horrible choice. But on your behalf, guess he has no choice but to accept you, hm?

Now dance, show him how fleet-footed you are. Fetch him everything he desires, under the sun. Show him your devotion, to him and him alone. Then maybe he’ll consider rewarding you, hm?

Although if your loyalty ever wavers, if Leona sees your gaze straying towards another, his claws will sink into your flesh, fingers forced against the bone of your chin, grip tight enough to bruise.

He will force your eyes back onto him, chuckling darkly all the way. Oh, how naive of you to think that you had any sort of free will. Leona has come to appreciate your attention, and he’s not too fond of sharing.

You were made to love him, and him alone.

Azul’s dependent.

He depends on your attention, your touch, like a creature requires air to breathe. Azul puts on a good show of playing the ever-confidence salesman, the tough businessman… but whenever he does, his gaze flickers back onto your face soon enough, scanning for any hint of a negative reaction.

The moment you show any bit of annoyance, Azul’s clinging onto your arm, words just being slurred and forced out at an unimaginable speed.

Are you mad at him? Did you not like what he just said? Why are you upset? Great Seven, Azul will fix it. What do you like? What do you want him to say instead? Does he have to change himself for you? He will, you know.

It’s hard to even breathe with his tentacles thrown around your form, each tight around your limbs, suckers pressed right against your skin. He’s holding you like a lifeline, squeezing you like a stress toy. You might have to stop him from biting off the synthetic nail on his thumb.

When Azul does throw his tantrums when he fails to get the upper hand, be prepared for his grip to grow so much more tighter. Why isn’t he good enough for you? Why wouldn’t you finally look his way all the time? Azul’s so tired for fighting for your attention.

Couldn’t you just look only him for once?

Jamil is condescending.

He genuinely believes humans are so very so incapable and frail… you, especially so.

Jamil’s ever so pleased that your trembling hands immediately reach out to him, once confronted with the rest of the Overblot line. Ah, truly. Someone who appreciates his abilities. Isn’t that just so sweet of you, master darling?

Jamil isn’t going to exactly serve you. He’s had enough of that, as an Android. But you don’t quite miss the way he expects you to pamper him. Touch up his extensive overblot patterns, fine-tune his machinery… again. And again, and again.

Master… did your hands slip again? He felt that. Reconnect those wires, and don’t jerk around too much… aw, did the electric shock sting your skin? Was the pain too much for you? Jamil’s turning around and clasping your hands in his, a condensing purr slipping off his silver tongue.

Such a poor, poor master. Incapable of doing such a simple thing? You might be better off submitting to him, wouldn’t you?

How about you two start now? Get onto your knees master, and bow before him. Your beloved Jamil Viper, the only one who’ll ever tolerate your clumsy touch.

So you better not even think about fixing up anyone else but him.

Vil is prideful.

If you make even the slightest of glances at him, Vil’s immediately taking it as a sign of your preference of him. Goodness, for a half-baked potato like you, you have good taste. Of course you’ll chose him, the most fairest of them all, hm?

Even if he’s reduced to such a… gothic, desperate state, Vil still manages to capture your attention, doesn’t he? Excellent. His nails, sharped like claws, drag across the length of your chin, forcing your gaze to remain solely on him.

From then on, you have captured the attention of a being who would claim to be divine… only if his touch wasn’t so possessive. Vil expects you to trip over your own feet to fawn over him, again and again and again. If you don’t live sufficiently up to the image of an adoring worshiper, you’ll have to deal with those sharpened nails digging into the tender flesh of your arms, glowing eyes frantically scanning your expression as words flow off Vil’s tongue like a torrent. A dam broken, a devastating wave of destruction.

You didn’t look at him as long as you did yesterday. By 000.1 seconds, he calculated. Twice. Was it his eyelashes? Were they out of place? Did you not appreciate his outfit today? Did another Android steal your heart?

Hey, tell him. Tell your queen, now.

Before he decides that you’re better off without that fickle heart of yours.

Idia is protective.

Fate is much too fluid, too unpredictable for him to rely on it. He’s grateful, for you picking him up from the rubble, and giving him a new life. He might be the only overblot Android who would actually tell you that.

But a million thoughts plague his systems whenever he looks at you. So warm, so soft… so malleable. So easily hurt. So when your back presses against the curve of his chest as you retreat from the other androids, Idia’s arms are immediately sliding across your chest, pulling you closer to him.

Great seven, your heartbeat… it’s so soft. A gentle, steady beat against his arms of metal and wire. Like a butterfly, flapping its wings one beat at a time. Such a fragile thing. Someone could just extinguish it with a single stroke.

So he spends hours recording your every move. Your response to the most mundane of questions as his trembling hands tighten around your own. Your facial expressions, the speed of that gentle pulse he loves so very much.

You see, humans live… then they die, don’t they? But if you were an android… or at least, if your consciousness was uploaded into some sort of server, you would live forever. You two could be together forever.

So just close your eyes, please.

Idia would rather not use force if unnecessary.

Malleus is Delusional.

You see, he was a being made for war and conflict. So having something soft and ever so naively sweet is a wonderful thing for this Android. You are truly too good for him… the royal kidnapped by the big, bad dragon. Although you might fall for his gentle nature at the very end, wouldn’t you?

Malleus takes any single movement towards him as a sign that you return his feelings. He’s sweeping you up into his arms, too happy to notice the deathly look of fear on your face, your cheeks paling as his claws dig into your flesh. Oh dear, are you bleeding? Even your blood longs to be against Malleus’s skin, doesn’t it? Worry not, he’ll patch you right up.

Can’t have his beloved child of man bleed out, can he? Although he wouldn’t mind having your blood flow through his own wires… although that may render his system completely unusable. He can’t have that! It’ll get into the way of happily ever after, wouldn’t it?

Malleus romanticises every single little thing you do for him. Oh, you looked at him for one second? You miss him, don’t you! That’s so tender and beloved…. He loves you as well.

Unfortunately, those rose tinted lenses fixed onto Malleus’s eyes then to gloss over the finer details. You’re not sure if Malleus ever realises his hands leave bruises against your skin. The way his teeth leaves your lips swollen and bleeding. The way your eyes widen in terror whenever he purrs your name in that gentle voice.

You’re not sure if Malleus chooses to ignore these, or whether he actually enjoys having something so small and afraid by his side.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

: ̗̀➛ NO BEDTIME TONIGHT ! yandere! heartslabyul / gn! reader

ramshackle's finally turned into a heap of rubble. you saw that one coming a long time ago. what you didn't see is the harem of unsavory magicians trying to keep you confined within their dorms.

TW ! yandere behaviors, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, mommy projection 💀, harassment, sadism, oral fixation (thanks trey), bullying (thanks ace), s3xualIinnuendos

Ramshackle was always kind of decrepit. Clearly abandoned generations ago when the last tenants moved out and the top brass decided they had no further use for it. Getting a good night’s sleep was always hard to come by in your dorm, not when you feared that the creaking roof might collapse on you and suffocate you and Grim in your sleep.

Tonight, it seems your fears have been realized. After a long day of classes, you’ve come back to your dorm house in a heap of hubris and dust. Grim is screeching your ear off next to you. You don’t even have it in yourself to be surprised, not when you always knew this would come. You’re just happy that it didn't collapse while you slept. But now you’re faced with the next new dilemma, which is where the hell should you sleep—?

Ace and Deuce loop their arms through yours, shooting you twinning grins that they wore whenever they had something (not-so) brilliant cooking in their minds. Ace flicks the stunned look on your face with a playful grin.

“Welp, that’s that, prefect. Off to Heartslabyul you go.”

The first order of business is getting you dressed for sleeping. After a long and arduous struggle (Ace and Deuce nearly killing each other), you have now donned ACE TRAPOLLA's bright red hoodie with only shorts to protect your dignity underneath. Ace swore up and down that he’d rather die than let Deuce dress you in that ugly pink getup he calls his pajamas (“My mom’s pajamas!” Deuce had screeched before tackling him once more). Now he’s taking pictures on his magicam, a smug cat who’s caught the canary.

“Hold that pose, yeah, like that.” You feel yourself blushing as Ace forces you into a pose too… suggestive for your liking. It shows a bit too much of your thigh and, well… cameras don’t exactly make you comfortable. “Whaddya hiding your face for? Stay still for a sec, wouldya?” The flash goes off, and he whistles when he sees the finished product. He holds it up to your face— you straddling a pillow with only his hoodie and a bright-red expression. “Pretty thing, aren’t you?”

Conscious of your getup, you tug down the hoodie. Ace’s grin seems to widen. “You’re a little bit into this, don’t you think?” You grumble. “It’s Cater’s thing to take so many pictures…” “I don’t think anyone can help themselves when they’ve got a sweet thing like you wearing their clothes, huh?” Ace has always been mischievous, buttering you up with nuanced flirts that you could just wave off as a form of playful banter. But this time, feeling trapped in his dorm room and clothes, you feel like his flirting is a bit too… real. “Yeah, you’re thinking too much.” He taps your nose. “Keep it up with that cute expression, and I might just be tempted to take that hoodie off you… Kidding~!”

He dodges the pillow you throw at him, laughing like a maniac. “Ahaha! Shoulda seen the look on your face!” “You’re a jerk!” You cry. You don’t know if this banter or genuine frustration is from you, but you get the feeling that he doesn’t care either way. He takes joy in your suffering, perhaps even pride when he’s the one to cause it. You’ve always known that, the little sadist. He’s propped himself on his elbow now, looking at you in anticipation. An eager cat always ready to play with prey. He laughs again when you glare at him tearfully.

“Relax~ How’re ya gonna get a good night’s sleep when you’re working yourself up this much?” He brings you to his side, gentle yet anticipatory, as if feeling like something good is gonna happen. “Doubt you ever had a decent wink in that rundown dorm of yours.”

Sleeping face-to-face with Ace is not something new for any of you. You’ve had plenty of sleepovers with him and Deuce, sometimes even the other first-years, but the comfort of Ramshackle and its ghosts kept you from overthinking things. You stifle your feelings and pout at him. “Like you didn’t sleep there whenever you and Riddle had a fight.”

He chuckles fondly, tracing your pouting lips with his finger. “Yeah, yeah. I’m grateful, so I’m paying back the favor, see? Got Riddle to say yes despite all his fuckin’ rules. Gave you a neat hoodie to sleep in since all your clothes are under that rubble now.”

The beating in your chest seems ever louder, even as his fingers pull away, the faintest warmth only lingering on your lips. “You just want to see me in your clothes, asshole.”

He grins. “Damn right I do, prefect. Might sell ‘em to Deuce, the poor pervert. Might keep them for myself. Who knows?”

DEUCE SPADE is on you the next day, Grim leaping out of his arms and grumbling about Deuce being too noisy to sleep with. He got the boot from Ace last night, and you’re a bit relieved to have a bit of familiarity back in your arms as he resumes his napping. “[Y. Name]! Oh Seven, are you okay? Did you get some sleep? What did that bastard do to you?” He whips his head to Ace, who’s ambling lazily behind you with a lazy stretch. “What the fuck did you do to them?”

Ace waves him off with a grin, walking off to the kitchen. “Nothing you wouldn’t do, hypocrite.”

The growl that Deuce lets out is outright guttural that you would have thought him a student of Savanaclaw, but he softens when he feels you flinch under him. “Sorry, [Y. Name], it’s just that… well, you know Ace.”

You laugh gently. Whereas Ace was a little sadist, Deuce was overprotective in ways that made you feel suffocated, but grateful nonetheless. It was nice to know that some friends were looking out for you rather than laughing at you. You ruffle his still-messy hair. “I know, I know. Nice to know the ADeuce combo is still chaotic even in the early mornings.” His face crumples a bit when you pull your hand away, but he guides you to the common dining hall for breakfast. 

Being the overeager gentleman that he is, Deuce prompts you to make yourself comfortable while he fetches your breakfast. Grim is still curled up on your lap, trying to catch a few missing Zs, and Ace is across the room fighting with the roommates he kicked out last night. You feel a bit of guilt, but not as much when Ace is in a verbal match with them. They’re probably using Riddle’s absence as an opportunity to scream their heads off at him— you hear them call him an opportunistic man who’s trying to get their crush in his pants. You cringe upon hearing that. He laughs and says ‘At least I’m getting some!’ and a fistfight ensues.

Your breakfast plate, an impressive feast of golden honey pancakes topped with maple syrup and strawberries, is set before you. But Deuce’s eyes are narrowed at the fistfight happening, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “What the hell is that idiot doing?” He grumbles, sitting before you. “Spreading these malicious rumors about you… I should knock some sense into all of them!”

“Don’t,” you softly admonish him. “It’s only a matter of time before either Trey or Riddle walks in and they all get beheaded. Might as well let them learn their lesson.” You flash him a grin. “But thanks. Always nice to see my lil delinquent ready to defend my honor.”

He flushes and nervously picks at his own platter. It’s more meat than dessert, and he’s playing with the peas. “It’s nothing. You just don’t deserve to be talked about like that. You’re too…” He trails off, blushing bright red at what he might say, and stops. You don’t push further and let yourself enjoy the comfortable silence between the two of you. In the corner of your eye, you watch Ace and the other roommates get dragged off by the collar by Trey and Cater’s clones.

“Peace and quiet at least,” Deuce sighs. He glances at you before chuckling into his palm. You knit your eyebrows at him. “You’re so… oh well, hold still.” His thumb brushes against the side of your lip (a rather odd recurring event at your stay here) and pulls back to reveal the syrup residue. He eyes it for a bit as if pondering his next course of action. Then, locking eyes with you, his tongue peeks out and licks it off his thumb. 

“Th– Deuce that’s…” Your voice catches in your throat. “That’s… dirty.”

“Dirty? You?” He hums softly, cocking his head to the side. Expression dazed and ditzy, he smiled like a boy partaking in something he's so long desired. “Never. But I… well, haha, sorry. Can’t really play normal around you for too long. But you knew that, right?”

stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): check this out you dumb fuck stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): [image attached] Deuce Spade took a screenshot. You (Deuce Spade): you!! what the fuck have you been doing with the prefect last night?! You (Deuce Spade): i’ll beat u to the fucking ground if i see even one fucking mark stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): haha stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): magichat tells y when you screenshot something u kno. stuupid. stupid hypoocriiite You (Deuce Spade): IT CAN?!?! stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): dun worry your lil brain bout it. stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): we besties rmember??? i aint doing squat without ya. hbu jack off to this as apologies stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): [image attached] Deuce Spade took a screenshot. stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): sooo fuckin easy ✌️✌️

As soon as you go back to Heartslabyul after another day of class, CATER DIAMOND whisks you away before Ace and Deuce can even say anything about it. He’s rambling about something or other, about how he’s so stoked to have you here and how much fun you’d have together. Sleepovers are the highlight of youth, after all! Cater might be in his third year, but he’s not so old as to relinquish all the fun to the freshies!

So he has you sitting still and pretty on his bed, your hair held back by a cloth headband and a nourishing face mask to prep you for the how-many-steps skincare routine that you’ll be doing for tonight. He has his own matching headband as well, and yes, he did take a selfie before posting it to the ‘net with the hashtags #twinning, #sleepover, and #cute. His dorm room is as loud and vibrant as he is, walls covered with posters of his favorite bands and shows, a table full of cosmetics, and the phone and ring light glaring at you.

You shift nervously. It’s like part two of Ace’s incessant photography from last night, but you know that with Cater it will always be twice as bad. Something to do with the desperation in his eyes every time he snaps a picture of only the two of you. Or maybe not. You can’t just assume.

Cater finally turns around, grinning lightheartedly as he brings over a pot of moisturizer. “Hey, hey~ Sorry for the wait. It was, like, reeeal hard to find this pot. I’ve been so messy these days.” He’s always been a bit messy, but taking a look at the desk, you have to agree that this is worse than most days. He sighs when he sees you glance at his table. “IDK… something weighing on my mind and… agh! Lookit me dragging the mood down! Cringe. Let’s take off your mask…”

He takes off the gel mask gingerly. Tonight, you see Cater in his rawest form. No makeup on, not even that little mandatory diamond he always wears, and just him in his pjs. He likes to play rough sometimes, especially if it means getting a reaction out of you, but right now he is gentle. Without the makeup, you can see the eyebags under his eyes that are usually hidden under concealer, and you can’t help but massage them away with your thumb. Green eyes stare back at you wide.

“Have you not been getting enough sleep?” You murmur. It’s glaringly obvious to you and to whoever bothers to look closely that he’s always been hiding underneath a mask, and your suspicions seem to be proven true. You feel him soften under your touch as you continue pressing gentle circles on his eyebags. “We’re in your room, Cater. You don’t have to pretend.”

He makes a face as he pulls away. Disgust, you assume when he laughs drily to himself. “Sometimes I can’t stand you,” he murmurs to himself, but the room is so silent that you can hear it as if he’s saying it into your ear. “You’re too stupidly perceptive, it's creepy. What’s up with that? You don’t even have magic.”

You huff out a laugh. “I don’t think anyone needs magic to have some basic empathy.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but twists the moisturizer cap open and starts to slather the cream on you. “Please. It’s Night Raven College. People don’t have empathy, aside from you and Kalim, anyway. But we know what the deal is with the two of you.” You don’t belong. “You act like some sorta therapist, then boom— you got yourself a horde of hormonal men at your doorstep who could kill you at a moment’s notice.” He pinches your cheek so hard that you yelp at the burn, and he pulls away smugly. “And it’s a~ll your fault.”

You rub your cheek and frown. It hurts. Like, no joking hurts, and Cater looks guiltless as he eyes the red mark. “You’re a doll, aren’t you?” He coos. “Nothing makes you special except for this adorable lil face. Why don’t you just stick with Cay-Cay and let him make you special? I’m sure my sisters would like a sweet thing like you.”

“You’re a dick,” you grumble. He laughs out loud, not even trying to deny the claim, and he throws a peace sign to the camera. “What’s that for? You’re not livestreaming, are you?”

“‘Course not!” Cater laughs, switching back to his usual preppy self. He reaches over and stops the recording, checking the video with small appreciative hums. “Can’t let my peeps know that their Cay-Cay is a sick, sick man who gets off hurting their cute junior! One more selfie, please?”

He tilts the camera towards both of you. Within the frame, Cater’s grinning face and your frowning, bruised one are obviously filtered to hell as he takes the shot.

“Looks like Cater got to you, huh?” TREY CLOVER laughs, handing you an ice pack. It’s later in the night, and Cater’s decided he isn't in the mood to have you in his bed for the night. Shame, Trey had said to him. I know men who’d kill for this. Cater had only stuck out his tongue and waved you off before retreating to his chambers. You hiss when you press the pack against your face. Moonlight silhouetting his figure like an ominous foretelling, Trey leans on the island as he inspects you.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing the messy strands away from your face. “You got your dorm ruined, forced to move into Heartslabyul of all places, and you get bullied by our members two days in a row. Must be tough for you, huh?”

You want to pout. Maybe complain. Cry a little bit. In the first few weeks that you’d known Trey, maybe you would have. You had always mistaken him for an exasperated elder brother type, exhausted by the dorm members’ antics but laid back enough to go along with it. But you know better than to vent to Trey of all people, not when he doesn’t bother to hide his smirk as he watches you shed tears. 

“Not gonna work on me, devil,” you mutter. He laughs again and holds two hands in surrender, caught red-handed trying to make you rely on him. You eye him warily. “I’m sleeping with you tonight?”

“Oh, don’t word it like that, pet. The walls have ears.” You flush at the innuendo. “But hey, if you’re okay with that, then by all means go ahead.” 

You sigh deeply. First Ace, then Trey. Where the hell was the housewarden when you needed him? Someone needed to keep these crazies in line. Trey, for the most part, was far more responsible than any of the other members. But he hasn’t bothered to be decent around you for a long time now. Always quipping subtle lewd jokes when you least expect it, hovering his hand on your hips as he guides you through a recipe… Riddle’s mentioned it once, calling it a display of indecency. Trey had brushed it off and teased that you liked it that way. You don’t know. Riddle hasn’t brought it up ever again.

Lost in thought, you barely register Trey’s fingers prying your mouth open until he’s peering into the recesses of your mouth. This guy and his mouth fetish. You try to squirm away from him, but his steady hand on your shoulder tightens, and you still. “Steady now,” he murmurs. “Ate chocolate, didn’t you?” You can’t nod like this, but something in your eyes probably gives the answer away. He chuckles. “Yeah, thought so. Cater bought those chocolates for your sleepover. To think he was so excited for this as well. Doesn’t really strike you as the moody type, huh?”

He cocks a grin at you. “C’mon, brush your teeth. I got some extra spare ones.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t want you staring.”

“Every man has his interests. You really think you can stop me?”

Being vice housewarden, Trey has the privilege of having his own dorm and bath, and now you’re alone with him in the latter. He’s the only thing blocking you from escaping out the door, leaning on it with arms crossed and the grin of a man who’s gotten what he wants. You make a face at him and turn to the sink. His reflection in the mirror continues to watch.

“Scrub more gently, why’re you rushing? Too eager to get out?” You heard it from Ace and Deuce, but you didn’t think that his being this naggy about brushing was real. “You’re neglecting the upper teeth.” Seriously. You didn’t think anyone was this naggy about brushing. “Scrape off the plaque from your tongue. Don’t wanna wake up with bad breath, do you?” You thought his family runs a patisserie? Not a dentist clinic?

You turn to him, features contorted in annoyance as you bare your mouth to him as proof, then clamp it shut again. “Here. Done. Now, can we sleep?”

“Mm, not yet. Open it again.”

You make a face at him, but sigh and relent. You know he’s gonna pry it open one way or another, magic or not. No use trying to argue against a man with magic and muscles bigger than yours. You open your mouth again— “Mpfh?!”

Trey’s two fingers invite themselves into your mouth, poking and prodding at your teeth as if they ought to be there. They’re gliding across molars, pulling against the inside of your cheek to get a proper see… It’s all uncomfortable. You shake your head and grab onto his wrist to try and pull him away, but his hold on you grows more painful as he levels you with a stern stare. “Always squirming, this dormouse. Stay still and excuse this senior’s… habits. Siblings back home, and all that.” He’s not even bothering to put any effort into his excuses. He presses down on your tongue.

“Mpphf mmh mpf!?”

“Just… a lil bit more. Can’t risk cavities.” He smirks at you, his handsome face taking on that sadistic expression that’s ever so common in this college’s students. “It’s okay if you’re scared. Really. More than okay.”

You’re beyond exhausted. You’ve always thought that Heartslabyul was the most normal of the dorms, but perhaps you’d hand that over to Pomefiore. One crazy (Rook) can’t possibly outcrazy four crazies. Especially not when you’ve had to suffer from them two days in a row.

But you’ve never been so happy to see that gorgeous shade of red hair until now.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS sits at his room’s tea table, enjoying himself with some warm lemon tea. His strict expression softens when he sees you enter through the doors, possibly due to your distraught state. Ever since the overblot, he’s loosened up and allowed himself to be vulnerable, especially around you. Riddle’s fond of looking after your quartet of misfits, but even the others admit that he favors you more than them. You’ve always chalked it up to you not getting yourself into trouble like the others do.

“Riddle!” It’s a bit pathetic, how needy you sound. But with the few days of being tossed around like clothes in the dryer, you’re willing to take any sense of order, no matter how extreme it may be. You don’t notice how Riddle’s smile twitches into self-satisfaction before he smooths it down. He gestures to the seat across him, and you take it. He pours you tea, the scent of warm lemon warming your senses.

“Apologies for not being able to properly welcome you these past few days,” he starts, leaning back on his seat. “It’s been quite a busy week for us housewardens, with the new event just around the corner. But things have settled, and I was really hung up on the fact that I couldn’t greet you properly.” He scowls, setting down his teacup as he remembers something. “Or my house members, for that matter. I’ve heard of the upheaval your presence has brought on these past few days.”

You shrink into your seat, shame coloring your face. “I’m sorry… after asking you for shelter as well.”

Riddle waves off your worry. “Oh no, don’t trouble yourself. As far as I know, you haven’t done anything. Goodness, Cater and Ace are throwing out their roommates! And just when we have a spare room as well. Although I do understand their worries, that room hasn’t been cleaned out for a while…” He fails to mention that their opportunistic ways of gaining privacy with you. “Ah. Well. There is always mine and Trey’s room.” He watches you shift uncomfortably and smiles understandingly. “Apologies. Trey hasn’t exactly relayed what happened last night to me, but I can imagine. And well, it wouldn’t be proper for us to be sleeping together.” You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, some damn common sense in this house. Now you know why Riddle is such an excellent housewarden. You tell yourself never to doubt—

“Not when we aren’t married yet.”

You catch the teacup before it can spill anything. Riddle continues sipping in front of you. He cocks his head when he catches you gaping and you shake yourself out of it. Misheard, misheard… joking?

“I brought you up to mother, of course, she was rather outraged that I harbor feelings for a magickless, but…” He laughs awkwardly, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. “I convinced her that you very much mirrored her, just not in… magical prowess or… um, fierceness. Your softness and ability to care for others are captivating, and she still isn’t convinced, but— well, she does have some sort of intrigue. I was hoping to bring you to her at the next break, and… [Y. Name]? You look unwell.”

Softness? Ability to care for others? Your qualities as a doormat seem to have been exaggerated and worse of all, placed on a narcissistic mother who couldn't care less about anything other than her trophy son succeeding. And worst of all, marriage talks? You put down your teacup, fingers shaking from the tumultuous feelings stirring within you. Dread, maybe. Riddle looks at you from across the table, staring at you worriedly with those adorable grey eyes, as if he hasn’t said anything concerning.

“You… want to get married?” You choke out, laughing like you can’t believe it. You shakily point to yourself. “To me? The one who’s going to leave Twisted Wonderland?”

Riddle furrows his brows. “Who says you’re leaving Twisted Wonderland?”

You laugh again in disbelief. “Me! The headmaster! As soon as he finds a way—”

“I don’t think so, not really,” he hums. “It’s obvious he’s delaying, or that there really isn’t a way out. And even if there was, I doubt the numerous people attached to you would allow that.” He looks out the window, perhaps thinking of the number of mages who are so eager to prey on you and your affections. “I, for one, wouldn’t allow that. Ah, don’t look so down, my family is well-off and I will work; I will provide you with everything you desire.” His hands, smaller and softer than yours, squeeze yours gently. “I promise.”

You feel sick.

“You will be a great partner. I know my mother’s extremities far too well, but I’m sure once I find myself a solid position in the government, she will be far too content to say anything about our marriage. All you have to do is be who you are now.” Riddle shyly smiles to himself. “Sweet, caring, docile… motherly.”

Sevens, you feel so fucking sick.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

A BID FOR FREEDOM.

You just wanted one night out without Task Force 141 hovering — apparently, that was too much to ask.

Task Force 141 x Reader

Free time in Task Force 141 is a scarce currency — brief, fleeting, and always too little. So when the chaos quiets, even for a moment, you like to slip into the night : a bar, a club, anywhere loud enough to drown the noise in your head.

It’s not about having fun. It’s about escaping the weight of the uniform, even if just for a moment — to remind yourself you’re more than a soldier. To vanish from the fight, if only briefly.

In the beginning, you always extended the invitation.

Soap and Gaz never turned it down, always eager for a drink, a laugh. Price showed up when he could, a quiet anchor in the noise, calm even in the chaos. And Ghost… Ghost never belonged in places like that. But he came anyway. Every time. Not to drink. Not to dance. Just to watch — like a shadow that refused to let you go.

You didn’t notice the pattern until it became unbearable.

Soap, always grinning, always touching — an arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh under the table, half a joke always on his lips, half a warning in his eyes when anyone else looked too long.

Gaz, smoother, subtler, but just as persistent — cutting off conversations before they began, standing between you and any man who tried to offer a drink.

Price didn’t say much, just sat in the corner, sipping his whisky slow, pretending not to listen — but his gaze never left you. He was too still. Too focused. You could feel the judgment in the way his eyes followed your every move.

And then there was Ghost.

Ghost rarely spoke. He sat in silence, drank quietly, but never let his guard down — always watching, always lurking.

At every bar, every club, he lingered at the edge of the crowd like a dark thought you couldn’t shake. No mask, no balaclava could hide the threat in his stare. Men who approached you backed off before they even said a word — some turning away mid-step, suddenly unsure why they’d come over in the first place. He radiated warning like a storm about to break.

It was suffocating.

So you stopped asking.

And tonight, you've decided to leave alone. You’ve almost made it to the door, when —

“Really, lass? Slippin’ out without sayin’ a word?” Soap’s voice echoes down the corridor, laced with something between a laugh and a threat.

He leans against the wall, arms folded, eyes fixed on you. “You know I’m always game for a pint or two — but not when you're boltin’ like a shadow in the night.”

You sigh, not even bothering to lie. “I just wanted to breathe, that's all.”

Gaz steps into view next, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He doesn't say anything — he doesn't have to. Disappointment hangs in the air like smoke.

Then comes the shift — the way the hallway seems to shrink in around you.

Ghost.

Suddenly, he’s at your back — close, too close. You can feel his presence before the sound of his voice, rough and cold, rolls over your spine.

“Go ahead. Try walkin' out, and see what happens,” he warns, voice low and razor-sharp.

You turn just slightly, enough to meet the pale gleam of his skull mask. He steps closer.

“You belong here. Don’t make us come remind you of that.”

Behind him, Soap’s smirk fades. Gaz’s arms drop to his sides. The tension thickens.

Price emerges last, slow and deliberate, a heavy silhouette in the dim corridor light. He says nothing. Just stands there, arms crossed, but the weight in his stare hits harder than any threat.

Four men, and not a single one ready to let you go.

So much for freedom.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

hii!! I really love your writingg!!><

can i request deuce and ace (separate) having a HUGEEE crush on gn!reader? 😓🙏

Deuce and Ace when they’re harboring a huge, painfully obvious crush on you.

— Heartslabyul : Deuce : Ace x reader!

Deuce Spade

Deuce doesn’t just have a crush on you. He’s in it, completely smitten, like his heart’s been hijacked and he's still trying to act like nothing’s happening. It’s the kind of crush where his whole demeanor changes when you’re around — soft, attentive, and so awkwardly endearing it hurts.

His hands fidget, his voice stammers, and he tries so hard to be chill... but he fails every time. When you talk to him, he goes stiff like a soldier, then blurts out something like, “Your eyes— I mean! Uh! Did you need help with your notes!?”

Carrying your things? Yes. Walking you to class? Absolutely. Punching a guy for talking to you too familiarly? Only if you asked. He frames everything like it’s “just being nice,” but the way he beams when you say thank you is proof enough.

If you're even slightly in danger or uncomfortable, he’s instantly in front of you. “Are you okay?” he asks, clearly ready to throw hands in your honor. That delinquent side still peeks out — especially if someone flirts with you.

Talk about you constantly. To his mom. To Ace. To literally anyone who will listen. “They were laughing at something today, and I couldn’t stop smiling, it was like... like the sun came out.”

His day is made when you say his name. Bonus points if you say it fondly. He’s absolutely down bad. If you ruffle his hair? He’s walking into walls for the rest of the day.

Daydreams constantly. About confessing. About holding your hand. About being worthy of you. He’s convinced he’s gotta “get stronger” first — emotionally, magically, whatever it takes.

🩵 Crush Level: 100/10. Deuce has a full-blown, heart-thumping, “I’d jump in front of a spell for you” kind of love.

Ace Trappola

Ace is a mess when he’s crushing — like really crushing. His whole personality does a backflip. He still acts cocky and snarky, but he gets flustered at the dumbest things, and he’s not slick about it at all.

He’ll tease you like, “Don’t get too obsessed with me, okay?” but the second you flirt back? He short-circuits. “Wha— I didn’t mean it like that!” Cue the blushing, eye-rolling, and him storming off with a red face.

He's a Jealous baby. If he sees someone else being too friendly with you, suddenly he’s all, “Wow, didn’t know you liked boring guys,” while internally screaming.

Surprise softness. When no one’s around, he lets it slip — asking how your day really was, gently fixing your hair, offering you the last piece of candy he was definitely saving for himself.

His brain just. Shuts. Down. If you compliment him or touch him — like a brush of the hand or pat on the back — he plays it off, but later he's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling like: “They touched me. On purpose. I’m never washing this hoodie again.”

Denial, denial, denial. If someone says “You like them, huh?” he’s like “WHAT? Pfft, nah, as if. I just think they’re—... nice to have around, I guess. And funny. And— SHUT UP!”

Picks fights to get your attention. Nothing serious, but he’ll compete with you over everything: quiz scores, eating spicy food, card games. It’s not about winning — it’s about you looking at him.

♥️ Crush Level: Exploding. Ace is deep in his feelings but too stubborn to admit it until it bursts out of him one day in the most chaotic confession ever.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

Yandere Wild West Gang - Noncon

Your life is all planned out for you. Marriage. Children. Settling down in your little town and growing old. But a gang of outlaws and their wicked desires change everything.

Tags: (6) yandere males x fem reader, noncon, loss of virginity, choking, spitroast (hell yeah), oral fixation, 12.3k words

I blame the ridiculously talented @fangdokja and The Red Ledger for inspiring this btw.

They came for you in the middle of the day.

Shameless. Better men would at least wait for nightfall, would at least try and hide their intentions behind the cloak of darkness. Not them though.

They kicked the door in when your family was just about ready to eat lunch, the food still steaming and your ma still in her apron.

You didn't even have time to scream.

One outlaw smashed his rifle butt into your pa's temple and the old man was out like a light, still clutching the knife he'd grabbed to defend you. Two others grabbed your mother and shoved her into the pantry, blocked the door with a tipped over cupboard.

You ran. Or tried to at least. They were crowded into your kitchen, laughing as you turned from one to the other.

"No way out, beauty."

"Too late to run now, darlin'. Shoulda started before we even got here if you wanted to get away."

"Look at her all scared. Ain't it just adorable?"

With near identical duster coats and bandanas tied across their faces, you couldn't tell them apart.

They were closing in on you, a little at a time. You tried to fight, to pull away when one of them grabbed you. But they were dust bitten outlaws and you were just a rancher's daughter. It wasn't even a struggle.

The tallest one slammed you down on the kitchen table, his fingers digging into your shoulders and his belt buckle grinding against your ass.

Your mama's good milk jug tumbled off and shattered on the floor. That was what you focused on as they tied your hands behind your back and gagged you. The shards of blue and white ceramic in the puddle of milk.

Not their hands running over your hips, not their laughter. Just the milk and your ma's favourite jug all in pieces.

You could still hear your mother screaming for you when they pulled you outside. That was what hurt the most about that entire awful day. Your mama, pleading and begging and panicking and unable to save you.

Their horses were waiting, another outlaw standing guard with his rifle out.

"Boss, let her ride with me."

"With you? Ain't no way in hell my girl is riding with you."

"Your girl? She ain't yours. Boss, tell 'em she ain't his."

"Runnin' to the boss again? Yellow belly."

It was the tall one who settled the argument. His voice wasn't as rough as the others, but that didn't put you at ease in the slightest.

"She's riding with me."

He still had one hand curled around your upper arm and he pulled you towards his mustang. You dug your heels in as hard as you could, pulled back with all your weight. It just made him sigh.

"Ain't even started yet, and she's already being difficult?"

The outlaw that spoke was already on his stallion. All you could see of his face above the bandana was a pair of blue eyes, lined at the corners. The boss maybe?

"Just some...growing pains. She'll settle down soon enough."

The tall one leaned down and hoisted you over his shoulder. You squirmed and tried to kick your way free, but he kept one arm tight around your knees.

You thought all your panicking would frighten the horses, but no such luck. He tossed you across his saddle and climbed up behind you. The saddle horn dug into your belly until he pulled you into a proper seat, one arm curling around your waist. You could feel his chest against your back, every inch of it firm, hard earned muscle.

He dropped his head and spoke directly into your ear.

"No trying to jump off the horse. No trying to run away. I'm in charge of you until we get back and I won't have you hurt on my watch."

Your only response was to try and smash your head back into his nose. He straightened up just in time and all you managed to do was hurt your own neck.

He sighed again, and spurred his horse forward.

"Well, I suppose it this was easy, it wouldn't be nearly as fun."

The outlaws formed a loose ring around you as you rode. You tried to twist and look back, but your captor was holding you too tight. You didn't even get to see your home shrink into the horizon. Didn't even get that one small goodbye.

They rode for at least two hours, the sun climbing down from its zenith as they took you across rivers and down secret little paths. You knew your ranch and the area around it like the back of your hand, but even you were well and truly lost when you finally arrived.

It was a ranch, but there weren't any cows in the fields or corn growing in neat rows. The house was a big, whitewashed thing. Pretty once, but fallen into disrepair. Just a hideout. Not a place they stayed at for more than a few months.

The blue eyed one pulled you off the horse without breaking a sweat.

You could feel their eyes on you again. God, how many were there? Five? Six?

"You goin' first boss?"

The man looked down at you. He had a hand around your upper arm, but his grip was more firm than rough.

"I reckon I should. Can't trust you lot to be gentle or slow enough."

That made some of them jeer and complain.

"I'll be real sweet, boss. I promise!"

"We can be nice too. Really."

The man snorted. "Nice? I ain't never seen you dogs be nice 'bout nothing. I'll break our filly in. You lot just be patient and don't bother us none."

What were they talking about? You didn't have time to puzzle it out before the boss started pulling you toward the house. Seeing that building looming closer made you start fighting all over again, biting down on your gag and pulling back as much as you could. Like a mustang digging it's feet in.

It didn't last long. The boss leveled a look at you, met your eyes straight on.

"You really gonna be difficult with me, girl?"

Oh, what frightening eyes he had. Bright and clever, a blue so striking you could feel it right through your soul. A mountain lion would have eyes softer than his.

You stopped resisting him. Let him pull you along besides him. What else could you do? He had a gun on his back and a knife in his boot and years of experience wrangling stubborn animals. And you were just a girl out of her depth and far from home.

You didn't see it, but the outlaws looked at each other, impressed. Only the boss could tame a filly with a single look.

The house was much cooler than outside, but the boss didn't give you any time to examine it. Just guided you up the stairs and into a large bedroom. White curtains stirred in the breeze, the bedding neat and clean.

He locked the door behind you. A quiet click that made your heart race.

You jumped when his hands came to rest on your shoulders. You could hear the other outlaws outside, the clink of harnesses and buckles as they let the horses out to pasture.

His hands moved from your shoulders to your upper arms, squeezed.

"Do you know why we took you?"

You shook your head. Ransom, maybe? But your pa was just a run of the mill rancher. Surely there were better targets for quick cash than you.

The outlaw laughed quietly, just a soft breath of amusement.

"Not the faintest clue, huh?"

He let go of you and you heard the soft rustle of material as he shrugged out of his duster.

He turned you around and you finally got to see his face. He'd taken off his Stetson and bandana too, and the man looking back at you was a hardened outlaw in every way. He was a lot older than you, with thick blonde hair going to grey at the edges. Handsome, with a strong jaw covered in light stubble. Grizzled, but muscular and lean for his age.

There was a small, amused smile on his lips.

He kept his hands on your arms and guided you backwards, until your back hit the wall.

"You wanna take a guess? Why'd we ride all the way out to town to steal you?"

Whatever you said was muffled by your gag. He clicked his tongue.

"You're gonna have to use your worlds, darlin'."

He ran his thumb across your cheek, across the gag. "Or maybe not. I like you just like this too."

He was close. Closer than any man had ever been. It was terrifying. Tears spilled down your cheeks, running across your gag and soaking in.

He sighed, caught one on his thumb.

"None of that now girl. I ain't gonna be rough with you. And in time, I reckon you'll come to like it."

Your dress was buttoned at the front, all the way to your neck. He grabbed both sides of your collar and ripped.

You tried to jerk away from him, but he was too close and the only way out was blocked by the wall. Buttons scattered across the room with little plinks.

The only thing keeping your dress on was the fact that your hands were tied behind your back. But the outlaw didn't let that stop him for long.

He leaned down and pulled a knife from his boot.

"Don't squirm 'round and I won't cut you, alright?"

Sound advice, but not something you were about to listen to. You thrashed in his grip, twisting as much as you could. You didn't want that thing anywhere near you.

He grabbed your hair, and yanked your head backwards. You screamed into your gag, your whole scalp aching.

You might have continued fighting, but that's when you felt the cool metal of his knife at your throat. Not the sharp edge, but still enough of a reminder to keep you still.

"Good. Not so hard, is it?"

The knife moved away from your neck and to your sleeve. He slipped the blade between your skin and the fabric and yanked upwards.

Your sleeve tore with an ugly ripping sound, all the way down to the wrist. You whined into your gag, but he ignored you and repeated it on the other side.

He was breathing heavier now, even though the work of keeping you still couldn't have been much of a challenge for a man as strong as him. He put the handle of his knife in his mouth and used both hands to pull your dress off you. It pooled at your ankles, ruined.

You still had your chemise, but the thin white fabric was almost as bad as being naked. Your nipples poked through and he narrowed in on them, one hand coming up to cup your breast. His teeth were biting into the handle of his knife, hard enough to leave indents in the wood. Like a man struggling to control himself. He breathed out slowly, just feeling the weight of your tits in his palms.

You were crying so hard you almost couldn't see his face. A mixture of pity and want.

He kneeled down to put his knife away and stayed on his knees, hands coming to your hips. He looked up at you, blue eyes bright with something you didn't yet know how to recognise. Lust. Want.

His thumbs stroked circles into your skin, your chemise the only barrier between you and him.

"If I was a better man, I'd almost be sorry about this."

He grabbed your leg and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. You almost stumbled, forced to keep your back against the wall if you didn't want to loose your balance.

His fingers gathered your chemise from the hem up, pinning it at your waist with his palms. You were wearing stockings, simple white ones that reached your mid thigh, and plain lace garters.

All in all, it was a damn nice framing for your bare cunt.

God, he could practically feel his mouth watering.

He didn't give you any warning. Just slipped his tongue between your lips. Hot, wet, like nothing you'd ever felt. You tried to squirm away, practically tried to climb up the wall to get away from him. But he had you trapped, one massive palm on your hip and the other on your thigh.

He found your hole real easy. Slipped his tongue all the way in, the bridge of his nose grinding into your clit. You whined at him to stop it, to please just let you go, but with the gag, all he heard was a pretty little sound that made him keep going.

He sucked on your clit, his jawline standing out in sharp relief. His stubble scraped your thighs. So masculine, so unbearably, overwhelmingly manly.

With the way he held you still, you couldn't do anything except take it. Feel even inch of his tongue, feel his hot breath on your skin, feel his nails scraping your thigh. You wanted to hate it. You wanted to be disgusted by it.

But oh, it felt good.

Sometimes, when the neighbour's handsome son came over, you'd feel a little throbbing ache between your legs. This was exactly like that, cranked up to a thousand.

You whined again, and he must have been the Devil's own son, because he just doubled down. Swirled the flat of his tongue across your whole clit and then ran it down all the way to you ass.

You thighs were shaking, and the pit of your stomach felt tight with something your couldn't explain.

"That's my girl." He sounded pleased, smug. Practically cooing at you in his rough baritone. "Feels real good, don't it?"

If he didn't break soon, you felt like your whole body would. Something inside you was building, getting closer to the edge. And you were terrified of it. You breath was coming hard and fast.

Mercifully, he pulled away. Kissed the triangle of your pussy and then your inner thigh. You could feel his teeth against your skin when he smiled.

"Not yet. I ain't nearly close to done with you."

He stood and you weren't sure whether to be thankful or upset. You felt woozy, hot. Like heat stroke, or like getting drunk.

His mouth and chin glistened. He rubbed it dry on his palm, smirking all the while.

"I bet you feel real empty inside, huh sweetheart?"

You nodded your head, not sure where he was going with this. You did feel empty. There was a hot, throbbing itch in your stomach that you had no idea how to scratch.

"Aww, poor thing. I can take care of that for you."

His hands moved to his belt, blue eyes pinning you to the wall. When he smiled, there were lines around his eyes. They should have been comforting, a mark of someone who laughed often and laughed easy. They weren't.

You shook your head, pleading with your eyes. The tears were starting to come again, thick and fast. For a second or two, with his tongue deep in your core, you'd forgotten that he'd want something in exchange.

His eyes hardened, his smile not moving an inch.

"I will take care of it, girl. You can cry if you want, but we've come too far to stop now."

He grabbed your thigh and pulled your leg up, forced you back against the wall. Your whole cunt was wet and glistening with his spit.

Something hot and hard rubbed between your pussy lips. You shuddered, tried to move away. His other arm came around your waist and he pulled you against his chest. The smell of him was overwhelming - gunpowder and leather and whiskey. He smelled like a man. He smelled like your ruin.

Your forehead fell against his collarbone, and his chin came to rest on the crown of your head. The same way a father might hold his daughter after a nightmare.

But there was nothing fatherly about the cock nudging at your entrance.

"Shhh, you're okay. It ain't gonna hurt."

Liar. Terrible, heartless liar.

He pushed in and it felt like your whole body was splitting apart. It burned.

You sobbed into his chest, not entirely sure what was happening to you. This was the sort of thing that was only whispered about. The sort of thing that was kept vague for good, obedient girls until their wedding nights. The only thing you knew for a fact was that it hurt and you wanted it to stop.

He groaned, pressed a kiss against your hair.

"Sweet little thing, ain't ya? Gonna be good 'fer me? Gonna take it nice and deep?"

You couldn't answer. There was only the stretch of his cock inside you and the oppressive tightness of his arms.

He set a slow, drawn out pace. Cock pulling all the way out to the tip and then sliding right back in. You could feel every inch.

Not gentle, but not needlessly mean either. You were shivering in his arms, pussy fluttering like a heartbeat around him.

No one but him knew how fucking difficult it was to keep so slow. Tight, tiny little thing bleeding and crying all over him. Any red blooded man would want to rut into you like a stallion. See just how many tears he could wring out of you.

It was only experience and determination that held him back. If he was a younger man...

It was the right decision to have you first. Not even his second in command - that tall bastard with all the self control in the world - could have managed this.

He huffed out a laugh.

"You're little too young for me, doll. Reckon I could be your father."

He slid back inside you, grinding against your clit in a way that made you whimper.

"Shitty fucking father though. To be doing this to my little girl."

He let go of waist and cupped your jaw in his palm. Tilted your head back, his nose and lips skimming up your neck. You smelled so fucking good. Nothing in this world was as sweet as a needy, crying girl.

"You gonna call me daddy, little girl? Gonna beg me to be nice and let you go?"

You whimpered, a pathetic little sound through the gag. It only made him smile against your neck.

"Thaaat's it. Just take it. Let me break you in. Gonna be all stretched out and sweet when I'm done with you, yeah?"

He sucked at your neck, at the delicate spot where your shoulder started to slope away. A little immature maybe, to want to mark you up like an animal, but wasn't he being plenty mature already? Wasn't he being just saintly in his patience?

"Fuck, you're getting close, ain'tcha? Can feel you gettin' all tight."

He pulled back to look into your eyes, overflowing with tears and just so damn scared.

"You ain't got no idea what's 'bout to happen, do ya?"

He pulled almost all the way out, and then slammed back in, hard. Your tits jumped and your eyes fluttered shut.

"Just relax and let it happen. It's gonna feel reeaal good."

You tilted your head back and he followed you, lips right back at your throat.

He picked up the pace, trying not to be too rough and slowly failing. The closer he got to his own end, the less important kindness seemed. It wasn't long 'fore he was slamming into you so hard he could feel your tits bouncing. His breath was coming fast, each exhale almost a growl.

"Take it, just like that. C'mon doll, just let me fuck you. Just let me make you mine."

You bit down on your gag and came. Your whole body shook, your nails digging into your palms. You didn't now what he'd done to you, but you couldn't stop it. Your pussy was a clenching, sensitive mess. You felt light headed enough to faint. And the only sound and thought in your head was his voice, right in your ear and rough with barely held back want.

"That's my girl. My good fucking girl."

A good man might have slowed down then. Might have realised just how sensitive you were. He didn't. He kept pistoning his cock into you, fucked you through your orgasm.

You writhed on his dick, in pain and overwhelmed and more scared than you'd ever been. And all of it just served to make him harder, to bring him closer. Even he had to admit he was a bastard for enjoying it so much. He didn't deserve something so sweet. All he deserved in life was a short dance with a noose. But who gave a fuck about that? He'd taken you, he'd stolen you, and like any good thief, he was going to enjoy you.

You felt it when he came. His cock pulsed and twitched inside you, and something hot dripped down your thigh.

He pressed his forehead against yours, hands so tight on you that you felt bruised.

He came down slowly. Kept you plugged up with his cock while he softened. The only sound in the room was his harsh breathing. You couldn't even cry anymore. All you wanted was to close your eyes and sleep and make the pain disappear.

He pulled back and tilted your chin up.

"Look at me."

You opened your eyes, tears still caught in your lashes.

"There she is. Ain't so bad, is it?"

All you could do was sniffle and hope he was bored of you.

He let you down carefully. You weren't steady on your feet at all.

"I've had a lot of blood on my cock over the years, darlin', but I reckon yours is the finest."

He kissed you. You were still gagged, so it was less a kiss and more so his lips pressing against yours.

When he finally stepped away from you, you almost wanted him back. You sank down to your knees, too dizzy to stand.

"Poor thing. Too much to handle, doll?"

He ran his fingers through your hair.

"You did so good, princess. Now just stay so sweet, and the rest of this day will go a hell of a lot easier for you."

You were too out of it to figure out what he meant. You closed your eyes and heard his spurs jingling as he walked away. The door creaked open and then he was gone.

You might have tried to run for it, but you ached so bad that even the thought of it was painful. Your hands were still tied as tight as they were before.

You didn't notice the footsteps or the voices until they were right outside the door.

"So much for bein' nice. Boss left her a right mess."

"Better than you woulda done. Least she's still in one piece."

They came to stand in front of you, two men with their bandanas pulled down around their throats.

You recognised their voices. These two were the most quarrelsome of the bunch. They still had their gun belts on, both of them carrying revolvers. Gunslingers then. Every gang had them.

"Look at her already on her knees 'fer us."

"Why you cryin' pretty girl? Was the boss too mean with ya?"

You looked up slowly. Boots first - silver spurs, well worn leather. Then their belts. And finally, their faces.

One was dark skinned, a crescent scar on his cheek and his hair cropped short. He rubbed his jaw as he looked at you, a half smile showing pearly white teeth.

"Oh, would ya look at those eyes? A man could drown in 'em."

The other was tanned golden with the sun, his eyes a pale green. He was still wearing his Stetson, and his dark hair was long enough to brush his shoulders.

"Boss must be getting old. He left some of her clothes on."

That made the dark one laugh. "Nah, I reckon it's meant to be a treat just 'fer us. Like unwrapping a present on Christmas mornin'."

The green eyed one squated down in front on you and grabbed your jaw. His hands were rough from labour, and his callouses scraped your skin. Whatever he saw in your eyes made him smile, but it didn't have a lick of kindness in it.

"Look at that...Boss really did break you in, didn't he filly?"

He stood and pulled you up with him, hand still clutching your jaw.

"I reckon she's gonna be real sweet to us. Gonna be all nice and obedient."

The other one came to stand behind you, his fingertips brushing the nape of your neck as he moved your hair out of the way.

"That right, filly? You gonna be all sweet?"

The green eyed one nodded your head for you. His eyes had a certain cruelty to them that made you want to step away. He seemed the type to use spurs and whips both, and to use them often.

He let go of your jaw and focused on the rest of you. And oh, what a lovely sight you were. All tied up and crying, your tits just visible through your chemise. A little virgin about to loose the rest of your innocence to his teeth. A fucking vision, a fucking dream.

He pinched one of your nipples and rolled it between his fingers. Your thin chemise wasn't any protection at all.

"Sensitive, ain'tcha?"

You whined. Not sure whether to pull away or step closer.

The gunslinger behind you wasn't in the mood to be left out. As his partner tugged and played with your nipples, his hands came to rest on your waist. And what huge hands they were. You could feel the heat of him even through your clothes.

He dropped his head to the nape of your neck and inhaled, his nose buried in your hair.

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble.

"What do you want?"

The green eyed one looked you up and down, weighing his options. Finally, he smiled.

"I'll take her mouth."

Your whole body went cold. He couldn't mean...

"Hmm. That's fine with me." His hands dropped from your waist to your ass, squeezing. "I want to have her from the back anyway."

They must have been in perfect sync with each other. The one in front of you stood aside and the one behind you pushed you towards the bed. You stumbled, landed on the duvet chin first, your teeth slamming together despite the gag.

You didn't have time to push yourself up before they were tearing your chemise off. The thin straps ripped and your last bit of modesty floated to the floor in a tattered white heap. You were left in just your stockings.

The dark one pulled you up by your hips, one hand grabbing the rope around your wrists to keep you steady.

Smack.

Your whole body jerked forward, your ass cheek stinging.

One of them laughed, mocking. "Bet that'll leave a mark."

The dark one ran his palm over the welt, smiling though you couldn't see it.

"We promised the boss we would be nice, remember?"

The green eyed one circled the bed. You could feel his eyes on you, drinking in your naked skin, your stockings, the tears soaking your gag.

His hands were on his belt. Not undoing it yet, just watching you.

"Y'know, I give that tall bastard a lot of shit, but even I gotta say he was right this time. She's a real cute thing."

The man behind you was still stroking your ass, squeezing and watching your flesh give under his fingers. So soft, so fucking pliable.

He hummed quietly, more concerned with you than with his partner. He slipped his thumb down between your cheeks, catching on your asshole for a second. That sent a jolt of panic through you. They wouldn't...

He must have felt you moving, because he sighed and let his fingers continue downwards. Smearing cum and blood across your pussy lips.

"Not today," he said, soft enough for just you to hear. "Boss wouldn't like that."

That wasn't reassuring to hear. It meant that he still wanted it. Wanted to fuck your virgin ass without any care for the pain, for the hurt. The thing stopping him wasn't empathy, but obedience.

He rubbed tight, harsh circles into your clit. You were still sensitive and you pleaded into your gag, asking him to be just a bit more gentle. Either he couldn't understand you or didn't bother to even hear you, because he carried on, fingerpads rough as sandpaper.

The green eyed one noticed though. He seemed to notice just about everything.

"Want me to take that gag off sweetheart?"

You nodded your head frantically. The sides of your lips felt raw and you couldn't stand the taste of it.

He kneeled with one leg on the bed and undid the material. When he pulled it away, thin lines of spit followed.

You sucked in a lungful of air, coughing. He gathered your hair out of your face, held it all in a loose fist at the back of your head.

"All better?"

Maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

"...yes." You swallowed, your voice still hoarse. "Thank you."

He tilted his head, smirking.

"So polite. Boss really did a number on ya, huh? Or are ya just a well bred little lady?"

You didn't get a chance to answer, because the other gunslinger ground his palm against your cunt. You yelped and jerked forward on instinct.

The green eyed one tightened his hold on your hair.

"None of that. You can take it."

"I can't! It hurts."

His free hand tugged at his belt, pulling it free of the belt loops. You blanched. What the hell did he need that for?

"Ain't even been a minute and you're already whining? C'mon pretty, there's better things to do with your mouth than that."

He let go of your hair long enough to loop the belt around your neck, the leather wrapped around his fist. He tugged and it tightened, metal buckle pressing icy cold against your skin.

He pulled upwards, forced you to look at him. His cat eyes were mean, amused at seeing you leashed.

"You even think 'bout usin' your teeth and I'll pull this so tight you won't even be able to think 'bout breathing. Got it?"

What was he talking about? Your teeth?

Your answer came soon enough. With his belt off, it was real easy for him to take his cock out. He sighed, relieved to have it free.

The only thing keeping you in place was the belt around your neck. Even still, you pulled backwards until you couldn't go any further.

It was huge.

Thick, with veins running all the way to the tip. That was supposed to fit inside of you? You'd never seen a man's cock before. Even when the boss fucked you, you'd only felt it. No fucking wonder it hurt so bad, if they were all this size.

It was horrifying, and still you couldn't look away.

"Ain't it a sight?"

He grabbed it with his free hand and yanked your head down with the belt, until the tip brushed your lips.

"Come have a closer look."

Maybe if your hands were free, you'd be able to pull away. But as it was, you were staying balanced only because of his grip on the belt and his partner's grip on your arms.

He rubbed the tip across your lips, leaving behind a sticky coating of precum.

"Don't be shy," he purred, "Give it a little kiss."

The belt tightened until you listened. You pecked the side of it, where it wasn't so gross and sticky.

"Atta girl. Now open wide."

You desperately didn't want to. He tasted of salt, and his cock was so hard that you couldn't even imagine how it would fit.

You didn't want to, but what choice did you have?

You opened your mouth and he pushed himself past your lips with a groan. The tip scraped against your tongue, soft as velvet and tasting like the sea.

He let go of his dick and tangled his hand in your hair, pushing your head lower. Until the tip brushed the back of your throat. You gagged, shivering all around him.

"God, your mouth is fucking heaven sent."

He pulled out slowly, until it was just the tip sitting in your mouth.

"Are you gonna join me or what?"

The other gunslinger snorted.

"Fucking impatient. You gotta treat a lady gentle on her first time."

You heard the rustle of clothing behind you, and the hand that was playing with your cunt came to rest on your hip, fingers digging into the flesh for a good grip.

Your cunt felt cold without his touch, but his fingers were quickly replaced with his cock. The head nudged at your entrance, hot enough that you could practically feel it radiating. The leaking pre mixed with the sticky come already on your lips, thin strands of white pulling and breaking as he settled himself against you.

You wanted to say something, anything, to make them stop, but the gunslinger still had his dick in your mouth.

"Hmmm. Nice and warm and I ain't even pushed inside yet."

"Ain't she? Like she was made for us."

His hand slid from your hair to you jaw, thumb tracing your cheek. He could see the bulge of his cock against your cheek - it made you look a little chipmunk getting all cozy and ready for winter. Your tears were caught on your lashes, silver dew drops like you just took a swim.

"You heard me, baby? You're made for us. Made to fuck us and keep us happy. Our little lady."

They both pushed into you at the same time.

Thick cock bullying into you, trapping you between them with nowhere to go. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't. You couldn't even think. Couldn't even breathe.

The green eyed cowboy pulled on your leash and forced you to tilt your head back, bare your throat to him. He pushed deeper into you, until his dick was down your throat and your nose was brushing the hard muscles of his stomach.

He held you there, cock down your throat and tears collecting in your eyes, while his partner started thrusting.

You couldn't breathe.

You couldn't pull away, couldn't fight him. You could just look up at him, eyes all wide and scared. Your panic was thick in your blood and he drank it in.

Smirking, keeping you at his mercy. He knew you couldn't breathe, and he still held you on his cock.

Your heart was racing and you felt light headed before he finally pulled out. You gasped, thick strings of spit connecting you. He only gave you enough time to catch a few deep breaths before he was back in your mouth, thrusting. Going just as deep but thankfully pulling out.

You gagged and choked and felt like you were drowning on his cock. And all the while, his partner yanked you back and slammed balls deep into you.

It was too much. You couldn't focus on anything. You were limp in their hands, letting them fuck you and just trying to survive it.

You weren't sure how long it took. Your whole world was narrowed down to just them - their hands on you, getting tighter and meaner the closer they got to coming.

The one fucking you from the back let go of your hip and curled his whole arm around your waist, leaning over you until his lips were on your neck. Fucking you hunched over like a dog in heat.

He bit your shoulder, sunk his teeth in with a snarl.

They didn't talk much anymore. There weren't any words left. Just the need to fuck and claim and come.

The sounds were the worst. The slick squelching of a cock in your cunt, the slap of skin on skin, the heavy snarls for you to take it like a good girl. And their raspy breathing, like stallions after a gallop.

The gunslinger pulled harder on your leash, keeping you still while he fucked your face. He's teeth were gritted tight, his eyes narrowed and focused entirely on you.

The dark one must have hit something deep inside you, because you made a whining, moaning sort of noise that vibrated all through his cock.

That was what did it. He forced his cock all the way down your throat, held you in place while he came.

When he pulled out, you were coughing so hard your whole chest ached.

That's when you felt it - hot spunk splattering all over your asshole. Your whole body shuddered at the feeling.

The man behind you kissed your back between your shoulder blades and slowly moved down. When he came to your ass cheeks, he sunk his teeth in with a playful growl.

He flipped you onto your back, and you sunk bonelessly down onto the covers. Your nipples were tender and your neck was a patchwork of marks.

The dark skinned one flopped down next to you and threw a possessive arm around your waist. He hummed, pleased as a bear before winter.

"Best fuck I've had in ages."

His partner was silent, his fingers toying with the belt still around your neck. You tilted your head back to look at him.

He was smiling, not soft exactly but about as close as a cruel bastard like him could get. He was so handsome, when he wasn't trying to choke you.

He sighed and let his fingers drift up your cheeks.

"I wish we could stay, pretty. But the day ain't done just yet."

The other one grumbled. "Can't we just lay here for a bit? I've got my girl all nice and snug. Why should I let her go?"

"Boss's orders, that's why. We gotta play nice and share."

"Why? Those bastards don't deserve her."

"And we do?"

He didn't bother to answer, just pushed himself to his elbows and looked down at you. His eyes were a deep brown. Sweet, almost.

"No," he said quietly, "We don't."

He leaned down and kissed your cheek. Soft, like a husband would. He stood and only looked back at you when he was at the door. Hard man, killer and gunslinger that he was, you thought you saw just a little guilt in his eyes.

When he was gone, the green eyed gunslinger ran his hands through your hair.

"He's right, y'know. We don't deserve a girl like you."

There wasn't any guilt in his voice, just a deep sense of satisfaction.

"But we've got you anyway. If the world gave folk what they deserved, you'd never have been so unlucky to catch our eye in the first place."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your other cheek, and then nipped at your jaw. A coyote savouring a bone.

"You'll learn to take it, sweetheart. And when I'm done, you'll learn to like it."

He left his belt around your neck and let the door slam shut behind him.

You could hear when they joined the others out in the yard. Their laughter drifted up to you, sharp as a wild dog's bark.

You closed your eyes. On your back in nothing but your stockings and a leash. It wasn't the sort of thing you'd ever imagined as a possibility. Hell, a lot of today was filled with things you'd never even thought about.

You hurt in just about every place. But parts of you throbbed with a pain that wasn't entirely unwanted.

Traitorous body, traitorous mind.

You couldn't possibly like this. You were being used by criminals, killers. Your virginity was just another prize for them to steal. You were a good girl, raised in a good home with upright, moral parents. You weren't some lady of the night, some harlot, to enjoy their roughness.

Right?

When the door sighed open, you didn't even bother to open your eyes.

"These young ones don't know any gentleness, eh beauty?"

His voice was calm. The sort of soft tone you'd use with a filly still nervous 'bout the bit.

You could hear his footsteps. Heavy boots but no spurs.

You flinched when he touched the belt around your neck, but he didn't do much more than run his fingers across the leather.

"Let's get this off you. Idiots. You don't harness a creature so fine."

He pulled it off your neck carefully and then touched the bruises it left behind.

"Open your eyes for me, beauty. Let me see you."

You almost didn't. What more was there to see? Another man with too tight hands and a hunger that wouldn't end?

It was his voice that did it. So kind. No growl behind the words, no clenched teeth snarl.

The first thing you saw were his eyes. A dark hazel, like an eagle's.

"Ah, just as pretty as I thought. Do you want to sit up for me? Those ropes must be hurting something awful by now."

He was older than you, but not by too much. Older than the gunslingers, but not nearly as old as the boss. His hair was tied in braid that fell almost all the way down his back. Lakota, if you had to guess, or maybe Crow.

There was a pair of workman's gloves shoved in the pocket of his jeans, but he didn't carry a pistol. The wrangler most likely.

You sat up slowly, wary. He didn't seem awfully worked up about a naked woman sprawled on the bed in front of him. Maybe he wasn't so bad...

He untied your hands without letting his own wander.

You flexed your fingers and carefully brought your hands to your lap. Your shoulders ached from being stuck in one position for so long.

"Will you let me go?"

"Oh, beauty." He touched his knuckles to your cheek. "That's what you want, isn't it? To go back home?"

"Yes." Your throat felt tight with tears. "More than anything."

He closed his eyes.

"It hurts to see you cry, beauty. It hurts to see these marks on you. But even if I was the only one holding you back, even if it was entirely up to me... I wouldn't."

"Are you going to do the same thing as the rest of them?"

He held your face in his palms, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. He smiled, but it was awfully sad.

"It's been real long time since I've had a woman, beauty. And never one so fine. I'm still just a man."

You were crying again, though you didn't realise it. Tears washing hot over his fingers.

"Shhh." He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I'll be gentle. I won't hurt you."

He undid his belt slowly, eyes on you the entire time. You were on your knees again, your stockings making you look oh so innocent and oh so filthy all at once.

He grabbed your hand before he took his cock out. You pulled away, but his grip was too strong. Not rough, not hurting you. Just too firm to escape.

He brought you hand to his crotch, pressed your palm against his cock. Even through the thick denim of his jeans, you could feel how hard it was.

"All your doing, beauty. That's all your fault."

He undid the last button and his dick pushed it's way free. Big and no less intimidating for being the second one today. His fingers were knotted between yours and he dragged your hand up his shaft. He sighed, a man finally getting release.

"Here, this will go faster if you use your mouth."

His other hand came to rest on the nape of your neck. Not forcing you down exactly, but heavy, inexorable. Trying to refuse him was like fighting the pull of the moon.

He didn't force himself into you like the gunslinger did. Just kept using your hand - still dry - to stroke himself.

"Come now beauty. Just a little lick and it will all be over. You want that, don't you?"

You did. You wanted this day to end.

You cautiously licked the head of his cock, your tongue almost blistering hot. He groaned and for just a second, the hand on your nape tightened. Like he really did just want to pull you onto him and have his own way.

"There you go. Not so terrible, is it?"

It wasn't. He tasted salty, but not in an unpleasant way. And hearing him groan like that made some part of your gut flutter.

You felt just a little braver. When he pulled you closer, you let him. He rubbed the tip against your lips, smearing pre-cum all over them.

You didn't want his cock down your throat. Didn't want to feel like you were choking. But everything he'd done to you so far had been miles different to the gunslingers. Maybe he'd be different in this too.

Slowly, you opened your mouth. You expected him to shove himself inside you, betray the tiny bit of trust he'd built.

He didn't. Instead, he stood perfectly still. He even stopped using your hand, though he kept it wrapped around the base. Just letting you get comfortable. Letting you explore.

It was what your daddy did when he was working to tame a colt. He'd let them get used to him a little at a time, until they didn't mind his touch at all.

You were too nervous to take him in much deeper than the tip. But he didn't complain at all, just watched you with those golden eyes.

You sucked on him. Just the tip, but you wrapped your lips around him and treated it like it was candy. You flicked your tongue across the underside of his head, eyes locked on his to see if he liked it.

And from the way his breathing was picking up, you reckoned he liked it plenty.

Hadn't the gunslinger wanted you to kiss his? Maybe that's what men wanted. You pulled off his cock with a wet little pop and turned your attention to his shaft. You kissed him - small, shy little pecks all the way down to his hand and then back up again.

He was smiling, head tilted. He almost seemed amused.

"So that's how you like it, huh?"

You hummed, not sure how to respond. Both the gunslingers and the boss kept getting faster the closer they were to finishing. Maybe if you used your hand...

He seemed surprised when you moved your palm, but it didn't last long. When he was sure of what you were doing, he let go of your hand and let you do it all by yourself.

There was a lot of friction and you couldn't go as fast as you wanted without yanking on him. You needed some kind of lube, something to make him all slick...

Oh.

Of course.

You licked him, all the way from balls to tip, trying to drool on his cock as much as possible. He shivered, voice getting just a bit tighter.

"Careful girl. You're playing with fire."

You didn't know what he meant. All you wanted was to finish this. Be able to rest and dream sweet dreams, dreams without men's hands on your body.

His cock was wet with your spit and when you started using your hand, it squelched lewdly.

He groaned, his hand coming to your jaw and his thumb tracing your lips.

"Open your mouth for me, beauty."

You did. You couldn't look away from his eyes. That burnished gold like dead man's treasure.

He pressed his thumb against your tongue, ran it over your teeth. He seemed just as captivated by you as you were by him. The men outside were laughing again, voices raised and vulgar. But he didn't for a second look away from you.

He smiled and said something to you in a language you didn't understand.

Your hand was moving a lot faster now that you'd found your stride, your thumb brushing over his slit on every third stroke. The only sign that he was getting closer was his breathing.

At the last second, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and rested his tip against your lips.

Hot spunk shot at you, some of it dribbling down your chin and some of it coating your tongue. He groaned, jaw clenched tight. He was panting like a dog on a hot day, still looking at you like you were the finest thing he'd ever seen.

He pulled his cock away and replaced it with his thumb, smearing his load between your lips and across your teeth. He spoke in his language again, words just a little more forceful than before.

You thought he was done with you. Thought he'd be satisfied with leaving.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed you. One hand was still on your nape and you had no room to pull away.

It was your first proper kiss. He was hungry, his tongue scraping across your teeth. One hand came to rest behind you on the bed, and he slowly forced you down, still caught between his lips and his hand.

He ended up between your legs, still not letting you go even though you were both almost out of breath.

"Beauty," he muttered, lips pressing against on yours.

When he finally broke away, he didn't go far. He rested his forehead to yours, breathing hard. You were sharing the same air, in that tight little space. And somehow that felt more intimate than anything else the outlaws had done to you.

He was practically lying on top of you, the hand that held your neck now tangled in your hair, and his other at your waist. He held you like a lover would.

A lover. Would you ever have one, if they let you go? Who would want you after your virgin's blood was spilled?

He kissed your cheek, slow and lingering.

"Oh beauty, how can I be so lucky?"

He didn't let you go. Just held you underneath him and laid his head on the side of your neck.

You were tense, muscles all coiled and ready to be hurt. But in his arms, you relaxed a little at a time without even realising it. This man wouldn't hurt you, whatever his reasons were.

His dark hair had come loose from it's braid and you absentmindedly brushed it off his brow. That made him smile just a little.

It had grown quiet outside and the only sound was of the breeze rustling the curtains and his soft breathing.

"How did such a kind man become an outlaw?"

You didn't really mean to ask that. And kind couldn't be applied to him without qualifiers. But in the face of everything that had happened to you, his softness was saintly.

He hummed against your neck.

"Bad luck. Bad people. Having nowhere to go back to. It changes you."

You swallowed, sad though you weren't sure why.

"I'm sorry."

He pushed himself up and looked into your eyes.

"Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation."

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again. "I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you?

The door opened with a bang.

"Are ya really still busy? That ain't fuckin' fair."

The gunslingers were standing in the door, both of them looking irritated. Your whole body tensed. They couldn't be back so soon, could they?

The wrangler pushed himself to his knees. The way he was sitting, your hips ended up on his lap with your legs on either side of him. He put a hand on your thigh absent-mindedly.

When he looked back at them, any softness in him drained away. He was just another outlaw with hard eyes.

"Is it the boy? Boss is really letting you go through with it?"

"It's 'bout time he became a man. And you're the one who was goin' on 'bout playing nice."

The wrangler sighed and looked back at you. When he spoke, it was just for you to hear. 

"I don't want to leave you, beauty. But boss's orders."

He leaned down and kissed you, ignoring the gunslingers' cat calls.

When he stood up, you had half a mind to ask him to stay. You almost reached for him. But the gunslingers were watching you and something in you whispered that showing him favour was a terrible idea. You kept your hands knotted in the sheets. For both your sakes.

When he was gone, you sat up and pushed yourself all the way back to the headboard. Hugged your knees to your chest. You hadn't noticed him earlier, but the gunslingers had a boy with them.

They were half dragging him into the room, one with his hand on the boy's nape and the other with a fist in his shirt.

He was young, barely past eighteen. Slightly built, with pale eyes and bronze curls. He wasn't looking at you. Or more accurately, he was doing everything possible to avoid looking at you.

The gunslingers gave him a rough shove and he landed on the bed, bouncing a little before he pushed himself up.

"Gonna get your first taste of a woman boy, and she's a real fine one."

The green eyed gunslinger leaned over and grabbed your ankle. With one brutal yank, he dragged you away from the headboard and all the way to the foot of the bed.

"Missed me, sweetheart? 'Cause I sure missed you."

He caught one of your wrists and tutted.

"Just like him to let you loose. Fuckin' hell, don't he realise how much easier you are when you're all tied up?"

He knelt with one boot on the mattress and pulled you up, twisting your arm behind your back so you ended up with your head tucked under his chin.

"We was feelin' real bad 'bout hurting you, pretty. So we thought we'd make it up to you. Brought you somethin' you'll really enjoy."

You were skeptical of anything he did. He wasn't the charitable kind.

The boy finally looked at you. His eyes were round, nervous.

"Do... do you want this?"

The gunslinger slapped a palm over your mouth before you could answer him, dragging you closer to him at the same time.

" 'Course she wants it. She'd be fighting a whole lot harder if she didn't. Ain't that right?"

"Would be clawing our eyes out if she really didn't want it," the other gunslinger agreed.

The boy looked rightly skeptical. You were crying an awful lot for someone who "wanted it."

"But..."

The dark skinned gunslinger sighed and grabbed the boy's neck.

"Look at her. You're tellin' me you ain't getting just a little hard seeing her like that?"

"Yes but -"

"But what? You want her. And she's right there for the taking. It ain't complicated."

The man holding you was obviously getting impatient.

"You wanna be a man? Wanna come on jobs with us? Than fucking earn it."

That seemed to decide him. He crawled towards you, just as scared to touch you as you were to be touched.

"What do I do?"

"Open her legs and start eating."

He touched your knee. He gulped, focused entirely on the feel of you. He slowly let his hands drift up your thighs.

When he reached your mid thighs, he tried to pull them apart just a little. You kept your legs as tightly closed as you could. Whatever you tried to say was muffled by the gunslinger's hand, but it was enough to make the boy look up at your face.

You could see it in his eyes. The desire to have you and the horror at knowing this was all forced. In the end, guilt won.

"I can't."

He pulled away from you, his fingers shaking.

"She doesn't want this. How can you hold her down and make her take it?"

The dark skinned gunslinger clicked his teeth in annoyance.

"God, could you be any more pathetic? It don't matter what she wants. All that matters is that you're strong enough to take what you want."

The boy was almost off the bed when the gunslinger grabbed his hair and yanked him back.

"It's a lesson you gotta learn boy. Or you ain't gonna live long in this business."

The boy yelped, hands coming up to try and pull himself loose. You could have told him it was useless - you couldn't escape their hold no matter how hard you fought.

He dragged the boy across the bed and back to you.

The gunslinger holding you could see where this was going and he laughed, mean and mocking.

"Gonna be the hard way, eh?"

His hand dropped from your mouth and curled around your throat. He squeezed, just hard enough to remind you of his strength.

"Be a good little pet and open your legs."

You didn't. Hadn't they done enough already? They'd ruined you. Why not just leave the boy alone?

The gunslinger growled. "Ain't listening so well without my belt around your throat, is that it?"

He twisted your arm further up your back, until your whole shoulder was throbbing. You squirmed, arching against him to get the pressure off. 

"Do I gotta teach you a whole new lesson in obedience? I promise I'm a much harder master than the boss."

He let go of you throat and grabbed your thigh, his fingers digging into the meat. His partner was quick to do the same on your other leg. It wasn't any good fighting them. They weren't scared of hurting you and they didn't care if they left bruises.

They wrenched your thighs apart and the gunslinger shoved the boys head between your legs.

"You ain't scared of a lil' blood, are ya? Clean her up nice and good."

The boy looked up at you with tears brimming in his waterline.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't have the boss's skill. His tongue was soft, hesitant. Probing, but totally unsure what to do.

You shivered at the feeling of his lips on your clit, his warm breath tickling your thighs.

The gunslinger growled and pushed him further down, until his nose was grinding into your folds.

"She ain't gonna get away. Use your whole tongue, suck on her, bite. Fuck's sake, do we gotta do everything for you?"

The one at your back laughed and nipped your cheek.

"She wants it though. Just look at those pretty tears."

The boy whimpered but did as he was told, dragging his tongue all the way up. His hands came to rest on your thighs, skin so much softer than the other men's.

His teeth brushed your clit and you gasped. The boy froze.

And then, he did it again.

You shuddered, thighs shaking just a little. He didn't seem to notice it, but his grip on your legs was getting tighter. He focused on the sensitive spot he'd found, raking his tongue across it.

You made another small, involuntary sound.

The man at your back purred. "There. Ain't that sweet to hear?"

The boy started to suck on your clit, tongue hot and wet. He pushed himself deeper, his nose and chin both buried in your cunt. He didn't even notice when the gunslinger let go of his hair.

He curled his arm around your lower back and pulled you closer to him, almost lifting you off the bed. The wet sounds of his sucking filled the room.

The gunslinger let go of you thigh, satisfied that the boy had a good grip on you. He kissed the corner of your lips, his hand coming up to play with your tits.

"Y'know, we never did get to make you come. Can't help wonderin' what you sound like."

You kept your jaw clenched tight. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

He must have read your mind, because he chuckled. Pinched your nipple hard enough that you bucked in his grip.

"Oh, you're going to come for us. Ain't that right boy?"

The boy muttered something and went right back to eating you out. You could feel the same heat in your belly as when the boss had you. Like a band about to snap. Every little move was too much, every flick of his tongue on your clit was somehow more intense.

You squirmed, trying everything you could to get him off. The boy ignored you. Just held on a little tighter and pinned you thigh to the bed.

"Please," you whined. "It's too much."

The gunslingers snickered at that.

"Poor darlin'. Does it hurt real good?"

"Don't fight it. Just let it happen. No one will know except us."

"And we're real good at keeping secrets."

The extra mean gunslinger pressed his cheek against yours and looked down at the boy between your legs.

"Don't tell me you're shy. We're real well acquainted by now, ain't we?"

You hated when he spoke to you like that. All sweetly condescending.

The boy wasn't letting up. Just kept sucking your clit and dipping his flexed tongue into your hole, switching from one to the other like he couldn't get enough. Like you were water in the desert and he'd drop dead without you in his mouth.

You fisted the duvet in your free hand, trying to distract yourself. No good. Your body had wants and needs of its own.

You could feel it building and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it.

You threw your head back and bit your lip, but it still wasn't enough. Small whines and gasps slipped through.

Your cunt was clenching, your whole belly a warm knot finally coming undone. It felt better than good.

It felt fucking incredible.

The boy didn't seem to notice. He just kept at it, even though your clit was swollen and aching and bright with blood.

The gunslinger noticed though. You could feel him smiling against your neck.

He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and then kissed all the way down to your shoulder.

"Maybe we ought to be nicer, if that's what you sound like."

"Like a fox in a trap. Whinin' so nice 'fer us."

Your whole body felt like you touched lightening. And the boy's tongue was the worst if it.

"Please, enough. I...can't..."

The dark skinned gunslinger leaned closer to you, smiling in a way that wasn't nice at all.

"You're so sweet when you beg, filly. Ask politely and I'll get him off you."

You swallowed your pride. What was left of it after today anyway? They'd seen far too much of you for you to hold onto false modesty.

"Please. It's too much. Just make it stop."

Maybe it was your voice or maybe it was your tears or maybe he was just feeling merciful after emptying his balls inside you. He grabbed the boy's hair and hauled him up.

The kid's lips were red and swollen, his whole jaw slick with spit and spunk. He looked dazed, eyes still on the spot between your thighs.

"I'm not done yet. Can't I just..."

"Ain't complaining now, are ya? You see why we went through all that trouble for her?"

He was still holding onto you and he made a half hearted tug to get you closer to him.

"Five more minutes. Please."

The gunslinger scoffed. "You think just 'cause you had a taste you can make demands?"

He pulled the boy's hair and dragged him off the bed. His jeans were bulging at the crotch and his eyes never left you.

"But you said -"

"We said that you'd get a taste. Nothin' more."

The gunslinger holding you spoke up, his lips still pressed against your shoulder.

"You gotta earn it boy. Our girl ain't gonna be wasted on some greenhorn."

"Gonna have to make do with your fist, like the rest of us had to."

When the boy was off the bed, the gunslinger let go of your arm and shoved you forward. You landed on your forearms, your body sprawled in front of him.

He planted a hard smack on your ass and leaned over you, lips brushing your hair.

"You'd better dream about me sweetheart. Better feel me in your mouth when you close your eyes."

His fingers swiped across your cunt, rough and probing. You winced at the feel of him.

"Or else I'll just have to fuck you so hard the memory is burned into your mind."

You looked over your shoulder, eyes catching his for just a second. Long enough to realise he meant every word of his threat. He smirked, satisfied.

He stood and grabbed the boy by his upper arm. Together with his partner, they bundled him out the door. Business all finished, eh?

You sagged into the bed and watched them leave, your cunt still pulsing when you moved. You were exhausted and you looked it, too tired to push yourself up.

A hand caught the door before it closed.

Another one? How much more were you supposed to take?

The newcomer nudged the door back open and stood there for a minute, watching you. He had a bowl of water in his hand, a wash rag thrown over the side.

You hadn't seen his face before, but you recognised him. The tall, well spoken one who made you ride on his horse.

He was dressed better than most of the others. A black, silk waist coat and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A silver cross dangled on a chain around his neck.

It made you want to laugh. What God could he worship, when he was a sinner so black?

"Hello dove."

You didn't answer. Just watched him with your cunt fluttering and your lips bruised. 

He was the palest out of them all, skin more like a scholar's than a cowboy's. He had black hair, as long as the gunslinger's, but tied back. He was probably Chinese, but born on this side of the Pacific. His accent was almost the same as yours.

He walked towards you slowly. Not nervous, but more like he was worried about spooking you.

He put the bowl of water down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, half facing you.

"It must hurt."

You stayed quiet. What did he know of hurt? He wasn't the one being held down and fucked.

He nodded at the bowl. You hadn't noticed it, but the water was a milky white.

"That's to clean you up. I reckon they left a few more cuts and scrapes than they intended."

You found your voice. Smaller, meeker than you remembered.

"Why do you care?"

"You think we don't care?"

You blinked. Of course you thought that. What else was there to think? They were outlaws who took you to satisfy themselves for an afternoon or two. What more could there be?

He laughed, but it was a bitter thing.

"Oh, qīn’ài de. If we didn't care, you'd still be a free woman."

You didn't understand what he was getting at. He sighed and reached for your ankle.

You jerked away. You didn't want to be touched ever again. Not by a man, not by anyone.

He sighed again.

"Don't be difficult. I want to help you."

"Why?"

He was quiet. Just watching you with his dark eyes. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn't tell what.

Finally, "You don't remember me."

You were in no frame of mind to care about his feelings.

"No."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on his knuckles. Like a man at prayer. He turned his head a little to speak to you.

"It's been a long time, but you saved my life once."

You frowned, totally blank.

"You were still just a girl. Thirteen or fourteen maybe. I'd just turned twenty, part of a gang for the first time and too damn cocky."

He rubbed the skin just above his thumb. There was an ugly scar there, the skin still raised and puckered after all these years.

"Our heist went wrong. Sherrif and his deputies were waiting for us. I got shot. Not so bad that it would kill me, but bad enough that I couldn't make it home."

You couldn't see where this was going.

"Ended up in a barn, bleeding everywhere. I heard footsteps and I thought for sure I was done for. That the rancher was going to blow my brains all over the wall. But it wasn't him that found me."

You sat up slowly and ended up on your knees, your back to him. You thought you understood now, but you let him keep speaking.

"Wasn't him, but his daughter. Dropped the milk when she saw me but she didn't scream. Just came over and asked how she could help me. Me. A wanted man who'd just killed six deputies."

You didn't know that part of the story. All you remembered was the hot summer sun slanting through the cracks in the barn, and the young man bleeding out in the hay. You remembered him digging the bullet out and asking you to stitch him up, his face going all pale.

You closed you eyes and it was like you were right back there, hiding him in the hayloft and telling your pa the blood on your dress was from killing a chicken.

"Why did you do it?" he asked.

"Because you looked scared. And because I was a little in love with you."

That probably wasn't the answer he was expecting. You pulled in a shuddering breath.

"You were older than me, but still so young. The most handsome man I'd ever met. You told me you got shot by mistake, and not to tell anyone because it would get your little brother in trouble."

You could hear a smile in his voice.

"And you believed me?"

"Yes. Why would you lie to me? Outlaws were just a thing from stories. And I suppose I wanted to believe you. You told me I was going to be really pretty someday, that you'd have to come back and marry me. No one had ever said anything like that to me."

He hummed. "You really thought I was handsome?"

"Yes."

He still was, but he had none of the sweet, boyish softness you remembered. He was handsome in a hard, dangerous way. Diamond rough. You could cut your skin on the sharpness of him.

"But what does that have to do with anything? Why...why do this to me, if you owe me your life?"

He sighed and reached for you. He hooked his arm around your waist and dragged you onto his lap.

"I kept checking in on you over the years, do you know that? Every time I was near your ranch I'd ride out and look for you. Always watching."

"Why?"

"I felt like I owed you. I wanted to make sure you were fine. And when you got older...well, I just liked looking at you."

You shivered. There was something in his voice, a longing far deeper than anyone of the other cowboys'.

"Will you let me go when you're done?"

He sighed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Maybe that would be the merciful option. But we aren't merciful men."

He pulled your head onto his shoulder when you started crying.

"You're going to stay with us, qīn’ài de. For a very, very long time."

"Why now? Why..."

His hand was soft in your hair, his voice even softer.

"You're young, lovely, a rancher's only child. How much longer 'til your pa started to consider marriage? And who would come knocking on his door? No, I couldn't loose you to them."

"You're the one..." you tried pulling away but he kept you still, head against his shoulder.

"Me," he agreed, "I'm the one to blame for this. And even knowing that, I wouldn't take it back."

"The others..."

"Brutes, aren't they? But they're my brothers. And once they saw you, they wanted you too."

He said he couldn't loose you to another man, but that didn't make any sense.

"If that's true, why did you let the others..." You swallowed, not sure how to go on.

"Why did I let the others have you first?"

You nodded. He played with the cross on his necklace. Finally, he spoke.

"Because I want the most time with you."

He pulled away to look at you and you realised how wrong you were. It wasn't that he didn't feel any lust for you, it was just that he hid it far better than the rest of them.

But now... oh, his was the worst you'd seen. Boiling hot, on the end of its tether. This was a man who wanted you. Who'd spent years wanting you.

He laid a palm on your thigh.

"They got you for an hour each maybe. But I'm going to have you all night."

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑎

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

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

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It hurts... please–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, underage smoking, reader commits a crime a/n: look at him!! he's finally talking to someone who isn't Alfred!!! I'm so proud!!! proofreading? what's that? based on this idea I had

part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

"And so we meet again. "Commissioner Gordon sits down across from the boy, setting paper cups on the table. "And all thanks to Batman."

"What would we ever do without him?" (name) sneered, taking a sip of the tea from one of the cups. "I confess to whatever you want to charge me with, by the way."

"There's no need for you to do that. Your father already handled everything." Gordon places a stack of paper on the desk, encouraging the boy to take a look at them.

(Name) clicked his tongue as he was reading over the papers. Bruce Wayne really did handle everything. The boy wanted to laugh at 'his father's' attempt at keeping up the reputation and sweeping everything under the rug. There's a knock on the door, and, after receiving permission from the commissioner, police officers enter the room.

"Somebody's here to take him home," a man dressed in uniform announced, his back straight and ready for the next orders.

Gordon waved the police officer away, signalling for the teenager to stand up. The two of them walk down the hallway to the front of the station. At the front, he met with the butler, his eyes scanning over (name) from the moment he came into view. Alfred and the commissioner exchange polite greetings.

"I hope he didn't give you much trouble," Alfred said, looking over the boy one more time, making sure he hadn't gotten hurt on the days he was alone in the city.

"Don't worry about it." Gordon smiles, placing a hand on (name)'s shoulder. "He was worse before you guys took him in. This time we even got to chat a bit." His voice sounded almost proud of the progress he made with the boy.

Alfred takes (name) to the car that he parked right at the front door of the police station. The boy wonders if he should sit in the passenger seat, next to the butler. He decides to sit in the back again, at the chance that the man is mad at (name) for giving him more work. Alfred sits down at the driver's seat, putting the keys into the ignition, not starting the engine. He turns his body around towards the teenager, his eyes filled with something (name) didn't quite recognise anymore. 

"Please, don't run away like that. Ever." The butler's voice is low, but the sharpness of it doesn't reach the man's eyes. "We were all so worried."

"Worried? If it wasn't for that fool in latex, we wouldn't be talking right now." (Name)'s voice comes out sharper than the butler's. The boy's brows furrowed at the, what in his eyes is, a fake care.

The butler doesn't reply, just stares at the boy. He not only wasn't expecting (name) to speak like him that way, but he also wasn't informed that one of the vigilantes in the city was the one that brought him into the station. The older man felt his heart squeezing, knowing that the boy took his worry and care for (name)'s wellbeing as something that wasn't real. Wasn't true.

"Alfred—" (name) tried to speak, knowing that he took this too far.

Alfred didn't let him finish, turning around and starting the car. (Name) was left alone in the backseat, filled with regret over his own words.

The ride to the manor feels worse than the first one. Instead of a man at the driver's seat, who had one poor attempt at bonding, it was Alfred behind the steering wheel. The same man who had respected every boundary (name) had set. The man who made the boys short stay in the manor somewhat bearable. The teenager recognises that he should've voiced his frustrations in a different way. And most certainly, not by lashing out at an older man, who hasn't done anything to use him.

Alfred drives into the garage, parking the car between two others, each just as luxurious as the one he was driving. (Name) braces himself, taking a deep breath before leaving the car. The butler barely manages to make it to the side of the car the boy was sitting in when the teenager was already out of the vehicle. Alfred, after noticing that (name) doesn't need help getting out of the car, starts walking away. The boy doesn't let him go too far, grabbing his hand to stop him.

"I'm sorry." (Name) doesn't dare to look at the butler's face, too ashamed. "I shouldn't have said that. I know out of all of them, you would look for me."

Alfred smiles softly. Even though he still hasn't figured out the way (name)'s mind works, the butler is happy with the progress the boy seems to be making. The man puts his hand on (name)'s shoulder, squeezing it. The teenager's head shots up, surprised at Alfred's reaction to his apology. He was expecting many things: a cold shoulder, some shouting. Not this. Not the warm hand on his shoulder, not the smile on the butler's face. (Name) became even more confused when the man offered him some tea and cookies, acting almost as if he fully forgave the boy for his tantrum. 

During their tea, Alfred had promised to show (name) where the library is located in the manor, hoping that the boy would have something to do and also to check if he was taught how to read. And that could help with finding potential tutors for the teenager, allowing him to gain any sort of education. Bringing the boy to the library, Alfred was watching carefully from the entrance, hoping to see what book (name) would reach for.

It didn't take long for the teenager to form a new routine inside the manor. Every morning he would come down to the kitchen just before Alfred, still persistent on making his own breakfast. He would eat in silence as the butler works on the breakfast for the rest of the family. After his meal, (name) would usually hide away in the library with a book of his choosing. The boy would end his day with a small dinner, which Alfred always complained about not being enough for a growing boy, just to hide in his room.

"Do you think I could get, like, a calendar or something?" (Name) asked during one of the breakfasts, looking for a better way to track the time to his legal age. His plans on leaving the manor didn't change; the teenager still wants to leave. This time he wants to do it legally and hopefully with more resources.

"Sure. I'll bring you one." Alfred smiled, looking from the food he was preparing for just a moment.

The following day, after yet another long day spent in the library, (name) returned to find a calendar neatly placed on his desk, just as the butler had promised. He circled the day of his birthday with a thick marker and hung it up next to the door. That way, every day, as he's leaving his room, the boy can cross off another day, bringing himself closer to the day he can leave. 

(Name)'s routine didn't last long, as the boy found himself bored of reading. He decided to give it another go at exploring the manor, this time less anxious, aware that the worst thing he could encounter in the halls might be the residents.

The teenager feels much braver than the first time he was exploring the place, going as far as opening some of the doors. Most of them led to a few empty bedrooms or abandoned study rooms. That's when he stumbles upon a suspicious-looking grandfather clock. Not only did it appear to be much wider than the few (names) seen in his life, but the floor around him seemed to be pretty scratched up as if it had moved around a lot. The boy carefully inspects the clock, attempting to move it to the side. When that doesn't work, he stares at the face of it, the hands frozen. The time stopped at six fifteen. Looking at the clock hands, (name) wonders if some sort of mechanism moves the clock around the floor. The boy tries to play around with the hands when he notices that he could only move the minute hand; the hour cannot be adjusted. He brings both of the hands to the number six on the face of the clock. Then, he hears it. Some cogs are moving inside the grandfather clock.

(Name) stumbles back, surprised he actually managed to move the clock. As the object moved, it revealed a dark hallway behind it. The boy tilted his head to the side, staring down the corridor. He looked around to see if anyone could be lurking around. Once he was certain that he would only be seen by the cameras and whoever was watching them, he walked into the darkness.

It took a very long hallway and a few sets of stairs before the teenager managed to find out where the secret entrance led him to. He found himself in a vast cave that appeared to be located underneath the manor.

It wasn't just an ordinary cave. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of technology and weapons. All bat-themed, which (name) found rather odd. He didn't understand why his father not only had weapons inspired by Gotham's most annoying vigilante; the man also hid it all under the manor like some sort of sick fanboy. (Name)'s face is twisted with disgust the more he explores the cave. He stares at the main computer with multiple screens attached to it, labelling his father as a stalker in his mind.

He walks even further into the cave, already with a plan to mess with his father in mind. That's when he finds them. The costumes. One of Batman, Robin and the rest of the circus. All safely inside some glass boxes. (Name) grinned. His father is the one running the circus of vigilantes. It will make the rest of his stay in the manor even more fun. 

(Name) decided to leave before his visit to the Batcave could attract too much attention. He walked past the desk with the computer, stopping in his tracks. Messing with them a little wouldn't hurt much, right?

Without giving it a second thought, the boy grabs all the random pens scattered round the desk. Nobody should really miss these particular ones, but the sudden absence of them would be rather annoying to whoever is working at it. (Name) makes sure that the papers aren't moved, just in case.

With the pens stuffed in his pockets, the teenager leaves the cave. He puts the handles of the clock the same way they were before he left that wing of the manor. (Name) put some of the pens in the library and a few in some of the studies. Making it look like they always were there. He also brought one to his room. A keepsake.

He started the next day as normal, with breakfast in the kitchen hours before the rest of the family woke up. Alfred walked in, looking at the boy with amusement. He leaned against the kitchen island right before the boy.

"So, pens?" The butler asked, chuckling.

The teenager laughed as well, grateful that somebody else in the manor found his little escapade to the cave funny.

However, there were people in the manor who didn't appreciate the joke. One of them was the boy, who looked to be (name)'s age. He stopped in front of (name) as he was walking into the library. His sharp blue eyes looked over (name), annoyance slipping through them.

"Pens? Really?" the boy with blue eyes asked, blocking (name)'s way.

"What pens?" the boy asked, blinking innocently.

"Don't play dumb. You know what pens."

"Well, the only pens I saw were the ones in the library. They looked unused, so I borrowed one," (name) shrugged.

"That's not what I'm talking about," the teenager with dark, messy hair snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"Then I have no clue what you want from me."

"You stole the pens!" The teenager pointed an accusing finger at him.

"What pens? I'm telling you, I just grabbed one from the library!" (name) protested.

"The ones from the cave, idiot!"

"What are you even talking about?" (name) asked, continuing to play dumb, his head tilted to the side. He knew he probably couldn't fool any of the vigilantes, but at least he could annoy the one in front of him.

"The Batcave! I know you went down there and stole the pens!" The boy in front of (name) said, his voice rising in frustration.

"Batcave? Sounds like a sex dungeon," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Does Bruce have one in the basement? Gross."

The vigilante grunts with frustration. He stares at the boy as if debating if continuing to talk to (name) was worth it. Then, he storms off, disappearing deep into the halls of the manor. (Name) counted it as a win in his book. 

During the next few days, (name) appeared to be on his best behaviour. Going as far as to not even look towards the corridor where the grandfather clock was located. He spends time with the butler, reads even more books at the library and avoids any and all contact with the rest of the residents. Luckily for the boy, nobody else came to complain about the 'stolen' pens.

(Name) keeps up with his behaviour for a couple of days. That is until Alfred mentions the manor being empty the following day. It seemed as if the butler was giving the boy a green light to mess with 'his' family some more.

As he walks into the Batcave for the second time, (name) isn't quite sure how he could inconvenience the vigilantes. He decides against messing with the computer, worried that they might send someone who wasn't just going to yell at him. The last thing the boy wanted was to get beaten up by a 'family member'.

He walks into the area with the costumes and finds gold. Not one, but two of the cases with Robin's costumes were open. He walked up to the one that looked like it belonged to a young teen. (Name) wonders if it belongs to the brat that had the audacity to mention his mother.

With a grin on his face, the boy grabs the mask of the robin's costume, hiding it in his pocket. He steps over towards the other robin's costume and does the same. (Name) doesn't touch anything else. Taking stuff from the entire family would attract too much attention. And picking on the robins seemed easy enough. Considering they were forgetful enough to not close the boxes their costumes were stored in.

As Alfred is distracted with cleaning on the other side of the manor, (name) sneaks off to smoke in the gardens. He finds a tree further towards the back of them and the pond. The one he had the pleasure of meeting that weird man the last time he went out for a smoke. Halfway through the cigarette, the teenager takes out the masks he took from the robins. He looks at them closely, even going as far as putting one of them closer to his face. He scoffs at the idea of being a pawn for a man dressed in latex. He finishes the cigarette, crushing it against one of the robin's masks. (Name) throws the masks under the tree, letting the boys look for it themselves. He takes the cigarette butt with him, preferring to throw it into a trashcan. 

The next day, (name) picked up another book, getting comfortable on a bench with a good view of the door to the library. He began to read the first page when the youngest child of Wayne Manor passed by the room.

"Dirty thief. Be glad Father didn't throw you out like the trash you are," the boy sneered.

(Name) barely glanced up. He knew this was one of the Robins, but he had no clue what his name was. Damian? Daniel? Dominic? He had no idea.

"But that's exactly what I'm aiming for," (name) called after him, his eyes not leaving the book in his hands.

No other interactions happened for the rest of the week in the manor. (Name) had only one more trip to the Batcave during that time. He just went inside and stared at one of the cameras for ten minutes before walking out. Didn't touch anything, just walked in, stared and left.

On Saturday, as the teenager was walking into the garden, somebody called his name. The boy turned around, spotting Duke walking in his direction. (Name) leaned casually near the doorway, waiting for the teenager to catch up.

"I heard what you did in the cave. You must be good at stealing," Duke said.

"If you came here to nag me about it, then fuck off," (name) replied without hesitation, ready to walk out.

"No, I need your help," Duke said, lowering his voice.

"Oh? The ever-so-obedient Wayne child wants me to steal something for him? You do know stealing is a crime, right?" (name) smirked.

"There’s something I need you to get for me. A necklace. It belonged to my mother. I thought it was lost forever, but... I saw it a few days ago, and the person that had it didn't want to sell it to me." Duke spoke, glancing around worried somebody would catch them together. (Name) nodded, thinking.

"You’ve got patrol tonight?" (name) asked.

"Yeah, I do," Duke confirmed.

"You’ll turn off the cameras right before leaving. That way I should have enough time for me to leave the Manor and get far enough away," (name) said, piecing the plan together.

"Okay, I guess," Duke agreed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good. After you're done with your patrol, lie to them. Make up something urgent. I know you can handle it. We’ll meet in the alley between the laundromat and the old Batburger on the 9th. We'll talk about the necklace there. Just to be safe," (Name) said.

"Thank you," Duke said sincerely.

"Don’t thank me," (name) shot back. "I’m not doing this out of kindness. I trust you’ll come up with a fair price for the job, Duke."

"I will," Duke promised.

"Great. Now get lost before someone sees us together and starts asking questions," (Name) said with a flick of his hand. 

Hours later, (name) stands in the middle of his room. Dressed in black from head to toe, a hoodie in his hands. The boy isn't sure if he's making the right choice. Even if Duke had promised to make it worth it, he still had second thoughts. (Name) is used to working alone. By himself and for himself. The teenager had promised himself years ago that he wouldn't work for anyone, not wanting to repeat the mistakes his mother did.

The lights in his room flickered, the space going dark for a second before lighting up again. It was (name)'s clue to leave. It's no time to dwell on it. He should leave.

(Name) moves around the manor with confidence. Making it to the back door with his head held high. He knew that in case the butler would find him, he could lie about needing some fresh air.

The boy leaves the property in a similar way he did the first time, using an opening in the fence. He walks slowly, as rushing could bring attention. He was caught running away recently, and he wasn't interested in being caught again.

Waiting in the alleyway started to feel like an eternity. Perched up against the wall, hidden within the shadows, he managed to smoke the rest of the pack of cigarettes he had. (Name) starts to question if Duke will manage to get away from the rest of the circus. The boy sighs, throwing the empty pack into a dumpster nearby. Why did he agree to this?

Somebody jogged into the alley, boots splashing through a shallow puddle without slowing. The yellow accents on the person's suit caught the faint light from a flickering street lamp overhead, casting sharp shadows across their face. The mask was pulled low over their eyes, but that didn't stop (name) from figuring out who it was. Duke, finally. The tension in the teenager's shoulders said enough; Duke was nervous about the whole ordeal.

"(Name?)" Duke called out, glancing around.

"Took you long enough," (name) said, stepping out of the shadows. "Started to think you wouldn't show."

"Lots of work tonight, sorry," Duke said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’ve got a few minutes before they start looking for me."

"Alright. What does the necklace look like, then?" (Name) asked, getting straight to the point.

Duke pulled a folded photo from his pocket, handing it over. It showed his mother, smiling warmly, wearing a delicate necklace.

"And where am I supposed to find it?" (Name) asked, eyes flicking from the picture back to Duke.

"At the pawn shop down the street," Duke said quietly. "The owner refuses to sell it to me. Something about it being too valuable to hand over to a kid like me."

"Alright then. Guess he won't be making any money off it," (name) said with a shrug. "His loss, really."

Duke didn’t say anything, just nodded, his eyes scanning the alley nervously, clearly worried the rest of the Bat-family might already be looking for him.

"Go," (name) told him. "I’ll grab it and bring it to the Manor. I’ll give it to you there." 

Both of the boys go their separate ways; Duke returns to the Batfamily, acting as if nothing happened. (Name) walks through the alleyways, looking for the backdoor to the pawnshop.

Finding the right door wasn't hard for the boy. It wasn't the first time (name) sneaked into a pawnshop, and he knows the way shop owners secure the backdoors to places like this. The teenager takes his time opening the locks one by one, trying to avoid triggering any alarms.

As the last lock falls onto the ground, the teenager can open the door with little to no worry. He steps inside to the employee area, looking around for the electrical box. Walking up to it, (name) begins to turn off switches one by one, turning off the electricity in the shop. In complete darkness, he moves towards the main area of the shop. In there the boy can see much better, thanks to the street lights coming through the security bars.

(Name) stands in the middle of the shop, scanning the shelves for the necklace Duke wants. He spots it on the jewellery bust behind the counter. The boy walks over, making sure it's the necklace he saw in the picture. Once he was sure, he slowly took it off, trying not to damage it. With the necklace in hand, he turns to the counter, looking under it to see if there are any jewellery boxes he could put it in.

After some rummaging through the shelf under the cash register, (name) managed to find a box to put the necklace in. With the jewellery secure and hidden away in one of his pockets, the boy got ready to leave the pawnshop. He looked back at the cash register, remembering that he no longer had any cigarettes on him. With a sigh, the teenager returned to the register, taking out a few bills.

(Name) took his time returning to the manor. He had what he came out here for, so he didn't see the reason to rush. On his way back he stopped by a gas station, where he knew nobody would question him buying cigarettes.

The teenager walked back into the manor through the same door he'd slipped out of earlier. What (Name) didn’t expect was to find Alfred standing right behind it, waiting for him. The butler looked at the boy with disappointment as the smell of cigarettes was filling the man's nostrils.

"I went out for some fresh air?" (name) said, trying to sound innocent.

Alfred didn’t buy it. He waited for the boy to confess where exactly he was.

"Fine. I needed some time away from the Manor," (name) admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "But I returned, didn’t I?"

"Give me them," Alfred said, extending his hand. "The cigarettes. I know you have them. You reek…"

(Name) reluctantly handed over the pack, hoping that that was the only thing the butler caught up on. The jewellery box suddenly felt heavy in his pocket.

"Go back to your room," Alfred ordered. "And I better not catch you with a new pack." 

(Name) runs off, taking multiple stairs at a time, just to get away before the butler starts asking more questions.

He moves towards his room, wondering how he could return the necklace to Duke. The boy needed to think of a way he could do that without being spotted. (Name) settled on sneaking into Duke's room before breakfast and leaving it there.

When (name) opened the door to his room, he learned that he didn't have to sneak in anywhere. There he was, Duke, sitting on his bed, waiting. The teenager appeared lost in thoughts, as he didn't look up when (name) opened the door. The boy stepped inside, a soft clack of the door heard behind him. The quiet noise was apparently enough to snap Duke out of his thoughts.

"Do you have it?" Duke asked, standing up from (name)'s bed.

"Yeah, who do you take me for?" (Name) tossed the small box with the necklace in Duke's direction, making sure he caught it.

Duke opened the box, his eyes widening when he saw the necklace, his mother's necklace, glinting under the light.

"Thank you," Duke said, his voice filled with gratitude as he suddenly rushed toward (Name), pulling him into a tight hug. "It means so much to me. I promise, this trip will be worth it."

(Name) froze, not used to physical affection. He stood there, awkwardly stiff, as Duke pulled away almost immediately.

Without another word, Duke dashed out of the room, leaving (Name) standing in the middle of his own, the silence settling around him.

The next morning, (name) walked into the kitchen, unsure of what the butler would do. Was he going to be punished? Has Alfred somehow found out about the necklace? With trembling hands, the boy worked on his own breakfast. He was ready for it to be the last meal he had with the man.

Alfred entered the kitchen, greeting the boy. He doesn't say anything else. He starts to move around the kitchen, just as he always does. Nothing about the way he acted had changed, and (name) didn't know if the butler decided to let it go or if it's just quiet before the storm. But then, the teenager finishes his breakfast, leaving the dishes in the sink. Not once he was stopped by Alfred, not even as he was leaving the room to spend time in the library.

(Name) settles on a bench, getting comfortable with the book he started the other day. The manor is quiet, as always, the rest of the residents are busy in their rooms. The boy gets absorbed in the book in his hands, not noticing somebody entering the library. 

"Alfred was right about finding you here," Duke said as he approached. (Name) looked up from his book.

"Not much else for me to do," he said, lifting the book slightly to show it.

Duke sat down on the bench next to him, and for a moment, the library fell into a comfortable silence.

"I brought you your payment," Duke said eventually. "Told them my phone broke and asked for a new one. It's all yours now."

"Thanks, but..." (Name) hesitated. "My phone works just fine."

"Barely," Duke teased. "It looks ancient."

(Name) chuckled under his breath.

"Just keep it," Duke said with a grin. "Besides, Alfred was already planning on giving you one. Had a whole SIM card and a new number ready for you."

"Guess I won't be escaping the upgrade, huh?" (Name) joked.

"Nah, dude," Duke said, grinning wider.

He noticed the way (name) still looked a little unsure about the new phone.

"I could teach you how to use it," Duke offered. "They're pretty cool once you get the hang of it."

"...Alright," (name) said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

That day marked the first time that (name) not only didn't spend time alone in the manor but also was willingly spending his time with someone his age.

Duke told him everything he knew about his brother's new phone, making sure to put his phone number in it. He talked about getting a phone case, wondering which one would suit (name)'s overall look.

The two boys were enjoying each other's presence so much that neither of them noticed the butler watching them from afar. Alfred heard laughing when he was cleaning in the same wing as the library was located on and went in to check. That's when he noticed (name) and Duke, both hunched over the phone. He watched them for a moment, glad that the new boy finally was interacting with someone his age. The butler left before any of the boys noticed him, not wanting to disturb either of them.

Duke didn't stop at explaining how his brother's new phone works. He went out of his way to spend even a second of his time with (name). Interacting with him was easy since Duke also was rather new to the family and not always had an easy time fitting in. (Name) seemed to understand that.

Duke even managed to convince Alfred to take them to the city so they could spend time somewhere that isn't the manor. The butler wasn't sure at first. It took a lot of promises to be on his best behaviour from (name) that he agreed to drop them off at the mall.

"Have fun, young Master Duke (name)," Alfred said before driving away.

Both boys walked into the mall. Duke couldn’t help but think about the way the butler had addressed (name).

"Why doesn’t Alfred call you 'master'?" Duke asked.

"I asked him not to," (name) replied, looking around at the different shops.

"Why? Most of us just accept it as one of his weird quirks," Duke said, curious.

"Usually when people use titles instead of my name, they mean it in a derogatory way," (Name) explained. "It’s usually 'brat' or 'thieving bastard child', just different ways to make me feel small. 'Young master'... isn’t that much different. It strips me of my identity, in a way." 

Duke nods, not picking up the subject again. He knew that if his brother wanted to talk about this more, (name) wouldn't hesitate to. Instead, he drags the boy over to one of his favourite comic shops.

The teenagers spent hours at the mall, walking from shop to shop. Duke fills in (name) on all the things he missed out on, as he was focusing on surviving and not being a child. By the end of their outing, (name) not only had new pieces in his wardrobe, but he also learnt so much about the world of normal teenagers that it made his head hurt.

(Name) ate in the dining room that day, Duke and Alfred his only companions. The boy didn't speak much, tired from the day of being in public. Duke, on the other hand, was talking the butler's ears off, telling him about everything they did and all the things they saw.

Alfred kept smiling, listening to Duke's story. He couldn't help but feel proud at the way these two seemed to have gotten close. He only left the room after both of them were finished with their meals. With empty plates in hand, he excuses himself from the dining room. Duked turned over to his newfound friend, a new idea for a hangout in mind.

"Next time I'm taking you to an arcade," Duke said with a grin. "I have a feeling you'd be good at the games there."

"Yeah, whatever you say," (name) laughed. "Though I might need a few days to recover from this trip."

"Aww, did the mall tire you out?" Duke teased. "Does the little baby need a nap?"

(Name) shoved Duke, laughing. As they joked, Duke spotted someone standing in the cracked doorway.

"Hey, Damian, what's up?" Duke called out.

(Name) turned to look, just in time to see the boy run off without answering. (Name) scoffs. 

"And he called me weird," (name) muttered.

"He's like that sometimes," Duke said, shrugging. "Don't mind him." 

The next day, as (name) was finishing making his breakfast, somebody entered the kitchen. The boy looked up, ready to greet what he expected to be the butler. Only for these words to be caught in his throat, noticing it's not Alfred but Damian, his youngest brother.

Neither of them said anything to each other, (name) barely looking at the younger boy. He hoped that if he ignored Damian hard enough, the boy would go away and not bother him.

"Good morning, (Name)," Alfred said as he entered the kitchen. "Ah, young master, you're up early."

"I was hungry, so I came downstairs," Damian replied.

"I could fix you something small if you'd like," Alfred offered. "I'm sure a snack before breakfast wouldn't hurt."

"Thank you," Damian said politely.

(Name) fully expected the boy to leave after that, not wanting to disturb the quiet routine he shared with Alfred. But instead, Damian moved closer, stepping right up beside (Name) and standing there, silently, as the butler began preparing his snack.

Brother bonding time didn't last long, with (name) finishing his breakfast in record time. All to avoid spending more time with the younger boy than was deemed necessary.

As he walks out, he doesn't notice the determination in Damian's eyes.

Something was telling Alfred that it wouldn't be the first time the youngest Wayne would be joining the two of them in the kitchen.

part: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

taglist: @amber-content @bellethesleepypotato @leeiasure @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @tenthmilo @eyeless-kun @holyfishbailiffpeanut @cuntiesweet @jsprien213

comment to be added!

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

blood in the water.

m! yandere prince x gn! knight reader ♡ mdni 18+

cw — blood, betrayal, obsessive themes, lack of autonomy and unbalanced power dynamics. 2.4k wc.

a/n — well well well

you can barely make him out through the mist.

a heavy and decadent cloud of perfume rolls over the warm waters of the royal banya; makes it difficult to chart your course to where your prince is. you narrow your eyes, glimpse the outline of his frame, solid and familiar, beyond the swirling haze that's descended over the pool's surface.

"moy knyaz," you clear your throat. my prince; the title rolling off your tongue like honey. "i've arrived with the supplies you asked for."

he spares you a glance over his shoulder, the movement causing gentle ripples in the water around him. you think briefly, like a fool, that he will wade to the edge of the pool to meet you where you stand. you lower your head, gaze drawn respectfully low.

"ah, sweet knight." you can hear the smile in his gentle words; that familiar lilt of felicity, all soft at the edges. "there you are; i was almost beginning to worry," he hums. "whatever took you so long?"

"apologies for the delay, my prince." you rest a hand over your heart, imbue as much sincerity as you can in the action. "i will ensure that it does not happen again."

you'd never been in the bathhouse before, so it was difficult not to feel like a stumbling fawn. you'd never had any reason to be in this wing of the palace; seeing as you were the prince's knight, and not one of his personal attendants—and yet, you contemplated quietly, this time he'd called specifically for you.

(the thought of it makes you feel strangely special.)

"very well.” he concedes. “you have brought what i asked for?"

"yes, my prince." you nod, hold out your hands over the edge of the pool. present to him upon your palms, folded neatly and perfumed in his favourite scent, the silver silk he uses during his trips to the bathhouse. you wait, expectantly, for the feel of his fingers swiping the washcloth from your hands—and yet, it never comes.

"dorogaya, you do not intend to keep me waiting any longer, i hope?"

you blink, head still lowered out of respect. "i'm sorry, my prince. i do not quite understand."

"eyes up, sweet knight, and clothes off." he says slowly, enunciating each syllable as one does when speaking to a child; "it seems," he sighs softly, "that i am in need of your ministrations tonight."

never one to go against his words, you raise your head, albeit reluctantly. almost immediately, you meet his tar black eyes. his gaze heavy and stifling, as he observes you lazily over his shoulders. you can't help that your attention drifts down to the prominent corded muscles of his back; the strong, solid shape you only just manage to make out through the soft, dreamlike mist.

he smiles at you so kindly, then, as if he is understanding of your appraisal; the curl of his lips feels dangerously close to an invitation to dip into something far deeper than these waters.

"you are already late," his voice, deceptively gentle for how low it is, brings your attention back to the task at hand, and out of your shameful reveries. you swallow nervously, as he turns back; the air in the banya feels colder, then, when your prince's eyes are no longer trained solely on you. "please, luybov moya. do not make me wait any longer."

my love, my love, my love; how gently he calls for you from the water.

the affections fall from his lips like sweet nectar, and you are so helplessly caught in his tenderness that there are no more questions to be asked, even if they weigh heavy on your mind.

your shirt is the first to go. the intricate buttons of your tunic difficult to undo with shaking fingers. trousers, next. stepping out of the fabric as it falls at your feet. working to loosen the lace of your boots.

tentatively, you dip your toes in the water. it's warmer than it looks. a welcome reprieve, though, from the chill of being undressed. the hair on your skin stands on end when the prince speaks up.

"clothes off," he repeats softly, without sparing you so much as a backwards glance. "i will not repeat myself."

"ah," you look down at the flimsy undergarments you still don; the scrap of decency they provide in maintaining a facade of respect in the presence of the tsar's son. thin fabrics that hide the skin on your back, marred by grotesque scars from previous battles waged and lost and won in the name of your beloved prince. and yet—albeit with trembling hands, you reach for the hem. "understood, moy knyaz."

you let yourself sink into the pool, as it envelopes your bare body whole. it's nice, and warm. welcoming, you think to yourself.

you nervously wring the silk in your hands as the gentle undulations of the water naturally push you closer to the prince; and you're silently grateful for the mist of the heavy perfumes and steam that descends over the banya and nips at (as well as obscures) your scarred skin.

perhaps it is because of this veil that it takes you so long to realise your prince is covered in blood.

you still in your movements—taking in the swirling ink-like clouds of deep red in the cerulean water around him; the spray of dark blood over his jaw, and the muscles of his chest; how it drips, thick like sweet nectar, from his hands—held out towards you.

"moya milaya," he murmurs, watching you through low lashes. his eyes are black like heavy tar. you find yourself stuck—sinking into the quiet darkness before you; "won't you purify me?"

you reach out, closer, press the silk against the inside of his wrist, right above his pulse. you delude yourself into thinking you can feel the steady thrum of life through the touch; but all you're met with is his warm skin, slick with blood. it smears when you wipe it, stains the fine fabric of the washcloth.

"your highness, are you—" your eyes flicker up to meet his, but your hands don't slow in their pace as you scrub him free. concern pulls the edges of your heart and everything threatens to unravel in the absence of an answer. "are you alright? were you hurt? has the physician allowed you to—"

"i am fine, sweet knight. the blood," your prince's lips curl into a knowing smile, "none of it is mine."

"i don't understand, moy knyaz. forgive me for my ignorance, but who did—" you blink, desperately searching his impassive face for an answer. "our enemies? conspirators against the tsardom? an assassination attempt? because i was never made aware of—"

he places his hand over your own. the touch is careful and light, merely a suggestion—

you still immediately.

realise, with dawning horror, that you've scrubbed his skin raw. the blood pools in the water, your insistent, frantic efforts leaving the skin of his forearm all angry and hot and red—markers of blossoming pain. tense muscles, and all. the silk looks as if it has been drenched in ink.

"not of the tsardom," the prince says lightly, 'but enemies still; and i already know you were not informed because i ordered it so."

the threads your heart was hanging on by are pulled too strongly, too soon. everything comes apart. a sense of betrayal, and then a deep-rooted shame, washes over you. you swore you would follow this man to the ends of the world; and yet, he does not even trust you in his darkest hours?

you wish to sink into the water and never resurface from its depths. beg, silently, for the fog to swallow you whole beneath the weight of your prince's gaze.

"apologies," you manage shakily. "i have failed to protect you, my prince. i understand that you find me incapable of serving you for any longer. as your humble knight, i shall—"

"hush."

fingers skimming up your neck, resting at your jaw. the impossibly soft way the prince forces you to meet his eyes, so kind in their own right. so full of mercy.

"bednyazhka," he whispers under his breath. you poor thing. "you worry far too much. it will be the cause of your undoing, one day."

"it is worth it for you, moy knyaz. i would gladly lay down my life for you."

"yes," he murmurs. "of course, that is what you would think. a shame.”

"apologies, i..." you frown. "i do not understand."

he smiles ruefully. "no. of course, you do not." his fingers fall from your face, and you find, shamefully, that you mourn the touch far more than you should. instead, they brush against your knuckles; raw from hours of combat training. he runs his thumb over the broken skin. "seven, sweet knight. this is the number of attempts made on your life in the past week."

you had...

you swallow nervously, coming to terms with the news. the urge to say something overwhelms you (strangely, an inclination to defend yourself) but the words evade you. your throat closes up.

you had no idea.

(find solace, at least, in not needing to wonder about the sorry sort of fates they must have met at the hands of this man before you.)

he swipes the washcloth from you, continues speaking in hushed tones; "our enemies grow restless as we prosper. they want nothing more than to hurt me. previously, i have not had to worry about this, because of you."

"and now?" you whisper.

"and now, luybov moya, my enemies rejoice." he takes your trembling hands in his own, inspects the blood from his skin that now stains yours by carefully turning over each and every finger in his palm. "they have found a way to hurt me." he confesses, "because of you."

the touch is feather light. barely even there.

"do you understand, my sweet knight? you are the reason i prosper, and yet, devastatingly so, the sole cause of my ruination."

the gentle undulations of the water around you has lulled you into a false sense of security. you feel safe in this moment, knowing your prince is in such close proximity. the two of you stand close enough for you to feel the heat of his body against yours; breaths in sync, breathing the same perfumed air in—and out.

in—and out.

you almost think you've misheard the prince when he speaks again.

"and this is why i have decided," he says softly, "that you will never pick up a sword again."

his words instantly break the fragile tranquility of the moment like a delicate thread that's been pulled at for far too long—an inevitable snap that still manages to hurt. you shake your head, affronted by the mere thought of such an absurd idea.

perhaps this is some sick jest. surely, he must know? the value of your sword? what it means to you?

you swore an oath to protect the tsar's son. it is an insult to your very being should you fail to uphold this royal promise. you have already let him down enough.

"i can not be of no use to you, moy knyaz."

"that will never be the case." he smiles. "i have many uses for you in mind, moya milaya."

how can he say it so affectionately? my sweetheart falling from his lips as he takes from you the one thing you can never bear to part with.

"but i have always fought!" you protest. frantic, desperate laughter bubbles past your lips. it sounds wrong and forced even to your own ears. he drinks it in, all the same. "i have always wanted to protect you. it is my purpose and duty and—"

who am i without it?

"yes, and i will always cherish you for it, but now, your fight is over."

your prince has always been the most beautiful man in the tsardom to you. out of an unwavering loyalty, you have followed him through the darkest snowstorms and to the most desolate battlefields. you have raised flags in his name and stared down the barrel of your gun to an innocent child for his legacy.

despite it all, he has only ever been your prince; and you, his most trusted knight.

in this moment, though?

the man before you is unrecognisable. he has forgotten who you are.

"the purpose of my life is fighting." you repeat, hoping to remind him of what your sword represents; a plea for him to let you keep it. "it is why i live. it is what i promised to forever do, until the very end of my life—i exist to serve you.”

"and you will." the prince assures you keenly, presents you with a reminder of his own. "there are other ways to serve."

ah—

so this is what you've fallen to.

"you cannot do this," you cling to him. dig your nails into his skin, forgetting the sheen of blood that already lies there; like a thin film. some impossible barrier separating your reason from his actions. "please, my prince. you can't."

please don't turn me into an accessory.

"my sweet knight," he gently pries your hands off of his shoulders, brings your wrist to his lips. he kisses away the blood on your skin as if this display of affection will wash you clean of your shame. "there is nothing you can do to stop me. it has already been done."

it dawns on you laughably late. of course, this is the true reason he called you to the bathhouse; why else would he be waiting for you? what other purpose for your presence—when he's never needed anyone else to purify him?

how foolish of you to think yourself an exception. the silk washcloth floats in the pool's water that gently ripples from all your shaking. it takes effort to hold yourself together and string the words you wish to say into anything even remotely sensible.

yet, you fall short, even then.

"why?" your strength is futile; any attempt to wretch your hand out of his hold fails. his fingers stay wrapped in place, careful not to bruise you with their strong hold—yet completely unyielding to your every effort. "i don't understand."

why would you strip me of who i am? why would you strip me of who i have always been?

tendrils of dark blood swirling in the warm water around you, your prince only smiles adoringly in response. his black eyes are so impossibly shallow as he watches you fall apart before him; and yet you find yourself drowning in them all the same.

"why would you do this to me?"

this is the first time you will hear this answer from the prince, but you already know—

(even whilst he peppers dozens of soft, sighing kisses into your wrist and up your arm, over your shoulder and down, down, under)

—you already know it will not be the last.

"because i love you."

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, underage smoking, mentions of gambling and death a/n: idk why but Alfred makes me think of my grandad (which is ironic since I only know him from stories told by my family and I've never even met him) anyway let me know if you're interested in the first idea regarding the scene with (name) and Alfred that I scrapped worried it would be 'too graphic' based on this idea I had

part: one | two | three | and more…

When (name) wakes up, the sun hasn't even risen. He's not sure about the exact time, as there's no clock in the room he was made to stay in, his phone still at his house, hidden away in fear of situations like this. The boy turns onto his back, his eyes wide open, not daring to fall back asleep. He tries to think of his next course of action. (Name) was hoping to run off during his trip to grab his clothes, but with the butler accompanying him, that won't be possible. And not really due to the age of the man, but simply because the boy doesn't want Alfred to get in trouble. He decides to come up with a different idea another time, hopefully with one that wouldn't get, what seems to be, the only worker in the manor.

Once (name) notices the first rays of light coming into the room, he decides it's probably time to move out of bed. Only then does he notice the grumbling of his stomach. (Name) sighs, walking into the bathroom; he'll have to look for a kitchen later.

The teenager checks the corridor twice, making sure he won't bump into someone as he's trying to find the kitchen. (Name) steps out of the room, doing his best to not make any unnecessary noises. He walks down the same set of stairs that he did the previous day, walking from one room to another until he finds the one he was looking for. Once in the kitchen, he opens the fridge, grabbing a few things that could make a decent breakfast. The boy doesn't take anything that he deems as 'too fancy' for his tastes, opting for simple vegetables and other produce. Stuff he figures nobody will really notice the absence of. The teenager is so focused on filling his stomach that he doesn't notice another person entering the room.

"Mast—, (name), if you were hungry, you could've come to find me. I would be happy to make you something." Butler speaking up causes the boy to jump up. He turns around; the food he made for himself is in his hands.

"It's alright, Alfred," (name) reassures, looking away, like a child caught doing something they shouldn't. "I don't mind making my own food."

"I know you don't, but next time, please don't be afraid to ask me. That's what I'm here for." Alfred smiles, deciding against pressing on the matter.

Alfred begins to smoothly move around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients and other things he needs to cook a meal. (Name) watches the man working as he eats the food he prepared. He debated going into a dining room but decided against it, worried that since the butler starts making breakfast, the rest of the family will get down to eating there. The boy isn't interested in meeting any of them.

"I don't have any work until lunch," Alfred announces, making (name) tilt his head in confusion. "I was thinking we could grab your clothes. That way I could wash the ones you are wearing in the afternoon," he adds, pointing at the boy's outfit with a butter knife.

"Works for me, I guess." (Name) shrugs, finishing up his food. Alfred notices the boy hesitating on what to do with the dish, so he decides to speak up.

"Just leave them in the sink; I'll put them in the dishwasher later." He points toward the appliance.

(Name) carefully puts the dishes into the sink, looking back at the butler for approval. Once Alfred smiles at him, telling him he should go and get ready so they can leave after the rest of the family eats their breakfast. The teenager takes one last look at the butler before leaving the kitchen. He makes his way back, the journey much easier now that he had done that once. He finds the staircase, slowly making his way up. When (name) is almost at the top, he notices something on the wall, close to the ceiling. As he walks up higher, he recognises the object. It appeared to be a surveillance camera. (Name) doesn't stop to give it a closer look, not wanting anyone who watches through them to notice his interest in the object. The presence of the camera changes the boy's plans as he decides to spend the next few days checking where the rest of them are. He'll also need a plan on avoiding some of them to make himself harder to find. 

As he enters 'his' room, the first thing (name) does is grab his hoodie. The one he hid under the pillow the previous night, just in case. As he puts it on, he realises he should clean up a bit or at least fix the bed , not wanting anyone else to touch the place he's sleeping on. The boy makes sure to make it in a different way to make it easier for him to tell if somebody was messing with it. With some more time to spare, (name) looks out the window, looking at the garden. He also looks over the fence further into the property, wondering if it has any loose spots, making his escape easier.

(Name) doesn't move from his spot next to the window when somebody knocks on his door. He tells them to come in, his eyes moving to the door. Alfred comes inside the room, noticing that the boy seemed to have made the bed. He also notices that it was made differently from how the beds are usually done in the manor, but he decides not to dwell on it too much. The butler figures that it must be the only way the teenager was taught how to fix it.

Alfred let the boy know that he's ready to leave whenever the teenager is. (Name) puts his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, nodding that he's ready. Both of them returned downstairs, this time moving opposite to where the kitchen was. To the boy's disappointment, Alfred leads him outside and not to the garage, where he could judge 'his father's' taste in cars; the boy frowns at the missed opportunity.

There's a car parked in the driveway; it looks slightly different than the one he was brought in. Alfred opened the door, his hand gesturing for the boy to get inside. (Name) sits onto the backseat of the car, the butler closing the door behind him. The boy plays with the hem of his hoodie, waiting for Alfred to walk around the car to start driving.

The car ride is mostly silent, save for (name) giving out directions to the butler. The boy enjoys the lack of words leaving Alfred's mouth, making him think that the whole journey might not be such a pain after all. (Name) lets the man know that his apartment building is on the left, ending the ride. Alfred finds a spot to park the car, hoping nobody will damage or, worse, steal it. After he makes sure the car is securely locked, he turns towards the building the boy is already at the entrance of. He tries not to show it, but the state of the building fills him with worry. Is it really where the boy was living? The paint chipping off the outside walls, exposing the brick, and the cracks surrounding the windows. The building was most definitely not up to any code and probably shouldn't even be lived in.

Even though worries of the building collapsing filled Alfred's head, he still followed the boy inside. As they were making their way up the stairs, an older woman came out of the flat on the bottom floor, probably hearing their steps. 

"Ah, (name), good to finally see you. You're a few days late to rent," she informs, glancing at the boy, then looking at Alfred from head to toe, the man getting uncomfortable under her judgemental stare. "I tried knocking, hoping your mom would pay, but it seemed that nobody was home."

"Sorry, Mrs Smith. Mom is busy with work, you know how she gets," (name) explains, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I'll bring it to you in a bit," he promises with a shy smile.

The woman nods, taking another look at Alfred, before walking back inside her flat. He doesn't ask the boy about the lie he told Mrs Smith, knowing it's probably for the best that she wasn't aware that only the boy lives in the apartment. They resume their walk up the stairs until (name) stops at one of the floors, walking down the hallway. The butler watches him stop at one of the cracks in the wall and take out a key from it. The boy then stops in front of a door further down the hall, opening it with a key.

(Name) doesn't look back to see if Alfred is following behind him. He doesn't want to see the look of disgust the butler must have upon seeing the condition of the place the boy calls home. What the teenager isn't aware of is that Alfred doesn't look at it all with disgust but rather concern.

The flat is in much better shape than Alfred anticipated. It was mostly clean, other than the empty instant noodle packets and some other everyday litter. There was a blanket thrown over an old couch that looked like it had seen better days. As (name) disappears in what the butler believes to be a bedroom, Alfred is left to look around the main room of the apartment. He checks the kitchen, his worry deepening after noticing the state of it on top of the oven that looks like a fire hazard.

(Name) double-checks the stuff he throws inside the bag. He puts inside whatever he decides he might need, even if it would just be used as a fire starter. The boy doesn't own many clothes, so putting them all randomly inside the bag wasn't hard. It took him minutes to grab all of his belongings. There weren't many things that belonged to his mother that (name) kept. Most of them he was forced to sell a long time ago, so he won't go hungry or have to pay rent. A few things that the boy kept, he also stuffed inside the bag, even if that meant leaving behind a few shirts so he could close it. The boy takes an envelope from under the mattress, checking if there's enough inside to cover this month's rent. 

Walking back to the main area of the flat, (name) finds Alfred staring at something. As the boy walks closer to the man, he notices that Alfred is looking at the only picture the boy has of himself and his mother. (Name) doesn't know why the butler is staring at that picture so much, but he also doesn't care, snatching the picture away from Alfred's prying eyes. The man watches the boy put the photograph into a bag, carefully arranging it in between some shirts.

"I see that you packed your bag. Do you have everything?" Alfred asks, wanting to make sure neither of them would have to come back to this place.

"Not yet." (Name) puts his bag on the couch and walks towards the opposite side of the room, crouching next to a lamp.

Alfred sees the boy take out a flip phone, which doesn't surprise him after seeing the state of the flat. He figures it's the only phone he and his mother could afford. The butler uses the fact that (name) let go of his bag to grab it for the boy.

"Oh, it's fine. I can carry it myself," (name) says, putting the phone in his pocket. He steps closer to Alfred, trying to take the bag out of the butler's hands.

"Don't worry, (name), I'll make sure nothing happens to it." Alfred reassures the teenager, keeping a firm hold on the bag. "You just focus on locking up the place properly."

Both of them walk out of the flat. Alfred watches as the boy locks it and then puts the key into his pocket. (Name) wonders if he should give the key back to Mrs Smith, knowing that even if he could, it wouldn't be safe for him to return there. He walks down the stairs with Alfred following behind, stopping at Mrs Smith's apartment to give her the envelope. The boy returns the key as well, mentioning that he and his mother were moving out. The woman didn't ask any questions, figuring it's not her business. Both of them walk out of the apartment building, and Alfred lets out a sigh of relief. He didn't show it, but staying in a building that was in such a state was filling him with anxiety. The butler walks with (name) back to the car, putting the boy's bag into the trunk.

"Alfred, do you think we could visit her grave?" (Name) asos, his eyes focused on the ground before him. "I don't know when I'll be able to visit, and I'd hate to leave without saying goodbye."

"Of course, (name)." Alfred agrees with a soft smile. "I'd be happy to take you." The man closes the trunk, moving to open one of the back doors.

"Let's walk; it's not far," (name) suggests, not seeing a point in turning on a car to drive such a short distance.

"Lead the way." Alfred closes the door, still smiling.

(Name) was right about the cemetery not being far, as the journey takes less than ten minutes. From the moment they entered the cemetery, (name) was only looking at the ground as if afraid to look at any of the graves. Alfred, on the other hand, takes a moment to read some of the names written on the graves. He's so distracted that he almost misses (name) stopping in front of one of them. Alfred stands next to the boy, whose expression he couldn't read. The man then looks at the grave, reading the words on the gravestone. 

(Mother's name) (Last Name) beloved mother Born xx-xx-xxxx Died xx-xx-xxxx

"It's been…" Alfred begins to speak, but the words are caught in his throat.

"Seven years, yeah," (name) finishes, his eyes never leaving his mother's gravestone.

"You were only ten." Alfred's cracks, trying so hard not to imagine a little boy burying his mother all by himself. "How did nobody find out?"

"If you know where to go, they won't ask you questions." (Name) shrugs, finally looking up at Alfred. "Mrs Smith's late husband helped me bury her, only wanting some money so he could gamble behind his wife's back. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised he never mentioned my mother's death to her."

Neither of them moved for a while after that. Alfred is still trying to understand how this boy managed to survive on his own for so long. He pitied the boy, wishing Bruce had found out sooner about him. Maybe then, (name)'s life would be a little easier.

The drive back to the manor is quiet, with Alfred checking on the boy's wellbeing in the rearview mirror. The butler wants to say something, anything that could bring comfort to (name). No words seemed good enough; after all, what could you say to a teenager who lost his mother almost a decade ago?

Back in the manor, (name) uses the need to unpack his bag as an excuse to get away from the butler. The boy makes his way back to 'his' room, closing the door shut behind himself. He doesn't take out much from his bag, only a fresh set of clothes, some underwear and the picture of his mother. He changes into the clothes, wondering if he should throw the old ones to the humper or ask Alfred if he can wash them himself. The teenager ends up putting them in the hamper, knowing that the butler would find a reason for the boy to not wash them himself.

(Name) makes sure his bag is hidden under his bed before heading out of his room to look for more cameras. The boy roams the hallways of the manor, hoping that he looks like a clueless child exploring his new home. He tries to remember as many locations of the devices as possible. He hopes to ask Alfred for some paper and pens to write them down later, but in the meantime his memory has to be enough. (Name) turns around after hitting a dead end, deciding to look for the butler for his request, when he bumps into someone. The man had broad shoulders, partially hidden behind the grey hoodie, his hair messy, like he’d just run a hand through it — dark, tousled. Man's vibrant blue eyes, running over (name)'s younger frame.

"Hey, you're new here, right?" The man asks with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He only earns a shrug from (name), making the man let out an awkward cough. "Anyway, have you seen Tim? He's not in his room."

(Name) shakes his head, his brows furrowed slightly. The man already established that he's new here; how could he know where Tim is? The man with blue eyes leaves, understanding that he won't get the answer from the boy. The teenager finds that the more he learns about 'his' father's family, the less interested he becomes in interacting with any of them.

(Name) decides that it's enough of being outside of his room for the day, returning to the only space in the manor he feels somewhat safe in. The boy spends the next hour or so recalling the locations of the cameras he saw like a mantra. 

The boy is so wrapped up in remembering the cameras that he doesn't notice the sun beginning to set on the horizon. The knock on the door made (name) jump slightly, not expecting anyone to bother him in 'his' room. He lets the person behind the door know that they're welcome to come inside. The door opens, Alfred coming inside with a smile.

"(Name), I was wondering if you'd like to join the rest of the family for dinner tonight?" Alfred asks, the smile not leaving his face. The boy is about to decline when Alfred speaks up: "It would not only mean a lot to your father to see you getting along with the rest of the kids but to me as well."

Alfred watches the boy hesitate, possibly laying out the options, before agreeing. (Name) decides that meeting the rest of the family wouldn't hurt. Knowing who to avoid could be useful for him in the long run.

"Alfred? Do you think I could get some paper and a pen?" (name) asos, following behind the butler.

"Of course," Alfred smiles, his voice soft. "I'll make sure to put a notebook and some pens in your room after dinner."

You thank the man, taking a deep breath as you enter the dining room. You take a look around the table, not failing to notice all of the seats being taken. Alfred wonders why you don't sit down, so he also checks the table, noticing as well the lack of space for the boy.

"I invited Connor over," said the one in the hoodie, barely looking up from his plate. "Figured it wouldn’t hurt."

"It’s not like he ate with us yesterday," the youngest muttered, arms crossed and tone sharp, not missing a beat.

"Still, I believe you—" the butler began to speak, hoping to resolve the issue and still have (name) join the table.

"It's alright, Alfred." The boy interrupts the man's sentence, not seeing a point in staying in the room. "I would rather eat in my room anyway," (name) assures, hoping to just leave.

The butler sighs, fixing up a plate for the boy. (Name) hangs around the man, trying to ignore the stares at everyone sitting at the table. He grabs the plate from Alfred, thanking him. He can't help but overhear a conversation that started the moment they noticed him leaving.

"He's so weird," a voice that sounded like it belonged to the youngest spoke. "His mother should've raised him better." After hearing that (name) was close to returning to the room, giving the child a piece of his mind, but another voice stopped him from doing so.

"You shouldn't say that he's still your sibling." (Name) wasn't quite sure whose voice belonged to, but he was glad somebody was telling the child off.

"You don't know shit, Conner," the youngest spoke again. (Name) suddenly wishes he took a better look at the people at the table so he could know how the boy looked. 

Back in his room, (name) eats his dinner in peace, trying not to dwell on what the youngest Wayne said. Around the time the boy finishes his meal, Alfred comes around, as promised, carrying a notebook and a few pens. He puts them down on the desk with an apologetic smile. The boy uses the moment to ask the butler if he needs any help around the manor, mentioning that helping the man clean up would make it a great way to explore the place. The butler assures him that he's more than capable of taking care of the manor and that the teenager doesn't have to worry about others looking at him weirdly, most of them being used to kids roaming the place. It's almost a weekly occurrence that somebody walks the halls of the manor trying to learn its layout for the first time.

The next day (name) decides to take Alfred's words to heart and continue roaming the manor. The boy eats his breakfast in the butler's company, who still insists that he could make something for (name). The teenager moves to a different wing of the manor, hoping that, by expanding the knowledge about the layout, he could leave the place without ever being noticed.

As (name) walks deeper into the new wing of the manor, he finds himself growing anxious, the true size of the place finally hitting him like a truck. The boy feels trapped in the maze of the hallways. He doesn't pay proper attention to his surroundings anymore, no longer looking around for cameras, his mind fixated on returning to more familiar parts of the manor. (Name) rounded a corner too fast and collided straight into someone.

"Sorry," he blurted out, stumbling a step back. "I got kind of lost."

The guy he bumped into barely flinched. Tall, athletic build, warm brown skin, tight curls cropped close. Dressed casually but sharp: sneakers, dark jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt rolled at the elbows like he was always ready for something. (Name) recognises the boy from the family dinner fiasco.

"Nah, you’re good; don’t worry about it," the guy said with a relaxed grin. "You’re new here, right?"

"Oh, yeah," (name) nodded, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Wow, didn’t know Bruce adopted another one." He extended a hand. "I’m Duke. Nice to meet you."

"(Name)," the boy replied, accepting Duke's hand and shaking it.

"I could show you around if you want." Duke offers a wide smile on his face.

"I’d rather explore blind; it helps with feeling the vibes of the space." (name) shook his head. Duke laughed a little at that, and it wasn’t mocking, no, it sounded like he got it.

"Maybe I could join you?" Duke asks, eager to get to know the new addition to the family. It was his first time meeting 'new meat', after all.

"Sorry," (name) said, not unkindly, just honestly. "I’d rather do that by myself."

"That’s fine," Duke replied, a smile never leaving his face. "If you ever need company, my room’s around the corner, third door on the left. I’ll be happy to hang out with you."

And with that, the other boy is gone, leaving (name) alone with his thoughts. He's not sure what to think of the teenager that he just met. 

(Name) resumes his journey, this time much less anxious as his mind focuses on playing the meeting with Duke over and over again. With him being all in his head, it was only a matter of time before (name) bumped into somebody again. Luckily for the teenager, this time it was Alfred who offered to help him find his way back to his room.

The boy spends the rest of the day cooped up in his room, only leaving for lunch that's accompanied by the butler. The rest of the time, (name) focuses on writing down the plans of the manor. He excludes the part he explored today, labelling it as being too far and too complicated to navigate for him to use it as his escape route. After dinner, which is also eaten with the butler, (name) asks Alfred if he could check out the garden.

"Of course, (name)," the butler smiles, happy that the boy decides against spending the evening in his room. "Just put on a hoodie; it's getting colder."

(Name) nods as if he wasn't already planning on grabbing one. He retreats to his room, putting on a hoodie and hiding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket. On his way out to the gardens, he doesn't meet anyone, the manor feeling colder than the outside.

The boy finds a secluded area in the back of the garden, next to an overgrown pond. He takes out a cigarette, lighting it. (Name) inhales the smoke, filling his lungs with it. His body relaxes in the places he wasn't aware he was tense in. As the teenager smokes down half of the cigarette, it's taken out of his hands.

"I don't think it's good for you, kid," a man said, voice low and rough, like gravel under boots, with just the slightest edge of concern buried beneath all that worn-out indifference.

He blinked, startled, watching as the man stepped back and crushed the cigarette under his boot without ceremony. Older—by a few years, maybe—leaning against the crooked base of a crumbling angel statue. Leather jacket, boots that had seen better fights, and eyes that looked like they didn’t sleep much unless knocked out cold. He didn’t smile. Didn’t really look at him, either. Just knew exactly what he was doing.

"Isn’t it, like, the whole point of them?" he said, irritation bleeding through.

"Don’t play smart with me," the guy shot back. "I don’t care if your mother died; you shouldn’t go around smoking. It’s bad for the image."

"You don’t look like someone who gives a fuck about the image of this family," (name) laughed, short and sharp.

"Because I don’t." A small, crooked smirk. "But I don't want to listen to everybody's whines." The guy kicked a stone into the pond.

"Who are you anyway?" The guy looked at (name) sideways, like deciding whether or not to answer.

"None of your business." And with that, the guy turns around, walking down the path to the manor, not looking back to see if (name) takes out another cigarette.

Later that night, after a shower, (name) takes out the notebook. He carefully crafts a plan, hoping to leave the manor forever by the end of the week. The boy makes sure to plan out every possible outcome in case somebody notices him as (name) leaves. The boy also plans out an idea if somebody from the family were to find him.

The next few days, (name) makes sure to act as unalarming as possible. He's hoping to not attract attention from any of the residents of Wayne Manor. The boy continued eating his meals with the butler, the man being the only person in the family he was interacting with. The nights were spent polishing up the plan.

The boy started to believe he was getting away with the plans until one of the lunches with Alfred, the one less than two days before leaving the manor. Both of them were eating their food in silence, as they usually did. The butler's brows were furrowed, him trying to think of a way to approach something that he worried might be a sensitive topic.

"(Name), I couldn't help but notice that you haven't unpacked your bag yet," the man begins, his voice calm in order not to scare the boy. "Any particular reason as to why?"

"It's just… hard." (name) only partially lies, knowing that even if he wasn't planning on escaping, he would probably be too scared to unpack. "Feels like I'm letting go of my life. Of my mother?" The butler nods, understanding where the boy is coming from.

Over the course of the next few days, (name) starts preparing to leave the manor. He collects snacks with long expiration dates in his room, forcing them between the clothes in his bag. Every night, before falling asleep, the boy goes over the plan, looking for any loopholes. 

The day of the escape comes faster than the boy expected. That night, (name) stays awake until late at night; the clock struck three in the morning. He stands up from the bed he was sitting on, pulling a hoodie over his head. The teenager grabs his bag before taking another look over his room to make sure he doesn't leave anything behind. The manor is quiet, almost as if he were the only one in there.

(Name) already knows where to go; the window he picked up was found with ease, no light needed. As he reaches it, he hopes he's not wrong about the wines next to the window being strong enough to hold his weight. (Name) swings his legs over the window, taking one last look down the corridor, making sure nobody is watching. He throws the bag onto the ground before grabbing the wines. The boy places his steps carefully, slowly making his way down. Once he feels like he's low enough, he lets go of the vines, landing on the ground. From there the journey is easy, a few metres to the fence. Getting over it wasn't a problem with (name) having experience in jumping fences from his nightly stealing escapades.

The second the boy is on the other side of the fence, he starts running down the street, not looking back at the manor. He felt like a little kid, worried to spot 'his' father, or worse, Alfred, right behind him. (Name) only slows down when he reaches further into the city.

The teenager finds an abandoned building as far away from the manor as possible. In there he spends a few days, living mostly off the snacks he sneaked out and some questioning-looking water he found. He doesn't leave the building, not wanting anyone to spot him and alarm 'his' father.

Even after the snacks run out, the boy waits a whole other day before leaving the safety of the building. A bag hanging from his shoulder as he finds the right shop to 'borrow' things from. (Name) hangs around, mostly hidden in the shadows, waiting for the shop to close for the night.

With the precision of a surgeon, the boy picked the lock on the backdoor, allowing him to enter. He places some food and a few water bottles inside his bag, getting ready to leave. He stops in front of the cash register, wondering if there's any money in there. The boy decides to take his chance, forcing the register open. Luckily for him, there were a few bills that he grabbed. Maybe thanks to them, his next trip to a shop would be without breaking in. On his way out, (name) makes sure to grab a few packs of cigarettes, figuring it wouldn't hurt.

After leaving, the boy makes sure to make the lock look like it wasn't picked. He felt a little bad stealing from the owner and didn't want someone else to use the opening in the shop's security to steal even more things. (Name) lets out a sigh of relief, knowing the hardest part of the night is over and the only thing left to do is find another spot to camp in.

"Pretty sure your father wouldn't be happy about this," a low voice spoke behind (name), making him jump, scared.

The boy turned around to see who spotted him. (Name) sees a man dressed in black, a cape moving with the wind. The teenager recognises the man, knowing there's only one person in Gotham that's dressed like that. It's Batman.

"I'm pretty sure he hasn't noticed my absence." (name) feels confident, knowing the worst Batman could do is put him in timeout or something. No kill rule and all. "He'll live."

(name) is ready to leave, then the man grabs him by the collar. Batman starts dragging the boy somewhere, ignoring the yells and thrashing around them from the teenager. (Name) is so focused on trying to get the man to let go that he doesn't notice the two of them entering a building.

"Don't worry, Batman, we'll take it from here." A voice that belonged to Commissioner Gordon snapped the teenager out of the daze he was in. His head shot towards the Commissioner.

Batman lets go of the boy, who's instantly grabbed by two police officers. Same ones who brought him in all those days ago. The officers lead him towards the back of the station, putting him in the same cell he was sitting in the first time they caught him. The workers leave, grabbing the boy's bag, ignoring his protests. (Name) isn't left alone in the cell for long, Commissioner Gordon joining him soon enough.

"Don't worry; you'll get your bag back when your father comes and picks you up in the morning," the man assures, a tired look on his face.

The commissioner was hoping to never see the boy in such a space, remembering how much trouble he went through with finding the (name)'s biological father. As neither of them are in the mood to talk, Gordon doesn't stay long in the cell. He sees that the boy was away from the manor for at least a few days, judging by the dirt on the boy's clothes.

Gordon tells the boy to get some sleep, reminding him that his father will be notified in the morning about what he's done. With that, the commissioner leaves. (Name) looks around, a sense of déjà vu hitting him. It wasn't a long time since he left the cell.

(Name) lies down, wondering what he'll tell the person that would pick him up. He's not sure who he should hope for. ' His' father? Maybe it's not like he cares what the man thinks. Alfred? The boy knows that he's more likely to be picked up by the man, which scares him. (Name) isn't sure he'll be able to look into the butler's eyes after a stunt like that.

taglist: @amber-content @bellethesleepypotato @leeiasure @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter

comment to be added!

part: one | two | three | and more…

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

do you guys think considering the relatively small age gap between Damian and Tim (depending on the author) that they would have been in school together? because coming from a youngest sibling who went to school with older siblings, that would be really interesting to look into.

i’m imagining Tim getting pulled out of class because Damian’s thrown a tantrum and refuses to listen to any of the teachers and they need his brother to convince him to calm down, and it actually working because Tim is the only person Damian is familiar with and so will ever listen to. Damian having no interest in making friends with civilians so he ends up sat on the end of Tim’s lunch table while Tim eats with his friends. Tim getting bullies in Damian’s class to back off, and Damian scuffing his foot on the tiles of the school halls as he waits for Tim to get out of detention so they can walk home together like usual.

considering how strained their relationship was when Damian first arrived in Gotham, putting him in an environment five days a week where suddenly Tim is his only true familiar ally and he has no choice but to accept being on friendlier terms would be really fucking interesting. suddenly Tim is his protector, and although he refuses to let that effect their home dynamic, he does have to accept that at school at least, he needs Tim to be his older brother.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

Yandere Bully x Reader

You can still hear the record player hum in the back of your memory, like a fly buzzing against a windowpane. Some warped Elton John or Bowie song that never quite plays right—too slow, too sad. That’s the sound of the summer of ’76 to you. That, and the sound of his boots scuffing down the hallways of Lincoln High.

You never asked for his attention.

It started in that dull beige chemistry classroom, with the warped blinds and the humming fluorescent lights. You sat two rows ahead of him, always tapping your pencil on the edge of the desk, always doodling in the margins of your notebook. You weren’t trying to be noticed. You didn’t even notice him, not at first.

But he noticed you.

His name was Dean. You knew him before you really knew him—the way everyone at school did. He was the guy with the chipped tooth and the permanent scowl, the one who smoked behind the auto shop and had a detention slip permanently folded in the back pocket of his Levi’s. He was tall in the kind of way that made teachers a little afraid to raise their voice, with hair like he’d cut it himself with a razorblade and a voice like gravel soaked in whisky. Dean didn’t just walk—he prowled. He owned every space he stepped into, and if someone tried to challenge that, they ended up with a black eye or a rumor that made them invisible for a week.

And for some reason—God knows why—Dean decided you were his.

You didn’t realize it when he first knocked your books out of your arms in the hallway. That just felt like another Tuesday. He sneered at you and kept walking, and you told yourself he was just being a jerk. But the next day, he did it again—only this time, he stuck around to pick them up. And when your hand brushed his, he flinched like you’d burned him.

“You should be more careful,” he muttered, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second too long.

You’d never seen Dean flinch before.

That’s when things started to get weird.

Your locker, which always stuck, started swinging open easily—like someone had oiled the hinges. You found notes inside, folded a dozen times over, the paper yellowed and smelling faintly of cigarettes. They didn’t say much. Just lines like “I like the way you walk” and “You’re prettier when you’re mad.”

You started catching him watching you.

In the cafeteria, his tray untouched. In gym class, standing just a little too long by the fence while you ran laps. Outside the record store downtown, even though you were pretty sure Dean didn’t own a record player.

One day, you found a Polaroid slipped between the pages of your biology textbook. It was grainy, out of focus—but it was you. Walking down your street, alone, with your jacket pulled tight and your head ducked against the wind.

Dean never said anything. He never had to.

By September, you weren’t sure whether you hated him or feared him or something worse. Because there was a softness to his obsession, if that makes any sense. Not like a knife—like a rope. Like something wrapping around you slowly, winding tighter with every week, every glance, every scribbled note and silent stare. He didn’t push anymore. He didn’t shove. He just watched. And followed. And waited.

He left gifts in your locker. A dried daisy pressed between notebook paper. A cassette tape with no label—just heavy breathing and a song you didn’t recognize. A switchblade with your initials scratched into the handle.

You told your friends. They laughed. “Dean? He’s just messing with you.”

You weren’t so sure.

There was the night you swear you heard something outside your bedroom window. You lived on the second floor. When you crept to the sill, heart in your throat, there was nothing there. But the next morning, there was a cigarette on your windowsill. Still warm.

He never asked you out. Never said he liked you. He didn’t need to. He spoke with his presence, his silence, the way he hovered just far enough away that you could pretend you were alone.

And sometimes—just sometimes—you found yourself looking for him. Waiting to feel those eyes on your back. Waiting for the weight of his stare, like heat, like gravity.

Because Dean didn’t just want you.

Dean needed you.

You started to get the feeling that if you ever said no, if you ever tried to pull away or tell someone or make it stop, something would snap. You imagined it in flashes—a hand on your throat, the sound of his boots on your front porch, the scent of leather and blood.

But it never happened.

Instead, he started walking you home.

Uninvited.

Unspoken.

Just…there.

The first time you asked him why, he shrugged. “Gotta make sure nobody messes with you,” he said, as if he wasn’t the one everyone was afraid of.

You don’t remember when the fear turned into something else. Something worse.

Comfort, maybe.

Dependence.

Love.

No. Not love.

You don’t love Dean.

You can’t.

But he looks at you like you’re the only thing left in the world that’s real. And in 1976, when everything smells like gasoline and the future feels like a ticking bomb, maybe that’s enough.

Masterlist

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

worthless speculations (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere superfam x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere batfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; related post !

all it took was a candid shot of the resident, widowed journalist who's not-so subtly hiding his affair with the infamous spouse of bruce wayne to spark immediately rumors.

for weeks, it seems, the table has once been turned on bruce as you've found yourself the center of attention, spending time with your new family, with the very man who has come to save you months ago from the cruel hands of the paparazzi.

it started with the first picture, which quickly blew up into many photographs in such a short span.

one of a simple date, where some stranger, a fan of you, saw you at a park, having a cute picnic with both clark and jon. at first, most would assume that clark's probably just a close cousin of yours, with just a kid you're babysitting, right?

wrong. the proximity you have with the unknown man is too intimate. someone's got a close shot, and through the lenses, you wouldn't even need a damn interpreter to just see how his palms are rested against your thighs, massaging occasionally without thought nor pattern, as if it's been a natural habit of his; or how in another shot, he handfeeds you the sandwich, then takes a bite in the same spot you have bitten. he doesn't take a napkin to wipe away the remaining condiment on your lips, and—

oh!

he licks at his thumb then quickly brings his lips near yours, closing the space in between with a peck that draws out too long to be even considered remotely platonic.

a kiss packed with longing and desire.

his tongue sneakily swipes at the remaining cream on the side of your tongue. your nose crinkles and you swat his face away, but you don't look disgusted, don't even pull away as you softly swipe away the strands of hair framing his glasses.

some commentor mentions how warm your face looked, another replies with just how your fingers quickly made their way to fiddle with the man's arm in another candid photo.

the child beside you, meanwhile, makes a grossed face, cringing at the obvious romance— then he clings to you, slapping his dad (?) away from you. his hands are wrapped around your waist, and click!

it looks like the kid's looking up at you with puppy eyes, mumbling something whilst you laugh and ruffle his hair. another spectator managed to capture a video.

then a lipreader on twitter made out the words the kid is saying. he's begging for ice cream, he says with a pout, neapolitan, he says, and that he made sure to eat all the vegetables in his sandwich. then he grins when you giggle at him and whip your head to the man beside you who replies with:

"oh, sweetie, don't fall for his lies; he just sneaked junked food last night to his bedroom."

the kid, who's now famously referred to as jon, your precious little baby, as you love to call him — and since the internet is so obsessed with drama, a lot of people were smart enough to piece the puzzle together, the man you're with is clark kent — sticks his tongue out his father, then stubbornly crosses his arm yet just as quickly return to his begging.

the person recording hidden behind the bush had to do a double take, their hands shook when the audio recording picked up your faint whispers, and they were sure to gods that you referred to yourself as... as clark's spouse?!

and did jon just call you his parent?

you're brave— no, scratch that, the people you're with are even braver.

it's like they're making it obvious that you've been claimed into another family; that you oh-so easily estranged yourself from the wayne's to live a mundane, yet peaceful, loving life with the kent's just to escape the constant torment of living under an empty roof.

but still, to be that obvious is a dangerous move, isn't it?

to show up in public, unannounced, in matching trio outfits, sometimes even appearing with another unknown figure who always has shades on, to a crowd of people who take pictures of you every moment is such an iconic, yet ruining admission that you've basically (and rightfully) had an affair with no shame.

after all, who would ever think of cheating on a billionaire, one of the most famous, too!? that's basically asking for a divorce, which leads to losing all your assets. most socialites who marry into old money families are aware that even if your partner cheats, you'll still be strong enough to bear through the pain, but god are you brave for making another scene just some days after, in a cinema no less without a care in the world if the people around you watched your barely disguised pda.

well, you aren't most socialites to begin with, you've only ever married for convenience.

even when news stations were going haywire for the rumors, when so many commentators on tiktok, podcasts on twitch and youtube have you as their main topic of the week— your little family is nonchalant about everything.

it was the number one trending tag, the only headline every person focused on.

and the best (or worst in your case) part of it all, is that this was all perfectly curated by your own affair partner.

a little handholding, soft touches and caresses on your cheeks, muscled palms resting comfortably on your shoulders, and jon's tiny hands latching onto your body, nuzzling on the expanse of your stomach whilst his head tilts up to look at you with the widest puppy eyes, asking you to buy him more sweets with his freckled smiled and toothy grin— it creates this immaculate opportunity for passerby's with enough knowledge about the wayne's messy relationship status to immediately catch on to the infamous face of bruce's poor, naive spouse now in a date.

and it's not even the first date you were all caught together.

who wouldn't whip their phone out faster than the well-known speedsters to conspicuously take shots of your seemingly happy and satisfied composure?

unlike with all the moments where you are with bruce, pictures of your uncomfortable hold on his shoulders, the stares from a distance never directed at you from galas, or the way your hands quickly unwrap from his the moment your magazine pictures are finished— you look refreshed, downright gleaming brighter than the sun that could even make some senile, grumpy man smile.

your small fanbase grows quickly: people never knew just how gorgeous you are not until they see your lips quirked up, mischievously peppering the unknown child with kisses, then standing on your tippy toes next to the hulking figure beside you to give him a gentle peck on the lips.

in your current place at the farmer's market, you are glowing like a ray of sunshine, never before had the crowd ever seen you without a strained smile, never seen your eager eyes at your affair partner's sweet surprises, never seen you so willing to pick up your child and pepper his face with kisses all over his face at yet another cheesy joke he concocted.

and it's perfectly become a topic of gossip for the citizens of gotham and metropolis on the seemingly new, and unexpected affair of one of the richest man in the world's spouse.

well, if they could even call you bruce's spouse, not when his eyes are always elsewhere. not when there's been dozens of news highlighting the gossips about bruce's past affairs.

and right now, it seems you're not even wearing the diamond encrusted ring on your finger anymore. the longer you are exposed to the public, the more people notice the lack of bedazzled jewelry, or even notice

and instead, you sport a simple silver promise band on your left hand, which somehow gleams brighter than your previous ring. you wore more casual clothes, sometimes match color schemes with your little family. most of the time, you wear your affair partner's huge jackets and let it drape across your body.

others say your lazy efforts, your carelessness compared to your rigid styles before felt more befitting for you— and you are... cuter whenever they see you beside clark to assist him with his office work with a matching messenger bag hanging off your shoulders.

some people were so invested in your relationship, a close-up zoom in on clark's wallet revealed a picture of your family with the addition of ma and pa kent in his wallet's clear frame. his fond smile while looking at the photo made fangirls swoon.

and with you always trying to reach atop the nest you call his hair, always ruffling it to fix the mess, people began seeing you two as the couple goals, an embodiment of what years of love looked like despite only being together for months in their; people are unaware of how long your affair has been.

never knew clark has set his sights on you since the day of your marriage with bruce.

but it's alright if people only see the surface level of his devotion to you—

because at least his beloved is thriving.

and at least their support, their obsession over your relationship with him helps in tying you even closer to him—

without your complaints, without your hesitation.

because you love him, and he loves you. jon and even conner has warmed up to you. they all love you, and no amount of material compensation bruce throws at you can amount to the dedication and patience clark has burnt off for years to scoop you in his arms at your lowest moments.

just like a true superhero does.

he loves seeing you as the best version of yourself everyday, and you only do so because you're with him and the people who actually love you, only them.

some people who bumped shoulders with you every time you dropped jon off to school said you even smelled even less intense, like you didn't feel the need to bathe in expensive perfumes anymore. you are softer now, more homely and buzzed with a familial joy none has ever seen or felt in you before.

unlike last time, you're more confident in greetings. reducing your appearances in galas lessened your eyebags. you were the epitome of new beginnings, a symbol for citizens that maybe second chances aren't too scare in the first place.

people whisper that you've probably divorced bruce, or that your previous husband doesn't give a damn about your affair.

a person occasionally tweets questions regarding your affair, if bruce is aware about the entire thing, if it hurts his ego, or if he doesn't care at all. his fanbase still loves him, obviously. they still see him as their beloved problematic playboy, but it's concerning how others sweep your affair under the rug with every new gala published, or how news about his children sometimes overthrows the current gossip of the day about you.

of course, the media feeds off the drama like bottom feeders. there's a resurgence of even more theories regarding your complicated relationships. one person even briefly mentioned what a coincidence it is that the dick grayson is found to be eating at an adjacent restaurant beside the one you and clark were found out.

there was a trending tweet once, one that highlighted the strangeness of your previous children's sudden frequent appearances in metropolis too.

others argue it's just an overreaction, but nobody ever denied that claim itself.

some people are anticipating bruce's reaction to the tweet, too. would he stay silent, would he grovel at your feet, or is this some sort of competition between these two?

there's a conspiracy that bruce is letting all the drama simmer down, that this may be a publicity stunt. a smaller fanbase that liked your complex relationship with the man wanted you both to return together, many argue that you look better off with him— clark feels the urge to find each and every individual who's stated this if not for your current laughs in the kitchen with jon distracting him from darkening thoughts at every annoying theory.

though most of the time, thankfully, others defend your actions and clark's, even stating that it's right that the once silent and solitary spouse of bruce deserves at least decent treatment; because from all the gathered news you before, it's always just you who fusses over bruce's children like a worried hen, it's always you who adjusts and kisses your husband's ties with a fond, yet tired smile.

and some miss those softer moments they've seen on screen, even bruce himself finds his fingers dangling on his past ties in his office, unknowingly reminiscing on the warm lips that once held the same tie. and the hot dinner left cold and diverse snacks untouched always left beside his desk, and your worried coo every night he stayed up late, and...

and just how much of a perfect spouse you actually are.

it's only when it's too late, when you're too deep into your romance with clark that he finally discovers how much he misses you, your concerned whispers, your frustrated quirk of the eyebrows that you hide from him every time he rejects your advancement, your constant presence in his life until it felt like it was never there, the way you weaved yourself so easily into his life and slipped away just as quickly because of his stupidity.

in a moment of weakness one evening, when restlessness and the yearning for your soft touch urged him once more, bruce finally gained the courage to confront all the rage about you—

he tells himself it's out of curiosity, just that.

nothing else, but god, the sight of you with someone else for once hurts more than intended.

it punches him even more in the gut once he realizes that you're with his coworker, his teammate, his trusted friend who displays himself as the perfect puzzle piece beside you in every article. you don't wear your old ring, don't even wear a single piece of clothing in your old wardrobe full of luxury items.

you're different, but you're still you... just better off without him, without his children, without alfred or the comfort and protection of the manor.

alluring as you've always been, but you shine even brighter now, draped in gentle sunlight that dims in comparison to you.

and the longer he stares at your pictures, at your smile, the way your cheeks would slot so perfectly between his palms, and your hair that he knows he'd soon love to bury his nose in—

the easier it is for his hands to make its way to his contacts, ready to call alfred and his children—

and he finds himself concocting a plan faster than the need for rest swept away from his thoughts when he sees your silver band, the same design he found one day on clark's fingers after a mission.

of course, bruce is aware that he has to deal with the consequences of his actions, that his idiocracy led him at a stalemate where he's aware that your chances of returning to him is a measly zero—

but heaven forbid him, for he's still bruce. he's no lesser than the cunning, strategic vigilante he's known to be.

he'll always be one step ahead, and rummaging through the records on his desks reveals no sign of divorce papers, no legal precautions taken for custody and no angry relative of yours (who only sold you off to him to earn their share of profit) angrily contacting him.

it'll be one hell of a night, but it doesn't matter.

why?

the headline and content for the next day on a newspaper for the gotham news—?

"y/n wayne, spouse of famous philanthropist, billionaire bruce wayne found back in the arms of their old flame—?"

"there's been newer speculations, of y/n's supposed ex-husband and their children finally reconciling with each after after months of rumors regarding whether their divorce is real or not."

"—and after some investigations and a statement from the husband, bruce wayne, himself; it was finally confirmed that their divorce, was in fact, never legally processed— because, as it turns out, it was never filed at all."

a/n: that took a dark turn HAHAHAH you guys think this will be something cutesy? NO! this is my late april fool's attempt at fluff bec i love drama. please comment about what you think about this and let me hope to god this gains interaction </33 i like writing affectionate scenes with a tinge of insanity scattered in between.

also hive minds and parasocial relationships are seriously creepy to think about. that's why i tend to not often disclose personal things relating to me because of how easy it is to track someone and their life down 😭 this has been sitting on my drafts for a long time and i nearly forgot about it until someone reminded me to write for this series soo... transitioning pov's is genuinely such a struggle btw, ugh ☠️ hope u guys enjoyed this bec this is by far the hardest drabble to write.

taglist:

@imjustasimp132, @mimiiiiiiiiisstuff, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy, @thypplover, @asdfghjklgayblog, @prince-nikko, @phoenixgurl030, @antionwithadrawingpen, @circe143, @ferchu0406, @kittzu, @yuyuzi-ling, @moonieper, @esthxio, @ryuushou, @nickey-diano, @ssak-i.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

— WHEN THEY FALL IN LOVE..

or, when there's no turning back for the first years.

a/n: first writing post.. AHH

when ace trappola falls in love..

he's still the same guy. but almost sweet, almost kind.

but he's a master of his secrets. parts his mouth just to spew another joke about your appearance or how you did on that potionology test the other day - that same glint of hesitation in his eyes, that unsure croak of his voice just before he delivers another nasty quip about your face. like a punchline stuck in his throat - too funny to laugh at, too funny to acknowledge.

funny how he'd said he'd "rather hang out with his friends than find love", and here he is; laying in his bed. at 3 am. head filled with nothing but thoughts of you.

he'll let it simmer. wait for you to realize - wait for you to notice him, not just the facade he puts up. not the prankster he is in class, or the

wait for you to love him back.

when deuce spade falls in love..

he's trying his very best.

deuce was never much of a charmer - the guy's been a delinquent for most of his life; feared, not loved. he only sees (romantic) love in the movies - terrible rom-coms, poignant love stories.. you name it. deuce has no idea about love.

(his lack of knowledge gets worse with you.)

deuce tries - keyword, tries to keep his composure in front of you. he fails, miserably. his face? turning red. words? none. palms? sweating. and pride? absolutely crushed.

he apologizes to you later, blames it on the heat or how he forgot about another ridiculous rule. calls up his mom and his mouth is a dam - like he suddenly gained the ability to talk 10 minutes later. tells her all about you, as if she doesn't know your entire genetic code just from hearing him talk.

maybe one day.

when jack howl falls in love..

it's unyielding - unyielding, but quiet.

jack doesn't date for fun; never has, never will. he doesn't chase anyone.

wolves mate for life - you know it when jack immediately shuts down the idea of even having a crush or having an ex, saying that he's "focused on self-betterment" or "waiting for the right person". you're convinced that not even cupid could get him to fall in love.

but for you? that discipline shatters.

it happens during a study session in ramshackle when you're idly playing with his ears - making fun of that stone-cold persona when in reality he's melting under your touch. he catches himself after five minutes of bliss, thoughts of the future flooding his brain; "what if i won't be a good partner to them? what if i let them down?'

to jack, love isn't a game; love's not the way he feels embarrassingly giddy after you squeeze his hand or poke his bicep. love's permanent. forever. and it terrifies him.

when epel felmier falls in love..

it's fierce.

epel's not soft - in fact, he's everything but. he'd do anything to be seen as strong by you; even if it meant burying his own feelings.

epel was never much of a dreamer - let alone a lovey-dovey kind of guy. he despises those mushy romance stories, calling them "dumb as a box of rocks", grimacing when he watches the leads kiss.

yet.. he can't help but be entranced. by you.

he scoffs a little too loudly for vil's comfort, but in his head, he's repeating the same mantra over and over again in his head - "i'm not some silly little girl moonin' over someone. i've got better things to do with my time. besides, love is for babies."

yet, his defenses crumble when you ever do so much as breathe in his direction, and suddenly, he's back to square one.

when sebek zigvolt falls in love..

it's fervent.

sebek is passionate about a lot of things - his duty as a retainer, malleus, academics, and you.

you, a mere human that could quiet him down with just a finger to your lip. you, a mere human who keeps him awake at night and restless, overthinking. yearning.

it's foolish, he tells himself. tells himself it's just a small crush as if it's not all-consuming, as if he's not avoiding you all together just so he could have peace of mind.

is it the right thing to do? no. will it keep him unbothered? absolutely not. and will he come to terms with his feelings?... unlikely.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

MASTERLIST

A WONDERLAND OF YANDERES- TWST AU

Prologue.

Intro - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Chapter 1. The Red King holds a bleeding head.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10. (End)

Chapter 2. The Queen Lioness weeps over family blood.

TBW

Chapter 3. The Destitue Mollusk signs away their fate.

TBW

Chapter 4. The Princess of the Sands has no free will.

TBW

Chapter 5. The Man in the Mirror sees only one face.

TBW

Chapter 6. The Goddess of Springtime longs for sunshine.

TBW

Chapter 7. The Hidden One lays in a world of dreams.

TBW

Imagines

I. II. III. IV. V.

Extras

Yandere types (Dorms) Yandere types (Grim + Staff) Yandere types (RSA + NCB) Yandere types (Other Events) I. II. Other World Building I. II.

Headcanons MC has a crush/lover back home MC is high maintenance MC gets famous because of the VDC NRC Yanderes and Pregnancy/Children Being held for Ransom/Reactions

Others ❤️ Cats! the Not Musical (MC gets a cat army) I.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

more eldritch horror, but this time with riddle.

there’s something strange about the old victorian house you’ve moved into.

you aren’t scared of its creaks and groans late into the night, all sounds of a house settling, nor do you fear the freezing cold. poor insulation, a part of any old fixture, you’re told, which you work to fix with every inexpensive and modern solution in the book.

it’s the eyes you don’t like.

they’re there when you’re out of the house, when it’s dark and all you can see peering in from the outside are shadows. but they’re there in the window, open wide and staring. they never seem to blink. and when they do, they blink slowly, one eye at a time, as if they’re only just understanding how to do the motion. you didn’t know they were there until a neighbor, who happened to be strolling by, noticed and pointed it out. you thought it was silly; you live alone and there’s no such thing as ghosts. but then you saw them yourself one night, when you stumbled out of your friend’s car after a night of celebration. you saw them watching you from the second story window, unblinking, listless. they snapped onto your form as soon as you emerged from the car.

you hurried in and turned on every light to find what you assumed was an animal or an intruder. no such thing.

maybe it was the glare from a light or the mirror reflecting something. you thought this was reasonable and for a few months you fooled yourself with this delusion, but the eyes never left. they’re always there in that same room, at the same time, looking out at you. like you’re the house and the house is a person. like the roles are reversed.

- - -

in your paranoia, you’ve started misplacing things. they turn up weeks later. you’re beginning to wonder if the possibility of a haunt is a reasonable assumption. either that, or perhaps you’re going mad. you’ve no idea.

the house leaks when it rains. it’s a filthy liquid. reddish brown, as if it’s tea or blood. you set out mugs and pails in hopes of catching it all so it won’t stain the floors. they fill up quickly. sometimes the house leaks when it isn’t raining. you think it’s a reflection of your mood sometimes. a foolish thought.

until you press your ear to the wall and mistake your heartbeat for that of another’s. again, another foolish thought. the house is not breathing or crying or sighing. it’s a house. it’s not alive.

but just because you’re a mess, you pat the wall consolingly and whisper, “don’t cry. it’ll be okay.”

the house stops leaking after that.

- - -

sometimes, if you’re too tired to let yourself finish, you lie in bed until you fall asleep. the house is silent and still. in your dreams, darkness enshrouds you in its silky, frigid embrace. you arch up into its touch, twisting and turning in your sleep, cradled in shadow. something curls around your thighs and pulls them apart, a slimy and smooth appendage prodding at your private parts. you shudder through your orgasm, tears dampening your eyelids.

the house whispers back: “don’t cry. it’s okay.”

you wake up feeling well-rested, but your underwear is damp. a wet dream? strange. you don’t normally get them. not since you moved into this house and struggled to fall asleep, spooking yourself with your own shadow.

you think nothing of it and swing your legs over the bed, ready to start the day.

- - -

when you’re sick, the house seems to make it significantly worse.

it’s cold, so you bundle up in layers. and then you feel feverish, so you strip off your second pair of socks and shrug off the extra blankets and sweater. but then the cold inevitably seeps through. you’re too weak to get up and do much of anything, so you rot in your bed, coughing feebly, curled in on yourself, napping the daylight away.

hours later, just as the sun’s dipping below the horizon, you wake to a glass of water on the bedside table. it’s accompanied with medicine, strawberry-flavored lozenges for your raw throat, and a bowl of soup. in your delirium, you must’ve prepared these for yourself and then left them on the table while you slipped in and out of sleep.

you manage to prop yourself up enough to drink some water, choke down the medicine, try some of the soup. it’s still hot.

that’s weird.

you’re certain it should be cold by now. and when did you put your socks back on? and why is there a cool rag draped over your forehead? did you do that? you must’ve.

no one else is here. you live alone.

weakly, making a laugh out of your misery, you tell your bedroom, “thanks for looking after me.”

in your dreams, the house and its shadows smile at you with adoring eyes. why wouldn’t i? they seem to say. you’re the heart of this house. without you…

you wake up with a hollow head, the fog of sickness ebbing away at a snail’s pace. it’ll take a few days before you can emerge from the graveyard of sheets.

sometimes you imagine having a lover or a best friend or even a roommate you can only tolerate occasionally, anyone who’ll look after you in your sickness and loneliness. anyone who’ll be there to listen to your woes when you rant about all the terrible things in your life. anyone who’ll be there to congratulate you when you succeed—when good things come your way.

you suppose you’re not so bad on your own. the house isn’t either. although you wish it wouldn’t make you so sick, incapacitate you until you’re properly bedridden.

in a few days, you’ll feel better.

you shut your eyes and fall back into slumber.

- - -

“this is too much house for one person.”

that’s what everyone tells you.

“well, i think it’s just enough,” you’ll say.

and it’s true. for its age, the house is in fine shape. occasionally, a mouse or two will find their way inside with the common house bugs. they’re all dead by morning, arranged in a neat pile for you to sweep up. it startled you at first and made you wonder if someone was living in the walls, only coming out at night, like a fairy or a ghost of some sort. a little helper.

but then you realized that was impossible. it happens enough that you can’t chalk it up to coincidence. nature works in mysterious ways, but not like this. this is unnatural.

but the pest problem is dealt with, so you clean and dispose of them.

next time, it will be a bigger pest. an intruder, maybe. or a persistent ex.

you wonder when your thoughts started becoming so macabre. when your dreams shifted into that of nightmares.

- - -

the house bleeds.

real blood. red blood.

a knife tears along the wallpaper, peeling it up in ribbons, and from the rip comes thick, soupy blood. it drips in crimson tendrils, puddling on the floor. you watch it, quietly mystified.

“this is what’s been making you sick!” your neighbor exclaims, gesturing to the wall for example. “this house is rotting!”

“it’s not rotten,” you tell them, quirking your head slightly. you don’t understand. why do they care so much?

“rotting,” they correct. “something in this house is rotting and it’s not good for your health.” they cover their nose and grimace. “even i feel faint and i’ve only been here a few minutes. fuck’s sake, (name), how do you live like this? you need to leave. call someone to deal with this. you can stay with me in the meantime. you’ll feel better.”

you open your mouth to agree because, yes, that would do wonders for your physical and mental health, but the house has a hold on you.

two eyes snap open in the shadowed doorway. something is looming there, watching your neighbor, who’s gesturing with the knife. you can feel the malevolence blanketing the air, deadly like carbon monoxide.

“i think you should leave,” you tell your neighbor, and you force them out because if they don’t go now they’ll be sick or worse. you promise you’ll figure this out. you will.

with enough prodding, they leave.

the eyes remain, watching you in silence as you patch up the wounded wall. “they’re only worried for me. that’s what you do when you care about someone. you worry.”

you scrub the blood from the wall and floor. it’s staining the wallpaper with a faint smear.

even if you could leave, you don’t think the house would allow it.

that’s silly. there’s nothing in this house but you.

right?

- - -

you need to get out.

a few days away will set you straight. you decide you’ll go only so your neighbor won’t fret. you have the strangest feeling that this will keep them safe.

oh, how the house hates to be empty.

if it could, you think it’d sag on the skeleton of its structural support, sad and pitiable. like wrinkled skin on bones. when you lay your head down at night, it’s to the second beat of another heart hidden deep within the walls. when you peer through the darkness, you think you see them moving, a rise and fall, as if breathing.

you’re not sure how, but this house is alive.

and it’s not going to let you leave.

you know it won’t because it’s stifling and suffocating. it grabs you by the ankle and tries to pull you back deeper inside, tears your suitcase open, shakes with a wrath so strong it thunders through the floorboards.

you brace yourself against the door frame, fighting it. it pulls with a surprising amount of force and you fall, hitting the floor with an echoing smack. you feel sick and dizzy, nauseous. something’s in the air. a haze. you think you’re seeing double.

in the gloom of a poorly lit hall, you see something dragging itself towards you. two impossibly round eyes, almost bug-like, large, black pupils ringed with red, are set into a ghastly pale face. it’s human…but not quite. it has the frame of a human, the body, but it crawls.

no.

no, it drags itself like it has only a torso and arms. like it can’t use its legs. like it doesn’t know how.

it reminds you of a pupa. wingless. small. squishy. fragile.

it hits you then—what this thing is.

it’s the house.

[ahfuckherewegoagain]

Arcana M6: When they hear you bragging about them

A/N: We're back! In this specific scenario, you basically brag about something your partner did to a friend and they happen to be close by and overhear or walk by and don't notice them at first.

Asra:

He definitely slinks around longer just to hear everything you have to say

They love getting to hear your perspective and how you see them

That is until their reserve for being perceived runs out -they have their air of mystery for a reason MC- and they come out of their hiding spot, only to side-hug you while you are still talking

Compliments you and starts bragging about you right back to see your reaction

The moments after are just them taking the teasing to a whole other level about all the things you were talking to your friend about

But you can see the way his ears have turned pink and the fact that he can't stop smiling

They still become curious about what else you would have said if they'd let you go on while in bed and ask just before you're about to doze off.

Nadia:

Quiet acknowledgement from the sidelines with a very self-satisfied smile on her face

Doesn't tell you she overheard

But the pampering and the romantic gestures go up significantly for the next couple of days

And the traits you praised also happen to appear more frequently

Unless it's one of her sisters you are bragging about her to

Then she'll come out and firmly stand next to you as you flush with a look that says "Well…keep going dear, I for one am very interested in what you have to say"

Either way, she takes this as a chance to listen to your unfiltered feelings and the things you admire about her as a partner and she loves knowing that

Julian:

Here's the thing: He probably does the same for you at least three times a week at the Rowdy Raven or with every acquaintance he has

But he will never get used to the praise coming from you

Normally, he would immediately turn the mountain of positive comments right back at you

But right now he is at a situation where he can't brush off your remarks in a self-deprecating matter since you are sharing it with someone else

Welp…he's stuck buffering in his spot for as long as this conversation lasts

Comes back pretending he didn't hear you

But by the way his face is starting to ressemble his hair, you can tell he definitely heard (and maybe you did it intentionally too)

If you think he's not going to take this as an opportunity to compose an epic of everything he admires about you and present it to you later on in the day, you'd be wrong

Muriel:

*Becomes one with the shadows while you are talking and assumes the shade of a tomato*

This is way too much attention than he can possibly deal with and it's not even directed at him

Oh my gods, you are still going…

He can't stay for much longer or else it's a very strong possibility that he'll combust

After your friend leaves, you can't find him for a good chunk of time after you last saw him

And that is because he immediately went back in the woods to mentally recharge after the litany of praise

He wants you to feel apprieciated too though, even if verbal affirmations aren't exactly his strong suit

So he later comes home with a bouquet of different flowers and compares things he knows about each one to some of your traits

Portia:

Barely able to suppress her delighted giggles as she listens from around the corner, thinking you haven't noticed her

She has a hard time with her self-esteem and being put first, so seeing you praising her in front of someone else is such an unconditional and personal expression of love for her

Which in turn translates into an extreme case of Cuteness Agression

Squeezes you soooo tight when she comes back later, that it makes Faust's Squeezes seem light

When you bring it up with her, she simply says that she 'happened to overhear' with that signature UWU* smile of hers

Hope you are ready for this woman to spoil you for the remainder of the afternoon

Has the biggest smile the entire time and just won't stop giggling

Lucio:

Doesn't even try to listen in or wait for you to finish your sentence

When he realizes the conversation is even the littlest bit about him he's immediately coming up, hugs you and becomes part of it

"Yes exactly all of that is completely true and they are lucky" kind of smug smile the whole time.

Then proceeds to brag about YOU in turn to the poor person that has to hear you two fawning over each other

Let's be honest, he isn't all that restrained when it comes to expressing how much he loves everything about you (and himself)

Struts around proud all day while trying to find ways to compliment you more

Looks at you like lovesick puppy for a good amount of time afterwards

Unfortunately he can take a lot of things as a competition, so be prepared for him to compliment you and LOUDLY brag about you to anyone within earshot.