��𝔬𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔣 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘮𝘺 🫀𝒯ℴ 𝒴ℴ𝓊? She/Her | Black | Pan Demi-Girl!
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Can you please write headcanons for Erik, Charles, Logan, Hank, Peter, and Kurt (from x men movies) crushing on the reader who has powers like Bella from twilight and Aizawa from my hero academia anime? And also how they will react when they get jealous after seeing her getting close with some other guy.
If you don't know them, then their powers are these: Aizawa has a power that allows him to nullify/disable his opponents' powers by simply looking at them. And Bella has the ability to create a shield around her or others from her mind that gives protection from mind reading, attacks etc. Thanks ❤️
Hi! Thank you so much for your detailed order; it’s really well thought out, and I’ll definitely get started on it. However, there’s one little issue I need to address first. Peter has requested that I handle something else before I jump in—Peter Parker, Peter Quill, Peter Wisdom, or Piotr or Pietro (sometimes he just goes by Peter, as you know). Once I’ve taken care of that, I’ll be right on it.
Send me a message giving me the specification of Peter and I will give you what you asked for!
Thank you for your patience!
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NOCTURNAL ANIMAL.
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Kurt Wagner x Wife! Fem! Reader.
¿Request? Yes!
This is a NSFW Headcanon! (Pwp?)
warnings ⸺ mdni! (18+ ONLY),Dark themes, violence/death, blood, ¿OOC Kurt? Idk, nsfw, dubcon, religious references, established relationship, marriage, praise, scratching, AFAB! Reader, biting, explicit sex, dacryphilia, rough sex, creampie, crying, penetration, masturbation, oral reception (F+M! Receiving), hair pulling, tail kink, messy kissing.
sinopsis ⸺ He was like a wild animal, marked by a fierce and primal need. Every kiss, every touch, every sigh from him was an act of worship and possession. In the eyes of God, his only sin was loving you too much, until his love became an uncontrollable fire that consumed him completely. In his desperation, he was capable of anything to have you, to make you his, to show that his devotion knew no bounds. And as he gave himself to you, the echo of his sin resonated in every corner of his being.
A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is— This is for @lieberhase. My apologies for the delay, this is the most overdue request I have. I’ve been overwhelmed with many things to do, and I couldn't dedicate the time it truly deserved. I’m sorry it turned out short; the last thing I want is to cause you any inconvenience. I really appreciate your patience and understanding, and I promise I will do my best to ensure this doesn't happen again. Thank you for your support, I truly value it ♡
Kurt was a two-faced demon, much like his parents. When you first started dating, some time after meeting at the institute, he played the part of your perfect prince, treating you like you were his deity. He loved marking you with kisses in the most visible places and often sought heated make-out sessions in front of anyone he deemed a rival. Kurt wanted to eliminate every suitor who dared enter your life—and he succeeded more than once! But it broke his heart to see you sad and distraught after hearing that yet another new friend had died under mysterious circumstances. So he resigned himself to simply pouring his jealous fervor into you instead, finding that preferable to seeing your friends strung up somewhere with bloody claw marks and sword-inflicted wounds that, indirectly, you had caused.
In the early days of your physical relationship, he was fixated on making you climax first. Often, he would start with his mouth, using his long tongue (his demonic heritage shining through) to worship your cunt on his face. He could stay like that for hours, wanting only to adore your small, tender flesh against his mouth. His deep moans reverberated against your slick, sensitive skin, mixing your juices with his hot saliva. His tail held you firmly in place, preventing you from squirming too much from the overstimulation. He couldn’t stop; the scent of your sweetness filling his nose and mouth with each roll of your hips, your desperation to climax—all of it was divine. To see you twist and tremble with abandon above him, lost in pleasure, was to glimpse paradise. He whispered praises in German, words slipping out in the language of his euphoria, too intoxicated to bother with English.
When you returned the favor, Kurt was, in truth, a little hesitant. Don’t get him wrong—he loved the way you did it. You were incredible, but the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks whenever his tip hit the back of your throat drove him absolutely wild. The air felt thick as you stroked him, his cock slick with your spit and his precum, his breath hitching every time you gazed up at him with those pretty, puppy-like eyes. Your tongue moved eagerly around him, and as you took him into the warmth of your mouth, he began to lose control. “I love you… oh... Liebling, you know you’re mine, right?... All... mine” he moaned, voice growing louder as he unraveled. And when he could take no more, he grabbed your hair and thrust into your mouth with abandon, calling out his love for you in German. At last, he would spill deeply down your throat, ensuring you swallowed every drop. “You’re so good, Schatz… so perfect.”
Sixty-nine was another favorite of his, a chaotic symphony of sensations as if fireworks were exploding within both your stomachs, a shared euphoria bordering on divinity itself.
Before marriage, you two only engaged in oral sex. Kurt wanted to preserve both your purity and his until the right time, refusing to penetrate you even when you begged for it. “I’m sorry, Engel... I love you, and I’d do anything for you, but it’s better if we wait, no matter how much it hurts...” he’d whisper, lying next to you, feeling each restraint chipping at his resolve. He stored away that primal need to take you, to lose himself in you like an animal in heat, all so the moment could be special for both of you, but especially for you.
Yet, when the time came and that fragile barrier shattered, he couldn’t stop himself. He captured you in a fierce embrace, pushing into you, his cock sinking deep and finding the sweetest, most tender part of you. The gentle Kurt you once knew vanished, replaced by a primal version of himself, ready to mark you, to fill you, to claim you. He growled, his hips moving with wild, relentless force, fucking you harder with each thrust. His cock pulsed inside you, his balls slapping against you as he drove deeper. Leaning in, he bit down on your shoulder hard enough to leave a lasting mark.
He loved telling you how beautiful you looked, tear-streaked and drooling just for him. Your nails dug sensually into his back, making him blush and delirious, thrilled that you were marking him, in turn, your own way. “Meine Liebe… deine Muschi ist so eng…” he moaned in your ear, his tail teasing your clit or pressing into your other entrance, all while using his thick cock to reach those perfect spots inside you, watching with delight as you trembled beneath him. He savored the way your cunt clenched around him, fitting him so beautifully.
He moved you like his own personal doll, molding your insides to the shape of his cock on every surface he could find. Your cries and his groans echoed through the house as he bent you to his will. “Oh God, I’m going to fill you up… we’ll be a big family,” he muttered right before spilling his hot seed deep inside, painting your tender walls with his essence.
“Mmm... Yes… take my seed, Liebling... Let me fill you with my essence... let the world see you’re mine,” he purred, his fingers pressing his cum deeper inside you, ensuring you were utterly filled with him.
Even afterward, when you lay limp on the bed, he would take care of you, murmuring endless apologies for his roughness, kissing every mark he left, cradling you gently as he carried you to the bath to clean up. “Rest now, Engel… there’s still so much ahead... I won’t stop until you understand that no one else could ever make you feel like I do.”
A/N ─── Okay, so, this was way out of character. I know, I know, Kurt would definitely be kind and gentle during sex because, well, that's just who he is—he's all about that soft, caring energy, especially in intimate moments. But honestly, I feel like Yandere!Kurt would be soooo different. Like, in a completely different league.
If we’re talking about Yandere!Kurt, things would shift. His love would still be intense, but in a way that borders on obsessive. We all know how deeply Kurt feels about his loved ones, how protective he is of those he cares about, right? But Yandere!Kurt would take that to a whole other level. He wouldn’t just be gentle and thoughtful—he’d be possessive, maybe even a bit possessive to the point of being a little too protective.
I can totally see him being that way in a more intimate setting, especially if he’s completely devoted to someone. He’d be gentle at first, but there’s always that undercurrent of control and adoration in everything he does. He’d need to feel like you’re his, like you're totally and utterly his. Every touch would feel like a claim, a marking of his territory, but in the softest, most intimate way possible, you know?
It’s like he wouldn’t just want to please you—he’d want to possess you. In his mind, his love would be absolute, and he would do anything to make sure you never leave his side. The love he feels would be a mixture of devotion and this intense need to keep you close. So, yeah, Yandere!Kurt would be different. More... intense. More possessive. More desperate to make sure you never, ever doubt his devotion. It’s almost like his kindness would become overwhelming because he’d want to keep you, forever.
It would be the sweetest, most obsessive love, and honestly, I think that would be such a wild, yet compelling dynamic for him. Just imagine him loving you so much that he can’t let go, always ensuring you’re safe, always there, and yes, maybe even a little overboard, but that’s what makes it so unique.
But anyway, I hope you all liked this! If you want anything else, feel free to ask me anytime. I’m always up for requests!
Take a bath!!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x reader#marvel x reader#marvel x you#marvel xmen#kurt wagner x reader#kurt wagner#yandere marvel#afab reader#tw.yandere#tw.dubcon#yandere kurt wagner
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i don't have a request but I do have a question, I know you have Connor Kent in your request list but which Connor Kent do you do. Is it specialty from the comic or do you do other versions of him as well, like from young justice or titans ect. Just wondering?
Hi! Great question, and thanks for asking. Here’s how it works: I can do any version of Conner Kent, as long as you specify which one you want. For example, if you request "Conner Kent from Young Justice" or "Conner Kent from Titans," then I'll focus on that specific Conner, with all the details that make him unique in that version.
Now, if you just ask for "Conner Kent" without any details... well, then you’re giving me free rein to choose the Conner I find most fitting or the one I happen to like the most at the time. After all, I have to add a little spice to things, right? But as long as you’re clear about which version you want, I’ll be happy to fulfill your exact request. So, remember—just specify, and the character is yours!
Thanks for asking! I hope this answered your question.
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Bruce: Omg, my precious baby, I'm such a terrible father… *continues to wallow in self-pity*
Damian: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AdfxWwswMQk
(lol, that was the first thing that came to my mind when I read that part. Pd: beautiful work, bb <3)
Bruce during chapter 4:
Damian sick of him;
Alfred in some corner;
Thanks! I appreciate your support♡
But no, you're really going to see Bruce crying and Damian being a bitch all the time. You will also see a lot of Alfred making everyone in the family suffer with his silence. Especially Bruce, who is the one who demands to know about his daughter and he completely ignores him. Bruce is a crybaby here, and I don't know, I like him.
And you might wonder, what about the other Batkids? Good question.
I Don't know
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x reader#neutral reader#dc x reader#yandere batman#yandere damian wayne#yandere dc#yandere alfred pennyworth#memes
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pt.4 SILLY LITTLE BAT
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.
sinopsis ⸺ In a Gotham steeped in darkness, Bruce Wayne confronts a past resonating with secrets. As he uncovers the identity of an enigmatic antiheroine, he will discover hidden truths that will stain his legacy. Blood, a symbol of betrayals, intertwines with his fate, revealing that darkness dwells within him as well.
warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, tw.noncon, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia
Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3
A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I took a long time because I went on vacation, I wasn’t inspired, I had a lot of things to catch up on, and blah blah blah. The good thing is that I brought part 4, and just so you know, there are about four or five more parts of the story, maybe more.
I'm dirty, infinitely dirty,
this is why I scream so much
about purity.
Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the memories and the silence that now inhabited that room. Every corner of that space reminded him of his daughter's presence, a presence that had been fragile and ephemeral, like smoke disappearing between fingers. He looked at the diplomas and trophies on the shelves, those small proofs of her effort and dedication. He caressed them with the same reverence he used when going through old photographs, searching for something, anything, that would tell him he had done enough, that he had been a good father.
But he only saw the same emptiness in her eyes that he had known since childhood. She resembled him more than he would have imagined. In her dull gaze, in her absent smile, he recognized the same pain that had accompanied him after his parents' death. He realized, almost bitterly, that this darkness was an inheritance, a shadow he had left in her without realizing it.
Bruce ran his fingers over an old photo from her first birthday after losing his mother. That day, Alfred had secretly taken her to Metropolis in a desperate attempt to give her some happiness. But even at the amusement park, where laughter and noise were contagious, her face remained a vacant mask. She wasn’t really smiling, as if something inside her knew she would never have the normalcy that other children enjoyed.
With a heavy sigh, Bruce rested his head on the pillow that had been hers, wanting to cling to the scent of his daughter. But there was no trace of her aroma left. Alfred, in an act of rigor that Bruce couldn’t understand, had eliminated any trace of her, perhaps trying to close a wound that Bruce was unwilling to let heal. He had reproached Alfred for hours and hours for erasing that last vestige of his daughter. But Alfred’s look, serious and filled with silence, told him what he already knew: maybe he didn’t deserve to keep those memories because he had failed to protect the person he loved most.
He closed his eyes, sinking into the pain of each thought that emerged from that dark room. Everything reminded him that, somehow, he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, as if his own shadows had consumed her. In his mind, images of what he could have done differently began to surface, a parade of possibilities where he was a better father, more attentive and less blind to her suffering.
Suddenly, Titus and Alfred the Cat entered together through the door, coming in silently, as if they understood the weight of that moment. Titus approached Bruce, resting his massive head on his knee, while Alfred the Cat jumped onto Bruce's lap, purring softly. Bruce petted the dog and the cat, finding in them the only comfort that seemed left to him. His voice trembled when, in an almost delirious tone, he confessed to them:
"Maybe I’m the real killer here. What kind of father lets his daughter get lost in the dark? What kind of monster was I that I never saw her pain? If she’s dead… if my little girl has left this world… then I am the only one responsible."
He paused, breathing heavily, as the words he wanted to suppress escaped his lips in a bitter and disturbing whisper. "Sometimes I wish I had… had stopped her mother. If she hadn’t been… if I had raised her from the beginning… I could have saved her from so much pain."
The words, though spoken in a barely audible murmur, weighed heavily in the room. He caressed the pillow, almost pleading for the past to change, for every mistake to be undone. The cat purred softly, as if understanding the pain Bruce was trying to stifle deep in his chest. Titus looked at him with eyes full of loyalty, without judging him, but not offering the redemption he desperately sought.
"I would give anything for a second chance," he whispered, his voice broken. "I would give my life to undo every moment that made her drift away. I would give anything to see her smile again, even if it were just once… even if it were just to tell her how sorry I am."
The house was silent, and in that instant, Bruce understood that there were no words, no time, no strength that could change the past. He was trapped in an abyss of guilt, with only shadows and memories now haunting him, reflecting his own empty and broken face.
Finally, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling the emptiness in his chest, tears began to fall onto the pillow, soaking it with his pain, as if the weight of his own guilt slid out in every sob he tried to stifle. His face was buried in the memory of his daughter, lost in the pain that tormented him with an intensity he could no longer bear.
It was then that Damian entered, dressed as Robin, with his katana stained with a dark red liquid that could be nothing other than blood, with a sharp and direct arrogance, breaking the silent mourning of Bruce. Coldly, he looked at his father and pronounced, almost with disdain, "No matter how much you cry like a whore, Y/N won’t come back."
Bruce looked up, surprised and hurt, but before he could respond, Damian continued with the same hardness. "While everyone was out in a gang like a bunch of lowlifes and came back empty-handed, I found something you didn’t even bother to look for while lying here like a cheap whore." Damian looked at him with a mix of disappointment and reproach, as if he couldn’t understand how his father had let so many signs slip by.
"Did you know? I had a relationship with Ivy, that old woman who had the indecency to date my little sister while being an old hag. Plus, she worked as a waitress in some bar wearing little clothes to survive. Like some common bitch. And the last time, she was seen in the subway, with a strange man with psychiatric crazy vibes... surely another one that slipped away while you were lying here." Damian’s words were blows to Bruce, each revelation a testament to how much he had let slip away.
Damian continued, each phrase laden with resentment and questions. "Why did she have to work? Why did she, the daughter of the renowned multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, the masked hero of Gotham, have to depend on a miserable paycheck that didn’t even cover the end of the month? And the subway, father, did she really have to take the subway like any unknown person in this city?"
Bruce looked down, unable to respond. Each of those questions was a dagger reminding him how far he had been from understanding his own daughter. He had ignored, or perhaps never wanted to see, the sacrifices she made to survive, the paths she took in search of something he had never given her. Now, with Damian's words filling the silence, Bruce realized he had condemned his daughter to the same fate he was trying to combat on the streets.
Damian watched him, his gaze cold and critical, as the room filled with a tense silence. For the first time, Bruce understood that perhaps he was never the hero he thought he was, and that in his attempt to protect everyone, he had failed to protect the one who needed him the most.
Bruce felt anger bubbling inside him, intensifying with each word that left Damian's lips. "How dare you come in here and say that? You weren’t a brother to her, you weren’t there when she needed you the most," he shot back, his voice echoing in the room like dark thunder. The image of his daughter intertwined with his rage, each contained tear now fueling his fury.
Damian frowned, unrestrained. "That's how I show my affection; you should be used to it," he retorted disdainfully, recalling that moment when he arrived at the mansion, he had stabbed Y/N with his katana. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t have to accept your reproaches. Everyone failed Y/N, even you."
"Don’t try to blame others for your own failures!" Bruce shouted, frustration filling every corner of his being. "You weren’t there, Damian. You can’t always hide behind your arrogance."
Damian crossed his arms, his defiant attitude unbreakable. "And what if I wasn't? At least I didn’t hide behind a mask of sadness. Better stop reproaching me and listen to what I have for you." He stepped closer, pulling out a half-open old cardboard box. "I brought you a gift."
Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "What is it now?"
"I went looking for Selina, but she slipped away like a scared kitten," Damian said, mocking the situation. "A waste of time, but I found Ivy in Arkham. She said little about Y/N, which annoyed me, so… well, here you go." He opened the box slowly, revealing Poison Ivy's head, the fresh blood still dripping from the edges.
Her face, once beautiful, was now serene, with pale skin and a touch of green that evoked her connection to nature. Her normally vibrant red hair now fell messily around her face, while her eyes, closed forever, seemed almost at peace, as if she had found a breath in the chaos she once inhabited.
Bruce felt as if the world had stopped. There was no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness where anger and sadness collided. "What have you done?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but resignation permeated every word. The life of his daughter, the decisions he had made and what that meant now overwhelmed him.
Damian shrugged. "She was a monster, just like all of us. What matters is that now you have something tangible, something you can show."
"What kind of family are we?" Bruce let slip, feeling defeated. "This family is a failure."
"Oh, so it turns out we’ve been a family all this time?" Damian replied, scornful, but his tone was less certain.
Bruce closed his eyes, feeling the discomfort of the situation. "Take me to the apartment where she lived," he said, his voice enigmatic and cold. It was a request that resonated with the gravity of what he had lost, an echo of what he had failed to protect. As Damian looked at him with surprise and a hint of concern, Bruce knew that the truth he would face in that place was beyond any form of redemption. The darkness that had invaded his life was about to be confronted, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he would find.
As Bruce and Damian prepared to leave, Titus and Alfred the Cat watched them from a distance. The dog remained alert, his ears perked, as if he could sense the tension looming in the air. His instinct told him that something grave was about to happen. Alfred, with his wise and sharp gaze, seemed to share the same unease, his eyes fixed on the men who were heading toward the dark fate they had chosen.
As Bruce and Damian headed for the door, Titus stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent message, a call to reason that his owners could not hear amid their emotional turmoil. Alfred the Cat, with his elegant stride, approached Bruce and rubbed his head against his leg, seeking comfort for the hero who seemed on the brink of losing himself even further in the darkness.
Turning around, Bruce felt a pang in his heart. He looked at his animals, those innocent beings who had always been there to offer him companionship, and realized that they were aware of what was about to come. In a world where violence and betrayal lurked around every corner, their departure was the beginning of something much darker.
With one last look, Bruce found himself in Titus's eyes, reflecting a mix of loyalty and worry. It was as if the dog knew that the decision they were making would not only affect them but would also drag others into a chaos from which they could not escape.
Damian, impatient, had already crossed the threshold, but Bruce paused for one more moment. "I’m sorry," he murmured, although he was not sure to whom he was really addressing: whether to the animals who looked at him with eyes full of wisdom or to himself for the path he had chosen.
However, it was already too late to turn back. With one last glance at the room where it all began, and at the animals who looked at him with concern, Bruce stepped into the dark world that awaited them, unaware that soon, everything would get worse. The air was charged with ominous anticipation, and the feeling that tragedy loomed over them like a shadow, deep and inevitable.
You lay on the bed, your body still heavy from the forced encounter, thoughts fluttering in your mind like butterflies trapped in a net. The room was enveloped in an unsettling gloom, the air thick with a tension that could not be ignored. Beside you, he breathed with a calm that contrasted with the whirlwind inside you. There was no name, no face to remember; it was just him, the one who had kidnapped you and made you his own, a figure who had taken your life and distorted it at will.
As you stared at the ceiling, the silence became a mirror of your thoughts. Rage and hatred toward your family surged within you, feelings that had once seemed so distant. They didn’t understand you, they hadn’t been there to protect you, and now, in this strange intimacy, you found yourself wishing to be with him more than with them. Confusion engulfed you; on one hand, there was a part of you longing for affection and acceptance, while on the other, there was a strange pleasure in the situation, a desire to escape the life that had caused you so much suffering.
Despite everything, you missed your mother. Her laughter, her hugs, the way she always knew how to calm your fears. But that maternal figure was slowly fading from your memory, drowned by the anguish of betrayal and loneliness. You found yourself trapped between the desire to remember the good and the hatred toward the past that had brought you here.
As the room remained silent, a dark and almost self-destructive impulse took hold of you. With trembling movements, you picked up a sharp object and pressed it against your skin, feeling a sting that was both physical and emotional. In that moment, you thought about the irony of your situation: you had lost control of your life, and in seeking an escape, you chose to hurt yourself.
The duality of your feelings was heartbreaking. On one hand, you yearned for freedom, to reclaim your identity and the love that had been taken from you. On the other, there was a part of you that felt alive in this new relationship, a twisted connection that kept you captive. The internal struggle manifested in every thought and every action, revealing the complexity of your situation.
You remembered moments from his life, the wounds he carried, and the pain he had faced. Had Bruce ever been so lost, so filled with sadness that he had to do the unthinkable to feel something? The idea that the man you admired could also have been vulnerable struck you like a revelation. You wondered if he had ever cried in solitude, questioning his place in the world, if he had ever felt so trapped in his own life.
As you touched your stomach, an old pain resurfaced. There, beneath the skin, was a scar, a reminder of the time Damian had hurt you with his katana, an act that had been both an attack and a cry of desperation. The brush of your fingers over the wound, although healed, still brought memories of suffering and betrayal, a deep connection intertwined with the pain you felt now. The scar was a metaphor for your life: a wound that would never fully heal, a reminder that pain is part of your existence.
Tears fell more forcefully as you thought about how your family’s decisions, rivalries, and chaos had influenced your life. Bruce, with his constant struggle against the shadows of his past, was a reflection of what you could have been: strong, determined, but also broken and lost. In that moment, you felt just like him, entangled in a cycle of suffering and confusion.
You allowed yourself to cry, feeling that perhaps in that vulnerability there was some freedom. It was a relief, an act of resistance in the midst of the oppression that surrounded you. As the outside world faded away, the pain of the scar became a reminder that, despite everything, there was still a part of you yearning to break free, wanting to escape this darkness. And amid that sadness, one thought grew stronger: perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to find your path again.
The man let go of your cheek and, with a casual gesture, lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing in the air like shadows in the dim light of the room. His eyes, fixed on you, had a dangerous intensity. "Do you see this?" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Now you are stained, like Gotham. You’ve been in the mud, and it’s your duty to clean yourself up. This is just the beginning."
He looked at you with a twisted smile, an expression that mixed amusement and dominance. "You have to understand that you can’t escape from what you are. The city is a reflection of yourself. And like Gotham, you too need to be purified." With a sudden movement, he offered you the cigarette. "Smoke. It will help you forget the tears."
You hesitated, but his eyes challenged you, a clear message that there was no room for denial. With a mix of fear and despair, you brought the cigarette to your lips, feeling its bitterness touch your tongue. "Don’t make me repeat myself," he said, his voice a cold whisper. "I want you to feel the poison, just like the city does. You are part of it now, and you must accept your role."
The pressure of his words overwhelmed you, each syllable a reminder of your distorted reality. "But why me?" you stammered, feeling desperation twisting inside you. "Why do I have to be part of this?"
"Because there is no choice," he replied with disdain. "There never was. Every day, every decision you made has led you here. Weakness is not an option. Look around you; Gotham has no place for the weak. If you want to survive, you need to get your hands dirty. And believe me, there is a lot of blood to clean up."
Your heart raced as you inhaled the smoke, the burning filling your lungs and leaving a feeling of emptiness. "What do you want from me?" you asked, feeling the power he had over you strangling you.
"I just want you to accept your new place. I want you to understand that in this world, death and destruction are inevitable. There is no redemption for the stained, but you can try to fix it… in your own way."
He trapped you in a dark cycle of thoughts, where each of his words echoed in your mind like a terrifying echo. You knew he was playing with you, manipulating your emotions. "If you don’t clean yourself, you will suffer the consequences. And if you cry for her again, I promise you will pay for it," he said, tightening his grip on your arm.
As the smoke dissipated into the air, the feeling of being trapped became more palpable. You found yourself between acceptance and internal struggle, but deep down, you knew you had to find a way out. However, the darkness around you grew more intense, and each of his words was another chain binding you to this fate you had not chosen.
The air thickened as he exhaled smoke, the room filling with a gray fog that seemed to reflect the chaos in your mind. He looked at you with an intensity that overflowed with obsession, a strange mix of affection and dominance that enveloped you. Despite the tears running down your face, you felt no sadness or fear. You had passed the stage of terror; now you felt strangely alive, almost liberated in your pain.
"My dear," he said in a soft yet authoritative voice, "you must not see this as a punishment. It is a purification. Gotham needs someone who understands its pain, and you are the chosen one." He leaned closer to you, his hot breath on your skin. "You are like a spark in this darkness, and together we can illuminate it. You just have to let the poison flow through you. With each tear, you are cleansing the city."
As he held you, the contact between the two of you was electric, and a part of you began to understand his madness, the way he had woven his dreams of greatness and purification through your own desires for belonging. "Did you know my mother was in Arkham?" he continued, as if sharing a special secret. "She was stained too. In her mind, she fought demons that no one else could see, just like you now. And look where she ended up: trapped in her own memories, in her own shadows."
The revelation hit you. A fragment of pain resurfaced, intertwining with the new knowledge. "What… what happened to her?" you asked, your voice trembling. It wasn’t sadness you felt; it was curiosity to know that story that had remained hidden.
"She got lost in the darkness of Gotham, just like everyone else," he said with contempt. "But that doesn’t have to be your destiny. You are stronger. My mother let herself be consumed by her madness, but you… you can take control. Let me guide you."
You fell silent, contemplating his words. The tears continued to fall, but now they were just a part of you, a manifestation of the internal struggle. You knew you were trapped in a dangerous game, but there was something in his promise of power and control that began to seduce you.
"So cry if you need to," he said, caressing your cheek with a touch that was both gentle and threatening. "But don’t let those tears weaken you. Every time you feel the urge to cry for her, remember what you are. Remember that the city needs someone like you to cleanse it of the filth."
"How can I do that?" you asked, feeling the echo of his words resonate in your mind. "How can I clean something so deeply rooted in darkness?"
"With determination," he answered firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of fervor and madness. "You must learn to see the beauty in chaos. There is power in pain. With every action you take, with every decision you make, you will be purifying Gotham of its own decay. And I will be by your side, guiding you. Together, we will be unstoppable."
As you absorbed his words, a strange sense of purpose began to take shape within you. Although his love was perverse, there was something in his vision that resonated with you, as if you were destined to fulfill that role. As the smoke from the cigarette faded into the air, so too did your fears, leaving only a cold and clear determination: you were going to take control of your destiny, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.
"No! I don’t want you to go!" shouted little Y/n, clinging to her mother's handbag with the desperation of someone who knows something important is about to slip away.
Her mother, a blonde woman with a tired gaze, let out a sigh of impatience. Y/n couldn't quite remember her face, but she knew it hardened at the tug on her bag, and without thinking, she pushed the girl, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Y/n looked up from below, her big eyes reflecting a mix of fear and pain.
"Stop being silly, Y/n," her mother murmured, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. She leaned down, trying to smile, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed her. "You know I have to do this... for both of us. Everything I do is for you, even if you don’t understand it now."
The girl nodded slowly, but inside, she felt the truth—that repeated phrase was just a curtain. She knew there was something broken in her mother, something she was too young to fully comprehend but sensed in every harsh gesture, in every bitter word that hung in the air. Something that made her feel alone, even when they were together.
Her mother straightened up, adjusting the bag as if it weighed tons. She raised a hand in a mechanical farewell, and without another word, she left through the door without looking back.
Days passed in a haze of silence and dry tears. Y/n had no idea how much time had passed since her mother left, leaving the echo of her footsteps as the only reminder of her presence. Hugging herself, she spent the nights waiting for some familiar sound that never came.
When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her surroundings had completely changed. She was no longer at home; she was sitting in a cold, unfamiliar room, with gray walls and flickering lights dimly overhead. In the distance, she could hear whispering voices.
"How is it possible that someone left such a small child alone?" It was the firm, serious voice of a man. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she distinguished a police badge on the man's uniform. It read Commissioner Gordon.
Next to him, a red-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Dad, you can't be sure. Maybe it was just a lie. You know how her mother was: a history of psychiatric hospitals and drugs at home. How do we know she didn't make up the story about Wayne?"
"Barbara, we have evidence that doesn't lie," Gordon replied coldly, his tone tinged with disdain. "We know the paternity test is real."
The girl felt the world sway around her. She listened to every word and felt each comment like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest. Those adults, figures of authority and trust, spoke of her mother as if she were little more than a mistake, something despicable that had left scars on her life. Sitting there, hidden behind a wall and hugging her knees, tears returned to her eyes, a mix of sadness and a terrifying understanding of what it meant to be alone in the world.
"Do you really think someone like that should have had a child in her care?" Barbara said from her wheelchair, her tone full of contempt. "She was probably just looking for easy money, manipulating everyone she could."
Commissioner Gordon frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Barbara, that's not fair! Even if she didn’t lead the best life, she was still a citizen like anyone else, and she had the right to rebuild her life. No one is perfect."
From her corner, Y/n tried to cover her ears, but Barbara's words were impossible to ignore.
"I can't believe it, Dad. How could anyone in their right mind have left a child in the hands of that woman?" Barbara said with a cold, almost poisoned voice. "Someone who clearly had drug addiction problems and who was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I bet she didn’t even know who the real father was."
Each word made Y/n's chest tighten even more. Her mind screamed silently: Stop! Please stop saying that about her! Her small hands trembled as she remembered the moments she had spent with her mother. Her mother, who although had those dark days and her brusque manner, had fed her, tucked her in, and cared for her as best as she could. Despite her mistakes, she had been her mother, and that was all Y/n could understand.
But Barbara’s words kept filling the room, like a storm of resentment. "I don't know how Bruce can even be involved in something like this. That woman was a burden to everyone. I can't imagine anyone worse as a mother."
Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block it out. It's not true. She’s not bad. She took care of me. We didn’t have much, but she always tried to be there for me. But no matter how hard her thoughts tried to silence the pain, Barbara's words left deep scars, increasingly difficult to heal.
As Y/n remained there, her tears already dry, her thoughts twisted in her mind like threatening shadows. She heard the echoes of Barbara's cruel words and Gordon's, and a silent resentment grew in her chest, almost like a slow poison. She tried to remember the good moments with her mother, but the dark thoughts seemed to drown them out. She was good, she was good... No, you can't say that about her... But those same thoughts tangled with hate and confusion, and the pain grew stronger.
Suddenly, everything turned white. The walls, the voices, the cold metal chair beneath her legs... everything disappeared into a blinding void that enveloped every corner of her mind. And then, there was only her, standing in that white abyss, with a strange weight on her shoulders and in her hands.
She looked down and saw a white armor, shining as if made of shards of moon and shadow. It covered her body completely, with firm, polished plates that fit like a second skin, protecting every part of her. The gauntlets were solid, with sharp and detailed edges, and in her hands, she wielded two katanas whose blades reflected that void like deadly mirrors.
The design of the armor was imposing and terrifying. The helmet resembled a bat, with long pointed ears extending upward, and a dark V-shaped visor that barely revealed her eyes. The lines that ran across her chest and arms formed the silhouette of folded wings, as if that bat awaited to unfold at any moment. The chest was engraved with fine black details, resembling veins radiating dark power. In the center, a small emblem in the shape of a black teardrop contrasted with the radiant white of the armor, like a mark of pain and sacrifice.
In the dim light of the void where she stood, Y/n felt the weight of the katanas in her hands as if they were extensions of her own being. In that moment, the white armor fit her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the power she now possessed. She looked at herself in a non-existent reflection, feeling that every part of her being was ready to act, to reclaim what she had lost.
With a tremor of emotion and a palpable obsession, she held them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Words flowed from her lips, laden with a burning, almost manic desire: "Soon you will be mine... I will go home. I will be my little girl again."
The echo of her voice resonated in the white void, vibrating with the intensity of her longing. In her mind, an image formed of a home, a place where shadows no longer lurked and where her mother, though imperfect, would be able to embrace her once more. The idea of being together again, of transforming her pain into power, filled her with a fierce determination.
"I will come back for you," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of tears and a crazed smile. "Nothing will stop me. I promise." The choked laughter turned into a murmur of echoes, resonating in the abyss like a sinister promise, as the world around her began to fade again, leaving her alone with her obsession and her new identity.
In the silence, whispers began to rise, soft at first, but increasingly insistent. One word repeated, muted yet burning, like a spark in the shadows.
K
e
r
o
s
e
n
e
The word reverberated in the void, growing more intense, like a kind of dark mantra. And when Y/n could barely bear the weight of those voices, one final phrase emerged, chilling and final:
"Death is the ultimate prize."
You walked through the halls of the old apartment block, your white armor shining in the dim light, like a bat defying the embrace of the night. The echoes of your heels resonated, a dark song reverberating in the solitude of the worn walls.
Your figure, sculpted in gleaming metal, was a silhouette of elegance and mystery, as you hummed a forgotten melody, slipping between the shadows like a whisper of the forbidden. Each step was a heartbeat in the silence, a chilling reminder that there is still life in abandonment.
The portraits on the walls watched you, empty eyes that seemed to come alive, as you moved with the grace of a specter, a macabre dance of light and shadow at dusk.
The doors, worn and creaking, whispered secrets of past stories, and you, guardian of those forgotten tales, advanced fearlessly, seeking what was left behind.
You were an enigma, a reflection of the lost, a shadow walking, dressed in white, in a world clinging to its demons, where the past and present intertwine in a lethal embrace, and the night waits, eager for your return.
You paused before the door of one of the apartments, its frayed wood opening like an abyss, a dark invitation that defied logic. The silence became thick, almost palpable, and the echo of your humming faded, leaving a void that swallowed the darkness.
The threshold awaited you, a portal to the unknown, and a cold breeze, laden with whispers, caressed your skin like a lost lover. Inside, the shadows seemed to come alive, a palace of echoes and laments, where time had woven a web.
Your heart raced, a mix of adrenaline and challenge, as you gently pushed the door. It creaked in protest, like an old ghost, and when it opened, revealed an abandoned world, furniture covered in dust, with withered memories.
The remnants of a past life crowded every corner, and a scent of decay floated in the air, but something more, a glimpse of presence, urged you to enter, to explore the hidden. You peered in, and the dimness embraced you, as if the apartment claimed you as its own.
Each step on the creaky floor was an act of daring, and the walls seemed to murmur forgotten secrets, stories of betrayed loves and lost souls. In the center of the room, a dark, diffuse, and shadowy figure formed among the shadows, like an echo of your own existence, a reflection of what could have been.
You stood still, breath held in the abyss of the moment, the half-open door, a threshold to your destiny, and the silence, now laden with promises, stripped you of fears, leaving only the certainty that in that space, you faced the echoes of your own darkness.
As you advanced, your eyes fixed on a dusty, worn wooden box resting on the small dining table. Something about it drew you in, as if it held a dark secret. You approached and, with trembling hands, opened it. Inside, horror was revealed: the head of Poison Ivy, the green hair still vibrant, a gaze frozen in time. You didn’t cry, but a slight tremor coursed through your body, a mixture of surprise and disdain for the brutality that had taken place in that space.
"Normally you enter through the window," you murmur to the air, with an ironic smile on your lips, as if addressing a presence you hoped would appear.
And then, as if the night itself had responded to your call, Batman emerged from the shadows, his dark figure silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window. The air became tense in an instant.
"Who are you?" he asked, his grave voice resonating with a mix of distrust and anger. "What are you doing in the apartment of Bruce Wayne's daughter?"
You laughed, a laugh that echoed in the empty room, filled with irony and knowledge.
"His daughter?" you mocked, your eyes shining with a mix of challenge and amusement. "So Y/n is your daughter. Isn’t it curious how things intertwine in this city?"
The silence grew heavy, and you felt his gaze intensify, evaluating every word you had spoken. He knew you had crossed a line, but the revelation had ignited a spark of playfulness in you.
"How do you know who I am?" The question slipped from his lips, but there was no fear, just an unsettling curiosity.
"Gotham has its secrets, Bruce. And I, like you, am part of this darkness. The identity of a hero or heroine is just a game of shadows, and in this game, you and I know how to move between the lines."
You stood firm, the tension between you palpable, as the echo of laughter still resonated in the air. Batman's figure, always imposing and enigmatic, seemed to waver at the revelation that in this dark labyrinth, he was not the only player.
The tension intensified, and Batman took a step forward, approaching you with an intense gaze.
"How do you know about my daughter?" he inquired, his voice brusque, each word laden with frustration. You remained firm, crossing your arms, letting the silence settle between you.
"Oh, Gotham speaks, even in whispers. The city has a way of revealing what heroes prefer to hide," you replied disdainfully. "Your life, your secrets, are more exposed than you think." He frowned, anger crackling in his eyes.
"What do you know about Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening, as if waiting for you to throw down a challenge.
"I know you didn't want her. That you left her in the shadows while you dedicated yourself to your personal crusade," you replied, irony dancing in your tone. "That girl grew up without a father, and you, the great hero of Gotham, preferred to be a myth."
Rage etched itself on his face, but there was something more, a hidden pain surfacing behind the armor of his anger.
"It's not that simple, and you have no idea what I've done for her," he retorted, his voice tense, each word like a blow.
"Really?" you asked, flashing a mocking smile. "What have you done? Cut off her partner's head, the only person I love, just to extract invalid information? What a great father."
An uncomfortable silence settled between you, as the air vibrated with unspoken emotions.
"You are not one to judge me," he declared, his voice tense. "You know nothing of what I've sacrificed."
"Maybe not, but I know enough about the void you've left," you replied, undeterred. "And I know Ivy was there for her. You, the hero, vanished while others took on the role of father."
The anger shone in his eyes, but there was also a spark of recognition. He observed you, assessing the courage that led you to challenge him.
"And who are you to come and point fingers? A lost anti-heroine in her own struggle?" he shot back, his voice laden with contempt.
"I am what Gotham needs," you replied, confident. "A reminder that even heroes like you can fail."
The discussion turned into a power struggle, both of you clinging to your truths, while Poison Ivy's head remained a sinister reminder of the choices you both had made.
Suddenly, Batman's fury exploded like lightning in the darkness. Without warning, he seized you by the neck, lifting you with surprising strength. The air became scarce, and the pressure on your throat made you feel vulnerable, although the mockery never left your expression.
"Where is Y/N?" he demanded, his voice charged with rage and desperation. The shadows moved around him, intensifying his figure, which seemed more monster than hero at that moment.
Despite the iron grip, you kept your gaze fixed on him, challenging him, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.
"Are you that worried about her whereabouts?" you replied, a mocking smile barely hiding your disdain. "Maybe she's hanging from a hook in a slaughterhouse, who knows? That would be an ironic twist for a girl who grew up in the shadow of a hero, don’t you think?"
His eyes narrowed, anger and helplessness battling within him. You leaned in closer, feeling the pressure on your neck, but that only fueled your defiance.
"Don't laugh about this!" he roared, tightening his grip slightly. The fury in his voice was palpable, but something deeper kept him on edge.
"Me? Laughing? You, the great Batman, scared for your daughter's life?" you shot back, never breaking eye contact.
The tension was becoming unbearable, but there was something fascinating about the game you were playing. He was caught between rage and fear, and you, in your shadowy game, fed off his anguish.
"Do you know something? You're losing yourself in your own legend," you continued, while he held you in the air. "I'm sure you once dreamed that she would have died in that alley with her mother."
In that instant, something in his expression changed. The anger slowly faded, giving way to a deep concern, though he still held you firmly.
"I warn you," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "If you lie to me, I won't show mercy."
You laughed again, though the risk was imminent, as your heart raced.
"And what will you do?" you challenged, your voice trembling but resolute. "Threaten me with your dark past? I'm here because I know the truth, and I do not fear your shadows."
Bruce's patience evaporated like smoke in the heavy air of that apartment. With a sudden movement, he hurled you towards the table, the impact resonating with a crash that reverberated through the walls. Your katanas slipped to the floor, leaving you defenseless. The furniture creaked under your weight, but adrenaline kept you alert, your instincts sharp.
You quickly rose, shaking your head to clear the confusion, while the anger on his face transformed into determination.
"I don't have time for your games, Kerosene," he shouted, stepping forward, ready to fight. "If you know Y/N, tell me!"
You steadied yourself, smiling defiantly as you positioned yourself, preparing for combat.
"Do you really think you'll throw away the only one who can help you?" you replied, feeling the pulse of challenge coursing through your veins. "I'm offering you a chance to know the truth, and you choose to fight. Very typical of you."
With a swift movement, he lunged at you, throwing a direct punch. You dodged, making an agile turn, but the atmosphere became a whirlwind of force and speed.
You charged at him, hitting him in the side, feeling how his tense muscles responded to your attack. It was not just a physical fight; it was a clash of wills, an explosion of repressed emotions.
"You’re an idiot if you think you can scare me!" you yelled at him while he tried to immobilize you. You twisted and managed to sidestep him, landing a blow to his jaw that made him stagger.
Bruce quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He advanced again, his movements precise and calculated, while you played with speed and agility.
"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "I just want to know where my daughter is."
"And I just want you to stop living in your hero fantasy," you replied, with a defiant laugh as you dodged another attack. "The truth hurts you, Bruce, and you prefer the fight over facing it."
The exchange of blows continued, the sound of fists colliding and the creaking of breaking furniture filling the air. The room became a battlefield, with the table as the central stage of your struggle.
Bruce, with a mix of skill and strength, cornered you against the wall, but instead of giving up, you seized the closeness. With an agile movement, you pushed him back, making him lose his balance.
"Are you going to keep this up? Destroying what’s left of this city?" you said, breathing heavily but not yielding. "Or are you going to listen to what’s really at stake?"
His eyes were now inches from yours, the fury and frustration of his search fueling the spark of the battle. Both of you were willing to fight, but deep down, you knew there was something deeper at play than just physical strength.
The battle continued, becoming increasingly intense and violent, like a whirlwind of unleashed fury. You launched at him, landing a blow that hit his chest, but Bruce responded with a punch that made you stagger; the force behind his blow was terrifying. The rage emanating from him was palpable, and with each attack, both of you took the struggle to a new level.
The apartment walls vibrated with the thud of bodies colliding and furniture being dragged. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the air as you crashed into a table, breaking it into pieces.
You got back up, a piece of wood in hand, and threw it at him. Bruce dodged it, but the fragment smashed against a lamp, exploding into a million shards. The light flickered before going out, plunging the place into an unsettling darkness.
Both of you moved like shadows through the chaos, and sweat and blood began to mix, the air filled with a metallic smell that only intensified the battle. Bruce landed a punch on your jaw, and you tasted blood in your mouth. You didn’t stop; with a cry of defiance, you responded with a series of rapid blows, each one stronger than the last.
You darted to his side, using your agility to hit him in the ribs. The impact made him stagger, but before you could capitalize on the opportunity, Bruce spun around and kneed you in the abdomen. The air escaped your lungs, and the sharp pain made you fall to your knees. However, you didn’t give up.
With renewed determination, you got up and threw a direct punch to his face, hearing the crack of his skin upon impact. Blood spurted from his lip, and the fact that you had hurt him only fueled his fury. With superhuman strength, he pushed you back, slamming you against a shelf, which gave way and collapsed on you. Books and personal items scattered across the floor, covering the place in even greater chaos.
But there was no time to stop. You rose amongst the debris, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. With a leap, you charged at him again, landing a blow that left a mark on his face. Rage and pain intertwined in the air, and both of you were on the brink of madness.
The room had turned into a battlefield, with blood staining the floor and walls. The apartment’s decor, once a refuge, lay in tatters, as if Gotham itself had decided to yield to the brutality of your confrontation.
Bruce, with his determined gaze locked on you, lunged at you again. Both of you were exhausted, but the fight was a necessity, an uncontrollable impulse that kept you standing. His fists and your movements were a wild dance, and amidst the chaos, both of you knew that the outcome of this battle would not only define the present but also seal your fate.
You charged at him, landing a direct blow to his stomach, and when he bent forward, you took the chance to hit him in the face once more. Blood spilled from his nose, but he countered with a knee strike, and the impact resonated in your bones.
The fight continued with increasing ferocity, the room transforming into a wreckage. Every blow exchanged resonated like thunder, but it was the moment when Bruce landed a punch to your side that made you fall to your knees again, gasping for air. The pain was intense, but there was no time to lament; rage and frustration drove him to push onward.
Seeing the opportunity, Bruce lunged at you, and with a rough movement, he lifted you off the ground, holding you by the neck and raising you into the air. You struggled, feeling the pressure increase, the air escaping your lungs. The room blurred around you as you began to lose control.
"Tell me where Y/N is!" he shouted, his voice echoing in your mind like a refrain of desperation and fury.
You were on the brink of passing out, your eyes clouding, but amidst the confusion, you managed to maintain lucidity, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Bruce's hands were like a yoke around your throat, and the feeling of suffocation intensified with every passing second.
The pressure was unbearable, and you fought to free your neck, to breathe, but it felt like trying to break chains of steel. Your hands struck his arm, but he wouldn’t relent, becoming more focused, more desperate.
Finally, with a titanic effort, you managed to reach your helmet, and in a twist, you pushed him back, but the pressure of his grip was too much. It was then that, in a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, the helmet slipped off your head, falling to the floor with a dull thud.
The light of the apartment filtered back into your vision, and it was at that moment that Bruce, seeing your face, stopped dead in his tracks, the expression of his fury transforming into horror.
The face before him was not just an adversary; it was a reflection of his own daughter. The reality crashed against him like lightning.
"...Y/N?"
A/N ──── I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT YES, WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND Y/N IS REAL. And yes, it's necessary; you'll understand why by the end. Furthermore, Ivy's death has always been planned. In the next chapter, a female character will appear who, I warn you, will be a victim of the Waynes, and the scene will be a bit graphic and very grotesque.
I want to add that this chapter is very, very, veeeery weak because I’m very tired, not very inspired, and dealing with other things. I’ll try to do better for the next one and bring you a chapter of better quality.
And a warning for those on the taglist: if you’re already on it, please don’t ask me again and again to add your name because I end up getting confused and repeating names.
Also, there are some that I can’t add for reasons I don’t understand.
If you requested to be on the taglist before and you're not, please ask me here or send me a message; I don’t bite.
Feel free to ask me anything if you’d like.
Take a bath!
Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii
@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith
@redkarmakai @the-rouge-robin @twismare @wizzerreblogs @beeboopneep @mistfire1999 @delfinadolphin @expctron
Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing 's work and @klemen-tine 's work, be sure to check them out!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x reader#dc x reader#yandere dc#yandere dick grayson#yandere batman#yandere male#yandere bruce wayne#yandere batfamily#yandere batfam#yandere batboys#yandere damian wayne#yandere robin#yandere red robin#yandere red hood#yandere tim drake#yandere jason todd#yandere nightwing#yandere barbara gordon#yandere cassandra cain#yandere stephanie brown#yandere alfred pennyworth#yandere x you#yandere platonic#neglected reader#neglect#yandere dc x reader
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𝟬𝟭 ▎MASTERLIST . . . 🜲 ⺌
This vessel,
this vessel is a lie,
a shapeshifting beast,
a lesson in fluidity.
꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚︶꒷꒥꒷ ‧₊˚ ꒰ฅ˘ω˘ฅ��� ˚₊ ‧ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚‧₊꒷꒥꒷
COMICS,
SERIES
& MOVIES
(HEROES) . . . ✦
DC. . . !
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
KAL-EL | CLARK KENT | SUPERMAN.
Its Evolution, Baby! Pt.1 Pt.2 (Yandere! Justice League x Inmortal! Reader)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
BRUCE WAYNE | BATMAN.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
DIANA PRINCE | WONDER WOMAN.
BARRY ALLEN | FLASH.
JOHN STEWART | GREEN LANTERN.
ARTHUR CURRY | AQUAMAN.
J'ONM J'ONZZ | MARTIAN MANHUNTER.
MARI MCCABE | VIXEN.
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
JON SAMUEL KENT |
SUPERBOY/SUPERMAN
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
DAMIAN WAYNE | ROBIN.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
The Wildcard Pt.1 Pt.2 (Mother! Harley Quinn x Child/Teen! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
TIM DRAKE | RED ROBIN.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.t (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
JASON TODD | RED HOOD.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
DICK GRAYSON | NIGHTWING.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Pierrot, the Sad Clown (Yandere! Dick Grayson x Villain! Reader tw.noncon)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
BARBARA GORDON | ORACLE.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
CASSANDRA CAIN | ORPHAN/BATGIRL.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic )
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
STEPHANIE BROWN | SPOILER.
Silly Little Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader. x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
DUKE THOMAS | THE SIGNAL.
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader. x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
CONNER KENT | SUPERBOY.
Dark Red (YJ! Conner Kent x reader)
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader. x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
LEX LUTHOR.
WALLY WEST | KID FLASH.
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
HARLEEN QUINZEL | HARLEY QUINN.
The Wildcard Pt.1 Pt.2 (Mother! Harley Quinn x Child/Teen! Reader. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
SELINA KYLE | CATWOMAN.
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
PAMELA ISLEY | POISON IVY.
Silly Little Bat Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 (Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader. Platonic Fic)
But, I love Ivy (Pamela Isley x Fem! Reader/Silly Little Bat. Tw. Smut)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
LADY SHIVA | DAVID NICOLE
TALIA AL GHUL
KILLAWOG | BONDAGE
ENCHANTRESS | JUNE MOONE
VULCANA | VULCA
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
LIVEWIRE | LESLIE L. WILLEM
Voicenote (STAS! Livewire x Male! Reader. Tw.smut)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
MERCY GRAVES
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
KARA ZOR-EL | SUPERGIRL
Kamikaze Girl! Pt.1 (Yandere! Batfamily x Superbat Clone! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
GARFIELD LOGAN | BEASTBOY.
JAIME REYES | BLUEBEETLE.
RACHEL ROTH | RAVEN.
KORIAND'R | STARFIRE.
DINAH LANCE | BLACK CANARY.
OLIVER QUEEN | GREEN ARROW.
ROY HARPER | RED ARROW.
And more..!
MARVEL. . . !
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
BUCKY BARNES | WINTER SOLIDER.
Little Solider (Yandere! James 'Bucky' Barnes x Super Solider! Teen! Reader. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
STEVE ROGERS | CAPTAIN AMERICA.
TONY STARK | IRON MAN.
PETER PARKER | SPIDER MAN
NATASHA ROMANOFF | BLACK WIDOW
THOR
BRUCE BANNER / HULK
CLINT BARTON / HAWKEYE
VISION
LOGAN | WOLVERINE
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
SCOTT SUMMERS | CYCLOPS
Devil in Paradise (Yandere! Scott Summers x Mutant! Reader)
Little Pebble (Yandere! Scott Summers x Mutant! Reader. Platonic fic)
Head in the clouds (Yandere! Scott Summers x Amnesic! Reader. Tw.Slight Smut)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
KURT WAGNER | NIGHTCRAWLER
Lurks Within Walls (Yandere! Kurt Wagner x Mutant! Reader)
Nocturnal Animal (Yandere Kurt Wagner x Wife! Reader. Tw.Nsfw)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
ERIK LEHNSHERR | MAGNETO
The song of the raven (Yandere Erik Lehnsherr x Raven! Reader x Yandere Charles Xavier. Platonic Fic)
Abomination (Yandere Erik Lehnsherr x Raven! Reader x Yandere Charles Xavier. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
REMY LEBEAU | GAMBIT
Black Sheep (Yandere! Remy LeBeau x Mutant! Reader. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
HANK MCCOY | BEAST
Savior Complex (Yandere Hank McCoy x Mutant! Reader. Tw. Slight smut)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
CHARLES XAVIER | PROFESSOR X
The song of the raven (Yandere Erik Lehnsherr x Raven! Reader x Yandere Charles Xavier. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
ALEX SUMMERS | HAVOK
WARREN WORTHINGTON III | ANGEL
PIETRO MAXIMOFF | QUICKSILVER
MILES MORALES | SPIDER MAN/PROWLER
MIGUEO O' HARA | SPIDER MAN 2099
GWEN STACY | SPIDER WOMAN/ SPIDER GWEN/ GWEN POOL
HOBIE BROWN | SPIDER PUNK
PETER B. PARKER | SPIDER MAN
SPIDER MAN NOIR
WANDA MAXIMOFF | SCARLET WITCH
CAROL DANVERS | CAPTAIN MARVEL
JANE FOSTER | THOR
PEPPERS POTTS | RESCUE
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
ORORO MINROE | STORM
My Pearl (Yandere! Ororo Minroe x Clone! Reader. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
JEAN GREY | PHOENIX
Mournig Sun (Yandere! Jean Grey x teen! Telepathic! Reader. Platonic Fic)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
ANNA MARIE | ROGUE
All I Wanted (Yandere! Anna Marie x Inmune! Reader)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
KITTY PRYDE | SHADOWCAT
LAURA KINNEY | X-23
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
PETER QUILL | STAR LORD
Astra Nova (yandere! Peter Quill x Alien! Reader. Tw.Slight Smut)
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
GAMORA | Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy
NEBULA
MANTIS
DAISY JOHNSON | QUAKE
MEDUSA
YELENA BELOVA | BLACK WIDOW
JESSICA JONES
MICHELLE JONES | MJ
SHURI
AMERICA CHAVEZ
LOKI | GOD OF MISCHIEF
THANOS | THE MAD TITAN
APOCALYPSE | THE FIRST MUTANT
DOCTOR OCTOPUS | OTTO OCTAVIUS
MYSTERIO | QUINTON BECK
MYSTIQUE | RAVEN DARKHOLME
SABER-TOOTH | VICTOR CREED
And more..!
INVINCIBLE. . . !
⊹ ・・───・・✦・・───・・⊹
MARK GRAYSON | INVINCIBLE
OMNI-MAN | NOLAN GRAYSON
REX SPLODE | REX SLOAN
ROBOT | RUDOLPH CONNERS
ATOM EVE | SAMANTHA EVE WILKINS
DUPLI-KATE | KATE CHA
THE IMMORTAL | IMMORTAL
ANISSA
THRAGG
And More..!
⊹ ・・───・・♧・・───・・⊹
You can add more characters and hero comics/series/movies by asking in the comments and/or by placing orders. Send me a private message preferably to ask me for things, although you can also do it in the comments. Take a bath!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x reader#dc x reader#neutral reader#yandere dc#yandere dick grayson#marvel x reader#yandere marvel#masterlist#yandere masterlist
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hiiii back with more can you also do platonic yandere Scott summers x reader
LITTLE PEBBLE
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Scott Summers x Mutant!Reader. (Platonic Fic)
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
sinopsis ⸺ He found a little pebble, a trace of something that burned as intensely as she did. His desire to protect her had grown beyond reason. She was his only family now, a fire he needed to contain. But in his hands, even the pebble could ignite.
warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, fire, kidnapping, delusion, Angst, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation. The reader is a teenager (17-18). Reader is like Flame Princess (AT), Human Torch (4F) etc.
A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Honestly, I didn't have much idea on how to tackle this request at first because I was a bit lacking in inspiration. But then I got some good news, and while watching my favorite animated series, the idea of the fire mutation came to me. I hope it doesn't bother you; since you didn't ask for anything specific, unlike a previous request where someone wanted a mutation similar to Raven's, I decided to take a bit of creative freedom. I hope you like it!
Yandere Scott Summers who… worried upon seeing you that uneven night, just when he needed to calm his mind. Sometimes the stress of being the leader of the X-Men and the weight of protecting his friends became too much. The simple idea of going for a walk soothed him, but in that moment everything changed. He saw you walking alone under the dark sky, with an ignited fury in your eyes and that fiery orange and red hair. He watched you in silence, and something in you resonated with him. He couldn’t help the need to protect you, even though he barely knew you.
Yandere Scott Summers who… against his own instincts, decided to approach when he saw you on the road. You had dropped your backpack and upon seeing him, your expression hardened, and the air around you turned hot. The fire emerged from you, threatening to consume everything in an instant. And yet, he didn’t move. He observed the intensity with a disturbing fascination, as if in that blazing heat he found something only he could understand. It was the rain that intervened and made you retreat, temporarily extinguishing the flames and giving him the chance to extend a hand, gentle yet firm. “You can trust me. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, not really expecting you to accept. But it was enough for you to lower your guard, if only for a moment.
Yandere Scott Summers who… took you to the X-Men mansion, aware that your stay could cause problems. However, he didn’t care. He was determined to help you find the peace he saw hidden beneath your fiery exterior. He knew you were dangerous, that you could cause a disaster at any moment, but he was convinced that you could be more, that you were not just a threat. So he took full responsibility for you in front of Professor X and the others, promising to take care of you.
Yandere Scott Summers who… even when you were hostile and avoided everyone, continued to visit you in the infirmary. He brought small colorful flowers every day, even though he knew you would burn them as soon as he handed them to you. He watched with a mix of pain and adoration as you destroyed those flowers without hesitation, as if in doing so you released a part of yourself. Yet, he never stopped bringing you a new one each morning. He saw beauty in your rage and discomfort, and deep in his mind, he wished that someday you would accept his company without fear.
Yandere Scott Summers who… slowly took you out of the infirmary, earning your trust with infinite patience. He showed you the gardens, knowing that you might burn a plant, but he didn’t judge you for it. Instead of worrying, he felt a deep devotion seeing you hesitate and hold back. He knew you were struggling, not just against your own power, but against the feeling that perhaps you would never fit in there. Scott admired that struggle in you, and every time he saw you silently looking at the horizon, feeling like you didn’t belong, his urge to protect you intensified even more.
Yandere Scott Summers who… stayed with you when you thought no one was watching, as you quietly questioned why the world saw you only as a threat. He listened to everything, and although his words were often few, each one was filled with unwavering devotion. “You are more than you think,” he told you, and although you found it hard to accept, his words lingered in your mind.
Yandere Scott Summers who… cannot stand seeing you isolated, burning small branches or flowers at the edges of the garden to release tension. He knows it’s a part of you that no one else understands, but he does. And every spark, every little flame is, for him, proof of your strength. For him, those moments are a confirmation that, no matter what happens, his purpose is to protect you, care for you, and ensure that you never have to defend yourself alone again.
Yandere Scott Summers who… accompanied you every day at lunchtime, making sure you were comfortable and had something you could eat without burning yourself. He knew your emotions could spiral out of control at any moment and, with them, your blazing heat. So he prepared, offering you small bites patiently, pulling his hands away when he saw the flames intensifying on your fingers and returning to try again just seconds later. “You don’t have to worry; I’ll take care of this,” he told you, with a firm yet gentle look. He knew he wasn’t just giving you food; he was giving you a reason to trust him and only him.
Yandere Scott Summers who… spent countless nights making sure you didn’t destroy your room. He stayed awake outside your door, watching every spark, every fire that broke out. He had filled your room with special materials resistant to heat, and he himself set up a suppression system to prevent the fire from spreading too far. However, it was him you turned to when you couldn’t take it anymore and the flames escaped your control. He held you while your energy overflowed, not telling anyone that his own hands suffered small burns each time. “I’m here,” he whispered, holding you with protective firmness. “I won’t leave you. Never.”
Yandere Scott Summers who… gradually began to treat you as if you were his only family, beyond the X-Men and beyond any mission or duty. His teammates began to notice, especially Jean and Logan, who reminded him that he needed distance, but he ignored them. For him, protecting you was his most important mission. Even if it meant putting aside his other responsibilities, he didn’t care. He was willing to put anyone aside to dedicate every second of his time to you, convinced that no one could take care of you as well as he could. Jean tried to confront him: “Scott, you need to set boundaries. You’re losing your balance…” But he looked at her, with a coldness in his eyes that even she didn’t recognize. “Jean, no one else understands. She needs me more than you think.”
Yandere Scott Summers who… took you to quiet places, away from the gazes of others. Sometimes he convinced you to stroll through the woods, places where he allowed you to release some of your fire without worries. He silently watched as you burned branches or weeds, and he stayed close, making sure there was no danger, that no one else was around to judge you. In those moments, he would come closer and speak to you softly. “Here you can be yourself. You don’t need to hold back.” And although you didn’t always respond to him, he knew you understood, and those small flashes of connection were enough for him.
Yandere Scott Summers who… could barely contain his emotion when he saw you in action on your first mission. He had spent months preparing you, training you in controlling your powers, and finally the day came when everyone would see what he already knew: that you were incredibly powerful and deserving of respect. He watched you from afar, hidden behind his visor, seeing how you handled your flames with precision and poise, confronting enemies without hesitation. Every movement of yours filled him with pride, and when the mission ended, he ran to your side, smiling in a way that was unusual for him. “You did amazing! you’re perfect,” he whispered, keeping his hand on your shoulder and almost ignoring everyone else, as if you were the only thing that mattered.
Yandere Scott Summers who… immediately felt a pang of jealousy when Jean, Logan, and Ororo also came over to congratulate you. Ororo gave you a warm smile, telling you how impressive it was to see your control and skill, while Jean took your hands and told you that you were progressing quickly, with Logan looking at you with respect, something that wasn’t common for him. Scott tensed, his hands clenching into fists as he watched them praise you. He knew they were just acknowledging you, but seeing others give you their attention in such a close and personal way drove him irrational. Jean shot him a knowing look, but Scott avoided her gaze, murmuring, “They can leave her alone; she’s exhausted. She doesn’t need your approval.” He couldn’t help his voice from turning cold. To him, there was no one more suited to accompany you than himself.
Yandere Scott Summers who… silently went mad upon learning that you had had your first sleepover with Jubilee, Kitty, and other young X-Men without him. He had wanted to be part of everything in your life, but the girls had kept him at bay. They knew he could overprotect you to an uncomfortable point and wanted to give you a normal experience, without Scott hovering over you every second. Even more, they wanted to avoid you getting upset and bursting into flames. He spent the night wandering the hallway outside your room, hearing muffled laughter and feeling a deep frustration. He wanted to go in, make sure you were okay, and that no one affected you, but he held back, teeth clenched. To him, there was no reason he shouldn’t be part of everything you did. After all, only he understood the importance of being by your side at every moment.
Yandere Scott Summers who… lost his patience when he found out you had gone to the arcade with Jubilee and other young X-Men. He was in the middle of a meeting when he heard the news, and without thinking twice, he left everything to go look for you. Logan was the one who blocked his way, standing in front of the door with his characteristic disdain. “Let her be, Summers. She needs her space,” Logan murmured with a mocking tone, giving him a challenging look. “Do you know what could happen if something goes wrong?!” Scott replied, his eyes fixed on Logan, unable to comprehend why anyone else thought they had the right to decide about you. Logan shook his head, his patience wearing thin: “What could happen is that she learns to live without you glued to her like a leech.” Scott felt a mix of anger and vulnerability that baffled him, but ultimately, he took a step back. However, he spent the rest of the night restless, only thinking about you, about how happy you could be without him there to take care of every detail.
Yandere Scott Summers who… secretly suffered as he watched you start to get along with the other X-Men. As your control over your powers improved, you became more confident and integrated into the community, talking and laughing with others, sharing moments you had only shared with him before. There was one student in particular, Sam Guthrie, also known as Cannonball, who sent you notes and letters expressing his admiration. He gave you small shiny stones he found, telling you they reminded him of the color of your eyes when you were calm. Scott found those details, and every time he saw one of those stones, he felt a wave of irrational anger. One afternoon, he approached you with tense calmness. “You don’t need his gifts; you know I’m here to give you everything you need,” he murmured, his gaze dark while holding the stone in his hands. He didn’t want to admit he was jealous, but his words and the rigidity in his face told you everything.
Yandere Scott Summers who… lost control when you told him you were considering going to Genosha with Sam and other young mutants. It was a decision driven by your desire to explore and experience life away from the mansion, and besides, Sam had insisted on accompanying you, assuring you that you would be safe with him. The night you mentioned it to Scott, he simply exploded. “Genosha? With Sam?!” he shouted, with an intensity you had never seen in him before. His face was marked by a mix of disbelief and desperation. “Do you think someone like him can protect you? That you can trust someone who barely knows your true needs?” he said. “Scott, you can’t control everything I do,” you replied, trying to remain calm, although his reaction made you doubt. “You don’t understand!” he continued, raising his voice. “Do you think anyone else will be willing to do what I do for you? I’m the only one who truly understands how dangerous you are and what you need to be okay!” His words hurt you, but they also revealed the intensity of his feelings, leading you to see a side of him you hadn’t noticed before. In his desperation, he had lost sight of your own autonomy, and for a moment, you realized that Scott was not willing to let you go.
Yandere Scott Summers who… felt his world collapse when he understood that your desire for independence could separate you. The idea of losing you, of someone else being your protector and making you feel safe, consumed him. So, in a moment of desperation, he made a drastic decision. He decided that the best thing was to remove you from everyone, even from yourself, so that you would never feel the need to seek the company of others.
Yandere Scott Summers who… prepared a chilling plan. On a dark night, he set fire to part of the mansion. Screams, sirens, and smoke filled the air, and as everyone else struggled to escape, he approached you and took your hand. “We have to go, quickly, now” he said, his voice intense and urgent.
Yandere Scott Summers who… upon reaching the exit, a twist of fate changed everything. With a simple gesture, he made everyone believe you had died in the fire. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make for your “sake.” The shock, the despair of the others, was a spectacle he watched from a distance, his heart pounding as he made sure no one suspected his role in all this.
Yandere Scott Summers who… took you to an isolated house in the woods, away from the mansion and any other X-Men who might look for you. There, he placed a collar on you that inhibited your powers. He knew that without it, you could hurt yourself or damage anything around you. “It’s for your safety,” he said, looking at you with a mix of tenderness and madness in his eyes. “I’ll never hurt you again, and no one will be able to. Here, you are safe.”
Yandere Scott Summers who… began to treat you like a child, controlling every aspect of your life. He fed you by hand, offering you small portions of food he prepared carefully, making sure everything was to his liking. “You have to eat to stay strong,” he repeated, watching you chew slowly; after all, you couldn’t refuse him, or you would regret it. He delighted in every bite you gave him the chance to offer, watching how you got used to his care.
Yandere Scott Summers who… chose your clothes with unsettling precision. He made sure they were comfortable yet modest, reflecting the image he wanted you to project. Everything, from colors to styles, was carefully planned to keep you within the limits he had set. “You don’t need to worry about anything else,” he insisted while dressing you. “Here, all that matters is you and me.” The house became your gilded prison, a place where everything seemed comfortable but was nothing more than a trap. The windows were sealed, and every time you tried to leave, he stopped you with a cold look. “You don’t understand the danger out there,” he repeated, increasingly anxious, as if every word was a warning. “I can’t let you go.”
Yandere Scott Summers who… spent hours with you, playing board games, reading books, doing anything that reminded him of a warm home, and always, always, watching you. However, every time you tried to ask a question about your previous life, his gaze would darken. “Let’s not talk about that. You’re happier here, I promise,” he would say, almost pleading with you. He refused to allow you to talk about the X-Men or any friends you might have had.
Yandere Scott Summers who… every time he saw you frustrated, igniting your inner fire, took it as a challenge to his authority. “You must control yourself,” he insisted, coming closer to you with a terrifying intensity, his eyes shining with a mixture of concern and possessiveness. “If you can’t control it, then you can’t go out.” And although he said it in a soft tone, there was a latent threat in his voice that made everything even more unsettling. The situation began to take a dark turn when you realized there was no way to escape, that Scott had made drastic decisions to ensure you never had the chance to return to your old life. You began to feel desperation and frustration building inside you, and every time you tried to scream or release your anger, he looked at you with a sadness that only reinforced his control.
Yandere Scott Summers who… one night, while you were silently crying, approached you and held you in his arms, but his hugs were filled with barely contained madness. “Don’t worry, my little pebble. Everything will be okay; you just have to trust me,” he said, in a voice so soft it felt like a disguised threat. “I will protect you from anything that wants to hurt you.” The atmosphere became oppressive, and the house turned into a prison, with Scott as the dark guardian who had decided your life would be his and no one else’s. He fed off your suffering, convinced that every tear was a sign of love and need for him.
Yandere Scott Summers who... One night, while you were alone in the room, you decided you could no longer bear it. With a heart-wrenching scream, you tried to use your power, but the collar prevented you. He appeared, his eyes burning with fury and pain, and although he approached to calm you, it was evident that the situation had reached a point of no return. “You are mine,” he said, his voice trembling between sadness and possessiveness, and at that moment, you realized that the only way to escape his control would come at a price you were not willing to pay. So, in one last attempt to free yourself, you began to fight, knowing that if you didn’t do something now, you would never do it. But in his mind, as chaos erupted, Scott believed he was doing the right thing. To him, you only existed, and he could never let you go.
A/N ─── Another one of the overdue requests; I think there's only one left! (The one for Kurt... and honestly, I still have no idea how to approach it, but we’ll get there eventually). I'm really sorry for the delay, but here it is at last. Thank you for your patience and support; it means a lot.
Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.
take a bath!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x reader#neutral reader#marvel x reader#marvel x you#marvel xmen#yandere marvel#scott summers x reader#yandere x men#yandere x y/n#yandere scott summers
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ugh I love your content, yandere marvel just gets met going like for real.
Okay so I would want to request platonic yandere hank maccoy x reader, this man is so under rated and I love him so much
SAVIOR COMPLEX
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Hank Maccoy x Fem!reader
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, Fluff, invasion of privacy, scars, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Hank? Idk, fights, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.
sinopsis ⸺Hank McCoy, the charismatic and brilliant mutant known for his intelligence and imposing appearance, hides a dark and possessive side that emerges after falling in love. His devotion to his beloved is unwavering, leading him to obsess over her well-being and safety. While his love seems genuine and protective, his need for control becomes evident in every decision he makes: restricting her freedom, driving away anyone who might threaten their relationship, and marking her with traces that demonstrate his dominance. Every smile you give him is a reminder of his fervent desire to keep you by his side, but behind his sweet facade lies a palpable fear of losing you that consumes him and transforms him into an unyielding lover.
A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish — Well, it took me a while to upload this, but not out of laziness or anything concerning; I just went on vacation for a week to explore a bit, and since I was going to many places, I couldn't write due to exhaustion. But here is the request. Once again, I apologize for the delay.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... remembers the first moment he saw you as if it were yesterday. You arrived at the mansion, trembling and wrapped in a thin white blanket that barely covered your battered body. Outside, it was raining, and the drops tapped against the windows in the silence. Your sobs mingled with the echo of thunder. Your eyes, swollen from crying, searched for some trace of comfort in that strange and gloomy place. He felt a pang in his chest but kept a prudent distance. He knew that his appearance could be intimidating. But one of the mutants who had brought you asked him to take care of you while he went to find help.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... sat down next to you with a mix of shyness and concern. He watched you in silence, searching for the right words to comfort you. However, every time he tried to say something, your only response was sobs. Until, unexpectedly, you cuddled against his chest. He felt your body tremble against his, and his heart began to race. In that instant, he decided he would do everything in his power to protect you. No one would hurt you again.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... grew fond of you as he helped you in your recovery. He spent nights in the lab, mixing ointments and designing specific treatments for your wounds. Every time he placed the bandage on your skin, he noticed how his fingers trembled slightly, feeling a mix of tenderness and a fervent desire to be your only protector. The night you tearfully told him about your kidnapping and the trials that had turned you into a mutant, his heart hardened. A dark spark was born within him. "No one should go through that," he whispered, taking your hand. No one would touch you without his permission.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... enjoyed showing you every corner of the garden. "This place is our little refuge," he said, and you noticed how his eyes grew increasingly intense when he fixed them on you. He showed you the most hidden nooks, the secret places only he knew. "Here, we are alone," he murmured softly, while you only thought it was a kind gesture. For him, however, it was a statement: his promise that no one else would know you like he did.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... organized private dinners with you every night, a perfect excuse to have you all to himself. He lit the table with candles, and his smile seemed kind and warm. "It's perfect, isn't it?" he would ask as he served you. His eyes locked onto you every time you laughed, and in those moments, a dark satisfaction washed over him. No one else could make you smile like that. No one else could make you feel safe like he did.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... became your confidant. He never let a night pass without inviting you to talk, encouraging you to share your fears and dreams. "I will always be here for you," he whispered, and you simply nodded, grateful for his company. But every time you mentioned someone else, whether in a trivial story or in simple conversation, you noticed how his gaze darkened slightly. Sometimes, you couldn't help but feel an overprotective presence in his words, but you always attributed those thoughts to your imagination.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... felt a burn in his chest the day he saw you talking to another mutant, laughing, as if you could trust someone other than him. He approached and forced a smile. "Who is he?" he asked, keeping a casual tone, but feeling his insides boil with jealousy. When you told him he was "just a friend," he couldn't help but tense up. No one was "just a friend" to you.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... decided he had to act. He couldn't risk losing you. So, when that "friend" of yours got involved in an unfortunate accident during a training session, no one suspected Hank. He watched as they took him to the medical wing, with a dark sense of triumph pulsing in his chest. Now no one would come between you.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... always found an excuse to be near you. Every time you entered the lab, he was there, offering you help or even preparing new "experimental" treatments that ensured he saw you often. "I don't want you to feel lonely," he said, and in his voice, you could perceive something between sweetness and a strange pressure that you couldn't quite define.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... finally, one night under the stars, mustered the courage to confess his feelings to you. "You are everything to me," he whispered in an almost reverent tone, taking your hand and squeezing it. "No one else can take that place. No one else would understand the love I feel for you." His eyes, shining under the moonlight, looked at you with an intensity that seemed to possess you.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... gradually moved you into his room, first arguing that it would be easier for him to supervise your recovery. "So you can rest and not have to wander the halls at night," he explained softly, holding your hand with a mix of affection and a barely perceptible pressure. At first, he placed an extra bed next to his, assuring you it was just temporary. But night after night, he began to inch closer, until it became a routine to share his bed. You slept together as if you were a married couple already, and although you never spoke of it directly, Hank acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In the mornings, he would wrap his protective arm around you, holding you close while whispering, "You know? Here, in my arms, I feel like nothing could harm you." It was in those moments of silent intimacy that Hank allowed himself to imagine a future where you were his wife, his companion forever, someone whom the other X-Men would recognize as his.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... adored seeing how the other X-Men began to treat you with the same respect and deference they had for him, but now with a nuance indicating that you were someone special to Hank. He noticed the respectful glances from his teammates when you appeared by his side, and that filled his heart with a dark and possessive pride. You are mine, he thought, feeling a strange satisfaction in seeing how others accepted you in that role without questioning it. With every gesture, every smile, every knowing glance from the others, Hank felt that his dream of marrying you was ever closer to becoming a reality.
Yandere Hank McCoy who...ensured that you were comfortable and protected in his bed every time you cried from nightmares. Some nights, you would wake trembling, reliving the traumas of the past or the dangerous missions you had experienced. He would hold you tightly, cradling you against his chest, his claws gently stroking your back in an attempt to calm you. "I'm here, love. No one will hurt you," he would whisper in a hoarse voice, allowing the weight of his own body and presence to soothe your fears. In those moments, his thoughts intertwined with an intense concern and a need to protect you from everyone, even from life itself outside those walls.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... felt a deep desire to be with you in every way, but at the same time feared his own mutation. He knew that within him existed a bestial ferocity that he always tried to control. He didn't want that side of him to scare you or hurt you in a moment of intimacy. So, as much as he longed to consummate his love for you, he held back, caught between his yearning and the fear of losing control. Every night, his thoughts revolved around this internal struggle, and he often woke up in a cold sweat, desperately wishing he could love you without reservations.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... suffered deeply the day you returned injured from a Sentinel attack. It wasn't your first mission, but when he saw you stagger through the door of the mansion, supported by Ororo and covered in wounds, something within him broke. He rushed to you, his gaze tinged with desperation, holding you tightly as he took you to the infirmary. His voice trembled as he said, "You shouldn't have gone out, I shouldn't have let you go... Oh God, what would have happened if you hadn't come back?" For days, he stayed by your side, caring for each of your wounds, tormented by the idea of losing you. That experience convinced him that you would never be in danger again as long as he could prevent it.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... forbade you from going on missions after that incident. "I don't want you to suffer again," he told you, with an intensity that made it clear there was no room for negotiation. In his mind, this was the only way to protect you. He offered you an alternative, one he considered much safer and more satisfying: to become a teacher for the young mutants. Teaching them basic skills, stories of famous mutants, and values, always within the safety of the mansion. "This way you can use your abilities without risking yourself," he explained, making sure the idea seemed an act of care and not control.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... began to fantasize about the idea of having a family with you. Watching you interact with the children, hearing you laugh and care for them with such tenderness awakened a deep desire in him, a vision of a future where you and he shared something more. His relentless and obsessive mind began to draw images of children who would inherit both your sweetness and his intellect. He didn't want a large family, but a small one he could call his. In his vision, you would always be under his care, in the safety of the home he would build for you. Thus, night after night, Hank dedicated himself to his dreams and the obsession of protecting you, as his love grew darker and more possessive. Every time he held you while sleeping, his barely audible whisper sealed his intentions: "Nothing and no one will separate us, love. This is our destiny."
Yandere Hank McCoy who... finally gathered the courage to propose to you one special night. He had organized a dinner where several young X-Men, like Jubilee, Kitty, and Bobby, were present to celebrate with you. Everything had to be perfect, or at least that was his hope. But, as was customary among the young, the evening was somewhat chaotic. There were laughs, jokes, and some accidents with the food, details that could have irritated him on any other occasion. However, that night he was so focused on you, on your laughter and your smile, that nothing else mattered. At the end of dinner, with trembling hands and a gaze filled with an almost unsettling devotion, Hank knelt before you. He still remembered the pressure in his chest as, with a voice laden with emotion, he said, "Will you marry me?" Time seemed to stand still as everyone present watched, holding their breath. When you whispered a tearful "yes," Hank felt as if the entire universe was finally in harmony. He wrapped you in his arms, and that night he felt that his life finally made sense: you were his forever.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... couldn't wait another moment and soon begged Nightcrawler to marry them, eager to formalize what he considered the most sacred bond of his life. “Kurt... please, make it official,” Hank implored, his voice trembling but resolute. Kurt, holding a special license to officiate, observed the intensity in Hank's gaze. Although he had certain reservations, he agreed, touched by Hank's insistence and the depth of his feelings—or what appeared to be love— The ceremony was simple, with their mutant friends and colleagues gathered around. As you exchanged vows, Hank looked at you as if you were the light he had been seeking all his life. When the final "yes" escaped your lips, his heart surged with a potent blend of euphoria and obsession. At last, he knew, no one else could claim you, no one could approach you without his permission. You were his in both body and soul, bound to him for eternity, and he would do anything necessary to keep it that way.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... after the wedding, let his possessive and dark side flourish without restrictions. He no longer tried to hide it; every time someone approached you, he would step in with a cold glare and a low growl in his throat. At first, he only intervened subtly, but over time, he began to visibly push everyone away from you, ensuring that no other man or woman dared to even look at you with interest. The confidence with which he distanced you from any conversation or group began to unsettle you, and when you tried to discuss it with him, he would only hold you tightly, whispering reassuring words but filled with an unbreakable authority: "You are mine... I don't need to share you with anyone."
Yandere Hank McCoy who... every night, when you were with him in intimacy, let that wild side he worked so hard to hide from the rest of the world out. His need to possess you became physical, and he didn't hide the pleasure of seeing you marked with his imprints: light bruises and scratches that he saw as proof that you were his and no one else's. In those moments, his voice turned deep and dominant, his words a mix of promises and warnings: "Never forget that you belong to me, and you are mine." Although you said yes to calm him, in your mind doubts and a silent fear accumulated, fearing that this side of him would grow more than you could bear. It no longer mattered that he took you in his beastly body; he knew you loved him, so he made love to you fiercely while your nails scratched his blue back.
Yandere Hank McCoy who... began to control every aspect of your life, limiting your outings and ensuring that if you had to interact with anyone else, it was under conditions he could supervise. He only allowed you to go out on special occasions and under his watchful eye. He came to fantasize about the idea of taking you to a secluded place, away from everyone, where you could live together, where he could make love to you without fear of you crying out in pleasure, away from prying eyes. Often, he spent sleepless nights considering the possibility, imagining a life where you only existed for him, where no one else could come between his love.
In his moments of deepest obsession, he would hold you tightly while whispering, "One day, my love, we will have everything we've always desired. You will be only mine, and together, nothing and no one will be able to separate us."
A/N ─── I made it very short, but I wanted to try new things. I’m not sure if you like it when I add a bit of light NSFW to the headcanons; if so, please let me know in the comments. I’m trying to experiment a bit with different styles and themes, so your opinion would be very valuable to me.
Hank needs love ♡ I really like his personality and appearance; he's my guilty pleasure u.u Sometimes I feel a little bad about how much I admire him, but at the end of the day, we all have our secrets, right? His mix of intelligence, loyalty, and that dark side that occasionally peeks through fascinates me. I'm excited to explore more of him in my writing. Don’t forget to leave your comments because I want to know what you think and what you would like to read more of in the future.
Thank you for your constant support; it means the world to me. Love you all!
Feel free to ask me anything if you want. Just go to my profile and message me; I always read your ideas and requests.
Take a Bath!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x reader#neutral reader#marvel x reader#yandere marvel#yandere male#marvel x you#marvel xmen#marvel#hank mccoy#hank mccoy x reader#yandere x men#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#xmen x you#xmen x reader#x men comics
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I’m not sure if this is where requests go, but can you do a platonic!yandere! Charles Xavier and Magneto with child reader? Maybe she’s around 13-14. She’s a decently strong mutant who can control shadows and has similar powers as Raven from DC? I don’t see a lot of platonic Charles and magneto. Maybe some headcanons and small snippets? Idk. Thank you!
THE SONG OF THE RAVEN.
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Charles Xavier x Raven! Fem!reader x Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr. (Platonic Fic)
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, scars, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Xavier and Magneto? Idk, fights, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.
sinopsis ⸺ A young girl caught between two worlds: the war of a man obsessed with a cause and another who has a completely opposing vision. She desperately seeks to escape the fate that both are trying to impose on her. Amidst silent dinners and celebrations she never wanted, a solitary raven watches her from the shadows, a symbol of the freedom that always seems just out of reach.
A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish — I didn’t know if you wanted me to do it together or separately. Just send me a message and I’ll make another one for you.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... met you in a disturbing and violent way, a storm of chaos surrounding you as you remained expressionless on the threshold of his door. The contrast between your cold determination and the horror of the blood covering you fascinated him immediately. He felt in you an internal storm as powerful as the one raging outside, a repressed power that he needed to comprehend and, more importantly, contain. The way the red gem on your forehead gleamed with darkness only intensified his desire to guide you, to be the only one capable of unleashing your true potential... to control you.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... perceives the fear in the hearts of those around you. He knows that the students and the other X-Men watch you cautiously, whispering about the dark energy that emanates from you, the shadow that always seems to follow you. But for him, that darkness is what makes you so fascinating, so special. While others retreat, Xavier moves closer. He uses his powers to silence those murmurs before they affect you, convinced that no one else, except him, can see the beauty in what you truly are. Every time his thoughts touch your mind, he feels your confusion, your internal struggle with the dark power within you. And that only reinforces his desire to keep you close, to have you trust only him.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... insists on training you personally. He does not trust that anyone else understands the depth of your abilities as he does. His training sessions are intense, his mind enveloping yours as he guides you through the darkest corners of your powers. He assures you that only he can help you control it, to master it, and with each passing day, you feel more bound to his presence. You feel him, always in your mind, always near, watching you even when you think you are alone. Sometimes you wonder if he is protecting you or if he is caging something within you that he only wants to possess. But you dismiss those thoughts because, after all, he was the only one who took you in despite everything.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... obsessively cares for your well-being, to the point of seeing you as a daughter who needs to be watched at all times. He provides you with an isolated room, away from the other students, a place where you can be "safe," although you feel it is more like a prison disguised as protection. Every time you leave your room, his eyes seem to follow you, and his words are always filled with care: “It’s for your own good. I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed by the weight of your power.” But in his voice, there is always something more, a need to keep you safe... safe only for him.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows he cannot allow the world to harm you, and in his twisted mind, that justifies any invasion, any manipulation. He follows you in dreams, watches over you through his powers even while you sleep, ensuring that no nightmare, no vestige of Trigon or your own darkness reaches you. Sometimes you feel his presence within your mind, a forced calm that leaves you uneasy, but when you try to confront him, he simply smiles at you kindly and says, "I just want you to be at peace, Y/N. I won’t let anything hurt you."
Yandere Charles Xavier who... sees in you more than a student. You are his creation, his project, his daughter in a sense deeper than anyone else could understand. He has shaped you, protected you from yourself and the world, and in his mind, only he has the right to be so close to your essence. Sometimes he talks to you about a future where no one else can hurt you, where he will be everything you need. And in those moments, you see in his eyes a glimmer of something disturbing, a need that goes beyond the mentor that everyone sees.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... has made the entire mansion a refuge for you, although it really feels more like a prison from which you cannot escape. The mental bond he has established with you is so strong that even if you wanted to leave, you would feel an invisible resistance. Charles has intertwined his mind with yours in such a way that it is impossible for you to imagine a world without him, and that dependence is exactly what he has desired all along. Because in his vision, absolute control over you is not something to be feared, but a demonstration of his love and care.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows that the dark power dwelling within you could destroy the world if not contained, and yet, he increasingly feels tempted to unleash it, to see you in your purest, most chaotic form. But he would only do it if that means he will be the only one capable of guiding you, of touching that part of you that no one else should know. The thought of losing you or your power at the hands of another is unbearable, and that leads him to make increasingly extreme decisions, justifying his actions as if they were for your own good. For Xavier, you are more than a powerful mutant. You are the center of his world, the living manifestation of everything he fears and everything he desires.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... begins to see with you the same dark and melancholic series that seem to attract you, those that reflect your own internal struggle. The hours you spend together in the mansion's living room are an attempt to understand you more deeply, and although the plots are often laden with fatalism and sadness, Charles watches them carefully, always studying your reactions. “I wonder if you see anything of yourself in these characters,” he comments one night, as a gloomy episode unfolds on the screen. He says it in a casual tone, but his interest is deeper, always trying to unravel the corners of your mind. You allow yourself a slight smile, a reflection of the dark sarcasm that sometimes dominates you. Charles remains silent, but his mind works frantically. He cannot help but feel fascinated, even more connected to you, by that dark side you share through the screen, knowing that only he can help you confront it… and control it.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... tensed the first time you spoke of Trigon. You mentioned him with a chilling calm, explaining how your destiny, according to your mother, was marked by his shadow. “He is my father,” you said one day in one of your mental sessions, while you were both immersed in that peaceful void that Xavier created for you. “And he is also my curse.” The words resonated in his mind with a weight he could not ignore. Charles felt a dull anger in the depths of his being, a resentment he did not expect toward an entity he had never known. Trigon. That malignant presence that had tried to claim you before he found you. "You are not a curse, my child" he replied, his voice firmer than usual, trying to maintain his composure while feeling something dark stir within him. “You are not your father, nor the destiny imposed on you. You are much more than they will ever understand.”
Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt something dangerous when you mentioned your mother and your dimension, Azarath. It was a calm conversation at first, you talking about her with a mix of nostalgia and sadness, a mother who had tried to protect you, but also one who had allowed Trigon to leave his mark on you. Charles listened in silence, but with each word you spoke about her, he felt a growing resentment. She had brought you into this world of darkness, a girl who did not deserve to be subjected to that cursed fate, and no matter how hard she tried to protect you, she was the one who deliberately delivered you and put you at the mercy of Trigon. "She didn't really understand you, Y/N," Charles said one day, his voice laden with careful control, fearing to say something that would upset you, but with a latent fury that only you could perceive if you looked closely. “Not like I do. Not like those who truly want what is best for you.”
Yandere Charles Xavier who... organized a small celebration on your fourteenth birthday, a day that should have been joyful, but he knew meant something very different for you. He watched your empty expression, your indifference toward the candles, the few gifts the students dared to give you. You discreetly stepped away from the celebration, seeking solitude. Charles followed you, his chair moving silently to the corner where you had taken refuge, away from the bustle. “I’m not celebrating this day, Charles,” you said, your voice laden with a coldness he could not ignore. “My birth was a curse. This day, in the future, will be the downfall of all humans in this dimension.” His eyes watched you with a mix of compassion and pain. The feeling of helplessness briefly overwhelmed him, but it was replaced with a fierce determination. “No, Y/N. It was not a curse,” he replied, moving closer. “Your birth is the arrival of a messiah to the earth, and nothing that happens will change my mind. You are free to be whoever you want to be, and I will help you see that. I… will always be here to remind you.” His warm, paternal hand touched yours, trying to make those words penetrate the darkest corner of your mind. “You are my daughter, and no destiny imposed by a foolish demon can change that. So let’s celebrate.”
Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt a mix of pride and relief as he saw how, year after year, you remained true to the X-Men, but more importantly, true to him. While the other students grew, forming deep friendships and even romances, you remained distant, always the solitary shadow doing what was necessary but not truly connecting with others. Charles noticed this, and although he pretended to worry about your loneliness, deep in his heart, he felt satisfied. He knew you had remained intact, far from the influences that could have pulled you away from his control. In his mind, that distance was proof of his success, of how he had shaped you to depend only on him.
Yandere Charles Xavier who... as he aged, felt pride every time he looked at you and saw that you remained his daughter, his creation. You were no longer the teenager who arrived at the mansion covered in blood and viscera, but you still did not allow anyone to affect you deeply. “You have grown so much,” he told you one afternoon, his voice soft but laden with a possessive love that had always been present. “Not just as an X-Men, but as a person. You have given me more than I could ever imagine. And I thank you… for staying by my side.” His eyes, now older, more tired, shone with pride that bordered on obsession. He knew you had overcome your demons, but he also knew it was because of him. And as long as he could keep you close, away from any other influence, he would be happy.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... found you in a dark alley after an uncontrollable explosion of power had left devastation around you. Your emotions had exploded after your arrival from Azarath, and Erik, seeing you surrounded by shadows, immediately felt a connection. “You are a mutant,” he affirmed, recognizing the immense power within you. But as he saw you more closely, his motivations began to mix. At first, he saw you as a tool for his cause, but the fragility of your emotions awakened in him a deep concern.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... took you under his protection with an obsessive intensity. Although he trained you hard, his desire for control was evident, convinced that only he could help you channel your power. “You are stronger than you think,” he would tell you in moments of greatest despair, but what he truly longed for was to mold you into someone who shared his struggle. For him, your potential was unlimited, but also a source of fear.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... obsessed over seeing you in the white suit you had brought from Azarath, interpreting it as a symbol of your purity. However, there was a dark desire within him: to see you covered in red, a color that for him represented fury, destiny, and his cause. Although his exterior seemed serene, in his mind, Erik struggled against the growing need to possess you, to protect you not only from others but from yourself.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... felt trapped between the desire to see you become a warrior and his paternal instinct that pushed him to protect you. Your demonic lineage generated both fear and admiration in him, and every time you showed signs of rejecting the path he had laid out for you, his frustration grew. “You can’t escape what you are,” he would tell you, although he knew those words hurt you deeply. What he didn’t understand was that your internal struggle went far beyond the war between mutants and humans.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... tried to isolate you from others, especially from those who showed you any kindness, like Charles. “They don’t understand you, kid” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But deep down, Erik feared that others could offer you the balance that he, in his obsession, denied you.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... wakes in the middle of the night to hear your frightened whispers. He knew you had nightmares, but he could not stand to see you in such a state of vulnerability. Not knowing how to comfort you without seeming weak, he stayed by your side, watching your tormented expressions. In the end, he would gently wake you, murmuring, “Nothing will happen to you while I’m here.” However, his need for control grew every time he saw you affected. He couldn’t bear the thought that something, not even in your dreams, could hurt you.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is surprised the first time he finds you watching a romantic series. “Why are you wasting your time with that?” he asks you, disdainful at first. However, over time, he begins to tolerate it only because he sees you more relaxed. He doesn’t admit it, but he secretly watches you, intrigued by how you can find peace in something so far removed from his reality. Although he despises those stories, he starts to buy them for you in an attempt to keep you entertained and close to him.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... begins to get angry when he notices that you are becoming friends with Pietro Maximoff. He is deeply bothered by the closeness you develop with his son, as he fears that his influence will pull you away from him. “Pietro is unstable,” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But you can’t help feeling freer with Pietro, who understands your desire to escape better. Every time Erik sees Pietro make you laugh or when he talks to you about the freedom he feels when he runs, Erik becomes increasingly jealous, wishing to control every aspect of your life.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes furious every time you escape. Even though you try to do it discreetly, he always notices and takes it as a personal betrayal. “Where do you think you can go without me?” he asks you when he finds you, his voice filled with a mix of disappointment and possessiveness. Erik justifies himself by telling you that he only wants to protect you from the dangers of the outside world, but the truth is he cannot stand the thought of losing control over you. Every time you return, he locks you further in his world, believing he will keep you safe.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... listens carefully when you talk to him about Azarath and your father, although his expression hardens at the mention of Trigon. “Your father has no power here,” he assures you, as if his words could ward off the danger he represents. However, he cannot help but compare himself to Trigon in his mind. His desire to protect you intertwines with a dark satisfaction: he is the one who has pulled you from that world. Still, his disdain for the demonic seeps into his words, sometimes making you feel that Erik does not understand the depth of your internal conflict.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first gets annoyed when you refer to him as your mentor instead of your father. For Erik, the relationships of power and control are clear, and your resistance to see him in a paternal role confuses him. “I care for you as if you were my own daughter,” he says, trying to soften his tone, although what he really wants is for you to feel more dependent on him. However, little by little, he realizes that being your mentor also gives him a position of influence, shaping you in his way. And although he does not admit it, sometimes he would prefer that you did not see him as a father, as his feelings toward you become increasingly complex.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes irritated when he sees you seek comfort in other mutants or in your memories of Azarath when you feel alone. For him, those connections are a threat, as he fears that any bond outside his influence will lead you to distance yourself from him. “They don’t understand what you can become,” he tells you, convinced that he is the only one who can help you reach your true potential. But every time he sees you embrace your past or connect with others, the need to isolate you intensifies.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... sometimes struggles with the desire to let you go and allow you to be independent, but that thought consumes him with jealousy. Every time you show glimpses of autonomy, his possessiveness increases. Although he respects your strength, his need to protect and control puts you in a constant cycle of tension. “You will always need my guidance,” he assures you, convinced that his presence in your life is indispensable. However, he does not realize that, despite his obsession with keeping you close, you see him only as a teacher, not as the omnipresent figure he aspires to be.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first saw you as a key piece in his fight for mutant supremacy. He trained you hard, wanting you to be his perfect weapon against humans. But over time, something changed. He no longer cared if you fought in his war; he wanted you to be his daughter. Now, instead of training you in combat, he teaches you to control your powers in ways that, according to him, will only make you stronger, but without putting you in danger. “You don’t need to risk yourself for a cause that no longer makes sense to you,” he tells you, ignoring your own desires to fight or make your own decisions. He only cares about keeping you close, protected, and under his control. He is no longer interested in the war; his only obsession is to keep you in his life, away from any conflict that could take you away from him.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has become addicted to the moments when he can feign paternal normality with you, like the dinners he organizes almost every night. He knows that his presence makes you uncomfortable, especially when he watches you with an intensity that makes you nervous, but for him, it is a ritual that reinforces the connection he believes he has with you. Every time you try to avoid those moments, he insists: “It’s important that we have dinner together, as a family.” Although his attempts to create a family atmosphere feel forced, you stay because you feel you have no other option. Every dinner is laden with awkward silences and glances that make you feel like you are under a microscope.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is terrified to witness, for the first time, how Trigon attempts to possess you. It was an unexpected and terrifying moment, one that left him powerless in the face of a force he could not control with his magnetism. He watched you struggle against the influence of your demonic father, and for the first time in a long time, Erik felt a fear he had not felt since childhood: the fear of losing you, but in a much darker way than he had ever anticipated. When you managed to resist the possession, Erik took you by the shoulders, his eyes filled with a mix of panic and fury: “I won’t let that monster take you. Never.” Since then, he has redoubled his efforts to keep you close and under control, looking for any way to prevent Trigon from attempting something similar again, even if that means isolating you even more from the outside world.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has never understood why you are reluctant to celebrate your birthday. For him, celebrations are important because they reinforce the idea of family and unity. But you have always avoided Erik marking that date, and each year you try to spend the day in silence or distracted by anything else. Despite your resistance, Erik always finds a way to get you a gift or prepare something special, even though he knows it makes you uncomfortable. “No matter what you think, this day is important,” he insists, ignoring your wishes. For him, celebrating your birthday is not just a symbolic gesture; it is an affirmation that you belong to him and that, even if you reject it, you cannot escape his influence or control.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who...feels increasingly obsessed with the idea of having a perfect family. Although at first he saw you as an ally in his war, now he sees you more as his daughter and less as a warrior. Every time you mention the possibility of fighting for mutants or exploring the outside world, he cuts you off with cold determination: “Your place is here with me. You no longer need to prove anything to anyone.” This only increases your frustration, but Erik seems more than willing to do anything to prevent you from exposing yourself to danger, even if it means cutting all your external connections.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... watches every movement of Y/N as she trains with her powers, controlling shadows with impressive skill, his eyes burning with a mix of pride and possession. Every time she makes progress in her control of her powers, he feels his own purpose renewed: to protect her from a world that does not understand her. He feels jealous of the attention she gives to Charles, but at the same time, he knows he needs her to see him as a paternal figure as well.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... takes her to therapy sessions to help her cope with her nightmares, creating a warm and welcoming environment. His approach is more understanding and emotional, and although he feels threatened by Erik's intensity, he strives to be the father that Y/N needs, even if it means yielding in some aspects to Erik's demands.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... cannot stand to see Y/N go on a mission with Charles or the other mutants. Although he knows it is part of her training, his protective instinct kicks in, and his scheming mind seeks ways to dissuade her. When he finds her talking to Charles about the mission, his voice hardens. “It’s not safe for you to go out; you could lose control and hurt yourself,” he warns her, his tone filled with concern and jealousy.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm the situation, reminding Erik that Y/N needs to have experiences and learn to defend herself. “You can’t always protect her, Erik. She needs to learn to face the world.” His tone is firm, but in his eyes, there is a spark of challenge. The rivalry between them intensifies, but both know that their ultimate goal is the same: to protect their little Raven who is so lost in life.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels helpless when Y/N expresses her desire not to celebrate her birthday, a day that is painful for her to remember due to her own traumas. However, upon seeing how Charles plans a small celebration, his anger erupts. “Why are we celebrating a day that represents her vulnerability?” he yells, even though inside he is torn by the idea that he cannot be the only one to make her happy.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... realizes the importance of this day for Reader and refuses to yield to Erik's doubts. “She deserves to enjoy her life, Erik. You can’t keep her in a bubble.” Although both fight for Reader's attention and affection, the celebration becomes a point of unity, combining their efforts for the well-being of the young girl.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels a pang of jealousy and frustration when Charles invites Y/n to the mansion to spend time with family and have dinner with the other X-Men. “Why are you bringing her here? She should be training, not sharing laughs with them,” he reproaches, his voice tense as he watches Y/n smile and interact with the others. Erik cannot help but feel excluded, fearing that by spending time with Charles and the X-Men, Y/n will drift away from him and his teachings.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to see the best in the situation, explaining to Erik that Y/n needs moments of normalcy and connection with others. “Erik, you can’t protect her from everything. It’s essential for her to learn to interact with her family and friends,” he says, trying to remain calm. However, he realizes that Charles's words only ignite Erik's anger further, who believes those moments are a dangerous distraction.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels even more upset when he learns that Charles is fostering a relationship between Reader and Pietro. “She doesn’t need a boyfriend, especially not that boy who will only hinder her development,” he tells him in a grave voice, raising an eyebrow at the complicity between the two. His scheming mind fills with jealousy, convinced that Pietro, with his carefree nature, could negatively influence his daughter, diverting her from the seriousness he believes her life should have.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm Erik, reminding him that the bond between Y/n and Pietro could be beneficial for her development. “She needs friends her age, Erik. Who better than your son? You can’t be the only one in her life,” he insists, although the tension between them feels palpable. In reality, he does this to torment Erik and make Y/N want him more.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels irritated when he sees Y/n wearing battle clothes that he hasn’t chosen. He hated that she dressed in that dark attire. “Why are you dressing like that? You need to be ready for battle, not for a parade,” he tells her, frowning as he sees that Charles allows Y/n to wear whatever she wants. When she appears uncomfortable with her choice, Erik feels frustrated by the lack of control he has over his surroundings. “I don’t want you to feel vulnerable,” he says with concern, but his way of expressing it is possessive and almost demanding.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... intervenes, defending Y/n right to choose her own clothes. “She should feel comfortable and secure, Erik. Strength doesn’t just come from appearance, but from the confidence she has in herself,” he argues, trying to show him that possessiveness is not the answer. However, Erik feels overwhelmed by the desire to protect her, thinking that clothing should be an extension of that protection, not realizing that his approach may be making Y/n feel trapped.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... one night, upon seeing Y/N wake up startled from her nightmares, cannot help but feel a pang of pain. “I won’t allow them to trap you like they did me,” he murmurs, gently taking her hand. However, his possessive nature surfaces, and a flash of fear crosses his face at the thought that she might distance herself.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... encourages her to talk about her fears, using his telepathic abilities to connect with her in those mental landscapes. “You are not alone, my girl. We are here for you,” he tells her, his voice soft and reassuring. Their emotional connection strengthens in those moments of vulnerability, and although Erik struggles with his own instincts, he realizes that together they can offer her the protection she needs.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... joins Charles to defend Y/N from an external threat, forcing a collaboration that seemed impossible before. Both are aware that, although their methods differ, their love for her transcends any rivalry. “If we lose her, there will be no victory,” Erik says, his voice deep as he watches Charles nod, understanding him.
Yandere! Charles Xavier who... is also compelled to recognize the value of Erik's strength. “We need to join our forces if we want to protect her from the darkness that lurks,” he agrees, looking at Erik with a mix of respect and challenge. Together, they form a formidable front, balancing Erik's brute strength with Charles's cunning and knowledge, becoming two protective fathers seeking the best for Y/n.
Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr and Yandere! Charles Xavier who... finally find an understanding in their struggle to protect Y/n. The rivalry that once separated them becomes a bond that unites them, each complementing the other as they face the adversities of the outside world, with the Raven of freedom always present in their hearts.
A/N ── I don’t know much about Magneto (surprisingly), so I did what I could with him. Still, I wasn’t satisfied with his part, and that’s what worries me the most, but I think with a look at the comics, the movies, and watching a few videos, I’ll learn more about him.
I separated them because I think in Xavier’s case, Y/N would feel more drawn to his affection and appreciation, which is why she would remain loyal to him without wavering, which is different in Magneto’s case.
Raven is a character I really like, in several adaptations, except for two that I don’t like much mainly because of how they were written.
Feel free to ask me anything if you want. Just go to my profile and message me; I always read your ideas and requests.
Take a Bath!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x reader#neutral reader#yandere x you#charles xavier#charles xavier x reader#erik lehnsherr#erik lehnsherr x reader#professor x#marvel x you#yandere marvel#marvel x reader#marvel xmen#marvel#raven#rachel roth#yandere platonic#yandere x men
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i don't know if you do platonic yanderes , but I want to request how platonic yandere gambit would be with a darling
BLACK SHEEP.
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Remy LeBeau x Mutant! Reader. (Platonic Fic)
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, scars, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Gambit? Idk, fights, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.
sinopsis ⸺ Marked by a past of solitude and betrayal, his affection for you is a poisonous blend of devotion and control, always teetering on the edge between tenderness and obsession. For Remy, you are everything, his only family, and losing you would mean his ruin... so he will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it means locking you in a cage made of his possessive love.
A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is—Thank you for placing the order! I really appreciate your trust and enthusiasm. Your support means a lot to me, and I’m excited to work on it. If you have any specific ideas or details you'd like to include, please feel free to let me know.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... actually knew who you were before you even exchanged a glance. Charles Xavier, Beast, and Logan talked about you often, in conversations filled with worry and caution. Your destructive powers had isolated you, and it was a tragic accident that took your parents' lives while they tried to protect you from yourself. That story resonated with him. A broken soul, chained to a gift that society did not understand nor could accept. Remy was always drawn to broken things; they were like pieces of a puzzle he needed to complete. The first time he saw you, hidden among the bushes in the garden, covered in dirt and fear, his heart beat faster. He knew that the moment he reached you, he would never let you go.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... was not intimidated by the hurtful words you threw at him, desperate attempts to make him leave, to protect him from you and what you were capable of. “Don’t touch me!” you shouted, with tears that dared not fall from your eyes. But he did not move. Instead, he smiled softly, that mischievous, almost playful smile that hid a dark depth that few could see. “Cher, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t scare me. In fact, I think you and I are more alike than you think.” The words sounded soft, almost hypnotic, as if they were designed to disarm you. And, little by little, they began to work.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... slipped into your life without you realizing, appearing in the most mundane moments, when you tried to find a bit of peace in the chaos of your existence. At first, he did it subtly: he listened as you lamented about your family and your life before your mutation, his jacket over your shoulders when the cold hit you, or staying with you in that corner. He made sure you saw him as someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn’t back away out of fear. But always, in the background, there was something more. A glimmer in his eyes that told you his presence was not merely accidental, that he was watching.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... used his story to soften you, to connect with you on that deeper level that always seemed inaccessible. He knew you were broken inside, hurt by the loss of your parents and consumed by fear of your own power, so little by little, he began to open up. He told you how he too had been an outsider, an orphaned boy raised on the streets of New Orleans. How he had been rejected even by those who took him in, feared for his own gift, a gift he could not control either. “Tu sais, I wasn’t always like this, chérie,” he would say with a melancholic smile, as his fingers played with a deck of cards. “Everything I am now is because I had to learn to survive. In this world, if you don’t have anyone, you are nothing.” And with every story he shared, you felt the wall you had built begin to crack. Remy, with his soft words and warm gaze, was slowly digging into that shell you had fought so hard to maintain.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... made you feel less alone, but never in the way you desired. He knew when you were about to break, and there he was, holding you before you could fall. “You can’t get rid of me so easily, chérie,” he whispered as his hands found yours, strong but gentle. He made you feel safe, but there was something suffocating about his constant presence, something you could not name.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... began to take up more space in your life, even in your most painful moments. When your nightmares woke you up at night, sweaty and echoing with the explosions that never stopped resonating in your mind, he was there. You didn’t ask how he knew you were awake, nor why he was always so close. But his touch, his soft words, wrapped around you until the terror dissipated, only for another kind of unease to grow in its place. “You’re never going to be alone again, I promise you,” he said, almost like a vow.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... started to make you doubt everything. When you tried to pull away, when you wanted to put distance between your destructive powers and those around you, he whispered in your ear: “No one else is going to understand you like I do, chérie. No one else can bear what you carry inside.” His words sank into you like sweet poison, until the idea of being without him began to seem more terrifying than the idea of destroying everything around you. Who else could face your power? Who else would keep loving you after everything you had lost?
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... carefully decided who you could associate with, selecting only those he considered “safe.” He encouraged you to get close to Jubilee, with her sparkling and carefree energy, because he knew that she posed no threat to his control. “Elle est bonne pour ti, chérie. She has a good heart,” he would say when you saw her, and little by little you convinced yourself that he just wanted what was best for you. Ororo was also welcome in your little circle; her calm, motherly nature made him feel that she was not a dangerous influence. And of course, Rogue was always nearby, though you could never shake the feeling of tension between her and Remy. He justified her presence by saying they were old friends, but there was something in the way he looked at her when you were around that made Rogue keep her distance, while Morph, Bobby, and others like them were completely off-limits.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... whispered words of comfort in your ear when your darkest memories suffocated you. “It wasn’t your fault, chérie. Your parents didn’t know what they were doing, but I did. I would never leave you.” And though those words should have eased you, there was something in his tone that made you feel trapped, as if there were no escape from the invisible cage he was building around you.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... didn’t want you to associate with people who could “corrupt” your view of the world. Bobby tried to talk to you once, casually, while you were in the kitchen. His easy smile and relaxed nature made you laugh, something that didn’t happen often. But it wasn’t long before Remy noticed. “What was he doing with you, huh?” His tone was as smooth as a knife's edge, his eyes burning with something you hadn’t seen before. “I don’t like you getting close to him.” And though you knew that wasn’t true, you felt the coldness of his control wrap around you. The situation exploded when Remy and Bobby ended up in a violent fight, sharp words and barely veiled threats exchanged until Jean and Scott had to separate them. You, however, saw him as a friend, someone who could help you forget for a while how dangerous you were. But over time, even Bobby began to avoid you, and the few friendships you had dwindled down to those Remy approved of.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... enjoyed the simple things with you, those that seemed harmless on the surface. He liked to take you to shopping malls, where he could walk beside you and make sure you felt safe, but always under his watchful eye. “Choose whatever you want, ma belle. Whatever it is, it’s yours.” He let you pick out clothes, books, little decorations for your room. But even in those moments, there was an underlying control. The options he offered you were carefully selected; he made you feel you had freedom, but it was always within the limits he set.
Yandere Remy LeBeau who... loved to see you smile, and one of his favorite ways to achieve that was by playing board games with you. He was charming, relaxed, and playful during those moments. “Allez, chérie, you’re going to have to try harder if you want to beat me,” he challenged you while a carefree laugh filled the room. Those were the moments that made you doubt, that made you think that maybe Remy just wanted what was best for you, that his closeness was a good thing. When you laughed, when for a second you forgot your destructive powers, he looked at you with devotion. But behind those crimson eyes, there was an insatiable hunger, a need for control.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... took his time decorating your room, making sure everything was to your liking, but always with his touch. “It’s important that you feel comfortable, mon coeur,” he would say as he placed a soft lamp by your bed or adjusted the curtains so that the light came in just as you liked it. But even here, there was a shadow of possession. The things he chose for you always reflected his own taste, his vision of who you should be. It was not just your space; it was a reflection of his influence over you.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... could not stand the idea of anyone else entering your intimate life. The thought of you falling in love with someone else filled him with a silent fury. “If you ever find someone,” he said in one of those moments where he seemed casual, almost brotherly, “it has to be someone I approve of. Someone who will take care of you like I would. Not just anyone can be with you, chérie.” And even though he said it with a smile, there was something in his tone that chilled you. You couldn’t imagine Remy sharing that control with anyone else.
Yandere Remy LeBeau who... as time passed, that possibility grew even more distant. The few attempts you made to get close to someone were sabotaged before they could blossom. Remy made sure that any connection broke before it could grow strong. He would tell you it was for your safety, that your power made you too dangerous to be with anyone. “They can’t handle what you are, mon amour. But I can. I always will.”
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... hated it when you rebelled against his control, when you tried to challenge him and do things your way. The arguments began with soft words and gentle warnings, but soon intensified when you refused to obey. One night, you tried to go out alone to practice your powers, tired of feeling constantly watched. But before you could get too far, Remy intercepted you. His hand gripped your arm tightly, his eyes shining with a mix of fear and rage. “You’re not going out alone, chérie, not like this.” His grip was rougher than you expected from him, and you tried to break free, but it was in vain. “You don’t understand how dangerous it is. I won’t let you take that risk, I can’t.” His words were severe, his tone more dominant than usual. But when he saw you trembling, when he saw the fear and frustration in your eyes, his hardness faded, replaced by a desperate plea.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... immediately apologized after those episodes of harsh control. He hugged you tightly, his trembling hands, as if he feared you might disappear at any moment. “I’m sorry, ma belle,” he murmured against your hair, his voice filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I can’t lose you. Not after all we’ve been through. You’re all I have.” In those moments, when his hardness crumbled and only a broken man remained inside, vulnerable to the fear of losing the only person who meant something to him, it was hard for you to push him away. His need for you, that connection that made you feel like you were his anchor, enveloped you, confusing you. Was it love? Was it protection? Or something much darker?
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... never let conversations about other guys last long. If he saw you interested, he subtly changed the subject or found a way to make you feel guilty for even thinking of opening up to someone else. “Personne ne te comprendra jamais comme je le fais.” His words became more intense over time, more definitive. The world outside, he told you, was too cruel, too fragile for you. But he, he was your refuge, the only constant.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... felt deeply affected the first time you went on a mission with the X-Men. He knew this day would come, but he wasn’t ready for the unbearable anxiety that invaded him. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I can’t help but worry,” he had told you before you left, with a carefree tone that hid how much he hated the idea of you exposing yourself to any danger. But when you returned, injured, all trace of his usual charm disappeared. His gaze burned with a fury and desperation you hadn’t seen before. “Merde, chérie! What did they do to you? Who did this to you?” He enveloped you in his arms protectively, almost suffocating, as his fingers traced the cuts and bruises on your skin. You could feel the tension in his body, as if he were on the verge of exploding.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... went mad when he saw you hurt, his mind filled with images of what could have happened if you hadn’t returned. “Je ne veux pas te perdre,” he said in a hoarse voice, almost inaudible, as he held you tightly. “You are my family. You have no idea what I would do if something happened to you.” There was something dark and disturbing in his words, in the intensity with which he held you close, but you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his desperation. It was as if, in his twisted and possessive love, Remy was capable of doing anything to keep you safe.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... did not allow his possessiveness to ruin the moments of tranquility you shared. On quiet nights, when you lay in bed, emotionally exhausted, he was there, sitting in a nearby chair, watching you with that mix of devotion and control. “Dors bien, ma belle. I’ll be here to take care of you.” And though those words should have comforted you, sometimes you felt as if those invisible walls he had built around you closed in a little more each night.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... always found a way to soften his behavior after moments like those. He took you to quiet places, away from the tensions of the mutant world, to strolls through the mall or parks where there was no immediate danger. He loved to see you laugh, as if that could erase any trace of the darkness that lay between you. “Look, ma chérie, this is how it should always be, right? No worries, no fears.” And in those moments, when it seemed like it was just you and him, you could forget, at least for a while, how invasive his presence had become.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... never let you forget that, for him, you were family. He constantly reminded you how alone he had been before meeting you, how you had filled a void in his life that no one else could fill. “I don’t know what I would do without you, ma chérie. If you ever drift away from me, if I lose you...” He never finished the sentence, but the weight of those words needed no ending. It was a warning, a reminder that his love for you was so intense that any possibility of losing you pushed him to the brink of despair.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... had a special way of softening his manipulations, of making you feel that everything he did was out of love, for your well-being. After a fight, he would always come back with a repentant smile, hugging you and telling you he never meant to hurt you. “Je suis désolé,” he whispered, with a tenderness in his voice that left you speechless. “But, mon coeur, you don’t understand. I can’t live without you. You are my family, the only thing I have.” And though you knew there was something unhealthy in all of this, his words pierced deep into your heart. You had lost so much, and while his love was suffocating, it was also the closest you had to feeling loved.
Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... looked at you as if you were a broken work of art, one he was determined to rebuild, but only in his image. And, in his mind, he did it out of love.
A/N ─── I love you, Remy, you're divine, I don't care what anyone says. Now, I adore Remy, he's charismatic and handsome, what more can I say? I love writing in French. Although I’ve had some less pleasant experiences with the language and culture, in Remy's case, French sounds almost like a caress. It's part of his essence!
He has that irresistible charm that makes him stand out, not just for his looks but for his heart full of complexities. Who wouldn’t fall in love with someone who, despite living in the shadows, always tries to bring light to others?
If you have any problems knowing the meaning of a phrase in French, tell me in the comments and I will be happy to answer you.
Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.
take a bath!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#neutral reader#yandere marvel#yandere x you#yandere x reader#marvel x reader#marvel x you#marvel xmen#marvel#gambit#gambit x reader#gambit xmen#remy lebeau#remy lebeau x reader#remy lebeau x you#remy lebeau x y/n#yandere remy lebeau#yandere x men
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Devil in Paradise
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Scott Summers x Mutant!Reader.
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
sinopsis ⸺ In a world where light and darkness intertwine, Scott Summers is the guardian of a shattered reality. His love for you, a spark in the gloom, becomes a chain that binds your fate to his. Trapped between his devotion and his obsession, the line between protection and possession blurs, revealing an abyss of dark passion. As echoes of the past resonate and shadows lurk, your heart, marked by his fervor, confronts the most dreaded question: is his love your salvation or your doom?
warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, scars, ¿kidnapping?, delusion, Angst, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation. The reader is referred to as a student, but she is of legal age.
A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I'm sorry to the little person who asked me for this, but the message got deleted :"(. I was about to post it, but then I realized that what I wrote wasn't saved and I had to delete the post. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... met you in your most vulnerable moment. After the devastating breakup with Jean, the only thing keeping Scott sane was his duty as a leader. On a mission, he found you in a cage, trembling, dirty, and resigned to your fate. Something in you awakened his protective instinct. He carried you out in his arms, whispering promises that you would be safe with him. That day, something in his heart began to change.
Yandere! Scott Summers who...took you to the X-Mansion. Despite his tensions with Jean, he decided to stay by your side when you begged him not to leave. Every day, Scott sat by your bed in the infirmary, tending to your wounds. While Jean examined you, he calmed you down, his hands never leaving yours. With each word of encouragement you gave him, he convinced himself that only he could save you from the cruel world.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... agrees to train you after Professor Xavier noticed your strong attachment to him. At first, Scott thought it would be better to keep his distance, but every time he saw you, his need to protect you grew. Your dependence fed him, and soon he became your mentor, teaching you to control your powers with an almost suffocating devotion.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... enjoys the moments when you lean on him during training. Every time you faltered, his arms caught you, and his soft voice assured you that he was there for you, always. The sweat on your skin, the slight tremor in your hands, all made him feel closer to you, as if he were your personal savior. He knew no one else could understand you like he did.
Yandere! Scott Summers who...has a fight with Jean when she questions his relationship with you. "She's your student, Scott! You can't be with her like that!" Jean shouted. But Scott, blinded by his obsession, no longer listened to her. "She needs me, Jean. You never understood." The argument escalated to the point where both lost control of their powers. The room ended up destroyed, and although neither of them died, the confrontation made it clear to everyone that Scott would do whatever it took to keep you by his side, even facing his former love.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... wakes up early every day, ensuring that your routine is perfectly calculated. From your breakfast to your training, nothing escapes his control. He hands you a cup of milk every morning, watching with a calm smile as you take the first sip. Sometimes, in the kitchen, his fingers brush against yours, and although it seems casual, the pressure of his touch is too firm, too insistent. "You need to be at your best," he says softly, his eyes hidden behind the visor. "I don’t want you to be defenseless again. Not like that time."
Yandere! Scott Summers who... while training you, catches you every time you fail at a move before you can fall. Too fast. Always there. As if the ground was never an option for you while he was near. The closeness between you is almost suffocating, but Scott never notices, or if he does, it doesn't seem to matter to him. His hands linger too long on your waist, his whispers are too intimate.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... can barely control the jealousy that burns in his chest when someone else pays you attention. Once, during a mission, Morph made a joke about your abilities. Everyone laughed, but Scott did not. His jaw tightened, and his eyes, though hidden, seemed to bore into Morph's neck. That same night, he found you in the hallways, too close to Morph's room for his liking. "What were you doing talking so much with him?" His tone was soft, but the pressure of his fingers on your wrist was not. "You shouldn’t get too close to people like him. He doesn’t understand what you need. Not like I do."
Yandere! Scott Summers who... finally could no longer contain his confession. He caught you one afternoon, right after training. You were tired, exhausted from the day, but he was closer than ever, his breath quickened, the words about to spill over. "I can’t keep quiet about this." His hands closed around your arms, but not with the softness of before. There was desperation in his gestures. "I need you. You don’t understand what it means to me that you’re here. I can’t lose you, I can’t… not after Jean." His ex's name echoed in the room but was quickly replaced by the echo of your name, said over and over like a mantra, a longing. "You don’t know how much I longed for someone like you to appear. Someone who wouldn’t leave me, who needs me as much as I need you."
Yandere! Scott Summers who... sometimes lets his darker side take over. One night, while you tried to escape the Mansion for a few hours to clear your mind and go out with your friends, you found him waiting for you at the door, his tall, dark figure outlined against the dim light outside. The smell of damp earth and the fog rising around him gave him an almost ghostly presence. "You shouldn’t try to leave without me," he said softly, stepping closer. "The world is dangerous, Y/N. You know that. I can’t leave you alone." His hand rose to caress your face, but the softness of that gesture contrasted with the edge in his words. "I would never do that."
Yandere! Scott Summers who... isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty if someone gets too close to you. Once, you saw his knuckles bloodied after Morph accompanied you back to the Mansion after a mission. Scott didn’t say much about what had happened, only told you that Morph "finally understood." And although you wanted to ask more, the sharp tone in his voice made you quiet.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... firmly believes that everything he does is for your well-being. His thoughts grow darker every day, but in his mind, every action is justified. "I’m saving you, Y/N. I’m saving you from pain, from loss… from what the world would do to you if I’m not here to protect you." And although the darkness of his words surrounds you, you realize that escaping from his shadow is almost impossible. Because somewhere deep in your mind, a part of you starts to believe him.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... longs for a life with you that goes beyond the confines of the X-Mansion. In his mind, the echoes of small children's laughter fill the empty hallways, and in every dark corner, he imagines a family he never had. He envisions you as the mother of his children, caring for them with the same devotion he feels for you. "Can you imagine?" he murmurs one night while looking into your eyes, his hands gently stroking your hair. "A house full of laughter... it would be perfect." His voice has a hint of madness as he describes his vision of life together. The idea of a family gives him a reason to live, a way to redeem the pain he carries with him. In his world, there is nothing purer than the love he could offer you, nor anything more sacred than the family they would build.
Yandere! Scott Summers que... se convierte en un observador silencioso de tus noches. Cuando finalmente el sueño te conquista, se sienta en un rincón de tu habitación, la luz tenue proyecta sombras sobre su rostro. Te observa dormir y siente que le duele el corazón. A menudo se queda allí durante horas, asegurándose de que estás bien, sintiendo que cada segundo que te observa lo une más a ti. "No puedo dejar que nada te haga daño, T/N", susurra, como si los murmullos pudieran protegerte incluso en tus sueños. Te imagina girando en la oscuridad, buscando su presencia, y se siente satisfecho. "Eres mía", repite en su mente, como un mantra que lo ancla a la realidad.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... has turned the space between you into a battleground. Every time others approach, like when you have joint training with Ororo or share a laugh with Jubilee, his face darkens. "Why don’t you look at me?" he asks softly, a tone laden with insecurity in his words. His reaction is almost automatic, and when you drift too far away, he feels the air leave his lungs. "I just want you to be safe, Y/N," he says, and that need consumes him. The dependence you have developed towards him becomes a refuge, but also a burden, a reminder that his hopes are intertwined with your presence.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... fears that one day you will leave him. So, every night, before the darkness envelops everything, he makes sure to seal his love in your mind. As he closes his eyes, he imagines whispering promises of a future together, full of children running around the house, of a home where laughter drowns out the pain of the past. "I will always be here to protect you. I will always be your refuge," he says while stroking your cheek, his touch a gentle reminder of what you mean to him. As days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, the idea of losing you drives him mad, and his love becomes a chain that binds him as much to you as to himself.
Yandere! Scott Summers who... finds satisfaction in the moments when he sees you vulnerable. When you are sad, he is the first to come to you, wrapping you in his embrace and ensuring you feel his warmth. "You will never be alone again, Y/N. Not when I have the strength to protect you from everything outside," he murmurs. In those moments, his desire to bind you to him becomes a purpose: he watches you cry and, although his heart breaks, he also feels a kind of power in being able to comfort you. "You are so strong, but also so fragile. And I... I can’t let the world hurt you," he confesses, a dark gleam in his eyes.
Yandere! Scott Summers who...feels more like your guardian than a partner every day. In his mind, there is no space for doubt. The idea of a family becomes an obsession, and the need to protect you from any pain consumes him. "If you ever leave me, I don’t know what I’ll do," he confesses to you on a dark night, while the stars blink indifferently. "I can’t lose you, Y/N. Never. I need you too much." In his mind, every word is a promise, every look is a chain that binds you closer to him.
Because you were only his,
you knew that, didn’t you?
A/N ──── When I received the message, I was in math class, and I spent five minutes thinking about who Scott Summers was (I don't know why I thought of Twilight) until I realized he was Cyclops. The night before, I was debating with a friend about how he had relationships xD.
Personally, Scott is not my favorite character from X-men, but I find him very interesting, especially how he lives day to day with his mutation. I've never been interested in his relationships (because I don't care about them, especially Jean, who is one of my least favorites among the female characters in Marvel). I think I like the Cyclops from the movies and from the series more than in the comics, but just a little.
Again, sorry for the inconvenience of the message.
Take a bath!
#x reader#yan blog#fem reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere x men#yandere marvel#yandere male#scott summers#marvel x you#marvel x reader#marvel xmen#marvel#marvel x y/n#scott summers x reader#yandere scott summers
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LURKS WITHIN WALLS
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Kurt Wagner x Mutant! Reader.
¿Request? No!
This is a Headcanon!
warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, religion, scars, ¿kidnapping?, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Kurt? Idk, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.
sinopsis ⸺ Beneath Kurt Wagner's sweet charm lies a dark and obsessive devotion. What begins as an innocent friendship transforms into a web of jealousy, manipulation, and constant surveillance. As he envelops you with his suffocating love, he lurks in the shadows, determined to protect you from everyone... even those who could be your friends. To Kurt, you are his angel, and he will not allow anything or anyone to take you away from his side, even if it means destroying everything you love.
A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I have adored Kurt since I was a child. He is my favorite X-Men after Logan, who has also been my favorite since the Ultimate Alliance 1 game and from the movies (Simply Hugh Jackman). I've always been curious about what it would be like if he were yandere.
Well, this is the first Marvel post, and I hope you liked it because I can't be all about DC all the time since I am multifandom and I'm really eager to write about everything.
Enjoy!
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... since the first night on the rooftop, under that blanket of stars, felt you as a blessing fallen from the sky. At first, his interest seemed innocent, a special connection between two misunderstood souls in the X-Mansion. Every time they shared those silent nights watching the sky, Kurt started to feel that you were his anchor, his reason to smile in a world full of chaos. "It's so peaceful here with you" he told you one night, with undeniable tenderness in his voice. But within his chest, a darker feeling began to take root.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... at first just wanted to see you happy. When he suddenly appeared in the places where you were, like in the library or the dining room, his eyes shone at the sight of your smile. However, he soon realized that he didn't want to share those moments with anyone else. The joy that surrounded you when you were with Rogue, Kitty, or Bobby disturbed him. "Why them?" he thought, increasingly distressed. They didn't understand your soul like he did. They didn't see the same angel in you that he saw. So he began to teleport secretly to watch you from the shadows, making sure you were safe... and ensuring that no one else got too close.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... began to stalk you silently from the walls of the Mansion, watching you when you thought you were alone. At first, he just wanted to ensure that you were safe, but soon he discovered that simply seeing you in your everyday moments, without you knowing he was there, became an addiction. From the shadows, he watched as you sat at your desk, reading or writing in your diary, how you groomed yourself in front of the mirror, or laughed carefree with your new friends. Everything you did was perfect; every little gesture was a work of art that he could not stop contemplating. It was his way of being close to you, of being present in every second of your life.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one rainy afternoon saw you dozing in the common room, exhausted from training. While the others chatted, Kurt, hidden in the shadows, watched you with eyes full of devotion, completely still to avoid revealing his presence. The others didn't notice his proximity, but he felt every breath you took, every slight movement of your lips as you dreamed. "You are a fallen angel from heaven," he thought, his fingers trembling with the desire to get closer, but holding back. That distance, that invisible gap, drove him crazy, but it also filled him with ecstasy. Knowing that only he could see you that way, vulnerable and peaceful, made him feel that he belonged to you more than anyone else.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one night, while you were showering in the Mansion's bathroom, teleported to a dark corner, just to see you through a crack in the wall. The water droplets slid down your skin; every movement of your body was a living poem that only he could read. He felt his breath hitch, and although he knew this was wrong, he couldn't stop. In his mind, he was there to protect you, to ensure that nothing harmed you, not even in those intimate moments. "No one will see you like I do," he whispered to himself. "No one will love you like I love you."
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... lurked in the shadows, watching how you talked and laughed with your friends in the dining room. From the walls, hidden, jealousy boiled within him as another mutant, a boy who had invited you to train with him, made you smile. Every smile you gave to someone else felt like a stab. From his corner, Kurt whispered words that no one else could hear, "They don't understand you, my Engel. Not like I do." In his mind, those moments you shared with others were thefts, emotional burglaries that took away what was his.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... in the darkest nights, watched you sleep, sitting on the edge of the bed, his shadow barely visible in the dimness of the room. He called you his "Angel," but in his darkest thoughts, you knew that this love was a prison. Every night, he whispered words of eternal love, words that sounded like promises and threats at the same time. "I will never let you go, Mein Schatz" he repeated, and although his words were sweet, there was a darkness behind them that enveloped you in a sense of impending danger, as if you were trapped in a corrupt fairy tale, where the prince would never let his princess escape.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one fateful night, after seeing you laugh with another, could no longer contain his frustration. He teleported to your friend's room, just a few seconds after he turned off the lights. In the shadows, Kurt watched him sleep, his breath heavy and innocent. "You are not worthy of her," he murmured before disappearing into the night, leaving a sense of unease in the air, as if the walls had whispered his condemnation.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... one early morning slipped into your room while you were sleeping. He stood by your bed, watching you in the soft glow of the moon that filtered through the window. You looked so at peace, so pure. Kurt couldn't help but lean in, and gently, he brushed his fingers close to your hair, without actually touching you. His breath was almost inaudible, but his eyes were filled with a feverish intensity. "You are mine, Liebling" he whispered almost inaudibly, the words floating in the air like an eternal promise. As he disappeared from your room, his heart beat with a dark satisfaction.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... began leaving small gifts in your room, things he knew would make you happy, but without revealing they were from him. A book you mentioned wanting to read, a mysteriously fresh blue flower on your pillow, all carefully planned to make you feel special. When you asked the others if they had left anything for you, Kurt, smiling in the shadows, delighted in the idea that these invisible gestures were his way of slowly possessing you, without you knowing.
Yandere Kurt Wagner who... on one occasion, while training with Logan, stayed watching from the upper beams of the gym, his body pressed against the shadows of the ceiling. The way Logan corrected your movements or guided you made him boil inside. In his mind, every touch was a transgression, every word an attempt to pull you away from him. "Don't let them confuse you, my angel," he thought as his claws dug into the steel structure, holding back. "No one else has the right to you... only I do." His obsession intensified with each passing day. "He doesn't understand you like I do." Although you tried to calm him, something in his eyes made you feel uneasy for the first time.
Yandere Kurt Wagner who... didn't take long to act when another of your training partners, a young man with powers similar to yours, began to spend more time with you. The boy seemed nice, and you enjoyed his company, but Kurt couldn't stand it. He started to watch every one of his movements, making sure he wasn't a threat to you... or to him. One night, he simply disappeared. The entire Mansion searched for him in vain, but Kurt already knew the truth. "You are safe now, Schatz" he told you softly as he hugged you by the shoulders. You didn't need that boy, or anyone else, just him.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... decided that the only way to fully protect you was to take you away from the Mansion. Genosha became the only option. "We can be together there, away from the complications," he whispered to you every time you mentioned how overwhelming life in the X-Mansion could be. The idea began to echo in your mind, especially when you saw the intensity in his eyes. He was convincing, his promises of a paradise where you could live peacefully and safely. Finally, you accepted his proposal, wanting a new beginning, unaware that this decision would tie you to Kurt in ways you could never have imagined.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... in Genosha, became your constant shadow. No matter where you went or who you wanted to talk to, Kurt always found a way to be present. "This place is just for us" he would say as they walked along the island's beaches, his tail possessively wrapping around your waist. Though the surroundings were beautiful, you felt increasingly isolated. Kurt's gazes, once sweet and full of adoration, now seemed to hold a shadow you couldn't identify. Every time you tried to socialize with the mutants on the island, Kurt intervened somehow, diverting conversations or simply taking you away with a gentle smile.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... little by little, began to isolate you from the rest. You couldn't have friends in the city, and every time you planned something with the few friends you made, he found a reason for you to spend the day with him. Every time you wanted to go out exploring, he suggested a walk along the deserted beach. "The world here is safer," he said with that sweet smile you trusted so much, while his tail lovingly curled around your waist. You never suspected that those little moments of isolation were part of his plan to have you all to himself.
Yandere Kurt Wagner who... when Logan came to visit you, knew that danger was near. Logan wasn't stupid; he had noticed the change in you and suspected that Kurt was the reason. "You shouldn't be so far away, girl. Something doesn't smell right," he told you, looking at you with a mixture of sternness and paternal concern. Kurt was there, close, watching silently. That night, when Logan said goodbye, Kurt hugged you tighter than usual. "I won't let him take you away, my angel," he whispered in your ear. Logan had an accident soon after that visit, and although he survived, something in his attitude changed. He stopped insisting.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... despite everything, gave you moments of sweetness. He took care of you, spoiled you, and showered you with affection. In his eyes, everything he did was out of love, for your protection. "We are together, my angel, and we always will be, Liebling" he would say to you every night, wrapping you in his arms as the stars shone above you both, just like at the beginning. Although the weight of his devotion sometimes suffocated you, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of relief and resignation. Life with Kurt was a gilded cage, a soft prison made of obsessive love.
Yandere! Kurt Wagner who... although his love was overwhelming, sickly, and obsessive, beneath it all there was a disturbing tenderness. Kurt saw you as his salvation, his redemption in a cruel world. But also, without realizing it, you had become his prison of love. He loved you so much that he couldn't let you go free, but in his twisted mind, this was the right thing to do. "My Engel... together forever," he whispered to you on those starry nights, as the obsessive love he felt, lurking and protective, became the only possible fate.
A/N ─── Personally, even though it's short, I'm completely okay with it. I adore Kurt! He's such a sweetheart when he’s not yandere, of course 💕. His sweetness, his attentive nature, and his unwavering faith make him irresistible. He’s the kind of person who would say things like Liebling or Schatz with that warm and shy look that melts hearts. Although when he becomes yandere, everything gets a little... intense, to say the least.
Liebling - Dear, darling
Schatz - Treasure
Engel - Angel
Mein Schatz - My treasure
If you have any questions, feel free to ask!
Take a Bath!
#x reader#yan blog#neutral reader#yandere#yandere marvel#kurt wagner x reader#kurt wagner#nighcrawler#nightcrawler x reader#yandere x reader#marvel#marvel x reader#marvel xmen#marvel x you#marvel x y/n#x men#x men comics#xmen x reader#xmen x you#fem reader#yandere x men#yandere nightcrawler#yandere kurt wagner
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We need a part two of the harley quinn mother headcanons!
SUGAR & SPICE!
pairings ⸺ Mother! Harley Quinn x Teen! Reader.
(PLATONIC FIC)
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
sinopsis ⸺ Every mother reaches the moment when she sees her chick starting to become independent from the nest. Harley loved you from the moment she found you in that abandoned alley, and now she finds it hard to accept that you are drifting away.
If she knew why you were leaving her behind, she would probably be thinking about putting Robin in the oven.
warnings ⸺ Fluff and Angst, Platonic Cuddling, ¿OOC Harley? Idk, Disturbing Content, Street Fights, Violence, Trauma.
A/N ── Honestly, I didn't plan on making a continuation of that headcanon, but since you asked (and your requests are sacred to me), here it is! Shoutout to @animequeen4 for the inspiration too!
When you grow up as the child of one of the most notorious supervillains in Gotham, things get a bit complicated. Harley knew this since you entered school, and especially since she separated from the Joker. She had prepared for everything: to protect you from clowns, snakes, and even snakes disguised as clowns. But what she didn't see coming, what truly drove her crazy, was the biggest challenge of all: your adolescence.
Harley noticed it almost immediately. At first, it was small things. Like how you no longer wanted to listen to the music she played at full volume in the lair. Instead, you started listening to your own songs, the ones she described as "unbearable noise." Then came the decoration of your room, which went from posters of heroes and villains to something "weird," according to Harley. “Since when do you like bats so much?” she would say with an eyebrow raised. But what broke her heart the most was when you stopped letting her dress you. She got frustrated every time she tried to put something on you that she thought looked great, and you would just say, "No, mom, I don't like that anymore."
But the worst, the worst of all, was when you entered high school. You made friends. Friends whose names Harley didn't even know. Horrible! For someone like her, who was used to knowing all the details of your life, that was the worst that could happen. And on top of that, you no longer asked for permission to do things! The worst part was that she had raised you "well" (according to her criteria), so she didn't understand how you ended up at the police station several times for vandalism and disturbances.
"I raised you better than this!" she would shout, completely indignant, while signing the papers to get you out of another detention. Inside, she knew you were going through that rebellious phase, but that didn't make it any easier to cope.
One day, Harley stood at the door of your room, frustrated because you didn't even ask her for help with your math problems anymore. She stared at you, her hands on her hips, and exclaimed, “Look, little birdie, I get you! I know you're growing up and all that, but can you please stop doing it so fast? You're slipping through my fingers!”
It was a mix of desperation and tenderness. Harley wasn't ready to see you grow up. She knew you were becoming more independent, but in her heart, you would always be her little one. And even though she got frustrated with all these changes, with every new friend or every time you snuck out to go to a party, deep down she just wanted to make sure you were okay.
Puberty was a roller coaster, and Harley was starting to realize that nothing in her villain life had prepared her to deal with it. The first thing she noticed was that you no longer wanted to go out with her for taco Fridays with the girls. Those days when they went shopping, wore neon clothes, and had laughs while window shopping stopped being your thing. Harley watched you from the doorframe, taco in hand, saying, “What happened to my buddy? Where's the kid who loved to eat until stuffed full of carnitas?”
Sometimes, Harley tried not to take it to heart, but it was hard. She crumbled a little every time you locked yourself in your room instead of watching her roll around on the sofas with the Birds of Prey or with the Sirens, planning their next crazy scheme. It was then that she realized she needed help. So, as a good mother (or as close as she could get), she turned to the only person who could understand her frustration... Catwoman.
But the chat with Selina wasn’t exactly helpful. “Harley, sweetheart, I don’t mix with kids. I don’t know what you want me to tell you, mine has four legs and purrs,” Selina said, taking a sip of her martini while checking out a new leather whip. It was a "thanks, but no thanks," and Harley left with more questions than answers.
Next stop: Ivy. Harley had high hopes that Ivy, with her serenity and green wisdom, would give her the key to understanding you better. But Ivy just shrugged and said, “Plants grow, Harley. Just like kids. You can't stop the natural process.” Harley frowned. “And what do I do when they doesn’t want to tell me who he's with all day?” Ivy, very zen, replied, “You could always... spy ” It wasn't exactly the help she was looking for.
After exhausting her resources with the girls, Harley did the unthinkable: she turned to Batman. Yes, Batman! In a conversation that turned out to be as awkward as it was effective, the Dark Knight explained to her what he had learned from raising his multiple Robins: “It's part of growing up. You just have to be there, but give them space. You can't control everything.”
Harley, of course, took it with her usual dramatism: “Give them space!? But they doesn’t even want to go for tacos anymore!?” It was as if the world had turned upside down.
Meanwhile, at school, things weren’t going smoothly either. Your new “friends” were... questionable. People that Harley, if she had known, would have kicked out. But, for your luck (or misfortune), those friends didn’t last long. In the end, the problems they brought with them distanced you from them, and unexpectedly, you found yourself spending more time with Damian again. Harley, of course, had no idea about this. To her, Damian was just the rude boy you sometimes talked to.
There was always something about him that intrigued you, and despite his constant grumbling and "I don't care" attitude, you managed to see beyond that. Between talks about anything (and often about nothing), Damian became someone important to you. Harley had no idea about this mini romance, because if she did, she would probably already be plotting a plan to scare the Wayne boy. “If you think he’s cute, go for it,” she had once said with a mischievous wink. And although she didn't think you would take it seriously, here you were, emotionally entangled with Batman’s son, even though at that time you didn't know he was Batman's son.
It all started with an idea that, in retrospect, wasn’t the best: throwing paint cans at Robin. In your defense, it sounded like a funny prank at the moment. What you didn't calculate was that Robin, being Damian Wayne, wasn’t exactly easy to evade. You ran as if your life depended on it, covering almost twenty kilometers, and the most frustrating part was that he wasn’t even sweating. Every time you turned to see if you had lost him, there he was, impeccable, with that unfriendly look and his expression of "When I catch you, say goodbye to your legs."
When he finally threw you to the ground, ready to give you the lesson of your life, you looked at him more closely. That perfectly styled hair, that look of a thousand deaths, and the sarcasm in every phrase... "Damian?!" you shouted, more out of disbelief than fear. Because, of course, it turns out your boyfriend wasn’t just a rude jerk, but also the damn Robin. The pieces finally fell into place, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or feel betrayed. In the end, you did both.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he reprimanded you with that authoritative voice he usually reserved for criminals and his family. "Throwing paint? Seriously?"
The funny thing is that, even though you were completely exhausted from the chase, your brain didn’t stop working. So instead of apologizing like a normal person, you shrugged and said, "At least it wasn't green paint. That would have been offensive." He didn’t find it so funny.
From that moment on, the romantic dates became something much more... practical. Damian decided that if you were going to get into trouble, at least you should know how to defend yourself, so starry night strolls turned into intense self-defense training sessions. "Nothing says 'I love you' like a well-placed punch," you thought every time Damian corrected your stance. And although at first you considered it the least romantic of gestures, there was something sweet about how he insisted on keeping you safe.
Of course, these "dates" weren’t just training. Eventually, you met Jon Kent, the super-sweet boy who contrasted so much with Damian's serious personality. The trio you formed was a disaster waiting to happen, yet somehow it worked. Between secret missions, night escapades, and 'lots of fun,' the three of you became inseparable. But it was all super secret, because if Batman found out, well, the reprimand wouldn’t be exactly gentle. And Harley... well, don’t even think about what Harley would say if she found out.
But Harley, being Harley, didn’t take long to notice the changes. For her, it was alarming to see how her kid, her little birdie, was starting to come home late through the window, with two colors in his hair that reminded her a bit of her own lifestyle, and some bruises that you, of course, tried to hide. "Did you fall down the stairs again? Seriously?" she would ask skeptically while helping you tend to your wounds.
Her biggest fear wasn’t that you would get into minor trouble, but that he would have come back. Harley began to suspect that the Joker had found you, and that kept her in a constant state of alert. She watched you more closely, trying not to show it, but it was obvious. Nights with Damian always seemed to fly by. Between training, talks, and that connection you both shared, the hours slipped away without either of you noticing. That was how it happened that one particular night, after a long and exhausting session, he decided to walk you home. Not that you needed it, you were perfectly capable of getting home on your own (or so you said), but Damian liked to make sure you got home safely. Plus, it was an excuse to spend more time together.
It was already four in the morning, and you were ready to say goodbye with a kiss when suddenly, three giant hyenas sprang out from under your bed, and Harley, in full ninja mode, dropped from the ceiling with a baseball bat in hand. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"
You had to close the window, leaving Damian outside, to prevent your mom and the hyenas from getting to the "mom, chill," you tried to calm her, putting yourself between them. "It's not what it looks like."
"Oh no! It looks like you're turning into a mini-Harley with a boyfriend and everything, and I'm not going to sit back and watch how they break your heart like that stupid clown broke mine!"
But you managed to slow her down, and with Harley calmed down (more or less), the tension of the moment seemed to dissolve, but she didn’t stop there. The next morning, she showed up at the Batcave (Only God knows how she found the Batcave), furious, and ready to confront Batman for allowing his son to "seduce" her little birdie. "What kind of father lets his son stay out late with my kid?! This is unacceptable!"
Bruce, who was busy with his screens, barely looked up. He listened to Harley’s furious monologue while maintaining his typical calm posture, nodding from time to time. When Harley finished, he just raised his thumb calmly, as if giving his approval. "Damian has good taste," was all he said.
"That doesn’t help me, Bats!" Harley exclaimed, frustrated. But Bruce, in his minimalist style, simply added, "You... should spend more time with your kid, Harley. Don’t worry so much. And if you need help, just let me know."
Harley was left speechless. It wasn’t the response she expected, but deep down, she knew Batman was right. She sighed and, resigned, left without more than a warning for Bruce: "Just because you told me that doesn’t mean I won’t hit you with my bat if things go wrong."
But the truth is that as Harley made her way home, she reflected a little. You were growing up, and although she didn’t like it, it was part of life. You couldn’t be her little one forever, and while the fear of losing you was always present, she knew she had to trust you. After all, she had raised you well (in her own way), and now she could only let you fly a little, like that little bird she often mentioned.
Back at home, she found you lying on the couch, still with some paint in your hair from the prank on Damian. Harley watched you for a while, noticing how much you had grown. Not just in height, but in attitude. The way you had started to move through the world, making your own decisions, forming relationships outside the little universe she had built for you. And that, even though she sometimes denied it, hurt her a little. She sat on the edge of the couch, sighing as she stroked your messy hair.
Harley noticed it before anyone. First, you stopped getting excited about taco Fridays with the girls or going out to dye your hair neon. Then, it was the uncomfortable silence when you no longer sought her advice for anything. You had become more independent, but Harley only saw you drifting away.
Harley sighed and looked at you with a mix of nostalgia and worry. “You’re growing up... and even though I hate it, I know I can’t stop it. I just want you to know that you will always be my little birdie. No matter how big you get, you will always have a place with me.”
You stayed silent, noticing how difficult it was for her to say it. Harley had been many things, but she had never stopped being your mother. You smiled at her and nodded, feeling a familiar warmth in your chest. "I love you too, mom. I promise I’m not drifting away, I’m just... growing."
Harley gave you a tight hug, and in that moment, you knew that even though everything might change, you would always find that common ground, whether it was stealing marshmallows or just sharing a night under the stars. "Puberty sucks," Harley joked, and for the first time in a long time, you both laughed together.
As the hug lingered, you felt how the outside world faded away, leaving only Harley and you in a bubble of safety and love. "I’ll be here, always ready for you, even if sometimes I’m a little... crazy,” she replied with a soft laugh. “But you know that’s what makes everything more fun, right?”
You nodded, and inside, the worry you had felt about drifting away from her faded. There was comfort in knowing that even though the road ahead might be complicated and full of challenges, you had a beacon lighting your way. A mother who, with her craziness and unconditional love, would always guide you home.
"Let’s promise to do more things together, then," you said with determination. "No matter if it’s stealing candy or painting our nails bright colors. There will always be time for that."
"Deal," said Harley, raising her pinky as if sealing a pact. You smiled and linked it with yours. The connection you shared was stronger than any challenge you could face.
"And when it’s time to face the world, I’ll be your ally," she added, a spark of determination shining in her eyes. "Because we will be a team, always."
After that, everything changed, but for the better. Learning to divide your time between everything you loved wasn’t easy, but you knew you would succeed. After all, you had the strongest support: that of your strange yet endearing family, that of your partner, and above all, that of the best mother you could have ever dreamed of.
A/N ─── Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to request anything, don't hesitate to ask. I read all of your comments and questions!
Take a Bath!
#x reader#dc x reader#neutral reader#yan blog#harley quinn#harley quinn x reader#harleen quinn#batman#bruce wayne#dc joker#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne#jon kent#catwoman#selina kyle#harley quinn x poison ivy#poison ivy
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PIERROT, THE SAD CLOWN.
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Richard 'Dick' Grayson x Villain! Fem! Reader.
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
sinopsis ⸺ From the moment he first saw her, Dick Grayson knew he loved her. However, she could only perceive the sadness and darkness surrounding her. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t make her see the light he wanted to offer.
He firmly believed he could be her happiness.
warnings ⸺ Angst, ¿OOC Dick? Idk, Dark Themes, Dead, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Sexual Content, Noncon, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Paranoia, Manipulation.
A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is— This, to be honest, is a headcanon I came up with about three minutes ago after I was left unsatisfied with the results of two headcanons I made about Jason. Since I didn't like them, I started writing a story that I had pending about Dick Grayson.
On another note, I want to thank you for the 500 followers ♡ I will keep posting more things and such.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... had never felt such a deep void until he saw you for the first time, a blurred shadow among the rubble of Blüdhaven. You, the villain who neither screamed nor laughed, only existed in a perpetual sadness, became his obsession. Pierrot, his very own Joker, trapped in a prison of melancholy, without the frenetic spark of the crazies he used to face. That sadness you emanated was his own reflection, a crack he wanted to mend with his love, a love that bordered on madness.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... from the rooftops, watched you wander the streets, always with that lost look, as if you didn't belong to this world. Every time they fought, he felt something breaking more inside you, something he could fix if only you let him get close. The nights were long, filled with endless watchings, as he silently followed you, keeping a prudent distance, until he could no longer bear it. He knew he was losing you. How was it possible that you couldn't see how much he loved you, how much he needed you? You were trapped in your own sadness, and he, in his obsession to save you.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... one day, while watching you from the shadows, found you on top of a rooftop, and thought you were going to jump. But no. You were crying, again. It was always the same. You approached the edge, and terror engulfed him. He thought you would leap, and for the first time felt something beyond duty: he felt he couldn't lose you. So, he researched everything he could about you. Your past revealed itself to him as a dull echo of emotional deprivation, a devastated childhood, and that dark philosophy about life, death, and chaos that you admired in the Joker. You had lost yourself in that labyrinth of despair, and he swore he would bring you back.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when he finally caught you, instead of taking you to justice as he had done before, he took you to Arkham, believing you would be safe there, under his constant watch. He visited you, he watched over you. But it wasn't long before you escaped, thanks to the Joker. Time and again, you faced him, and time and again, Dick brought you back to that exhausting cycle. However, something in him broke the last time he caught you.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when conventional methods failed, began to seek more extreme solutions. He took you to Wayne Manor the second time you escaped from Arkham. He locked you in a room from which you couldn't escape. It wasn't a cell, it was a luxury prison, but a prison nonetheless. He watched you day and night, ensuring that nothing and no one would ever hurt you again. The need to protect you had turned into something sick. He kept you safe, locked away. It wasn't a cold cell, but the walls suffocated you, and Dick's constant presence, ever-watchful, made you feel that freedom was just an illusion. Your protests became muted whispers drowned by his excessive devotion. He didn't understand why you couldn't see what he was doing for you, why you resisted. He believed that if he could control you enough, if he could protect you from yourself, you would eventually realize that you loved him.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... looked at Bruce and the others in the Wayne family with a mix of resentment and pity. They spent millions on therapies, on psychiatrists trying to "cure you," on initiatives to "reform you." How could they be so blind? He was the only one who understood what you truly needed. The Batfamily treated you like a project, while Dick saw you as the love of his life. Didn't they realize that only he could save you? But while the others saw your despair as an illness, Dick saw in your sadness a kind of beauty that no one else understood. To them, you were just a villain; to him, you were his everything.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... every time he found you on the edge of the abyss, when your empty eyes stared into nothingness, when everything around you seemed to break apart, he was there. He hugged you tightly, his hands gripping you as though they could tie you to the world. "I love you," he whispered in your ear, as if those words could heal the pain you carried inside. He felt your resistance, your hopelessness, but that only fueled his desire further. He was convinced he could tear you from the grips of your own sadness, even if he had to break you to rebuild you.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... when you escaped from Wayne Manor, he searched for you with frantic intensity. Every time he found you, he only saw one more opportunity to prove to you that he was the only one who could save you. He surrounded you with his body, protecting you from the world, but also imprisoning you. Bruce confronted him one night, warning him that his obsession was consuming him, but Dick merely replied that love was like that, devouring and total.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... faced Harley when she tried to pull you from the abyss, believing that the chaos of the Joker would be your only salvation. But Harley didn't know what Dick knew. He could give you peace, love, not the unrestrained madness she offered. When he confronted her, the fight was not just physical. Harley mocked him, telling him he could never save you, that you would always be a tragedy, like her. And when Harley's blood stained the ground, Dick knew he had crossed a line. It wasn't a heroic battle, but a desperate act. He did it for you, to protect you from those who wanted to send you back to hell.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the days became blurred as he kept you in the Manor, away from the world that hurt you so much. He wanted you to understand that everything he did, every confinement, every possessive caress, was for your own good. Meanwhile, Alfred and Bruce tried to convince him that what he was doing was not love, but control. But for Dick, words were useless. He believed that true love required sacrifice, and if he had to sacrifice your freedom to save you, then he would do it without hesitation.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... decided that you could no longer be in the hands of others. No one else understood what you needed. He took you to his apartment, to a place where the windows were closed and the doors always locked. You were no longer free, but you were not alone either. Dick cared for you, spoke to you of a future where you would be together and happy. Every time you tried to escape, he stopped you, not with anger, but with a disturbing calm. "It's for your own good," he told you, as he held you tighter than seemed necessary. His caresses were gentle, but behind them, there was always something darker, a desperation that grew with each attempt to flee.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... the first time he possessed you was, for him, an unforgettable moment. Your body trembled, amidst tears, as he whispered how much he loved you each time his pelvis met your backside. In his mind, you loved how he took you, how he made your intimacy cry for more of him, and how he filled you with his seed at the end of the night. Each of your sobs only reinforced his conviction that you were his forever, as he enveloped you in a mix of devotion and obsession from which you didn't know how to escape.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... followed you even into the darkest corners of your mind, where others dared not tread. When the Joker attempted to drag you back into chaos, Dick confronted him one night. The confrontation was brutal, swift, and when Dick was done, the ground was stained red. You, trembling and broken, watched as Dick tore apart the Joker's henchmen with a brutality you had never witnessed in him. That night, he took you back, covered in cuts and with a twisted smile, convinced he had saved you once more.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... dreamed of the day when you would come to your senses, when you both could walk hand in hand, form a family. In his dreams, you smiled, forgetting the pain, redeemed by his love. But those dreams never became reality, and with each passing day, you moved further away from that vision.
Yandere! Dick Grayson who... made you his in the only way he knew how. Without consent, without a voice to defend you, he took you before a judge and secretly married you. The marriage was not a celebration but an act of possession. The ceremony was silent, intimate in its darkness. Dick looked at you with that mix of devotion and madness as he bound you to him forever. In his distorted mind, it was the happy ending he had always imagined. You were no longer Pierrot, the tragic villain. You were his, completely. And in that possession, he believed he had found peace. Now you were Dick Grayson's wife, trapped in a bond you never asked for, but which he believed was your only salvation. He saw it as the perfect conclusion, the ending he had always desired. Because if you couldn't love the world, at least you could love him.
A/N ─── I hope you enjoyed this. Don't forget to leave a comment and a little heart.
Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.
take a bath!
#x reader#dc x reader#fem reader#yan blog#yandere#yandere dc#yandere dick grayson#yandere nightwing#yandere robin#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#smut#batman#batfamily#alfred pennyworth#dc joker#harley quinn#tw.noncon#tw.dark content
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The Wildcard!
pairings ⸺ Mother! Harley Quinn x Child! Reader.
(PLATONIC FIC)
¿Request? Yes!
This is a Headcanon!
sinopsis ⸺ Being a kid raised under the Joker’s wing isn’t exactly what anyone imagines when they talk about a "good childhood." I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna get bedtime stories when your father figure is a psychopathic clown, right? Although, now that I think about it, he probably did tell you stories before bed—just that his versions ended with explosions and maniacal laughter instead of happy endings. You never really know with him.
But, hey! There was always mom Harley. And while she wasn’t exactly the classic model of a devoted mother, Harley definitely had her moments. Those times when she’d look at you with those big, wide eyes and promise she’d protect you from everything, even from herself. And that says a lot, considering that sometimes even she didn’t know who she needed to protect herself from.
warnings ⸺ Fluff and Angst, Platonic Cuddling, ¿OOC Harley? Idk, Disturbing Content, Street Fights, Violence, Blood, Trauma, Phobias.
Guide! Pt.2
A/N ── Yes, damn it, yes! My first request! Thank you so much, really, thank you! No need to clap, I’ll get all blushy uwu. I put all my love and care into this. Hope you enjoy it to the fullest!
In reality, you were not her biological child. She knew that very well, and moreover, she knew that Mr. J would never want a child with her. In fact, it had never been part of the plan. "Kids are a hassle" the Joker would say, with that shrill laugh that coursed through his body like an electric shock. And Harley, well, she didn't exactly want a baby either. Until she found you.
Harley found you among the rubble, covered in blood, although it wasn't yours (at least that's what she hoped). You couldn't have been more than five months old, and there was no trace of your mother. At that moment, her intentions weren't exactly maternal, but what could you expect from a criminal at 2 AM? However, something in your little eyes disarmed her. You were small, defenseless, and upon seeing you… well, she simply couldn't resist.
Thus began your life with Harley Quinn. It wasn't the most typical childhood, that's for sure. Mr. J saw it as just one of his whims, and as long as you didn't cry and stayed out of his business, you were welcome. According to him, it was easier to raise a little clown from childhood.
To begin with, your toys were not exactly "age-appropriate." Mr. J had a fixation with explosives, so more than once you found yourself playing with what you hoped was an innocent candy box, only for Harley to shout from across the room: "Honey, no! That's not a toy, it's dynamite! Give me that!"
Ah, motherhood. A tough job, yes, but also something Harley never thought would come to her in such an… unexpected way. In her former life, when she was still Dr. Quinzel, she envisioned a normal existence, perhaps with a good job that would provide stability. But well, one thing led to another, and there she was, raising a baby who wasn't biologically hers, but whom life —and Gotham— had placed in her arms. And although her life with the Joker was total chaos, she always made sure of one thing: that you were safe.
In her twisted way of seeing the world, Harley protected you even from him, from Mr. J himself. She knew how unpredictable the Joker could be, so she did everything possible to make sure you were never in the same room for too long. And even though it sometimes seemed like the Joker didn't even notice your existence, Harley made sure to keep that distance. "I want you to be different" she would tell you while fixing your hair with a smile, "I don't want you to end up fistfighting with Batman like mommy."
Harley loved playing with you, especially at being doctors. There was something almost nostalgic for her in that, as if every time she saw you healing your dolls, a small part of the old Dr. Quinzel awakened within her. She loved seeing you with your toy stethoscope, focused as if you were in the middle of a serious operation.
"Mom! Miss JeanieBeanie had a broken heart, and I healed her with words! Just like you told me." Harley smiled, that big, bright smile that only she could make, and although she always tried to maintain the toughness of her persona, she couldn't help but let a tear escape. "Ah, sweetie, you're a genius."
And then, of course, there was the topic of school. You couldn't attend school known as the Joker's kid, that was for sure. So with a little colorful dye, a lot of makeup in the morning, and some nice clothes, Harley would take you to school incognito, as if you were a completely normal child. At least, she tried to make you seem that way. The first days were a disaster, though.
It wasn't that Harley didn't trust the school's safety, but, of course, being the Joker's Queen left her paranoid. So there she was, lurking around the windows of your classes, hiding behind bushes, trying to ensure that no madman would come in with a Kalashnikov to disrupt your school life. Sure, she was kicked out most of the time, but she always returned. Harley always returned.
Sometimes, when she couldn't see you during recess, she'd send you hidden messages in your lunchbox, with little doodles and silly jokes that made you laugh out loud. She worried a lot about you not making friends. "Remember, sweetie, if any kid bothers you, just smile like me and show them who's boss. But don't hit them, okay? Save that for later."
When the Joker finally broke up with her, it was a disaster, like a train derailing in slow motion. But just like with everything else, Harley made sure that the blow didn't fall on you. She never let Mr. J's chaos reach you because you were her priority, her sweetie. So, holding her hand, you left with her without looking back, with her suitcase in one hand and a bat in the other.
Since then, life became a bit more complicated, but also freer. Harley and you had to make do by stealing to survive, moving from place to place until ending up in a small apartment in Gotham's Chinatown. It wasn't the best area, but hey, it had charm. There, the nights were long, the walls thin, and the sounds of street fights mixed with your laughter while you tried to do homework and Harley gave you "life advice" that included how to escape from the police in style.
"Do you know what's faster than a bullet?" she'd say while looking at your face painted in bright colors before running off with a stolen shopping cart. "You, with the right attitude!"
Harley let herself go with alcohol during some tough times, but she always kept you away from that dark side. Sure, she bought a hyena and named it Bruce, which was simply hilarious. Bruce, like that perfect man on the magazine covers that you both secretly adored. "Bruce, come here, let's go for a walk!" you'd hear her shout down the street, and the neighbors wouldn't even blink. It was Gotham, after all.
By then, you were almost done with school. Amid the chaos of your life, you made a friend... Damian something (Wayan or something like that, you were bad with names). He wasn't the friendliest person in the world; in fact, "brat" would be a kind description, but for some reason, he intrigued you. "Mom says that if a boy or girl seems cute to you, you should go for it!" you told him once, repeating Harley's wise advice. Of course, Damian just looked at you like you were the weirdest thing he'd ever seen (and mind you, he had seen weird things; he's 'friends' with the nerd Jon). And although he maintained his air of arrogance, you found him adorable in a way that even he didn't understand.
Some nights, Harley and you would just lie on the rooftop of some building, looking at the lights of Gotham. With bags of marshmallows stolen from a grocery store, you'd roast them with a lighter while she told you stories. But not normal stories, rather ones involving car chases and explosions. No princesses and castles, more like villains and spectacular escapes. Sometimes, Selina Kyle would join in. "It's easier than you think" she'd say, winking at you while showing you how to sneak into a museum without setting off the alarms. It was never a typical childhood, but it sure was entertaining.
When Harley joined (temporarily) the Birds of Prey, things started to improve a little. You had more people around you, like a dysfunctional family you didn't know you needed. The girls tried to be a good influence, although with Harley, that was always relative. But at least there were fewer explosions and more quiet nights; just that "quiet" in Harley's terms meant motorcycle races, sporadic thefts, and bar fights. Pure fun!
And occasionally, Ivy, her "friend," would come to visit them. You thought she was amazing, so elegant, so calm... You knew there was something more there. "Kiss already!" you shouted at them once, laughing, watching how Harley blushed slightly while Ivy rolled her eyes with a smile.
But despite everything, Harley never stopped being an incredible mom, in her own way. On the toughest nights, when you'd curl up in her lap after a long day, she'd stroke your hair and whisper, "You know, sweetie, I never thought I'd be a mom, but you're the best thing that ever happened to me." And although it wasn't a typical motherhood, there was something comforting in knowing that amidst all that chaos, you could always count on her.
So, amid thefts, stolen marshmallows, and moments filled with love, Harley gave you a childhood that wasn’t normal, but was filled with adventures, laughter, and unconditional love. And what more could you ask for when you have Harley Quinn as your mom?
A/N ─── My first request uwu~ I’m so excited! I really hope I did it well, and that you all like this little headcanon. I put all my love into it, so if you have more ideas or want to request something, don’t hesitate! I’m here for whatever you need.
Take a bath!
#harley quinn#harley quinzel#harleen quinzel#harley quinn x poison ivy#harley quinn x reader#dc x reader#x reader#neutral reader#fluff#damian wayne#damian wayne x reader#child reader#yan blog#batman#bruce wayne#catwoman#dc joker
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BUT, I LOVE IVY.
( 𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖨𝖫𝖤𝖱𝖲 ) !?
pairings ⸺Poison Ivy x Batsis! Fem! Reader
(Slight) Yandere! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem! Reader
This is a Headcanon!
sinopsis ⸺ When you left home, your whole life began to take on color. It wasn't an immediate change, more like those afternoons when the sun sets slowly, painting the walls with a golden light. You didn’t have a great job, you were barely getting by with what you earned, and the apartment you found had more cracks than solid walls. But somehow, none of that seemed to matter.
What filled you was freedom, that new feeling of not owing anyone an explanation. And then, there was her. Pamela, with her easy laughter and restless gaze that always seemed to be searching for something, found you. You didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly, she became the center of your small universe.
You didn’t need anything else. Her gestures filled the voids, her presence taught you to enjoy the silences. She wasn’t perfect, nor did she pretend to be. And maybe that’s what captivated you, that sincerity she had when she let her words fall, without disguising them. Life wasn’t easy, but with Pamela, the complications seemed less important, as if the chaos in which you lived became a soft melody, one you only understood when she was near.
After all, you were free, and you had her. And that, you thought, was enough.
warnings ⸺ Fluff, Girls Kissing, Dark Themes, Dead,Religion, murdering, Disturbing Content, Discrimination, Street Fights, Suicide, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, NSFW, Sexual Content, Smut, Addiction, Trauma, Phobias.
A/N ── Here’s a headcanon of Ivy x S/O because I saw that you liked it, and since things are going to take a darker turn in the next part of Silly Little Bat, there won’t be time for romance and all that, just pure angst. This is a little gift for all your support, and thank you for encouraging me. Marceline loves you ♡
Two hearts on the floor.
One Mine,
Both Yours ♡
When you and Pamela met, you had just left the nest and were trying to become independent with trembling hands but a heart full of enthusiasm. You had landed a job at a nightclub, Super Babes, where the owner, after examining you closely, insisted that you looked like Batgirl. Without asking many questions, you found yourself wrapped in a cape and tight mask. "It's the uniform," he told you with a smile that tried to be convincing. "You'll get used to it."
What you didn't get used to were the long nights, the incredibly uncomfortable heels, and the salary that barely covered rent. No matter how kind your coworkers were and how punctual the boss was with paychecks, the math didn’t lie: sooner or later, you were going to fall behind on rent. The landlord, a man with a furtive gaze and hands always too busy on his belt, only heightened the feeling of suffocation.
The solution came with the idea of finding a roommate. After a couple of failed encounters with people who smelled like trouble or, at best, minor inconveniences, Pamela appeared.
The door opened, and she stepped in with the same calm one has when entering a private garden. She was somewhere between twenty and thirty, although, according to her, "she had just recently been reborn." When she said that, you took it as a metaphor. Later, you would realize that with Pamela, it was almost never about metaphors.
"I like the place" she said, surveying the tiny living room with a smile that seemed charmingly sincere to you.
"It has a view of the... street" you replied, trying to compensate for the lack of natural light with your enthusiasm.
She laughed, and you noticed she had an easy laugh, the kind that makes you feel comfortable instantly. Pamela wasn’t the first to respond to the ad, but she was the first decent person. And also the first to make you feel those butterflies you thought were reserved for novels.
Days passed, and gradually, what began as a quiet coexistence transformed into something more. The work nights became less burdensome when you knew that returning home would mean finding Pamela there, with a cup of hot tea in hand and some ironic observation about life. Her voice, her gestures, began to blend into your routine, and the space between you filled with something neither dared to name.
You discovered several things about her, but never in the order you would have expected. It was like finding a novel written on scattered papers, without a clear beginning and too many endings. You learned about her deaths, yes, those that left her with invisible but deep scars, caused by the betrayal of those she once called companions and, more cruelly, by human hands, those fragile hands that paradoxically carried infinite violence. She confessed to you that this life, the one she shared with you, would be her last. There would be no more resurrections, no more spectacular rebirths under fiery skies or endless vines. This life, she said, she wanted simple, almost vulgar: to be an average citizen, nothing more, nothing less.
And then it was her turn. She also learned things about you. Not everything, of course, but enough to look beyond your sporadic smiles. She knew, for example, that you had been abandoned by your adoptive family, left adrift in a house too big for your small hands. She knew about your degrees, yes, those that hung on the walls like empty trophies. She knew about your skills, those that alternated between the delicate and the violent: the dexterity of your hands, the music that flowed from your fingers, and the echo of combat that marked your skin like a second score. She also knew about your unusual desire: you wanted a bat as a pet, something as solitary as you, something that didn’t need the sun to live. And above all, she knew you didn’t want children, never, because your childhood had been too long a scar, one you didn’t wish to replicate in another life.
You both shared secrets like one drops breadcrumbs in the forest, knowing that in the end, neither would seek the way back.
Summer arrived, bringing with it a warmth on Gotham’s nights that didn’t seem to belong. As if the city, always shrouded in shadows, allowed for a moment the air to be filled with laughter and light-hearted jokes. You went for walks in the park, trying to match your pace to hers while the world continued its course around you, oblivious to the little bubble that seemed to envelop you when you were with Pamela.
But the spell broke, as it often did, abruptly. Two boys crossing the opposite path looked at you with that disdain that can only be understood from ignorance. “Look, more generic lesbians” one said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Damn, the other one looks like her sugar baby." Your heart sank with a dull thud, an echo of old fears that you could never quite bury.
Pamela noticed instantly, her attention as subtle and sharp as leaves in the wind. Without saying anything, she took your hand with a firmness that held you, not just physically, but emotionally. Her smile appeared, scornful, a gesture stronger than any word. She knew, she had always known, that you weren’t quite used to dating girls, much less with boys looking on from their comfortable blindness. She understood that every stranger's glance was for you an ajar door to the past, to that corner where doubts flourished like weeds.
But for Pamela, weeds were just another form of life. And with a gentle flick of her fingers, vines surged from the ground like green serpents, wrapping around the boys' feet and dragging them away without fuss, as if the very earth were reclaiming them.
"Wow" she said with a barely perceptible smile as she guided you toward a nearby ice cream cart.
She bought you an ice cream, one of those ridiculously themed ones, a "bat-cream" that seemed a gentle mockery of the bat that hovered over your life. And as you licked it distractedly, you felt the pressure in your chest slowly fade, swept away by the sweet taste and the comforting sensation of her hand still intertwined with yours.
Christmas was a revelation. Not because it was a holiday in itself— you had always been indifferent to those blinking lights and persistent carols— but because it was the first time you truly felt that love was not merely a concept written in books or whispered in songs, but something you could touch, almost feel, in every little gesture of Pamela, or rather, Pam, or Ivy, as she insisted you call her. And you, with that mix of disbelief and happiness that overwhelmed you, discovered in her something you struggled to find anywhere else in the world: refuge.
That Christmas also came with a kind of unexpected family. Harleen, who had recently left behind the clown prince of crime, appeared one afternoon like a whirlwind of laughter and jokes, treating you like a little sister from the very first moment. "You know, I had a hyena, did I tell you? I named it Bruce. After the hot playboy in the magazines. Is he your dad? You have to introduce me!" she said amidst laughter, and the remark drew a chuckle from you. There was something ironic and sweet about the most chaotic woman in Gotham making those kinds of absurd connections.
Selina was different. Her arrival was stealthy, like the shadow cast by a feline before it strikes, but there was no attack. On the contrary, from the moment she crossed the threshold, she looked at you with an almost maternal softness. "I met your mother," she said at some point during the night while cradling a glass of wine, and you could barely process those words. You didn’t ask more; it wasn’t necessary. In that gaze, you knew everything. Selina adopted you without saying it, with that blend of authority and tenderness that only she could conjure.
And then there was Pamela. Your Pam. Your Ivy. She was the center around which everything revolved. In those cold, bright days, everything in her presence felt perfect, a secret choreography only you could understand. She would kiss you before you left for work, always soft but with the promise of something more, something waiting for your return. And when you came back, there she was, dinner ready, always with a sermon on the wonders of protein and how vicious herbivores were. "They're worse than carnivores" she insisted with a smirk. "Grass-eaters are no better than hunters. Just trust me."
She stayed with you through every emotional crisis without fuss, without grand dramatic gestures; she simply was, and her presence made the shadows dissipate, as if her mere existence in your life was enough to bring order to your internal chaos. And she, for her part, found you fascinating. She adored you, in a way that was almost reverential, as if you were that little Bat she never thought she would love. She called you that, "my Bat," with a mix of tenderness and mischief. She knew you were small, tiny, fragile in appearance, but beneath that shy surface, she found something that intrigued her, a strength that made you unique in her eyes.
"I love you" she told you one night as she watched you from across the room, a barely formed smile on her lips. "You're so shy... but there's something in you that could change the world if you set your mind to it." And it wasn’t an empty declaration. She, more than anyone, could see what others didn’t.
Pamela didn’t just adore your shyness. She adored you, in all your forms, in your doubts, in your small acts of bravery, in every instance you faced the world and returned to her, seeking refuge.
Despite the happiness, Gotham was not always a kind place. During an outing to a music festival, the two of you became the subject of uncomfortable stares and whispers behind your backs.
However, those moments of mockery were followed by nights of hugs and laughter on the sofa, where you both sat together watching movies while you tried to find comfort in the stories of heroines who saved the world.
Life went on, and although there were moments of joy, there was something in the air that was changing. When you turned 19, you began to feel restless. One night, you went out to work, as always, with your heart full of love for Pamela and the promise of a future together. But that night, everything changed. The city was dark, and the fog seemed to have a life of its own, wrapping around you in its icy embrace.
Days and weeks passed. Pamela tried to contact you, but there were no signs of you. Desperate, she began searching for you all over Gotham, consulting her friends, Harleen and Selina. However, each attempt to find you turned into frustration and anger.
When things grew darker, Pamela became hysterical. The idea of losing you consumed her mind. But her methods were aggressive, and every lead she followed turned into a dead end.
One night, in her frenzy, Pamela confronted Batgirl, better known to you as Cassandra Cain, trying to get answers. But her erratic behavior led Batgirl to take drastic measures, and without knowing that Pamela was only searching for her sister, she put her in Arkham. The doors closed behind her, and as she fought against anxiety, the question kept echoing in her mind: where were you?
Fate had played a cruel card. While Pamela faced her own prison, you remained lost somewhere in Gotham, the echo of her name resonating in your mind like a siren's song you could not answer.
On Monday night, there was something different, a pause in the routine that allowed you to breathe more slowly. You had finished early, which was almost a luxury in Gotham. Sitting on the couch, with a forgotten tea on the table and a movie that Harleen had recommended—a romantic comedy directed by Jamie Babbit—you let yourself get carried away by the light dialogue, although you remembered the name of the director more than the plot itself. The dark green nightgown you had found at the bottom of the drawer seemed like the perfect choice for that night of respite, an old lace that had survived the test of time, as if its wear carried with it a hint of nostalgia.
"You dressed to tease me" Pamela had once said, half-laughing and half-serious, when she saw you in that garment that, in her eyes, had a spell to it. The truth was that you hadn’t planned it; that night you just wanted to be comfortable, to sink into the softness of the couch and the lethargy of the movie, but Ivy's words always lingered in the air, as if she knew something that you barely sensed.
You were halfway through the movie when you heard the familiar sound of the door opening. Ivy walked in, and the weariness on her shoulders was visible from the threshold. She moved with that natural elegance she had, but there was something heavier in her stride. Then you saw it, the bruise that hinted at her cheek, diffuse, like a shadow that had misplaced itself. You knew what it meant: another day in Gotham, another confrontation, another battle against something or someone. And yet, she said nothing, as if the pain were part of the atmosphere, something mundane that didn’t deserve to be named.
"Tough day?" you asked, your voice breaking the silence she had brought with her. Pamela didn’t respond immediately. She let herself fall beside you on the couch, her warmth enveloping you instantly. Her eyes, always green and alive, roamed you from head to toe, a spark ignited at the corner of her lips.
"Not more than usual," she finally murmured, with that mixture of weariness and desire you recognized so well. "But you... you make everything feel better." Her fingers brushed the edge of your nightgown, just a gesture, but enough to change the tone of everything in the room.
The bruise on her cheek did not diminish her strength in the slightest. On the contrary, there was something in that small imperfection that made her seem even closer, more tangible, as if for a moment, the green goddess she was had allowed herself to be human too. Her fingers slid down your arm, soft, but with the firmness you always knew would come, like vines seeking to wrap around every corner. The air grew dense, and the movie became a distant murmur, lost among the shadows of the room.
"Do you know you drive me crazy with that nightgown?" she said, leaning toward you, her voice low and husky, as if dragging behind it the echo of a desire she had been holding back all day.
"Like this?" you replied, trying to sound innocent, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Her hands were already on your waist, drawing slow circles, and the skin under the lace seemed to awaken at the touch, as if that caress were an order your body could not refuse.
Pamela smiled at you, that smile she reserved only for moments like this, intimate, private, where the masks fell away and what remained was just the shared desire. She leaned you toward her, and her warm breath mingled with yours, a barely perceptible space between both bodies.
The bruise on her cheek, the battles of the day, all of that faded when her lips touched yours, soft but urgent, as if in that kiss she wanted to reclaim lost time, the hours when she hadn’t had you close. Her hands moved with an almost mathematical precision, knowing exactly where to touch, where to press, how to make every inch of your skin respond to her will.
"You don’t know how much I needed this" she whispered against your mouth, her voice laden with a vulnerability she didn’t often show. And you, tangled in her warmth, in the weight of her body against yours, knew there was no place in the world you would rather be.
The green nightgown had fallen into oblivion, like words fall away when what matters is the language of bodies, that secret language that is spoken without being said. The whole world reduced to the space you shared, to the softness of her fingers gliding with deliberate slowness, as if each touch were a note lingering in the air. The movie, the hours passed, the murmur of Gotham outside, all dissolved into the present, into the synchronized breathing you shared, into the soft moan escaping your lips when her hands found you.
Pamela knew how to move in your body like someone walking in a garden that belongs to her; every touch was a root seeking fertile ground, every kiss, the rain awakening the dormant within you. Her lips found yours at the same rhythm as her fingers, now beyond any fabric, exploring that intimate space only she knew, that only she was allowed to discover. There was no hurry in her movements, because time, in those moments, always played in favor. Each caress, each calculated pressure, was as if she were tracing an invisible map over your skin, and you, lost and found in her hands, could only respond with the silent surrender of one who neither knows nor wants to resist.
Your legs, slightly apart, invited her to continue, to mark her territory in every corner of your body. The soft brush of her fingers on your swollen lips felt like a promise, a promise you knew she would keep, and your hands, now on her neck, tangled in her red hair, were a call to the depths, to that place where words could not follow. And when her lips parted from yours, just for a second, to gaze at you with that mix of desire and devotion, you knew that in that look was everything you needed to understand.
"Doctor Isley..." you whispered, and in the echo of that name, in the way you pronounced it, there was a surrender she recognized immediately. The smile that appeared on her lips was almost feline, satisfied, as if with that title you gave her something more than your body; you gave her the power to be whoever she wanted to be for you.
"Oh~ I like that," she replied, her voice husky, laden with desire, as her fingers, skillful and sure, began to move with exquisite precision over your core. Each touch, a small fire, each pressure, a promise fulfilled.
The air around you grew denser, as if the heat between you could ignite the room. Your breaths, ragged, mingled with whispers you no longer recognized as yours. You were an extension of her, and she of you, two bodies that recognized each other, that knew exactly how to find each other, how to lose themselves in one another without fear.
Pamela, with her lips tracing your neck, with her warm breath sending shivers down your skin, disarmed you with the ease of someone who has learned to read your silences, to understand your needs before you even did. And you, in that surrender, in that slow but inevitable dance, felt safe.
Her lips, soft as the murmur of leaves in the wind, ventured across your skin, tracing a secret map where each kiss was a promise being fulfilled, slowly, without haste. Each caress, each brush, was a silent pact between two souls that had found each other amid the vast loneliness of Gotham. And you, surrendered, were no more than a whisper in her hands, a murmur that was born and died between her fingers, between her lips.
Pamela descended slowly, with a devotion that made you tremble, her lips drawing invisible paths, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation that coursed through you entirely. There was no urgency in her movements, only a deep love manifesting in every kiss, in every contact that seemed to say: here I am, and here I will stay. Her tongue, like an echo of her soul, found your core, that hidden place you barely knew yourself, and caressed it with the precision of one who knows every secret of your body.
The first touch was soft, almost reverent, like someone caressing a flower that has just opened to the sun. Your legs opened in an invitation that needed no words, and Pamela, with the tenderness she always had, let her mouth delve into you, exploring with infinite patience. Her tongue, which seemed to paint entire landscapes on your skin, touched you where you needed it most, with that mix of desire and tenderness only she could offer.
Every movement was a symphony, a perfect note resonating in every fiber of your being. Your body, still inexperienced in that type of pleasure, responded with little spasms, as if you were learning to feel for the first time. And amid that joy, amid the sighs and tremors, there was something deeper, something beyond desire: a fondness that enveloped everything, a certainty that in those moments you were hers, and she, without saying it, also belonged to you.
Pamela was not rushing; she knew true pleasure was not just about the body but the soul connecting in those moments of deep connection. Each time her tongue sank into you, each time her lips brushed your skin, you felt something beyond physical pleasure: you felt the love of a woman who knew you, who cared for you, and who, in that moment, loved you in a way you had never experienced before.
Your hands, trembling, clutched at her hair, as if seeking to anchor yourself to reality amid that sea of sensations. And as the rhythm of her caresses increased, as the pleasure grew within you, you knew that in that instant there was nothing else in the world. Just you, just her, and the love unfolding in whispers and soft moans.
It wasn’t just her tongue making you tremble; it wasn’t just the pleasure coursing through you in increasingly intense waves. It was the way she looked at you between each kiss, as if you were the only thing that truly mattered.
Your body shook, and the world faded away in a silent explosion, a cascade of sensations enveloping you completely. There were no words, just the echo of your ragged breathing and the warmth of her mouth still on you, claiming every part of that climax that overflowed you. Pamela, attentive, savored your ecstasy with the same devotion that had brought you there, collecting every little tremor, every sigh that escaped your lips.
Her eyes looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness, and you, with your heart still racing, knew that this was the closest thing to a confession of love you could have in that moment. Pamela loved you in that shared silence, in the brush of her skin against yours, in the way her tongue had traced a path to the deepest part of you.
But you couldn’t let the moment end just in your satisfaction. With a slow, almost feline movement, you slid between her arms and gently pushed her onto the couch, your hands already seeking the curve of her waist, the firmness of her hips. Pam looked at you with that gaze of hers, always so confident, but in her green eyes, there was a spark of expectation. She knew what was coming and accepted it with the same tranquility with which nature receives the rain.
Without saying a word, your lips found hers in a deep kiss, filled with that mix of gratitude and desire that now consumed you. Your hands roamed her body, learning her contours, every nook, every curve she allowed you to discover. You moved slowly, following the trail her lips had left on you before, but this time it was your turn to make her tremble, to return everything she had given you.
Your fingers glided over her soft skin, slowly stripping her of any barrier that remained between you. And when your lips reached her core, you paused for a moment, just to look at her, to see how her eyes closed with anticipation, how her lips parted in a sigh you already knew. Nothing more was needed than that gesture. You knew, in that instant, that she too surrendered to you, that she too was giving you something deeper than her body.
You began with a softness you knew she would appreciate. Your lips and your tongue traced slow paths, circles that became more and more precise, as you listened to her little moans, feeling how her body relaxed under your caresses. There was no hurry. The only thing that mattered was that moment, the space between you filled with whispers and shared breaths.
Pamela arched her back, her fingers tangled in your hair, and in that gesture, in the tension of her body, you knew you were bringing her closer to her own limit. And though there were no words, though the silence was only broken by her sighs, love was there, in every touch, in every slow movement of your tongue that made her tremble more and more.
"Y/n..." her voice was barely a whisper, as if saying your name were the only thing she could do at that moment. You needed nothing more. It was the signal you had been waiting for, the last vestige of control she was handing over to you, trusting, surrendering.
You continued, deeper, slower, taking her to that place where words no longer made sense, until finally, with a tremor that coursed through her entire body, Pamela let herself go. Her breathing became erratic, her back arched one last time, and then, amid that silent explosion they shared, you knew that she too had arrived.
When you finally pulled away, you slowly moved up, leaving kisses on her still warm skin, until you reached her face. She looked at you with that tenderness she always had, and without needing to say it, she made you understand that in that instant, in that space of love and pleasure, it was just you and her.
Just you and her in the world.
A/N ─── Bro, it’s super long, don’t mess with me 😭. It’s my first sapphic smut, have some patience! Honestly, I could have made it longer, but I was in panic mode like “Is this too much already?” and I freaked out, haha. This is my little gift for those who ship Poison Ivy x Reader (Silly Little Bat) because, spoiler alert, something not-so-nice is coming soon 👀💔. So enjoy while you can, because things are about to get intense... you better thank me! 😅
Don’t forget, if you want to request something, the shop is open!
Take a bath!
#fem reader#x reader#dc x reader#yan blog#yandere#yandere batman#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dc#yandere dick grayson#yandere robin#yandere x reader#yandere red robin#yandere red hood#yandere jason todd#yandere alfred pennyworth#poison ivy#poison ivy x reader#smut#selina kyle#catwoman
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Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.
pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.
sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.
But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?
In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.
warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.
Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4
A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3
They are upset because I left
Where they never included me.
The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.
In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.
"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."
But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.
"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."
Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.
"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."
But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.
The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.
"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.
You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.
Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.
"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."
Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.
"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."
"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.
"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."
You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.
"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."
The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.
"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.
"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"
The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.
"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."
The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."
"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."
You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.
The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.
"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."
You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."
And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.
Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.
“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.
Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.
You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.
It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.
And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.
The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.
Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.
Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?
“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.
“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.
Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.
“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.
“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.
“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.
Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.
“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.
Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.
“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”
“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.
“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.
The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.
“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.
Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.
“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.
Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.
“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much… they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”
Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.
“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”
Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.
“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.
Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.
“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.
She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.
“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”
Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.
“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.
Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.
“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”
Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:
“You’re turning red, you know?”
Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.
“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”
“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”
“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”
Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.
“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.
Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.
“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.
Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.
“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.
Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.
“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.
“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”
Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.
“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”
Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.
“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.
“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.
Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.
“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”
Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.
“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.
Y/n shook her head.
“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.
There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.
“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”
Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.
“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.
And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.
Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.
In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.
In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.
“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.
“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.
Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.
The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.
Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.
“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”
Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.
How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.
The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.
Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.
“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.
“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.
But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.
Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.
Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.
“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”
The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.
“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”
Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.
The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.
Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.
“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”
Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”
Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.
“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”
Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.
“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”
Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.
“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”
Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.
“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”
Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.
“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”
The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.
“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.
“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”
Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.
“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”
Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.
“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”
Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.
Wherever you are, I will find you.
Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.
Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.
“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.
“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”
Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.
“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.
“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.
“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.
Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.
“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.
“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”
The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.
“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.
“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.
The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.
“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.
“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”
The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.
Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.
The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.
“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.
“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”
The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.
The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.
“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.
Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.
“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.
The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”
Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.
“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.
Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.
“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”
The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”
“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.
The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.
“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.
“I’m not going to ask again.”
“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.
In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.
Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.
“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.
Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.
“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.
The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.
Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.
“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.
Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.
“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.
“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.
Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.
“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”
With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.
As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.
“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.
“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”
Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”
Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”
Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”
The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.
“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”
And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.
The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.
The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.
The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.
“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”
Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.
“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.
“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”
Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.
“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.
The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.
“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”
“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”
The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.
“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”
Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?
“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.
“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”
The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.
“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.
The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.
“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”
Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.
“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”
The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.
“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”
“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”
The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.
“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”
“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”
“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”
A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.
“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.
“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”
“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.
“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”
Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.
“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”
The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.
“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”
He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.
Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.
“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”
Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.
Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.
The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.
The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.
As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.
“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.
“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.
“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”
“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”
The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.
“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”
“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.”
Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.
“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”
The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.
“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”
Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.
“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.
The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.
“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”
As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.
With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.
“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”
The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.
“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”
And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.
☆
A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.
I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.
By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!
Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.
take a bath!
Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii
@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith
Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!
#yandere batboys#fem reader#x reader#dc x reader#yan blog#yandere#yandere batman#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dc#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere red robin#yandere red hood#yandere robin#yandere alfred pennyworth#yandere x reader#reader insert#yandere batfamily#yandere batfam#neglect#neglected reader
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