myerssimp21

[myerssimp21]

Iceberg's Jewel pt. 1

This is just another idea rattling around in my head! While this is still yandere Batfam, the premise is slightly different—here, they haven’t quite met you yet. The focus starts with Oswald Cobblepot and the Iceberg Lounge, but trust me, the Batfamily won’t be far behind. Timeline-wise, this would technically come first, even though in my other yandere Batfam fics, Tim and Jason have already had their moments with you. So yes, there will be a plot hole later where they’ve somehow already hooked up with you—just roll with it. Consider it canon-ish, but mostly just me playing around with ideas. tl;dr: This is a prequel of sorts to my other yandere Batfam fics, but I’m mostly here to have fun with the concept. Hope you enjoy! 💙 word count: 3201

Oswald Cobblepot prided himself on running a tight ship. The Iceberg Lounge was a beacon of opulence in Gotham, catering to a clientele that wanted their danger with a side of champagne. When he put out that little “Help Wanted” sign as a joke—an amusing way to signal to the people he was looking for that he was ready to onboard—he hadn’t expected someone like you to waltz in.

You were nervous but bright-eyed, clutching a copy of your résumé (how quaint) in one hand, wearing a Gotham University sweater that screamed student loans and part-time hustle. The smile you gave him when he walked into the lounge floor was disarming—too genuine for this city. You asked to speak to someone about the janitorial position, and Os had to bite back a laugh.

“A janitor? Here? Sweetheart, you might be too good for this place,” he muttered under his breath, too quietly for you to hear, before waving a hand dismissively at one of his goons. “Send her to my office.”

His office wasn’t where interviews were usually held—far too personal, far too… revealing. But for some reason, he wanted to gauge you himself. Maybe it was your naivete; maybe it was the way your gaze lingered on the crystal chandeliers and plush carpets like you’d never seen luxury this close before. You were looking at him as a normal boss, not a criminal mastermind, and he realized he might like that.

By the time you’d been seated in the chair across from his polished mahogany desk for only 15 minutes, he was already hooked. He asked simple questions at first—your availability, your experience—but quickly veered into territory that let him know more about you. Your classes at Gotham U were interesting, but you worked too much to fully appreciate them. You loved your psychology major but struggled with scheduling, hoping that the pay here was more than the measly pay you scrounged from your other two jobs. He listened with great interest as you spoke of your genuine excitement to be working in a "classy place like this."

He didn’t have the heart to tell you this place wasn’t really classy—just good at pretending.

Cobblepot tilted his head, the curiosity in his expression sharpening as he tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked, a sly grin forming. “So, what do you think of our little city?”

“Oh, uh…” You laughed nervously, shifting in your seat. “It’s… something, that’s for sure. Gotham’s kinda like… I don’t know, a scrappy mutt? It bites, like, a lot, but you can’t help but wanna pet it anyway. It’s scrappy and loveable.”

Oswald chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Lovable?” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re a strange one. Most people run for the hills when it comes to Gotham.”

“Yeah, well…” You shrugged, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “I’m already here, so I might as well figure it out, y’know? Plus, it’s not all bad. I mean, the people are tough, and the city’s got… personality. A weird, messed-up personality, but still.”

He found himself appreciating your honesty. It was a rare thing in his world—people who weren’t either trying to butter him up or wring him dry. And that smile… Hm. Something about it didn’t belong here.

Then, the door to his office slammed open. A goon stumbled in without so much as a knock, huffing like a dog chasing its own tail as he fumbled a thick stack of papers in his hands.

Oswald snapped to attention so fast it was animalistic. One second, he was relaxed, bemused by you—the next, his face contorted with fury, his lips curling back in a snarl that made the dim office feel suddenly suffocating.

“What?” Cobblepot snarled, his tone cutting like ice. The very air in the room seemed to turn electric, humming with the promise of violence.

The goon froze mid-step, eyes darting between you and his boss. He looked like he’d just walked into an execution chamber by mistake.

Oswald’s teeth clenched so tight a vein throbbed visibly in his temple. “You knock before coming into my office,” he seethed, voice dropping to something far more dangerous than the initial explosion. Cold. Calculating. A blade slipping between ribs. “You wait. You don’t—”

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw you.

Frozen.

Wide-eyed.

And just like that, the change was immediate.

His snarl vanished. The storm passed in an instant, like flicking off a switch. The barely-contained rabid rage that had been twisting his face smoothed into something almost… embarrassed. Guiltily casual.

Cobblepot glanced back at you, then at the goon, then back at you. For a brief, telling second, he looked—not regretful, but calculating. Then he sighed through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off an unpleasant thought.

"Handle it later," he ordered, voice abruptly warm. Silk-soft. As if he hadn’t just been inches from taking a man’s head off. His hand flicked lazily toward the door, a dismissive gesture. “Can’t you see I’m with someone?”

The goon scuttled out of the room like a kicked dog, the papers in his hands rustling violently as he clutched them to his chest.

The moment the door shut, Oswald let out a measured breath, as if centering himself. Then, in a whiplash-inducing shift, he turned back to you with an awkward, almost sheepish smile.

"Sorry about that,” he said, voice dripping with artificial sweetness, as if his outburst had never happened. He waved a hand, dismissing it entirely, his gaze keenly watching your expression for any lasting tension. “Some of my employees just don’t have any manners.”

You offered a polite, thin smile, still shaken, but brushed it off with a shrug. You had already figured this place wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming, but the speed at which his fury had vanished was... unsettling.

Oswald noticed.

He noticed everything.

And for the first time in a long, long while… he wasn’t sure if he liked the way your smile still had a hint of nerves clinging to it.

The Batcave was unusually quiet, save for the faint tapping of Tim’s keyboard and the low hum of the monitors. Bruce sat at the console, watching the live feed from Oswald Cobblepot’s office. You were seated across from the Penguin, a mixture of nerves and polite excitement etched on your face. The Iceberg Lounge’s chandelier lights reflected in your wide eyes as you gestured animatedly, your Gotham University sweater and résumé betraying your earnestness in a city that thrived on deception.

“Can’t decide if she’s brave or just clueless,” Tim remarked, leaning back slightly as he toggled between camera feeds. “She walked into Cobblepot’s lair with a résumé. A résumé, Bruce.”

“She’s a student trying to make ends meet. That’s not bravery—it’s necessity.”

Damian’s voice crackled through the comms. “She really responded to a ‘help wanted’ ad? Tt. Typical. Of course that bloated bird would choose a naive one. She’ll probably end up scrubbing vomit out of his VIP lounge carpets.”

Tim tutted thoughtfully at Damian’s comment. “I mean…..he’s probably aiming higher than janitorial work for her. Did you hear the way he sweetened his voice?”

Damian scoffed but didn't reply. 

A new voice broke in over the comms—Dick, speaking from his position on patrol. “You think she knows what she’s getting into? Working there isn’t exactly safe.”

“She doesn’t,” Bruce answered simply, “But that doesn’t make her unique. Plenty of people stumble into Gotham’s underworld without realizing it. We can’t save everyone.”

Tim muttered, “Still doesn’t mean we should ignore it. If Penguin’s targeting her for something, we’ll want to know why.”

Damian chimed in again, his tone slightly mocking. “We already know why, Drake. He likes his toys naïve, optimistic, and disposable. She won’t last a week before she gets a reality check—or worse.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward the feed as Cobblepot stood, offering you a hand and gesturing toward the door. “They’re moving,” Bruce said. “Tim, keep the office feed rolling, and find another camera angle.” 

“We won’t have audio and depending on where he’s taking her, I’m not sure we’ll have visuals either.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind that spoke volumes in the Batcave.

Dick broke it. “She’s smart enough to know what Cobblepot is, right? I mean, who walks into the Iceberg Lounge thinking it’s just a nightclub?”

“People who don’t know Gotham,” Tim replied, scrolling through files, soaking in what he can on you. “..She’s a psych major at Gotham U, full-time. She’s been juggling two jobs already, so she’s probably just desperate for the paycheck.”

Damian’s tone turned sharper. “Desperation or not, she’s still a fool. You don’t wear a sweater with your university’s name on it when you waltz into the lion’s den.”

Tim smirked. “Guess she didn’t take Gotham’s prerequisite: Street Smarts 101.”

The screen now displayed the empty office, Cobblepot’s desk abandoned. You were out of their sight, and for the moment, out of their reach. But the Batfamily wasn’t about to let you disappear into the darkness of Gotham without a trace. Tim was scrambling to find a feed that would give them info as to where Cobblepot’s taking you, but at the very least, they have relevant info on you.

Dick’s voice again. “Did you hear her in that interview? ‘Lovable but scrappy.’” He smiled faintly at the words. “She actually likes Gotham. We should keep it that way.”

Tim again, confirming some details. “Transferred to Gotham U from out of state. No criminal record, no red flags.”

Damian’s voice cut in, sharp and dry. “Other than walking into the Iceberg Lounge with a résumé. That’s a red flag for stupidity.”

Dick countered, his tone softer now. “She doesn’t know any better. Give her a break.”

Jason laughed, his voice snarky over the comms line from his own patrol. “Oh, sure, Grayson. Let’s all gather around and shield her from the big bad city. What’s next, care packages?”

Dick sighed audibly, “Don’t you have a crime boss to scare right now?”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Already done. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Priceless.” Another faint noise came through, likely the reloading of a gun.

Bruce’s voice cut through before Dick could respond. “Enough. Focus, Jason.”

“Whatever you say, B,” Jason replied breezily, though the teasing lilt was still in his voice. “I’ll keep an eye out, too, just in case our scrappy little friend stirs up any trouble at the Iceberg.”

Damian snorted. “I’ll enjoy seeing Cobblepot’s face when she quits.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on your face, captured mid-smile on the monitor. Quietly, he murmured, “She’ll need another job. A safe one. I’m sure Wayne Enterprises will have something available for her.”

“Keep me updated,” Batman ordered as he stood, his cape swishing as he headed toward the Batmobile. “If she gets in over her head, we’re pulling her out. No debates.”

Damian’s voice came back, quieter this time, reluctant. “She’s already in over her head.”

Little did they know, Oswald Cobblepot’s schemes for you were the furthest thing from exploitative labor. In his mind, the idea of you actually toiling away with a mop and bucket was quickly becoming unthinkable—borderline offensive, even.

The moment he saw the way your eyes sparkled with hope and determination, and saw the way you'd listed your good grades on your resume in a hopeful attempt at impressing him and proving your aptitudes, he’d decided he’d let you sleep on the job if you wanted to. Hell, he’d set up a whole suite in the back of the Lounge if it kept you close and content. You could waste time dusting the empty liquor shelves or filing nonexistent paperwork all day if it made you feel productive. What mattered to him wasn’t what you did—it was that you were here, where he could keep an eye on you.

But of course, Cobblepot wouldn't admit that to himself. Not yet, at least. No, this was just “good business,” he rationalized. You were a valuable asset—your charm and friendliness were enough to lighten up even the Iceberg’s darkest corners. You had a way of making the whole place feel... welcoming and warm, like you were untouched by Gotham’s grime and crime. Plus you wanted to be productive. He scoffed under his breath, amused. Of course one of the first fresh faces ready to work at the Lounge was also someone who he didn’t dream of involving in his actual operations. Just his luck.

So, if you decided you needed an afternoon nap in the dusty janitorial closet? He’d send a goon to bring you a pillow. If you scoured the cleaning supply catalog for hours without actually ordering anything? He’d find it endearing. As long as you were happy and oblivious to the underworld swirling just beneath the Lounge’s polished surface, you could do whatever you wanted.

Unbeknownst to them all, while they debated your safety, Oswald was sitting back in his office, already plotting ways to make your life easier. Sure, he’d keep up the charade of being your boss for now—keep you busy with harmless tasks so you didn’t get suspicious. But he wasn’t about to let you work too hard. Not his sweet, naive new hire.

You didn’t belong in Gotham’s shadows. And as far as Oswald Cobblepot was concerned, he’d make sure you never had to find out just how dark they could get. Or at least, he’d try. 

By the time Oswald walked you to the janitorial closet—a tiny, forgotten room in the back of the lounge—he was already plotting how to keep you close. The closet was practically empty, a detail that normally wouldn’t bother him, but the way your face fell at the sight made him want to slap whoever was supposed to manage the damn place.

"Um… is this where I’m supposed to… work?" you asked softly, your voice unsure as you peeked into the empty closet. Your eyes darted around, taking in the barren shelves and dusty floor, as though you’d missed some hidden stash of supplies. "It just… doesn’t look ready yet?"

"Ah��� this won’t do," he said quickly, covering his irritation with a smooth smile. "Looks like someone’s dropped the ball here. Don’t you worry about this, darlin’. I’ll get one of my guys on it—someone reliable. You’ll have everything you need to get started." 

His tone was honeyed, and though he aimed for casual reassurance, his sharp eyes flickered to the shelves like he wanted to set the whole closet ablaze for offending you. For fuck’s sake.

“No, no, this won’t do at all,” Oswald said again, shaking his head and clucking his tongue like he was personally offended by the state of the janitorial closet. “You deserve better than this mess, darlin’. I’ll have it sorted by tomorrow, you have my word.”

You blinked at him, “If you want me on the job today, I can make something work,” you offered tentatively, gesturing toward the dusty shelves. “I’ve been in worse spots before.” You gave him a sheepish smile, trying to seem accommodating.

Cobblepot scoffed softly, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no, absolutely not. I won’t have my new employee starting off in such... subpar conditions. It’s a poor reflection on me, and I can’t have that, now can I?” He straightened his tie with an air of exaggerated importance before leaning on his cane. “Here’s what we’ll do instead. You take the night to get familiar with the Lounge—on the house, of course. Have some drinks, relax, mingle a bit. Consider it my way of welcoming you to the team.”

You blinked again, even more confused. “Oh, um, that’s really generous, but shouldn’t I, like… fill out some paperwork first? Or sign something?”

Oswald chuckled, a warm, low sound that almost made you feel silly for asking. “Paperwork? We’ll handle all that boring nonsense tomorrow. No need to rush into the dull parts of the job, eh?” He gestured toward the door, ushering you back into the main lounge. “For tonight, enjoy yourself. Swing by the bar, meet some of the staff, maybe say hello to the security team. It’s important to me that you feel comfortable at the Iceberg.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was some sort of test, but his expression was disarmingly sincere. “Well… if you’re sure…”

“Positive,” he interrupted, clapping a hand on your shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Now, off you go. The night’s young, and the Lounge is at your disposal.”

As you stepped out of the closet and back into the opulent main floor, you glanced over your shoulder to see him watching you with a smile that seemed too genuine for someone of his reputation. You didn’t know him, but you’d heard some things. 

Unbeknownst to you, Cobblepot wasn’t just offering you free alcohol or a night to relax—he was staking his claim. He wanted you to feel at home, to see the Lounge as a safe haven, a place you’d always want to return to. Sure, there’d be paperwork eventually, but for now, the only thing that mattered was keeping you here, comfortable and unaware of the darker dealings hidden beneath the glamour.

Tim leaned back in his chair, toggling between the camera feeds inside the Iceberg Lounge. He was alone in the Batcave now, the others out on patrol in the city. “Well, there she is,” he muttered, zeroing in on his view of you at the bar. You were perched on a sleek barstool, your Gotham University sweater a stark contrast to the high-end fashion of the Lounge’s usual clientele. “She’s… drinking. A lot.”

Jason, freshly back from patrol—or what little of it he actually bothered to finish—sauntered into the Batcave, pulling off his helmet and setting it down with a thud. “That’s her?” he asked, nodding toward the screen.

“Yeah,” Tim replied without looking away. “You decided to show up?” His eyes flickered to the time down at the bottom of his monitor. "Thirty minutes early? B's not gonna be thrilled."

Jason ignored the jab, stepping closer to get a better look. “Huh,” he muttered, crossing his arms as his sharp eyes drank you in. You were laughing at something the bartender said, your cheeks flushed. You gestured animatedly with your glass while saying something they couldn't hear. “She doesn’t look like much.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Jason. “That’s what you cut patrol short for? To see her in person?”

Jason shrugged, his gaze fixed on you. “I was curious. Heard you and Damian going back and forth about her. Figured I’d check it out for myself.” His lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Didn’t expect her to be… this.”

Tim tilted his head. “This what?”

Jason gestured vaguely at the screen. “This… normal. Sweater, messy hair, drinking like she’s celebrating her midterms being over. Doesn’t scream ‘Iceberg Lounge material,’ y’know?”

Tim chuckled, toggling to another camera feed for a better angle. “That’s kind of the point. She thought she was interviewing for a janitorial position, Jason. Janitorial.”

Jason blinked, then snorted. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” Tim said, leaning back in his chair. “She walked in there with a résumé—an actual paper résumé—and asked about cleaning floors or whatever. Cobblepot probably laughed his ass off before offering her a drink.”

“He’s footing the bill by the way,” Tim added, toggling to a feed that showed the Penguin subtly watching you from across the room as he conversed with some guests. “She hasn’t reached for her wallet once. He’s just… letting her.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he studied the Penguin’s expression. There was no malice there yet, no obvious scheme in motion. Instead, Cobblepot looked almost… satisfied, like he was pleased with what he was seeing. “The hell’s his angle?” Jason muttered, his top lip curling in disgust at the possibilities.

“No idea,” Tim replied. “But if I had to guess? He’s trying to butter her up. Make her think the Lounge is a safe place, keep her happy and oblivious while he decides what to do with her.”

Jason scoffed, leaning back against the console.”She won’t last a week.”

Tim smirked. “You’re awfully invested for someone who just met her. Maybe you should prep a care package.”

“I didn’t meet her,” Jason shot back, though his eyes flicked back to the screen almost involuntarily. “I’m just saying, someone needs to give her a reality check before she gets eaten alive.”

“Maybe,” Tim said, watching as you swayed slightly to the music, chatting with another patron who’d joined you at the bar. “But she doesn’t look like she’s in danger. Yet.”

Jason grunted, pushing off the console and grabbing his helmet. “Yeah, well, I’m keeping an eye on this one. If Penguin tries anything, I’m ending it.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’re helping? Didn’t you just skip the last half of your patrol?”

Jason smirked as he turned toward the exit. “Hey, monitoring Gotham’s underworld is part of the job, isn’t it? I’m just doing my part.”

Tim shook his head with a laugh as Jason disappeared up the stairs. “Sure you are.”

Back on the screen, you were oblivious to the scrutiny, to the way the curiosities of Gotham's vigilantes were beginning to blossom into something more.

[myerssimp21]

Stumbling Under Watch, (YAN! Pt. 4)

Romantic! YAN! Batfam x female reader;

TLDR: Reader gets wasted, Nightwing and Batman clean up.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

You stumble slightly as you make your way down the darkened street, the world around you swaying just a bit too much. The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded bar you just left. The cool air feels freeing, and you take a deep breath of liberating Gotham air, wincing at the stench from the alley beside the bar. You feel more grounded despite the smell, banishing the anger sparked in your chest at the way an equally wasted dude had invaded your personal space and tried to gyrate on you without permission, flipping you off in irritation and storming off when you expressed discomfort. After that, the party atmosphere was more suffocating than fun and you'd rushed out to avoid having a panic attack.

You're lost in your thoughts when a shadow suddenly drops from above, landing gracefully in front of you. You blink, trying to focus and feeling apprehensive before a grin spreads across your face.

"Nightwing!" you exclaim happily, your voice slurring a bit. You sway on your feet, reaching out to steady yourself against a nearby lamppost though your expression is filled with adoration. "Bludhaven's shimmery blue star! What are you doing here?"

Nightwing, with his charming smile and easy demeanor, steps closer. "Just making sure you're safe," he says, his voice smooth and reassuring. "Walking home alone at this hour isn't the best idea."

You laugh, a little too loudly. "I'm fine," you insist, though your unsteady stance says otherwise. "You shouldn't be wasting your time on me. There are criminals out there, real bad guys to catch."

He chuckles, the sound warm and infectious. He loves the way you gestured vaguely to Gotham City when you emphasize 'bad guys', as if the whole city is suspect. "You think making sure you're safe isn't important? The bad guys can wait a little while."

His charisma is almost palpable, and you can't help but feel your worries start to melt away. "Well, if you insist," you say, giving in with a shy giggle. "But I can walk myself home."

"I know you can," he replies, his tone playful yet earnest. "But let me do this, okay? I’d hate myself if something happened to you."

You roll your eyes playfully, feeling a burst of courage from the alcohol. "You are so cheesy, Mr. Nightwing," you tease, poking him lightly in the chest. "Are you always this sweet, or is it just because I'm drunk?"

He grins, clearly enjoying your boldness. "Only for you," he says, leaning in slightly.

You snort, shaking your head. "Wow, you really don't stop, do you?"

His dazzling blue eyes twinkle with mischief. "It's working, isn't it?"

You can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. "Okay, maybe a little," you admit. "But I still think you should be out there saving the city."

"Right now, making sure you get home safe is my top priority," he insists, taking your arm gently. "Humor me?"

You smile, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "Fine, fine. Lead the way, hero."

As he guides you down the street, he keeps up a light, flirtatious conversation that makes the walk feel shorter and infinitely more enjoyable. You're so inebriated, you never wonder why he seems to inexplicably know exactly where you live.

"So, do you often walk home alone at this hour?" he asks, his tone casual but with a hint of concern.

"Sometimes," you admit. "I like the night air. Clears my head. On nights like these, it just feels like walking through a dream."

He nods, his expression thoughtful. "I can see that. But it's still not the safest choice. Someone as cute as you needs to make more safe choices."

You laugh again, shaking your head. "There you go with the cheesy lines. Do they teach you that in hero school?"

He smirks, not missing a beat. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just you that brings it out in me."

Before long, you've reached your apartment complex. Nightwing doesn't stop there, though. He walks you through the lobby, making sure you stay steady on your feet with a supportive arm and attentive eye on your unpredictable drunken antics.

"You really don't have to walk me all the way up," you say, feeling embarrassed gratitude. "I can manage from here."

"I know you can," he replies with a smile. "But I'd feel better knowing you got to your door safely."

And how could you say no to him?

You relent, letting him guide you to the elevator. When you finally reach your apartment door, you turn to face him, "Thanks, Nightwing," you say, your voice filled with gratitude.

He smiles, his eyes twinkling. "Anytime. Get some rest, okay? And call me if you need anything."

You're not sure how you'd call him, but you nod, fumbling with your keys. "I will. And, um, thanks again. For everything."

As Nightwing watched you struggle with your keys, his earpiece crackled with the familiar voice of Red Robin, his tone stern and disapproving.

"Dick, you shouldn't be walking her home like this. You're neglecting Blüdhaven," Tim's sharply criticized, echoing Bruce's concern from the last meeting.

Before Dick could respond, Jason's voice broke through the comms, equally sharp. "Shut up, Tim. You don't get to criticize Dick for wanting to make sure she's safe. You've got no say in this."

Dick could feel the argument brewing, frowning in disappointment at the discord between his brothers. Before it could escalate further, Bruce's deep, authoritative voice entered the conversation.

"Nightwing, return to Blüdhaven. You've done a good job here, but your city needs you."

His words were calm and commanding, diffusing the situation. Dick quietly sighed, covering his disappointment with a charming smile as soon as you managed to get the door open and shoot him a victorious grin.

"Understood, B. Heading back now."

As you disappeared into your apartment, your voice drifted back through the still-open door in a dreamy, love-struck tone. "His smile is so pretty… and he's just so nice. I can't believe how lucky I am to have him looking out for me," you chattered, clearly smitten in your drunken state.

Dick smirked slightly, knowing full well the others could hear your every word. Leaving the comms line open for a few moments longer, he lets your adoring comments linger. Then, with a decisive click, he turned off the comms, making a silent point to Tim and Jason about just how much you liked Nightwing.

Closing your apartment door for you and locking it from the outside with a copy he kept close at all times, he left your apartment complex. You wouldn't realize he'd locked it for you of course, but his smile beamed with satisfaction and his heart was brimming with protective pride nonetheless.

As the Bat-family patrolled the streets of Gotham, the hum of their comms network buzzed to life. Red Robin, monitoring the city from the Batcave, noticed a concerning scene unfolding on one of his screens.

"Guys, we've got a situation," Tim's voice crackled through their earpieces, urgency lacing his tone. "She just left her apartment. She’s still stumbling around. Think she raided her vodka cabinet or something."

Dick responds first, amusement evident in his voice. "I honestly didn't think she'd figure out the door."

Damian replied dryly, "You only locked it."

Dick chuckled, "I know."

Jason Todd's voice chimed in, brimming with readiness. "I’m nearby. I can check up on her, make sure she’s safe."

Before anyone could respond, Bruce Wayne’s authoritative tone cut through the comms. "I’ll handle it."

There was a moment of silence, the team recognizing the finality in Bruce’s words. No one dared to argue with Batman when he made up his mind.

"Roger that," Dick responded, "Be careful, B."

Red Robin watched the scene unfold through the CCTV cameras they'd placed discreetly in and around your apartment. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for you, knowing you were about to face an irritable Batman. "Good luck," Tim thought to himself, sending mental prayers your way.

You had made it halfway down the block, the cool night air barely sobering your senses. Your steps were unsteady, and the city lights blurred in your vision. Just as you were about to cross the street, a dark figure landed quietly behind you, almost blending into the shadows.

You jumped at the noise, a startled gasp escaping your lips as you turned to see motherfucking Batman standing there, his eyes piercing through the darkness. "Where do you think you're going?" His voice was a low growl, sounding angry.

"Batman! What the fuck, you scared me!" you exclaimed, your heart racing from the sudden fright. You can't help but clasp your hands to your chest, feeling the frantic beating as blood rushes through you. You're either superbly wasted or just a pussy because you're convinced he almost made you faint with his dramatic entrance. "I wanted some air. Nightwing walked me home earlier. I'm fine."

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming and you have second thoughts about staying out late. "It's not safe out here for you," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You know you shouldn't have even left after you were escorted home."

"But I..." you began, trying to find your footing both literally and figuratively. You're not sure what you're even protesting against, but you feel like your decision to stupidly walk the streets of Gotham drunk should be respected somehow. Why do Gotham's protectors even care if you're drunk out here anyways?

"Look at yourself," he continued when it's apparent you can't get your words together, his judgmental gaze taking in your disheveled appearance. "It's late, you're drunk, and you're not even carrying pepper spray. You need to go back home."

You pouted, crossing your arms defiantly. "I can take care of myself."

He sighed, his expression softening slightly but his voice growing sterner. "No, you can't. Not like this. I'm taking you home."

When he reached out to guide you, you resisted his touch, pulling away stubbornly. Without missing a beat, he effortlessly picked you up, slinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. "Hey!" you protested, your fists lightly thumping against his back.

"Enough," he said sternly, his tone brooking no argument. "You're going home. Now."

As you squirmed, you felt a strange mix of frustration and a sudden, unexpected arousal at his show of dominance. The firmness of his grip, the authority in his voice—it stirred something inside you that you couldn't quite ignore, and you unclenched your fists, letting them drop with an exasperated sigh. Wouldn't want to make his job harder, after all. He did do a lot of great work for this city, you reasoned, quieting your whining and miserably relaxing in his controlling grip.

Despite your new lack of protest, his hold on you was unyielding as he carried you back to your apartment. The scent of leather from his suit and the solid feel of his body against yours made your heart race for reasons beyond just anger.

When he gently set you down at your apartment door, the bat-eared figure before you swirled in your vision, the mix of alcohol and adrenaline making it hard to focus. You could barely tell, but it seemed like he had a small smile on his face as he opened your door and ushered you inside with an intense look.

You stumbled into your apartment, turning back to see him still watching you. As he softly closed the door behind you, you swore you heard him murmur, "Be a good girl." The words sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you both unnerved and aroused.

With shaky hands, you locked the door, leaning against it as your mind raced. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and you were left feeling a confusing blend of emotions. Nothing a shower and your favorite comfort show couldn't fix, right?

As you plodded off to grab your towel and turned on the shower, Tim reported your apparent intentions to stay inside. The shadowy figure that had been lingering near your apartment, ready in case you tried to sneak out again, turned and grappled off towards the next order of business.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

@dakota-rain666 @tyga-stripes @obsessedwithromance @lem-hhn

[myerssimp21]

Damien was focused. VERY focused. He was totally in control, and capable of finishing his meditation session...

Still, his eyes opened a sliver to peak at you. You were swimming in the Wayne Manor pool, looking all too similar to a model from a penthouse magazine. Wet, gorgeous, and in your favorite swim wear...

Your blemishes, scars, and beauty marks only added to the vision - and he was definitely, totally, not distracted by you. Not even a little...

Of course, his body was telling him otherwise. He shifted. Even in his 20's apparently he could not fully control how his body reacts, especially to you. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, but the sight of you is burned onto the back of his eyelids. Even worse - his mind wanders, and he sees you, looking over your shoulder teasingly, your voice soft as a bell suggesting he join in on your swim.

It goes further than that, when you suddenly start peeling off your swim wear...

He shakes his head, and tries to get the thought out of his skull. Bruce steps out with a cool glass of tea, and sips it, already seeing the issue. "It's hot outside." He says simply. Damien can only agree. They both watch you swim easily from one end of the pool to the next.

Thank you for reading! Please, consider donating!

[myerssimp21]

For any of my readers, this is someone else’s yandere fic ask, just reblogging to keep it ❤️

How would each of the batboys react after doing the "forbidden tango" with their "sister"?

probably need to clear this up, but the weird not incest thing isn't going to be a central theme in this fic. Like it's there, but other than Dick and a very resigned Bruce everybody absolutely doesn't care. Also BIG spoiler here but

They will be finding out that you're not actually their version of 'you'. This will probably make Dick cry from relief. And by the time the smut does actually happen... they will have much bigger problems than the not a step sister thing.

[myerssimp21]

Knight's Captive (YAN!Arkham Knight)

Huddled in a cramped cupboard within the shattered remnants of an abandoned cafe in Gotham, you held your breath, praying the Arkham Knight's militia wouldn't find you. Outside, the chaos of the city being occupied by the Knight's forces echoed through the walls.

Through the slats of the cupboard door, you glimpsed the boots of soldiers sweeping the area. Fear gripped you as their footsteps drew closer, their voices mingling with the clatter of debris.

"Clear this place out. No one stays," one soldier barked, his voice cold and authoritative.

Just as panic threatened to overwhelm you, the Knight's modulated voice crackled over their comms. "Hold. Wait," he commanded, his words tinged with a metallic edge. Unknown to you, he activated his heat vision to scan the area, ensuring the vicinity was cleared of threats. "There."

"Look what we found, boss. A lost little lamb," one soldier jeered, suddenly pulling you out of your hiding place after a moment of tense silence, gun precariously pressing against your temple as he laughed at your shaking.

"Hold your fire," the Knight's voice cut through the mockery, approaching you. His interest was piqued by your strange presence amidst the city's turmoil.

"Why is a 'good girl' like you still in Gotham?" the Knight's tone was curious but mostly smug as he interrogated you, observing you clutching your Gotham University sweater tightly. Your sweater implies you're a student, and your clean appearance starkly contrasts the chaos surrounding them.

"I couldn't evacuate in time," you admitted tearfully, your voice barely above a whisper, seeking refuge in your sweater as if it could shield you from the harsh reality of these uniformed men sneering and the presence of their intimidating commander.

There's a beat of silence, and you hesitantly turn your teary eyes up to him, meeting the fearful mask with an expression that makes him hesitate to turn you loose into the streets. Someone like you clearly wasn't meant to be out there with the others, among the animals who either stayed or migrated to Gotham after the city was evacuated. You'd surely become a toy for the sick fucks out there who would delight in a pretty piece of prey like you, not to mention the cloudburst that would leave Gotham uninhabitable.

The Knight tilts his head slightly, considering your words and the vulnerability etched across your face. "Finish sweeping the cafe. Bring her," he instructs his militiamen, his voice firm and commanding. Most of them move to set up a checkpoint, leaving you to be roughly escorted by a militia commander as the Knight leads the way back to the armored vehicles waiting outside.

En route to militia headquarters in the back of an armored vehicle, silence hung heavy between the Knight and you. You glanced at him timidly, your fear palpable in the tense atmosphere.

"Are you going to hurt me?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the rumble of the streets outside although you tried to speak up.

The Knight regarded you with a cold, calculating gaze. "Stay out of the way of my men and don't cause any problems. You'll be fine," he replied, his tone icy but tinged with an underlying tension.

As the vehicle rumbled through the war-torn streets of Gotham, your thoughts raced with fear and uncertainty. Why had fate led you to this moment? What did this Knight want with someone like you?

As you pulled into the heavily defended checkpoint you assumed was his headquarters, the radio in the vehicle buzzed with a voice frustratedly announcing a diamondback had been hit but was still operational.

"Alpha Target is engaging. I need to go," the Knight stated abruptly, his focus shifting away from you and back to the ongoing battle against Batman. You quickly hopped out of the car, not wanting to get in between him and his mission, and are pulled along by the armored man who has been yanking you along this whole time, being led to a warehouse for the Knight to return when he's done.

Inside the grim and foreboding walls of militia headquarters hours later, the Knight continued his intermittent interrogations of you, probing for answers about your presence in Gotham.

"I stayed to find someone. I lost communication with them before Gotham was cut off," you finally confessed, your voice straining with vulnerability.

The Knight's expression hardened at your revelation, his demeanor becoming cold and distant. "I'm not diverting any militia resources to find your friend," he stated bluntly, his words carrying a finality that left no room for argument. "We have more important things to do."

"I didn't expect any militia resources to divert," you stammer, "I just thought I'd be honest with you since it sounds like the cloudburst will drop soon." He's studying your face as your gaze falls to the floor at his intense scrutiny. "I care about him a lot," you add, biting your lip anxiously at the thought of your friend being out there.

The Knight remains silent, his masked face unreadable as he processes your words. It reminds you of the strategy detectives use to make a suspect talk, choosing to let awkward silences hang to prompt them to talk more.

You gather your courage, "I plan to split from the militia forces and try to find him."

At this, the Knight scoffs, his tone dripping with condescension. "You really think you can just wander off? The cloudburst is going to leave Gotham in ruins," he sneers. "Sticking with the militia is your only chance at surviving. Don’t get any ideas about leaving."

"It’s not fair for me to survive and not him," you protest weakly.

The Knight suddenly brings a hand up to press down on a button in his suit after your protest hangs in the air for another awkward moment of silence you refuse to break this time.

"Listen carefully," he begins, and you look up, thinking he was talking to you. But then he continues, his voice authoritative, and you realize he's speaking to his soldiers in his comms line. "Establishing new Beta Target. She's staying at HQ indefinitely."

Hope that had been swirling in your heart came crashing down with his words, his mask coldly staring at you as he went further, "No one lets her leave headquarters under any circumstances except with me."

With his hand now off the comms button, the Knight's helmet eyes bore into your teary ones. "You're part of my operation now," he explained. "Don’t give my men a reason to put you back in line."

You feel suddenly angry and try to mask it, but are unsure if he picked up on it or not. It seems he did.

"You'll thank me when you realize you're the only one who made it out of Gotham alive tonight," he adds and the thought makes you want to shudder, feeling helpless. Maybe he's right. As the Knight responded to chatter on his comms line, your tears finally fell. He turned abruptly at the sight of them and stormed off, barking into the mic about dispersing more tanks across Gotham's streets.

The hours that followed were marked by your downtrodden demeanor. You were sullen, quiet, and reserved, a stark contrast to your earlier state. The Knight noticed the change, his irritation growing with each passing hour. Finally, his patience snapped.

"What's your friend's name?" he demanded, his voice edged with frustration. He was hoping to placate you, to get you to stop being so emotional over his decision.

You hesitated, then replied softly, "Tim. Tim Drake."

The Knight froze. His cowl obscured his face, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable. Silence stretched between you, heavy and oppressive. "Repeat that," he finally said, his voice oddly strained.

"Tim Drake," you repeated, a worried tone creeping into your voice. "I know him from Gotham University. I usually have a hard time making friends, so I'm scared one of my only friends is in danger."

The Knight continued in silence, doing the damned detective thing again. The pressure of his unyielding gaze made you fidget.

"He’s a computer sciences major," you added sheepishly. "I’m terrible with tech on that level and I needed to know how to use a data entry thing for my psychology class and he helped me out a lot."

The Knight surveyed you, his gaze intense as he tried to ascertain if you truly didn’t know that Tim was Red Robin. His temper, always on a short fuse, ignited.

"Drake probably doesn’t even remember you exist right now, if he's even alive. People show their true colors in a crisis." The Knight snaps, watching as you look stricken before adding, "You’ve got guts staying behind, but it wasn’t exactly the smartest move. Most people know better."

You recoiled at his words, confusion and hurt evident on your face. The Knight stormed off, unable to contain his rage. He needed an outlet, something to vent his fury on.

Outside, he found a group of Penguin's thugs who had strayed too close to the headquarters. He descended on them with a brutality that left his militia in hushed awe. The sounds of his violence echoed back to you, leaving you feeling even more meek and unsure. You didn’t understand why he was so angry, but you resolved to do whatever you could to avoid further inciting his wrath.

As you sat in the headquarters, one of the militia men hovering near you spoke into his comms. "The Knight's going crazy on the thugs outside," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and fear. "I think he's murdering them."

You shuddered, the words sending a chill down your spine, the reality of your situation sinking in deeper with each passing moment.

You weren’t sure why he was going ballistic or why he would tell you those horrible things about Tim like that. He sounded so angry and… bitter, might be the best word for the biting tone his voice modulator spat at you. You swallowed, overhearing two militia men mutter between themselves about how the knight was a wild card sometimes. How he was quick to anger and quite unforgiving.

You weren’t sure why he’d resolved to pick you up from that abandoned cafe or why he stopped his men from shooting you like a rat, or why he blatantly refused to let you leave, but you had a small hope that you’d get out of this unscathed if you played your cards right. He seemed to admire the way you cared for others even if he thought you were stupid for it. You’d try to do as he said and avoid causing issues for his army. It was the smart thing to do.

Some time later, after he's taken a breather after exerting himself like that, the Arkham Knight overheard some of his militia men talking about the dazed look you had as you gazed over the edge of their headquarters rooftop access. His paranoia flared up. Quickly, he arrived and firmly escorted you to his private quarters, his grip unyielding.

"This is the safest place in the building," he gruffly said, gesturing you inside. "Only I can access it, so it's the most secure."

You protested, trying to pull away, but he snarled, "If I can't even trust you not to jump, you're staying in here. My militia is too busy to babysit." His eyes bore into yours, his anger barely contained. “I saved you. Now do as you’re told.”

You remembered what he did to the thugs outside the compound and quietly complied, filing into the room to avoid angering him further.

"I need to get back to work," he said sternly, leaving and locking the door electronically with several mechanisms behind him. You dejectedly looked at the floor, feeling bummed out.

You spent some time staring at the heavily secured door, contemplating whether there was any chance of escape. Realizing the futility of it, you decided to clean up a little first. Exploring the room, you confirmed there was a bathroom in his private quarters. You poked around through his drawers, searching for clean clothes to wear after you showered and getting distracted. The drawers contained an array of items, some intriguing, some mundane. You found tactical gloves, utility belts, and spare masks, alongside various types of ammunition and parts of guns. There were no complete weapons, as he had correctly assumed you probably wouldn't know how to assemble them. One drawer held maps of Gotham with strategic points marked, communication devices, and encrypted notebooks.

Among the everyday essentials, you found t-shirts, hoodies, and a few pairs of jeans, alongside toiletries like shaving cream, razors, and cologne. In the medical supplies drawer, there were bandages, painkillers, and antiseptics. The drawer with was you assumed was either personal items or super special military items was securely locked, hinting at the Knight's private life.

Carefully selecting some casual clothing he likely wouldn’t miss, you pocketed a small screwdriver from the maintenance tools. The thought of having something, anything, that might help you later was reassuring.

As you curiously fiddled with the lock on the mysterious drawer, a voice suddenly crackled through an intercom you hadn’t noticed in the room. “Are you trying to piss me off?” The Knight’s angry tone startled you, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

“I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I just wanted to shower and didn’t have a clean change of clothes. I shouldn’t have been prying beyond that.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have,” he cut you off briskly. “There are clean towels in the bathroom. Use them.”

The intercom went silent, and you shyly asked, “Should I change in the bathroom?” implicitly questioning whether there was a camera in the room.

“If you want,” he replied, slyly ducking your real question.

Feeling uncertain but not wanting to take any chances, you opted to undress and change in the bathroom after your shower, wary of the possibility of being watched.

You stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime and stress of the last couple days. The warmth was a welcome comfort, a small respite from the chaos surrounding you. After washing thoroughly, you stepped out and reached for a towel, feeling a bit more human again.

As you dried off, you noticed his deodorant on the counter. Hesitating only a moment, you decided to use it. You hated going without and the though unfamiliar, the scent made you feel a little more put together. Brushing your teeth with your finger and some toothpaste you found in the bathroom, you felt even more refreshed.

Dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sweats, you felt a semblance of comfort. The clothes were too big, but they were clean and soft. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, and despite your unease about sleeping in the Knight’s private chambers, the feeling of cleanliness brought a sense of safety. You stood uncertainly for a moment, staring at the bed. It felt strange, knowing this was the Arkham Knight's private space. But exhaustion eventually won over apprehension, and you reasoned that he wouldn't have confined you to his private chambers if he didn't expect you to use his things. Still, you made sure not to disturb or overstay your welcome. Carefully, you climbed into the oversized bed, pulling the sheets over yourself as sleepiness weighed heavily on your eyelids.

From his position in Gotham, the Knight kept an eye on the various tank compounds and his militia's defensive preparations against Batman. He sat in the back of a vehicle, watching the screens in front of him with an intense focus. One screen showed a live feed from his quarters, where he watched you just as intently as his other screens. He watched as you hesitated at the edge of the bed, uncertainty evident in your movements. For a moment, he felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—a twinge of concern, perhaps, or even a hint of protectiveness. His usually harsh expression softened slightly, and he resisted the urge to intervene through the intercom, eyes glued to your form lingering above his bed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to him, you relented and settled into the bed he allowed you to use. As you drifted off to sleep, he felt an unexpected sense of calm wash over him. He kept the screen displaying your sleeping form in front of him as he continued to work, the sight somehow soothing amidst the chaos of Gotham.

For a while, he stared in silence, his usually harsh expression softening slightly. There was something oddly soothing about seeing you there, safe and asleep in his space. It was a strange feeling, one he couldn’t quite understand or name. The sight placated him, a brief moment of calm amid his relentless campaign against Batman.

Snapping back to the present, he issued a few more orders to his men, prepping them for the next phase of their operation. But even as he spoke, his gaze occasionally flickered back to the screen, ensuring you were still there, still safe, and still his to protect and control.

[myerssimp21]

Twilight in Gotham

YAN! Romantic!Vampire!Batfam x Human!Reader

Prelude: Inspired by the "DC vs. Vampires" comic, this takes place in a Gotham corrupted by a vampiric outbreak, where vampirism influences the transformed in terrible ways. Sharpening their cruel, brutal, selfish, violent, or predatory natures, Batfam and Catwoman grapple with their new overpowering attributes in the face of Darling's successful escape from the Manor. Catwoman, who has been MIA since her transformation, finds the reader first after Batman's distress notice to keep an eye out for Darling. This one-shot opens with Batman entering the place Reader and Catwoman have been spending time in, intending to punish the reader for trying to run away.

TW: noncon as punishment, nipple play in the tune of mommy kink threesome dynamic, blood, restraints, emotional manipulation, brainwashing, abuse dynamics, emotional abuse, coercion, threats, dead dove, grievous injuries, disassociation, unalive attempt, read at your own risk, let me know if I missed any tw's plz if any stand out to you.

Without a word, Batman strides forward, his presence dominating the room. He grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His gaze is stern, his lips a thin line. Your resistance falters under his intense scrutiny, a shiver running down your spine. Bruce scrutinizes you momentarily, his eyes dark and unreadable, before decidedly groping at your chest with a large, gloved hand.

You shirk back against Selina, who holds you close, her voice a soothing murmur in your ear.

“He's not going to hurt you,” Selina whispers, her tone deceptively gentle. “I’m right here with you, sweetheart.”

His touch is rough, tearing at the clothes covering your torso and making you gasp. He quickly exposes your breasts, his hand squeezing harshly at a nipple before smacking it. The sharp sting makes you whimper, your body instinctively trying to shrink away from the pain. Bruce pulls your underwear to the side, his movements calculated and forceful. Aggressively, he pulls his glove off with his teeth with his eyes not leaving your cunt before sinking his too-big fingers into you. Instinctively, your arms ripped from Selina's grasp to shove against his as he worked his fingers inside you.

"S-stop!" You cry out, afraid of how far he will go. "Bruce, please!"

Selina's embrace from behind starkly contrasts his dominating presence as he pauses his unwanted fingering only to effortlessly subdue your arms with his other one. You tear your eyes away from Batman's unfeeling cowl, feeling sick, like you were looking at some sort of sentient gargoyle that came up from hell. There's some rustling as he adjusts his suit and you hopelessly groan in protest, clutching onto Selina's arm so harshly she knew she'd have bruised if she were a human.

"Please, don't," you try again, your voice uncertain and close to tears. "You don't have to do this. I won't ever try to leave again-"

Bruce’s hips snap forward brutally, thrusting into you with a force you'd never expect him to use with you. Your pained scream echoes through the room, your body jolting with his merciless movements.

Selina continues to murmur reassuring things above you, her voice soft and almost loving. “It’s okay, darling. I’m here.”

Your noises of distress grow louder as he continues his assault, the pain both physical and emotional. You want to cry at the thought of him using intimacy in such a fucked way against you, especially with his enhanced vampiric strength. You become overwhelmed and feel a rush of emotion hit all at once when he brings a large hand down to rub circles on your clit, feeling the sting of injustice at the thought of your body responding to him. Selina's hands move to your exposed breasts, rubbing at your nipples gently in an attempt to soothe you amidst the brutal treatment but all it does is make you feel worse, tears prickling in your eyes.

Selina’s expression fills with concern as you begin to cry, trying to retreat further into her lap but unable to because of the Bat grasping you so tightly. “Oh, come now, Bruce,” she murmurs and stretches a hand out to stop him, her voice carrying a cautious undertone. “The poor thing has been good. You can’t expect them to be perfect all the time. Especially after what happened with Damian—of course they're scared."

Batman pauses, his grip on you tightening momentarily as he considers Selina’s words. Your pussy helplessly twitches around him in the brief respite, the sensation of his large cock stretching you open becoming almost too much to bear as the too-full feeling settles in. He stares at Selina silently, his expression impossible to read behind the cowl.

At first, he reacts by swiftly shoving himself back into you, your body shoved harder against Selina as you cry out again, squirming in his cruel grasp. There is a longer pause after this, where you continue to sniffle in gasps with his penis fully inside you, afraid to look up at him and resolving to look at his bat emblem on the chest of his armor through your tears instead. Selina wraps herself around you from behind and rocks gently, swaying you in a soothing way while staring down the cowl where Bruce's eyes stare back at her. You feel the tension in the air between them but fear the wrath of both somehow diverting to you if you distract by doing anything at all, resigning yourself to the sensations of his cock stuffed in you and her subtle movements. One of the only things you know about their new conditions is they're even more apex predators than they already were, their various strengths seemingly amplified. Already so perceptive, it's a wonder you managed to escape the Manor at all after their transformations.

Selina leans closer, her voice a soothing murmur but with an edge. "Bruce, my love, your condition has shifted your limits," she says, a steely bite to her words. "Our little one is still only human. You need to control your strength."

After a long, tense moment, Bruce’s demeanor shifts. With a slow, deliberate motion, he removes the cowl, revealing his face. His expression softens, a hint of tenderness breaking through the stoic front. His eyes betray a mixture of regret and care, a silent apology for the harsh treatment. It's an apology Selina accepts, but that you miss entirely, gaze still glued to his emblem.

He doesn’t move inside you, his voice now gentle but firm as he commands, “Look up at me.”

You hesitate, your gaze fixed on the bat emblem through your tears. Selina’s lips press soft kisses to your temple and jawline, her presence a constant reassurance.

Bruce's hand gently touches your cheek, redirecting your gaze. His silence holds a deathly warning.

You reluctantly meet his gaze as you continue crying. Selina continues her soft kisses, her hands soothingly stroking your sides. The current intensity of Bruce demanding you acknowledge him while he's still violating you is too much and you tremble uncontrollably against Selina. You cower further into Selina's grasp when he leans in, finding yourself trapped between the two of them and letting go of what little control you have as you relent into his pushy kiss. It's soft, gentle, passionate, and feels like all the sweet things that make your stomach churn given the context. His fingers expertly play with your clit until you cry out in his mouth and he feels your rhythmic pulsing against him as you cum against your will, your vagina fluttering around him in a way that makes him groan under his breath. After you come down from your peak, he reluctantly pulls away from the suffocating kiss. His gaze flickers from your avoidant eyes to Selina's fixed ones behind your head. A scornful look you can't see flashes across her face at your continued tears and he leans further away from you in response.

Their vampiric propensity to smell fresh blood soon clues them in on how rough he really had been, and there's a disapproving noise from Selina as they smell the faint scent of blood coming from you. He slowly pulls out of you and you feel faint when you see a smear of red on his tip, closing your eyes to avoid seeing the sympathetic look in his eyes that he didn't deserve to show. You were afraid if you kept glancing at him all your helplessness would give way to unfettered rage and you would turn Selina against you too.

Knowing he had been too rough, he lowers his head and feeds at the base of your neck without another word. The initial sting of his fangs piercing your skin fades quickly, replaced by a welcome sense of relaxation that bleeds through your weakening body. The weakness from being fed on quickly overtakes you, and Selina becomes your primary support, saying sweet words and apologies in your ear. Feeling caught in a spiderweb, you were at least grateful you'd barely remember this later. Your head spun so you let it fall back onto Selina collarbone, finding it harder to keep your eyes open the more Bruce drank from you.

Feeding on your blood had become a method almost all of them had used to render you docile at some point since their transformations. Damian regularly used it to quiet your arguing and weaken your will against him. As a human, his pride and suffocating egotistical entitlement over you was something you could parry better, but as a vampire, he often used brute force to make you quiet and willing to spend time with him.

Damian's desire for a connection with you was incessant and intense, driven by a need for validation and control that you found suffocating. As the son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne, he carried an immense sense of entitlement, believing he was deserving of everything he wanted, including you. This arrogance was deeply ingrained in his personality, fueled by his upbringing and rigorous training.

You didn't personally know much about Talia, but from the way the others spoke of her, and from observing Damian, it was clear that his feelings towards his mother were complex. He was both starstruck with her and deeply resentful of her criminal ways. The clash of your personalities was inevitable; where you valued autonomy, Damian saw his blood status and personal skills as justification for being overbearing. When his frustration peaked, he resorted to draining your blood, a method that left you compliant and pliable. This forced submission was his way of ensuring your company, of making you physically incapable of defying him. For all the times it had already happened, you remember almost none of it; just a lingering feeling that he was dangerous and had hurt you before guiding you through every new conflict. The cycle of anger, feeding, and enforced closeness was a new and constant issue you had with him, and he had nearly killed you earlier this week by drinking too much. It's why you decided to risk invoking everyone's wrath by seriously attempting to leave the Manor.

You're thinking about the incident with Damian and shudder in Selina's grip at the memory, prompting her to nudge Bruce with her foot. You're brought out of your head with the sensation of his tongue lapping at your skin as he pulls away from you, his fangs clean. His blue eyes assess your condition as you lull against Selina, and he sits in a comfortable silence watching you two lay together.

Selina holds you close, her hands continuing to stroke your sides as she cradles you in her lap. She presses another kiss to your temple, “You did so well, sweetheart.”

As Bruce adjusted his suit, he watched Selina hold you. Your body was covered in goosebumps and you trembled slightly, clearly overstimulated and exhausted from him draining you back to docility. Selina continued to soothe, her fingers tracing lazy patterns onto your skin as you tried to recover but struggled to.

In this instance, Selina understood that Bruce had resorted to feeding on you as a means to temporarily ease the distress caused by his actions earlier. It was a calculated move on his part, driven by the desire to weaken your mental state and make you more susceptible to the comfort and reassurance Selina could provide.

Selina, felt a digging urge within her at the opportunity Bruce provided her, sensing your docility in the way you relaxed into her now. She zipped down her latex top slowly, letting her freed breasts hang down against your face as she continues rocking you. She then collects you in a cradling position, propping herself up against the bed’s headboard and staring at you in adoration.

“Come here, sweetie,” she cooed, covering your mouth slowly in an overstimulating kiss with tongue. The way Bruce drained your blood made you lethargic, your senses bombarded by the confusing mix of pain, pleasure, and humiliation.

He places his cowl back on but doesn't leave right away, watching her with interest. His figure is imposing and you try to listen to what Selina wants from you instead of worrying about him, struggling to focus on her.

“You've had a rough time tonight,” she observes, her voice sultry and inviting. “Why don't you find comfort by nursing on me, hmm?”

In a daze, you look back at her, your mind swimming with confusion and embarassment. Your body feels heavy after Bruce fed, and your thoughts are sluggish.

Amidst the fog, there's a longing for her ultimate comfort. Beneath the surface, you're aroused, stirred by the taboo nature of Selina's proposition and the memory of Bruce buried in you earlier. The desire to feel the softness against your lips and to lose yourself in the moment of intimacy is a strong temptation, tugging at your senses.

Hesitation grips you, fearing being shamed if you give in. You're afraid they'll flip the script on you once you relent and you'll never live it down with anybody in the Manor afterwards. You think you'd rather let Damian kill you next time if that's the case, but you're not sure he'd go that far again. He always did like you, all his problematic traits just worsened after he turned. After the incident, the others hadn't permitted him near you and you hadn't seen him for the past week at all. With your luck around these guys, the exposure of you doing this would make their dominance over you solidify.

Seeing your hesitation, Selina leans in closer, her voice coaxing as her breasts press towards your face. "Come on, kitten," she murmurs softly in a way that makes your head spin more, "You need this more than you know."

You look up at her, vulnerability evident in your gaze, a silent plea for understanding and comfort that assures her of your tentative agreement. Selina smiles, sensing your imminent submission, her gaze filled with a twisted affection. She guides one of your limp hands against her breast. You curiously grope at her, slowly experimenting with her between your fingers as a compromise and because you feel like she really wants this.

Selina's always been protective and trustworthy, anyways. You know that even with the intense vampiric transformation, she isn't so insufferably entitled like Damian, or as emotionally intense like Jason. She doesn't abuse her charisma or emotional connection to you like Dick, and she isn't as invasive or authoritarian like Bruce. After all, she's the one who knew you escaped the Manor and chose to tag along. You had hopes she'd help you escape Gotham, but you didn't fault her for choosing the more reliable option in teaming up with the others. It's obvious they'd pursue you even if you did convince her to take off with you. Now if you could manage to convince Superman that this whole ordeal wasn't ethical....he and his posse could prove to be a real challenge for Bruce.

She notices your head beginning to sink closer to the other breast, hardly able to keep your eyes open in your drained state.

Bruce watches silently. He doesn’t intervene.

Selina shamelessly nudged your head down further towards her exposed nipple, guiding you to latch on with her soft plea. "Let me show you how good it can feel, how good you can feel when you give in."

She senses your struggle to hold yourself up, the exhaustion from being fed on weighing heavily on you. She silently grows more urgent, feeling a mutual need for the comfort and connection this intimate act could provide. Beneath the surface, another more primal and insatiable need courses through her veins at your proximity to what she wants so badly.

"Don't fight it anymore, kitten," she pleads, her voice dripping with honey. "I know you're tired so be a good little thing. We won't judge you."

Selina’s persuasive tone washes over you like a comforting wave, her words a soothing balm to your exhausted mind. Barely able to focus, you question if anyone else is going to find out. As you hesitantly voice your concern, she quickly reassures you that her offer remains a secret between the three of you, supported by a low hum of agreement from Bruce who is still standing above you two. The reminder of his presence gives you goosebumps and your cheeks heat in the short silence that follows, feeling them both intensely watching you.

You hardly know what's going on but you know they're both waiting for you to give in, and her pleading with his silence is far too much pressure for you to handle.

Finally, you relented and latched onto Selina’s nipple, your lips enveloping it and your tongue tentatively rubbing circles. Bruce watched Selina shudder in pleasure at your submission, her fingers tightening in your hair as she pressed you closer to her chest.

“That’s it, darling,” Selina cooed, her voice a mixture of satisfaction and relief. “Just like that.”

Bruce’s expression remains stoic, but his eyes betray his approval at the sight of you curled against her. He watched for a moment longer then turned to leave, his voice echoing through the room. “I expect them back at the Manor by the end of patrol.”

Selina moans in response, hardly noticing him leave now that her darling is obediently at her bosom just like she's been wanting practically since she met you. One arm holds you close while the other lingers near your head, her fingers soothingly massaging your scalp. Your mouth plays with her nipple, working towards a comfortable rhythm that soothes you and excites her. You keep faltering from lethargy and Selina delights in the lazy way you resume sucking on her when you regain stamina, but she knows you're almost down for the count.

As your eyes flutter closed and your sucking slows, Selina glances towards the door to ensure Bruce is gone. Her gaze returns to you, filled with a mixture of affection and determination. She shifts, bringing her wrist to her mouth and biting down to open a vein. Blood wells up, dark and potent, and she carefully lets it drip onto your lips.

Your drowsy, docile state prevents you from realizing what's happening. The blood seeps into your mouth, and instinctively, you swallow with a small noise of displeasure at the taste. Selina watches intently with a secretive smile playing on her lips. "This will help you heal faster, kitten," she whispers, "And maybe… maybe it'll help you sharpen those claws."

Her mind races as she watches you. She hopes you'll realize you’re consuming vampiric blood and take the next steps to turn into a vampire yourself. If you initiate your transformation, she won’t have to do it for you and risk the reaction from the others. She waited until you two were alone and Bruce's guard was down because she knows the others want to keep you weak. She understands the temptation to coerce you but hates seeing you so conflicted about your situation. The reaction from the others could be vastly more severe than she alone is prepared for, but seeing Bruce abuse you with his unnecessary show of strength was her last straw.

Feeling you press into her to try to escape him, hearing your cries, and smelling your fresh blood from his assault left her sharply aware that he had loosened some of his moral restraints since his transformation. Selina knows that as the patriarch of the Wayne clan, Bruce commands the others. She briefly wonders if Damian's new vicious attitude or Bruce's increased aggression towards defiance came first. Who else has been hurting you when she wasn’t around?

As a vampire, you could stand up for yourself more efficiently and fight back with greater strength, instead of being intentionally kept in a weaker human state. Selina’s eyes glint with ambition; if you were a vampire, she might finally have a genuine shot at hiding you away from the others and leaving Gotham for good. She'll need to seek Ivy's help to keep you under their radar, maybe call in some favors with the heavy hitters in Gotham's crime district..

She has a lot of questions about the specifics of breaking you out but feels too short on time to explore them all. Do their devices that sense body heat through walls not work against vampires? Were vampires too cold to be picked up on the sensors? Maybe she can snatch some of their equipment and let the Riddler fiddle with it until he understood it's weaknesses. Maybe Ivy could create some plant cocoon or something else that might render you invisible to their technology somehow. Maybe she could tip off Oswald on when the Wayne clan would be least prepared for a big move from him, overwhelming them at a bad time. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's hard for her to look down at you and realize how many holes are in her plans for the time being. She can't infiltrate and break down their methodically built empire of vigilantism-gone-haywire overnight. In Bruce's book, she's already trustworthy enough to be with you alone outside of the Manor, but she knows Bruce has trust issues. If she were found out to be subverting him, he wouldn't be quick to trust her around you again. The vampiric transformation complicates it further, as now Bruce and everyone else in the Wayne clan are quick to uncharacteristically exact fatal violence.

Her mind races. She looks back down at you. Maybe there is something she can try.

Back at Wayne Manor, the unwelcome sight of Damian was the first to greet you as Selina brought you inside hours later. His normal scowl when he saw you was replaced with a fleeting look of relief, his green eyes softening at the sight of you. It was a rare moment where his hard exterior showed cracks of genuine concern, especially after not seeing you for the past week. He regarded Selina with an uncharacteristic nod of appreciation, looking strikingly more like his father with the show of respect towards her.

"You brought her back," Damian said, his voice lacking its usual edge. There was a flicker of gratitude in his tone, a grudging respect for Selina's success.

Selina nodded, her smile calm and knowing. "I have permission to stick around. Something about free access."

"Your frequent entrances and exits may compromise the security of the manor," he states, "Be sure to minimize the chance of that happening."

"My apologies for missing the door," Alfred Pennyworth said as he entered the foyer and courteously bowed to you three, "Master Damian was eagerly awaiting your arrival. Ms. Kyle, it's a pleasure to see you."

"Likewise, Alfred." Selina says, stepping towards the older man, "I hope you're well?"

Alfred straightened up, a faint smile gracing his lips. "I've never felt better, Ms. Kyle," he admitted warmly, "Ever since Bruce…"

Selina nodded knowingly as he trails off. Despite the change, Alfred carried himself with the same dignity and poise, his dedication to the Wayne family stronger than ever.

As Selina and Alfred exchanged pleasantries, Damian moved in closer towards you, enveloping you in a possessive hug. Although his grasp is tight, you find his embrace comforting. He lays his head in the crook between your neck and collarbone, inhaling your scent, his voice low and threatening. "You'd never escape in Al Ghul territory," he murmured into your ear. "I remember you asked me about my upbringing once. Run again and I'll show you what being an Al Ghul truly means."

But you hardly noticed his provocations, your mind in a state of calm detachment thanks to Selina's influence. She had spent the last few hours placing you into a meditative state so you could face the Manor again. You stood unfazed before you surprise him and return his embrace, nuzzling your head into his neck like he did to you. Damian stiffened for a moment, taken aback by your unexpected response. He wasn't used to you seeking comfort in his touch, and it threw him off balance. His grip loosened as he tried to process this new development.

"Would you care for a snack, Miss Kyle?" Alfred asked Selina, both being unaware of the interaction Damian and you just had. "We have some of your preferred refreshments in the fridge."

Damian released you from his embrace at Alfred's words, watching Selina nod appreciatively.

"Thank you, Alfred. That would be lovely."

As Alfred led Selina to the kitchen, Damian's eyes lingered on you, analyzing the way you watched them go. The look of admiration swirling in your eyes irritated him quickly. He could tell that Selina hadn't fed on you- she wouldn't be hungry if she did -although he did catch the faint scent of his father. "Selina's too soft on you. I'll make sure you regret it, though."

Before he could continue, Dick Grayson strode into the room with purpose. He had been eavesdropping just outside of the den, having now overheard enough of Damian's cruel words to intervene.

As he entered, he caught Damian's last words and his eyes immediately locked onto his younger brother with a disapproving, almost warning look. Dick positioned himself between you and Damian, his posture bristling with protective energy. "That's more enough, Damian," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "After all you've done, you're doing this to top it off? Give us some privacy. Now."

Damian hesitated, his eyes narrowing as if he wanted to argue. His mouth opened slightly, but he quickly thought better of it, masking his embarrassment and irritation with a facade of nonchalance. He reluctantly slunk out of the den, his ear tips turning red, a subtle but clear sign of his embarrassment and feeling of being slighted. Dick's stern gaze followed him until he disappeared from sight.

Once Damian was gone, Dick's demeanor softened as he turned back to you. His hands ran along yours and up your arms as he carefully inspected you for any visible damage in the places he could reach, his eyes betraying his concern even though he was still putting up a confident front. When he seemed to be satisfied with his inspection, he gently cupped your face in his hands to make you look up at him, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks in a soothing way as if to convince himself you really were there.

"What were you thinking, running away like that?" he said in a voice shaky with worry and affection. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there now with all those other vampires roaming around? They drain the life out of any humans that have the misfortune of running into them and they'd get off on your fear and terror."

You don't say anything, finding yourself more in a dissociative state than a calm one after Damian's cruelty and Selina's conditioning.

He sighs at your silence, his hands leaving your face to run through your hair. "You're lucky if Bruce hasn't stuck you with a tracker after this. He might still do it. Do you have any idea how worried we were? How worried I was?"

His worry is palpable to you, his tone pleading. You sense he's not being conceited or demeaning like Damian's new default is, but that his concern for your safety is genuine. Still, your gaze remained distant as Dick's questions washed over you, the calmness instilled by Selina holding steady. His words seemed to come from far away, your mind detached and unfocused. You could feel his concern, see it in his eyes, but it felt like it was happening to someone else.

"Hey," Dick said, his voice softer now as he searched your eyes and lightly touched your shoulder. "Are you listening? What were you thinking, running off like that?"

You blinked, your gaze slowly meeting his, but there was no real reaction. No sign of the distress he was expecting. You were just… calm.

Dick frowned, his worry deepening. He studied you for a moment, realizing something was off. "It was a long night," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "You must be exhausted. Let's get to bed, hmm?"

"I will. But I need to take a quick walk around the manor. Clear my head a little."

"I'll come with you," he said. His tone carried a warning bite as his protectiveness flared, feeling an uncharacteristic flash of irritation at you when you shook your head.

"No, I need to do this alone. Just a moment to myself, please?" You say, voice turning pleading. "It's locked down after my escape, right? And you all can get me back easily if I try anything."

Dick's expression tightened at your lackadaisical approach to their efficiency at retrieving you. "It's for your own safety," he hissed.

"There are cameras everywhere," you counter, trying to reason with him. "And Damian is on high alert. I'd be crazy to try anything."

He hesitated, clearly torn between his need to trust you and his fear of losing you again. "Fine," he said finally, though his voice was strained. "But don't take too long. It'll be better for you if you don't cause any more trouble."

Your small smile seemed ominous to him since your eyes were still glossed over. "I won't. Just need to pace away some of this extra energy. Thank you."

With that, you turned and headed towards the upper floors. As you walked, the calm detachment instilled by Selina remained, guiding your steps almost subconsciously towards the roof. Dick watched you go, his heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and reluctant trust. He hoped this was a step towards mending things, unaware of the true nature of your calm demeanor. As you moved through the halls, the compulsion to reach the roof grew stronger. You couldn't explain it, but the need to ascend was overpowering. The mansion's somewhat familiar layout guided you, your feet knowing the way even if your mind didn't fully comprehend why.

Reaching the top, you approached the roof access door. The metal handle felt cold under your fingers as you turned it, pushing the door open and stepping out into the night. The city lights of Gotham stretched out before you in the distance, the cool breeze tousling your hair and caressing your skin. Your heart began to beat faster, a strange mix of excitement and dread filling you.

They hadn't thought of restricting roof access. They hadn't anticipated they'd need to. The pull was almost magnetic, drawing you closer to the edge. Each step felt both deliberate and out of your control, as if some unseen force was guiding you. You felt compelled to jump, to take that final step into the unknown.

You neared the edge, the abyss below calling to you with an almost seductive whisper. Your breath hitched, and you could feel your pulse quicken in response. Just as you leaned forward, ready to surrender to the compulsion, you heard distant yelling from inside the mansion. The frantic, panicked voices of your captors echoed up to the roof.

A brief, cynical smirk tugged at your lips. You could only imagine the look of desperation on Dick's face, the guilt for trusting you just now twisting his features. And Damian—how enraged he must be, his controlled exterior cracking with every passing second. The thought of their distress brought a strange sense of satisfaction, a fleeting moment of power in your otherwise powerless situation.

But the pull was still there, stronger than ever, urging you to take that final step. The whisper in your mind grew louder, almost tangible, and you realized it sounded like Selina. Her voice, soft and seductive, coaxing you forward. The voices from inside grew louder and closer, and you knew it was only a matter of time before they reached you. No doubt someone was scouring the footage from moments ago to figure out what your pathing was.

The voices from below grew more frantic as they were enlightened on your path up here, but you barely registered them. Just as you were about to take the final step, the rooftop access door burst open with a loud bang. You turned your head to look behind you as someone yelled your name.

It was Damian. He sprinted towards you, his eyes wild. His usual controlled demeanor was gone, replaced by raw emotion, unnerving you.

"Stop!" You warned him, teetering on the ledge precariously. He stopped several feet away from you, fearing you might jump if he moved too quickly though he felt like snatching you up away from the danger. His green eyes scanned your face, a frantic look in them.

"___, what the hell are you doing?" he asked incredulously, as if he couldn't believe you'd ever take things this far. "Get away from the edge!"

You turned back to the ledge, Selina's whisper echoing in your mind. But Damian's voice cut through it, grounding you momentarily.

"Listen to me," He tried in a calmer voice, taking a cautious and nearly imperceptibly small step toward you. "This isn't you. You're not thinking clearly. Step back, please."

You glanced back at him, and his eyes met yours for a moment. The anger was still there but it was overshadowed by fear, concern, and maybe even a hint of regret.

"Come on, ____," he said, his voice low and coaxing. "Don't do this. Think about what you're doing. Think about what you mean to us—to me."

His words were uncharacteristically gentle, a stark contrast to the usual hardness in his voice. He took a cautious step closer, his hands outstretched placatingly.

"I know I've been cruel, and I'm sorry. I don't blame you for wanting to get away. But I'm trying to get a handle on this-" he pauses before correcting himself, "on myself. I promise you."

The tension in his posture and the barely contained panic were palpable. Damian Wayne composed, confident, and demeaning, was openly pleading with you. The pull of Selina's voice was still there, but Damian's words and the look in his eyes gave you pause.

"____, please believe me," he whispered, taking another carefully slow step towards you, "Come away from there and we'll talk more and get you what you need."

As Damian's desperate plea echoed in your mind, you found yourself teetering on the edge, torn between his words of hope and the insidious whisper compelling you to leap. A dizzying rush overcame you, and before you could regain control, consciousness slipped away, leaving your body to obey the unseen force urging you to jump.

From behind, Damian lunged forward, his hand outstretched, reaching desperately for you. "No!" he cried out, his voice thick with horror and disbelief. His brothers, Dick and Jason, burst onto the rooftop mere seconds after you vanished over the ledge. They rushed to the edge, their expressions of concern turning to anguish as they witnessed the tragic scene unfold.

Dick's heart sank as he saw you plummet, unable to comprehend what had just transpired. "No, no, no," he muttered, his voice trembling with shock. Jason's reaction was more visceral; his jaw clenched, and he swore loudly, turning on Damian. "What the fuck is wrong with you!?" he snarled, casting a furious glare at his younger brother.

Damian stood frozen, his eyes locked on the space where you had disappeared from view. He couldn't bring himself to look down at you. Guilt and fear mingled in his gaze, the weight of his failure heavy on his shoulders. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the empty space, willing you to reappear there miraculously.

"Dick," Jason said sharply, tearing his gaze from Damian to focus on Dick. "Call Bruce."

Dick silently began relaying the distressing news to Alfred and Bruce, numbly staring at your body below. Jason paced along the rooftop, his frustration palpable as he fought to contain his anger and overwhelming feelings.

"Alfred," Dick's voice was strained, "we need help immediately. It's… it's bad."

Damian finally tore his gaze away from the ledge, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to his brothers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I tried," he choked out. With a slow step, he finally peeked over the edge. "I tried but I wasn't-" his voice breaks with panic at the sight of your mangled body below, "She wouldn't have- if it was you guys."

Dick's expression softened slightly at Damian's show of emotion, his own anger momentarily replaced by empathy. He didn't say anything to his baby brother though, opting to reply to Bruce's strained notice of ending patrol unscheduled. Jason continued pacing, his rage barely under control beneath the surface, and Damian stayed rooted in place, frozen in his regret of everything he had ever done to you.

Alfred's voice crackled over the communicator, calm yet urgent. "Selina and I have been on the first floor. She’s run out to her now."

The boys rushed to verify it, seeing Selina crouched over your motionless form. Her head was bent and her arm was against your face. She was presumably feeding you her blood, attempting to vampirize you to save you.

Jason's eyes widened in shock. "What the hell is she doing?"

Damian's face contorted with a mixture of confusion before what might be considered hope flashed across his expression. "She's turning her," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's trying to save her… by making her one of us."

Dick relayed the scene to Bruce and Alfred. "Selina's… she's.. turning her," he said, his voice faltering as he watched the scene unfold below.

Bruce's voice came through the communicator, commanding and assured despite the horrible situation. "Get down there, now. We need to make sure this works."

The brothers didn't need any further prompting. They sprinted down the stairs, their hearts pounding with a mix of hope and dread. By the time they reached the first floor and burst out onto the grounds, Selina was cradling your head in her lap, her eyes filled with a determined focus.

"You’re going to be okay," They heard her whisper down to your unrecognizable face, her voice soothing and confident. "Stay with me."

They'd seen their fair share of gruesome scenes. Demented villains like Professor Pyg and Mad Hatter committed their crimes believing they were right. There were the henchmen and goons, who just did their jobs but still destroyed lives, while truly sadistic Gothamites like Joker and Penguin reveled in chaos and violence.

Despite this, nobody present really felt 'ready' enough to see your body crushed like it was before them. Selina was rocking and doting over what may as well have been your corpse. It was clear you experienced spinal damage, as your skull was visibly split open and your body twisted in a fucked up way that made Damian turn and dry heave onto the neatly manicured lawn. It was obvious some part of your back had broken with the way you looked more like a puppet whose limbs had gotten tangled in the strings than a human being. Blood was pooling around you, dark and spreading quickly. Selina was covered in it and Dick's pants began to soak as he quickly kneeled beside you and murmured reassuring things.

With each agonal breath—a desperate, gasping attempt to breathe that you didn't register in your unconscious state—the blood in your lungs was expelled in irregular spurts. This splattering was intermittent but pronounced, driven by the intense effort of your failing respiratory system. The splotches across your skin that were growing darker by the minute were a testament to the fall, dark bruises developing along large swaths of your battered flesh.

Damian took one glance back at you, watching the agonal breaths force blood to splatter out in erratic bursts. The sight was too much. He turned away and vomited onto the grass, his body convulsing with the effort.

Dick hesitated before moving to his side, expressing concern and pity for his little brother. He placed a reassuring hand on Damian's back, rubbing soothing circles as he tried to gently guide him away. "Come on, Dami. Let's go inside," Dick said, his voice gentle but firm. "Selina's doing the best she can to save her."

Damian looked up at Dick, his usual hard exterior suddenly crumbling. His eyes were wide and filled with a raw, child-like vulnerability Dick hadn't seen since he was fourteen, tears threatening to spill over. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he choked out, his voice breaking. "I feel horrible. It's all my fault."

Dick shook his head, pulling Damian into a comforting embrace. "It's not your fault," he murmured, holding his younger brother tightly. "You didn't cause this. We all have a part in this, but right now, we need to focus on what we can fix. Let's get inside and figure things out."

Damian hesitated, his gaze lingering on you one last time. The horror and guilt etched deep into his features were palpable. Dick's steady presence offered a faint anchor, enough to coax him to take the first agonizing step away. "Come on," Dick urged, his voice a lifeline in the darkness as he guided Damian towards the manor. "We'll figure this out together."

As they trudged back inside, Dick kept a supportive arm around Damian, sensing the weight of the night's events bearing down on them both. But Damian's composure shattered as they crossed the threshold. He choked out a sob, the weight of his failure crashing over him. "I tried," he managed through trembling breaths, tears streaming down his face. "I tried to stop her, but I couldn't...I tried! Dick, I-"

As Jason stood on the lawn, his focus divided between the scene before him and the communication with Bruce, conflicting emotions surged within him. Initially, he felt rage towards Damian, blaming him entirely. But a shiver shot down his spine at the muffled sound of Damian's anguished wails suddenly breaking out from inside the manor, and he found himself pitying the horror Damian must've felt at failing to coax you down.

"Bruce, he's a mess," Jason relayed, his voice sounding heavier than he thought it would. "Damian's losing it… he can barely get a word out." He paused, listening intently as Bruce demanded updates, his own frustration palpable.

Meanwhile, Selina tends to your wounds as best as she can with a mixture of skill and agitation. Bruce's voice crackled over the line, offering instructions that grated against Selina's nerves. Seething, she shot back, "Don't you think we know that? This whole mess is because you never take care of your own." She muttered curses under her breath before adding more loudly, "And don't think I've forgotten what you did to her earlier, either, Wayne."

Jason's attention was instantly drawn to Selina's accusation, his mind racing with possibilities. Leaning closer to the communicator, he interjected, "What do you mean by that?"

There was a pregnant pause on the line before Bruce finally responded. "We'll discuss this later," he replied calmly, his voice steady despite the pointed accusation. He added, "Tim will swing by once we stabilize her. He'll keep me updated on Gotham's activity tonight during his patrol and check in as he can."

Jason muttered curses under his breath at the mention of patrol, but Bruce remained austere about their duties. It was hypocritical of Bruce to relieve himself of patrol and not Tim, but Tim's detached approach to you made him the ideal candidate to keep working through the traumatic night. It wasn't like they could call for back-ups right now either- the emergence of vampires caused several prominent allies to fall from grace as they struggled with their new identities. Even the most noble of intentions could be poisoned with the predatory vampiric instincts integrated into one's being, and there had been some egregious mishaps while allies grappled with their new destructive tendencies.

As Bruce finished speaking, the distinctive squeal of the Batmobile echoed through the communication line, signaling its arrival on the grounds. Jason stood over you protectively as the headlights of the Batmobile illuminated the gruesome scene. Batman vaulted from his ride, which then went to self-park in the cave.

Bruce knelt beside you, his gloved fingers carefully searching for a pulse. Finding a weak beat, he exhaled sharply.

"Selina," He said in a commanding voice, "we need to infuse more of your blood. Now."

He observed her do so and immediately followed suit, his own wrist offering up a steady flow of blood. He positioned his arm carefully, ensuring the blood dripped into your mouth, his jaw set with determination while Selina cooed gentle reassurances in the unthinkable case you were somehow conscious during all of this still.

Jason stepped forward, his voice tinged with desperation. "Let me," he insisted, his eyes fixed on your still form, "Just in case."

Bruce hesitated only briefly before nodding, acknowledging the necessity. "Go ahead."

Jason swiftly joined them, adding his own blood to the mix, the trio's efforts a testament to their determination to save you.

As consciousness slowly returned, you were met with a splitting headache, each heartbeat sending waves of pain through your skull. Your vision was blurry, and the surroundings felt surreal, like a dream fading into reality. You thought you were in a sterile, dimly lit room, though the details were hazy. The walls seemed to blur together, the only clear aspect being the dim light casting soft shadows around you.

You tried to move, panic setting in as your body refused to respond. At first, you thought you were paralyzed. Agony surged through you with every attempt to shift, a searing pain that took your breath away. It felt like your muscles were shredded and your lungs were on fire.

A presence rushed to your side. "Stop, please," a soft masculine voice urged. "You're restrained for your safety."

Only then did you become aware of the restraints. The feeling was dulled, but you noticed the pressure of soft straps pressing against your limbs, holding you firmly against the padded surface of the bed.

Blinking against the harshness of the light, you tried to make sense of the figures hovering over you. A man's deep voice boomed in your ears, although he probably wasn't speaking that loudly. He was different from the first voice, his tone clinical. "You're awake," he said, seeing you stiffen at his voice. "Relax," he added quietly, "You've been badly injured. You need to stay calm and minimize moving to heal faster."

A gentle, confident feminine presence now reaches out to touch your forehead. Tender and calming, you couldn't quite place its familiarity. "You're going to be alright," murmured the woman, her tone filled with warmth.

Your mind felt foggy, thoughts swirling in confusion. The faces around you were vaguely recognizable, yet their identities eluded you. There was a sense of trust in their voices, a feeling that they were caring for you, but the specifics remained out of reach.

The large imposing man above you observed the way you winced at the dim lights and turned to someone out of your line of sight. "Get a blindfold," he instructed. Your eyes widened in fear at the thought of being unable to move and see, but he didn't seem to notice or maybe he just didn't care.

The feminine presence leaned in closer as the blindfold was being prepared. "Don't be afraid," she said in a way that almost convinced you this wasn't terrifying, "It's just so your eyes don't hurt. We want you to be comfortable but we can't turn the lights off." Her voice takes an airy optimistic note, "And maybe your vision will heal faster if we don't overwork it while your body works to recuperate."

You felt the soft material being placed over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Despite the reassurance, panic bubbled inside you, the sense of vulnerability overwhelming as you lay there, unable to move or see. Their voices continued to murmur reassurances, but the fear and confusion persisted.

Pain throbbed through your body with every shallow breath, your internally damaged lungs slowly healing unbeknownst to you. Still groggy, you flickered between exhaustion and anguish, tears sticking to your eyelashes and soaking into the blindfold. Crying made the breathing hurt more, so you tried your best to shove the feelings down and not panic, focusing on each short breath to avoid losing it completely.

Overhearing snippets of conversation between the voices as you fell in and out of consciousness throughout what they told you was the first night they'd managed to stabilize you, you gathered small chunks of information. They spoke in hushed tones of an accident, your grave injuries, and you thought you once caught the tail end of the woman bickering with the deep-voiced man. You couldn't hear what was said, let alone remember it given your bouts of unconsciousness, but the tension between them made you feel even more vulnerable and afraid.

The softer masculine voice they called Dick had returned a few times during the night while they checked your vitals. There seemed to be a debate about whether or not you were... human anymore. Your head spun as you heard hushed voices argue about your state, and you were certain you had lost it. Dick insisted that your vitals, though weak, were what he'd expect from a human. The deep-voiced man seemed to agree. The ambiguity of what else you could be other than human made you wish you could just stay unconscious.

As the night wore on, the woman's voice grew more insistent. "If she's still human, the pain she's experiencing is far beyond anything we can imagine. Her recovery will be agonizingly slow, and she'll suffer every step of the way," she argued. "Turning her would ease her suffering. It's the empathetic thing to do."

There was a heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of medical equipment. The lack of response from the two men made the woman shudder internally. She could sense their willingness to let you endure the pain, to keep you weakened and under their control. You could too, horror filling your senses even though you didn't understand what was happening.

"I won't permit that extension of her suffering," the woman reiterated, her voice now tight and unwavering. "As a team, we can handle her transformation and its aftereffects. It's more compassionate to turn her."

After a considerable pause, the deeper-voiced man responded. "We'll monitor her condition until we determine if she's still human. We'll discuss these concerns further once we reach that point."

"We can make it work," the woman hissed, "We owe her that much."

Dick's voice cut through the tension. "Should we administer the sedative? Her stress levels are spiking."

"Do it," the deeper voice quickly authorized.

Dick's voice closed in and your stress levels on the screens went off the charts, showing everyone in the room how scared you were. His voice was kind as he tried to explain it to you. "It's all okay. This is just to help you relax and let your body rest and heal. You're just going to go to sleep for a bit, that's all."

As he spoke in a buttery tone, you inhaled sharply when you felt the prick of the syringe. Your lungs screamed fire at you and you thought you tasted blood in your mouth at your exhale but you felt your head become lighter. The pain began to fade, and you slipped into a medicated slumber, leaving behind the confusion and fear for a while longer.

Might add more parts later. Ending ambiguous on purpose. The reader definitely has amnesia after that fall though. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings.

Author's Note: This isn't canon to my multi-chapter human romantic yandere batfam brainrot fic, but it was a concept I couldn't get out of my head since I saw a panel of vampire Dick Grayson from "DC vs. Vampires" and ik noncon!Bruce is sort of ooc, but I figured the vampiric transformation would sort of fuck up Bruce's morals, especially if the rest of Gotham is super dangerous for humans after vampires became more commonplace. The vamps from the comic I used as a loose reference REALLY corrupted the Waynes and were utterly brutal so even though Bruce has impeccable self-control and a strong will, he'd also be corrupted in a meaningfully horrible way. I thought there was something utterly fucked with Bruce Wayne, the guy who got SA'd by Talia and conceived Damian through it, perpetuating this type of violence to assert control over the reader. Additionally, I like to write Damian as nicer (in my drafts, which my readers haven't seen yet, I work more with his character), but I wanted his vampiric influence to amplify his toxic negative traits. Given his upbringing with Talia and his blood connection to Bruce, his entitlement to the things he wants is really strong and drives the reader up the wall post-batfam transformation.

[myerssimp21]

i love the idea of an obliviously op reader. like a reader who is just as (if not more) powerful than those at the top of the food chain, and yet has no idea about it.

you casually bump into gojo satoru on the street and- what the fuck? you passed through his infinity? huh?

while he’s stood there having a bit of a crisis you’re on your merry way to buy some snacks for yourself.

i’m specifically thinking about a reader like this in shibuya.

passing by mahito only to point and grin at him, “cool cosplay! i don’t recognise the character, but you look great!”

he giggles, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to disfigure you, to turn you into some misshapen monster that’ll join the ranks of the others-

you blink at him, tilting your head a little, only to then place your hand on his shoulder too. you stare at each other for a moment.

“that was weird. see ya!” and then you leave him there oh-so-casually.

sukuna is in disbelief when he sees you- his domain should’ve wiped out everyone in the area? who the fuck are you?

and you just stroll up to him cheerfully, “man, i love your tats! where did you get them? i’m considering getting some, but-“

he lifts his palm, you should immediately burst into flames-

“high-five!”

and then you leave him to just stand there in confusion, continuing on your way.

it’s the fact that you cannot perceive the danger you are in that makes the world around you all the less dangerous.

[myerssimp21]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

just bsf!dick grayson making you squirt and calling you babe... as a friend of course

“you mean- never?” dick grayson inquires in a flat tone, almost in disbelief. you confirm with a simple and high pitched nope, speaking of all the times you’ve failed to cum using just your hand.

he’s ecstatic at the idea, even if he suspects it’s your attempt of getting him back in your bed. he’s subject to details like this, being your best friend. not to mention you’ve had conversations similar before; but this time is different. this time, you’re having a casual conversation about your bland sex life a week after dick got the chance to fuck the lights out of you; and the chance wasn’t missed, nor a regret. so yes, he sees the bait, and he’s more than happy to take it.

like the clever bastard he is, dick gets you to give him the green light rather than blatantly falling for it. I've slept with people like that, he boasts, you know me though. a few more sneaky remarks and you're sucking the inside of your cheek in defeat before you tell him to 'demonstrate'.

now he’s got a hand down your shorts, carefully situating you into his lap and keeping a steady hand pinching at the fat of your hips. "how's that?" dick asks, circling your clit with generous pressure before slipping right inside. his fingers hit you deep, way deeper than your own or anyone else's, and that little fact has him all the more eager.

calculated efforts nudge at that sweet spot and you gasp, thighs flinching and giving him more room to get a little deeper. you glance at him with an almost awkward expression but he’s already enthralled, lazily tugging your shorts down a bit further with a hungry glint in his eye.

“it’ll feel better when you calm down,” dick coos at you, a sly hand slipping under your shirt to brush over a hardened nipple. “relax for me.” he’s gentle with you despite his brewing impatience, scissoring and spreading your cunt open on his fingers to coax you out of your nervousness. you start rolling your hips and his fingers curl way deeper, eyes shooting open with a soft cry of his name.

“it feels…“ you start with a pleasurable hitch of breath, “feels-“

“good?” he finishes the thought for you with a particularly deep thrust, “I know, sweetheart, but it’ll get better.”

his thumb barely touches your clit and you tremble, arms clinging around his neck as you gasp and whine right into his ear. pretty little noises just for him as his free hand palms your breast, urging you closer and closer into him until you’re moaning into his mouth. from this angle his kisses are sloppy, swallowing up your keens as he finds the speed that has you writhing in his lap.

“yeah- keep doin’ that,” dick manages between kisses, spreading your legs wider as you twitch around him and you swear you hear him moan with you. “just like that, baby- fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“dickie,” you whine, half outta your mind with pleasure, “‘m close- so close, please-“

“I know, sweets, give it to me-“ he pants with you, lips loosely catching yours just before he catches the perfect angle inside you, “cum for me, pretty girl, c’mon.“

your hips grind into his leg a few more times and you cry, holding dick close and practically crumbling in his grasp as you leak around his knuckles. dick talks you through what feels like a never ending orgasm and his hand fails to stop moving, mesmerized by what he’s pulled out of you, sticky fluids dripping into his palm as your pussy squelches around his fingers and you whine.

“dick, I- shit- I just-“

“I know, babe,” he confirms with a pleased grin, still holding you in his lap with the perfect view of your mess. “relax, remember? lemme try something.”

dick shuffles from beneath you until you’re sitting right on top of his cock, throbbing through flimsy pajamas while he works out a new angle. you’re dazed and a bit confused, still trembling in overstimulation until the coil swells into another rapidly approaching orgasm. he’s nudging at your g-spot over and over with more intensity, kissing at your shoulder while groping your tits and it has you damn near tears.

“you feel that, yeah?” he checks, “deep in your tummy? let it go, baby- let me see it.”

you can’t wrap your head around what he’s looking for, but you give it to him regardless- head hanging over his shoulder with a desperate whine and arching away from dick. distantly, you feel the fabric under you, soaked beyond what you thought normal as he trails off in praise over your moans. “goddamn, that was gorgeous- all for me, huh?” his fingers pump in and out a few more times as the high fades, then removing them to finally rest. “was I the first to see that?”

it takes a moment of recovery—deep and staggered breaths with a low whine before processing the mess. before processing that your best friend just made you fucking squirt.

“oh my god,“ you stumble over words, “i’m sorry, dick, I didn’t-“

“babe,” he cuts you off with the casual endearment again, “you’re telling me no one’s made you do that before?” his hand’s soiled with your slick and cum and he brings it to his mouth with no hesitation, letting you slide out of his lap as his tongue laps around his fingers.

“mm… no,” you mutter while ogling at the hard-on straining his ruined pajamas, “I didn’t… I didn’t even know I could do that,” and after a moment, the awkwardness finally seeps away when he laughs out of content with himself.

“y’think you could give me another?” he asks with no shame, kneeling between your legs with the intent of getting his proper fill. “it’ll be better with tongue, too- when you cum, I mean,” he corrects himself as if he gave away his shameful thirst, like you wouldn’t catch on. like you wouldn’t remember how your best friend’s so easily pussy whipped.

dick doesn’t even give you time to answer his question, though, pulling you to the edge of the couch and suckling on your clit as he locks your thighs around his head. you can tell from the groan that vibrates through you that he’s palming his cock through the fabric drenched in your fluids, and you can tell that he fully intends to pull another orgasm out of you all under the guise of ‘demonstrating’ for you.

“you’re shameless, dick grayson.”

“‘nd you taste good,” he mutters matter-of-factly, “I don’t see how you could blame me.” ❧

[myerssimp21]

Hi i rlly like ur tim drake aphrodisiac fic and i just wanna ask something

Is bruce platonic or romantic?

My fantasy brain is a big slut so he’s romantic (but more subtle, I think. My head-canon is he’s not as struck as the others and he’s v responsible/stoic so he’s very lowkey)

I’ve been thinking about writing a chapter with him and it’s been brewing in my brain for a bit. It’s Bruce Wayne/Batman so I want to make sure I write it relatively in character, especially respective of his more playboy smooth persona and his quiet intimidating persona. He’s probably going to use his money to his advantage when doing things for her, using things like his status and influence as an edge over the others since they don’t have as much clout irl yet. I think he’d also lean into kinks/sexualizing the idea of an older rich guy and a younger less wealthy student, having a daddy kink/daddy issues, or anything else that he might be able to use as the oldest and most wealthy/influential in the batfam. *cough*sugardaddytypeshit*cough*

As of part 3, he hasn’t met Darling officially but they’ll interact as he’s both Bruce and the Batman.

Thanks for the compliment on my work 🥹

[myerssimp21]

Would you do a second part of Damián x Cat!villain!reader? Or maybe something with a different plot, but I need it too much 😵‍💫

I don’t usually entertain part 2 asks but cause it’s you my adorkable Lucas, I shall. I’m adding the other boys and some wild cards for good measure.

tw/cw: yandere, dick’s part gives me major second hand embarrassment but maybe that’s a me issue, (implied) jason has seggs with your unconscious body (but it’s consensual). damian is aged up but still younger than reader hence the condescending way of speech the latter has for him.

ROOFTOP TALKS W/ THE BOYS

☁️ . . . w/ Dickie Boi

When you were dating it was a lot of you flirting and him asking you to be a bit more professional. And then you promptly reminding him that your profession is being a thief.

And that you were taking that profession seriously by stealing his heart.

Kisses in the rain were pretty much your guys’s thing. As much as your cat heart hated being wet.

When he became Nightwing and after Jason’s death, you guys didn’t break up immediately. Just fizzled out. Long talks about everything and anything became short greetings and small talk until you two officially ended it.

Nowadays Dick tries his hardest to get your attention, he shows off a lot. Ups the romanticness of it all. Brings you all around the city for dates before you two chill on your favorite spot.

Dick felt great. He just spent an entire night out on a date with his first love, some might argue that you’re his only true one too. You two haven’t been able to hang out due to the chaos of life and Jason. But finally he was able to have you for himself for once. No Tim to watch you two through the cameras (he made sure all of those were unavailable), no Damian to stalk you two within the shadows (it took a while, but he managed to convince the big ol’ bat to keep the youngest occupied), and no vigilante business he had to deal with.

There was just one last thing. A kiss. (He wanted sex, to feel you around him again. But considering you two just got back into the swing of things he was willing to wait)

He closed his eyes, and leaned forward.

Only to be met with air.

And then the ground.

“Uhm. Did you just — I mean I know I look cute tonight and all — but did you just try to kiss me, Grayson?” You had only managed to narrowly dodge the action. A little amused by the way he’s currently making out with the floor, but mostly confused and somewhat terrified.

Dick groaned, of all the things to put him on the ground this week. “I thought - I thought we were…”

You looked at him, blinked a few times, and managed to utter out, “Dude.”

☁️ . . . w/ Hubby Toddy

Imma be honest with you. You two bone 80-90% of the times you guys meet.

The only reason that it’s not 100% is because of the danger you two are in for that 10-20%

The vigilante/villain lifestyle and environment isn’t ideal for boning 24/7 y’know.

The reason why you guys fuck so often is cause Cat Villain! Reader being the menace they are only has to remind Jason that he died a virgin for you two to get down to business.

The Batboys are obsessed with proving themselves/ a point in general after all. So you often play them like a fiddle with just a few words.

Aside from that, a lot of your rooftop talks are you being snarky towards each other. Jason asking you to stop risking your life with heists and you vice versa with his vendetta.

Which usually leads to anger fucking but I digress.

You two often snack on the greasiest, unhealthy food while together.

Sometimes you spend hours talking about what he missed while he was gone. Of course he already knows everything. He kept tabs on you and whatnot. But hearing you speak gives him a sense of calm like no other.

Cuddling ftw. Jason adores enveloping you.

He likes doing stuff that proves that you exist?? Like that you’re next to him. That both of you are alive in that moment.

“‘M sleepy.” Your eyelids were beyond heavy at that point. Jason wanted you to be up for every single round, and it seemed like his stamina was endless.

Usually you’d pass out and he’d just continue getting off using you but that night he gave you a challenge. Something about wanting to see the way your pretty eyes as he ruined your insides.

“Too much action for you tonight, kit?”

“Mhm.”

“Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you.” He shifted your body in a more secure position, wrapping his large arms around your form.

“Promise me you won’t disappear?”

“I’m here always.” He let out a deep breath.

As soon as he made sure you were out cold he continued,

“Not even death will keep me away from you, baby.”

☁️ . . . w/ Timsies Whimsies

Most of your hang outs are spent indoors

Otherwise it’d be you hovering over his shoulders as he works on his projects.

Most of your rooftop times with Tim are spent in silence, playing video games, or board games.

Sometimes you two would spend hours playing and voicing cheesy dating sims.

But sometimes you use the time to get him to sleep.

You two are very much opposites when it comes to sleep times. Like if we go full on cat mode here, you prolly sleep off like 70% of your life.

I really shouldn’t be writing this while I’m sleepy as hell shouldn’t I?

Tim had never slept so well in his entire life.

All he remembered before being lulled into dreamland was you singing, patting him on the head, and some laughter before everything went dark.

But now he wishes he never slept at all.

“Is this . . . an edit of us a kids—“

Tim slammed his laptop shut so hard he’s pretty sure he’d broken it.

You looked at him incredulously. How long had you been snooping through his stuff? How did you even manage to unlock it? He made sure it was inaccessible even to Bruce.

“I . . . I read this one fanfic . . . that we met as kids and grew up together.” He confessed.

Yes, Tim gets brainrots over [Cat Villain Name] x Reader / Red Robin fanfics. Could you blame him?

“Honestly that’s pretty cute and wholesome. The other things you have there on the other hand . . . “

“I’ll pay for all of your boba expenses for a year if you forget about this.”

“A decade and I’ll never look through your shit again.”

“Deal.”

☁️ . . . w/ Damie Baby

Up until recently your rooftop meetings have been an even more snarky version of Jason’s with less hatefucking more … hating.

While Dick is more extravagant with how he shows off. Damian is more on the ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about I’m just this awesome’ side of the spectrum.

It took him a while to finally figure out that you being a menace is more of a facade if anything

And boy did it make him get a romantic boner when he found out

Like it went from you teasing him to hell and back to him turning the tables

“Wow, ain’t it past your bedtime, Damie?”

“Not my fault I can’t get a wink of sleep without you beside me.”

“. . .Ah.”

Aside from that you like roping him into playing games and basically all the things he missed out on being trained to be as an assassin.

He in turn does more traditional courting methods on you. Like buying you flowers, having slow dances.

Sometimes you do each other’s henna.

(He definitely is smug about it when other members of the batfam ask)

He often scolds you about reading so much late into the night…and insists he reads everything for you while you sit prettily on his lap

His favorite activity is running his hands through your hair as you lay your head on his lap while he dictates a book out loud. Usually it’s non fiction so that A) you’d sleep faster, and B) he gets his readings for uni in.

☁️ . . . w/ Bruce ig

“Hey, loser.” You purred, appearing from the underneath Batman’s cape.

Without a beat, he replied, “[Cat Villain Name].” and nothing else. He does not move. Doesn’t even make an attempt to seem affected by your antics.

“Awe, I missed you too!” You hugged him tightly and gave a pat for measure.

You were about to let when you felt a weight atop your head.

He was… giving you a headpat? Albeit awkwardly.“Who are you and what did you do to—“

“Treat them well.”

And he disappears.

Hey, wasn’t that your move?

In anycase,

It’s about time that Bruce learnt,

if you can’t beat em, join em.

[myerssimp21]

Tim Drake, Aphrodisiac Victim (YAN!Pt.1)

Romantic!Yandere!Batfam x fem reader. Part 1 Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

It’s easy for him to excuse it, easy for Tim Drake to pretend like he hadn’t intentionally fumbled the latest conflict with Poison Ivy. He could have done more to stop her, but when he discovered her plan and spent days pouring over the ingredients in her new concoction, the holistic quality of her potion calmed his nerves and quieted the anxious parts of him that screamed he would get caught. Ivy was known for several atrocities in Gotham, but she didn’t usually act as aggressively as Scarecrow or Joker with her toxins.

So when Tim Drake definitively concluded her newest potion wouldn’t have any adverse health effects, he was slower than he should have been when she whipped out the perfume bottle and sprayed it at him.

He’d been expecting this; what he hadn’t expected was Bruce yanking him backwards in an attempt to save him from the mist. The Batclaw shot out, aiming for the bottle in her hands but failing to retrieve it halfway through the delivery, the glass shattering on the ground and splashing all over the Bat and Tim Drake.

There had been dizzying action, and then only silence for a moment. Ivy had a shit-eating smile creeping onto her face as she began backing away, keeping her eyes on the two men trying to catch their breath.

“Gentlemen, it looks like you have the night off,” she said with a giggle as she continued to retreat, eyeing her escape route, “maybe make plans?”

“Pamela,” The Bat growls in a dark tone, his anger barely contained over how their mission had gone so wrong, “Give me the antidote.”

She turns to run away and he lunges forward to grab her before his knees buckle under him and he collapses to the ground, catching his balance and hearing her scurry off.

“Batman,” Tim says, feeling the weight of consequences of his actions as he feels his crotch begin tingling, “she doesn’t have one. I checked.”

The silence is palpable as Bruce evens out his breathing and pushes off the ground, using a nearby wall to steady himself, “We need to get to the Batmobile before it sets in.”

Tim shudders as Bruce places a giant hand on his shoulder, concerned both at how hard the big man is taking the dose and at how good the physical contact feels in this state. He hopes Bruce doesn’t feel pleasure at the slightest touch like he does; he’s frustrated since it was supposed to be just him.

Tim Drake was supposed to receive an accidental dose of Ivy’s new aphrodisiac. Tim Drake was supposed to stop by their darling’s apartment afterwards to relieve the strain in his crotch and the desire in his heart. It was supposed to be the best porno he’d ever see; getting the best angles for the cameras discreetly set up at her place earlier that month to rewatch later.

He knew Bruce was smart and Tim only hoped to earn forgiveness for this by making the best home film with you. He also knew Dick, Jason, and Damian would be grouchy he’d gotten to you first and it was entirely possible he’d get just decimated by your lack of interest altogether. Even though you and Tim had become close over the past couple semesters, he could tell you were reserved at times, just anxious or uneasy enough to pull away before anything with lasting complications happened.

The Batmobile had an autopilot feature which Bruce immediately enacted, setting a course for the Batcave. Wordlessly, Tim adds their darling’s apartment complex in as a stop, trying to not get shaky at the thought of getting laid in this state. It’s so easy to add it; all he has to do is press it from the list of saved priority locations in the portal.

“I had my suspicions,” Batman murmurs as he closes his eyes and lays against the headrest, trying to control the sensations in his body, “you wouldn’t have gotten sprayed at that range unless you wanted to.”

Tim says it before he can think in misplaced irritation, “Then why’d you get in the way?”

It’s embarrassing the moment he says it and Bruce says nothing in response, letting the silence sour in the air to make a point.

“What are you going to do?” Tim asks him, too aware of the growing urge to sink his dick into a warm, wet hole. The urge is going to be hard to wrangle enough to talk to her, let alone look normal enough to seem like a regular hook-up.

“I’ll manage,” is all Bruce says, and Tim hopes that means he’ll call Catwoman as soon as he leaves; he suddenly doesn’t like the idea of everyone tuning in at once to the live camera feeds as he tries his hand at seducing you. It feels like lots of pressure, and while Tim Drake is usually phenomenal at working under pressure, he doesn’t want to get rejected in 4k.

Bruce grips the steering wheel tight when the tingles begin in his crotch, trying to distract himself, “I have a change of clothes under your seat. Change before we get to her place.”

~

Bruce makes the call while he can, letting Damian know he and Tim were not going to be able to finish their patrol shift. Damian sounds unimpressed when he asks why and Bruce doesn’t answer him, hanging up.

Bruce goes to voicemail when he calls Jason, and his jaw clenches in irritation. He knows Jason holds more resentment towards him and might murder some criminals if made to do patrol on a night he’s supposed to have off, but Bruce can’t let Damian do patrol alone in the big city yet. He’s also a little concerned that Jason might murder Tim if he hears him with you, so getting him out on patrol is better for everyone.

After calling Jason two more times, Bruce gives up and calls Damian back, telling him he’d send Grayson over. Ever efficient, Damian is already dressed as Robin on the Batmobile’s call screen, his eyes narrowing in his domino mask.

"Father, your demeanor suggests trouble. What went wrong with Drake during the patrol?"

"It's nothing, Damian. Just a minor setback. We handled it."

"Minor setbacks don't usually disrupt patrol schedules. What are you hiding, Father?"

"I'll be back tomorrow morning," Bruce says, ignoring Damian's rude interrogation, "Make sure to stop by the GCPD to follow up with Jack Ryder on-" Bruce's voice falters as he struggles to remember what the story is; his crotch begins throbbing uncomfortably and he feels like the heat is spreading up his torso with each beat of his heart.

"On those cryptic messages left in the GCPD mailbox," Tim finishes for Bruce, leaning in to fit in the camera lens so Damian can see him too. Damian rolls his eyes.

"Your knack for evasion is quite the talent, Father. Maybe it's worth pondering why you choose partners if transparency isn't part of the deal."

With this scathingly cold delivery, Damian ends the call on a sour note. Tim would check with Bruce but their darling lives on the street they just turned down and his heartbeat has begun violently thudding in his chest and in his dick.

"Tim," Batman says firmly before Tim leaves the Batmobile, "stay in control. Scaring her off is not an option."

Tim's trying to not be sensitive about it because after all, it makes sense; if he comes off too strong and scares her, not only is he fucked immediately with Ivy's aphrodisiac coursing through his veins, but he will complicate things for the whole Wayne family. The other part of him, the part being drugged by Ivy's potion wants to whine in protest. How is he supposed to exercise control!? He'd never force himself on her but he doesn't doubt he might pass out if he doesn't find relief soon. As he exits the Batmobile with her apartment building in front of him, he just prays Jason is asleep and doesn't cockblock him.

You weren’t asleep yet. At 10 PM, you were drawing in bed, pausing at different parts in the pornographic video you were watching to practice drawing bodies. You couldn’t deny this way of practicing wasn’t tempting you to turn the lights off and rub one out with one of your vibrators though. They were recently charged, after all.

Not wanting to stop drawing quite yet but wanting the desire to build, you turn up the volume of the tv and make an effort to not pause as much. It felt good to feel a building arousal in your body and know you could use your toy as many times as you liked. It had already been about twenty minutes of you rotating out on your favorite pornography and hentai tags, working your brain up to arousal under the guise of practicing art. It honestly didn’t take much to get you feeling hot; growing sexual tension in your personal life made it easy to tap into. Maybe it was just that it never left your mind in the first place, and your mind wandered as your fingers snuck under the waistband of your shorts.

You thought of the recent weird vibes between you and Tim, the boy in your humanities course you sat near who was also in your social work course. You’d exchanged numbers early in the semester and at this point you’d met up for study sessions more than once. He’d always been a little flirtatious but you thought he was joking until he had leaned in the other day, hand finding purchase on your thigh as he murmured, “you drive me crazy, you know that?”

It was so generic you would have chuckled or rolled your eyes but the way he said it made goosebumps raise on your skin instead. His eyes were locked on yours and the sober intensity in them was not something you had prepared for, leaning away from him in sudden awkwardness even when you felt your cheeks burning.

Still, the thought of how he looked at you made you shudder when your finger brushed against your clit and your mind raced on.

Then there was your next-door neighbor, Jason. Tall and broad-shouldered, there's a casual confidence in the way he moves. His piercing blue eyes seem to twinkle with amusement whenever you shyly chat with him, like he's in on some secret joke. The black cat always at his heels chirps happily on his little patio table when you two chat, purring loudly and head-butting Jason at any given opportunity. Always, Jason makes his appearance shirtless, his eyes laughing louder at you every time you feel your face flush when he says something questionably flirtatious towards you. It's one thing to playfully flirt, but to do so while ripped and shirtless? How was your ability to articulate yourself around him supposed to have a chance?

You try not to look and act unflustered every time, but once your eyes lingered and you noticed scar tissue all over his torso, unable to tear yourself away from the sight. You'd apologized when he jokingly said you'd better take a picture, since you didn't want to seem rude checking out his scars and felt silly for getting caught staring.

"They come with a price, always," Jason remarked cryptically, suddenly making intense eye contact.

"Your scars?" You asked, afraid to say the wrong thing due to your social anxieties but leaning towards him from your bannister.

"No, my pictures" he replied with a smirk, his eyes twinkling mischievously while Alfred the cat chirped at his ankles again. Jason leaned across his bannister too, "But I've always believed in getting to know my neighbors. I think you and I could take that to a whole new level, don't you?"

"I-I think... that could be...nice," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Getting to know you better, I mean." You had looked away while trying to choke out these words, gathering your courage before meeting his gaze again. "I'm curious about you.. So maybe we could... explore each other sometime."

His eyes widened, his expression betraying a hint of genuine disbelief. A faint blush quickly dusted his cheeks, mirroring the warmth you felt spreading through you at his suggestion.

"Wow," he said, his voice laced with surprise and breathier than normal, "I wasn't expecting that, but... I like where you're going with this." The tone of admiration had given you chills at the time, praise kink activating at the new way he was regarding you. "I’m curious about you too, you know. Let's see just how close we can really get."

His reaction left you feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, but you couldn't help but smile at his response. You hadn't seen him since then, a couple days ago, and you hoped your conversation would amount to something delicious one day if it was meant to be.

As you reminisced about Tim's intense words and Jason's forward suggestions, your fingers gravitated towards your clit, applying firm pressure as they glided up and down your labia before slowly easing into your pussy. You opted for two fingers, relishing the sensation of fullness they provided compared to just one. They pressed deeply inside you, and you squeezed around them exploratively, reveling in the feeling.

After relishing the fullness of your fingers, you pumped them a few times, a low moan escaping your lips at the intense sensation. Your eyes scrunched shut tightly as you imagined Tim's hand from the other day—how it had come to rest on your thigh, the way it had firmly gripped at you, igniting a desire to jump at the touch.

You visualized him inching closer to the point of no return, sliding his hand into your underwear, and letting his fingers work their magic right there as you both sat with your homework in front of you. Just moments ago, you would have been innocently reviewing new terms together, but then the thought of his touch would be obscenely irresistible. You pictured yourself moving your hips, eagerly responding to his touch and allowing yourself to make all the noises you had always been too nervous to make with others. You imagined he'd get antsy to fuck you after hearing the squelching of your pussy on his fingers. In your mind's eye, he would just barely find the self-control to pull his cock out from his pants before burying his length desperately as far deep as it could go in you.

As you finally reached for the vibrators kept next to the bed, the abrupt sound of knocking at the door shattered your session. Startled, you jumped up, hastily yanking your shorts back up and rushing to wash your hands.

With no peephole on your apartment door, you felt a twinge of unease as you hurried to answer it. When you pulled the door open, the sight of Tim standing there caught you off guard.

"Hey... uh, sorry to just show up unannounced like this," Tim begins, his voice slightly breathless. "I, uh, I needed to talk to you about something important."

He shifts uncomfortably, trying to suppress the nervous energy coursing through him. "I know it's kind of out of the blue, but... can I come in? It won't take long, I promise."

Tim's words come out rushed, his cheeks flushed with a mix of urgency and embarrassment, as he struggles to maintain his composure despite the powerful effects of the aphrodisiac coursing through his veins.

Without hesitating, you step aside, allowing Tim to enter. His presence saturates the room, bringing with it an air of tension and anticipation.

"Tim, what's going on? Are you okay?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern and uncertainty as you closed and locked the door behind him.

His eyes met yours with an intensity that made your heart beat just a little faster, unsure of what he was going to tell you.

"I couldn't stop thinking about what I said the other day," Tim began, his words coming out in a rush. "About how you drive me crazy. I... I don't know how to explain it but I felt like I had to come see you."

His confession hung in the air, heavy with emotion and unspoken arousal.

As he stood before you, his usually composed demeanor was replaced by an air of dishevelment. His hair was messier, and his clothes weren't neat like usual. There was a manic energy in his expression, a hint of desperation that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Tim, you seem... different tonight," you remarked cautiously, noting the wild look in his eyes.

"I couldn't wait any longer," he confessed, his voice emotional, "I needed to see you. I needed to be with you tonight more than anything."

The intensity of his gaze sent your heart racing, a sense of unease creeping over you as you began to comprehend the depth of his interest. Despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of something akin to surrender. You longed for him to desire you so intensely that he couldn't wait for a more appropriate time, practically begging you to spend a night with him like a lost puppy.

As Tim stood before you, his agitation evident in every movement, you couldn't ignore the tension in the air. Your gaze inadvertently dropped to the now noticeable bulge in his pants and you're captivated by it, unwilling to look away. You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the undeniable evidence of his desire.

"Can you... touch me?" Tim's voice trembled with urgency as he made the request, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the underlying intensity. "You can set the pace, do anything you want, just... please, do something," he added, his words carrying a fervent plea while leaving the decision entirely in your hands.

The tension was thick but you couldn't say you were really surprised at this admission of interest. Regarding the boy in front of you, you pondered the consequences this could lead to. As far as you knew, Tim wasn't a frat boy or someone who could make your life annoying with spreading rumors about the type of girl you were at school. He'd only ever been considerate, kind, and genuine. No girlfriend that you knew of, and he'd definitely be the kind of guy who gushed about his partner if he had one, so you wouldn't be any sort of homewrecker. He always helped you with your homework, to a point where you barely needed to do anything but the minimum whenever he got involved in any of your projects or assignments. This in mind, you decided he deserved a reward.

Leaning in towards him, you place your hands against his cheeks to cup his face. His eyes are wide, the pupils dilated. You thought you heard somewhere that meant someone was in love. Staring into those blown pupils with a mixture of curiosity and arousal, you drew closer.

"Can I kiss you?" You whisper and he nods before you can even get the question out. You kiss him, noticing he seems to freeze up for a moment before kissing you back, pressing against your mouth harder. His tongue swipes against you, but before you let yourselves go any further, you pull away.

"Before things escalate, can we agree to keep it casual, keep us casual? I like what we have."

He seems so antsy, almost breathless, "Absolutely, yeah. I'm all in. No pressure."

Doubting his sincerity since he seems so gone off of whatever is happening to him, you hesitate, "Tim, I'm serious. I don't want you to agree just because of the moment or you're high."

You're staring into those dilated eyes of his in the beat of silence that follows, hoping he's really listening to you.

He looks back into your eyes, the frenzied look a little more under control. "I hear you, I'm on the same page. Friends-with-benefits, I'd love that." Notably, he doesn't deny the speculation of being high.

Nodding at the more clear communication, you went back in for the kiss, now letting his tongue enter and explore your mouth. After getting more clarity from him, you feel less tense and relax into his kiss, feeling his hand come up to touch at your hair as he takes more control of it.

Dropping to your knees when the kiss breathlessly ends, you kiss at his clothed bulge, pawing at it with a hand. Your eyes are fixated on the stricken Tim Drake above you, and he watches in awe as you deeply inhale. You can smell him through his pants and nuzzle your cheek against the bump in them.

Slowly pulling at the drawstring of his sweatpants, your fingers hook on the band and you pull them down till they're bunched at his ankles, hardly taking a breather from your kisses.

"Oh, god," he moans in a strangled voice, "You're so pretty down there."

His praise makes your cheeks begin to burn and your movements get a little more self-conscious, feeling marveled at. Moving your mouth against his bulge in his boxers, you find where the tip should be and roughly suck at it through his underwear. His body shudders, one of his hands fingering through your hair and grabbing it firmly and he hisses, "Play nice."

Feeling good about this now, you moan into his bulge at the choked tone you caused him, pulling his boxers down and kissing on his penis directly now. Lifting it, you craned underneath and kissed at his balls, licking a long strip up from them to the tip and swirling your tongue around his hole at the top. A loud moan tore through Tim and you felt him push his pelvis towards you more, the tip of his penis in your mouth beginning to inch further.

Graciously, you accept his bid, widening your mouth to swallow him completely when he pushes in. He's not terribly big but it's still a little hard to fit him in, the longer length causing it to bump into the back of your throat. He doesn't taste bad considering your previous experiences with oral. It was musty and damp like he'd just worked out, but the faint scent of soap and the neat pubes your nose was buried in told you his hygiene wasn't terrible.

Swirling your tongue with the movement, you experimentally go down on him to gauge his reaction. He moans loudly again and the sound is beautiful to you, doing it again in the hopes he moans nicely again. He does and you fixate your gaze up at him as you take his cock deeply again and his face betrayed how flustered he was, with his cheeks flushed and the look of a madman about him.

He's watching you like he adores you and when you make eye contact, his hips buck into your mouth and he whines, "I knew you'd be gorgeous swallowing my cock, you're taking it so well."

You look up at him in curiosity, so he thought about you like that? He'd pictured this?

"Fuck, I knew it. I knew you'd look beautiful on your knees."

You sense his thighs trembling and your hands come up to press against them, mouth obediently swallowing his cock.

"Oh," he chokes and roughly thrusts deeply, "I'm cumming- it's coming, swallow it all!"

He looks back down at you and then it comes as he moans loudly and crouches to push his cock as far as it will go down your throat, the overwhelming cumshot from the throbbing penis in between your lips threatening to spill out of your mouth. You always hated swallowing cum, and the hot orgasm spurting into your mouth is no exception. You feel your gag reflex threatening to make this night nightmarish but then it ebbs away as you focus on the fact the flow of cum is slowing down, on the fact this particular sensation will go away soon.

You can't lie he sounds and looks delicious otherwise, your eyes focusing on his flustered face that looks almost entirely delirious now. He's sweaty but the handsome face almost glows with liveliness, cheeks flushed and jawline trembling with emotion.

Gently, you slide his penis out of your mouth, sucking any remaining cum or spit off until you get to the tip, lightly swirling your tongue against his hole. When you finally pop off, his hand cups your cheek and he promptly drops to his knees, passionately grabbing your face and kissing you. His tongue wriggles into your mouth and you're surprised he's tongue-kissing you with the flavor of his cum fresh in your mouth still. One of his hands hungrily comes up to knead at your tit and you whimper as he harshly pinches on the end of it. Then he's pulled away from the kiss but his body is beginning to overwhelm you, crawling on top of you as you fall back onto your butt with your legs in front.

"Let me have you," he pleads, and you feel his penis is hard again and prodding against your thigh, "Please let me have you right now."

You wouldn't have preferred doing it mere feet away from your front door, especially since the crack under the door was a couple centimeters wide and anyone in the hall could probably hear you without effort, but the wild look in his eyes and the famished way he pulled at both your tits now made you want to indulge in such an animalistic fucking. Something was hot about the desperate way he looked, something enticing about the frenzied approach. You'd never seen this side of him, and the consequences of indulging with him in such a degrading way was far from your mind when his head dipped down and he tugged at the hem of your shirt. Helping him take off your shirt by lifting your arms, he wasted no time in shoving his face in your cleavage, nipping at the top of your breasts with his teeth.

Yelping at the surprising and slightly painful sensation, your hands come up to grip at his hair and he lays large wet kisses against your breasts, sucking at the skin there. You know he's gunning for hickeys and you whimper when he alternates between open-mouthed kisses and biting, arching and pressing your breasts further towards him.

His mouth pops off of them and he leans in, head over your shoulder as he fidgets with your bra clasp behind you. You turn your head as he fiddles with it and bury your face into his neck, inhaling deeply before kissing at it. He smells faintly of laundry detergent, but there's sweat and a slightly sweeter smell lingering on him, the sweeter smell hanging heavily in your nostrils and seemingly dripping at the back of your throat. It makes your head buzz a little and you pull away in a daze when he fails to unclasp your bra, your tits popping out of the thing when he pulls it down in frustration.

"What cologne do you wear?" You ask without really wanting to know right now, feeling your head spin after smelling at his neck.

"I'm not," he gasps, squeezing and pinching at your nipples freely now, and you throw your head back with a moan when he attaches at them with his mouth. He uses his tongue and teeth to alternate between nibbling and flicking at them with his tongue, paying attention to each side as he can. His penis is excitedly bumping against your thigh in his boxers and you kick your shorts off, groping at his bulge.

"Please," he says with need when he takes a break from your tits, and his hand now fumbles at his boxers. You see him pull his cock out from the hole in them and understand what he wants when he slides your panties aside, not bothering to remove them. His dick prods at you and his hips slowly move around, trying to find your entrance. Aroused and excited to feel him enter, you reach down to guide him in.

Then, you remember.

Groaning in annoyance, you gently begin pushing him off of you, "Tim, we have to use a condom. They're in my room."

He finally pulls off your tits with enough of your pushing, and he looks at you like he doesn't understand, a rabid look glinting in his eyes.

You smile, trying to make the best of it, "C'mon, it'll be more comfortable for us on the bed anyways."

Standing and realizing you feel uncharacteristically light-headed, you unsteadily make your way to your bedroom, feeling him grip at your hips while he follows. You apologize for the pornography still loudly streaming from your TV as you make your way to your dresser to get a condom, and his eyes quickly become glued to the visual stimulation, mouth opened slightly as he stared.

"Keep it on," he instructs when he notices you reach for the TV remote, "Keep it on and get over here."

You approach the bed where he sits on the end, and he opens the wrapper and pulls his boxers down to reveal his penis, hastily rolling the condom onto his length. The sensation of doing so seems to be much more stimulating to him than you thought it would, and he moans and whimpers as he pulls it all the way down. Once it's on, he grabs forward at your waist and yanks you down onto him, your breasts smashing against his face as you fall onto him. He's strong and you're letting him pull you around, straddling his lap and looking down at the needy man.

"Here," you say, reaching past him to grab your pillow and tuck it under his head, "There you go."

You smile down at him sweetly and he smiles back, kneading at your ass as you sit atop him. Leaning down to kiss him, you use a hand to reach down and guide his penis against your entry, pulling it to rub it up and down against you. His tip collects your aroused wetness and the movement become slippery as it slides with your lubrication. Just when you can tell he's getting antsy and about to whine, you guide it until you feel it at the tip of your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto it and his grip on your ass tightens until it's almost painful.

"Oh," He moans, deeply affected. His hips are still as you let him slowly penetrate you until you're full with him and there's no more room in you to sink down further, "Oh, god, you feel so good."

"How do I feel?" You ask in curiosity, looking at him as he seems dazed with the sensation of your pussy. A sudden thrust upwards into you makes you yelp, his hard penis harshly bumping against your cervix. His eyes are closed as he collects his words.

"You're so warm and fluttering around me," he says, and it's true. You feel yourself squeezing at him at the sight of him, his relief evident, "I've never felt so good; it's like you were meant to have me buried in you."

His words are spoken with conviction, and you're processing it all when he thrusts again. It still hurts, but less now. Your head is spinning, but you catch onto his new rhythm and begin lifting your hips up, forcefully pushing them down on him in time with his thrusts.

Pained but aroused moans spilling from your lips in time with each thrust, you realize your tits are bouncing around in his face with your fucking, swinging around wildly. His grip on your hips tightens impossibly and you see his biceps flex madly when his muscles take over, overriding your own rhythm and violently making you meet his thrusts. The moans from his own mouth gets louder until they're louder than yours, his pace quickening at the sight of your expression above him. You look fucked out and in pain and he relishes in it, knowing the sound of skin slapping against skin is his own doing. He grits his teeth and pulls you all the way down on his length like you were when you got on top at first, shooting his orgasm into the condom but envisioning it shooting straight into your womb.

You hiss in some pain at this large and painful thrust, moaning at the distant feeling of his dick twitching in you. The base of his cock is nestled at your entrance and you feel the entire length of it throbbing in your hot pussy as he takes his time to finish.

"You haven't cum," he says through heavy breaths as he comes down and you know he isn't asking but stating his observation.

"It's still really hot," you admit, "I like how it feels when you cum in me."

Staring up at you, he brings his hands up to your ass again and lifts his hips to inch the both of you towards the head of the bed, reaching towards the bedside dresser and grabbing one of your vibrators, handing it to you. You're still impaled on him and gasp at the sensation of him jerking you forward with him on his dick. Now kneading rhythmically at your tits, he pulls at them like he was milking you, "Cum on my cock."

Wide-eyed, you realize he's perceptive and has noticed your vibrators when you came in.

His gaze is drinking you in, eyes less wild as he stares. When you hesitate, he takes the vibrator from your fingers and turns it on, placing it against your clit as you sit on him. You're impressed he knows where the clit is and you jump at the sensation of the vibrator bumping against it, feeling him thrust up with an overstimulated whimper when you jump.

"Tim," you gasp, "doesn't that hurt?"

"Don't worry about it," he hisses through gritted teeth, "I need to feel you cum on my cock."

So you focus on finding your orgasm, hyperaware of the hard rod resting in your secret place, tracing the sex toy along places near your clitoris and moaning in pleasure as you play with yourself. He whimpers every time you squeeze on him and you squeeze on him any time you find pleasure near your clit. His hands return to milking your tits and you remember that his condom is full of his cum, sloshing around deep inside you and pressing against your cervix. The fear of the condom breaking suddenly rushes you to your first orgasm and you gasp his name, feeling him twitch deep inside you as you repeat his name helplessly in your climax. He strains upwards and his lips catch a nipple, sucking harshly as you begin to come down.

"Keep it there," he growls when you begin to pull your vibrator away, "We're not going anywhere until you cum again."

"Tim," you whimper, "I can't."

"I know you can," he says, thrusting upwards experimentally. The movement makes the vibrator bump against your clit and you squeeze down on him at your own overstimulation, making him groan. He slowly and determinedly begins thrusting into you again, small tears forming in his eyes at the overstimuation.

His stubborn insistence on chasing your second high even though you're both beyond the edge only makes you more aroused and you rut against him. He's not thrusting fully, but more so bumping against your cervix in small movements and you're fraught with a visual of the full condom sloshing around. You wonder if he will cum again into it, if it will become so full with his semen it bursts inside you. This thought along with his steady breast kneading causes the knot to quickly build up in your cunt until it comes undone again, and your second orgasm hits in a fray of overstimulation and whimpering.

"There you go," he coos, legs underneath you twitching at your pulsing movements, "There you go, you did so well. You did so good for me, baby...you were meant for it."

You shudder at the sweet tone, being pulled down for a long kiss. His chest is sweaty, the space in between the bottom of your thighs and the tops of his is slick, and you're gasping against his neck when he holds you. The two of you spend a while in that embrace, regaining your breaths and recovering from the intense session. Your head rests against his collarbone until you stir, slowly lifting yourself off him and breathing through the feeling of his cock sliding out of you. When it's fully out, you collapse next to him on the bed, bringing a leg up to wrap around his as you both take a breather.

You know you told him it was no commitment, no feelings, no drama, but you can't deny yourself a cuddle session after sex regardless. He doesn't speak, but the silence is comfortable as you rest your head against the crook of his chest and side. The atmosphere in the room shifts subtly as the distant sounds of the television fade into the background, replaced by the incessant chirping of Tim's phone.

You can't help but notice the growing urgency in Tim's demeanor as he glances at his device, a furrow forming on his brow. Despite your reluctance, he rises from the bed, his movements hesitant yet determined.

Sitting up despite your whines of protest, Tim looks at his device in concern and reluctance, "I have to take this."

Your initial protest dies on your lips as you watch him leave the room, a knot of unease forming in the pit of your stomach. What could possibly be so pressing at this hour? The uncertainty gnaws at you, feeding into the growing sense of unease.

As you strain to make out the muffled voices from the other room, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. The once familiar sounds of Tim's voice now carry an edge of tension, each word laced with frustration and urgency. It's a stark contrast to the comfortable silence you shared moments ago.

Your heart sinks further as Tim returns, his expression weighed down by an unspoken burden. The air between you feels heavy with anticipation, as if bracing for the inevitable.

"What's wrong?" you venture cautiously, already dreading the answer.

Tim's gaze flickers with a mixture of regret and resignation as he meets your eyes, his voice heavy with apology, "I'm really sorry, but something came up. I have to go."

Your mind races, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in the atmosphere. What could possibly be so urgent? Despite your efforts to remain composed, a wave of insecurity washes over you. Did this mean you weren't important enough to prioritize?

"...Really?" you finally utter, your voice trembling slightly.

"Yes," he reluctantly confirms, a guilty expression on his face, "I'm very sorry, but I need to attend to this."

Wanting to protest but knowing it would be more frustration than it was worth, you nodded slowly at the news, "...Okay."

He starts for the door, ""I wish I could stay, but I really need to go. I'll make this up to you, I swear."

As Tim heads towards the front of your apartment to gather his belongings and dress, you follow behind, hastily pulling on your shirt as you move. Despite the turmoil swirling within, you're determined to maintain a façade of composure, refusing to let the tears welling up inside spill over. The uncertainty gnaws at you as you watch him prepare to leave, a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. You desperately cling to the hope that something truly urgent has come up, unable to bear the thought of him simply walking away after the intimacy you shared. You wonder if you'll be able to face him at school after this, but the thought is so overwhelming to you that you just try to focus on the present moment.

You swallow hard, forcing a tight-lipped smile as you bid him farewell, your heart heavy with unspoken words and unanswered questions. As the door clicks shut behind him, you're left standing alone in the hallway, grappling with the aftermath of his abrupt departure.

After a long moment, you decide that freshening up will probably help you feel better and you turn on heel to head towards the bathroom, the goal of brushing your teeth and washing your face the only thing you're ready to focus on in your sudden loneliness.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

@dakota-rain666 @tyga-stripes @obsessedwithromance

[myerssimp21]

Batcave Meeting (YAN!Pt.3)

Romantic!Yandere!Batfam Part 3. Part 1, Part 2 here (context: Tim Drake purposefully got aphrodisiac'd when fighting Ivy and then went over to Darling's apartment to smash. This is a batfamily meeting about that and how to move forward.).

As you obliviously drifted to sleep, the live feed of you doing so was being projected onto a big screen in the BatCave while members joined together at a table, casually watching you as you yawned and readjusted against your pillow. The imposing man situated at the end of the table clasped his hands together, regarding the young men in front of him. Once everyone was seated, the imposing man began speaking to them, noticing how many of them had their eyes glued to the screen.

"We're going to discuss what happened the other day and plan for next week," he announced, and the pouty brunette who had had a frown on his face now crossed his arms.

"Allow me to explain it from my perspective first, Father," he said, sporting a moody expression, "You and Drake were unexpectedly out of commission during your patrol, which, while not typical, is understandable given our line of work."

His eyes flicker over to Tim and Jason, narrowing in contempt and disgust.

"Todd and Drake both know how important our duty to Gotham is," Damian continued while making eye contact with Jason, "But instead of prioritizing that, they let their impulses get the better of them. Drake especially for instigating the situation. Using Ivy's aphrodisiac to... indulge with our darling? It's selfish, reckless, and disrespectful."

"Damian, hold on a second," Jason interjected, "I had no idea about the aphrodisiac. It was my night off so I was sleeping in and missed Bruce's calls when he and Tim got doused in it. I only woke up because the audio feed from her apartment was turned up and I heard them together. I blew up Tim's phone and went over when he left because I was pissed, and I didn't realize that was why she couldn't get enough. I feel really bad about it now that I know."

Damian's expression softened subtly as he absorbed Jason's explanation. Despite his composed demeanor, the tension still lingered in his features.

"I appreciate your honesty, Todd," Damian conceded, his tone slightly softer, "It's still not acceptable that she was acting strangely and this was not analyzed, but I understand that the situation was...unconventional."

As Jason and Damian had a moment of newfound comradery, Tim finally spoke up, "I understand your frustrations, but you need to know that I researched Ivy's aphrodisiac extensively before I ever considered using it. I made sure it wouldn't have any adverse health effects on anybody and appropriately calculated the risks."

Damian's expression darkened further, his negative feelings towards Drake beginning to truly show. "This isn't just about general safety or the safety of some substance!" he exclaimed, "It's about respect and her consent. You had no right to manipulate her like that, whether or not it posed a physical risk."

"Come on, Damian," Tim retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "She didn't find out about the aphrodisiac, did she? So what's the big deal? It's not like we hurt her or anything. She's fine, and she doesn't even know what happened. In fact, she likes us even more because I made a move for us. Why are you making a big deal out of nothing?"

Jason scoffed, his distaste in Tim at this point evident. "Seriously, Tim? You're gonna act like a douchebag just because she didn't find out? That's messed up, even for you."

"It's not just about the immediate consequences," Damian shot back, his voice angrier. "It's about the long-term impact on her. I bet you didn't even stop to consider how your actions could affect her, or how they could undermine the trust she has in us. And what about the ripple effect it could have on her relationships with all of us? He's playing with fire, Father, and he needs to be held accountable."

"Let's not overlook the bigger issue here," Tim said, his voice defensive, "What I did was perverted, I admit that. But let's not pretend that bugging and wiring her apartment is any less invasive. That's hardly consensual either."

"Don't you dare deflect the issue!" Damian's voice rose, and he was now yelling, "We implemented those measures for her safety, not for our own entertainment! It's a gross violation of her privacy, but at least we did it to protect her!"

"Oh? And having two separate cameras staring at her bed is going to what, protect her from bad dreams?"

"Dami, Tim, let's try to keep our cool here," Dick interjected gently, easing in to defuse the tension, "We're all on the same team, remember? We need to work together to figure this out."

Damian turned to Dick with a measured gaze, "I want to hear your perspective on this matter, Grayson."

Dick sighed, solemnly addressing Drake. “Tim, what you did wasn't just a mistake. It was a deliberate breach of trust. She relies on us to keep her safe and instead of focusing on that, you exploited her vulnerability.”

"Also," and Dick seemed more pained at this part, "You betrayed our trust. We all care about her and you influenced her desires for your own gain."

Tim sat in silence, his expression filled with shame as he began to realize the gravity of his actions. He knew he had acted irresponsibly, and the weight of their words hung heavy in the air. Jason and Dick exchanged silent glances, their disappointment evident in their expressions.

Damian took a deep centering breath before focusing his attention back on Tim.

"This isn't about whether she found out or not, Drake. If you still don't understand that, then we need to take more drastic measures to address and punish this behavior. Father, I appeal to you to implement anything you deem necessary to prevent such behavior in the future. We cannot allow such indecent actions against her to to be repeated."

Bruce, understanding the severity of the situation and having now heard everyone's perspective, nodded solemnly at Damian.

"Tim, in light of your actions, there are going to be some consequences," Bruce stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You need to schedule therapy with Dr. Thompkins to address the troubling attitude that led to this situation. While we have taken invasive measures to monitor her, as Damian pointed out, your actions went beyond that."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. "Until you've attended and Dr. Thompkins deems it appropriate, you will be restricted from having any contact with _____."

Finally, Bruce's gaze softened slightly as he looked at both Damian and Tim. "And Tim, it's imperative that you and Damian eventually reconcile. We're a team, and we need to remain united in our goals and overall behavior. I expect both of you to work towards rebuilding your relationship for the sake of the team and our darling."

"Damian," Bruce addressed his son, "since Tim will no longer be able to have contact with her, I'm assigning you a new responsibility. You will substitute him as her school friend and be someone she can rely on for assistance with homework and company. I want you to pick a class of hers that sounds interesting to you and make sure you're there to support her. It's important that she has someone she can trust and rely on, especially now. It's an opportunity for you to show her that she can count on us."

As the meeting continued, Damian spoke up, "I'll join her art class. It will allow me to assist her with her assignments and ensure she receives the academic support she needs."

Bruce nodded in approval. "Good choice, Damian. Make sure to approach this responsibility with care and dedication."

Turning to Jason, Bruce's expression grew serious. "Jason, I need you to be especially understanding and supportive towards her. If she feels troubled or has any lingering negative thoughts about what happened, I expect you to be there for her."

"Of course, Bruce," Jason says, eyes fixated on the now-sleeping figure of their darling on the cameras, "I'll do whatever it takes."

Dick now spoke up, "Can we talk about introducing me as Jason's roommate?"

Bruce shook his head, "Not yet; I want to make sure Damian successfully integrates first. You can still frequent around her job but no more interactions than that."

"Except for as a vigilante?" Dick replies hopefully, and Bruce gives him a measured gaze similar to his son's.

"Yes, although I expect you to exercise patience and primarily work in Blüdhaven for now."

Damian cuts in, "And don't be like Drake and fabricate a reason for her to need you."

"Damian," Bruce says in a tired voice, "I've made myself clear."

Damian looks down with an expression like he's biting his tongue and contempt is bright in his eyes, "Sorry, Father."

With that, the meeting concluded, each member of the Batfamily knowing the roles they had to play in ensuring their darling's well-being and trust remained intact.

[myerssimp21]

Jason Todd, Hot Neighbor (YAN!Pt.2)

Romantic!Yandere!Batfam Part 2. Part 1 is Tim getting aphrodisiac'd by Ivy and desperately coming over to Darling's apartment, getting it on her. Hot neighbor!Jason hears them fucking and comes over, jealous. Part 1, Part 3: here

Still reeling from Tim's sudden departure after one of the most intense sexual encounters you'd ever had, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that washed over you. There was a sense of sadness lingering in the air, a twinge of disappointment that he couldn't stick around a little longer.

The word that kept echoing in your mind was "used". You didn't want to admit it, but that's how you felt deep down. You wanted to believe that Tim had a valid reason for leaving so abruptly, that there was something important waiting for him elsewhere. But a nagging voice in your head whispered doubts, reminding you that you were important too.

On one hand, you wanted to extend an olive branch, to give Tim the benefit of the doubt and assume the best of him. But on the other, you couldn't shake the feeling of being disposable, of being cast aside after serving his purpose. He had seemed so sorry to leave, he'd apologized and promised to make it up to you, but you needed the emotional aftercare badly.

It was a bitter pill to swallow; that someone could be so desperate to be with you one moment and then leave without a second thought. It made you feel cheap and dirty. It felt as if your worth was measured solely by your ability to fulfill someone else's desires. These feelings were made worse when you realized your sex had somehow left you still impossibly aroused; as if the two orgasms Tim pulled from you were inconsequential. It was like your cunt forgot it had barely pulled off the second orgasm in a row.

The conflicted feelings and the growing desire settling in your body together, you experimentally snuck a finger into your underwear as you stood there in your bedroom, eyes widening at the sloppy wetness that was there despite Tim using a condom. You were still aroused- you felt your heartbeat quicken at the realization.

Heartbeat beginning to pound at the thought of whimpering on a vibrator soon, a faint hope flickered in your chest as you heard another knock at the door. You couldn't help but wonder if it was Tim again, returning to offer some explanation or just to be with you a little longer. You honestly hoped it was Tim so he could chase away the lingering sense of emptiness that had settled in your chest. Neglecting to wash your hands this time, you staggered over to the door.

As you pulled it open though, Jason's tall form greeted you, stance confident and looming over you. His presence radiated authority and self-control, a stark contrast to Tim's frantic approach. Seeing him wearing a shirt for the first time, you remember you're not wearing pants, pathetically hiding your nudity behind the door with only your clothed torso exposed.

"Hey there," Jason's voice was smooth, his tone laced with a hint of something you couldn't quite place—"I couldn't help but notice some... interesting sounds coming from your place," Jason's words were carefully chosen, his tone easy-going but his eyes dangerously sharp. "Thought I'd check in and see who's been keeping you busy tonight."

You find yourself at a loss for words, stunned by the realization that Jason not only heard you with Tim but also has the audacity to expect you to disclose who you were with. Tears begin to prickle in your eyes as you grapple with the unfairness of the situation. If only Tim had stayed for some form of aftercare, you wouldn't feel so utterly lost right now.

"You've been getting to know someone else, haven't you?" Jason's tone carries a blend of amusement and feigned curiosity, as if he already knows the answer but is daring you to admit it. It's as though he's challenging you to reveal the truth.

Your silence seems to irritate him, and a sneer plays at the corners of his lips as he leans in slightly, effortlessly invading your personal space. Because he's so confidently moving in, you don't think before opening the door more and exposing your nudity thoughtlessly. His eyes quickly scan your form and his sneer morphs into a mean smile at the sight. The realization that you've allowed these power dynamics to spiral out of control, allowing unspoken boundaries to be trampled, makes your tears bigger as he draws closer, threatening to drop.

"Lost for words, are we?" Jason's voice held a note of mockery, "It's funny how the most vocal sluts so often have the least to say when it comes to the truth."

You couldn't help but feel shame wash over you. The brutal way he spoke down to you left you almost shocked into submission; as if his words made you want to bow your head and eagerly do as he said. The overpowering scent Tim carried that you caught when you'd buried your nose into his neck still had you dizzy, your heartbeat throbbing and beginning to ache in your cunt. It was so dangerous to let Jason bully you into what you knew he wanted, especially after Tim had left you feeling so dejected and empty with his quick escape, but you were still desperately needy both physically and emotionally.

"Maybe you should worry less about who's been keeping me busy and more about how you can keep up."

It's confident at face value, but those tears are still threatening to spill and your voice is too quiet to convey self-assurance, betraying your shaky invitation.

There's a beat before Jason wordlessly invites himself in and you feel a sinking sensation beginning to form in the pit of your stomach. His silent actions speak volumes, locking the door behind him as he steps in and his body firmly presses against yours. The click of the lock sends a chill down your spine, a stark reminder that this is no longer just a tense exchange at the doorway.

You’re sure he can feel you trembling when he dips his head down to attach his lips to your neck, exhaling loudly when you melt into it. You’re certain he can tell you’re shaky when both his arms reach up to support you as soon as he’s locked the door behind him, holding you steady as he turns out the harsh kitchen light Tim neglected when he ran out. The only other source of light is softly spilling out from the bedroom from your lamp, lightly enveloping you two in a serene glow.

“We can stop anytime you want,” he says gently and more tears well up in your eyes at how fucking soft he sounds in comparison to how mean he just was, “just say it and I’ll listen.”

You sniffle back more tears that come out when he begins rubbing circles into your back, feeling frustrated that your body hasn’t caught the hint you’re not quite in the mood. The physical discomfort that has you convinced only orgasm will relieve it is hard to explain.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me, Jason,” you whimper, “I need this but my headspace is fucked.”

As you speak, you can feel Jason's arms tightening around you, offering comfort and support amid your confusion. You struggle to make sense of the conflicting desires coursing through your body, the overwhelming need for release clouding your thoughts.

Then you’re trying to keep your knees from giving out when his lips return to your neck, alternating between sharply nibbling and sucking the skin there.

“I’ll take care of you,” he breathily promises, one of his large hands snaking into your panties to rub your labia up and down as he guided you both into your bedroom. Shudders erupted over your skin when he eased you onto the bed to crawl above you, a grin on his face again as he pulled it away from your neck, "even if you've broken my heart."

"Jason-" you begin, pouting up at him, overwhelmed by the sensations and confusing signals from him, "You-"

He didn't let you finish your protests, covering your mouth with his in an obscenely lewd kiss as a finger slipped into you. The embarrassingly loud, low moan involuntarily spilling out onto the tongue now exploring your mouth makes him pull away and laugh, slowly pumping his finger.

"Did you let him cum in you?," he asks, sounding accusatory, the mocking grin glinting back at you, "You're so sloppy down here."

"He didn't!" You whine, aware he's being degrading again but knowing you're too far gone in committing to this pleasure to care, "I just... I need you that much, Jason."

He falters fingering you to process what you've just said to him, and your eyes search his expression, trying to figure out what he's thinking. The thrill of not knowing makes you clench down on him, squirming underneath him as your desperation grows.

"Please don't make me beg," you whine again, sure you sound pathetic, "Jason, plea-!"

You're cut off again, this time by the sensation of a second finger slipping in, pumping steadily as he attaches himself to your neck once more, biting and sucking as you moan in relief. You can't help but squeeze on his fingers at every sensation, feeling the painful tingling of arousal slowly ebb away with each dedicated movement of his. Quickly any pain is replaced with a building need for release and you close your eyes, focused on how good the friction of the finger-fucking feels.

It's increasingly apparent to you that you're in your bedroom with Jason. He's the hot neighbor you never imagined would be between your legs teasing you like this, smirking down at you like he was Satan. But here he is, sweetly giving you exactly what you want, exactly what you need.

He suddenly stops pumping them, pulling them out wordlessly and your eyes fly open in the absence. Before you can protest or do anything other than make frustrated eye contact and whine, he sinks them back in and pauses before wiggling them inside you in a way that makes your hips buck up against him with an even helplessly louder moan.

"There we go," he murmurs contentedly when you instinctively grab for anything when he moves like this again, settling on squeezing his bicep as it flexed with his fingering, "There's my good girl. You're so responsive to me, aren't you?"

"J-Jason," you whimper, your voice already breathless and needy as his fingers work their magic and you feel yourself approaching your climax. "Can I please cum?"

As soon as you ask it, the shame rushes through again. You didn't mean to sound so pathetic, but Jason's attitude makes you feel like you should ask him for permission with the way he's acted about Tim coming over and because it's him bringing you to the edge right now.

Jason's lips curve into a knowing smirk as he feels the immediate shift in your demeanor, sensing your embarrassment even as your body continues to respond to his touch.

"Did you just ask for permission?" he teases with his voice low and husky as he continues to pleasure you, slowing his strokes and gently placing his thumb onto your clit to rub circles, "How obedient of you, begging for release like a good little pet."

His words send a flush of heat to your cheeks, the embarrassment mingling with the added pleasure coursing through you.

"I-I didn't mean to," you stammer, your voice barely a whisper as you struggle to find the right words amidst all the overwhelming stimuli, "It's just... I can't control..."

Jason's smirk widens at your embarrassed stammering, relishing in the power he holds over you in this moment of vulnerability.

"Didn't think I'd have you begging for permission so soon," he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he continues to tease you. "Makes me wonder... did you ask the other guy for permission too?"

Your cheeks somehow burn even hotter at the mention of Tim, the memory of his presence earlier adding another layer of shame to your already flushed face.

"I-I didn't," you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. "I didn't need to..."

"Of course you didn't," he drawls, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because I'm the only one who can make you feel this way, aren't I? And you know what? I'll make you forget about him," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "I'll make you forget about everything except how good I can make you feel."

"Move up and face that way," he murmurs, his voice low and husky as he guides you into a new position. "I want to see you from a different angle."

You comply without question, too caught up in desire to protest. Little do you know, you're playing right into Jason's hands, completely unaware of the surveillance cameras placed at strategic areas of your apartment and bedroom capturing every intimate moment between the two of you for the voyeuristic pleasure of the BatFamily. His movements are carefully calculated to get a better angle for the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, so he can prove to Tim that he fucks you better.

Suddenly, Jason shifts his position, dipping down between your legs with a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hot breath fans across your sensitive skin, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. You muster the nerve to peer down at him and feel faint at the sight of such a gorgeous man hovering over your pussy, looking devilishly up at you.

"J..." you whimper, your voice barely a whisper as you feel his lips begin to press against your most intimate place. The sensation makes you gasp in surprise and instinctively try to shut your legs. He uses a big arm to keep your legs spread so his head and hands had room, his warm mouth alternating between flicking at your clit and sucking on it while his fingers were buried in you. While you can't pry him off if you wanted to, the grip you have on his hair with both hands helps you feel more grounded and gives you something to squeeze when he sucks hickeys into your labia lips.

You cry out his name when your orgasm finally hits, tugging on his hair to pull him as close as you can to your pussy as he bottoms his fingers out in you and sucks at your throbbing clit.

He laughs as he pops off your pussy, "How many orgasms is that for you tonight, baby?"

Your head is spinning and a new ache is growing in the depths of your pussy. You hiss when he slowly removes his fingers, trying to answer him, "Um, maybe three?"

"Mmmm" he practically purrs, crawling back on top of you and covering your mouth with a deep kiss you hadn't expected before pulling away to smile at you, "Being able to still count them means you haven't had enough yet."

You giggle but whine when he's back to nibbling at your neck again, hearing his clothes rustle while he distracts you with kisses, "Jason, you have to wear a condom. They're next to my bed in the dresser."

He lifts his head to glance over to the dresser, "No, they're not. They're on top of it. You and him used two earlier?"

"It-" your ear tips are warm again, "It doesn't matter."

"Right." Jason says and it frustrates you that he still seems slightly peeved about Tim's visit earlier. His body hovers over you as he cranes for the condoms and he chuckles, bringing one of your vibrators into your view underneath him, "I want to see you get ready for me on this while I put this on," he gives you a look like he means business that sends shivers down your spine, "and it better be your favorite setting."

Closing your eyes and trying to not worry about the intense warm feeling spreading across your body in throbbing sensations, you expertly start and find your favorite setting on the sex toy, whining when you find the best spot near your clit. Some part of you is screaming at your decision to close your eyes; it's better for you to focus on what he said in this head-heavy state, but you're also screaming at yourself, begging yourself to just peek at what Mr. Hot Neighbor is packing. Something tells you it'll make the brain fog happening in your head worse.

The sounds of latex and skin quiet down and his lips are back on yours, hotter and heavier than any other. Or maybe that's just how you're seeing it? Your eyes fly open when you feel it bumping against your thigh and your wide eyes meet his teasing ones when he pulls away from the sweaty kiss, smiling down at you.

"How do you want it?"

"...I like it from behind," you shyly state, yelping in surprise when he promptly grabs you by the waist and roughly flips you onto your stomach. It would make sense that all those muscles would be good for something after all. He dips down to nibble on your ear tip and lays some of his bulky weight on you and you feel his penis pressing against your ass.

"What do you like about it?" He asks, and you feel weak and tremble as he grabs your hips and firmly pulls them up so they're flush against his pelvis, hard penis slowly rubbing against your cunt.

You want him to fuck you so badly, and it makes you feel pathetic and slutty given Tim had been here earlier.

"Jason-" Your bratty tone is cut off by him laying a hard smack onto your ass, and you jump in his grasp.

"Answer me or I'm not putting it in," he growls.

"That it's a deep position and it makes me feel full," you confess, feeling feverish from your need, "Please please fuck me."

"Hmmm," he hums, hesitating. In frustration, you wiggle your butt against him, rubbing yourself on his dick in impatience, "Is that it?"

"Why are you being so mean," you pout, attitude dissolving when you feel him prodding against your entrance and gasp, "Jeez, you're big."

"I know you can take it," he says and begins easing it in. You stare down at the blankets your hands are wildly gripping and moan while his entry begins stretching you open, "I'd bet you even like the pain, don't you?"

"Yes and I-I-" you feel like you can't even breathe until he's all the way in, "I can't believe you're so big." You're feeling increasingly dizzy as he slowly inches his way in, feeling a weird static-y sensation building up in your head as he eases into you.

The orgasm hits almost as soon as he bottoms out, and your body begins involuntarily twitching with each throb of your pussy clenching around him. The stimulation is getting to be too much but your moans are loud and lustful as he helps you ride out your climax on him, gripping your hips tightly to keep you glued on his dick. He keeps you plugged up with himself as you twitch on him until you finally stop cumming, trying to catch your breath underneath him after it tore through you.

The silence and stillness is broken by wet sex sounds as he begins thrusting, pulling almost all the way out before burying himself back in decidedly. The pace is slow but each thrust makes you feel like you're possessed when you throw your head back and moan at the sounds, feeling your vision blur.

"Oh," he coos, "would'ya look at that?"

His big hand comes up to wipe at your face and he shows you the drool he just dragged off your chin. His hand disappears from your view and you hear him suck on his fingers, pulling them off with an audible 'pop'. The thought of Jason sucking your spit off his fingers makes you shudder and he feels you clench on his dick like mad again.

"Oh, fuck, just like that, baby," he whines and you whimper in reaction to how fucking good Jason sounds when he whines for you, "Take me just like that."

His pace is faster but he's fucking you just as hard, his fingers digging into your sides as he grips you and pounds you down on him like you were a toy. Feeling yourself inching towards another orgasm, you start whining and repeat to him over and over that it's coming.

"I know," he manages through his grunts, ramming into you now at his own vicious pace, "I'm so close, I know you can cum with me, you can do one more."

Then all at once, as he climaxes and pushes himself all the way in, you feel yourself snap and you spasm on him with your final orgasm, crying out with each pulsing sensation. His moan is choked as you cum with him, and his hips lightly jolt with each twitch of his dick as he empties into the condom. As he and you both come down from your highs, the hands that were gripping your waist slink up and he embraces you from behind, using his weight to ease you down until you're lying on your stomach and he's atop you, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks, "You're shaking so badly right now."

"I-I'm just..." it's hard for you to finish your sentence. How are you supposed to tell him Tim left without aftercare, you just had more orgasms in one night than you ever had before, and you were scared of how your relationships with both would fare after this night?

"Here, hang on," he says and his weight lifts off of you. His dick slowly begins to slide out of you and you hiss at the sensation, feeling tears spring into your eyes at the settling throbbing pain.

"Woah, hey," Jason's voice breaks through the haze of pain and exhaustion, his touch gentle as he helps you shift from lying on your stomach to settling in his lap. His thumb brushes away a stray tear that escapes your eye. "Tell me what's wrong. Was I too rough?"

You shake your head before he even finishes asking, fighting to keep your voice steady despite the tremble in your bottom lip. "No, you're fine, thank you," you manage, your gaze dropping to your hands. "I'm just tired and sore."

The lie hangs heavy in the air, and you can sense Jason's skepticism in the silence that follows. But to your relief, he doesn't press further. Instead, he wraps his arms securely around you, pulling you close against his chest, your head resting against his shoulder. He rubs slow circles into your back as you sniffle in his arms.

"Hey," he murmurs, "You know you can tell me anything, right? Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

Your mind races with uncertainty. You worry if you're being too vulnerable, too open with him. After all, you haven't known each other for that long, and revealing this level of distress feels scary to you. Summoning a shard of courage, you lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze tentatively. His eyes are filled with worry, yet there's a glimmer of relief as you finally meet his gaze through your tears.

"Hey," you begin softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think... could you maybe grab us some water and Advil? Just for now? They're both in the kitchen."

The request feels small in comparison to the weight of your emotions, but it's a start. Without another word, he gently eases you out of his lap, tucks a pillow next to you for your comfort, and stands up. Quickly throwing on his boxers and his shirt, he leaves. Your gaze lingers on his retreating form, admiring his physique and pondering once again how he acquired the scars that litter his torso and upper thighs.

The dull ache in your body becomes more pronounced, each movement sending waves of discomfort rippling through you. You shift on the bed, muscles protesting as you try to find a more comfortable position. A quiet groan escapes your lips, the pain a sharp reminder of the intensity of your recent sexual escapades. It feels like it's been longer than it should be, but you swallow the fear he's left you like Tim did, trusting that he'd come back.

As Jason returns, you feel a twinge of relief wash over you. He's carrying not only the Advil and your reusable bottle of water but also a small bag of cookies, which he sheepishly explains his roommate baked for him. He brought a cup of water from the kitchen for himself, bringing out a packet of powder that he poured in.

"Hey, I've got an extra," he mentions, showing you another packet from his pocket, "If you're game, we could watch a movie or hang out for a bit."

Taking the packet, you see it's an edible drink mix, and your devious grin makes him laugh. Letting him give you his freshly mixed cup, you guzzled it greedily, swallowing a couple painkillers down with it. As he used your water bottle to pour himself a new cup, you tried to stand and instead felt very dizzy, plopping back down on your sheets.

Jason is quick to steady you, "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice again laced with worry.

You manage a weak nod, trying to shake off the dizziness. "Yeah, just need to shake it off," you reply, though you're not entirely convinced yourself.

He stays close, gauging your condition, "What do you need right now?"

You pause, considering your options, "A shower would be good. I think the Advil and the weed will help my pain, but I can't relax if I don't feel clean."

"Okay," he says, "Let's get you over there."

You lean on him for support as you push yourself upright, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over you. With Jason's arm securely around your waist, he helps ensure you don't stumble or lose your balance on your way through your bedroom to your bathroom.

He hesitates for a brief moment when you get there, his protective instincts kicking in. "I'm not sure leaving you alone right now is the best idea."

"You're right," you concede, feeling a bit shy, "I'd feel safer with you here. Would you mind sticking around? Just in case? I could use the company."

"Absolutely," he affirms, a flicker of intensity in his gaze. "Consider me your personal bodyguard."

It's really less awkward than you thought it might be, with him just helping you step over the tub and closing the curtain behind you. It was honestly a good idea to have him there, since every time you bent over to reach the shampoo or soap up, you'd feel so dizzy you thought you'd fall. You decided to keep it brief, soaping up the necessities and rinsing off quickly while he chatted about his day-to-day. Apparently the cat was a friends and he was watching it for them, his boss was a dick, and his dad was a jerk. You also let him freshen up with an extra toothbrush you kept for visitors, and he laughed since he lived next door and could have gone to clean up over there.

By the time you were done showering, the weed had gotten to both of you and you couldn't hold back inexplicable giggles as you toweled up like he hadn't seen your naked body up close and personal earlier. Feeling less weak but still dizzy, you stumbled back to the bedroom with Jason attached at the hip, collapsing in bed in a fit of laughter at something super dumb he said. Eventually you pulled an oversized t-shirt over your nudity and some panties, dimming the bedroom lights.

He turned on a show you both liked well enough, and you cuddled into his side, yawning. You were almost asleep when he excused himself with a roll of his eyes, gesturing to his ringing phone. Taking the call in the living room and closing the door to not disturb you, you thought you heard him saying "Ivy" or "patrol", but you were really too hazy between the physical exhaustion, the weed, the Advil, and the eventful evening to pay attention to eavesdropping.

When Jason returned to the warm bed, he pulled the sheets up and you settled back into his arms.

"Hey, how are you feeling now?" He asks softly, "Are you still dizzy?"

"Mmm," you groan sleepily, "I feel better now. Why?"

"No reason, just wanted to check," he says, arms gripping a little tighter, "Have sweet dreams, sparrow."

Crinkling your eyebrows in amusement and smiling at the nickname, you fell back asleep quickly.

Part 1, Part 3: here

[myerssimp21]

genuine question how come 99% of batfam yandere posts are platonic kghfgjhfgdfgs

[myerssimp21]

Not a most accurate-looking Dano side profile but it’s….interpretative 🥺💚

[myerssimp21]

Knife's Canvas (Pt. 1)

Yandere Poly!Ghostface x Reader

warnings: mention of torture (not reader), planned stalking.

prompt inspired by @jadedstarlight03 's prompt to @creepyyanderegirl on yandere stu with artistic reader. I liked it and took my own spin with it since I simp for Billy too.

"I admired your sketch!"

The cursive note, adorned with a smiley face, stared back at you, earning an A+ grade on your inaugural in-class creative writing assignment at Woodsboro High. As a newcomer, you had hoped your depictions of characters like Garfield and Scooby Doo would endear you to the teachers, and it appeared they did. Sketched in red pen and colored with pastel pink highlighter, your drawings grinned up at you, surrounded by tiny glitter hearts.

"Oh, those are wicked!"

The cute blonde girl seated behind you leaned over your shoulder, her minty breath fanning into your face as she praised, "Do you draw a lot? Did you do those in class? It's pretty fast if you did."

"Yeah! I started doing art last year, but you get better and faster with practice," you replied with a warm smile, eager to make your first friend. "I think these took about 3-4 minutes each."

Your face warmed as she leaned closer, her chest lightly pressing against your back as she inspected your paper. She pointed to the little hearts, "Those are so cute!" Her approving face turned toward you as she introduced herself, "I'm Tatum."

"I'm ____," you replied, pleased to make introductions effortlessly. The teacher's allowance for 5 minutes of free time before class's end was a welcome opportunity for socializing.

"You should join my friends and me after our next class for lunch; maybe some of us will be in your classes!"

"That would be so nice," you said, relief evident in your voice. "I'm honestly pretty shy, so making friends can be intimidating."

Her dazzling smile accompanied her words, "Perfect! If you have Chemistry next with Mr. Scott, I'll show you where it is if you don't already know."

"Um," you leaned down to your backpack, sifting through your new student documents to find your schedule. "Oh, it's actually history with Ms. Johnson."

"Hmm," Tatum leaned back, crossing her legs as she thought. "I think Billy has that class. Maybe if you leave a little early, you can catch him. He's the guy with the, uh," she seemed to struggle for words, "grunge hairstyle? I think he's wearing a dark red t-shirt today if that helps. He's a little grumpy sometimes, though, so if you're too nervous or he's mean, we'll look for you at lunch."

The bell rang, and students not already congregating by the door got up to leave. You neatly tucked your graded paper into its designated folder and stood, slinging your backpack over your shoulder as Tatum rose in tandem.

"I'll try!" you said with a giggle, even though meeting Billy made you nervous. "It was nice to meet you."

"You too," Tatum said, pulling a pack of gum from her bag and offering you a piece before you left. "I think your next class should be in that building, right? I’m not sure if you had it yesterday or if it’s a Tuesday-Thursday class."

Thanking her again, you made sure your Discman had the CD you liked the most before connecting your headphones and heading off in that direction. You'd only have a few minutes of music, but it was worth it!

After finding your next class, you lingered around the door since you were early, hoping to at least place who Billy was from Tatum's description. After a moment of trying to not look awkward as you stood around, you spotted him.

He did have a grungier hair style, reminding you of a movie star you'd seen on TV recently. It threatened to fall in his eyes as he stalked towards the door, a bored look on his face. Now that you noticed him more, it was hard to ignore that he had a pretty face. Trying to not overthink it now that you realized you thought he was kind of cute, you pulled your headphones down from your ears until they hung around your neck as he came closer to the class.

When he noticed you looking at him as he drew closer, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, the scowl on his face deepening and making you feel even more nervous.

"Hi," you said somewhat sheepishly, "I'm ___. I'm new and met Tatum in my last class. You must be Billy."

His eyebrow raises and his eyes soften, but the scowl remains, “Oh?”

“Yeah…” you trail off a little, unsure of what to say since his response was sort of dry, “I’m from the more southern part of the state and we moved up here for my dad’s new job. I hear you guys experience the seasons up here so I’m excited to see them! The leaves never change in the fall where I’m from.”

His dark brown eyes have been boring into yours as you speak, making your face feel warm for the second time today. They dart down to the folder in your hands and he smirks as he says, “That’s cool.”

For your history folder, you’d tried to paint torsos and busts like the ancient historic statues from Greece and Rome you’d seen in a National Geographic magazine on the cover. They were naked torsos, but you had tried to make the nipples on the women look less prominent to avoid getting into trouble. If you had any sense, you’d have depicted something else to entirely avoid the possibility of getting into trouble, but you’d gotten irritated at the idea of censoring art.

“Oh, thank you! I hope I don’t get shit for the nudity, but I guess I could probably give them all clothes if I need to.”

He nods towards the classroom and you notice the hallways are getting quieter, “We should head in. There’s a couple empty seats near me.”

Ms. Johnson's strategy to get the kids interested in history was to start with the brutality of the medieval age, it seemed; with diagrams of the torture methods they created being the highlight of her second class after syllabus day.

The history class, guided by Ms. Johnson's unwavering enthusiasm, delved into the unsettling corners of medieval history. As the lesson progressed, she took a moment to present an image of a haunting artifact, projecting it onto the screen for the entire class to see.

"Now, can anyone tell me what this is?" Ms. Johnson asked, gesturing to the screen. It was a grotesque device, an iron contraption with a cold, heartless design. Sharp spikes protruded inward, forming a cage around the wearer's head. The unsettling silence lingered as the class peered at the image, growing discomfort palpable.

To everyone's surprise, ____ confidently raised her hand, her eyes betraying an unexpected depth of knowledge.

"It's called the Scold's Bridle," she answered, her voice steady. "An oppressive device designed to silence women who dared to speak their minds. The spikes prevented any speaking, ensuring their voices remained stifled."

Billy arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "How do you know about that?"

____ shrugged, a nonchalant smile playing on her lips. "I read a lot. History isn't just about dates and battles; it's about the struggles people faced, especially women, and respecting the challenges they went through."

Billy's skepticism softened as he nodded slightly. "Guess history is more twisted than we think."

____ leaned towards him slightly, a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes and made his spine tingle slightly, "Oh, you have no idea."

"Ah, ____," Ms. Johnson said with genuine admiration and ____'s attention snapped back to her, "Impressive knowledge there. I'm eager to see your thoughts on this in more detail, perhaps in an essay. It's always refreshing when students connect with the material on a deeper level."

"Now, let's delve further into the complexities of medieval society. How these devices were not only instruments of physical torment but also symbolic of the societal norms of the time."

The lesson continued, and ____ slowly flipped through her sketchbook to find a fresh page, seemingly reviewing her previous art briefly as she did so. Billy faced the board, but his eyes were turned downward, toward ____'s hands. He caught a glimpse of previous drawings – a mix of cartoon characters and a few creepier depictions.

Angry faces splattered with red marks resembling blood and figures wearing intimidating masks (or just freaks with the scariest faces ever) caught his eye. Intrigued, he discreetly watched as she began absentmindedly sketching the torture devices described in class as she listened, switching out her pens to smear red ink on them. He caught his scoff before he uttered it when he realized she was drawing the devices in glitter pens, her eyes flickering from the images on the screen to back down at her paper.

He must have been too obvious, leaning in too closely or being too pointed with his staring now because she had flipped to a fresh page and locked eyes, an unreadable expression across her face. There was a pause before she tucked her sketchbook into her bag and turned her attention back towards the board.

Billy felt a mischievous idea forming in his head as he let his eyes linger on her, knowing she could probably see him staring in her peripheral. If she wasn't thrilled about him seeing her portfolio, perhaps there was more hiding in that sketchbook than just cutesy cartoons. It could be amusing for him and Stu to explore her place once they found out where she lived, hunting for more art she wasn't ready to showcase while they scoped out their new potential victim. If the glimpses of what he saw when she had flipped through it implied there was anything more beneath her vanilla exterior, Billy was confident that he and Stu could uncover it.

As the bell rang, she turned to him with what he'd call friendly eyes, the strange demeanor now gone, "Are you hungry or what? Is the cafeteria food at Woodsboro High edible or would I be better off hunting a bird?"

He huffed, "You'd be better off starving." Nodding towards the door, he started towards it, hardly waiting for ____ to collect her bag, "Maybe Randy will be enough of a simp to offer you whatever his mommy made for him."

Noticing the disdain Billy seemed to have for Randy's mother but feeling too tentative about the potential for conflict to ask more about it, ____ decided to leave it alone and hurry after him into the now bustling hallway.

[myerssimp21]

18+ minors dni

OCT. 6 — KINKTOBER ‘23

HATE SEX & BREATH PLAY WITH JASON TODD

ktober m.list

tags: fem reader, meanie jason, alcohol, penetrative sex ofc

it was a messy break up the two of you had when still in college, if that’s what you could label it as. an established relationship was hardly spoken of throughout your whole time being with him. something along the lines of friends with benefits and situationship is what you’d categorized it in your mind.

because fucking without feelings quickly turned into fucking and cuddling without feelings, which then introduced everything that was a relationship—but without a relationship as the title.

jason was allergic to the conversations you’d attempt to bring up. asking the man ‘what are we’ as you slipped his shirt onto your sweaty skin. to which he’d shrug off while allowing you to spend the night, wrapping an arm around you and making you breakfast in the morning. just the way you liked.

it was two years since you graduated and the man had hardly touched your mind. only the times in which you’d catch up with friends from the same era in your life would you be reminded of him. and sometimes on dates and one night stands would he flash through your head, the remembering of how good at sex he was with you in comparison to the midnight men who didn’t know how to touch you right.

the man of choice tonight, though, was the man himself. the man who you despised, who you tried to ignore all eye contact with when you saw him walk into the bar where you and your friends were all sat at. head kept down and eyes locked onto the drink in your hand

but, one drunken thing led to another and your ankles were now thrown over the broad shoulders of the man who—without a doubt—hit all the places in which you’d missed him touching.

but the sensuality that existed in your uni years was taken away. soft thrusts turned rough, hardly giving you a chance to breathe through the yelling moans that you let out. sweet kisses turned teeth clashing and bites hard enough to make blood rise to the surface. if a sober thought past your mind, you’d yell at the man for attempting to leave a hickey. drunken thoughts could care less though as he selfishly left his marks from the underneath of your jaw to the side of your hip. saliva trailing down your body and swollen skin rising with heat.

"y’know my pussy missed me," jason grunts, one hand grabbing at your thigh harshly while the other’s pushing on your waist, holding you steady as if you’d squirm out of his grasp if you were able.

the words make you moan. his ownership of something that wasn’t his—hasn’t been his for years now—making your walls clench around him, and he can only laugh dryly. "fuckin’ whore, should’ve known you’d miss my cock, yeah? couldn’t wait to get fuckin’ stuffed the second you saw me walk in with all your friends," it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but you can only bite back. "y’know you only walked in that bar for free pussy," and now jason’s hand is moving upwards.

rough and calloused fingertips finding your throat and pushing down to disable any airflow into your lungs. "what’d ya say?" his lips are pulled into a smirk, head tilting curiously—stupidly, because he knows you can’t answer. you can only sit there with your mouth agape as jason’s thrusts don’t slow for a second.

the sound of his thighs slapping the back of yours was filthy. but the wetness that screamed inbetween was worse. cum dripping down jason’s balls that hit your ass, spreading more wetness and making that much more a mess. "that’s what i fuckin’ thought, fucked all stupid," he groans, releasing his grip for a few seconds to allow you airflow.

his body leans down, and it’s hard not to devour with eyes alone the man that’s before you. broad shoulders that are near double yours. pecs that surround a silver cross necklace the man has worn for years now.

it makes you want to laugh. his attempt at finding peace in religion when he fucks you hard enough that you swear you see god in an orgasm. the way he tears you apart with words alone as the tip of his cock is kissing your cervix. the way he leans over you so the stupid cross hits your cheek with a feel of cool metal when he’s groaning out the words, "stupid fucking slut."

he’s holding himself up with a single hand. rough scars littering the skin while veins draw their way up to his forearms. the muscle flexed beautifully. so much so, that when you finally reach it with your eyes, you arch your back and squeeze them shut.

getting fucked alone by jason was enough. but to drink in the man that jason had become? close to doubling his size since college—which was only two years ago… you needed an entire day to process it.

instead it’s squished into the few hours that he’s seduced you into his bedroom, fucking you round after round. "who’s been fucking you when i’m not around?" he grunts in your ear, breathing into it before his tongue slides against your lobe. the question takes you out of the daze that you’ve been put in, attempting to scoff but ultimately moaning at the possession jason’s showing.

"fuck—shoulda-shoulda asked me earlier, would’ve made a list," you say between pants of breath. jason’s lips open to bite down on the soft lobe, a whine that pushes your head back against the mattress you were laid on.

"aw," he starts in a coo, "for being a slut," his tongue licks your neck, "still feel as tight as ever. still carved to the size of my fuckin’ cock ‘n nobody else’s." teeth clamp down on your sensitive skin, and your nails press that much deeper into his backside. an attempt at a warning, but jason loves the way the pain is subsided by the pleasure that is your dripping cunt.

his thumb finds your throat, pushing deeply to choke you once more. "must not be fuckin’ anybody worth a damn. nobody as big as me, huh?" thrust after thrust and you’re cumming on his cock without warning. a loud and choked moan slipping out of you while your vision turns dizzy and it makes jason wanna fuck you again.

after all, he could care less about the fact that you’re probably overly sensitive right now. maybe a few years back he would’ve pulled out, would’ve asked if you’re okay and thought of various ways to perform aftercare on your fucked out body. but, jason could give a fuck less, especially with the bratty words you’re spitting out to him. you don’t have a care in your tone, so why should he?

that’s why the snapping of his hips never halt. he doesn’t give you half a second to calm down when he feels you clench deliciously around his member. and when you’re whining, "jay-needa second, please!" he’s sucking on your tender skin, moving to cover your lips with his own.

"need a second? baby, all you need is my cock."

🏷️: @ash_cl0ud @harleycao @idyllcy @hails227 @aviixol @hopeannalea @hearttjason @finnlikesyourmom77 @roysjason @blursotongz @zaxlrza @wartofart