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vibelladonna · 3 months ago

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❛ 𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝓊𝓃 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝑜𝒷𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: It all started at a frat party [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒 ], where a guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips decided to make the balcony a little more interesting. What was supposed to be a one-time encounter—just another hazy college memory—ended up being anything but forgettable.

You were never supposed to see him again, let alone get caught up in his world, but fate—or maybe something much darker—had other plans. Now, you're stuck in a twisted game. The secrets pile up faster than the lies, and the college town you thought you knew becomes a never-ending game.

And you? You never sleep. Because when you chase a monster, you better pray it doesn't decide you’re worth keeping. But hey, if you’re playing in a game,

…you better be prepared for the hit-and-run.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Bruh, my roommate hit me with this request right in the middle of midterms. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a minute because I was trying to figure out the decent ending. Finally got around to finishing it because midterms ended (spring break baby), so here you go.

Art by shatteredankles (above) on Instagram

Hope it doesn’t come off too corny—y’all let me know.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: toby x afab!reader, OC! Mention, proxies gang (Kate, Tim, and Brian mentioned), enemies to lovers, smut, toxic relationship, stalking on both sides, cat and mouse dynamics, obsession & possession, dubious morality, crime duo (??), found family (sort of), power play, manipulation & mind games, blood & gore, criminal activity, femme fatale vibes and unhinged ass characters.

There are only two rules you need to survive college:

Watch your back. Don’t get caught.

Sounds dramatic, right? You might be wondering why anyone would need rules like that in a sleepy little college town, where the biggest crime should be freshmen sneaking out past curfew or someone getting caught swapping answers on an exam. But when you're stuck in a place like this—one that feels just a little too small, a little too quiet—well, strange things start to happen.

The rules started as whispers, traded between students like secret currency, slipping from jittery hands to hushed lips over coffee-stained textbooks. They were nothing more than cautionary tales at first—just another way for the usual college gossip to get a little bite. The kind of thing you'd hear in a dimly lit dorm room at 2 AM, passed off as just another urban legend.

But rules just don’t come from nowhere.

The red-brick buildings lining the main street give the town a picture-perfect charm like something ripped straight from an old postcard. The local coffee shop, the one with the overpriced lattes and disappointingly stale muffins is where you go to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist for a little while.

It all feels safe. Too safe. Like a town frozen in time, where people still leave their doors unlocked and the worst thing that could happen is a bad grade on a midterm.

But something had to happen, right? There’s a reason for all of it—the security guards, who once spent their shifts scrolling through their phones near the dining hall, now walk the campus in pairs. Their radios crackle more than they used to, static-laced whispers punctuated by clipped voices, urgent and low. Their footsteps aren’t just footsteps anymore; they’re warnings, rhythmic echoes against the pavement, reminders that something is lurking just beneath the surface.

The campus police? They’re not parked outside the student center anymore, killing time over lukewarm coffee and half-hearted conversations. No, now they circle the parking lots at night, their headlights slicing through the darkness like something predatory. The beams sweep over empty spaces, catching glimpses of movement that might not even be there—but you can’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, is watching.

Even the professors have changed. The ones who used to hold open-door office hours, always ready to debate a thesis or chat about weekend plans? They’ve started locking their doors. Their smiles don’t reach their eyes anymore, and when they talk, there’s something hesitant in their voices, like they’re choosing their words too carefully. You’ve caught them glancing over their shoulders, eyes darting toward windows as if expecting to see something—or someone—on the other side.

At first, you told yourself it was just paranoia. College kids have a way of spinning stories, of turning stress into superstition.

But then the change settled in.

Your college used to be the kind of place that only felt alive on weekends, the streets overflowing with students, their laughter mingling with cigarette smoke and the sour scent of cheap beer. Not anymore.

Now, the streets clear out before dark. The dining hall is quieter, conversations hushed, as if speaking too loudly might draw the wrong kind of attention.

And the woods—the shortcut everyone once used, the one that shaved minutes off the walk between the dorms and the off-campus bars? The one where people used to sneak away for stolen kisses or drunken dares?

Nobody walks through there anymore.

Not after the body was found at that frat party.

Not an overdose. Not a bad batch of pills passed between sweaty palms in a dark corner of the party. Not too many shots, not a drunken stumble down the rickety-ass staircase that everyone always joked was a lawsuit waiting to happen. No. This was different.

The university scrambled to keep up appearances, like slapping a fresh coat of paint over a crumbling wall and hoping no one noticed the rot underneath. They made their statements, rolled out the usual ‘tragedy counseling’ emails, and stationed security around campus like poorly placed scarecrows—useless, ineffective, just there to make it look like they were doing something.

But it was all for show. Because if the administration was rattled, if the people in charge were nervous, then everyone else had a damn good reason to be terrified. And yet, despite the whispers creeping through every hallway, the paranoia threading itself into every conversation, one thought kept clawing at the back of your mind, an itch you couldn’t quite reach:

Why the hell can’t you remember what happened?

Because while the rest of that frat house was losing their collective shit over the body sprawled out on the sticky floor, you?

You were too busy getting your brains fucked out.

Funny how that worked out, isn’t it? How you were the first to leave that party before the cops even had a chance to step through the front door. While everyone else was panicking, screams cutting through the pounding bass, whispers catching like dry brushfire, you were nowhere near the chaos.

You were upstairs. Pressed against the balcony railing, fingers gripping softwood, breath stolen by the heat of a so-called one-night stand. Drunk—not on alcohol, maybe a little high too, but on adrenaline, on the way your pulse thrummed beneath your skin, on the way the world blurred into nothing but the rush of the moment. By the time sirens painted streaks of red and blue across the night, you were already gone, slipping through the cracks like a ghost.

And for the past two weeks, you’ve played your role flawlessly.

You’ve gone to class and nodded along to lectures as if your mind wasn’t stuck on a loop, replaying that night in fragments, trying to remember what refuses to be remembered. You’ve turned in your assignments, smiled at the right moments, and laughed when it was expected. You’ve answered your parents’ calls, your voice steady, and words practiced.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“No, I’m not drinking.”

“Yes, I’ll be careful.”

But it’s all bullshit. Because deep down, you don’t feel fine.

And you’re not scared like everyone else. Your hands don’t tremble when you pass the flyers—the ones with their vacant-eyed face frozen in ink, the desperate pleas for information scrawled underneath. You don’t flinch at the whispers that slither through the halls, the ones warning that whoever did it might still be out there.

Because you've been looking for him.

Toby.

It should have ended that night. Just another random hookup at a frat party—one more mistake swallowed up by cheap beer, loud music, and the aftermath of too many bad decisions. But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

Truth be told, you don’t even know why you’re looking for him. Maybe it’s because that night is a haze of alcohol, smoke, and adrenaline—a blurry, fragmented memory. But there’s one thing you can’t shake: the way his hands felt on your skin—rough, confident as if he’d already figured you out, mapped out every inch of you without even trying.

It should’ve been forgettable.

But something about him lingered.

Maybe it’s because he vanished after the party, like a ghost—gone without a trace, like he was never even there. Just a shadow that flickered in the background and then disappeared when you weren’t paying attention. Maybe it’s because a part of you, the one you don’t even want to acknowledge, needs to know if he had anything to do with what happened that night.

Because here’s the thing—

Toby was the last person you saw before everything went to hell.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just some reckless, drunk hook-up who disappeared before the sun came up. It happens all the time, right? One night, a mess of bad decisions, and then—poof. People vanish.

But the memory of that night won’t leave you alone. It lingers in your head like a half-finished song, the details slipping in and out of focus. The pulsing neon lights. The bass rattling your bones. The press of bodies, the stench of sweat and liquor thick in the air.

And Toby—always just outside the chaos. Leaning against the balcony railing with that lazy smirk, eyes sharp and unreadable. Watching you. Like he already knew how this was going to end. But now? Nothing. No social media. No mutuals. No whispers in the usual circles. Every time you ask, you get the same response—confusion, shrugs, blank stares.

It’s like he never existed.

And that pisses you off more than anything.

So, like any completely normal, rational, well-adjusted person, you do the only thing that makes sense.

So you start digging.

At first, it’s casual. A name-drop here, a lazy, “Hey, you know that guy from the party?” there. You don’t expect a full-blown biography, just something—anything—to prove he was real. A scrap of recognition. A passing mention. A sign that you didn’t just imagine him in the haze of cheap vodka and adrenaline.

But the deeper you dig, the stranger it gets.

People remember the party. They remember the chaos, the flashing lights, the sirens wailing in the distance. They remember the whispers about the dead kid found in the upstairs bathroom. But Toby?

Nothing. No one knows him. Not even a hint of recognition.

And that’s when the obsession starts to claw its way under your skin.

Because most people? They just shrug it off. A few tilt their heads, brows furrowing in concentration, trying to pull a face from the fog of a booze-soaked night, but coming up with nothing. It doesn’t add up. Toby wasn’t some invisible figure standing in the corner, just another face in the crowd. He wasn’t some wallflower you might’ve missed in the blur of the night.

No, he was there. You saw him. You were with him.

But the more you ask, the more you realize how wrong it all feels. No one remembers him. Not in the casual, "Oh, I was too wasted to notice" way. No, this is something else entirely. This is the "He wasn’t there at all" way.

One girl insists she saw you alone on the balcony that night. Another swears she’s never had a cute guy at a frat party before, and then there’s the guy—the guy—who looks at you like you’re crazy. He gives you that pitying look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the one who’s lost touch with reality, and says:

"You sure you weren’t just imagining things?"

That one sticks. It lodges itself deep in your chest, cold and jagged, like a splinter that you can’t pull out. It burrows in, nagging at you. At first, you laugh it off—this can’t be happening. They’re just clueless, or maybe they’re messing with you. Or maybe they’re lying. But when you look in their eyes, you realize they’re not. They’re dead serious.

And that’s when the panic starts to creep in.

Because you know he was real.

You remember the sound of his voice, low and teasing as it wrapped around your name. You remember the roughness of his hands, the way they gripped your skin like he owned it. You remember the sharp, smoky scent of his cologne, the heat of his body pressed against yours, grounding you. You remember the way his breath hitched when he laughed, that faint, dangerous edge to it.

You remember Toby.

So why doesn’t anyone else?

Like, you still have that hickey he gave you at the frat party.

The last time you saw him—besides that night—was when he somehow managed to swipe your black lace underwear without you noticing. A cocky little stunt, one you didn’t even realize had happened until you stood outside the frat house, skin still buzzing from the aftershocks of the hookup, your dress smoothed back into place.

The way his lips dragged over your skin, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. The way his teeth scraped against your neck, the warmth of his breath right before he bit down—just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he laughed, that low, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and murmured something about how he hoped it bruised.

It did. Badly. To the point where you had to cover the damn thing with concealer before class like people don’t need to know your business.

But that shouldn’t be your main issue right now.

Your main worry should be your phone. Wait a minute. Your phone?

You’re currently sitting in a study room at the library with your roommate, and you can’t find your phone. It should’ve been buzzing by now—messages, notifications, something. But there’s nothing.

You swear you had it when you left class earlier. Or was it when you and your roommate sat down to study in the library? Either way, it’s gone now. Vanished without a trace.

You check your bag. Nothing. Then your pockets, just to make sure you didn’t slip it in there absentmindedly. Nothing. You check your bag again—maybe, just maybe, reality will bend in your favor, and the damn thing will reappear. But it doesn’t.

Did you drop it in the lecture hall? Like, you don’t remember being that careless, but the last few days have been a blur—so many distractions, so many things happening on campus, it’s hard to keep track of anything, let alone your phone.

But right now, none of that matters. Because your phone is missing, and you’re crawling through the library like a raccoon ransacking a trash can.

You check under chairs. Between the rows of bookshelves. Even behind a vending machine because you’re getting desperate. Nothing.

With an exhausted sigh, you press your hands to your face and let your forehead thunk against the corner of a bookshelf. “I swear to God—”

"Looking for this?"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST—"

You nearly knock over an entire shelf. Your soul, your lifespan, and your dignity all seem to leave your body at once. And there she is. Your roommate. Vidia. Standing way too close, holding your phone between two fingers like it’s some lost artifact.

Your heart is still violently tap-dancing in your chest, and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the chaos. “Why do you do that?” you demand, trying to piece yourself back together, but the words are shaky, and your palms are slick with sweat.

She just shrugs, completely unbothered, like she didn’t just almost give you a heart attack. “You make it so easy. It’s like scaring a sleep-deprived squirrel.”

You grab your phone from her with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, glaring at her like she just ruined the rest of your day. "I hope you trip down the library stairs."

Vidia raises an eyebrow, unphased. “Bold of you to assume I’d go down alone,” she quips, already moving on with that air of indifference she’s perfected. “Anyway, I found it by the restroom.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “The bathroom?” you repeat, your voice shaky, confusion and anxiety mixing in an odd cocktail.

Vidia nods casually like it’s no big deal. “Yup. Just chillin’ on the counter. I figured, ‘Wow, what an absolute dumbass move. Leaving your phone for any psycho to snatch.’”

Your stomach twists, a sudden heaviness filling the space in your chest. The air around you thickens, your breathing shallow, and that tight, suffocating coil of unease winds tighter in your gut.

You don’t remember going to the bathroom.

You don’t remember leaving your phone there.

But you were just in class, right? You just finished your exams—finally, that was over. All you wanted now was to breathe, chill, and hang out with Vidia around campus like any normal student should after a hellish week.

You bring the phone up to your face, hoping the screen will make sense of all this. It doesn’t.

“Was anyone else in the restroom with you?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tension seeps through. You can feel it—there’s an edge to your words now, sharp and frayed.

Vidia thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Not that I saw. Just me, when I went in to wash my hands. Don’t know if someone left it or if it fell, but it was just there. Weird, right?”

Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. Your mind whirls, trying to piece together what’s happening. You’d been in the middle of your exam haze—just trying to power through—and now this? The last thing you remember is walking out of the lecture hall, not a bathroom.

The more you try to think, the more everything becomes a blur. So much had been happening lately, and you had tried to shut it all out—taking a hit from your pen here and there to avoid overthinking. But now? The thought of your phone, lying abandoned on a bathroom counter, starts to fester in your mind.

“You’re just lucky I didn’t steal it,” Vidia quips with a grin, oblivious to the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of something that feels much darker than a misplaced phone.

But you’re not laughing. You’re staring at the device in your hand, gripping it like it might disappear if you don’t hold on tight enough.

You don’t remember leaving it there.

And that fact? It sends a cold shiver crawling up your spine.

Your thumb hovers over the power button, almost as if your body knows it shouldn’t make the decision. The screen lights up with a cold, blue glow, harsh against the dim library lights. You squint at the familiar lock screen, but the unease slithers in before your brain even registers it.

It’s subtle at first, just a gnawing feeling deep in your gut—a flicker of something wrong. A creeping whisper at the back of your mind urging you to put the phone down. But before you can think it through, your eyes catch the notification on the call log.

Unknown Number.

No name. No details. Just there, sitting at the top of your contact list like it’s always belonged. Like it’s always been waiting for you to see it.

You freeze. Your pulse stutters, your heart skipping a beat. The silence in the library feels suffocating now like the walls are closing in. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at that name—or rather, the lack of it—but it feels like an eternity before the first message pings through.

Ding.

The sharp chime shatters the stillness, and your breath catches in your throat. Your hand goes cold, and you stare at the screen.

Unknown Number: “You ask about me like you miss me.”

Your stomach drops, cold dread crawling up your spine. Your mind races, trying to connect dots, to make sense of this. You want to swipe the screen away, to forget this moment, but you can’t.

You can’t look away.

Another message appears before you have the chance to react. Your fingers tremble as you read it.

Unknown Number: “You look cute when you’re desperate.”

You can feel the room shrinking around you, the air thick with tension. It feels like you’re drowning in it, and the phone is suddenly too heavy in your hand.

Everything starts to feel wrong. The world tilts on its axis. A creeping sense of violation, of being watched, wraps around you like a suffocating fog. You try to steady your breath, but it’s like the whole library is closing in on you. And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, the last message comes in.

No words this time. Just an image file.

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen as a cold dread settles deep in your stomach. Every instinct screams at you to stop—to put the phone down, to close your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening. But something keeps you rooted in place, some twisted part of you that needs to know, that craves the truth, no matter how sickening it might be. Maybe you're hoping it's a mistake. A glitch. Some absurd error. Or maybe you're just too far gone to walk away from this now.

With a shaky breath, you press the image.

The photo loads with agonizing slowness, each second stretching out like an eternity. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound deafening in your ears as you watch the image unfold before you. The sense of wrongness, of violation, begins to seep into your bones.

And then you see it.

Your stolen black lace underwear.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. It’s your underwear, unmistakably. But it’s... different. The fabric is wrinkled and crumpled in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s sitting there, in the photo, folded neatly—almost too neatly—on some unfamiliar surface.

And then the weight of it crashes into you. This isn’t some coincidence. This isn’t an innocent mistake.

Toby’s been watching.

He’s been tracking you. Watching your every move.

And now, he’s making sure you know it.

You stare at the underwear again, your breath caught in your throat. And that’s when it hits you. It’s not just that they’re there, it’s how they look. The lace, once pristine, now looks... ruined. Tattered, in places. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it doesn’t look like something that’s just been forgotten. No, something about it feels off. Like it’s been used.

The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train.

This motherfucker has been jacking off to your underwear.

For a split second, your body goes rigid, a sickening wave of disgust crashing over you, twisting your stomach in ways you didn’t think were possible. It’s enough to make you feel like you need to throw the phone across the room as if you can somehow purge the image from your mind. But, you can’t. It’s already burned into you, like an indelible mark that won’t fade.

And then, strangely, you can’t help but laugh on the inside. It’s a dark, twisted laugh, almost like you can’t even believe how fucking sick this is, but the absurdity of it all hits you all at once. Toby—of all people—using your underwear. A weird, sick trophy. It almost feels like a joke, doesn’t it?

Of course, he’d do something like this. Why not? Toby’s always been a little off, a little too twisted. But this? This takes the cake. And it’s almost funny how fucked up it all is.

A shiver crawls up your spine, and the dark humor you felt moments ago fades into something colder. The laughter dies in your throat as the full weight of what this means finally settles in. Toby’s not just some background stalker anymore. He’s not some random hook-up that you can brush off.

No, now, he’s something else entirely. He’s toying with you. He’s playing a game, and you’re the unwilling toy in his twisted little scenario.

But you? You’re no toy.

Does he think he can play games with you?

Well, then, let’s play. After all, two can play this game. And you’re going to make him regret ever thinking he could fuck with you.

The tension gnaws at you as you stand before the same frat house once again, but something’s different. It’s too quiet. Not the kind of silence that comes with a hangover or the weight of exams looming shortly. No, this silence is heavier. More oppressive. The air feels thick, stagnant—almost suffocating.

Something is festering beneath the surface, something unspoken that makes your skin crawl. Because, let’s not forget, someone did die here.

And not just any random partygoer—one of theirs. A freshman who had just crossed over into their brotherhood.

At first, the cops called it hazing. A tragic case of initiation gone wrong. That would’ve been bad enough, something dark and twisted that the university could still pretend was just a mistake. But then the body showed up with two hatchets buried deep in his back.

And suddenly, that story didn’t make sense.

Like yeah, the frat guys might be assholes. But they’re not that creative.

Still, the university isn’t convinced. Neither are the cops. Whispers slip between students like a sickness, each theory worse than the last. Some say the frat is covering something up. That they know more than they’re letting on. And if that’s true—then maybe, just maybe, they know something about Toby.

You don’t want to be here. Every bone in your body tells you to turn around, to forget about this. But that’s the thing about you.

You don’t let things go.

So you lift your hand and knock. Twice. Sharp, firm. A few seconds later, the door cracks open just enough to reveal a guy with messy brown hair, the kind of unshaven face that says he’s been too busy—or too stressed—to care. His eyes flick over you, full of mild irritation, like you’re already wasting his time.

“What?” No frat boy charm. No lazy grin. Just tired.

“I need to ask you about this white dude at the party,” you say smoothly. There’s something just beneath your voice, a sharpness, like a blade hidden under silk. “The one with the gash on the left side of his face. Orange yellow-tinted goggles.”

The guy hesitates. Just for a second.

It’s small—barely noticeable—but you see it. The way his fingers twitch. The way his jaw tightens. The way his eyes dart to the guys on the couch behind him. A silent conversation flickers between them, and you know, you know, that they recognize the description.

But then, just as quickly, he fixed his expression into something unreadable. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says flatly, and before you can call him on his bullshit, he moves to shut the door in your face.

Your foot slides into the gap, firm and unmoving, keeping the door from closing. His eyes snap down to it, then back up to you, realization dawning that you’re not leaving.

You smirk. Slow. Sharp. “Oh, come on,” you say, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “You really wanna make me report you guys for the little stash you had at the party? Alcohol, drugs, minors—you know, all the fun stuff that could get your charter revoked?”

His throat bobs. Behind him, one of the guys on the couch mutters, “Dude, just—just let her in.” After a long pause, he exhales through his nose, “All right, all right, chill. I’ll tell you what I know.” He reluctantly steps back. “But if anyone asks, this conversation never happened.”

You step inside, and just like that, the game shifts. Eyes flicking between you and the frat dude that let you in. They weren’t expecting this. You see the moment they realize you’re not some naive young woman who can be shrugged off, and the power shifts. The dude in front of you swallows, his posture shifting from cocky to uncomfortable.

The others stay silent, watching you like you’re a predator who’s already got them cornered. “…yeah, we know him,” he starts, his voice lowering like he’s deciding just how much to let slip. “He’s been our dealer for about four months now. We’ve been buying from him since the fall semester. The dude’s smooth runs a tight game. Don’t ask questions, just deliver.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything.

“Then the spring semester hit, and things started to get weird,” the guy continues, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Prices went up. A lot. Like, from $10 a hit to $25, and that’s when he started bringing in freshmen, getting them to pay even to be part of the circle. Made ‘em think they needed the ‘in’ to get good stuff.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, disgust curling in your stomach. Freshmen are getting scammed for some easy cash. Classic. Desperate kids want a taste of the so-called ‘college experience,’ only to get wrung dry by a bunch of losers who think running a glorified middleman operation makes them untouchable.

But the pieces are falling into place now, slotting together in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Toby’s been keeping a low profile—not just from you, but from everyone. The sudden price hikes, the freshmen he’s been pulling in, the way he’s moved from just dealing to controlling access altogether… That’s not just business. That’s survival. He’s hiding.

And whatever he’s running from? It’s bad, of course, as you figure.

You exhale, shaking off the lingering sense of unease. You got what you came for—at least for now. “All right,” you say, turning toward the door. You pause just long enough to glance back at the frat guy still lingering there, relief evident in his slack posture. Like he’s just barely dodged getting torn apart. You let the silence stretch for just a second too long, enjoying the way it makes him shift uncomfortably. “And thank God you let me in for free, huh?”

Your lips curl into a smirk, playful, but with that signature sharpness laced beneath it. “Guess I just look hot enough to get the VIP treatment.”

He snorts, trying to play it cool, but you can tell you’ve gotten under his skin. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say…”

You turn away, stepping off the porch, but just as you hit the sidewalk, you pause. There’s still something sour in your mouth, a lingering irritation. You glance back at them, the group of them still loitering near the doorway, watching you leave.

And then, just for the hell of it, you bark at them.

Loud. Sudden. Sharp. The reaction is instant. One of them flinches so hard he almost drops his drink, another curses under his breath, and the frat guy in the doorway? He just stares at you, stunned into silence. You laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you walk away, hands in your pockets.

Cowards. But whatever.

They gave you what you needed.

You return to your dorm, pushing your personal room door and clicking shut behind you as you toss your leather bag onto your bed, the skull keychain and grey fox fur charm swaying with the movement. The weight in your chest hasn’t eased—not after what you just found out. Or, more accurately, what you didn’t find out. You have enough information to find Toby.

And that thought alone is enough to make you grin.

The reflection in the mirror barely feels like you as you move with practiced ease, wiping away the remnants of the day and replacing it with something sharper, something darker. You smear a deep shade of lipstick across your lips, press them together, and watch as your own gaze hardens. There. That’s better.

With quick, fluid movements, you strip off your casual clothes and slip into something more fitting for the night ahead. A loose off-the-shoulder black top drapes over your frame, half-tucked into studded short shorts that sit snug on your hips. Your ripped black tights cling to your legs, the delicate fabric holding on by threads, a look of controlled chaos.

You lace up your boots—low-heeled, ribbons threaded through the worn-out lace holes, their weight familiar as they clunk softly against the floor. Every piece you put on is intentional. The studded bracelets stacked high on your wrists, the layered silver chains hanging low against your collarbone, the rings that glint under the dim light of your vanity. Finally, you grab your leather jacket, the soft fur lining brushing against your neck as you shrug it on. It’s more than just a piece of clothing—it’s armor.

With a steadying breath, you shove your phone into your bag, along with your skull-emblazoned pocket knife, a lighter, and a few other essentials. The night is unpredictable, but you’ve learned to prepare for anything.

You’re just finishing the last swipe of your eyeliner when the door swings open, making you jump slightly.

Vidia.

She steps into your room like she owns it, moving with that effortless, almost grace of hers. Dressed in an oversized shirt and short shorts, her hair bundled into a bonnet, she looks almost too casual—except for the sharp amusement in her eyes as she takes you in.

“Well, well, well.” She sidles up behind you, her arms draping lazily around your shoulders, chin propped against your head as she watches you in the mirror. “And where exactly is my dear, morally-questionable roommate running off to tonight?”

You don’t answer immediately, fixing the last touches on your mascara. Vidia hums, like she’s already forming a dozen theories in her head, each more ridiculous than the last.

“Lemme guess,” she continues, her voice playful but prying, “you’re off to summon a demon, break into a museum, or—oh, oh—are we robbing a bank now? Because, bitch, I need a cut if we are.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Just out.”

Vidia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no shit. Out where?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, glancing at her through the mirror. “Following up on something.”

That wipes some of the amusement from her face. She straightens slightly, arms loosening around your neck. “Following up?” she repeats, voice dipping in suspicion. “You’ve been acting weird as hell since that party. And considering what happened…”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Weirder than usual?”

She points at you, toothbrush still clutched in her hand like a weapon. “Yes. And that’s saying something.”

For a moment, you debate brushing her off, but the truth sits heavy on your tongue. If things go sideways tonight, someone should at least know you went looking.

You meet her gaze in the mirror. “If I’m not back by ten…” You hesitate, then smirk, voice dropping into something more deliberate. “Hit and run.”

The playful glint in Vidia’s eyes vanishes. Her grip on your shoulders tightens.

“Wait—”

But you don’t give her time to press. You step past her, boots heavy against the floor as you move straight for the door.

Because tonight, you’re finally getting some real answers.

Outside, you lean against the cool brick of a nearby building, the faint glow of the streetlights flickering like distant stars in the late-night quiet. The cigarette between your fingers burns slowly, the smoke curling up in delicate tendrils, dissolving into the night air.

It’s a small comfort in everything—something familiar, something that lets you breathe, even if just for a moment.

The gas station across the street hums with the low buzz of neon lights. The smell of gasoline mixes with the stale scent of the night air, and for a brief second, everything feels so… normal. Like this town hasn’t been tainted by whatever's been happening, by all the things you've discovered. But you know that’s a lie. It’s not normal anymore.

It hasn’t been for days.

The events at the frat house hang over the entire campus like a cloud, casting a long, dark shadow over everyone. Most students have retreated to their dorms, staying inside, clutching whatever comfort they can. The usual buzz of parties and late-night drinking is absent. No one is passing around bottles of cheap liquor. It’s like the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

And you’re waiting for something, too. You're waiting for Toby. Because you’re starting to put the pieces together.

You crush the cigarette under your heel and pull out your phone, staring at the screen, still haunted by the last message, the photo. The stolen underwear. The message that told you exactly what kind of game he’s playing.

And now you need to find him.

You turn your head, casting a glance at the nearby woods that border the edge of the college town, the trees silhouetted against the dim glow of the horizon. You’ve heard rumors about the woods. About the things that go on there when the sun sets, when the air goes still and thick with the promise of secrets.

With a quick decision, you push off from the wall, the gravel beneath your shoes crunching as you move toward the shadows. You cross the street and head down a narrow alley, passing the broken-down bar where students used to hang out, now practically deserted. The air feels thicker here as if the whole town has been holding its breath.

As you walk, your mind races. You’ve been hearing whispers. People at the library. Students in the dining hall. They’ve been talking about Toby, but never in any serious way. Just in passing. But that’s when you hear it—the mention of the frat house again. Drug dealer. Secret deals. Low-key operation.

The pieces click together.

It’s not just about sex, about teasing. Toby’s deeper into something darker than you could’ve imagined. The whole thing with your underwear wasn’t just some sick little game. No, that was the warning shot.

You stop, your gaze scanning the area. A couple of drunk students stumble out of a nearby building, laughing too loudly for this hour, but they stop when they notice you standing in the shadows, eyes narrowed in your direction. You don’t care about them, though. You care about one thing, and one thing only.

You walk up to the group, forcing your voice to sound casual. “You guys know a dealer around here?”

The two guys exchange a look, clearly uncertain. “Dealer?” one of them repeats, scratching his head. “Uh… don’t know him well. He’s a quiet guy, always hanging around with the frat boys. You know, that one? He deals… stuff.” He waves his hand vaguely in the air.

“Stuff?” you push.

The guy stares at you, trying to gauge your seriousness. “Yeah. Drugs, I think. Not sure what, though. I heard he’s got connections, really low-key. But it’s all hush-hush. Don’t mess with that guy. Trust me.”

You keep your voice steady, suppressing the surge of adrenaline coursing through you. "Do you know where he deals? Where I can find him?" you ask, looking directly at the guy. He hesitates for a second, clearly trying to figure out if you're bluffing or genuinely looking for trouble.

His eyes flicker around, checking the quiet street, before he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice. “I heard he does most of his deals out by the old abandoned warehouse on the south side of off-campus. Not many people go there anymore, but... yeah, that's where he usually pops in and out..”

A thrill runs through you at the mention of the warehouse. That was exactly the kind of place Toby would hide in, away from prying eyes. You give the guy a quick nod of thanks, not waiting for any more unnecessary chatter.

You don’t have time to waste.

Your feet crunch against the gravel as you walk away, quickly but quietly, the cool night air tugging at your jacket. You’ve got one thing on your mind—finding Toby.

Whatever game he thinks he’s playing with you, it ends tonight.

You cross the street, your pulse quickening as you head toward the path that leads to the empty south side of campus. The abandoned warehouse is just beyond it, tucked away behind a cluster of trees. It’s so quiet now. No drunken crowds. No obnoxious parties.

Just the occasional sound of a car passing, its tires humming against the road. The further you get from campus, the more desolate it feels, as if you're stepping into a place where no one belongs.

A chill creeps up your spine, but you push it down. You’re not scared. You’re pissed. As you round a corner, you stop in your tracks.

Up ahead, parked near the back of the warehouse, is a sleek black truck. The engine is still running, and the low growl of it vibrates in the air. The driver’s side door swings open, and out steps a man in an orange jacket, his movements swift and purposeful. He’s followed by another guy in a mustard-yellow hoodie, his head tilted down, hiding his face.

You squint, trying to make out more, but they’re too far, too blurry in the darkness. But then—

There he is. Toby.

He steps out from the other side of the truck, his silhouette cutting through the dim light like a blade. Even from this distance, you recognize him immediately. The way he moves—calm, unhurried, carrying that same cocky arrogance in every step. Like he has nothing to fear. Like he’s in control.

The bastard has been playing games with you. The messages, the pictures, the feeling of always being watched—it all leads back to him. And now? Now you finally have him in your sights.

He doesn’t even glance your way as he walks toward the warehouse, his focus elsewhere. The two men follow close behind, their presence just as unsettling. Older, more seasoned. You can tell by the way they move, the way they keep close but slightly behind Toby. Like they’re equals in whatever the hell this is. Or maybe they’re watching him just as much as he’s watching them.

The truck’s engine rumbles softly, headlights flickering as the warehouse door clicks shut behind them.

You should be back at your dorm.

You should be calling the police.

But instead, you’re here—standing at the edge of something dangerous, heart-pounding but mind-sharp. You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Don’t rush this.” You keep to the darkness, moving low and careful, each step precise. Recklessness gets people killed. You’re not stupid enough to charge in blindly, not when you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

No, you’re going to do this right. You settle into position, hidden in the dark, eyes locked on the building. Watching. Listening. Calculating.

If Toby wants to play games, then fine.

You’ll play too.

But on your terms.

You look down at your phone for a sec before looking at the two men. They’re clearly not college students or even people your age—these guys are at least in their mid-30s, their grizzled features giving them away. One of them has a sharp jaw and a slight scar across his chin, while the other’s got graying hair at his temples, making him look out of place in the shady world they’re operating in.

Toby, on the other hand, still looks like he’s in his early 20s—too young for this, you think, but there’s no doubt in your mind he’s right in the thick of it. He’s standing with his back to the truck, a smirk playing on his lips as he talks to the two men.

You squint, listening carefully as their conversation drifts your way, just low enough that you can’t make out every word, but enough to catch fragments.

“Everything’s across campus now,” one of the older men says, his voice rough, sounding almost too calm for what’s being discussed. “Gotta keep it clean. The cops are getting nosy.”

Toby responds with a quiet laugh, the cockiness in his tone clear even from this distance. “Yeah, we’ve been laying low. Nobody’s really looking in the right places. But I’ll admit, the pressure’s on, especially with all the weird shit happening on campus.”

The other guy in the mustard hoodie just grunts, tugging at his sleeves. “Our job’s done, yeah? Clean up’s all that’s left, then we’re out.”

Job? What job are they talking about?

You frown, trying to piece it all together. “Clean up” sounds like something more than just dealing. Were they cleaning up a mess? You don’t know what kind of mess it would be, but it doesn’t sit right with you. Not at all.

Could it be... connected to the student who died in the frat house?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a faint rustle behind you. The hairs on your neck stand up. The night feels too quiet all of a sudden. And then, out of nowhere, you feel a pair of hands slam into your neck, pinning you harshly to the dirt floor beneath you.

You try to gasp, your lungs seizing, but it’s impossible. You’re trapped—held down with frightening strength, unable to fight back. The pressure around your neck tightens, and your head spins. You can’t see who it is at first, everything happening too fast, too violently. But then, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, the force of weight pressing down on you.

Your phone’s flashlight flickers weakly, its glow barely enough to cut through the darkness. But it’s enough to make out the figure above you.

A woman.

Her face is hidden behind a white mask, blank and haunting, its surface smeared with dirt and something darker, something crusted into the fabric of her hoodie like dried blood. The hoodie’s sleeves are shoved up, exposing lean, sinewy arms, the muscles tensed with barely contained energy. Her dark wash jeans are loose, but nothing about her posture is. She’s coiled like a live wire, electric with something feral. Something unhinged.

Before you can react, her hands snap around your throat.

It’s not just a grip—it’s a full-body attack, her weight slamming you into the dirt like a predator taking down prey. The ground is cold beneath you, damp with the earth’s decay, but the pressure around your throat burns. Her fingers dig in, nails biting into your skin as she squeezes, tighter and tighter, cutting off everything—your breath, your voice, your control.

Panic surges. You try to pry her hands off, but she’s stronger than she looks. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s like she wants you to suffer. Like she lives for the fight.

You thrash, legs kicking up dirt, arms scrambling for anything—her wrists, her face, a rock—something. But she doesn’t budge. She leans in closer, her breath ragged through the mask, and you can feel the violent tremors in her body, the sheer force she’s pouring into this.

The world around you starts to shrink. Your lungs burn, your vision swims with dark spots, and the muffled roar of your own pulse drowns out everything else. It’s a slow, suffocating descent, the kind where time stretches and your body knows—knows you’re running out of seconds.

But then—flash.

The beam from your phone flickers, catching the mask again. The light hits her dead-on, exposing the stains, the dirt, and the eerie emptiness of the featureless face.

She jerks.

Like an animal recoiling from fire, she flinches, her whole body shuddering with something violent. And then—just as suddenly as she attacked—she lets go.

Air rushes back into your lungs, burning like acid as you gasp, choking on relief. You cough, your whole body trembling from the shock of it, your vision blurred with tears. Your hands clutch at the dirt beneath you, desperate for something solid, something real.

The woman stumbles back, her breathing frantic. But she isn’t running. Not yet.

She raises her hands—not in defense, but in shame. Covering her face. Clutching at the fabric of her hoodie like she can somehow disappear into it. Like she needs to.

“Don’t…” Her voice is hoarse, unsteady. “Don’t look at me.”

Her words hit like ice in your veins.

She’s not just hiding. She’s terrified.

Your flashlight flickers again, throwing a shaky, erratic glow across her body. She cowers from it, shrinking into herself, the bloodstains on her hoodie almost glowing in the dim light.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Her voice cracks, the desperation threading through her words almost unhinged. She’s backing away now, dropping to her knees as if the weight of her own body is too much to bear.

Your head spins, the world still tilting from the lack of oxygen, but your mind clings to the words.

What the hell does that mean? Who is she?

And why did she try to kill you?

None of it made sense. You tried to move, to push yourself up, but your body refused to listen. The weight of everything—the fight, the fear, the lack of oxygen—dragged you down like an anchor, pulling you deeper into the abyss.

Your vision blurred, flickering between the dim glow of your phone and the swallowing darkness. Your body tingled, a numbing sensation creeping into your limbs, making them heavy—too heavy. Every breath was a struggle, each inhale weaker than the last.

The world tilted the edges of your perception distorting like ripples in water.

And then—nothing.

It was as if the air itself had thickened, pressing down on you, suffocating your senses into a muted void. Your mind drifted, untethered from reality, sinking into unconsciousness as the last traces of awareness slipped through your fingers.

When you woke up, it felt like you were underwater.

The world was sluggish, muffled. Your head pounded with a dull, relentless ache, and your limbs felt impossibly heavy, as if they weren’t your own. It took a moment for your senses to return—to realize that something was wrong.

The cold, hard surface beneath you wasn’t the forest floor. It was rough, and industrial, the vibrations beneath you sending small jolts through your aching bones. The scent of stale air and gasoline clung to your nose, mixing with something metallic—blood?

Your thoughts were a mess, tangled and sluggish, but the first thing you knew for certain was this: You were moving.

Not by choice.

Your eyes flickered open, disoriented by the dim lighting. It was cramped, the space too small to stand, too enclosed to be anything but—

A van.

Panic surged through your veins like ice. You tried to move, to sit up, but something pulled at your wrists. Tight. Restrictive. The unmistakable bite of zip ties dug into your skin, keeping your hands wrenched behind your back. A second struggle confirmed your legs were just as bound.

Trapped.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, to think. The low hum of the van’s engine filled the silence, steady and rhythmic. But then—voices.

Two men.

Their words were distant at first, muffled by the barrier separating you from the front seats, but the more you strained your ears, the clearer they became.

“I had a feeling this was gonna bite us in the ass,” one of them muttered, his voice rough and edged with frustration. “Who would’ve figured she’d track us down just to find him?”

A tense pause. Then, the second man grunted. “Yeah. They’ve been sniffing around for a while now. Too much digging.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the sound of the tires grinding against asphalt. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to move, to run, but you were trapped, bound, and helpless in the back of a moving van with no idea where you were being taken.

And worse?

You weren’t alone.

Your gaze shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Sitting right in front of you, as if he were just another passenger—as if nothing had happened—was Toby.

The man you’d been chasing. The one you couldn’t forget.

Toby sat there with unsettling ease; his posture relaxed as if this were just another casual meetup instead of a kidnapping. His hoodie—multi-colored in faded shades of beige and dark blue—looked worn, like it had seen its fair share of seasons. The orange-yellow goggles resting on his face caught the dim interior light of the van, casting eerie reflections that masked his expression. A dark bandana covered his mouth, but it did nothing to hide the weight of his gaze.

His eyes—cold, dark brown, and unwavering—locked onto yours with no fear, no hesitation. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even amused. He was just... watching.

Like he already knew exactly what was running through your mind.

The silence between you stretched, thick, and suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your body remained frozen, still bound and helpless.

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, before shifting against the restraints, your lips fumbling to pull the dumb cloth from your mouth. When you finally spoke, your voice came out shaking but determined.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a second, he didn’t answer. He just kept watching you, head tilted slightly, the way someone might study an animal in a trap. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—not a full grin, just a ghost of one, something cold and distant that never reached his eyes.

“You were getting too close to the truth,” Toby said simply, his tone void of any real emotion. Like he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought you could dig around, ask questions, play little Miss Detective.”

Your breath hitched, and your mind scrambled to piece it together. “That frat guy…” you started, but Toby cut you off.

His eyes flickered away for the briefest moment before he spoke again. “It wasn’t about him,” he said, voice low and controlled.

You furrowed your brow, confusion twisting in your gut. The pounding headache still clawed at your skull, but you pushed through it, grasping for understanding. “What? Then why—why was everyone acting like it was related to him?”

Toby shrugged, casual as ever, as if none of this truly mattered to him. “Because it’s easier that way,” he said. “People hear ‘frat party death’ and assume it’s some overdose, some accident. They don’t think to look deeper. They don’t think to ask the real questions.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d been asking those questions.

That’s why you were here.

Toby’s gaze flickered back to you, sharper now. More focused. “You were poking your nose where it didn’t belong,” he continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Digging into my deals, my business. Asking around about me and my crew.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee, rhythmic and steady.

“And I didn’t like it.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the pieces slowly clicking into place—but something still didn’t fit. “You’re just a dealer,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. “You—”

Toby let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Just a dealer?” He tilted his head as if he were genuinely considering it. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You never really thought about what else I could be, did you?”

His words sent a cold shiver down your spine.

What else he could be?

Your breath stalled, your mind reeling as you stared at him, searching his face for some kind of answer, or denial. But he gave you nothing—just that same quiet, unwavering look.

And then, he gave you something worse.

A slow, creeping grin stretched beneath his bandana, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. His voice dipped into a hushed whisper as if savoring the moment, drawing it out like a cat playing with a wounded mouse.

“You got lucky, y’know,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Most people who figure me out? They don’t live long enough to be warned.”

Your breath hitched.

A serial killer.

The words burned into your mind, branding themselves deep in your consciousness. He wasn’t just some dealer, some criminal lurking in the shadows of frat parties and campus gossip. He was something far worse.

He killed that guy at the party.

Before you could fully process the horror unraveling before you, Toby moved. Fast. Too fast. He was on his feet in an instant, boots thudding against the metal floor of the van as he closed the distance between you.

A sharp yank. Pain exploded across your scalp as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it, dragging you up with brutal force.

A muffled cry tore from your throat, but the gag kept it from escaping beyond the walls of your prison. Your body jerked against the binds, instinctively trying to recoil, but his grip was unrelenting, like iron chains wrapped around your skull. He studied you, his head tilting slightly to the side. Amusement flickered across his face—sick, entertained amusement.

“Pretty enough to sell off,” he muttered to himself, as if considering his options, as if you weren’t even human, just another item to be weighed, evaluated, discarded at will. A cold, twisted smile tugged at his lips, but before he could revel in his own depraved thoughts any further, something inside you snapped.

The terror, the panic, the helplessness—it all boiled over into something sharp, something furious. Your eyes burned with a mix of rage and defiance as you wrenched against his grasp, a snarl ripping from your throat. “Don’t you dare touch me!” Your voice was raw, cutting through the air like a blade. “You stay the hell away from me!”

For a moment—a split second—Toby actually paused.

His grip on your hair loosened just slightly, his head tilting as though intrigued. Those goggles hid his full expression, but you swore you saw something flicker behind them. Surprise? Curiosity? Annoyance?

But then, just as quickly, the smirk returned.

“Maybe I won’t,” he mused his voice light, teasing as if the thought genuinely amused him. Then, his head tilted the other way, and his fingers curled just a bit tighter around your hair. “But then again… what are you gonna do about it?”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like a vice.

This was all a game.

That’s what this was to him.

Toby wasn’t some reckless criminal stumbling through a crime spree. He was precise. Calculated. He had planned this, orchestrated every moment, every step, every mistake you had made.

And you had walked right into it.

The van lurched to a sudden stop, the force jerking your body forward before slamming you back against the cold metal interior. The low hum of the engine faded into silence, replaced by the eerie creak of the back doors swinging open. A rush of crisp night air hit your face, sharp and unforgiving, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, the silhouettes appeared.

The same two men stood in the doorway, their forms backlit by the pale glow of distant headlights. The first wore an orange hoodie, its fabric stained with deep, dark smudges—blood? The longer you stared, the more it looked like a grotesque, distorted face staring back at you.

The second man was more unnerving. He donned a mustard-colored jacket, his face hidden behind a white, doll-like mask. The featureless stare was somehow worse than if he had been sneering at you. The lifeless gaze made your stomach twist into knots.

Who the hell are these people?

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your mind racing through every possible outcome. Were they here to help Toby? To kill you? To take you somewhere even worse?

Toby stepped forward, his boots crunching against gravel as he moved toward the open doors. He gave the two men a slight nod—wordless confirmation. The tension in the air thickened, choking you like an invisible hand around your throat.

Think. Think.

“Wait!” The word shot out of your mouth before you even realized you had said it.

Toby’s head tilted, his goggles catching the dim light as he looked at you. He didn’t say anything, but his body language told you everything—you had exactly three seconds to say something that would interest him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you forced out, your voice steady despite the sheer terror pounding against your ribs.

Toby’s posture relaxed slightly. He rolled his shoulders back, amusement flickering beneath his bandana. “A deal?” His voice was smooth, deceptively light, but there was a razor-sharp edge just beneath the surface.

You swallowed hard, trying to read his expression through the obscurity of his mask. “Yeah… like a game?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted it. You had no idea what kind of sick, twisted shit Toby and his so-called friends were involved in, but you knew one thing—people like him loved games. And the ones they played? They were never fair.

Toby considered you for a long, agonizing moment. The air between you both felt charged, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your shoulders. Then, without looking away, he reached up and adjusted the bandana covering his mouth.

“All right,” he murmured. “I’ll play a game.”

Your stomach dropped. The two men in the doorway exchanged glances, one of them chuckling under his breath. Toby stepped back, motioning toward the open doors of the van. “It’s simple. If you win, you get to leave. You go back to your lame little college life, pretend none of this ever happened.” He paused, letting the silence stretch long enough for dread to seep deep into your bones.

“And if I lose?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toby’s grin was slow, smirking.

“Well… you know what happens to you.”

The answer was obvious. Your blood ran ice cold, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. You couldn’t let him see the fear creeping in, couldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had no idea what kind of game he was about to throw you into, but one thing was certain—losing wasn’t an option.

Toby’s voice cut through the thick night air like a blade, sharp and taunting.

“Still wanna do it, babe?” His tone was almost mocking, daring you to back out, to admit you had made a mistake. But you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

“Yes,” you said, forcing steel into your voice. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” The words tasted like a death sentence the moment they left your lips.

Toby’s grin stretched wide beneath his bandana, amusement flickering in his eyes. Without warning, he slammed his fist against the van’s metal frame. The impact sent a deep, resonating thud through the vehicle, reverberating in your bones. The sudden noise made you flinch, but Toby? He was enjoying this. The tension, the fear—it fed him.

What the hell had you just agreed to?

Before you could process it, he moved. Toby approached with a slow, deliberate stride, each step uncomfortably calculated. His presence loomed over you, suffocating in its intensity. Even in the dim light, you could see the way his shoulders were relaxed, the slight tilt of his head—it was all a game to him, and he was playing for keeps.

You barely had time to react before his fingers reached for the gag tied around your mouth.

For a fleeting second, hope sparked. Maybe he was giving you some form of freedom, maybe he wanted to hear you speak, maybe—

The thought was ripped away when, instead of removing it, he shoved the cloth deeper into your mouth, pulling the knot tighter with a cruel yank. A muffled grunt of pain escaped you as the rough fabric cut into the corners of your lips.

“Good,” he murmured, the word dripping with satisfaction. He turned his head toward the two men outside the van, motioning lazily with his hand. “Stay put.”

They didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there, their masked faces as unreadable as before. Silent sentinels in the dark.

Toby’s fingers wrapped around your shoulder, his grip firm, cold, and unyielding as he yanked you forward. The ropes binding your wrists dug deep into your skin, burning against every movement. You winced but bit down the noise. You weren’t going to let him see your pain.

“Just me and you,” he said, voice quiet, like he was savoring it.

Something about those words made your stomach twist.

The two men hung back as Toby shoved you out of the van and into the creepy woods like the world was just one big horror movie set and you were the unsuspecting victim. The cold air slapped you in the face, and the ground beneath your feet was a minefield of rocks and loose gravel, making you feel like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.

Toby gave you a lazy push forward like he wasn’t even trying, just enjoying the show. He stayed just behind you, his footsteps light—almost like he was walking on air. It was creepy as hell. Not only did you know he was right there, but it was also the fact that he wasn’t saying anything.

Silence was his weapon, and he was wielding it like a pro. You could feel his gaze on your back like he was tattooing his presence into your skin.

But honestly, it wasn’t even just Toby that had you on edge. It was the whole damn woods. You couldn't shake the feeling that the trees had eyes, like they were watching you. They creaked and groaned in the wind, casting creepy-ass shadows that danced around you. Every time you dared look away from the path, the darkness seemed to creep closer, like it was alive and hungry for a snack.

And your brain? Oh, it was having a panic attack. Thoughts scattered everywhere, like someone knocked over a jigsaw puzzle and you had to put it all back together while trying not to piss yourself.

What the hell kind of game will this be?

What the hell is Toby even trying to do?

Toby’s grip on your arm tightened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap it like a twig. He dug his fingers into your skin, the pressure like a vice, and then—without warning—he shoved you to the ground.

The earth was cold, hard, and unwelcoming, and your knees hit it with a sickening thud. You gasped, trying to push yourself up, but no dice. Toby was already on top of you, like a bad dream you couldn’t escape from.

You barely had time to even process what was happening before his hands were all over you again—rough, unrelenting. He yanked your arms behind your back like he was trying to turn you into a pretzel, and the pain shot through your shoulders.

You winced as the rope bit into your skin, tight and unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air, your wrists already burning. Every instinct screamed to fight, but your body was just… not cooperating. All you could do was brace yourself for whatever new hell Toby was planning to unleash.

Then, just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, he yanked the half-undone cloth out of your mouth, like it was some kind of prize. The sudden rush of cold night air on your face hit you like a punch, and you nearly choked on the wind as you sucked in a desperate breath.

Your chest burned as your lungs tried to catch up, and for a second, all you could do was breathe, focusing on just that—breathing. The shock of air hitting your lungs made everything feel a little too real like you had just woken up from a bad dream and had no idea where you were.

Toby stood over you, watching you like a damn predator, his eyes cold and calculating. He looked like he was enjoying every second of your struggle, his grin twisted into something that made your stomach turn. The silence between you two felt thick, almost suffocating, and with every second that passed, your heartbeat hammered louder in your chest.

You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, that gut-deep dread clawing its way up your throat. Then, finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and rough, dripping with venom. “You wanted a game, right?” His grin stretched wider, almost too wide like he was relishing every second of your discomfort. “Here it is.”

Toby moved slowly like he was savoring the moment, circling you. The sound of his boots against the ground felt like a reminder that you were trapped—nowhere to run. When he finally came back around to face you, he crouched down, his face just inches from yours.

The moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look even worse, like the shadows themselves were twisting his face into something monstrous. The light bent around his features, turning him into something almost unrecognizable like he wasn't even human anymore.

Then, without warning, his hand shot forward, grabbing your chin with a grip that felt like iron. He jerked your head up, forcing you to look at him, his fingers digging into your skin so hard it hurt. You winced, a sickening shudder crawling up your spine as he held you there.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unblinking, and for a second, you thought you might just drown in them. He was too close—too close—and you could feel his breath on your face, the faint smell of smoke mixed with something metallic, like blood, lingering in the air.

“Don’t even think about it,” he hissed, his voice cold as ice, a warning in the way his eyes bore into yours, daring you to even try something.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, your pulse racing. You could feel the full weight of the situation now—whatever sick game he had in mind, you weren’t walking away from this easily.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy chuckle, tilting his head as he watched the fear settle into your bones. He was drinking it in, savoring it like a fine wine. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, eager.

“The rules are simple,” he repeated, slower this time as if speaking to a child. “Cat chases mouse. Mouse runs. If the mouse is fast enough—” his voice lifted slightly, playful, mocking, “maybe it gets away.” He took a slow step forward, boots crunching against the dirt, his gaze never leaving yours.

“But if the mouse loses…” His grin stretched wider, a grotesque, gleeful thing that made your stomach churn. “Well—” He lifted his hand, thumb dragging across his throat in a slow, deliberate slice.

Your breath stilled.

“F-Fuckin’ simple, right?” Toby let out a sharp cackle, rocking back on his heels like this was the funniest thing in the world. “B-But, uh—here’s the fun part—” His voice dipped lower, almost conspiratorial. He leaned in slightly, just enough that you could catch the scent of blood and oil clinging to him.

“I’m the cat, babe.” He tilted his head, his grin twitching at the edges.

“And you?” Toby reached and pulled something from behind his back, the glint of metal catching in the dim moonlight. You couldn’t help but stare as he brandished the hatchet, its blade sharp and gleaming—ready to cut down whatever stood in its way.

“You’re the mouse.”

You closed your eyes as you felt something cold and sharp slid against your wrists, and suddenly, the ropes fell away. Your hands trembled as you realized what he’d done.

He was letting you go.

The ropes fell away with a dull thud, and you flexed your fingers, the circulation rushing back into your hands with a painful sting. But before you could even take a breath, Toby stood up, towering over you, his cold eyes boring into yours.

“Run.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a taunt. It was a demand.

And you didn’t need him to tell you twice. You didn’t need to be told anything. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to run—to get the hell out of there before things got any worse. You pushed yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t hesitate.

You took off into the woods, your feet pounding against the earth, heart racing, breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts. The trees blurred past you in the darkness, the dense underbrush grabbing at your legs as you pushed forward, not daring to look back.

Behind you, you heard Toby’s voice cut through the silence like a razor, a countdown, slow and deliberate.

"Ten..."

The words hung in the air, each one a cold reminder of what was waiting for you.

"Nine..."

Your feet slipped in the dirt, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t afford to. Not when your life depended on it.

"Eight..."

The rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the wind, it all felt like a trap. The woods were alive, closing in around you, the darkness suffocating. But you pushed on, adrenaline giving you the strength to run faster than you ever thought possible.

"Seven..."

Your pulse hammered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your surroundings. You couldn’t think about the shadows that moved just beyond the corner of your vision. You couldn’t think about the suffocating fear creeping up your spine.

"Six..."

The air was thick with the scent of earth and pine, but all you could taste was the bitter tang of panic in the back of your throat.

"Five..."

A sudden crack of a branch behind you made your heart jump into your throat. You didn’t dare look back. You couldn’t afford to.

"Four..."

The path ahead was unclear, but you kept running. You knew where the black van was, knew what it meant to get there. It was the only way out. It was the only chance you had.

"Three..."

You could hear him now, the heavy sound of Toby’s footsteps growing louder, closer. The rustle of leaves underfoot. The sharp sound of the hatchet slicing through the air.

"Two..."

The woods were a maze, but you didn’t care. You had no choice but to trust your instincts. Keep running. Keep going.

"One..."

The final countdown echoed in the night, the sharpness of the moment making your skin prickle. And just like that, the sound of Toby’s footsteps stopped.

For a moment, the woods fell into an eerie silence. You could feel the weight of the night pressing in, the darkness stretching out before you. You weren’t sure if Toby was still following, or if he had somehow disappeared into the shadows. But you didn’t dare stop to find out.

You kept running, faster now, your breath ragged, heart hammering in your chest.

You had to make it.

You had to survive.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins was enough to keep you moving, but Toby was right on your heels. You could hear him getting closer, his heavy footsteps pounding the ground as he pursued you. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you fought to stay ahead.

Suddenly, you felt a cold breeze sweep past your ear, and a horrifying whoosh followed by a sharp, metallic slice through the air. Toby’s hatchet missed you by inches, but the force of it scared the hell out of you, causing you to stumble.

Without thinking, you darted sideways, narrowly avoiding the swing of the blade as Toby's arm cut through the air where you had just been. Your heart skipped a beat, terror coiling in your gut.

But it was enough. You had a moment—a split second of reprieve.

Instinct kicked in.

You pushed yourself forward, launching yourself into a desperate sprint, but as you did, you pivoted, whirling around and slamming your fist right into Toby’s face.

His head snapped back with the force of your punch, and you could hear the sickening crunch as his mouth guard went flying off. Blood sprayed from his lips as he staggered back, spitting out crimson between ragged breaths.

“Shit!” you hissed, realizing you might have just made a serious mistake.

You didn't wait to see his next move. You turned and ran, faster than ever, knowing that you couldn’t let him catch up again. Thank God your parents forced you into sports when you were younger. You needed that conditioning now more than ever, every muscle screaming as you pushed yourself harder through the thick underbrush of the forest.

But just as you thought you might have a chance to escape, you felt something like a vice grip on the back of your head. A hand twisted into your hair, jerking you backward with brutal force.

“Ah, playing dirty, huh?” Toby’s voice was a low, mocking growl in your ear as he yanked you back, his breath hot against your skin. “You think you’re faster than me? You think you’re clever?”

You struggled, but his grip on your hair was unrelenting, a fistful of pain and control that yanked your head back until you were nearly off balance. You let out a strangled gasp, trying to push him off, but his laugh sent chills crawling up your spine.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed, dragging you further away from where you had been running. “You’re playing dirty, but I don’t mind. I like a girl who can fight back.”

“Sweet Cheeks, Pretty Girl,” he teased, his voice sickly sweet as his hand moved from your hair to your shoulder, the grip tightening as if he were savoring every second of this. “I can’t get enough of you.” His breath stank and you recoiled, but before you could react, he shoved you down to the ground.

Then your lungs burned as you gasped for air, and you suddenly felt the crushing weight of Toby pressing you deeper into the forest floor. The damp earth clung to your skin, its scent thick and suffocating. You twisted beneath him, your muscles straining as you tried to break free, but it was useless. He was stronger, faster, and, worst of all, he had planned this.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy laugh, the sound laced with something sickeningly satisfied. His grip on your wrists was vice-like, his fingers pressing so hard into your skin you could feel the dull throb of your pulse against them.

“Y’know, you actually did pretty well,” he murmured, his voice low, amused—like he was humoring you. “But, uh—” His knee pressed harder into your ribs, knocking the breath right out of you. “Not good enough.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rustling trees, the distant chirp of insects—everything except him.

You bucked your body, jerking against his grip, but Toby barely flinched. If anything, he enjoyed it. He tsked softly, shifting just enough to slide one hand up to your throat, his fingers curling around the delicate skin. He wasn’t squeezing—not yet—but the threat was clear.

“You really thought you could outrun me?” His voice dipped lower, the words edged with a dark amusement. “Me?”

His breathing was steady, almost too calm for someone who had just chased you down like a damn animal. His thumb brushed idly against your pulse, feeling how it hammered beneath his touch, drinking in every ounce of fear rolling off of you in waves.

“You should’ve known better,” he purred, his face lowering until his masked mouth was mere inches from your ear. “B-but, hey! No hard feelings, right?”

He tilted his head, his grip tightening just enough to remind you that, even now, he controlled everything.

“After all…” His voice was almost playful, but the sadistic edge beneath it made your stomach twist. “Game’s over.”

Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, every fiber of your being screaming at you to fight—to do something—but his grip was unrelenting, his presence suffocating. Toby had you right where he wanted you, and he fucking loved it.

The smirk on his face was infuriating, smug, and teasing like he was just toying with you, seeing how far he could push before you broke.

“Now thinking about it, you’re just like the rest of them,” he taunted, voice dripping with mock disappointment. “Man, and here I thought you were better.”

Wait. He thought you were better?

No. No, fuck that.

Rage boiled up, cutting through the fear clawing at your throat. You grit your teeth, something sharp and bitter twisting in your chest. Your body burned with frustration, your muscles aching from the struggle, but you weren’t about to just lay down and take this.

Toby’s fingers skimmed along your skin again, and something in you snapped.

“Get the fuck off me!” you snarled, your voice raw with fury. You thrashed, your body surging against his hold, but he only laughed, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Oh-ho,” he hummed, tilting his head like a curious animal, his grin splitting wider. “There she is.”

His voice was dark, teasing, but there was something else there, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

You sucked in a breath, eyes blazing as you glared up at him. “I am not some fucking plaything,” you spat, fury twisting your features. “And I sure as hell am not like the rest of them.”

Toby let out a sharp breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Really? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting—” He pressed down harder, just enough to remind you who was in control. “You look pretty helpless to me.”

You bit down the growl rising in your throat, every muscle in your body coiled tight with frustration. His smugness was unbearable, his amusement dripping from every word like venom.

Then he sighed, like this was all some mild inconvenience. “Shame, really,” he mused, tilting his head in mock contemplation. “I actually liked you. Thought you were… different.” His fingers brushed your cheek, deceptively gentle, and your stomach churned with disgust.

That did it.

You jerked your head back violently, breaking free of his touch. Your voice came out like a hiss, venomous and sharp.

“Fuck you, Toby.”

His grin widened, eyes sparking with something wild and hungry. “Ohh,” he drawled, his tone downright delighted. “Now that’s more like it.” Toby’s lips curled into a smirk as his eyes gleamed with something far from kind. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You just gave me a great idea.” His words dripped with mischief, the kind that made you question your reality. His gaze never wavered, almost as if he were savoring the moment, letting the silence stretch between you like a taut wire.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he added, though the way he said it, with a tone that was too casual, was anything but reassuring. He leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

"I’m just gonna fuck you."

Your mind went blank, the shock of his words leaving you speechless. You blinked, trying to wrap your head around what he just said. “Wait… what did you just say?” you stammered, your voice shaky. “You… you’re gonna what?”

This couldn’t be real. It had to be some kind of joke, some twisted misunderstanding. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

Toby raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts amused and condescending. His expression was one of exaggerated confusion, as if you were the one being unreasonable as if you were the one who had missed something obvious.

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. It was as if he were toying with you, enjoying the way your confusion only seemed to fuel his confidence.

Then, without warning, he bit his lower lip, a playful gesture that felt completely out of place given the tension in the air. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and his voice dropped to a low, almost teasing whisper.

“I said... fuck you.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face, delivered with such casual confidence that it left you reeling. It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you as if he knew exactly how much power he held at that moment.

You swallowed, your mouth dry. His words were a sickening blend of challenge and threat, and you weren’t sure if you should be terrified—or curious.

Toby leaned in even closer, his face mere inches from yours, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence, heavy and undeniable.

“Let’s see if you can last,” he said, his voice thick with an unsettling promise.

The situation you found yourself in was far more dangerous and complicated than you had ever anticipated. The air was thick with tension, a mix of fear, desire, and something darker you couldn’t quite name. You were in deep—way deeper than you had ever imagined you’d be. And yet, despite the danger, even though you should have been screaming for help or fighting back, you weren’t.

A part of you wasn’t complaining at all. Was that wrong? Maybe.

But this wasn’t your first time with him, and that twisted familiarity made the situation feel almost… thrilling.

His lips were on yours again, rough and demanding, moving with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against you, his hands roaming freely, gripping and pulling at your skin like he owned you. And maybe, in some twisted way, he did. He had always been possessive, hadn’t he?

From the moment he stole your underwear, to the way he seemed to always know where you were—stalkerish tendencies that should have sent you running. But here you were, letting him manhandle you, letting him take control.

The forest floor was cold and unforgiving beneath your knees, the damp earth seeping into your skin as he forced you down. His hands were tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he pushed himself into your mouth, his cock sliding deep, almost to the back of your throat.

You gagged, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you looked up at him, your vision blurred but still able to make out the expression on his face. It wasn’t the usual cocky smirk you were used to seeing. No, this time it was different—softer, almost guilty like he knew exactly how wrong this was but couldn’t help himself.

“F-Fuck…” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his hips moving rhythmically as he used your mouth for his pleasure.

You could feel every inch of him, the way his cock hit the back of your throat, the way his hands tightened in your hair, pulling just enough to make you whimper. It was overwhelming, the mix of pain and pleasure, the way your body reacted to him despite the danger.

You were choking, struggling to breathe, but there was a part of you that didn’t want it to stop. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment. Or maybe it was the way his touch, rough as it was, still sent sparks of electricity through your body.

The tears welled up in your eyes, glistening like fragile crystals before they spilled over, tracing delicate paths down your flushed cheeks. You kept your gaze locked on him, your lips stretched wide around him, your throat flexing and contracting as you struggled to take him deeper, to accommodate the fullness of him.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of suffocation and surrender, as your body fought to adjust to his presence. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, each hitch and gasp betraying the intensity of his pleasure. His hands, strong and possessive, gripped you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as if to anchor himself in the moment, to ensure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to try this,” Toby groaned, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. His hips shifted, pushing himself deeper, and you choked slightly, tears streaming faster as your throat worked to take him. “God, your mouth—shit, it’s even better than I thought.” He let out a shaky laugh, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you with a firmness that left no room for hesitation.

“Should’ve done this at the frat party. Hell, I should’ve skipped the whole damn mission and just fucked you instead. Would’ve been way more fun.”His words sent a jolt through you, a mix of humiliation and something darker, something that made your stomach twist and your pulse race.

You tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, holding you in place. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone playful but edged with something sharper. “You’re not going anywhere. Not when you’re doing such a good job.” His hips rolled again, and you gagged, your nails digging into his thighs as you fought to keep up. “Yeah, just like that. Take it. You’re gonna swallow every damn drop.”

And you? You were suspended in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a storm of fear and exhilaration that left you trembling. There was danger in this—danger in the way he loomed over you, in the way his control felt absolute, in the way your body was being used for his pleasure. It was wrong, you knew that, and yet the thrill of it was undeniable.

The powerlessness, the vulnerability, the sheer audacity of what you were doing—it was intoxicating. Your mind raced, torn between the instinct to resist and the dark, forbidden desire to give in completely.

He was lost in the moment, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. The playfulness that had been there earlier—the teasing, the testing of limits—had given way to something raw and unrestrained. He was no longer holding back, and you could feel it in the way he thrust deeper, in the way his grip on you tightened almost painfully. It was as if he had crossed some invisible line, surrendering to the heat of the moment, to the pleasure you were giving him.

“Damn, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice strained, his breathing uneven. “Should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve had you on your knees for me every damn night.” His words were crude, almost careless, but they sent a shiver down your spine.

And when he finally released, it was with a guttural groan that seemed to come from the very depths of him. His release was hot and insistent, flooding your mouth, and you had no choice but to swallow, to take all of him in.

Toby’s laughter rang in your ears, a low, satisfied hum that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, deceptively gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “Good job, pretty,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, thick with something smug. “Knew you had it in you.”

You barely had a second to process the praise before his grip shifted, hands curling around your wrists as he yanked you forward, dragging you off your knees with an ease that made your stomach twist.

“I’m sooo lucky my buddies in there didn’t put a bullet in you,” he mused, his tone lighthearted, almost playful—like he was joking. But the way his fingers tightened around your wrist?

That was anything but a joke.

“For real,” he continued, grinning as he spun you around, shoving you back against the nearest tree. “They don’t like loose ends.”

The impact sent a rough jolt through your spine, the bark biting into your skin as Toby moved in closer, eliminating any space you might’ve used to slip away. His body radiated heat, wild energy rolling off him in waves as he caged you in, arms braced on either side of your head.

His brown eyes flickered, sharp and unreadable, scanning your face like he was drinking in every flicker of emotion—every sharp breath, every slight tremor. Amusement curled in the corners of his lips, but there was something else lurking beneath it. Something darker. Something he wasn’t saying.

Still, he kept the act up, tilting his head with a dramatic pout. “Aw, don’t look so tense,” he teased, his voice lilting, full of that familiar, chaotic charm. “I didn’t let ‘em kill you, did I? Kinda sweet of me, if you think about it.”

His fingers ghosted over your hip, a barely-there touch that sent sparks shooting up your spine. “Could’ve been long gone by now,” he went on, his voice dipping lower, smoother. “Next town, few states down, fresh start. But nah.”

His grin faded, just a little, and somehow, that made your pulse quicken even more.

“Truth is, I didn’t wanna leave you.”

The weight of those words settled between you, heavy and certain, laced with something Toby wasn’t quite willing to admit outright. Instead, he let the silence stretch, watching the way you swallowed hard, the way your breath hitched just enough for him to notice. His lips curled into that smirk that drove you insane. "I’m a little sentimental, y’know? Didn’t really wanna see you go out like that.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse spiked at his words. “Oh, so I should be thanking you?”

He tilted his head as if considering it. “Yeah, actually. A lil’ gratitude wouldn’t hurt.” His fingers ghosted over your waist before gripping your hip, holding you there.

You swallowed hard. “That’s funny. ‘Cause all I remember is you disappearing and turning me into some kind of ghost-hunting idiot trying to track you down.”

His smirk returned, sharp as ever. “C’mon, you liked the chase.” His free hand reached up, brushing a stray hair from your face before tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate. “Knew you’d miss me, too. And even if you didn’t—” He pulled back just enough to reach into his pocket, fishing out his phone. With a flick, he brought up the messages.

“Remind me who kept opening my texts, huh?”

Your stomach twisted. Shit.

Toby’s lips curled into something smug, something hungry as he kissed you—slow and deliberate like he was savoring the way you tensed beneath him. His grip on your wrists loosened just enough to let them fall, giving you the briefest moment of freedom before he took hold of something else—your leather jacket.

His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging it away from your shoulders with an ease that sent a chill creeping down your spine. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. There was something almost methodical in the way he worked, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your waist.

“Don’t act like you didn’t want me to find you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His lips hovered near your face, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Then he chuckled, soft but knowing, like he was in on a secret you weren’t ready to admit.

“I’ve been watchin’, babe.”

Your breath hitched.

“Kinda cute, honestly. You goin’ about your lil’ college life, actin’ like you ain’t got me in the back of your head.”

His hands slid higher, trailing over your ribs, up to your chest—slow, teasing, like he was memorizing every inch of you with his touch alone. His thumbs brushed the underside of your tits, a deliberate squeeze following the motion, like he was testing just how much he could get away with.

That snapped you out of it.

You grit your teeth, shoving at his chest, trying to push him off. But he barely budged.

If anything, the struggle just seemed to amuse him.

His knee slotted between your legs, pressing just enough to keep you still, just enough to make it clear who was in control here. His grip tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was still calling the shots.

“But now I’m here,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity. That wild, unpredictable edge still lurked beneath the surface, simmering just beneath the cocky smirk he wore. “And I gotta ask…” He leaned in, so close you could feel his words against your lips.

“You still think you can run?”

Toby hummed against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw before pressing open-mouthed kisses up to your ear. His breath was warm, teasing, each word dripping with smug amusement as he whispered, “…Fuck, you smell good, y’know that?” His nose brushed against your neck as he inhaled, slow and deep, like he was trying to commit your scent to memory. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for weeks.”

His hands didn’t stop moving, fingers sliding up, grazing your bare skin under your shirt, feeling you—possessive, yet unhurried. He squeezed your tits again, thumbs flicking over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, like he was testing your reaction.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

Toby just laughed, his lips pressing against your pulse, right where he’d left those marks last time. His tongue flicked out, just enough to send a shiver through you, before he sank his teeth in, nipping at the already-sensitive skin.

“Mm, nah,” he murmured, voice muffled against your throat, “bet this wasn’t enough for you either, huh? You were feelin’ it, weren’t you?” Another bite, sharper this time, as if to prove his point. “Bet you were touchin’ these, thinkin’ about me.”

Your breath hitched. “Fuck off.”

Toby grinned against your skin. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t start lyin’ to me now.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own flickering with something dark, something utterly pleased with himself. “You wanna know why I sent those messages? Why I didn’t just let you go?”

You swallowed hard, saying nothing.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Your panties weren’t enough.”

Your stomach twisted.

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Had ‘em for weeks, babe, but it wasn’t doin’ it for me. I thought it would, y’know? Thought maybe I’d get you outta my system, maybe I’d move on…” He tilted his head, watching your reaction closely. “But nah. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

Toby’s fingers dug in just a little, his touch becoming firmer, more demanding.

“Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then back down to your neck, inhaling deeply as he did. “Every time I touched myself, it wasn’t enough.”

Your breath stuttered, but he only grinned, eating up every reaction.

“So, I figured… why the hell would I leave?” Toby leaned in again, his nose brushing yours, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Why would I go when I could just… take you with me?”

Your thoughts were spiraling, torn between the weight of what he was saying and the undeniable pull of him—of this.

Leaving town? Leaving everything behind? Your classes, your plans, your family? What would you even become? Some run away, tangled up in Toby’s mess? A ghost of who you were, trailing after a killer with no real future? The idea sent a sharp pang through your chest.

But then again… what the hell were you planning to do after finding him?

Because, deep down, you knew. Toby was right. You liked the chase. The obsession. The thrill of it all.

You had no clue what came next.

But before the panic could take hold, before you could wrestle with the consequences of what he was offering—what he was taking—Toby’s lips crashed into yours again, drowning you in the taste of him. It was rough, and consuming, leaving no space for doubt.

The world around you blurred into a haze of sensation and sound as Toby’s hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, the jagged edges scraping against your skin, but the discomfort was a distant echo compared to the heat of his body against yours.

His strength was undeniable, his movements deliberate and commanding as he pinned you in place, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, your body betraying the conflict in your mind.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your shorts and yanking them down along with your tights and panties in one fluid motion. The cold air nipped at your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you, but it was quickly replaced by the searing heat of his body as he pressed into you, his weight anchoring you against the tree. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with a dangerous charm.

“Y’know,” he mused, his hands sliding up your thighs, his touch both teasing and possessive, “you think too much, babe.” His fingers dug into your skin, pushing your legs apart just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re sittin’ here, goin’ back and forth about leavin’—what, you think you got a real shot at normal?” He laughed a dark, throaty sound that sent a thrill down your spine. “C’mon. You came lookin’ for me. You wanted this.”

His words were a challenge, a reminder of the choices you’d made, the line you’d crossed when you sought him out. There was no going back now, and deep down, you knew it. His grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as if to imprint himself on you, to mark you as his.

“You don’t need to think, baby,” he murmured his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. “I’ll make the choice for you.”

And then he was inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you completely, his movements rough and unrelenting, each thrust driving you harder against the tree. The bark scraped and bit into your back, a sharp contrast to the searing heat of his body pressing into yours. But the pain only amplified the pleasure, the intensity of it all making your head spin.

Toby’s hands gripped your ass, lifting you slightly to meet him, his rhythm relentless, each stroke deeper, harder, more demanding. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, his forehead pressed against yours as he stared into your eyes, his gaze dark, unyielding, and utterly consuming.

“This is it, babe,” he panted, his voice thick with desire and something darker, something primal. “This is the life. No rules, no chains, just you and me and the open road. My buddies, they’ll take care of you too. We’ll keep you safe, keep you close. You’ll never wanna go back to that boring shit you called a life.”

His words were intoxicating, a dangerous promise that wrapped around you like a vice. But before you could even process them, his lips were on your neck, teeth sinking into your skin with a possessive hunger that made you gasp.

The sharp sting of his bite sent a jolt of electricity through you, your body arching against his as he sucked and nipped at your flesh, marking you as his. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you in place, his thrusts growing more urgent, more desperate.

Then his hand slid up, his fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch, your pulse racing under his touch. He loved the way you looked at him, completely dazed, your lips parted, your eyes glazed with a mix of pleasure and submission.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tightened his grip just slightly. “Look at you, takin’ me so good, beggin’ for more without even sayin’ a word.”

And you were.

You were begging, your body trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your hips rocking against his, desperate for more. The way he controlled you, the way he owned you at that moment, it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His hand on your throat, his teeth on your skin, his cock buried deep inside you—it was too much, and yet you never wanted it to end.

“Please,” you finally gasped, the word slipping out before you could stop it, your voice shaky, broken. “More, Toby, please…”

He smirked, “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. You could feel yourself being pulled deeper into his world, into the chaos and the thrill of it all. His hands moved to your hips, gripping you tightly as he thrust harder, his pace becoming almost frantic.

The sound of skin against skin, the feel of his body against yours, the way he filled you completely—it was overwhelming, consuming.

His breath was hot against your lips, the scent of sweat and something darker—something possessive—coiling between you like a silent promise. His hands gripped your hips, his body pressing you so deep into the mattress that it almost felt like he wanted to fuse you into it, to make sure you’d never leave.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, voice rough and uneven, the words bleeding into a growl as he snapped his hips against you. His teeth grazed your jaw, your throat, a silent claim with every drag of his lips against your skin. “*Mine.* And I’m never lettin’ you go.”

His pace turned brutal, driven by something animalistic—something desperate. The bed creaked beneath you, the room thick with the sound of skin against skin, his breaths ragged as he pushed you closer to the edge. His fingers wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to scare, but *just* enough to make your pulse hammer beneath his grip.

Your vision blurred, pleasure winding tight in your core, your body shuddering beneath him as every thrust sent you spiraling higher. His grip tightened, his movements rougher, more erratic, until—

Heat. Pressure. His body stiffening against yours as his release tore through him. He groaned low in his throat, his grip faltering as he collapsed against you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. And with that final push, that last overwhelming wave, you followed—your body trembling, pleasure wracking through you in waves so intense they left you breathless.

Toby didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just held you there, tangled in him, his face buried against the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin with every shaky breath. His arms curled around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’d slip away the second he let go.

And for a moment, you let him believe it. Let him believe you were his. Completely. Utterly. That you had fallen.

Well…

At least, that’s what he thought.

THWACK!

A sickening crack split the air.

Toby’s body jerked—then went completely still.

His breath hitched in his throat, the pressure in his skull overwhelming, disorienting. His vision swam, the world tilting violently as he tried to move, tried to make sense of what just happened—

But it was too late.

Darkness crashed over him like a tidal wave, sudden and absolute, drowning out every thought, every breath, every sound.

And just like that…

Toby went limp.

Somewhere in the haze of his mind, voices filtered in. Loud. Agitated. Familiar.

“What the fuck, Vidia? You knocked him out with a bat? A goddamn steel bat?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Would you have rather let him keep going?” Vidia’s voice snapped back, breathless and full of righteous fury. “Because from where I was standing, you were real into it. And excuse me for not wanting to sit front-row for your ‘feral woodland creature fucks a serial killer’ special! You were supposed to grab him, not let him rearrange your spine against a tree!”

A snort. Amused. Disbelieving. “I’m not tackling a grown-ass man while he’s mid-stroke,” Vidia deadpanned, and you could practically hear the eyeroll. “You broke our two rules. Watch your back. Don’t get caught. And what do you do? Stalk a serial killer just to let him dick you down again? God, you’re not just stupid—you’re horny and stupid.”

You groaned, rubbing the back of your head as you sat up. “Can you not make this a whole thing?”

“Oh no, we are absolutely making this a thing.” Vidia’s voice was sharp and dripping with mockery, her presence looming over you like a judge about to pass a particularly scathing sentence. “You always go for the same type. The rugged, white boy rejects who aren’t even that cute.”

“First of all—shut the hell up,” you shot back, still breathless, still recovering from the sheer whiplash of events. “Second, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Vidia said smugly, crouching beside you with an infuriating smirk. “You, my dear dumbass, are the worst decision-maker I have ever met. If your dumb choices were spells, I’d be throwing counter-charms every damn day.”

You gave her a flat look. “If my bad decisions were spells, you’d be out of fucking eye of newt by now.”

“And mandrake root,” she added, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, looking over at Toby’s unconscious body. He was completely knocked out, his body slumped in the dirt, mouth slightly open like a damn idiot. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jesus indeed.” Vidia clapped her hands together, standing up. “So what’s the move, genius? Because from where I’m standing, it’s definitely not a hit-and-run anymore.” She nudged Toby’s foot with her boot. “Y’know, since you got dicked down and all.”

You shot her a glare. “Can we stop talking about that?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” She grinned wider. “I will be bringing this up at every possible opportunity.”

Suddenly, Toby’s eyelids fluttered, head still throbbing as reality rushed back to him. His limbs felt weird—weighted, restricted. His back pressed against something rough and solid. Slowly, blinking through the harsh glare of car headlights, his vision adjusted.

The first thing he saw?

You.

Still looking disheveled from before, your clothes hastily adjusted, but the evidence of what happened still lingered. Skin marked up, lips swollen, posture tense. You were standing next to a woman he didn’t recognize.

Toby’s gaze flicked to her—Vidia, was it?

Off-shoulder black long-sleeve top, purple maxi skirt swaying slightly as she shifted her weight, platform boots clicking against the pavement. Silver charms dangled in her hair, her twists framing her face in a way that made her annoyance look downright beautiful as well.

And then he realized—

His arms were tied up.

His expression darkened instantly, muscles tensing as he tugged against whatever was binding his wrists. “Oh, what the fuck?” His voice was rough, thick with irritation and leftover exhaustion.

Your head snapped toward him just as Vidia rolled her eyes. “Great, sleeping beauty’s awake.”

Toby’s lip curled into a smirk, eyes narrowing as he took both of you in. “Is this some freaky-ass threesome? ‘Cause, not gonna lie, this is not how I pictured it.”

Vidia made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Yeah, right.” She turned on her heel and started toward the car, shaking her head. “You better handle your little problem before I do, bitch.”

“Bet, I will.” You mumbled.

Toby’s gaze flicked back to you, the smirk never quite leaving his lips. His head still ached, and he was pissed about being restrained, but goddamn—if this wasn’t interesting. He flexed his fingers, testing the restraints again, but damn, whoever tied him up actually knew what they were doing. His head still pounded from the bat-to-the-skull special, but his focus was locked on you—your nonchalant stance, the way you checked your phone like this was just another Wednesday night.

“Well, well, babe,” he drawled, voice still hoarse but laced with amusement. “Looks like you got some explaining to do.”

You barely glanced at him before flipping your phone screen toward him.

Vidia Location, next to yours.

Toby’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh shit, I should’ve taken your phone, I mean that’s… uh, cute? Kinda stalker-ish, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one to talk about stalking here, Rogers,” you deadpanned. “Besides, Vidia and I have a system. I take action, she’s the cleanup crew. Like an efficient crime duo, except, y’know, college edition.”

Toby blinked, his smirk faltering just a bit. “Wait—hold the fuck on. How do you know my last name?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a thick folder, the edges worn like it had been flipped through more than once. You gave it a little shake, then let it fall open in your hands. The top page, in clear bold letters:

Tobias Erin ‘Toby’ Rogers

Also known as Ticci-Toby.

Toby’s stomach did a weird flip. Not fear—more like… baffled amusement. His eyes flicked from the file back to your smug little expression.

“Oh, no fucking way—”

“Oh, yes fucking way,” you cut him off, grinning as you flipped through the pages. “Shoutout to Vidia for this one. I told her about the creepy as fuck messages you were sending, and, well—turns out she’s kinda better at stalking than you are.”

Vidia, shouted and gave a lazy salute. “What can I say? I get bored.”

Toby stared, “You dug me up? Like, what—a full government background check? Social Security number, too? Jesus.”

You ignored him, scanning the file. “Mmm… childhood trauma, big surprise there… oh, look at that, arson! Fun stuff, love the classics—ah! Here we go.” You tapped the paper, eyes flicking up to him. “Nowadays, selling drugs for extra cash, and—oof, killing the buyer at the end if they don’t pay up. Real entrepreneur behavior.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “C’mon, it’s not that simple—”

“Frat boys disagree,” you sing-songed, tilting your head. “They told me all about you. How your prices just magically kept going up. That’s how I figured out where to find you, by the way. So, really, you played yourself.”

Toby groaned, tilting his head back. “God, I hate frat dudes.”

Vidia snickered out loud. “Bro, you literally sell to them.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather kill them than talk to them.”

You smirked, snapping the file shut. “Guess that plan backfired, huh?”

Toby squinted at you, his smirk creeping back. “Yeah, okay, sure, whatever, you got me. But, uh—r-remind me again why you went through all this trouble? ‘Cause, like… not that I mind being stalked, but this is kinda giving crazy ex-girlfriend vibes.”

You clicked your tongue, stepping closer. “Because I was curious, Toby.”

He raised a brow, eyes gleaming as you leaned in.

“And,” you whispered, tapping his nose with your finger, “because I kinda like the chase.”

Toby inhaled sharply, and for the first time since waking up tied to a chair in a fucking parking lot, he actually felt a flicker of something close to thrill.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, voice low, “aren’t you just full of surprises, babe.”

You shrugged, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “Boring-ass college town, might as well have some fun. Ruining dudes’ lives is kinda our extracurricular.”

Toby blinked. “You are so much worse than me, holy shit.”

Before he could argue further, the crunch of boots against gravel turned both your heads.

Vidia strolled back into the headlights’ glow, carrying a very concerning red gasoline canister in one hand and adjusting her leather gloves with the other. Her expression was deeply unbothered.

“Aight,” she said, tilting her head toward you, “so we killing him, or what?”

Toby choked on the air. “EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME?”

You turned to Vidia, looking genuinely confused. “What? No? Who said anything about killing him? You always want to kill a dude after we are done.”

“Aww…” Vidia gestured lazily with the gasoline can. “I mean… it kinda felt like that was where we were going.”

Toby was fully invested in survival mode now, eyes darting between you and your disturbingly nonchalant roommate. “Okay, real quick, let’s all agree that murder? Not the move here. Like, I get it, I’m an asshole, I stalked you, I may or may not have terrorized a few people—”

“Understatement,” Vidia muttered.

“—BUT,” Toby pressed on, “if I suddenly go missing? That’s a huge problem for you.”

You folded your arms. “And why’s that?”

Toby’s smirk returned, though there was a flicker of actual warning in his eyes. “Because of my buddies—Kate, Brian, Tim? Yeah, they kinda like me. If I don’t come back, they will come looking. And trust me, babe, you don’t wanna be on their radar.”

Vidia exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as she very slowly put the gasoline down. “All right, fine. You got a point.”

Toby let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank God—”

“But now what?” Vidia cut in, turning back to you. “Because this ain’t a hit-and-run anymore. We just kidnapped a dude, roughed him up, and now we’re in a very awkward hostage situation. So what’s the plan, genius?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think.

Toby, still tied up, still half-dazed from the bat, muttered, “Oh, I hate where this is going.” He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “All right, babe, you gonna torture me? Maybe have your girl over there cut me up while you monologue about how you ‘won’?”

Vidia scoffed, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands. “Dude, I don’t have the patience for torture. And I don’t monologue—that’s her thing.”

You shot her a look, but she wasn’t wrong.

Toby watched the exchange, eyes flicking between you both before he spoke again. “Right, well. If y’all aren’t gonna kill me, what is the move here? ‘Cause lemme tell ya, leaving me alive? Probably not the smartest idea.”

You shrugged. “Never said we were smart.”

Vidia sighed, stepping up beside you. “Listen, I’m all for ruining men’s lives—”

“—she really is,” you muttered.

“—but,” she continued, “this is not just some dude. This is a serial killer with, like, friends in the business. Friends who will notice if he goes missing.” She jerked a thumb toward Toby. “And if we kill him, that’s just extra work for me.”

Toby grinned. “So, I live? That’s sweet of you.”

Vidia gave him the driest look imaginable. “Not what I said.”

You sighed, tapping your chin. This had started as just a game—track down the dangerous guy who thought he was in control, flip the script, and then… well. You hadn’t exactly thought past this part.

Dipping town with Toby? Leaving everything behind—college, your boring little life, your hard-earned reputation? That was a huge fucking leap. But at the same time, what else was there? You didn’t have a grand plan for your future. The closest thing you had to excitement was this—and the fact that you didn’t know what came next? Kinda thrilling.

You glanced down at Toby, who was watching you like he could see those gears turning in your head. His smirk was lazy, but there was something sharp in his eyes.

“Y’know, babe,” he murmured, voice dropping low, “I could help you figure it out.”

Your lips parted, but before you could speak—

“Absolutely not,” Vidia cut in, glaring at you. “Do not get wrapped up in this shit.”

Toby raised a brow. “Damn, you don’t trust your bestie to handle herself?”

“Oh, I do—I just don’t trust you to not be a psychotic little gremlin who drags her into some fucked-up murder cult.”

Toby made a face. “Wow. Hurtful.”

“Good.” Vidia sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay. New plan—we leave, he stays, and we pretend this never happened.”

Toby scoffed. “Yeah, like I’ll just let you walk away after all this.”

Vidia narrowed her eyes. “What are you gonna do, Rogers? Bark at us? Jitter threateningly?”

Toby’s smirk widened. “You are kinda funny. I get why she keeps you around.”

You bit back a laugh, and Vidia shot you a betrayed look. “Don’t encourage him.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “You did hit him in the head with a bat. I feel like we gotta let him have at least one-joke.”

Toby tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Y’know, babe, I’m real tempted to like you.”

“Yeah?” You leaned in just a little. “Then maybe you should prove it.”

His grin turned downright feral.

Vidia groaned. “Oh my god. I hate you both.” She turned her head to see the horizon was bleeding into a dull shade of orange, morning creeping over the city like a nosy neighbor. The distant hum of patrol cars still echoed through the streets, their searchlights carving through alleyways and abandoned lots.

They were looking for someone like him, no doubt.

Toby Rogers, Ticci-Toby, the boogeyman with a shit-eating grin. And yet, here he was, tied up, smirking like he held all the cards.

"Y'know, babe," he started, voice lazy, teasing, "technically, I'm supposed to kill you for all this."

You tilted your head, unconcerned. "Technically, you already tried to kill me once, and look where that got you."

Vidia snorted, arms crossed. "Yeah, tied up like a dumbass."

Toby just grinned wider. "See, that's exactly why you two should join us."

Your brows raised. "Join?"

"Yeah. I mean, you did hunt me down, crack me over the head, and nearly set me on fire," Toby said casually. "And, uh—no offense, but most people who try that shit end up dead."

Vidia scoffed. "Most people aren't us."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "That’s why I’m offering—we could use people like you. Well, I could, at least." He glanced at you, then at Vidia. "You? Sharp, quick thinker. A little impulsive, but I dig it. And her?" He nodded toward Vidia. "Efficient as hell. Probably smarter than half the guys I work with."

Vidia rolled her eyes. "That’s a low bar."

Toby ignored that, his grin never faltering. "Look, there's only one chick in the group right now, and honestly? You two would be a perfect fit."

You and Vidia exchanged a look.

Vidia squinted at him. "Wait… you mean that same chick that deadass almost choked her out?" She jabbed a thumb toward you.

You sighed. "Yep. That's the one."

Vidia blinked. "Kate?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, no. Hard pass."

Toby laughed. "Okay, in her defense, she's a little on edge. But hey—she's got her quirks."

"Quirks?" Vidia repeated flatly. "Dude, she's scared of the flashlight on my phone."

Toby blinked. "…Oh. Yeah. She does hate that thing." He thought for a second, then shrugged. "Anyway, my bad about the whole choking thing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell Tim you guys are off-limits."

"Tim?" Vidia echoed. "And what? Do you think we're just gonna sign up for murder club? Like, 'Oh wow, what a great opportunity, where do we apply?'"

Toby smirked. "Hey, I get it. Big decision. Life-changing and all that. But let's be real—it's not like you guys got some grand future lined up. You're already playing with fire. Why not burn something down?"

You inhaled deeply, considering. It was a tempting offer.

A little murder. A little chaos. A little more of this.

Vidia sighed, rubbing her temple. "This is a terrible idea."

Toby grinned. "But you’re considering it, aren’t you?"

You exhaled through your nose, looking up at the sky. The night was fading, the real world creeping back in. But standing here, with Toby still tied up and grinning like a madman, with Vidia beside you rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out—

You were starting to think… maybe the real world wasn’t where you belonged.

At the end of the day?

It was a hit or run.

397 notes · View notes

stove-top96 · 7 months ago

Text

Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Synopsis: With your family all in town, they decide it’s finally time to decorate the Christmas tree.

Featuring: platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

2.1k words

Something I whipped up while I shoulda been studying for bio. All advice is appreciated!! Supposed to be a one-shot but I might make a part two who knows?

9 months, you’ve been here. Sure there have been other holidays like Easter, birthdays, and Halloween, you just “weren’t adjusted enough” to celebrate them with Bruce and his family. it still feels wrong to celebrate Christmas even if you’re “adjusted”. Years Before you haven’t really had anyone to celebrate it with, but you still had the choice to celebrate how you wanted. In all honesty you preferred being alone, away from Dicks clinginess and anger issues. Jason’s protectiveness was insufferable and you always get caught in the middle of his and Bruce’s fights. Tim’s stalking and creepiness is so unsettling. Damian’s intense stares and demand for your attention drive you crazy. Bruce’s overall presence is just way too intense for you to handle.

Sitting in your room, eyes fixed on the book you're reading. There’s a fast knock, and your door swings right after. “Everyone’s at the manor today, so we decided now’s the perfect time to decorate the tree” Dick’s voice filled with excitement. You never got a say in this decision, but then again when have you ever. “You sure it’s not kinda early?” You question, carefully with the wording so you won't get in trouble for having an “attitude” whatever that means. Looking up you can see his grin, he’s clearly excited and you're almost jealous. It'd probably be a lot easier if you felt like them. “It’s already December” he answers dismissing your objection, now there’s no way you’ll be able to get out of decorating this tree. “And when is everyone in the family all here together at the same time” you do see his point, much to your disdain. Jason could never tolerate being in the same room as Bruce, only showing up when he was on longer missions or to whisk you away for the night. Damian had started to take on longer missions as well, although they only took about a week. Dick and Tim had their own teams to run, taking up a good portion of their time. These facts really made you jealous, being stuck here because of their selfishness while they still get to see the world made you hate them even more. “I guess you have a point” you agree, following Dick down the long hallway.

Holding your hand he led you to the living room. You want to pull away, but he’d probably just get upset and cling to you even more this evening. Grinding your teeth you’ll just have to bare it until you get to the living room.

Clearly they’ve planned to do this for a while. boxes of decorations already clutter the big living room, Bruce is currently following Alfred’s instructions on how to set up the tree, Damian and Tim are digging through boxes, and Jason is untangling lights. It’s honestly a very uncharacteristic scene of your “family”. this is probably the closest thing to normal you’ll get tonight, might as well play along hoping no one will bother you too much tomorrow.

Dick makes his way over to some box, labelled ornaments. Still not letting go of your hand you try not to roll your eyes too hard, opting to help him sort through the box. “These all gonna fit?” You mumble to yourself absentmindedly as you unwrap the ornaments, and gently set them on the table. “We’ll make it work.” Jason pipes up, finishing the lights. He motions you over, you assume part of the reason is to help him the other part to get back at Dick for something. Why else would he have such a shit eating smirk? Dick sends Jason a quick scowl in retaliation. God, all your doing is helping him with the lights, it really isn’t that deep.

“Kay Bridie, all you gotta do is wrap them ��round the back once I pass them to ya.” Bridie is his nickname you know he knows you hate. He's obviously trying to get a rise out of you. Why else would he talk to you like your five. Bruce sends him a warning look, telling him not to push it. You roll eyes and nod your head giving him a response is probably the worst thing you could do right now, it’ll just raise his ego and he’ll tease you for the rest of the evening. As you and Jason pass the lights back and forth, it never really occurred to you just how tall this tree was. Wincing at the thought of how long this will take to decorate, let alone spending it with these people. Like everything else you don't have a choice, so you keep passing the lights forward. “Sure you’ll be able to reach the top?” He knows the answer, once again he’s just trying to get a reaction. “We’ll see” you know you won’t be able to reach, but there’s a chance if you go on your tip toes and reach real hard. “I can always lift you if it’s too hard” Jason’s comment makes the family briefly pause what they are doing, Damian even shoots Jason a glare. Anything’s better than that. So you stand on your tippiest of toes and reach as hard as you can, and you’re actually able to make it to the top. Much to the families relief, if Jason got to carry you like that it’s likely he won't let the others live it down

Dick seems done with unwrapping the Ornaments. Truthfully you’ve never decorated a Christmas tree before, and all though you’d rather be anywhere but here there’s still that inner child who has always dreamed of decorating their own tree. “You gonna help me put them on babybird?” Dick asks, saying no will do more harm than good so you opt for a different excuse “What if I drop one though?” You ask, hoping he’ll take the bait, knowing he'd never fall for it. “We’ll just clean it up then, no big deal.” Like always he doesn’t fall for it, although you admit the excuse was kinda dumb. “If you say so” he has his grin from earlier, as he passes you the colourful ornaments. Looking closer at them it’s clear they’re expensive, rightfully so they’re beautiful with red and gold accents. As you look for the right spot to place them Dick comes up beside you, “don’t think to hard about it babybird, just put them on it’ll all come together” he can sense your growing anxiety and doesn’t want to spoil your mood so early, so he keeps his space and offers words of encouragement. You're thankful at least he somewhat knows when to back off “I don’t know, I’ve never done this before”, you step closer to the tree not really knowing where to put it, so you just place it next to Dick’s. Pride swells in Dick’s chest, “just like that” he encourages smiling to himself. Placing various ornaments on the whole tree you lost track of time, maybe because Dick was giving you some space to enjoy yourself for once. Whatever the case, as you decorated the tree your smile brightened the room, and was appreciated by everyone.

“Why don't you put the star on top this year?” Bruce’s voice calm and content, his lips slightly upwards, which is the closest you’ll ever get to a smile. “I won’t be able to reach the top though” you were barely able to reach with the lights no way you’ll be able to place the star on the very top. “Don’t worry about that” Bruce says, passing you the gold star. it’s beautiful with intricate carved designs, it’s a little heavy. You wonder if it’s made of gold or not? “What do you mea-“ before you can even finish your sentence you're hoisted up into the air by Bruce. You're a little mad he gave you no warning, but you're willing to let it go. Bruce probably won’t mention it again he’d probably just keep the memory for himself, he definitely would never tease you about it. As he holds you near the top of the tree, you secure the star on top. Smiling that bright smile as he brings you down, any earlier feelings of unease washing away as you let yourself get carried away with all the decorating.

“What candles should we light?” Tim approached you, holding three different candles in his arms. Grabbing the first one, dark green in colour it smelt like pine. “That one’s nice” you note passing it back to him. The second a deep red smelled like peppermint and made you feel just a little nauseous. “I’m not into that one” passing it back to Tim who just sets it on the coffee table. Grabbing the last candle a light brown one, it smelt like a warm cozy cinnamon, you figure it’s the one that will make the room feel most welcoming. “I think we should light this one, what about you?” You ask, wanting to make sure he’d be okay with your choice. “I agree.” Tim says, not even bothering to smell the other candles. He leads you away from the tree and towards the mantle, the box still full of decorations beside it. Why is nothing done? What were they all doing while you and Dick were decorating the tree? “I kinda don’t have a vision for the mantle” Tim admits, you're pretty sure he’s lying and just wants this opportunity to be close with you. Although you're kinda getting into this whole decorating thing, it’s even starting to feel a little fun. So you're not as mad as you want to be. “Okay, I guess I can try”. Finding fake greenery, pinecones in the box, even some red ribbon. you're starting to get a vision of what you want to happen. Too tired to get up and do it yourself you start bossing Tim around. It's kinda fun, he’s good at following your instructions, always knowing how exactly you want the ribbon draped over the greenery and the exact spot you want the candle holders. Tim knows what he’s doing, he likes seeing you smile and hearing your voice even if that means you’re bossing him around, he’ll gladly follow any order you give him.

“We must hang up the family's stockings.” Damian states, motioning towards some sort of metal rack he put together. At least he did something. The rack is fixed with 7 hooks, they must have bought a new one to hold your additional stocking. “Sure” you smile “what box are they in” you ask, “that is the issue, someone did not label the box they put them in last year” he grumbles, shooting Dick a glare. You giggle “we’ll find them”. The family pauses for a beat, it had been months since they heard you laugh. Today truly is a day worth celebrating in their eyes. After about 15 minutes of searching you finally found them. “I found them!” You exclaim, and Damian turns around to sort through them with you. The stockings are actually kinda cute, red knitted socks with everyone’s names on them. Your stocking was the exact same. You wonder how far in advance they had yours made? As you and Damian hung the stockings starting with Alfred’s and working your way down, you didn’t expect yours to fit in so well when hung on the hooks but it didn’t bother you, it’d be more weird if yours was out of place.

“It actually looks kinda good” you hate to admit, but the warm lights radiating off the Christmas tree bring a nice ambiance to the room, the colorful ornaments adorned on every branch, and a sparkling star that rests on top. The Cinnamon scented Candles flicker on the mantel, draped with red ribbons and greenery. Each family member's stocking hanging in front of the fireplace waiting to be filled, the crackling fire really completes the look. Taking a step back to really appreciate the room you feel a sense of pride bubbling in your chest. “Why wouldn’t it, we’re the ones who’s decorated it” Damian states matter of factly, clearly also somewhat proud of his work. “I think this is the best it’s ever looked” Dick’s excitement still present from earlier. “You got a point,” Jason agrees, with a small smile on his face. “It’s been a while since I got to relax like this” Tim states, smiling soaking in the view. “Alfred informed me dinner will be ready in about 10 minutes, why don't we start to head over”. Oh god, you’re way too exhausted to deal with a family dinner.

#yandere x reader #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #yandere dc #yandere batfam #dc x reader #gn reader #batfam x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere dc x reader

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wildgeese98 · 3 months ago

Text

@jonmartinweek Day 1: Pets & Cats // Feelings Realised

[CLICK]

[FOOTSTEPS CRUNCH OVER UNEVEN GROUND]

[THE FOOTSTEPS STOP]

MARTIN: Is that...?

ARCHIVIST: The next domain, yes.

MARTIN: What's this one? oh lord it looks like a hospital. It's not another horror hospital is it?

ARCHIVIST: No, well that is to say, this one's a lot less gory.

MARTIN: [suspiciously] what does that mean?

ARCHIVIST: There aren't actually any treatment rooms. It's all waiting rooms.

MARTIN: Waiting rooms?

ARCHIVIST: Filled with people waiting to hear about the condition of their seriously ill loved ones.

MARTIN: Ah.

ARCHIVIST: Yes, that horrible fear that twists their guts every time a nurse or doctor comes through the doors to the hall. Anticipation to finally hear some news waring with the sinking certainly that it will definitely be terrible. [Starting to get going] Most can't even remember who they're here for. A parent? A sibling? Spouse? All they know is-

MARTIN: [urgently cutting him off] Jon! Jon! Not now!

ARCHIVIST: Wha-? Oh... Sorry

MARTIN: At least wait until we actually get there

ARCHIVIST: Of course

MARTIN: Can we try to get through this one quickly, just that description is already bringing back some less than pleasant memories.

ARCHIVIST: Ah, o-of course, I'll do my best. I'm sorry I didn't even think about that, with your mum and all.

MARTIN: Well yes I suppose, but I was more talking about you.

ARCHIVIST: Oh, ah, y-yes, after the unknowing...

MARTIN: And after Prentiss, I thought you and... and Tim might both be dead,

ARCHIVIST: Oh, o-of course. You know that feels like a lifetime ago.

MARTIN: Tell me about it

[PAUSE, FOOTSTEPS]

ARCHIVIST: Were you really that concerned about me after Prentiss?

MARTIN: What!? Of course! Jon you were riddled with worm holes, you looked like minced meat when they pulled you out, not to mention the oxygen deprivation...

ARCHIVIST: Yes, yes, I-I just mean... I was just your boss at that point. Your boss who'd never been particularly, uh, pleasant to you.

MARTIN: Jon, I was completely gone for you the moment you offered to let me sleep on your cot in document storage.

ARCHIVIST: Oh.

MARTIN: I may not have admitted it to myself then but after that I was completely hopeless.

ARCHIVIST: I don't know that I realized you started having... feelings like that so early on.

MARTIN: What? Really? I know you had other things on your mind but I wasn't really that subtle.

ARCHIVIST: I'm not the most observant about that sort of thing.

MARTIN: You've got to see the irony in that.

ARCHIVIST: [dismissively] Yes, yes,

[PAUSE, FOOTSTEPS]

ARCHIVIST: I'm not sure there was a moment like that for me.

MARTIN: What, no sudden miraculous realization?

ARCHIVIST: Well I suppose there was.... [He trails off in obvious embarrassment]

MARTIN: Was what?

ARCHIVIST: [hurriedly] nevermind, it's silly,

MARTIN: No come on, now I have to know.

ARCHIVIST: Martin...

MARTIN: Jon.

ARCHIVIST: Fine! When you lent me your neck pillow.

MARTIN: What?

ARCHIVIST: When I flew to America.

MARTIN: Okaaayyy??

ARCHIVIST: A-a-and I... appreciated it...

MARTIN: [laughing] What so that's all it took? would have been nice to know earlier that the secret way to your heart was a 15 pound Tesco neck pillow.

ARCHIVIST: I-It wasn't just the pillow it was the t-t-though behind it and...

[PAUSE]

MARTIN: Aaannnd...?

[SILENCE]

MARTIN: And what Jon?

ARCHIVIST: [mumbled] nevermind

MARTIN: No, no you don't get to wriggle out of this one, you're blushing too much for me to let this go.

ARCHIVIST: It's n-nothing, it doesn't matter, really Martin...

[ONE SET OF FOOTSTEPS STOP]

MARTIN: Nope, no take backs, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me.

[THE OTHERS FOOTSTEPS STOP]

ARCHIVIST: [exasperated sigh] Come on Martin we don't have time-

MARTIN: [interrupting] aren't you the one who keeps saying time doesn't work anymore?

ARCHIVIST: [trying to put on his stern Head Archivist voice and not quite getting there] Martin you're making a whole production out of nothing, really, this is ridiculous.

MARTIN: [Stubborn silence]

ARCHIVIST: Martin

MARTIN: [Silence continues]

ARCHIVIST: [A sigh even more exasperated than the last]

[THE SOUND OF FEET SHUFFLING UNCOMFORTABLY]

ARCHIVIST: Fine! Fine...

[MORE SHUFFLING]

ARCHIVIST: [mumbled] it... it smelled like you

MARTIN: What? The pillow did?

ARCHIVIST: Yes, a-a-and it was...

[TORTURED PAUSE]

ARCHIVIST: Comforting

[A SOMEHOW EVEN MORE TORTURED PAUSE]

ARCHIVIST: And t-that's when I started to realized how, uh... comforting I found...you

MARTIN: Oh jon

ARCHIVIST: [trying to sound irritated] There are you happy now? You- oof!

[HE'S CUT OFF BY MARTIN PULLING HIM INTO A HUG, FABRIC RUSTLES]

[AFTER A PAUSE THEY PULL APART]

MARTIN: Alright, I'll stop torturing you with questions about feelings.

ARCHIVIST: Thank you

MARTIN: I'm not going to let you forget about this though.

ARCHIVIST: [agonized groan] Martin,

MARTIN: No that little tibbit was too hard won. I'm holding on to it forever.

ARCHIVIST: Alright, alright... you absolute fiend.

[THEY BOTH CHUCKLE]

MARTIN: [sighing] Alright let's get this over with.

[FOOTSTEPS START UP AGAIN]

[CLICK]

#jonmartin week 2025 #tma #jmart #gonna try and write something short for every day we'll see how that goes #jonmartin

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sophiethewitch1 · 1 year ago

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What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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clockwayswrites · 11 months ago

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Birb in the hand Part 8

Birdritch Masterpost

For several reasons, Bruce hadn’t expected to wake up cuddling a stranger. One, there were enough family in the makeshift nest. Two, there had been no stranger, just a strange bird. Three, cuddle pollen or no, Bruce should have been alert as soon as the stranger became a factor.

Instead, Bruce woke slowly, sleep muddle brain confused about why he was awake until he clocked the uneven breathing of the person in his arms. Bruce’s brain went from asleep to alert in an instant as he ordered ‘breath’.

And in that instant Bruce knew that the person in his arms wasn't one of his.

There was a stranger in the Batcave.

A stranger who wasn’t breathing right.

Bruce walked them through answering questions as he took in everything else. Other than Alfred, his family was close. The furthest away was Jason who was asleep on the meeting table rather than in the next with the rest of them. They were starting to wake up, aware something was wrong.

Noticeably missing was the bird entity.

Instead they had a stranger— a stranger who whimpered in pain as Bruce got them upright.

A shapeshifter? An unwilling shapeshifter, possibly. An unwanted transformation could certainly explain the pain.

Dick offered to get a towel and Bruce mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ at his oldest. Bruce was worried by the fact that the breathing hadn’t regulated yet. At least the cold was enough to shock the stranger into a forced breath and Bruce tried to guide them through it.

“There, keep that up,” Bruce instructed.

The stranger pinched Bruce for that. He hardly jolted, but apparently he had moved enough to make Cass giggle at him. A soft huff of a laugh escaped, mostly at Cass’ amusement, but partially at the sass of the stranger.

“I know you know,” Bruce said in response to the pinch. “Now your body just needs to know.”

Bruce didn’t let the second pinch deter him anymore than the first. Gently, he ran a pattern with his thumb up and down the other’s hand, a silent beat to count to. Their hand was calloused. They were someone used to holding tools and using them, but of a precise sort as the rest of the skin was soft. There were a few bandages on the fingers and palms of the hand. Precise tools they were bad with? No, precise tools but either an absent mind or someone who moved too quickly. The wells of their fingernails were stained with bluing and solder and graphite. A specialty machinist of some sort perhaps, watch maker?

“Well, at least it wasn’t an orgy,” the stranger said, suddenly, voice raspy from the panic attack.

Bruce could see Jason trip out of the corner of his eyes from where he was finally getting up off the table.

“Ew,” Tim whined after a beat of stunned silence. “Oh, ew, no, nope, not thinking of that. Where’s the brain bleach? B, tell me the JL has invented brain bleach.”

“Or that thing from Men in Black,” Jason groused.

“No, Reds, the JL does not have brain bleach or ‘that thing from Men in Black’,” Bruce said dryly.

“Wiping a specific memory is actually incredibly hard,” the stranger said. “We’re still learning how all of those pathways connect and that’s even without considering instinct and muscle memory. Now preventing memories for forming, that’s easy. Take me and why I’m even here, no clue, but much harder to erase something that’s already known and perhaps something that could cause a cascade failure… and shutting up now.”

“Are you always like this in the morning?” Jason asked.

“Believe it or not,” the stranger drawled, “waking up in a cave asleep with a bunch of vigilante and no memory of how I got here is not my usually morning.”

Bruce found himself giving a soft chuckle. Normally he would never, but now that the emergency was over apparently his brain was happy to slip back into the morning fog. He did his best to put some Batman gravel into his voice as he spoke. “Once you’ve rinsed off, we will explain. There was cuddle pollen involved, you need to make sure it’s gone so that you are not exposed again.”

“Okay, well, at least cuddle pollen explains some of this,” they grumbled softly. They made a move to lean away from Bruce but stopped short with a hiss of pain.

Bruce moved forward to keep supporting them. “What’s wrong?”

“Just my body being my body. Where’s my bag?”

Cass appeared holding a messenger bag a moment later with a smile.

“Oh, thank you.” Carefully and with Bruce’s support, they leaned forward to take the bag and start searching around in it. “I’m sorry, I don’t know which one you are without the whole getup.”

“B.B.,” Cass chirped. She sat down crosslegged and helped hold the things that the stranger set aside from their bag.

“B.B? Oh, Black Bat,” they said with a little nod and a soft ah-ha as they found what they were looking for. “Thank you B.B.”

Cass gave an acknowledging little noise as the stranger shook a pill out of a small container and knocked it back with a swig from their water bottle.

“Sorry, alright, willing to offer a hand up, B.B?” They asked.

Cass set the items back in the bag, hoped up, and offered her hand. Bruce made sure to support the stranger as they stood, which let Bruce feel the fine tremors that ran through their body and hear the bitten back sounds of pain. Bruce trusted Cass and Dick to help them to the showers and bring a set of clothing to change into. When he turned around, Tim was already poking at the messenger bag.

“Red,” Bruce sighed.

“B,” Tim interrupted and twisted an ID tag clipped on the bag for Bruce to see.

It was a Wayne Enterprises ID badge the color combination of R&D. Danny Fenton, it read, he/him, R&D.

---

AN: take care darlings, take care and be delightful.

#dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #birdritch

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midday-clouds · 2 months ago

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Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 V Part I Part II Part III Part IV Mmm, 5-ish months and I finally finished. I was really on a roll with these stories but work really took a bunch of time out of my schedule. It did get to the point that I didn't really want to finish this. But I can't have another story that was scraped right before the end again XD (I'll finish that UA fic at some point--) Also, this isn't a bunch of bullet notes for once. Wowie. Another thing, there'll be a part VI focused on Bruce. I was gonna merge him with Damian but I realized it just wouldn't work. I wanted to sort of wrap this story up so I can move on to my other interests. But I got back into reading other people's yandere batfam stories and got me interested again. Hopefully this keeps me motivated to finish this story. And who knows, maybe I'll go back and update the last few parts Tag: @redkarmakai @erikasurfer @szapizzapanda @kore-of-the-underworld @imhere2dosomething @pastel-mouse @cooki3dough @naina326 @peptox @ladylupuscrow @confused-they @megasweetbones @1-800-crazy @lillian-morningstar @butterflycardigann @senhoritaapple @lunayaps @sirenetheblogger @ferchu0406 @caged-birdies-blog

CW: Mention of past kidnapping, bar fight, blood, and lab testing. "Death"(Impaled). Fighting. Explosions. — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

It’s been a few days since you’ve decided to return to the manor. You were sort of numb for the first few days, not entirely sure if you made the right choice. Being used in a lab doesn't sound appealing, but who says your “family” isn't going to do the same thing? It's scary how they know how your body works better than you do. But how do they even know all this?

Yes, you were “friends” with Dick for a while but you don't think you were ever injured around him. Probably a small paper cut or scraped knee but that’s it. You’ve only met Jason once and it was during that bar fight. That whole thing was quite violent, you ended up dead in an alleyway. Maybe that's how they studied your “powers”.

Honestly, the biggest reason you decided to return to the manor is for the chance to see your mom. If Tim was telling the truth, your mom is still out there. Suffering. This is your chance to save and be with her again. There may be some questions on why your “family” is suddenly interested in you and wants you back at the manor, but you don’t think too much about it. You just want your mom.

Plus, if you’re gonna be tested on, at least you're treated decently here. Dick gives you full range of his apartment, Jason delivers whatever food you’re craving and Tim gives you space.

Speaking of which, you haven't actually been taken to the manor yet. Your “brothers” won't give you the details but they just tell you to wait a bit. You can’t decide if it’s a blessing to not go to that dreaded place or a curse. That manor will undoubtedly bring the loneliest memories but this apartment is filled with the people that made those memories.

Not only that, but Dick apparently had a pet dog. Of course, no hate to the sweet puppy, but you did not want to be anywhere near her. You thought you’d be okay with the small pitbull but the memories of Damian using his pets to attack you just came flooding in. Curse him for ruining your love for animals. At least you don’t mind watching Haley when she’s on the other side of the room. Though, you end up not seeing her at all since you primarily lock yourself in the bedroom.

While waiting to go back to Gotham, your “brothers” took turns staying at the apartment with you. Dick is fairly respectful of your need for space. He stays outside of the bedroom but he acts like a dog pawing and sitting at the door until it gets open. Constantly rambling and talking, trying to hold a conversation while you tune him out. Sometimes you can hear him commentating while playing with Haley. Just the thought of the dog happily chasing a ball warms your heart while also making you shiver at the thought of her chasing you. She may not be as big as Titus but your brain apparently can’t tell the difference. Unlike your other two “brothers”, you let Dick in the room at times. It is his after all and he usually just grabs whatever before leaving.

Jason is a little more tolerable. You don't know how but he always finds a way into the room even though you were sure that the door was locked. No matter where you look, you can’t find out how he’s able to get in the room. He just pops in and jumpscares you every time. Jason mainly comes inside to give you food or some book to entertain yourself. You’ve asked for your laptop a few times but Jason wouldn’t hand it over. To avoid the constant surprise visits, you told him that you’d open the door for him if he was only delivering food or a book. Guess who still refuses to use the door.

Tim…You refuse to even acknowledge him. It’s possible that the rest of your “family” is just as, if not more, crazy than him, but Tim was the first to show his true colors. Immediately making him drop on your list of trusted individuals. Even though he wasn’t that high to begin with. Just that he was willing to sell you out to some lab for a power you didn’t know you even had until recently! It’s just unnerving to be anywhere near him and Tim, you think, knows this. While Dick and Jason are always talking or interacting with you, Tim hasn’t bothered you too much. It makes you wonder why he went through all the trouble of cornering you like this if he doesn’t even seem to care.

— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

You lay diagonally on the large, blue and black bed. Your head closest to the lamp on its nightstand with a book at arm's length. Honest, you’ve lost the motivation to continue reading for a while now but also don’t have anything else better to do. Reading just gets boring when that’s all you can do all day. Can’t believe it’s only been about a week and you’re already getting Cabin Fever. You glance out the window and release a tired sigh. The sun is only just going down. While you could sleep the days away, you got a bad headache once from constantly sleeping so you tried to stay awake in the morning.

You asked Dick about going out at one point and he said it was too dangerous. Or just rambled about how happy he was that you actually said something to him…After staring at the window for a couple more seconds, you slowly pulled yourself up and made your way to the over. Your hands reach for the window’s lift but hesitate with opening it. There’s a high chance that the lab group hunting you down is still out there. Just the thought of getting found out just because you wanted fresh air sent a shiver down your spine. Plus, you were still being watched by your “brothers”. Dick and Jason would definitely notice if you opened the window. Maybe Tim wouldn’t mind…right?

While they never told you this specifically, there was definitely an order your “brothers” took for who watched over you for the day. It was Dick, Jason, Tim, then repeat. You did your best to remember this because you didn’t want to get caught opening the window. You may not have completely wrapped your head around why your “family" is suddenly interested in you but don’t want to get on their bad side. Not when you know they’re capable of sending you to that lab group. Dick says how the family wants to fix their errors and to make amends with you. But how could you ever trust them? How can you trust your “family” that left you to die all that time ago and then threaten your life? What could you have done to make them do this to you…

The moment you were sure that it was only Tim and you in the apartment, you carefully opened the window and allowed the sun in. Feeling the warm light touch your skin almost made you melt and take a nap. Which you did. You even took one of the books Jason gave you and sat on the windowsill. There wasn’t really a way to get completely comfortable but the outdoor air was enough for you to give you the energy to read your book. When it started getting late, you dropped your book on a nearby surface in the room before turning your body to face outside. You swing your legs lazily while staring at the few stars that peek out of the sky. Even as the cold air makes you shiver, you don’t want to go back into the apartment. No way are you going to cut your time short when you barely get to go outside.

Well, it seems it’s gonna be cut short anyways because a sudden creaking sound reached your ear. Jumping in surprise, you quickly grab the edge of the window to stop yourself from falling several floors. You may not die but it’d still hurt. Your eyes do a quick scan around you for the source of the sound before landing on a nearby fire escape. Just a window away, Tim stands there with two steaming mugs. Weak eyes looking directly at you with a blank expression. You can feel your heart sink as you debate on explaining yourself or being annoyed. While you’ve made plans to let Tim know how much hate you have for him, it was all in your head. Seeing him now after so long and being the one in a bad position, you didn’t have the confidence to start an argument.

Before you can even think of what to say, Tim casually steps forward and holds one mug out to you. You hesitate but carefully take the mug. When you accept the mug, a smile suddenly spreads across Tim’s face but remains silent. Just taking a sip of his mug while waiting for you to do the same. It takes you a moment to register what exactly Tim put in your cup. You considered throwing the cup at him but you’re still a little frazzled and his staring doesn’t help. You eventually take a sip, allowing the warm and sweet flavor of chocolate to make you relax. Hot chocolate is always nice when it’s cold out.

“...You know you shouldn’t be out here” His words immediately replace the warmth your body just had from the hot chocolate with a cold chill. Without meeting his eyes, you try to appear unphased. Just swirling the liquid in your mug while letting it keep your hands warm. “So? It’s not like I actually left. Plus, I’ve kept an eye out. I don’t always need you and your brothers watching over me” You keep your head high, wanting to make it clear that you still have no interest in being involved in this family.

A small laugh escapes the other party before a soft thud. When you steal a glance, Tim has an elbow resting on the railing of the fire escape and his head in his palm. “If Dick found you out here, he’d board up all the windows” Hearing this instantly makes you look at Tim in confusion. Would Dick actually do that? Tim’s smile doesn’t fade as he continues while bringing his mug to his lips. “Jason may chain your ankle to the bed frame” What the heck is with this family?? For several years, you’ve wished to learn about your “family” so you can bond with them. But this is too much

“And do you know what I’d do?” The question catches you off guard. A part of you just wants to throw a snarky remark but another part is still baffled by the possibility of having a barred window or a chain to your bed. You aren’t even sure if you’re supposed to answer the question until Tim speaks up. “I’d get you a cup of hot chocolate and tell you to come back inside. It is getting late, don’t want to Dick or Jason to find you when they return.” With that, Tim lifts himself from the railing and steps back inside the apartment. You remain seated while trying to process what Tim said. So, you weren’t gonna get in trouble? Your thoughts get caught off by the sound of a door opening behind you. When you turn around, you see Tim in the doorway and motioning you into the living area.

You carefully get off the windowsill, not wanting to spill your hot chocolate, before stepping back into the warm apartment. Tim holds the door open for you and whispers as you cautiously pass him “I also won’t tell your brothers if you play some games with me” This immediately makes you turn around and glare at Tim. Of course there was a catch to his “kindness”. Maybe that is why you were so willing to listen to him. Tim may act normal but he’s from a family that doesn’t know what’s normal.

Reluctantly, you play a few games with Tim in the living room. Luckily Haley’s out with Dick or you would have been really distracted while playing. You loved any ranking game so you could beat Tim, so it was great not being paranoid about being jumped by the small dog. Though, you don’t feel as victorious when he seems just as happy as you are with your wins. You’d dump your hot chocolate on him but you ran out. Also Dick and Jason had returned. When Dick saw you out of the bedroom, he nearly broke your eardrums as he hugged you like a favorite plushie. You worried that Haley would come over to you since her owner was holding you, but Tim picked her up before she got too close. Also Jason made dinner.

— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

Today is the day. Finally taking the dreadful ride back to Gotham. It literally is only around a 30 minute drive but you couldn’t help but feel like it’d be hours. Dick tried to cheer you up by saying what a fun family road trip this’ll be. As if you hadn’t been stuck with these three idiots for several days already. With Jason’s and Tim’s help, your stuff from your apartment are put in the car and it’s time to get on the road. Dick gets into the driver seat, Jason in the passenger seat, and you and Tim sit in the back. Ever since Tim found you sitting on the windowsill, you’ve slowly become more tolerant. You probably just feel a little obligated to spend a little time with him since he didn’t tell Dick or Jason about what happened. Or the other times that you opened the window again. Tim also helps get Haley tired so she sleeps while you go into the living room to play another game.

Your gaze is focused on the window as the car starts up and begins moving. There’s some chatter between Dick, Jason and Tim but you don’t bother with listening. That is until Tim gets your attention with an open bag of chips. You all share the large bag while bantering with one another. Every time the opportunity arises, you make sure to tell them all the things you hate about them. It makes you happy to see them grimace but they always try to turn things around. Dick and Tim waves off your words, telling you to look to the future where you’ll be happier and safer now with your “family”. Jason would only scoff and redirect the conversation.

Arriving into Gotham, it’s as depressing as ever. Feels like it was only yesterday that you were on a bus to escape this city. Now you’re back for reasons you still aren’t completely sure about. When you looked at the time at the front of the car, you were surprised to see that a whole hour had passed. “What the hell?? It is not that long of a drive to get from Blüdhaven to Gotham” You look to Dick for an answer as he just releases a small laugh. Before he can answer, however, his phone rings. Jason picks up the device before you can see who the caller is and brings it to his ear. “What?” You and Tim watch Jason until he ends the call with a groan. He massages his forehead before finally speaking up. “There’s an outbreak”

This news immediately frightens you but Dick and Tim appear to be ready. The car is pulled over and hidden near an abandoned building. As they gear up, they formulate a plan to handle the situation and get you to safety. You honestly get a little distracted as you remember that your “family” are a bunch of vigilantes that fight crime. Wait, what if you’re being brought back to become one too? Before you can ponder on the thought though, Nightwing grabs your attention. “Okay, so I’m going to take you to the closest safehouse. You’ll stay with the other civilians until this all settles down. At the same time, Red Hood and Red Robin are going to their posts and handle the situation. Once I drop you off, I’ll be doing the same. Do not leave that safehouse.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard Nightwing so serious. Just as you all are about to split, however, a voice is heard from overhead

“I’ll take them back” It takes your brain a bit to process what is happening as a figure jumps down from a high ledge. Robin stands in front of you all before immediately walking towards you. “I can get them back to the manor if you three idiots can hold your ground” Without another word, he grabs your arm and quickly pulls you with him. You can hear Nightwing call out to you both but it quickly fades away.

You’re basically being dragged around like a ragdoll as Robin takes you through various turns. Trying not to trip and fall on your face, you still don’t have time to figure out that this Robin was Damian. That sick kid who had no problem with physically and mentally harming you. He definitely has the same arrogant attitude and him not properly worrying about how you’re tripping over yourself from how fast he was going checks out. At least he hasn’t forced you to climb buildings or do some impossible jump.

So far, no trouble crossed your path as Robin continued to pull you behind him. Not once does he let go of your arm. It’s honestly hard to run when he’s holding you like this, but at least you won’t fall behind. Of course, all good things come to an end in Gotham. Robin and you are just about to cross a street when a loud explosion is heard a couple of blocks away from you two. He leads you to hide behind a flipped car to get away from flying debris. Your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with the sound of more explosions and the smell of smoke and metal. In your confused state, Robin takes off his cap and lets you use it as a mask of sorts. Trying to stop any more fumes from your system. You aren’t able to fully comprehend what he is saying if he suddenly stands up and leaves.

Obviously confused, your eyes follow Robin as you continue to hold his cap to your face. Your vision takes a moment to focus on the path ahead of him to see a group of villains creating havoc. You can’t quite see what or hear what is happening but you hope that everything is okay. As you sit behind a car and slowly clear your head, you piecing things together. Such as how much younger Robin is to you and how you just watched him get up and go fight those villains with explosives. You may hate Damian but he’s still a kid, right? You’ve wished plenty of misfortunes on him but you didn’t want it to be like this. It could be that you're actually still hazy from the smoke but you force yourself to figure out how to help Robin.

You peek over the car again to look for something helpful but immediately find the opposite. There’s another villain nearby that is tearing down buildings and cars. There’s still time before they reach you so you try figuring out a plan. Looking inside the car next to you, you find a toolbox. You rummage inside of it until you find a decently sized hammer. This won’t be of any use against that broad villain that is destroying the city, but it could possibly be useful for Robin in his fight. As carefully as you can, you hide behind large debris as you step closer to where Robin was fighting. He’s doing well but by the time he’s done, the next villain will be here. You watch for an opening before throwing your hammer as hard as you can. It doesn’t do as much damage as you hoped but it gives Robin a chance to quickly knock the villain down.

Once the villain is taken care of, Robin yells and scolds you for getting involved. “I told you to say where you were! What could have possibly happened to give you the idea that I was in need of any help? I am fully capable and trained to handle these enemies while you can’t even follow simple instructions! Are you asking to die out here?!” Hearing his harsh words after so long almost makes you fall back. But no, you refuse to let this kid look down on you “I literally can’t die! Don’t fucking act like you I need your protection when I am capable of handling myself! Plus, there’s another monster thing coming this way. We need to get out of here before—” Your words get cut off as a loud roar is heard and more debris is being thrown around.

Robin quickly grabs your arm and begins pulling you both away. There’s no time to pick up the hammer you threw and you accidentally drop Robin’s cape. You stumble behind him while turning your head behind you, looking towards the large monster that appears to have just noticed you two. The villain easily pulls a lamppost up from the ground and throws it, with the top of the post pointing directly at Robin and you. The sight of the metal beam causes you to quickly grab onto Robin’s wrist and force him to let you go. Once he releases his grip, he turns to scold you again but you quickly shove him to the side. You’re suddenly launched forward a few feet as a sharp pain pierces through your body. The point of a lamppost suddenly appears at your front as your body quickly registers this new wound. The pain is so overwhelming that your brain doesn’t register the sound of someone calling your name. Eventually it all becomes too much and everything goes black.

— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

Great. Just great. You were just speared right before Robin’s eyes. From the extensive research made by Bruce and Tim, you should still be alive. But this sight of you dying was still an unpleasant sight. It fills him with an unfathomable amount of rage at you, himself, and the villain that was after you both. Robin uses a great amount of force to defeat the monster as soon as possible. Wanting to get this over with so he can take your body back to the manor.

Once the final guy has fallen, Robin slowly approaches your body that still hangs limb on the lamppost. He picks up his cape on the way, seeing as you dropped it when you two were making your escape. Robin cleans as much of the dirt off before finding himself faced with your body. With careful hands, he pulls your body off and gently lays you on the ground. He lifts up his cap and immediately wraps it around your torso, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Robin then carefully picks you and continues the journey to the manor. Being extra sure to avoid any more casualties so you can receive medical assistance sooner.

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere batboys #neglected reader #yandere dc #platonic yandere

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anxiousnerdwritings · 1 year ago

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I am going FERAL over this imagine:

So basically Bruce brings reader home to be his new daughter/the boys' new sibling but Uh Oh! They now want you carnally and reader is just like "you said you wanted me as a daughter/sibling, wtf is this" and being their platonic darling is better than being shared between them romantically so reader tries to come off as innocent and child/sibling coded by being like "yeah I've never actually kissed or dated anyone before aren't I just so innocent" and the boys are like :)))

So then Dick says you can call him your boyfriend "just to feel it out" and Tim starts blatantly stealing your panties and Jason says he can give you your 1st kiss so you can "practice" with him and Bruce offers to teach you how to touch yourself and (and him) and when you try to walk it back cause the boys are being Freaks they're in their delulu era so eventually you end up tied to the bed with the boys and Bruce drawing straws over who gets to take what 1sts (like 1st date, kiss, virginity, ect).

And Damien is just in the background absolutely SEETHING cause the the boys and Bruce's Horny Time keeps interrupting his Mommy Time with the reader

And reader using Damien as kind of a shield cause what are they going to do, feel you up in front of a CHILD? Like just, "Stay Platonic :))"

Just that kind of pseudo incest makes me Feel Things (*/∀＼*)(///∇///)

I'd love your thoughts/a fic based on this! Ty ❤️

TW: Brief mentions of pseudo incest(y) scenarios/behavior, manipulative tactics, yandere tendencies

(Okay so I’ll answer this with my thoughts for right now.)

I know I primarily write incest(y) related topics for my Game of Thrones/ASOIAF stuff but I have been tempted to/curious about branching it out into some of the other fandoms I write for 👀. (I’ve had a few ideas rolling around in my noggin for a bit if anyone is interested.) So I would be willing to give this a try. I’m down to experiment with some new stuff, within reason of course.

I imagine the Reader being older (probably 19-23), maybe even having been a runaway of sorts or not having a very stable home life, so when they’re given the ‘offer’ to become part of the family they’re looking to fulfill a familial void they’ve never experienced or have forgotten how it’s felt like. I definitely see Bruce and the rest of the boys keeping a very close eye on the Reader before they decide to finally bring them into their family, basically full on stalking them from the moment they caught their attention (you know how the Batfam works). It wouldn’t be a surprise if even before the Reader was with them physically that the boys developed a more carnal desire for them. At first, their intentions were completely platonic, but with all the lengthy observing and information gathering of their supposed-to-be-new-family-member eventually something changed in how they all saw their darling.

I really see the change in their obsession starting with either Dick or Tim first. Especially regarding some accidental or purposeful peeping Tom foolery. I feel like Bruce would be the last to fall victim to the change in direction or at the very least he’s the last one to admit to it. If Damian is younger than I see his obsession staying strictly platonic, but if he were much older than I could see him involving himself to the same depths as his family.

At first, I see things happening subtly. Knowing that at the very least a few of them are already in an obsessive-romantic headspace in regards to their darling before they even physically become part of the family the guys would try to be as welcoming as possible without revealing their true intentions. They don’t want to scare you off right away, they want you to walk into it semi-willingly at least. But the interactions with the Reader would show something else. The lingering touches, the being much closer to you than really necessary, the heated grazes over your clothes here and there that leave you wondering if that actually happened or not. I also kind of like the other members not being fully aware of each other’s change in obsession, everyone giving each other the side eye until it sets in and then all out war of who gets the darling to themself unfolds only to eventually end up with them working together and agreeing to share. That’s when Bruce’s heel-turn is revealed.

Once things get truly amped up, the interactions with the Reader really begin to escalate. The boys would walk around shirtless more often, all of them trying to get their darling to look at them, to really look at them. Eventually, it’s not just them being shitless but either them in nothing but their underwear or nothing at all. They start out as accidents but eventually it’s pretty loud and clear that the guys want you to see them, all of them, to even touch them and feel them to your hearts content. But thats not all, of course it’s not. The touching of their darling only gets all the more intense, to the point that you know damn well that they’re touching you and they want to leave you wanting for more. So much more. The Reader’s innocence and lack of experience would only spur them on even more. They absolutely thrive off of it. They all want to be your first, your first everything. There will be a lot of secret ‘lessons’ being given behind closed doors and telling of “Don’t tell Batdaddy or he’ll get real mad.” “Don’t let Jay know, or he’ll want to punish you for not doing this with him.” “Let this be our secret, (Name). Something just for you and me.” “Can’t tell anyone about this or they’ll ruin it for the both of us.” And they only get even worse from there.

I can’t see Alfred being okay with this in any situation, whatsoever. I think he especially would feel like Bruce and the other boys completely took advantage of the Reader and he would try his best to aid them in trying to keep up with the platonic intention of this entire fiasco. He would be a total cockblock, even going as far as helping Damian in his cockblocking endeavors. Alfred’s intention would be to play both sides so he knows how to help the Reader when it comes to Bruce and the others but it wouldn’t take too long for them to figure out that Alfred is working against them. Like, Alfred was all for the familial-platonic obsession but when things started getting more romantic he was ready to shut that shit down ASAP. You can’t tell me he hasn’t, at least a few times, locked Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim out of the house to give the Reader some peace and give Damian his much deserved allotted time with them.

Speaking of Damian, he is a menace (as per usual) but even more so than normal. He really doesn’t take too well to the new direction of his father’s and brothers’ obsession for the Reader. He thinks it’s pretty messed up but he sincerely likes and cares about the Reader and he wants them to stay, he wants them to continue being a part of the family forever so he’ll let some things slide. Some. He even may be willing to look the other way when it eventually comes to Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim baby-trapping the Reader if it means this whole ‘family’ thing becomes set in stone with the arrival of a new ‘sibling’. But for the most part, at least early on, Damian would be a huge pain in the ass for the other family members. He feels like he needs to step in to save his darling from the others and their ulterior motives. He’s all his parental/older sibling figure needs, at least at that point. He may even try to runaway with them to keep them safe from the others. Hell, he may even get his mother involved if he was desperate enough, especially if he saw the Reader as a parental figure. Or maybe even another Justice League member to either adopt him and the Reader so that he could have that family experience he was promised with the Reader. Or he would be completely content just living the rest of his life just him and the Reader, platonically of course.

It would either take Bruce or Dick to have a talk with Damian to get him to come to some agreement to allow them to continue with what they’re doing in regards to the Reader. I think Dick would get away with manipulating Damian much better than Bruce could. I think Damian would have some opinions about his father especially throughout this whole situation. Especially since I see Damian being very observant of how Dick, Jason and Tim are behaving towards the Reader early on and picking up on the fuckery taking place, even going as far as telling Bruce about it under the belief his father would be on his side (not ever fathoming the idea of his father also doing similar things to the Reader without him ever knowing). As far as Damian knew his father was completely platonic towards the Reader, as a ‘father’ should be. Right? So understandably Damian feels not only betrayed but also disgusted when he finds out that his father was and still is taking part in, acting in a similarly depraved fashion as the others.

Eventually, I could see them coming together and being one big ‘happy’ family. But it sure as hell comes at a price. (Usually the Reader’s freedom and sense of self outside of the obsession they’ve been dragged into, to drown in alongside their yandere(s).)

#anxious answers #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere batboys #yandere dc concept #yandere batboys concept #yandere concept

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august-anon · 3 months ago

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Could we please have a fic

Where Tim is still adjusting to being a lil bro and he's still a bit nervous around Jason because the RH incident and Jason is fully aware that his lil bro is scared of him, and then Dick, (very purposefully) tells Jason that Tim is ticklish. Jason decides to use this information.

editing? who's she? (aka i was too lazy to edit a 5.5K tickle fic i just wanted to post it jksdhsdjfh)

also, seeing as my life is consumed by DC/esp the Batfam right now i was compelled to actually do my research for this fic and i went and found teen titans volume 3 #29 and looked through their fight. and dont get me wrong i love a good titans tower fic, tim drake is The whumpable character ever, but it is SO FUNNY to me the way fandom has apparently blown this so out of proportion because skimming that fight between the two it was literally like. the vigilante equivalent of squaring up behind the Waffle House at 3am while Jason is wearing a Party City Robin outfit sdjfhdsfj it was so unserious, he was definitely a theater kid lol, Tim wasn't even busted up that bad the worst he had was a bloody nose and maybe a concussion from the final blow lol

so i leaned more into the canon energy of it (snarky Tim who held his own decently well) because i think the whole fanon "he-almost-murdered-me-and-i'm-traumatized-and-terrified" energy leans into a fear dynamic that i am not necessarily comfortable exploring in a fluffy tickle fic? so i hope that's alright and that you still enjoy this fic even though i didnt full lean into that "scared of jason" energy i think you were looking for!

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Brothers Forged in Laughter

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity -- though i do briefly reference Teen Titans volume 3 #29)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Tim & Ler!Jason (plus a very brief Ler!Dick)

Word Count: 5623 words

Summary: Tim wasn’t Jason's little brother, not really. Just because they got taken in by the same rich asshole did not mean they were related. But, well, the kid was kind of asking for it at this point. Maybe getting tickled to tears on the training mats by your asshole predecessor would become a Robin right-of-passage.

[ao3 link]

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Developing an unspoken sort of truce with the Bats had not been on Jason’s to-do list when he returned to Gotham, especially after his little trip to Titan’s Tower or the explosive confrontation between him, Bruce, and the Joker. Really, Jason blamed Dick. He was like a leech, it was impossible to shake him once he got his teeth sunk in.

Still, it had its benefits. He didn’t have to worry about getting arrested and thrown in Arkham anymore, for one. Not to mention, the Bats left Crime Alley well alone now (bar an Arkham breakout), leaving the neighborhood to Jason’s expertise. But most of all: access to the Batcave.

Jason didn’t necessarily enjoy his visits to the Cave, but there were things that Bruce’s money could buy that Jason had difficulty getting his hands on. For instance, the state-of-the-art lab that was hooked up to the Batcomputer and all its insane processing speed.

With Batman publicly off on a JL mission and no risk of running into Bruce, Jason didn’t hesitate breaking into the Batcave (was it really breaking in if they never deactivated Jason’s codes in the first place? Jason liked to think so) to study a concoction from his latest Scarecrow copy-cat that thought Crime Alley made a great testing ground. It was just his luck that the little replacement Robin happened to be down in the Cave at the same time, drowning in an oversized hoodie and staring down one of the Batcomputer’s monitors with bloodshot eyes. One of his arms was in a sling, but Jason didn’t keep track of the Bats’ cases enough to know what had caused the injury. He was more wilted than the oregano plant Jason had forgotten at one of his lesser-used safehouses. And, more importantly, he was in Jason’s way.

“Pretty sure little birdies are meant to be resting when their wings get clipped,” Jason called out as he walked up the steps toward the Batcomputer.

The line of Tim’s shoulders went taught as his head snapped around to glare at Jason. “I’m pretty sure zombie crime lords are supposed to stick to Crime Alley.”

Jason held up his sample of knock-off toxin, shaking the liquid inside. “Wouldn’t exactly be here if I didn’t have to.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line as he huffed a breath out through his nose. “Fine.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he turned toward the mass spectrometer, fumbling a bit to set it up properly. It’d been a while since he’d had to use one, and the one in the Cave was a lot newer than the one he’d used as Robin. It didn’t help that the back of his neck burned from the eyes boring into it.

“Don’t need a babysitter, y’know.”

“Like I’m leaving you in the Cave unsupervised.”

Jason scoffed. “What am I gonna do, poison your juice boxes?” The machine finally started running rounds of analysis, so Jason spun around to lean against it, locking his eyes onto Tim. And the stack of soda cans next to him. “Or your Zesti, apparently. Alfred lets you drink all that shit?”

Tim stayed silent, narrowing his eyes.

Jason lit up. “He doesn’t, does he?” He laughed, eyeing the pile of empty cans again. “Maybe we should call him down right now, what do you say?”

Jason started towards Tim and the Batcomputer, only meaning to ruffle his hair, maybe tease him a bit more about his serious sugar addiction, but he came up short as Tim slipped a hand against the underside of the Batcomputer’s desk, fingers subtly searching. Jason knew there was a panic button under there, even though he’d never had to use it during his time as Robin. It would send alerts to Alfred, to Dick, to every device of Bruce’s – hell, it might even send alerts to Clark or Diana at this point. Jason really didn’t need Superman busting in with a disgruntled Batman in his arms while he was trying to get work done.

So he backed off, raising his hands in mocking surrender as he leaned back against the machinery behind him, playing it off with a sarcastic, “Damn then, Boy Wonder, keep your secrets.”

The rest of Jason’s visit to the Cave was spent in tense silence, only broken in brief intervals to discuss the specifics of Jason’s case and the results of the toxin analysis. Turns out it was developed from an older strain of Crane’s – the most current fear toxin antidote could wipe it out no problem.

It didn’t leave him as satisfied as it should have, feeling all off-kilter as he mounted his motorcycle and started his drive back to Crime Alley. He couldn’t shake the hard look in Tim’s eyes as his fingers searched the bottom of the desk. It was fucking infuriating. What should he care if the newest little Robin was scared of him, after all? He and the Bats weren’t a team, and Robin certainly wasn’t his responsibility.

Maybe Jason had inhaled a little of the toxin when running the analysis. That was all.

* * *

Scared wasn’t really the right word, Jason realized over time. Because Tim was very obviously not afraid of him. He would poke and prod at Jason, even outright mock him sometimes. His glares were fierce and intense, his tone short and snappy. At times, he almost seemed to be seeking out a fight, like he wanted a rematch, to prove the words he said back at Titan’s Tower.

“Do you think you’re that good now? Do you really, Tim?”

“Yes.”

Wary seemed more accurate. He wasn’t frightened of Jason, but he was mostly certainly on edge. Even more so when Jason started visiting the Manor itself, finally giving in to Alfred and Dick’s invitations (though he still staunchly refused the invitations for family dinners – no way in hell he was being civil with Bruce for that long.). Tim would eye Jason like one would a particularly reactive dog – cautious and ready to act, but without any outright fear or anxiety.

And Jason… he could live with that. He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but it’s not like they were family or anything. Just because Bruce took in the kid didn’t make them brothers – and it wasn’t like Bruce was his father anymore, anyway. The itch that grew under Jason’s skin when Tim would look at him like that was purely from having eyes on him, that was all. And he didn’t feel guilty for making the kid feel like that, thank you very much – that lingering weight in his chest was just a perfectly normal reaction to Dick’s puppy-dog eyes every time he and Tim sniped at each other.

Seriously. No grown man should be able to make that expression. It was unnatural.

He was so used to Tim’s cold shoulders that when he arrived at the Cave one afternoon, he almost fell off his motorcycle at the bright, cackling laugh that echoed across the stone once he cut his engine. It was boyish, childish, happy – all the things Robin should be. For a moment, it made old bitterness crawl up the back of his throat like bile, but he just as quickly swallowed it back down. He’d already taken out enough on the kid.

The laughter grew louder as he climbed the stairs up to the Batcave’s main platform, growing squeakier or snortier or gigglier in various intervals. By the time he made it up the stairs, Jason had a pretty good idea of what was happening. Turning away from the Batcomputer and towards the training mats easily confirmed it.

Because there was the Boy Wonder, in all his red-faced glory, cackling up a storm as Dick tickled the absolute shit out of him.

At least Dick had someone besides Jason to take all that tickle-monster energy out on, now.

Dick’s head shot up as Jason’s boot scuffed across the stone, and he shot Jason a grin. “Hey, Little Wing!” Tim’s laughter lightened, growing more giggly. Probably Dick lightening up his attack in case he wanted to participate in the conversation. “What brings you here?”

“Came by to hack into the computer.” Jason jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Got some CCTV to look into, and the setup is better here than in any of my safehouses.”

Dick nodded, and Tim’s laughter jumped in pitch again.

“Jesus,” Jason said. “You trying to kill the kid?”

Dick laughed himself and finally let up, leaving Tim to roll onto his side and catch his breath.

“Nah – but I think I might’ve finally found someone more ticklish than you, Jay.” He gave Jason a meaningful look, winking when he was sure Tim wasn’t looking.

Jason scoffed. He would not be filing that information away for later, thank you very much, because Tim was not his baby brother. “Yeah, whatever. I grew out of that – Lazarus Pits and all.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, a disarming smile on his lips. “Oh, really? That’s too bad. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, then, if I–”

Jason swiftly backed away from the mats. “Yeah, no. I’m busy – came here to work and all. Try to keep it down, will you?” He managed to catch Tim’s eye for a second. “Try his thighs,” he advised. “Or just under his ribs. Makes for great revenge.”

“Wha– Jason!”

Jason turned his back on them, not wanting to unpack the narrow-eyed look Tim gave him. Not even moments later he heard Dick yelp.

“Oh, no you don’t – you’ll regret that!”

And the Cave was quickly filled with laughter once more, two sets of it this time. Not exactly the quiet environment Jason had hoped for when he came by to work, but he would deal. The Batcomputer had high-quality headphones for a reason.

And, privately, Jason thought those two could use more opportunities to smile.

* * *

Over time, the uneasy truce settled into something more comfortable. There were times it still chafed, itching at Jason’s skin until he felt he needed to claw it off, but things were rarely so tense anymore that Jason expected to be cut off like a necrotic limb. Hood still handled Crime Alley, the Bats tackled the rest of Gotham, and sometimes, if the cards fell right, they were able to work cases together without any casualties.

Cases like this new up-and-coming gang. They’d spread outside of the Alley, maneuvering in areas where Hood didn’t have as much reach or authority, but they were still spreading through his own territory like slow-acting poison. There was only so much he could do, and so when Dick offered the Bats up to help, Jason agreed with only minimal bitching.

Which led him to this warehouse rooftop, going on three hours crouched uncomfortably next to Robin, the irritation of a failed stakeout grating against his ribs and skull. The established gang these newbies were trying to ally with hadn’t even shown, and even the newbies were starting to pack up shop, wanting to get back to base before dawn broke. The newest little Robin, however, didn’t seem to be getting the memo that this was a bust.

“Kid,” Hood all but growled. “Let’s go, there’s nothing more for us here.”

Robin scoffed, still laying on his stomach and not bothering to drop the binoculars to have a conversation with Hood. “Something might still happen. I’m not going to drop this just because you’re getting impatient.”

A flash of irritation bubbled up in Hood’s chest, frustration coiling hot in his stomach. The gang was leaving, Hood was starving, his knees ached from crouching on this roof all night, and he really should’ve told Dick no when Robin was offered up to help with the stakeout. But of course, the Bat himself was too busy with some last-minute JL business, and Nightwing had his own problems in Bludhaven to deal with. The worst part was that Robin was right, something could still happen, but Hood sincerely doubted it. They hadn’t gotten any new or relevant info in the past two hours, and Hood was ready to stuff his face with some greasy fast food and pass out for the next six hours.

And so as the newbies finished loading up their vehicles and driving off, Hood reached over to snatch the binoculars from Robin. Somehow, even with his face buried behind the plastic, he knew Hood was coming and shifted out of the way, thrusting a foot into Hood’s chest to try and hold him back. Hood’s height was an advantage here, but Robin still refused to let go of the binoculars, staring after the newbies’ vehicles as if they held the answers to the universe.

And Hood, overtired and ready to be out of all this goddamned armor and in bed, let his instincts take over again. He jabbed one hand up under Robin’s arm, poking and prodding at the softer spot in the armor designed for mobility. Robin made an awkward squawking sound, his arm shooting down to protect the vulnerable spot and cutting the grip he had on the binoculars by half. Hood easily wrenched them from his hand after that, tucking them into an inner pocket in his leather jacket.

“Come on,” Hood said, standing and brushing himself off like nothing happened. “Batburger, I’m buying.”

Robin scowled at him, eyes unreadable behind the white-out lenses of the domino, and slowly rose to his feet. “Fine. But I want Jokerized fries, and I don’t care how you feel about it.”

* * *

Jason had to wonder if the kid ever slept. Every time he came by the Cave, Tim was there too – training, running samples, working cases on the Batcomputer – no matter what absurd hour he arrived. Jason let out a loud, long, obnoxious sigh as he cleared the stairs to the main platform of the Batcave, and Tim immediately whipped around and glared at him over the back of the desk chair.

“Can I help you?” Tim snapped.

“I need the computer.” Jason kicked the base of the desk chair as he approached, propelling it several inches to the left.

Tim’s scowl deepened, and he rolled the chair back into position. “Well you can wait. I’m busy with a case.”

Instead of arguing further, Jason opted for the quickest route of success. He grabbed the back of the desk chair, spun it around so Tim was no longer facing the desk, and unceremoniously dumped him out of the seat. Tim squawked as he stumbled out of the chair, but regained his footing quickly and immediately trying to bolt back into the seat. Jason smirked and yanked it away, sending it rolling a few feet behind him.

“Whoops.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Real mature.”

Jason laid a hand over his heart and cocked his head to the side. “Ouch. You wound me. Truly.”

Tim glared at him, but his eyes flicked towards the desk chair behind Jason. They burst into motion at the same time – Tim lunging towards the chair, and Jason lunging towards Tim. After a brief tussle, Jason yanked Tim into a headlock, and for a brief second the two of them went eerily still. Jason loosened his grip, making the hold easy to break, but didn’t let go. Tim stayed frozen for a moment longer before tilting his head up, giving Jason a challenging look.

Jason’s mind warred with itself for a few moments. Not my little brother, one side of his brain said. Isn’t he, though? another replied. He had, unfortunately, filed away that information Dick had given him, as much as he tried to ignore it. And, well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? He didn’t think he’d even given Tim back his Bat-noculars.

A moment passed, and Jason suddenly lunged, latching his free hand onto Tim’s side and squeezing away. Tim jerked in his grip, squealing as a smile forced its way onto his face. One hand went towards prying Jason’s off his side, while the other came and clutched at the forearm around his throat for stability. Jason grinned and allowed the hand to crawl up Tim’s side, carefully keeping his headlock loose so that Tim wouldn’t really feel trapped. The second Jason’s fingers touched his ribs and a real laugh jumped out from Tim’s throat, he was out of Jason’s grip in seconds. Tim stood across from him, giving him another one of those uncomfortably calculating looks, though the blush rushing to his cheeks diminished it slightly.

“Fine,” Tim said eventually. “I should head up and get a snack anyways.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“But I’m coming back down in two hours, and I will be getting back to my case. Whether you’re done on the computer or not.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, sure thing, Timberly. Whatever you say.”

* * *

Jason was at the Manor for family dinner.

His skin itched at the thought as he sped into the Cave on his motorcycle – he never entered through the Manor proper, not in all these months, something about that just made it too real, too raw – and threw his riding gear off. Bruce was going to be there – not Batman, Bruce, and he hadn’t really interacted with the man outside the mask since he came back – but so were Dick and Alfred. And so was Tim.

Bit by bit, the kid had been relaxing around him. They worked cases together (and with Nightwing) when Hood needed a Bat, or when the birds needed his help instead. He didn’t tense whenever Jason came through the Cave anymore, didn’t eye Jason with suspicion when they crossed paths on patrol. He still stared a lot, but it’s not like Jason could blame him. He had attacked the kid, and even if he didn’t leave him with more than a concussion and some bruises (and Jason with a grudging sense of respect for the brat, as he walked away with his own array of bruising and a busted nose), the kid was well within his rights to keep his eyes on Jason’s movements.

But still, the progress they had made was, well, nice.

Speak of the devil — the Cave wasn’t empty. Tim was in the training area, dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running his bo staff drills with a single-minded focus that could rival even Bruce. Jason almost would’ve thought that Tim didn’t realize he was there, but Tim’s eyes flicked his direction as he approached the edge of the training mats. Tim ran through the move he was doing a few more times, making minute posture changes each time until his form was perfect, before dropping out of his stance and facing Jason.

“Not bad,” Jason said.

Tim ticked up an eyebrow. “Thanks.” His gaze trailed over to the stairs. “Alfred’s still making dinner, and Bruce is up there brooding and fussing over everything until it’s perfect. You probably wanna stay down here until the food’s ready.”

The skin around Jason’s eyes tightened as he suppressed a wince. “Yeah, thanks. Where’s Golden Boy?”

The corner of Tim’s mouth twitched up. “He got saddled with ‘distract Bruce’ duty.”

Jason matched Tim’s half-smile. They lapsed into an awkward silence. Jason shoved his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to fidget. Tim stared.

“Let’s spar,” Tim said suddenly, turning on his heel to set aside his bo staff.

Jason stared at him, incredulous. “What?”

“Spar. You and me.”

“Are you sure about that, kid?”

Tim shot him one of those calculating looks over his shoulder. “Do you have anything better to do?”

Jason pursed his lips. “No.”

“Then let’s spar.”

Palms sweating, Jason kicked off his boots, shucked his leather jacket, and set aside the weapons he’d hidden on his person. He set himself up opposite of Tim, lowering his body into a fighting stance.

“Ready?” Tim asked.

“Yup.”

The word was barely out of Jason’s mouth before Tim lunged, immediately going in for a grapple. Jason almost laughed — he far outclassed the little Robin in both weight and strength — and quickly sent the kid sprawling to the mats before backing away. Tim was scowling when he stood up.

“Don’t go easy on me.”

“Don’t worry, Boy Wonder. I’m just getting warmed up.”

Tim lunged first again, feinting left before trying to circle around to Jason’s back on the right. Jason whipped around and blocked the incoming blows, jabs that would’ve left his arms numb and tingling for hours had they landed. On one block, he snagged Tim’s wrist and used it to twirl him halfway around. He shoved Tim forward, harder than he meant to, and let him stumble a few feet as he retreated again.

The spar went on like this for a while, Tim attacking and Jason blocking and retreating. Tim’s scowl got deeper and deeper, and the careful control he usually held in his movements started slipping more and more. After the tenth time Jason knocked Tim’s attack away and retreated, Tim finally snapped.

“Stop babying me! I can take it!”

“Tim—“

“No.” Tim fell back into a ready stance, face red and splotchy from frustration and exertion. “I know what it looks like when you’re fighting for real. So fight me.”

Jason pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine.”

Jason rushed first this time, and Tim met him in the middle. They exchanged a series of blows (though Jason pulled his punches — this was a spar not a brawl, and he kinda thought Tim had enough of Jason punching his lights out by now), and Tim held his own well. He’d gotten some good hits in during their confrontation at Titan’s Tower, but it was clear he had improved since losing to Jason back then. If Tim had been in a better state, he might’ve been able to hold out against Jason’s onslaught for a while.

As it was, Tim had clearly been training for a while before Jason had come in and had already been fatigued, and his lingering frustration from Jason’s kid-gloves was obviously making him sloppy. With Jason’s bulk and sheer strength, he had Tim pinned to the ground in minutes. Tim grunted and growled and struggled under him, trying to free himself, but Jason had both his arms pinned above his head and had settled his bulk over Tim’s thighs so he couldn’t flip their positions or kick Jason off.

“Satisfied?” Jason asked dryly.

Tim didn’t reply, twisting his wrists to test Jason’s grip.

“Ready to hit the showers? Alfred probably won’t be happy if we come to dinner all drenched in sweat.”

Tim twisted his hips, trying to throw Jason off but unable to get the leverage to move his considerable weight. “No, fuck you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Timber, you kiss Alfred with that mouth?”

Tim paid him no mind, continuing to hiss and spit under him. Honestly, it reminded Jason a lot of when he was Robin. Whenever Dick beat him in a spar, he would hiss and spit and carry on, trying to break the hold until Dick got sick of his whining and—

Ah. So that was why Dick had been tickling the kid to tears the other month.

Jason gave Tim a considering look. For a moment, he wondered if he really had the right. Tim wasn’t his little brother, not really. Just because they got taken in by the same rich asshole did not mean they were related. He’d been telling himself so for months, even if there were moments of doubt. But, well, wasn’t Tim his little brother? They snarked and tussled over the computer and helped each other on cases, and Jason was here to eat family dinner with him for God’s sake.

And hey, maybe getting tickled to tears on the training mats by your asshole predecessor would become a Robin right-of-passage.

Amidst Tim’s struggling, Jason managed to wrangle both his wrists into one hand and pin them firmly above his head. Then, making sure Tim was watching, he hovered a hand over Tim’s stomach and slowly started wiggling his fingers.

Tim gasped and froze. Then, just as quickly, his struggles started up again with a new desperation.

“You wouldn’t.”

Jason grinned, lowering his wiggling fingers another inch. “Say uncle, Timmy.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, dragging his eyes away from the ticklish threat to meet Jason’s own. “Do your worst.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut tight just as Jason’s lowered his hand and touched down on Tim’s stomach. Tim squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed, going pink in the face as he tried not to laugh.

Jason laughed for him. “Come on, TimTam, we both know you’re ticklish as shit. No point in not laughing.”

Tim shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to worm away to the left as Jason’s hand traveled to his right side.

“No, it doesn’t tickle? Are you sure?”

Even though his eyes were still closed, Tim turned his face away from Jason, trying to hide behind one of his biceps. Jason grinned wider and jumped his hand over to Tim’s other side, delivering a series of nibbling pinches without warning. Tim squeaked, like the little baby bird he was, and jolted to the right to try and get away.

“I dunno, Baby Bird. Seems like it might tickle.”

Tim made a growling noise in the back of his throat, and Jason couldn’t help but laugh again.

“No? Maybe we should make sure all your nerves are working right, then.”

Tim’s eyes snapped open at that, glassy and watery from the effort of holding back his laughter. Jason made sure to grin at him, smug and toothy and all evil-big-brother, just like Dick used to do to him.

“Tell me, can you feel this?”

His hand shot up and skittered calloused fingertips and blunt fingernails against the exposed side of Tim’s neck. Tim’s head snapped to that side with a muffled squeal, his smile fighting to become open-mouthed and toothy, forcing Tim to bite down on his lip to keep his reactions at bay.

“Hmm, seems promising. How ‘bout here, can you feel that?”

Jason shot back down and vibrated his hand into the center of Tim’s belly. Tim tried to jackknife to protect himself, but with his wrists firmly pinned and Jason’s considerable weight on his thighs, he was forced to stay flat against the mats. He chose to toss his head back against the mats instead, shaking it back and forth furiously.

“No?” Jason asked, voice dripping with faux-concern. “You can’t feel it?”

Tim let an annoyed little groan, but quickly cut it off as it started to take on a giggly tone. Jason was being deliberately unhelpful in the matter, poking his index finger into various spots of Tim’s stomach and vibrating it.

“Right here, can you feel this? What about over here? And here? Come on Timbit, work with me here.”

Tim flinched and twitched at every prod, trembling with suppressed giggles. Jason’s own cheeks hurt from smiling — he could definitely see why Dick tickled the snot out of him so often when he was a kid. This was adorable and hilarious. But he still had yet to make the kid break, which was kinda annoying. Like, hello, how was Jason supposed to tickle the snot out of him if he wouldn’t even laugh? Jason paused for a moment, letting Tim catch his breath as he planned his next attack. Now where was it that made Tim shoot out of his arms the other week…

Oh, that’s right.

Jason put on a mournful look, shaking his head. “Starting to get real concerned here, Timbourine. Maybe we oughtta do a full injury check.” Jason rested his fingers on Tim’s lower ribs. “What do you say?”

Tim gasped, shuffling as far away from Jason’s hand as he could, but Jason followed the movement easily.

“Jason—“ Tim started, but cut himself off, pressing his lips together again.

“What is it you said to me, again? Do my worst, was that it?”

“Jason, I’ll— I’ll buffer Bruce for you tonight. I’ll take on your caseload. I’ll clean your motorcycle, I—“

“As tempting as that all sounds,” Jason had to raise his voice to be heard over Tim’s rambling. “You know what I wanna hear. Admit you lost.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut. Of course. How could the latest model not come with that patented stubborn Robin pride?

Jason shrugged, tapping his fingers threateningly against Tim’s ribs, making him squirm. “Suit yourself.”

Jason wasn’t the greatest at picking apart Tim’s expressions, but he’d say the smile forcing its way across Tim’s face was almost giddy.

He started off with a typical injury-check touch, a light press and slide against the individual ribs, just to really play into the game he had set up. Tim’s face scrunched up instantly, obviously trying to hold back his reactions, and his body started squirming with a new fervor.

“Nerves working here, Timmers?” Jason tickled his middle ribs a bit more deliberately, making Tim’s face spasm. “Seems to me like you might be feeling something. Does it tickle?”

Tim shook his head. Jason sighed.

“You leave me no choice.”

Jason released Tim’s wrists and latched onto either side of his ribs with both hands, tickling mercilessly. Tim’s eyes bugged out of his head as he let out a laugh bordering on a scream. His legs scrambled on the mats behind Jason, searching for leverage or freedom. As Tim’s laughter fell into desperate cackles, Jason couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Jason! Jay!”

“You know how to make it stop, Timmy.”

Even with his hands free, Jason was discovering that Tim was absolutely useless when he was tickled. Jason attacked lower on his ribcage and Tim’s hands latched onto Jason’s wrists in a feeble, laughter-weakened attempt to pry him off. That only opened up the rest of his ribcage and armpits to attack, which Jason took great advantage of. Tim’s laughter would get more panicky, more shrill, the higher Jason went, but his brain didn’t seem to know how to defend itself — seeing as his hands stayed latched onto Jason’s to try and pull him off.

“Jesus Christ, Baby Bird — how do you even live when you’re this ticklish?”

“Asshole!”

Jason raised an eyebrow, though he wasn’t sure Tim could see it through his squinted, teary eyes. “Be nice. I could make this so much worse.”

“No, no!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Of course, Jason still made it worse anyway. There was a particular spot towards the back of Tim’s ribs, right between the top two on either side, that sent Tim spasming like he’d been electrocuted. Jason laughed as he prodded at the weak points one at a time, watching Tim toss himself in the opposite direction of the ticklish jolts. Finally, he gave Tim a breather, resting his fingers against those spots on his ribs just to keep him giggly and twitchy.

“Last chance for mercy,” Jason said, just barely twitching his fingers to watch Tim jump. “Alfred’ll send someone down soon.”

Tim’s teary eyes went wide. “Wait, Jason, come on–”

“Damn stubborn little Robin.”

Jason dug his fingers in, torturing those little tickle spots as best he could.

“Fuck!” Tim practically screamed before breaking into laughter that would give even the Joker a run for his money. Surprisingly, the hysterical tone of it didn’t even make Jason’s skin crawl. “Uncle!” Tim cried out, and his laughter went silent.

Jason eased up, redirecting his attack lower on Tim’s ribs, though still vibrating his fingers into the nerves mercilessly. “Hm? What was that?”

“You win! Uncle, you win! Jason, come on!”

With a chuckle, Jason heaved himself off of Tim to sit on the mats next to him, ruffling his hair as he caught his breath.

“Fuck you,” Tim said, closing his eyes and relaxing bonelessly into the mats.

“Hey.” Jason raised his hands in surrender. “You could’ve stopped that at any time. Not my fault you’re a stubborn little bitch.”

“I’ll get you for this.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got, like, a hundred pounds on you and I’m twice your height. How do you think you’re accomplishing that, shrimp?”

Tim peeled one eye open to glare at him. “I’ve got Dick.”

Jason froze. Oh, shit.

“That he does,” a cheerful voice chimed in from the direction of the stairs. Dick strode towards them, a slightly feral smile on his face. “And I would be more than happy to help. We never did test your claim about the Lazarus Pit taking away your ticklishness.”

Oh, fuck, actually. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Tim about Dick’s thighs that one time.

Dick’s smile shifted from feral to innocent in the blink of an eye. “But maybe later. Alfred sent me to get you for dinner – and I know he wouldn’t appreciate your B.O. stinking up the dinner table. Hit the showers.”

Jason groaned as he got up, pretending to crack his back even though he wasn’t the slightest bit sore from their sparring or impromptu tickle attack. Then, he reached down and hauled Tim to his feet, shoving him in the direction of the Cave’s locker room ahead of himself. Just as he went to follow, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Good job, big brother,” Dick said, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel through the echoing cave. He gave Jason’s shoulder a squeeze.

Jason looked away and scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. Little shit was asking for it.”

Dick laughed and dropped his hand, shoving Jason toward the locker room much like Jason had shoved Tim. He tried not to think about it too hard, instead focusing on how carefully he’d have to watch his back in the future.

No way he was letting Timmy and Dickhead take him down without a fight.

#tickle fic #my writing #dc tickling #batfam tickling #lee!tim drake #ler!jason todd #ler!dick grayson #(briefly)#ticklish!tim drake #dc #batfam #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson

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teddypines · 10 months ago

Text

The talk

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Sumary: Tim coming out and taking his boyfriend home for the first time.

Tim Drake x Batmom!reader, Bruce Wayne x Batmom!reader, Tim Drake x Bernard Dowd. Fem!reader (Use of she/her pronounce)

Note: There might be some posecive Dad!Bruce in here, but it's okay. He just needs to get used to his childeren growing up. Art/picture is from Pintrest, credits go to whoever made it.

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Tim has been dating for a while now and he rather liked it. Bernard was amazing and super mega sweet, and handsome. Bruce sort of knew but Y/N didn’t. Tim knew that she would be supportive, but he still felt nervous about telling his mom about it. Bernard told him to maybe take a calm approach, eas the idea or something like that. Though Tim didn’t really know if that would work on Y/N, he was going to try anyway. Because he wanted his mom to know.

Y/N sat on the couch doing some work on her laptop when Tim got down to the living room. He fidgeted a bit with his hands as he approached the couch. “Mom? Could we maybe have a chat?” Tim asked, the nervousness clear in his voice. Y/N looked up from her work and smiled at Tim. “Of course, sweetheart. Come have a seat.” She answered. She saved her work and closed the laptop, before giving all her attention to Tim.

Tim sat down next to Y/N on the couch, tucking his legs underneath him. He looked at his knees not knowing how to start. “It’s okay, Tim, take all the time you need to tell me what you need to tell me” Y/N said trying to reassure Tim. Gently placing a hand on the back of his head. “I won’t be mad if that is what you are worried about.” Tim tilted his head to look at Y/N and took a big deep breath. “Mom… I’m gay.” Tim said. He looked at Y/N to see her reaction, but there was nothing but a gentle smile.

“W-why aren’t you saying anything?” Tim asked after a while, not understanding why Y/N didn’t say anything. Y/N just carefully pulled Tim into a big hug. “Because I already knew. And you know what, I'm glad you finally told me. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable and force you to tell me or your dad. I just wanted you to know we love you no matter your sexuality. But you have to tell me one thing though.” Y/N tells Tim as she rubbed his back and held him close to her. Tim nodded his head in answer. “Why tell me now? Did you meet someone?” Tim nodded again at the questions. “His name is Bernard, he’s my boyfriend…”

Y/N kissed the top of Tim’s head before speaking again. “That is wonderful, sweetie. I hope he makes you smile and really happy. Just know that I will kick his ass if he hurts you and that he is now required to come over for dinner.” Tim laughed a bit and nodded his head. “I’ll tell him that. I think he’ll like meeting you and dad.”

“Good, because it will be a small interrogation,” Y/N jokes. “Does dad know?” Time got a bit nervous again when Y/N asked if Bruce knew. He thinks Bruce knows, but not for sure. So he shrugged in answer. “Do you want me to tell him?” Y/N asked, to which Tim nodded. “Alright, I’ll tell the big bad bat”

“Thanks. mom, love you”

“I love you too, baby bird”

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A few days go by and Tim invites Bernard over for dinner with the family. Y/N told Bruce like she promised and Bruce was all like ‘of course i know! I am Gotham’s greatest detective, I know when my son is gay. He didn’t know, but he was happy no matter what. Y/N made sure that Damian and Jason would behave in front of Bernard, this made both boy’s pout, but they were bribed with desert so it was okay. Alfred made sure to make the best dinner ever, but not too much, it had to be a nice home meal, not a fancy dinner party meal.

"Excited?" Y/N asked Tim as they both waited by the door for Bernard. “Yeah, but it kind of feels weird, bringing my boyfriend home to meet my family.” Tim answered, a small smile on his face and a dreamy look in his eyes. Y/N placed her hand on Tim’s head. “It’s always like that the first time. You’re lucky it’s with me and not just Bruce. I heard some stories from Jason and Dick that didn’t go all that well.”

Tim nodded his head. “Yeah, the few times that it did happen were weird. We also never saw them after that. But Bernard is not scared of the big bat Wayne family.” Just before Y/N could say more the doorbell rang and Tim quickly opened the door for Bernard. Both boy’s smiled and gave each other a hug.

“Bernard, this is my mom, Y/N. Mom, this is Bernard, my boyfriend.” Tim introduced Y/N to Bernard. Y/N smiled at Bernard and held out a hand for him. “It is lovely to meet you, Bernard.” Y/N told Bernard as they shook hands. “It is an honor to meet you, miss Wayne.”

“You can call me Y/N, no need to be so formal” Y/N answered. Tim smiled and took Bernard’s hand. Leading him towards the living room. “You’ll have to meet the other first before dinner, but don’t worry it won’t be like all the stories I told you.” Tim said with a big smile on his face. It was clear, already, how much Tim loved Bernard. This of course Y/N noticed and it made her feel so proud and happy that her Baby bird was happy too.

Once in the living room Bernard was met with seven heads, most of them looking a bit stern. Tim gave his hand a light squeeze of reassurance. “Everyone, this is Bernard, Tim’s boyfriend. Bernard these are my husband Bruce, my sons Dick, Jason, Duke and Damian, and my daughters, Stephanie and Cassie. And not to forget our lovely Barbara." Y/N introduced everyone to Bernard. Most of them started to smile, but Bruce looked, well, a bit menacing.

Tim took Bernard to the couch with his siblings and they started to chat while Y/N went over to Bruce. “You don’t have to scare him off, you know.” Y/N said as she wrapped her arms around Bruce’s shoulders and placed her chin on top of his head. “I’m not scaring him, just up serving.” Bruce answered with a bit of a grumpy toon. “Sure, love, just be nice okay? Tim is really looking forward to this and he wants it to go nice. Please don’t scare away Tim’s boyfriend, Bruce.” Y/N requested before placing a kiss on Bruce’s cheek. Bruce grumbled a bit before answering with a sharp. “Fine, darling”

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gotham-daydreams · 5 months ago

Text

Suspicions

Day 3 {Challenge Masterlist}

Getting close, but not close enough. Something's wrong here. How could they have known? Who did this?

[Yandere Batfam × Gender Neutral! Cop Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of suicide (only briefly talked about in dialog), cults, occult like acctivites, weird behavior (?), arson (sort of).] (Note: Unless otherwise specified, it's to be believed that actions involved with harming, hurting, or heavily injuring the self are not talking about the Batfamily or the reader. Still, you have been warned.)

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Unlike the previous two days, this one starts off rather eventful - which is honestly more common and normal than anyone in the Wayne family liked to admit, but really, it wasn’t their fault they all just worked better in chaos. Nevertheless, for those that weren’t up already, the day is smooth sailing until they exit their rooms - or wherever they slept - and are left to find what’s happened in the batcave.

Tim is one of the last to find out, as he just gets his slow morning started - grabbing a cup of tea to help him wake up instead of coffee, rubbing his eyes to get the tiredness out of them, and starting things off officially with a plate of breakfast. Once that’s done and out of the way, he finally gives himself a good, simple stretch before heading down to the batcave. It’s only there, does he see the mess unfolding.

It’s subtle, sure, but with how long Tim has technically been a Wayne, well, he can tell when something’s going on. Bruce is drinking coffee, and Cassandra, while out of the suit, already looks to be itching to put it back on again. Tim noticed that Stephanie had slept over while he was on his way to the kitchen earlier, but didn’t think much about it - though what caught his attention was the fact that not only was Jason here, but that he was awake. Huh.

“What’s going on here?” Tim asks, voice having its usual echo as he takes a sip of his tea, approaching the little crowd by the batcomputer - taking note of Barbara’s presence as well, have any of them slept?

Cassandra seems to take note of him first, and perks up, though just as she goes to supposedly explain what they’re doing, Jason cuts her off. Instead, he straightens himself out, and asks, “Hey, have you or any of your birds seen anyone weird around, lately? Like, extra shady or just new? Like they come from out of the city?”

Tim raises a brow at the question, “This is Gotham? Every other person looks like someone shady- and what does ‘extra shady’ even mean? And besides, Gotham is a big city, newcomers come in and out everyday,” he points out, and though his response only gets an annoyed groan out of Jason, he can’t help but remain curious, “why? What’s going on this time?”

Jason seems to ignore Tim’s own question, and instead asks, “Okay, have you seen anyone with some weird symbol on them? Something simple that represents a sun, maybe on their neck, wrists, arm, or just some exposed part of their body?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t,” Just as Jason looks like he’s going to throw something, or someone, Tim adds, “but I think a few of the birds have, and- hey, some new officers came in from Metropolis, right? What’s up with that?”

Just as Jason goes to open his mouth again, Cassandra gives him a nudge, and gestures for Tim to come over.

From there, he’s given the gist, and he has the reasonable reaction of just, being confused. While he understands what’s going on, what he doesn’t get is the supposed group itself. While they do seem to be working towards this ‘Red Dawn’, is it something they’re working towards, or merely preparing for? Is there something on that specific day that will happen, and will allow… well, whatever they’re hoping for, to happen? There are a lot of things that are undetermined, but Tim is on board with the general goal - they have to learn more about these people, what they want, and put a stop to it since it has to be something bad that people are killing themselves over it. You were right when you said that the only people they were hurting were themselves, but they were still people, and what if their influence spreads? What if they rope in more people, only for them to die-

Duke rushes into the cave, a smile of sorts on his face and he hurries around the space, gathering a few things here and there - mostly his gear, but some other things too - quickly, as if in a hurry. It was hard not to notice, seeing as he was the only real movement going on in the room and it drew the attention of those at the computer. Tim was the first to question it, asking, “What’s the rush?”

“Patrol!” It was an easy enough answer, but something felt off about it, though Tim couldn’t put a finger on it - no one really could, but those that were paying more attention did notice something.

“Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?” Barbara points out, and Duke pauses, chuckling briefly before grabbing his helmet.

“Right- thanks! Anyway, gotta go-!” With that, the young vigilante rushes out of the cave after hurriedly putting on his suit and gear. A few of those in the cave stare, raising a couple of brows or just looking confused before ultimately returning to what they were doing – even if such a sight weirded them out. Cassandra, however, couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at the sight as she watched Duke rush out of the cave.

He seemed… really excited to be going on patrol… hm.

Duke could hardly focus on where his feet were going as he rushed out of the house, a warm sort of feeling blooming in his chest as he made his way out of the cave, and through the front door – nearly bumping into someone on the way out. Even if he was able to just barely move out of the way, a quick, “Sorry! I’ve really got to go, Selina!” Leaves him, the words tumbling out of his mouth like how he almost trips over the single step in front of the door. Leaving behind a confused but amused catwoman all the while.

Getting to the city is easy enough, and even more so with a small tug in his chest seemingly guiding Duke somewhere. Does he know where? Not particularly, but he can’t help but have a good feeling about this.

Dropping down in an alley, Duke peaks around a corner to get a glimpse of the city before slipping out – only to bump into someone… somehow.

Shaking it off, he goes to say something – only to stop himself when he sees who it is, what a coincidence. “Oh, [Last Name], what’re you doing here?”

You glance over your shoulder, and raise your brow at the sight of the teenager, “Grabbing breakfast? Why else would I be waiting in line at this breakfast spot?” A small, amused chuckle escapes you as you offer a hand to help him up, and it’s only then that Duke notices he fell at all.

“Oh! Yeah, that… um, makes sense?” Grasping your hand, he pulls himself up and glances to the side awkwardly. This wasn’t very professional, was it? As a vigilante, he was supposed to be better than this – and more, well, vigilant! He had to get it together, he couldn’t embarrass himself in front of you!

Clearing his throat, Duke meets your eyes once again, “Seems like things are busy here, huh?” Just what the hell was he trying to do? Duke couldn’t understand – he had patrol to do, he couldn’t just sit here and make small talk-

“I guess you could say that, it does seem busier than it has been the last few days, but nevermind that- what’re you doing here, Thomas?” Your grip loosens on his hand, but Duke can’t find it in himself to let go. Not after what you just said, and so casually at that – like knowing his secret identity was common knowledge and not, well, secret!

Duke’s mind races, with him staring at you like your face alone will provide all the answers, and in the midst of his disbelief, a breathless, stunned, “What?” Slips past his lips, and your brows seem to furrow.

“Is something wrong, Thomas-?”

“How-” Duke can barely even speak, his eyes blown wide. He wants to pull away, but it’s like your hand is the only thing keeping him grounded – making him almost hate how real it feels, especially as his hold tightens. With him now grasping onto it like he’s both afraid to let go, and desperate to cling onto something, but what? Duke doesn’t know. Hell, he’s almost scared to know, and that confuses him even more. “How do you know who I am?” It’s a simple question, but it’s spoken so quietly and hesitantly that it’s like Duke himself is unsure if he should’ve spoken at all, or if he even said it to begin with. As if, for a moment, he couldn’t tell if he managed to speak at all, or if his eyes and the way his hand shook had asked the question for him.

It’s beyond confusing, and honestly making Duke’s head hurt the more he tries to make sense of everything. The world spins, and yet zeros in on this moment at the same time, and Duke almost feels like he’s about to fall or even collapse all over again-

Then, he sees your smile and how you turn more towards him, and it’s like he can breathe all over again.

“Well, you’re adopted- or at least being taken care of by Mr. Wayne- aren’t you? It’s pretty hard to not know you, Thomas, especially in Gotham. Which- is sort of like Mr. Wayne’s little empire, don’t you think?” You respond easily, words almost playful as you carefully rest your other hand over his – most would pull away or tell him to stop because of how much it hurts, but you don’t. Almost like you can’t feel it, or just see how much the small action means to him – to hold onto something steady, unmoving, and undeniably real in this moment of confusion, dread, and fear. Maybe it’s both, but who’s to say.

Duke struggles to respond, only managing to stutter out an, “I-” a few times before you decide to spare him once more.

“Granted, I’m surprised to see you out and about so early. A growing boy like you needs his rest, doesn’t he?” Your fingers brush against the back of his hand, and it’s only then that Duke realizes that he’s feeling it on his skin, not though his gloves or suit – and he finally looks down. When… did he put on civilian clothes?

Regardless, he can’t help but ease. The tight tension in his shoulders drops, and Duke exhales, relieved. “Right- well, I was just out grabbing a quick bite to eat. Always good to get outta the house, yeah?” He replies easily, the excuse coming easy to him – and as if on cue, his stomach rumbles… Did he eat breakfast this morning? When’s the last time he’s forgotten something like that?

Your expression softens, and you give a small shrug, “‘Suppose you’re right, can’t really argue with that.” You glance down at his stomach before looking back at the teen, and pull your hand back – an action that makes Duke’s hand twitch before he lets it fall back to his side. “How about you join me?”

Duke can’t help but be taken aback by your request, and stammers a little as he straightens up and says, “I couldn’t- I can’t-”

“Oh, c’mon. It’ll just be a little bite, and besides, I’ve already got a table. Breakfast’s on me, yeah?”

“I really shouldn’t-”

“[Last Name]?” A waiter calls out, causing you to perk up.

“Ah, that must be it! Now, c’mon,” you gesture for Duke to follow you inside, “I promise I won’t keep you long. But consider this my thanks for yesterday- I definitely underestimate how big Gotham really is.”

The young vigilante hesitates, unsure if he should follow you or try to decline again. After all, he still had patrol – and with this weird group going around, he couldn’t afford to just go off and push aside his duty for breakfast, could he? In situations like this, it was best to stay on top of things and remain vigilant, wasn’t it?

Duke feels his stomach growl much more insistently this time, and he can practically feel the painful pinch of the void growing inside it… It wouldn’t be good if he did patrol on an empty stomach, would it? After all, he had to be in top shape to properly perform his duties, right? Being on an empty stomach wouldn’t do him any good, and would only hinder him further…

“You comin’, Thomas?” The teen’s feet before he could fully process your words, but he offers a nod and agreement all the same.

Bruce would understand, right?

The waiter leads you and Duke to a booth, and from there, things go smoothly. The silence isn’t as bad as one would think, and for those that didn’t know any better – they’d think you were friends or had some friendly relation since conversation flowed seamlessly and easily. It wasn’t long before your orders were made, with you encouraging Duke to order whatever he liked, and the wait was practically nonexistent. Though, that’s only to be expected when you two got along so well. It may have been weird in any other circumstance, but here, it wasn’t. It was natural, just like everything else was.

Really, only those on the outside looking in could notice anything, and someone eventually did.

Cassandra had felt that something was weird, and with how Duke’s body language had read this morning, she couldn’t help but be curious. Not to mention worried, especially since they had enough things to worry about. So, seeing her brother eating with a cop from Metropolis was… weird to say the least. It felt weirder knowing it was you for some reason, but she couldn’t explain why. You couldn’t have possibly been the reason for Duke’s excitement, could you? No, that didn’t make any sense – unless… you knew each other previously? Would Duke have left something like that out?

Just seeing something like this spawned too many questions, and Cassandra wasn’t getting any from standing across the street. Especially not when your body language reads as calm, happy, and oddly enough – full of energy, along with a trace of confidence. With Duke being almost… too happy, too calm and content for someone that was supposed to be a stranger. You were helping them on the case, of course, but they didn’t know you as civilians. They weren’t supposed to, and yet Duke didn’t have the suit on – where was it?

… She could stand there until you both left, but something told her that wasn’t going to get her anywhere either. Something told her that she had to approach, if only to confront you and get Duke out of there herself. To help him get back on track if anything, and to get some sort of explanation if she was smart about things.

So, approaching the establishment, Cassandra steps inside and wastes no time heading over to where you and Duke are sitting. Resisting the urge to just grab you by the collar and get answers out of you, she simple rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze – which is more than enough to grab your attention.

Looking up at her, a confused expression passes by before another bright smile rests and makes itself home on your face. “Ah, You must be Cain, correct? Or would you prefer Cain-Wayne?” A light laugh escapes as you add, “It’s a bit of a tongue twister, but the choice is really yours, young one.”

Surprised, Cassandra can’t help but blink before her expression hardens and he brows furrow. Taking note of her confusion, you simply say, “I haven’t been here for long, but word travels fast in Gotham! Besides, who wouldn’t know about the children Mr. Wayne has taken in? You’re all a very common topic amongst the city folk, and from your expression – I’m willing to assume you’re surprised to hear that.” There was something in your tone that made those last few words of yours almost sound sarcastic. Cassandra couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it made her narrow her eyes all the same. What were you trying to get at-?

“Cass?” Hearing Duke’s voice makes Cassandra glance at him for a moment, and the look in his eyes rubs her the wrong way. He shouldn’t have an expression like that, not for a stranger, even if you are from Metropolis. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were still… home.” The small pause in his words doesn’t slip past her, and it certainly doesn’t make Cassandra feel any better either, but it isn’t enough to make her leave.

Even as she doesn’t say anything, her eyes say enough, and you notice how Duke tenses slightly while under her gaze. You don’t understand what they’re saying, or whatever they seem to be communicating, but you’re not bothered by it. Communication was a universal thing, after all, and you’ve seen many people find all sorts of ways to do it – with or without words. It’s something you’ve picked up on with time, but that’s a given considering things.

Nevertheless, you speak up and interrupt… whatever it is that’s going on here. “Why don’t you join us, Cain? Thomas was just finishing up, but it’s like they say; the more the merrier!”

Cassandra seems taken aback by your offer, and so does Duke, but you only focus on her for now. Despite not having said a word, it’s like you can feel her growing quieter, and just as you go to say something else, she glances at Duke before promptly taking a seat next to him – nearly pushing him towards the window just to create some space for herself.

Naturally, Duke responds with a surprised, “Hey!” At the sudden intrusion of his space, but ultimately does little to get it back, and instead moves over to grant Cassandra her desired space.

From there, you carry on as you did before, but the younger ones across from you seem awkward – you can’t decipher a reason for this, not on your own, but a few eventually come to you and you try to work around it as best you can. At the start, things are strained and it’s obvious that there is something more than what both are deciding to show. Which, while smart, is inconvenient at best.

Regardless, you do what you can to spark conversation. Duke responds well enough after a few questions that ease him back into the flow of things, but Cassandra takes a while longer. Though that only makes sense since she’s just gotten into things, and is only starting to get into that flow as well. It’s not hard to notice that she’s simply just observing for now, and most likely wants to keep it that way, but you didn’t make that offer for her to just watch.

You start with something to drink, offering coffee since that seemed to be a common choice around here, and even take a sip of your own beverage while you were at it, and ask if Duke wanted anything else. It’s always the little things that count, but of course Cassandra remains as she is, and doesn’t respond. It’s only after a good minute or so does she get something, though if it’s to ‘blend in’ easier or because she genuinely wanted something to drink, you couldn’t tell – but that didn’t matter. Eventually, she gives you small responses by nodding or shaking her head, among other small gestures that seem to give just enough information to count as some sort of reaction. Cassandra was responding and reacting more to things Duke was saying, but that didn’t bother you. She was beginning to ease up, and that’s what ultimately counts.

Then, you’re given a golden opportunity as her stomach gives a small rumble. It’s barely noticeable, and not even Duke hears it, but Cassandra does and you notice her reaction well enough to tell. Of course, you give her the same offer you gave to Duke earlier – and even if she is more hesitant and reluctant, you take a risk and push things as you get her something. Just as before, the wait is hardly long at all – even if Cassandra seemed to feel it more than you did – and when it comes, it takes her a bit to even poke at it, but she caves eventually.

From there, everything eases just as it did before. Whatever you picked, she ends up liking it, and the conversation flows much better now that Cassandra is less tense. Your smile from before remains, and the morning carries on splendidly.

However, as with all things, it eventually comes to an end as you get a notification on your mobile device, and a small huff escapes you. Things are coming along, but it’s time to call it – you’ve been here long enough. You signal for the check, and once it arrives, you simply say, “Well this has been nice, hasn’t it? I don’t know what I expected, but I’m pleasantly surprised by both of you. This has been… eye opening, as one would say,” you muse, another light laugh escaping you, “but I’ve kept you both for long enough. I’m sure you both have places to be.” You don’t even look as the waiter takes the check back after you slip on your Rose Bank card.

Duke seems to tense slightly, and stops you from standing as he shoots up from his seat, “Wait, do you have to go right now? If there’s anywhere you need to go, I could take you-” You wave him off, and shake your head.

“There’s no need, I know my way around well enough, but thank you-” Cassandra moves to stand as well, and before she can even fully get out, Duke scrambles to get out of the booth and stand in front of you.

“You just got here a bit ago, right? I’m sure I can still help-”

“Thomas, I assure you I’m fine. I’m just heading back to the station,” you handle the check and slip your card back into your wallet when the waiter comes back around. Duke struggles to speak, and Cassandra seems concerned. Hm.

Exhaling softly, you give the teen a pat on his shoulder, “If anything happens, remember, you can always contact the GCPD if need be, alright?” Duke didn’t seem too pleased with that response, but all it takes is one more long look before he averts his gaze and nods.

“Yeah, yeah… alright.” You grin, and give him another pat.

“Perfect! See you around, kid!” With that, you leave without a second thought, feeling more confident then before – and Cassandra could tell. Of course she could, but before she could think about why you were going to the station this early in the day, her eyes drift back to Duke, and she can’t help but pause. His body language and overall attitude is completely different now… but… why? What could have made him so upset?

The young vigilante glances up when she hears the small bell of the door, indicating your leave… and she doesn’t know why, but she can’t help but feel disappointed.

— — — — — —

Making your way to the station is easy enough, and as you check the time, you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Just in time.

You turn around, and are greeted by the sight of blue eyes and dark hair – honestly, if his face shape was different, you’d think he was Bruce. It’s almost weird that they aren’t biologically related, but that’s the funny thing about genetics, you suppose.

Nevertheless, you offer a smile as always, “I got your call, but I didn’t expect to be meeting you in Gotham this soon, Grayson. You really are punctual. Though noon is an odd time to meet up, don’t you think?” Richard – or as everyone apparently calls him, Dick – just gives a smile of his own that borders on a smirk, and shrugs nonchalantly.

“Couldn’t think of a better time, and besides, it isn’t that bad. It’s just in time for lunch!” You hum at his response, finding it a bit curious before giving a nod.

“Well, when you put it like that it almost sounds smart,” You chuckle out, watching as his face contorts slightly. “Regardless, I got your call. You wanted to discuss the case?”

Dick doesn’t seem to appreciate your little jab, nor how you brush past it so fast – but just huffs before giving a nod. “Yeah, some guys said you’d know some things…? Or that someone here did?” You raise a brow before a look of confusion settles on your face.

“A few of us here do, but the one that would know the most would be detective Greenwood,” yet, you pause, as if thinking for a moment before adding, “I assume the situation in Bludhaven has gotten worse?”

The sigh that escapes him is telling enough, even more so with how he rubs the back of his neck, and the nod he gives is almost guilty. “Yeah… and even saying that feels like you’re sugar coating it.” Hm, must be like Metropolis then – that’s good to know. “I guess Ludwig told you?”

“Among a few other things, but just gave a general idea,” Dick visibly deflates at your words, and so, as if extending an olive branch of sorts, you gesture to a cafe nearby. “How about we get you some coffee and a quick bite to eat, hm? Can’t imagine getting here was an easy trip.”

Dick’s practically already following you to the small shop when you make your offer, and a low, exaggerated groan escapes him. “You don’t even know the half of it, it’s like Gotham’s become some highly sought out tourist destination overnight! It’s insanity, I tell you- makes no sense! The people who live here don’t like it enough as it is, why would anyone else want to be here?”

You shrug your shoulders, and guide both of you over to the cafe, “Not a clue, but it is weird when you put it like that. But maybe it’s nothing, who knows? We’ve got enough to deal with, anyway.”

“Tell me about it… not like there's anyone around here that wants to deal with this kind of weather. It feels way too warm for fall, if you ask me.” Dick mumbles, making his way over to the counter to order, and you only partially shrug, giving another nod in half agreement. You didn’t feel a difference, but it could just be because you’re used to it.

“I guess so,” you say, pulling out your wallet to pay – seeing as you offered to begin with. Obviously, Dick notices and doesn’t move to stop you, but can’t help but raise a brow.

“Aren’t you going to get anything?”

You glance at him for a moment before huffing softly, almost as if amused by what he said, and just hand the cashier your Rose Bank card to pay.

“I had a filling brunch.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Despite everything that’s been going on, this is probably one of their more organized efforts to tackle the night – which is really saying something, since there’s always been attempts, but it’s hard to be orderly amidst chaos. Something that Gotham practically breeds, even if this particular strain comes from out of town.

Tim and Duke are in the manor running tests on the organic material Stephanie and Jason had managed to get from the other night, with Barbara doing similar work in the clock tower. The others are out in the city, with Bruce running some things by Gordon, Selina being god knows where, and the others tracking some shipment while taking care of minor crimes and such along the way.

It’s almost… weird how coordinated this ‘cult’ seems to be, not to mention just how many people seem to be in on this thing. There didn’t seem to be an exact number at the moment, and if they really did split up, then there may even be more members that they weren’t aware of that have taken refuge outside of Gotham-

Point is, there were definitely a lot of people in this cult. Maybe even too many to coordinate and organize, at least for them to work so in sync with one another as they were now. It’d make more sense if they were only in Gotham, but until they got Clark’s report, no one could be sure of that – even if Dick responding so readily when Bruce had called him in was telling enough on its own. There was also the possibility of there being multiple organizers and leaders for this, which seems like the obvious choice, but even so – who could get a system in place that works this smoothly? It’s almost unnatural. Uncanny, even. Not to mention it doesn’t make sense if there’s no incentive for these people to be doing all of this-

Tim couldn’t figure it out, anyway. It felt like there was still so much they didn’t know yet, and like one thing was happening right after the other. Despite not being out in the city himself, he could use his birds as his eyes to see outside while he remained in the cave – so, in a way he was also tracking the cult. What Tim found weird himself is that you didn’t think the cult had a proper name, or that they weren’t called after the event all of these groups seem to be working towards. It made the most logical sense that they would be, or at least something similar to it – but you, someone who's been working on this case longer than anyone they knew at the moment, disagreed. Why? Regardless, aside from this supposed ‘Red Dawn’, what incentive did… well, anyone have to be a part of the cult to begin with? Did the event itself grant them something? What even was the Red Dawn? What did it have to do with all this soil and sand?

There were too many questions and not enough answers, but he supposes that’s why they’re even investigating to begin with. Though, if Tim had a say in this – it feels too organized to be something that only started three or so days ago. Have they really only been in Gotham for just a couple of days? If what his birds are seeing is real, then it’s more likely that they’ve been here for months-

[“Oh, would you look at that? They split again. Geez, really makes you wonder why they’re moving this stuff around like this. Seems ssseriously inefficient if you ask me.” Jason’s voice sparks in the commlink, tone sarcastic and rough.]

[“Agreed, there hardly seems to be a purpose to such tactics.” Damian huffs, going quiet for a moment only to add, “Unless they really are trying to distract us.”]

Tim perks up at this, and uses a nearby bird to perch on top of one of the telephone lines that go across the street. Watching as the next load of… whatever this cult was hauling and bringing around, drives off down the street. Some of it in a truck, and the other half of it in various cars. Not exactly subtle, but it would be hard to keep track of it all if one person was trying to keep tabs on things. Especially if said person was human.

[“Gonna have to agree with you guys, these people… they’re doing something, alright.” Stephanie chimes in, the suspicion clear in her voice.]

“What does that mean?” Tim can’t help but ask, trying to focus on the sample he’s analyzing, but can’t help but focus more on what his birds are seeing – especially when it’s more interesting the shuffling through samples of dirt.

[Stephanie sighs, “Seems like they’re trying to spread this stuff all around. Parks, gardens, bakeries, flower shops- all kinds of places, and from the looks of things? Whatever they’re doing here, it’s getting to other civilians as well. Guards and employees are helping them, and not just to open the back door either.”]

[“Someone open the front door?” Jason asks rhetorically.]

[Stephanic stiffs a chuckle, but Cassandra responds with a curt, “Yes. And storage.”]

[Jason was quiet for a moment before a small, “... Right, ‘course they did.”]

With his birds, Tim is able to follow as many trails as he can – and upon noticing a particularly weird detail, his brows furrow. “They… looped back around.”

[“Yep, I see them. Right back at the gardens… weird.” Stephanie confirms, sounding equally confused.]

[“They’re obviously trying to play us, but why? So they can plant more of this… red shit everywhere?” Jason can’t help but question.]

Tim shakes his head, which the closest bird to Jason and Damian emulates, “No, that doesn’t make sense. They’ve got loads of this stuff all over Gotham- I don’t see why they’d need more, unless…” He grows quiet, thinking for a moment before he looks down at the sample he’s supposed to be examining. Were they thinking of this the wrong way?

[“Unless… what?” Stephanie asks.]

He tries to think of a way to explain it, fumbling for a moment before just saying, “Well, do we even know what this stuff does?”

[“That’s what we have you looking at it for, yeah? Shouldn’t you or Barbara, or hell- even Duke know?” Jason chips in again.]

[Damian sucks his teeth, “Of course you can’t even do the one job we actually give you, Drake.”]

Tim can practically feel the disdain in Damian’s voice as he says his last name, which makes his brow twitch – but he shakes it off. He tries to, at least.

“I’m trying! I just… don’t know what I’m looking at, or why, okay? This whole situation is… weird.”

[“Look, Tim, people… people died over this stuff. There’s gotta be something weird about it. Maybe weird chemicals or…?” Stephanie tries to suggest.]

The watcher huffs at the reminder, but ultimately relents as he gives it another look while still having his birds keep tabs on things. All he sees is the same thing, and as he increases the magnification on the microscope, he only finds himself growing more… confused. More weirded out than anything, and a little curious, sure, but confused all the same.

Leaning back, he takes a breath, “I don’t understand, it looks alien… but how can that even be possible?”

[“We work with aliens, is it really that strange, Drake?”]

“I know that- but this is like- different! The organisms in the dirt are being taken over by something- and it’s like it’s both trying to take over and adapt to it?”

[“Like… a parasite trying to get used to its host?”]

“Kind of? It’s hard to explain… and this substance in the dirt- no wonder some of it looks like sand…”

[“So, instead of ‘getting used to’ the host, it’s killing it.” Jason suggests.]

“Yeah, like it can’t adapt properly or… is valuing infection over adaptation. It seems to feed on organic material and create more- but there’s something weird about it too.”

[“... And that is?”]

Tim hesitates for a moment, unsure himself, before eventually just putting the idea out there. “Well, at this pace… if their plan is for it to infect all the organic material in Gotham for whatever reason, then this is a seriously inefficient way to do it. Their plan here isn’t to have this stuff in all the dirt - at least, not to change it all. It seems more like a byproduct of whatever they’re trying to do with it.”

[“Well, what’s in the dirt, Tim?” Stephanie asks.]

“That’s the thing- I have no idea. It’s like its own organism, but I haven’t seen anything like this. It’s completely alien, and I doubt it’s the friendly kind.”

[“Well- I have to agree with you there. If it was… well, who knows how this would go. But nothing about all of this particularly screams ‘friendly’.”]

[“Did the people shooting themselves give that away?” Jason sarcastically quips.]

[“The purposefully suspicious activity certainly doesn’t help.” Damian adds, sounding equally pleased.]

Tim zones out of the conversation, glancing back at the samples Jason and Stephanie were able to bring in that he hasn’t fully looked at yet. The samples themselves don’t seem to ‘decay’ necessarily, and it seems to take them a while to eat away at the dirt or sand they’ve been ‘mixed’ with – from the looks of things, anyway.

No, if anything it gives the impression of a substance trying to reach homeostasis. Since, it’s either that or it’s trying to revert back to it’s original state for… whatever reason. Whatever other material it produces in that process is simply a byproduct of its efforts. The real question is why. Why is it trying to change? Why is it working to do… whatever it’s trying to do?

Mindlessly, Tim’s blank eyes drift over to where Duke was sitting, only to pause.

The teenager was hunched over, entirely focused on the task at hand – and whereas that isn’t inherently a bad thing, Duke hardly seems to be breathing, like the smallest gust of air or wind will tamper with the sample so much. Taking too much precaution when it comes to treating it. Not like it’s dangerous, but like it’s precious, like handling something more fragile than glass.

The sight alone makes Tim feel unnerved, and as his senses heighten – its only then does he pick up on the faintest smell. What… what is that-?

[“Oh shit- we’ve got to bounce. Now-!”]

[“Agreed. How did you even manage to-?”]

[“Let’s save the questions for when we’re out of the burning warehouse.”]

Tim blinks, eyes blowing wide as he looks away from Duke and focuses back on what’s going on. Using one of his birds, he can see that a warehouse is, in fact, on fire – and it is growing fast. “Steph-”

[“Already made the call, fire department is on the way but- how in the world did you guys even manage to set the whole place on fire?”]

[“Don’t lump me in with this brainless brute-” Damian’s complaint is cut off.]

[“I didn’t even expect the stuff to catch that fast! Just- ugh,” Jason groans, the subtle sound of the warehouse coming apart is just barely audible through the comlink. “Do everyone a favor, and keep those samples away from fire. That shit lights faster than propane.”]

“Even if it spreads quickly, how did the fire get strong that fast?!”

[“Hell if I know! You said this crap is alien, right? How is anyone supposed to figure it’d have so much kick!?”]

“You knew it could set on fire?!”

[“Last I checked, dirt isn’t flammable- of COURSE I DIDN’T KNOW!”]

[“Guys! Just- focus on getting out of there! We can figure out all of this once we regroup. Meet me and Cass at the station. We need to tell Bruce about this.”]

Tim glances at Duke once again, who’s hand twitches slightly, and the watcher grows quiet before looking back at his own sample.

… Could this night get any weirder?

— — — — – – – – – – — – – –

Eventually, towards the heart of the night, Bruce is able to reach the batcave once more, and everyone recounts what they found or learned – minus certain individuals.

The discussion is as chaotic as one would imagine, but the main points get across eventually, albeit between suspicions a few of them had, and more speculation on what could be going on. The biggest question is why this group had chosen Gotham of all places, if they really have been here recently or have been in the city for longer, who Tim and Cass were able to identify as members of the cult, and so on.

Whoever was organizing this was clearly doing something to the people following them. How perfect everything seemed to flow without their presence was uncanny and unnatural, not to mention how readily members have killed themselves without a hint of hesitation. Honestly, it was terrifying – and the fact there was still so much left unknown wasn’t helping. Not knowing who was behind this, or at least in charge of the group in Gotham was setting them back – and the risk of confrontation was too high. There was no telling if they’d dispose of themself just as quickly as the other members of the cult, but that was assuming there even were other leaders in place.

They certainly had their influencers and people who brought in more members into their cult, but for some reasons… most of the vigilantes had a feeling that there wasn’t. That there was just one person in control – the lack of evidence on that end didn’t help, but they sort of just knew. Regardless, it wasn’t enough to fully dismiss anything, even if some of them were pretty set on a couple of things. Duke, Jason, Stephanie, and Cassandra in particular. Bruce was… well, himself, but he seemed to have his mind set as well even if he left the door open for possibilities.

If this was really alien, who knows what they’re dealing with – and if what Clark said earlier was true, then it’s definitely mind altering, at the very least. Though, that did pose another question entirely about you and the cops that came in from Metropolis.

Were any of you under the influence of this… alien substance?

They weren’t given much time to dwell on that as something pops up on the batcomputer – a notification of sorts. “Ah, must be Clark.” Bruce mumbles, already working on displaying and finding out all the information Clark had gathered.

A map of the United States first flashes onto the many screens, before red dots begin to appear on the map. Like little fairy lights, they flicker on, and don’t stop until it looks like the country has got the bad case of chickenpox. Then, it zooms out, showing the whole world map, and more dots appear. They’re sparse in some areas compared to others, but the message is made clear enough.

Yet, before anyone could fully digest even the point Clark was trying to make, the funniest thing happens.

The dots begin to move. They weren’t just markers, they were trackers.

Some move faster than others, all of them blinking for a moment before shifting, showing their movement. There aren’t any labels, but the direction seems to be clear enough. Especially as the map zooms back into the United States, and shows the movement there a little more clearly.

On the East Coast, all of the dots closest to there seem to be moving towards two cities in particular – but before it can be shown where they are clearly moving towards, the power cuts. The batcave is swallowed by darkness, and the vigilante family is left in complete darkness for a few moments. The cave being the most dark any of them have seen it, and the silence near deafening.

It doesn’t take long for the lights to flicker back on, but they have the oddest shade of pink, and as everything powers back on – the ventilation is still paused, and something else has taken place of the map on the batcomputer – it’s taken over every screen even remotely connected to the advanced computer, actually.

A red solar eclipse with a timer right on the bottom, counting down. No explanation, nothing aside from the eclipse and countdown.

There’s no way someone in the cult could’ve got into the system, and especially not tonight when they were all on high alert and keeping an eye on them! It wasn’t possible, the security in the cave and manor would’ve been enough to stop anyone from getting in, or at least notified any of them if someone had gotten in. Hell, Damian’s sense and trigger would have alerted him if anyone had so much as stepped onto the property that wasn’t supposed to be there. There are too many precautions put into place for this to happen – and for the sight to stay on screen as well.

That didn’t leave many possibilities, and it was less about the why and more about how this could even happen. Which, amongst the options to shift through… with the threat they were dealing with here, only one seemed to stick out and seemed the most plausible.

There was a traitor among them.

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