-`♡´-synopsis. How the batboys treat their favorite possession— you, their doll.
-`♡´-content warnings. Non-con, kidnapping, mentions of sexual assault, reader is afab, dead dove do not eat
-`♡´- Dick Grayson:
Perhaps on the outside he seems like such a kind, caring man. That smile of his that charms easily and lights rooms with comfort. It’s a practiced skill, something he’s acquired over the years as Robin and now as Nightwing.
You, his doll. His pretty, precious doll that he loves to play with.
You belong everywhere he does. Dancing, singing, sitting beside him when he spends long hours at the computer to file mission reports. You, who’s brought him unimaginable joy simply by existing for him. He gets to brush your hair and dress you up.
He gets to tell you how gorgeous you are and how much he adores you while you suffocate under his hold. When his nose is pressed into your neck and he’s thrusting so violently inside you. Nevermind the screams and cries, dolls don’t get to decide how to be played with.
That’s why he keeps the rope and duct tape around!
He just loves you so fiercely, don’t worry— you’ll see it eventually. If you don’t break first.
-`♡´- Jason Todd:
This man treats you like a porcelain doll. Too pretty to be played with— too precious to release from the box. He can’t stand the idea of leaving your side for even a second. Can’t you see he’s keeping you protected?
“Don’t— don’t cry, god, please..”
The locks and chains are simply to keep threats out. The ones that would tangle your hair and fill your mouth with blood, and he refuses to bury you. No— he couldn’t.
You, his heart in human form, walking and talking and breathing. It scares him so bad. You’re too precious to touch and yet he can’t bear the idea of letting you roam independently. Give him a break, you’re only the embodiment of his love.
Even if that glass case gets thicker every day when he’s pleading with you to understand while holding you down and cradling you against him so tenderly it hurts.
Don’t hate him, he just wants the world not to lay a hand on you. And eventually, you won’t ever be waiting to touch the world in return.
-`♡´- Tim Drake:
Your toothbrush was the first thing added to his collection. Then your used coffee cup, and then your discarded pair of shoes.
Eventually he realizes that cataloguing you is so.. fulfilling. A gift given to him by your unaware hands. No longer just his eyes that follow and watch you sleep, but now he gets to keep pieces of you forever.
Then your tissues, and used panties even though you didn’t throw those away.
He’s a watcher, truly— the photos and videos stopped being satisfying long ago after you’ve given him the savory taste of your fingers against his cheek only once to place a bandaid on a cut he had.
He started craving more and more.
His collection is incomplete however. Now surrounded by things of you, he realizes: amongst the sea of discarded clothing and pads and socks— he was missing just one thing.
You, his doll. The centerpiece to his perfect shrine. Don’t cry so much, he only occasionally puts his hands on you with that flustered, perverted smile.
-`♡´- Damian Wayne:
Damian doesn’t necessarily require you in a cage or suppressed underneath his body or needing to collect anything of yours like his brothers.
You’re just his.
His doll, his object, his possession.
Occasionally he’ll remember to feed and bathe you just like those who remember that their favorite doll needs attention.
Regardless, don’t be tempted to ask others for help— he’ll have them cut to pieces and removed within minutes and you sitting on his lap, forcing you up and down in front of the group of his underlings to teach you a lesson.
You, his doll, shouldn’t be so bold as to assume you’re not under his control. He’ll correct his mistake, from now on he’ll value his doll. Protect you, maintain you.
And if you attempt to be disobedient then he shall further your public punishment by having you sit between his knees while you choke on him.
-`♡´-Synopsis: Loving Richard Grayson used to be easy. Now it’s inescapable.
-`♡´-content warning: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, behavior correcting, boundary violation, dick is a whiny bitch, unhealthy attachment, dependent relationship, toxic relationship, isolation, guilt-tripping
-`♡´-word count. 2k
-`♡´-a/n: he’s a manipulative dick lmaooo
You’re convinced you’re going to melt inside the stuffy Bludhaven apartment. The damp heat creeps up like a sauna, makes your already high nerves rise. Apartment bills should be illegal, there’s no reason Gotham apartments should be as pricey as they are considering the city’s daily living.
The sweat developing on your skin gets worse as you’re buried underneath the warm fluffy blanket you’d begged to buy because it matched the bedsheets. It had kept you warm during the Bludhaven winters when you’d first bought it. God how you regretted the fleecy, searing thing. Each strand of its fluff sticking to your open skin and making you feel like you’re shoved inside an overheated oven.
You don’t move.
The diamond ring you’d found inside your boyfriend’s jacket keeps you glued to the couch. The nausea sitting deep in your belly and making your body tense with preparation of throwing up soon.
You loved your boyfriend.
You loved your boyfriend.
You’d like to think you weren’t a bad girlfriend for the duration of your four year relationship. There wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with it. By all accounts it was normal. Easy, affectionate.
Too affectionate.
Suffocating.
It hadn’t been so the first two years of your relationship with Dick Grayson. He was kind, warm, loving. Honestly you believed he was out of your league a little. He was unfairly gorgeous but emotionally starved deep down. Maybe that’s why he clung to you so desperately.
He’d been so worried you’d break up with him when you’d caught him sneaking into your house through the window in his Nightwing suit the day of your two-year anniversary. He’d explained and pleaded for you not to push him away that day.
“Please baby, I know it’s strange, I know,” he whimpers into your arms.
You’d nearly laughed yourself to death after you’d reassured the poor man of your firm feelings and told him you weren’t going anywhere. What a mistake you’d made.
Dick clung to your words like scripture. Every fight became him begging. Every disagreement became him trying to placate you. Every missed date, birthday and shared holidays became weight upon your weakening shoulders. Perhaps you were not strong enough to bear his vigilante secret as you thought.
He’d cuddled you to death at night and beg you to stay in the mornings. And once you’d settled, he went back to previous behavior of clinging, smothering, dripping in honey-toned sweetness.
Sometimes he’d notice your own feelings before you had the time to process them yourself. And he’d made sure to be right there every time. Constantly there.
Calls, texts, the flirting, the affection. Dick loved wholly and completely. Like being wrapped in a bear’s arms that were soft and inescapable.
Four years later and you find yourself stuck in a relationship you no longer want.
Perhaps that’s why your terrible luck had made you come across that diamond ring. The rock sat nestled in a platinum band that practically vanished beneath the gem's blinding glare. It scared you badly. It was clearly expensive, having been bought a while ago without your knowledge. Dick had brought up the topic of marriage before.
You hadn’t taken it seriously at the time because of the way your relationship was going. You were sure a mutual breakup was on the rocks.
And yet.
You shifted on the couch, feeling another wave of uncomfortable heat pass down your body. Your lips parted in a soft sigh, the glare of the TV painting your pretty face in blue. You weren’t even sure what was going on in the movie anymore. Something or other about an alien or whatever. Something Dick had picked out for the two of you.
He’s quieter right now, less enthusiastic than you’d expected. Was he sick? Did you care? Of course you cared, that’s why you were so anxious.
Suddenly you’re catching his eyes and your breath halts.
He’s looking at you. Well, it’s the way he’s looking at you. The way he always does when he’s searching for an answer to a question he’s not asking yet. Soft, attentive, too close, too invasive.
“Hey,” he speaks for the first time in the last hour since the movie began in that familiar soft tone that makes your knees weak and nerves spike. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”
Of course he noticed. That’s why he tucked you closer to his side. That’s why his arm is around you like a steel bar keeping you in place and close to him even if you were melting in the heat. You force a smile anyway, “I’m okay.”
But Dick is too emotionally smart for that. At least that’s what you prefer to think. Truly, the more honest answer would be that he’s just too meticulously in the way he reads into your body language, reactions, expressions. It makes you feel less confident than you’d like. Too exposed.
“Are you sure baby?” He sits up straighter, leaning closer into your body as the couch dips more with his shifting weight. He tenderly lifts an arm to push your hair back from your face. “You’ve feel a little off,” he murmurs too softly. Like he’s coaxing the real answer from you.
You shift away, barely. But he notices anyway. Years of vigilante work teaching him even the subtlest of reactions. His hand around your shoulder tightens for a fraction before settling firmer this time.
“I’m okay,” you respond again, softer than you’d meant for it to come out.
His blue eyes stare down at you.
He smiles.
“Okay,” he nods and settles into a cuddle against your side. “We don’t have to talk about it yet,” he stays patient.
Yet.
He knows.
It makes your pulse jump and eyes immediately latch onto the TV again to avoid being read so easily. You’ll try again in ten minutes. Ten.
College classes were shorter than those ten minutes. You swear your breath hitches every time you feel him shift even a little.
“Dick?” You murmurs with less courage than you would’ve had talking to a mugger.
“What baby?” He’s already looking at you, head popping from your side, propped up on his elbows. He’s unfairly pretty. Once upon a time you used to cheer and show him off smugly to anyone who’d listen to, ‘my boyfriend is hot!’ Now it feels like the pretty poster for something more unsettling underneath.
“Can we talk?”
His pretty face softens almost immediately, he wears that warmth so easily it almost makes you hesitate. “Of course,” he sits up and turns his body to face yours, attentive to every word you’d say. “What’s going on?”
Theres a pause in the air and you feel your throat starting to close like it’s refusing to let you go through with what you’d been planning for a few weeks now. But you continue anyway. “Nothing,” you clear your throat to relieve the restriction. “Well, not nothing,”
Your hands are fiddling now, like the action can keep you grounded without wanting to run away from the apartment entirely. “Today was just, uh, weird. Well sorry, no, I’ve been.. feeling weird for a while.”
His brows knit together, concern so soft it makes the weight in your stomach heavier. “Weird how?”
“I just think,” your heart is beating so loud you can hear it in your ears. “We need to talk about.. us.”
That gets his full attention. You can feel the way his body shifts, no longer just soft but now acutely observant of your every move. You imagine this is what villains feel when being hunted by Nightwing. Like a bunny being watched through forest leaves and bushes. “Okay,” he nods for you to continue, TV long forgotten and the blanket rumpled around the two of you.
“I don’t think this is working out.”
The words pour out of you fast. Too fast for you to have the chance to chicken out or take them back. They hang in the air like mold.
Silence.
He doesn’t blink.
“…What?” His voice comes out imperceptibly soft. It hits like a bullet to your already shaky resolve.
“I think we should break up,” you force the words out before you have the chance to lose them to the guilt swirling in your bones like poison. Your fingers don’t stop pressing to each other anxiously. There’s a longer silence from him, blue eyes scanning your face, his soft lips parted like he’s trying to process your words like they’re code for something. “Did I do something wrong..?”
Your stomach drops.
“No, no it’s not,”
“I mean,” he cuts in a little breathless, “you can tell me if I messed up. I can fix it. Whatever I did, I’ll fix it.”
You stress, “it’s not about fixing anything-“
“Then what is it?” He takes your hands into his bigger ones, hands stopping your fiddling fingers. There’s a weird tone of urgency in his voice, one usually not present even during fights with thugs. “You don’t just.. say something like that out of nowhere..”
“It’s not. It’s not out of nowhere,” you try to convince yourself more than him. The way he’s staring at you making you falter more than you want to admit. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” You try to pull your sweaty hands away but he refuses to let go.
“A while..?” He repeats almost a little dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”
“I’m trying to now,”
“No, but you already decided,” his voice cracks. Not anger, not even fear. Hurt. Just hurt. His face breaks in a way you feel the need to apologize publicly. Like you made some sort of crime against him. “You didn’t even give me a chance to fix it first,” he whispers.
His fingers dig into your palms, his dark hair framing his face in a way that feels like you’re punishing some sort of woodland creature. Your chest tightens and you take another breath, “Dick,”
“I thought we were okay?”
“We’re not—“
“We were happy,”
His tone brooding in a way that he gets whenever you start to pull away again. Like he knows doing those effective puppy eyes are changing your mind. It’s the certainty when he says the words that gets you though. Like it’s true beyond a reasonable doubt. “You were happy.. I know you were.”
Your hesitation shows in the way you turn your face away from the heartbreak of his expression. He notices. Of course he does, he does this professionally. He tightens his grip around your hands. “Hey,” he murmurs sweetly, “look at me.”
You don’t want to, but you break anyway and turn slow enough to at least put up the illusion of resistance. “I know you,” he caresses your face so gently you almost pretend it doesn’t feel like a slow barbed wire touching your skin. “You don’t just give up on things like this.”
Defensiveness hits so fast that your lip curls downward and eyebrows furrow. You pull away from his hand immediately, “I’m not giving up.”
“Why does it feel like it then?” His hand falls from the air and back down to your hands where his thumb finds your wrist. He softly rubs over your pumping vein. “We’ve always had bad weeks,” he comforts, “remember back in July?” He frowns. “We got through that. We always do.”
We always do.
“Dick,” you start very carefully, cautious like approaching an animal already crouching for the kill. “This isn’t about just one bad week.” He gives a humorless, soft laugh under his breath. “Then what is it? How can you go from us to,” he struggles to keep the whine from his voice, “to this?”
Again, you try to pull your hands away. But he grips, not hard enough to hurt, but he’s making a point. You shake your head, “I just don’t feel the same anymore.” The words leaving your lips feel like feeling shackles loosen from around your hands. Like a weight being lifted now that the truth’s been said.
There’s a rush of relief that washes over you. The previous heat that was suffocating you suddenly being washed away by cool AC air. There’s a noticeable drop of your shoulders and releasing tension of your muscles. You don’t smile, but close enough.
The words hang there and you expect him to beg or to plead or to accept with heartbreak. Something like the various other times.
The smile that shows off his canines makes you feel much, much colder than you’d wanted. So soft, almost fond.
“No.”
You’d said something silly.
Dread creeps back up so fast it leaves you a little winded. “…No?”
“You’d don’t really mean that sweetheart,”
“But I do,“
“You’re overwhelmed.” He cuts in smoothly, so sure, with that damned charming smile like he’s trying to comfort you. “That’s all this is.”
Your words catch in your tightening throat again. “Don’t.”
“I’m not trying to tell you what you feel,” he says quickly, noticing your guarded expression. “I’m just,” he gestures between you two, “telling you what I know.”
“That’s not..” you choke. “..the same thing.”
“It is when I’m right.”
You stare, mouth parted in shock. Eyes wide like you’re watching for him to pull out a camera and tell you, you’ve been pranked. He doesn’t. He just rubs his thumbs over the pulse point on your wrist. The words come out softer from you now, trying to convince him, “Dick.. I’m serious.”
“I know you think you are.”
“No,” you try more firmly, snatching your hands away with more force. “I am.” You are. You’re sure you are. You’d been planning this for weeks. You had reasons, lots of them. You both needed this. His expression shifts. The softness in his face breaking enough that what you see makes you want to run for the hills.
“Stop,” he whispers. It’s almost too quiet for you to catch, but you heard it.
There’s a drop of anxiety that goes down your stomach. Enough that you have to tense.
“Stop talking like this,” his voice comes out sharper, the narrowing of his gorgeous blue eyes making you feel like a scolded child. “Like this is decided.”
“It is,“
“No.”
The word cuts off the last bit of warmth he’d had left during the whole conversation. He exhales shakily, lean body trembling with anxiety. “You don’t get to just,” he tries to keep his voice steady but the quiet tightness of it comes out so wrong. “Decide shit like this by yourself.”
You scoot away to create distance on the couch. It only serves to break his expression more. “It is my decision.”
“It’s our relationship,” he argues, following you on the couch where his knees are now forcing themselves between yours. “I don’t have to stay in this!”
“I’m not asking you to stay, I’m asking you to think,” he says quickly, panicked, rushed.
“I have been thinking,” you snap harshly.
“Then you’re not thinking clearly.”
The words lodge in your throat so painfully you gasp. His face softens so fast at the sight of disbelief. “You don’t mean this.” He leans forward to place his hands in your shoulders. His warm hands, once comforting and soft now replacements for heavy restraints keeping you still to the couch. “You’ve said things like this before,” he whimpers. Your skin grows cold that the goosebumps that rise are painful. “What? No I haven’t,”
Have you?
“You always say things whenever you’re stressed. Maybe not the same.. but the same way.”
That’s wrong.
Isn’t it?
He catches the pause in your thoughts and his eyes sharpen. He squeezes your shoulder softly, a sigh escaping him. Exasperated at how unfair you’re acting. He’s scooting closer now, crowding into your space like he belongs there unquestionably. “It’s okay baby,” he nuzzles his nose closer to your cheek. “You don’t have to push me away every time you get scared.”
You cringe, “I don’t.”
“You do.” He sighs, tiredness seeping into his voice. Like you’re the tiring one. The unfair one. Are you? “You’re just tired. That’s all this is.”
Your eyes shut immediately, “I’m not—“
“Shhh,”
He doesn’t raise his voice. Maybe that’s the most audacious fact of all this. That he’s remained so calm. He silences you so naturally it scares you into it. Not because he’s aggressive, but because he’s not. How long has he been doing that without you noticing? Why did you ease into it so naturally? He’s softer now, all the anxiety now gone and affection left in its place.
His breath is soft against your skin, warm in the way the room is suffocating you again. “We can talk about it again when you’re feeling better,” he hums.
“I’m feeling—“
“When you’re better,” he repeats gently like you’re agreeing. Your mouth opens. And then you close it. The fight drops out of you so fast your bones feel tired. Your body leans into his, letting him hold you in the cage of his arms. “…okay.”
That bright, warm smile returns so fast it gives you whiplash. He takes your entire body into his, moving you into his lap so he can bear hug you tighter. The sound of his slowing heartbeats filling the buzzing noise in your head. You did good. You fixed it. Didn’t you?
“We’re okay,” he murmurs into your hair. “Yeah, we are baby.”
-`♡´-Sypnosis: Mark had taught you that there are dangers out there you should be scared of. Mainly him
-`♡´-Content: yandere behavior, overbearing behavior, manipulation, overprotective tendencies, Mark is lovesick loser, uhhhh subtle implications of kidnapping??
-`♡´-Word Count: 2.1k
-`♡´-A/N: I love Mark Grayson. My first time writing for him, please give me your thoughts.
"For the last time, I'm coming to keep you safe," Mark sighs, exasperated, speaking as if you're the idiot who can't understand simple explanations. It makes your eyebrow quirk in annoyance, taking issues with the way he was talking to you.
Because seriously? Who the fuck did he think he was?
He'd been dropping you off every day, everywhere for the last two week with little to no time for yourself. It had been cute at first, if not a little silly. He'd gotten so worried recently, for your safety, even your health. Constantly worried about mugging and random thief's who'd been making the news recently. It's funny to think about a hero who could crush kaiju's and stop meteors worry about petty criminals. But worried he was, nonetheless.
Like you'd said. Cute at first, not so much recently.
Mark just wanted to keep you safe, wanted to make sure not even a hair on your head was scratched. And it was starting to become suffocating. It had become too much, too obsessive with the way he was meticulous about showing up at a certain time to pick you up and drop you off at different place you needed to get to. You'd thanked him at first. Little coos of "My hero," or "You're so sweet,"
It started becoming "I can handle it myself," or "I'm not a damn child Mark!"
Your relationship with Mark had always been a straightforward one. You'd fallen first but he'd definitely fallen harder. Sweet, soft, and gentle, he was always afraid of hurting you or making you upset.
But recently his attitude has been taking a turn for the worst along with your attitude. He'd always been particularly sensitive whenever the two of you fought, especially if you had different viewpoints or ideas about certain things.
Like keeping you safe for example.
He'd say it was a necessity to take you to and from wherever you'd wanted. The transportation was cool at first, but then he'd started getting uptight about you being a minute late or even if you'd be going to some scary part of the city.
Which lead to now- what you considered your breaking point. All you'd wanted to do was hang out with a couple of friends downtown, and sure it was a shady area, but it wasn't like you were going to stay there past midnight. Oh, but Mark certainly thought differently.
"Mark, no." you shake your head, staring at him pointedly like he had no reason to be there. Which he didn't but he was so insistent that it was starting to piss you off. Mark only huffs at that, as if he needed your permission to take care of you.
He's not some damn dog.
Well, not right now anyway. Right now, he just wanted to keep you safe, and you were making it so unnecessarily hard for no reason. He's holding his mask, clad in his blue and black suit, having finished off some simple mission Cecil had sent him on. He's holding it tightly, eyes staring back at you defiantly. Daring you to stop him.
"You could get hurt."
"I'm gonna be around other people, Mark."
"People I don't know," he stresses. He's upset; eyes narrowed every time you tried to push him away. "I don't even know if they can defend you. Or if they won't just ditch you the second some criminal appears." The words piss you off. It's stupid, you know but it still makes you bristle. "Mark, don't talk that way about my friends, of course they'll keep me safe."
He shakes his head again, "You don't know that. Let me go, I'll be able to protect you if something happens." You scoff in return, arms crossing. "Mark, you're being silly, nothing has happened to me so far. You can't just watch me every day to keep me safe."
"Watch me."
That makes you pause. You just stare at him incredulously, like he'd said he ingested space-cannabis or something. "You can't seriously be saying that, Mark. Literally what's wrong with you?" your accusing words make him flinch and he only grips his mask tighter.
You don't give him the chance to say anything else, turning to march forward. And he stalks on your tail immediately, unwilling to let you just walk away. He feels the frustration bubble up, like if he just kept at it you'd falter and understand. He doesn't want you to get hurt, that's all. Sometimes it just takes him having to watch you constantly for the worry to fade.
Didn't you understand? What could he do or say to make you understand?
He feels like he's losing the battle. He knows he's slowly pushing you away, away from his over-bearingness. But he was well-meaning. You're everything to him, if something happened to you, he'd lose his goddamned mind. He couldn't live anymore. It'd be too hard.
So he has to make you understand. He's not the bad guy here, he's just in love. Hopelessly, stupidly in love with you.
“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he mutters, not even a foot away as you kept walking. Woe is he, a fool in love but such bad execution. It was tiring and you were done.
“God, Mark!” You didn’t mean to shout, or you did, your emotions at an all time high. You just wanted one day, one day out. Without him. Self-imposed keeper. “Can’t you just.. be normal?”
Maybe you’ve flown too close to the sun. Ridden your emotions too high and mistook comfort and safety as continual. Never doubting. It was instant that the words left a bitter, unpleasant taste, teeth grinding like they were trying to trap the words shut.
Too late.
He's gripping his mask like he wants to rip it apart. He feels like he can't get enough air, can't get the words out as calmly as he wants. Words burn at his throat, strangled and rough, "Damn it, don't you think I'm trying?" he's shaking now, the weight of the argument drawing out his anxiety. "Do you know how hard it is to keep my emotions in check, my strength controlled?"
You feel yourself swallowing whatever reply you had, eyes wide as he's heaving. You want to apologize, of course you know about everything he's dealing with! You just wanted one night away. Was that so wrong?
"I'm constantly worried about my powers, keeping my strength in check, making sure i don't break things or break people," he croaks, red rimmed eyed meeting your own. He's struggling to continue, a fluster crawling up his neck. "Or break you?"
You feel it. The shift in the air. Like his words brought upon a dark cloud that has been kept away for much longer than possible. The way his face contorts, the way his jaw clenches, the way his rough fingers squeeze and pull at the fabric of his mask. For a second, all the breath leaves you, eyes wide, trying to come up with some sort of response. Your silence is much louder to him though.
"Fuck," he hisses, running a gloves hand through his messy hair, "Shit, no, that's.. that's not what I meant to," his eyes screw shut, "not what i meant to say." You're not entirely sure what to say either. You're a little scared, a lot freaked out. You should comfort him right? You take a deep breathe, "You're being overbearing Mark,"
Wait, no, shit. Too late.
He flinches like you've slapped him, pretty face dropping into an 'oh'. god, you didn't mean to be such a bitch but fuck. "Seriously?" is all he says, taking a step forward. He's reaching out to you needily, like he's watching you walk away from him forever. It's not forever.. probably.
You weren't sure how long you wanted this to keep going for. Especially not after his little confession. Right now you just needed to clear your head, and emotions.
Alcohol was that escape.
"I should go, mark." You don't really wait for him to give you a response, just watch as his face rearranges to this surprised, blank look. "Go?" he echoes back dumbly. His mind spins for a second, wondering why the hell you're walking away in the middle of a conversation.
Your scared.
The realization of it leaves a nasty feeling growing in his stomach, a heavy weight settling between his shoulders as he watches you. Almost blankly; pale.
Is he losing you? That can't be right? “Wait.. no. Hold on,” he chokes.
You two were made for each other. Dramatic, maybe, but Mark was certain of it. He’d never felt for anyone the way he did for you. His mind replayed every moment you’d brushed him off, every time you’d slipped from his grasp just when he thought he had you in sight. Was his love too intense? Too demanding? The thought gnawed at him, but he quickly crushed it beneath the weight of his conviction. No—he wouldn’t apologize for the way his heart throbbed for you.
He hated that you seemed blind to the depth of his devotion. To him, loving you meant consuming every ounce of himself in the effort to guard you, and yet you treated his vigilance like a burden, an intrusion he could not reconcile. Why the fuck wouldn’t you just let him protect you?
He watched you laugh, speak, move freely, and the thought that you could exist without him hovering, without him breathing life into every moment of your safety, made no sense. How could you not see that every step he took, every glance he cast in your direction, was an act of undying love.
The sound of his palm hitting the brick wall behind you, echoes in your ears. Loud, sharp and painful. And scary as the building begins to shake under the weight of him.
“No, god damn it,” he heaved, caging you in with the arms that used to hold you gently. A fierceness to his body, one that hadn’t been there in the beginning. Trauma undoes people, you were aware of that. But undoing someone like Mark?
You weren’t sure if you were ready to face something like that.
“Mark,” you tried to act stern, with as much control as you could possibly have with him but it didn’t phase him anymore. He didn’t even seem to be listening.
“I get it, you’re scared and I’m sorry, I know recently I’ve been intense but..” his voice breaks and this is where you can see his resolve strengthen. It brings a weakness to your knees. The cold, brick wall the only thing making you feel stable. In an otherwise empty alleyway.
“Mark..”
“No! No,” he stops you. “This isn’t up for debate anymore okay? You need to be safe and I can protect you. I can’t trust other people to protect you.” His breath became a struggle to reach, like he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs.
He couldn’t look at you. Couldn’t. He knew what he was doing was insane and maybe not the most rational, but it was all he could do from breaking at the seams. With the speed of forged steel, he lifts his head, eyes meeting your own.
And a croaky laugh escaped his swelling throat.
The hands that used to hold you so gently started running up and down your arms, petting you down. He’s crowding, eagerly wiping at the tears producing from your eyes like you were being the dramatic one. He runs a hand through his hair.
“Look, we— we’ve been together for a while now and I know I was reckless when we started dating but,” he sighs, a hand firmly clamped to your shoulder. to comfort or to keep you in place, you weren’t sure anymore. “..but I don’t play about your safety. Even if it means you being mad at me okay?”
He gives a wobbly smile. “It’ll all be okay. You just gotta trust me,”
“Listen,” he said, voice low, “I don’t care what you call us. I don’t care if you want space, or if you’re scared, or if you think you can push me away. I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.” He took a slow breath, letting the words settle between the two of you. “I’d die before you ever would. I swear it. You’re mine to protect. And I’ll protect you. Always.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He didn’t need one. Because in that moment, in that alley, he made it clear—his love for you went beyond anything you could conceptualize. He wasn’t negotiable. And no matter what, he wasn’t walking away.
-`♡´-Sypnosis: You thought you could survive Jeff. He shows you that he's more than you can handle.
-`♡´-Content: yandere behavior, kidnapping, abuse, sexual assault, non-con, mentions of murder, suicide attempt, jeff is completely insane, descriptions of body assault
-`♡´-Word Count: 3.3k
-`♡´-A/N: i wrote this from my old blog... lmao
For a long time, you had convinced yourself that your death would be by Jeff's hands. The hands that had gripped countless knives and stolen lives of anyone and everything. The hands that were callous, rough and strong. The ones that gripped at your neck everytime he was in a mood and decided to take it out on you. For years. You had thought your own life would be taken by those hands. "He's not.." you whispered, voice low and guttural. You winced at the pain that speaking up brought you, feeling the disgusting taste of your unbrushed mouth. It made you want to throw up. The home you found yourself in was starting to become familiar, as you had been living in it for almost a month. It was located in the forest, an hour away from any city. It had belonged to an elderly couple that had the misfortune of opening the door to Jeff. Needless to say, they were quickly disposed of, and you were bitter about the fact that the monster made you hide the bodies. You shuddered, remembering how long you had cried over the bodies as you pushed them into the holes you dug outside.
You stepped out from your chosen bedroom. The feeling of your quickened heartbeat made you paranoid, you took a look down both sides of the hallway. The right end led into the divide between the living room and the kitchen, while the left went into the bedrooms and bathroom. You encouraged yourself with small praises and confirmation as to why you wouldn't risk being seen by the killer. After doing so, you took a step. And then another. You kept your back to the wall, taking small, hesitant steps towards the kitchen, only pausing to listen for anything out of the ordinary. You held your breath. 'He went off on a spree. He said he wouldn't be back for a few hours.' You remind internally and let your breathing flow. It's so close, right there. Your gaze bore into the key sitting right between the glass sliding doors that were covered with long curtains and the door frame. Perhaps it was stupid not to have noticed it before but being with Jeff had cause you to halt your thinking almost entirely. You were more than sure your IQ had gone down, and half of your vocabulary was gone. It didn't help that he made you avoid learning things that were beneficial to you specifically. He was extremely careful to leave you useless and defenseless for himself.
Once your eyes homed in on the small key, you scurried to it frantically. Like a cat taking its food, you snatched the key and took off back into your designated living space, closing the door but not locking it. You were frantic, anxious. You trembled almost as if he were there and you could already taste your salty tears. Now where would you hide it though? There was no way you could keep it on yourself- Jeff would find it too quickly. You spent almost half an hour breaking through the cemented ground to hide the key and spent the rest of the remaining hour, fixing up the room as if you hadn't destroyed it. "Okay, okay," you took a deep breath, putting your hands together to play with them as you tried to stop the shaking. "You're okay, okay," you repeated, your voice brittle, feeling the sting of fresh tears poking at the back of your eyes. For the first time, in years, you finally had one chance to escape. Even an idiot wouldn't sit still. The lying, the crying, the pain, you just couldn't take it anymore. It was too much- he was too much. 'Honestly, does he even care?' You questioned with bitterness that seeped into your shaking bones. Even after all these years- he gave you no hope or sign that he was different towards you. That he loved you like he said he did. You hated him, you absolutely hated him.
Jeff, 'the killer' was his alias. You knew him as Jeffrey Woods. Had known him. It almost seemed like the time before the accident was a dream, something fabricated by your mind to take you away from the awful reality that you lived in. The memories you had created with the brothers were something you held onto deeply. You reverted back to those memories when everything had become too much. You didn't know how much more you could take, how much more you could keep looking at him. The door to the front of the house opened loudly and slammed shut. Your breath hitched and for a second, you felt paralyzed. His footsteps bounced off the ground, adding a little pause as if he skipped through the house. You swallowed nervously and quickly jolted into action, throwing yourself on the bed and covering your body. It was only when Jeff had thrown the door open did you feel the immense panic seep in. It had you shaking, no matter how you tried to keep still. You had your back turned to him, only jumping out of your skin when his rough, callous fingers skimmed over the skin of your neck. You shut your eyes tighter, biting down on your tongue to prevent any unnecessary noises. It was painful- but you didn't care. his hands ran down your shoulder to your elbow. Pressing into some of the bruises littered on you. 'Fuck.'
Scrunching your face, unable to hide away the pain he was causing you. "I know you're awake. Stop fucking around." His voice made your eyes snap open, but you didn't look at him. For a long while, you could feel his unnerving stare into your form, taking it in with his widening, permanent smile. "Did ya miss me doll? I sure as hell missed you," he cooed mockingly, dropping down beside the bed to his knees. His right arm dug underneath your head , forcing you to turn, his left hand holding onto your hip. "Don't you have anything to say to me?" He spoke again, a dangerous tone that was warning you to reply. Nervously, your eyes locked with his and you gave a shaky, weak smile. "No.. no.. I didn't do much today." He stated at you, his wide eyes boring into yours. Truly, he held the appearance of a monster, disfigured and horrific. The pale white, leather skin reminded you of rough sandpaper, and the wounds of his cut off eyelids looked so grotesque- it was hard to keep eye contact. You inadvertently started to tremble harder, his right hand curling and hooking into your hair like gum. He yanked you towards him, ignoring the squeal of pain that left your lips when you felt some of your bones pop from the awkward position he was putting you in.
"Ye-" you hesitated, a breathy exhale, "Yes, I missed you too Jeff." He seemed satisfied with that and nuzzled his face into your back, tickling you. "I hope you've been a good girl today. Don't want a repeat of last time right?" He pulled a little at your roots. You winced, eyes closing as the memory flashed in your mind. You had made the mistake of trying to escape only to find that it was a trap set up by him. Jeff had beaten you black and blue and chained you to the bed for an entire month. Not that it did much as you weren't able to stand up to walk anyway. It was a painful memory. something you hoped to avoid. "No, I've been good," you respond with a stutter. The hand placed on your hip begins to grow tighter and it's enough to have you frozen in fear. "That's good. You're such a good girl aren't you?" He teased, lifting himself up and stepping away from you. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me doll," he gave a hysteric laugh, and you sat up like he had burned you. Your throat ached as the raw dryness of it began to itch and burn. Your wide eyes did not leave him as he kept going into his hysterical laugh, "Oh, oh fuck-" he wheezed, doubling over his stomach. "You're such a riot babe!" You push upwards to press yourself into the headboard as much as you can.
Cold shivers race down your spine. It was a nightmare when Jeff got like this. He looked insane, scary… dangerous. You didn't want to be here; you didn't want this! "Stop it, Jeff!" You cry out, cutting off his laughter. His black tangled, unclean hair bobbed a bit before he looks up at you. "What's wrong? Don't tell me your-" he skips jokingly towards you. "Scared?"
He stops by the bed, "You fucking should be." A whine comes out of your lips when he grabs your left shoulder and pulls you out of the bed. With a grunt you hit the floor, only to be lifted up by him. "What the fuck did you do huh? I told you not to leave this fucking room, do you ever listen!?" His voice became louder with his angry breathing, and you found yourself out of breath when he suddenly slammed you to a wall. "I swear- I swear-!" You cried, tears welling in your eyes, "I didn't leave-" it takes all of your control not to burst out sobbing when he slaps you with his hand. The sting of your cheek resonates, and you could already feel a headache approaching. "Horseshit!" Jeff shouts, turning to stomp around the room. He furiously pulls at his messy hair, punching through a wall. His superhuman strength creating large uneven cracks. "Didn't you fucking learn the first time? I don't like repeating myself!" You felt overwhelmed with how fast your heart was beating, practically pounding in your ears, it drowned out any other noise. Once again, you felt his callous hands gripping the flesh of your arms, skin bruising underneath his unforgiving grip.
"I'll have to make you listen right!? You need to get it through your damn head," you both fall over the bed, and you gasp for any intake of air as his weight knocks the wind out of you. He furiously clamps his sharp teeth down on your shoulder, biting into your shoulder so violently that his teeth break through your skin. Hot white pain flashes through and you scream. You scream so loud that your throat starts to ache the moment it turns into whimpers, but the asshole doesn't relent. You can already see your blood coloring his teeth. It hurts so bad your body instantly tries to fight back. His hands pinch and cup at your skin, his fingers bruising into you. "Stop it! Stop it Jeff, it hurts!" You beg, kicking him desperately. His right hand slaps down on the side of your right thigh, it has you gasping in pain. He does it over and over, flipping you over at some point to pull your hair. Your ass was getting inexorably spanked, his hand big enough to grab you with satisfaction. You felt humiliated, and scared- more so because in this state he was in, there was never enough excuses to give him to let you keep your life.
"You have to learn- you don't get to leave me." He hisses through clenched teeth before throwing himself over you once more, this time pressing himself snugly against your backside. "Nobody leaves me!" He presses his scarred fast into your neck. A shudder rips through you, feeling the self inflicted wounds he had given his own face. It felt like touching leather, and his wide mouth made you gag. A hand digs under you and he hugs you, jerking his hips into you. A guttural groan leaves his smiling mouth as he begins to hump you on the bed. You could feel his erection, even with the wild, uncoordinated thrusts he gave. "You're mine. You've been mine for years," he grunts once more as he thrusts particularly harder into you and an unwilling gasp left you. You felt heated and stiff, the position making your body ache. You didn't dare try to give off any other noises to indicate you were enjoying this. "I'm, I'm sorry," you croaked, more tears falling from your eyes. Truly, begging for your life was the only thing you could do. Jeff kept pushing, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair. "No you aren't! I'm going to make sure you can't move for the rest of the week!" He barked, lifting his body to turn you over. "You should stop resisting. I'd hate to cut you up."
Your muffled sobs were the only thing that you could hear. For a while, you wondered if you could even feel your legs anymore but you had given up trying to move. The pain was too much, even taking in any air was so painful, you wished he had killed you. You laid on your left side, lifting your head to look over at all the bruises and marks he had left you. Another sob tore through you, shaking as you began to cry more. It was almost you couldn't feel your lower body anymore, as if they were weightless. The dull throbbing of them was the only thing keeping you assured that you still had them.
That bastard, you wanted to snarl. He had kept his promise of teaching you his 'lesson.' The psychopath had even stabbed his knife into your legs more than a few times, getting off on how loudly you screamed for him to stop. He didn't even bother stopping you from leaving angry red mail marks on him. Jeff exposed them with pride- sick twisted ego rising with how little you moved by the end of it.
Honestly, he had thought you were dead once he finished. You were surprised you weren't. This was too much! Jeff was always rougher than this, there were times when you had nearly died during his episodes, but his episodes had begun to be a daily occurrence. You didn't know how much longer you would be alive for. You didn't want to die. Not by him. Not like this. You had more pride than that- to be killed by some psycho who had kidnapped you on a whim. You grit your teeth- suddenly newfound courage, seeping into your bones like warm liquid. Across the room, you took notice of the carpet that you had ripped through beginning to curl upwards. With another choked sob, you began to drag yourself towards it.
No more. You decided, a final croak leaving your bruised lips. No more will he touch me. Reaching the spot, your fingers dug into the carpet weakly, lifting it up and the moving your dominant hand to brush the cement ground. Ice-cold temp poured into your abused flesh, and it stung harshly. Only when you found the key did you snatch your hand out of there. Quickly, you held it with both hands to your chest, lifting your wet, messy face to look around the room. Unfortunately, it didn't have a window, and Jeff didn't allow you to leave the room at all. "Ow," you whisper hoarsely. It took everything in you- willpower, courage, cries and anger- to push you up on your feet. The pain was almost unnatural and unbearable, burning hot, pounding and flashing up and down. It was easy to tell how messed up you were with how your knees shook with every step you took. You wondered how far you could make it if you did get out of the house. Limping towards the door, you pressed your forehead against the door and a hand to the doorknob. It had been almost 48 hours since you had seen Jeff. The only way you knew that was because of the alarm clock the room had inside, belonging to the previous residents here. With a shaky inhale and exhale, you twisted the doorknob slowly, hearing the door squeak. You stepped gingerly into the hallway, looking both ways and quickly hobbling down the left, to the front door. With as much adrenaline that was coursing in you, you kind of threw caution to the wind at the moment. You reached the door, your shaky hands almost dropping the key multiple times as you shoved it into the hole. "You're okay, you're okay," you whispered desperately, calming yourself as the panic began to fill you. The key went in. Relief flooded into you, and you nearly gave a laugh in joy. You were free. You were fucking free!
You twisted the doorknob.
Only for a high pitch squeal to emit throughout the house, blaring, loud and alarming. You jumped out of your skin, eyes wide and mouth dropping. Oh... oh no. "Fuck!" You cry, fear making your body tremble. The asshole set up the security alarm. It was a test, it was a fucking- You took down the hall with impressive speed despite how desperate your legs ached. The blaring continued on as you reached the door to your room. Only for it to stop. A shiver ran down your spine and you automatically straightened up. He stopped it. Jeff was here- he had been waiting for you! All of a sudden, your ears picked up his stomping footsteps getting closer and closer and that was all it took for you to run the rest of the way and dive into the kitchen.
"BITCH!!" He shouted with anger, voice booming. "You stupid bitch! You fucking whore!" He slammed his body into the kitchen door, having it swing wildly to the other wall. "No Jeff wait please!" You begged, choking on the tears that rushed down your face. "Bitch, your fucking dead!!" His white face burned itself into your memory, abnormal wide eyes and the smile that stretched from ear to ear. You could feel his fury from where you were. You pressed yourself against the counter, calves hitting the lower shelves. The kitchen island was the only thing separating you and Jeff but he was determined to get to you. "You tried to fucking leave! You tried to fucking leave me!!" Jeff growled, his teeth on display. You shook your head frantically, "No! No! You dont understand!"
A frenzied laugh left him and he brought his burned white hands to his hair and tugged violently. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid!! I was waiting for you- you fucked up," he slammed both hands on the island, laughing, "You fucked up!" He repeated his actions three more times before lifting his head. Tears fell from his eyes, his laughter only increasing. You took that chance to raid one of the shelves and took a large kitchen knife. "Stop it Jeff! This isn't you, this isn't-" you gasped as he rushed towards you. You quickly dived to the other side of the island, giving him a watery frown. "The hell it isn't! What the fuck do you think you know? You're mine, you can't fucking leave me! It's too late for that doll!" He swung his arms outwardly, "Look around ya! I'm all you got! If I can't fucking have you, no one can!"
You broke down in sobs, the knife shaking in your curled hands. You stare at him- at the monster. "You're insane! I don't want this! I've never wanted this!" You shouted loudly, grabbing at your messy tangled hair. The grip on the knife doesn't loosen. "You're the asshole who kidnapped me! You don't even love me! I can't," your voice broke off, nearly dropping to your knees. "I can't do this anymore." Jeff's black orbs snapped to yours and straightened up, ignoring the way you flinched when he approached you. Feet away, he cornered you like you were some frenzied animal. "Give me the knife. Give me the fucking knife," he extended an arm, white hoodie nearly blinding you. "No," you whispered before pressing it against your throat. He froze.
"No more, no more," you chanted, tears so raw that you could barely keep your eyes open. "Stop this, dont fucking do it." His voice came out in a haste warning, not bringing himself to stalk towards you with your current threat. "You don't love me, and I know you never will." You take one last good look at him, the cold steel digging in painfully. You knew that he knew you would do what you were trying to do. You wouldn't hesitate.
"I DO! I FUCKING DO!" He shook his head exasperatedly, "I love you! Drop the knife," his voice came out almost desperate, unlike the monster you knew Jeff to be. "I hate leaving you all alone- I want to be near you every second of the day. Fuck I go fucking crazy every time one of those bastards comes near us! They can't, they won't take you away from me! You're mine. Mine!" Jeff took a step, once again holding his shaking hand out. "Dont leave me, dont fucking do it." Your eyelashes flutter, taking a second to re-grip the knife with a much more steady hold. You shook your head and opened your eyes.
You looked at him, and at the moment all you felt was pity. pity for the monster he had become. pity for the dear friend you once knew. You held your breath, readying the knife.
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