#x reader insert

[missglaskin]

One Way Or Another

Note: Back from my haitus again all thanks to daredevil born again season 2 who cheered. This for @milkysea-02 who encouraged me to finally post this. This has dark content so scroll if uncomfortable. Originally this was meant to be Dex General yandere hcs but I uh strayed too far. The writing is all over the place cause its been a while myb

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Your neighbor Tony was always friendly and helpful, but little did you know that he was one of New York's most wanted fugitive nor his most recent obsession aka you.

Tags: female reader, canon divergence, yandere, obsessive behavior, toxic relationship, power dynamics, co-dependancy, manipulation, stalking, voyuerism, brief smut, Dex is a warning himself

Before, Dex was thought to be dedicated, hardworking, and diligent, the kind of man who earned respect even when coming off as stiff and socially awkward. His life was carefully constructed, with a vigorous structure and order. The most interesting thing with Dex is that his yandere tendencies weren’t something he developed, it’s already woven into his character; obsessive and a stalker by design.

Throughout his life, Dex has always attached himself to someone from Mercer to Julie to even Fisk. To become his north star, to become his moral compass. But after everything he went through, Dex has finally embraced the vicious nature he spent many years suppressing. Still, he pretends normalcy not for his own sake, he long gave up on that. To you, he is Tony, just your friendly neighbor.

He was the neighbor who paid the rent on time, who never received a noise complaint, never had guests coming over. His apartment squeaky clean, everything he owned carefully organized, routines followed like clockworks. Dex greeted those who passed him in the hallways, fed the cat that lingered near the stairs, helped carry the grocery bags for the older ladies. There was nothing for Dex to lose anymore, nothing for him to fight for other than that one good deed, until you came along.

You lived one floor above him. Dex couldn’t quite pinpoint when he found himself watching you. Of course, he noticed you from the start; it was impossible not to. You came up and down those stairs frequently. He’d pass you a polite smile, which you would return or just simply nod in acknowledgement. Such brief interactions that anyone would forget a mere minute after, but no, not Dex.

Even this version of Dex, who let himself free from the restraints, from the confinement he once accepted, the expectations laid upon him. He was still very much dependent on that structure, it’s not a thing he can just remove with a flick of his finger, it’s hardwired into his very being. And once again, Dex finds himself falling into those old, familiar habits.

Dex senses those same feelings creeping back whenever he watches you. The same feeling when he was watching Julie. But you couldn’t be his north star. The north star was meant to be his moral compass, to guide him to do good, to give him a purpose. His older self pretended to be this functioning hardworking man, who was devoted to his legitimate work. Took his meds and attended psych evaluations. But now? Now he is a man that society - no you would deem as a criminal, a murderer, a monster even.

He will be the good neighbor just for you; a role he plays quite easily. But Dex knows it won’t be long before he reveals his true nature. And shall that moment arise, you will have no choice but to accept him the way he is. Dex has mapped out your routine. Even from inside his apartment, he can identify your footsteps whether you are ascending or descending the stairs either in a hurry or taking your time.

Sometimes you see him. In the evening as you climb up, clearly exhausted from a long shift or in the early mornings clutching a coffee in your hand, heading to work or for a walk. Dex conveniently notices how much you skip breakfast, rushing not to be late. How he thought of waking you up early himself to the smell of breakfast. He’ll prepare the eggs exactly how you like them, if you like your pancakes soft with syrup, or your waffles crispy. Dex would do it with no complaint, because taking care of you will be as natural to him as breathing the same air as you. 

He can also tell when you are having a bad day. Sometimes you’d be wiping away your tears as you climb up the stairs, sniffing quietly. On occasion, he would comment, his poor attempt at cheering you up. “It’s hard, really hard working in customer service.” You’d freeze for a second cause you don't ever recall ever telling what you did for work. But the human brain has a knack for dismissing such concerns, seeing it as a lucky guess.

Or when you are limping from an injury such as tripping and hurting your knee on some uneven pavement. Dex had to restrain from compromising himself and had to watch from a distance as you struggled to get on your feet, embarrassment clearly written on your face. Later when he sees you slightly limping toward your apartment, he offers advice. “Make sure to clean it well before applying antibiotic ointment and cover it with a bandage.” You mumble a thanks, appreciating his concern. 

When you struggle with grocery bags, Dex offered to carry them for you. It feels like you couldn’t refuse, that would be rude. You thanked him by opening the door just wide enough for him to place the bags on the floor. Dex is tempted to offer if you want him to organize them, put everything in its proper place. He has been inside your room many times, he knows it like the back of his hand. Instead he says it was no problem, watching as you close the door. 

You also encounter Dex when you are carrying your laundry basket or checking your mailbox in the lobby. He has become a familiar face. And just like Julie, you too have cemented as a part of his everyday life. Intertwined with his very ability to function. He had once again attached himself to someone, but this was unlike anyone, not like Mercer, not like Fisk, not like Julie. This has consumed him whole. 

Dex was certain on one thing; he couldn't afford to lose you. If he did, he would spiral even further than was believed to be possible. He needs you safe and happy. The irony, of course, is that Dex will be the very thing that corrupts you. His version of your happiness and safety comes with much sacrifice and control. Dex wants your full attention, your approval in a way. He needs constant reassurance, needs your presence  at every moment. Dex cannot go days without seeing you, even if only from a distance.

Even before you got together, Dex was incredibly attentive. He remembered details that most people would never notice. The specific shoes you like wearing often, the lingering scent of your perfume, the way you take an extra large step at the end of the staircase, the way you hum when you are in a good mood. He listens intently with everything you tell him; the long exhausting shift you had, your complaints of the weather, the plans you had the next day. 

Dex is ever devoted, but it comes with a fixated obsession that borders on almost being cannibalistic. Dex starts to not see you as a separate entity but a part of himself. Like puzzles, he will remove many pieces of his to make space for you to fit inside so perfectly that removing you would leave a gaping hole. Dex wants to be your provider, your lover, your soulmate. He is convinced that no one cares for you more than he did, no one shall look after you like he does, no one can protect you like he does. Not even your mother who carried you in her womb. Even if it comes at the cost of your happiness, even if it feels more like a cage – at least your cage is pretty, maintained and you don't even have to lift a finger. Dex will do all you want and need. 

Dex can be careful, very careful. He is seen as an assassin, a mercenary; swift and silent. The old Dex would have been content to watch you from afar, to be so cautious about not alarming you; to leave no trace. But this Dex, oh he wants you to know he has been in your apartment. Not too obvious at first, he didn’t want to frighten you too much.

He walks around and takes his sweet time while you are at work. Your schedule was a standard 9-5, which gave him all the hours he needed. There was no reason for you to come home early, no emergency, no sickness. Dex opens your closet, letting his hand run through your clothes, feeling the fabrics. He examines the skincare products and makeup scattered across your stand. “Such a mess.” Dex thinks. Noting your clothes on the floor from you rushing to leave and the dishes on the sink. He will surely one day clean them up for you. Dex opens your refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. Lamenting the lack of proper ingredients, the many takeout containers, never mind the fact some of the food in your fridge are expired. Dex bought a cooking book a week ago, already planning the many meals shall you eat together.

Dex would purposefully make minor changes during those visits. Moving your chair slightly, reorganizing your cups in the cabinet, picking up your clothes from the floor. You’d walk into your apartment and perhaps never notice these small changes and even if there was a hint of doubt, a simple excuse of it being you’d forgotten that you did them was enough to suffice. Over time, Dex made his presence more known. The loose cabinet you had been meaning to fix was suddenly secured with proper screws. Your window left open wind blowing in. Things started to move, appearing in places you know you didn’t place there. 

You’ve become a pit paranoid. Sometimes turning around suddenly, expecting to see someone there, but no one was there, just you. When you swore you heard noise outside, peeking out of your door into the hallway, seeing nothing but the vacant corridor staring back at you. And the more anxious you become, the more you encounter Tony.

At times you went up to the building’s rooftop just to clear your mind. And there he was, climbing all those stairs just to stand beside you. You would pass him a polite smile as you both stared at the view. Either the sun blinding in the late afternoon or the wind blowing against your face or the way the city that never slept looked at night with all its light on. Dex didn’t say anything, he’d just lean against the edge, hands resting on the railing. Sometimes he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. 

Still, Tony was impossible to suspect. As said, he was nice and helpful. Unaware from an apartment across the way, Dex leaned with his binoculars, a clear view of you moving around your apartment. Eventually, it leads to him implementing surveillance. Oh don’t worry he identified all the optimal spots to install those little cameras, which he can access anywhere and anytime. A technology he stole from the many AVTF agents. 

Sometimes he’d be sitting at the table or lying in bed, watching you move through the day on his phone or laptop. Dex doesn’t look away even when you undress. He takes it all in, the scars, the beauty marks. How nice it must feel to touch your breasts and of course nothing beats the view between your legs. You remain as clueless as ever and it’s all just further proof to Dex that he needs to keep you safe. Now imagine if it was someone else watching you this way. It’s a blessing in disguise that it's him and not some creep. 

Dex watches even when you masturbate, your soft moans barely audible, trying to stay quiet because of the thin walls. His eyes refuse to leave the screen, transfixed by the sight of your fingers working between your legs. How he wishes it was him instead. He would gladly be eager to please you, make you orgasm over and over. Dex would have to kiss you to muffle your moans. He imagined the wet sounds that would fill the room as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, picturing you so clearly gripping his arm desperately searching for something to hold onto. And Dex would even be more eager to push his face between your legs, longing for the taste of you. 

Sometimes his hand reaches for his cock as he watches, moving up and down syncing with your movement on screen. But most often he’d stop himself, frustrated because it just doesn’t feel the same. There is no real satisfaction there. He wants it to be your hands. Dex wants nothing more than to be inside you, to feel you squeeze so tightly around him. 

As expected, Dex notices all those who interact with you. For someone like Dex, a healthy relationship is an impossible feat. You are a part of his core now, essential to his functioning. Dex belongs to you as much as you belong to him, in body, in soul, in every damn way that matters. Dex notices how you speak to that one elderly woman from the third floor, how you greet the delivery driver, how the man from three floors down would pause to speak with you in the hallway. The friend who comes over at the weekend which in particular bothers him the most. 

There is an odd feeling in his chest to see you laugh so freely with others as you recall memories or told stories. He wants to be that person for you. Wanting you to tell him everything about yourself, every fear, every loss, every aspiration, every person who ever wronged you. Dex will tolerate your friends and family because he understands it is a line he cannot cross if he wanted you content at his side. Last thing he wants is for you to fight and lash out. That quickly gets tiring and it will cause your refusal to comply with his expectations. No Dex couldn’t have that. 

But any exes you had, any hookups, even a single date, none of it matters to Dex. They will be eliminated even the man who catcalled you on the other side of the street. Dex has no remorse even as they beg for their lives. 

Dex plays the long game. He carefully thinks of every word, every step, every move. Sometimes things slip, a few inconsistencies, a crack there and there but they didn’t rouse any suspicions. Naturally you felt more at ease with him, beginning to reveal pieces of yourself to him. Details he already knew but alas. And when you tell him you feel as if you’re being watched, he offers reassurance and implies it must be you watching too many horror movies.

Dex doesn’t really care about things that don’t directly concern you. Your friend is in the hospital? Dex only cares that it upsets you and offers fake sympathy in hopes it makes you talk to him more. He doesn’t care when you recall fond memories with your family, only remembering what matters such as you loving your mother’s lasagna or how much you adore the beach. 

Dex doesn’t plan to meet your family, his only minimal concern is you simply caring for them. Though he thinks of the benefits. Getting to see your childhood photos, charming your mother enough so she recounts stories of your younger self even the embarrassing and awkward stags. He hopes he would find an old journal as he looks through your childhood bedroom. 

But Dex is thinking too far ahead, for now he is still your friendly neighbour. You need something fixed? A missing ingredient for dinner? Calling him to pick you up? Needing comfort after a long draining shift? He is there. He is always there. 

Dex restrains himself more than you could possibly know. There is an endless urge to touch you, to hold you close to him. Sometimes he indulges, fingers brushing against yours as you walk together or your shoulders touching when sat beside each other. But mostly he lets you initiate it, resting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, leaning against him when you are tired. It wasn’t long before you found yourself looking forward to seeing him, giving him those huge smiles that reached your eyes. Giggling awkwardly at his badly timed jokes (ones he overheard from other people). 

He enjoyed bringing you to diners. Dex couldn’t help the smile that creeps into his face when you burn your tongue on coffee and blow on it or when you let out a satisfied hum when the food is good. Eventually you had to give a label to whatever was developing between the two of you. It all started with Mrs. Smithers mistaking you for a couple, Dex didn’t correct her., Leaving you to awkwardly explain you are not dating despite returning from a night out where you did indeed look like a couple to everyone. The idea played around in your head and it didn’t sound too bad. Tony was handsome even with the scar on his face, if anything, it made him all the more attractive. 

When the two of you finally become official, Tony seemed like the most attentive boyfriend you’d ever have. Your exes could never compare or mayhaps it’s just the honeymoon phase. You know that phase where couples can’t seem to go a second without touching the other or without accompanying the other. But you remain unaware that with Dex, it’s not a phase. It will be all you will know. Till death do us part, the saying goes. 

Your exes were cheaters, liars, assholes. But Dex? He made you feel like you were the most important person in the world, you have never felt safer, never felt more seen than with him. Tony would walk you to your door after dates, text you every morning, check on you during work hours, listen to your complaints with his solution being to leave it all behind and only be with him. Still, he gives you the illusion he cares about all your mundane problems. He brought you flowers, ones that happen to be your favorite. 

Sure Dex has accidentally let out certain details that he should have never known. Like the old place you used to work at, the pet you had that passed away, somehow knowing your aunt’s name. But for the sake of this semi-paradise, you ignored that gut feeling in your stomach. Telling yourself he’s merely observant, that he pays close attention because he cares for you. 

When you finally found the courage to ask him to come inside one evening. Dex paused for a moment before agreeing. The two of you shared a look, understanding the unspoken intention of this invitation. Before you know it, his mouth was on yours, clothes shed and Dex having your back pressed against the mattress as he thrusts in you – you dig your fingers into his arms, trying to muffle your moans to not wake up your neighbours. 

And you have learned quickly Dex is very giving in bed. The many times where his head is between our legs, tongue lapping at your folds. Dex ate you out like a starving man and you’d clutch his hair grinding yourself against his face. Dex didn’t complain, if anything he seemed to relish it. You spent many nights at his place. Your legs would be too sore to walk back upstairs and Dex would offer to make you breakfast in the morning. How can you refuse? As you're seated at the table, watching him cook while wearing one of his shirts.

It wasn’t long before Dex became the most consistent, inescapable presence in your life. You barely had time for friends or family or anything outside of him. Your mornings were spent in his bed after spending another night where he fucked you so good that your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Nearly every breakfast or dinner was him making what you liked or taking you to your favorite place to eat. 

You’d head to work leaving his apartment, leaving most of your clothes at his place, even your work uniforms. It was just easier this way instead of heading all the way up besides Dex would wash your clothes and lay them for you to wear the next day. It warmed your heart, telling him he shouldn’t have. And you’d come back to him after long shifts and god forbid some rude customer made you cry. Dex will mentally note to deal with them later. It will all be good, you would never have to see them again. 

Slowly, Dex suggests you leave your work or at least go part time. The work is clearly stressing you out, that can’t be good for your health. He is just worried about you, can’t you see that? Dex also plants the idea you should move in with him. At this point you are just paying rent on a place that is collecting dust. Dex insists he doesn’t mind, it won’t be much of a difference from what you were already doing. Hesitantly, you agree even when your friends insist it’s all too sudden, too fast, too rash, in a relationship that would still be considered relatively new. 

Moving in with Dex felt like a blessing at first. You’d insist on paying half the rent, but Dex told you it wasn’t needed. Just let him do what he does best, kay? You’ve learned to do things in a certain way; mugs placed in a certain cabinet, sorting your makeup and skincare products in a certain order, folding your clothes to their designated drawers. It didn’t bother you much, it felt good to come to an apartment that was spotlessly clean. You did add some color and life to the place. It felt voided, sterile almost. Bringing in your favorite carpet, the plants you wanted to care for, your scented candles, the framed paintings. Dex didn’t seem all that bothered. He built a shelf to put your books, nailed up the frames, and installed the curtains you were eyeing at the store. 

Still, it wasn’t all a perfect paradise. Dex would disappear for long hours. You’d call and text him, sometimes getting little to no answer for a period of time. He’d come home late with a faint smell of gunpowder, sweat, an almost copper like smell. Dex would head straight to the shower within a minute of stepping inside the place. You’d ask him what he has been doing. It’s just business, he excuses. You try to pry for specifics. Where did he work, what were his coworkers like, who is his boss, but you were left frustrated with his vague answers. Sometimes he brought in a generous amount, other days it would be a large sum, triple what you made in a month. 

As said, your friends and family matter little to none to Dex. Every time you suggested visiting or making plans to meet up, Dex would always come up with an excuse. Sometimes he bluntly tells you, he hoped you’d spend the rest of the day with him. What about that favorite restaurant or that new park you said you were curious about? Or how about a night where he has you naked and all pretty for him in bed, doesn’t that sound tempting? Your work took you away from him long enough. 

Besides, you never know when he might receive a call and have to leave for however long the job requires. Dex tries to hide his annoyance even when you answer phone calls. How rude of them to interrupt you both as you pull away from him to stand up to focus on the conversation. And if your job calls you, asking for you to come in on your day off, you know the answer you must give is a no. 

Even if you had doubts, even if there was this persistent uncomfortable feeling residing in the pit of your stomach, even when every sensible part of your brain screamed at you. Even when you stare at the mirror and can see yourself slowly changing, molding into a person you are not entirely sure you recognize. You push all of it to the side all for the sake of the love you have now. 

Dex is fully aware you will never feel so strongly as he feels for you. You aren’t like him. You weren’t born with that endless void, the urge to commit such acts, you didn’t have a vicious streak that was supressed many years. You were raised like most surrounded by family, with friends, with people who loved and cared for you. A whole life that existed long before him. And Dex wanted you. He wanted you to be yourself of course, after all there is a reason you are where you are now. He just wants to chuck bits and pieces, anything to make himself the absolute center of your world. 

All that remains is for Dex to reveal who he truly was. He grimaces at the name Tony slipping from your lips, wanting to tell you to just call him Dex. You love him, you spend many hours waiting for him and doesn’t he make you happy? After all, you eagerly take him, moaning his fake name so sweetly. What difference would it make for you to know what he had done, to know who he was, who he is now. He would still be your devoting and doting boyfriend. It wouldn't change how he felt about you. 

He knows there will be a day when this disguise won’t last. Someone will recognize him, someone will discover his hiding spot. He will have to do his one final good deed and disappear before the traces lead back to him, before they lead to you. You have been brought to his inner world now, anyone will use you against him and he cannot, would not allow that to happen. You must go wherever he has to go. There is no choice in the matter. Your survival, your very life is all dependent on him. But for now, Dex will enjoy these blissful days. 

Today was no different. Been convinced by Tony to call in sick to work, to spend the day together. He even promised to watch that awful reality show you seem to love. Your boyfriend headed to the shower as you informed him you’ll head down to get the mail. When you returned to the apartment, you laid all of it on the kitchen table. Spam mail, useless advertisements and newsletters. Then something caught your eye. There you saw a face, one that was far too familiar. 

It was Tony. Unless Tony has some twin he didn’t tell you about, but no it was Tony. Except the paper didn’t say his name. Instead the name “Benjamin Poindexter” is read. As your eyes skim down further, your hands start to tremble. There it was, all the atrocities committed by the man who you once thought was your good friendly neighbour. Who you thought was your all attentive loving boyfriend. The man who you cried to, who you let hold you, who you let in your bed, who you let in your heart. 

The crimes didn't seem to have an end. All the deaths he caused, the people he took from their family and friends. The article claims he is the most wanted man in the city and to not approach in any circumstances for he is dangerous. Yet that very danger is a few meters away from you. You were breathing too hard, your chest felt too tight. You sat there unable to process what you just saw, unable to reconcile that this man in the photo is your boyfriend. This didn’t feel real as if you are watching and reading this from outside yourself. 

You hear Dex’s voice from the bedroom, he has already finished his shower and gotten dressed. Panic seized as you acted quickly flipping the newspaper over to hide that damning front page. There was no time to dispose of it and had you - it would seem too suspicious. You just sat down where you were, forcing a smile on your face. Your mind screamed at you, to act normal, to not let him suspect you. Forcing yourself to listen to nod along. But Dex could tell something was wrong. He could always tell. 

After all, he spent many hours just watching you, studying you, dissecting you. He could even boldly say he knew you more than you knew yourself. It was clear as day to him something was wrong, something happened. “Find anything important in the mail?” He asked casually. You utter a weak no, even you were painfully aware at the lack of your conviction. 

And you don't resist when Tony, no, not Tony – reaches out and pulls the newspaper from underneath you. Your eyes refuse to look at him, staring at the wooden surface. Tears begin to spill down your cheeks, born out of fear of this man who could overpower you at any moment, who could stop you from taking another step. And born out of the pain and betrayal knowing he just had been lying and deceiving you this entire time. When you finally dared to look up at him, his eyes were still scanning the article. He scoffs, almost amused, "They said I killed seven agents here, but it was actually nine. The other two were in different locations.” 

You simply stare at him in disbelief, tears straining your cheeks. Tony, no you reminded yourself, Benjamin as they call him, seemed completely calm. As if you didn’t just discover he was the most wanted man in the city, that he wasn’t a criminal that you couldn’t very well turn him in, destroy this life he constructed. “Guess it was always meant to happen hmm? He asks, turning his head slightly. I’m glad it’s rather now than later. Saves me from having to sit you down-” he gestures vaguely at the chairs, “and tell you all about it myself.” 

This must be a dream. A sick dream. A desperate attempt to convince yourself. But you know you are very much awake, sitting in this chair, in the kitchen, in this very apartment that you both shared. The sunlight peeking through the curtains, the city alive with sound outside. And standing in front of you was him, the man you trusted, the man you loved, a man who is now but a stranger to you. 

[eicssbs]

warnings: check the tags on each story before you read!

here are my all-time favourite fics and series; i hope you love them as much as i do!! (btw i've just realised that i read A LOT about jason damn)

♡ bruce wayne

𑣲⋆ batman can save gotham, but not his marriage by @agatha-grc

𑣲⋆ family by @bat1nsignia

♡ dick grayson

𑣲⋆ he calls you clingy by @amoebadue

𑣲⋆ chronologically incorrect by @iydiamartinx

♡ jason todd

𑣲⋆ bring your parents to school day by @magikcheese3

𑣲⋆ overheard by @fancy-possum

𑣲⋆ marriage of convenience by @after-avenging-hours

𑣲⋆ just a break by @fancy-possum

𑣲⋆ why do you smell like that? by @4dian-nip-slip

𑣲⋆ not what you think by @4dian-nip-slip

𑣲⋆ unexpected guests by @iydiamartinx

𑣲⋆ glitter pens and hot chocolate by @shisuni

♡ damian wayne

𑣲⋆ cinderella, better get you home by @kurogxrix

𑣲⋆ obsessive fixation by @damselneedssaving

𑣲⋆ beg you to stay by @fawnindawn

𑣲⋆ we're moving out by @arachnidseyes

[maltes3]

Yandere!AsylumPatient x AsylumPatient!Reader

Before he was committed, Yandere!AsylumPatient was a walking urban legend. He wasn't a calculated mastermind; he was completely, terrifyingly chaotic, the kind of monster who would end up on the news for destroying a public space or going after completely random people for reasons only his warped mind understood. The entire city breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally locked away in the high-security wing of the asylum. He is notoriously violent, and even the beefiest, most hardened guards refuse to enter his cell without a full riot squad and tranquilizers on standby.

You, on the other hand, are the absolute polar opposite. You are a deeply anxious, fragile, and heavily medicated patient who was completely eaten alive by the brutal reality of the asylum. The constant echoing screams down the hallways, the loud slamming of heavy iron doors, and the cold, clinical apathy of the staff keep your nervous system in a state of permanent panic. You spend most of your days huddled in the corners of the recreation yard, trembling, staring at the floor, and trying to make yourself as invisible as possible.

Yandere!AsylumPatient noticed you on your very first day in the yard. While the other patients kept their distance from him out of pure survival instinct, you were too dazed by your sedative cocktail to realize who he was. When a group of aggressive, larger patients tried to corner you to steal your ration card, he didn't just step in, he turned the entire recreation yard into a bloodbath. He dismantled them within seconds, his face twisted into a maniacal, joyful grin as he broke bones just to hear them snap. But the moment he turned around to look at you, the wild, crazed light in his eyes instantly softened.

From that exact moment, he appointed himself as your absolute, immovable shield. He treats the entire asylum like his personal playground, and you are his most prized, delicate treasure. When he is around you, his terrifying, bloodthirsty persona completely melts away into an affectionate, playful tease. He loves leaning his head on your shoulder, poking your cheeks, and whispering ridiculous jokes in your ear just to see if he can get you to crack a small smile through your anxiety. "Hey, little bird... look what I got for you. Don't tell the doctors, or I'll have to bite them again."

Yandere!AsylumPatient is a master at stealing things from the staff and other wards just to spoil you. Despite being heavily monitored, he always manages to slip into your hands things that are strictly forbidden or impossible for a patient to get: a soft, smuggled contraband blanket that doesn't scratch your skin, a handful of sweet candies he swiped from a nurse's desk, or a colorful drawing he made using stolen crayons. He will literally sit at your feet in the dayroom, shielding your body from the view of the guards, hand-feeding you treats like you're a pampered royal rather than a prisoner.

The asylum administration is absolutely terrified of the codependency developing between you two, so they try to separate you constantly. But every single attempt results in absolute catastrophe. The second a guard puts a hand on your arm to lead you to a different wing, he flips the switch back to his "batshit insane" self. He will scream, spit, and fight with the strength of ten men, throwing his body against the concrete walls and threatening to rip the throats out of every doctor on the board. He makes it completely impossible for the facility to function.

During his worst, most violent episodes when he is strapped to a gurney in a straitjacket, foaming at the mouth and laughing hysterically while doctors try to pump him full of sedatives, the only thing that can calm him down is you. The staff eventually learned that the fastest way to stop a full-scale riot is to just wheel his gurney right back into your room. The second he sees your face, his frantic breathing slows down. He’ll look up at you through his restraints, his bloody teeth bared in a soft, goofy grin, and whine like a puppy. "See? I told them I'd behave if they brought me back to my favorite person. Come untie me, sweetie."

Yandere!AsylumPatient has effectively turned your shared corner of the asylum into an untouchable sanctuary. The other patients are too terrified to even look in your direction, and the doctors have completely given up on separating you out of fear for their own lives. You are still trapped in a cold, terrifying asylum, but as long as his heavy, protective arm is draped around your shoulders, pulling your anxious frame tight against his chest, the rest of the world can't hurt you anymore. He will keep you safe in his madness forever.

Yandere!AsylumPatient has a literal, physical dependency on touching you. The doctors call it a "pathological hyper-fixation," but to him, it’s just breathing. Whether you two are sitting in the cold dayroom, walking the bleak corridors, or eating in the cafeteria, he must have some part of his body connected to yours. He’ll walk right behind you with a large, heavy hand resting firmly on the small of your back, or he’ll constantly play with your fingers, tracing the lines of your palm. Even if he’s in the middle of a manic, high-energy rant to himself, his other hand will be gently, rhythmically patting your head, treating you like the only grounding wire in his chaotic mind.

This constant touch is actually the only thing that keeps his violent impulses at bay. The guards have noticed a terrifying pattern: if he is touching you, his heart rate is stable, and he just acts like a teasing, overly affectionate boyfriend. But the exact millimeter his skin loses contact with yours, like if a nurse forces you to step away for a blood pressure check, his entire body goes completely rigid. His jaw tics up, his eyes go dead, and he begins to growl. He will literally glare at the staff like a rabid dog on a short leash until your hand is safely back in his.

Yandere!AsylumPatient treats your high levels of anxiety as an invitation to smother you. Whenever the alarms go off, or another patient has a loud, screaming episode that makes you cover your ears and shake, he gets this dark, intensely satisfied look in his eyes. He will instantly pull your fragile frame into his lap, wrapping his long arms around you like a human straitjacket, burying his face in your neck. He’ll rock you back and forth, whispering playful, sweet nonsense against your skin while shielding your view of the room. "Let them scream, little bird. Just listen to me. I'm right here. Breathe me in."

The nighttime routine is the absolute bane of the asylum’s security staff. Because they are kept in separate wards at night, he is supposed to be locked behind a reinforced steel door. He isn't. Nobody actually knows how he does it whether he steals a hairpin, blackmails a night-shift guard, or literally forces the hinges out of the frame but every single night, without fail, he breaks out of his cell. He sneaks through the dark, sterile hallways like a ghost, completely ignoring the security cameras, with only one destination in mind: your room.

You’ll be lying in your cot, staring at the ceiling in a state of deeply anxious insomnia, when you suddenly hear the soft, familiar click of your door unlocking. He’ll slip into your room with a huge, boyish grin, completely untroubled by the fact that he’s breaking maximum-security protocols. Before you can even whisper his name, he’s already sliding under your thin, scratchy white blanket. He will pull you flush against his chest, tucking your head securely under his chin, and let out a deep, contented sigh, finally falling asleep the second he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs.

The middle of the night always ends in a chaotic, exhausting circus. Around 3:00 AM, the night-guard patrol will inevitably shine a flashlight through your window, spot the massive, notorious killer sleeping peacefully in the fragile patient's bed, and sound the red alarm. A squad of six to eight heavily armored guards will burst into the room with batons and shields. He doesn't even wake up angry; he just groans, holding onto you even tighter, wrapping his legs around yours like a stubborn child throwing a tantrum.

As the guards literally grab his arms and try to pry him out of your bed, he’ll start screaming and cursing, tossing his head back and snapping his teeth at them. He’ll rip the sheets, kick the bedframe, and fight with terrifying, supernatural strength just to keep one hand wrapped around your wrist. "Let go of me, you corporate pigs! I'm sleeping! They were having a nightmare. I'm helping them! I'll skin you alive if you pull me away from them!" He will drag the entire weight of the guard squad across the floorboards just to maintain a grip on your fingertips for three more seconds.

The second his grip finally slips and they successfully drag him backward out into the hallway, he flips completely into his chaotic, batshit-insane persona laughing maniacally, threatening the night supervisor's family, and kicking the walls until they lock him in solitary. But it’s completely pointless. The staff knows that within three hours, the sun will come up, the recreation yard will open, and he will walk right back out of his cell, completely fine, covered in new bruises, and immediately seek you out to place a warm, possessive hand right back on your shoulder as if nothing ever happened.

[maltes3]

Yandere!Neko x Neko!Reader

Yandere!Neko had the perfect life before you arrived. He had been the undisputed king of the household for three whole years, completely spoiled by the owners. He had the best sunspots, his favorite silk pillows, and the undivided attention of his humans. He was perfectly content being a solitary, lazy predator. So, when the owners walked through the front door carrying a travel crate with you inside, his entire world tilted on its axis.

Yandere!Neko knew exactly what the owners were planning the moment he caught your scent. Nekos have sharp instincts, and the way the humans were cooing about "making a beautiful litter" and "being a perfect match" made his stomach turn with pure disgust. He didn't want a mate. He didn't want some strange, anxious neko invading his territory, shedding on his furniture, and stealing his food.

Your first meeting was a disaster. You were just trying to get your bearings, stepping out of the crate with your ears flattened against your head, cautiously sniffing the base of the sofa. The owners gently nudged you toward him, trying to force an introduction. He didn't even hesitate. His ears pinned flat back against his skull, his tail puffed up to twice its normal size, and he let out a low, venomous hiss before violently swatting at your face. If you hadn't flinched back in time, his claws would have left deep marks.

For the first few months, he made your life an absolute living hell. He was a textbook bully. If you sat on a cushion, he would stalk over, shadow you with his massive frame, and growl until you ran away. During feeding times, he would push you away from the bowls, eating your portions right in front of you just to prove a point. You quickly learned to keep your tail tucked and your eyes on the floor whenever he entered the room, completely terrified of his volatile temper.

But the territorial hostility slowly began to morph into something much darker and far more possessive. Because you were so submissive and constantly tried to stay out of his way, he grew accustomed to your presence. The turning point happened on a bitterly cold winter night. You were shivering on your small, flimsy floor mat across the room, curled into a tight, miserable ball. He watched you from his plush, heated bed for an hour before letting out a sharp, irritated chirp.

When you didn't move, he got out of bed, padded over, gripped the scruff of your neck with his teeth, and dragged you across the carpet, shoving you onto his mattress. You froze, terrified he was going to bite you, but he just wrapped his long, heavy tail tightly around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. "Stop shaking," he rumbled into your ear, his voice low and vibrating with a sudden, intense heat. "You're making too much noise. Just sleep."

Once he allowed you into his bed, the dynamic completely flipped. He didn't stop being aggressive; he just redirected that aggression into forcing you to be close to him. He developed a strict, suffocating morning routine. The exact second the sun hit the blankets, he would pin your shoulders down with his paws, trapping your body beneath his, and begin ruthlessly grooming you. He would lick your ears, your cheeks, and the top of your head with rough, demanding strokes. If you tried to squirm away because his sand-paper tongue was making your skin raw, he would nip at your throat just hard enough to make you whine. "Be still. You smell like the humans' laundry. I need to get my scent back on you."

Yandere!Neko completely ruined the owners' original plans, but in a way they never expected. He still glares at the humans and refuses to cooperate if they try to lock you two in a room together for "breeding purposes." He hates being told what to do. But the moment the humans leave the house, his possessive facade locks down tight. He will herd you into the master bedroom, block the door with his body, and force you to curl up under his chin, purring so loudly it rattles your ribs.

Yandere!Neko went from hating the idea of having a mate to becoming entirely, violently obsessed with the fact that you belong only to him. He won't let you greet the owners at the door anymore; if you try to trot over to them, he’ll swipe at your heels and pull you back into the shadows of the hallway. He doesn't care about making a litter for the humans, but he is completely consumed by the dark, primal reality that you are trapped in his house, sleeping in his bed, and covered in his scent and he is never, ever going to let you go.

[maltes3]

Yandere!Merman x Surfer!Reader

Yandere!Merman didn't start off by pulling you under. Instead, he chose a slow, agonizingly patient courtship that took months to build. At first, he was just a mysterious silhouette swimming alongside your board out past the break. You’d catch flashes of shimmering teal scales under the water, or see a pale, webbed hand casually gripping the edge of your surfboard when you weren't looking. He wanted you to get used to his presence, turning himself into a regular part of your daily surf routine.

The gap finally closed when he realized you weren't afraid of him. he started popping his head completely out of the water right next to your board, his long, dark hair plastered to his face and his slitted, bioluminescent eyes blinking up at you. You’d just sit cross-legged on your surfboard, drifting on the gentle swells, completely mesmerized as this beautiful, dangerous creature rested his chin on the nose of your board like a curious seal, clicking and purring softly whenever you spoke to them.

Yandere!Merman became completely obsessed with "providing" for you, though his understanding of human logic was incredibly warped. he noticed that you spent hours out on the water without eating, so he decided it was his job to feed you. he would disappear beneath the waves with a powerful flick of his tail, leaving you waiting on your board, only to burst through the surface a few minutes later holding a completely raw, wriggling deep-sea fish in his claws, proudly offering it to you with a wide, fanged grin.

When you laughed and shook your head, trying to explain through gestures that you couldn't eat raw, moving fish, he didn't get discouraged. he just swam closer, floating on his back right next to your board, and began meticulously cleaning the fish with his sharp claws, trying to hand-feed you the raw pieces himself. He would pout, letting out a low, disappointed click from his throat whenever you gently pushed his hand away, utterly confused as to why his favorite human was refusing his hard-earned hunting trophies.

Yandere!Merman gift-giving got a lot more creative when he started raiding sunken trade ships and coastal orchards that dipped over the cliffs. One afternoon, he swam up to your board with his webbed hands overflowing with weirdly preserved, salty pears that had fallen into a nearby cove. He pushed them onto your lap, watching with absolute, unblinking intensity as you took a bite of one. The second he saw your jaw move and realized you were actually eating his gift, his gills flared with excitement, and he let out a loud, euphoric trill that vibrated right through the fiberglass of your board.

You became entirely addicted to this secret routine. You started spending less time actually catching waves and more time just sitting out past the breaker, staring down into the clear blue water, waiting for his shadow to appear. And he loved every second of it. He loved watching you watch him. Every time he dove back down into the reef, he would purposefully swim in elegant, showy loops right beneath your board, flaunting his massive, powerful tail just to keep your eyes locked entirely on him.

Yandere!Merman weaponized this sweet, domestic routine to slowly erode your attachment to the land. While you thought you were just making a unique marine friend, he was tracking your schedule, learning your scent, and making you entirely dependent on his daily visits for excitement. He’s currently letting you stay on top of your board, completely satisfied with hand-feeding you fruits and preening under your attention. Still, his possessive instinct is just waiting for the perfect, stormy day to permanently bring his favorite surfer down into his world for good.

[eicssbs]

don't leave Jason's girl near a knife

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader, platonic!damian wayne x fem!reader, platonic!tim drake x fem!reader, platonic!dick grayson x fem!reader

summary: Teaching Jason's girlfriend self-defense didn’t turn out as they expected.

word count: 890

warning(s): English is not my first language, not proofread, no use of y/n. Only dick, damian and tim on this fic, sorry! fake gun and knife

author's note: my ig's feed keeps popping this account, and i knew i had to do something with this hahah

˗ˏˋ ♡ fic inspired by this video and this one tooˊ˗

Boredom had arrived at Wayne Manor.

Everyone was gathered for a family lunch. It was customary for the whole family to get together at the Manor once a month to spend some family time—away from their vigilante lives.

It had been a couple of months since Jason had introduced his girlfriend to the family. Or rather, formally introduced her; after his siblings had invaded his apartment looking for answers about his disappearances.

The group was in the living room. Each one held a drink in their hands or had one by their side.

It had been a while since boredom had swept over the group, and now they were talking about the first thing that came to anyone’s mind.

“We could teach you some moves,” Dick said to the girl.

The conversation had drifted toward the lack of coordination among Gotham’s criminals.

Jason’s girlfriend turned to look at one of her brothers-in-law, frowning in confusion.

Jason laughed under his breath, the bottle of beer just inches from his mouth.

“Yeah... good luck with that.”

For space reasons, they moved several pieces of furniture so they could move around freely without worrying about breaking something and getting a scolding from Alfred.

“What is this?” the woman asked, referring to an extendable wooden ruler Tim had handed her.

“It’s a ruler.” Jason’s girlfriend looked at him, stating the obvious. “But we’ll use it as a knife.”

Dick leaned against a table next to Jason, crossing his arms.

“Bruce used it with us at first to train us,” the boy explained. “After that, he moved on to real knives.”

“Huh,” she muttered under her breath, inspecting the ruler. “What a nice family,” she murmured sarcastically, raising both eyebrows.

“And yet you’re still here, doll.”

The girl winked at her boyfriend.

“All right. First I’ll show you how it’s done, then you’ll try,” Tim announced. “Extend your left arm forward with the ruler.” The girl did as asked. “Perfect. I’ll block your move.”

With a nod, the woman extended her arm forward again.

Tim raised his left forearm upward to prevent her from attacking him by pulling her arm toward him. With his other arm, he would strike the girl’s wrist with his elbow to disarm her.

However, the girl raised the ruler upward, pretending the blade was up.

Faced with the new movement, Tim stopped his arm.

“What just happened?”

Jason smirked and took another sip from his bottle.

Dick’s turn.

“After that weak job from Red Robin, Nightwing will show you how it’s done.”

The three boys rolled their eyes and sighed tiredly.

“Go ahead, Wonder Boy!” Jason exclaimed with amusement.

“All right,” Dick said, mentioning her name. “You’ll attack me from above and I’ll block your move, okay?”

The girl nodded.

Dick had given fewer instructions than Tim, which showed he wanted to catch her by surprise and prevent her from making a move he didn’t expect.

“Now.”

With her left hand, she raised the ruler above her head. Dick, with a quick movement, blocked the action by forming an X with his arms, preventing her from lowering her arm any further.

However, the girl dropped the ruler, quickly catching it with her other hand, and hit Dick on the head with it, taking advantage of the fact that he was distracted by the unexpected move.

Jason burst out laughing at that.

“Another wonderful job by the incredible and marvelous Nightwing.”

“Tt. I’ll show these fools how it should be done.”

Pff... it didn’t turn out as the boy expected.

Unlike his brothers, Damian hadn’t even given her instructions.

The boy let her approach to secure victory.

The girl, just as she had done with Tim, extended her left arm.

Damian grabbed that arm to immobilize it and take the weapon away.

However, when the boy turned his head, Jason’s girlfriend pulled a toy gun from her pants and pressed it against his head.

“Bang!”

The room was suddenly plunged into silence, as three out of four vigilantes blinked, assessing the situation that had just occurred.

Damian looked up to observe the woman, who was smiling at him while still holding the toy gun against his head.

“Impossible.”

Damian’s eyes went to the toy gun.

“How do you do that?”

“Where did you get that from?!”

The girl laughed, handing both things back and moving closer to her boyfriend.

“I took it from the box while Dick was thinking about what move to make.”

Jason extended his arm around the girl’s waist, pulling her closer to him.

“I used to take self-defense classes when I was a kid,” she said, feeling Jason’s fingers slowly caressing her waist.

“Before I knew he was Red Hood and before I could do anything, she stopped us from being robbed with a broomstick.”

Damian looked at the girl and narrowed his eyes.

“Would you be interested in being a vigilante?”

Before the girl could say anything, Jason began pushing her away to get his girlfriend away from his crazy family.

“We’re leaving, it’s time for our son’s dinner.”

When both disappeared from the room—which happened incredibly quickly thanks to Jason—to say goodbye to Alfred, Dick frowned and tilted his head in confusion at what had been said.

“Son? Since when do they have a son?”

Damian sighed, then clicked his tongue.

“He means the cat.”

© eicssbs all rights reserved

[eicssbs]

the aftermath of loving damian al ghul

pairing: aged up!damian wayne x fem!reader

summary: Loving Damian Wayne wasn't as hard as loving Damian Al Ghul, grandson of Ra's Al Ghul himself and heir to the League of Assassins. But no one knew just how complicated it could be—until his girlfriend ended up paying a price she didn't deserve.

word count: 4.4k

warning(s): English is not my first language, not proofread, no use of y/n, angst, kinda hurt/comfort but not for long.

author note: btw, I don't know who created that draw of Damian, but if anyone knows, please let me know so I can give them proper credit!

Love was not something Damian could afford.

Ever since he was a baby, he had been taught that love was a weakness.

Loving and being loved were not part of his vocabulary. The closest he ever came was his mother’s love, but even that wasn’t the kind of love he needed.

Until life—or, as you liked to say, fate—finally decided to bring them together.

Their relationship wasn’t something that happened overnight. It had required work and patience on your part—even more than that.

Damian wasn’t the kind of person who could feel comfortable around strangers, and she had been no exception.

However, she hadn’t given up when he left her talking to herself on several occasions. There was something deep in her heart that made her feel sad every time she saw him alone everywhere at school.

From the moment she arrived, during every break, every class period, right up until dismissal, the girl’s eyes were on him and his loneliness.

As time went on, she realized that Damian wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed noisy company. So she decided to start from scratch, keeping it simple and giving him space to relax in her presence.

She started simple and from the heart, with chocolate chip cookies. Even though most of them ended up burning the night before, forcing her to start over, she reminded herself it was for a good cause.

Every morning, even if the cookies were inside the Tupperware, you could smell the delicious aroma they gave off. The smell drew everyone in the room; everyone wanted to take a bite of those delicious chocolate chip cookies, but as soon as someone tried to take one and got swatted by the girl, everyone learned that those cookies belonged to only one person: Damian Wayne.

That was just the beginning.

Damian began accepting your gifts, even if they weren’t as exquisite as Alfred’s. At least they were… acceptable.

In the blink of an eye, the two of you were at each other’s houses, working on group projects or spending every hour of the school day together.

“Have you ever ridden the bus?” asked his new friend.

They were both finishing up their latest assignment. It had become a habit that, since she had free rein to choose her partner, she would show up by his side with a smile, as if she’d found her favorite introvert in an adoption store.

On the table were various snacks, courtesy of Alfred, along with a pitcher of juice.

“No.”

He replied simply so that her attention would return to the work and she wouldn’t get distracted by trivialities.

“Hmm,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Well, sometimes the drivers leave the door open while the bus is moving. You know, ”Damian had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't deny it anyway," when the bus approaches your stop, you go up to the door to let them know in advance that you're getting off. But sometimes they don’t close the door after the previous stop, and that’s when your intrusive thoughts about jumping while the bus is moving come in.”

Damian’s hand stopped writing. He frowned in disbelief at her confession and looked at her in dismay, while she refocused her attention, humming a song, on the project as if she hadn’t just said something troubling.

Damian blinked once. Then again. And again. Until he had an idea.

He would make sure Alfred included her on the round trip to school, or else he would get a driver for her. Of one thing he was sure: she would never get on a bus again. Or at least not alone.

Even in the face of the silly things you might say when you were bored or needed to fill the awkward silences, no spell, blow, or bruise could stop his heart from beating differently for her.

It had probably been her smile; or how her eyes always sparkled when they spotted him in the crowd; or how she had learned to love him regardless of who he was or the legacy he carried.

Their confession of love?

It was a bit strange…

It had been after a gala hosted by the Waynes. Damian still remembers it to this day.

He remembered seeing her come down the stairs, after getting ready at Wayne Manor, the emerald-colored dress highlighting her figure, her body adorned with golden jewelry, and her shiny hair half-up, adorned with a small golden butterfly.

“You look beautiful,” he exclaimed aloud.

That confession brought a genuine smile to her face, lighting it up even more.

The night passed quietly. There were no emergency calls for Gotham’s vigilantes that night.

Damian’s hands fit perfectly around her waist. Meanwhile, her hands gently touched his shoulders and hands.

It seemed like a perfect night, as they both silently encouraged the love they felt for each other to grow in their hearts.

Until he happened.

In a moment of carelessness, the son of an important, long-established Gotham family pulled her away from Damian to ask her to dance.

One dance turned into two, then three, until, politely, she exclaimed that she had to leave the gala, seeing that her family was waiting for her.

A lie.

Her family didn’t care about those dances. When it came to donating, they were happy to oblige, but pretending to have fun with people who talked about themselves and their achievements? No, thank you.

For the rest of the night, Damian hadn’t been able to hide his displeasure completely. His answers were short and curt, gradually dampening the excitement the girl felt about spending time with him that night.

Soon, the ballroom was empty. The only lights on were those in the second-floor hallway and a few in the rooms.

“Damian?”

The girl’s voice broke the silence in Damian’s room.

Still wearing her emerald dress, her hair tousled, she approached him until she was a safe distance away.

“What’s wrong with you? Is everything okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he replied listlessly, but with a hint of sarcasm.

“Why shouldn’t I believe you?” she asked sarcastically, moving closer.

She sat down beside him, sinking into the comfort of the mattress.

“Come on, you can talk to me,” she insisted. “We were having such a good time, and then… It’s like we’re back to when we first met.”

“Maybe now you can use your tactics and win over that daddy’s boy.”

The girl frowned at the comment.

“What are you—?” A sudden silence filled the room. “Oh, Damian.”

A soft laugh broke the boy’s composure.

“Are you jealous of him?” she asked, amused.

Damian exhaled sharply.

“Why would I be? Who is he, compared to me?” Although Damian’s tone was cutting, the girl didn’t wipe the amused smile off her face. “You could go back and dance with him all night, and he’d still be a nobody.”

“I danced with him out of courtesy, Damian,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Besides, you’d gone off with your father to greet a couple of people. I was going to be bored until you got back.”

“And the other two? Were you mesmerized by his ugliness?”

The woman bit her lip, trying to hold back a laugh.

“That was good,” she murmured, nodding. “But no. You know I still have a problem saying no to people.”

Damian looked away from her.

But the girl wasn’t going to give up on getting back the Damian she’d worked so hard to win over.

She took his hand in hers, accepting the warmth radiating from his body.

“Damian,” she said, cupping his chin with her other hand, forcing him to meet her gaze again.

If there was one thing that remained from the first time she’d met him, it was how easily she could lose herself in the green of his eyes.

They conveyed not only wisdom and experience, but also that Damian was capable of loving uniquely and exquisitely.

His eyes had an incredible ability to leave her speechless. They silenced any words she’d formed in her head.

Damian raised an eyebrow when he didn’t hear a single word come out of her mouth.

That brought her back to reality for a moment, causing her to blink once to snap out of her reverie.

“Goddammit,” she muttered to herself.

Without a second thought—not wanting doubts and fears to creep in—she pressed her lips against his. With Damian’s body just inches from hers, she felt him tense at the action.

Finally realizing the gravity of her actions, she pulled away slowly and opened her eyes gradually, meeting Damian’s gaze as he watched her, slightly flushed.

Noticing the faint trace of fear beginning to form in the girl’s eyes, Damian took her cheek in his hand and pulled her into another kiss, where they allowed themselves to relax and explore each other’s mouths.

“If you’re going to start something, you have to do it right,” he murmured as soon as they parted.

Their foreheads were pressed together, embracing the intimate moment created just minutes ago.

The woman laughed softly.

Of course, Damian would say that after their first kiss.

“I know you prefer to take charge of that.”

The boy raised one corner of his mouth and kissed her again, taking all the time in the world. One of his hands rested on her cheek, and the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her body close to his.

A little over a year had passed since that moment that marked the beginning of their relationship.

Both were about to turn twenty when chaos broke out.

Ever since Damian decided to move to Gotham with his father, Talia had always kept tabs on her son’s life and his friends—one way or another.

When she found out her son was in a relationship with a civilian, it wasn’t exactly something she considered a good thing.

Talia believed that this relationship, these feelings, would cloud Damian’s judgment and make him abandon his life’s purpose.

That is why things had come to this: His girlfriend kidnapped on Talia’s orders, and Damian on his way to Nanda Parbat to rescue her.

Damian wasn’t stupid, but he had let his guard down when it came to his mother and her lessons—even as an adult.

Talia believed Damian needed to get his priorities back on track, and the best way to do that was to scare him.

However, things didn’t turn out the way either of them expected.

“So… you must be my son’s girlfriend.”

The young woman lifted her head, meeting her boyfriend’s mother's eyes. Standing before her was a tall, slender, and beautiful woman, but beyond her eyes, one could sense the danger that lurked within her soul.

It was as if she were warning you not to approach and to run in the opposite direction.

Talia Al Ghul.

The name echoed in her head.

Damian had told her about her, and about his life before Gotham. Once Robin’s secret was revealed, he decided the right thing to do was to be honest about everything—the good and the bad—and that included his life before becoming Robin.

“Hmm,” Talia murmured to herself, taking her time to examine her face in detail. “I see my son has good taste. You’re quite beautiful. But that isn’t always important.”

“What do you want?” the girl asked. “I doubt it’s money in exchange for my ransom.”

The two of them were alone in a room. The heat radiated from the floor. The walls were perfectly decorated, with only the bare essentials, but that didn’t make it any less elegant. The colors chosen were simple, but black, gold, and emerald green predominated, which answered the girl’s question about why her boyfriend was so obsessed with that color.

“It’s not something we need,” Talia replied simply, pacing the room while the girl sat on one of the single beds. “But more wealth never hurts, am I wrong?”

Talia raised an eyebrow when she received no answer.

“However, no,” she answered the question. “My son is forgetting who he is and who he will be in the near future.”

“So you’re blaming me,” she surmised, where her boyfriend’s mother’s words were leading.

“That’s right.”

The girl nodded slightly, letting her continue with her explanation.

“You’re here to remind him of his duty.”

The younger woman frowned at the remark. She looked up just enough to see her. Remind him?

“Are you going to kill me to prove your point? Because if so, I have a few suggestions.” Talia frowned, and both of them fell into a brief silence. “Although, come to think of it, I don’t think there are any buses around here.”

The older woman shook her head, snapping out of her confusion.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she clarified. “We’ll just work together to… set my son straight.”

“Together?”

The hours passed in silence.

The girl wasn't sure what time it was, but judging by the darkness that was beginning to envelop the room even more, she assumed it was nighttime.

From the contrast in light outside the room, she could tell that guards were stationed outside to prevent anyone from entering or leaving.

The door burst open, and two men entered. Their faces were covered by black garments, except for their eyes.

Each grabbed one of the girl’s arms, forcing her to stand up and start walking.

“Hey, hey!” she exclaimed, raising her voice higher and higher. “Who do you think you are, touching me? Let me go!”

Amid the girl’s struggles, the men finally made their way to the main hall, where Talia was waiting for them.

“You sure took your time,” she remarked dismissively, walking over to where the young woman stood.

Both men stepped away from them, and a new one approached—under Talia’s silent orders—and took the girl in his hands.

“We’re sorry,” one of them apologized on behalf of both. “But she bites.”

If it weren’t for the gloves covering his hands, Talia would have been able to see the teeth marks on the men.

The woman glanced back at the girl over her shoulder.

“What?” the girl asked, feigning innocence. “I told you not to touch me. I warned you. It wasn’t like it came as a surprise.”

Talia shook her head and sighed.

“Stay alert. My son will be here soon. You know what to do.”

The man’s grip on the girl’s arms tightened. With one arm, he seized both her wrists, while with the other he drew a dagger from his belt.

The young woman’s eyes widened in surprise as she felt the cold metal against her neck.

That wasn’t part of the deal.

A deal she had never agreed to.

She tried to wriggle from side to side, trying to break free from his grip or at least move away from the weapon; but there was no way.

The massive doors swung open abruptly. The figure of Damian, dressed in his Robin costume—except for the domino mask—was breathing heavily, his gaze fixed on his mother.

“Son,” the woman greeted him. “It’s good to know you’re still in one piece.”

Behind the boy lay a trail of unconscious people, and the rest who were still conscious were moaning from the ground.

Damian remained silent, a katana in one hand. His gaze shifted momentarily to his girlfriend, who was in the hands of one of them. Noticing the glint of the dagger against his girlfriend’s neck, he tightened his grip on the katana.

“You shouldn’t have brought her.”

There was a deep line of tension etched across his son’s jaw. His body was also rigid and tense as he assessed the situation in the room, taking his time to think of the best way to keep her out of reach of anyone but him.

Damian made eye contact with the man.

“Let her go.”

However, it was to no avail.

The man didn’t bat an eye. He didn’t move a single muscle in his body; as if Damian’s orders—the future leader of the League—were of no consequence.

“See, Damian?”

He turned his gaze back to his mother.

“None of them will listen to the orders you have to give. You’ve lost your focus; you’ve forgotten what you were trained for. And they know it.” His mother clasped her hands behind her back. “They know you don’t have enough power to be the leader the League needs.”

“Mother,” Damian clamped his mouth shut. He tried to ask. He wanted to ask. But Damian Al Ghul did not beg. “I will resume my training in the League if necessary. It’s not her fault.”

Talia smiled imperceptibly.

“It will take you quite some time to regain that level, Damian.”

Damian’s tense expression didn’t change. He didn’t even blink under his mother’s gaze.

Talia spoke again. “Move the dagger away from her neck.”

In the blink of an eye, the dagger moved away from the girl’s neck. His girlfriend took a deep breath, unaware that she had forgotten to breathe for a few minutes.

“Block her body from Damian’s view.”

Soon, his girlfriend’s figure disappeared beneath the man’s massive frame.

“Press the dagger into his stomach,” she continued without pausing to breathe. “Stop.”

In that split second it took his mother to give the order to stop, his breath caught in his throat. From head to toe, his body went numb. There were limbs he could no longer feel, and others that felt as if they were floating.

“Do you see it, Damian?” his mother asked. “That is power. The power you’ve lost while you’ve been with her.”

There was no reply.

There was no scream.

No arguments.

All it took was a gasping breath and the glint of the shiny dagger covered in red to put an end to that talk of power.

Damian’s mind went blank.

Talia’s muffled voice echoed in his head as he moved toward his girlfriend.

“I told you to stop!” she exclaimed angrily.

Damian’s hands pulled his cape from his back. He took his girlfriend in his arms and laid her down on the ground. He pressed the cape against the wound that kept staining everything crimson.

“The plan wasn’t to hurt her.”

“Beloved,” The nickname slipped out of his mouth in a sigh.

The girl was breathing heavily, her eyes darting restlessly, betraying the fear she felt.

Okay. She used to joke about her intrusive thoughts of jumping off a moving bus. But she didn’t want to die. Not now. Not like this.

Reality hit her like a bucket of ice water.

Damian’s pressure wasn’t enough. She could feel her clothes getting wet with blood.

“You’re going to be okay,” the boy murmured. Although the comment was meant to reassure her, it was also meant to reassure him. “You’re going to be okay, beloved. Breathe, please.”

“Damian,” his girlfriend sobbed, choking on her words.

Damian’s emerald eyes met hers. His girlfriend had always been good at reading the emotions he kept hidden, even in that moment.

Damian was scared.

He knew the pressure on the wound wasn’t enough. His hands trembled as his mind filled with fear. His eyes glazed over with every passing second; with every second that his girlfriend wasn’t breathing properly or as her fear grew relentlessly.

“Dami…,” she sobbed again. “I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want to die. My parents…”

Damian swallowed hard. He couldn’t get that huge lump out of his throat.

“You’re not going to die. I won’t let that happen.”

She died.

She died in her boyfriend's arms, while he begged her not to leave him.

Ever since her chest stopped rising, Damian hadn’t uttered a single word. Much less had he let go of his girlfriend’s body, which was growing cold beneath his touch.

The knot grew tighter.

And from dwelling so much on his fears, they came true.

She was dead because of him.

Because of his family.

Because of who he was and who he was supposed to be.

She had paid a price that wasn’t hers to pay. A price that wasn’t her responsibility.

“Damian.”

His mother’s voice echoed in his ears.

As his only response, he pulled his girlfriend’s body closer to him. As if his mother speaking could cause him more pain than she had already inflicted.

His eyes slowly fell upon the girl’s face. Her beautiful, closed eyes denied him a glimpse of the color he had fallen in love with. Her cheeks, which were always adorned with a rosy hue, had lost their color.

How could he have let that happen?

She had been the only person who had been able to see past Robin, past the fact that he was an Al Ghul, a Wayne. She had seen him for who he really was.

And now there was no one who would.

And there wouldn't be anyone who would, either.

She had died because of the League.

Because of something he was supposed to lead.

She died far from everything she knew. Far from her family.

She died in his arms, with him being the only thing that could bring her comfort.

There was nothing that could bring back her warmth. He would never again see her eyes shine every time they saw him enter a room. He would never again hear her laughter every time he kissed her.

Nothing could bring her back.

Nothing.

Damian should have listened. He should have stopped at the first person who told him no. He should have left behind his fear of being alone.

But he couldn’t.

He was aware of what it would do to her. He was aware of what he would have to do once she returned.

But as soon as his girlfriend’s body sank into the depths of the Lazarus Pit, he should have known things wouldn’t turn out as he expected.

He had seen his grandfather return so many times that he already knew the procedure.

Not this time.

As she sank, the pit disappeared with her. The green liquid vanished, fading into the air, until the only thing visible was her in a huge empty tank.

"No," he murmured.

His body moved quickly, going down to where she was.

"No, no, no."

The plan had not gone as he expected.

She hadn’t risen from the depths with anger. With the rage of being revived and brought back into a ruthless world.

No. She had returned with something worse than anger.

"It seems the Lazarus Pit was absorbed into her body," exclaimed Batman. After they realized the Pit had brought her back to the world of the living, there was a price to be paid for it. "After seeing what happened with Damian, no one who has been exposed to the Pit should have physical contact with her."

Damian frowned and clenched his jaw at his father’s words.

Both he and his girlfriend had returned to Gotham. Including his mother.

The girl was in the Batcave’s stretcher, connected to a machine that revealed her heart was beating again.

However, as soon as Damian heard that sound, his hands went directly to his girlfriend’s; but as soon as he touched them, parts of his soul tore away from his body. They tore away as if someone was peeling off layer by layer, opening every wound the Pit had closed.

"You can’t ask me that," the boy exclaimed. If it hadn’t been for Alfred tending to his wounds that had begun to open, he would have stood up abruptly. "She’s my girlfriend."

"You’ve been exposed to the Pit, Damian," his father replied. "And apparently she absorbs everything the Pit has touched. If you remain under her touch, you could die. She will take what the Pit gave you."

"Then let her take it."

Bruce shook his head.

"You should have listened when we told you the Pit wasn’t the answer. You should have left things as they were."

"She’s my girlfriend!" The anger in his voice was evident.

"I’m sorry, son," Bruce replied.

He really was sorry. Bruce had seen the happiness she brought to his son. He had seen how he opened up and allowed himself to be a normal teenager.

“Beloved.”

“No,” murmured the girl. “Don’t come closer, please.”

A few minutes after waking up confused, under the Batcave’s light, Bruce explained what had happened, and what had happened to her.

“Beloved, you won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that, Damian.”

The woman looked at both her hands.

She didn’t want to admit it, but they felt different. She felt different.

“You should have let me die.”

Damian frowned, annoyance growing in his chest at her confession.

“Don’t say that. I wasn’t going to let you go knowing I had the chance to bring you back. You said it yourself, you didn’t want to die.”

“This is worse than dying, Damian,” she whispered.

The boy tried to approach her again.

His chest hurt at seeing her suffering. All he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and whisper in her ear that everything would be okay; that they would find a solution, and everything would go back to how it was before.

But he couldn’t do it.

“I told you not to come closer!”

Damian stepped back at her scream. His chest tightened seeing her so distressed because of him.

“Why can’t you see it from my point of view?” she inquired, looking at him with tearful eyes, hurt to be in that situation. “I love you, Damian,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“But… do you know what it’s like to know I can never kiss or touch you again, knowing I could kill you in the process? Even if it’s an accident.”

“We’ll find a solution.”

She smiled slightly, bitterly. “And what if there isn’t one?”

Damian remained silent.

“I love you, but I can’t be with you knowing I’ll never be able to kiss you without hurting you in the process.”

“You must be thrilled,” the girl’s voice reached Talia’s ears. “Now Damian has a clear path to become what you want him to be.”

Both were alone. Far from curious eyes and ears.

Talia was good at hiding what she felt. Hiding the emotions that could work against her.

However, she didn’t, and the girl noticed it.

But she didn’t care.

She didn’t care what Talia thought. She didn’t care if she felt guilty or not. She didn’t care if she felt remorse.

In her eyes, she was to blame for everything.

Talia got what she wanted.

Damian would become the leader of the League of Assassins.

She was doomed to have abilities she never wanted. To never again have the man she loved.

And that was the aftermath of loving Damian Al Ghul.

© eicssbs all rights reserved

[maltes3]

Yandere!Boyfriend x Zombie!Male Reader

Pre-Yandere!Boyfriend was already intensely co-dependent and overprotective long before the first virus strain even hit the news. He was the type of boyfriend who always walked on the traffic side of the sidewalk, double-checked your apartment locks every night, and got visually tense whenever you hung out with friends he couldn't personally vet. Back then, you just thought he was incredibly attentive and sweet you had no idea his brain was already wired for total, unhinged possession.

Pre-Yandere!Boyfriend was completely obsessed with your safety to a borderline paranoid degree. He bought you a high-end pepper spray keychain, forced you to download a location-sharing app "just in case of emergencies," and would stay awake scrolling through local crime maps. If you were even fifteen minutes late coming home from work or college, he’d be standing on the porch, staring down the street with his phone in his hand, looking like he was about to call a search party. "I just get so anxious when I can't protect you," he’d say, burying his face in your neck the second you stepped inside.

When the very first whispers of a "strange flu" started popping up on social media, his survivalist instincts didn't kick in for himself; they kicked in entirely for you. While the rest of the world was still treating it like a joke or a mild news story, he spent his entire savings account transforming your shared apartment into a fortress. He boarded up the spare room windows from the inside, bought medical-grade hazmat suits, and filled the closets with rows of canned food and bottled water. You literally laughed at him at the time, calling him a crazy doomsday prepper. He just kissed your forehead and smiled. "Laugh all you want, babe. When the world goes to hell, you're staying safe with me."

Pre-Yandere!Boyfriend used the early days of the panic to completely isolate you from your social circle. The moment the government announced a soft quarantine, he confiscated your phone under the guise of "protecting your mental health from the negative news." He blocked your friends, ignored calls from your family, and told you that the grid was failing. He loved the lockdown. For a few glorious weeks, the outside world stopped existing, and he had you entirely to himself in a dark, quiet apartment, entirely dependent on him for food, comfort, and safety.

The day the apartment complex was finally breached by the infected, his primary focus wasn't fighting the monsters it was keeping his eyes locked on you. As you both ran down the chaotic, blood-slicked stairwells, he held your hand with a grip so tight it practically bruised your fingers. Every time a neighbor screamed for help, he pushed you past them without a single shred of empathy. To him, the collapsing social order wasn't a tragedy; it was just a minor inconvenience getting in the way of him keeping you alive.

The tragic irony of your sacrifice is what ultimately shattered his sanity. When you finally got cornered near the fire escape and you forcefully shoved him through the heavy metal door, locking it behind him so he could escape the approaching horde, he didn't feel grateful. He screamed your name until his vocal cords tore, throwing his entire body against the reinforced steel, watching through the small glass window as you were overwhelmed.

In that exact, horrific second, his pre-yandere protective instincts mutated into something entirely monstrous. He realized that the world had finally stolen you away because he hadn't been controlling enough, hadn't locked you down tight enough. As he ran into the woods alone, covered in your blood, his mind permanently snapped. He vowed right then and there that he would find whatever was left of you human or monster and build a new cage that you would never, ever be able to escape from again.

Yandere!Boyfriend never accepted your sacrifice. The day you shoved him through that barricade and let the horde tear into you so he could live was supposed to be your tragic final act. Instead, it just completely broke his mind. He spent months traversing the apocalyptic wasteland, entirely indifferent to his own survival, tracking the specific migration patterns of the infected until he finally found you shambling down a ruined highway. You were pale, gray-skinned, and completely gone, but to him, you were still the most beautiful thing in the world.

Bringing you back to his safehouse was a logistical nightmare, but his obsession made him brilliant. He managed to wrangle your snarling, snapping body into a secure, soundproofed room in the basement. He knows you don't recognize his face anymore, and he knows your human mind is dead, but he treats you with the exact same tender affection as the day you two started dating. He talks to you through the reinforced glass or from behind a heavy iron chain, telling you about his day while you throw your body against the restraints, snapping your jaws at him.

Yandere!Boyfriend is incredibly protective of your undead form and takes meticulous care of your appearance. He dresses your zombie body in your favorite hoodies and jeans from before the outbreak, carefully wiping down your gray skin with warm washcloths and combing your hair. If a piece of your skin starts to decay or look dry, he panics, raiding abandoned pharmacies for specific medical salves and preservatives to keep your body from decomposing further. "I'm going to fix this, baby," he’ll whisper, kissing your cold, rotting cheek while you try to bite his throat. "I just need to keep you fed."

The way he sources your food is where his yandere nature turns truly sinister. He doesn't want you eating generic, rotting roadkill or scraps; he believes his boy deserves the absolute freshest sustenance. He uses his clean, harmless, ordinary-looking appearance to survive the apocalypse by playing the ultimate trap. He will wait near the borders of safe zones, pretending to be a helpless, traumatized lone survivor fleeing from a horde.

When a group of kind-hearted survivors inevitably takes him in or offers to help him, he invites them back to his "secure fortress" to rest and restock. He plays the perfect host smiling, cooking them a warm, home-cooked meal from canned rations, and offering them clean water or alcohol to celebrate their safety. But the entire meal is heavily laced with industrial-strength sedatives he stockpiled from a hospital early in the outbreak.

The second the drugs kick in and the survivors start slurring their words, falling face-first onto the dining table, his kind facade completely vanishes. His expression goes entirely dead. He checks their pulses to make sure they're just paralyzed or unconscious, then drags them down the basement stairs by their ankles, treating them like heavy bags of groceries.

Yandere!Boyfriend stands in the room with you, completely unfazed by the horrific violence, as he feeds the drugged survivors to you piece by piece. He’ll sit on a stool just out of your reach, watching you tear into the fresh meat with a look of pure, domestic pride. If you let out a low, satisfied gut-growl while eating, he’ll smile warmly, leaning his chin on his hand. "There we go. Eat up, my love. Look how good I am to you. I'm keeping you strong. As long as there are naive people out there trying to play hero, you’ll never go hungry again."