hello! i am an 18+ author who is a yandere x reader enthusiast.
masterlist !!
what i will write:
yandere and non-yandere x reader, smut, dark content including non-con/dub-con, pseudocest (basically incest but without any of the actual blood relation)
i'll write mostly afab!reader/fem!reader or gn!reader since that's what i'm most comfortable with.
if you are uncomfortable with any of those subjects, then dni.
what i will not write:
sexual acts involving minors, real people, scat/piss/vomit kinks
what i might write:*
dom!reader, pregnancy, omegaverse
*i'm not as opposed to writing these topics i'm just generally not a big fan. feel free to send in asks talking about them.
fandoms and characters (list might change depending on what i feel like writing):
Batfam - Dick, Jason, Tim (and other members too if i feel like it)
LMK - Macaque, Monkey King, Lady Bone Demon (NON-hostess form btw)
14 Days With You - Ren/[REDACTED]
The Kid at the Back - Sol
Our Life: Beginning & Always - Cove Holden
Invincible - Mark (and his variants), Eve
(if it's in bold then that means i have the brainrot worms and am far more likely to write about them)
i write when motivation comes, so expect sporadic posts. suggestions/ideas are always welcome!
i may also write other characters i haven't listed if requested, but it's not guaranteed. honestly im pretty picky when it comes to characters i would write for. i'm also kinda picky when it comes to writing certain topics so i'll definitely try to post every ask/request i get, but just know i might not write that much for all of themđ mostly if it scratches my brain the right way
disclaimer: everything i write is purely FICTION. yandere/abusive behaviors are never okay in real life. please do not romanticize people who exhibit those behaviors; if you ever find yourself in that situation then seek help. these writings are only for entertainment reasons and should never be brought outside of fiction.
yandere boyfriend gojo! x virgin reader! you were at your boyfriend's place for a movie night, enjoying a cozy evening together but very nice & understanding boyfriend of yours had other plans.
[18+]tw;dubcon/noncon,sexual coercion,boundary pushing/violations,sexual entitlement,forced nudity, manhandling,distress during intimacy,fingering,pussy praise and eating,mentions of natural/unshaved pussy(and reader being kind of insecure and embarrassed about it)
"Don't you trust me?"
"I do" your voice croaked as you responded.
âThen come on, spread your legs babyâ he said in a sweet voice, in the same tone when he was trying to make you skip classes, make you kiss him, or asking you to change before going out on dates.
âCome on baby, lemme take it off.â
His hands were already sliding down your thighs trying to pry them apart as you pressed them together, tighter than before.
You shook your head in disagreement.
âToru pleaseââ
The movie you two had been watching was still playing in the background, some dialogue and music playing softly on his laptop at the foot of the bed.
The couple onscreen was giving promises to each other of forever love, and you had been imagining you and your boyfriend in the same, getting married, having kids,growing old together with him feeling all gushy, mushy and lots and lots of affection for him.
Things had escalated after that one lazy kiss during the scene where the on screen couple was being intimate.
Instead of letting you go he had deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up inside your top, feeling your breasts and eventually he had taken it off. And you had let him, laughing how he was kissing you all over as if starved of you.
All of it felt good and you had been totally fine with it.
Until now.
It all happened too fast for you to understand as you were sent sprawling on his bed fully, with him on top as he unbuttoned your jeans and the next moment you were without it.
With him hovering over you, his half lidded blue eyes looking down at you as he coaxed you to open your legs.
His one hand had your half bare hips covered, while the other's fingers dug inside your pantieâs waistband.
A knot was starting to form in your stomach, clenched hard, slowly leading up to your chest. This was moving faster than you had expected, way faster.
You had been very clear from the starting only. In the early phase of your dating when things were still light and flirty, you had let him know that you were a virgin and quite inexperienced in that matter so you would like to take your time with it and wait.
The idea of going all the way made your stomach twist and you wanted to feel completely ready, mentally and emotionally, before taking that step.
Gojo had smiled at you then, pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead comforting you âNo rush, baby, we will take it slowâ that's what he had said.
But slowly as the month's passed and you two started becoming more and more closer he had started to test your boundaries.
There were nights where he would be kissing you with his hands wandering further and further, whispering how badly he wanted you while his fingers tugged at your clothes. There also had been few times where he didn't try to hide and had straight up asked you for it, voice full of lust and hope and once or twice he had even tried to get you comfortable into doing it but every time you had tensed up and backed off for some reason.
And even though he had stopped then it was not like he had been understanding at those times. No, instead he would get snappy and irritated but he would cool down eventually and say it was fine,that he understood.
He had been patient and understanding with you⊠mostly, except for tonight.
You felt his fingers digging deeper at the waistband of your panties as he slowly started tugging it down. It moved easily at first, sliding over your hips, but the moment it reached your closed thighs as you clenched your legs instinctively tighter than before, shrieking at him for pulling it down, it bunched up near your knees awkwardly, followed by your shaky, teary voice of plea.
âToru, I-I really donât want to⊠pleaseâ
There was no answer from him as you begged him not to.
Instead, he kept going like he hadnât heard you, or maybe just didnât want to. Slowly, too patiently, he worked one knee between yours, easing your legs apart as words of refusal kept coming from you which didn't seem to fall to his ears.
A soft gasp slipped out of you when the panties finally came free, your hands immediately as soon as it was off you went flying to your mound, trying to cover the soft, dark curls between your legs. You hadnât even shaved in weeks, maybe longer and that fact alone with the insecurity and embarassment of him seeing you like that made you go red and shout at him harder.
He finally pulled it the rest of the way down to your calves and ankles tossing them aside somewhere near on the floor with your jeans.
A chuckle rumbled through his chest as he looked at you, eyes full of lust. He caught your wrists so you couldn't hide your pussy for long, gathering them in one of his large hands and pressing them softly against your chest.
His eyes dropped between your thighs, lingering there as you squeezed your legs letting out teary whimpers.
âBabyâŠâ he murmured, voice low and soft, like he was trying to soothe you even when he nudged your legs apart once more. âYouâre so pretty down here. Why are you trying to hide from me?â
âToru, pleaseâŠâ The words came out watery as tears finally spilled over, slipping down the sides of your face.
Gojo clicked his tongue softly, a quiet little tut that sounded affectionate, similar to when he was disappointed in you for skipping breakfast or reacting to some clumsy behaviour of yours.
His fingers finally moved, touching your slit. The first touch was almost feather light, just the pad of his middle finger tracing the outer edge of your slit, barely parting the folds and just wandering around the line of your closed pussy lips.
A loud, involuntary moan had escaped from your lips before you could stop it as you felt his touch on the most intimate part of yours. Your face burned with shame, the flush crawling down your neck and chest as you squeezed your eyes shut. God, had that sound really come from you?
Gojo chuckled at that, sounding really happy and content at the sound you made, the vibration of his laugh rumbling against you where his body hovered close to you. As you closed your eyes, turning your face away from him to the side, feeling way too many things to process.
Is she worried about being bushy because fuck, has she no idea how hot it is?
The thought flickered through his mind as his fingers threaded lightly through the soft, dark curls of yours. If that was what had you so shy and embarassed, you were worrying over nothing.
You felt his fingers all over your pussy, his fingers felt so different from yours when you were touching yourself, it was as if you were being touched for the first, which you were but you had thought that it wouldn't feel much different from what you did to yourself.
Oh, how wrong you had been and now even when you bit your lips sounds of pleasure couldn't help but escape your lips.
He ran his fingers over your slit a few more times, nudging your clit now and then. Each pass pulled another shaky, pretty little moan and whimpers from your lips, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back.
The pad of his finger would dip lightly between your folds, brushing near your entrance before sliding back up toward your clit in lazy, teasing circles. His touch made your hips twitch despite yourself of not wanting to.
He had been trying to get this chance for quite sometime now. You two had been dating for about an year now and he had not even fucked you!
That was the longest he had dated someone and that too without burying his cock in them. He was the guy who usually didnât last even two dates without getting laid and then there he was almost being a celibate despite having such a fucking beautiful and perfect girlfriend.
You were a really sweet thing but too shy and anxious about your first time. When he got to know you were virgin fuck he was elated to fuck that sweet virgin pussy of yours only that you never gave him the chance. So, he had to make one for himself.
He had tried everything, lazy makeout sessions, grinding against you while kissing, telling you how hard he was and how badly he needed you but nothing, nothing worked against you.
Weren't you mean to him? Leaving him all worked after few kisses and touches, never giving him full access to you.
He had been so frustrated and pent up all this time. Nights spent jerking off in the shower after dropping you off after getting just a sweet little kiss from you, imagining how tight and warm youâd feel. How pretty youâd look stretched around his cock.
The thought of going to one of his previous dates had crossed his mind and letting his cock get what it wanted but no, his heart wanted you.
He had these feelings for you which he didn't for any other women he had being with before you and god forbid if he thought with his cock and ended up upsetting and hurting you because of that. He would be damned if he lost you because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants, he didn't wanna lose you.
So, he could only touch himself to the memories of your shy little gasps instead of going out and getting laid but today finally it was time to get what he had been waiting and sacrificing for so long.
His middle finger traced lazingly along your slit, gathering the growing wetness and spreading it over your folds. You were slowly getting wet, even when you kept crying, your pretty little protests mixed with moans as you bucked your hips forward, twitching whenever he brushed near your clit.
He had been dying to see you like this. Tired of being the 'good and understanding boyfriend.'
âYou have no idea how long I have wanted thisâ he murmured against your skin, voice low and rough as he pressed his lips against your thighs, kissing there slowly, his mouth trailing near your pussy.
He didnât rush though. Instead, he continued kissing the sides of your thighs almost near your pussy but too far away as his fingers kept spreading your folds open a little more. His thumb eventually joined in, brushing lightly through the dark curls above your clit, playing with the soft hair there as your brain kept getting mushier.
And you started crying harder than before, which did get his attention as your chest racked with heavy sobs as he held your wrists there.
Gojo immediately let go of your wrists. His large hands moving to cup your face instead, thumbs gently wiping at the tears sliding down your cheeks.
âHey, hey⊠donât cry, okay?â he murmured softly. âI am gonna take real good care of you as we do it, baby. I promise and look you're also enjoying yourself right? It feels good when I touch youâ he continued trying to sound comforting but he was anything but that.
âI think we shouldnât do it today. I don't want to, why are you not getting thisâ you choked out between sobs, fresh tears spilling over his palms. âToru, please understand⊠I am not ready for this right now.â
He leaned in closer, pressing soft kisses to your wet cheek, then along your jaw as out of habit you wrapped your hands around his neck.
âIf not today, then someday, right?â another kiss, this one at the corner of your mouth.
âButââ you tried to say only for him stop you by pressing his lips on your mouth, swallowing your words with it. As slowly he got up wiping your tears with his thumb, pressing a small kiss on your forehead, his broad shoulders settling between your legs once again.
Your blurry, tear-filled eyes barely had time to register what was happening as you saw his head dip lower between your parted legs.
The warm heat of his mouth pressed directly over your pussy. A sob slipped out, mixing with a helpless whimper when he took your clit gently between his lips, making you arch your back off the bed as your hands went to his lowered head for support.
Your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling, pushing, you didnât even know anymore.
All you felt was pleasure pooling hot and heavy in your belly, fighting against the tight knot that you had felt.
âToruâŠahhââ Your voice cracked, half protest and moan.
He didn't respond immediately instead he dragged his tongue up the length of your slit in one long, slow stroke, tasting the wetness that had gathered there despite everything, on his tongue. Only after that he lifted his head up to look at your pleasure filled ruined face, your legs now wrapped around him.
"If not today then someday right? So why not today, baby?â
cw ; fem reader, perv!tim makes a reappearance, munch!tim, tim is a dom on this blog (who also whimpers)
i think tim would obsess once he finds out. doesnât matter your relationship. if itâs bsf!tim it definitely comes out during a random conversation when heâs over at your place. you let it slip out on accident but he doesnât miss it. â⊠youâre a virgin?â gets hard immediately. doesnât want to push you or rush you, so he finds an excuse to go to the bathroom to jerk off.
within the week heâs got you under him.
if itâs bf!tim heâd still obsess but would be much more patient. especially if it came up during foreplay.
regardless of relationship though, heâd spend so long between your legs, making you cum on his tongue at least twice. maybe even three times if you can take it. insists itâs to prep you but he really just wants an excuse to eat you out. stretches you open on his fingers until he thinks youâre ready.
almost bottoms out instantly as soon as he barely has his tip pushed in. fists the sheets and whines right against your ear.
once youâre adjusted to his size, heâs fucking you⊠semi-rough. every time you squeak when he bottoms all the way out, balls pressed to your ass, he apologizes all shaky only to do it again.
âiâm sorryâ nghh, feels so good.â
nearly cums inside you, unless you give him the okay then heâs absolutely pumping you full of him and will fuck it deep into you until heâs satisfied. if not he pulls out and finishes on your legs or stomach.
then he flips you over and fucks you from behind. i think tim loves this position âcause you get so noisy <3 he gets a little mean in this positionâ will spank you, will pull hair if thatâs applicable to you, will wrap his arm around your neck in a headlock.
could very easily turn into marathon sex if youâre into it. timâs stamina is built for it. will bend you in every position, usually ones where heâs in control.
and his aftercare is simple but itâs good! will either stay inside you and cuddle you from behind or pull out and have you lie on his chest. either way heâs fussing over you.. just a little <3 the type to run a hand down your back and ask, âare you okay? did i hurt you?â after rearranging your insides :3
ÊáŽÉŽáŽ áŽÊᎠáŽÊáŽÊáŽÊ x ÊáŽáŽáŽ áŽÊ
He was better as a concept.
That was the universal truth about Evan, whispered like a shared secret between girls in the back rows of classrooms and over sticky cafeteria tables.
He would sweep into a girlâs life like a summer storm, letting her believe, with absolute, unwavering certainty, that he loved her.
And then, the moment the calendar turned, he would suddenly become the most distant person on the planet.
It was a pattern so precise it was almost mechanical.
The love-bombing was just the bait. But once he had someone hooked, the real Evan crawled out.
He was the type to casually "forget" anniversaries, to scroll through his phone while you were pouring your heart out, and to make you feel completely insane for expecting the bare minimum.
Worse, he was a chronic, unapologetic cheater.
His eyes were always wandering to the next girl before the ink on his current relationship was even dry.
He would text his exes late at night, flirt with your friends right in front of you, and gaslight you into believing you were just being "insecure" when you caught him.
He would drain a girl of her confidence, strip away her self-esteem, and then discard her like a candy wrapper when he got bored.
He was like a damn vampire, a boy who took and took until there was nothing left, and he deserved every single ounce of bad karma coming his way.
Which brought you to the bet.
It started out as a joke between you and your friends over an iced coffee on a Tuesday afternoon.
Someone had brought up Evanâs latest victimâa sweet girl from the track team who had been crying in the girl's bathroom all morningâand the conversation quickly turned into a critique of his predictable routine.
"I bet he uses the exact same script on every single one of them," your friend had scoffed, swirling her straw. "Itâs so transparent. I give it three weeks before he pulls the vanishing act."
You had laughed, leaning back in your chair. "Itâs not even that hard. The guy is practically a machine. You just input a little attention, and the love-bombing protocol starts automatically."
"Oh yeah?" your other friend challenged, a dangerous gleam in her eye.
"Prove it. Thirty bucks says you canât get him to do the whole routine for you. Let's see how he actually love-bombs when someone is looking for it."
Thirty dollars wasn't life changing money, but enough to get you some fastfood so of course you agreed ! (lmao)
Besides, it sounded entertaining. Evan was in your English and your PE class, meaning he was practically served to you on a silver platter.
You accepted the bet with a laugh, fully aware that it was going to be a walk in the park.
And it was.
It was actually..almost embarrassingly easy.
Literally all you had to do was start talking to him.
You began by lingering after the bell in English, asking him stupid questions about the reading assignments you already understood.
In PE, youâd walk the laps next to him, laughing a little too loudly at his shitty jokes and tossing your hair over your shoulder when the sun hit it just right.
You gave him a few lingering looks, a handful of playful nudges during warm-ups, and a bit of calculated flirting that left just enough unsaid to keep him hungry.
You didn't even have to give that much effort because Evan was a boy validated entirely by female attention, and you were throwing him a bone.
And predictably, he bit down hard.
You got his number by the end of the first week under the guise of "needing help with the essay."
By the third week, right on schedule, he cornered you by your locker after school, his eyes wide and brimming with a desperate, practiced intensity.
He confessed his feelings with a speech that sounded like it had been plagiarized from a bad indie romance novel, his voice trembling as he asked you if he could be your boyfriend.
You smiled, the perfect picture of a flattered girl, and said yes.
The thirty bucks was practically in your pocket.
Dating him, however, quickly turned into an exercise in pure exhaustion.
You hated the boy. Watching his routine from the inside was infinitely more repulsive than watching it from afar.
You could tell, with absolute clarity, that he was love-bombing you. It was a performance that felt entirely manufactured and completely overdone.
Every morning, he was waiting at your locker, hovering like an anxious puppy.
He was constantly trying to kiss you, to wrap his arms around your waist in the middle of the crowded hallways, and to hold your hand so tightly your fingers went numb.
He would smother you with grand, empty gestures. He started buying you cheap, silver-plated rings from those little boutiques downtown, sliding them onto your fingers with a reverence that made you want to roll your eyes.
If your shoelaces came untied, he would aggressively drop to both knees right there on the dirty linoleum, tying them with a dramatic flourish as if he were a knight in shining armor performing a holy duty.
But the worst part was the way he looked at you. It wasn't sweet, it was intense to the point of being suffocating.
He looked at you like he wanted to eat you whole, his dark eyes tracking your every movement, devouring every expression on your face as if he were trying to memorize your soul.
It was too much.
It was entirely too attached, entirely too fast, and completely different from how he had treated any of the other girls he had dated.
With them, he had been a charming man. With you, he was a frantic, clinging mess.
And by the time the relationship hit the three-week mark, the novelty had completely worn off. Honestly, it was becoming incredibly boring.
You and your friends would sit at your usual lunch table, and youâd show them the latest cheap ring heâd bought you, laughing as they groaned at his pathetic antics.
"Heâs suffocating," you complained, picking at your food.
"It was funny for the first ten days, but now I canât even breathe without him texting me 'what are u doing?' Itâs so tiring."
Your friends completely agreed.
The bet had been won, the point had been proven, and the entire charade had become a massive, irritating chore.
It was getting genuinely annoying the way he always clung onto you, the way his name would flash across your phone screen thirty times an hour, the way he would pout if you wanted to spend lunch with your friends instead of tucked under his arm.
Everything about him was irritating.
So, you planned to break it off.
You figured it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine.
Youâd show him exactly how it felt to have the rug pulled out from under him, to be treated like an absolute afterthought by someone who had claimed to adore you just days prior.
You started ignoring his texts for hours, replying with dry, one-word answers.
When he tried to put his arm around you, youâd seamlessly step out of his reach to grab something from your bag.
You watched him flounder, watched the confusion bleed into his eyes, and you felt a cold, vindictive sense of satisfaction.
He deserved it.
You called him out to the bleachers after track practice on a Friday afternoon to finally end it.
The air was cooling down, the sky a bruised shade of purple, and you stood there with your hands shoved into your pockets, ready to read him his eviction notice.
Except, you hadn't anticipated one crucial, horrifying detail.
Evan wasn't faking it.
"We need to stop doing this," you said, your voice flat, cutting through the quiet hum of the empty field. "Iâm breaking up with you, Evan. Itâs over."
You expected him to sigh, maybe look a little annoyed that his game had been cut short, and walk away with his hands in his pockets to go text his next target.
Instead, the world seemed to violently fracture right in front of you.
The color drained from Evan's face so fast it looked like he had been struck.
His jaw slackened, his eyes widening in a look of such raw terror that you actually took a half-step back.
For a second, he didn't breathe. And then, the tears came.
It wasn't a quiet, dignified single tear, either. Evan started crying like a absolute baby.
A harsh, choking sob tore out of his throat, his shoulders violently shaking as his entire composure crumbled into dust.
Before you could even register what was happening, he dropped to his knees on the cold metal of the bleachers.
He reached out, his hands trembling violently, and grabbed onto your leg, burying his face against your denim-clad knee.
He held on for dear life, his fingers gripping your jeans so tightly his knuckles turned stark white, as if he were a drowning man and you were the only piece of wood left floating in the ocean.
"No, no, please, please don't do this," he sobbed, his voice cracking, completely ruined.
He lifted his face, and he looked entirely patheticâhis nose red, his eyes bloodshot and streaming with heavy, frantic tears, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.
"Please, just tell me what I did wrong. Was I too loud? Did I do something stupid? Iâll change, I swear to God Iâll change. Whatever you want me to be, Iâll be it. Just donât leave me. Please, please donât leave me."
You stood frozen, looking down at him in sheer disgust and shock.
"Evan, get off me!" you said, trying to pull your leg away, but his grip only tightened, his body shaking with another wave of hysterical sobs.
"I love you," he choked out, the words spilling out of him like a confession of a crime, raw and bloody and horrifyingly real.
"I've never felt like this before. I swear I'm not lying to you. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I just think about you every second of the day. Please, don't do this to me. I'll do anything. Just tell me how to fix it."
And in that agonizing, pathetic display, the truth finally clicked into place, sharp and cruel.
For the first time in his miserable, narcissistic lifeâthe idiot had actually fallen in love.
He hadn't been playing a game with you.
The love-bombing, the suffocating attention, the cheap rings, the tying of your shoes, the hungry, desperate looksâit hadn't been his usual manufactured routine.
It had been the clumsy, overwhelming reality of a boy who had finally been struck by the lightning bolt he had spent years pretending to wield.
And unfortunately for himâit happened to be with the one person who never loved him back.
You looked down at him, at his tear-stained face, his desperate hands clinging to your clothes, and you didn't feel a single shred of pity.
You remembered the track girl crying in the bathroom. You remembered the countless other girls whose hearts he had chewed up and spit out without a second thought.
He was experiencing, for the very first time, the exact flavor of agony he had dealt out as a hobby.
"Let go of me, Evan," you said, your voice entirely devoid of warmth, cold as ice.
You wrenched your leg out of his grasp with a sharp, forceful tug.
He stumbled forward, his hands hitting the cold metal of the bleacher where your foot had just been, a fresh sob breaking from his lips as he realized he couldn't hold on.
He stayed there, on his hands and knees.
You didn't look back as you walked away down the steps, leaving him entirely alone in the ruins of the first and last thing he would ever truly care about.
Evan the type to rub his bulge over his phone that's open to a pic of u đ«Ą
and then Evan grew up to be Yan ex
No bc real shit I hope none of u hoes feel bad for him bc he's a bad person and #hatemen #hatecheaters !!!
cw: yandere, captivity, isolation, emotional distress, alien/human dynamics.
project hail mary has me in a tight hold for cute aliens.
Yandere! alien who understands your body as a living organism, though the strange complexities of your human heart still confuse him.
The first thing you noticed about him was that he didn't look alive, at least not in the aspect of a human alien like in the comic books. Instead, his body resembles a humanoid silhouette sculpted from living stone and starlight, hulking shoulders draped in a mantle of glittering crystal. Beneath the cracks in his dark form, galaxies churn smoothly, violet nebulae blooming between fractures, eruptions of light every minute or so, dulled not to hurt your human eyes. Tiny stars flicker beneath his skin. Looking directly at him for too long makes your eyes ache, as though your mind cannot decide whether he is a creature or a piece of the universe that broke away just to torment you. His eyes seem to eat into your soul, licking your mind with fear. Vast and black, not empty, but full.
He finds you horrifyingly fascinating, while you simply find him horrifying.
To him, your species seems absurdly fragile. Your skin bruises. Calcium-rich bones break. Microorganisms seem to make you sick. You require food, water, sleep, and countless other conditions to continue existing. Every new discovery leaves him increasingly bewildered by the fact that humanity survived long enough to build civilizations.
So he builds you a habitat to withstand his otherwise harsh environment for a critter like yourself.
The environment remains perfectly controlled. The structure itself is carved from luminous crystal from worlds you've never heard of. Yet clear all the same, so he can observe your every move. He spends weeks perfecting it, arranging every detail according to his observations.
Yet you cry.
The sight troubles him every time. Those strange leaks from your eyes. The trembling in your voice. The way you press your hands against solid crystal and plead useless words that he cannot understand, yet can only associate the movements with begging. He has monitored your tears extensively. He has adjusted humidity levels. Nutrient intake. Sleep cycles. Light exposure. Nothing prevents them. The phenomenon remains unexplained.
Whenever your pitiful cries happen, gifts begin appearing.
Fossils from planets that your species has never had the chance to explore. Kills from his hunting expeditions that would make any of his own kind swoon but you simply gag and huddle yourself further in a corner.
You never seem grateful. Sometimes you even shout what seems to be profanities. The occasional kick to the crystal does nothing but raise a rumble from his vast solar system. A laugh that you associate with anger because you continue to cry yourself helpless.
He listens patiently, galaxies slowly rotating beneath the shifting surface of his skin while you pour your heart out in a language he cannot decipher. When you finish, he answers in soft clicks, low vibrations, and musical tones that resonate through the echo of your mind.
Neither of you understands the other. Every day, he records your vocalizations. Every day, he grows more confident that he understands you.
And without fail, his conclusions are catastrophically wrong.
He continues trying. From his perspective, everything is perfect. You are safe - fed, protected. What more do you need? The outside universe is vast and cruel. He has seen civilizations disappear. Worlds reduced to nothing but rock dust. Species vanish between one century and the next. Humans, especially, seem determined to place themselves in danger.
Why would he allow such a thing?
Eventually, he settles beside your habitat and simply watches, cross-legged and chin propped. His palm touches the crystal in hopes that you reach out to him, too. Knowing the day will never come, although you've become the center of his universe. Perhaps that's why escape is impossible. Stars are held in orbit by gravity.
I was thinking about my notorious disrespect for the yandere trope, which is weird because I have written yandere audios before (as a script writer on behalf of other VAs) and enjoyed writing them. Sometimes I'm just like "ok do I hate this trope in audios or not".
And I think I realized that I just hated how watered-down it was by people who fundamentally misunderstand the point of that trope. It was really, really popular in the early 2020s, so tons of people jumped on it as a trend but fucked it up. Audios are usually based around romance to some degree, especially one-shot boyfriend/girlfriend ASMR roleplay, which kind of conflicts with the point of the yandere.
One problem is that yandere is a character trope, not a genre, but it gets treated like a genre and therefore has no direction for plot. The other problem is that the yandere is not *supposed* to be appealing, I see the appeal of wanting to imagine yourself desired by someone so obsessed that they'd do horrible things to have you, but that appeal is supposed to be IN SPITE of the mega-creepiness at the surface. Yandere is not a romance trope, it's a horror trope, and writing them as romantic love interests will clash with writing them as yanderes.
Some people who like the trope will say "oh well my yanderes are softer" or "my yanderes aren't toxic". My liege, the toxicity is what makes them yanderes. When you try to make them sympathetic, soft, or non-toxic you hollow them out into a husk. You didn't improve the trope by making them good people, they're supposed to be fundamentally frightening and immoral.
I see a lot of eagerness among VAs/writers to use bad guy tropes (ex: mafia bosses, monsters, supervillains, delinquents, etc) but a lot of hesitancy to actually make them bad. The mafia bosses actually have a code of honor and won't victimize innocent people, the monsters behave indistinguishably from regular people, the villains and delinquents are just misunderstood well-meaning people. It's actually so whack.
Let them be bad, I promise you, it won't damage their appeal. People salivate over pure fucking evil fictional bad guys all the time. The listeners who pick your video hoping for monsters, yandere freaks, and villainy are there for it, otherwise they wouldn't have chosen to watch it. Don't worry about making them non toxic. This is all fiction, there's tons of stuff that would ve horrifying and wrong in real life that is appealing and fun in fiction.
Anyway, I'm hoping for a classic yandere comeback one day where they are just god damn terrible people with no regard for being non-toxic soft yandere bullshit characters.
Youâre just a garden whoâs barely had time to grow, yet you convince yourself that every little bud growing and blooming is really just a weed.
But I beg you to stop tearing them out, for they are flowers in you, dear garden, and theyâre begging for just a chance to bloom and show how beautiful you truly are.
But youâre so scared no one will like whatâs blooming that you rip them instead, rather a withering garden than an unpleasant one. Rather a garden who will never grow than one who blooms flowers some may not favor.
Youâve convinced yourself that even in being abstract, you have to be perfect or not be seen at all.
summary: You were supposed to be Dick Graysonâs perfect alibi. Instead, somewhere between late-night kisses and whispered âI love youâs, Gothamâs Ghostface killer fell in love with his final girl. Unfortunately for you, discovering his secret only makes him want to keep you even closer.
tags: NSFW 18+, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Chase Kink, Sexual Content, Scream AU, Ghostface Dick Grayson, Dark AU, Toxic Relationship, Possessive Dick, Manipulation, Violence, Power Imbalance
a/n: Hey! This is my first post, so Iâm a little nervous haha. English isnât my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, feel free to point them out. Iâm always open to feedback. I really hope you enjoy the story!
Today was going to be perfect. You stepped back and admired your work. The dining table was covered with a crisp white tablecloth, the plates and silverware arranged perfectly, and candles flickered softly around the room, casting a warm golden glow. But something was still missing⊠Pictures. Maybe you could scatter a few photographs of the two of you around the living room.
Smiling to yourself, you hurried upstairs to Dick's room. He kept dozens of framed photos on his shelves, and you figured he wouldn't mind if you borrowed a few for the evening. As you stepped inside, your eyes immediately scanned the room, locating the familiar frames. Then something else caught your attention. A corner of a cardboard box stuck awkwardly out from beneath the bed, as if Dick had shoved it there in a hurry and forgotten to push it all the way in.
Maybe it's a gift for me. The thought immediately brought a grin to your face. You knew you shouldn't snoop. Really, you did. But before you could stop yourself, your feet were already carrying you toward the bed. Just a quick peek, you promised yourself. One glance and then I'll put it back exactly where it was. Maybe it was that dress you'd shown him last week⊠Or a necklace⊠Or maybe a spicy little toy you could use after dinner...
Biting back a smile, you carefully lifted the lid. Then you froze. This was definitely not a gift.
Hunting knife stained with dried blood, a black hooded robe, and that mask. That fucking Ghostface mask. The same one plastered all over the news for the past month. The same one worn by the psycho who had been butchering people across Gotham.
âY/N,â Dick's voice made your blood run cold. You looked up. He stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the exit completely. His expression was tight, almost desperate, as he took a cautious step forward. âItâs not what it looks like.â
Today marked seven months since you started dating, and Dick Grayson had been the best boyfriend youâd ever had. Loving, charming, funny, attentive - and so unbelievably handsome it almost felt unfair. Until this moment, being with Bruce Wayneâs adopted son had seemed like the best thing that had ever happened to you. Until now.
Your stomach twisted violently.
Dick? Your Dick? The boy who followed you around like a lovesick puppy, constantly touching you, kissing your forehead, making you laugh until your ribs hurt. He couldnât possibly be a cold-blooded murderer. âŠRight?Â
âHey, baby, look at me,â he says softly, lifting his hands as if approaching a frightened animal. âDonât look at that. Donât you trust me?â He takes another careful step toward you.
Instantly, you recoil, your back hitting the desk behind you. âDonât come any closer!â you shout, your voice cracking. Dick freezes. For a second, neither of you moves. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too heavy to breathe. Then his expression crumbles.
âY/NâŠâ he whispers, almost hurt. âPlease. You know me.â But do you? Because the boy standing in front of you suddenly feels like a stranger.
âPlease,â he says carefully, his voice softer now, calmer - the same tone he always used whenever you were upset. âJust calm down, sit with me, and let me explain.â But behind the gentle expression, his mind is racing. He couldnât let you go to the police. Not after everything heâd done. He had gone too far already, crossed too many lines to turn back now.Â
He couldnât let you leave. But the worst part? He didnât want to hurt you anymore. Not the way he originally planned to when this whole thing started.
At first, it had been simple.
Commissioner Gordon had started looking into the Ghostface murders more closely, asking sharper questions, noticing details Dick had worked carefully to hide. He needed a distraction. Something convincing enough to take suspicion away from him completely.
If Ghostface murdered a girl, nobody would ever suspect the grieving, heartbroken boyfriend hiding beneath the mask. What kind of psychopath would kill the person they loved most?
It was perfect. At least, it was supposed to be.
Because somewhere between the late-night phone calls, movie nights, sleepy kisses, and the way your face lit up every time you saw him⊠everything got completely fucked. He fell in love with you. Really, truly in love. Dick hated admitting it, even to himself. But he loved how kind you were, how gentle. The way you cared about everyone so naturally, even strangers. He loved your laugh, your terrible jokes, the way you always reached for his hand absentmindedly like it belonged there. You were never supposed to become real to him. You were supposed to be part of the plan.
Your hands started shaking uncontrollably, your eyes darting frantically around the room, searching for anything - anything at all - that could help you.
A weapon. A way out. Something.
Because now that you knew his secret, you were sure of one thing: Dick Grayson was never going to let you leave this house alive.
âWhat exactly do you want to explain?â you snap, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound strong. âThat youâre a murderer? That youâve been running around the city for a month slaughtering innocent people, that youâŠâ Suddenly, the words die in your throat. Your entire body goes cold. âOh my GodâŠâ
Dickâs expression changes instantly. You stare at him in horror, the realization crashing into you so violently it almost makes you sick. The mask of guilt disappeared, replaced by a mocking smile.
âYou killed Stephanie,â you whisper. âOh my God⊠you killed Steph.â Your voice breaks completely.
Your best friend. The same Stephanie who spent hours talking about her future, her dream job, the apartment she wanted after graduation. Stephanie, who dragged you out whenever you were sad. Stephanie, who trusted Dick enough to joke around with him every time the three of you hung out together.
And all this time⊠He knew.
He had killed her, then held you while you cried yourself to sleep afterward. He kissed your forehead, wiped away your tears, whispered comforting lies into your skin while her blood was probably still under his fingernails.
Your stomach turns violently. Your eyes drift toward the open box again, landing on the knife resting on top of the costume. And suddenly, all you can picture is Stephanieâs face. Her smile. Her laugh. Everything she couldâve become before Dick slit her throat and took it all away from her.
Your hands curl into fists. No. You werenât going to let him hurt anyone else.
âY/NâŠâ Dick says quietly, but thereâs something sharper underneath his voice now. A warning. âDonât.â His gaze flicks toward the knife for half a second before returning to you. âPlease,â he says again, slower this time. âDonât make this worse.â
He really, really doesnât want to hurt you. But if you try to attack him? Then heâll do whatever he has to.
You lunged for the box. The second your fingers brushed the knife handle, Dick moved too.
âShit-â
He caught you before you could grab it properly, both of you crashing hard onto the floor beside the bed. The knife clattered somewhere between your bodies as panic surged through you. You reached for it desperately. Dick grabbed you first.
His hands locked around your wrists and slammed them against the floor above your head with terrifying ease. A strangled gasp left your throat as his weight pinned you beneath him completely.
Too strong. Way too strong.
He had always brushed it off with lazy jokes about spending too much time at the gym, but this wasnât normal. No average guy could overpower you this effortlessly.
âOh, sweetheart,â Dick murmurs, tilting his head slightly. Thereâs something dark behind his blue eyes now, something almost frighteningly calm. âDonât do this.â The nickname makes your skin crawl.
âGet the fuck off me!â you snap, thrashing violently beneath him.
You jerk your knee upward, aiming straight for his crotch. Dick catches your leg instantly.
âEasy,â he mutters, gripping your thigh tightly before pinning your leg down beside the other. âYouâre gonna hurt me, honey.â
The slightly playful tone in his voice only makes your anger explode further. Even now, he was flirting. Like this was some stupid game instead of a nightmare.
âYou fucking liar,â you spit, glaring up at him with pure hatred.
A slow grin spreads across Dickâs face.
âMmm,â he hums teasingly, leaning closer as he keeps you trapped beneath him effortlessly. âI love it when you talk dirty to me.â
His grip tightens just slightly around your wrists - not enough to injure you, just enough to remind you exactly who was in control here. Your breathing turns uneven. Not because of him. Because no matter how much you fought, no matter how hard you twisted beneath him - You couldnât get free.
âCan I ask you a question?â Dick murmurs.
Before you can answer, he leans down closer, so close you can feel his breath against your skin. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers softly: âWhatâs your favorite horror movie?â
A shiver runs violently down your spine. Goosebumps spread across your skin instantly, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a brief second, silently cursing yourself. Because even now - even like this - Dick still affected you like a drug.
From the very first date, keeping your hands off him had been nearly impossible. The stupid smirk, the teasing touches, the way he always looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And it definitely wasnât one-sided. Some days, if Dick had his way, he probably wouldnât let you leave his bed at all, keeping you tangled beneath him for hours while he kissed and touched you until neither of you could think straight. You hated that your body still remembered those feelings now.
âThe one where the final girl kills the psychotic serial killer,â you say through clenched teeth.
Dick pulls back just enough to look at you properly. For a second, his expression almost softens. One of his hands keeps your wrists pinned effortlessly while the other rises slowly to your face. His fingertips brush against your cheek with such unbearable gentleness that your resolve wavers for half a heartbeat.
Then you bite him.
Hard.
âFuck!â Dick jerks back with a sharp hiss of pain, instinctively loosening his grip for just a second.
Enough.
You rip one hand free immediately and scramble for the knife lying beside the open box. Dick stumbles back a step, clutching the hand you bit while glaring at you in irritation. And then he sees the knife. The atmosphere changes instantly. You push yourself upright slowly, gripping the handle tightly despite your shaking hands, keeping the blade pointed directly at him as you begin backing toward the bedroom door.
Dick watches your every movement carefully. A pained wince crosses his face as he rubs the fresh bite mark forming on his hand. You were far feistier than heâd expected when this started. Not that he minded.
Actually⊠It was kind of attractive. His eyes drag slowly over you before he lets out a quiet laugh, low and almost breathless.
âThere she is,â he murmurs, staring at you like heâs seeing something beautiful instead of terrifying. âThatâs my girl. Now, sweetheartâŠâ Dick says softly, raising both hands in mock surrender as he stalks toward you down the hallway. âLetâs talk about this.â
âTalk about what?â you snap, backing away from him carefully, the knife trembling in your grip. âAbout how you lied to me this entire time? About how you pretended to love me while planning how to kill me? Or maybe about the fifteen people you murdered? About Stephanie?â Your voice cracks violently. âHow exactly do you expect me to have a conversation with you right now?!â
Dick keeps walking toward you slowly, hands still raised, expression calm in a way that makes your stomach twist. The sight of you backing away from him with his knife clenched in your hands does something dangerous to him. His pulse races unexpectedly as his mind flickers through every possible outcome of this situation.
You looked terrified. Cornered. Desperate.
And somehow, it only made him want you more.
âYou probably wonât believe me,â he says evenly, his voice smooth despite the tension hanging between you both, âbut I really do love you.â Another slow step. âI didnât plan for that part,â he admits with a quiet laugh under his breath. âBut I fucking love you, sweetheart. And if you hadnât found that boxâŠâ His eyes soften slightly. âI never wouldâve hurt you.â
âFucking liar!â you spit instantly.
Dick laughs outright at that. Itâs warm. Genuine. Completely insane.
He takes another step closer while you continue backing away from him down the staircase landing. You looked so furious, glaring at him like you hated him with every ounce of your being - and yet the most you could do was curse at him and threaten him with shaking hands. You both knew you werenât winning this fight.
âYouâre really cute when youâre angry,â he teases casually. Then his grin widens. âBesides⊠you have to admit youâre ridiculously easy to manipulate sometimes.â
You stare at him in disbelief.
âManipulate?â you repeat sharply. âPlease. You were the one begging me to be your girlfriend. You practically got on your knees thanking me when I finally agreed to sleep with you.â Dickâs smile twitches wider. âYou were the one panicking every time I met your fucked-up rich family,â you continue bitterly, voice shaking as you descend another step backward. âYouâre the one who begged me not to leave you. And every single time we had sex, you were whining about how much you loved me and how youâd do anything for me while I rode-â
âJesus Christ,â Dick laughs breathlessly, rubbing a hand over his mouth for a second like heâs genuinely entertained despite the situation.
You reach the stairs. Your eyes flick downward briefly. Then you turn and run.
âY/N-â
You sprint down the staircase as fast as possible, your heartbeat roaring in your ears while footsteps thunder behind you instantly. Too fast⊠He was too fast...
The moment you reach the bottom floor and lunge toward the front door, a violent yank jerks you backward by the back of your silk shirt - the one you wore tonight specifically because Dick once told you it made you look irresistible.
You stumble hard. The knife flies from your grasp as you crash painfully onto the floor. Before you can even react, Dick is already on top of you. He kneels over your legs, pinning you effortlessly beneath him again, wearing that same lazy grin like this is all just some twisted game of cat and mouse he already knew heâd win.
âYou really thought I wouldnât plan for this?â he muses, reaching past you to grab the knife from the floor. âSweetheartâŠâ He twirls the blade lazily between his fingers. âI live for the chase.â Then he leans down slightly, resting his elbows on his knees like he has all the time in the world. A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. âAnd honestly?â he murmurs softly, blue eyes dragging slowly over your trembling form, âyouâre making this way too fun for me.â
You forced yourself to pull away as much as you could beneath him, your mind racing desperately for any possible way out. Then an idea hit you.
Slowly, cautiously, you shifted your hips against him. Dick froze for half a second. A dark, dangerous chuckle rumbled from his chest as he felt the movement, his pupils dilating briefly before his expression smoothed back into something teasing and controlled.
âOh no,â he murmured, voice low with amusement. âDonât tell me youâre trying to distract me. Thatâs so⊠low of you.â
He shifted deliberately against you once, just enough to make your breath hitch involuntarily.
âClever girl,â he whispers near your ear. âToo bad Iâm not that easy to manipulate. Now behave,â he says sweetly. âOr this is going to become very unpleasant for both of us.â
Panic claws at your chest. You had no chance against him physically. You knew that. Dick was stronger, faster, calmer - and worst of all, he was enjoying this. But there was one thing you werenât completely sure about.
His feelings. He may have lied about loving you, but you know him well enough to know he can't resist your body.
You swallowed hard and made your choice. Without warning, you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him. Dick goes completely still. For one brief second, he doesnât react at all, clearly caught off guard. Then you bite his lower lip lightly - just enough to make him inhale sharply. And thatâs all it takes.
The restraint in him cracks immediately. A low sound escapes his throat as he kisses you back hard, one hand tangling tightly into your hair while the other presses against your waist possessively. The kiss turns messy and desperate almost instantly, fueled by adrenaline, anger, fear, and something far more dangerous underneath it all. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as you try to keep him distracted.
For a moment, it actually works.
Dick breaks the kiss only to drag his mouth down the side of your neck, his breathing rougher now despite his earlier confidence. âYou really think this is enough to distract me?â he mutters against your skin, voice strained with amusement. âSweetheart⊠Iâm barely losing focus.â
âWeâll see,â you whisper back shakily. You press another kiss against his neck, subtly shifting beneath him again while your eyes dart around desperately, still searching for some kind of escape. A curse slips under Dickâs breath. His hands tighten around your hips automatically, fingers pressing hard enough to remind you how strong he really is.
And for the first time since this startedâŠHe actually sounds affected.
âMmph⊠damn,â Dick murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, roughened by the way youâre moving beneath him. His head tilts slightly, giving you better access to his neck while his thumb traces slow circles against your hip. âYouâre just full of surprises tonight, arenât you?â His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. âYou think that because youâre rubbing against me Iâm suddenly gonna go soft on you?â he asks teasingly. âYou think Iâm just some hormonal teenager who canât think straight?â One of his hands slides up to your chin, forcing you to look at him. âSweetheart,â he says softly, almost amused, âIâve been doing this for a long time.â
Fuck. Your pulse stutters nervously. You swallow hard and arch your back slightly beneath him, trying to keep your movements natural despite the panic clawing at your chest. You moved your hand and with a quick movement, pulled the shirt in opposite directions, and the buttons running down the middle came undone, revealing what you had underneath. Revealing a new lace bra in his favorite color. Rich Navy Blue.
Dick goes quiet. For a second, all he does is stare.
That new set of lingerie was supposed to be a surprise for later. After dinner. After wine and flirting and teasing kisses against his jaw while he smiled at you like you hung the moon. You had spent way too long picking out that matching set because you knew exactly what kind of things Dick liked.
But then you found the box.
And suddenly the entire night became something else entirely. Dickâs gaze drags slowly over your body stretched beneath him, dark and hungry enough to make heat crawl embarrassingly up your neck despite everything.
âDamnâŠâ he whispers. The word comes out almost breathless. âYou really wore this for me, huh?â
A pause. Then his mouth curls into a crooked grin.
âWere you planning on letting me take it off, sweetheart?â
âYeah,â you snap bitterly. âBut then you started trying to kill me like a fucking psychopath, so I figured you didnât deserve it anymore.â
Dick actually laughs softly at that.
âOuch,â he murmurs. âYouâre hurting my feelings, doll.â
His hand slides slowly across your exposed stomach while the other still keeps your wrists trapped above your head. Warm fingers drag upward deliberately, inch by inch, until they stop right beneath the edge of your bra. Your breath catches involuntarily.
âOh, Iâm hurting your feelings?â you laugh bitterly, squirming beneath him. âYouâre the one lying to me, murdering peopleâŠâ
âAnd yet,â Dick interrupts quietly. He leans closer until his breath brushes against your lips. âI bet youâre still wet for me.â A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. âYou can hate me all you want,â he murmurs softly, eyes locked onto yours. âBut your body still responds to me.â
âWhat do I have to do to make you stop wanting to kill me?â you ask quietly, wetting your lips nervously with your tongue. You really don't want to fucking die today. Dickâs eyes drop to your mouth instantly. The hunger in his expression darkens so fast it almost startles you.
His fingers tracing lazily along the strap of your bra. A low chuckle escapes him. His gaze drags over you again, slow and openly possessive. âOh, this will be fun..â
You swallow hard beneath him. âWhat can I do to survive?â
For the first time since this started, Dick hesitates. A sigh leaves him quietly, almost frustrated with himself, like he already knows heâs making a mistake just by considering your question. His thumb strokes absentminded circles against your hip.
âIf you really want me to let you liveâŠâ he says slowly, studying your face carefully, âthen I have two conditions.â
Your stomach twists.
âYouâre gonna hate it, though.â
âTry me, Dickie.â
He laughs softly at the nickname, shaking his head. Itâs ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Heâs pinning you beneath him, holding your life in his hands, and somehow you still find the nerve to tease him.
Honestly? It makes him want you even more.
âIâm surprised you still have the energy to mouth off right now,â he murmurs, tightening his grip on your waist slightly. âBut I guess youâve never been the type to back down from a challenge.â
He leans closer until his lips barely brush yours. He lifts one finger between you.
âFirst condition⊠You listen to me. No more running. No more fighting me. No more trying to stab me with my own knife.â His eyes lock onto yours completely. âIâm the one in control here, sweetheart. If you want to stay alive, you do what I say. Understand?â
You stare into his eyes for a long moment. Every instinct in your body screams not to trust him. But you also know you donât have a choice right now.
âI understand,â you whisper carefully.
Dick studies your face like heâs searching for any sign youâre lying. When he finds none, something warm flickers across his expression. âGood girl,â he murmurs softly. The praise sends an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. âI knew youâd eventually start thinking clearly.â His fingers brush some hair away from your face gently - disturbingly gentle for someone threatening your life minutes ago. âYouâve always been smarter than most people.â
Surprisingly his grip loosened. Just slightly. Not enough to let you go, but enough that you feel the difference immediately. His gaze stays locked on yours, searching for your reaction.
âIf you want me to stop seeing you like a problem I need to solveâŠâ he continues, thumb brushing once over your wrist, no longer restraining, just touching, âthen you stop fighting me like Iâm your enemy.â
His eyes flicker briefly over your lips again, but slower this time. Less hungry. More focused.
His hand shifts from your hip to your wrist, but instead of pinning it, he turns it over slowly, palm up, like heâs deciding something. âYou stay with me willingly.â he adds.A faint, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. âAnd in return⊠I stop treating you like something I have to catch.â
Silence stretches between you. Then, softer: âYou choose that⊠You choose meâ he murmurs. âOr we go back to me keeping you pinned and you hating every second of it.â His eyes narrow slightly. âYour call, sweetheart.â
A low rumble of a chuckle escaped his throat, a dangerous sound as his free hand came up to grip the back of your thigh. He tightened his grip on the back of your thigh, slowly spreading your legs open and positioning himself between them.
"You'll be a good little doll for me, won't you?"
You slowly nodded in agreement. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just behind your ear as he spoke, his voice low and controlled. One of his hands slid down to your covered crotch. His fingers pressed hard against your pants, and a moment later his hand slid under them, landing on your pussy. âAnd condition number two⊠You don't get to come unless I say so."
He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, just enough to make your breath hitch-but not enough to give you what you wanted.
"You know how I love making people beg.â
"Oh I know⊠You like it when I ask for permission⊠when I beg for youâŠ" you replied, voice softer now, breath uneven as you shifted against him instinctively, chasing more of his touch.
He growled under his breath, his eyes darkening as you ground your hips against his fingers. You gasped when two thick fingers slipped inside you without warning, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the floor. Another finger curled in and you moaned. His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.
A broken cry escaped your throat as pleasure crashed over you in relentless pulses. He didnât stop, of course not. His fingers moved steadily, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive. You cry out, hips jerking against his hand, but he pins you down, keeping you exactly where he wants. You come hard and fast, thighs trembling around him, a sharp broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves.
You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself. FuckâŠThis isnât how it was supposed to go, I thought. I watched as he pulled his hand out of my clothes and, looking me straight in the eyes, licked my cum from his fingers. A look of pleasure appeared on his face, and I could feel his hard dick pressing against my thigh.
âDamn, I think thatâs the fastest Iâve ever managed to make you cum. Our little chase must have really turned you on, baby. Makes me wonder how fast I can make you cum with my dick⊠maybe weâll even beat our last record. Weâre going to have some fun tonightâŠâ
jason todd being a velcro boyfriend. You wake up from your long nap and stretch till you feel a weird heavy weight on top of you under your blanket. You were still groggy and slightly panic out of confusion. You lift up your comforter and see Jason is resting on your pelvis as he doomscrolls on tiktok. You can hear the stupid memes he swears arenât funny from his phone. He looks up and his scarred lips softly grins.
âGâmornin, sleeping beauty! Howâd you sleep?â
âHow long have you been down there?â you chuckled, still holding up the blanket.
[Jason does not answer the question but flutters his eyes]
âSo, are we grabbing food later? I was thinking sushi or something spicy-â His casual tone makes you giggle in amusement.
âBaby, how long?â You glance above the blanket and can clearly see the other half of jason sticking out of the blanket.
âNot long enough. What are you craving for dinner?â
âI just woke up, babe. Um, I donât know.â You rubbed your eye.
âHowâs some pho?â Jasonâs green eyes smiled.
âThatâs fineâŠâ
âBut how did you sneak in without waking me-â
Jason kissed your thigh and slowly pulls the blanket back down and turns back to his phone, opening up Yelp for a nearby restaurant.
you sleeping on your tummy, one leg stretched out and one knee bent close to you. and your boyfriend arrives, cock hard and aching for you. he presses his bulge to your ass and rubs it against you, groaning as he does so. inhaling the scent of your shampoo. rubs your pussy through your panties before he pulls his cock out. he moves your cute undies to the side and fills you up with him :( and you begin to wake up and youâre so needy. so unbelievably needy for him
Fuck up the way you paint your nails. Fuck up how you dye your hair. Laugh as you realize you missed a massive step in making bread. Scribble terribly in your notebook and CSP. Snort at how ugly the first clay figure you make is. Add glitter. Add spice. Make the wrong choice and laugh about how bad it got. Embrace that you're new and mistakes are needed. Embrace that you're a veteran and mistakes are always going to be there.
There's no cameras. The world isn't watching every eraser mark and every misstep. The universe loves you and loves seeing you learn in the way and time that you need. The stars love to see how you laugh and show off the good AND the bad.
Breathe love into yourself and your works by knowing perfection is fake. Even the most laughable of mess ups is still something to keep trying, fully loving what you do.
Okay. While I do not think Jason Todd would be the confident dark romance man that you guys want him to be, I do agree on one thing.
He would be possessive.
Itâs a generally common trauma response to feel possessive over the things/people you do have when you have lost a lot in your life.
And yâknow, heâs a little paranoid because he lost both his parents, grew up homeless, then got taken in by the Batman, took up the mantle of Robin, got news that his mom might be alive out there, and then when he does find her, she sells him out to the joker and gets him killed.
Heâs an abused dog. Heâs not scary about it, but he is definitely not well. Once you have his loyalty, youâre not going to be getting rid of him very easily.
You know how they say donât feed a stray dog? Donât fuck this man unless youâre willing to deal with a man who will be eating your fucking food and grinning about it later.
He wouldnât be possessive in the whole âyouâre mineâ but in the âI canât lose youâ with a bruising grip on your hands.
Yknow, not âyouâre mineâ like a dom daddy character but âyouâre mineâ while heâs sobbing into your stomach trying to convince the both of you that heâs good enough to be loved.
So hum yeah green flags or red flags? ahshahdhsd I love them both đââïžđ«¶ ... a little more the red flags though đ but omg Crow and Cove just got me crying my eyes off
summary: landing in an alternate dimensionâyou're certain this version of damian who finds you should hate you as much as your damian does. but when he pulls you in so tight as if he's experienced losing you before.. you realise he isn't so willing on letting you go.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: alternate dimension damian who finds you which makes the yearning 1000x worse, 'ill choose you in every lifetime' trope, angst-comfort
It's been twenty minutes since you ended up in another dimension. A stupid argument. An accidental trigger. Of course, none of that comes close in comparison to the complete shock of Damian Wayne crushing you with his embrace.
No. Embrace is too soft a term for how tightly squeezed you areâthe lack of space making it easy for you to detect how his body is physically shaking.
You're covered in soot, dust particles still emanating from where your form had materialisedâfrom where your first instinct had been to press the emergency contact on your comms. Damian had found you not long after. You still remember how quickly your fury had been extinguished the moment you caught sight of his pale expression, the sheer disbelief in the open gape of his lips.
Damian hates you. That fact is precisely the reason you ended up here, in a whole other dimension. That instinctive reminder is what forces you to push yourself out of his embrace, and his own hands go slack as he stares at you wordlessly.
"Why'd you follow me inâyou idiot!" You snap, trying to brush off how taken off-guard you are. "I can't believe we're both stuck here."
He blinks once. "Stuck?"
"You should've pieced this together faster than I did." Gesturing to your surroundings, your arms still ache from having crashed through a construction site. "We're stuck in another dimension all thanks to you."
He blinks again, slower this time. Processing. "Where exactly did you come from?"
"Did the fall injure your head?" Your impatience brims over your exhausted features. "Isn't it enough that you had to start something in the lab? We wouldn't have ended up here if you hadn't been so insistent on triggering the portal."
His features remain stoic, but there's a familiar calculation in his gaze. His lips part after a moment. "Portal."
It's infuriating how long he's taking to catch onto the reality of what's just happened. You give a short nod, your growing panic stuck between your teeth. If Damian's here with you, there's no telling if you'll be able to make a connection back to your dimension.
"I suppose you are right." His brows remain furrowed in consideration. "But there is one thing you're missing."
Leave it to him to counter every point of yours, needing to be right as always. A heavy sigh leaves your lips. "And what is that?"
"I'm not your Damian."
Those words still ring hollow, a repeating drone of his voice as you watch the familiar city pass by the windowpane. It is Gotham, but not. Unfamiliar stores fill the streets, similar roads but not quite, small inconsistencies that are enough to remind you that this isn't your home.
That the person in the driver's seat beside you is a complete stranger.
"Who am I to you?" You question, casting your glance back to that stiff, perfect posture of his as he makes a turn towards his apartment.
That hug from earlier, if you could even call it that, still lingers like a shadow, casting goosebumps over your skin whenever the memory overstayed its welcome.
You spot the whitening of his knuckles, the pads of his fingers squeezing into the steering wheel before the colour returns, as if his composure never faltered.
"You were my assigned partner." He answers briskly.
Were. There's finally one consistency, at the very least. To your relief, the version of you here didn't seem to get along with him either.
Your small amusement is quickly diminished at the rise of another concern of yours. If there was another version of you running around this city, you can't even begin to fathom the potential fractures of reality if an encounter truly happened.
You're already playing a huge risk in letting this Damian assist you. Still, you had no one else.
Your comms had contacted him, not that it was to any surprise of your own once the initial panic died down. It wasn't likely that you still had a connection to your own world, much less an existing channel with your Damian. It was pure luck that you still had use for the device at all. Or at least, you hoped you could consider it luck.
Your gaze lingers over his features. The likeness between him and your Damian was uncanny. The same nose bridge, freckles, and even that faint scar running down his jawline. It was all so familiar that you had to snap yourself out of it when you found your body conditioning itself into safety, as if forgetting he's a stranger.
"Well, I hope you'll let bygones be bygones." You answer wryly. "There wasn't anyone else I could contact. If you can help me find a way back home, I'll be out of your dimension in no time."
The silence grows terse. A shift has occurred, even if you're unsure on the why. You had only stated the obvious. Perhaps his moods were in line with what you were familiar with after all, and that is no soothing relief if it meant having to face that same temperament that landed you here.
"I'm already offering my help." Damian answers after a moment, as if he's finally settled for a response he was satisfied with.
"I hope so." You mutter, eyelids falling shut in your exhaustion. The sight of the city was making you nauseous. "It's kind of your fault I ended up here. The other you, anyways."
He hums, finger tapping once against the steering wheel. "Typical."
This Damian has an apartment akin to a serial killer's. The barest necessities, minimal decorationsâit's as if every surface has gone untouched. If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes when he unlocked the door with his thumbprint, you would've assumed no one had ever stepped foot within these walls.
"Ever heard of decoration?" It lands wrong, and you internally wince. It's difficult, to not fall back into that same push-and-pull when you see Damian's figure in your peripheral vision. To not be mistaken with familiar company.
He watches you for longer than he should. He keeps doing that, the staring. "There's no reason for me to do so." He answers eventually.
Your brows furrow. Something about his responses from the moment you met him unnerved you, as if he's leaving his words purposely vague. Clues buried within that mask of his, where an unanswered story that didn't belong to your reality lingers in his.
"Where am I currently in your dimension?" You decide to settle at the sofa, stretching out your limbs. "If she's still in Gotham, I need to be careful not to be seen."
Ever since you arrived, your body has been aching horribly. It hadn't been this obvious when you had arrived, but now, it's stinging down to your nerves. Maybe the adrenaline had finally worn off, and you're left to deal with a body unequipped to the frantic mess your mind is trying to sort out.
"It won't be a problem." He answers, lips pursing into a thin line. "She's gone."
Your head tilts questioningly to meet his gaze, but he avoids yours. Pulling open his kitchen drawer, there's a taut tension in his body as if he's been expecting your question and dreading it all the same.
Gone could mean anything. Out of the city borders orâ
Your eyes flicker down to his disappearing hand, and find his reappearing fingers gripped around pain ointment. Your stretch pauses halfway, the strange alertness of being noticed without your permission sending a chill down your spine.
Forcing your hands down back to your sides, you eye him warily as he makes his way round the couch, stopping before you. His hand extends, lifting his offering silently.
It's unfamiliar, and even if you try your hardest to reason to yourself, that this isn't the Damian you know, it doesn't make it any easier to allow him to assist you. You half expect mocking, a glimpse of his smirk when your gaze flickers to the ointment held out in front of you.
A low breath escapes his lips, and you expect him to give in. To understand that you don't require more of him other than his specific assistance to send you homeâonly for him to lower himself.
Damian Wayneâeven if he isn't the one you're used toâis kneeling down to meet your gaze. Your breath stops, your chest seized tight as you stare at him, unable to hide your surprise.
He doesn't falter, his fingers mindlessly dipping into the ointment before placing the jar by your side. His free hand goes to grip your wrist, tugging gently to expose the bruises trailing along your arm from your fall.
"If it is me you have come to for assistance." He mutters with a click of his tongue. "Then, I expect you not to be stubborn."
You swallow, your jaw ticking as you find your tongue heavy with a lack of an adequate response. His unwavering concern, this intensity can't be tied solely to you. There has to be a reason for why he is looking at you this way.
"What did you mean?" You ask quietly. "By gone?"
His fingers, still coated with the ointment, brush gently over your thudding pulse. His gaze finally lifts, but you can't read him. There's a pull to his gaze, and the answer reveals itself by the time you recognise what is held within his eyes isn't irritation or indifference. It was grief.
"She's dead."
It's a strange feeling to know you're stepping into a world where a version of you used to exist. A sick form of good luck, a technical elimination of complications.
Except that it's only made everything more complicated. You had no idea on how to deal with the Damian in front of you now that the truth's been revealed.
When he first admitted that he wasn't the Damian you knew, you had quickly assumed that whatever dynamic he shared with you from this dimension was a parallel to the one you shared with your Damian. Forced tolerance, a begrudging partnership. No, you had needed to assume it so. Anything different would have shattered this fragile alliance you had with the stranger sitting across you, because despite everything you felt about your Damianâyou relied on him as a partner.
Now, you weren't sure if you could trust the Damian in front of you. You had assumed that if he answered your questions, you would have cleared the airâbut it has only raised more.
You can feel his attention while you're thinking. You swear with the intensity of his gaze casted onto you which you pretend not to notice, it's as if your existence only materialised when his eyes are on you. There's a strange urgency in his unblinking stare, as if to remind himself that you're still in front of him.
It's too much. It was the same back when he first saw you as well. Damian hasn't mentioned his strange reaction since, and his lack of an explanation for why he had embraced you clues you on nothing still, on what you meant to him.
"I'm not her." You mutter after a moment. You don't know why, but you feel you have to say it.
There's some form of attachment he must've had with you, and you couldn't let yourself be tangled into the mess of what's been left behind. This isn't your world, and the last thing you needed was a blur of that line.
"I know." He answers quickly. Without pause, as if he's been repeating it to himself before you had even verbalised it.
Your hesitance must be palpable because he lets out a sigh not long after, heavy from his chest.
"I didn't offer you my help because I think you'reâ" He swallows, pain etched into the lines of his grimace. "I understand that you are alone in this world. That some mistake of mine from your end caused this. I am taking responsibility for itâto bring you back. There is nothing more to it."
You watch him as he did to you, noting a delicate fragility to him you've never seen before. You had been so wrapped up in your situation, that you failed to notice the frantic quality of his gaze or the exhaustion plaguing his features. As if being around youâdrained him from the impossibility of seeing you alive and breathing.
"Okay." You answer eventually. "I believe you."
His shoulders, tense and taut, finally loosen slightly at your response.
"Do youâ" Your voice is plagued with exhaustion, and you struggle to find the words, the composure to hide your desperation. "âhave any idea on how I'll be able to get back?"
Relief flickers briefly in his gaze, replaced with a familiar efficiency that slots over the dark pool his eyes held mere seconds ago. This, you were used to. Whenever he was asked to perform a duty, that was when you both cooperated the easiest.
"If it were me, I'd predict that there will be a two-way mechanism." He suggests automatically. So, he had been considering his own theories this entire time.
Leaning in, his elbows pressing against his thighs, he continues. "An entry will not be possible without a tunnel. To find the connection and restart it as you had before in your dimension, it should trigger an opening."
"I also considered the possibility of a tunnel." You frown, your fingers drawing a thin, edged line across the sofa's fabric. "The only problem is that when I arrived, before contacting youâI looked around the premise. I really tried."
"There was no opening." You admit, dread digging slowly into your bones.
"Perhaps it will only be activated if it was triggered in the same process as before." He suggests.
"...Doesn't that rely on Damianâ" You falter, meeting his gaze. "âmy Damian restarting the trigger on his side?"
He nods, even as his lips purse slightly at the mention of the other him. "Your only chance depends on him coming to the same realisation we have."
You draw a short breath. "Shit."
Damian doesn't hesitate when you ask by the third hour of silenceâto accompany you back to the construction site when the passing hours has done enough in driving you insane.
You hate waiting. Your Damian knows that. This Damian seems to know too.
He follows you like a silent shadow, tracing your steps and overlooking the same rubble caused by your fall as you try to find an anomaly. Anything that proves to your stubborn anxietyâthat you are actually doing something to feel less trapped.
"There is nothing here." He states.
"You don't know that." You wish your voice sounded stronger. "I wasn't in my right mind when I landed. I might identify something I missed."
His jaw ticks once, but he doesn't stop you. He doesn't argueâand that unnerves you. The Damian you know doesn't hesitate when picking a fight, and franklyâyou miss that. You needed something to distract youâand he was merely standing there like he was watching a phantom.
"I thought you said you would help." Your voice breaks.
Fuck. Swallowing back your revealed fright, you finally slump down onto the dust-covered concrete, pressing your palm against your eyes.
You hear a shuffle, the fabric of his coat landing heavy next to you. You uncover your eyes, catching him as he crouches beside you. His gaze meets yours head-onâand you nearly drown in the weight of it.
"There's no relief in digging through a dead-end." He mutters, peering over your features. "It'll only worsen the thoughts."
You grow quiet. You didn't need a verbal confirmation, not when just his gaze alone tells, that he wasn't only talking about your situation. Your chest heaves, the scent of concrete filling your nostrils.
The silence stretches, an uncomfortable sensation of helplessness filling the air.
"...Do you like pizza?" He asks after a moment.
Blinking once, you must've misheard it. You can't help the snort that escapes you, the sound broken and unsteady. "What?"
"I dislike it." He mutters. "The ones in Gotham. It's too much grease, and lacking of any true nutrients."
That... sounds very Damian of him.
You raise a brow, and his lips purse together. Letting out a regretful sigh, he gestures with a tilt of his head. "There's an adequate franchise down the street."
Lifting himself off the ground, he holds out his hand towards you. "Since this dreadful day has been awfully unproductive, I suppose a meal like that is befitting."
Your gaze flickers between his hand and that unfamiliar, warmth in his eyes. Of how you had been in a similar position mere hours ago when he had offered you pain ointment. Of how he has been consistently extending his hand towards you, accompanying your sideâever since you entered this dimension.
This time, you take his hand.
Strangely enough, the fluorescent lights of 'Gotham City Pizzeria' and the smell of floor disinfectantâcombined with the peculiar sight of Damian lifting a soggy pizza slice with a grimace did lift your spirits. If this was your dimension, you would have bothered with taking a picture to capture the sight of him clashing with an environment so strongly, but you couldn't afford to let this rare moment of normalcy be dimmed by that reminder.
"Should I be concerned that the Damian Wayne in this dimension consumes Gotham pizzas?" You murmur, wiping a streak of tomato at the corner of your mouth.
His lips quirk up slightly. "Even I have my faults."
Clearing his throat, he murmurs. "Your turn."
You raise a brow, confused.
He leans back, dusting his hands against the napkin. "I haven't learned anything about you since you arrived."
Oh. You had assumed that he didn't want to. Outside of the boundaries of your circumstance, he hasn't really pushed much further other than details he needed to have, to piece a solution together.
"What do you want to know?" You shrug.
His lips tilt upwards again, more intently this time. "Do you like pizza?"
Your smile lifts instinctively. "I do, detective. How'd you guess?"
His smile strains a little, and you realise why.
"Ah." You murmur.
"No." He stops you before you can retreat. "Don't stop on my account. I want to know what you like."
You swallow, fingers running over the crust flakes coating your thumb. You suppose you could answer, there wasn't any harm done. "I do like pizza. It's the only thing that's comforting enough after a long night of patrol. I think when I enter a familiar place at an hour like this, when there's no one else around, it's like the world closes in to exist in just this spot, y'know? I get to forget about my worries for a little while."
He nods, listening to you speak as if he intended on memorising every word. Like he may miss the chance to do so ever again.
"So, why'd you pick this place?" You return the question.
"...As I told you before, I'm not fond of it."
"So, why are you here?" You push.
A slow exhale escapes his mouth. "I suppose, it was like you said. Comfortingâin a sense, to be surrounded by something familiar."
You can see him struggling, on what to say and what to keep buried. This provided company of hisâit's like you're digging into a wound he's openly showing you.
"What else do you like?" He reiterates.
Your smile reappears, almost easing. "Need a full catalogue?"
"Yes." He answers almost immediately. It takes the breath out of you, the humour still stuck on your tongue with the way he looks at you, all-consuming. "I would."
"I suppose... I could tell you things I never told anyone." You whisper almost conspiratorially. "Something tells me you'll keep quite a good secret."
His lips lift, curving a small dimple by his cheek. "I swear."
"I guess..." Leaning your cheek against your palm, you take your time in truly looking at him. "I always did like your eyes."
He blinks, not expecting your answer. "My eyes?"
"Yeah." Your grin comes easier to you now, seeing him uncharacteristically flustered. "Made me unreasonably jealous at times. Green eyes like that, and you spend half the time glowering."
He scoffs lowly, but it holds no bite. "I wasn't aware there was a way to utilise them."
"No, you do it right when you're not thinking too hard." You murmur, lost in thought. "When you don't pretend to be strong, your eyes go soft. Just around the edges."
The moment those words leave you, you realise you're pushing too far, saying something so intimate, it should have never been verbalised.
He watches you, and to your dismay, he does it right then and there. The sharpened edges around his gaze softens, and so does Damian.
"You're direct." He mutters, almost fondly.
You swallow, averting your gaze. "So I've been told."
"I like that."
You shift your focus back to him immediately, a soft thudding in your chest. He has never averted his gaze. Rarely, you realise, does he pull his attention away from you. It's like he's treasuring it, the small impossibility of this conversation, of your presence in this pizzeria illuminated by the neon lights.
"Do you feel like you're dreaming?" You ask. "It feels like I know you even though I shouldn't."
His lips quirk. "It is a fair exchange for reality, if I get to meet you."
Your heart is thudding louder now, and you don't find it instinctive anymore to avert his gaze, no matter how much the depth feels like drowning.
"A once in a lifetime phenomenon." You declare. "Let's not waste it."
Gotham's cityscape takes a less intimidating turn in the weeks following your exploration with Damian, as the hidden beauty within begins to reveal itself. The confusing streets become interesting puzzles, a guessing game on what road could be an alternative to the ones you frequent in your dimension. When night falls? That's when this Gotham truly sings, coming alive.
Without the late nights being reserved for the sole purpose of patrol, Damian guides you within the ins-and-outs of alleyways, leading you through slot machines, bars that still had the hum of human company despite the late hour. Eventually, you both land on a rooftop that lets you oversee the entire city.
It's terrifyingly easy to enjoy his company when you're not busy pretending otherwise. There's a symphony to your shared steps, the trailing of his shadow that plays out like a familiar, comforting rhythm.
"It's different." You mutter almost excitedly. The faint buzz of exhaustion from the late hour leaves you increasingly lax, your hand tugging at his sleeve towards the Wayne Tower in the distance. "Ours is all red hues and sharp angles. I like yours more."
He hums, sounding amused. His gaze is still trained on you, not focused on your pointed finger towards the building at all. Letting out a huff, your hand, numbed by the freezing wind, lifts to cup his cheek.
He blinks, a rare vulnerable expression crossing his features at your touch.
"Stop looking at me." You gesture, trying to tune his head towards the cityscape. "You're missing out."
"No, I'm not." He answers honestly.
You blink, hand faltering over his cheek, but he raises his own to cover yours.
"Sorry." He murmurs, lashes lowering with his gaze as he closes his eyes momentarily. "Allow me to be a little selfish, just this once."
Your fingers shake in response, but you don't remove your hand.
"That's not very fair of you." You mutter.
"I suppose I have never practiced that trait well." Opening his eyes, you're faced with that tenderness, the one that leaves you breathless. "Does it make me hateful?"
"No." You answer honestly. "You've always been bad at that."
"At being fair?" He asks.
"Making me hate you." You admit quietly.
His gaze softens imperceptibly. "I suppose we're both not very good liars."
The touch of his cheek burns your skin. This is dangerous, your mind faintly warns you. You promised yourself to never hesitate in your decision, not even after meeting him. You were always meant to go home.
He spots your hesitance, and his warmth falters. His lips set back into that familiar, distant line as he lets your hand go.
"I apologise if I over-stepped." He says before you even have time to clear the air.
"No, that isn't it." You wince, drawing your hand back to scratch at your cheek. "I was just thinking. Maybeâit isn't so bad if I could stay a little longer. There's no guarantee on when the portal will open again, so it's not a ruled out possibility."
Your suggestion is a toss into the wind. A complete silent, interpretation that maybe that's what he'd like as well.
You don't even have time to process the slight hope in his gaze, the consideration of your words before somethingâno everything seizes. Your body collapses to the ground, the pain of your atoms glitching, seizing to exist, and reforming again, is nearly indescribable.
A near howl escapes your bitten lips as you crumple towards the floor, only for Damian to catch you in his arms, down on his knees in front of you. Your fingers grip tight around his wrists, steading yourself as your vision blurs in and out. By the time you've strained your neck to look back up at him, you see the pain contorting his expression, wiping it loose of all composure.
"IâI'm okay." You breathe out, even as you can feel how cold and clammy your skin has become.
He doesn't answer. He merely stares, a rush of emotions flooding too fast through his mind for you to read, before it falters. His grip is your only anchor, but he's trembling too.
"This isn't a good sign." He states, dread falling over his features. "You must return, soon."
"So, you're sayingâ" You recall his words faintly. "The longer I stay in this dimension, my body will begin to disintegrate?"
Those technical words, theories that sound ridiculous on paper, thread thinly in a reality where your body was now a self-destructive timer. He gives you a short nod, his dark circles illuminated by the hologram of his research. Despite it being your life on the line, he looks wrecked.
What had started out as a happy night, ended with the reminder that you're not only endangering yourself but him. He's faced losing you once, and your existence in this dimension that should have never happenedâhe might go through it all over again if you don't find the portal in time.
"Damian." You call out, spotting the weak composure he's trying to display. "Look at me."
He refuses to listen, or maybe, he's completely blocked everything out with his gaze trained on the coordinates and running calculations. Standing up from the couch, you move slowly towards him to not startle him. Your hand briefly touches his arm, and he flinches.
"Damian, we've been over this." You speak as calmly as you can. "There's no opening unless it's opened from my side."
"Then, why hasn't he done it?" He snaps.
You blink, taken aback by his reaction.
"I can'tâ" He swallows, jaw clenched as he stares at you with a raw agony. One he's been hiding from you since you arrived, that you had caught a brief glimpse of when he first embraced you in his panic. "I won't fail you again. I refuse to."
"Damian." Your brows furrow, hands intertwining with his to force him to feel your touch. "I need you to breathe."
His chest heaves, and you recognise a panic attack before he's even verbalised it. Pulling him towards the sofa, you force him to sit, hands still connected with his.
"It isn't fair." Damian shakes his head. "Nothing ever is. Either way, it feels as if I'm losing you all over again."
Your breath trembles in his admission, and you can do nothing but sit here and listen.
"It was my fault." He confesses, grief-stricken. "A mission gone wrongâand my arrogance. I had overestimated the ambush, and we were cornered."
His body goes still as he drowns in his memory. "You hadn't hesitated stepping in the way. I could do nothing but watch."
"I am unworthy for many things." His voice lowers, with such an encompassing belief in his words. "But not being able to save you? That is a punishment I will never recover from."
"To lose you again." He mutters, broken. "I won't know what to do."
"Damian." You whisper. "I'm scared too."
He looks up at you then, and tears are welled in the corners of his lashes.
"But I'm glad." You emphasise, squeezing his hand. "That it's you, that you're the one here with me."
He blinks, barely able to process your words. "Why?"
"Because you have been by my side, from the moment I arrived." You answer genuinely. "Even if it hurts you, and I know it does. You stuck around, and you got to know me. You didn't have to do that, not when it costs you everything to do so."
He swallows, his expression shattered as he listens.
"I would have never known this side of you, if you hadn't found me." You push forward. "And no matter how terrifying it is to be in a whole other dimension without knowing if I'll make it home, it doesn't change that I'm glad I met you."
He breathes out, as if your words were a sucker-punch to his gut. His eyes trace over your features, a hidden longing unravelling the longer he carried out his intent focus, wanting to capture everything.
"Can I be selfish one more time?" His voice is a quiet plea, and you don't resist to how weak it renders you.
You nod gently.
Leaning in, his fingers tremble as he reaches up to brush away a stray strand from your cheek. His warmth lingers over your skin, eventually brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze pours into you. He looks at you the same way he had countless times before, and you had never been able to put it to words. Till now.
When his lips touch yours, it feels like a goodbye. A wish made impossible, fulfilled for only a mere moment. It's softer than you ever expected, gentle in a way you had never been treated from anyone else before.
When you open your eyes, you watch his expression carefully draw back into his composure. He's doing it for you, picking up the pieces that's broken so you won't have to face it.
"Let's get you home." He promises, and you believe it.
As the days pass by, with your body experiencing more frequent glitches, Damian's kindness runs a deeper wound above your heart. Whenever you insist that you're fine so he can focus on his workâhe merely accompanies you by your side like some personal torture he inflicts on himself. Whenever your body seizes into another episode, split between the fractures of realityâhe's there, waiting for you to reach for him so you can feel real again.
He listens with a seared focus now whenever you tell him stories, of yourselfâof your world, like he's running out of time. You both are.
It's the seventh day, when the daily scans of the construction site run by Damian finally begin to detect increasing abnormal activity from where you landed.
"The debris movement seems to reverse every time I run the scan." He mutters. "As if there's a disruption in the space."
You swallow dryly, eyeing the replay he's showing you. "Do you think it could mean.."
"Yes, I'm certain." Damian nods firmly. "The portal is being triggered on the other side. The only concern now is when we should be at the site."
This... is it. Despite everything you've prepared and anticipated for, the obvious fact that you should be relieved you have a chance of making it homeâthe realisation comes with a bitter-sweet note.
Damian doesn't comment further past the facts. He merely focuses on the hologram screen, inputting commands to verify an estimate window to make rounds at the construction site. Despite calling himself selfish, you had never seen him so composed, silent on his true thoughts of this discovery.
"In two days." He answers, staring unblinkingly at the figure. "We won't miss it."
That settles it. In two days... you're going home.
"I hate waiting."
"I am aware." Damian murmurs.
"Stop agreeing with me." You sigh.
"Alright."
Your head snaps, an unamused expression taking over your features.
His gaze flickers from his device to meet yours briefly, and his lips quirk up slightly. "Sorry." His voice doesn't sound apologetic at all. "You've made it too easy."
You can't help but scoff, chin leaning against his shoulder. "This is worse than the glitches."
"Have I mentioned that you're a horrible liar?" He mocks.
"Numerous times." You hum, eyeing the scan with a narrowed glance. "What if your calculations are wrong?"
"I ran over them one thousand and fifty-three times." He frowns. "The chance for error are near zero."
"Wow, from the looks of itâyou seem rather eager to get rid of me." You tease.
"Was I that obvious?" He shrugs.
"Who's the bad liar now?" You tease.
He opens his mouth, ready to produce some quick retortâbut something catches his eye.
Shifting your gaze to follow his, you catch movement from where the ground had been stagnant. The rubbleâis beginning to move in an anti-clockwise direction.
"Now." Damian stands abruptly, a hand wrapping around your waist to lift you to your feet.
The shift in the atmosphere as a distant rumbling occurrs beneath your feet, it's much more aggressive than you expected. Damian tugs you back, just in time before a fracture cracks in the ground.
"The portal." You recognise, eyeing the glow beneath the fissure, something dreadfully familiar.
Your breath is almost winded, coming up short as you stare at the formation in trembling anticipation. Your gaze whips to Damian, your heart slamming against your ribcageâonly for your words to fail you when you meet his expression.
Broken, that's all you saw. The same way he had seemed when you first met him.
"Damian." You call out, hesitant, but he shakes his head.
"I never got to tell you." He starts.
Your brows furrow. He had been nothing but honest since you got here. There isnât a wound that he hasnât uncovered in front of you, no vulnerability he hasnât revealed. You know him, because he had let you.
"I want you to know that I am glad." He confesses, his voice picking up in pace. He sounds terrified that he won't be able to finish what he's started. "That I got to know you. There wasn't a moment where I regretted it, not even for a second."
"I must tell you." His voice cracks. "That I'd choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, no matter what reality, I'd always choose you."
The words are lost on your tongue. I'd choose you too. He has to know, even when the tears well up in your eyes.
He holds you tight, as if he's trying to sear this very embrace into his memory. "At least, I'll know now that somewhere out there, the person I am in your world was able to bring you back. That a version of me didn't lose you."
"I know it's selfish." He whispers. "But I wish I could keep you."
Contrary to his words, he lets go of you the moment he says it, his arms parting from your frame to remain firmly at his side. He's restraining himself, you realise. Damian, the very image of self-control, is barely keeping himself together. Heâs letting you go, and in doing so, heâs saving you.
"Thank you." He murmurs in goodbye, casting you a solemn smile. "For sparing me the mercy of meeting you again."
"I hope he understands just how fortunate he is." A bittersweet smile graces his lips. "That he'll cherish you, and protect you always."
You think you ask him to wait. For more time. You remember briefly on how your hand extended towards him, before the portal had pulled you in. It was silent after that, and the loss of something indescribable hits you by the time the world comes backâroaring to life.
Tumbling onto the ground, you choke out a breath, saliva coating your lips as your fingers press numbly into the ground.
You're home. A quick glimpse of your surroundings is enough to confirm the familiar machinery, the abandoned lab. Yet, flashes of Damian's unmoving gaze before his frame completely disappeared, staring at you like he wanted to commit you to memory.
How could he have called it mercy, when he was so shattered?
Your tears slipped, and you feel a strange gap in your chest.
A rushed call of your name echoes before you can even name the emotion that consumes you. The syllables barely forms in your mind, as your head whips up in a daze. Your tear-stained expression is broken, completely unhiddenâwhen you see Damian. Your Damian.
"Damian." Your voice croaks out. The name sounds strange on your tongue.
He freezes, unsure on how to process this version of you. Whatever he expected when he got you back, he must've never anticipated this. The version that has just lost him, and a part of you always will.
Pushing yourself to your feet, you stumble in your steps before collapsing into him. You're convinced he'll push you away, as he always does.
What you didn't expect was the steady warmth of his arms wrapping around you. Tense, but protectiveâas if he were trying to fend off the inner turmoil that's consuming you.
"It's alright." He mutters, voice stiff but his grip doesn't falter. "You're safe. I am here."
That breaks a silent sob out of you, and you bury your face into his chest. He doesn't push you for answers, nor does he distance himself. He remains planted exactly where he is, grounding you with his presence while you mourned for something that should have never been yours, and what you should have never lost.
"I am sorry." He mutters, voice breaking in composure. "I did thisâI am sorry. I failed you."
"No, you didn't." You answer, your voice hoarse. "You brought me back."
It was the truth, broken into a hundred pieces.
In time, you will tell him. Of how he protected you even in another dimension. Of how that version of him will forever know that in another reality, he had saved you. That there was a Damian who didn't experience losing you.
Of how you'll never forget him. Even when he's out of bounds, but forever engraved into your existence, a memory that should have never existed.
But for now, you'll let yourself rest, knowing that you're home.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
[extra pov] - alt! damian + readerâs damian after her return
But omega Dick kidnapping and holding alpha reader captive in a remote safe house and taking away your rut suppressants. He also stops taking his scent blockers and starts walking around the safehouse shirtless to tempt you into marking him as yours.
I think the biggest appeal of yanderes for me is that they love you so much they'd never ever leave and it's nice to enjoy a fantasy that makes you feel wanted and desirable.
I'm guessing it is the most common appeal of these fics for most of my readers.
Though I'm willing to bet some of y'all just want to feel dominated or feel that life is stressful and want to give up control.
