Stalking - Tumblr Posts
Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)
II: The Edge of the Knife
@chaotic-orphan
TW: stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.
A thin, pale light filtered through the grimy window of Kit’s apartment, casting long shadows across the room. Dust motes hung in the air, untouched by the frail dawn that did little to banish the clinging darkness. The night had been a war of attrition, and now, with the arrival of morning, Kit felt no more victorious than when it had started. His body was heavy, his limbs tingling with the remnants of whatever Ambrose had slipped into his drink, and his mind was a haze of confusion and anger.
In the corner of the small, cluttered apartment, Ambrose stood motionless, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on Kit with an intensity that made Kit’s skin prickle with unease. There was something about Ambrose that always felt too much—like he took up too much space, like the very air around him warped under the weight of his presence. It had been that way since the moment they’d met, but now, standing on the edge of something neither of them fully understood, it felt suffocating.
Kit pushed himself up from the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The silence between them was thick, electric, like the air before a storm. He needed answers—needed to know what Ambrose truly wanted, why he was here, and what had driven him to this point. But most of all, Kit needed to understand the strange, twisted connection that seemed to keep pulling them together, no matter how many times he tried to walk away.
Ambrose’s face was shadowed, but his eyes glinted in the low light, dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the worn wooden floor, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Kit’s pulse quickened, his muscles tensing as Ambrose closed the distance between them, the air between them tight with tension.
"I’m not playing games," Ambrose said, his voice low and gravelly, each word heavy with meaning. "This is about survival."
Kit swallowed hard, his throat dry, his eyes narrowing as he forced himself to meet Ambrose’s gaze. "Survival?" he scoffed, his voice hoarse, barely masking the fear that coiled deep in his gut. "Is that what you call this?"
Ambrose’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humour behind it—only something dark, something primal. "You have no idea what’s coming," he said, his voice a quiet threat. "I’ve sacrificed everything for this. For you."
Kit’s heart stuttered in his chest, his breath catching as Ambrose’s words hung in the air between them. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating, the twisted bond between them thrumming like a live wire. He wanted to push Ambrose away, to demand answers, but his body felt sluggish, weighed down by the lingering effects of whatever had been in his drink. His mind raced, but his limbs were slow to follow, like moving through water.
"You don’t get it, do you?" Ambrose’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and dangerous. He stepped closer, his presence looming, filling the small space with a suffocating intensity. "This isn’t about what you want."
Kit’s breath hitched as Ambrose’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with a force that was both possessive and commanding. Kit’s body tensed instinctively, his muscles locking as Ambrose shoved him backward. His legs hit the edge of the bed, and he collapsed onto it with a grunt, the suddenness of the action stealing the air from his lungs.
The mattress creaked beneath him, the springs groaning in protest as Ambrose followed, his movements fluid and predatory. He climbed onto the bed with a grace that belied the danger simmering just beneath the surface, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Kit’s hips.
Kit’s pulse spiked, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as Ambrose’s hands found his wrists, pinning them to the bed with a strength that made Kit’s heart race. The heat of Ambrose’s body pressed down on him, their faces inches apart, and Kit could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unyielding.
"You don’t understand how far I’m willing to go," Ambrose murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating with a dangerous edge. His eyes bore into Kit’s, filled with something raw and unrelenting—something that made Kit’s stomach twist with a mix of fear and something darker, something he was too afraid to name.
Kit’s mind screamed at him to fight back, to push Ambrose away, but his body felt frozen, trapped under the weight of Ambrose’s gaze and the suffocating tension that crackled between them. Panic curled in his gut, but he forced it down, glaring up at Ambrose with as much defiance as he could muster.
"Let me go," Kit hissed through gritted teeth, his voice tight with frustration and fear. "You can’t just—"
"I can," Ambrose interrupted, his grip tightening on Kit’s wrists. His tone was a quiet, dangerous promise. "And I will."
The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and the suffocating tension that hung between them. Kit’s chest heaved with shallow breaths, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of the situation, of the weight behind Ambrose’s words, of the twisted bond that seemed to pull them together despite everything.
"I don’t want your sacrifices," Kit spat, his voice hoarse, barely holding onto the thread of his defiance. "I don’t need them."
Ambrose’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. His fingers flexed around Kit’s wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. "You don’t know what you need. Not yet."
With a sudden, violent motion, Ambrose leaned down, his breath hot against Kit’s ear. "But you will."
Kit’s heart raced, the sound of it pounding in his ears. Ambrose’s words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or something darker, something he was too afraid to admit. His mind screamed at him to fight, to break free, but his body felt sluggish, the weight of Ambrose’s presence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
Ambrose pulled back just enough to meet Kit’s gaze again, his eyes burning with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. "Fight me all you want," he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word a dark promise. "But I’m not letting you go."
Kit’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his mind spinning, the weight of Ambrose’s words settling over him like a leaden cloak. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to push Ambrose away—but something in Ambrose’s gaze held him captive, something he wasn’t sure he could escape from, no matter how much he tried.
And deep down, despite the fear that churned in his gut, a small part of him wondered if Ambrose was right.
Continued here
Ahhhhh!! It’s my very first story! I’m so excited and nervous at the same time lolol. I had a creepy stalker vamp idea the other day and here we are! I usually write stories with male vamps and female humans, but boi on boi action got the best of me this time. This is also (I think?) the first story that I don’t use actual names for the characters. I actually prefer it like this, it just adds more spookiness! Anyway, I rly hope that someone will read this and enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :3
Btw this story contains some explicit themes (knives, blood, stalking, etc) so make sure to check the tags before reading!
Aura
“Sup, bro!”
I can already see my two friends waving and yelling at me from a distance. I haven’t been out much lately, but they happen to be very persuasive. So here I am, running towards them, thinking I’d be late otherwise. I finally reach them, gasping for some needed fresh air. “Dude, why were you even running?” one of them decided to ask.
“I’m-Sorry-Missed-Bus-.“ I can barely breathe, but try to utter some words regardless. “Yeahhhh, whatever you say man. Anyway, you ready to take off?” Air has finally returned to my lungs and breathing seems to go smoother now. I smile at them. “Yes, let’s go.” We continue our way forward, but something makes me look back over my shoulder. Not this again… Nothing’s there, but I can’t help but look anyway. “Hey, are you okay?” My friends have walked back to see why I stopped.
“I-I’m fine. Let’s just go.” I won’t hesitate to walk away from this feeling. The same feeling I’ve been having for a month, if not more. I can’t really explain it. It’s just like some dark aura is around me all the time. But whenever I look back, it’s like it was never there in the first place. I don’t dare tell anyone about it, what if they think I’m insane or something? So, I just forget about it whenever it happens. I will have to do the same now.
*a few days later*
There’s nothing else on TV, so I decided to watch some stupid show. It’s at season 8 and I honestly have no idea what’s happening, but I’m on the verge of falling asleep anyway. My eyes get heavier by the second. I hear a loud sound coming from the kitchen. I instantly get up, any sign of sleepiness now long gone.
While my heart is rapidly beating in my chest, I quietly walk towards the kitchen and prepare for the worst. Ready to throw hands, I jump in the doorway. But there’s nothing there. I could’ve sworn that the sound was like someone was in here with me. I check every single room in the house, but to no avail. No-one seems to be here. I really need to chill down. First the weird feelings, now this. I sigh deeply. I should probably just go to sleep.
*several weeks pass by*
Heavy plastic bag full with groceries in hand, I walk back to my apartment. Grocery shopping is one of the many things I hate in life, but I need to get food one way or another. Thank god my house isn’t that far from the store. I tend to get very hesitant about going outside most of the time, but the aura hasn’t been around at all the past few days. I was a bit confused at first as to why it had stopped so sudden, but I decided to just take it by heart and go on with my life. I’m glad that I don’t have to worry anymore. Ah, I can see my apartment already. I walk a bit faster, being a little too excited about the microwavable instant meal I get to eat when I get there.
Now upstairs, I open the front door and close it behind me. I quickly walk to the kitchen and drop the heavy bag on the counter. Phew, I made it. I quickly put the meal in the microwave, being unable to wait any longer. “Guess I’ll wait for it in the living room.” I say to myself.
“What the fuck?!” Going to the living room was a terrible idea. I nearly got a heart attack, seeing that a complete stranger is sitting down on my couch. Any person in their right mind would probably get out and call for help right now. But I can’t for some reason. It’s like I’m frozen in place. “Quiet it down please, Darling. We don’t wish to alarm anyone, now do we?” the stranger calmly says.
The man still remains seated on my couch. An emotionless expression present on his face. He seems to be around mid twenties, about the same age as me. I can’t help but take an observing look at him. Pitch black hair, the brightest blue eyes, clothed in all-black. His charisma is piercing through the tense atmosphere. He seems to be totally unbothered about his presence here. I, on the other hand, am not so happy about this entire situation.
I’m not sure whether his intentions are good or bad, but I’ve got a funny feeling that he’s not here to drink a cup of coffee with me. I need some kind of protection just in case he decides to attack me. The knife! I remember having left a knife on the counter, after opening the packaging of my food. I’m thinking about what’s the best way to get to the kitchen, never losing eye contact with the stranger during the progress. Alright, just run there, grab it, and be ready to defend yourself.
I take a short sprint towards the kitchen, knife already being in my sight. I reach out to it, but something unexpected happens. The stranger, who was seated in the couch just a second ago, now stands in front of me, holding the only object I’ve got within my reach to protect myself with. “H-How…?” I look at him, being shocked out of my mind. How did he get here so fast? That’s impossible. “Oh, Darling. You disappoint me ever so much.” the stranger sighs. What could possibly disappoint him right now?
“Why are you here.” It’s more of a statement than it is a question. “I get to meet you at last, but you seem to be unhappy about that.” he responds. At last? The gears in my brain finally catch up. It was him. That feeling, the aura. It was him following me all this time. Confusion mixed with a lot of anger take over my body. “Ah, my Darling gets it now. What a beautiful sight this is.” He really needs to get rid of that stupid smile of his, or I’ll wipe it off for him. “Why? Why the fuck have you been stalking me?” I spit. A dangerous glint of anger appears in his eyes. However, I will not back up now. I want answers. “I thought that you were different.” he says, through gritted teeth. “From who?”
“The other humans.” He’s comparing me to other… ‘humans’? “You see, you wanted to grab this knife here. To ‘protect’ yourself, I presume.” He brings the object close to my throat, now obviously dominating me. I gasp when the sharp blade touches my skin ever so slightly. “But not once did you give me a sign that you wanted to grab it. The others always showed that they wanted to make a run for it. How very foolish of them.” he says with a smile. “And you’re disappointed, because…?” My comment carries a lot of sass with it, but at this point I don’t care about the consequences. The stranger didn’t seem to mind, on the contrary, it made him burst out into laughter. “You have asked the two most infamous questions. ‘Why?’ and ‘how?’. It pisses me off.” he says, while still smiling. I seriously can’t read him. He’s exceptionally happy, even though I know that he’s very angry at me.
“You never answered.” I say. The stranger finally drops the knife on the counter, but doesn’t hesitate to take a step closer to me. “This is why I like you. You’re afraid, but trying so hard not to show me.” he says. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” He grabs my chin in between his thumb and index finger and lifts it up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes, which once were a beautiful blue hue, have now turned into the most spine-chilling dark red. Not to mention, he has now bared his teeth as well, showing me 2 pointy fangs. I’d be lying if I said that he doesn’t look extremely intimidating. “You know, the movies are all wrong. We don’t coexist with you humans. We kill you without mercy.”
“Y-You’re a v-vampire…?” I can’t help but stutter, fear is taking over me at last. “Obviously.” The stranger is glowing with pride. He probably loves scaring his prey like this. “Vampires aren’t real.” The air grows even more tense than it was before, if that’s even possible. “Trust me, Darling. I am very real. I can hurt you in more ways than you can imagine.”
“Then answer me this. Why me?” I really don’t want to piss him off even more now that I know what he’s capable of, but I have to know why. “I wonder why you’re so desperate to have an answer to that question.” I gather up all my courage to respond to him. “Like you said, you can hurt me in many ways. And that’s ultimately what you’re here for, isn’t it? You’re going to kill me. So my last wish is for you to answer me.” It’s quiet for a while. He just looks at me. After what seems like an eternity, he smiles. “I see.” Is all he decides to say. The smile never disappears. I feel like what I said provoked him even more.
“You know, now that I think about it, I have a much more fun idea in mind.” My unpleasant gut feeling seems to have been proven right. “Sorry, Darling. This is going to hurt.” I can’t say or do anything, or he has already taken yet another step towards me. He leans my head back and buries his fangs deep inside my neck. His actions are quick and eager.
I try to get him off me, but his grasp on me is too strong. These powers are definitely something inhuman. “Ngh!” Sounds of pure agony escape my mouth. A huge amount of blood is getting sucked out of my body. I can feel that I’m staring to lose consciousness. I reach for the knife on the counter, but it again fails to protect me. The man violently grabs my wrist to prevent me from harming him, and applies a good amount of pressure to it. I can’t help but drop the knife. It falls on the floor with a loud metal clink. He raises his head and looks at me. His red eyes are clearly visible.
“Tsk. Did you really think that you could do that?” He smirks at me. “You’re not going to get away with this.” He nonchalantly continues sucking my blood. “S-Stop it. P-Please…” I use every last bit of strength I have left to resist him, but soon after, my body gives up. My eyes shut themselves, but I can still feel the stranger lifting me up and exiting my apartment. It doesn’t take long for everything to go dark.
*???*
“…has been missing for 5 months now. He was last seen walking towards his apartment after being at the grocery store. The police has released pictures of blood drops and a knife on the floor in the victim’s apartment. ‘There is an obvious sign of struggle.’ one of the policemen states. They are currently investigating the crime scene and the blood samples are being researched at the laboratory. A highly praised detective is on this case as well. ‘To the people who did this: turn yourselves in, before we have to come find you.’ the detective said during an interview. If you have seen the victim or know someone who has, please call your local police station. Any information about the victim or the culprit is much needed. That was it for today’s news. We’ll be back tomorrow at 8 PM. For now, good evening everyone!”
Monster in the Dark
Monster in the Dark
This short story is inspired by a day I walked from the movie theatre to the car at midnight and had that feeling on the back of my neck. I was across that parking lot and in the car faster than I thought possible, and while I was mildly embarrassed by the guy in the parking lot being close enough to hear the door locks, there was a part of my brain thinking something like the below would occur.…
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Admirer or More?
Hello hello and welcome to Microfiction Monday, where I will be writing part 3 of my ongoing little story for the Writer’s Mess event All Eyes on August. The prompt for this week is, write a piece from the POV of the person being stalked. I will say, this may be triggering, but I left it pretty open, I think you see if more if you are looking for it. I love my job, I really do, but sometimes,…
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okay so this what my friend said tobme in my dream but isnt miraculauos a lil bit hints just somtimes hints of misogny? sexism?
now hear me out,
marinette is potrayed as a boy super obseesed
which like ok thats how alot of shows potray young girls but like....her entire world revolves around adrien, she fumbles as ladybug when he is around like ...he is ..i cant explain or put into words but i thonk you know. i mean the concept of mari being a stalker hasnt goten the show to remove by snp becuse she is a girl so her action seem non threathing to oeople wjich is wrong either way her stalker tendacies arent ok.
adrien /catnoir in the early saesons atleasy also dint know how to take no for an answer and as much as i love him just ugh that was sooo not fun to watcg like many times he takes rejection not realy well and is just a mess and in some of those cases if not all that much anger he did project towards lady big was uncalled for . like sure she saod no buddy take the l dont be a prick about it.
other than that lov both of em
by the way before you say i am looking tok deep, i am 15 have bern wayching since 7 years old and me and all my friends did notice and realise to an extent how creps some of these charecters actions were. but still young enough to not realy.
a friend of mine even started to "stalk"(watch from behind a tree) her crudh and folwed him atound from a distance trying to learn about evrything him like marinetet did,we were 9 to 11 years old at that time soo yeah these things dose have afeect on kids ,do better.
sincerly ,a member of the target demographic.
GLORIOUS. I should rewatch this.
(trigger warnings for some violence, stalking, discussion of abortion, home invasion. Nothing you wouldn't work out from this gifset.)
twenty favourite movies ★ black christmas
’i didn’t send my daughter here to be drinking and picking up boys!’ tough shit! like I’m supposed to be responsible for the morals of every girl in this goddamn house! these broads would hump the leaning tower of pisa if they could get up there!
"I'm so jealous of you, I wish I had a stalker." is the female equivalent of seeing a little boy groomed by a conventionally attractive woman and going "Lucky Kid..."
I have to say... This is my best work yet... xD
Look at me!! Not just posting CS stuff for once!
ATF: Mirage fans, come get YA JUICE!
Summary:
Tip knows how things work out here. She knows the apocalypse, she knows no one will give a damn if a descendant like her lives or dies.
Jackson knows people. He knows everyone is good, deep down. No matter what, no one is too dangerous to be saved.
Both of them are wrong.
(Made for Whumptober Day 2 "Nowhere To Run" and for the subsequent prompts; Confrontation, Caged, and Cornered TWs/CWs are in the Author’s Notes and tags)
Glass Bones and Paper Skin
Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader
More Platonic Bruce x Reader than Batfam, but they are mentioned and will have a bigger role in the future.
Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect
Just a reminder for everyone, your bodies are perfect and beautiful! Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.
Part 2
Part 3
Blinding lights and hundreds of eyes are enough to thwart people from the runway. It makes people stumble, trip, or even run from it. Their mind focuses on if they mess up, the world will see. Their managers, agencies, everyone will forever refer to it when they ask them to walk for them again.
They focus on their walk, the way the clothing either hugs or drapes off their bodies, how the shoes don’t fit, the way their hair is styled, and how the makeup can burn. They try not to focus on how their stomachs ache, how the heels cut into the thin skin on their feet, and that everyone in this room that is dressed and prepped, are equally or more or less beautiful than them.
Y/N L/N seemed to be the topic of conversation at all of these events. A newer runway model who has been eating it up. From their first runway debut to this one, they have always left people in awe and dropping to their knees for more. It is hard to believe that they are only 18. Y/N has been a photoshoot model since 15, but on their birthday when they turned 18, they finally agreed to their agency’s desire to make them take on the runway.
It was the best choice for their career. Y/N’s manager was the daughter of their mother’s manager, back when she was alive and used to do modeling. Her manager threw her own daughter at Y/N, and stated that they were the best people to work with because they know Y/N. Whether Y/N was cursed or not –they have yet to figure that out– has nearly the same exact features as their mother and the same ‘air.’ One that demanded everyone to pay attention to them, and is a natural for posing and had a natural strut.
They’ve been right, and Y/N doesn’t know if it is because of them that they all made it this far. They knew what looked best on Y/N and what wouldn’t work. They knew which designers would adore them and which designers wouldn’t fit.
Those who know Y/N though understand that the ‘air’ was only on the runways and photoshoots. Y/N is actually a very demure person, while not a wallflower, they were someone who could blend in the crowd.
Alfred once told them that every country should be grateful to not have Y/N working against them, because Y/N can just disappear.
“Y/N, are you ready?” They smiled at their fellow models, slipping into the person of Y/N L/N, child of M/N L/N and Bruce Wayne, and nodding, “Of course. When am I not?”
Cheryl whistled, a fellow model that has been Y/N’s mentor in some way, walking around Y/N and smiling, “Designers sure know how to dress you up. I think almost every runway walk has had your hips on display” Y/N chuckled at her, “It’s because of these hips dips. You can probably drink soup out of them.”
“If it was ice cream I’d be down, but not soup.” Jon was another model who has been in the scene for a long time. He was a handsome man with a diamond face.
“Models get ready.” A shuffling of feet and high heels clip clopping sounded in the backstage, and Y/N took their place in front of everyone. They will be the one opening the show today, an honor that the 18-year-old took gratefully.
Opening a show was a big deal, setting the tone for the show in general and also the tempo. Y/N took a deep breath, and at the cue, their mind went blank as they began walking. Their eyes focused on the end camera, and the walk on beat to the music. Once at the end, they looked directly into the camera and struck a pose. Highlighting the slit hips and underboob design, showing off the almost sheer fabric that had the slightest hint of shimmer in them. A statement piece.
Turning around they walked back to where they emerged from, making sure they kept their face in control for the last camera. However, a sight at the corner of their eye momentarily broke them out of their blank space. Five familiar people that should not be here. Sitting in the front row, wearing nice tuxedos, and almost making Y/N stumble.
Almost. Controlling their features, Y/N returned their focus to the camera and disappeared in the entrance they emerged from. Smiling at all the 'congratulations’ ‘you looked great,’ ‘you look beautiful,’ they went back to their manager, Maya, and whispered, “I need you to confirm five people in the front row on the left side. They are four chairs down from the camera.”
Maya nodded, scurrying away and without a doubt checking it out. Y/N could feel the curiosity and dread build in their stomach. If they are who Y/N thinks they are, then the after party is going to be interesting.
“What’s wrong?” Jon wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, bringing Y/N out their thoughts, “Nothing really. Just thought I saw some familiar faces.” Jon made a weird face, but dropped the issue when another model, Logan, strolled on over.
“Did you see them?”
“See who?”
“The Wayne family! They are in the front row!” Y/N closed their eyes in misery and a headache began forming. They saw Maya running back, her face pale and a large frown on her face. Jon glanced at Y/N, taking in the annoyed expression and scrunched nose, “Hmm, no I didn’t. I was too focused on looking at the camera, Logan.” She rolled her eyes, “Oh, it was only a second.”
Jon and Y/N gave each other a dry look, remembering the last time Logan had said that and somehow the camera managed to snap a photo when she was oggling at someone. Y/N shook their head, “I momentarily saw them, but I didn’t think it was them. Do you think I can get the oldest son’s number?”
‘You’re not his type.’ Y/N thought but didn’t say, shrugging and smiling in amusement, “Logan, what would your girlfriend say?” The model stuck her tongue, “She’d ask to join.” Before Logan could say anything else, Cheryl waltzed over, “Stop being inappropriate, there’s a kid present.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, if you can’t drink yet you can’t have this conversation.” Y/N made a face, “That’s the stupidest sense of logic I have ever heard.” Everyone laughed at them, clapping Y/N’s shoulders and helping each other fix their wardrobes. Some stylists came over to fix their makeup and hair just in case. Everyone was getting ready for the last walkthrough, and honestly, Y/N was dreading it.
As the front runner of it all, Y/N’s face will be seen by the now confirmed Wayne family and Y/N isn’t confident in themselves enough to not make a face.
The show will be closing soon and then there is the afterparty that all models are expected to attend. It's a networking place, where other designers, brand ambassadors, and just people who are rich enough to get a ticket can talk to the models and try and recruit them. Its a place and time to mingle for those who have an open schedule and unfortunately, Y/N has an open fucking schedule.
This was their last show in Paris, and then they have one destination and then it will be done. Runway season will be officially over and then it will be smaller gigs and back to the every now and then runway.
“Models get ready!” Y/N took a deep breath and fixed their face, eyes forward and chin up.
‘I’ll call Alfred when I get home.’
+++
‘I want to go home.’ Y/N nursed the drink in the flute, filled with sparkling cider instead of champagne. They stood off to the side, changed out of the clothes they wore on the runway, and instead in a deep-v top and leather pants. Still dressed to impress, but at the moment they just wanted to curl up and go away. Y/N’s hotel room has a bathtub in it and Y/N really wants to just sit down in hot water and relax.
Y/N was constantly scanning the crowd, moving further against the wall whenever they saw black hair and blue eyes.
Maya said one more hour, then it will be acceptable to leave. She was doing all the talking and networking for Y/N, trusting that when it came to meet the designers Y/N will charm them enough to want to have them keep coming back. Sighing once more, Y/N took a longer sip and wished to be home.
Something moved the hair near their ear, and Y/N almost threw their glass at whoever it was until they caught sight of blue eyes and black hair, staring at and analyzing them.
“Tim…”
“Hello, Y/N.” Y/N gave a practiced and polite smile, “Odd to see you here.” Tim shrugged, “Seeing that the designer is friends with Bruce, and told us of your show and that you will be leading the walk, of course we had to come.” Y/N nodded, “In Paris?”
“Where else? You’re next one is in New York right?” Y/N gave a polite chuckle, “Since when did you pay attention to fashion week?” Tim took a sip of champagne, “Since my younger sibling decided to run off and become a model.”
Y/N took a sip of the sparkling cider, not missing the way Tim was eyeing them with interest and curiosity. They smiled against the rim of the flute, “ ‘Run off’ huh. I don’t think those are the words I would use. I never hid it and I didn’t pack my bags in the middle of the night and sneak through a window.” Y/N set the empty flute down, still smiling politely at Tim who was still watching them, “I simply walked out the front door and no one stopped me.”
“Y/N–”
“Y/N! There you are!” A tall woman, hair dyed a shade-off from white gray and wearing the crispest red suit, strolled over. Y/N gave a larger smile, opening their arms and welcoming the hug, “Ms. Gabbana, you look lovely as always.” The woman laughed, “That’s the botox. Anyways, you looked so amazing opening the show!”
Tim was quickly forgotten as Francesca Gabbana, an Italian high-end fashion designer and luxury brand owner, chatted away with Y/N. Her presence called forth other designers and models and soon enough, Y/N was entrapped in a small group talking about the next runway show next week.
They talked about the dreaded flight to New York, and where they will be staying. It will be Francesca’s show next week, along with some other high end designers. Francesca seemed particularly excited for Y/N’s, and when Y/N first saw the design, they had to hold back the shivers.
“Right, Y/N you’re from Gotham aren’t you? Will you be visiting your family?” With the attention all on Y/N, they smiled tightly and shrugged, “We’ll see. They are always so busy so I think it's best if I don-”
“I hope Y/N visits, it’s been a while since we last saw each other.” A large hand clapped Y/N’s shoulder, and from the facial expression everyone was making, Y/N knows who it was. Peeking up through their lashes, Y/N could see Bruce’s smile on his still handsome face.
Cheryl was the first to recover, her eyes narrowing slightly, “How… how do you know each other?” Y/N glanced at Bruce, who right now is Brucie, and before he could say anything Bruce gasped, “Y/N, you haven’t said anything?” The young adult shrugged, “It never came up. Bruce Wayne is my father.”
The room erupted, and Y/N actually wanted to go die in a hole. What proceeded afterwards was the most intense questioning for the next two hours.
++++
“Bruce, why are you here?” Y/N asked over dinner. He tossed the crouton around in his salad, waiting for his father’s response. They have never had a 1 on 1 meal together. It was alway family meals, and even then Y/N rarely showed up for those. There was no need too. They never noticed when Y/N was there or not.
The Billionaire playboy shrugged, “Is it wrong to see my child open a highly sought after show?” Y/N chuckled, “No, but you have never shown any interest in this before.” Y/N never hid his modeling gigs. Often using the family weight room to keep in shape and also turned one of the unused offices into a strut practice room when Y/N lived in the manor. Hours and the amount of money spent to ensure their skin was perfect and their hair was nice, and that they looked beautiful.
Y/N never hid their modeling job, even as a teen, and yet the only one who seemed to notice was Alfred.
“You never said anything.”
“I didn’t think I had too.” Y/N can recall trying to show Bruce, Dick, Jason, anyone that would bother to look, a photo of them making it onto Vogue. Not the cover, not yet, but as a newer model within the prestigious magazine. They made it at 16. 16, and only modeling for a year! Francessca had them in a piece that was first page worthy, and it fit Y/N like it was meant for them.
Alfred was the only person to look at the magazine Y/N held open with their trembling hands, and ruffle their hair and congratulate them.
“You didn’t even tell Alfred where you are living.” No, because Y/N doesn’t want Alfred showing up unexpectedly and seeing the almost empty fridge. The thought of the older man’s disappointed look and inquisitive questions would have Y/N breaking down crying.
“Hmmm, I’m always moving around so I didn’t want him showing up when I am not there.” Bruce nodded, taking a bite of his lobster, and watching Y/N take a small bite of the salad. Y/N swallowed with great difficulty, “Bruce-”
“Since when does a child call their parents by their first name?” Y/N sucked their teeth, “The only one who calls you ‘father’ is Damian.”
“You used to.” Y/N shrugged, “You never seemed comfortable with me calling you that.” Bruce rarely answered when Y/N called him ‘dad’ or ‘father,’ and yet he alway responded when someone else called for him. Y/N would watch from afar as Bruce came running to them in need, but when Y/N needed help they had to figure it out on their own.
At some point Y/N stopped calling for Bruce entirely, running and calling only to Alfred.
Y/N is not mad about it. They never were. Dull E/C eyes accepted it and pushed forward, watching the explosive fights, the angry words, and the silent apologies. Alfred’s words affirming that they all loved each other, despite everything saying otherwise. Y/N watched, and continued to watch as they focused on themselves when Y/N began making a name for themself.
They’re not mad. Y/N never was. Hurt? Maybe, but not mad. That is just their hand in life. Besides, it made the modeling career easier. No need to worry about missing any events, Y/N wouldn’t be invited even if they had lived there. Holidays weren’t huge, nor were birthdays. The only one Y/N sent a card to was Alfred.
It made traveling easier. There was no such thing as homesickness. It made taking more gigs easier, more destructive behavior easier to handle.
“Y/N,” Bruce called to him and Y/N paused while eating. Raising an eyebrow in question as Bruce set down his own eating utensils. Ocean blue met E/C, and Y/N tried to place the emotion in those blue eyes.
“For what it is worth, I… I am sorry about the neglect you have faced within our home.” Y/N’s mind stopped functioning and they stared at Bruce in shock. The man either ignoring him or not realizing that Y/N was staring at him continued.
“You… you didn’t deserve that, especially when you were grieving and that fact that I could not see that shows my fail–”
“Wait wait wait!” Y/N held their hands up, cutting off Bruce, “What are you talking about?” Bruce stared at Y/N with questions in his eyes, and blinked in shock when he saw the genuine confusion in his child’s eyes. Y/N looked floored, “Bruce… I-I… what?”
Bruce knows he’s not a good parent. He is intimately aware of his failings and shortcomings, and how some of them haunt him. They claw into his skin, his mind, and chest as a reminder of all the times he has failed his children. He and Dick barely started talking, Jason and him are slowly mending that bridge, and Tim and Damian seem to hate each other and Bruce doesn’t know what to do about that. It seems the only children he hasn’t officially fucked over are those that aren’t even his.
Then there’s Y/N. A child of his genetic makeup, just like Damian, only Y/N’s mother was a model Bruce had treated as a hookup whenever she was on the east coast. Y/N was 13 when they came into Bruce’s care, older than Damian and a few years younger than Tim. Their mother was caught in a drug-use scandal, one that cost her her career and then her life. Her choice left behind a traumatized child, walking in on the body as she decomposed in their bathroom. They had been forced to pack up their bags and move across the country to live with a parent that they only heard about once or twice.
Bruce somewhat knew of Y/N. He knew that Y/N’s mother had been pregnant, but when he asked if she wanted child support, the woman huffed and said ‘no thank you.’ Her income was enough, as a high in demand supermodel, and she didn’t need Bruce’s ‘pity’ money.
So, he never sought after her and she never phoned him.
Until CPS called and told him of the news and the now homeless 13-year-old child he was now in charge of.
Y/N and him never really connected, and Bruce wonders if some of that is his own fault. He was always too busy with Batman, then his drama with Dick, and Jason’s whole dying thing, the persona of Brucie Wayne, then there was Tim, then Jason coming back from the dead thing, then Barbara’s whole Joker incident, then Damian….
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t too busy, he just never made time for Y/N. Which, the other never seemed to complain about. If they did complain to Alfred, the butler never said anything, and neither did their brothers. Y/N was just a ghost living in the manor that showed up for meals because it was expected, and then… left.
Now he sits here, across from his child who doesn’t seem to understand the wrong done to them by not only Bruce, but the rest of the family.
“Where did this come from?” Bruce doesn’t have the heart to tell them that it was because of Alfred that Bruce and the family finally realized what was wrong. The tour of Y/N’s old room, still kept clean due to Alfred’s insistence, but instead of clothes on the ground and signs of life within the room, it had photos of Y/N's past modeling gigs. Hundreds of photos, some framed, some not, as they covered the walls. Magazines that had Y/N on the front cover, magazine pages that had Y/N taking up the entire page.
The tour of the room-turned-practice room. Full of mirrors, and a 4 inch wide ply board used to practice walking. The shoes that were hidden in the closet, some too big and some too small. Blood staining the heel area of most of them as the image of Y/N practicing until and through the blisters filled all their heads.
The meal regime, still written hastily down on the post it notes, and the exercise routine that didn’t match the calorie intake. The broken mirrors in Y/N’s closets and the clothes that now looked like they would be too big on the present-day Y/N that is sitting in front of Bruce.
The written blogs, printed and folded in one of their drawers, relating them back to their mother. Accusing them of the same thing they accused M/N. Highlighting Y/N’s faults, Y/N’s mistakes, Y/N’s features, and Y/N’s heritage.
‘Child of drug-abuser model M/N L/N, Y/N L/N using the same drug?’ A 15-year-old Y/N posed in a way to show their figure was the picture that was used.
‘Child of famous model M/N L/N able to hold up to the heat?’ Another photo of a 16-year-old Y/N looking exhausted as they walked out of a building. Eyes red and bags under their eyes.
‘Beauty genes skipped a generation.’ Y/N is 17 in that photo.
‘Y/N M/N will never be as beautiful as M/N L/N without extensive work.’ Y/N is 15 again in this photo. They had kept every critique, every mean and poorly written article about them, and kept them. Some of them were tweets, printed instagram photos, and magazines.
Bruce could see the drastic changes in Y/N throughout the photos. The strict lifestyle changes affected their appearance and made them look even more like M/N. The Y/N in front of him, still beautiful, but Bruce knows the thoughts behind the perfect skin and perfect hair.
It would seem that one of the things Y/N inherited from Bruce would be the internalizing of every little bad thing to happen, and deny that it has affected them while they wore the scar of it on their sleeves.
“Bruce, you didn’t neglect me. I had food, clothes, a manor… where did you get all of that from?”
“Emotional neglect is still neglect.” Y/N still looked confused, setting their fork down and controlling their expression as they processed that. Okay, so yeah maybe Bruce wasn’t an attentive father, but the man never hit Y/N. He never said anything about Y/N that Y/N would have to go to therapy for. Besides, Bruce’s lack of attention paved the way for Y/N to do this!
Y/N’s lips formed a serene smile, “Bruce, I’m not mad that you didn’t pay attention to me. You were busy with your company, you are legally a dad of five kids, not everyone is going to get the same attention.” They took a sip of the water, hoping the conversation would end there.
“It wasn’t that I was busy, I just never made time Y/N… and for that I am sorry.” Y/N hates this. Absolutely hates this. All of their excuses for Bruce are being shot down by Bruce himself and it was leaving Y/N feeling a little raw. Wounds they didn’t even know about now being rubbed with salt.
Y/N stuck their tongue in their cheek and looked around, before smiling once more, “Bruce, I am literally giving you a way out for your guilt, which I still don’t understand why you’re feeling guilty, so why aren’t you taking it?
“What are you hoping to do?” Bruce stared into E/C eyes and he could see the irritation in them. He set his fork and knife down, and leaned forward, “Is it wrong to try and mend broken bridges?”
“The bridge was never broken in the first place.”
“You’re right, and that’s because there was never a bridge in the first place.” Y/N cocked their head to the side, watching with an intense expression. Those E/C eyes flickering around, taking in the restaurant and narrowing their eyes, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but did you rent out the entire restaurant?”
“I did. So we can talk freely.”
“The other ‘customers’ are Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian.” Bruce nodded, “Family dinner.” Y/N’s smile held no amusement, “You know, if you were anybody else I would be thinking this is a way for you to slide back in my life in hopes you could get some of my paycheck. But what is a model’s paycheck to Bruce Wayne’s?” Bruce chuckled, “You are making quite a bit. I’m happy you're conscious of your position now.”
Y/N sipped the water, “How do you know how much I’m making?” Bruce only smiled and continued eating. He watched his child contemplate asking the question again, but then decided to drop it.
‘Smart.’ Y/N continued to watch him, no longer touching the food and seeming unwilling to even look at the dessert menu.
“You’ll visit when you’re back in the states, right?” It didn’t feel like a question. In fact, it felt more like a demand poised as a question to keep intentions hidden. Y/N gulped, “I’ll try.”
“You should, Alfred misses you. Besides, Manhattan, New York isn’t too far from Gotham.” It was such an innocent sentence. One spoken with a smile on his lips and kind sky blue eyes. An innocent sentence, except Y/N has never once told them where they live.
“A beautiful place, I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave. With windows like those and that giant skylight, it is truly a wonderful place befitting a top model such as yourself.” Y/N’s mouth went dry, and they could feel the sweat on the back of their neck as they continued to stare at Bruce. Their instincts implore them to go along with this.
Urging them to carry on the conversation as they felt the gazes of four others on their back. They gave a wobbly smile, “Ye-yes. I really love it, I am super lucky that I managed to have enough saved up, and that I make enough to own a beautiful home such as that.” Bruce nodded, “As an apology for all the missed birthdays and Christmases, I decided to help out a bit.”
“...Excuse me?” Bruce ignored them, and instead looked at their plate that was still untouched from when Y/N had put down the utensils. He took a bite, “Do you not like your food? I can get something else made for you.”
“N-no, I’m-I’m just full.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed before making a show of shrugging it off, “If you insist. Do know Alfred will want to feed you when you visit.” Y/N’s smile was becoming hard to maintain, “It was a pleasure to have dinner with you, Bruce, but I have to go. Long flight tomorrow and I need to be ready for next week.” Y/N fished out their credit card, but Bruce stuck his hand out, “Don’t worry about it, dinner has been paid for.”
Y/N didn’t fight, only nodding and smiling pleasantly, “I suppose I will see you next week?” Bruce stood up, and brought Y/N into a tense hug. Feeling the bone and sinewy muscles in his rough hands. Y/N’s top is open back, exposing the shoulder blades and some of Y/N’s spine. Each one a small knob against skin, looking like the Rocky Mountains.
“Safe flight, Y/N. See you at the shows next week.” Y/N gave a tight smile and quickly left. The four other pairs of eyes never left their back, and when finally in the safety of the streets, Y/N pulled out their phone and checked their Mortgage app.
‘Successfully Paid!’ In bright green letters, bolded as if it were a game.
It’s been paid off. Y/N now owed nothing on that house, and while that might have been freeing, it meant someone could now have access to their mortgage account. An alert sounded on their phone, and when Y/N saw that it was their bank account, notifying them of a deposit Y/N felt the breath leave their lungs.
A large sum, one that had Y/N blinking at the amount of 0’s, was just deposited to their checking account. Right under their bill for walking on that runway.
‘Shopping money, for when you visit.’ - Dick
They have access to their bank account. Y/N’s family, because while Bruce was a solitary kind of guy he never was one to withhold information from his former Robins, now had access to their account. They could see what they were spending money on.
They know where Y/N lives. From the sounds of it, Bruce was even in the penthouse. Y/N covered their mouth and tried to stifle a sob, the feeling of an invasion of their privacy weighing heavy in their chest.
++++
Y/N stared at the article of clothing with anxiety. When Francesca had first shown them the clothing, it had only caused slight discomfort. Now, now that Y/N knows that their family is here, and watching, the clothing had felt like it was a metal ball. Francesca stood next to them, admiring Y/N’s hair and makeup, and how it all looked with clothing item.
“I knew this would look great on you. As a Gothamite, this must feel great right? To be wearing the symbol of your City’s greatest vigilante.” Y/N swallowed down the bile, “He’s typically seen as the boogeyman, but yes. I suppose it does feel odd wearing the symbol.”
The piece of clothing was quite scandalous, a bat symbol made out of gold rest across their chest, attached to a black silk fabric and lace. It hugged their body, bringing out the hip dips and long legs, as well as exposing their toned stomach.
“Why didn’t you say anything about you being Bruce Wayne’s kid?” Francesca asked, and Y/N could only shrug, “Just… it just never came up.” Y/N loves that Francesca drops that. There are tons of models who have family issues. Y/N’s are minor.
Not worthy of anything.
“Y/N, for what it is worth, I do think you are a one in a century model. No one has taken to the runway quite like you have. I think if you had started the runway earlier you would already be a supermodel.” Y/N smiled at Francesca’s kind words, and they wondered just how they got so lucky to have befriended her.
“Thank you.”
“Models get ready!” Y/N took to the back of the line, being offered to close the show just after they had opened one. Another prestigious offer that Y/N gratefully took. Sighing heavily, they watched as the line grew shorter and the sound of cameras flashing and grew louder.
Taking a deep breath, they steeled their breathing and controlled their expressions. Blocking out the world in the way they do best, strutting. The intensity of the flashes increased, and Y/N made a show of keeping their face neutral.
Just how Batman does.
They made a point to not look at the people in the front row. When they made it back behind the entry way, there was no time to catch their breath. They were ushered back into line for the final walk out, and Y/N wonders if they can all see how pale Y/N is. Can they see the sweat on their brow or the fact that their E/C eyes are terrified?
“You did great Y/N!”
“Looking beautiful Y/N.”
“C’mon Y/N, after this its a party!”
No, no they can’t see it because they are all focused on what Y/N wants them to be focused on. Y/N has spent countless hours into ensuring they loook beautiful without makeup, and ethereal in it, no one will care about their inner thoughts and turmoils.
Y/N strutted to the music one last time, focusing on the flashing light and hoping that the photos they captured showed exactly what Y/N wants them to see. Once they were in the back, the models stripping and changing into comfortable clothes and all of them getting ready for the afterparty, Y/N stayed seated. The pads of their fingers running against the cold metal that was in the shape of a bat across their chest as their makeup artist and hairstylist undid all of their work.
Francesca smiled, “You were great Y/N, I knew you would be the right person to pull this off.”
“Thank you, what inspired this piece if you don’t mind me asking.” Francesca smiled, “Oh, I got a call actually. It was just a call to run the idea by me, but I loved it so much that I accepted it.” Y/N furrowed their brow, “A call?” They began to strip out of the clothing, but Francesca’s startled look made them pause.
“...What?”
“You’re not going to keep it on?” Y/N gave a confused look, “We don’t keep clothes, Francesca.” The stylist smiled, “Well, no. But Y/N, that was a commission for you.” Y/N stared at Francesca with a new found fear, and their mouth going dry as they processed it all.
“Who… who did you say the call was from?” Francesca beamed, “Your father, who by the way I am offended you didn’t say anything about, Bruce Wayne.” Large hands clapped their shoulder, and Y/N would have shouted if it weren’t for the familiar smell of cologne.
Turning around, they met Bruce’s blue eyes, and the blue eyes of their siblings. All of them dressed to the nines and eyeing the clothes.
“Truly a wonderful piece, Ms. Gabbana. I could not thank you enough.”
“Of course! Thank you for the idea!” Y/N felt their breath quicked when Dick’s hands gripped their wrist, and gently tugged them in his direction, “C’mon Y/N, you’ll be late to dinner. Alfred is making your favorite.”
“At least let them change, Dick.”
“Todd is right, a drive in that would be difficult. Not to mention that it is snowing outside.”
“Y/N, we have some clothes for you. They should be more comfortable then the clothes you came in.” Y/N couldn’t even say anything as they were dragged away, Bruce keeping Francesca busy while their brothers pushed them into a changing room. Dick smiling gently as he passed the bag of Y/N’s clothes, taken from their penthouse, into Y/N’s trembling arms.
“Bruce paid for that outfit, so try not to ruin it, okay? We’ll be waiting out here for you.” Dick booped their nose, and left Y/N alone in the changing room taht only had a curtain for a door. With trembling hands, they searched the bag for their phone. They have to call someone. Cheryl will help them. So would Jon. Maybe even Maya! Y/N just needs to call–
“Y/N, we have your phone out here, so don’t panic.” Y/N bit their lip to stop themself from sobbing. One thing. They just want one thing to go right today.
A knock sounded on the wood that was hoolding the curtain, “Y/N, do you need help?”
“N-no! No, I’m just try-trying to be gentle with the piece.” Bruce hummed, “Well, try and hurry. Alfred is excited to see you and is expecting us for dinner in three hours.” Y/N gulped, carefully stripping and putting on the sweats and hoodie. Clothes that still smell like their laundry detergent and shoes Y/N knows were in their closet.
‘Dear God.’ They whimpered as they slipped on the comfortable pair of shoes, and bagged the shoes from teh show, and carefully picked up the article of clothing. The gold bat symbol shining mockingly at them.
The curtain pulled open, and like a horror photo, the light from behind them casted and eerie shadow. Bruce’s face hidden in teh darkness as he reached his hand out for Y/N, knowing full well his child cannot run.
“C’mon Y/N, time to go home.”
______________________________________________________________
A Part 2 will definitely happen! Kinda has to, to be honest.
So I woke up and noticed that I was still in my bed in my home. Explain why Im not in your basement yet? Whats up with that?
Stalking my crush 💔🙃😂💁🏻♀️
If you want to support me not with money but dopamine please read my gay stalker romance! :3