Hello everyone! I'm a 25 year queer girl! Who loves roleplaying! I'm a dirty multishipper and in way too many fandoms. My current favorite is Danganronpa. I am a huge fan of Yanderes! Both boy and girl Yanderes! (and no I'm not one myself) If you wanna talk to me and become friends or roleplay since I love doing that, then please hit me up!
anon in my inbox said fanfic writers who wrote about dark and taboo topics were not “real writers” because of what they wrote about.
reblog if you believe anon is wrong and writers are writers, no matter what they write about. no matter how they portray these taboo topics.
reblog if you believe art can be about topics that are controversial, taboo or outright disturbing, and artists who create controversial, taboo or outright disturbing art are as valid as artists who create art of conservative values.
did you know the cops once found a fully functioning movie theater with a well-stocked bar inside the catacombs and they when they tried to go back later to formally investigate it was completely emptied out save for a note that read "don't search for us"
my little bro is part of the catacombs community and yeah, it's basically a fully autonomous society! enough that when my bro goes in on a friday night, they don't come out until monday for work- sometimes longer if they took days off.
some of the rooms have fully stocked pantries with cooking equipment, some have movies like the one described above, some have books you're allowed to just take but people always put back- every day people bring things from the outside. artists often set up galleries there. there are rooms with mattresses and hammocks set up for people to sleep. one of the room is just a place where people leave shoes for the fun of it.
this is Known, it's not a secret by any means. the catacombs are as big as paris itself, and people live there just as people live above. it's wonderful when you think about it.
tw; yandere, non-con, forced marriage, misogyny, mentions of suicidal ideation, objectification of women, unhealthy relationships, hurt no comfort, dead dove: do not eat
dc nightwing/dick grayson x fem reader | 1980s pilot x flight attendant au | unedited | 6.8k w/c | navigation
Dick Grayson, a well regarded pilot for 'Wayne Airlines', has his eyes dead set on the you—the poor flight attendant. Despite it being abundantly clear that you want nothing to do with him—only dreaming of making it as an independent woman in a world made solely for men.
You’ve always wanted to be independent, as silly as it sounded to your mother—who found your utter incompetence in mundane household chores reason enough to know you wouldn’t last long. Despite this, you were compelled to do anything in your power to realise this dream, regardless of how difficult it was for a woman of your standing to earn a liveable wage.
If asked what it was that pushed you to become a stewardess, as they were called back then, you probably couldn’t answer it. Maybe it was a combination of things, the pretty uniform, the opportunity to travel to places you could only dream of—exhausted as you may be from a day of work, or maybe something else entirely, there was no single event you could remember to cause this fixation.
But for the few years after graduating high school all you could do was apply and reapply from one airline to another. It was only after a few rejections that you managed to get a spot, something you could only consider sheer luck, and at a respectable airline at that!
Suddenly, your mother—who kept nagging at you to settle for a more ‘traditional’ job as a secretary or something of that nature—was giddy with excitement, ready to brag about her daughter who made it as a stewardess for Wayne Airlines to anyone willing to lend her an ear. She still made snide remarks here and there, about how you’d be out of a job before the wrinkles on your face fully formed and how you’d be too old to marry by that age. She held conservative views even for the time, not to mention your father who was ready to fully cut you off when he heard what you’d be doing but after some persistence they both begrudgingly caved in.
It was only uphill from there, at least for the first year where you managed to get a small apartment, not too worried about its size or look as you rarely spent any time there. Meeting amazing people both at work and during your travels but they were all overshadowed by one man. Dick Grayson, the bastard, he was a pilot, a few years your senior—not by much though. But there was no expiry date on a pilot as there was on a stewardess so nobody gave them strange looks once their grey hairs started showing.
The dark haired man was recipient to the affection of many of your colleagues, and although even you acknowledged he was handsome, he was never really your type so you treated him in a civil manner as you would anyone else. Or at least tried to.
”Be a doll and get me a cup of coffee won't you, [name].” He said. Flashing you that smile of his, the one that had all the other women in the cabin swooning every moment. However, you merely acknowledged his request with a hum and went off to fulfil it, stopping by to assist any passengers that asked for it.
You had a sneaking suspicion he held onto his requests until you were in the periphery. Even just verbalising the thought made you feel crazy. Sharing the concern with anyone else would have gotten you nothing beyond the moniker of a delusional girl obsessed with a promising man way above their station. Nevertheless, you were sure he gained some sort of sick pleasure from having you specifically perform all those menial tasks for him, he wouldn't be the only man. It made you feel like a glorified maid but you can't have your cake and eat it too. Plus, the novel and exotic sights you were able to witness almost always made the humiliation of the job well worth it.
If only you could've stayed on that path, spent the lesser part of a decade on the job and eventually settled for one on land. Even if it paid a little less and didn’t come with the same air of ‘prestige’. Maybe even settle down and marry, but not too soon, not until you enjoyed every bit of freedom you had clawed out for yourself in your little corner of the world.
If only Dick Grayson had kept his damned hands to himself.
"You know, [name], you look really cute in uniform.” He commented walking beside you, his suitcase bumping into yours once or twice as you tried to speed up and walk away, doing your best to ignore his remarks, as irksome as they may have been. Nothing he ever said was too outrageous. Just enough to get a chuckle and 'warning' given between laughs and knowing glances. Enough to push your buttons, god did he know how to get on your nerves, but never crossing the line. Just enough that your coworkers called you overly sensitive the first—and last—time you voiced your annoyance.
“We're work colleagues—not friends, sir. These comments are not appropriate in the workplace.” You said, emphasising the ‘sir’ in hopes that perhaps it might remind him that he is, one way or another, your superior.
Everyday you pray he is not the captain for the flight, hope for a cockpit crew with a less hands-y pilot, someone with even an ounce more of professionalism would do. But few pilots are as good as Dick Grayson. Few are more amiable and charismatic than the tall , ever so sun kissed man.
Had he kept his mouth shut and treated you as he did any other woman, with respect and common decency, maybe you too would be one of his many fan-girls. He was annoying in every sense of the word but damn was he good at his job. A job with all the benefits of working for Wayne enterprises, one he would be able to do well into his old age, after which he enjoy generous retirement plan. You weren't sure if your borderline irrational hatred for Dick stemmed from jealousy or discomfort anymore.
At least one small luxury you could enjoy the same as he was the various hotels the airline would book for the cabin crew. The tall skyscrapers of cities like Metropolis or the classic architecture abundant in any one European city, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
But right now, none of that mattered. After landing in a city that had long since been on your bucket list, with an unnaturally generous schedule that allowed you a few hours in the morning to take in its sights, you had been nothing short of elated. A small skip in your step the entire day until you learnt your room was right next to his.
Looking back, you don't even recall how you either of you found out. All you remember is how any positive emotion you felt up until then disappeared—as if it had never been there to begin with. Appetite dying on the spot.
"You sure you don't want to come with us?" One of the girls had asked you afterwards as they prepared to explore the city at night, a little surprised at the sudden hesitation when you were so eager earlier.
"Aww, you're not coming, neighbour?" Dick added with a juvenile, sort of high pitched tone. Not meant to be malicious or anything beyond light banter between coworkers. But it did prompt your immediate answer, no longer dressed with faux consideration and disappointment.
"I'm not feeling too well, you guys have fun." Offering a weak smile so really sell the act.
It was a little childish at your age, as a grown woman who had lived alone and travelled to all parts of the world for a few years now. To think you still didn't like leaving the house—or hotel room— at night. A self imposed curfew, remnant of your strict upbringing. Because 'everyone knows what happens to unruly girls who go out at night like strays.' That's what your mother had said while sat with a few acquaintances of hers many years ago. Gossiping about so-and-so's daughter who had returned from the big city. Paying no heed to you who played with whatever toys sprawled across you at her feet. She probably wouldn't remember the event if you ever brought it up.
But you remember.
It replays vividly in your head when you get off work a little later. Fear of that same tone of voice being used when talking about you leading you to grip your bag just a little harder. Craning your neck to look behind at every turn and eyes memorizing every passerby whose route matched a little too closely to yours.
You had zoned out, thankfully not missing much as your eyes scanned the surroundings. People heading off and saying their goodbyes, no one bothered to say much to you after that. You wondered what it would have been like had you not been born in some no-name town in the middle of nowhere, or maybe just to different parents. Maybe you'd fit in better if you could follow their conversations. Gossip about someone from the school they all seem to have gone to. Compliments to new bakery in some well known street of Gotham. 'What do you mean you don't know where that is? Everyone in Gotham knows!' One of them had said between laughs before she went back to whatever she was talking about before.
If you were to pinpoint when your fate became set in stone, it would be that night.
The earlier bittersweet thoughts had done a number on you. So you made the error of leaving your room. Assuring yourself nothing would happen and that you would stay within the confines of the hotel, it would be better than continuing to wallow in your room.
Door securely locked and key tucked away in some inconvenient pocket by the time you realised that, by some sheer coincidence, you had run into the dreaded pilot.
Dick was in the process of opening his room. His brows knit together to form a wrinkle accentuated by the moonlight as he struggled to insert the key. By the time you had realised he was there, the taller man was already looking up from his door handle to you. The previously frustrated expression washed away and replaced, initially with a blank face but one that slowly morphed into a smile as his eyes adjusted to the dark and recognised your figure.
“Anyone ever told you how good you look in the moonlight, sweets?” He got his door to open, but to your dismay, left it ajar—keys still in the lock—opting instead to approach you. Back straightened now as he towered in front of you, blue eyes looking down in search of a reaction.
It felt like a matter of pride, like you would lose some competition you didn't know you were participant in if you didn't look up to meet his eyes as you spoke.
“I appreciate the compliment, sir.” By now unsure if the honorific was for his sake or yours. Attempting to walk away—eager to cancel your walk preemptively as any desire for fresh air died out.
Dick could usually brush off your attempts at setting professional boundaries with butter smooth shamelessness, but tonight he seemed unable to. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking.
“Drop the ‘sir’, sweets. Won’t change a thing, in fact, how about we make this easy on both of us and you become my woman?” You visibly cringed at the line which earned you a chuckle from the male. His inebriated state combined with the cartoonish tone he used left you unsure of what he was playing at. The scenario imitated something straight out of a garbage-tier novel but dim moonlight combined with his freakishly blue eyes made it resemble a horror story more-so than romance. It didn’t help how every time you blinked he felt closer than you recalled.
“So?” Dick continued, close enough to place his hands on your shoulders now, essentially trapping you in his grasp. His jet black hair shone with a navy blue undertone as light passed through them, you noted as the strands tickled your forehead. Forcing yourself out of your mesmerised state, switching focus to his face which seemed dead set on holding you until a response was given. The lack of which prompted him to finally close the minuscule gap left between you two and smash his lips onto you in an instant. The initial sudden contact hurt, eliciting a gasp which he took full advantage of as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. The sounds combined with the spit slipping past your lips felt disgusting. But your body wouldn't move how you wanted it to, nothing made sense. You could feel his knee pressed between your legs and one of his hands under your shirt and firmly groping your chest. It was warm and kind of sweaty. Every time you tried to think of how to get away, you were brought back your reality by his hands which invaded yet another part of you. Like the sudden pinch to your nipple which made you wince in pain.
Thankfully he stopped kissing you at that point so you could catch your breath. Your tone a little less sure of yourself than usual as you spoke, looking around, wide-eyed and with blood flushing your cheeks.
“Sir, I really don't think this is appropriate–.” Out of habit you said what you normally would have, hoping it distracted him enough to not notice you fishing out your key from within your pocket.
The discomfort that you usually concealed was for once clear in your voice but your words were the same. Robotically polite, distant even in your panicked state and that irked Dick Grayson more than anything else. The imaginary line that you had drawn for yourself, never letting anyone get close to it, your textbook formal speech and rehearsed lines.
“There you go again…." He let go of you, looking up and pushing both of his hands up his face as a frustrated sigh left his lips.
"God damn it [name], can’t you see how much I like you?!” Your eyes closed instinctively, flinching as he spoke. Hunched down to your eye level as he spoke between heavy breaths. The first time you heard him sound anywhere near angry. Out of instinct you tried to shrink into yourself, a pathetic sight which lowered his guard just enough for you, in a sudden moment of clarity, to push him with all the strength you could muster. Shuddering at the thought of what could have happened if he had been sober at that time.
With your legs were ready to give out at any given moment, its only though sheer luck and adrenaline that you were able to take advantage of his stupefied state to lock your room door before finally falling to the ground. Gasping for oxygen that never truly reached no matter how much you heaved and clutched your chest. At least he didn't pursue things further that night, the sound of his door locking offering some solace as you were left in silence for the remainder of the night.
It wasn't the first time you had to deal with unwanted advances but it was the first time the heart palpitations could be felt so violently through every inch of your body. It was the first time an encounter left you unable to sleep and fear jumbled your thoughts and memories.
By the end of it, you were unsure what was a product of your imagination and what was an accurate recollection of that night.
Dick Grayson was a flirt, and a bit of a bastard but he's harmless! As a pilot, he wouldn't do something to jeopardise his job like that! At least that's what you told yourself in order to calm the tremors. The following morning was the first time you realised how inconvenient the multiple buttons on your blouse were to fasten. Practically a herculean task when your hands shook uncontrollably but you managed in the end. Mind dazed as you worked through your usual routine hesitating in the final moment as you reached for the no-name brand lipstick in your makeup bag. Its case scratched and chipped from being stored with coins and whatever other clutter was in your bag.
Maybe your mother was right, maybe it was the way you looked. You thought as you looked into the mirror. Not particularly beautiful, just plain and average. A fact that was evident as you opted to wash off the makeup, despite being basically done by that point. Not loud or charismatic—you enjoyed your job but you weren't that close with any of your female co-workers. Maybe the way you did your makeup made men like Dick assume you were desperately vying for their attention. If you stop doing that he'll realise how average looking you are and move on!
The lack of sleep combined with stress didn't do any favours as you walked across the lobby, hyper-aware of your surroundings as sat down for breakfast with the other stewardesses—god how you hated that word. Some of them gave a concerned glance or two your way but that was to be expected, you didn't change the way you did your makeup for the whole time you worked there, until that point. However, nobody said anything—you weren't close enough for that.
"Good morning, ladies! How are we this fine morning?" You almost jumped at the sound of his voice. Back the his usual suave tone a stark contrast to just a few hours back. For a moment, it made you hope he had no recollection of the events of last night, but the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second too long unnerved you.
Dick didn't approach you at all afterwards but you weren't sure if it was an improvement from his usual flirtatious remarks and cheesy grins. Not when the alternative you were faced with was finding him staring at you intently from across the room every time you glanced his way. No readable expression—just an empty, unblinking stare dead set on you.
You were noticeably out of it for the remainder of the day. Not letting your thoughts wander lest you break down in tears on a plane or airport. Robotically performing all your tasks with. A little life returning to your face only as you exited the airport now back home.
"What do you say, [name]?" One of the men from the crew, a co-pilot, asked. His hand suddenly plopping onto your shoulder. It took you by surprise so you couldn't react in time to suppress the loud yelp that escaped your lips. Earning you an equal mix of judgemental and concerned stares. Feeling yourself burning in embarrassment you looked to the ground in front of you. Only realising how much your body had stiffened when he removed his hand.
He smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to do before asking if you were okay. But you couldn't think straight by then, thoughts rushing back to your mind as the proximity of his face to yours reminded you too much of the incident. Was he after your body too? Would he also try to take what he wanted from you, even by force?
You looked visibly unwell by then, glancing up to the noticeably concerned man before walking away, just short of running out of the airport terminal.
Finally catching your breath in your apartment. Taking off your blazer as you examined yourself in the mirror for the second time that day. Was it your skirt? Maybe your father was right, maybe it really was too short. Did it make you look like easy to men? A one-time fling to take their frustrations out on before they went back to their nice homes and found a proper lady to actually settle with?
The problem with thoughts like that, as you would realise all too late, was how quickly they devolved into a vicious cycle.
Moving from makeup and skirts to the cadence of your speech, maybe if you were less assertive, if you kept your mouth shut.
What if it was none of those things but your body? Who are you trying to seduce by taking care of it so much? The way you do your hair—it makes it look like you're asking for it!
At first it was just Dick Grayson, but by the end of it, having any man at all nearby terrified you. When you looked at their faces, all you could see was lust filled eyes ready to corner you like prey. Whether what you saw was real, you were no longer sure.
Even if you couldn't trust your own eyes and ears, there was one thing you now knew was real. His piercing blue eyes that were always so fixated on you that others pointed it out to you.
However, none of it mattered all too much, not when you were let go of. Once your appearance became so unkept that it was brought to the attention of management, they didn't even ask if you were okay despite your performance which had been excellent until that point. No chance to explain yourself. Not even a warning to rectify the situation with a threat of 'next time'. Just a 'Meet me in my office.' followed by a swift firing.
Oddly enough, for the first time in a while, you felt momentarily at ease. Surrounded by clutter in your home, away from prying eyes and the endless whispers that you could no longer distinguish as real or cruel figments of your imagination.
Reality donning on you as you though of how you would tell your parents. They would undeniably chastise you and have their 'I told you so.' moment before regressing to how things were before.
Shoving one eligible marriage partner after another until you finally settled with someone of their choice. Maybe they would be even worse now that you were a little older and had failed—just as they had warned you would happen. If you told them about the events that took place in the hotel. Would they hug you?
Would they tell you it wasn't your fault?
A loud sob left your body as the tears started coming out one after another. After all this time, it was only then that the weight of your reality sunk in. Body recoiling as you saw yourself in the full-body mirror in front of you.
Dirty and unkept.
A shaking hand grazed the lips he had kissed that night, the memory of it all caused you to wretch. Kneeling on the floor coughing loudly but nothing left your mouth and despite how much you tried, no air entered it. Maybe you would die like that, as a cautionary tale for little girls who dream too big and ask for a seat at a table they have no business with.
A knock at your door could be heard faintly beneath the ringing in your ear but you didn't react to it immediately. Hoping they would leave after the lack of response. Only after it evolved to louder, more impatient, slams on your door that you wiped your face however well you could and got up. Slowly dragging your feet to the door. Whoever it was, you wanted to get the interaction over with as soon as possibly. Forgetting to look through the peephole in your restlessness.
You shouldn't have opened the door. You should've checked to see who it was. You shouldn't have immediately fallen back onto the floor without slamming it shut and double locking it safely. But it was too late for regrets like that. He had already invited himself in, even secured it shut with the usual confidence, as if he owned the place.
"Poor thing, you look terrible." His expression was somewhere between concern and a small smile. Likely out of pleasure from seeing the woman that rejected him in such a pitiful state you has assumed.
Dick knelt in front of you, hand cupping your cheek in spite of how it made you clutch your chest and gasp for air.
Three things you could see.
His face that felt like it was inching closer. The door locked securely behind him. His shoulders that engulfed anything else behind them.
Three things you could hear.
Heart palpitations. Rough, uneven breathing. The subtle sound of his thumb rubbing circles on your cheek.
Three things you could—this wasn't helping.
"Was it worth it? To have your way?" That was something you expected to hear your father say. Not the pilot that was barely older than you and at times acted even more childishly.
"Shh. Its okay." His other hand also reached for your face, trapping you between them so you couldn't physically turn away from him—even if your eyes remained diverted.
"A sheltered girl like you doesn't know any better, it's not your fault these things are so new and scary to you." You didn't like how he spoke to you, like you were a child. Not when the insane look in Dick's eyes couldn't hide his carnal lust.
"Honestly, its your parents' fault. To let such a sweet thing wander to the big city all alone after sheltering her for so long." His voice was barely above a whisper by then.
"Pretty things like you should be kept safe and sound at home." His grip tightened a little as he continued.
"If you went back now, to your hometown, what do you think would happen? Would they marry you off to some stranger? Maybe an old man that could be your father's age, or a violent one that'll take his anger out on you. Someone that won't love you at all, not like you deserve…" You were already a mess, unsure of what he was trying to accomplish that he felt the need to continue with his cruel words. All while caressing your face with the gentleness of a lover.
"…Worst case scenario, you get labelled the town harlot. We both know you're not like that, are you [name]?…" You couldn't help but shake you head, desperate as if it would prove anything.
"…But that's never stopped people from talking before. They'll talk as you pass by, half-whispers. Loud enough that you can hear as mothers warn their daughters to not turn out like you or as men jeer at you, laughing amongst themselves. Your old parents will have to spend their years with their heads cast down in shame."
"No, no, no, no, no—." You repeatedly mutter, as if that scenario was already your reality. Maybe you'd be better off dead?
"I can save you, I just want to help." It didn't occur to you in that moment, in the state that you were, that the circumstances he was offering to save you from were his doing to begin with. Not even as you brought your eyes up to face him and were met with his wide smile. A look that by all metrics, the human mind would class as friendly. The slight dimples combined with the smile lines that crinkled around his eyes almost made you forgot who you were talking to.
"You don't have to worry about things like work, or what people will say. Not if you agree to marry me." That's what finally brought you back to reality. You weren't sure what you thought he would do, but this certainly wasn't it.
How can he when you look like this? In that moment you tried to tried to push yourself back, away from him. But he didn't let you go far, leaning past you before grabbing your wrist, using his other arm to push you flat onto the floor and with him on top.
"You know, I'm a little disappointing. But it's okay, you don't know what's good for you yet. It's okay, you'll learn… I'll teach you." He didn't pay much mind to your squirming. Using one of his arms to support his weight and the other one to grip your chin, turning your face away to give him a clear view of your neck. Nuzzling into your neck before starting his assault with light kisses peppered down until your collarbone, eyes looking up to your face. Still held to face away from him but undeniably lulled into a false sense of security, expecting another light kiss. An airy laugh left his lips as he bit down, hard. You gasped as fresh tears escaped the corned of your eyes. Head straining to look at him to no avail.
His legs straddled yours and head laid firmly on you as he continued to bite down and suckle at your skin, only stopping to admire the marks he was leaving behind. Using the arm once supporting his weight to instead rip the work blouse and skirt you were wearing. The top's buttons popped out and the sound of a tear reverberated across the walls. Suddenly giving him so much more of your exposed chest to work with.
Your eyes were forced shut in anticipation for his next action but you weren't expecting the man to lift you off the ground all together. Headed towards your bedroom which was not that hard to find when you lived in a dingy one bedroom apartment. Gently closing the door behind him as he did. Turning the lock to keep you from darting out at the first opportunity you presumed.
He placed you on the bed so you were sat upright before speaking.
"God you have no idea how much I love you, no one else could make me feel like this." He whispered in your ear followed by more kisses as his hands worked to remove your bra.
You sat there unmoving, a passive bystander in your own assault. Unreactive beyond observing Dick wide eyed as he removed your skirt, stockings and finally panties until you were fully naked.
He sat you on his lap, back against his chest as he went back to your neck. With the ferocity of a man who had something to prove.
His dark hair tickling as it hit your skin. One of his hands playing with your chest rolling between his fingers the same nipple he pinched that time. His other hand dug between your legs. Just one finger that pumped in and out of your dry vagina. It hurt. But he kept going until everything became covered in slick.
Realising that you were face to face with the mirror again, the same one from earlier as you looked up from his hands between your legs. Witnessing the subtle ways your face contorted when he went from one finger to two and eventually three. Their every bump and imperfection felt in the deepest parts of you.
And yet, throughout it all, the only thing you could think about was how ugly you looked next to him. Next to a man like Dick Grayson who even through his clothes was build with care, like a Greek statue.
Hair on the once meticulously waxed parts of you. Eyes sunken in and lips chapped if not for the mix of spit, tear and snot both wet an dry that dripped from your face. Your recent inconsistent diet was also evident.
You could imagine how your mother would react in disgust if she could see you as you are now. 'A lady should always look proper!' She'd say as she scolded you for how you dressed as a child.
You weren't entirely clueless. As you bit down on your lips to suppress any noises. You wanted to save yourself, until you were older and more mature, until you found someone you loved. But things moved so fast and his grip regressed to rough and harsh. Manhandling you as it became harder to suppress the grunts and moans, his hand left your chest and began flicking your clit. It was improper and embarrassing but your body climaxed nonetheless.
Satisfied, Dick decided you were ready. He could be patient and edge until you begged for him next time, for now, this was all the confirmation he needed to line his cock to your entrance hungrily and slam in before you could speak a word in protest. Gravity working in tandem with his newfound grip on you meant he could reach parts of you previously untouched. The burning sensation induced as a result made you almost miss the bites, or his fingers. Neither of which held a candle to the feeling of being split apart and convinced the sheer force of his thrusts would tear something in you.
He grunted once or twice before finally exiting. Eliciting a gasp from you at the sudden emptiness and consequent wince and the gaping pain.
All his previous gentleness replaced with a depraved hunger as he threw you onto the bed, climbing back on top before slamming inside you again. You weren't sure how to take his professions of love when he slammed into you like he wanted it to hurt. Ignoring your hand which tapped the side of his shoulder, begging him to get off of you. However, Dick instead opted for taking your lips to silence the whimpers and not have to look at your tears. He could pretend you weren't repelled by him since day one, that you actually loved him back and didn't just huff in annoyance at his many advances—he could pretend you didn't act like you were too good for him.
It was ruthless and painful. If there was any pleasure amongst the savagery your mental anguish made it difficult to recall. As you laid wrapped in his arms, with an unfamiliar pain between your legs and your juices leaking out from your entrance—a state that would eventually feel routine— you were determined to remember this as the violation it was. No matter how loving his embrace felt.
"What if i get pregnant? People will find the timing suspicious." The thought had just occurred to you.
Dick shifted behind you a little, you could feel the smile on his lips forming as his hand, previously playing with your hair now rested on your bare stomach.
"In that case, we better get married soon." He said voice a little strained from exhaustion. In spite of which he didn't stay put for long, getting up to draw a bath. Eventually returning to pick up your aching body and lay it in the warm water.
"I liked how pretty you looked once you stopped doing your makeup, you know." He said, pinching your cheeks like a child but to no avail as you didn't reply to him, opting instead to just lay there as he rubbed shampoo on your scalp.
"A fragile thing like you shuffling in cramped cabins like a glorified maid on air." That one stung. You weren't particularly weak but next to him, you suppose even some grown men might seem fragile. However, the final part—especially when coming from someone like Dick for whom the world would submit to with just a smile and handshake—it got your blood boiling. Maybe the charismatic and sharp Dick Grayson, from his position of privilege could never understand. But being a 'glorified maid on air', as he so crudely put it, even just that had been the greatest freedom a woman like you could experience. Almost as if he could read your mind, the male continued.
"Don't get upset, this was bound to happen the moment you stopped looking young and appealing to those old geezers, or decided to get married—you know that better than anyone." He placed a kiss on you forehead and he continued washing you.
"But don't worry, I'll keep you safe, I'll protect you."
His words, swung from one extreme to another at the drop of a hat. Needlessly cruel remarks, poorly disguised as 'reality checks' for foolish girls who didn't know any better in one breath. Whispers of consolation hand in hand with professions of love in another, the kind that made you cling to him. Desperate for any morsel of comfort.
Realising that now, he was the only one who could provide you with that. Nobody, not even the mother that carried you tirelessly for months, would accept you in the damaged state you found yourself in. A direct consequence of growing up as the times changed. Remembering how almost overnight so many doors started opening for women that were previously thought unthinkable. Those women on the TV stared back, each daring to hope. That one day you too could fly beyond the backwards town, to become you own person one day.
And yet, as Dick firmly held onto your waist, emblematic of a warden's grasp on his prisoner, the oppressive air of that town felt light.
The hawk-like eyes of its inhabitants who carefully examined your every breath felt liberating compared to his.
Your parents' embrace felt like the greatest comfort when compared with his which always carried a silent promise of forever.
Their apprehension at the site of an unknown man washed away in seconds as he introduced himself.
The ward of Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprises and by extension, of the airline you had barely scraped by into being hired by and had just before being fired abruptly. You almost couldn't contain your shock at his introduction. Feeling renewed bitterness at the realisation that he, despite having the best of the best at his disposal, felt the need to take from you who was only had meagre crumbs in comparison.
By the end of it, your father shook Dick's hand—as if his cattle was finally sold for a profit. Your mother treating him with more maternal affection than she had ever spared you. People who scoffed and sneered at the mention of your achievements under the guise of jokes hugged and kissed you that day, beaming with unabashed pride.
There was so much you still wanted to do, so may things you had yet to see. But you only spectated, like an outsider looking in, as your parents excitedly brought out two rings. 'Invaluable family heirlooms passed down for generations.' Is how your mother described them.
Your father, smiling brighter than you ever recalled him doing, insisted on putting it on for their new son. You mother went on and on about how it was a family tradition, and the history of the rings. Both looking so pleased with themselves, all because the simple but elegant band fit Dick's ring-size perfectly. Worn from the decades and with visible marks of its size having been adjusted in the past if you looked closely, but still timeless and ready to endure many more generations to come.
In comparison, when Dick asked for their blessing to put the ring on for you himself—already matching your father's humour and laughing on beat to his jokes in anticipation of this moment—neither of your parents showed signs of the same stubbornness. Dismissing it as a meaningless gesture or an outdated family tradition as they gladly handed it to him.
You didn't know what to be in awe of more. The way your parents, who normally turned their nose and nitpicked everything in sight suddenly accepted Dick as family? Who, flawed as they were, you boldly presumed held some endearment towards you at least as the daughter they dutifully raised for over two decades.
Perhaps you should applaud your now husband-to-be instead? Who's present demeanour made it so nobody would assume he was the same deceptively capable pilot from work—or even the gentle man who you had gotten used to lately. The one that did nothing but profess his undying love. With a face that could fool you into thinking he just might kneel at your feet if you asked him to.
Now turning your attention to the ring he slipping onto your finger, its gaudy design which was decidedly outdated and made it uncomfortable to wear. The ornamental gems and size which was not right for your finger made it weigh down on you like a shackle. One which would finally ground you to reality with no deluded hope of soaring that close to freedom ever again.
As such, in that modest home. Which for once echoed sounds of laughter off of its bleak walls. In the very the place your every dream and ambition had been born, you decided to bury them for good. Too worn to offer anything more than a prayer for whichever girl came after you.
A silent hope that maybe she could see a world beyond the white picket fence which disguised prisons as loving homes and wardens as fathers and husbands—which would not relent until you kissed the feet of your oppressor in sincere gratitude for protecting you from himself.
Formless - this one has a yandere that basically enacts the entire abusive relationship theme with their lover, love bombing them, punishing them by breaking his limbs when he tries to run away. Future Recommendation.
To Your Murder - honestly this one is super hyped up and I only read part of it but it's a pretty good thriller. He is not sadistic in a physical sense only but also hurt those she cares about. Has a pretty bad ending though, or so I've heard. Future Recommendation
How about a Cosmic Horror? - less sadistic in the sense of actually hurting her but just messing with her life and it is really sadistic of him to do the things he does and mind breaks her at the end. What can you expect from a being that doesn't really understand love? Future Recommendation.
Trapped By The Crazy Twins - I would argue that the last yandere is the most sadistic one given that he basically chains her up in dresses and rapes her for three months, but the twins are NOT much better since they constantly monitor her.
Kedamonotachi no Jikan - I don't think I really need to explain this one, but do note that it does reverse at the end where the girl is the one who keeps him in a cage.
Koisuru Psycho no Shirayuki-kun - sadistic yandere but not towards his lover but rather to his lover's bullies. This is basically revenge porn since this guy puts some really insane ways to kill the bullies that torture his love. If you like that kind of stuff.
Legs that Don't Walk - disabled mc and a yandere who is basically a gang leader making him pay back his father's debt. The side love interest (if you can even call him that) is also pretty sadistic.
Sadistic Beauty Sidestory B - I recall that this author does NOT like the MC so he kinda gets the short end of the stick. I guess he gets his own yandere basically but it is rough out there.
I will say if you haven’t already, most (though not all) sadistic yanderes found tend to be black flags, so if that is something you want to find you should probably try looking around in the r/maleyandere reddit. I’m sure sadistic yandere lovers (you masochist) would probably be able to find more there.
Hearing news from friends and seeing a bunch of posts on r/transDIY and Twitter that Florida is currently seizing DIY shipments and people are getting calls from the police. Heard this both from people getting Estrogen, Progesterone, and T-blockers and people getting testosterone. If you are wondering why some sources stopped shipping to Florida that is why. If you are doing DIY in Florida be careful.
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